Chapter Text

The world was green.

Green grass tickling feet and brushing past legs, green branches waving good-naturedly in the wind, green leaves chattering animatedly under the blue skies above. The world was green and the world was alive.

And the girl loved it all.

She darted through the trees and under branches, laughing as the wind combed her hair and falling leaves sang by her ears. The world was life’s green, and the sun’s gold, and the sky's blue. It was perfect and it was good.

The girl began to slow, happiness so strong it felt like an actual weight upon her heaving chest, bare feet bouncing off of soft soil as a path began to be revealed, trees parting like a veil, revealing a shadowed unknown so different from what was behind her.

She stopped then. Gallivanting like a nimble doe through the forest was preferable to wherever the path called her, but the path was calling.

Instinctively, the girl knew that if she were to turn around, she’d find nothing but a void at her back.

The time for the forest was gone. A new part of this world called her forth and there was nowhere else to go.

The girl stepped forward.

The path closed behind her. Trees lost their green, twisted branches taking their place. The girl carried forward, ignoring the shades of brown and gray, ignoring the leaves littering the ground by the path like bodies of long-dead soldiers, ignoring the way the woods never seemed to end or change like a hall of mirrors and shade.

It hours of time within two steps, the girl once more found life’s green, and the sun’s gold, and the sky's blue. A meadow rolled out before her, its long grass flattened but still green, as if a giant had passed through and left its footprint behind moments before. 

The path was gone. The call remained.

The girl crept forward, so tentative it was almost as if she were floating by, as if her body were an anchor holding on to her spirit by a thread. Glittering blue appeared over the horizon, and the call grew stronger.

The wind grasped her arms with ghostly hands pulling her forward to the too blue water and the whispering voices. The voices grew louder, the tugs harsher. Hair pulled forward, wails and screams echoed, feet tripping and dragged, commands and pleas. The girl closed her eyes as the call swarmed her like a murder of crows; pecking, scratching, blinding.

And then… it stopped.

One eye opened. And then the other. No calls pierced her ears.

Arms held in front of her were pulled close. No hands pried them from her sides.

The world held its breath as she looked down, her dirt-covered toes a breath away from that water. Water too blue. Water too bright.

She was meant to look into the water, she realized. To look in and carry on with whatever it told her to do.

Once more, the girl instinctively knew that if she were to turn around, she’d find nothing but a void at her back.

The path had led to the meadow, the meadow had led to the not-water, and the not-water would lead somewhere else. A new part of this world called her forth and there was nowhere else to go. 

The girl took a breath.

This didn’t feel like before

The girl looked forward.

Something's wrong, something’s not me.

And the girl turned around.

Screams raged through the dark. Anger, dark and old pounded and cried.

Red fire and black smoke tore through the world, trees blackening and disintegrating, the land burning away into something gray and hard, the wind wailing, weakly pulling on fingertips and strands of air as it faded into nothing at all. 

The world was transformed into a wasteland of silver and smoke.

The girl was too distraught as metal bones emerged from the not-water behind her. Too horrified to run as hands too large grabbed her neck and squeezed.

Yet, she did not look at the water.

Not as metal bones pulled her back.

Not as she was dragged deep below.

Not as her heart slowed and mind wavered.

Her eyes remained closed, even when they could no longer see.

Chapter Text

Ashlyn Moore woke up with her own hand wrapped around her throat.

The girl coughed, chest heaving as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Or tried to. Her sweat-stained nightgown coiled around her body like a python, twisted and tied, not letting her raise up both arms until the fabric had been fully untangled.

That's the last time I go to sleep in a dress, she huffed.

Her heartbeat began to slow and her mind calmed from the panic that had originally enveloped her mind, body, and soul. There in the dark, illuminated only by the faint red glow over her alarm clock, surrounded by a lifetime's worth of stuffed animals, and eyed by the menacing form of laundry that had been waiting to be put away for almost a week now, Ashlyn began to think about her dream.

The dream had been amazing, but horrible, yet still undeniably amazing. She felt a small measure of pride in it. As if she’d somehow foiled some dastardly plot that only her deepest psyche was privy to. It wasn’t the same triumph she’d felt over the vampire dream, nothing could anything beat the thrill of the hunted turned hunter, but it was something to be proud of nonetheless.

She had won.

Won what? Ashlyn had no idea. But she had won something, That thought lingered in her mind even as the dream itself began to fade away.

She’d hold on to that confidence today.

With a sigh the girl rolled over, eyes fully adjusted to the darkness of the room, turning to look at the alarm clock her eyes peered out of a still sweaty and tangled mop of hair. 

The clock read 5:30.

Snorting angrily, Ashlyn rolled back into her blankets with a moan. There were still almost 30 minutes until she actually had to get up and sleep was such a precious thing. Lying still for another minute or two, sleep firmly refused to come again. Instead, lists of ‘to dos’ and assignments crowded her skull. Tossing and turning but, and what a surprise, no luck. Her brain still stubbornly refused to go to sleep. Head raised once more, now an even more tangled mop, narrowed eyes looked at the clock again.

5:45

“Might as well, ” the girl half murmured and half thought, “ At least I’ll have more than enough time to deal with my hair this morning.” 

Throwing off the covers Ashlyn noted with slight dismay that she was alone, rubbing her arms and walking out of her room, she smirked as she spied the traitor huddled by the open bathroom door.  She couldn’t help but laugh softly, “What are you doing out here, girl?”

The soft thump of a wagging tale was the dog’s only response.

“Traitor” Ashlyn chuckled as a fluffy head perked up, “Yes, I'm talking about you, dog.” 

She laughed as she wagged her tail harder and shook her head before standing up from her huddle on the floor, Ashlyn laughed harder when the dog lay down at her feet.  Doe-brown eyes begged to play as she rolled over flashing her white belly at her. Happily, the girl complied. “Yes, you are adorable, yes, you are. Yes, you are.” Voice progressively becoming more babying with every second her fingers nestled into that thick fur, and fighting hard to stifle her giggles so as to not wake the rest of her family, Ashlyn played with her dog in the dark hallway, and the dream was forgotten.

A loud beep finally went off. 

Standing up with a rueful smile, Ashlyn made her way back into her room to turn the alarm off. The day was beginning, just as it always did. A perfectly ordinary day for a perfectly ordinary life.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

School passed by uneventfully, students pouring out of the building, eager and ready for weekends filled with fun, friends, and procrastination. Ashlyn practically skipped from the building. The blue skies sheltered singing birds as blooming trees flanked the roads like a cheering crowd at a parade. Spring was infectious, even more so now that exams were wrapping up and summer lingered just over the horizon. It was utter perfection.

Even the argument Ashyln’s younger siblings were having in the backseat only served to add to the cheerfulness in her demeanor. How could one not crack a smile at such a heated and passionate debate on which D.C. villain would be able to beat Batman? 

Obviously, no one, because he’s Batman.

The conversation broke off for a minute, standard ‘how are yous,’ and ‘I’m fines’ being shared before a new debate rose up, just as unending as the previous. Love bloomed in the girl’s heart, sudden and undeniable at the laughter and chatter from her brothers. Leaning forward she started the car's radio and let her mind go adrift into the rhythms of music and the host's occasional banter. Her mind drifted as she reminisced on the drives her family would have and the banter they’d all share. She’d miss it when she left. 

College was on the horizon. She hated the idea of leaving, even if it was only a few states over. It felt confining and inevitable, to be pushed from the safety of her childhood and into the unknown. Granted, she wouldn’t actually be alone, and she certainly wasn’t a kid, but it still felt… like too much. So much time, so much money, and so much energy to join the hoards of other workers, to learn how to be the best little bee she could be. All the while life counted down to an inevitable end. A deadline that could not be avoided. One you never knew.

She turned up the music.

The road began to twist and turn until it evened out to more rural areas. Fields of cotton, strawberries, and corn passed by in a blur, dark clouds trotting along the air the further they went. She hoped it would rain later. 

Everything always looked better after a good thunderstorm.

Pulling into the driveway, the boys practically flew from their seats, racing to the door as they called dibs on the TV. Ashlyn took her time meeting them, keys jingling lightly in her palm. Older sibling privilege was something to respect, and she’d pull that card as long as she could. Besides, she had an idea they would definitely get behind.

Unlocking the door only to be tackled by the absolutely vicious guard dog, all 100 pounds of fluff and saliva, the siblings eventually made their way to the living room with a bag of chips and an assortment of drinks. David, grabbing the goodies and retreating to the couch, was absolutely hogging the food only to have the bag stolen by Jeff when he wasn’t looking. The youngest Moore looked like a cat who caught the canary, his pleased smirk and thick eyebrows creating an expression reminiscent of one specific Decepticon.

David’s returning expression absolutely broke her. Each face kept getting more and more animated, mouths more twisted, brows more bent, and eyes wider. Cackling, Ashlyn took a picture, “You guys look just like Buckethead!” 

In perfect sync, the twins looked at their sister, their staring contest of epic proportions forgotten in the wake of confusion.

“Who?”

“You know, Megatron, leader of the Decepticons”

Nothing.

“Uh, ‘King Con” Optimus’s sworn enemy, the absolute pop culture icon with the Decepticon insignia for a face?”

Absolutely nothing.

Clear confusion lined their faces. A frustrating turn of events considering how David himself had ranted with her on how Transformers: Prime deserved a fourth season and Jeff was always asking for the memes Ashlyn had tactfully been collecting since she’d first seen the show.

How could they not remember one of the main characters?

With a long-suffering sigh, Ashlyn tried again. “The guy with a bucket for a head, you know the main antagonist from the Transformers franchise?”

Still nothing.

“You know, a Transformer ”

David’s eyes lit up then, understanding clearing away the creases in his forehead as he smiled and leaned forward. He tilted his head, and Ashlyn was relieved to know that their favorite TV show still meant something to these people. “Isn’t that some type of light bulb?”

Her. Heart. Stopped. Working.

Frustration pooled in her gut. “No, no, it's not that! Uh, you know what? Just gimme a second.”

Why don’t they get it? We watched an episode last week!

Snatching the remote, she went to their Netflix account, ready to see it under ‘recently watched’ and hear the ‘ ohhhhhhs ’ or early April Fools this situation so richly deserved.

It. Wasn’t. There.

“You're kidding right?” She huffed. Netflix had a habit of removing the good stuff though. This didn’t mean anything. Pulling out, she went to YouTube.

Nothing but lightbulb DIYs

Looking back at her brothers, she saw them watching her as if she’d grown two heads. She tossed the remote back to the oblivious siblings who cradled the thing like it was some long-lost treasure. At any other time, Ashlyn might have cracked a joke about the over-exaggerated behavior. She didn’t this time.

No one messes with my comfort show.

And so the search began. The next 20 minutes were spent looking in every, safe thank you very much, cranny of the internet searching for some sign. A picture, a meme, a video, even some obscure snippet of fanart.

Again, there was nothing. 

Going out on a limb, Ashlyn began to search for character profiles. Optimus Prime, Starscream, Bumblebee, Megatron, Ratchet. But nothing appeared, not even from other continuities, it was as if Transformers had never even existed. In an act of desperation, Ashlyn researched the kids. Starting with Jack Darby, she found a Facebook page that looked like it was run on behalf of the character. It wasn’t that well maintained, the last post was a dated picture from K.O. Burgers in 2010, which was rather impressive since K.O. Burgers didn’t exist.

Right?

A quick search revealed that K.O. Burgers did exist, complete with a menu, open hours, and even an address… in Jasper, Nevada.

This is… incredibly weird

With a huff, Ashlyn tossed her phone on the couch. By this point, David and Jeff had moved on to their chores and mom had come home from her shift at the hospital. Almost an entire day was wasted looking for something that wasn’t there anymore. 

This was going to drive her insane.

“Ash?”

Head snapping up, frustrations were temporarily forgotten, “Yes, Mom?”

“Could you be a dear and take the dog for a walk? I don’t feel good, and her dander is not helping.”

Smiling, Ashlyn yelled a quick “Sure thing.” and gathered her stuff. A walk would be good, a chance to get out of her head

Throwing on a black rain jacket, grabbing her phone, and wrestling the over-eager pup into a leash, Ashlyn said goodbyes and promised to stay safe.

Then she left.

The house was in a particularly secluded part of the neighborhood; surrounded by trees with several hiking trails nearby that gave the luxury of privacy and only a 30-minute drive to town. In fact, the only thing to visit other than the trails was the power plant that was barely a mile away, students often suffered through annual field trips explaining the plant’s purpose and importance as an experimental and state-of-the-art facility. It was the pride of the county, even if it never seemed to get any more involved in the community than boring schoolchildren and offering federal internships.

However, the seclusion offered by the area did come with a cost, it was not uncommon for kids to get lost in the woods, nor was it unusual to be warned of kidnappers and the potential psycho hiding in the woods. 

The idea of getting kidnapped by some lunatic hiding in the trees may have been more outlandish than wandering off the path and forever walking in circles, but some primal part couldn’t help but eye the shadows with suspicion. The thick evergreens that line roads and walkways were perfect to hide in. Ashlyn would never admit it, but she gripped her keys tighter in the fading light.

Armed with a  tracking app on her phone, an obsession with self-defense, and a canine protector, the girl walked into the sunset with her spine straight and gait easily. Paranoia and weirdness be damned, it was a good day.

Or so she told herself.

Twilight descended, the world calm but for the symphony of insects and dog's occasional tug on her leash whenever a particularly bold squirrel crossed their path. In boredom, Ashlyn’s mind once more began to wander to her beloved Transformers. It didn’t make sense that such a long-standing franchise would almost completely disappear overnight. 

Ashlyn turned the problem over in her mind, trying to distance herself from the problem and even wondering if it had all been a figment of her imagination, a dream that lingered longer than it should have, a memory that had been altered by time. So deep in her ruminations was she, that she failed to notice another squirrel squatting in the middle of the road, she failed to notice the silence that choked the evening’s song, she failed to notice how late it had become.

A booming crack split the air like thunder, a screeching wail that cut through the quiet like a jagged stone. Slack hands covered ears as a suicidal rodent ran under the dog's nose, fluffy tail brushing by eager paws and disappearing into the bush.

The dog bolted off into the woods.

Ashlyn was alone.

Cold panic clawed her mind, irrational hysteria burning in her gut, like hot wax leaking from a candle. Visions of her flashed through her mind as she ran off after her. 

Lost and hungry, roaming the woods and meeting a coyote.

Lying in the middle of the road, belly torn open by vultures and tires imprinted on her skull

Pacing in a dirty cage, scared out of her mind in a shelter too full.

Ashlyn needed to find her.

She called out, running through those ever-darkening woods, calling and calling as the thunder continued to boom and rain refused to fall. She kept calling until she reached the eye of the storm. There her screams clogged her throat as she ducked into the long grass lining the perimeter of the power plant. Worries about her dog, about the ticks undoubtedly hidden with her, of lunatics in the woods, faded to quiet whispers as a single thought entered her mind.

So that's why they weren’t in my TV...

They were in my backyard.

Chapter Text

Legs are not meant to be bent. 

Well maybe they are, anatomically speaking, but human legs aren’t meant to squat in the shadows, muscles tense and ready to run at a moment's notice, like a deer listening for a wolf or a rabbit hiding from a hawk. We’re not meant to be prey.

Yet, it doesn’t take much to put us there.

I’d argue that alien robots are, indeed, a qualifying reason to hide in the grass like a mouse.

The wind picked up, the long grass and the rising humidity itched at Ashlyn’s nose, but the girl held back the impending sneeze just as she held back every panicked breath that smuggled its way past her lips. She couldn't risk them noticing her.

Nature collided with the sounds of war. Thunder pounded the earth as engines streaked across the sky, dull thuds of crushed metal and the screeches of rockets intermingled with the distinct tremor of lightning.

The girl can’t help but instantly regret every decision she's made this evening. As if, somehow, she could have known this was what awaited her. 

There, a mere few hundred feet in front of her is a battle. 

A battle between giant robots.

The sun’s waning light and the lightning’s sudden flash causes those colorful frames to flicker and glow like specters on a ghostly night. Praying that she hasn't been spotted, hasn’t been noticed,  Ashlyn can easily make out the big green wrecker Bulkhead, the small but mean blue and pink Arcee, and the blue and red Optimus Prime, who needs no introduction, tearing apart a decent number of purple vehicons. They’re distracted and disorganized in the haze of battle, and the only clue of any reason for this particular conflict is the famed experimental power plant in the background. 

Ah, well… they look like they have it under control.

Resolve blooms in the girl’s heart, she’ll just turn around, go home, and go back to bed. When she wakes up, this will be nothing more than a vague memory of a particularly immersive dream. Yes. That’s what she’ll do.

Nodding to herself, Ashly shifts her weight, pivoting her hips, sliding her legs to turn behind her without standing and risking drawing the attention of any… particularly questionable figments of her imagination. The likelihood of being spotted in the dark is slim, especially considering her small size and the adequate distraction that the current conflict offers. Yet… something deep in her mind is overwhelmed with fear as if catching the optic of any Cybertronians could result in some monumental catastrophe.

There’s no feeling of awe or excitement, no feeling of comfort or protection, at the sight of the Autobots. Her eyes linger on the fast-moving form of Optimus Prime, and her heart screams against her ribs.

T̸̡̮̠̭̞͇̙͕͍̦̃͗̍̊̇̑̐̇̾̕̕͝h̵̹̪̗̞͈͖̱̄͛̕͝͠ẹ̵͒̑ͅ ̸̢̢͎̬̜̟̯̫̯͉͇̘̞͂̏̑̈́͂̇̈̐͗͜p̷̡̯̃̍̎̿̐̊̕͘r̶̩̄ǫ̶͚͔̳̬̰̫̓̃̌͒̀̈́t̵͖̥̼͂̊͊̊̄̐͆̆́̂̃̒̋̕͝ę̶̛̣̜̮̌̅̔̎͘c̸̡̛̹̥̺̜͈̞̱̣̙̔͌̉̿̃̔̍͋͒̒͐̕̕͘͜ț̷̨̧̢̛̩̙̬̪͈͎̓̓̽̀̈͆̔́͂͆̀͂͜ó̶̯̙͇̤͑͗͊̑̔͛̒̕̕͠ŕ̵̛̺̯̪̤̱͉͑̿̀̅͒̚̚ ̴̢̢̢̨̥͎̻͍͕̪͓͖̘͌̍̔̑͌̇̆͌̅͛̒ͅò̸̺̤̪̳̼͓̦͖̰͎̽̈̒̈̀͊́͝f̴̹͉̱͍̍͂̿̀͋̚̕͜͠͠͝ ̷̧̡̡̤̝̼̹͇͔̰͎͕̣͊͛̀̃̎̌͘͠ḩ̴̭̤̙͍̣̱̬̬͗̂̆̅̽̐͊̋̈́̿̋͜͝ṵ̶̮͖̯̺̙͒̏̽̂̚͝͝m̶̢͉͈͙̯̺̈͆̾͋̂̾̊̋́̊̈̚͝͠a̵̢̛̦̥̹̅̍͂̃̐́̄͂͛̕͝͝͠ͅn̸̜̖̿́͑̀̃͋̓̋̀͛̊̕͝ş̸̹̹̝̝̄̑̆͒̌̀͊̔̓͂̕͝,̷̳̱̙̄̈́͌͌͑̉̉̉ ̴̡̜̩͕̜͔͇͚̜̻̺͗͐̏̐̓́i̷̖̩̘̫̞͈͚̞͇̥̜̯͔̲̒̆̅̒͌͠ͅs̴̥̙̗̲̄̔̽͝ ̷̢̹̘̹̂̾̈́̇̽̊͒̇̊͑͠͝͝n̸̞͍͚͇͓͙̮̈̌̎͛̀̈̓̐̚͘͘͜͜o̸͈͚͇̫̖͎̹̓̽́̉̀̕̕ ̴̢̡̜͓̞̹̲̩̰̝͈̼̗̼́͋̋͊̔̌̈̇̉͊͝p̷̡̧̲̹͉̙̙̞̪̪̳̌̀̔͘r̴̢̧̙̜̭͔̜̀́̅͋͊̈̽̀̈́͠͝ờ̷̛͉̅͐̚͝t̵͓̥̳̟̻̻͒͌̇̍̈́̿̽͐̓̌̊͋ę̷͕̐̈́̏̈͐̿́̈̍ć̵͙̪̠̣̹́̒̓̍̔t̷̮̣́̋́̉̈́̌͛͒̅̈́̏̚͘͝ͅǫ̵͕̱̮̙̝̖̳̮͓̬͉͉̟̹̃̐͠r̷̛̻͇͍̺̦̹̬̖̭̀̂͊̀̎̿̋͒̀̄͑̇͛͝ͅ ̴̞́̈́̄̿̔̀̏͗̌̚̕͝͝o̴̥̼̙̎̔̓͘f̷͔̯̥͕̓̄̌̈́̅̀͝ͅ ̷̰̌̇͒̐̅͆̀̀͘͠y̸͖̖̩̦̰̐̽͊̀̇̎̏̓͘͝ǫ̴̱̻̬̑̑û̴͎͕́̅̑̔͘͠

The thought is sudden and harsh. Scrabbling from the deepest recesses of her mind, foreign and familiar all the same.

This is definitely a dream.

Shaking her head, dispelling whatever that awful screech was, the girl shifts once more, heels digging into the dirt as rain begins to pour and the storm picks up its fury. The rain offers an excuse to ignore her rising paranoia. Between it and the sounds of war, the patter of human feet running should be easily missed. Breathing in, the girl centers herself, mind racing to figure out the quickest way home. Truthfully, it would be wise to scat around the clearing and follow the power plant’s road, from there the trip home is absurdly simple, merely following the twisting pavement through the backroads to her neighborhood. 

R̸͓̙̗͉̙̠̭͖̙͔̩̘͎͓̪̾̆̃̏̚̚͝͠ṳ̶̝̻̯̥̯̽̉̋͆͋̅̈̋̌́̃̚ͅn̸̏͋͋̌͐̈́͆̓͘͜͝͝,̴̡̢̳͙̟̞͕͖̼̠̥͓̈́͋̇̽̀͘͜ ̵̨̡̡̮̤͈̪͔̬̠̻̤͒͑̂̔̈̕͠͝͝͝r̷̢͇̞̗͆̓̃̈́̆̈́̏͐͂͝ͅư̶̛̛̮̐̀̀̄͌̀͝ṉ̷͔̫̰̠̖̬̜̿̋,̶̟̼̳̝̾̉̍̒͜ ̶͓͎̯̣̖͔͕̍̀̋̿̉̇̐̎̌̓̇͘̚͠ͅŗ̴̩̲̎̄̆̃̂͂͝ừ̵̧̛̮͙̲̖͈̭̰͛̃̽̓̈́̓͗̓͆̉͘͝n̵̡̏̌͛͆̄͊̂̽̒͠,̶̛̒̎͌͆͊͂̑͑̌̎̚ͅ ̸͍͊̃̊̾͗́̂̋̉͋̃̀̉ŕ̴̡̥͎̩̞ù̴̡̨̪̰̞̱̖̖̱̥̆͊͊̑͗̆͋́̌̓̔͝͠n̸̡̢̜͇̟̖͍̬̯̹͈̍͌̐͂͊͆

The woods will be shorter. She knows them, there her home. She won’t get lost. Nothing bad will happen.

Ashlyn chokes on her tongue as lightning flashes.

Frames by the backdrop of swing trees and dancing shadows stand the bulky frame of a mech the girl had long since memorized.

Breakdown stands so close that she can make out the small collection of dents in his armor and mud begging to stain his peds. Oddly enough, there is a significant lack of scratches. In fact, the Decepticon looked… remarkably well-groomed all things considered. 

Of course, the blueberry is dull in comparison to the shining ruby that exits from the foliage. Knockout practically glitters in the dim lighting, like a damn disco ball.

A disco ball blocking the exit.

A metallic tang filled the girl's mouth as every muscle in her body clenched. Ashlyn couldn’t move. Still, in a half-crouch from hiding from the others, all feeling left her body but for the blood racing through her veins. She could do nothing but stare at the cons in front of her, and wish she could fold up onto something so small, so insignificant, nothing would ever notice her.

She felt like she just might do that.

It’s okay, as long as they don’t look down I should be fine.  

Of course, to her horror, and the utter glee of every cliché made by a horror film, Breakdown chose that moment to look down.

Why? What’s he even looking for? A lucky penny!

Lightning flashed once more, yellow optics meeting tearful eyes.

Move! God damn it! Run!

R̸͓̙̗͉̙̠̭͖̙͔̩̘͎͓̪̾̆̃̏̚̚͝͠ṳ̶̝̻̯̥̯̽̉̋͆͋̅̈̋̌́̃̚ͅn̸̏͋͋̌͐̈́͆̓͘͜͝͝,̴̡̢̳͙̟̞͕͖̼̠̥͓̈́͋̇̽̀͘͜ ̵̨̡̡̮̤͈̪͔̬̠̻̤͒͑̂̔̈̕͠͝͝͝

r̷̢͇̞̗͆̓̃̈́̆̈́̏͐͂͝ͅư̶̛̛̮̐̀̀̄͌̀͝ṉ̷͔̫̰̠̖̬̜̿̋,̶̟̼̳̝̾̉̍̒͜ ̶͓͎̯̣̖͔͕̍̀̋̿̉̇̐̎̌̓̇͘̚͠ͅ

ŗ̴̩̲̎̄̆̃̂͂͝ừ̵̧̛̮͙̲̖͈̭̰͛̃̽̓̈́̓͗̓͆̉͘͝n̵̡̏̌͛͆̄͊̂̽̒͠,̶̛̒̎͌͆͊͂̑͑̌̎̚ͅ ̸͍͊̃̊̾͗́̂̋̉͋̃̀̉

ŕ̴̡̥͎̩Rù̴̡̨̪̰̞̱̖̖̱̥̆͊͊̑͗̆͋́̌̓̔͝͠n̸̡̢̜͇̟̖͍̬̯̹͈̍͌̐͂͊͆

 For all her mind screamed, Ashlyn couldn’t move, all she did was helplessly stare. Like a deer caught in front of a hunter's gun; poised to run, yet, unable to do so. 

Strangely, Breakdown didn’t move either. 

The girl faintly registered that Knockout had started to talk about something, the end goal of the mission, perhaps a strategy to evade the ‘bots, or more likely voicing a complaint about his finish’s exposure to the forest’s pine needles and earth’s rain. However, Break's attention was focused solely on the small organic huddled in the shadows.

  He still has two optics.

The realization flashed through the girl’s mind, a welcome diversion to her ever-increasing panic. That meant this was season one then. Before MECH becomes an active threat.

Why does this matter right now? Sure figure out the timeline of the show when you're about to die, that will be useful.  

Still, she couldn’t help but embrace the distraction, for once, her obsession with something was proving useful, even if it was only a momentary relief from this weird false reality her mind had constructed.

If I bang my head against a tree would that wake me up?

The shrill voice of Knockout broke Ashlyn out of her thoughts. A good thing too, for the Decepticons narrowly missed witnessing a human’s psychotic breakdown. Ah, there’s always next time.

 “If we go round the back then we might be able to- could you stop pushing me!” the ruby exclaimed as Breakdown nudged him, something the larger ‘con must have been doing for a while because that side of Knockout didn’t seem as shiny as the other. Knocks looked at Breakdown, crimson eyes narrowing as his faceplates curled into a sneer. 

Heart was thundering, Ashlyn’s gaze did not divert from the current threat to her wellbeing. Mentally she knew that if she acted now, it would be possible to dart past the titans and disappear into the shadows of the forest, her already solid clothing would provide excellent camouflage. And, if she was truly desperate, she could run out to the battlefield and take advantage of the chaos to hide in an Autobot’s shadow.

A roar of agony accompanied the thought of getting anywhere near the prime.

P̴̧̡̡̜̯͇̹͓̦͍̝͔̎̆̆̎͛̐̀̀͠͝ͅͅr̶̫̦̘͎͓̪̼͓͂̈́̃́̍ö̵̢͙̘̖͈̬̮̼̜̘̼́̄̅̈́̒͆̋̕͘͘͠ț̷̢͓̹̰̦̥̯̲̼͎̗̤̿͜e̶̡̞̗̟̺͍̱̫͙̣̫͂̉̈́̃̐̑̀̾̎̿̔͜͝ͅç̸̼͍͈̽͋̂̀̊̃͒t̴͉̘̘̥̬͓̯̩̣̯͖͒̽̓́o̶̧͖̠̥̟̘̱̼͑͗̑͆͋̄̐̾ͅŗ̵̰̝̻̗̳̤̏͂͒̋̃́̑̎̈͘͝,̵̛̛̠̺̩̜̄̾̓̀͊́̚͘͠ ̵̧̛͖̝͙̲͍̻̱͔͖͉̊̒̃͆̊͋̄̏͘S̸͔͎͚̫̣̞̪̜̳͇̼̱̀̈l̵̛̦͉̊̿͌̀̈́å̶̢͙̰̄̾̂̇̀͌̽͛̊̑̚v̷̮̜̫̩̜̠̈́̒́̍̚͝e̸͇̯̬͎̯̠̣̱͕̽̓̒ͅr̵̡̗̲̳̗̫̝̈́͗̉͋̎̎̾̔̊̄͊̽̾,̴̱̤̤͋̿̀͆̌͘ ̵̛͈͕̖̪̬̣̭͖͍̦͋̐̌P̸͙̄͋̚ř̸͎̼̺̜̄̊̀̚į̵͕̹̜͎͚͙̟̪̘̲̤̃̈̾̉́̆̏͐́̆̿m̶͕̩̜̰͙̤̽̄̀e̸͍͉͓͍̳͈̻͚̟̹͍̣͉̾̒̋̄͊̍͆̑̾̚͜,̴̨̨̜͓̞̻̥͔̤̼̩̹̘̠̝̓ ̴̛͓̓́͆̿̅͐́̒͜P̶̳̪͙̞͎̪͕̪̟̮̥̐̎̓͊̒͜͜ȓ̴̡̩̟̳̝̺̈́̈́͘͝͝ȋ̵̧̺͎͇̟̞͇̃̎͝m̵̢̞̞͌̎̏̿̔̍̂̔͋̏ë̸͔͈́̂͊̓͐̎̆́̆͝,̵̡̤͕̦̜͚̹̺̮͎̦̙̃̑͑͜ ̴͓͉̦̘̂͜P̸͓͔͎̗̗̩̘̠͚̜̪̻̽̉͘ŗ̴̾̾̽̚i̴͇̣͒̑̆̅̊͋̑́̚ṁ̴̛̘̘͕̮̼̝̻̥͙͌̽̇͛̃̈́̏̑̈́̔͒̀͝e̵̢̨̡͚̮̝̹̝̼͂̐̓̃̆̊͐̑̇̅͘͜͝͝

Breakdown, optics fixated on the human, motioned to her with the nod of his helm. KnockOut followed the movement, a cruel chuckle escaping him as he found what his partner had first noticed.

“Hmm, or a hostage would do the trick,” Knockout said, smirking. I’m dead. The sight of Knockout's descending servo was what finally, finally, made Ashlyn move. Jumping out of the way, adrenaline surged through her body, limbs shaking and clumsy from the sudden change. KO took another step forward, twisting to reach the organic racing by his ped. But the soil was unstable and the rain had turned dryland into a temporary marsh. KnockOut’s clawed digit nicked the girl’s jacket as he twisted to snatch her escaping form. Gravity proved unwilling to aid the Decepticon, and cherry red was stained a burgundy brown as the alien fell into the mud.  “Breakdown!” he screamed full of indignation that he had slipped.

Ashlyn ran, sliding and uncoordinated, but it proved futile. Knockout’s fall had loosened the roots of an old dead tree at the edge of the clearing. Shallow roots were relinquished from the earth’s hold, and the girl changed course at the sudden obstruction. The falling tree pushed her into the clearing, and its branches held her down as the rotted wood fell on the human. Thankfully, she wasn’t badly injured, mere scrapes and bruises nulled by fear, but she was pinned, and for all intents, at the mercy of whoever found her first.

The commotion seemed to have alerted the Autobots, blaster fire was cut short and the barreling vibrations of heavy footsteps made the hair on the back of her neck rise. Mud slid down her throat and coated her body as she hissed and clawed the ground, a foreign instinct demanding that she flee. That she runs.

R̸͓̙̗͉̙̠̭͖̙͔̩̘͎͓̪̾̆̃̏̚̚͝͠ṳ̶̝̻̯̥̯̽̉̋͆͋̅̈̋̌́̃̚ͅn̸̏͋͋̌͐̈́͆̓͘͜͝͝,̴̡̢̳͙̟̞͕͖̼̠̥͓̈́͋̇̽̀͘͜ ̵̨̡̡̮̤͈̪͔̬̠̻̤͒͑̂̔̈̕͠͝͝͝

r̷̢͇̞̗͆̓̃̈́̆̈́̏͐͂͝ͅư̶̛̛̮̐̀̀̄͌̀͝ṉ̷͔̫̰̠̖̬̜̿̋,̶̟̼̳̝̾̉̍̒͜ ̶͓͎̯̣̖͔͕̍̀̋̿̉̇̐̎̌̓̇͘̚͠ͅ

ŗ̴̩̲̎̄̆̃̂͂͝ừ̵̧̛̮͙̲̖͈̭̰͛̃̽̓̈́̓͗̓͆̉͘͝n̵̡̏̌͛͆̄͊̂̽̒͠,̶̛̒̎͌͆͊͂̑͑̌̎̚ͅ ̸͍͊̃̊̾͗́̂̋̉͋̃̀̉

ŕ̴̡̥͎̩Rù̴̡̨̪̰̞̱̖̖̱̥̆͊͊̑͗̆͋́̌̓̔͝͠n̸̡̢̜͇̟̖͍̬̯̹͈̍͌̐͂͊͆

The girl heard the tree being lifted off her more than she felt it, fight or flight instincts dulling any pain or strain in the single goal of survival. Ashlyn coughed, hacking up the mud that had clogged her through, had she been screaming? And her hands clawed at her eyes. She couldn’t see, she needed to see.

The metallic stench of blood stained the air.

Air was forced out of her lungs as a large servo grabbed the human and held her high. The sudden elevation change made her dizzy and caused further disorientation.

Her mind warred with itself, one hoping for rescue, the other assured of their imminent demise.

Had I been saved? She doubted it. The servo seemed unaccustomed to holding a human, and the voice further confirmed it, its baritone cadence rang out through the silence.

“If anyone moves the pet dies.”

Breakdown had grabbed her.

“That's it, don’t want the fleshy to have a little surgery now?” Knockout cackled, and Ashlyn gasped as she felt something snap in the Decepticon's hold. The ‘con loosened his grip slightly, perhaps realizing that a living hostage was more beneficial than a squished one. Ashlyn stayed blissfully limp, dangling in Breakdown’s cautionary hold. 

“Optimus,” 

wait, is that Arcee? “The cons may have already killed the human. We can’t let them reach the power conductor.” 

Yep, that's Arcee. Wait. ‘Cons may have already been killed?’ Do they think I’m dead?  

If the Autobots chose to believe that she was deceased, then Breakdown had no reason to be gentle. The girl wouldn’t put it past the brute to simply throw her like a ragdoll at the first ‘bot that moved.

ŕ̴̡̥͎̩Rù̴̡̨̪̰̞̱̖̖̱̥̆͊͊̑͗̆͋́̌̓̔͝͠n̸̡̢̜͇̟̖͍̬̯̹͈̍͌̐͂͊͆

Ashlyn’s mind worked quickly, panic a fear burning away, revealing something deeper, colder, and more logical. 

This is a dream. This is in your head. You are the master of your own mind.

You’ve already won, just find out how.

Limp in the ex-wrecker’s servo’s, the girl’s mind ruminated on her situation, processing personalities, flaws, strengths, and other factors. One thing became clear; She, despite how her current circumstances looked, had an advantage.

Ashlyn knew how the nuclear plant worked- the field trips had ingrained much of the layout and protocols in the students- and she knew how the Bots worked. 

Who knew my obsession would be lifesaving? Well, I’m not a total fangirl, I’m not swooning or anything- ugh- back to the present Ms. Ashlyn FOCUS!

Breakdown lowered the girl, cradling her close to his chassis in a possessive stance, fortunately, it was close enough to listen to his comlink, Hehehe.

/“Retrieve the power conductor, you oaf! Now!”/

It was difficult not to wince. Starscream’s whiney voice reached particularly shrill notes in his anger.

Her body began to sway as Breakdown moved, the Decepticons were slowly moving towards the plant, the Autobots seemingly indecisive about how to approach the hostage situation.

Slowly, like a dragon waking at the disturbance of his hoard, Ashlyn opened one eye. Her vision was blurry and partially blocked by her hair, but some rapid blinking at least fixed one of those issues. When her sight cleared, the human was startled to find Optimus Prime looking at her. 

His optics clearly showed some torment, and it was easy to picture a frown behind that mouthguard. The torment seemed to fade when he noticed the blinking eye.

Friend

̵̧̛͖̝͙̲͍̻̱͔͖͉̊̒̃͆̊͋̄̏͘S̸͔͎͚̫̣̞̪̜̳͇̼̱̀̈l̵̛̦͉̊̿͌̀̈́å̶̢͙̰̄̾̂̇̀͌̽͛̊̑̚v̷̮̜̫̩̜̠̈́̒́̍̚͝e̸͇̯̬͎̯̠̣̱͕̽̓̒ͅr̵̡̗̲̳̗̫̝̈́͗̉͋̎̎̾̔̊̄͊̽̾

Help

ŕ̴̡̥͎̩Rù̴̡̨̪̰̞̱̖̖̱̥̆͊͊̑͗̆͋́̌̓̔͝͠n̸̡̢̜͇̟̖͍̬̯̹͈̍͌̐͂͊͆

Stares locked, and the world stilled. Silence, cool and dark, settled around the girl's mind. 

She blinked once more.

The Prime’s frame tensed. 

Knockout, oblivious to the gathering storm, began to taunt the Autobots and their soft spot for ‘fleshies,’ Breakdown, however,  seemed to sense something was off. In his confusion, he focused on the Prime, and his grip loosened.

The human took her chance.

With a scream she hoped made her ancestors proud,  the girl violently thrashed and convulsed in Breakdown’s massive servo, in his shock he released his grip. Ashlyn hit the ground rolling, thanking the good Lord that that plan worked! And ran to a backdoor that was nearby. The Cybertronians watched in shock as the gray door was yanked open and the human disappeared inside.

Breakdown looked down at his empty servo.

He looked up to a metal fist.

Chapter Text

Ashlyn flew into the dark building.

Her feet grazed the floor, muddy shoes squeaking as her soiled coat faded out behind her like extended wings. Feeling like she would lift off at any moment. As if she had already lifted off, the air thinning with every lung as she levitated high into the atmosphere.

Ashlyn couldn’t understand if this was an odd symptom of shock, internal hemorrhaging, or just another way her reality was rapidly altering.

A dream might as well be real now. Maybe I will fly.

Adrenaline buzzed through her limbs, the girl’s mind finding itself anchored bit by bit with every dull thud that echoed through the building. Had the Decepticons found their way inside? Was the battle still underway? 

Silently renouncing every time she’d ever complained of the boring annual tours, Ashlyn tore through the maze-like hallways without an ounce of hesitation. The boring repetition had ingrained the halls of the building into her mind allowing her to run, even in a half-delirious state, with a decent knowledge of her location and the quickest way to her destination.

The control room.

If she could just get there, then she could lock herself in and have some protection from the alien intruders. Maybe she could even call for help if the phones were working.

Thankfully, all the doors were unlocked, likely the evacuation of the building had been rushed. Or the bots are too preoccupied.

She stopped for a few precious minutes as the banging stopped. Leaning against a wall, cold hands wiped her face, and Ashlyn frowned in concern. Mud shouldn’t be that warm… or that… liquidy.

She needed to breathe, find a light, and check for injuries. Her bruised and battered body was beginning to protest the treatment it had received, and if she had a head injury…

Feeling down her legs, pleased to notice only the typical tenderness from a workout, Ashlyn sighed in relief as she found her phone in her pocket.

How could I forget about this in the first place?

Taking out the device, and praying that it wasn’t too damaged, the girl turned it on. 

No bars, nothing could be too easy, but the battery was almost full.

Taking a picture of her forehead, Ashlyn looked at the picture with some apprehension. Head injuries could be dangerous, and she couldn’t afford to be incapacitated. Luckily, the picture didn’t look too bad. The wound had been reduced to a slow bleeding red line on the right side of her face, just above her eye. It didn’t seem too serious, not even enough to warrant stitches. 

Unfortunately, head injuries rarely understand the concept of “less is more” when it comes to blood. 

Truly, she was in remarkable shape for what had happened.

A good portion of her face was covered in mud, and some dried blood clung to the corners of her mouth. The throbbing sensation from her tongue was a likely candidate, and would probably hurt like the dickens once the fight or flight phenomena had passed.

Oh, joy.

A heart-stopping screech snapped the silence like a toothpick.

They were inside .

Ashlyn didn’t need any strange voices to tell her anything. She ran to the control room and barricaded the doors as if Freddy himself were after her.

Panting against the assortment of storage containers, filing cabinets, and a chair, an honestly pitiful attempt but it made her feel better so who cares, the girl once more took a moment to breathe and reorient herself.

“This feels too much like some type of horror movie.” a wet laugh burst from her throat, “not quite an Alien film, not quite a slasher flick either.”

She sighed, forcing her shoulders to relax and focusing on the absurdity of the situation, “Nope, this is a weird nightmare. I’m a weirdo, and this is my nightmare.”

Looking up, Ashlyn took in the office space. Heavy-duty doors, rows and rows of black monitors, and an assortment of multicolored buttons and switches; were the only colors in the gray cement room. 

Pulling the rolling chair from her barricade, she sat and turned to the assortment in front of her. Cracking her knuckles, for no other reason than it made her feel more in control, the girl flipped a bright green switch located off to the side. 

The lights turned on with a vengeance.

The monitors flickered on, a blue loading screen morphing into status quos, machine status, and security cameras.

A large shining smile broke across the girl's face, as her eyes narrowed on the figures appearing on screen.

Knockout was making his way toward a locked room, hunched to avoid damaging his paint job in the small space. Breakdown was likely still busy outside then, and, due to this little adventure never being shown on screen and how no reinforcements had been sent even if only Knockout and Breakdown were still carrying out the objective, this mission likely wasn’t one of great importance.

Ashlyn was willing to bet, with a few more inconveniences, that the ‘cons would rather retreat than continue to waste their precious energon on what was likely a vanity project.

Her smile grew bigger as she gingerly examined the control panel, switching the security cameras to show a large metallic box, the object KnockOut was making his way to - The conductor

With a hum she went to work, pressing a variety of buttons, thankfully they were mostly labeled, and engaged the security systems- sealing the conductor off from the would-be thieves with what looked to be a very thick door.

Why didn’t they do this when the plant was evacuated?

Giggling at KO’s expression of complete frustration, Ashlyn sent out a distress call to a nearby military base; she didn’t even know there was one there. 

The chair spun as she sat up, the quick motions mimicking her hurried movements as the barricade was dismantled. Before the chair even came to a stop, Ashlyn was gone.

Running through the woods, ignoring the pang of unease that whispered through her mind.

W̶̛̿̓̀̋͛͑̃̀̽̏̈́̃̚͜ë̵̥̫̻̫̤́̎̌͑̀̎͗̾̚͘̚ ̷̱̮̠̟̣͔̈́̌̄̿͒̑̽ͅẅ̵̧̨̰̪͕̼̻̫̫̭̬̳͚̥́̈́̋̈́̄̒͑̃́̈͌̚̚ͅį̶͓͈̳͖̰̱͈͔̞͈̞̬͖̞̉̄͗̌l̴͇͎͖̪̮̯̲̥͉͍̤̯̒̓̔́̏̂̈̇͘̚͠ͅļ̸̼̰̱͕̲̆̈́̀̈́̇̃̈́ ̷̢̤̜͉̈́̀̓̂͘ņ̸̯̱͎̦̭̼̭̼̦̮͔͐͊̓̏̒̉̂̄̎̃̽̀͝ǫ̴̭͍͖̎t̷̥̔̉̋̃̿̉̍̂̏̅̍̀̌͘̚ ̴̺͎͖͇͙̠͉̩̟͒̏l̶̙̯͓͙͊̍̂̆̍̿́̄͘e̸̛͚̠̬̟̫̓̿͑̀͝t̶̼̙͗̓̊̑͊͋̚ ̴̢͈͍̮͍͇̥̜̳̟̘͛͗ͅṭ̸̡̘͚̤͓̬̩̺̫̱̲̥͕̔͒̅̋͌̔́̋̎͂̑ͅḫ̶͕͇̪͕̜̮̣̹̑ͅȩ̶̧̜̳͕̭͔̜̻̫̝́͑̊͒͐̎̈́͘m̸̡̛͓̲̞̮̟͚̼̓̇̈́̔̆̑͂̈͜͝ ̴̼̘͙̒̌̀̕͝t̶̡̡̧͙̤̥̱͉̖̲͍̯̟̓̇͑͂́ͅă̶̡͓̝̠̫̝̣͎̾k̷̛̯̿͋̐̋̂̓̔̄̿͘ę̶̗̯̰̓̅̽̐͋͂͘̕̚ ̷̼͍͚̼̖̦̅̋͐̄͐͒̀̄͑̀̀̒ͅa̵̡̺̣̘̙̫̠̋̈̽͂n̵̼͓̬̳͖̫͈̹͍̗̯͓̍̀̍̂͑̔̊͂͜͝ơ̷͉̻̥̺̮̹̮̟͈͍͚̰̼̈́̆͐͊̃̆̽̔͂̃̽̒̊t̸̛̛̥͉̆̃̂̄̋̏͂͌̽̕͝h̶̨̩͎̮̟̩̤̖͙̻̺͛͌̂̔̈̉͜e̸̗̙͇̱̖̼͓̙͍͋̐́͌r̵̡̨̛̮̘̝̬̣̣̻̫͇̞̅͆̐̈̈́̆͂̓̏̅̑

❧ … ❧ … ❧

Fowler huffed as he made his way through the building. 

The sounds of marching feet and muffled orders were usually a source of comfort, a familiarity he counted himself lucky to still partake in. Today, however, the background noise of the base was a taunting reminder of his ineptitude.

Fowler always looked back on his time as a Ranger with fluctuating levels of nostalgia and contempt. He hadn’t just made a career out of the military, Fowler had based his entire life on it.

One failed medical board, and it was over.

Sure some of his old buddies tried to keep in touch, but they lived different lives now. They were climbing in the ranks, completing missions, and serving their country, doing something they could find pride in.

Meanwhile, his “honorably discharged” ass was playing bot-sitter and growing fat from behind a desk he only left every other week. He had just given his usual report to General Bryce, a monotonous and annoying task that had only given him bigger and bigger headaches as time went on. First, it was justifying traffic jams on major freeways, then a mysterious flattened building, and sooner or later, he was going to need to explain what three children were doing, spending their Saturdays with weapons of mass destruction who, thankfully, seemed to have savior complexes.

What was life coming to?

Several soldiers gave the fuming man a wide berth, and if a few cadets turned around or ducked into another room, that was nobody's business but their own. One man, however, seemed to lack that survival instinct.

“Hey! Hey, Sarg- eh Bill!”

The fat man stopped and took a breath, turning around, fully intending to rip into whatever newbie thought they could waste his time, especially after such a humiliating reprimand from the General, but his mouth froze in its snarl as the wind was knocked out of him.

Dirty hair and the stench of sweat clung to the man like the bots clung to the kids. A pang of longing struck Fowler as he remembered when he came back from duty like that.

Lieutenant Colonel William Lennox released his mentor from the hug. Standing straight and offering a salute to the man who was family in all ways but blood, he couldn’t help but smile. It had been so long since he’d seen Bill. He was pretty sure the last time they’d talked had been at his wedding.

“It’s been a while, Bill, what are you doing these days, Sarge?”

“It's Agent now, soldier.”

Lennox deflated slightly at the cool tone, his happy boyish attitude fading in response. The crisp and serious persona of a soldier takes its place in an instant.

“Can I help you with anything, Sir?”

Fowler sighed, a large hand rubbing the bridge between his nose, irritation fading. “No, Colonel, I’m afraid you can’t this time. I just finished reporting to General Bryce, I’m afraid a civilian was caught in some crossfire.”

“Is the family trying to sue?”

“We don’t know; the girl was taken as a hostage, but managed to escape without any aid. We have no idea who she is or where she went. That kid is walking around with some highly classified info and we have no way of regulating that.”

