Fire of Youth

Chapter 1

*This is a "What If?" type of thing that is going to be fairly short in comparison to my other stories. I may just leave it at this chapter for a while just to get the idea out of my head and give me some time to plan ahead. Failing that I may just leave it here as a speculative one-shot sort of thing.

*Note 1: This story is going to be very feelsy and tear-jerking in nature, unlike my other stories. Prepare for your heartstrings to be remorselessly sliced out of your chest with a large kitchen knife, especially during this part. If you are an emotional person, then read ahead at your risk.

You have been warned.

*Note 2: Sequence of events has been slightly altered to suit my tastes, and to suit my own personal head cannon a little better. This is a "What If" scenario, so I think I'm allowed a bit of leeway in terms of plot and plot devices.

-MiniKoontzy

Optimus Prime knew he was dying. There was no saving him. He understood that.

Every inch of his body was broken and battered, too badly damaged to be repaired even by the most skilled of medics, and there were none to help him here, concealed as he was in a cavern beneath the Nevada desert. Energon seeped out of countless gashes and cuts on his frame, evidence of his being caught in the fiery explosion of Omega One. His air intakes were weak and labored, cooling fans having been heavily damaged. His spark pulsed feebly in his chest.

There was no saving him. His time had come. He would not resist. He was ready.

His damaged optics flickered as he scanned his dark, stony surroundings, forcibly pushing himself out of light power down, doing his best to ignore the tempting, light-accentuated darkness at the corners of his line of sight. He had to stay online just a little while longer. If he fell offline before he passed on the Matrix to another living host, then Cybertron would truly be lost to their race forever.

But he was tired – so very, very tired. The Prime was tired of loss, of burying soldiers and friends and loved ones as this accursed civil war raged on without end in sight. He was tired of the savage brutality of warfare. He was tired of fighting the mech he had at one time considered a brother.

He felt the Matrix flare in his chest, releasing a soothing wave of warmth that helped to ease some of the grueling pain caused by his lethal wounds. After a moment it once more flared within him, gentler this time, and now coupled with a tendril of wordless affection that reached into his sputtering, weakened spark. A sense of pure bliss washed over his awareness. The dying Prime smiled softly and sighed, shuttering his damaged optics as he leaned back against the slab of stone behind him. He was not afraid, not anymore, for he knew now who could come to retrieve him and guide him to his well-earned rest. He would not be walking the Eternal Path alone.

For the first time since before the War, he heard the Voice speak clearly in his mind:

'My final gift to you, my faithful disciple. You have done so much for me. It is past time I did something for you in thanks. Your last moments will not be unpleasant. I will allay the pain for you until your young charge returns with his prize. I will come for you then, my son.'

There was another soothing wave of warmth that spread out from the Matrix into his weary limbs and dulled his nerve endings, suffusing his fading spark with untainted love and pride and gratitude. He sighed once again, letting his battered body relax. It was an almost addicting sensation. Lulled by the comforting heat, he let his mind wander, reviewing his existence.

He had lived a long life – a good life, even if the latter portion of it was riddled with pain and loss. He had done everything conceivable to uphold the title and consequent responsibility he had been given so long ago. Now the time had come for another to take up the mantle in his stead. And the Matrix had already made its decision. He now had to pass it on before he left this life and journeyed into the next. But time was running short. Already he could feel his spark fluttering within him in eager anticipation, waiting for the moment it would fly free.

He just had to hold on a little while longer until Smokescreen returned with the Forge.

Just a little while longer….

His wait was not a very long one. He felt the Matrix pulse faintly as it detected an approaching spark and identified it rapidly as belonging to the young mech had sent out on his assigned retrieval mission. He had not put such faith in him needlessly. His loyalty was what truly defined him. That mech would do anything for his friends.

He mused briefly on the young mech's qualities. 'Loyalty. Cleverness. Adaptability. Courageousness.'

All were good traits in a Prime. His Autobots would be in good hands. Smokescreen would care for them while he watched and guarded from beyond.

He felt the gentle tendril of affection reach into his spark again, felt it wrap around it as gingerly as a child would. He knew what was about to happen, and he knew the owner would time his demise flawlessly with Smokescreen's arrival. Explanations as to why the young mech had been chosen could wait until after he had accepted the Matrix into his body.

'Come, my faithful one. It is time. I await you. You no longer need to fight. You can rest now.'

While his nerve endings detected no pain, he nonetheless grimaced as he felt the gentle little tendril of affection sever his spark's ties to the material world. Soft blackness encroached on his awareness like a compassionate tidal wave as his optics dimmed and his body went still. Shuttering his optics, the Prime emitted one last tired, content sigh before finally falling silent, his soft, serene smile returning – a parting message to his returning charge that all would be well.

