The tiny sparking stumbled and slipped as fast as its inexperienced legs could carry it. It slipped into a small makeshift hole, in a back alley where half a building had collapsed, which was the perfect size for him.

Each explosion rocked the ground. The space was so small that when the first bomb fell, the rubble that created the hole fell in on the sparkling, trapping it. The petite bundle of wires and metal curled up into a tight ball, keeping the screams and cries of terror inside. The flying monsters might find it.

The sky turned crimson with the fires, and then oily black smoke billowed up. Bright azure optics watched the firmament carefully for the flying monsters. The heavens were as thick with smoke as they were with them, and every time one flew too low for comfort, the sparkling pressed itself deeper into the imaginary safety of the rubble shelter.

Silent tears slid down the terrified face, no matter how much the sparkling told it to be strong, that its creators would find it to save and protect it, just like they had always promised to. It knew that if it cried too loudly, then the monsters would come and find it.

But it had run so far, so fast, so much more than it ever had before. It had pushed itself beyond its limits, always remembering the promise they had made, with those beams keeping them from running too.

"Run, little one! We'll find you, save you, but first you must save yourself! Go!"

Promises were important to the sparkling. And that promise was everything to the minute, exhausted sparkling.

So it silently wept itself into a restless recharge.

oOo

He had found no-one on-line with their sweep for survivors after the latest attack. He was struggling through a sea of debris when he heard a faint, but definite, twitter.

The twitter was sad and quiet, as if the one who had made had given up being found a long time ago. It almost broke his spark when he looked down and saw a tiny, severely injured sparkling curled in a tight ball. It was boxed in by the wreckage so constricted that it couldn't move at all.

Careful to not harm it, he bent down and cleared away the debris. He lifted it up and cradled the petrified collection of wires and metal in the crook of one arm, while he opened a comm. link with his leader, "I found a sparkling, sir. The poor thing is scared to death and damaged bad. I'm amazed it's still alive."

A heavy sigh sounded on the other end of the line, "Bring it back to the base. We'll look after it until we can find its creators."

"Yes sir."

oOo

Over the millennia, the petrified little sparkling had grown into a brave young mech. He was an abnormally small one on the outside, but his courage defied his physical height any orn. And yet, on the inside, he was still scared when he went up against foes, he was still shaky when he was struck down, even if he managed to get up again, and he was still scared stiff of Megatron, who had killed the mech's creators with no mercy. Typical tyrant.

He often lied awake at night, unable to go into recharge. Nightmares of his dark past haunted him every night, and even though he had thought he had left that all behind, the pressing darkness of the 'witching hour', as the humans called it, reminded him just how much it still scared him to death.

But in the morning, no-one would ever suspect he was scared of anything. No-one could guess that he was still feared the dark, all these solar cycles later.

Or rather, he feared the monsters just inside his optics.