Of course that was Bryce’s big concern. It was incredibly lucky that the girl was still alive after being nabbed, even if death was easier to cover up. Whoever the kid was, she sure put on quite the act, at least according to the bots.

Not that it means much when one considers how much time they’ve spent with humans.

Now he just needed to find out who she was and get her to agree to keep her mouth shut.

“Any leads on the civilians?”

Fowler snorted as he walked off, “How hard can it be? Kids these days with social messaging are practically posting their autobiographies. ”

“Well if you need any help, I know some technicians that could help you look. You’ve still got my number, right? Don’t be afraid to call.”

Fowler waved off his friend and continued on his way. Footsteps were still heavy and pace still brisk, but a soft smile on his face nonetheless.

That smile was replaced with its usual frown shortly after.

The oh-so-easy search for the identity of the missing girl was proving exceptionally difficult. The agent had run several facial recognition scans based on some recovered security footage, and there were no matches. None. Zilch. Nada. On the entire world wide web.

Even if the girl somehow defied statistical research, she should still have some digital footprint. A school record, a driver’s license, something.

All that the system was able to pick up was one or two pictures featuring the girl, but it was always on another's page. 

He frowned. This isn’t just digitally aware, this is like witness protection. Just my luck. 

On a whim, he skimmed over those databases as well.

Nope. Not that lucky.

Hours passed, and by the time Fowler finally swallowed his pride, the sun had long since set and his bloodshot eyes and over-caffeinated brain were begging for him to turn off the screens, dump the latest coffee, and go home. But the girl was still out there… What if the ‘cons found her? What if she was hospitalized after being held captive by a creature with no concept of the body’s limitations? 

Deep inside of William Fowler, he had never stopped being a soldier. He had never stopped wanting to help.

The man held his phone to his face, head sagging and exhaustion weighing him down, he remained silent even as Lennox picked up.

“Bill? Hello?... Bill! Is this you or not?’

“... yes.”

“Do you want to come over for dinner, or do you want my contacts?”

“Are you having dinner now?”

“Of course not! It is almost 2 a.m., Bill, I was referring to this evening, preferably after you sleep. Have… you been working this entire time?”

“Maybe.”

“When did I become the responsible one out of the two of us?”

“Maybe you always were. I was the one that got shot.”

A heavy silence lay its hand across the phone line, dimly in his haze, Fowler knew he had crossed some line he’d never dare broach. But the night tended to blur everything together.

“I owe you my life, Bill, if it weren’t for you I’d never have gotten the chance to meet my wife, Annabel wouldn't even exist.”

“Congratulations, by the way, the kid keeping you up?”

“Oh yeah, the princess is why I’m awake enough to take your call.” 

An awkward silence bloomed, like a physical being, pushing two friends apart.

Gritting his teeth Fowler quickly said his goodbyes, wishing the best for the young man, a seemingly impossibility that his life could get any better, he hung up. Alone in the dark, swallowed by the void of blue screens.

Oh, I give up, but I'll bet my Uncle Sam's britches that Raf can dig something up,

Chapter Text

Mom had taken recent events remarkably well. 

Ashlyn had decided to go with the story that she’d been mugged while running after their escape artist of a dog, and had narrowly managed to escape the perpetrator, only to run home and find that mutt lounging on the porch and seemingly vaguely interested in the bloody mess that had given her nothing but love and attention.

Maybe Ashlyn was a little bitter towards her pet. Not that it stopped her from sneaking chicken to the little beast at dinner.

 Other than a lecture on responsibility, promises to enroll in a self-defense course, and a quick trip to the hospital and a short police report, Ashlyn pretty much got off scot-free. She didn’t enjoy lying, but some instinct deep inside her demanded her silence on this matter. She also knew her mom couldn’t do anything. This wasn’t a boogie man in the closet or a monster under the bed, her mom wouldn’t be able to chase away this nightmare. 

Ashlyn wanted her family to live in a dream as long as they could.

Besides, she was a little preoccupied with the ‘terrorist’ attack on the plant. The conductor had, thankfully, been transported to an ‘undisclosed’ location. So, while she would live with the knowledge of robotic aliens existing for the rest of her life, hopefully she’d never see robotic aliens again for the rest of her life.

Instead, a new preoccupation took over her days. A regular routine of homework, crying, screaming in a pillow, reading interdimensional articles, and obsessively mapping out the once favorite tv show in her head for fear that anyone may find a physical copy and the wrong people learn of her knowledge. Ashlyn would prefer not to be a science experiment or spend her life at some government blacksite, thank you very much. The strain of exclusively dealing with plots, sub-plots, character development, and a never-ending arsenal of information mentally was worth it for the slight ease in her ever growing paranoia.

In all honesty, she just might be losing it. 

What else do you call a person who has seen the impossible? What else can a person be when they have voices inside their head?

It couldn’t be a coincidence that the murmurs only happened when she saw the bots. She must have had some sort of nightmare in the woods… yes. She must have fallen, tripped on a root or over a loose stone, and hit her head. A low lying branch would have done it, or maybe one of the many small ravines littering the area. Yes, it was all a nightmare caused by an accident, the transformers were the last thing on her mind, she must have been close enough to the plant to hear the commotion, and stress over her lost pet all culminated in a deeply fantastical mishmashed story.

She was fine.

The world was normal.

The girl almost laughs in her relief. Yes, it was all in her head! Twirling in her room, the world feels perfect once more. Perfect and happy and safe. With a piroett and a spin harkening back to her ballet days, Ashlyn pulls open her curtains with the dramatics of a princess warming up for a musical number.

As the light streams in and the birds fly by, she just might sing anyway.

Until her eyes catch on someone coming up the driveway; a tall, heavy-set, black man in a suit. His broad jaw and furrowed brow look familiar… and then the flash of red and blue makes everything click.

P̴̧̡̡̜̯͇̹͓̦͍̝͔̎̆̆̎͛̐̀̀͠͝ͅͅr̶̫̦̘͎͓̪̼͓͂̈́̃́̍ö̵̢͙̘̖͈̬̮̼̜̘̼́̄̅̈́̒͆̋̕͘͘͠ț̷̢͓̹̰̦̥̯̲̼͎̗̤̿͜e̶̡̞̗̟̺͍̱̫͙̣̫͂̉̈́̃̐̑̀̾̎̿̔͜͝ͅç̸̼͍͈̽͋̂̀̊̃͒t̴͉̘̘̥̬͓̯̩̣̯͖͒̽̓́o̶̧͖̠̥̟̘̱̼͑͗̑͆͋̄̐̾ͅŗ̵̰̝̻̗̳̤̏͂͒̋̃́̑̎̈͘͝,̵̛̛̠̺̩̜̄̾̓̀͊́̚͘͠ ̵̧̛͖̝͙̲͍̻̱͔͖͉̊̒̃͆̊͋̄̏͘S̸͔͎͚̫̣̞̪̜̳͇̼̱̀̈l̵̛̦͉̊̿͌̀̈́å̶̢͙̰̄̾̂̇̀͌̽͛̊̑̚v̷̮̜̫̩̜̠̈́̒́̍̚͝e̸͇̯̬͎̯̠̣̱͕̽̓̒ͅr̵̡̗̲̳̗̫̝̈́͗̉͋̎̎̾̔̊̄͊̽̾,̴̱̤̤͋̿̀͆̌͘ ̵̛͈͕̖̪̬̣̭͖͍̦͋̐̌P̸͙̄͋̚ř̸͎̼̺̜̄̊̀̚į̵͕̹̜͎͚͙̟̪̘̲̤̃̈̾̉́̆̏͐́̆̿m̶͕̩̜̰͙̤̽̄̀e̸͍͉͓͍̳͈̻͚̟̹͍̣͉̾̒̋̄͊̍͆̑̾̚͜,̴̨̨̜͓̞̻̥͔̤̼̩̹̘̠̝̓ ̴̛͓̓́͆̿̅͐́̒͜P̶̳̪͙̞͎̪͕̪̟̮̥̐̎̓͊̒͜͜ȓ̴̡̩̟̳̝̺̈́̈́͘͝͝ȋ̵̧̺͎͇̟̞͇̃̎͝m̵̢̞̞͌̎̏̿̔̍̂̔͋̏ë̸͔͈́̂͊̓͐̎̆́̆͝,̵̡̤͕̦̜͚̹̺̮͎̦̙̃̑͑͜ ̴͓͉̦̘̂͜P̸͓͔͎̗̗̩̘̠͚̜̪̻̽̉͘ŗ̴̾̾̽̚i̴͇̣͒̑̆̅̊͋̑́̚ṁ̴̛̘̘͕̮̼̝̻̥͙͌̽̇͛̃̈́̏̑̈́̔͒̀͝e̵̢̨̡͚̮̝̹̝̼͂̐̓̃̆̊͐̑̇̅͘͜͝͝

R̸͓̙̗͉̙̠̭͖̙͔̩̘͎͓̪̾̆̃̏̚̚͝͠ṳ̶̝̻̯̥̯̽̉̋͆͋̅̈̋̌́̃̚ͅn̸̏͋͋̌͐̈́͆̓͘͜͝͝,̴̡̢̳͙̟̞͕͖̼̠̥͓̈́͋̇̽̀͘͜ ̵̨̡̡̮̤͈̪͔̬̠̻̤͒͑̂̔̈̕͠͝͝͝

r̷̢͇̞̗͆̓̃̈́̆̈́̏͐͂͝ͅư̶̛̛̮̐̀̀̄͌̀͝ṉ̷͔̫̰̠̖̬̜̿̋,̶̟̼̳̝̾̉̍̒͜ ̶͓͎̯̣̖͔͕̍̀̋̿̉̇̐̎̌̓̇͘̚͠ͅ

ŗ̴̩̲̎̄̆̃̂͂͝ừ̵̧̛̮͙̲̖͈̭̰͛̃̽̓̈́̓͗̓͆̉͘͝n̵̡̏̌͛͆̄͊̂̽̒͠,̶̛̒̎͌͆͊͂̑͑̌̎̚ͅ ̸͍͊̃̊̾͗́̂̋̉͋̃̀̉

ŕ̴̡̥͎̩Rù̴̡̨̪̰̞̱̖̖̱̥̆͊͊̑͗̆͋́̌̓̔͝͠n̸̡̢̜͇̟̖͍̬̯̹͈̍͌̐͂͊͆

She falls to the ground, head in her knees, arms clenching around her ears, face screwed in a silent scream, as the voices, indistinguishable but so loud and so angry, battered against her temple like dying souls banging against the hull of a sinking ship. Her heart throbbed in time with it, emotions bubbling and roiling so complex and volatile she couldn’t begin to understand them. She felt like a pot about to overflow, water being poured out on a stove, a catastrophe on the precipice of creation.

Breathe , breathe, breathe.

She could see yellow light softly cascading through her white curtains. The ink stain, a blotchy indigo against the cream carpeting, from her calligraphy phase. The foot of her bed, one leg crooked to the point it could snap if pushed any farther- should probably fix that . She could see the shallow scruffs against the gray paint of her walls, typical of a home that had been lived in for so long. And she could see her bookshelf, overflowing with her TBRs and now organized according to color instead of genre.

Breathe.

She could hear the doorbells ringing, those obnoxious and long winded chimes. She could hear the tv playing, the squeals of raptors and screams of children proving her brothers had started their movie without her. There was a sizzling coming from the kitchen, the thud of cabinets closing as mom ignored the door in favor of her cooking. The doorbell rang again.

Breathe .

She could feel her fingers tapping against her clavicle. Her jacket, heavy and firm against her torso. She could feel the fibers of the carpet peeking between her toes. 

Breathe .

She could smell something spicy, the taco mix from the store probably. And the faint wisps of a musky odor tickled her nose, the dog needed a bath again .

Ashlyn breathed, tasting the leftover mint in her breath from a discarded piece of gum, and exhaled slowly. Rolling her shoulders back and staring at the ceiling, it took a minute for the girl to notice that the voices had stopped… and they had started because she had seen…

Doing what any sensible person in such a dilemma would do, Ashlyn screamed into her pillow.

Or she tried to, first she had to flip the poor thing over because one side seemed to have gained a permanent indent.

Temporarily purging her systems of rage and frustration, the girl didn’t so much as flinch as she heard those stupid chimes finally stop and a new voice, one distinctly that of a certain  man , drift through the air alongside her mum’s own. She didn’t march out and confront this highly illogical reality, instead she turned to the back of her room, marching to the floor length mirror. Pressing a finger against her reflection’s nose, Ashlyn searched her own eyes, looking for a flicker of something that didn’t belong.

Nothing appeared.

With a growl she leaned forward anyway, because she wasn’t crazy, this was real, and she was going to deal with it, and whatever it was, it wasn’t going to win .

“Whatever you are, or whatever my brain’s doing, it is going to stop, right now .” With a huff and a crooked finger, Ashlyn motioned to her open door, blazing eyes locked with her own. “We are going to go out, act like a normal person , and there will be no mental screaming, ominous whispers, or any other horror movie cliches whatsoever!”

“I am fine. I am okay. And I am not crazy. ”

With that she left. Hair tossed over her shoulder and indignation trailing at her feet.

Pasting on a manic smile, the girl fought every instinct to flee as she walked in on a surprisingly domestic scene in the kitchen.

Mom was serving Fowler coffee .

Well of course she is you, idiot!

Hands cradling the espresso, almost protectively, the federal agent turned to her as she entered,  “Now is this Miss Ashlyn Moore ?”

Oh, he knows, he KNOWS! Please, Meggy, take me now. TAKE ME NOW.

Manic smile, met manic smile. Spine stiff and all too aware of the bandage on her temple and bruises scattering her body, Ashlyn, instead of screaming her thoughts and running for the woods, primly extended her hand. “Yes, my name is Ashlyn, my friends call me Ash.”

“We’ll then Ash, it's nice to finally meet you.” He looked pleased with himself, Fowler making a face that could only ever be described as the look of ‘the cat who got the cream.’ Despite that, his hands were warm and firm and his eyes surveyed the girl with poorly veiled concern. She caught him eyeing her bandage more than a few times.

Mom was the one to explain the ‘purpose’ of this visit, with the federal agent occasionally interjecting in between his slow sips of coffee. Apparently, the current story was that Ashlyn Moore was an undiscovered genius and, along with a full college scholarship to whatever major she  decided at whatever college, the girl was also being recruited to an ‘extracurricular’ club-thing where attendance to it is not optional. 

Honestly… kinda sketchy. Do better government, do better.

Mom looked torn, she was practically glowing in pride, but her eyes held a clear level of suspicion. Ashlyn wasn’t too surprised. 

What did surprise her, was how that suspicion never went farther than a look. As Fowler began to speak, re illustrating previous points in more detail, Ashlyn couldn’t help but notice how her mom’s eyes seemed to become almost opec, dimming at points of the agent’s proposition which most certainly would have made her show him the door before.

Even Fowler seemed a little uneasy.

She pushed it to the side for now. There were bigger issues than what was obviously over exhaustion. Mom had been forced to work more shifts than usual. She was just tired. She’d be better tomorrow.

“That's great, but, uh,” Ashlyn flicked her eyes away from her mother and met Fowlers instead, “ Mom, can I, uh, talk to Mr. Fowler privately for a minute? I just want to ask some questions.”

With a nod and a smile she leaves, an uncharacteristic action even with its simplicity. No reassurance that she’s nearby if needed. No refusal to leave her only daughter unsupervised with a stranger. Nothing. It was too similar to a doll being redirected, a side-character who had fulfilled their role for a particular scene.

The unease didn’t come from any strange voices this time, just a cold clarity originating from her very soul. Something was wrong

Fowler and the girl eyed each other for a moment, both waiting for the other to speak. Ashlyn hesitated for a moment, willing for that cold unease to wash down her back like water off a ducks feathers. Rhythmically tapping her fingers together, the girl took another breath, j eeze I’ve been focused on breathing- and went to war.

“Now I may not be a genius, but I am not stupid.” Her face may have remained still, but her voice trembled, the harsh cadence a warning that it was not tears that were being held back, “ So, please, do us both a favor and just say the reason you're here Agent.”

Fowler’s eyes widened ever so slightly and his finger twitched toward the pocket of his gray coat, “I do not-”

“I did not know, I assumed, you just verified my assumption with your reaction.”

“What reaction?”

Perhaps it was petty and childish, or more accurate to call it very very stupid, to play games like this, but it had been a long week since the attack and an entire reality crumbled. Fowler didn’t deserve her anger, but he was going to take this arrogant know-it-all attitude and all the vaguely sadistic pleasure it gave her to see him squirm. 

Maybe I should see a therapist .

“Your eyes widened and your hand moved towards your id, a coat pocket is not a very original place to keep that object but it is the most functional, specifically when used often.”

Fowler narrowed his eyes, his shoulders had tensed somewhat, but his body still kept a relaxed form. Ashlyn could feel his eyes picking her apart. After a minute, the agent nodded to himself. His posture didn’t change, his eyes still narrowed, but his voice was softer and his motions slowed. A sad smile ghosted the man’s face.

“What exactly are you driving at?”

Rolling her eyes and ignoring the sudden rueful tone, Ashlyn replied curtly, “I think it's safe to assume covering up the existence of robotic organisms requires a lot of pull, pull a government ID would have when confronting civilians, like say the security at the power plant up the road.”

“Look I need to take you into governmental protection, you have no idea what you're getting into.”

“I think I do actually.”

“No, you don’t kid, look they-”

It was illogical really, to be so upset. Fowler didn’t know she was most likely from an alternate dimension, that she already knew everything that had happened and everything that would happen. But, on a certain level, the man was right, she didn’t know what she was getting into. Ashlyn only knew a world that existed without her, and she would be stupid to ignore the possibilities her appearance in world  this created. Not to mention her odd reaction to the prime.

But she didn’t feel like playing smart right now.

“Are aliens? Fighting a secret war? Take your pick. I'm quite aware that I was taken hostage by some sentient machines.” 

Fowler looked at the teen, her words were bold tinged with sarcasm and a relaxed drawl. It was surprising she had guessed so close to the truth, it had taken him quite a bit of time to get fully used to the idea of not being alone in the universe, but it had been over a week since the incident. Plenty of time to stew and get comfortable with the idea of aliens. Yet, looking at those dark circles lining her eyes, pale pallor, and sharp words, he didn’t think Ashlyn Moore was as relaxed with the idea as her words presented.

Originally, he planned to bring her out to meet Optimus, give her a low down of how things would actually work and give Prime an opportunity to give his own introductory speech and explanation. He didn’t think that would be a good idea right now.

Ashlyn Moore was obviously distressed, which was understandable, but based on the police report Raf had found, was not suffering from any major injuries and had chosen to report the incident as a mugging attempt. She wasn’t going to talk, and personally, Fowler didn’t see the ‘cons going out of their way to find her either.

She could take a day. He’d be back tomorrow.

He left, shaking hands with Mrs. Moore, a grip as insubstantial as water and cold as ice, she’d just been standing in the kitchen, doing nothing but looking off into the distance, in a quiet house that felt hollow and stripped of life. Ashlyn, in all her clear fear and unease, was the most vibrant thing he had seen since entering.

Stepping outside, relief was clear in his bones, not just for finding the girl, but for leaving. 

It was as if an indisputable force was pushing him away, subtle but sure, a current sweeping him away with every step.

Standing by the prime, the feeling was non-existent, and quickly forgotten.

Only vague sensations remained in Fowler’s mind outside the plan to pick up the girl the next day, the barest sensations of a dream.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

“Hey, where’s Fowler?” The girl asked no one in particular, flopping on the couch and examining her black nails. They needed a new coat of paint .

 Blue eyes rolled, as a raven haired teen huffed, “Why do you care? It's not like he’s always here, anyway. Did you want to make him suffer at the hands of your Bulgarian shriek metal?” 

Miko stuck her tongue out at Jack, “ No , but I heard he’d be here today, Raf told me!”

Both teens looked over at the younger boy, only 12 and a quarter, Rafael looked up from his laptop and adjusted his glasses.

“He went to go pick up the new girl with Optimus,”

“What are you talking about, Raf?”

“The girl the cons caught yesterday, Agent Fowler asked me to look her up.”

“Ohhhhhh, did you find anything interesting?” Miko aske, eyes wide and eager.

“Just a police report and hospital receipt from a week ago, Fowler had to use that to search up her address.” Miko, disappointed, but not too surprised, at the lack of juicy information, groaned as she slouched back into the ugly couch. Raf continued, a gleam entering his eyes, “She has almost no digital footprint. Which now that I think about it is kinda impressive.”

“Oh, don’t look now but cranky decided to show” Miko whispered motioning to Agent Fowler who had just walked in. The usually simmering agent, despite Miko’s description, walked to his office with an unusual amount of calmness with Optimus following behind. The agent could almost be counted as serene if one were to ignore the furrowed unibrow being created above his eyes.

Without a word or acknowledgment, Fowler floated up the stairs and disappeared into his office, nonsensically muttering to himself as the door closed softly behind him.

“What’s up with him?” A large green titan asked, confused. 

“It would seem, Bulkhead,” Optimus nodded sagely, “ that the girl required more time than Agent Fowler first believed.”

“What’s there to be convinced about?” snorted the orange and white medic, “She’s seen us up close already and if that human doesn’t want to be here then, by all means, let's leave her alone.” Ratchet fiddled with the base's scanners, trying searching for energon She was in the wrong place at the wrong time so what would ever draw the Decepticon’s attention to her?”

… The Decepticons, however, were interested.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

“What do you mean you couldn’t retrieve the power source?” Starscream yelled at the red and blue mechs standing before him.

“I’m sorry Starscream-”

“It is lord to you, Knockout!”

The red mech's white face seemed to pale even more at the twitching of his leader's claws, he had not forgotten the punishment they had inflicted before.

“Lord Starscream, we were very close to succeeding, I have no idea what went wrong. The security just turned itself on.”

“Really, Knockout?” Starcream surveyed the medic, his voice lowering to a dangerous purr, “ Because Soundwave has been quiet… enlightening.”

At that moment a tall, dark, and slender mech stepped forward, indigo highlights flashed threateningly in the Nemesis's dim lights. Soundwave’s visor lit up and played a video of the human that Breakdown had captured earlier. She was clearly operating the counsel.

Starscream turned to the ruby medic, his crimson eyes gleaming. “So, how was it that a human foiled you again? Hmm?”

Chapter Text

Nerves are normal.

Any change, depending on the deposition of the subject of said change, can result in an increase in nerves. Cold sweats, shaky hands, and cracking voices may all be observed by such nerves. It is normal. It is reasonable.

But those are not the only reactions a subject may have.

Among the more typical symptoms, those faint whispers of fear and cowering in the face of the unknown, there is another response. The gladiator response.

When faced with extreme strain one may find one’s nerves shoved down, deep inside, and overlaid with a molten layer of frustration dried to an apathetic rage. Such an individual is not chained by their nerves, but rather employs such emotion as a weapon of war. Compressing into swords of spite and spirit, the world becomes a surveying audience and their own minds a deadly opponent, battling in a colosseum of their own expectations.

Ashlyn was nervous. 

She tethered between these two frames of mind like a child attempting to balance a seesaw.

The girl was critically aware that first impressions meant a lot, especially this first impression. She could go for cocky, shy, observant, and any of those would have different effects and impacts upon her experiences and relationships with the ‘bots and kids.

Ashlyn was already sure that she’d ruined things with Fowler. What was she thinking, coming out swinging as soon as he opened his mouth? Arghh. I’m not even good in normal social situations let alone this! “Hi, no need to tell me your name. I already know everything about you.” Yeah, that would be interesting.

Mom had dropped her off at the plant, per Fowler’s instructions. With a half-hearted smile and distracted wave, the woman drove off long before the agent came out to greet them. Not even the dust stirred as the car silently faded from view, disappearing behind the trees. 

Fowler, bless him , said nothing about the distant behavior.

“You remember what we talked about yesterday, Ash?”

“Ash lyn .”

“... Excuse me?”

The girl sighed dramatically, Fowler seemed to keep bringing out the worst in her, perhaps because he was a clear reminder of just how wrong her situation was. She couldn’t control the world around her, she couldn’t control the reality she now existed in, and now she couldn’t even control her own brain.

She’d be damned if she wasn’t going to control how she was freaking addressed.

“I prefer Ashlyn with people I don’t know, I just officially met you yesterday agent.” catching her ever hostile tone and the curious side eye the man was giving her, Ashlyn continued with a strained laugh,  “You must reach level 5 in relationships to update to nicknaming.”

“And what level am I?”

“0.5”

“...”

“The shared secret got you that point.”

They stood there for a moment, empty silence under flickering industrial lights. Ashlyn avoided looking at the field to her right.

This was weird. To a point she truly didn’t know what to think about all this, she hadn’t really had time to think about this. A large part of her was angry, being slammed into a new dimension justified that- she was so lucky she still had her family, Ashlyn still had that bit familiarity to anchor her- a dissent portion was terrified, this was a story of war and now she was going to be an active part in it and all its potential gore. 

Yet, Ashlyn was excited.

How could she not be? These were her comfort characters, the show she loved and treasured and obsessed over for years . Now Ashlyn Moore was a part of something that only existed in her dreams.

Or nightmares.

Before  any more worries could linger, anymore very legitimate concerns could be planted, a bright green vortex wedged open the horizon. The Ground Bridge whirled and shifted like a tunnel of glowing water.

Water too blue. Water too bright.

Ashlyn Moore, took a step back, eyes locked on the not-water and body shaking.

Metal hands. Metal bones. 

Reaching, squeezing, pulling.

Fowler kept talking, unaware of the silent screams of the child next to him. Ashlyn fought to control herself, she knew this was coming, she knew what this was. But the forgotten memories of a dream hacked away at logic.

Down, down, down,

Death, Drowning, Cold.

D̷̝̮̻̫͍͍͍̺̻̭̜͖̦͂̋̊̂́ͅŏ̵͖̤̥̖̤̟̯͖̏̚͘͜͝n̶̛͙̼̣͖͕̙̎͛̂̅̅͆͒̈́͂͂̈́̚͝'̷̤̮̪̉̍̂͒t̴̡͇̻̜͍̰̪͎̯̄́́̍̌͝ͅ ̵̛̺͎̃͒͆̄͐̈́̓̚̕l̸̢̧͍̻̙̖͈̲̯͍͚͗̀̂͒̈́̀̽̚͘͝͝ͅͅŏ̷̧̮̣̲͓̲́͌̔̿̕̚ͅỡ̷̩̖͕̹̺̈͆̏͂̓̏͑́͛͌̈͝k̶̞̩̟̦̙̳̘̅͆̓́̉̐̌͊̉̏͘͝,̵͈̎͑͒̋͐̀͑̓͂͑͘ ̴͎̲̪͍̈́̄̉̀̊͗͝ͅṇ̶̡̢̨̭̞̭̬̰̪̬̥͒͒̔͌̏͛͝ĕ̵̤̳͍̭͍̳̊̀͌̓͛͂̀̊̏̈́͛͌ͅv̵̨͓̮͈͖̳͙̄̇̆̓̄̐̇̋̓̓͆̅͠ę̷͉̹̘̗̙̯̱̠͍̊͗̀̊͛̄̈́̌̎͘r̴̡̛̘͔̯̫͒̈́̈͛͆͌̆̐ ̸̛̳̟̝̩͚̱l̷̙͍͖̮̳̓̇̌͒͗̒̇͛̈̾̌͘̚͘̕ö̸̡͈̞͔̤̱̖͇͓͕̞̭́̈́̇͜͜ͅǫ̷͔̦͗̀͋͠k̶̫͔̤̮̠͙̗̈́͐

“Hey, kid.”

Ashlyn looked at the agent, her hand gripping the arm that had been moving towards her. Fowler chuckled, open hand closing and abandoning the intended shoulder pat. He smirked and motioned to the portal, “So, what do ya think, Ashlyn?”

The girl took a few breaths, nostrils flaring as the residue of a grimace lingered on her mouth, hugging her waist the young adult nodded to the alien vortex and pinnacle of humanity’s dream tech.

“So… am I supposed to be impressed?”

With a good natured huff, William Fowler led the newest member of Team Prime forward. 

Stepping through the Ground Bridge was an odd sensation. It felt like her bones were vibrating and like her organs were shifting, but it also felt strangely calm. As if, by entering the swirling vortex of energy, Ashlyn Moore had stepped out of her own existence, as if she had slid out of time and space completely. It felt way too familiar.

She was not a fan.

Reaching the end of the cosmic cocoon, Ashlyn was faced once more with the immediate issue of first impressions. Coming face to face with the glowing optics and orange/white frame of the Autobot medic, Ashlyn found that dilemma answered for her.

A high pitched squeal shattered the tense air before it even had time to form.

Without even thinking, Ashlyn found herself in the pose of a typical fangirl; balancing on tip toes as hands desperately tried to hide a smile which refused to be censored.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t hide the stars in her eyes.

Ratchet, for his part, found himself slightly terrified at the blatant adoration wafting from the unknown organic. Dimly he considered if this is what Bulkhead felt when he’d first met Miko. However, despite clearly having the lungs to rival the younger femme, this human had remained silent, her face steadily changing colors as her optics- eyes , darted around the the hanger.

“I just did that out loud, didn’t I?”

“YEP!” 

Ratchet rolled his eyes as Miko seemed to take her que, leaping down the stairs from the ‘human area’ with her pink phone already in hand and ready.

Ashlyn, still embarrassed at her slip, dang it I’m supposed to be better than this , was blind to the incoming torpedo of pink dye and heavy metal. Mentally, she was still very much concerned with her personal mortification as Fowler laughed beside her. The big man was clearly snickering; shoulders shaking and his smile far too tight. At least she could roll with this? A starstruck/shy/oh-my-gosh-I-totally-have-no-idea-who-you-people-are introduction. Her ‘amazement’ was clearly putting Fowler at ease and already lightening the mood, so there’s a plus. 

That and she would never need to explain to Arcee how the deaths of Tailgate and Cliffjumper were part of an entertainment network's plan to remain edgy. 

That will happen over my dead body.

The loud clattering of steps being abused by gravity and undiluted zeal quickly drew the girl out of her mental vow and to the next stage of this introduction. The kids.

Miko, ever so embodying the spirit of a golden retriever, is racing towards her with an open mouth smile.

Keep calm, stay calm, you are calm

The pink-haired extrovert without a filter and future honorary wrecker streaks forward with the two boys trailing behind in her shadow. Warning warning, incoming hostile prepare for verbal assault  

She stops suddenly, inches away and arms moving animatedly as a swirl if fast moving syllables and sounds pour from her still grinning mouth.

“Who are you? Do you like Slash Monkey? Are you a metal fan? Do you play an instrument? What did you do to annoy Fowler? How did you meet the bots?” 

The girl paused, chest only slightly heaving and head tilted like an overeager puppy waiting for a treat. The pose she stopped in, however, with fists tucked beneath her chin and one foot popped, screamed anime character.

With her durability and character arc, that actually might not be too far off.

Now some people may find such a slur of questions overwhelming, Ashlyn certainly did , but not everybody walks into a conversation expecting such a response.  Ashlyn’s long time habit of last minute studying and forced habit listening to video lectures at triple speed before tests reared its beautiful little head and sang “ it's my time!”

She breathed in deep.

“Ashlyn Moore. No. No. Saxophone. He was annoyed? In a battle.” 

Colyly, big doe-eyes ever so slightly shining, Ashlyn looked over her shoulder at Fowler, “You were annoyed?”

“You were incredibly sassy.”

“Potentially traumatized.”

“Which is why I didn’t push back your disrespect.”

“Aw, so is it just you that has a heart, or can I expect one for the rest of the government too?”

Ratchet, a little surprised at the sudden mood change from excited but shy to pure cynical sass, watched the exchange with some amusement.

“Hey there,” a long sleeved arm- which is ridiculous if you live in the desert but who am I to judge, - waved slowly, Jack stepped forward, hand moving behind his head, “do you mind explaining a little, for those of us that don’t speak Miko?”

Eyeing the future honorary prime, Ashlyn let out a chuckle, “Ah sorry, we got a little off track didn’t we?” Clearing her throat, she stepped away from the ground bridge, an action that brought comfort in moving away from the alien tech and sensations, but brought with it a measure of unease.

 No going back now, this was the den of all the chaos.

Her eyes flickered over her audience; Jack, Raf, Miko, Fowler, and Ratchet, the rest of the ‘bots were probably out patrolling. Still, it was better than facing all the Cybertronians at once, she doubted her brain would have handled it.

.“My name is Ashlyn Moore. I’ve never heard of Slash Monkey but I’m always willing to hear something out. I do play the saxophone. Please do not ask me to play it- I’m terrible. And I was almost kidnapped or killed by a robot during what was apparently a small battle.”

Remembering that she really wasn’t supposed to know anything, Ashlyn looked to Ratchet and framed a small frown on her face, an inquisitive tilt as she asked the logical follow up question. “Or are you guys robots? You seem a little advanced… and sentient.”

“HA! You are most certainly correct, we are not your mindless machines.” Pride rang through Ratchet's voice, optics brightening and frame becoming more animated, “ We are sentient robotic organisms from the planet Cybertron. We Autobots work with your government to help protect your little world from the Decepticons. They were the ones that held you hostage in the battle you stumbled across.” The older mech moved forward, servo lowering to the floor as he rolled his optics and chuffed.

“Optimus will give you more information if you have any questions, but, for now I would like to quickly check you over. You humans are so fragile, Breakdown could have done anything to you-”

“Yeah, he cracked a rib.”

“and clearly your doctors have proven inept at your care. So come one, I don’t have all day.”

Ashlyn blue screened for a moment. 

Dimly she was aware of Ratchet wiggling his digits impatiently, annoyance reeking from the movement despite being his offer in the first place. Did she really look that bad? It was just a few bruises! Cosmetic wounds at their best and would fade by the end of the week at the latest. Was this offer coming from some guilt at her involvement? Ashlyn’s “introduction” to their world was more violent than the other humans, she’d been mistaken as a civilian casualty for a bit, and hadn’t been rescued by the ‘bots. Was this Ratchet’s way of trying to atone for that oversight? Or was this a superiority, type-A complex speaking?

Either way, she was not comfortable with being anyone’s patient. Human, Decepticon, or Autobot.

“Yeah… I’m going to say no to the check-up.”

Faintly, it sounded like someone whispered “ oh no, ” and “ good luck new girl ,” but that might have just been in her head. Lord knows what is going on up there these days.

Ratchet’s frame stilled, glowing blue optics, so similar to the ground bridge, narrowed on her, “You require a physician, you cannot simply refuse care.” 

“Yes I can actually. I am a competent adult under the United States law, and thus, can refuse unwanted medical care. It’s my right to .”

Fowler nodded from behind the girl, the federal agent verifying the girl’s words even as Raf googled them. The boy had yet to introduce himself and had decided to wait until things had calmed. The last time he had seen that look on the doctor was when Bee tried to convince him he could scout while still wearing a patch. Adjusting his glasses, the twelve in a quarter year old began mentally placing bets on who would bend; the iron man or the iron willed. 

“I’m sure you're an excellent doctor,” the anomaly continued, “but I am refusing care.”

“Ep! Give me one good reason why.”

“I’ll give you three.”

Holding up a hand to count off, Ratchet felt something in his spark respond to the authoritative tone. A feeling similar to the sensation he had whenever Optimus gave one of his speeches. It was not laced with pride, most certainly without that devoted awe, but a gratuitous feeling of respect laid upon him as the human’s eyes burned with resolution and confidence.

“One, you're not my primary physician. You have none of my medical records and know nothing of any previous conditions I may or may not have. Two, I am not actively injured right now. I’ve already received treatment, so the best you could do is offer a secondary opinion. And three, you’re an alien , one significantly larger than me and, I’m just reaching, somewhat different physiology.” Her words softened, some of the previous wonder warming her voice as she shyly ducked her chin, “ I understand if you’ve put in the time and effort to understand human anatomy and medicine, but I would prefer treatment from someone with more experience in that particular specialty.”

Pride soothed with the last comment, and seeing the logical points that had been made, Ratchet relented. For now.

The purple and yellow splotches of color littering her body were undoubtedly painful, and a cracked frame- bone would require observation and repeated care in a Cybertronian. A human, with such a weaker constitution, would be forced to seek out proper care eventually.

The new organic would ask for help eventually. He would be gracious when she did.

It had been a while since someone talked back to him like that.

Chapter Text

 Miko, clearly eager to play tour guide, incessantly bounces on her heels as the actual introductions are shared. Ashlyn almost forgets these are names she should have no way of knowing, information she has yet to be gifted, but are such a shallow drop to the ocean of knowledge that lurks within her. She nods and smiles anyway, asking questions when prompted, and filling lagging conversation with a familiarity adjacent to that once family member who last saw you when you were in diapers. The rest of the ‘bots, Bulkhead, Arcee, Bumblebee, and even the prime are apparently out scouting for energon.

“Bee really wanted to be here when you came, but we had an incident a few ago and they lost a lot of fuel.” Raf pushes up his thick glass frames, not that they’ve seemed to slip, and looks pointedly at the ceiling, avoiding new eyes as he continues to explain.” Plus Ratchet needs extra for some repairs and to stock up the emergency stock.” 

Nodding again, her neck was starting to hurt , Ashlyn followed her fellow humans around the base. Description of rooms and their uses were mere interjections as Miko began to tell stories of what the new girl had missed on base. Surprisingly, it wasn’t much.

Granted, for all Ashlyn tried, she didn’t remember every aspect of the plotlines and episodes. She was human after all, not a computer backed with cloud storage. However, descriptions of space battles, war-lord ending explosions, hijacked school projects, and the incident of adorable metal locust creatures did give some indicators of where in the timeline Ashlyn had fallen. Clearly, this was season one, probably within the first ten episodes. Based on that, the first event the girl would have the privilege of witnessing would be either a terrorist plot or a spy infiltration.

What a time to be alive!

Actually, now that she really thought about it, the timelines didn’t really match up. Her school year was practically over already, but Jasper High’s was in full swing. The flip phone Miko prized so highly was partially ancient compared to modern tech, a teenager with a cheaper phone might be expected- but didn’t Fowler also have a similar style? It was never overtly stated, but it was reasonable to assume Transformers: Prime took place in the same era that it was released in. Which, if she could remember correctly , was sometime around 2010.

Twelve years in the past .

T̵̢̨̝̩̘̙͙̞͈͈͂͑͆́̌̌̔̚͜ͅh̷͈̖̩̘̎̿͠e̷̛̺͇̗̻̟͇͒̅̓̔̋̊̓ẏ̴̰͎͔̬͓̙̜̣̆͐̆͂̐̂̍̇̉͊̕̕͝͝ ̴̧̖̹̦̟͂̿̄́́͊͊̔͝ṫ̴͈̬̬͚̓̃̄̏̈́́̓͛̓́͘ą̵͓̻̯̣̱̹̩͚͓̖͚̟̞̊̆̂̌̒̏̇͝͠͝ͅk̶̜̩͈͙̜̗͉̘̪͔̈́ȩ̸̙̳̦̯̝͑͗̃̀͂̈́́͛̈́̃̓́̄̐̕ ̷̣̝̲̝͕̿͂̔̾̚͝a̴̮̜͖͊n̵̨͓̫̤͕̥̲̜̓̆d̴̨̨͚̤̝͈̠̉̾̀̇͋̍͂͗͂́͘̚ ̵͚̳͉̟̥̤͙̟̞̹̠̂͌͌͊̋̂̕y̴̧̤̤̝̜͓̘̰̬͕̼̽̀̈́̄̀̏̌̄̊̽̾̄͘͠ȏ̴͙̥̙͇̖̮͍̘͍̈́̿̇̚͜͝u̵̼̘̘̮̣̽̐̑̀̈́̉̀̈́̉̐̐̚͝ ̵͈̺̻̗͙͎̟̘̼͇̟̾̔̊̃͘g̴̛͙̼͎̺͚̝̩͉̻̿̽̑͒͆̉͊̉̆̐͋̈́į̵̨̛̪̭̼̦̙̪̹̰̉̔̃͜͜v̷̨̮̲̣͉̟̙́̈́͑̈́̋̉͗̊̿͑͆͆ͅe̶͙̬̹̞̪̒̽̉͝

̸̨̬̲̭͎̙̑̔̈̈́͝Ṱ̶̥̻͙̼͎͚̤̳̫̽͂̇̓̋̌̌̀͊̐͛̎͜͝ͅh̸̯͔̥̫̜͖̰͓͕̥̿̈̑̌̄͌̍̂͑̀̉̕͠͠͠e̷̗̥̻͑̃͋͛͌́̄y̴̢̡̡̟̝̦̙̱̔́̿̌̈͊͋̍́̑͝͝ ̷̨̛̟̲̲͉̭̗͔̘̦̫̫͍̄́̿́͑̐̈́ţ̶̼͙͇̳͇̬̥̥͔̰̑̐̍̍͒͑̉̂̀̑̂̔̊a̴̭̯̤͉͖͖̖̪̟̅̊́̾͌̆͋̓̐ķ̵̭̱̺̤̬̹̱͓̟̫͖̓̌̕͝e̷̡̠̣͔͉̫̩̳͖͇͕̯͔͓̦̐̂̆̒͂͛̎̆̍̊̿́ ̷̛̪̥̘̻̱̮̺͍̿͋̋̈̓̽̆̂́͘͝͝a̷̪͉̾n̸͚̙̳͔̦̾̔̌͊̌̒͆̋͋̚̕͝ͅd̵̮̟̄̏͂̀̆͊̆̚͠͝ ̵̨̩̯̗̞̣̼͍͕̫͆͂́̔̓͊́͛̇̒̂̂͌͝ṭ̵̡̠̹͙͈̝͈͚̆̒̈́̑̐́â̶̢̢̢̪̭͈͖̭̞͓̲͎̝͚̠̇̈́͆̇͆̅̋̅̉͘͝͝k̴̛͚͎̜̟͉̮̩͋̔̔̔̃͝e̷̟͇͖͘ ̶̥̖̼̯̣͒͒͌̽̀͘͘͝t̵̢̪͓̤̥̣̘͌ͅạ̴̳̭̻͖̫̮͎͕̪̖̓̇̅̈́͑̎̈̒̑̈́̈̕̕͠k̵̛̺̭̘̉̅́̈́̅̈́̀̓͘e̷̬̍

̷̧̛̰̤̳̯͓̟̯̃̽̓͗͂̾̔͑͂̓͗́͠S̷̡̯̝̮̫͔̿͋̐͛̌́̑̊͋̕̚ț̶̛͈͎͓͛̔̄̍̉̂̾̀ę̸̢̩̱͖̰̣̲̤̺̯̖͇͓̋̓̀ä̴̛̳̱̖̘͈́̑́̎̔̌̄́̅̅͒̽͗͠ĺ̶̠̝̠̤

̵̨̺͍̪͓͖̹̮̪̒

s̶̛͍͖̫̯̟̘̬̣͕͎̀̈́̋̆̆̈́̐͜ͅỏ̶̝̺̞̘͙̟̫͔͚͉̞͖̻͉̚ ̵̡̛̫̖̳͔̙̬͕̮̻̰̙̳̞͆̈́̎̒̏͊́̇̉͛̓̿̐͘ͅs̵̛̫͖͖̤͉̲̉̃̓̈́̓͑͊́o̵̭̹̐̀͛̈́͊͆́ ̴̨̢̻̭͍͚͐̋̽̿͊͒͑͒̊̈͗͘͝s̷͈̯̠̠̩̪͙̲̋̂̍̈́̾̀̈́̿̾͌͝ö̶̢̢̭̰̤̠̗̦̭̮̝̭̥͚́ȓ̸͍͑́̌͂̍̃͋̉͋̅̐̈́r̵͍̩̱̺͔̠̲̫͖̼̀͌͑̆̆̎́́̇̈́̿̚͠y̶͈̭̙̤͚̝͋̓͒̈́͘̚

Clutching her temples, Ashlyn’s mind tried to comprehend this. It wasn’t like it had been proven , this was just a theory. One easily dispelled.

But if it were true…

Clenching her jaw as the murmurs faded, still angry but faintly so, grief and despair and what almost seemed apologetic replaced any aggression with a prominent urge to lay down and cry. Ashlyn could huddle in a blanket ball later, if 2020 had taught her anything it was how to postpone the crying sessions till later.

“Wow, you guys have seen a lot then,” the girl’s eyes squinted under the force of her smile, “do you have any pictures?”

The japanese girl squealed, vaguely reminiscent of Ashlyn’s own, and proceeded to show off her pictures on her tiny phone screen. Miko seemed so happy to show off her hard earned snapshots, ranting about potential pictures she wanted and explaining about the significance behind every shot. It was surprisingly well-thought out given her well-known impulsiveness. Ashlyn couldn’t help but feel some guilt at her little manipulation tactic, small as it was, she was using a core part of Miko’s character to get information she wanted.

But wouldn’t it raise red flags if I asked what year it is? Some things are bound to not add up when it comes to me and I need to keep that list as small as possible.

Miko continued blabbering, pausing only when one of the boy’s interjected their own thoughts on events. Again, not much had actually happened yet, so the montage was rather short, and Miko was finishing up quickly; “I want to put them all together, like a scrapbook or something. Maybe I’ll call it ‘ Botswana or Adventures in Jasper .” 

Smiling still, Ashlyn’s eyes found what they were looking for, a hinge between reality, white numbers in a small gray bar at the base of the picture.

Time seemed to slow, as if something wanted her to see those little numbers, to sear it within her brain the truth and offer comfort in its starkness. Ashlyn didn’t need time to slow, she needed it to move faster.

Her smile twisted to a grimace, and her eyes darted around the large hallway they were in, dusty, dim, and unfamiliar, she failed to notice JAck raising his eyebrows at her sudden shift in focus. Miko kept ranting about her pictures.

“Hey, the armory is fascinating , but could you tell me where I can find a bathroom really quickly?”

Raf, blessed, blessed Raf , answered eagerly, “Oh, there’s one by Fowler’s office-”

“Anywhere closer?”

“Uh-sure! Just to the left, its kinda messy but-”

“Perfect! Thanks!”

Ashlyn ran, feet sliding in her hurry, slowing only to carefully shut the door behind her. Not a particle of dust was disturbed as the lock softly clicked into place.

Jack, Miko, and Raf looked at eachother. Shrugging, they made their way back to the main hangar. Ashlyn could probably find her way back by herself. The base wasn’t too confusing. 

The kids didn’t linger on the interaction. Already accepting the new girl’s potential oddities and happy to have another member at the base. Miko was ecstatic to share her favorite band, afterall, she said she was open to hearing it out. No going back now!

 Behind that locked door, Ashlyn looked at herself in the mirror. The eyes were the same as they've ever been. Skin familiar, even underneath the bruises and few persistent scrapes. The weight of her favorite jacket was recognizable on her frame, so were the combat boots on her feet. Ashlyn Moore looked like Ashlyn Moore.

But was that even her anymore?

She shouldn’t be here, not in this world, not in this time . Was there a double of her, out there somewhere? A little kid without monsters in her head, sleeping soundly at night? What movies did they watch, what fandoms would they fall in love with?

… Would they be suck into her world, too?

Pressing her hands on the dusty counter and leaning over the neglected sink, Ashlyn swallowed a sob. It was too much, too much . She was twelve years in the past!

What the fuck was wrong with her?

Groaning, she pushed herself off the counter. Blinking her wet eyes, she dabbed at her eyelashes. Humming to herself, Ashlyn straightened her clothes and schooled her expression. A mask of contentment and nonchalance. She’d cry and mourn when she got home- she still had home .

Granted mom had been a little more reclusive and she couldn’t really remember the last time she’d really sat down with her siblings, but home was still there.