At first all around him was darkness. Then slowly, the in-between world swam into focus. He was still in the cavern, though the shadows were more pronounced and thick mist swirled around below him, slithering and wrapping over his lifeless body like a dream-woven blanket. His pulsing baby blue spark hovered above his battered body for a moment or two as though it were uncertain.

Where was his guide? The Prime could not find his away alone, and he had promised to come for him. So where was he? Where was Primus?

As if in reply to his unvoiced question there was a soft white flash ahead of him. When it faded there stood a mechanical being that was neither fully a mech nor fully a femme in appearance, its body seemingly made of blazing white starfire. Grafted seamlessly to the entity's back were curved spars of white metal that formed a strange pair of wings. Gold optics resembling burning stars appraised him him with unquantifiable levels of fatherly love. When a smile broke out on his faceplates it was like a new galaxy bursting into existence.

Never had the Prime seen him in person before. He was awe-inspiring, glorious and near-blinding to look directly at. Power radiated from his form, making his spark shy back from the sensation of heat that rolled off him – heat reminiscent of a great star whose fire nurtured rather than destroyed.

The entity of white starfire extended an inviting hand to the small orb before him, wordlessly sending out a wave of love and reassurance. He also sent out a burst of raw information that showed him how to manifest the shape of his old shell. Optimus took advantage of the data in an instant, no longer a mere orb of light but a spectral version of his pre-War self. He felt a little less...exposed now, though his spectral nature was faintly disconcerting to him.

Both watched as the Prime's young charge determinedly huffed and grunted as he phased, back first, through the stony walls of the cavern, dragging a massive golden hammer almost as large as he was tall. It was good to see he was none the worse for wear, even if he looked a bit amusedly aggravated at the sheer size and weight of the object he was dragging. Unaware of the two ghostly beings, the young mech passed right through the blazing white form of Primus, who didn't appear to mind such obliviousness, though there was sadness in his ancient gold optics.

Clearly he wanted to help the youngling, but he was allowed only to directly interact with the dead, at least until his own body was re-awakened from it's enforced slumber. All he could do was observe, and it pained him to no end.

"Hey, Optimus! I found the..."

Smokescreen's voice trailed off as his optics fell on the motionless form of his idol. His optics went round in horror and grief. Dropping the Forge, he rushed forward in a blind panic. Vainly he checked for a spark pulse, only to detect nothing. His normally strong field was also absent, and his optics were shuttered, no familiar blue light detectable underneath. Then his gaze fell on the Prime's serene, content smile – and everything fell into place.

"No, no! Please!" he cried. "You gotta come back! We need you! I need you! Please! Wake up! Come back!"

At that he collapsed, his helm and upper body onto the still chestplates, coolant-laced tears trickling down his cheeks. Grief wracked his spark, making it feel as though it would simply snap and snuff out. He'd just lost the one being who actually held a degree of faith in him because he'd been too slow getting back.

"Please...Wake up..."

He jolted when he felt the dead Prime's chestplates begin to shift and rearrange. He gasped in shock when strong, baby blue light washed over his features. When his optics calibrated to the strong blue glare they went round upon spotting what stared back at him. It was a spheroidal object containing a bluish crystalline object held by a framework of gold metal.

The Matrix.

For a few moments he simply stared at it uncomprehendingly. Then his processor finally started to work again. He reached forward, but his hand stopped cold when the object's visibly brightened at the proximity of the limb. His expression became abruptly hesitant and frightened.

Some small part of him urged: 'Take it. He wants you to have it.'

But a greater part of him was screaming at him to run – run as far away as possible from it. He wasn't worthy of it. He wasn't ready for the responsibility holding it entailed. He wasn't ready to have his spark laid bare to the all-powerful force that resided within it.

Unseen by the youngling, the spectral Prime knelt down and laid a comforting black hand on his shoulder armor. He tried to speak, to tell him it was alright to take it, but was rather disconcerted and alarmed when no sound came out. Was it because he no longer possessed a physical vocalizer? Rather inconvenient. Obviously he would need another way to encourage the youngling to take the Matrix. If he didn't take it soon...then all would be lost.

He glanced up and over at the white starfire being standing near him for some sort of advice. In reply, Primus smiled softly and nodded, sending out a small wave of reassurance – a hint. Perhaps he could not physically communicate with Smokescreen right now, but he could transfer his emotions, perhaps even pure thought to him instead. While not as direct as speech was, it was still a viable means of "talking" to him.

A pulse of apprehension wafted over to him – a warning. 'Be gentle. His spark is weak from grief. Channel too much emotion and it will do more harm than good.'