̸̨̬̲̭͎̙̑̔̈̈́͝Ṱ̶̥̻͙̼͎͚̤̳̫̽͂̇̓̋̌̌̀͊̐͛̎͜͝ͅh̸̯͔̥̫̜͖̰͓͕̥̿̈̑̌̄͌̍̂͑̀̉̕͠͠͠e̷̗̥̻͑̃͋͛͌́̄y̴̢̡̡̟̝̦̙̱̔́̿̌̈͊͋̍́̑͝͝ ̷̨̛̟̲̲͉̭̗͔̘̦̫̫͍̄́̿́͑̐̈́ţ̶̼͙͇̳͇̬̥̥͔̰̑̐̍̍͒͑̉̂̀̑̂̔̊a̴̭̯̤͉͖͖̖̪̟̅̊́̾͌̆͋̓̐ķ̵̭̱̺̤̬̹̱͓̟̫͖̓̌̕͝e̷̡̠̣͔͉̫̩̳͖͇͕̯͔͓̦̐̂̆̒͂͛̎̆̍̊̿́ ̷̛̪̥̘̻̱̮̺͍̿͋̋̈̓̽̆̂́͘͝͝a̷̪͉̾n̸͚̙̳͔̦̾̔̌͊̌̒͆̋͋̚̕͝ͅd̵̮̟̄̏͂̀̆͊̆̚͠͝ ̵̨̩̯̗̞̣̼͍͕̫͆͂́̔̓͊́͛̇̒̂̂͌͝ṭ̵̡̠̹͙͈̝͈͚̆̒̈́̑̐́â̶̢̢̢̪̭͈͖̭̞͓̲͎̝͚̠̇̈́͆̇͆̅̋̅̉͘͝͝k̴̛͚͎̜̟͉̮̩͋̔̔̔̃͝e̷̟͇͖͘ ̶̥̖̼̯̣͒͒͌̽̀͘͘͝t̵̢̪͓̤̥̣̘͌ͅạ̴̳̭̻͖̫̮͎͕̪̖̓̇̅̈́͑̎̈̒̑̈́̈̕̕͠k̵̛̺̭̘̉̅́̈́̅̈́̀̓͘e̷̬̍

They would always be there.

She could do this. Meet the other ‘bots, get the basic information packet, smile, and go home and hug her family tight. She could live and she could adapt.

She could do this!

With one last nod to herself, the little soldier left the old bathroom and headed for the main hanger. Jack had said the rest of the ‘bots would arrive soon, and she’d be ready for them.

The girl had made two paces before she stopped. A current flowed through the air, singing with power and energy, overwhelming and disorienting as thunderous vibrations flowed through the floor. Involuntarily, she straightened her spine, her current mental drama now overcome with a desire to serve. A desire, she mentally pinned to the floor.

Ashlyn knew it was Optimus before the bot even entered the hall. Her mind felt fuzzy as she looked up at the prime, hair rising on the back of her neck. Her body was telling her to run, she could feel the tremors of adrenaline tripping through her, muscles twitching, prepared to either run or fight. Yet… her gut told her otherwise. 

When the prime spoke, the smooth baritone anchored her somewhat. Ashlyn visualized the weathered face of Peter Cullen, and the comparison calmed her. Optimus Prime would hurt her.

H̵̛̞̤̻͇̫̓̌e̵̢̧̳̝̮̘̱̥͊́͒͐̔̈'̵̣̎̐l̴̛̥͖̰̰̬̥̱̪̭͕̬̾͆͒͆̊̽̽͜͝͝͝l̴̢̧̳̦̟̻͍͈̙̩̹̩̽̅͑̓͗̒̈́͊̄͜ ̸̧̝̮̟̘̰͓̦͇̣͋͆̐̃̊̚̕̚ũ̷̡̙͇̲͎̇ͅs̷̢̫̘̥͓̯̤̈́̓̿̑͛̈́̃̓́̀̔̚͘ͅe̵̬̯͊͛̃͒̽͂͂͆̓͠͝͝ ̷̡̳̣̮̝͇̫̞̳̄̉̄̄̋̎̅̕̚̕͝ÿ̵̛͕͖́͊̏͆̌̿̈́̆̍̍̑̈́͝o̸̢̡̧̤̯̱̭̤̼̪̅̀͛̌̏̇͜ü̴͎͋͋͗̔̅̅̅̕̚͝͠

“Hello, I am Optimus P̵̨̠̥̣͔͙͙̘̬͎̱̥̩̤̬̆̅̈́͝r̷͕̙͚͙̝̭̘̭̯̟̠̱͓̐̈́̃̍̈̈͌̊̐̓͜i̷̡̗͌͒̀̆͑̿̚̚ͅm̸̲͆e̷̢̡̙̹̩̩̞̼̱̱̙̪̳͔͌̓͛͜͝, and you are Ashlyn Moore?”

The girl nodded.

“The other humans said, you were here, I was hoping to further explain your current situation, if you do not mind.”

Optimus kneeled, servo outstretched. Unlike Ratchet, his digits did not wiggle, nor did annoyance leak from his frame. Instead, Optimus looked at the girl, with burning optics, concern and care radiating from them with the brightness of the sun.

She still wasn’t going to sit on his hand though.

Ashlyn wanted to trust the prime, she really did. If anyone had a reason to it would be her , she knew who he was in dozens of stories, had witnessed his triumphs and falls, cheered him on and idolized him along with practically every other viewer on the planet.

But something held her back.

The voices rose up around him, they’d only appeared when she had first seen him. Ashlyn couldn’t help but connect the two together in her mind, an idea that resulted in a pure wave of annoyance , and the voices, she was sure, were connected with her being here .

She wanted to trust… but she just couldn’t .

She stepped away from the offered servo and Optimus, taking the hint, pulled back. He was still kneeling though.

“Um, yeah, I’m- my name is Ashlyn.”

Clearing her throat, she stood up to Ratchet, she could do this ,  the human continued. “Can you explain as we walk back to the main hangar? Unless this super top secret that only I should know?”

The prime smiled, the action simultaneously softening nerves, but jumping starting her brain.

A flash of another grin went through her mind, face obscured but for a fanged smile, sharpened denta on the face of an armored demon towering over prey. 

The image faded as quickly as it came.

Optimus by this point, was going over the basics of the war, and Ashlyn moved to the hanger. She was painfully aware of how the Prime shortened his strides to match her relaxed pace. To some it might be seen as considerate, even sweet, in Ashlyn’s current frame of mind, it was insulting.

She quickened her pace, and Optimus almost tripped on his peds at the sudden acceleration. For the first time in weeks Ashlyn laughed . A mere chuckle, a giggle if being generous, but it was something . For a moment, everything faded away, every stress, every strain, every sorrow, and Ashlyn felt like herself again.

Eyes alive once more, she looked up at the Boss Bot, with a wry smile, she gestures for the bot to continue. It was the basic lowdown, here on earth for energon, an explanation of what energon was , and the basic war formula.

cons= bad

bot= good

me+cons=dying

human+bots=long healthy life

Honestly, she might have blanked out a little bit. Ashlyn knew this already, in significantly more detail than was explained. The caste system, the corruption of Cybertron’s leaders, how the miner D-16 became the gladiator Megatronus, how Megatronus became Megatron, the rise of the Decepticons, the distortion of the Decepticon’s motives, the subsequent rise of the Autobot, and the evacuations as their planet went dark. She knew about the original primes, the omega lock, the predacons, and the Great Cataclysm, - albeit perhaps in a more vague way - Ashlyn probably knew enough to rival Optimus Prime, who used to be a frickin archivist.

None of that explained why she was here.

It did cross her mind to alert the bot to her unique situation. The idea of a government black site, dissection table, or mental hospital kept her mouth shut. It would be preferable to Megatron finding out… that would be very bad. But it wasn't like she could even help that much if she did share. Spoiler alert, the Autobot’s win , and they win in a universe without Ashlyn, in a very specific timeline with a very specific sequence of events which domino into each other. If she removed or changed something, wouldn’t that put the ending at risk?

Especially when a failed ending was tied between the enslavement or complete destruction of her planet.

Not risking it .

“Do you have any questions?”

Huh? Oh! Right, Optimus was still talking.

Racking her mind, Ashlyn finally settled on a question she did actually have that wouldn’t give away anything. Hopefully.

Entering into the main hanger, she noticed the rest of the bots hanging around the human zone. Looked like she’d be meeting them next.

“Why Earth?”

“Did Optimus not explain things, yet?” Arcee snarked, but Ashlyn didn’t miss the way her optics focused on her bruises. “Did Ratchet check you out yet, either?”

Still standing by Optimus’s ped, that thing was like 3x your size, how did she not notice this before . “Already covered this, but I am not in critical health and I have the right to refuse treatment from strange doctors, thank you very much.” Looking back up to the prime, Ashlyn continued speaking, her voice ringing clear in the hanger, something that made her wince. “I understand the explanation about the war, but the way you worded it sounded like you guys came here in response to energon's presence here. If it's abundant enough to exist on other planets, why didn’t the Decepticons go to an uninhabited one? Wouldn’t that be easier, to mine without hiding their presence from very widespread sentient life? If energon is rare and unique to a mechanized planet like your own, then why’s it on earth in the first place?”

Optics shuttered slowly for a moment. When they came online, Ashlyn suddenly understood all the ‘tired dad’ memes she had seen featuring the prime.

This level of mental exhaustion was glorious to behold.

“... Answers will eventually reveal themselves when they are pursued.”

You have no idea do you?

The rest of the introductions were rather lackluster. Ashlyn was too mentailly drained to do much other than the bare minimum and the ‘bots weren’t the best communicators. Other than trying to convince her to let Ratchet scan her, it took both her and Jack to convince them it wasn’t necessary. 

Almost like the idea of broken blood- eh, energon vessels, no matter how small, required medical intervention to prevent permanent damage.

Cybertronians, so fragile .

Ashlyn would take her victories where she could. And the utter horror and fascination she witnessed as she explained how the capillaries would repair themselves quickly and the blood would be reabsorbed without any external aid was something she’d treasure.

Thankfully, no one brought up the fractured rib, she’d need some time to justify that one.

It really wasn’t so bad, Bumblebee and Bulkhead were very welcoming, promising to battle on the kid’s racing game and invitations to view the next monster truck rally were given and accepted in the typical caring but halfhearted way. Numbers were exchanged and smiles given. Friends hopefully made.

Soon she was preparing to leave.

Because her home was so isolated, and she didn’t live anywhere close to the bas e, Ratchet would ground bridge her a short distance from her house. 

The old ambulance was also appointed her guardian, the medics sputters overshadowed by the bridge’s rumble. Ashlyn waved as she ran through the bridge, her call of “it was nice to meet y'all!” lost as she teleported back to familiar surroundings.

Yet, as the bridge closed behind her, leaving her in a forest already darkened by night, Ashlyn couldn’t help but feel like a stranger.

There was something that felt off. An urge to call for a bridge suddenly surfaced, an innate desire to stay near the prime, an odd impulse with her secondary urge to yeet the prime farther away than the earth’s moon.

She shook it off. 

The forest was dark, the type of wood where a killer hides or a mystery lurks, but Ashlyn recognized it despite the dim light. Luckily for Ratchest, the girl wasn’t easily lost. To her back was the powerplant and in front of her was the shadowed outline of home. Watching for fallen branches and holes, Ashlyn slowly made her way back. She’d left her phone at home, a good thing since there was never a chance of her having to explain the futuristic tech, such a weird thought , but the moon’s appearance made it clear the girl had likely broken curfew.

Hopefully, her mom wouldn’t be too mad, and the boys not too worried.

Walking around to the front of the house, Ashlyn frowned. Only the light post in front of her building was lit, the rest of them were off, shrouding the street in a darkness that almost made it seem like none of the neighboring houses were there. The already spaced out design and thick trees could make it seem like that on a good day, and without the light, it was as if the Moore house was the sole occupant in the void of trees.

Wind pushed against the girl’s face and tugged on her clothes. It was a strange feeling, one that brought on a strange sense of deja vu, like a forgotten dream, hands leading her somewhere she didn’t want to go.

Once more shrugging off the sensation, Ashlyn Moore continued forward.

A heavy feeling in her gut grew as she walked up the driveway, a prickling that was an alien sensation at home. This house offered safety and love, Ashlyn had no reason to feel fear. The small, primal piece of her mind, the part that pulled her from nightmares and watched the shadows, was deeply, deeply afraid.

The girl put her key into the lock, glancing upwards, she wondered if the tree by her bedroom window had been leafless last time she saw it. She could've sworn it had been swathed in green buds, ready for spring when Fowler first came. Now it looked a step away from winter. The twisted black branches waved softly under the moon, silent despite the way branches crashed together.

 She hadn’t felt any wind.

Turning the key Ashlyn entered into a barren home. The air was stale and the foyer felt empty. Furniture had been pushed against the walls, black table cloth covering every table, empty picture frames and plates scattered on top.

This didn’t feel like home anymore. Ashlyn felt like an intruder, and interrupter of something grave and serious.

But this was her house. 

The girl moved quietly at first, careful and all too aware of the heavy silence, but when she didn’t find her mom in her bed, or the boys in theirs, caution gave way to panic.

“Mom?” she cried, “David! Jeff?”

A staticy silence met her words.

Running up to her room, Ashlyn bolted to grab her phone, still by her bed exactly where she’d left it this morning. Her hands reached for the device, already preparing for that default ringing and the voice of her mom opening over the line. She’d take any explanation, any explanation over this panic and fear and wrongness .

Her finger never turned it on.

The smell of cooked meat found her nose, and a teary-eyed Ashlyn heard the banging of plates descending from the cupboard and the voices of the people who moved them.

“Jeff! Let the dog out and give her a runaround quickly and make sure she has water! David, when you’re finished setting the table, can you please go grab my glasses? They should be in my work bag. I’ll go grab Ash and then we can eat!”

With an unrestrained sob Ashly turned around, leaf-budding tree branches waving joyfully outside her window. 

The girl leapt into the arms of her mother, grip tightening around her as she cried into her shoulder.

“Oh, good you’re here! Ashlyn, it’s time for dinner.”

Breathing heavily, Ashlyn nodded into the woman’s shoulder. Thankfully it was all just a dream, a really bad dream.

Opening blurry eyes, she caught a glimpse at her reflection.

Ashlyn screamed.

A girl with her face, watched her with glowing optics, and she stood holding nothing but air.

Chapter Text

The base has become more welcoming, more like home to Ashlyn Moore. In a way, it might been because the scene of such an ugly couch seated in front of the old tv on a platform in the middle of the base is familiar. She’s seen this space for years from behind a screen. It's distinct, recognizable, unchanged.

Sometimes there will be a swirl of misgivings, a hint of rising nausea when the area is disturbed. Chairs brought in, clutter rearranged, an unseen drawer suddenly being revealed. Those are reminders that this isn’t just a backdrop anymore, the seats and games aren’t props. This is real. 

She doesn’t know the real version.

Ashlyn surges forward anyway, unwilling to lose this last bit of life like she’s lost…

She won’t lose this. She won’t.

So the girl swallows her grievances and despair. Ashlyn Moore brings things, bit by bit, as the days pass. A small succulent, a bag of books she ‘forgets.’ a bundle of blankets she shares, and a kettle she donates.

Fowler brings coffee beans.

Slowly but surely, the base does begin to feel like a home. Here, nothing changes, here everything has color, here there are no glitches .

The ’bots don’t say anything, Ratchet quits grumbling about the ‘mess’ once Ashlyn shows off the PowerPoint presentation she made in advance, upon the bases of bettering mental health and a promise to upkeep and clean, the doctor has no real argument.

Raf adds a tally under iron will , a smile hidden behind his computer.

Optimus though, Optimus she can feel watching her. Silent judgment and concern never voiced but clearly present. The prime makes her feel uncomfortable, she can never relax around him. The murmurs have, thankfully , stopped, but a clear residue of unease permeates her mind every time the prime opens his mouth. Ashlyn Moore refuses to be cowed. It's unclear, tremendously so, what exactly has happened to her and what is happening to her, but the girl refuses to be held back, to be chained by it.

If she’s stopped looking into mirrors, it doesn’t mean anything.

Taking a sip of her hot tea, Ashlyn hums to herself in a method a little too similar to Gollum than she’d like to admit. Spying Ratchet’s optics flicking towards her, the girl flips the page of her book and tries to look invested in the plot. After a moment of surveillance, the medic turns away and refocuses on his calibrations.

Ratchet really hasn’t been that involved with her just yet. The other kids regularly spend time with their guardians, even in the short time Ashlyn’s been present, it's easy to see the deep bonds that have already started to form. She envies them, just a little bit. Yet, she can’t help but be thankful her interactions with her own guardian have mostly been through banter and companionable silence. If the old mech had started to push her… she didn’t know what she might accidentally reveal. Banter was good. Banter was safe. If she didn’t make a soulful connection, it wasn’t the end of the world.

She was okay.

Besides, it wasn’t like Ratchet was actively ignoring her. He’d simply been consumed with bringing the base back to its optimal conditions. Or as optimal as they could be with ‘such primitive technology.’ She almost wanted to see Ratchet's face in ten years, when virtual reality and self-driving cars were a thing.

Primative my aft.

Taking another sip of her tea, mentally debating if she wanted a cup of coffee after this portion of heaven finished, Ashlyn let herself bask in the bustle and life of the base. Ratchet was working at his station, like usual , and Jack and Raf were doing something by the computers as well. Miko was out helping Bulkhead with his “chores,” predictably counting down the hours till she could convince him to take her dune-bashing.

Ashlyn had politely declined the offer to join them.

As friendly as Miko was, likely due to her status as the only fellow human girl on base and her ‘sass-attacks,’ whatever that was , the girl was still painfully protective over her relationship with Bulkhead. Even if they had both offered to include her on the excursion, Ashlyn didn’t want to be a third wheel.

She was also not a fan of crashing into things for no reason.

“Alright chores are done!” speak of the rascal and she shall appear, “ Now can we do some dune-bashing?”

Miko perched on Bulkhead’s shoulder, ready to roll out for some fun. Her partner did not seem to share that sensibility.

“I don’t know Miko. Last time, I spent a week picking sand out of my articulators.”

Spying his charge’s disappointed face, the wrecker quickly offered an alternative, “Uh, but, there’s a monster-truck rally in town.”

Miko opened her mouth to reply, hair buns somehow perked up with her mood, but the pinging alert cut her off before she could talk.

Ashlyn couldn’t help but feel like she was missing something. The conversation, the statements made, pulled at the back of her mind, painfully familiar in a deja vu way.

They probably were in reference to the show, but which episode?

“Optimus,” Ratchet’s voice, tinged with disbelief quickly solved that question,  “I’m receiving a single from a restricted band. It appears to be coming from a starship inside this solar system.”

Hot tea spewing from her lips, Ashlyn hacked and coughed wildly, hand waving away the concerned looks from the ‘bots and kids.

“-I’m fine! I’m fine!” breathing deeply and wiping her mouth, the girl continues, “So, are they a friendly visitor?”

“ It is an Autobot identification beacon .”

Yep, it's that episode. 

Con Job isn’t the worst situation to be in, Makeshift, for all his potential, ends up foiled by the end. That did not mean she wanted the con anywhere near her in the meantime. But wouldn’t it be weird if she refused to come back tomorrow all of a sudden? While it could be passed off on other days, dodging the entrance of a new recruit would be easily remembered. And if she kept dodging uncomfortable scenarios, wouldn’t that start to look suspicious?

Kudos to overthinking. Damnit, it looked like she was going to stay here then.

At least it was better than home, that place. Ashlyn had taken to wandering the streets, or meandering around town when she wasn’t at the base. Her home street was increasingly gaining similarities to something out of the Twilight Zone. Sometimes her neighbors' homes were there, sometimes they weren’t. Sometimes the trees moved on their own, sometimes it was still enough to be mistaken for a painted wall. There were never any other people, though. Never any animals either. The Moore’s were the sole inhabitants of the forest.

But that didn’t seem particularly true either .

What Ashlyn had seen in her mirror, it didn’t make any sense. The reflection had her face, made the same pose she did, but, ignoring the obvious eye issue , it moved differently than her. Like someone was wearing a costume of her skin, a mask hiding what lurked within. Yet it didn’t seem like a person either. 

The reflection wasn’t alive, something within her told her that. Like the boundaries in a dream, the reflection could only be what her subconscious willed it to be.

For some reason, her mind had willed a twisted amalgamation that made her cover every mirror in the house.

Her mother hadn’t noticed. Or if she had, she didn’t comment other than her familiar statement; “ it’s time for dinner .”

So yeah, home wasn’t very homey.

Thus, her displeasure at the imminent ‘con invasion' was increased. Still, she couldn’t help but smile as Bulkhead raved about Wheeljack. The fact that the green ‘bot was excited was the understatement of the  millennia. Miko was a close second, feeding off her guardian’s glee, the girl practically vibrated out of her boots as Bulkhead placed her in the human zone. 

The base buzzed with excitement, the two wreckers lighting up like cracked glow sticks, but no one was immune to the infectious glee. No matter how close to the chest, or chassis  the rest of the residents were playing it, the mood had lightened and amicable curiosity was a tangible addition to the air. Even Ashlyn couldn’t help but smile, just as susceptible to the rising excitement despite her future knowledge. 

Wheeljack had always been a fun character and Makeshift, despite his clear potential, proved to be a minor threat in the long run. The spy would be a nuisance, one that would be handled with care, and could be batted away like an annoying fly within a few hours.

Yes , Makeshift would be nothing in the long run. The timeline dictated it so, and so it would be. 

Tension eased, Ashlyn settled down, listening to the stories Bulkhead told of his long missed friend. The green autobot didn’t go into much detail, promising the impending guest would provide all the gory details in their fiery brilliance. 

A quick glare from Arcee and he tacked on the fine print of age appropriate content .

Eventually, the stories stopped, curfew dictating that it was time for the Jasper residents to leave, and by extension, Ashlyn herself for convenience sake. 

She didn’t linger in her blanket, and her heels didn’t drag as she walked down the stairs. Ashlyn Moore most certainly did not consider instigating a sleep-over that belonged to those cheesy fan fics, there were no visualizations of hot chocolate and pillow fights. The girl didn’t try and will one of the kids to suddenly think up the idea.

She didn’t feel disappointed when the three pairs of tail lights disappeared down the hall either.

Ratchet would have argued.

Had the old medic been more aware of human behavior, less reliant on cybertronian EM fields, or more emotionally involved than his war hardened spark had let him, perhaps he would have questioned a few things. Maybe he would have reached out, tried to connect, try to understand this little enigma Optimus had saddled him with and the universe had gifted.

Alas, he did not.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

Emerging from the forest, Ashlyn walked by the main road. It was dark, but the full moon made it easy to see where she was going and the girl had already become very familiar with this path. She didn’t particularly feel like going back to the house right now. Her home seemed more hollow every time she returned, and the girl wasn’t inclined to deal with strange hallucinations right then.  Besides, a midnight café was supposed to open tonight and Ashlyn was craving sugar.

Nothing better than a warm cookie on a depressing night.

And so, Ashlyn chose her path.  Peacefully moving like a specter within a memory, her mind blessedly empty and the world eerily quiet. There were no lights, no people, nothing but a girl and ill kept pavement littered with leaves and shorn branches. Ashlyn had never felt so calm.

It was as if the forest was a void, a black hole hidden by an ever thinning veil, and she floated in its depths, oblivious to the inevitable destruction around her.   

The glow of headlights peaked out from behind her and the girl moved farther off the road in response. She had just been trailing the edge, but Ashlyn would rather not explain to the ‘bots on how she’d been hit by a car far away from her home. Cybertronians may not be too aware of human customs, but wandering down what was technically a highway at almost twelve in the morning- stupid time difference- would raise red flags for anyone with a working brain. Would Fowler get involved if he heard about it from the ‘bots? Would they regulate her even more than the mandatory visits? Would they come to her house and speak to her mom?

Na , Ratchet would probably give her a lecture. Or just ‘ep’ at her. Like a chicken. A very huffy chicken.

The headlights stayed on her back, burning into her spine, and Ashlyn realized  the driver was not passing her but actively slowing down .

The car was cruising, moving forward, just at her shoulder, not quite side-by-side, but enough that the driver would clearly be able to see her face. He moved back again, painfully obvious, headlights skewering into the lone girl like a speargun in the hands of a diver, just waiting for the chance to pull in prey and bring them into the uninhabitable unknown.

Please tell me this isn’t some trafficking shit! My life is stressful enough!

Not wanting to give the driver incentive to do anything, Ashlyn slipped her hand in her jacket pocket and gripped the self-defense tool she held onto for years. The metal spike might look non-threatening, but it could definitely do damage when aimed at an eyeball. 

Hopefully this is just some idiot who's lost, they might’ve not even seen her, her jacket- she's starting to match the rest of the kids in predictable fashion choices - is a black color that would blend into the nighttime backdrop. If they did see her…well, this guy was moving a bit too deliberately to be a simple catcaller.

Still, weren’t you supposed to verify if you were being followed before you called the police? Mmm, gut says no.

One hand still holding the weapon, the other pulled out her phone from her back pocket, before typing in the sacred number of 911, Ashlyn decided to take a quick selfie. Never a better time to check your mascara and get an image of your potential stalker. Of course, with her luck, the phone had the flash set to automatic. Why did light have to be so noticeable in a dark space?

The quick beam was borderline blinding , and the shutter click eerily similar to a nail slamming into a coffin. There was no way someone could miss that.

Except… this guy did?

The car- purple from a quick glance - didn’t accelerate or swerve, it didn’t run her over or park and release a waiting predator. It kept going. Pace steady and lights firmly placed on a terrified girl's back, tires crunching as it slowly passed over leaves and twigs in the dark road. It was, perhaps, the most terrifying thing it could have done.

Tense and keeping the vehicle in her peripheral vision, Ashlyn unlocked her phone, ready to call 911 or duck into the woods. Maybe she’d just jump out of her skin while she was at it. Jump back into her old world, jump into space , jump anywhere but here .

Looking down while keeping your head straight, shielding a glowing screen with your silhouette, and maintaining the same easy gait, all simultaneously was far more difficult than it should have been. Terror had a way of stiffining legs and freezing bones, of shaking hands and pushing paces. Heart ramming out of her ribcage only to slam its way back in with every second. This type of fear tasted different than the one she felt on the battlefield, or the base, or even her personal haunted house, whatever that freaking was . This was like drinking ice, cold and clear, tearing up her insides and weighing heavily on her gut.

Ashlyn unlocked her phone, and ice turned to acid.

Rage cut through the ice, melting her bones into something more usable even as the urge to throw back her skull and howl her agony with a shrill scream battled against the call to give in to a silently frozen end. Ashlyn would not die frozen. As much as that anger was killing her, she held it close, pressing its toxic fumes to the walls of her heart. Ashlyn Moore was warmed with bitterness.

Her thumb moved through her contact list, the number new and significantly longer than 911. She hovered over it, thinking it over. 

Blinking away tears Ashlyn shoved the device back in her pocket. 

No one could help her. Not the 911 dispatch, not her guardian… and not her mom. 

She couldn’t bring other humans into this, not when a silver Decepticon insignia practically glowed against the ‘con’s violet paint job. Even if it was just a vehicon, Ashlyn didn’t feel inclined to expose the loosely kept secret anymore than it had already been. But she couldn’t bring Ratchet into this either- not without drawing attention to her home. Would Fowler put her in the system? She wasn’t exactly a minor but she wasn’t a stable-income-adult either. She didn’t want to leave what she had left, no matter how shallow it was. 

Fire burned into her gut.

Ashlyn kept walking, her steps heavy and back straight. She listened to the vehicon slowly follow, crushing leaves echoing brittle bones, and, in the moonlight, she spied a small rock lying a few paces ahead, nestled into the curve of the road.

Small being an operative word, it was easily the size of her fist.

Her heels dragged as the wind blew, invisible hands parting her hair and long fingers pushing her back. Ashlyn smiled, naturally as one does. 

The vehicon followed.

Ashlyn’s mind deliberated, it wasn’t too late to call the base. She could call Ratchet now, all tears and whimpering, she could call aliens forth like rabid guard dogs on this poor drone, she could watch him get blasted into the allspark, she could stand to listen to a lecture. She could nod and look apologetic as she was reprimanded and comforted, she could follow them back to base, she could fall asleep on that old couch with her tea, she could be safe .

But when, since she’d the moment she’d first arrived, had Ashlyn ever been safe .

Her foot kicked a decaying branch. It rolled onto the street, and the sound of a crunch followed within the minute. The vehicon was moving closer.

Ashlyn Moore made her decision. 

She breathed.

And

She

Moved 

With a fluidity alien to most Cybertronians, Ashlyn plucked the stone from the earth and threw it with all her pent up rage and fear.

JA332 didn’t know what hit him.

The organic moved so fast , the object appearing in her hand like it had been summoned from the air itself, JA332 hadn’t had time to process, his circuitry confused at the sudden influx of information and his processors scrambling to calibrate at the swift change in predicted behavior.

The rock hit its mark with a single solid thunk . 

The vehicon stalled in the road, tires reflexively stopping, and the organic disappeared into the dark foliage. JA332 quickly transformed, an odd sensation with such a fragile part of his frame cracked, the projectile still embedded within the screen. There was no pain for the drone, no permanent damage, but his surprised systems quickly calculated the amount of misery his failure would bring him at the servos of his new second-in-command. The Medic had been very upset at the damage his finish had sustained during that failed mission, and was humiliated that a lowly organic had escaped him and prevented his rightful success.

JA332 had the privilege of walking nearby when the Medic had promised their new Lord that the human was inconsequential and would be disposed of for their offense.

The Medic had given JA332 a set of coordinates and told him not to return without the flesh-bag, dead or, preferably, alive.

JA332 didn’t want to spend cycles looking through this primus-forsaken biome. Not when the atmosphere was filled with angry EM fields and the flora always moved. Not when he hadn’t been able to get a signal back to command, or even to 0AV10 or A331IA. They were probably gorging themselves on his rations right now, safe in their bunks, up and away from this cursed planet.

So, no, JA332 didn’t want to be here.

Ignoring his own alerts and misgivings, the vehicon followed the human, like the good soldier he was. And like a good soldier, the drone kept going, even as the forest closed around him, as the human completely vanished, and as that anger that had stalked him since he’d first bridged to that Utility Structure, JA332 kept following.

He should not have followed.

Ashlyn, however, was blind to the vehicon’s thoughts. Darting through the trees, leaping over roots and ducking under branches, the girl only heard the snap of trees and hammering of earth as the soldier followed. Pine needles slapped her face as the cold air sliced her nose, the human breathed heavily, her ribs rattling against her heart as she ran.

The wind pulled her close.

Ashlyn was tired, so tired , of all of this. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be at home.

Like a child running from their dreams, the quivering girl, so strong but so scared , was pulled back to that darkened house, her very soul leashed by love and broken home.

There were no voices that guided her, no arbitrary screeches or imprints of emotion that rattled her bones, it was Ashlyn’s pleas alone that filled her mind. The wet and heavy breaths, the panic coiling  around her lungs, and the silent rage was all her. 

She didn’t ask to be here. She didn’t ask to meet the bots. She didn’t ask to insert herself into the story. She didn’t ask for the hallucinations, the voices that acted like some screwed up ‘boss music,’ she didn’t ask for any of it!

She just wanted to talk to whoever did this to her. Just talk ..

The atmosphere thickened, the air heavy and full. Ashlyn darted out of the trees, she didn’t see the gnarled branches of her tree waving her forward, she didn’t see the moon hide behind a cloud’s skirts, she didn’t know JA332 stopped behind her in the shadow of the trees. She didn’t see the vehicon hesitate like she had on that fateful night not long ago. Ashlyn didn’t know the metal creature, scratched and dented, confused and hesitant, held his servos over his spark-chamber, as if such a pathetic action would protect him in the face of such a powerful and ancient energy field. As if anything could separate him from such undiluted wrath .

Ashlyn didn’t know any of it.

All the girl knew was how the door flung open at her fingertips and how warm the empty house was. Ashlyn didn’t notice, or maybe she just didn’t care, how silent her home was, how her siblings were gone, her mother missing, and her dog had disappeared. She didn’t care that the house was shrouded in gray and just as cold as outside. She didn’t care as she stumbled onto the floor and dropped onto the carpet. 

All Ashlyn cared about was the soft fibers in between her fingers and the contentment of the familiar.

All Ashlyn cared about was the safety found at home.

Tonight, the house held her close.

Tonight, Ashlyn was safe .

❧ … ❧ … ❧

JA332 returned to the nemesis, cracked windshield and shattered pride, he was silent as Breakdown worked on him. Processor frozen and spark cold, the vehicon didn’t react to Breakdowns probing or treatment. He didn’t react when Knockout returned either.

JA332 didn’t speak to his bunkmate, 70HN, or offer explanations when his brothers questioned him. JA332 didn’t react at all.

Until one day he finally spoke.

JA332 would tell his brethren the story of the human he’d been asked to follow. He’d describe the sudden change in presence, the blinding speed and scraplet eyes. He told of the organic forest, of the twisting shadows and ghostly wails. He’d tell of the fields he’d felt. The faint imprints of spark memories, so vivid and strong, and the dwelling that was shrouded in them.

For now, JA332 would remain silent.

Soon he would speak, soon he would explain. The little soldier would remain with that little ghost story, not the jeers or the teasing or the disbelief would change his testimony.

Soon, JA332 would speak.

But it would be some time till he was heard.

Chapter Text

When Ashlyn wakes she’s never wanted anything more than to return back to sleep.

Back to an empty dream and the sensation of safety that encircled her small form. Instead, she forced herself up, sleep crinkled in her eyes and neck aching from the odd angle she’d kept herself in. Her limbs are heavy and her heart slow. Ashlyn doesn't want to leave, she doesn’t want to face the world, and she doesn’t want to move on from this moment.

But she does anyway.

She has to .

So she tells herself as shaky legs stand and tingling feet move. The house is quiet, with no sounds of her family, no movement of life, the walls are bleached gray and the light is a hollow white. Ashlyn is the only semblance of life here, her clumsy bumbling and bovine wandering is the most vibrant thing this morning. A lone weed in a bleached tomb.

The girl carries on her morning routine as she always does, brushing her teeth, showering, and skipping breakfast. Moving through her closet, the girl ignores the still gnarled branches outside her room, instead, she focuses on grabbing clothes before returning to the bathroom. An aching heart ignores the small spot where a thumping tale would usually be.

She’s not going to think about it, she's not going to cry.

Her outfits all seem to be indistinguishable from each other, a wardrobe blurring into a single uniform, separate pieces only distinguishable by the most minute details.

Black jacket. White shirt. Blue jeans. Trusty combat boots.

Is this what it means to be a cartoon character?

She shudders at the thought.

In the... Before , she’d never been a fashionista per se, but there had been pride in her appearance. Enjoyment in choosing how she presented herself to the world; whether that be with sweats or oversized earrings. A character in a story doesn’t get to choose . A drawing doesn’t get to be spontaneous. Animation can’t act unless dictated.

Ashlyn Moore is different. She is not a cartoon character , she is real .

But aren’t the other characters real too? 

The mirror in the bathroom is still covered, the bedsheet draped haphazardly, secured with nails when the thing just would stay up.

Idly, the girl can’t help but trace the edges of the thin fabric. Would she see that reflection again? Did she want to?

Her hand moves back, slowly, reluctantly , and Ashlyn, in her predictable outfit leaves for a predictable day,

It's time to meet a con.

When she exits the ground bridge, Jack asks if she’s okay. With such an open and calm face, normal and content, Ashlyn doesn’t smile as she replies.

With averted eyes, the girl blames the excitement for her sleep loss.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

Ratchet makes a mental note of the human- his charge’s behavior, humming as the girl takes her usual seat, nesting with a blanket on the couch. The medic is certainly growing in paranoia, his- the human’s demeanor, no matter how subdued, is not indicative of a health issue. Ashlyn has only been present at the base for a week, and her spitfire attitude has been rapidly diminishing. Such a thing was not a cause for concern, the organic may have been putting on a front, a coping tactic that Ratchet had witnessed many times in the aftermath of battles, or silence may simply be her preferred setting. 

His research into the earthling’s mental constructs had been surprisingly overwhelming, Cybertron had its varieties of personalities, but no one had ever tried to explain them before.  Their version of this ‘neurodivergence’ was also significantly reduced; before the war, individuals who could not perform their designated function were terminated. Or, if life proved cruel, regulated to the pits or a scientist’s table.

Humanity let its brethren remain. Allowing for a wide spectrum to exist, some so high functioning that they would never be thought of as different.

And different wasn’t wrong , it was… unique.

The old mech ignored the guilt that rose in his spark, the memories of the shadows that lurked within Cybertron’s golden age alongside its light. The Decepticon’s no matter how noble their intentions, how compelling their words, had darkened his home forever. 

That triumphed over any morals he may have had.

Cybertron came first .

With a huff, his optics flickered back to his charge, the girl who had remained quiet, dark circles standing out against her skin. Was it paler than yesterday?

Perhaps she was simply, what was it that Raf said? An introvert . A class of humans that found solace in the quiet and solitude. It would explain the decrease in socialization if Ashlyn was constantly hounded by the children, and her time dominated by new people and a new environment after surviving an almost lethal encounter with a Decepticon… Ratchet could understand if she required a period of rest.

He’d let her recharge in peace. For now, he’d focus on finishing his repairs, a process that should be completed before the new arrival came, but time may force him to carry on after Wheeljack arrived.

Ratchet would focus on his task and surviving the sudden wrecker invasion. Ashlyn would receive his attention later, perhaps she’d enjoy a supplement to aid in recharge? 

After Ashlyn’s refusal of care and her interesting descriptions of human biology, Ratchet had taken it upon himself to do some research. Verify the data that has been present. The mech had found himself simultaneously disgusted and intrigued. Humans were not Cybertronians, many of his treatments would be ineffective or obsolete to the species. Still, he’d obtained some supplies a few days ago, ignoring Optimus’s knowing look. What type of doctor would he be if he couldn’t care for those under his care, especially his own charge?

Guardianship was a sacred duty, it was not something to be taken lightly, not if you respected the old ways and the Ancient laws.

A guardian will protect and serve, to offer their life and preserve at all costs.

As the original primes had decreed, Ratchet would obey.

He was Ashlyn’s guardian. 

She would never be in danger again.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

Ashlyn looked danger in the eye and did not flinch.

She had told no one of the incident that had occurred the night before, not wanting to draw more attention than necessary and unsure of what it meant to find a vehicon patrolling near her home.

The kids had never run into a Decepticon, outside of the ‘bot situation of course until they were being kidnapped to use as leverage. Kidnapped outside of their high school . That meant the Decepticons had already gone through the trouble of locating all three and holding onto that information until it was useful. Or, at least Starscream did.

That little Facebook stalker.

Maybe the vehicon was simply trying to observe? Verify data? The ‘con had been way too deliberate for it to be a coincidence. Unless it got a kick out of scaring randos, Ashlyn had been a target, and the purple muscle car was there for her .

Still, it didn’t make sense, she hadn’t done anything noteworthy! Raf had to hack Decepticon servers to get Soundwave’s attention, Miko had to murder an insecticon, and Jack had to be given the key to vector sigma ! All she had done was have an attitude and… prevent Knockout from completing a mission.

The Aston Martin wouldn’t be that petty… right?

Nope. He totally would.

At least Ashlyn hadn’t caused any physical damage. The narcissistic jerk would definitely have her head for that.

He freaking tossed a racer off a cliff for keying him! Knockout has no mercy when it comes to his paint job.

Maybe she should invest in a weapon, a tongue lashing didn’t seem like the most effective weapon against titans. Food for thought.

A ping sound jolts her from her thoughts. Gun license later, ‘con now.

Wheeljack’s sent the signal, coordinates, and a distress call. ‘Con’s closing in and aide needed.

The kids cheer them on as they leave, soldiers ready to defend a comrade, unwilling to lose another spark. Even Bulkhead, in all his glee and confidence of his friend’s prowess, charged forward with an expression that promised pain to any who proved him a liar, calling through the ground bridge that a med bay was unneeded.

Ratchet prepped anyway.

Picking at her cuticles, Ashlyn held her breath along with everyone else. Eager to get this day over with already, her apprehension seamlessly blended with the concern on Jack and Raf’s faces. Miko remained a shining ball of optimism.

It was easy to see why she was one of the most, eh, hate was a little strong- disliked , characters of TFP. The teen might have been entertaining from a distance, and her guts were admirable, but the way Miko seemed almost disconnected from reality was aggravating. Blind to the danger inherent in war and reckless when it came to not only herself but the lives of others.

Miko was selfish.

She was absorbed in her own world, her own universe that catered to her entertainment and her wishes. Hardshell would fracture that world with a single shot, decimating it with an almost lethal blow. 

Ashlyn was being unfair, most of the events she was judging hadn’t even happened yet, and Miko was a teenager . A young girl that shouldn’t need to think like a warrior.

Miko shouldn’t have to be afraid.

That didn’t mean Ashlyn lacked the resounding urge to smack some preemptive sense into her dyed head. She relegated it to a weary sigh, feeling far too like an old man, back bent and eyes clouded. Already weary of life… and it's only been two weeks .

She was built to binge-read insanity, not live it!

Jack, the angel, the chosen, the blue-eyed maybe -protagonist hidden underneath unseasonable long sleeves, couldn’t help but raise a brow at such a weary worn noise.

“Hey,” He hesitated, despite having spent a few days at the base, Jack never really talked with Ashlyn, the girl didn’t really seem interested in ‘friends.’ Her bright smile was tense and her face was just a little too expressive. Now she looked exhausted, raw, and it was the most natural expression Jack had seen since he’s met her. She seemed a little more human, more like a person, more like them.

He shouldered on.

“Are you okay, Ashlyn?”
She offered a tired smile, not quite meeting her eyes, and Jack couldn’t help but think that she looked so… faded at that moment. Nothing like the iron will that battled Ratchet.

His concerned face evoked more of a response than Ashlyn wanted, uncertainty tinging her syllables as the words slipped past her lips, “I’m fine. I-I just have a bad feeling. Like something bad is going to happen, really soon. And maybe we can do something? To stop the bad thing?”

Was it too late for her to bash her head against a wall? Because, wow, Ashlyn’s speaking ability was amazing. Books should be written on her elegance and silver tongue. Take notes, this is how you communicate information subtly to people!

Miko, who was apparently listening to Ashlyn’s entire stuttering mess, can’t help but butt in. She rolls her eyes, smirking as her painted nails repeatedly poke a tense shoulder, “Dude, you superstitious or..?” 

The girl leaves the question hanging, a thousand continuations lingering in the air, are you weird, psychic, from an alternate dimension where this is a tv show you’ve memorized into your heart and soul …

Eye twitching, Ashlyn ducks away from the offending hand, frantically moving her own, her rambles drowned out by the ground bridge starting up again and spluttering like an engine in need of fresh oil, “No no, nothing like that. I just… you know… I’m…” She sighs once more, resigned and in need of coffee muttering a “ never mind,” as the ‘bots arrive.

The newcomer has stolen any attention her ill-formed words have gathered anyway.

Makeshift is a master at his art.

Of course, given the rarity of those with his ability, it makes sense for the Autobots to be so easily led into this farce. Yet, identity issues aside, wouldn’t it make sense to place greater scrutiny on the unidentified mech? Bulkhead may be vouching for him, but they’ve been apart for centuries . Wheeljack could easily be a defector or an Autobot extremist, and Team Prime would never know. Not until it would be far too late.

Had eons of war made them complacent? Or was such a change uncharacteristic of their long history of fighting?

Then again, they didn’t already know who this was.

This was Wheeljack. A friend, a legend, and potentially also a crazed arsonist.

Only Ashlyn knew Makeshift. Thank the Lord Makeshift didn’t know her .

Fighting to maintain a poker face that would make Gaga proud, Ashlyn watches the introductions from a distance. She might be slightly envious of just how easy the spy is able to slip into his role, hiding his true face behind calm words and confident swagger. Damn those social skills!

Bulkhead points out each member, offering names and short descriptions. 

Soon they move on to the humans. Only a few steps from their entrance, but, Ashlyn can’t help but feel that the Decepticon has crossed her last moat. 

The boys nod, Raf shyly but surprisingly uninvolved, Jack is interested but keeps his distance. This is a wrecker reunion after all. He’s got all the time in the world to speak to Wheeljack later. There is no rush.

Ashlyn doesn’t move from her spot at the back of the, admittedly small , crowd. Bulkhead glosses over her, keeping to the script, he introduces Miko, pride ringing out as his charge and best buddy finally meet.

“This is Miko, she can wreck with the best of us.” 

Wheeljack-Makeshift smirks, leaning down to better see the little organic, his reply full of apparent humor, “You keep Bulkhead outta trouble?”

Miko, ignorant of the irony, responds in kind, her eyes dazzling and smiling bright, unknowing of the truth behind her words, “I try but trouble finds us.” 

Ashlyn can’t help but cringe.

The movement, small as it is, draws the spy’s attention, optics flickering to the forgotten fleshling. 

“And who is this?” Shifty asks, servos balancing on his hips as he grins sharply, “You a little wrecker too?”

Does the plot want me dead? Drive me insane and make me vanish from existence?

There is the overwhelming need to cry wolf, to bar this predator from her home, an instinct to protect . It's like a sudden program rearing its head, an ugly little glitch worming its way to the forefront of Ashlyn’s consciousness, suddenly it's not her she worried about, it's the prime .

What would hold Makeshift back from an assassination attempt when he’s revealed? What would prevent a ‘con with nothing to lose from trying to go out in a blaze of glory?

Shaking her head, Ashlyn dispels the thoughts. They’re ridiculous, and she knows it. Optimus can take care of himself, far better than she could ever attempt to.  Besides, the best thing would be to just keep an eye on the imposter. The real Wheeljack ended up taking advantage of Starscream’s plan and used the ground bridge as an escape. The timing was coincidental but extremely important. Better to just let things carry on as they’re meant to. 

“Na?”

Coming back to reality, the spy has a disbelieving look on his face. Did.. did he think she answered him?

“Aw, humble little thing aren't ya.”

He totally thinks that headshake was for him.

Miko, slinging her arm around a thin neck, pulls Ashlyn forward. The girl bumps into the railing, eyes wide and mind swimming.”

“I’m working on her,” Miko sings, “Ratchet’s too much of an influence.”

I will gladly take the boring hermit thank you very much!

The interaction is uncomfortable, and Miko’s exaggerated behavior further antagonizes Ashlyn’s own anxiety.

“Ashlyn! Can you come help me calibrate this?”

Ratchet, you are my favorite person.

Looking over to her guardian, Ashlyn shoots him a grateful smile. Worming her way out of Miko’s grip, and muttering welcomes to Makeshift, she tries to approach the medic at a calm natural pace.

She fails miserably.

Ashlyn stays there as the welcome party starts, not really doing anything despite Ratchet’s request. She’s not a tech genius, and her knowledge of technology, even future technology , is mostly limited to finding the ‘on’ button. She doesn’t leave, though. Sitting near the controls, watching a master at work.  They say goodbye to the prime when he leaves, Optimus choosing to carry on patrols rather than join the ‘party.’ While Ashlyn would love for him to stay, to serve as extra protection at the very least, such a thing would contradict the original storyline. The storyline where Wheeljack lives and the base stays safe . 

The girl is unwilling to risk deviations from the plot, especially when driven by her ever-growing paranoia. 

A piece of her is relieved when the prime leaves. Tonight, he’s safe.

 If it were quieter then she might ask questions as the medic works, but the loud music and voices drown out any tentative whisper before they can begin. Still, Ashlyn can enjoy the peace, the artificial distance so similar to when she was simply a viewer. It is nice, soothing even, to be disconnected from the chaos. The girl doesn’t even know how deeply she’s zoned out until Ratchet’s servo rudely pulls her from her thoughts.

Literally.

Arms reflexively cover her head as the ball of metal crashes into the wall, mere inches from where her squishy had been. 

Ashlyn can’t quite breathe, the oxygen trapped inside of her like a heavyweight, but she can’t do much really. Frozen in her guardian’s hand, all Ashlyn can do is watch the metal sphere slide down the wall, eyes wide and blood pounding.

She can feel the servo around her, smooth, gentle, and slightly warm. Ratchet handles her far better than Breakdown did, sheltered by the other servo and held close, a frame ready to move and adapt to any threats. 

It's settled; Hatchet, you have my undying loyalty.

Ashlyn blinks, hands gripping the groves between armored pieces, the world slowly bleeding back into focus. 

It's the yelling that hits her first.

Blinking dumbly, it takes a moment for the sounds to merge into words, but the emotion behind them is startlingly clear. Ratchet is pissed .

If Ashlyn had not been cradled in a protective grip, she might have seen their metal armor quivered, bristling along the shoulder and back, the way optics flashed, and the subtle hint of a blade threatening to emerge from an unoccupied servo. Cradled as she was, all Ashlyn knew was the harsh cadence and barely restrained tone of her guardian.

“- you slaggers ! Did you not think before you just started lobbing like untrained sparklings!?! You almost killed Ashlyn! We brought the humans to base to keep them safe, not squish them ourselves!”

Oh no .

Ratchet wasn’t nearly this upset in the show, and Makeshift was able to use this incident as an excuse to talk about the ground bridge and learn about its technical issues. How was Shift going to diffuse this situation? Would he diffuse it? The ‘con was within blaster range of Miko and Raf easily, and the other ‘bots seemed decently perturbed. Arcee had subtly moved in front of Jack, scowling at the imposter.

This was a bomb ready to blow.

The real Wheeljack would probably love to detonate it. Ashlyn was not so inclined. Yet .

Tapping the massive silver hand, in a hopefully calming manner , Ashlyn spoke, “I-It’s okay, Ratchet, I’m alright. It was an accident, Mak- Wheeljack didn’t mean any harm.”

Oh Lord, oh Lord I almost said his name. Please let him not realize, please let him not realize!

Meeting the optics of her almost-murder, Ashlyn shivered at the hard gaze on such a laid-back expression. She smiled, a shaky small thing, understandable for someone who had narrowly avoided permanent injury. Or of someone looking at the promise of it . Swallowing hard, the girl continued, eyes just as sharp and voice honey sweet. “They’re just excited. Wheeljack wasn’t actually trying to hurt me, that would be an extremely stupid thing to do. Especially when I’m under your guys’ protection.

Besides, if I managed to survive a Decepticon raid, it’s going to take a lot more than this to kill me.”

False face met false face.

Neither flinched.

Chapter Text

The party moved on, the incident was soon forgotten. Ratchet still kept his hold steady, choosing to place his charge on his shoulder as the medic continued his work. Ashlyn was thankful.

Any modicum of anonymity she had was gone. Makeshift may have continued to play his part, indulging Miko and fooling Bulkhead, but his optics constantly flickered back to the medic. Darting between Ratchet’s shoulder and the ground bridge. Staying so close to her guardian might be protecting her from a curious or angry Makeshift, but it also prevented Ashlyn from warning anyone about the ‘con. Perhaps it was cowardly, a little voice in the back of her mind certainly thought so , but Ashlyn didn’t leave Ratchet until Makeshift had already left with Miko, asking to be put down only when the thunderous footsteps faded into the labyrinth of the hallways.

It was a pity, Ratchet’s shoulder was really quite comfortable.

Bulkhead stared into the dark hallway as if all the answers to all the secrets he could ever care for lurked within its shadowed air. Arcee was talking to him, but she wasn’t offering reassurances or excuses for any ‘odd’ behavior. If anything, the femme seemed even more irate, glaring down the same hallway as if its inhabitants had personally offended her.

That wasn’t the only odd thing either… Where was Bumblebee?

The scout had just been dancing in the corner. She thought at least. Bee wasn’t a major character in this scene, so he had mostly gone ignored. Was that a mistake?

Steeling her nerves, the girl marched forward, hesitating slightly in Bulkhead’s shadow, white-knuckled hands gripping the railing. She should be braver than this! What kind of weakling couldn’t speak their mind? Couldn’t warn someone?

Arcee was, in a word, miffed.

The wrecker had been a welcome addition. Wheeljack had been a spark of hope, a reminder that they weren’t completely gone, not yet. When he agreed to join the team, Arcee wouldn’t have hesitated to call it a blessing from primus himself, a valuable increase to their ranks, a respected war hero, someone used to the odds they fought with. Wheeljack had been a blessing.

But now Arcee hadn’t thought blessings came with a cost.

The femme could justify Bulkhead’s notice of different behavior, being isolated in a ship had a way of messing with any ‘bot, and it had been a very long time since the two had last seen each other. She’d been prepared to argue against the misgivings with logic and reason, not wanting to risk offending the recruit and chasing him off only because of a little social anxiety. Then Wheeljack lobbed that ball.

It was a very stupid idea, throwing around in the main hangar, so close to sensitive technology, when they had a training room available. The kids wanted to watch, and still be included, and the training room didn’t have platforms or designated areas that would keep them out from underfoot. With organic safety in mind, the hanger seemed safest. They’d play carefully, aware of those watching on the periphery, and all would be well.

Then Wheeljack lobbed the thing right at the one human not in the safe zone.

Arcee felt her spark freeze as she tracked the movement and realized its landing sight. Thank primus Ratchet was right there, she’d never seen the medic move so quickly or look that upset.

Arcee understood perhaps more than the others did. It hadn’t been so long ago when Cliffjumper died, the memory of his mutilated body still fresh in her processor. It was not difficult to paint energon red and armor pink. It was not difficult to see Jack dying like her partner.

As his guardian, she’d rip out her own spark before letting him get hurt again before a Decepticon could get their claws in him.

Ratchet almost lost his partner to a comrade's recklessness. It was a sober reminder of humanity’s fragility.

It was a moment worthy of thought.

Wheeljack didn’t seem particularly apologetic for his actions, a pattern of behavior that matched the subtext of Bulkhead’s stories. Arcee didn’t know if new members were worth the trouble.

Bulkhead did not ease her fears.

They both watched Miko excitedly chattering, her animated behavior as loud as ever and a deep contrast to the silence her partner had fallen into.

“Miko,” Arcee needed to talk to Bulkhead, without new audio fins nearby, “Why don’t you show Wheeljack around the base with Bumblebee?”

“Oh Yeah! Then we can take him dune bashing, come on dude, I’ll show you the ropes!”

The organic’s smile was undamped, unaware of the shifting attitudes around her, if Wheeljack shared the same ignorance was unclear. Still, the ‘bot followed the little girl without a fuss. The scout has pulled aside, half bending over to compensate for the height difference, Arcee hissed “watch him.”   before letting go. Optics flicking back to his own partner, Bumblebee silently nodded.

He ran after the soldier and the child, beeping animatedly before scooping up Miko. The girl’s shrieks and groans of exasperation faded into the air as they walked on.

Bulkhead grew a little less tense. Optics still focused on the shadows that had swallowed his charge, but servos no longer clenched. His voice was a different matter, a tight growl, as if his gears clenched, solid and unmoving, firmly bound and just waiting to be released.

“Something’s not right with Jackie.”

“You think? I know you guys are old friends, but he cannot pull a stunt like that on the base again.”

“Na, it's something else. Jackie wouldn’t do something like that. He can be a rustbucket, but he’s a rustbucket with a reason. ”

A squeak stopped their conversation in its tracks. Looking behind her, Arcee met the wide eye and pale face of Ashlyn. Her spark softened, the girl had already been exposed far too much to the dangers of war, and their promise of safety proved hollow today, no matter their intentions. None of the kids should be at risk in the outpost.

The girl’s mouth opened and closed, her eyes watery and wide. It was a striking difference from the human Arcee had first met. Guilt wedged its way through her, and Bulkhead’s cold EM field echoed the sentiment. Ashlyn wasn’t their charge, but she was under their protection.

How could you protect someone who was already hurt?

Ashlyn’s face was one that screamed of pain, a deeper kind of misery that reflected Arcee’s own, grief shoved down and smothered. Slowly eating you inside out. 

It made sense that those small interactions could be so harmful, outmaneuvering death was traumatic to anyone, and humans were so fragile.

“Hey, kid, you alright?” Bulkhead’s voice lowered a bit, still firm but the tone was clear that Ashlyn wasn’t the target, “I-I think somethings not right about W-Wheeljack.” Breathing the girl seemed to change her airflow, inhaling through tiny nostrils and exhaling by mouth. It was an odd thing, this breathing , but the action seemed to help the girl, her voice more steady and her eyes clearer. “I know you care about him, but… something feels off about him.”

“I’m sorry about what happened to you Ashlyn, that's completely unacceptable and Wheeljack will give you a proper apology. You don’t need to be afraid of him.”

“Arcee, I’m not afraid of him- well not really , I’ve seen things scarier than his mug. But it's like he’s being so fake , I feel it in my gut he’s hiding something.”

“What does your digestive system have to do with anything?”

“It's, ugh , it's like a sixth sense Bulkhead, an instinct that warns against danger.”

“ You guys have a what?!”

“Have what?”

The room must drop several degrees, it must, because there is no way anything else could make every muscle shiver and contract, no way Ashlyn is this cold from Makeshift alone.

To be fair, he’s just the cherry on top of the pile of shit my life is right now.

“A danger sense? It's not like a radar pining off everything that could hurt someone. It’s like intuition. A knowing that you can’t really justify. You just know there's someone you need to avoid, or a space you need to leave.”

It finally begins to dawn that explaining this may not be the best idea. The Autobots are one thing, but telling the person with the bad vibe, you know the bad vibes is begging for trouble.

“You just… trust it.”

On your hands and knees, begging for trouble.

The Decepticon is glowering at the girl, sure Ashlyn hasn’t booted him yet, but Makeshift was trained to see any potential threats to his cover and take them out . The girl has been traipsing over the line with every word that's left her disgusting flesh mouth. Her shifty eyes and behavior mimicked Lord Starscream to an absurd degree, wisely planning and moving behind the scenes as Megatron warred and battled.

She wasn't nearly as subtle.

Makeshift knew a liar when he saw one, knew when someone held back secrets and sealed their voices. He was built to weasel their stories out, to be gifted their hidden things under the guise of trust and another face, only to skewer them in their own deception. Makeshift could see now, how Knockout and Breakdown had been played for fools. He had sprouting kin here, an artist in lies beginning to grow.

This human had secrets.

But this human didn’t trust him.

Smart fleshy

The script moved on. The Battle of Darkmount Pass was told and details explained, details proved wrong , and identity called into question.

It felt like a formality, the revelation that Makeshift’s information came from a public service record was hollow and predicted. Tension stayed stagnant, the group against the mech before this identity was revealed.

How had she changed so much?

Well, that wasn’t completely true, a human was still being held hostage.

It wasn’t Miko, who was still safe on Bee’s shoulder, nor was it Ashlyn, flanked by Arcee and Bulkhead, unaware of the wrench Ratchet griped threateningly behind them with Jack standing by. It was someone else who was taken, a little boy that had wandered without his guardian, unaware of most of the drama.

In a sure lunge, Rafael was in Makeshift’s hold.

The boy bleated in surprise, like a startled lamb stolen from his shepherd’s side, Raf bucked and kicked in the ‘con’s grip.

Ashlyn saw red .

The boy is roughly jerked in front of the Autobot’s faces, they stop in their tracks at the pained yell, Bee bleeping animatedly.

“ Easy now, plenty of fighting to come!”

Makeshift’s true voice, so elegant and smokey, is proud and calm, assured in his hostage and control. Clearly, the Autobot scum cares about the indigenous vermin. Their reactions when one was threatened verified that.

Miko is crying, and that’s what snaps the coils that hold Ashlyn back because Miko’s crying and she didn’t even cry in the original story when she was the one held hostage. 

The sound of cracked ribs finishes it all.

Raf is so small , only his shoulder and head are not covered by enclosing metal, it’s not broken legs that are at risk, it's a broken spine . 

No one’s moving, not as Makeshift moves to the ground bridge controls, not as Ratchet’s explaining the bridge needs a few more minutes to finish calibrations, not as Makeshift explains that the real is “being made sport of.”

No one moves. Too busy thinking, too busy computing.

Ashlyn doesn’t think.

She screams the same war cry she did at the plant, the same cold instinct taking hold, the same adrenaline roaring through her system. The plot no longer exists, the timeline is inconsequential, and the consequences and butterfly effects are beyond her.

All there is her and MakeshiftI.

A velvety voice turns into a squeal as Ashlyn yeets herself over the railing, jumping onto Makeshift’s passing form and gripping on his armor like a koala on the last eucalyptus tree in the universe.

“W-what’s it doing? Get off! Get off!”

Decepticons, so squeamish.

Maybe due to his unique status as a shapeshifter, but Makeshift’s armor is surprisingly easy to hold onto. Riddled with grooves and near-invisible seams, his frame is built to adapt and mimic. Consequently, it had more handholds than a jungle gym.

Baring her teeth in a feral smile, Ashlyn moves across the frame of the panicking cybertronian, a look crossing her face that reminded the Autobots far too much of a scraplet’s death grin, the human reaches the limb where Raf is held captive.

The boy's glasses have fallen off, leaving an unobstructed view of his face. Scrunched up and tearful, it is the only encouragement Ashlyn needs.

She offers no secondhand chances, no demands, and the Autobots can only stare in horrified fascination.

Orange and blue morality is a fascinating concept. For a human, survival has a tendency to overrule most ethics, and maiming is a legitimate response to a threat.

Cybertronians tend to place the group above themselves, often referring to remnants of the caste system when saving others or obscure laws with long-forgotten reasoning. That said, they do have lines . 

A T-cog, for instance, is off-limits.

The protoform wiring, hidden just under their armor, and full of powerful sensors are also off-limits. 

Ashlyn really doesn’t care about orange and blue morality, right now, she just sees the filaments in the gaps between Makeshift’s plating and she pulls .

They’re soft in her hands, delicate and truly fragile. Her fingers curl around them with ease, nails fraying them with every jostle and tug, deceptively flimsy internals for such a hardened form.

Has Ashlyn completed a war crime? Has she successfully pulled off a torture method the war wrote off years ago? Are the Autobots deeply disturbed seeing someone so nice and quiet turn so brutal?

Yes.

Makeshift’s scream is hoarse and glitching, Armor rising up like electrocuted hair, he drops Rafael and stumbles back. Ashlyn slides down his frame, bending her knees as she lands and running back to safety without a scratch. She pulls a stumbling Rafael behind her, his wheezing breaths more of a comfort than he could ever know.

Makeshift is still screaming, it slowly loses the glitching hiss, becoming more normal even in its inhuman length. The Decepticon stumbles, his arm’s not working right, the plating moving, colors switching as panels realign, and the entire limb looks out of control. It moves roughly in a decidedly robotic way, the servo opening and closing like an arcade game’s claw, completely useless for the frame it belongs to.

Makeshift's other arm, the only one still working, grasps at the ground bridge's controls. Ashlyn doesn’t know when he had time to input the Nemesis’ coordinates, but apparently, he did. Horror rings out as the ground bridge activates, the blue whirlpool of energy finally working properly and it's when the base is going to be invaded.

Ashlyn just smiles.

Maybe that’s what Makeshift sees, barred bone in an organic face, eyes reflecting light so well they seem to glow.

He doesn’t have time to think about the knowing look or the cruel ferocity behind it. He doesn’t have a moment to regret his mission or the ridicule he’ll face when his master learns it was a lowly organic that caused such damage to his systems.

He doesn’t have time to sod anything but see the organic and wonders if those are golden optics instead of eyes.

He never sees the mech crash into him.

Not until it's too late.

The bridge is no longer an invasion route, it's a path for escape, and escape Makeshift does. Running through the ground bridge unaware of the beeping light on his spinal strut.

His return certainly left an impact. Surviving drones spend the next cycle cleaning up the blast radius.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

Raf was fine, a sprained ankle from a bad landing and some broken ribs were the only injuries he suffered at the hands of the Decepticon. Bumblebee acted as if he was dying, the scout absolutely refusing to leave Raf alone. It was cute.

Ratchet kept both of us on lockdown in the medbay. It's actually kinda sweet, Ratchet chasing all the others out, even Bee when he got too panicky, poor bug just watched from the entrance , refusing to let anyone in and damage our recovery period. He did agree to get Raf sent to an actual human doctor, and practically had a spark attack when he learned a compression wrap was the prescribed treatment, and even that was falling out of use. 

He continues to mutter about the ‘fragility’ of the human species, barbaric health practices, and… scraplets ? What would scraplets have to do with anything?

For the most part, things returned to a calm order, the real Wheeljack was actually a pleasure to interact with. Or was fun to watch, witnessing Ratchet go on a manhunt for a few of his missing wrenches was a show worthy of popcorn. Almost as much as Optimus’s face plates had been when he returned and learned about the spy and hostage situation.

He stuck around for the re-welcome party.

Of course, Ashlyn still received a lecture on the proper management of hostage scenarios and a crash course in Cybertronian war ethics. Escaping one smothering ‘bot for another, it was very difficult to maintain eye contact with a prime when you're told you’ve done something, not even a ‘con would. However, when she pointed out that a Decepticon might respect protoform wiring simply because the average Cybertronian was too big and lacked the instruments to properly interrogate without outright killing the subject, and not because it was one of the handfuls of moral laws that were still respected, Optimus seemed to blue-screen for a moment.

Closing his optics and looking up at the ceiling, it almost seemed as if he was in prayer.

“Ashlyn… What type of interrogation methods do your people use?”

“Depends. How important is the information? How valuable is the subject? What time period? Do they acknowledge the Geneva Convention?”

Spotting the confused look, Ashlyn continued, “the Geneva Convention basically established the humane standards of war, what is and is not okay for a country to do. Like the treatment of civilians, prisoners of war, and other stuff.”

“And all humans follow those laws?”

“All nations that signed it.”

“I see.

…

“What did you mean when you said time period, Ashlyn?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Blinking, the prime seemed to consider. Keep his optimistic outlook on humanity or risk it being crushed by a child that, from what his team reported, tore into the enemy without the slightest hesitation. 

It was a defensive behavior , he told himself, on behalf of a fellow youngling .

No. The prime didn’t need to learn about humanity’s interrogation methods or viewpoint on violence. That could wait another day.

Someday.

One day?

❧ … ❧ … ❧

The next visitor, that Ashlyn meets, isn’t who she expected.

“So you're the other wrecker.” 

Looking up from her usual couch spot, the human meets the smiling face plates of Wheeljack. The real Wheeljack.

His grin is warm and bitter, cocky in a smirky way. It's every bit as honest as Makeshift was false. The same expression, same face, yet so very different.

 “I heard you couldn’t be at the party 'cause Doc was keeping you cooped up. That was pretty brave, what you did for the little guy.”

There was no apology in his words, no pity or worry. It almost sounds like… respect.

Ashlyn didn’t deserve respect.

If she had managed the situation, steered things, been in control, and been brave , then things could have stayed to script and no one would have been hurt.

“Eh,” She muttered looking down at her hands, “Not my first experience with a Decepticon. I wasn’t anything special.”

“I’d disagree, Firecracker.”

In a deadpan that emulated the very spark of her guardian, Ashlyn interjected, “My name is Ashlyn.”

“Well ‘Firecracker’ suits ya, ‘cause ya sure let out some sparks in that fight. Not everybody is willing to tangle with someone stronger than them, even to protect someone else. Ya could have let the others take care of it but ya didn’t. You went to save your friend and you absolutely wrecked that slagger while you were at it.”

“You put a bomb on him.”

“And that's all I needed to do. Thanks to you, so give yourself more credit, kid.”

Wheeljack smirked, apparently finished with his pep talk. Brushing his servos as if wiping off dust, the mech moved off, “I’m gonna be leaving now, looking for more friends and dealing with more foes. Thought I'd say goodbye since you are part of team prime. Try to avoid other cons, from what I’ve heard you’ve had quite the trouble.” and with that, the war hero lumbered away. He doesn’t turn back, doesn’t say anything more as he leaves, has no promises of return or explanations, and Wheeljack didn't need to.

Ashlyn knew he’d be back, Jackie always comes back , but she’d miss him a bit. 

“I like to think of it in the reverse!”

His laugh echoes behind him.

If only she could have spent more than two minutes talking to him

Chapter Text

Optimus was in trouble. 

Of course, that wasn’t a unique experience. The Prime had continued through adversity before, continuing fights that any sane mech would surrender to. Like Earth for instance.

Fighting 1,000 to one, limited by arbitrary laws, hidden from an inquisitive populace, doomed to never return home. It was worth it, to protect such a unique species. The children’s laughter and smiles served as an invigorating reminder of how important their intervention was.

Most of the smiles were.

The latest addition, Ashlyn Moore, was an enigma. The youngling was fascinating in a rather macabre way. She was honest and clearly intelligent, pointing out holes in arguments and questioning the very bases of the discussion.

She reminded him of a younger Megatron.

Like Megatronous, they both shared a talent for speech and a talent for surviving. They both had the same look about them, a calmness that was shallow and a ferocity that burned through their depths.

Originally, the Prime had thought the dream cycles were in response to that. Seeing such similar traits of his corrupted brother in a fresh life and anxious not to repeat any former mistakes.

Reliving the memory files of the council meeting so long ago was a painful endeavor. Seeing the betrayed look on Megatronus' face was a solemn reminder of the compromise he agreed to within those chambers.

What compromise wasn’t worth saving the lives of his people?

Megatron hadn’t shared the same view.

It had come as a surprise to the Prime when his memory files began to change and the recharge cycle disrupted.

Twelve shadows had stood by him, standing in the waters of an energon pool as a metal world burned around them all. There was always a faint taste of rage, misery, and of wrath. Like the imprint of bonds long lost, they hovered around his predecessors like -what was the human phrase- smoke on fire.

The original Primes never moved, and never reacted to the cut cords of grief. Optimus could not help but admire them for that, only a traumatic severing could leave a bond in such a state. It was expected for the survivor to eventually terminate as well.

Even in the lingering edges of the Matrix, these imprints of memory were burdened by their loss.

“Prime”

“Take what has been given.”

“Guardian”

“Prime.”

“Take.”

“ Restore .”

The Matrix was always cryptic in its directions, limited to only memory, the relic could only provide so much clarity. All Optimus knew was that he saw Megtronous in Ashlyn. He saw a chance to fix his mistakes. He saw the duties that were required of him. He saw a choice awaiting him.

Optimus was in trouble.

Once more, Optimus wished he was simply Orion Pax.

The matrix simply hummed by his spark, a little brighter than it had been before.

Optimus was in trouble.

What was he going to do?

Chapter Text

Life was good.

It had become predictable in a sense. On weekdays, Ashlyn would be bridged to base at precisely five o’clock, Eastern Standard Time running a full three hours ahead of Nevada’s Pacific Standard Time, the girl would end up returning home at almost one in the morning due to the ten pm curfew the other humans almost seemed to share. Weekends were even longer .

For some reason, no one seemed to consider the time difference.

Ashlyn kept to the other kids' schedule, it was better than drawing attention back home. No need to alert the ‘bots about her ‘family’s’ current oddities , or explain how she hadn’t been to school in almost a month now.

She’d tried. The small high school was nothing more than a clear acre of dead trees and shrubs. The only man-made item was the powerlines cutting through it and a billboard promising a new shopping center, “coming soon near you!”

Even her hometown seemed smaller. As if her little corner of the world was a small stone in a vast ocean, wearing away with every sweep of the tide, bit by bit, being lost to the greater force surrounding it.

No, Ashlyn didn’t need to draw attention to it. 

So life was good. It was exhausting and draining, plagued by insistent worries and continual dread, but it was predictable in its way. Expected and understandable. It was something to work with. Ashlyn, after the Makeshift fiasco, had decided to map out all potential calamities and the best way to avoid them. It was obvious that simply keeping her mouth shut wasn’t going to work. Her self-control wasn’t quite that strong. 

However, neither was Miko’s, the teen unwittingly serving as a massive encouragement for Ashlyn’s own mortality crisis. If the adrenaline junky with the attention span of a squirrel not only survives but manages to kick some tailpipe , there has to be hope for the overthinker.

Chances of survival seemed high enough. Thankfully, humans were never a target; they were collateral . If Ashlyn followed her cues and ducked out of the splash zone, she could survive this.

She just needed to stand by. Witness the carnage. Do nothing.

The world will be better for it.

With a sigh, the girl  leaned against her new-found BFF, the couch creaking slightly under her weight, and listened to the chatter around the base. Miko had been understandably disappointed when Wheeljack left, but she moved on quickly. Video games, off-roading, and school were valiant distractions. Ashlyn would know.

The murmur of activity was calming, a white noise that drowned out anxiety, and comfort in the typical behavior. Predictability was a gift. Predictability was an anchor.

Ashlyn was weary, bones tired and eyes heavy, the long days hadn’t been too kind to her. It was difficult to sleep at home and arduous to wake up when she did. But here at the base, feeling so tired and surrounded by the last vestiges of familiarity she had, Ashlyn could relax. She could close her eyes. Just for a minute.

It would only be… a minute.

And then…

She could figure what had happened to her.

… and maybe…

How… to… get home.

Just one minute.

The girl smiled as a blanket draped around her small form, subconsciously nuzzling the soft fabric in her sleep. Ratchet didn’t coo at the behavior. But he didn’t stop Miko from taking a picture. 

The organic promised to send him a copy.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

Something was burning.

The girl could feel the heat slamming into her face like a wall, ash clogging her windpipe, and soot seeping into her lungs with every wheezing breath. She could feel herself bobbing in cold waters, and the ocean’s current pulling her up even as something hard held her down. 

She felt them, the metal bones, grasping her arms and legs, frozen around her waist, curled around her neck.

She couldn’t move .

She was frozen in the icy tide, dead metal frozen, waiting for something to break the stalemate, something to give. Caught between two sides, the heat on her face renewed its bluster, melting the flesh from her face even as the water froze her blood. The girl did not look, did not see, did not acknowledge the water or the flame, eyes remaining blind even when she lost the lids that had sheltered them.

Ashlyn would not look.

The flames roared with rage, a cluster of stars forming within the harsh light, twelve beings with flames in their hearts and bodies of ice. She knew they were angry, knew they were frustrated. Clicks and warbles hurt her ears, and if Ashlyn could touch them she was sure she’d find blood.

The metal bones tightened their grip, a familiar rumble emerging from hollow shells. The voices were as wrathful as they’d ever been, but there was no sorrow when they addressed the stars, not like there was when Ashlyn heard them.

I̵͖̳͉̥̪̖̰̖̓͆̏͊̄͘f̸̪̰͈̺̩̝͈͂̄̀̇̓͛͂́ ̴̧̥͈͎̲̜̳̻̬̳͚͈̫̻̎͜ẇ̵̢̧̨̛̯͙͙͓̹̥͕̜͔̈́̉͌̀͛͜ͅę̶̜͔̔̿͐̄͠ ̵̻̱͙̤̮͍̮͖̖̭̾́̊͐̑̅̂̓̈́͘͜͠r̶͙͇̝̯͈͔̰̂͝o̸̧̧̢͈͖̯̖͖̰͎̘̱̫͎̪͘͝t̴̜͚̟̤̱̖̗̼̬̙̳͔͗͜,̵̣̝̙̥͇̥͚͙͂̆̀̾͗̌͒̚ ̵̡̢̧̭̬̪͓̯͉̖̖͖̠͍̌̐̋͜ẗ̴̠̪̳͔͈̩̞̬̠̯̮̲̜̠̖́̀̅h̷̡̝̤̟̻̹̖̟̪̜̩̟͓͖̄̽̐̍͗̆͐̒͆̕͝e̶͔̱͎̳̞̖̞̠͈̘̔̑̍̽̇̈́̄͝n̴̢̟̟̰̼̭̼͓̝̝̫̦̠̫͗̿̀͛̀̿͑̎́̚ ̸̡̭͉͙̦̱͔̘̭̥̬͕̇͜l̷̡̧̥͓̝̘̤̻̜̜̝̣͋͐̑̌͌͘͜͠e̵̫͈̰̮̓̎͗͆́t̸̮̭̉͐̊̑̊̈́̍̾̏̓͋́͘͝ ̵̘̀̔͛̅͛̑̇̎͘͠y̷̨̢͍̮̮̼̗̘̞̹͓͓͒̄̀̎̕ỏ̷̳͓͈̭̀̅̾͒̈́̈́́u̶͚͍̤͔͍̠̱̩͚̗̱̮͑̉͗̓̄̍͋͠ͅ ̴̲̝̥̀̈́͐̔̾̏̈́̔̍̓̕͘͝b̶̢̛̯̤͔͙̟̠̙̠͉̰͓̺͆̄̎̄̃͊̑̇̕ū̵̢̧̟̟̗̭͕̟̘̹̠̫͕͚͌̾͂́̅́̐̈́̐ŗ̴͈̘͙͎̍͐͆̅̀͘̕͜ņ̶̛͕͙̠͔̹̩̬̫̯̤̞̬͋͆̔͂̂̀͛́̓͐̉̚͜

She could hear the screams of the dying and could feel the flames surge uninhibited and uncontrolled. 

The stars disappeared and the bones released her.

Ashlyn sank beneath freezing water.

The voices rose in a crescendo, a thousand voices decreeing injustice and a thousand voices vowing vengeance. As Ashlyn's fingertips stroked her face only one word emerged from the den of memory, a single cry, 

P̴̨͖̖̪͈͙̬͙̺̓͆́͛̋̎́̌̍̓̐́͝ṙ̶̡̙̪̤̪͉̻̼͙̼̞̳̫̐̃̄͋̇͜i̸̧̧̡̛͉̥̘̱̜̺̱͓͙̎̎̍̈́̏͛͐͋̀̿́̈́͝͝m̷̨̼͚̞̦͇̲͖̩͈̄̇͆̋͊̿̔̽͋̆͝ͅȩ̴̛̝̘̱̽̀̐̀̿͐̄̏́̾̋̏̽͝

Ashlyn could only wonder why her skull felt like metal.

P̴̨͖̖̪͈͙̬͙̺̓͆́͛̋̎́̌̍̓̐́͝ṙ̶̡̙̪̤̪͉̻̼͙̼̞̳̫̐̃̄͋̇͜i̸̧̧̡̛͉̥̘̱̜̺̱͓͙̎̎̍̈́̏͛͐͋̀̿́̈́͝͝m̷̨̼͚̞̦͇̲͖̩͈̄̇͆̋͊̿̔̽͋̆͝ͅȩ̴̛̝̘̱̽̀̐̀̿͐̄̏́̾̋̏̽͝

“Prime! Prime !” 

Fowler's obnoxious voice jolted Ashlyn out of her nap. 

The girl squealed awake, the blanket twisting around her as she rolled off the couch. Rising quickly, her arms in a form that vaguely resembled the begging stance of a martial artist, Ashlyn’s head darted around, hair whipping, as she surveyed the base.

William Fowler’s face was the scariest she could see.

Heart beating wildly and wiping the cold sweat from her brow, the girl sat back down. The nightmare was fresh in her mind, as she breathed, willing herself to calm down. It was only a dream. Only a dream.

It was a very cruel dream.

Optimus moved forward to the large central screen, Arcee tailing behind him, answering the video call with his usual solemn decorum. The predictable mask of respectability and wisdom. His voice seemed more resigned to the incoming conversation, unaware of how deeply his bland reaction was comforting to the nearby organic.

Ratchet, who had answered the call looked on with a face perfectly emulating the expression of the famed grumpy cat. The medic spared his charge a sideways glance, returning his focus back to their liaison when it was clear the girl was alright. The agent’s yelling likely brought her out of recharge early. An event he had heard most humans did not appreciate.

 “Special agent Fowler?” the prime’s steady voice answered, his optics seeming to glass over as he continued,  “To what do we owe -- “

“What else? 'Cons!” interrupting the prime with such indignation, Fowler rolled his eyes, demeanor remarkably close to a mother seeing the room she just cleaned messy once again.. “I chased them off with some hard ordnance, but not before they blew me out of the sky.” 

“Again?” someone asked, Ashlyn couldn’t tell who, more concerned with rubbing her temple. Ah yes, Convoy , the terrorist episode. This she knew. Stuffing down the horrible dream, Ashlyn let the conversation flow in the background, only half-interested in a script she clearly remembered, the girl was more concerned with how she was going to deal with a distinctly human adversary. The ‘cons might be terrible, but MECH is downright horrifying.

Still, predictability returned, the scripted words and reactions flowing easily between characters. 

Her heart rate began to slow.

“They tried a smash-and-grab for the D.N.G.S.”

“The what's-it?” Arcee questioned with a befuddled look. Not that anyone could blame her, whoever named the device was clearly a questionable character.

With a long-suffering sigh, one that testified to the number of jokes and questions the agent had dealt with already, Fowler continued. “Dynamic Nuclear Generation System, A.K.A, the D.N.G.S. It's a prototype energy source I'm transporting to the coast for testing.”

“That's absurd.” chuffing, Ratchet rolled his optics, “Why would Starscream bother with such primitive technology?” 

“I'm guessing to make a big fat primitive weapon of mass destruction. If this baby were to melt down, it would irradiate this state and the four next door.” Adding, almost as an afterthought, Fowler continued, “Besides, they’ve gone for it before. At the plant where Ashlyn saw all of ya’ll.”

“Wait.” That wasn’t in the script, “That thing was near my house?!”

Paling, Ashlyn stood up and marched towards the screen. From this angle Fowler wouldn’t be able to see her, but, oh, he would hear her .

“Oh Lord, do you even know the long-term effect that thing could have on the environment? Am I going to deal with radiation? Genetic mutations? Cancer ? Oh, my future babies! I can never have children!”  Gasping suddenly, as if a great revelation had been gifted to her, “is that why my house was so cheap?!”

Grabbing his nose, the screen glitched in time with Fowler’s sign “Ashlyn you're fine.”

“Are we? What state are you in?”

Raf’s soft whisper of “ What she said. ” went unnoticed.

Ignoring the girl’s dramatics- and legitimate questions - Fowler continued, pointing at the ‘bots through the screen

“I'm a sitting duck here, prime. I need you to spin up your bridge and send the D.N.G.S. to its destination before the 'cons come back for it.” 

“I’m afraid that sending such a volatile device through a ground bridge is out of the question.” Ashlyn could practically he If there were to be an accident during its transmission, the radiation of which you speak could propagate through the ground bridge vortex and harm all 50 states… and beyond.”

Nice dramatic pause.  

“Ya got any better ideas?” 

“We will guard you, and young Ashlyn will help with the transport.”

wut.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

The world was out to get her, the universe wanted to correct its mistake, and reality wanted to mend itself and dance on her snipped thread.

This was the only reason Ashlyn could accept.

Agent William Fowler agreed with the prime’s reasoning because she was ‘one of the few with real-life experience,’ and ‘possessed practical knowledge of the D.N.G.S’s fail-safes.’

Ha! Next time she keeps her mouth shut.  

This was supposed to be an easy episode, the worst thing was having a stare-down with a jerk in a ski mask on a train that had its tracks blown off, Totally safe!

Now Ashlyn was going to be in a much more dangerous spot; right next to the Autobot stage as MECH takes in the sights of their biomechanisms like children in a free for all candy store!

Miko yelled for her to “have fun!” as she opened Optimus’s door and sat in her seat. Crossing her arms and staring glumly forward, the leader of the Autobots shut his own door and drove out the ground bridge, trailer hitched behind him and the rest of the team following.

Ashlyn tried not to tense as the world became nothing but electronic blue.

She released the grey seat cushions once they were out, her eyes locking on Fowler’s downed aircraft. The prime, to his credit, didn’t bring attention to the girl’s reaction to the ground bridge. An odd thing considering her regular use of it. Optimus wrote it off in his mind, it was not unusual for some to be more sensitive to the wormhole than others.

Fowler jumped out of the cockpit with eagerness, his steps brisk and urgency clear in his movements. The agent motioned for the ‘bots to transfer the tech with impatience, arms moving in the universal ‘chop-chop’ motion.

When the thing was finally loaded, the man jumped into the prime’s cab, practically flying off his heels, and slammed the door shut.

Ashlyn, who’d had her eyes closed and head back for the majority of prep time, didn’t acknowledge the man.

Rolling his eyes and muttering about “teenagers” the agent rubbed his hands together, a spark of anticipation clear in his eyes as he moved to grasp the steering wheel.

Optimus did not let him get that far.

“Ah! No need, agent Fowler. I will handle the driving.”

With two humans acting like petulant children, the Autobot’s latest mission began.

“It's gonna be a long trip.”

Ashlyn only hummed in affirmation.

Engines turned over, and a call to roll out , sounded through the air as Team Prime drove onward, unaware they were about to meet one of their most deceptive enemies yet.

Oh, and didn’t the ‘con also come in later?

Why was she here?! In the original show they did just fine with only Fowler, why should this be any different? Stupid field trip. Stupid power plant.

Ashlyn watched the scenery go by, tense and brooding. She just couldn’t relax. Not when she knew what was going to happen, not when she knew how she couldn’t do anything to stop it. Then there was Optimus. Maybe it was just the dream, but the girl couldn’t find it within herself to be calm. Her skin itched and muscles clamped, nails picking at cuticles. The girls stared out the window, glaring at the passing greenery so different from the woods surrounding her home. There were no shadows among their branches. 

Ashlyn didn’t even let herself get carried around by the ‘bots. Yes, she’d been manhandled constantly since her arrival, but those were always due to extenuating circumstances and were over quickly. Sitting on her guardian’s shoulder was one thing, sitting in the servo of a creature that could snap her spine with a single digit was another.

And now she was locked inside a Cybertronian. Completely helpless and dependent.

Optimus was the final say on where they’d go and how fast. If they could leave or if they’d be forced out.

Ashlyn had no control here.

Of course, the prime would never do anything heinous.

Right?

/We are locked onto your coordinates, Optimus./ Ratchet’s crisp tone filled the silent cabin, /Barring any complications, you should reach the dropoff point by sundown./

The girl waited for the click that verified Ratchet was done speaking, but it didn’t come, /Ashlyn?/

“... Yes?”

/Please refrain from interacting with the Deceptions./

“... Do I look like Miko?”

/Ashlyn!/

“Okay, okay. I promise I will avoid any Deceptions like the plague itself. I solemnly swear. I will try.”

Fowler chuckled at the exchange and Optimus’s seat belt pulled a little tighter. After the medic had signed off, the resounding click from the comm like sounded akin to an angel’s song. Silence filled the small space. For Ashlyn, the silence was a peaceful thing. A mark of stillness, a time to reminisce and think until her mind wavered and the memories swamped her.

The silence was a gift with a heavy cost.

In this way, the three of them were similar, cool facades hiding inner turmoil, hunted by memory and ‘ what ifs, ’ each playing a role that was expected, each with a script to follow. Ashlyn just didn’t know hers quite yet.

Fowler kept glancing at her, and the girl could feel the pressure of the prime’s gaze despite his invisible optics. The itching sensation persisted and Ashlyn’s nail burrowed within her cuticles.

William Fowler broke the silence first. 

He swallowed, dark brows high on his face and eyes facing forward, “You are a bit of a trouble magnet, kid. Try not to take it too personally if the rest of us worry.”

Seeing an opening, Optimus saw fit to second the sentiment, “Agent Fowler has a point, Ashlyn. You do appear to have an affinity for attracting trouble, more so than those who actively seek out such situations.”

Rolling her eyes, fully reliving teenage angst and attitude, Ashlyn drawled, a short “Such is the way of life.” Completely done with this world and the way she could never seem to get ahead of it, never take control.

She was sick of it .

Fowler blinked, caught off guard. This wasn’t the sarcasm he’d dealt with or the sleep-deprived couch potato he’d heard about. If he didn’t know any better then he’d say the girl seemed strangely bitter. A kind of bitterness was akin to the men he’d remembered back in his ranger days, longing for a home that had moved on without them, unable to leave the missions behind.

And then it was gone, a tight smile replaced a scowl.

It wasn’t like she was trying to get into trouble. She just… wasn’t very good at watching . Ironic. Of course, Team Prime didn’t deserve her attitude. They had done nothing . Ashlyn wasn’t a child, she wasn’t some petulant teen, she need to pull on her big girl pants and get them together.

So she pasted on the smile. She’d play nice. She’d be good. And as Fowler’s creased brows smoothed and concerned gaze faded, a little piece of Ashlyn died.

The ride was silent, a few snippets of meaningless words, the world blurring outside the window as mile after mile was passed.

Miles that did pass fast enough for the agent.

Horn blaring, Fowler raged at yet another civilian; “Move it, Gramps!”

Groaning, Ashlyn sent the banged-up beetle a pitying look. It was the only damn car on the road beside them, something Ashlyn was thankful for when the car moved over to another lane. 

She waved as they passed.

“Agent Fowler,” Optimus’s voice echoed through the cabin, disapproval clear, “is that really necessary”

Fowler, immune to the criticism, only laughed, “Ah, don't tell me you're one of them textbook drivers.”

Rolling her eyes, Ashlyn watched her reflection in the red side-view mirror.

Fowler continued after a moment, hands tight on the wheel. 

Stupid, you're not even driving, why bother?

“You know, you're saving my bacon here, Prime.” 

‘I am proud to be of service.”

“'Course, not like I'd need your help if you and the 'cons had stuck to tearing up your own corner of the galaxy.”

Ashlyn kept watching the road, tense and far too aware, but she couldn’t help but snort at the agent’s words. While it may seem like Fowler had a point, the girl knew better. It was not a ‘con that shot the man down, and the Earth itself was troublesome to its very core.

Optimus, however, was unwilling to let the statement pass. His tone was rueful and skeptical, but not unkind. Rather like a teacher arguing the finer points of philosophy with a student.

 “Are you suggesting that no evil existed on your world before we arrived?”

“Of... well,”  the liaison stammered, trying to find the right words, “It was a... different kind of evil.”

Oddly enough, her snort was noticed this time.

“Ashlyn,” her skin crawled as the prime spoke, “Do you want to add anything?”

To discuss the evils of humanity to an alien who is likely one of the only lines of defense against our extinction.

Eh, if he’s already found the internet then there’s no reason to sugarcoat it.

Eyes never moving from the mirror, Ashlyn cleared her throat, and then… she spoke.

“It was easier to ignore. We’re not saints, and humans have done some pretty horrific acts, independently and as a society. Within every person, there is a capacity for evil and a nature that revels in it.”

“That's depressing.” Ashlyn nodded at the agent's words. 

Optimus was silent, the prime was somewhat caught off guard by such a dim view, especially one that applied to the girl’s own species.

“Are you saying, Ashlyn, that humanity is entirely evil? What of the good deeds done by your people? What of how you protected Rafael? While I do not agree with your methods, certainly the goal behind your action made it somewhat good?”

Ashlyn blinked. Did-did Optimus subscribe to “ the end justifies the means ?” That's what he just described right? Tearing apart Makeshift’s plating, basically flaying him alive, was justified because it saved someone else.

Nope. No, Ashlyn was not going to think anymore about that. That rabbit hole could die. Die .

Eyes finally moving back inside, settling on the rearview mirror because she was going to stay aware while being polite , the girl opened her mouth and answered.

It was not in the way Optimus thought she would.

The Prime had thought the girl would concede, agree that her kind were good decent people, and a few individuals driven made by power were the exception.

Because all sentient beings had the capacity for change, the capacity to become good once more.

Because there was still a chance Megatronus could be saved

Ashlyn did not give the answer the prime wanted.

“Optimus, decency is what is expected because decency helps us to survive . It's within our own interests to preserve the group we live within, and part of that is not ticking off anyone too much. Goodness is something entirely different from decency; selflessness, kindness, and generosity. To be bad is easier- that doesn’t mean everyone is going to murder someone else, but lying, cheating, and undermining are something we always do.

If humanity is born selfish, doesn’t that make selflessness that much more valuable, goodness that much more precious? It's not part of a status quo, it's not expected, it's… it's a gift . It's worth celebrating.”

“I see.”

It might’ve been a trick of her overly stressed mind, but Ashlyn felt the cabin drop a few degrees.

Her chest hurt as the silence lingered. 

Fowler smiled, either unaware of the awkwardness or desperate to alleviate it, “How about some radio? You seem like a Nashville-sound kind of guy, Prime.”

The sound of a helicopter blade cut off any reply.

A true and uniquely human evil had arrived.

MECH was here.

Chapter Text

Humanity was a messy ball of contradictions.

They were willful and stubborn, adaptable and changing, alone and together.

And they terrified Ashlyn.

MECH terrified Ashlyn.

The terrorist organization was all too willing to do whatever was needed to fulfill their leader’s vision for the world, and they were good at their jobs.

MECH was only emerging out of the shadows now , and they were doing it with helicopters, fancy cars, and men armed to the teeth.

They were ready for war. They had been ready for war.

Transformers: Prime was not a show for the faint of heart. It's what made Ashlyn love it. It was violent and dark, with a domino effect of consequences caused by intriguing characters and no shortage of antagonists. Megatron was horrible, the Buckethead was obsessive and had more than a few screws loose- what idiot shoves a mythical no-no rock into their soul?- but, in Ashlyn’s humble opinion, he wasn’t as threatening as MECH. The doomsday organization didn’t care if they were respected, didn’t have a divided inner circle, and didn’t bother with threats. They didn’t see civilians as insects beneath notice, but as a legitimate opportunity to get what they wanted.

MECH was humanity’s snitch.

The whooshing sound of moving blades choked Ashlyn’s tongue, and her fingers clutched the seat belt tightly. 

“That's the one! The 'con who shot me down!” Fowler was yelling and pointing, shaking his fist as if he could summon vengeance with a sharp enough glare, “Who is he? Wingnut? Dingbat? Skyguy?”

Had it been any other episode Ashlyn might have laughed.

Ratchets voice popped out of the comms with a harsh breach of static, /Watch your rearview. Ashlyn, I want you ready to bridge out the moment the Deceptions engage in combat./

“Shouldn’t there be an if in that statement?”

Engines revved.

/Feeling a little constricted without the use of my fists here, boss./ Bulkhead growled, and Ashlyn could see lime green sports cars encircle and block the wreaker from the group. One slyly crept by, appearing in front of Bumblebee who was leading their little convoy. The scout let out a whirling chirp of frustration as the backside of the sports car skillfully obstructed his attempts to drive by. 

These people knew what they were doing.

Her knuckles turned white as the seat belt pressed against her.

“Remain in vehicular mode unless absolutely necessary.” 

If only Optimus, if only you all would and they’d never find out the truth.

More lime green cars appeared, engines roaring and tinted windows shining, they came fast as the helicopter circled overhead.

“ A whole team of 'cons. ”

Ashlyn wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to get out of the damn truck and give these men a piece of her mind. She wanted to ask Fowler when he’d forgotten that there were other things out there, enemies that breathed and bleed red . 

She wanted out.

/What? I'm not picking up anything. They must be utilizing cloaking technology./

She was surrounded by idiots.

Addressing her guardian through clenched teeth, the girl tried to keep the aggravated hiss from her voice. She succeeded. Barely. “If Deceptions never bothered to cloak themselves before, why bother now? And since when do vehicons paint themselves to look like rotten guacamole?”

 /Guacamole?/

Ashlyn needed to invest in a weapon, a gun, or even a freaking knife, cartoon logic was going to kill her, secret knowledge or not.

The cars kept approaching, and a vehicle flanked Fowler's side of Optimus, presumably in an attempt to pin the driver between the visually hostile car, and the rock wall on the other side. Tires squealed as they moved forward, the green obnoxiously bright, taunting, as they came alongside. The seatbelt tightened. And then, a black sunroof pulled back, revealing two men covered in a dirty gray jumpsuit.

On pointed a gun at Fowler.

“Pull over!” 

The man… sounded almost normal . Like a guy you’d run into at the grocery store, or the next-door neighbor that was always smiled when you walked by with your dog.

Fowler seemed equally surprised. “Well, I'll be dipped!” 

“Our assailants are not Deceptions -- They are human.”

/Human?! Oh, please. Taking on our bots? They're roadkill!/

“Miko! I’m pretty sure the ‘bots don’t want to turn someone into roadkill- the guts would probably clog their tires.”

/Ashlyn!/

“Dark humor! It’s a coping mechanism!”

The MECH agent cocked his weapon, the audible click, freezing the girl's blood. Optimus swerved. The prime hit the car's rim, causing the gunman to lose his aim and fire his weapon, the blast hit the road behind them, and a cloud of black smoke and orange sparks erupted.

The two men were presumably unharmed.

Fowler's eyes widened in disbelief as Ashlyn shut hers. That was not a conventional weapon.

“Who are these guys?!”

Optimus kept driving, his seatbelt holding Ashlyn close and the girl tightened her hold.

The matrix pulsed.

“Autobots, maintain your cover and apply minimal force. Discernment only.”

The helicopter hovered close.

Ashlyn kept her eyes closed but she could see the events taking place around her. She could see another MECH vehicle approaching, weapons drawn on her side, she could hear Bee slam into him, blocking him from progressing any further.

She heard the enraged beeps and whistles.

She heard the car hit something and she could see the scene in her memory as it flipped over. Shiny chrome becomes scratched and dented, the two men looking at each other, disbelief clear even with the masked faces.

She would be okay, Fowler didn’t get kidnapped or tortured by MECH, and they never even came close to a fellow human in this episode.

She would be okay

Ashlyn did not feel remotely okay.

The road began to twist and turn, the flattened landscape and rapidly evolving into a mountainous one, the cliff face heightening and a drop-off forming. The road was becoming smaller.

Still, the helicopter hovered.

Optimus swerved, tires skidding and cabin rocking as they drove at a pace that would be reckless for any non-sentient vehicles.

Fowler gaged into his fist as Ashlyn turned green, “We could use some air, please .”