He nodded silently, turning his attention back to the still frightened, apprehensive Smokescreen. It was...strange, but he could actually see the youngling's spark through his armor, quivering inside him like a candle. It was disturbingly dim from the emotional anguish it was laboring under. It pained him to see him – normally so outgoing and vivacious and energetic – so utterly broken inside.

Shuttering his optics, the Prime focused. He sent out at first a small nudge of tentative kindness and was pleased to see the youngling react visibly to it, optics going wide again as his helm whipped around curiously. Realization slowly began to dawn.

"O-Optimus?"

Confirmation. Approval. Yes, it was he.

The youth choked back a gasp: "You're still here?!"

Sadness. Grief. Sorrow. Not for very much longer, no. He could not linger here indefinitely. Doing so might cause...erm...problems. And he was keeping someone here waiting anyway – patiently waiting, mind him, but still waiting. He'd rather not detain him here any longer than necessary.

"B-But why can't you just come back? You're still here. I mean, I've got the Forge. I could –"

Pity. Denial. No, he was not to use the Forge's dwindling power to revive him. It would be a waste. His time was over, his spark too far on one side. He was to save the Forge's power for use on the Omega Lock on Cybertron. The loss of one mech was trivial compared to the loss of their homeworld. However, a Prime was needed to properly wield the Forge's power, and the Matrix had made its decision.

"I-I..." Smokescreen stammered. Then he jerked away in fear. "No. No. I don't deserve it. I-I'm just a rookie. I'm not a leader! I-I'm still learning!"

Pride. Encouragement. A hint of amused confusion. He had been an archivist in Iacon before he had been chosen. How was this situation any different, aside from the fact that Smokescreen actually had combat training? That was something he had not had to start out with. He was worthy of it. The Matrix did not make mistakes of this order. A leader was chosen not by his skill or his intelligence or level of preparedness. Rather, a leader was chosen for his spark.

"They're not gonna accept me." he mumbled morosely.

Hesitant admittance. No. Perhaps not right away. His integration had been similarly difficult. Not many 'Bots had been ready and willing to follow a former archivist of all things into battle. But in time they would learn to accept their new Prime. Kindness. Hope. He had faith in him, and should he ever need guidance he would be there to offer it.

Smokescreen managed a weak but grateful smile. "Thanks."

Urgency. He needed to claim the Matrix quickly, though. Like any spark it could go out for good. If the Matrix went dark, then Cybertron would be lost to them forever. It needed a living host, as it was a symbiotic mechanism. As long as the Matrix – and the small portion of Primus's spark contained within – continued to shine, Cybertron would continue to live on. As would he.

With that, the spectral Prime removed his hand and got back to his pedes. He cast another glance at the patiently waiting white starfire being and received another gentle nod of affirmation. He would let him linger just a little while longer – long enough to ensure the Matrix was safely installed inside its new host. After that it would be time to leave.

Smokescreen's apprehension returned slightly as he eyed the glowing device. He reached out a second time, but like before his hand paused just short of the sacred object. This – it still didn't feel right to him. Steeling himself, the young mech forced his hand to continue and grasp onto one of the two simple golden handles. He was stunned to feel something flow between the device and himself. It was hard to describe what it was exactly, but he felt his anxiety washed away by it. Thus encouraged, he finally removed the object from the dead Prime's chest cavity.

For a moment he simply held it, mesmerized by the pulsating crystal held within. To actually lay optics on such a powerful, sacred relic was a privilege. But he was also still a little nervous. He had no idea what would happen once he put it inside his own spark chamber. He remembered the warning issued to him, though – if this thing went dark then everything the Autobots fought for would be lost. Cybertron really would die if the Matrix went out.

He issued a string of code from his processor, and watched as his chestplates opened in response. Taking a steadying but nonetheless shuddering intake of air, he placed the device inside his spark chamber and then closed his chestplates. He knelt there in silence. Then:

"Goodbye, Optimus. Rest easy. We'll miss you." Smokescreen murmured.

Unseen by him, Optimus smiled warmly. Yes, his Autobots were in good hands, as were the three children under their care. The Matrix was safely contained in its new host. Smokescreen would be in for a bit of a shock in a few minutes, but he was adaptable and would recover from the ordeal. Knowing him, he'd probably joke about it afterwards in that light-sparked, jabbing manner of his.

Optimus jolted slightly when he felt a hand laid on his shoulder. He looked to see the white starfire being smiling gently, silently flicking its golden optics off in one direction. The message was clear. It was time to go. He nodded silently, acceptingly in reply. Yes, he was ready now – ready to take his place with the many fallen who had been lost to this infernal war. Now was his time to join them in their endless revelry.