The agent nodded and pushed his head out of the opening window as soon as it started to move. Optimus opened Ashlyn's side as well, but the girl didn’t bother with it, preferring to stay inside at all costs, she simply closed her eyes, leaned back, and tried to visualize herself anywhere but where she was.

Her stomach flipped as Fowler cried out “ Prime! Bear right!”

She was a civilian! Sure human enemies didn’t fall under the original, “we protect you because Decepticons might use you,” but that didn’t mean this was okay!

Optimus’s frame shuddered as it smacked the offending olive off. Ashlyn whimpered, struggling against the tightening seat belt and gripping the gray cushions. The driver went over the cliff, crawling out of his upside-down vehicle with his tail between his legs. His partner was not so easily dismayed. The masked man hung onto the trailer for dear life, pulling himself up and settling into position, he resumed cutting at the connecting claps with a laser.

It was delicate work, positioning the blue beam just right and holding himself steady against the battering winds and jerky movements of the semi-truck.

It was so delicate, that he failed to notice one rotund federal agent coming his way.

 Optimus held himself steady as Agent Fowler went to deal with the interloper. He did not need to lose the man to one ill-timed turn. He felt Ashlyn relax as the man returned to his seat. Only to stiffen again as the agent’s radio suddenly came to life.

/ I do hope you take better care of the D.N.G.S. than you do your captives /

Fowler looked out and up to the still hovering helicopter, supervising and surveying as the others failed to collect. So the head honcho finally decided to say hello.

“Special Agent William Fowler here. Identify yourself!”

/ I am Silas. But of greater consequence to you, we are MECH. Fair warning -- We will be helping ourselves to your device, even if it means inflicting casualties. /

“Is that so?” Fowler's chuckle is clear over the coms, “ Tell me, Si, what's the market price for a D.N.G.S. these days?

She can see the smirk crossing the scared man’s face, she can see it.

“What makes you think we intend to sell it, Agent Fowler? There's a war brewing between the new world order and the newest . The victor will be the side armed with the most innovative technology.”

More green cars are coming, more armed men, and more fighting around a highly unstable power source. How idiotic are these people to instigate a game of radioactive chicken?

There’s an explosive thud from the back, like firecrackers on steroids. They’ve opened up the trailer, MECH has clear access to the D.N.G.S. now.

Ashlyn sighs in relive as she hears Arcee’s engine rev.

“So, Si,” Fowler’s voice was rife with amusement, an arrogant overconfidence, that is grating at the moment, “you think MECH has all the most radical tech?”

A blue motorcycle races out of the open trailer, landing on the green car, a move that ultimately causes the vehicle to flip, Arcee jumps back to the road, driving up to guard the back as flames silhouette her and her holo form. 

Sadie has never looked cooler.

Dismissive, the agent hangs up with a curt, “Later, Si. ”  

Is this Fowler's way of coping, of pretending to be in control when he’s clearly not? Ashlyn saw his face when that first gun went off, she saw his face as Silas ranted. Fowler was not as passive then. 

“Agent Fowler, do not take your “Silas” lightly. Megatron preached the very same ideology before plunging Cybertron into the Great War that destroyed our world.”

But… that wasn’t right, not entirely at least.

Megatron argued for a coup, a violent one, but it wasn’t to gain the upper hand or build himself as a dictator- not in the beginning. Megatron promised a chance at equality and better distribution of resources. That was why he was so popular, that’s why his followers were so dedicated.

Are you simplifying the story Optimus, or have you truly just forgotten?

/Optimus, prepare to initiate Phase 2. Five miles ahead to the south you will reach the rendezvous point./

“Affirmative, old friend. We will deposit Ashlyn along with the cargo, as we draw MECH’s attention away, she will be safe and ready for pickup as soon as the train reached its stop.”

Ashlyn, too tired to argue and numb to care bit her cuticles in contemplation.

The metallic twinge of iron was oddly grounding.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

High in the atmosphere, Soundwave was surprised to find the Autobot’s comms easy to eavesdrop on. Of course, the surveillance officer quickly brought the audio sample to Commander Starscream, the acting leader of the Deceptions who had been sulking around the nemesis for days. The mech was appropriately frustrated at the failings of Makeshift, one of his few loyal warriors was currently in stasis lock, unable to provide any information after ruined energon lines and the effects of the blast had forced his frame to power down. 

It was a miracle the spy had been self-aware enough to spot the grenade, had he suffered any further helm trauma, the mech might not have noticed in time.

It took vehicons long enough to clear the circle of soot and warped metal, it would have taken them longer to deal with a corpse.

Still, Soundwave was not looking forward to the day when Makeshift would recover and walk among them once more.

Turning to go alert the current Deception leader of this latest development, well aware Starscream would launch his beloved armada in response, Soundwave couldn’t help but think that two spies were one too many.

Especially with one so loyal to the Vosnian.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

Twisting around another curve, a train rumbles on the tracks adjacent to them, the locomotive’s horn whistling loudly almost as if in greeting. Ahead of them are a pair of tunnels within the mountainside, one for the train and the other for the road.

Everything is going according to plan.

Everything will be alright.

Ashlyn bites her nails anyway.

The Autobot’s kept a tight formation, an urgency in their movements as they pull off the pavement and down to the dirt. Driving alongside the train, Ashlyn can feel it moving alongside the prime, like a beast purring, its vibrations shake her to her very bones. The girl feels very queasy at the idea of leaving the safety of Optimus’s cabin.

The whole thing is absurd. They think this is the safer option, and logically it is . But it isn't, it isn't safer at all. How is she supposed to explain to seasoned professionals that staying with the bait is the better option? That their little Trojan Horse will not be accepted?

She swallows the acid pooling in her throat.

MECH’s cars follow, undercarriages slamming into the earth at violent turns. 

Arcee leads them, bulkhead staying at the back, and Bumblebee moves forward, ready to fulfill his part in this plot. Before MECH can get any closer, to enter the tunnel or see anything inside, the wreaker transforms and blasts the ceiling. The entrance collapses, blocking the unholy guacamole from entering, and, thankfully, not bringing the entire mountain down on their heads.

That would be one way of solving the D.N.G.S. issue .

The tunnel is long but time is short.

Bumblebee races ahead of the group, transforming and jumping on a metal train car, tapping against it so lightly it's almost funny.

The exchange is quick, it has to be. Precious are the minutes when Silas no longer hovers over, helicopter blades beating in time with an anxious heart.

They move the D.NG.S. first. It is, after all, the priority of the government. Ashlyn may be a civilian, but MECH has no obvious interest in her and, as far as anyone knows, she is not a weapon of mass destruction in the wrong hands.

Bumblebee deftly transfers the temperamental experiment over, settling it in the open train car. The minute his servos release it soldiers work to secure the item, heavy-duty straps pinning the box down as it glows. Ashlyn watches silently, eyes illuminated by its soft golden light.

A soft chirp pulls her attention away to large blue optics, Bee’s holding out an empty servo, faceplates soft and kind.

It's her turn.

Optimus seatbelt tightens around her, just for a moment, and then lets go. The device clicks open and falls away, leaving Ashlyn wondering just how much control Cybertonians have over their insides.

She’ll ask Ratchet later.

Optimus doesn’t open his door, they are too close to the train and the light is fast approaching, so Ashlyn shimmies out the window instead. The girl falls into the waiting servo with an undignified grunt and gives the scout a strained smile and thumbs up. Nodding, Bumblebee quickly transfers her over, and in a blink, Ashlyn is pulled into the train by the sweaty arms of a fellow human.

She turns to wave goodbye, maybe offer one last glare to agent Fowler for getting her into this mess, but the golden light stops her.

Ashlyn’s never been this close to the power source before. Always separated by glass and concrete when on those stupid school trips, or by Optimus’s own body when they moved the device into his trailer and she’d refused to go out. Now, only blocked by the metal case, Ashlyn had the undying urge to peel back the box and touch it.

Her soul was singing and her mouth was dry. She could hear it, the D.N.G.S. humming softly, a warble similar to Bee’s tired trills. 

Common sense dictated that she get as far away from the thing as possible. The threat of being blown up or gaining a few tumors were valid concerns standing next to it never mind pressing her fleshy fingers into the thing. She wouldn’t be surprised if such an act would disintegrate the offending limb upon the slightest contact.

But she really wanted to touch it .

It was an overwhelming need. Like a stranded sailor forced to see an entire ocean mere inches from their parched throat. Ashlyn wanted so badly to d̵̛̺̞̓̍ȑ̶͕̰͙́̏̚͝͠ǐ̶͕̪̯̖̜͉͍̹̲̖̼͎̣͐͗̏̕͜ͅn̸̡̧̮͓̰͇͔̩͓̋̏͐̂͂̎̓͒k̵͈̗̻̫̲̫̉̋̎̂́͘.

“Ashlyn ” Optimus’s voice jolted the girl from her musings, she looked out the open car door, wondering if some of MECH’s men had managed to follow them through after all.

She didn’t see any.

“Please follow Sergeant Epps, we will collect you once the device has been safely delivered.”

Sergeant… Epps?

“Com'on, kid,” Looking up to the soldier that had pulled her through, Ashlyn met the warm gaze of a man she did not think she’d ever see, “We got a place all set up for you upfront.”

Ashlyn is pulled along, unstruggling and mute, wide-eyed as she tries to compute the utter insanity of a Bayverse character in the Aligned Continuity . What the frick was happening right now?!

Robert Epps, ever so kind-hearted, and slightly curious, decided to make small talk with the enigma girl. It would be good to get her settled before she ran into some of the more… eccentric passengers on board. He didn’t know exactly what to ask. It had been a while since he’d interacted casually with anyone outside his unit, and the standard greeting for them was slightly different than what most interactions would require.

Still, just like them, the girl was involved in this mess. Holding open a door for her, he resolved to just go ahead and ask the frickin question. She may not be military personnel, but the kid already had a reputation circumventing around the ranks.

Fowler may have been tight-lipped, but General Bryce’s secretary was not.

“So,” he cleared his throat, “how did you get involved in all this shit?”

Smooth, very smooth.

The girl was surprisingly monotone as she gave a short summary of events. Her face was flat and bored as if being held hostage by an alien was a regular afterschool activity.

If what Darla described from overheard reports was true, that might not be too far off.

Opening the final door, Epps gave a disgruntled “ That’s rough .” and groaned as he recognized the suited figure waiting for them.

Agent Simmons was pacing aggressively, his leather shoes squeaking with every step, he stopped, pointing a crooked finger, as the poor girl asked where they were going.

It is an entirely legitimate question in Epps's opinion, but for Simmons, it seemed to be the highest form of blasphemy.

The Sergeant rolled his eyes as the high-pitched and fervent voice filled the compartment.

“That’s classified , sweetheart, especially for someone so involved with the NBEs.”

“God, it's been three years Simmons, They’re the Autobots , get the name right man.”

“I will call them whatever I want, Sergeant.”

Sitting down, Epps removed his gun from his belt and examined the weapon in his hands. Every man aboard this train was armed, guards, engineers, even Simmons had a pistol hidden beneath his jacket. Epps's weapon was the latest from his division, the black barrel was larger than normal, and its rounds were definitely not  civilian grade.

He could see the girl watching him as Simmons ranted, the slight tilt of her head giving her away. 

He reattached the gun. No need to scare her any more than she might’ve been.

Little did he know, Ashlyn was wondering if anything she had on her person could be worth bartering for it. 

Simmons continued talking.

“Now, how exactly did little missy here, survive multiple Decepticon encounters, heh? I have my ears and I want answers.”

The girl blinked slowly, like a cat judging a human, and her voice, while tinged with confusion, was clearly fed up.

“Do you mean the powerplant? I really didn’t do anything. I just pushed a button that turned on the security measures. Honestly , they should have been turned on in the first place.”

Epps laughed, “Hear that Simmons, you made a mistake with your evacuation.”

“We never should have evacuated! And I never make mistakes! The security systems had been engaged until they glitched and you appeared on the security footage. Footage where a civilian had the uncanny ability of almost being unidentifiable.”

“But I was identified.”

“Until Agent Fowler managed to contract a highly classified specialist.”

Raf needs a raise.

“Simmons, the plant had been glitching for weeks before that incident.” Epps's eyebrow twitched, voice steady and calm,  “Didn’t you record an energy surge earlier that day? One that kept building up? I’m positive you told Lennox that it was a ‘premonition for the end of the world and to ‘kiss your baby while you can.’ The only thing that happened was the Deception's appearance and the- thing , immediately powering down,”

“It was a beacon I tell you! Everyone thinks I’m wrong till I’m proven right!”

“Calm your bitch-ass self down, we have a guest.”

Epps paled considerably as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Oh fuck, I just swore in front of the kid.”

Chapter Text

To maximize security, there was to be no communication between the train and the transport team.

It makes sense. It makes sense in the revoltingly insane way that one cannot begrudge the actions of another because they’re so logical that you could cry because it doesn’t matter at all.

The Deceptions are going to appear and ruin everything. They’ll blow up the trailer, revealing the lack of radiation and the presence of “living metal.” Turning the presumed safe haven of a locomotive into a target and every Cybertronian as prey to power-hungry lunatics.

Stupid, stupid logic.

Simmons and Epps, infuriatingly present, are blabbering on and on . Like a Chihuahua circling a Great Dane, entertaining as it is pitiful. Ashlyn takes a seat by the door. It's as close as she can get to leaving and, as she massages her head, wincing at the rising ache, that's all she can focus on. Soon the segment will end. The episode will conclude and she’ll be back on stable ground. Predictability will be resumed. Balance restored. Till then, she’ll just focus on surviving this insanity.

Ashlyn doesn’t have control of the situation, her words, even if they could be heard, mean nothing . She’s a child, a civilian caught in a situation beyond her. Simmons, Epps, Fowler, and Optimus, all dwarf her in experience. Their warnings will be heeded. Their warnings will have evidence.

Would she even be willing to speak out?

Here, her fear isn’t illogical. She may not be a target but that doesn’t mean MECH won’t kill her if they have the opportunity to do so. If MECH were to figure out that she knew enough about Cybertron and its people to be classified as an expert? Knew future events to happen in this world ? 

Ashlyn didn’t want to think about it.

The metal was warm, she could feel it seeping through her jeans and shirt, burning and hot as wheels chugged bellow, flying over the tracks.

Tracks that would soon be blown to smithereens.

Jack and Miko would be on board, attempting to protect the D.N.G.S. from MECH. Optimus would save them from death by forcing the train to stop…

Why didn’t the kids ever try an emergency brake? Were not those a thing?

In the kid's defense, they were facing the possibility of imminent death, something that could be paralyzing for everyone, especially untrained teenagers. They were alone, why wouldn’t they panic?

But, Ashlyn wasn’t alone. The train was armed to the teeth, soldiers on every car, specialists if Epps was any indicator.  

So, what happened to the people on the train?

Miko and Jack bridge in after Optimus got hit by a particularly resourceful vehicon, only for MECH to retreat and blow the tracks once the prime rallied and came after them. None of the soldiers were conscious, the train driver was immobilized, and the kids were the only active humans onboard.

So what had happened?

Obviously, MECH did something to incapacitate any potential threats. Gas attack maybe? No, no that didn’t feel right. If only she could remember then maybe the girl could do something to prevent it.

It was impossible to think, with the anomalies bickering and the D.N.G.S’s ethereal humming. She could feel the voices, thrumming in the background, just a breath away. Distant but ever-present. They seemed louder in their silence, strumming with a persistent urgency. As if there was something important, something she needed.

The girl could feel the power of the train, the constant thrum of the engines, and friction heating up cold metal. In the center of a symphony, a chorus of sounds and conflicts rattled around her head and dragged her down, into the unknown. It’s easy to get lost in them, to fade and grow distant, to close your eyes and refuse to open them again, refuse to acknowledge the world and everything in it.

She blinks back tears.

Epps and Simmons don’t notice.

The two of them are so concerned with themselves, with circular bickering, and whose right, who should be listened to, that they miss the teary-eyed child in the corner.

It’s rather similar to the base.

How well has Ashlyn been hiding her distress? How difficult would it be for someone to look and see ? How much would it cost for someone, anyone , to help?

She won’t begrudge them, not when the girl has wanted so desperately to be unknown. To be normal. To be safe .

And so that’s how it was; a soldier bantering with a paranoid agent and a girl being carried off into a numbing sea of apathy. Had this continued as planned, who knows what might’ve happened? What revelations could be shared and bonds formed? The world might have grown a little brighter and masks a little smaller.

Alas. What’s a plan in the face of fate? What is a ‘what if’ in the reality of what is?

Ashlyn’s presence was part of a plan.

It was time for her to start playing her part.

The pain was sudden, forceful, and engulfing, dwarfing the headache entirely. It was a completely different kind of pain, not the subtle throbs or rhythmic sparks of cracked ribs, not the electric sensation of fear icing blood within her veins or the sharp scratches and cuts. It was hard. It was sudden. It. Was. Hell.

 Her skull was vibrating, her brain melting, her heart was burning, and her throat was frozen.

She couldn’t breath, couldn’t move. She heard screaming, animalistic and cracking, she thought it might’ve been her. The floor hit her back, and she felt her body convulse. Muscles spasming, choking, flying, out of control. Like a marionette in the hands of a child, her limbs tangled and moved unnaturally.

She couldn’t control anything.

Her vision blurred in and out, seeing the concerned face of Simmons hovering over her, seeing Epps’s hands push her onto her side, they faded in and out. A jumbled picture, a dark metal car alternating with a clear blue sky, hot metal for cool dust, the smell of pine overtaking burning fuel.

“Get her on her side! Don’t let her choke!”

“-necessary to drop our cover.”

“Optimus!”

“Oh, God!”

“Find a medic!”

It's odd, what a human will focus on sometimes. Ashlyn didn’t think about the pain or dying. She didn’t question what was happening, or why. Her attention was still focused on the important questions. Ashlyn figured out what made everyone go nightnight pretty quickly. Compared to the pain in her head and the agony blooming over her body, electrocution was almost pleasant.

Whose bright idea was it to make a train entirely of metal?

She slipped into the dark void.

A puppet cut from its strings.

A tool fulfilling its purpose.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

Optimus tried to stand up, tried to respond to the sharp calls ravaging his audio receptors and the sound of combat from above. His frame shook and trembled as he pushed up with his servo, warnings, and damage reports blasting through his processor.

The vehicon hit him square in the faceplate, catching the sensitive cabling that enclosed hinges and the upper part of the spinal strut.

He may not be a medic, but the Prime had been in more than enough battles to have seen the effects of this type of injury. It was a glaring weakness, one typical of higher caste frames that lacked the extra armor warframes were built with. Usually, such a weak spot was fervently guarded, the potential paralysis and sensitivity it could cause was a death sentence in such competitive combat. 

Alas, he’d gotten cocky. Letting his attention drift off from the battle, no matter how unskilled the opponent, had proved to be a mistake.

Human’s threatening their own.

Drones overcoming generals.

What was the world coming to?

With a groan, Optimus sank back down, unable to push himself up.

It was unclear how much damage the vehicon had inflicted, it was unclear what possessed a vehicon to take such an unusual combative tactic.

Even with the inconvenience, he could respect the resourcefulness the drone had shown.

Unfortunately, his systems may need to reboot before the Prime could rejoin his comrades, a task that would take precious time and leave him vulnerable. It was just a squadron of vehicons, potentially Starscream’s personal strike team given their impressive tenacity.

His team would be able to take care of it.

It would be fine.

They… would… be… fine.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

The base was silent.

/Prime! Do you read me? Prime? /

Fowler's pleas echoed around the cavernous space, the comm’s static filtering and fizzing, unanswered.

“Optimus is down!” the statement seemed impossible, improbable even as it escaped Miko's mouth. 

Cold realization swept through Jack Darby. Optimus was unresponsive and the rest of the ‘bots were busy dealing with the ‘cons.

“MECH’s gonna grab the D.N.G.S.”

That was the only thing they could be doing. The ruse had been revealed and MECH was mysteriously absent from the ruckus they were viewing from the base. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. 

A train wasn’t hard to follow.

“We need to think of something, quick.”

But what?

They didn’t have time to create a "Phase 3." They didn’t have the resources to fight MECH head-on. They were just kids.

But so many people could die.

Jack couldn’t do nothing.

He could feel Ratchets optics watching him, could see the frightened eyes of Raf pinning him. He avoided Miko’s, the bloodlust wouldn’t help him think.

This was a problem. But problems had solutions. This had a solution and Jack just needed to figure it out. He could do this.

“Okay. Come on, think .” -turning away from the others, Jack started from the basics. His mother always said you needed to understand a patient’s problem before trying to address it. How was terrorist keep-away any different?

“All right, if mech wants the D.N.G.S., they have to get on that train.”

“What if we get on board first?”- she pumped her fists- “You know, run some human-on-human interference?”

 “ Absolutely not! ” 

Ratchet turned away, optics rolling at the suggestion, “You’re children, your shouldn’t be inferring at all!” chuffing, the medic turned away, “Optimus will deal with it soon, and this… MECH won’t get very far. Besides, that train is full of your government’s soldiers. Let them fight over your primitive technology.”

“ But Ratchet~” Miko’s sing-song voice swept from a smug smile, “ Ashlyn’s on that train. Smack dap in the middle of the United States of meltdown! Lives are at stake!” 

Grounding his denta, the medic turned around and glared at the femme. Yes, his charge was on board, but she had proven capable of handling herself. That said, she wasn’t much older than the younglings in front of him and she wasn’t trained for war.

If he could ground bridge her of that infernal transportation then he would in a sparkbeat .

But he couldn’t let the other children put themselves at risk.

 “Yes -- Yours !” frustration seeps through every syllable, every word, “You want me to not only bridge you into a confined space but one traveling at 90 miles per hour? I can't even count the number of ways that can go wrong. Mass-displacement trauma, twisted limbs, metal burn” a quick glance at the organic forms seem to nullify that issue. 

“... Well, maybe not the last one. Regardless! It is nearly impossible to fix ground-bridge coordinates on something moving at that speed.”

“Would it help if we had access to the train's coordinates?”

“Well…”

“ Ashlyn , Doc Bot, think about Ashlyn.”

❧ … ❧ … ❧

Optimus needed to move .

He may not be able to respond on his comm as he is known, but he can most certainly hear what is being said.

What was Ratchet thinking about letting the children on that train? They were going to get hurt. They were going to get hurt and it would be their fault because he failed .

Optimus couldn’t fail.

He couldn’t.

But he couldn’t get up.

Wires strained, cables creaked, and metal groaned. The reboot wasn’t complete, the mech needed a full recharge. Potentially some minor welding as well. Ratchet would have a field day with him if he strained his systems any further but he could see the train in the gorge just below him. He could just make out the gray dot huddled on one of the cars and he knew exactly who that was.

The children were in danger.

Megatron might not have targeted younglings, not at the beginning of his mission, but the stories Ashlyn told of human warfare, of the unspoken warning of those who chose not to limit themselves, made his spark beat in panic.

Who better to harm a human than another human?

But he was still stuck, even as his spark pulled and his mind raced, his body could not follow through with his desires. Not now. Not until it would be too late.

But there was still another option. That option.

His spark convulsed in disgust even as the Matrix fluttered, encouraging, demanding , for the prime to take his due. He’d felt the call in his recharge cycle. The visions, the memories that were not his own. Now, injured and desperately in need of strength, he could feel the shadow leading to the new source.

 A cable he would simply need to pull. 

The solution to this dilemma.

An act against his own morals.

But… it wasn’t confirmed . Optimus didn’t know for sure that this was what he thought it was, or who he suspected. 

Alpha Trion had always said it was noble, a gift .

His tanks churned.

The children. The children needed him.

Wouldn’t it be worth it… if this was what it took to save them?

❧ … ❧ … ❧

The world was dark. Or maybe her eyes were just closed.

She was floating, insubstantial, intangible, 

It was peaceful. It was freeing. 

Currents and whispers brushed against her. She felt like there was something she’d forgotten, something important. Tears ran freely, she could feel them escape from sealed eyes, their warmth soaking her face.

Why was she crying?

She didn’t know.

Something firm brushed against her brow, tentative and questioning.

It came back, stronger, more resolute, a hand grasping her head. Deceptively tender, gentle, almost kind.

She didn’t move, didn’t flinch. She couldn’t.

A warm field surrounded her, replacing the currents and whispers with energy and emotion. It seemed apologetic, resigned, resolute.

Ashlyn felt something leave her. Something that made her grow cold.

A memory flashed through her mind, the impression of a log being rammed against her face. The feeling of urgency, knowledge of impending disaster, a need to save.

People were in danger. People need his help.

First, he needed hers.

She felt something encircle her heart, like a rope tied around her soul. A connection is formed, a bond forged, one-sided and vague.

Ashlyn didn’t like it.

At all.

The hand retracted. The tears froze. The field faded. Ashlyn was alone.

She still felt cold.

“I’m sorry, young one.”

❧ … ❧ … ❧

MECH was coming in .

The hole was almost complete, black lines of burnt metal were a stark countdown. Inch by inch, a way was being made.

MECH was coming.

There were no more tracks to change.

No ‘bots to intervene.

No soldiers to stand by.

It was just them.

Miko grabbed an ax off the back wall, clutching it tightly, obviously unfamiliar with its weight, her eyes narrowed at the sparks. She was ready to fight.

Jack followed her lead.

He didn’t feel nearly as confident, gripping a red fire extinguisher, unsure how to handle the bulky cylinder. It didn’t really matter how at ease he felt. They were the final line. MECH was coming and it would come through them .

Metal slammed to the ground. The roof was open and the pair looked up, poised and tense.

Three masked men looked down at them, covered in what looked like rubber skin suits paired with leather jackets, topped with murder masks and tinted goggles.

These people screamed danger.

“You want a slice of this?” Waving around the ax, the girl hollered “Well, do ya?!”  

Jack could respect her spirit, but he felt like a puffed-up chicken. He angled the fire extinguisher over his shoulder anyway.

“What she said!” 

He may be a kid, and they may be over their heads, but he wasn’t going down without a fight. If Miko could stand so sure, be so courageous to look these creeps in the eye and tell them to back off then he’d do it too. For the ‘bots, for the men on the train, for Ashlyn, for his mom.

Jack would fight tooth and nail to protect his home.

If that included duking out with weirdos in skin suits then so be it. 

Only…

Only the agents leave.

One minute they're just standing there and the next, they’re gone . The teens watch the helicopter fly off, poking their heads out of the train car and hoping that MECH is gone and not coming back.

Maybe Miko with an ax is scarier than anyone could give credit for?

The girl hugs his arm as the wind batters against their faces, he can barely hear her over it, but he’s still able to make out her words, shaking hands tightening on the vibrating doors. “ Whoa. You’re pretty fierce.”

He doesn’t think that's it. He doesn’t think that just anything could get those men to retreat, get them to give up their target. But Jack desperately hopes that it is anyway.

And then they see it.

They hear the impact first, a whistling that transforms into a boom . They see a cloud of dust rise and implode, and smoke rises and chokes the air ahead of them. It streams upwards like a beacon, a flag waving in the wind. Not a white cloth of surrender, but a steely testament of resolve.

If they can’t have the D.N.G.S. no one can .

The helicopter flies up and away, running for safety from the inevitable fallout. Nuclear explosions are not very pleasant to experience. Jack doesn’t want to experience it either.

They need to get out .

Miko’s still watching the smoke, silent as Jack calls the base.  “ Ratchet ,” his voice is urgent and calm. Controlled even if the situation is no longer under control, “MECH blew the train tracks. Ashlyn’s onboard here somewhere, but everyone's knocked out. You need to bridge us all out of here –The soldiers, too.” 

/We've lost access to the train data!/ Jack’s never heard this much fear in anyone’s voice before, he can feel his stomach clamp and veins freeze.

 /I can't bridge you back without your coordinates!/

Miko clutches his sleeve, She seems to know, even before he tells her what Ratchet said.

They’re not getting off the train. Ratchet can’t save them. 

They’re going to crash.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

Ratchet pings Optimus again. Praying that the Prime responds this time, knowing that Optimus might very well be the children’s last chance. Ashlyn’s last chance.

/Optimus do you read?/

/Optimus?/

/Optimus, Jack, Miko, and Ashlyn are still on that train, and MECH has blown the tracks/

/Optimus!/

And then, like the songs of the heavens themselves, Ratchet hears it.

/Understood. I’m on my way/

And Ratchet prays it will be enough.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

Optimus spark freezes when he hears Ratchet’s message, the confirmation of his worst fear pushes him into overdrive. He’s already been speeding down the mountain, driving and eventually transforming into a run when the terrain became more treacherous. 

He knows MECH saw him. Optimus could see shadows in the tinted windows move as he approached. He saw the individuals retreat and the helicopter take flight.

Optimus Prime doesn’t believe in coincidences.

He’s seen too much.

In his spark, he hopes his presence will be enough of a deterrent. Often, in their own war, it is. Armies will leave and regroup, returning later with better soldiers and newer weapons. Starscream is quite fond of that strategy.

But humans are a different breed.

He had hoped that young Ashlyn’s stories had simply been stories. Exaggerated tales. Remarkable exceptions. Worthy shock value but poor representation. MECH, however, takes that hope and smother’s it completely. The missile is unnecessary, destroying the track is cruel. MECH places its own lingering agents and the lives of thousands of civilians a risk with a single action.

And then they circle from above. Watching .

Optimus doesn’t understand these people. He doesn’t want to.

He finds flat ground again and transforms back into a four-wheeler. His frame feels almost youthful, his spark strong and the Matrix bright. 

His spark convulses at what he’s done.

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter as long as the children are saved.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

Miko clutches the door, “Maybe we should jump?” her voice is unbearably hopeful, and optimistic despite reality’s harsh truth.

Jack is not so cheerful.

“At 90 miles an hour?” 

“It's the impact or the meltdown. Take your pick.”

“What were we thinking, volunteering for this?” He sighs, defeated, and almost close to tears.

No one wants to die.

 “Next time, you need to do a better job of talking us out of these situations.” Miko’s snark is befuddling. How can she be so blasé? So unconcerned with impending doom?

“Next time…”

She falters, looking out at the passing cliffs and watching the wheels clang against silver tracks, “We can buy ourselves another few seconds if we're in the back of the train, right?” 

“Miko… at least we're in this together.”

She looks at him then, eyes wide, “B-but... What about Ash? She’s alone here.”

“She’s not going to know the difference. She's probably asleep like everybody else here… she just… won’t wake up.”

Miko growls, pink hair whipping by the open door.

She snatches the phone out of Jack’s hand and cradles it by her cheek,  “Raf, this is important! Make sure Bulkhead gets my guitar.”

A streak of red and blue races by them, the colors flashing brightly by the open door. Just like that hope is reignited, they will be okay. This is Optimus. 

He can save them.

He has too.

A new light of hope surges into Jack's voice; “Don't read the will just yet!”

The prime surges ahead and transforms, he grips the train's head, pressing his frame against it as he slams his peds down. Metal scratches and dust envelopes everything. Rock cracks and the earth is scarred as a moving object meets an unmovable force. 

Miko and Jack cough violently, clutching each other in the dim light, and, once again, are slammed down on the floor.

Stupid momentum.

Optimus groans as he pulls the train back.

He manages, just barely, the train halting just feet from the ruined track.

His optics search, and to Optimus’s relief, he sees Jack and Miko standing up, waving and smiling broadly at him. Safe.

He stands up, only with a few more dents. He’ll match the children’s bruises.

The familiar whirl of a helicopter hits his audio receptors, and the prime looks up, optic narrowing on the gray stain against a blue sky. The machine hovers for a moment, and Optimus knows it’s handlers are watching. It leaves after a moment. Chugging away and disappearing behind a cloudy horizon.

/Optimus, are you and the children… intact?/ Ratchet’s shaky voice draws the prime away from any musings, forcing the ‘bot to focus on today’s victory.

He will gladly take it over tomorrow’s fight.

 “Intact, Ratchet. Crisis averted.”

/Is Ashlyn- is my charge alright?/ 

“...I’m sure she will be fine, old friend. Tell Agent Fowler to send for extraction and medical care. There are many men in need of aid. The world in which we live is a different one than previously imagined. One which has spawned its own Deceptions. In human skin.”

The D.N.G.S. hums softly.

It will go on to complete its journey, hidden under layers of concrete and steel, radiation and signature blocked from the world forever. But the cube doesn't surge again. With every mile away from Ashlyn, the light dims a little more.

Simmons doesn’t know how to explain it suddenly going out.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

70HN was practically bursting with pride. 

He couldn’t wait to tell JA322 of his triumph against the Autobot leader. His brother had been so down lately, so skittish after his failed mission. Perhaps they could convince one of their kin to share some pilfered high grade when the officers weren't looking!

With joy, the vehicon dragged the log with him, the organic matter splintering in his claws and scratching the Nemesis’ floor. A few of his kindred gave him odd looks, but the rest of his fellows rejoiced with him as he carried the ultimate weapon. Hanging the item by his bunk, 70HN surveyed his latest acquisition, armor expanded even with all its nicks and dents. 

It wasn’t perfect quite yet…

Carefully, the vehicon adjusted the prize. Hissing in satisfaction, he laid down to recharge, deciding to have his frame repaired in the next cycle when Breakdown would be on hand. Breakdown was always nicer about repairs.

The last thing the little vehicon saw was the fresh imprint lining the soft bark. His vizor darkened and, contentedly, the vehicon fell into recharge. The sight of Optimus Prime’s face stamped across the block would be burned into his processor every recharge cycle.

70HN would not accept anything less.

Chapter Text

The train was evacuated quickly. 

Fowler stood off to the side of what could only be defined as organized chaos . A few men stumbled off the locomotive, bewildered and disorientated, wincing at the sun’s blinding light and the stench of smoke that perforated the air. Their comrades carried others off, unmoving but alive, laid tenderly on the dusty ground awaiting medical attention. Some of the bodies woke up screaming, fists clenched and ready for a fight. They calmed down quickly when a friend was near, but often not before socking someone in the jaw.

As more men became aware, groaning and cursing, they all voiced their confusion. No one seemed to know exactly what had happened. 

Relief and embarrassment were tangible things. These men had been caught off guard, not by alien warriors but by members of their very own species. Humans who had adapted easily to the sudden involvement of mechanical titans, giving the ‘bots a run for their money. Terrorists, who had immobilized a train full of members of one of America’s leading Special Ops teams. They had been completely shut down and shoved into a corner with almost no effort.

These people revealed a highly classified government secret and got away with it.

What would MECH do with that information?

The grounds surrounding the crashed train were bustling with movement. Only the still knocked out were still, everyone else fell back into predetermined roles and protocols. It was good to be useful. Good to have control.

 No one bothered to comment on the two teenagers that stood by the prime. 

Two unauthorized children, who apparently saved, not only the mission but their lives .

If Fowler ever had to explain how the number of underage civilians that were involved in this mess had multiplied, it wasn’t going to be because of any members of this unit.

Jack and Miko didn’t seem to notice the looks they gathered, too busy watching gurney after gurney, eyes unblinking and bodies tense at each unfamiliar face.

Medical teams arrived and directives quickly changed. Only a handful of staff oversaw the still unconscious and slowly waking. Groups journeyed into the crash sight, attention focused on those who were still inside the train. One by one, soldiers were pulled out. The teens could hear medics yelling out, identifying potential concussions, fractured limbs, and slow-beating hearts. They direct groups and call for more supplies. 

Some patients aren't breathing. 

Optimus Prime stands by, watching and surveying the damage. He thanks the men who come up to him, but as minutes pass the words seem more half-hearted, and his focus less involved. It's easy to see narrowed optics scanning over every face that leaves the shadowed interiors, even with the height difference. Soldiers stop coming up.

The thanks felt patronizing anyway.

Fowler grips Jack’s and Miko’s arms as the last evacuees emerge. He barely manages to hold them back.

“Ashlyn!”

Miko’s cry is loud and disbelieving. As if the girl can’t quite believe the pale form is her friend, that the unconscious body belongs to someone she knows. 

Ashlyn doesn’t wake up and doesn’t yell back. She’s quiet, too quiet.  

Three more people trail out from behind her, Epps's bald head glints in the sun, and Simmons's voice rises over the din. The third person has a red cross armband, mirroring the other medics on the scene, and is talking rapidly with the personnel escorting Ashlyn’s limp form.

A choking sound escapes the kids. When they lurch forward again Fowler’s grip is too weak and their panic too strong. The agent watches the children flutter and circle their friends, questioning grim-faced doctors who don’t answer.

“What happened ?”

Ashlyn was sent on board to be safe.

She should have been safe .

Epps and Simmons looked at each other wearily. Simmons was a consultant and Epps reported under someone else’s command. Agent Fowler didn’t hold rank over them, nor did he have more experience. Yet, at that moment, both felt very small pinned under the man’s sharp glare and the Prime’s shadow.

They described how the girl had suddenly clutched her head and started screaming. How her muscles had started to convulse. How she’d fallen and hadn’t responded to anyone. By the time the team’s medic had arrived… whatever MECH did kicked in and it was too late.

“It could have been a seizure, or she could have been more susceptible to whatever attack took place. Just… Ashlyn Moore was fine one minute and then… not. ”

Optimus listened intensely. He didn’t interrupt or ask questions, but it was easy to see the stricken look in his optics, the way servos clenched. He stood by the children, his presence a comfort to the two conscious teens, as it must have been to Ashlyn. Some part of her must have known Optimus was near, her breathing deepening and eyes fluttering as the titan towered over them. 

Some part of her had to know she was okay, that the day had been saved.

Optimus watched.

The matrix brightened.

The medical team had Ashlyn airlifted out, along with some of the more concerning cases. They muttered about body sizes and electrical currents. When Jack asked if she’d be okay he recognized the face they made. His mom wore that same confident smile when she couldn’t voice how little she really knew.

Sometimes Jack wished his mom wasn’t a nurse. It was easier to trust a system when you didn’t know it.

Optimus would take them back to base. As much as the Autobot leader trusted his human allies, he didn’t feel the need to flaunt their technology. Especially with these new human variants. Readying to leave, the Cybertronian transformed into his vehicular form, the custom-painted semi-truck stood out like a sore thumb, but no one gave it a second glance. Jack and Miko hopped into his cabin, settling into cushioned seats. Satisfied that the younglings were safe, Optimus turned his attention to a much more pressing issue. 

Instructing the young ones to call base and fill them in, the Prime flashed his lights as a human walked by.

Agent Simmons .

Just the human he needed.

Simmons for his part simply pointed at himself when the flashing lights caught his eye. When the semi’s side mirrors lifted and the vehicle’s headlights flashed again, the man walked over slowly. Simmons was known for his paranoia. To him, such feelings were completely justified when dealing with aliens that were more than capable of committing mass murder on any Tuesday morning. Time and the gentle nature of these titans had changed basic common sense into what was joked about as a doomsday delusion.

Simmons was well aware Optimus was among those who thought his attitude foolish- even if it was for an entirely different reason.

It didn’t matter. Simmon’s would have the last laugh.

And with the Prime’s request all those years ago, Simmons was already snickering.

The agent was curious, this incident could have called their arrangement into question, or even necessitated more information.

Simmons could always use more information.

Mentally rubbing his hand together, the man swaggered over.

“So, Prime, What can I do for ya, eh?”

Optimus almost seemed to hesitate , and if Simmons didn’t know better he’d say the truck sounded afraid .

A good thing he knows better.

“Agent Simmons, how did the artifact respond to this predicament?”

“Eh? Normal for a glowing box? If you’re that interested I could look back on the security footage and scanners, if they're not shorted out that is. Seems like the bastards went for an electrical attack.” Eyes narrowing with suspicion, the man pointed a finger at the tinted windows, “What are you looking for exactly?”

The prime took a moment, air hissed as armor smoothed and joints clicked as they settled. His engine rumbled, and wheels turned.

“Nothing that would have gone unnoticed.”

The conversation was done.

Driving off and leaving the frowning man behind, Optimus’s spark felt light even as the matrix hummed.

It had been a gift. A gift and nothing more.

Ashlyn Moore was completely normal.

Ashlyn Moore was just another human.

Ashlyn Moore was not a Protector.

He could live with that.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

When Ashlyn woke up, it was to a bright light and rhythmic beeping.

Her head ached, her skull tender as she adjusted herself, a sudden pull on her forearm stopped the girl from moving further. An IV line.

Her eyes settled on the needle, skin itching where metal pushed flesh, and the off-white tap that secured the device. Ashlyn tracked the line, the clear tube moving from her arm to a small bag on a metal cane. The solution dripped slowly, steadily, as the clear liquid moved from the bag and into her veins.

Where was she?

The sheets around her were familiar, coarse, and thin, tucking her into a bed that seemed too large and too big. The girl’s mind flashed back to when her brothers had been born. How she had clutched the sheets of her mother’s hospital bed, squeezing the fabric, torn between fascination and fear of the babies. The sheets felt the same. 

The room was still unfocused, but she could still hear the beeping, sharp, and picking up speed, and beyond that, was the muffled shuffling of feet and voices. It was the smell that sold it. Antiseptic and dusty at the same time. 

Why was she in a hospital?

Slowly, one hand moved to her face. The limb felt numb, nerves tingling as her hand pressed against her face. Her skin was warm and soft, and Ashlyn breathed a sigh of relief.

What was she expecting, to suddenly have a metal skull? Those are nightmares. Only nightmares.

She blinked rapidly, willing for the room to become clear and the blurs to make sense. Ashlyn tried to breathe, she really did, but the beeping became louder and faster, and the air became shallower and warmer. She felt so cold. So very cold.

Her lungs were like ice, she could feel them cracking with every inhale.

Something was missing, something important , and something had been added, something they didn’t want.

The beeping grew louder, grew faster, and the girl gripped the sheets as if they’d disappear and she’d fall away back into the void, backintothepitaloneandscaredanditwasn’thomewhywasn’tshehome?

People rushed in, white coats and colorful scrubs. A light flashed over her eyes and she could hear the murmuring of people talking over her and talking to her.

The voices were silent, her head was empty.

Cotton stuffed into a skull. Bones coated in ice. 

Was she okay?

She didn’t feel okay

“-lyn, Ashlyn focus on me okay, sweetie? You’re okay, you are going to be okay.”

A warm hand gently pushed down stiff shoulders. They were firm, rubbing circles into a shaking body, and so, so familiar.

“Find five things you can see, sunshine, remember?” 

Kind eyes focused and clear.

Silver necklace.

Wispy hair.

Crooked smile.

Ashlyn grabbed her mother, and let herself cry.

She was okay, she’d be okay.

Everything would be okay .

❧ … ❧ … ❧

Home was quiet. Settled. Calm.

Mom was back. So were Jeff and David. The dog was the same fluffball as ever. It was as if all those previous months had been a dream, a nightmare chased off by the rising sun.

Reality had returned.

Stability had formed.

Ashlyn finally took the sheets off the windows. She had stared at them for such a long time, unwilling and scared to see the same image that had been there previously. Mom had finally done it herself, Ashlyn holding back a scream as cream sheets rippled down and glass shined.

She had seen herself, tired and pale, but normal and human.

The girl started breathing again.

The dog didn’t leave her alone. Licking at any exposed skin, ankles, faces, or arms, the pooch pawed and whined constantly. Ashlyn didn’t care. Her breath was disgusting, and her fur got everywhere, but the dog was a warm body to hold and her attention was a reminder that the girl was still there. Ashlyn hadn’t disappeared.

Maybe it was some sort of psychotic break. 

It was some sort of psychotic break.

David told her to go back to bed when he found his older sister getting ready to go to school in the morning, Jeff had drawled out his annoyance, grumbling how she was so lucky to skip classes. Jeff still hugged her though. Arms tightening around her and head nestled in her neck.

When had he gotten so tall?

Mom explained, patient and kind with a practiced tone, how she’d had a breakdown at school. Hallucinations and amnesia were side effects of something doctors didn’t know how to explain. Ashlyn was resting at home for now, until her mind had recuperated.

She didn’t remember that she didn’t remember anything like that. But it seemed right.

Ashlyn didn’t feel well. It was like something was missing, something was gone .

She felt cold.

Why did she feel cold?

Of course, she knew it wasn’t all a dream. Fowler dropped by the day she’d been released from the hospital. Equipped with an oversized card and a bouquet of flowers, the man was rather flustered with Mrs. Moore’s sharp glare and pointed questions. The woman was not subtle with her concerns, and it took more than an hour of Fowler’s pleading and explanations to calm her.

Ashlyn couldn’t help but smile every time an inconsistent lie was pointed out.

She’d gotten her attitude from someone after all.

The flowers went into her room. 

Pink tulips, yellow roses, and daisies. They looked so bright and happy . 

The card dwarfed it completely.

It was a colorful, hand-drawn picture of the ‘bot vehicle forms covered it along with a blocky, “ get well soon!”

Glitter coated the thing, and an assortment of messages were written on the back.

- Get plenty of rest and refuel regularly. Please, refrain from participating in any strenuous activities and obey your physician’s orders.- 

Ratchet

- Get well soon, kid, we'll take you out to a Hoedown Showdown once you get cleared-

Bulkhead

- Please stop getting hurt.-

Arcee

- Get well soon! -

Bee

- Hurry up and get better already! Ratch is acting like acting like a helicopter parent without you here!-

Miko 

-Get well soon and avoid ‘cons! Please never do that again-

Jack 

-Feel better, you did great! We made a group chat if you want to talk, here’s the number xxx-xxx-xxxx-

Raf

It’s a hazy feeling almost. Distant. The idea is that the character’s in her favorite show not only exist but are actively waiting for her to return. Wanting her to return.

The cold seeps away. Just a little bit.

She stares at the card, such a small insignificant thing, but it stirs something in Ashlyn.

Maybe she doesn’t have to go it completely alone. She’s not going to say what she is or where she’s from- that will happen over her dead body - but that doesn’t mean she has to doom herself to a lonely existence, right?

She could have friends, she could enjoy this.

Maybe… maybe she could change things.

Ashlyn doesn’t know what's happening to her, but she’s tired of being afraid. She doesn’t want to be scared anymore. She shouldn’t be scared. Not of hypotheticals, not of strange voices, not of dreams.

Ashlyn Moore is a fighter.

“Ash, sunshine? Are you hungry?”

Elise Moore walks into her daughter's room, heart heavy and mind tired. The hospital’s been overloaded and the night shift has never been more active. Still, she’s grateful for the work, as consuming as it can be. It gives her a chance to spend more time with her children.

With her oldest looking so distraught, that time is proven ever more valuable.

“No… I’m good, mom.”

Perking a brow, Elise sits down beside the girl, the bed squeaking with the extra weight. For a time, that's the only sound that breaches the silence.

It's comfortable quiet, not tense or pressuring. Just a familiar presence, a reminder that someone is there , ready and open to listen. 

Ashlyn’s heart melts a little, warmth overflowing.

Blinking back tears, the words come forward without a second thought.

“Mom?”

“Mmm?”

“What would you do- what advice would you give if someone was in a hard situation? Like if they were lost and didn’t know how to get home?”

Smirking, the elder Moore booped her daughter’s nose, “Maybe they should ask for directions.”

“W-what if they can’t”

Cursing her cracking voice, Ashlyn tried to steady herself. She almost lost it when her mom swept her into a hug.

She had never been able to hide from mom

Ashlyn could hear her mom’s heart, feel it beating by her head. Her mom was here . Maybe it was all just a dream, a weird hallucination. Or it was real, and this was the lie.

Perhaps both could be true.

Whatever it was, Ashlyn wanted to hold onto it just for a little while longer, absorb everything she could, before it was gone again. Her mom’s firm grip, her clear pointed gaze, and the warmth that enveloped her, Ashlyn didn’t realize how much she had missed this.

Elise hummed softly, considering her daughter’s question. There was obviously something else going on, Ashlyn looked so drained, so exhausted . While the girl had only recently been discharged from the hospital, Elise couldn’t help but feel that there was something else going on, something deeply wrong.

The thought vanished as quickly as it had come.

There was nothing wrong. Everything was fine. Everything was okay.

“I think,” Elise’s voice wavered, “that a person who is lost must stay calm. They can’t panic or give up, even if it seems hopeless because then they will stay lost.” 

Looking her daughter in the eye, a wave of urgency rose that Elise didn’t completely understand, “You need to promise me, Ashlyn, that you’ll never give up fighting or trying to come home, no matter how lost you become.”

Swallowing the girl nodded.

“Alright,” letting go and standing up, Mrs. Moore walked out, her voice fading as she left, “it’s time for dinner.”

Ashlyn watched her mother leave, heaviness once again returning and the house already feeling less like a home. The respite was over. Life was moving on.

Clenching the card in her hand, the girl’s will solidified into something stronger. Ashlyn was a fighter . She wasn’t just going to survive, she was going to live. Ashlyn was going to be happy. She was going to be herself. She was not going to be controlled by fear, nightmares, or visions.

The universe could go shove it.

Chapter Text

To be happy was not an easy thing.

To be happy while being smothered by a metal mother hen was even harder. 

“Epp! Ep Ep Ep ! Where do you think you’re going, missy?”

Peeking up from her spot halfway down the stairs, Ashlyn let out a groan, “I’m walking here, Ratchet. Just walking. ” the girl turned around, making her way back to her cell and perpetual boredom.

“Ooo, so close.”

“Shut up, Jack.”

Glaring mercilessly at the teen, Ashlyn marched back to the couch under the watchful gaze of her guardian. A guardian who proceeded to push the girl down and cover her with yet another blanket. The main living area was rapidly evolving into a haphazard nest. Ashlyn didn’t even recognize some of these blankets. Yes , she’d brought some items to make the base homier, but she never brought a duvet!

Eye twitching, she clawed the offending cloth away. “And to think, I was almost missing you people.”

She smothered a growl as the audible click of a camera cut through Jack’s snickers.

“Eh, this isn’t so bad Ashlyn.” Raf didn’t even look up from his corner of the room, happily playing away his racing game, of course, he wouldn’t have any issues with this. While nowhere as confined as Ashlyn, Raf had found himself surrounded by a handful of cushions that had just appeared , wrapped in an extremely fluffy blanket, with water bottles, his laptop, and an eager gaming partner in Bumblebee, the boy had no reason to even dream of moving.

Jack, somehow, managed to escape the worst of the nesting. Even so, he was placed on a very clear limit. Even placing an unauthorized foot on the stair resulted in Ratchet twisting his helm like some nightmarish owl and pinning the teen with unblinking blue orbs of disappointment and barely restrained promise.

Jack stayed in the human zone. Arcee would be back from patrol soon, she’d free him. 

… Right ?

Ratchet for his part was struggling to stay calm. It had been millennia since his sparkling code had activated, and the mech couldn’t understand why it was focusing on humans of all things.

Yes, two of them were rather tolerable, but that didn’t mean his programming should be going into overdrive about their welfare and safety. Especially when one of them refused to stay put! Ah, the trials of a medic. His systems were more sensitive when concerning this sort of thing. Fortunately, the rest of the team had yet to exhibit any of the behavior modifications that indicated the program activating. Ratchet didn’t need everyone blowing a gasket over these infuriating organics.

“Ashlyn, go sit back down.”

“ How are you doing that?! You weren’t even looking!”

“I have my ways.”

This time, Ashlyn let out a growl. Raf crashed his car into Bee’s, the bold “ Game Over ” disregarded by both players as they watched with widening eyes. Jack shivered and slowly moved closer to the monitors, away from the only exit of the platform, but it was also away from whatever was happening with Ash and Ratch right now.

“Ratchet. I. Am. Fine. Bloodwork came back clear, the MRI showed no internal hemorrhaging or swelling, and my heart doesn’t so much as skip a beat. Even my ribs are fully healed now, for peat’s sake! I am as fit as a fiddle, healthy as a horse, the somewhat epitome of human health. Stop mother-henning me! ”

Jack ducked behind Raf’s cushion fortress, the charm of the favored child would protect him.

The medic turned away from his monitors and scanners, pinning the human girl with such a fierce look that Bee was impressed the human didn’t back down there and then. He most certainly would.

“Your earth physicians might have put you in the clear, but they haven’t identified what happened to you.”

“I was electrocuted .”

“Witnesses stated you reacted before the surge commenced.”

“Witnesses who have a good hundred pounds of muscle on me, body mass matters! And witnesses?  

“I was ensuring your safety.”

“Invading my privacy.”

“They are a federal report.”

“And you're a federal agent?”

“Ugh. We are allies of your government and as such, I am entitled to information that could impact my charge’s well-being.”

Ashlyn opened and closed her mouth, eye twitching and teeth grinding. The pair’s audience waited with bated breath, curious for her retort in this verbal ping-pong match of the ages. Sadly, Ashlyn seemed to lack such a response, instead, the girl sat down with a huff, grabbed a book, and began flipping through the pages rather aggressively. Grunting in satisfaction when she found her place, the girl shifted in her seat - Ratchet eyed her at the sudden movement- and finally settled with a sigh.

Point to the iron man.

For a moment, the base was wreathed in calm silence. Bee and Raf abandoned their game, the scout needed to go join Arcee scouting anyway , and the teens waved as the ‘bot bridged out. With the exception of Ratchet's smug smirk- damn does that look creepy - and Ashlyn actively ignoring her guardian in some sort of silent protest, the tension quickly dissolved.

By the time Bulkhead drove in, the three humans and the medic had found themselves an amicable sense of peace. A peace that was balancing on a razor’s edge, but, hey, it was there .

Of course, Miss Chaos-Incarnate, Miko Nakadai, tipped the scales easily.

Storming away from her partner- the minute she approached the stairs, the kids just knew Ratchet would wrap her in bubble wrap- Bulkhead stammered as the teen marched on, displeasure rolling off her in waves, as she batted away her guardian’s concerns. 

This conversation was all too familiar for the girl, lectures on making something of herself, and how she could do great things if she’d only apply herself. Miko had suffered earfuls from every adult in her life, she didn’t need Bulk acting like a boring adult too.

She wouldn’t actually end up in jail. That was a stupid worry for Bulk to have.

The base was just her place away from all that stuff. 

Of course, she had to share it with others.

“Uh-oh.” Miko could hear Jack, but when she looked up she couldn’t see him for some reason. “What'd you do?”

Eh, it probably didn’t matter .

Looking up from her book, Ashlyn watched the scene with interest. It wasn’t too out of the ordinary. Miko wasn't typically in such a foul mood, but it didn’t take a lot to lift her spirits when she was. The girl was obnoxiously positive as they came.

Ashlyn envied that.

Perking a brow, Ashlyn turned to Jack, who was looking very smug, even as he was still huddled safely behind the pillow fortress,  “What do you mean “uh oh?” And why is Miko here so early? I thought she had detention- OHHHH .” Understanding dawns upon her, its crowning glory illuminating dumbfounded features.

“Hey, how did you know I had detention anyway?” 

Returning to her book, smoothing out yellowed pages, Ashlyn rolled her eyes. “We’ll you’re not the quietest person, and I mean that in the nicest way, and Jack here, tends to think out loud. Not too hard to pick up.” Shaking her book slightly, the girl cleared her throat, “Now if you don’t mind I have a date with Sisyphus.”

Mythology had always been an interest, its fantastical nature and history had always captured a part of the imagination. Now, some myths captured her empathy as well. Ashlyn could see herself in Sisyphus’s shoes, given an impossible task with no way of achieving it. He was forever pushing a boulder up a hill and she… she was stuck trying to find a way home when she didn’t even know how she arrived .

Empathy indeed.

Bulkhead, uneducated on such matters, was deeply confused by the statement. The wrecker turned his attention to his charge, foreign desperation rising inside of him as he tried to lecture the girl. Sure, Miko was fun to hang around with, her exuberant personality reminded him of the better days even as intimidating as it could be. But how quickly she blew off his concern, disregarded her parental units and caretakers, and him as well , sent a sharp pain through his spark.

Earth wasn’t like Cybertron. Individuals weren’t born into a system that dictated their use and assigned worth purely on function. Humans could better themselves, they could grow and rise within their own ranks. From his understanding, this “ college ” was a key part of maintaining and growing that worth.

Miko would not be like him. She would not be limited to construction and demolition, she would not be limited and tied down when the opportunity was right there . Opportunity that didn’t rely on how well you dispatched your enemies or how well you could take a hit.

Bulkhead held no illusions about this war. If they won, if he survived to the end of it, he would be right back as a construction laborer and he would serve that position until he rusted.

That was how Cybertron worked. How it always worked.

Earth was different.

“Look, Miko,” how could he explain this? How could he make her understand but not dishonor his home? “Before I became a warrior, I was a laborer -- Construction. I can build stuff. I can break stuff. And that's it.”

“I love breaking stuff.” The teen’s eyes sparkled, “ I want to be just like you, Bulk.”

Ashlyn couldn’t help but smile at the exchange. Bulkhead was definitely taking up a more parental role with Miko, a contrast to Jack and Raf’s more sibling-Esq relationships with their own guardians, and the mech was clearly floundering with this turn of events.

It was a lot sweeter than it seemed on a screen. More heartfelt. Real .

Bulkhead, clearly refusing to give up, looked to Ratchet with pleading optics, before turning back to his charge, “Why would you want to be like me when you can be a medic like Ratchet?”

The medic didn’t seem to get the hint.

“I'm detecting a fresh energon pulse!” His large monitor zoomed into a map, coordinates popping up as a very familiar country appeared.

Ohhh , Ashlyn was getting out of her one way or another. ‘Cons be damned, she was tagging along if she had to pull a ‘miko’ to do it!

“From the nation called Greece. An ancient city- quite historic, I believe.”

Shrill, maddening laughter erupted from the den of blankets. “You're kidding.”

Jumping up and skipping over to the railing, Ashlyn smiled broadly in pure unadulterated delight. Leaning over the railing- Ratchet most certainly did not almost grab her, he has more restraint than that, stupid coding - the pointed animatedly to the digital image.

“The cradle of western civilization? Birthplace of Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, and Alexander the Great? Not to mention has quite the mythology, climate, food, and architecture. Ah, Greece ,” the girl seemed to swoon “Historical prominence indeed.”

Meeting several unblinking stares, Ashlyn coughed, face turning slightly pink. “What? I think it's cool. Especially Ancient Greece.”

Bulkhead smiles, “Ancient Greece, huh? Oh, field trip.” Banging his fist together, the green titan lumbered over to the ground bridge. “Come on you two, just a quick scouting mission should be alright.”

“ Sweet! ”

“Ep! You and Miko have fun Bulkhead, but my charge is staying here for observation.”

“Ratchet! I’m fine . I know this, you know this, everyone knows this !”

The medic huffs, waving away Bulkhead before the wrecker can even voice his own opinion. It’s a pity, but Bulkhead knows better than to put up too much of a fight regarding Ratchet’s domain. The grizzled mech has broken out a wrench one too many times for the ‘bot to even consider sneaking out one of his patients. Ashlyn might’ve made Miko more interested in her history project,  or at the very least more palatable , but Doc had the final say in the matter.

Ashlyn, however, didn’t give up so easily.

“What about physical activity and mental stimulation? Fresh air… you know a temperate climate is supposed to have really good health benefits. Please, please, please, can I go?”

Ratchet uploaded the coordinates to the ground bridge, ignoring the girl completely. But… did his armor just twitch?

“Your only alternative is to let me go insane~”

The ground bridge opens with a humming whirl. Bulkhead grabbed an energon reader and motioned for Miko to follow him. The oddly quiet girl just held up a hand and pointed to Ashlyn. Bulkhead didn’t have the spark to explain it was a lost cause at this point, so he stuck around. Soon Ratchet would make it clear he was in charge and that his word was law. 

Bulkhead could wait for a few minutes.

Ashlyn by this point was precariously leaning over the railing, Her movement was careful and controlled, but her eyes seemed wild.

“Cabin Fever is a real thing, Ratchet, and mental health is important to a patient's overall recovery, Vital even, in some cases for humans. Not that I am currently in recovery,”

The medic chuffed.

“Please, please, please, pleasepleaseplease -”

“Alright! Alright!”

Bulkhead felt his jaw unhinge as the Ratchet looked at the girl with a clear amount of exasperation and fondness. The mech’s EM fields pulsed with resignation and just a hint of pride as the girl yelled “ thank you ” and leaped down the stairs.

“You do not leave Bulkhead’s side, and you call me at the first sign of trouble.”

She nodded and rolled her eyes. Miko jumped the girl with a hug, already launching into a description of her escape from detention and bemoaning her history project. Ashlyn smiled and nodded as the group moved to the still-flickering ground bridge. She paused for a moment, she always did that before entering a bridge , and ran back to the mech who had reluctantly set her free. Fully knowing that she’d be eating her words but running off pure impulse, the girl ran over and hugged Ratchet's ped, “ Be back soon! What's the worst that could happen? ” before running back and diving into the ground bridge.

Bulkhead didn’t even hold back Miko who followed whooping loudly.

The wrecker shivered as Ratchet’s field turned sharp and hot, optics pinning Bulkhead like a specimen on a dissection tray.

“If they get hurt, so help me, Bulkhead, your helm will have a permanent dent. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yessir.”

Chapter Text

Ground bridges were a necessary evil.

A truly malicious and deceptively cruel evil.

Once upon a time, in a world without alien robots, mysterious homes, and life-altering plotlines, Ashlyn had thought such a device to be amazing. Not in an awe-inspiring way, but in an envious appreciation for immediate transportation and the variety of scenes it provided. She hadn’t thought much of Ground bridges. Nothing concerning their logistics or the queasy first reaction the kids were shown having on tv. Ashlyn’s mind and opinion had been unwaveringly neutral on the device.

Now, not so much.

The swirling colors had always made her hesitate, the glowing whirlpool of energy summoning memories of nightmares that had otherwise faded away. Then, there was the feeling . Like feathers tickling her organs, liquid frothing beneath tightened skin, bones freezing even as her blood heated. There was a pull every minute she spent in that swirling column. A string tied her back to where she came from as the current pushed her to where she was supposed to go. And then a strange tug, an odd prick, from outside that damn tube. A sensation that made the journey seem longer than it had any right to be and taunted with a threat of undoing the spiral altogether. Ashlyn could see it in her mind, every time she entered a bridge, how the Energon-laced vortex would fluctuate. How cyan and indigo fibers would fray and separate. A tear would appear, lining the edges, elongating and twisting. Ink would pour in, dark and thick, a tidal wave that would seep and pour through, sweeping up a trapped human and pulling her out into a void of nothing forever.

Lost. Decaying between the molecules of a world she was never meant to see.

Ashlyn trusted Ratchet, she may give him a hard time, and she most certainly wasn’t just going to hand him the title of her Primary Physician, but she did trust him. Trusted him not to hurt her. Trusted him not to try.

So, from that, she trusted his science.

Ratchet’s science had been used and tested for years, for millennia even. She could never hope to comprehend formulas and methods, but it was a language and system the medic knew well enough to replicate from scrap.

And so, Ashlyn entered the Ground bridge.

It helped, to close your eyes and bite your cheek. Brace yourself as if jumping into a pool or approaching a loop on a coaster.

This time the prick was sharper. The tug stronger.

Ashlyn walked forward, ignoring the whispers that filled her ears and the voices that clouded her head.

They were getting quieter .

Her feet brushed a non-existent floor, the soles of her boots sticking like tar.

She kept walking. Eyes closed. Never looking, refusing to see.

Finally, the air shifted, warmth and movement so palpable after the emptiness of the Ground bridge. Sunlight was the first thing Ashlyn felt, sunlight and a cool salty wind.

Her boots hit the pale dirt, dust rising softly as she stepped forward, and the girl looked around in absolute wonder. Stone steps surrounded the drop-off point, and centuries-old architecture nestled into the side of a mountain. An amphitheater.

Or, at least, she thought it was.

The girl paused for a moment. The site seemed deserted, with no tourists, or archeologists, or locals. Not even Miko or Bulkhead had appeared yet even as the bridge flickered behind her. At this moment, in this place, Ashlyn was completely alone.

The blue sky beamed down at her, the wind ruffled her hair and the sun kissed her cheeks. Ashlyn let the quiet settle over her spirit, breathing deeply, the tranquility smoothening out what fear and stress had clutched so harshly.

Moment over, the girl surveyed the land once more, eyes cataloging and mapping everything in view, including the location of a certain fresco. But that was for later, for now, it was just an interdimensional traveler and the ruins of history.

Ashlyn let out a squeal.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

By the time Bulkhead finally drove through, no his frame was not shaking thank you very much , he was greeted by a very strange sight. Miko, his charge, honorary wrecker, and a bundle of pure energy and little restraint, was standing calmly in the middle of the arena-like space. Bulkhead hesitated as he approached, transforming with a blaster ready at the slightest hint of danger, the mech had only two questions in his helm.

What made Miko freeze like she’s been forced into stasis?

And where was Ratchet’s charge?

Following the direction Miko’s head was facing, both questions were answered.

And several more raised.

Darting around the carved stone and crumbling ruins, was Ashlyn Moore. The human moved nimbly and quickly, pivoting and weaving up and down the scene, rambling wildly. Coming to a fallen column, the massive cylinder lay on its side, a portion lifted up into the air and clearly not structurally sound, the human scurried up the cracking remnant, her words carried by the wind.

“I can’t believe I don’t have a camera!” stepping pointedly on the ledge, unaware of Bulkhead's rising panic because she’s even crazier than Miko and Ratchetwillhavemyhelm - the girl pointed down with a crooked finger with a focused, if manic, glare. “Miko!” her voice thundered, a faint crackle of lighting and - what Miko would describe later as an anime side-quest power - pouring off her tiny being in unyielding waves, “You are in charge of pictures! Take Them! Take Them All!”

Nodding sagely, Miko took a picture of the older girl, face meticulously blank.

Ashlyn, seemingly satisfied, leaped off the debris and continued poking around the site.

“Is.. is Ashlyn… alright?” Bulkhead was mentally resigning himself to his fate and wondered what wrench Ratchet would employ. The mech had quite the collection, and the Wrecker shuddered to think of the tool that he would be subjugated to when Ratchet learned his charge had lost her mind within a fragging minute of leaving the base.

When Jackie returned, he and Miko could split his belongings. May they remember his spark fondly.

Cracking a smile, Miko quickly sent a copy of the picture to a new group chat, “ mmm , Nah, she’s fine.”

Bulkhead didn’t quite believe it, optics skeptically tracking the small human’s movements. For the moment, Ashlyn seemed more akin to a scraplet amped up on high grade than any sane being. Still, she looked to fragging happy that it made his spark warm a little bit. Even if the girl was making Miko look tame, a deeply concerning development, it was nice to see her smile.

As if summoned by the thoughts of the Wrecker, Ashlyn carefully moved down the ancient steps. Her movements, while quick and slightly erratic, still had an undercurrent of awareness behind them. Lighter steps, careful placement of peds, and smoothly shifting her frame weight; all were preventive measures to avoid causing too much damage to a site.

He remembered seeing archaeologists move like that on Cybertron, trained mechs and femmes working to gather and survey plots of land before demolitions could be authorized.

So, at least the girl wasn’t too far gone. Maybe a defragging cycle could fix whatever glitch had surfaced. Did humans have defragging cycles?

Blind to the green ‘bots inner meltdown, Ashlyn strolled over to the pair, her berserker energy calming even with the bright smile glued to her face.

“Thank you so much, Bulkhead, for letting me tag along. I felt like I was never going to get out of there.”

The ‘bot nodded, stuttering slightly, “No problem, Ash.”

The girl beamed once more, teeth flashing, and once more vanished into the background.

Maybe Bulkhead shouldn’t be too surprised. Ashlyn was usually tame, but the ‘con’s infiltration of the base had revealed a feral side of the organic. It was still unnerving, the sudden switches in behavior, the fluid personality that swung between sweet and sharp. Miko, at least, was constant in her mannerisms. Bulkhead could predict his charge’s decisions to a certain extent. Yes, there was still a level of the unknown, a random variable that could throw everything off, and he’d only known the humans for such a short time, but Bulkhead knew Miko. She had a spark similar to Jackie, one similar to him . It was like caring for the rookie Bulk. From before Optimus, before the war, and before Cybertron went dark.

Ashlyn was something else.

It was as alarming as it was fascinating.

Ashlyn still had that spark, something that felt familiar to the Wrecker. It wasn’t the reckless excitement of youth, but a determination and resolve that reminded Bulkhead of the commanders he’d served under. Warriors charged with the lives of others, mechs weary of their duties but set on finishing their missions.

There must be something wrong with his processor. What would an organic child have in common with old war-hardened mechs?

Maybe Ratchet would give him a scan after he finished beating his helm in. 

It was proving difficult to keep track of the humans, Ashlyn would wander in and out of view only to pop up in a completely different location, Miko meanwhile, stayed near her guardian taking pictures as she weaved around moving peds, alternating between running ahead and lagging behind.  

It was like herding cybercats.

At least the girls were getting their exercise... That was a good thing right? They’d barely been there for a klik and already Bulk was out of his depth. Primus help him.

Miko took another picture.

“So, what are we doing in Greco-Ville?” 

Pushing aside the rising anxiety, Bulkhead pulled out the Energon Scanner from his subspace. Yes, he had a job to do, a mission to accomplish. Focus on the mission.

“I'm scouting Energon. You're doing research for your history report.”

The girl’s eyes widened as she groaned “You punked me, Bulk? Not cool .” 

The Wrecker thought he picked up the faint sound of chuckling. 

Puffing her cheeks and flipping pink-streaked hair, his charge huffed as she marched forward, “Then what’s Ashlyn supposed to do?”

“Get some fresh air and… whatever she’s doing right now..”

“Ugh.”

“I’m sure she can help you if you have any questions. Better than I can at least.”

Smiling softly as the Japanese girl’s face wrinkled in displeasure, Bulkhead set to work hunting for the signal’s source. He waved the device in front of him, watching carefully as the sensors beeped and the dial moved. “ Hmm . Signal’s strong.” Following the trail, Bulkhead soon found himself overlooking a scene as alien as it was familiar. Two worn yellow vehicles lay abandoned by the edge of a large rectangular section of the ruins. The rock and dirt had been removed, baring freshly tilled earth to the fresh air. Well, the dirt and anything that might be hidden just beneath it.

Earthen soil was soft, the fleshling's tools tiny, and the area all but abandoned. Still, it wasn’t too difficult to replace the rock with slabs of silver, the dinky yellow with black drills, and the quiet with the organized bustle of workers. Bulkhead would be the first to say he didn’t know much, but the ‘bot would be the first to recognize this.

 “An excavation site.”

He couldn’t help but feel a measure of pride as Miko let out a whisper of awe, even if it was only for the simple act of recognizing something that had been ingrained into his programming since he was a youngling. His caste wasn’t something to gloat about, a fact Bulkhead had to remind himself of every time those wide brown eyes looked up at him in wonder.

“I know construction.” focusing back on the task, Bulk’s optics examined the dug-out hole, “According to my scanner, humans hit Energon veins, and they don't even know it....” following the tire tracks left that must have been left behind by the humans- maybe they were coming back with more gear - Bulkhead almost missed a very important detail.

There, drawn on a wall half hidden by a small tree was an ancient piece of art. 

Art depicting Cybertronian tech.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

Breakdown needed to wrap things up.

Knockout was waiting for him on the Nemesis, and even if the vanity bot hadn’t blown up his comms just yet, Breakdown could just feel the racer’s impatience. 

Energon scouting was a dull chore on a very long list of chores they both needed to complete, and that was without a summons from Lord Starscream and whatever stupid mission he’d pulled out of his tailpipe. With his and Doc Knocks recent too recent failure to obtain the source of that energy signature- not to mention getting shown up by an organic - and Makeshift’s own return and forced stasis - they were still working on repairing whatever the slag happened to his arm - any commands from the new Lord of the Deceptions was almost guaranteed to be unpleasant.

So, with that in mind, the pair had resolved to split up. Between the two of them, Knockout was the actual doctor, and Breakdown was little more than an unofficially trained assistant. With the Velocitronian’s skills and suave personality, Knockout should be able to buy time if not fix the issue completely before Breakdown could say “All Hail Starscream.”

At least, he hoped so.

So there he was, minding his own business, dust clogging between gears, sensors beeping steadily, and blissfully clear of any organic screamy thingies.

Or he thought was.

At first, it was a blur. A spot of black against a bleached stone, a stain of blue by a pillar, a fuzzy silhouette that merged into shadow.

Breakdown didn’t stop, even as his steps slowed, helm turning to catch the strange apparition, only for the thing to vanish before his optics could locate it.

His audio receptor picked up a chittering noise. Vague and jumbled, words were barely comprehensible and it took a moment for his processor to recognize the language, butchered as it was.

With rising alarm, Breakdown recognized it as a human language. Scanning through his memory core, the con didn’t recognize the voice print from any of the known Autobots on earth. Had he stumbled upon a new one, or, was this, a human?

His denta ground together as his face plates force themselves into a grin. Breakdown hoped it was an Autobot. Humans, so squishy, so screechy, had proven themselves to be annoying vermin. Breakdown was well aware he'd run into the bipedal organics at some point , this rock was positively crawling with them, but as long as he never saw that particular organic again, he would rust a satisfied con.

He could still feel that thing writhing in his servo, digits clasped on the warm and muddy squishy organic flesh, spark startled by the otherworldly cries. The way it seemed to wail and roar in a single breath. How the thing slipped from his grip, leaving behind a streak of red and the slam of a door.

No. If Breakdown never had to see that thing again, that one creature among the billions of species that roamed this forsaken back-water planet, he would be a very happy con indeed.

A pity he wasn't that lucky.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

Ashlyn was many things.

She was sleep deprived, vaguely depressed, most certainly paranoid, and very aware of her current manic behavior. See Ashlyn was many things, and she was aware of that fact .

It was hard not to be when self-reflection and self-examination were an almost constant exercise for the girl. 

She wasn’t crazy. But didn’t crazy people have voices in their heads? Did crazy people feel themselves go insane? Did the insane see the universe gaslight them? 

Ashlyn didn’t know. She probably would never know.

But she knew herself.

If she knew herself, then Ashlyn would know when she wasn’t herself. She would notice if she was being influenced. If her reasoning became questionable. If something else took control.

She didn’t know why she was worried about that. But she was worried about a lot of things- what was one more?

See, Ratchet this is why she needed to get out of the base.

It was harder to distract yourself when you only had yourself for company. Yourself, and constant reminders of everything that was wrong with your situation- no matter how much you may love them.

So yes, Ashlyn was many things. And with these many things, the girl was self-aware enough to recognize them. Of course, no one knows themselves perfectly . An individual is always growing, being molded by time and circumstance, new traits can come and go, and new things appear.

So, as Ashlyn engulfed herself in the ancient architecture, mind marinating on the old myths and snippets of history she could recall, the girl was forced to confront such a realization. 

She was absorbed in her interest, so much so that the girl lost track of not only her Autobot bodyguard and fellow human, but also of the episode itself.

Who could blame her? This was Greece .

Ashlyn Moore was so absorbed, that she didn’t notice her visitor until he had almost passed her by completely.

With a squeak and a prayer, Ashlyn ducked behind a half-collapsed wall as Breakdown’s blueberry helm and orange optics turned in her direction. Heart beating frantically, the girl covered her mouth with a clenched fist. Frozen, she only moved to peer above her makeshift cover when the rattling thuds of the titan’s steps faded slightly.

Not quite enough to be gone, oh definitely not, if the blue arm peeking out the cliff corner told her anything , but far enough to not be in the immediate vicinity and nonchalant enough to be unaware of her presence.

Hopefully.

Grinding her teeth, the girl bit her tongue lest she shakes her clenched fists and unleash the plethora of curses- human and Cybertronaian - that she had reserved for whatever being or thing brought her to this world in the first place.

With no such person readily available, Ashlyn’s mind turned to the theoretical.

Does the plot want me dead? Drive me insane and make me vanish from existence?

I didn't ask to be here, don’t take it out on me!

At least the voices were remaining blessedly silent. It was greatly annoying how fickle they were. It would have been cool if they acted like ‘boss music,’ Ashlyn would have appreciated the danger warning. But, no , she’d only have auditory hallucinations around the Boss Bot and home, which of course made perfect sense! Optimus was such a massive threat to her well-being it made the human-squeezing Decepticon look like a freaking mosquito!

It was tempting, to fall back and hide, to let the anger take give way to despair, because how could she survive this if she kept getting into danger and had noideahowtoleave -

But she remembered her promise.

Ashlyn promised her mom she wouldn’t stop fighting, and that she wouldn’t let herself stay lost.

Her soul tightened its grip on that promise, her heart refusing to shatter and her mind unwilling to break as long as she had that.

So she shoved away the sorrow, hid it away in the far corners of her mind. But that didn't take away the anger.

At this moment, Ashlyn confronted the new thing that surfaced in her.

Breakdown had stilled, he must have caught sight of Bulk , and the mech looked so unaware, so vulnerable , blind to her presence. Ashlyn remember how he had cracked her ribs, how his grip had bruised her body, how his meddling had brought her into this war, how he had found her cowering in the grass .

Anger warmed her. Breakdown was lucky he was one of her favorite characters. He was lucky that she thought he deserved better than he’d received in canon.

Sneaking closer, Ashlyn couldn’t but think it was unlucky too.

If Breakdown weren’t so familiar, she might not be so tempted to even the score.

“Why would ancient Greeks paint an Energon Harvester?”

Yes. that was Bulkhead’s line. He’d found the mural and Miko would take a picture.

Not that it mattered, the golden orb would be easy to locate without one. The Decepticons managed to find it. So did Raf. She could point the team in the right direction if needed.

Miko’s voice was carried by the wind, her interest clear and the camera’s shutter loud, “You know what that round thing is? You're smarter than you let on.”

Breakdown steps forward, “But even dumber than he looks.” 

The con pauses up on the hill, secured on the high ground, the mech seems to savor this. Whether it be the tactical advantage over a long-time adversary or releasing the tension before a fight is anyone’s guess.

Ashlyn bets on the latter.

She creeps forward.

Positioning himself protectively over Miko, Bulkhead couldn’t help a shiver of misgiving winding beneath his seams. Of course, this was horrible, Breakdown of all ‘bots appearing while he was scouting with the kids. At least that bucket of bolts would be more interested in him than Miko and-

Wait

Where was Ashlyn? 

The blue con adjusts his stance, his bulky frame a near equal to the Autobot’s. Bulkhead lets out a growl, servos clenching, torn between watching the mech clearly itching for a fight and looking for the human missing from the scene/

“ Miss me ?” 

The Wrecker makes his choice, “Like rust in my undercarriage.”  Optics watching the con, watching for the hints of a transformation sequence, or the inevitable charge, Bulkhead chooses to focus on the immediate threat and hopes Ashlyn is smart enough to stay hidden.

“You know this lunkhead?” 

Miko’s question is a reminder that it's not his pride at stake now, but the lives of two innocents this con won’t hesitate to crush if Bulkhead seems attached.

“We have a history .”

Bulkhead can still remember the sting of betrayal, how the Constructicon sold them out for some upgrades, and a bucket-head tyrant. Breakdown has given him enough grief, and the scum keeps crawling back.

But it ends on Earth, Breakdown will never get the chance to hurt his team, to hurt his charge . Not while his spark still pulses.

The sneer the Decepticon gives Miko, bristles Bulkhead’s plating, pinned between the two of them, Bulkhead can only watch Breakdown.

“And you have a pet .” his voice dripping with disdain, before twisting into a sadistic smile, “Does it play catch?” The Deception twists, pulling a still-standing column from the earth and hefting it up, “ Cat- ”

“HELLO THERE! ”

This time, it’s Breakdown who shrieks, losing his grip on the stone and dropping it on his own helm. Bulkhead watches as the disoriented 'con slips off the cliffside, rolling down the hill and slamming into the mural, destroying the art forever. Miko takes a picture. Bulkhead watches as his nemesis picks himself up, transforms, and drives away, dust trailing behind him. Slowly, blue optics retrace the fallen 'con's tumble, funding a small figure laughing loudly. Ashlyn clutches her stomach tightly, covered in white dust from Breakdown's failed javelin but seemingly unharmed.

Ashlyn is more than unharmed. She's found her new thing. A small measure of justice, for the human, against those who deny her rights. Who identify her as a pet.

Pettiness feels like a rightful response.

Hopefully, Ratchet will agree.

Chapter Text

Cyan optics scanned panels of text as white and orange panels cinched together, tense and deathly still. The base was silent, broken only for the clacking of keys and the soft hums and murmurs of a mech in deep thought.

Ratchet had always liked the quiet. The stillness that provided ease, brought by a lack of patients to worry for, lives to save, and no stubborn ‘bots to undo his hard work. In the silence, he could hear himself think. His mind could turn to a new project, processors focusing on new information, new techniques, and new tools that could prove vital in his work.

Ratchet rarely had time to himself, almost every action he completed could be traced back to his work as the sole Autobot Medic. This was no exception.

Initially, of course, the mech had no interest in this particular branch of research. Ratchet had already learned the basics of human physiology and, as fascinating as it could be, he felt no need to look into it much farther beyond the basic first aid.

But there were so many more fields, so many more ways a human could become hurt.

Internal frameworks breaking or falling out of alignment, foreign pathogens that could disrupt bodily functions, abrasions to the protoform becoming infected and resulting in amputation, and cases where humans had fried their neural network while sleeping.

Ratchet had to stop his research once his cooling fans kicked in. He was no use to this issue if he panicked himself into overheating. 

Setting the concerning information aside, he’d deal with that later, Ratchet alternated between his project and tracking Bulkhead’s signal. 

He wasn’t being paranoid. He wasn’t. The group had moved close to the epicenter of the signal, just a few hundred feet if his measurements were correct, but Bulkhead had yet to report the children’s conditions or the situation at hand. Normally no news would be considered good news, comms were far too easy to patch in and that blasted Soundwave was far too eager to take advantage of that fact. Radio silence was the normal protocol, only broken if the bot required medical aid or backup.

They didn’t need another Cliffjumper.

No need for good news.

That didn’t stop the medic’s spark from skipping a beat every time he saw his charge’s usual location completely void of her presence. The couch still held an indent from where she’d last been, blankets tossed haphazardly aside, book tethering on the edge of the small table, as if awaiting her return.

Loneliness was not something Ratchet had felt for a long, long time.

Life was too long, meetings too short, to get to attached to such a short-lived being, to get attached to anyone really. Not in war. Not when Megatron could take it all away. And yet, Ashlyn had wormed her way through his plating anyway.

His charge wasn’t as hyper as Miko, but she’d more than proven her recklessness to the aging mech. Launching herself at a Decepticon? Refusing medical treatment? If he didn’t know any better, Ratchet would bet she’d storm the Nemesis itself if she thought such an action was warranted.

It was as admirable as terrifying.

Humans were small, weak, and fragile. They may have sparks larger than their frames, but it didn’t change how close they were to death.

A Guardian protected their charge, prolonging their life and shielding them from the dangers of the universe.

Ratchet was Ashlyn’s guardian, and while he could never live up to the majesty or devotion of the Guardians of old, he could look to their example, as little as he knew of it. 

Ratchet was used to solving problems. He could solve the problem of keeping his charge safe from her terrible luck and terrible impulses.

She and Rafael had grown on him too much to allow otherwise. Like particularly stubborn rust. 

Only Rafael wasn’t nearly as troubling, and not only because he was under Bumblebee's care, Rafael chose to stay in the nest.

Why?

Rafael had stayed put because he had been content to stay put. The boy’s interests lay indoors, to begin with, and the child was easily entertained by that racing game he and his guardian played.

The scout was a fragging genius. 

Ashlyn had been unwilling to stay put the moment Ratchet had placed those, very reasonable, boundaries. It was adorably sparkling like. The girl hadn’t had the proper stimulation a growing mind required. She had become bored, resulting in this “ cabin fever .”

But she needed to stay in the base. For her safety, the girl needed to stay out from underfoot and away from potential threats like the Decepticons, MECH, reckless drivers, brain-eating parasites, contaminated fuel, elevators -

No. No, he needed to focus.

Ratchet remembered the way the girl's face had lit up when describing an ancient city, the way she was usually curled up in the corner, engulfed in something soft with that hot liquid steaming from a disposable cup and a book in hand. She always looked content.

Contentment was the absence of boredom.

Contentment meant she wouldn’t run off for something else.

Contentment equated to safety.

Glancing away from the screens, the Mech’s optics were caught on an oddly usual sight. Raf, still safe among the cushions, was talking to Bumblebee about something he had pulled up on his computer. His eyes were bright behind the heavy-rimmed glasses and his smile was wide as the boy pointed and chatted about his latest digital discovery. His tiny voice rose in joy as he talked to the scout.

Would Ashlyn connect with him like that? 

Watching Rafael and Bumblebee interact, watching Jack and Arcee laughing in the corner, remembering how Miko and Bulkhead bonded, the medic couldn’t help but feel a shred of envy, as ridiculous as it was. 

Ratchet didn’t really know his charge, did he? A Guardian protected, but nothing instructed how to care.

Humans. This planet was doing strange things to him.

Returning to his project, audio receptors ready for Bulkhead’s signal, Ratchet went to work. Hopefully, this wouldn’t just keep Ashlyn safe, but help them get to know each other.

In the name of proper Guardianship, of course.

Thank the Allspark, Optimus never outgrew his hoarding tendencies, or this would never work.

❧❧❧

When Bulkhead called for a Ground Bridge, his voice is strangled, as if his vocal processors were blocked by a misaligned gear.

Ratchet immediately straightened up.

Arcee and Bumblebee watched in concern, conversations broken off, humans exchanging glances. 

Typing in the coordinates provided by the Wrecker, the Medic tried not to overthink. Just because it sounded like Bulkhead had knocked some internal systems out of alignment, it didn’t mean that anything had actually occurred, let alone if anything was wrong. 

Then again, anything could go wrong.

Raf perked up from his computer, watching the flurried movements of 

Miko entered the base first, high-pitched laughter echoing as she waved her telecommunication device wildly. The human was practically skipping up the stairs, her jumbled shouts impossible to understand.

Bulkhead was no more clear.

The Wrecker didn’t move, but for a few steady steps forward, optics unfocused and face plates blank, the Mech didn’t utter a syllable.  

“Bulkhead, what happened?!”

The Mech muttered something.

“What?”

Like grinding gears, Bulkhead’s voice leached back to broken cybertronian, voice muddled and unrecognizable.

“Do I need to get my wrench? What. Happened.”

Bulkhead’s jaw opened slowly, optics suddenly gaining a new clarity as they flickered between the Medic and the rest of his team. Voice wavering, servos held up, the titan took a step back; “No need to get crazier- crazy, there Doc. She’s fine- Better even! A little dusty, but not a scratch on her… Miko checked!”

“Why would she need to be checked ?”

“ Uhhhh. ”

A hand knocked against his ped.

Startled, armor folding down that Ratcht hadn’t even realized had risen up, the Mech looked down to meet the warm gaze of Ashlyn Moore.

She was covered in white dust, from head to toe, she looked like one of the statues that she had ogled over. Scanning her quickly, ignoring the shrill squeal of “Hey!” the medic scooped up the too small child- a youngling, a sparkling - and carried her to the med bay. 

A preliminary scan was inconclusive, there was no basis to compare to - as his charge had made a valid point of to mention before- so Ratchet would be forced to rely on whatever average statistics he could scrounge up on the inter-web. At first glance, the girl looked fine, but was she really?

It took every ounce of restraint not to break her trust and give her a proper examination.

Ratchet needed to care.

He cared too much already.

Delicately lowering his servo to the berth, letting the human slide from his grip, the Medic met his would-be patient’s glare unflinching.

“Well… that was dramatic, wasn’t it?”

Ratchet didn’t reply.

Rolling her eyes, annoyance leaching from every pore of her body, Ashlyn looked away, “I don’t need to be treated, so I don’t need to be here. Please, let me go.”

“No.”

“What?”

“ No . You are free to leave, but I am not helping you get down until you tell me why you're in such a disheveled state and why Bulkhead looks like he’s seen the Unmaker, himself.”

Scoffing, the human quietly muttered something as she moved to the edge of the examination table. Unlucky, Ashlyn was so concerned with figuring out a way to parkour out of this conversation, she neglected to properly muffle her words.

Ratchets scream echoed out of the room and down the halls, the sound waves smacking Bulkhead’s helm almost as if in warning of what was to come. Unknown to either Ratchet or Ashlyn, Bulkhead took an early patrol.

“ Breakdown looked worse?” What do you mean Breakdown looked worse?! ”

Smile tightening, Ashlyn suddenly became very aware of how her guardian was almost foaming at the mouth, if that was even anatomically possible, waves of panic and rage rang out from the mech.

It almost reminded her of the voices.

Regardless, unless the girl wanted to spend the rest of her life in a plush hamster ball, she needed to diffuse this ticking time bomb. Immediately.

Forcing her voice to be even, calm, and soothing even, Ashlyn tried to quickly run through the day’s without provoking the beast any more than he already was.

If it came to it, could she jump for it? Bend the knees, roll the landing, and drop the ten feet to freedom? Bones healed, but bubble wrap was forever.

“ Uhhh , Bulkhead, and Miko went ahead to look for the source of the signal, I stayed back to look at the architecture. Really fascinating, and in surprisingly good condition too! I mean, I would say even a once-in-a-lifetime viewing for myself. I. Was. Blessed. My life has peaked already, I must find a new dream. Of curse, murphy’s law exists, which by nature cannot be prevented, and Breakdown appeared. He didn’t see me, I saw him. No harm done, I’m a-okay. But then, Decepticon sees Autobot, and of course, Decepticon absolutely must pick up a priceless historical rock to smash Autobot and other human. I was right there. And it's a good thing to protect your friend right? Breakdown had the high ground Ratchet, Bulk was doomed. So, da unobserved human sneaks up and, from a completely safe distance, scares the Decepticon so much he drops the rock on his own head.”

Clutching his helm, Ratchet took a moment to settle himself. Ashlyn, despite her appearance and behavior, was not a cybertronian youngling. It was not within his right to ‘parent’ her when she had her own. Earth had its own pecking order when it came to raising children, a very different one from cybertronian culture where sparklings were rare and raised by communities alongside their creators.

Earth was not Cybertron. Humans were not Cybertronian. Ratchet couldn’t forget this.

Smothering his instincts and programming, Ratchet continued his questioning with just as even a voice as his charge.

“And, how exactly did you ‘scare’ Breakdown?”

“… I said hello.”

“You said ‘Hello.”

“Yes.

“To a trained warrior-”

“So I shouldn’t talk to you guys?”

“who has slaughtered soldiers with millennia more experience,”

“I mean technically, but what’s his experience with humans?”

“And you scared him ?”

“... to be fair, I think he might already have a trauma associated with me.”

Oh, primus, why me? Servos twitching, alarms hammering his processor, Ratchet gritted his denta. This human was more infuriating than all the wreckers combined! At least they had some combat training!

“What did he do afterward?”

“Well, if we didn’t have so many Jacks I’d give him a nickname, ‘cause he rolled down the hill and destroyed a priceless treasure- ” Ashlyn’s face paled, eyes wide, and her half-assed attempt at being calm was thrown out the window and set on fire. “The fresco. H-he smashed the fresco!”

“And? What does your planet’s pitiful attempt at historical documentation have anything to do with this conversation-”

“We’re wasting time, Hatchet! Get Miko! Get Raf! Get the internet! ”

“ Hatchet ?”

Not bothering to wait for the elder’s response, or to address the sudden nickname thank you internet, the girl leaped off the table, and quickly grabbed by the screaming mech.

“What the frag do you think you’re-”

“Ratchet?”

Both human and ‘bot froze, slowly turning to meet the confused face plates of Optimus Prime.

P̷̢̼̣̮̪̲͉͙̥͔̋͋͐̌́͌̑ͅr̴͍̰͔̻͈̦͙̪͔̗͔̆̌̉ĩ̵̫͚̼̺̺̘̣̮͑̾m̶̘̝͉̠̰̦͕͔͈̥̮̘̿͊̅͜ḙ̵̡̢̛͔͎̪̩̺͔̹̮̘̺̍́̃̅̌̏̀̓̆̃̈́͆̆͋͘͠ͅ ̸͇̗̝͈͎̩̟̭͉̠̭̼̼̝͍͆́̅P̴̢͙͕͍͎̗̼̤̺͎̭̫̯̥̬͙̈ͅr̷̛̛̜̪̤̗͔͕̎̂̈̐̂͋̉́̎̈́̌͜͝į̶̢̜̱̲̺͖̲͔̞̞̰̅͆͊̔̋̉͐́͒̿͂̂͋͒͠m̸͚̲̼̺̖̟͉̗͓̿̐͛̃̊̅̎̆͐̾̔̊̚̚͜ḛ̶̡̡̥̫͙̹̪̲͇̝̦̺̯͕̹͖͆̅̉͋̋̿̇̔̒͘̕͝͝͝ ̶̨̛̞͈͖͚̬͓̍͂̏͂́͊̏̈́͊͐̇͛̕͘͘P̶̩͇̜̹͌̌̏̽̕r̷̜̖͇̗̖̖̟͚͒̔̈́́̄̀̐͊̾̆͊̀̂̊̆͌̚ī̵̢͍̮͕͈̳̞̓̀̓̒̽̂̋͑̎̕ͅm̸̡̭̻͉͓̎̆̄́̎̏̊̄͊̎͘͝è̵̢̨̡͚̫̖̱͙̥͇̱̱̱̺̜̓́͊̋̎͝

Face rapidly turning red, mind racing, Ashlyn shrunk into the open palm of her guardian. She wasn’t embarrassed , there was no reason for her heart to pound so hard or her voice to freeze.

P̷̢̼̣̮̪̲͉͙̥͔̋͋͐̌́͌̑ͅr̴͍̰͔̻͈̦͙̪͔̗͔̆̌̉ĩ̵̫͚̼̺̺̘̣̮͑̾m̶̘̝͉̠̰̦͕͔͈̥̮̘̿͊̅͜ḙ̵̡̢̛͔͎̪̩̺͔̹̮̘̺̍́̃̅̌̏̀̓̆̃̈́͆̆͋͘͠ͅ ̸͇̗̝͈͎̩̟̭͉̠̭̼̼̝͍͆́̅P̴̢͙͕͍͎̗̼̤̺͎̭̫̯̥̬͙̈ͅr̷̛̛̜̪̤̗͔͕̎̂̈̐̂͋̉́̎̈́̌͜͝į̶̢̜̱̲̺͖̲͔̞̞̰̅͆͊̔̋̉͐́͒̿͂̂͋͒͠m̸͚̲̼̺̖̟͉̗͓̿̐͛̃̊̅̎̆͐̾̔̊̚̚͜ḛ̶̡̡̥̫͙̹̪̲͇̝̦̺̯͕̹͖͆̅̉͋̋̿̇̔̒͘̕͝͝͝ ̶̨̛̞͈͖͚̬͓̍͂̏͂́͊̏̈́͊͐̇͛̕͘͘P̶̩͇̜̹͌̌̏̽̕r̷̜̖͇̗̖̖̟͚͒̔̈́́̄̀̐͊̾̆͊̀̂̊̆͌̚ī̵̢͍̮͕͈̳̞̓̀̓̒̽̂̋͑̎̕ͅm̸̡̭̻͉͓̎̆̄́̎̏̊̄͊̎͘͝è̵̢̨̡͚̫̖̱͙̥͇̱̱̱̺̜̓́͊̋̎͝

There was no reason at all.

Ice blue optics centered on the dust-covered organic with a raised optic ridge. The human seemed fine, Optimus’s old friend was clearly concerned, but had yet to break out any medical equipment so it couldn’t have been too severe a health risk. Just some mischief.

Ashlyn stayed silent as Ratchet described the turn of events, not once defending herself or her actions. The human just stared forward with large eyes, that flicked under the artificial lights.

The matrix hummed, reaching out with its host. Optimus’s face remained clear, even as his mind whirled. He thought he confirmed it on that fateful day he’d obeyed the ancient laws. No warrior had appeared, no vessels had emerged, and the slight rejuvenation had been a fluke. The half-formed bond meant nothing.

But he could feel it. The tendrils of energy and life reaching for their other half, the one part of his primehood he’d never obtained.

Megatronous had wanted to serve that role so desperately, to vow his life and spark to their home and ensure its protection and legacy.

Megatrounous never got that chance.

Never would.

So why did Ashlyn draw up these thoughts again? These old plans, worthless for anything other than guilt?

Was it because the two were so similar- in their pessimism, their snark, their intelligence, their ferocity?

Or was it something else entirely?

“- and broke a fresco, ” as if a fresco is more important than this blatant and reckless endangering of her own wellbeing!”

As quickly as the moment had come, the charged atmosphere faded. 

A switch flipped, an almost audible click as Optimus was forcefully slapped away and the matrix hissed. Ashlyn sat up, eyes focused, pleading, for them to just take a look at the pictures Miko took. Something about how Bulkhead spotted something that looked cybertronian, and the chances of it being valuable.