The white starfire being raised a single blazing hand, and a silvery-white path of starlight and moonlight appeared that led off out of the cavern. When the entity caught sight of his startled expression there issued a rolling sound from its vocalizer reminiscent of gentle thunder. A wash of amusement flooded his senses. Was he going to stand there gawking at it for all time or was he going to actually follow him down it? He would be late to greet Smokescreen if he stood there staring at it for much longer.

When the spectral Prime stared at him in surprise the entity outright bellowed in hearty laughter before using one of the metal spars of his "wings" to push him forward onto the path. With one last look back at the kneeling young mech and his lifeless shell, he started off. Soon the two beings simply faded away.

At first, nothing really seemed to happen. He could feel the Matrix sitting inside him, feel the warmth and the contained power within it slinking around his spark as it examined it. No, slinking was a bad adjective. It was more like...sliding, maybe wafting or flowing? Honestly he was at a loss for words to describe it. It kind of felt like all of those things at once. It wasn't a scary sensation, not really, but it was definitely weird and made him a little wary. He was literally being sized up by the Matrix, and by the thing that lived inside it.

Then the burning started.

It wasn't bad, not at first. At first it felt like a small, cozy fire had been lit inside his spark, and it was actually strangely comforting. But rather than fade away or simmer down, the fire's heat simply continued to increase. In moments he was wincing, holding a hand over his chestplates as he desperately resisted the urge to open them again and yank the Matrix out. By the two minute mark he was gasping in pain, his vision blacking out intermittently. Less than a minute later he was doubled over in agony as he felt the fire spread out and into his body.

Then he heard a voice, but it wasn't Optimus's, and it made him panic even more:

'Easy, kid. Easy. Integrating can be pretty scrapping painful. Just calm down. You gotta be awake and alert to start out with.'

"What kinda crazy, stupid rule is that?!" Smokescreen gasped.

'It's to anchor you so you don't end up falling into the Well before your time. You'll be out for most of of the process, but you gotta grin and bear it for just a klik, alright? Just hang in there. Intake air in and out, nice and easy. All your panicking is gonna do is make the pain worse. I'll stay here and talk to you if it'll help.'

Silently he nodded, drawing in deep, shuddering intakes of air. While he still felt like his whole body had been shoved into a furnace, the painful burning actually dulled a little thanks to the voice's suggestion. Oh, it still hurt like the Pit, don't get him wrong, but at least his vision wasn't randomly blacking out anymore, nor was he consciously debating yanking the Matrix out.

Once relatively steadied, he finally asked a question:

"Who is this? Who am I talking to?"

The voice chuckled loudly before replying enigmatically:

'I'll see you in person in just a few minutes. Introductions can happen then, kid. For now, just call me Prank.'

"Prank? Um...okay. That's a weird name. Where are you? How are you talking to me?"

'I'm inside the Matrix. How else?'

Prank fell silent as the fledgling Prime took this information in and analyzed it. After a few moments of silence his optics went round as realization hit him with the force of an ocean-borne cargo freighter ship. His jaw dropped. This...nuh-uh. No way!

He stammered: "Y-You're one of the..."

Prank chuckled again, this time louder, but with a certain gentleness to it that acted as a sort of warning that the anchoring process was almost complete. A pulse of playfulness came from the Matrix that made the young mech smile faintly.

'Alright, kid. Anchoring's done. It'll put you in stasis lock now, so don't panic. You're not dying. All the Matrix is gonna do is complete the integration process, and to do that it needs to pull you in so it can absorb your personality and memories - to add to it, so that if you do die, your memories and life experiences can be used to guide the next Matrix bearer. It's nothin' to freak out about, okay?'

Smokescreen managed a hesitant "O-Okay..." and then it felt like something struck him in the back of the helm, his systems crashing immediately afterwards. Just like that the youngling fell forwards onto the stony cavern floor as the world around him spiraled into welcomingly pain-free blackness.

His optics opened slowly, hesitatingly. With a hollow groan of pain he pushed himself off the floor only to yelp and scooch back in frightened apprehension. His doorwings lowered, twitching nervously. He wasn't in the cavern anymore. He was someplace else entirely, and it didn't exactly look wholly welcoming either. In fact, it looked rather eerie, but oddly enough also strangely serene and calming. So it was kind of scary, but also not scary.

Darkness stretched on to infinity in all directions. Wafting and swirling around beneath him was a thick blanket of faintly shimmering, star-studded fog. Above glittered a rich tapestry of cosmic phenomena like nebulae and stars and supernova remnants interlaced with multi-colored auroras. Barely discernible were soft whispers, the words too faint and jumbled to make out.

He pushed himself to his pedes warily with the distinct sense that someone was watching him closely. Smokescreen took a few steps backwards as he took in his surroundings and then issued another startled yelp when he felt himself bump into something. Trepidation building in his spark, he slowly turned around to see what or who he had unwittingly cannoned into.

Then he emitted a little shriek, lost his footing as he tried to run for it, and fell to the ground, staring.

In front of him stood the strangest mech he'd ever laid optics on. He was like a random mismatch of every conceivable body part of every imaginable type of Cybertronian ever built. His mind flew to the old human story of Frankenstein and the monster told of in the story, and the bizarre, chaotic character of Discord from My Little Pony, because that's pretty much what this mech looked like – an unusual combination of the two.

"Oh for the love o' Primus, would you stop flipping out? I'm not gonna bite, you know. Do I look like Dracula to you?" the odd mech scolded humorously in a familiar voice.

He stared. Wait a klik. T-That voice: "Prank?!"

Prank grinned impishly at him, shaking his head. "Prank's just a little pseudonym I made up for myself. You're free to continue calling me that if you want, but my real name's Amalgamous Prime. Nice to meetcha, kid."

Smokescreen continued to stare. "You're the Firstforged Shifter!"

"Ah-ha, so you do know who I am, then? Good, very good!" Amalgamous laughed.

"Wait, if you're here then...then where are the others?" he looked around curiously. "How come they're not here?"

Amalgamous helped back to his pedes with one bizarre looking clawed hand, explaining:

"Eh, they figured it'd be best if I was sent to meet you first, alone, just so you don't get as much of a shock. Some of the others aren't as friendly as I am, and Onyx is pretty slagging intimidating. He's not so bad if you get to know him, though. Grim, and as stubborn as that Wheeljack on a bad day. I honestly didn't follow half of what Alpha Trion and Vector put forth in terms of reasoning for that decision, but the most I got out of it was that our personalities are pretty similar and the fact you're employing my signature weapon – the Phase Shifter."

Smokescreen blinked, wincing guiltily. "Wow, I feel like a thief now."

Amalgamous clapped him heartily on the back as he led him off into the mists. "Nah, you're not a thief, kid. It's not like I can use it anymore anyways. Glad to know someone's putting the thing to good use after all this time. You are such a clever little troll with that thing! So proud!" He laughed again, playfully elbowing him in the side.

"Where is here, anyway?" Smokescreen asked after a brief pause.

"The Matrix. It's where all previous Primes reside. We can pass between this place and the Allspark with ease, but this is kind of our personal little dimension to do whatever the frack we want – within certain bounds o' course. Our little 'after playground' if you wanna think of it like that. Only Primes can gain entry to this place, but it also acts as a gateway to the Allspark. That's actually Onyx's doing."

Smokescreen whirled on him in a flash. "Wait, then does that mean...?!"

Amalgamous grinned again: "Yep. He's here too. Mr. Super Librarian himself. Vector literally had to hold the mech back when it was decided I was the one to come and meet you. He was not happy with that decision, did his best to argue it, but the poor sod got outvoted in the end. I had to swear I'd bring you right to them for him to finally agree."

Smokescreen grinned back, looking far happier and less nervous now as Amalgamous led him ever onwards. Slowly but steadily the shimmering mist began to disperse and part, revealing a gathering of mechs and one femme standing in a semi-circle like a jury of sorts. When his gaze fell on a familiar red and blue mech, he broke away from Amalgamous with a choked cry of joyous relief, the Shifter Prime not bothering to stop him.

He didn't try and hold back the tears – tears of sorrow and joy and relief – as the larger mech enveloped him in a loving embrace, shushing him and doing his best to gingerly wipe away the tears with a single black digit. Pride and contentment washed over his awareness, and the youngling basked in it. After the Prime was quite certain he'd gotten a hold of himself, he released him and stood back to full height, casting a glance and a nod at the others, who nodded silently in return.

"Smokescreen, step forward."

Rather than obey, the young mech backed up, his wariness returning with a vengeance. He cast a sideways glance at Optimus for some form of reassurance, and in return the red and blue mech nodded gently. However, his smile seemed a little bit forced and as such did nothing to fully quell the anxiety that was beginning to bubble in Smokescreen's spark. Whatever was about to happen, Optimus wasn't completely okay with it.

Amalgamous looked sideways at him, winking and saying: "I'll be right behind you, kid."

While not exactly encouraged, he was emboldened by the words regardless.

He stepped forward.

Author's Note: Things get a little intense next chapter. Forewarning – lots of screaming involved.