The trio each shoved their emotions down, fear wouldn’t be helpful.

Not when none of them knew what it was they feared.

❧❧❧

“It is indeed an Energon Harvester - A powerful tool created by the ancients to remove raw energon from any source.”

Ashlyn relaxed at Optimus’s proclamation. Still kept in the servo of her Guardian, and more comfortable than she’d ever admit, it was as if a weight had lifted. 

She’d almost completely thrown off the script! The Autobots had been too concerned over her little revenge stunt that they almost completely missed the relic!

But, the episode had been saved, the crisis averted, and she could rest in the knowledge that she’d play only a minor role at most for the rest of day. 

Ratchet, still cupping his charge in one hand, used the other servo to enlarge the image on his screens. Miko’s shot was a little blurry, but the image was still easily identifiable.

“The ancients often used the art of a given era to conceal messages. This fresco was likely a signpost indicating a harvester's location hidden somewhere on this planet.”

“Uh, Optimus,” Jack’s nervous voice drew attention away from the history session, speculation rising as he walked forward, “if the harvester removes energon from anything, and you all have energon pumping inside you.”

With a wary look and a single solemn nod, the prime confirms Jack’s fear, even as Jack inadvertently confirmed Optimus’s,  “ In Decepticon hands, the harvester would be a devastating weapon.”

“ Instant exsanguination. ”

Apparently, this morbid creativity wasn’t only limited to Ashlyn. Through, the dreamy tone Rachet's charge used when identifying the scenario of draining a creature of its life-blood was concerning. Almost as concerning as the existents of an identifier in the first place, let alone one known by a child. What did humans teach their younglings?

With her usual sunshine optimism, and thankfully providing an excuse to ignore any further concerns, Miko’s excited voice cut through the tension, “See, Bulk? You were a genius to total that painting.”

Yes. That was humanity. Bright smiles, energetic, and empathetic. Goodness and simplicity at its finest.

Humans could be saved. Earth wouldn’t share the same fate as Cybertron.

Optimus wouldn’t watch another planet fall into ruin.

“Miko's not wrong.” Arcee speaks up from her usual corner, surprisingly unperturbed about the conversation, “How can the 'cons find the harvester without the fresco?”

“With high-speed Internet.” Mercilessly, Raf types into his laptop. Within a few keystrokes, the boy turns the device around, showing off the Harvester “If you do an image search for "Greek God" and "golden orb," this pops up. It's in a museum.”

All the bots crowd in for a look at the picture on Raf’s laptop.

Except for Optimus. He looks to the ceiling, optics closed and face blank.

Ashlyn didn’t remember him doing that in the show… did she forget that detail?

 “That's the real deal?” Arcee asks.

Voice dry and optics shut, the Prime’s response echoes like a hammer slamming a nail down; “Contact agent Fowler.”

❧❧❧

/You've reached special agent William Fowler. I'm currently on an intensive training retreat and unavailable until Tuesday./

Well that failed

Optimus, undeterred even as his optics seem uncharacteristically narrow, explained his plan “Without agent Fowler's direct aid, we will have to confiscate the harvester on our own.”

Jack is understandably freaked out "Whoa, Whoa, whoa. “Confiscate"? As in stealing museum property?”

“That sounds illegal.”

Sighing as she curled up in her Guardian's cupped servo, fully resigning to the sheer comfort radiating from the living metal, Ashlyn yawned widely. Covering up her flashing teeth, the girl butted in, “It is illegal, Raf, but once the Decepticons find the harvester's location, they won't care and will probably do more damage in order to obtain it by any means necessary.”

Ratchet lets out a quiet hum of appreciation, the girl tried not to preen.

“Exactly! Which is why you are all staying far away from this. And we will act covertly.”

“Okay, n-no offense, Ratchet,” Jack cuts in, still clearly uncomfortable with where this is going, “but covertly and giant robots don't really go together. Museums are public. A-and they have guards and security cameras.”

“No problem! We're small enough to sneak in. And we are not a government secret.”

“Miko, I'm not sure that's wise.”

“But it may be our best option, Bulkhead. The longer we debate, the more time we give the Decepticons. Ashlyn, Miko, Rafeal, and Jack will infiltrate the museum and provide us access to the harvester.”

“ No, Optimus, you can't be serious.” Pulling Ashlyn closer, as if to shield her from the others, Ratchet’s disbelief startled the girl, “They’re children. We’re meant to protect them and you want to use them as soon as it’s useful?

It was a valid point. But Ratchet never had a problem with it in the show, why would he now?

“It is safer than the train.”

The response, quiet but firm, made the bot flinch.

Ashlyn didn’t miss how the tips of her holder’s servos twitched.

The medic was silent for a moment, optics flickering over Raf and avoiding the form tense in his palm.

“Surely, you don’t need all of them?”

Optimus hesitated. Reassurance on the tip of his glossea, a promise that some could stay. A reasonable amendment to a plan made in haste.

The Matrix hummed

The words he spoke were not what he meant.

“I’m sorry, Old Friend,” his spark tightened, his optics didn’t waver, “but we will require all of our human friends' help, they will be safer together.” She will be better when kept close.

Ashlyn didn’t need to look to feel the prime’s gaze on her. She didn’t need to hear him either to understand the gist of his words.

The voice’s screaming was enough to guess.

Chapter Text

Makeshift was in a bad mood.

It wasn’t unusual, not anymore, not since he’d come online with his processor glitching and his arm half numb. The limb still didn’t work quite right, digits moving out of alignment, armor twitching, the plating not fitting quite right with his transformations. The Doc had checked him over. T-cog was functional. Wiring fine. Plating fine. Energon lines were… alright.

The protwiring, however, was not fine .

What the medic couldn’t salvage had to be removed. The fine filaments, sparking and shorted, felt like the smelting pits themselves.

Makeshift was happy when the pain ended. Happy even when he knew his days were numbered.

A Decepticon had to have a purpose, had to be useful to the cause, productive . Makeshift wasn’t a technician, he wasn’t a medic, he wasn’t even a proper warrior. The Shifter had spent most of the war as a bounty hunter after he’d been freed from Kaon. Roaming the untamed regions, he’d impersonated a few unwitting targets. Leading his quarry to the customer without brute force or threats, simply a glib tongue and a familiar face plate was all it took.

Lockdown could never.

He had enjoyed the freedom he’d found in space, changing and unhindered. No orders, no masters, no one to bow or scrape to. It had only been him. Makeshift .

He’d never go back to a number.

And then Megatron had called. Cybertron was already dead, the war had lost its point, and Makeshift hesitated to officially join the ranks, to obey someone else's orders. He’d already taken the insignia, he already hunted down Autobots and rouges- what more could they want?

But Megatron had brought freedom. He’d given Makeshift the freedom to roam, to live, to have a name . 

How could he say no?

He couldn’t.

It started small, keeping out an open audio fin, reporting suspicious rumors. Then he’d infiltrated an Autobot ship. Then another. And then it was sabotage and more sabotage. Starting fights, destabilizing the ranks.

And then it was destabilizing regimes.

Velocitron was a mistake, the rust-ridden planet was just as tenacious as its leader Override. The femme had proven just as quick to spot traitors as she was on the raceway. In the end, the brute force had won that fight, trickery had just put Makeshift in the line of fire.

So, the con didn’t argue when Megatron had him join the Nemesis' crew full-time, nor did he complain when he was made Starscream’s personal assistant. It was a fitting punishment for his failures, for his uselessness. A chance to regain his worth, and prove himself worthy of his freedom. Of his identity.

Makeshift wasn’t a slave. He wasn’t a gladiator. He wasn’t a toy to be given out. Megatron wouldn’t do that. Megatron wouldn’t remake that wretched caste system all over again.

If he did… then what was the war for?

Makeshift’s mind was a whirlwind these days, always running, never ceasing during his recovery. Never letting him forget. Making him remember. Making him think.

He didn’t want to think about those fleshy hands reaching into his seams, squishy organic parts winding around sterile metal, hardened tips scratching against a thin protoform, reaching, pulling, breaking…

No, Makeshift didn’t want to think about it. How he couldn’t remember the location of the Autobot Base, their resources, their weapon stashes, their energon hoard, how he could remember nothing of any tactical value. How he could only think about that fragging organic’s face twisting into a manic smile. 

He didn’t want to remember her crawling over him. How her optics flashed in fluorescent lighting. Her denta barred, wild and predatory.

He didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to remember.

But he did.

How could Makeshift forget such a shameful failure ? Ruined, thwarted, by an organic parasite. How could he call himself a Decepticon?

Knockout had assured him that the lingering… issues were purely of a technical nature. They could be overcome with training and fixed with specialized equipment.

He had been told he was lucky. Had he not noticed the bomb in time, had the Autobots thrown him out unconscious, had his processor been more fixated on the mission instead of the horror he’d just experienced… 

Vehicons wouldn’t have been the only thing blown to bits.

It's odd, how scorched plating was easier to repair than a small tear. Makeshift knew in his spark that his injury wasn’t getting fixed anytime soon. If he wasn’t a Shifter, if his very plating wasn’t an extension of his t-cog and transformational capabilities, he could just get a new limb. Maybe even upgrade himself.

Shifter biology was complex and Shifters were rare. His value lay in an ability that was legendary among Cybertronians.

But it was an ability, he could no longer use as he once could.

He needed to adapt.

❧❧❧

Ashlyn once had goals for her life. Committing grand larceny was not one of them.

But, she was willing to adapt.

Either way, Ashlyn had not seen her introduction into the world of heists going quite like this.

Well, no, that wasn’t entirely true. The girl had expected it in the same way a child expects school; part of a previously plotted schedule drawn up by the requirements of the “adults.” Something to grin, bare, and maybe try to enjoy. What Ashlyn didn’t expect was for Ratchet to question that plan.

Or for Optimus to overrule it . 

Maybe it shouldn’t be too much of a shock. After all, all the kids were involved in the original script, even if only Jack and Miko were active participants. Still, there was something about Optimus’ tone and his presence that made her freeze up and want to escape. To run out of the base or hide in the middle of Ratchet’s fist, just something to get away from that cold gaze.

The voices weren’t logical. The feelings weren’t logical. Her situation wasn’t logical.

But Optimus wouldn’t hurt a human. Not even at the cost of his own planet.

This mission wasn’t number specific, it wasn’t a big deal, and Optimus had to have his reasons to push this. His actions had to have a meaning, even if she didn’t understand it. 

Ashlyn wasn’t going to let fear direct her. Not her own anxieties, not the voices, and most certainly not this irrational prime-phobia. Life was short enough, thank you very much, and she’s going to enjoy her time her with all her comfort characters. Dad Prime included.

Besides, maybe I’ll get a chance to apologize to Breakdown, poor ‘con looked terrified .

Eh, that served him right.

So, with a beaming smile emerging from under layers of dust and grime, Ashlyn patted her guardian’s servo.

“So can we be called Prime’s 8 ?”

❧❧❧

Breakdown was not a simpleton. 

It wasn’t uncommon for someone to look at his bulky frame and small helm, and come to the conclusion that he was just meant to stand there and look pretty until someone needed a good bashing in. In some cases, those conclusions weren’t too far off the mark.

Breakdown wasn’t a schemer, he held grudges, and he wouldn’t hesitate to attack someone on the battlefield any more than he hesitated to make the fight personal. No, Breakdown was a brawler , he didn’t manipulate or insult, if he had an issue with someone, they’d know.

The medical staff would know too.

Yet, his direct conflict style and avoidance of ship politics painted him out to be little more than another soldier. He wasn’t another soldier.

‘Cons tended to forget he was a Medic Assistant for a reason. Even if his training was unofficial, even if he’d never have the programming a proper doctor did, he knew his way around Cybertronian anatomy, because he’d learned it .

So, no, Breakdown wasn’t a stupid brute. Or he wasn’t only a stupid brute. That didn’t change Starscream's perceptions of him, but it did lessen any punishments he could receive for failure.

Why bother punishing something that was meant to die on the battlefield?

“ You oaf! You didn’t even confirm the energon readings before your retreat!?!”

The seeker’s wings widened, delicate grey trimmings and nimble sheets fluttering in agitation. Breakdown focused on those instead of the claws.

They both lied, but it was better not to look at something that could take you apart. Not when you could avoid it.

It was better to remain calm. To be what they thought you were.

To play your part .

If Knockout was the only ‘con who’d know the truth about him, then that was fine. He didn’t even deserve that much.

“Bulkhead was already on sight when I arrived.”

Starscream couldn’t help but snort, wings relaxing as his arms crossed leisurely. Sharp red optics never wavered.

“So you challenged the Autobot to a fight? And you lost?”

Pride and common sense held Breakdowns glossea. It was one thing to admit defeat in one-on-one combat with the enemy, it was another to confess fleeing from an insect. But admitting losing to Bulkhead was just as bad. For him at least.

“Unless… there was another reason for your cowardice ?”

Yellow optics widened and Breakdown's words were far too desperate to ever be taken seriously.

“N-no sir- uh, Lord, it was just the Autobot. Only the Autobot.” Bowing his helm, Breakdown looked at the floor, “I lost the fight. The Autobot played dirty.”

“Hmmm.”

Starscream moved forward, peds clacking against the metallic floor. Peering upwards, yellow quickly turned from red and Starscream smirked at the submissive behavior. Gingerly, slowly , the seeker dragged the tip of a clawed talon down the side of the ex-constructicon’s head.

Breakdown flinched as the digit was removed with a soft screech .

His intake let out a soft woosh of air as the seeker stepped away, rubbing white dust between his digits. Starscream kept his back to him, wings still and EM field tight. The silence was unnerving. It was never good when Starscream was silent.

“You are dismissed.”

Breakdown hesitated, even as he turned to leave the mech paused for a moment.

Starscream didn’t appreciate it.

“You are dismissed! Go finish your patrol or something else useful!”

Breakdown didn’t hesitate this time, narrowly avoiding flattening Soundwave, thank the primes for that mech’s freaky reflexes.

The next mech he comes across is far more welcome.

Makeshift is secretive, but at least he talks back with his own voice.

Most of the time.

❧❧❧

Anxiety was a familiar feeling. Muscles clenching, a rigid spine, weak knees, and the ever so cold current that flashed through nerves. It's all so, so familiar. Really, by this point, it should have lost its edge, like a knife being worn down, too dull to properly cut. To dull to hurt.

So why did it feel like a scalpel was slicing through her?

Ashlyn didn’t want to think about it.

It was her personal reasoning that thinking about something gave it power: fear included. She wouldn’t give it any more power over her, she wouldn’t let it take anything more from her.

She’d lost enough.

Griping the guard rails of the scissor lift, Ashlyn Moore listened to the comms and tried to ignore the waves of apprehension that rose through her. For some reason, Optimus’ baritone voice wasn’t helping.

/Autobots, confirm position./

/Westward Ho./

/Be Bee-Bee Bep./

/Southside covered./

/Maintain your guard./

It’ll be okay, this will all be okay.

/Ashlyn, Jack, Miko, Rafael,/ flesh hands tightened against metal, /I will have a clear view of you. Once you secure the harvester, I will contact Ratchet to bridge you back to base./

Breathe. Just breathe.

“Now, since you'll bypass all points of normal entry,” Ratchet’s optics seem almost urgent, and his face is curled in displeasure as he explains, “you won't need to worry about setting off the alarm. But take care to avoid any security guards.”

Jack nods and Raf gives a thumbs up. Miko’s too busy swinging on the rails like a monkey as she waits for the “ adventure ” to start. 

It's with a heavy and weary sigh the Medic opens up the bridge, and, over the wormhole’s rumbling and the kids' exclamations of excitement, Ashlyn almost misses her guardian’s words. Almost.

“ Please be safe.”

It's a promise she wishes she was naïve enough to keep.

The ground bridge is bright, the journey just as disorienting as it always is, and it takes a moment for Ashlyn to adjust to her new surroundings.

It doesn’t take a second for the kids.

Raf, the sweetheart, holds her steady as she rubs her eyes and tries to find her footing. She still has the mind to be quiet, at least, and the short moment of weakness doesn’t mean anything in the long run.

The museum was dark, a T-Rex’s smile backed by crimson exit lights, stone silhouettes hovered like specters in the dark, an alien watching silently under a starry sky.

Ashlyn refused to look out the wide window even as the prime’s headlights flashed. She didn’t want to see the Decepticons arrive, Knockout pin their observer into smashed concrete with an electric prod, and Breakdown launch a missile to where she stood.

Ashlyn didn’t want to see any of it .

Instead, the girl focused on her surroundings inside the museum. Jack driving the lifting thingy out of the hallway, the kids find themselves right in front of an exhibit that could only reasonably be named Old Things . A mishmash of artifacts, no two things coming from the same place or the same era. 

Ashlyn focused on the nerdy rage of such improper presentation. It was better than the fear and the setup was too infuriating to ignore. Why is a T-Rex skeleton, Easter Island Head, a Greek Statue, and what looked suspiciously like an oversized bag of golf clubs doing in the same place? Did the museum just decide to call this wing “ Big Old Things, ” or was this the only room the object could be displayed in?

What even where are the golf clubs? Some attempt at modern art?

Stopping at the edge of the hallway, just on the precipice of the greater room itself, Jack pressed a button, and the old yellow lift moved up into the air, stopping right under a security camera. The lift was in surprisingly good condition considering that it had been found abandoned in one of the base’s many rooms.

A bit convenient, but Ashlyn wasn’t going to overthink this of all things. Or she was going to try at least.

Miko took a picture with her phone upside down, the click echoed in the cavernous room and Ashlyn could feel the judgmental stares of the statues. With a smooth motion and quick speed, Miko placed her phone over the camera, Step One was completed.

Now for Step Two: grab the ball and get out like Megatron himself was on your tail.

So far the plan was going perfectly, but at any minute that could be ruined. At any minute the ‘cons could arrive and ruin everything.

Moving towards the30 foot-tall statue holding the sphere, Ashlyn tries not to out the window or at the too far away ground. Instead, she finds herself focusing on the finer details of the masterpiece because it is a masterpiece. The statute almost looks alive, eyes focus, hair tossed by an invisible wind, frozen with an almost grave expression forever etched in a stone face. 

Ashlyn doesn’t know who this statue’s meant to portray or honor, but it carries such an imposing and courtly air that she can’t not stop and look at it.

It's peaceful.

It's quiet.

It's familiar .

It's only when Raf moves to climb on the statue’s hand, a logical decision considering the weight difference , that the girl snaps out of her reverie.

Everything was going perfectly. Too perfect. 

Where were the ‘cons?

And then the orb was safe on the lift. Ashlyn and Miko had to hang off the sides to avoid being crushed, but the machine lowered them all slowly, not a sound came from its neglected gears. Still, Jack didn’t notice any ‘cons, Optimus didn’t sound the alarm, and the windows stayed whole and uncracked.

The plan was running perfectly.

It wasn’t supposed to be perfect.

Just a quick pit stop to pick up Miko’s phone and they're ready to leave. Still no ‘cons.

By this point, Ashlyn’s sure she’s losing her mind.

She remembered the ‘cons appearing, she was sure of it. Knockout and Breakdown would ambush Optimus right there , and then the rest of the Autobot’s would show up. The kids would run to an exit point and get intercepted by Soundwave and his Arcee-impersonating legs.

That's what was meant to happen.

So, why wasn’t it?

“Time to make our exit, guys.”

Ashlyn didn’t bother to pay attention to her human entourage, instead, she broke rank, moving ahead of the group searching for signs of the enemy, of interference, of something .

There was nothing. Nothing but the muffled sound of rubber wheels on waxed tile and footsteps as Miko followed her.

Why isn’t it like its supposed to be? Where are they?

And then it hits her. In one solid flash of cold harsh realization, Ashlyn remembers what should have happened and what did .

The fresco.

Did Breakdown have the time to see it? To note its importance and report back to Starscream? Or are the Decepticons completely unaware a relic, a potential weapon, has been found?

The current situation points to the latter.

So stupid! So, so stupid! Why did she let her impulses get the best of her? Why did she get in the way? The Harvester had never been in play beyond this specific episode. There was no telling how this could impact the plot, or what this meant for the timeline of events. Would the Autobots be a s desperate for energon later? Would Ratchet push himself to make Synth-En out of his guilt and need to help when the energon shortage wasn’t there in the first place ? Would Optimus use the Harvester to perform a targeted assassination when he became desperate, rather than executing every spark aboard the Nemesis? Would the Decepticons recover the Harvester and all the other relics later? Would they use it to further their resources, torture prisoners, or hand it over to a one-eyed scientist to replicate or improve?

This couldn’t happen, this couldn’t happen. There were too many variables too many ways for this to go wrong.

But it was happening anyway , and she was useless to stop it.

Leaning against a wall, heat pounding and head like stuffed cotton, the sound of voices, caught her ear.

Whipping away tears and snot, Ashlyn peaked around the corner to find Miko talking to a tall man in an ugly brown jacket. As he grabbed her arm pulling her down the hall, a yellowed patch with the museum's emblem flashed under the few active lights.

Evidently, even without the 'cons triggering the alarm and causing massive damage to the building, Miko still gets caught by an overly smug security guard. 

Small hopes the timeline is self-correcting.

Unfortunately, it only takes a sneeze for Ashlyn to get caught too. Still covered in chalky dust, the guard takes a step back as his flashlight lands on her. His mouth opens slightly, eyebrows disappearing into his hair, and he freezes, grip still tight on Miko.

The man looks like he’s seen a ghost.

Rolling her eyes and cracking her neck, ignoring how the security guard seems to almost shiver in response, Ashlyn steps towards the pair motioning with her hand that their audience should leave. 

“ Well, ” Ashlyn, already on her last nerve, partially snarls at the poor man who has now moved back, moving Miko between them like a giggling shield, “ Should we take this to your office ?”

Jack and Raf disappear into the shadows, relieved until they realize now they have to explain how both girls had been “captured” by security to their respective guardians.

Bulkhead and Ratchet aren’t gonna be happy.

At all.

❧❧❧

The office is small. The desk, a cheap thing made from a darker wood with only a phone, computer, and newspaper to decorate it, almost fills it. The two seats are squished next to it, the guard framed by rows of glitching monitors behind him, and Miko with a small calendar and poster of a nearby national park by her head.

Ashlyn, without a chair, stands with her arms crossed by the filling cabinets next to the door.

Casey, though he will never admit it, still finds her mildly disturbing. She’d just stand there… looking at him. She may be breathing, but her eyes flash like a vengeful ghost. The young woman’s glare screams murder.

Casey adjusts his collar. Loosening his tie, the man focuses on the other teen. Pink-dyed hair, punk rocker outfit, squirming in her seat, and picking the upholstery with dark purple nails.

Clearly a vandal.

Folding his hands together, the man smiles, trying to look trustworthy, trying to look in control. He’s in charge. He’s the authority here.

The ghost girl’s eyes narrow.

“Look, kids,” clearing his throat, Casey wishes he had some water right about now, ”If this is some kind of prank, you need to know that the authorities are on their way. It'd go a whole lot easier for you if you just told me what happened to the sphere.”

He just needs to keep smiling. Keep smiling and looking nice and one of these girls will snitch. The sphere will be found and he’ll be a hero,

He’s not going to lose his job over this.

Ashlyn’s glare is broken as Miko pastes on a startling innocent look, “I was researching my history report.” waving around her hands, her voice taking on an almost whining tone, Ashlyn would probably buy it if she didn’t know any better, “ I just lost track of time and got locked in here after closing.”

The Security Guard leans in, a rather smug look on his face as he rests his chin on his fists. “So, what's your history report about? I'd love to know..”

The words are conversational, but the voice is taunting, condescending even.

In short, it pushes all the wrong buttons.

Miko seems oblivious to the gathering storm behind her, running through quick facts on Ancient Greek history and culture. Ashlyn watches the man, eyes pinning him like a bug as he nods and encourages Miko to continue. It's clear he doesn’t buy their story, and it's even more clear he thinks he has his thieves.

Miko keeps talking.

“And, of course, there's the whole principle of deus ex machina, uh, the God from the machine. It's that part in Greek storytelling where some character shows up out of the blue to make everything right.”

“That so, young lady?” Casey nods and smiles in that empty-headed way that means nothing, “Well, I'm sure the police will want to hear all about your history report. But what were you doing after closing ?” The man's glare and smile seemed to think I was some criminal mastermind.

“Actually, what were you doing?”

“Excuse me?”

The man jumps and a dust-covered hand slams on the desk, the cheap wood trembling under the sudden force.

“My friend and I have been locked in all night and you didn’t notice? Sir, you have a lot of artifacts at this museum and the police should interrogate ‘suspects’ not you.” 

Eyes flashing and teeth all but bared, the guard scoots away from the girl who seems like nothing more than a living embodiment of pain and death.

“ This night watch is clearly understaffed if you're the only one here right now and, if you are, you’ve left an entire building's worth of priceless art and historical treasures unprotected!”

Miko by now is also looking at her friend with an absolutely astonished face. Angling her phone, she presses record as the rant continues.

“And how could we have stolen something suspended almost 30ft high and weighs more than a ton? Does it look like we have heavy machinery? Do you have any evidence we had heavy machinery? Came in a group? Had more people involved than a 15 and 18-year-old?  No? You just saw the first people you come across and imprint on them?!! All we have is the phone that my friend originally lost as we were wandering around in the dark, alone and in view of your cameras. ”

“Have you even called the police? I didn’t hear any alarms go off and I most certainly haven’t noticed anything going missing. And if something did, wouldn’t you notice if your sole purpose is to sit here and stare at it? Because, clearly, you aren’t helping anyone. ”

Miko, now snickering behind one hand as the other shakes with the camera, almost loses it as Ashlyn pulls something out of her back pocket. She doesn’t pay too much attention to it, the thing is partially blocked by the girl's hand, and the dirty look she gives the man is much funnier. Almost as funny as the guard’s face.

“W-What are you doing?”

“Calling my lawyer, my mother, or your superior. Depends on If I get an answer.”

The dial rings once, then twice. Then… it's answered. 

If Miko notices the way Ashlyn’s shoulders collapse, she doesn’t say anything.

“Hey, I have a man here who’s attempting to interrogate a minor without consent or approval, isn’t that a federal offense? Ratchet can get you here in half the time, we all know your government training is you lying on the beach for the weekend.” Ashlyn leans over the desk, smoldering eyes paralyzing the guard's, her next words are drawn out, and they make Casey second guess every decision he’s made tonight,  “Yes, thank you, Agent .”

The ghost girl steps back, silent with a blank face. Five minutes later she smiles as a knock sounds on the room's door.

The man comes in, flashing his badge out of his coat pocket, eyes steeled and jaw set.

“Special agent William Fowler. The stolen property has been located and restored to the museum premises. I'll be taking these two. You called Ashlyn?”

“Yep,” the girl walks out, the punk-rocker and Fed trailing behind, “Remind me to never take you off speed dial, Senor Deus Ex Machina.”

❧❧❧

Somewhere over the stratosphere, a vehicon feels something cold drape over his seams.

Yes, JA332 thinks, another one has been forged.

He may not know who this new victim is, but his spark resonates with them regardless. After all, survivors have to stick together.

Especially survivors of a particularly feral organic.

Chapter Text

The Nemesis had never felt more like a cage. 

The ship had always been ridged, stiff in its ranks and rules, unyielding in its power and demands, strength simmering below a thinly plated layer of civility. Perhaps it was because of his nature as a Shifter, the inherent fluidity of his processor that made Makeshift chafe against the commands like an ill-fitted protoform in rusted armor.

Now the dim halls felt more menacing, the sounds of moving peds threatening, basic courtesy insulting.

The Vehicon who’d blatantly stared at him was almost refreshing. The blank mask undoubtedly hid what little emotion the clone’s processors were capable of, the echoes of disgust and revilement that even the ship itself must feel for him. The little ‘con was lucky one of its fellows pulled it away when it did, the flyer yanked it away by its tires, undoubtedly to go fulfill an order made by the acting Lord Starscream.

He’d remember that cracked windshield. If he saw it again, then he’d prove himself just as much of a killer as he’d been before.

Or would that backfire? Would they see the weak display for what it was?

Despite Starscream’s pride in their army, Vehicons were little more than cannon fire. Mindless drones are easily replaced and worthy of little more than their daily rations.

No, Makeshift would have to find another way to regain some dignity. He was weak enough with this obvious malfunction, it would be the end of him if it came out what actually caused this.

Never. It could never happen.

He needed to get off this ship before he lost his processor. Makeshift needed to do something, anything , to prove he wasn’t useless, that he was still valuable. Even if it was just for himself.

Soundwave was still occupied, and the mech had a very dedicated command over the ground bridges. Makeshift wouldn’t be able to input a new set of coordinates, not that he had any inside, and use them without notifying the spymaster. An unauthorized transport would not be treated lightly.

Not for him at least.

Approaching the bridging room, the doors slide back with a soft swish and thud . He was alone.

The room was somehow darker than the halls, but still well-maintained. It was unusual for a bridge to be complete without the Communication Commander’s involvement, his skill for portable bridges made the fixed version obsolete. Yet, someone made sure the neglected bridge was connected to the energon supply and somewhat maintained. They weren’t even subtle, leaving the access codes in the control panel.

Definitely Starscream.

Luckily, while the bridge might not transmit coordinate data to Soundwave, it still was still connected to the ship's hardwired network. That included the patrol reports and the coordinates that were attached to them.

The last mission was filled as incomplete. A simple energon scouting that was sidetracked by Autobot interference. 

Perfect .

Imputing the details, Makeshift’s good servo was on the switch when a swish and a thud clapped like earth lightning. Tense, Em field pulled tight, and the Shifter turned. He was ready to defend himself, to try at least in his subterfuge. Would they count this as an act of insurgency? He wasn’t disobeying a direct order, but it was protocol, even if unspoken. If it was a vehicon Makeshift could chase them off, but if it was the Commander or Soundwave-

Makeshift froze.

White optics met yellow. 

Breakdown, covered in white dust but for a line near his helm, was silent. Slowly, he looked from the patient who should still be resting, to the the bridge illuminated with soft blue light, to the servo clenching the switch.

Slightly releasing his iron grip on his EM field, the warrior felt the spy reciprocate. Intentions and threats silently communicated in the span of a microsecond. A shared understanding dawned. A compromise was reached. A trust formed from mutual blackmail, and oddly similar intentions.

Makeshift pushed down the switch.

The Mechs grinned as the portal came to life, speech unnecessary for now, confessions avoided by both.

Neither needed to know why the other felt the need to take this particular trip. The redemption they sought to soothe their own sparks, the cause of their restlessness and frustration.

It was embarrassing .

“No”  they each thought in their own mind “ They’d never let it happen to them. ”

❧❧❧

The base was in chaos.

…

Well, more so than usual at least.

“ You let her get captured?!”

“ What do you mean “leave her in there”?!”

Ratchet and Bulkhead hunched over in barely restrained rage, almost as if physically pained, bristling, and hissing like angry cats.  It was far too clear that it was only their shared respect for their leader and some small sense of surviving logic that kept the pair from charging into the museum and tearing it down piece by piece. It was also clear that Prime needed a really good reason for abandoning the two girls to human law enforcement or he would be dealing with a mutiny.

Strangely enough, Optimus also seemed… annoyed . The prime kept fidgeting, and it was clear the tall mech had been distancing himself from the base’s exits as soon as he arrived. Even as Ratchet grumbled, Optimus oriented himself by the human zone, a massive servo gently gripping the structure.

Raf and Jack exchanged side glances.

Optimus needed a distraction, fast , or he was going to further break his promise to earth’s government and reveal their presence to any humans unfortunate enough to be between him and the-

No. No, Ashlyn was not that. No matter what the matrix murmured or its spark pulled to, Ashlyn More was a child . She wasn’t. So he didn’t. He wouldn’t. The Primes wouldn’t.

He needed a distraction.

“Bulkhead, did you find traces of Energon during your previous recon?” 

The wrecker froze, face plates morphing from battle-lusting to contemplative, “Uh, yeah, Boss Bot.”

Good, good he could work with this.

“Then input the coordinates in the ground bridge and bring the Harvester.”

“-But what about?”

“It is unlikely the Decepticons will not soon identify the traces themselves if they have not already. Energon is a limited supply on this planet, and we must act quickly to secure every opportunity if we wish to survive.

Ashlyn and Miko will be fine, they are younglings among their own people.”

A memory flashed through his processor: Ashyn more, face creased as she smiled, hand rapidly moving through the air as if in an attempt to manifest examples of their discussion. Their discussions.

How many times had young Ashlyn mentioned something that painted humans as barbaric? How many times had her anecdotes implied senseless and predetermined violence as merely a regrettable quirk? How much faith did she herself have in her own race? 

But they were children . What type of species would harm their own offspring? Not even Megatron, with all of his atrocities, would harm a Cybertronian sparkling. MECH, as unfortunate as their involvement had been on the train, hadn’t known there were younglings aboard. If they did, they surely would never have carelessly endangered such young lives.

MECH somehow knew the relic- D.N.G.S . would be safely recovered. Risking an atomic meltdown had been a bluff, destroying the tracks was a ploy to occupy the enemy while they escaped. Outmatched, their leader would have realized such an action was the only feasible course.

Of course, it was.

Humans were fragile, tiny, and in need of protection and guidance. 

He would protect them. The Decepticon’s wrath would not infect them, would not corrupt them. This world would not be destroyed.

He wouldn’t fail this time. He wouldn’t watch this world go dark.

He couldn't.

So Optimus Prime looked at his ragtag team, few but mighty, ‘bots he trusted and he knew they would share his vow. He would bet his spark on it. He’d already bet earth.

Optimus looked at them and smiled.

Everything would be fine. Everything would be okay. Good will always overcome.

The children would be fine.

“I am sure no serious harm will come to them before Agent Fowler can be contacted.”

They would always be fine.

❧❧❧

“What do you mean it’s absorbing?!”

“I mean it's bloody absorbing! Our grid can’t take much more of this, soon we’ll have to connect ourselves to Mission City’s power grid, at the rate that thing is draining us, Boulder City will have more to deal with than a few blackouts. Civilians are already getting suspicious.”

Simmons pulled his hair, tan suit rumpled as the man paced back and forth in the hanger. Why, oh why, did no one ever listen to him?

Turning on his heel, the man couldn’t help but laugh, greasy hair defied its short cut to stand up as unruly curls, tanned skin had paled to a parlor more appropriate for expired milk, and the manic smile and dark eye bags testified to long nights. 

Seymour Simmons looked like a madman.

He felt like it too.

“How is the government playing it off this time? A renewable hydroelectric source that’s been reliably providing electricity to three states since 1936, is suddenly on the fritz! What are you claiming the dam’s in the middle of maintenance run?”

Epps’ sudden interest in the wall was enough of an answer.

Groveling, Simmons tried to orient himself. If only he was the liaison instead of Fowler. But nooo , he had been “too aggressive,” and would paint “a concerning picture of humanity's behaviors to a potential ally.” 

Well, look who came crawling back. Not him!

Even if being a consultant for Lennox’s piggy bank operation was ultimately meaningless and should be an offensive reassignment, Simmons took it in stride. Why? 

Because he’d rather be near enough to disable all of this when shit inevitably hits the fan. Earth was his planet. His . He would be damned if he didn’t try to protect his home, and all the innocent people that had no clue they were hosting a grudge match of giant proportions.

A young girl convulsing on the floor. The alien’s tight gaze, centered on her alone. Two more teens, huddled by their protector screamed the girl’s name as she was pulled out.

Fowler didn’t know what type of power he had. The danger he exposed all of them to and his needless encouragement of General Bryce’s neglect of basic common sense.

“Isn’t this a relic? Prime said it was basically a dud.”

And, of course , they had to bring the agent in for this meeting too.

Epps, either blind or uncaring of the sheer bloodthirsty rage that was Simmons glaring at his ‘rival,’ answered before the New Yorker could. 

“Optimus said it's been inactive for millennia. Not that it was a dud, sir.”

Marching to the massive glass window that took up the entire wall, Simmons waved at the subject itself, a black tie swinging free against the backdrop of a wrinkled white button-down.

“Yeah, well it's active now. First the power spike and signal, now when we’ve got it under a couple of thousand pounds of concrete it turns into a dam black hole. What’s he told us to do next? Launch it into space so it can eat the sun?”

Epps, who suddenly wished he’d refused Lennox’s request to brief the two men, half hoped the alarms would sound again. Anything to get him out of this. With a wary sigh seeping from a weary soul, the man braced himself. 

“Just to keep an eye on it and alert him if it starts shifting .”

“What the hell does that mean?!”

“I don’t know!”

“You should know!”

“It was Optimus, man, I had trust and I wasn’t hired to talk!”

“Right, you’re here to shoot, like we should have started shooting as soon as those aliens showed up!”

“Hey! Enough!” Broad hands pushed the two men aside, Fowler, as unruffled as ever in his gray suit and striped tie glared at both of them. “This isn't helping the situation. We have people examining this thing right? We're not just taking the Prime’s word on this only, right?”

Simmons looked at his nemesis with a new light in his eyes. The faintest glimmer of blooming respect, joy at finding a kindred spirit, the light of shared sanity-

Fowler, seemingly sensing the agent's thoughts without looking at him, huffed.

“Vague words and abstract commands help no one, Agent Simmons. That does not mean I agree with your conspiracies.”

The man’s deflation was almost comical.

Happy to have ordered once again restored, Epps focused on Fowler.

“Prime said it was a gateway, so it's probably an early version of their ground bridge or a portable version.”

Looking out to the metal cube, freed from its case and dwarfed by the surrounding walls, Simmons interrupted, voice deceptively calm, but still carrying a subtle bite. 

“He also said it was like a storage unit. So they dump stuff in a pocket dimension? Prime’s been too abstract, he’s avoided answering any real questions and he hasn’t checked in since it got moved here, despite it being targeted by the Decepticons and now human terrorists.”

“Any leads on them?”

“No, soldier.” Fowler massaged his face, voice lowering to barred gravel, “They vanished, absolutely nothing left except the wrecked cars, and those had been stripped of any relevant identification. Still have forensics working on it, but it doesn’t seem hopeful.” He chuckled, a hopeless sad kind of chuckle, “These people knew what they were doing, even if they didn’t intend to try a hijacking on alien drivers.”

“They did a pretty good job, didn't they? I mean, if they weren’t trying to get their hand on an unstable energy source or tried to nuke us all when they could get their grabby hands on it, I’d be impressed.”

“Epps, they may be big, but they're still mortal! They can bleed, then they can die. We need to remember that!”

Fowler went still and looked at Simmons curiously. He respected the man despite his eccentricities. They were a testament to Agent Simmons' care and his passion for protecting their home. He just didn’t agree with his conclusions. “Is that why you’re supporting Lennox’s request? You wanna play David to Megatron’s goliath?”

Squaring his shoulders, a shadow passed over the man’s face.

“I want a lot more than a slingshot, I want a goddamn gun. We're putting a lot of trust in these ‘bots, and that's not a bad thing, but that doesn’t mean we start playing the part of crying, damsel. This is our planet, and admit it or not, this is our war. We need to be ready for it.”

❧❧❧

A plan was formed, one birthed from necessity and quite a bit more convenience than Optimus would ever admit.

It was true that energon supply was an ongoing issue and, if they were not careful, could soon become a crisis. The fact that the latest deposit had been found with a Decepticon actively scouting the location, only added credence to the Prime’s reasoning. If the hasty endeavor to test run the relic also prevented Ratchet and Bulkhead and Optimus from raiding the museum and tearing it apart brick by brick- then it further proved how advantageous the plan really was.

Alpha Trion would be offering helm pats from beyond the grave.

Ratchet, however, decided to stay back at base. Despite the medic clearly looking like he needed to work off some stress, his Old Friend hadn’t looked this agitated in eons , the mech only said he’d be working on his project if anyone needed him. Something about “ avoiding repeating scenarios.”

Arcee and Bumblebee weren’t eager to join what was obviously some kind of rage outlet. With their partners safe and sound in the base, the pair didn’t feel the need to attack unsuspecting vehicons or productively release stress. So they elected to stay behind. Out of the way. Far away from a twitchy prime and upset wrecker.

It was an admittedly smart decision.

So, Bulkhead and Optimus carried on alone.

The relic was oddly light in Optimus’s grip, and surprisingly easy to maneuver despite its spherical form. It was a rather odd form to be used as a handheld collection unit, but the ancient’s ways were not to be questioned. More than likely the current device was a surviving piece of a much larger mechanism or the updated version of the Sun Harvester that had been mentioned in a few ancient scripts.

It was a miracle of engineering.

Optimus’s spark felt heavy holding it.

The children had been right when they pointed out how easily such a device could be used in the servos of the wicked. It was concerning how such young minds could decipher the implications of such an event so quickly, but that did no nothing to remove the possibilities of such a scenario.

Or the history of it.

Sun Harvesters were banned after all, the knowledge of their construction was lost to time. Good riddance .

No Ancient would lift a servo against their own, yet, during his time as an archivist in Iacon, Optimus had been exposed to many accounts where off-worlders did not receive the same hesitancy. 

The wrecker and the general traversed the ground in silence. Forms tense, white clouds pooling with every step of heavy peds, and a sky darkening to a gray hue. The area was, thankfully, deserted. Miniature equipment was scattered around, but no humans to operate them. 

Bulkhead scanned the earth for traces of energon, one servo transformed into a mace, optic searching for any discoloration in the rock. It was a pity none of them were Energon Seekers or miners, it would have made this process significantly quicker and easier. That said, the focus needed for this task was a welcome reprieve for both warriors. With their optics scanning the dirt and servos occupied, their minds didn’t have time to ruminate on the small organic beings they had been temporarily separated from.

It was quiet, almost peaceful, as they searched under stars drifting out from a darkening curtain, crouched over the empty ruins of a mysterious civilization that had existed for a mere blip in their lifetimes.

But nothing stays quiet. 

Pearlescent rock crumbled down the cliffside, and a sharp crack of broken pottery echoed in the dark. Optimus and Bulkhead turned around, blue optics searching the shadows.

Yellow and White stared back.

❧❧❧

“ So, what? Are we all going to go boom? Dying by an alien magical pixie-stick box?”

“No we just need to trust em, Simmons, Optimus fought with us, and is fighting for us.”

“No, Epps, he’s sidelined us in our own playing field. We are being infantilized and indebted. We need to hit em, and hit em while we can.”

“So you're going to go fight Megatron.”

“Well Megatron isn’t fighting us, now is he?”

“ Will you shut up? Agent Simmons, Sergeant Epps, this has been a riveting discussion, but I have to answer this call. I leave this to Lennox’s discretion. We do not so much as breathe on that thing without his authorization, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

❧❧❧

Bulkhead didn’t wait for orders. The wrecker charged, war cry echoing as he swung at Makeshift and looked up the cliffside at Breakdown, “You Fragger!”

Still nursing painful wounds and of a lighter frame, the Shifter twisted around the enraged ‘bot, a smirk never leaving his face plates.

“Well isn’t this a nice surprise,” Bulkhead stalled as Wheeljack's voice emerged from beside him, “Forget me so soon, Big Lug?”

Breakdown launched himself off the rock face, clenched servo smashing a green helm into the ground.

The pair stood over the fallen Autobot, sharing feral grins as blue-blaster fire encircled them. 

Makeshift, calling the Prime’s bluff stood his ground by the mech’s fallen comrade, launching his own counterattack.

Just because one arm was out of commission, didn’t mean the other one was useless.

Breakdown, surprisingly nimble, charge forward, his hammer slamming against the Prime’s face.

Optimus stumbled back, taking strike after strike and blast after blast,  never wavering in his grip of the sphere. But, of course, it is a sphere .

With one well-aimed shot and a single well-timed blow, the Harvester slipped from the Prime’s grasp. The ball rolled, settling quietly against an ancient wall, gold gleaming ever so innocently in the haze of battle.

Makeshift, still keeping his good arm trained on the one-on-one fight, edged to the mystery orb. It was obviously important if Optimus Prime was carrying it. Perhaps Starscream would appreciate such a gift. Being stolen from the last prime would make even this mudball planet valuable.

Confidence warmed his frame, his bad arm felt less uncomfortable, his frame more valuable, and Makeshift more worthy.

And then there was agony .

Makeshift screamed . His vocal processor screeching static and a thousand tones, every voice he had ever downloaded, purged in a convoluted mass of torment. His arm was burning , it was cold , and it was numb . Looking down he saw how the delicate metal had caved in, how remaining energon lines had burst, and how lines of “ fixed ” wires sparked within their casing.

White optics burned crimson, fanged delta flashed as his mandible dropped open, murder blazing in his crazed gaze as the limb twitched and plating fritzed.

“Yo͡u͘͜͠ w̶͜i̵͠ĺ̴l̷̀̕ ҉̸͟p̢a̴̛ý f̵͜o̵͢r̨͞ tḩ͠a̧͡҉ţ”

Bulkhead shook the white dust from his helm and readied his stance. This was a fight he was all too happy to play dirty in. For Jackie. 

So despite common sense telling him otherwise and the phantom gaze of a disappointed prime, Bulkhead opened his big, fat, mouth.

“She wrecked you over pretty bad, huh?”

“S̕to͡p͜ ̷̵ ̢”

“Do your Decipticreep friends know?”

“̸̢͢Be̡͏̀ S̛͟i͝҉ĺ́̕e̶ņt͢” 

“That you got worked over…”

“Ņ͝ǫ̵!̶͝”

“By a little girl ?”

Makeshift charged, unhinged, and enraged, one arm leaking glowing energon and out of control as the rest of the ‘con was a moving ball of spikes and hissing. 

Was this was a Sparkeater looked like?

Nearby, Breakdown froze as the voices carried across the wind, the implications stiffening him mid-block. Optimus Prime slammed, the Decepticon to the ground, but Breakdown’s processor was consumed by one thought;

There’s another human to worry about?!?

Bulkhead was dodging the incensed spy, suddenly very much regretting his decision to antagonize a ‘con who clearly was already teetering over the edge. Rocks shrieked under spinning blades and the earth groaned with every missed strike. The ‘con was fast , flexible, and furious . Clearly, the mech functioned better in open areas when it came to battle. With cold horror, Bulkhead realized the ‘con had been most likely fighting handicapped at the base.

So he’d moved on to trying to appease this thing out of berserker mode. It usually worked with Ratchet… sometimes.

“Hey! It’s fine, she’s actually kinda scary! Most humans aren’t like that, you just provoked the wrong one!”

“Ś͡i͜l͝e̴͘͢n͘c͞e̴̕ ̛̕A͡u̢͡t͜ò͠͝bo̡t̵̡”

“Hey, even Breakdown had trouble with a human! He didn’t almost get deconstructed, but he was inconvenienced!”

“B̸̕͝e ͡Ş̶͘í̛l͟e̶͠n̷t̸͟ ͢͝a͟͡n̷d̨ ̧͠L͟͟é̴͏t̴͟ ̕͟M̶̕è ̷͢K͝i̴͠ļ̴͜l͏̴ ̕͏Y̛o͡u̢͘!”

The de-escalation wasn’t working.

Blue-blaster fire hit the writhing mass of metal and energon, and Makeshift screamed . Optimus ran forward, mercilessly as the Shifter dodged and shrieked. Energon stained the white ground, and white optics, fixated on the two Autobots and the ‘con leaped back into the shadows, jumping from ruined structure to ruined structure. Optimus realized the ‘con’s destination too late.

The Harvester .

Clawed servos reached for the golden orb, black tips brushing against gold, so, so close .

A shot rang out and Makeshift recoiled with a howl.

The orb was blacked on one side, a large crack forming from where energon had brushed against ancient metal. But it was out of Decepticon hands, safe.

“S̴̴H͟OOT͝ ̕I̸͡͞Ţ!”

Of course, Makeshift wasn’t the only ‘con on the battlefield.

Alpha Trion would not give helm pats.

❧❧❧

When Ashlyn walked back into the base, eyes still blazing and body covered in white dust, she was almost flattened by an over-enthusiastic guardian.

Bulkhead, streaked with a familiar white and a few more scratches than Ashlyn remembers, scoops a chattering Miko up. The wrecker holds her high for a moment, ignoring Miko’s questioning squeals, optics searching for any injuries or even a fragging scuff mark, before cradling her close to his chassis, right above his spark.

As Bulkhead waddles away, optics slightly dimed and frame vibrating like a damn cat,  and Ashlyn can’t help but smile at it. It’s a sweet scene and she’s most certainly not envious of the affectionate behavior. She's not .

Fowler rolls his eyes, not that it does anything to hide that soft smirk or amused tone as he yells out that he’ll be in his office if he’s needed.

The girl thinks that he says something else, something a little more important as he pauses mid-walk and squares his shoulders. Something about “ prime” and an “ asset.”

Eh, it’s probably not too important. After all, as far as the girl can recall, other than the D.N.G.S. and MECH’s super secret sun laser thingy, there wasn’t any real crossover between government assets and the Autobots. The D.N.G.S. had been sorted, and Silas’s pet project was only relevant when he tried to steal it to butter up Meggsy. Either way, not an immediate issue.

Rubbing her nose, the gritty dust mixing with sweat in a disgusting combination of grime, Ashlyn almost feels relaxed. She needs a shower, and wants a nap, but… she’s safe, isn’t she?  

Of course, there’s still the issue of the freaking harvester , but she can worry about that tomorrow. For now, she just needs to eat and take a nap before Ratchet starts hounding her about taking care of herself…

Wait.

Where was Ratchet?

Mmm…

Listening for the sound of grumbling, Ashlyn starts making her way toward the med bay. She doesn’t hear anything, not really. But there’s this feeling she can’t really put her finger on. A sensation of someone being hurt, someone in pain.

It makes her feel uncomfortable.

Where’s Ratchet?

Silently, she creeps. One with the shadows, delicately placing her feet. Again, there isn’t a reason for it, none other than an instinctual wisp calling for care. Confusing and irrational, she’s vowed not to let her feelings control her.

She listens anyway.

Skin bubbling as she walks, a rising heat that makes her feel cold, a cord pulling her forward, yanking , she could remember it tearing-

No.

No.

No.

Ashlyn stops. Hand over her widely beating heart, when did it start beating so fast , she breathes. In and out, she breathes.

She does not move till she feels calmer, till the pull stops.

She does not move till she feels relaxed once more.

Pasting on a smile, the girl skips forward, humming a merry tune as the looks for her assigned guardian. She wants Ratchet.

Peering up from the doorway, she finds him in all his Epping glory. 

Ratchet, her beloved grumpy mech, currently lecturing a particularly forlorn-looking Optimus. Oh, how she wishes she had Miko’s camera.

Perhaps catching wind of the human's thoughts, Optimus’ cyan-blue optics glance down to the floor. A soft smile melts his faceplates, even if it doesn’t reach his optics,.

“Hello, young one, I am glad to see you’ve been returned to us safely.”

Something chafes against her skin at the words. Returned . As if she were property. Owned. Optimus doesn’t mean it like that, but Ashlyn is on edge anyway.

She breathes.

“Um, yeah. I’m about to head home anyway. Just wanted to say hello and goodbye.”

Optimus nodded, optics tracking her. The look is kind, warm even, but it makes Ashlyn feel cold.

Her head is starting to pound, white static filtering through her ears. She wants to leave.

“Okay, I-I’m just gonna leave then. I am really ready to take a shower and hit the hay. Bulkhead seems a little… occupied at the moment but I can find Arcee or Bee and get them to bridge me back home.”

“ No need, I’ll bridge you back myself. You’re fine Optimus, and please don’t blame yourself for the relic. We’ll get by fine without it.”

Nodding to his Old Friend and rising with primely grace, Optimus leaves. 

Ashlyn breathes easier.

“So, ready to go Doc Bot? ‘Cause I’ve got a bed calling my name.”
Chortling, Ratchet reaches for something in his subspace, “I had a perfectly good nest- bed set up for you not too long ago, Ashlyn.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t my bed. There’s a difference you know, and you wouldn’t let me leave it. It was boring.”

“Yes, that has come to my attention. In favor of you not mimicking Miko and running into battle sights for laughs, I’ve elected to offer an alternative source of entertainment.”

Blinking, Ashlyn looks up at the Medic, confusion etched on her face. What was this? Ratchet had never given the kids anything in the show with the purpose of entertaining them , not even Raf who was easily picked out as his favorite.

Why was he giving her anything?

Kneeling down, Ratchet opened his servo to reveal a relatively small and flat device.

ipad

“This is a smaller version of our Datapads, I’ve uploaded translations of several historical manuscripts. Optimus had quite a few files saved, and he made the translations himself.”

The girl was silent, looking at the device with an unreadable expression. For the first time, Ratchet wished humans had an EM field.

“You had seemed quite knowledgeable about earth history, and you read often. I had thought, that this might prove to be a diversion against pulling more stunts in the future,”

Ashlyn remained silent.

“If you don’t want it, you can just say so.”

Slowly the girl looked up at him, eyes glossy and with a smile different from any he had seen

“Ratchet, thank you. ”

The medic rolled his optics, ignoring the warm bright feeling in his spark.

“Yes, yes, it was only logical. Ehm, well- let's get you home now.”

Ashlyn grabbed the device, fingers trailing over its seams and case, it was blocker than an ipad, but definitely an ipad.

Smiling as she followed her guardian, consumed with the thoughtful gift, because damn it Ratch actually cared didn’t he? Her mind didn’t flick back to Ratchet’s conversation with Optimus, till she had one foot in the ground bridge.

“Wait, Ratchet, what happened to the Harvester?”

“Decepticon’s destroyed it while Optimus and Bulkhead took it out to use it.”

“ what ”

❧❧❧

Back in the cage, Makeshift and Breakdown endured lecture over lecture about self-care, risks, and unauthorized scouting.

Knockout was particularly rabid as he re-repaired their wounds. More than a few bolts were tightened with vehemence.

Alone together, the air heavy and silent in the dark. Breakdown finally broke the silence.

“So, a human got you too?”

❧❧❧

JA332 felt a shiver go up his backstrut.

Oh yes, he thought as he surveyed the storage space. Empty and forgotten, it was perfect for his plan. Oh yes, it's all coming together. 

Chapter Text

The Observer’s Paradox is an intriguing little brain puzzle.

The act of observing changes the subject of observation, the mere presence of something new is enough of a variable to overwrite normalcy, diverting the original phenomena with a simple investigation. It’s a little like Murphy’s Law, where the worst-case scenario will always happen just because it can. Reality will not bend to the desires of its inhabitants. Existence is far too complicated to ever predict, life incapable of control.  It’s an interesting puzzle, trying to figure out a way to escape it from the safety of your own head.

Living it is a very different pickle. Ashlyn Moore is an unwilling student of its teachings.

But she thinks she’s starting to learn.

Things are changing. Raf is held hostage by Makeshift, the Autobots keeping the Harvester, and even Ratchet is now in charge of a human. Yet, some things are constant. A human is held hostage by a ‘con and the impersonator is promptly disposed of as the original flies off into the sunset. The Harvester is taken, used in a mining attempt, and destroyed in a conflict between the two factions. A fourth human is added, but the same ‘bots go on patrol, the same conflicts are held, and the same timeline is formed. The details change, and ripples obviously form, but they are little more than waves in a very big ocean.

Ashlyn is changing things, but the plot is steady and destiny is written.

She’s not capable of snapping those stones, of rewriting stars, of shaking the foundations of this world- she can’t.

But she’s not .

Details shift, but the broad strokes remain.

And Ashlyn feels free

No matter what she does, things will remain the same.

Her knowledge will always matter, always be there for her to fall back on, and always be there to guide her.

Ashlyn Moore can bask in that security. She can breathe, she can relax, nothing can hurt her and she can’t hurt anything. What does it matter if she acts out, or changes a detail or two? The picture remains the same, the painting is still a painting, even if it's missing a few lines. She could probably bitch slap Megatron, run a conspiracy site explaining the mechanics of this world, or even join MECH and nothing would change. Good will triumph over evil and the story will close on the hero’s triumph. 

The world is simple, and Ashlyn only needs to abide by it.

She ignores the voices that whisper lies.

❧❧❧

Jasper is orange.

Orange rocks, orange dirt, and orange dust paints everything under the bright blue sky that cradles a gleaming orange sun. Watching the world blur together into just a blue up and orange down is very underwhelming, aggravating even, when on an empty stomach.

Ashlyn closes her eyes, blocking out the world beyond the tinted lens and cushioned helmet. Her hands clench Arcee’s handles, and she breathes slowly, trying to settle her stomach as she huddles close to the transformed femme.

It turns out that, no, despite all her dreams of being a badass on a motorcycle and streaking through tight turns at high speeds, motion sickness never hesitates to crush daydreams.

At any rate, she’s not going to be able to keep her stomach’s contents in , let alone eat a greasy burger.

Too late now, Ratchet would throw a fit if she returned without “properly refueling.” The Mech had nearly blown a casket when her stomach kept rumbling and Ashlyn finally confessed she had skipped breakfast.

Oddly enough, the food at home didn’t feel as filling anymore. 

Arcee had volunteered to take her into town to grab some grub since she had to arrive early at the school for Jack anyway. It was convenient and Ashlyn was far too happy to be on one of the main sets of the show she had loved. The base was interesting, but it had become stagnant and boring. With her world limited to her home, the woods, and an old base with some rooms that hadn't been touched since the Cold War, the girl jumped at the chance to expand her horizons, even temporarily.

Ratchet’s gift had been nice and the stories were interesting, but even Ashlyn had a limit on how much she was willing to read at one time.

It didn’t stop her from lugging the bulky thing everywhere. Even now, the highly advanced tech pressed against her spine, its metal case digging into her back through the thin fabric of the backpack Ashlyn had found in one of the abandoned rooms. To think, in 10 years' time, Ratchet’s little tablet would be seen as almost archaic. Its weight, size, and limited capacity to serve as anything other than a glorified e-book would be dwarfed by the rapidly advancing human version. Technology that would be smaller, slimmer, versatile, and available in an array of colors and accessories to fit aesthetic preferences.

And Cybertronians thought themselves so advanced.

It was a pity her own phone had started glitching out, it might have had something to do with the old cell towers suddenly disappearing overnight, but the device had started acting finicky when it came to receiving and sending calls. It was borderline useless anywhere else but home. Unfortunately, sentimentality would have to sit on the back burner, Ashlyn needed to be able to have clear communication with the ‘bots and Fowler. Her life would depend on it at some point.  Besides, Ashlyn’s current device was a bit too… anachronistic to use in plain view. She would have needed to replace it with a model more fitting of her current timezone, anyway. This was just speeding up the process a little bit.

She’d figure it out… eventually. But for now, food first.

Burgers were simple, she could deal with burgers.

Jasper was orange, but it was a living orange.  Cars cruised through worn streets, stop lights flickered, red hesitating a bit too long before giving way to the green, and Ashlyn watched people stroll by and peek through storefronts. Characters smiled and talked with each other, living and breathing in a way too real to be ignored. A toddler screamed, red-faced and clutching a woman’s shirt as the lady stroked his back and kissed his temple. A platoon of senior citizens marched by, slow but resolute, a herd of silver heads and gaudy colored athletic gear. Some stopped by to coo at the baby and mother, even from her awkward angle behind a truck and eyeing the crimson light with hungered desperation, Ashlyn could see wallets being pulled out and rifled through; gran-babies too cute not to share. 

Jasper was alive, breathing, and full. It wasn’t a set, a backdrop empty and stagnant, but a world in itself. People existed in Jasper, people with lives and routines. Individuals with friends and family, quirks and personalities, who reacted to other people and waved as Ashlyn and Arcee drove by.

It was… odd to be confronted by another example of this reality’s, well, reality. Ashlyn knew this was all real, if this were a dream it had gone on for far too long, and the consistent pain of cracked ribs, a seizure, and being constantly grabbed was too distinct for her unconscious brain to formulate. Yet, it was so easy to distance herself, to see the world as nothing more than a stage and herself as a spectator. It probably would have been simpler just to let it be that way.

But- But the ‘bots were there , not as characters but as sentient and empathetic beings. Ratchet, who nagged about Ashlyn’s health and looked so happy when she nestled on his shoulder. Bulkhead, who’d been nervous, frittering around like a mother hen over her and Miko when they’d gone to Greece. Bumblebee was always ready to accept a racing challenge or just chill around the base. Arcee, slightly aloof as she was, radiated an almost maternal concern for all of her fellow humans. The femme had seconded Ratchet’s scolding on proper upkeep as soon as her tires hit the dusty road.

Even Optimus, with his distance and threatening stupid, stupid fear , had asked questions about Earth and her history. The boss ‘bot was more than willing to take part in philosophical discussions or try to talk to Ashlyn when she fell into one of her moods.

They cared. They really cared. 

It was authentic and real .

Just as real as Jasper.

Was home real too then? Or was she the fake one here?

No. No, these questions required food before being dealt with. No point in debating the nature of reality and existence on an empty stomach.

Thankfully, K.O. Burgers were just ahead.

The building was reminiscent of every dingy fast food place Ashlyn had ever seen; a square building in need of a new coat of paint surrounded by an overly complicated takeout line etched into the gray pavement.

Driving into place, the blue motorcycle whistled in an almost agonized sigh. Ashlyn gave the seats a soft pat as the speaker whistled to life with a harsh cry of static.

/Welcome to K.O. drive-in, where every patty’s a knockout, may I take your order?/

Quickly scanning the menu, the options all seemed to be boxing-themed for some reason, and the girl settled on a Champion Burger. Hopefully, a double-stacked abomination of beef, bacon, and cheese will get Ratchet off her case about refueling.

Unless he learns about heart attacks…

Nope, Ratchet will pry junk food from my shattered bones and fossilized corpse

Passing over her cash, Ashlyn couldn't help but feel a sudden anxiousness as the bills were examined. Thankfully, she had hoarded the tips she received from her part-time job, which had also conveniently vanished into the thin air. Ashlyn had squirreled away a decent amount, but money was easy to burn. She had a sudden ominous feeling that she would be able to rely on her family's credit cards.

Her tension remained as the cash was accepted and change was handed over. Even as they were directed to the next window to pick up the meal, Ashlyn's stomach twisted itself like an overworked pretzel.

She'd worry about this later.

The food was out quickly and, sure enough, the smell of meat did revitalize Ashlyn, the girl perking up as she cradled the package on her lap. Arcee seemed to shiver, the motorcycle frame stretching out slightly as the pair made their way to Jasper High. Ashlyn wondered if the femme always drove so fast in pedestrian areas, they’d nearly flattered 3 squirrels and one particularly mean-looking man. Honestly, with the flashy alt-modes and hazardous driving, how did the ‘bots ever stay “ robots in disguise ?”

Pulling out in front of the school, next to a beat-up car with an eerily familiar paint job, Ashlyn succumbed to her stomach's vocal demands and dug into her meal.

It. Was. Amazing .

Grease dripped down her chin as she bit into the warm and crispy hamburger. Bacon crunched against her teeth as the beef’s juices settled on her tongue, cheese dripped down her throat as lettuce crunched, and that sauce . Oh, that sauce danced along her tongue, zinging her taste buds. This tasted so much better than the dinners at home. It felt so warm and filling. Ashlyn closed her eyes and revealed in that mouthful, lost in her own world. It was just her and the Burger. Her and the perfect culinary masterpiece, where had it been all her life?

“Hey, would you mind not eating that when you're in my seat?”

Coughing at the sudden inhalation of her beloved soulmate, Ashlyn almost leaped off the bike, one hand clutching the remains of her love, the other holding the grease-stained paper bag it came in.

“ Right, right, right. Sorry about that Arcee.” Her eyes anxiously examined the seat, “I don’t think I dropped anything on you if that's what you’re worried about, but I can wipe the seat down if you want?”

A growl sounded as Arcee’s tires twitched, “No, you're fine. Just finish… consuming your fuel. You need it.”

Ashlyn stared at the femme for a moment, head tilted and mind working behind squinted eyes. She took another bite, refraining from having her eyes roll back in their sockets , and noticed how the femme seemed to stiffen again.

The vehicle seemed almost to lean away, tires shifting in a position ready to move, and mirrors adjusting away from the girl’s face. It was almost like Arcee was uncomfortable with seeing her eat. 

She paused for a moment. 

Arcee was uncomfortable seeing her eat.

“Um, Arcee, you escort Jack to and from his job a lot right?”

“That’s my job.”

“Has he ever taken food back with him?”

Arcee’s silence was enough of an answer. Honestly, it made sense. Restaurant workers were often given discounts or a free meal and were constantly exposed to the same food every day made it very easy to be sick of it. Even more so when you were regularly eating it.

And now that I think about it, wasn’t Jack and his mom vegetarian? He was very proud of her tofu recipe.

Raf and Miko also didn’t really bring food to the base either, other candy bars and leftover or pre-packed lunches. And those were eaten in the Human Zone. Away from the bots.

“Arcee, am I- is me “ consuming my fuel ” making you uncomfortable?”

“No! You need to eat. I’m a warrior, kid, not a squeamish rookie.”
A hardened edge crept into Ashlyn’s tone, the girl latching on to the word choice as her eyes picked apart the motorcycle.

“So it doesn’t make you squeamish that I’m currently eating the processed remains of another organic?”

“No.”

The girl smiled, satisfied, and picked up her meal with a soft hum.

Arcee forced her frame to relax. She didn’t want to embarrass the girl or make Ashlyn reluctant to fulfill her basic biological needs when around them. It wouldn’t help their charge to protect them and Ratchet would be worse than a cornered scraplet if she did anything that would impede Ashlyn’s welfare. The Mech had become quite the honorary Creator, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

It wasn’t Ashlyn's fault her species' refueling mechanisms were so… barbaric. Cannibalizing other organisms for nutrition and energy. It was appalling when one had time to consider the implications of it.

They were good kids. Good kids that were limited by their own organic needs.

It wasn’t their fault.

❧❧❧

Ashlyn ate quickly, watching the Autobot’s twitchy movements as she liked her fingers. She stowed the information away.

Arcee was a bad liar.

Organic nature was disgusting in its most basic functions for a Cybertronian.

Good to know.

❧❧❧

They stayed there, waiting in silence for the bell to ring and for students to be freed. Ashlyn kept her arms crossed and hands off the femme, unmistakably aware of the remains of her meal that clung to her fingers. A little liquified fat and salt would be easy to clean up or wipe away, but out of respect for the blue and pink warrior, Ashlyn felt obligated to complete a proper hand wash.

She stared at the car parked next to them, its black paint was faded, especially when compared to the bright flames painted over it. A paint job that looked a little gaudy in her opinion considering that the car looked like an older model.

Who was she to judge though? Ashlyn knew significantly more about robot aliens than she did about cars and only one of those things was potentially life-saving at the moment. 

Besides, the car did look kinda cool, in an insecure macho way. Power to them if they liked it.

Bulkhead and Bumblebee appeared just in time for the bell.

Teenagers steamed out of the building, the twin pink-streaked buns and spiky brown hair of Miko and Raf included.

Ashlyn waved to Jack as he came out, blue eyes widening in surprise at the sight. Ashlyn smiled, left Arcee’s side, and walked to the rapidly blinking teen. Lifting up the trash left from her wondrous meal, Ashlyn perked an eyebrow at Jack's stammering panic.

“Can you kindly direct me to a trash bin and the lady’s room, please?”

“W-what are you doing here? What are you doing with Arcee?!?”

Shrugging, Ashlyn sighed, “Skipped breakfast, Doctor of Hatchets was mad, no food in the base so Arcee took me to grab something from your work. Excellent burgers by the way, please don’t tell me how you make them.”

‘But you don’t live here , you like from the other side of the country? Jasper’s a small town, what am I supposed to say when people see you on my bike?”

“Like people actually care?”

“ Ashlyn!”

Scanning the walls for a bathroom sign or trash can, Ashlyn walked off, elbowing her way through the flood of escaping bodies, “We’re next to a major highway, Cousin, people come through here all the time!”

Ashlyn smiled as she heard Jack grumbling even over the din of laughter, talking, and a mob of moving feet. 

She missed messing with her brothers. Teasing Jack felt nice and familiar, reminiscent of her relationship with the twins. It reminded her of home.

She missed home .

❧❧❧

By the time Ashlyn finally found a bathroom and threw away her trash, the girl’s emotions had taken a sharp spiral downwards. It wasn’t fair how the littlest thing could set her off, how one minute she could be happy, then enraged, then depressed. It wasn’t fair at all.

Ashlyn scrubbed her hands with the methodical nature of a surgeon and the efficiency of a student escaping a lecture. She watched the water pool over her wrist and ran down to her fingertips.

She moved her hand and the water moved with her, finding a new way down. Succumbing to the higher force of gravity, obeying the laws of nature. Predictable. Trustworthy. Known.

Why couldn’t life be as simple?

Looking up at herself in the mirror, Ashlyn started. She didn’t see the brown stalls or the stained tile. She didn’t see peeling paint or a pale haggard face. Staring into her eyes, Ashlyn felt the Voices stir up. Swarming around her, whispers and emotions that need to share something, need to tell her something important.

Her eyes flashed.

Ashlyn threw the water at her face.

“Oh my gosh! Are you alright?”

Sputtering the girl heard the rough mechanical sound of a paper towel dispenser, and thankfully grasped the offered item. Wiping her eyes with the crinkled parchment, Ashlyn smiled.

“Thank you! I’m fine, just had a long day. I needed to wake up a bit and I overestimated how much water was in my hands.” she laughed, “Silly me!”

The stranger laughed too, “You’re totally fine! Hey, do you want to go here? I’ve never seen you before.”

Lowering the paper towel, Ashlyn felt her stare widen as she met a pair of gleaming emerald eyes. Ashlyn’s smile stretched as she waved away Jack’s crush, mischief battling for dominance against common courtesy.

“No, I’m not. I’m visiting some people, been on the road for a while so I thought I’d freshen up quickly since I’m picking up someone.”

Sierra smiled, “Oh, that makes sense. Where are you from?”

Oh, now Jack’s panic is starting to make sense.

Ashlyn moved out of the bathroom, a smile straining as Sierra started to follow. “I’m from a ways away, but I’m checking out some colleges and decided to drop by as a surprise.”

“Cool, where are you thinking of going?”

Abort, Abort, Abort. Information on local schools: Nonexistent . White Lie: Endangered . Thrown into Jail for Trespassing on School Property: Potential Ending .

Sierra didn't look suspicious, only overly friendly in a small-town kind of way. But her cat-like eyes gleam as she flips her copper ponytail. A narrow focus that exposes the sweet façade and reveals something even more troublesome than a suspicious student.

This girl is hunting for gossip.

And to think, Ashlyn had thought she had escaped this part of High School.

 “Oh, this and that, I’m really interested in interning right now. So, I’m all over the place.  Might even join the military, I’ve got a Doctor that's been giving me the low down for life as a field medic. I’m just trying to find out what I want to do and the best schools that can help me accomplish that.”

Sierra nods and opens her mouth as if to ask even more questions, but two more girls appear and her attention is momentarily distracted.

Ashlyn, setting a speed walking world record, escapes to a sun-lit orange freedom. Of course, she’s stopped in her tracks by another redhead.

Vince, legs spread, hands clenched, hunched over in a position that's probably meant to convey a readiness to punch someone’s midsection, but really looks like the poor boy could be constipated. 

Ashlyn took a moment to close her eyes and breathe. She had faced down Decepticons, she could survive teenagers.

“Darby! Are you too scared to put that bike through a real race? All that big talk with nothing to back it up? You're nothing but a wuss!”

Vince, tossing flaming red hair and pointing a finger towards a Jack who was bracing himself against Arcee almost protectively, moved forward meaningfully. Students had started to circle, like sharks smelling blood in the water, and Vinny boy only seemed emboldened by the attention.

This was Ashlyn’s fault. If she had stayed here, then they could have left immediately and Jack wouldn’t be forced to take part in this teen drama standoff. 

Shit, people are taking their phones out.

“Jackie, I’m ready to go now!” smiling, Ashlyn skipped forward and pulled the ravenette into a side hug. Glancing back at Vince, whose face was screwed up like a raisin as toxic green eyes flicked between her and the other boy.

She needed to diffuse the situation, and while Vince wasn’t as important or memorable as other characters, the boy’s character was remarkably simple. 

From what Ashlyn could remember, Vinny was heavily volatile towards Jack specifically, likely stemming from some sort of jealousy. The roots of that were unconfirmed, but ultimately it didn’t matter right now. Ashlyn just needed to deflect the redhead’s attention away from Jack. She could do that.

“Oh,”

By focusing it on him.

“Who's your friend?”

She smiled, pouring every ounce of sunshine and innocence she possibly could, as she beamed at the boy. Pushing herself in front of Jack, she leaned forward, careful to monitor the boy’s posture and pleased to notice his jaw had unclenched.

She needed to be careful . She was only doing this because she knew the basics of how Vince functioned and was surrounded by witnesses. Still, it wasn’t impossible for the situation to take a turn for the worst. This required a delicate touch.

Ashlyn could be delicate .

“Hi, I’m Ashlyn, it's nice to meet a friend of Jack’s. Oh, is that your car? That paint job looks amazing, like a real race car! Gives me Fast and Furious vibes.”

“Uh, thanks?” Vince seemed to stall for a moment, “Wait! Who are you? Darby’s girlfriend ? You need to cower behind a girl, Darby?”

“Ha! Jack’s like a brother to me!” Ashlyn willed her eyes to sparkle, “So, what year are you? A Senior?”

“I’m a Junior.”

“Ah, I wish I had a ride like that when I was a Junior. I had to ferry around with my friends. Speaking of which, we should go.” turning back to Jack, Ashlyn’s smile tight end, “Thanks for lending me your bike for the day, but do you think you could drop me off with Gramps?”

Jack’s voice seemed to squeak, “ Gramps ?”

“Yeah, he promised to lend me some of his medical textbooks and he’ll wack me with his wrench if we’re late.”

“ Oh ,” Swinging a leg across Arcee’s frame, the motorcycle came to life, “yeah, we better go. I’ll see you around Vince.”

The crowd was dispersing, people muttering about a spoiled fight, and Vince, still tense, looked thoroughly confused.

Sitting behind Jack and putting on the spare helmet, Ashlyn waved as they drove off.

Vaguely, Ashlyn wondered if this was the introduction to the racing episode, where Knockout would be properly introduced. Given her introduction to the Aston Martin and her repeated interactions with his partner, it might be for the best that she avoided those interactions.

Of course, what would she have to lose if she did?

When Ratchet asked what had her so happy, the girl blamed her chipper attitude on a delicious lunch.

The medic added more pillows to a rapidly forming blanket fort and sent up a prayer to primus.

Chapter Text

Ashlyn found herself liking Jasper. Yes the dry stifling air was horrible, the dust coated her throat with every breath, and she’d nearly been run over by more than a few reckless drivers, but she loved it regardless.

Maybe it was the people, Miko showing her through the town’s arcade and best dune bashing spots. Hanging out with Raf in a park when he wasn’t holed up in the base. Jack showed her the best of the few restaurants the town had, or people-watching in Ratchet’s cab.

Jasper was alive .

At times, she took it for granted in her short visits. At other times she longed for it with an aching need that almost eclipsed her longing for home.

Especially when she was home .

The house creaked and groaned. Grey and empty, cold and barren. Wrong . The Moore house wasn’t home. Ashlyn didn’t even think it was hers anymore. The changes had come slowly, glitches lingering longer with every new incident. Like a frog being boiled alive, Ashlyn hadn’t noticed the changes till it was too late, too different. 

She didn’t know if she wanted to leave anyway.

In her room, the world was the same. The tree outside her window was dressed in green and waved merrily in the wind. Sunlight drifted through in warm curtains of gold. She could hear the voices and movement of Mom, Jeff, and David, sometimes the dog would come in, fluffy head held low as she sniffed and huffed before disappearing again with a whine. Ashlyn would watch silently, clutching Ratchet's tablet to her chest. 

She had stopped calling the dog, and her beloved pet never responded.

This was fine.

She was fine.

Always fine.

Fine.

And really she was.

This would fade away, the world would return to normalcy eventually, and Ashlyn’s current unease would be as laughable as a nightmare on a summer day.

Ratchet was picking her up soon anyway. She could wait. Ashlyn was good at waiting.

The girl gripped the tablet, white-knuckled around the weighted frame. She needed to get her mind off of all this, she needed a distraction. Reading was better than driving herself insane on whatever was happening.

Pressing her hand against the device’s sensors, the gray screen booted up with a green glow. Alien symbols flickered, looking remarkably like the Iconian alphabet that Ashlyn had searched up once before this mess, before transforming into something the girl could understand.

The tablet was open to a Home Screen of sorts. A selection of files marked for categories like Poetry , History, and even one titled Government.

Unfortunately, there was a startling lack of medical text and none on the topic of Cybertronian physiology. A pity, since that information might’ve been useful.

With a resigned sigh, Ashlyn opened the Historical folder. Might as well catch up on lore, even if it probably didn’t matter in the long run. 

There was a lot in this folder. Documents were further grouped and organized under headings like Golden Age, Records of the Ancients, Colonial Records, and even one labeled Artifacts and Relics. 

Ashlyn felt her greedy little heart purr as she clicked on Records of the Ancients . Stories about the original Primes, Unicron, and the Great Cataclysm were always a little vague and varied based on the continuity telling them. It would be interesting to see how this universe explained those events with the presence of Bayverse characters in what appeared to be the Prime Universe.

Maybe she should start taking notes again.

Rows and Rows of documents filled the screen, little blue boxes only labeled by a rough title and author. Spying a familiar name, Ashlyn’s finger hovered over the file, sparks racing along her spine.

The Complete Early History of the Formation of Cybertron and her Colonies; Vol. 1

Author: Designation: Unknown

Editor: Designation: Alpha Trion

Editor: Designaton: Orion Pax

She clicked.

Primus formed all Cybertronian life after himself, but the Primes were formed with pieces of his own spark.

Eyes brightening with interest and mind quickly becoming absorbed with the unknown author’s work, she ignored how a phantom wind blew through the walls as the AC remained silent and gnarled branches shook excitedly.

Ashlyn ignored the world and read.

For a time, Primus and Unicron, creation and destruction, functioned in unison. In their cohesion they formed helpers, pulled and cut, designated to share and grow life and power. Primus took them for his own creation. These Guardians were pledged to protect and provide. Safeguards for Cybertron’s future and advancement.

Unicron, greed-filled and wrathful, craved the destructive potential the Guardians held. With armies and mind-slaving, the Destroyer sought to conquer his twin with their shared ones.

 

Ashlyn furrowed her brow. “Guardians” and  “Safeguards”? “ pulled and cut ” ? What was this? She’d never heard of Unicron and Primus working together , or there being other players involved in Cybertron's early history beyond the Primes and maybe the Quintessons. Then again, she’d never really searched out anything beyond what was presented in the movies and TV shows. Maybe this was related to a comic?

Shaking off her unease, the girl skimmed forward until she found something familiar. 

 

The Primes banded together to cast out The Unmaker forevermore, with Primus gifts their weapons were forged and charged, their bodies unyielding in the face of Unicron’s wrath. Cut down and cast off, The Devourer’s remains were lost to the stars. With him went as too did the Guardians begin to fade. Their bonds remained uncut, trapped, and lost, longing for the mercy that their predecessors had been granted.

Primus, in his wisdom and grace, relinquished the life-holders. Their lives pooling back to the void from which they came, Primus then instructed his creations to take care of the gifts he had left. For though their numbers were great and their potential greater, even they would someday run dry.

Again with these Guardians . They seemed like protectors of some sort, or, were they servants? The text seemed overly vague and slightly theatrical, and Ashlyn’s mind buzzed as she looked over the words again. Perhaps there was a translation error. Yes, that must be it. Some sort of barrier between Cybertronian and English that muffled the meaning of the words, changed the actual story being told.

Or maybe this was just a legend and not a historical account at all. 

That would explain the language and “ life-holder ” nonsense. It was all symbolic. It meant nothing.

Ashlyn scrolled down to another story.

Megatronus sought out Solus’ company, seeking her spark and her skill at the forge. When the femme Prime gave away the armor he sought, Megatronus grew angry. In his rage and lack of thought, the mech fired his cannon at the femme. Alas, no Guardian could heal the wound, though many attempts were performed. In agony and in grief, the Dark Prime went mad and cut down the servants

Solus Prime was buried on a passing comet, her failed Guardians standing over her tomb, keeping watch over her remains forevermore.

This one Ashlyn did recognize. The murder of Solus Prime was supposed to be a turning point as much as it was a tragedy. The events seemed trimmed down, not identifying any particular version of the few stories Ashlyn was aware of. This was a streamlined version, meant to convey a quick point or short explanation. So why were Guardians mentioned here as well? 

The idea of failed guards standing watch over their charges tomb made Ashlyn’s gut coil. It was like how ancient kings would be buried with their servants or wives, bound together in life and death, occasionally dooming the other party to an early grave. It was a horrible practice, one better lost to time. Yet ,this, this description made her eyes feel hot and her head ache .

She felt angry .

She kept reading.

The Guardians, whoever or whatever they were, were not mentioned. Tales of schisms between the original primes, of the Quintession invasion, of old battles and old relics, danced before her eyes.

She kept reading.

Ashlyn kept reading until she came to the final entry until her eyes settled on the word that made no sense, that didn’t belong.

The Cataclysm destroyed the surface of the world. Onyx Prime wished to save those matching his frame, but the beasts tore each other apart, fire and armor meaningless in the revolts rage.

Those unturned and still sane blocked the fires and beams of light from reaching their charges. Buried and entombed, the Guardians watch over Vector Sigma, even in death protecting the Primes for which they served. Honor to them all.

A crippling unease filled the room. A tangible sense of wrong that ached and pulsed like a wounded heart. It was confusing and Ashlyn didn’t want to read anymore.

She didn’t look up. She could feel the eyes watching her. Silent, cold, unreal .

She didn’t want to seek those answers just yet.

This was fine.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

Ashlyn was waiting in the woods when Ratchet sent the bridge. The harsh blue light of the swirling vortex illuminated even the deepest shadows of the calm outdoors and, for the first time, Ashlyn found herself looking forward to walking through the device.

Anything to get away from the dark.

Cyan-blue optics scanned over her form as the girl walked in, noting with some concern the girl’s paler face and slower movement.

Ratchet’s spark constricted in concern. Ashlyn might have hidden it well enough from the others, but the medic had seen looks like that on too many patients in his time. Soldiers unable to leave the battlefield, processors trapped in cycles of torturous memory, ‘bots broken more deeply by regrets than any Decepticon weapon.

Arcee had been like that for a time, and though Ratchet would never verbalize it, he was eternally thankful that Jack had managed to draw her back out.

He didn’t know how to help his charge.

The girl was odd, perhaps that was just her humanity, switching between a sarcastic recklessness with a smile brighter than any sun the old mech had ever seen to this quiet lethargy. Thankfully, seldom seen, but if he was right, always present.

Ashlyn wasn’t a soldier, she was a child . An infant by their age standards. Yet, she had been put in harm's way multiple times, threatened, injured, and held hostage. She had committed a war crime, oh, Ratchet would never forget the sheer rage that had radiated from her , to protect Rafael when they , the ones pledged to protect them , had failed in the most basic of duties.

How was it not surprising then, that such a fragile, vibrant creature would be so affected?

The title of Guardian was an ancient and honorable pledge, one that lasted for a lifetime. It was a call to protect and preserve, to lay down one’s life without hesitation, to give everything if needed for the sake of your charge.

But the ancients had never explained how to protect a charge from themselves. How to heal a mind .

Ratchet was on his own for this, and over his rusted remains, he would go to the rest of the team for help. He was a big bot, he could take care of this on his own. He could figure it out.

The sight rumble that emerged from his charge’s midsection offered a temporary solution. 

Ratchet would do anything to ignore this slight pain in his spark.

But Ashlyn’s watchful eyes would never let him.

He didn’t know how to feel about that.

❧ … ❧ … ❧

Jasper was still orange, still bright. Not a cloud lingered in the blue sky as the warm air wrapped everything with dry, steady arms.

Leaning back into the surprisingly comfortable seats, Ashlyn tried to think of a good reason an unsupervised young adult would be operating an ambulance without a license. She couldn’t find it within herself to panic when her mind stayed blank.

Calling Fowler would suffice. That man was more of a Deus Ex Machina than anyone gave him credit for.

Still, it was oddly thoughtful of Ratchet to take her out himself since Optimus was out doing something and the rest of the team was busy picking up the kids. Or maybe it wasn’t odd. The gruff mech had given her the tablet, even if it was an obvious attempt to keep her occupied in the base, it had been a thoughtful gift.

She wished she could enjoy it more.

“Hey, Ratchet?”

“Yes, Ashlyn?”

Hesitating slightly, Ashlyn pushed her anxiety down. Ratchet, if anything, would likely feel proud to share what he knew about the history of his planet. He was certainly eager to put a cybertronian spin on the kid’s science projects in the TV show.

She wished she had arrived early enough to witness that.

There was no reason to be nervous. No reason to be afraid.

When had fear become so present in her life?

Why had it?

“I was reading a little earlier before you came to get me, and I was a little confused. I managed to get the gist of it, but there were repeated references to something that wasn’t really explained.”

The seats seemed to warm slightly and if Ashlyn didn’t know any better, she would have thought the ambulance cabin itself was standing at attention.

Had she been Cybertronian, she wouldn't have missed the sharp and explosive spark of joy and pride that radiated from the medic.

“I’m no archivist, but I’m sure Optimus wouldn’t mind explaining anything you find confusing. The selection I gave you was from his personal collection.”

“Didn’t you translate it?”

“Me? No, I’m just a medic.” Ratchet made a huffing noise Ashlyn could just see his eye roll, “Translations, especially for older Cybertronian dialects, should be done by a linguist. Optimus used to be an archivist before the war, so he was more familiar with most of the texts and even served as an aide for some of the original translations I believe. He was the best choice to transcribe it to your native tongue. Was there an issue with the wording? I’m sure Optimus would be more than happy to correct it.”

Leaning forward, eyes darting between the steering wheel and mirrors, why couldn’t they have some sort of face to look at? The girl was quick to explain herself.

“No, I was just curious about a person. People? Title, maybe? That kept popping up when I was looking at some of the Ancient Historical documents. It was something about the Formation of Cybertron?”

“Ah, well I’m sure Optimus could help you with that as well.”

“But I’m asking you.”

It was silent for a moment. Ashlyn wondered if she’d pushed too far, if the medic would become suspicious, if she’d done something wrong .

She couldn’t lose this. Please don’t make her lose this too.

Ratchet, oblivious to his charge’s true emotional turmoil, felt a mixture of confusion and flattery over the girl’s specification. Optimus would be more equipped to answer historical questions, especially those concerning an ancient Cybertron, but he was more than happy to attempt an answer. Not many asked medical doctors for their opinion on lost civilizations. 

“… Very well. What was the confusion?”

“Well- I was wondering- who or what exactly are “ Guardians ?”

Ratchet felt shock blind his senses the moment before his front wheel clipped a pothole. Hearing his charge yip in response to his sudden swerve, the mech renewed his focus on the earthen roadway with an irritated growl.

“Ep, Ep ep! Maintain better care of your roadways! By the allspark, how do your people even function on this planet? Eh, my apologies, Ashlyn, are you alright?”

Rubbing the top of her head with a grimace, the girl nodded, “Yep. I’m good.”

Studying the girl for a few more moments, inwardly cursing that his interior sensors could only identify the point where she’d hit her head and the continued pressure where she currently sat. Ratchet continued his impromptu lecture, audio receptor open for any sudden change in his passenger.

Head injuries were highly harmful to humans. He did not need such a bright mind being irreparably damaged because of his carelessness and portly maintained roadways. Even if her self-preservation instincts” seemed to regularly malfunction.

“Good. Uh- right! The Guardians are more of a myth than a fact, I’m honestly surprised they came up at all in your reading. They were said to be protectors and preservers of Cybertron and their charges, the original 13 themselves. The modern idea of guardianship is actually based upon their pledges, whether they were real or not.”

“So they were partners to the Primes?”

“The proper terminology would be High Protector , but I do not know if that was in reference to the entire group or a specific bond between a select Prime and their chosen one. Again this is mostly myth and speculation, right up there with dark energon reviving the dead! … Well, that actually turned out to be true- so a more correct comparison could be the existence of sparkeaters.”

“Explain please.”

“There’s nothing to prove their existence, but there’s nothing to disprove it either. Not that it matters, Guardians were tied to the original 13, the true primes, if they did exist, they died out with their charge. Without a function, there was no need for them.”

“Isn’t Optimus a prime?”

“He is chosen by Primus himself with the Matrix of Leadership, a relic that houses the wisdom of the primes.” An awe-filled tone took over the mech's voice, a respect that bordered on devotion. Ashlyn didn’t know how to feel about it. “The true primes. If you look into pre-Great War accounts, you’ll find Cybertron was governed by a series of “primes” that claimed the title out of more ceremonial reasons than any real right to the title. Many even appointed their own High Protectors, the fools, to further mimic and cement their perceived right to power.”

That actually sounded a little familiar. She’d heard that Megatron had once held the title of Lord High Protector and ruled alongside Optimus. Which, now that Ashlyn thought about it,  might be why the warlord was still referred to with the title of lord whereas Starscream kept going for the whole “ Emperor of Destruction ” tidbit. 

And here Ashlyn had always thought him a theater kid at spark. Who knew?

“So, did the Guardians do anything? Like control military power so their counterpart could govern Cybertron?”

“Ha, no. To my understanding, a Guardian, in its most basic form, was a glorified bodyguard. To protect and preserve , not to govern or control. A Prime wouldn’t require the judgment of a simple soldier, not when there were 12 others of the same status as themselves to consult, let alone Primus himself when he was still fully active. “

Hm, there goes that connection. Theater kid Starscream it is.

“You were somewhat right, however, with your earlier assumption. The split between a Prime’s expected responsibilities of cultural preservation and governing and gifted authority of Cybertron’s external safety and internal order to a High Protector was later made. Until the council took control and made that dichotomy unnecessary.”

“Well, that’s cool.”`

Humming in what might’ve been a half-hearted agreement, Ratchet remained silent as the pair finally drove into Jasper itself.

Ashlyn’s ever-demanding stomach remained the loudest noise in the comfortable quiet.

Parking outside of K.O. Burgers, maybe she’d get a salad this time , Ashlyn failed to notice the race car pulling in or the sharp eyes that watched her enter the restraint.

What she did notice, however, was bright red blocking her way out.

“Hey, there. Stopped hanging out with Jack and his loser bike?”

Fuck, I’m not in the mood for this.

Clutching her Bell Southwest Salad, Ashlyn glared at the boy's arm. Leaning in against the doorway like that she could either duck under or force her way through.

“Hello.” Ashlyn turned around, “Goodbye.”

Vince, who’d just lost to Darby in a race he'd challenged, a fact that was witnessed and the entire school would know about by tomorrow, watched Darby’s cousin exit out of the door on the other side of the building. Where was the smiley girl from last week? Was he not good enough anymore? He was still better than Darby, one race didn’t change that!

Circling the building, he ran into her again. Darby’s cousin didn’t smile, she didn’t chat, didn’t complement his car. She just looked at him, looked through him. Like he was a loser. Like he was nothing .

Vince Mackinely was not nothing.

“Hey! Hey, I'm talking to you!”

Rolling her eyes, stared at the sky for a moment before replying. Her response was nothing like how Vince had hoped.

“Ugh, yes?  I’m sorry, what's your name again?”

Blue screening for a moment, the redhead starred in utter bafflement. “You don’t remember my name?”

She snorted. “Do you remember mine?”

“Vince.”

“Nope, not my name, Macho-Car Man. What do you want?”

Swallowing, still not comprehending this sudden change, Vince wasn’t sure how to continue. Darby’s cousin had been so nice before. Practically falling over herself in attempts to praise him and- his car .

“I’m racing later.”

“Good for you.”

Toxic green eyes narrowing, Vince pushed forward as the cousin began to walk away again, following her.

“I want you to come, see a real race. Not like Darby tries to do on his stupid bike. A real race.”

Tapping a finger on her chin, the girl seemed to think it over.  She was looking over Vince’s head again.

“Uh-huh. Mm , let me check my schedule… how about a solid no between now and when I’m abducted by aliens? That works for you, Vinny, right?”

Waving her free hand and turning her back, she kept walking.

Vince didn’t let her.

“Hey! Hey, come back here!”

Grabbing one arm, the salad tittered in the other. Touching her seemed to change something, activate something as she looked at him again with sharp eyes.

Little did he know, she was mulling over how far back one would have to push an arm to dislocate it.

Or better yet, how nice he’d look with a black eye.

She smiled. A smile that was a little too tight but still too bright to be called a grimace.

 “I’m sorry, I’m on a tight schedule and I don’t have time to indulge or support brain-dead, reckless activity.” Walking away once more, and seeing the lovely white and orange-red paint job ahead, the girl quickened her pace as anger gave a new bite to her words.

“Unless you wind up in the ER, then I’d just love to give your doctor all my attention.”

A strangled noise between a gasp and a choke was Ashlyn’s warning before being grabbed, again.

Twisting her wrist out of his grip, the salad tittering again, Ashlyn turned to the boy, fully fed up.

“Vincent. I’m currently meeting someone, I’m sorry but I’m not a high schooler with endless free time. Good luck on your racing thing, hopefully, you don’t turn into a pancake or a registered criminal. Have a nice day.”

“Oh yeah, who are you meeting exactly?”

At her sudden expression, Vince’s frustrated scowl smoothed into a smug smirk.

Brain frantically working, Ashlyn did so much as blurt, but hesitantly draw out her answer with a grace that would make any cartoon character proud.

“…. My grandpa.”

“I thought you didn’t have free time.”  Eyes flicking to the vehicle Ashlyn had been walking towards, a teasing lightness in Vince’s voice contrasted his hard eyes. “Are you licensed to drive an ambulance?”

“I don’t.- I’m not. He’s the driver, Gramps is just getting something to eat while I’m shadowing him for the day.”

As if searching for her keys, Ashlyn began to rummage through her pockets. Pulling out her phone in the process and sliding it under the salad container.

Vince, the man-child, likely didn’t mean anything overtly harmful. Ashlyn had experience in self-defense courses, there was a witness nearby, and the teenage boy probably just wanted to inflate his ego via more flattery than by physically overpowering her.

Still, she was, for all intents and purposes, alone with a young man in a secluded location who she knew had anger issues and the only thing on her person was a salad and a phone with spotty reception.

The child was this close to getting decked.

“Oh yeah.” 

And he wouldn’t back off.

Angling her body, either to run or give Vinny a reminder to treat women with some basic respect, Ashlyn saw red as Vince grabbed both arms .

Time slowed down. Her salad and phone crashed to the ground. An explosion of green confetti, red bell peppers, and white chicken stained the black tarmac like a Pollock painting of disappointment and despair. Her phone skidded into the street with a pitiful skreeee, and Ashlyn could see the cracked screen and splintering glass.

She barely heard the creepy bastard’s words over the roar in her ears.

“ Why don’t we wait together. ”

Turning to look up and the redhead bastard, the child, the scum, the insect she was about to smite beneath her shoe, Ashlyn opened her mouth-

And someone else beat her to it.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER YOU RUFFIAN! Do not make me come out there! I will and no one will like it!”

The ambulance was almost shaking, and Vince stumbled back, releasing Ratchet’s charge at the sudden noise.

Pasting on a smile, Ashlyn kept her eyes narrowed on Vince.

“I’m all good Pepaw, go back to your wrenches.”

“ Wrenches ? “

The whisper may have been small, but Ashlyn’s smile only grew. Vengeful mischief plagued her gaze as she got into Vince’s space, and grabbed Vince’s arm.

“Oh yeah, Gramp was a combat medic. When they didn’t have the drugs to knock someone out, he’d use blunt force trauma!”

“Blunt force-?

“Knock ‘em upside the head! Crack 'em skulls! Rearrange a few marbles!” Her sing-song voice echoed as Vince pushed her back, now actively making his way back to his own cringe monstrosity of a car, eyes darting between the girl and the ambulance with the unrevealed driver.

“ Wha- ”

Ashlyn, followed steps loud and eyes crazed with that demented grin. Leaning forward she whispered, so low, so quiet, that the teen found his ears straining to hear.

“ And he still likes doing it .”

Vince Mickinley, so consumed with the need to get as far away as possible from the cheering section airhead turned psychopath, didn’t hear the sudden crack beneath squealing wheels as the teen peeled out of the parking lot.

Nor did he notice it when he backed out again to avoid the screaming banshee that was rushing at his car.

Once on the freeway, Vincent had the distinct feeling he had just brushed past death. Laughing off the ill feeling, Vince shook it off. He’d still challenge Darby to a rematch- thankfully the cousin wasn’t a local.

Thankfully .

Ashlyn looking down at the remains of her precious phone had murder pulsing in her blood.