He can fly.
Such a mere thing, yet completely unique. The ability to defy gravity, join the clouds in their great domain, search the shining expanse of a sun-loved World from the air that watches over the land, watching the continents become mere flashes of green and brown, the oceans become a blanket of blue, soar through the sky, unburdened by obstacles and friction.
He can fly and it is so wonderful.
He is faster then any other Autobot. Even Bumblebee, an Autobot designed for speed, cannot keep up. None can. They cannot fly. They can never join him in searching the skies for glory. And that triggers an inkling of saddened pity. They will never know what it is to soar, to fly! They cannot hug the clouds, they cannot laugh in the thrill of free-fall, they cannot boost towards the Heavens, or whatever it was that the humans called it. They will never see the Earth from within the atmosphere, a much more luscious site then from space when the air soothingly blows across metallic plating.
On the ground, he feels restless. Like too much energy is building. While he can easily enjoy some childish game with Bumblebee (He wonders if he is merely a replacement for what was), he can spar with Sideswipe (It is his size and power against a precise and lethal speed), he can discuss with Jolt (The electrical mech is full of words and love for the environment) and he can let off steam with Ironhide on the targeting field. (a shot from his Fusion Sniper is precise and fast enough to take out one of the truck's rockets mid-flight)
But still, his sky-blue optics turn to the sky, the canopy of his vehicle form gleaming, the wings flexing upon his shoulders, his thruster spinning in anticipation. He is an F-35 Lightning 2 Joint Strike Fighter, the fastest and greatest jet so far developed by the little humans. His speed is unrivalled and unmatched. No-one could out-aim him; His sniper could take out a sparrow more then 8 miles away, if he so wished. He never would, though. They can feel the joy of flight, and he'd be damned to the Earth itself if he removed that joy. His strength is amazing; Only the legendary Optimus Prime or the great Ironhide could match him in terms of brute force.
Not that he'd ever pick a fight with the Prime or his ultimate soldier, of course.
But it still stands: He can fly. It suits his name, really.
He is Breakaway, and he can do what no other Autobot can do.
He can break away from the land and see what it is to truly live.
And here, upon this lovely island, watching the sunset, Breakaway is joined by Bumblebee. Bumblebee is small and young and happy and kind and loyal and brave and he should never have been introduced to War. The yellow car looks at the jet and asks, his edgy vocal components twisting out words:
"W-What you d-d-doing?" The Camaro asks, flinching as his throat sparks ever so slightly.
"Ya' know Ratchet told ya' not to speak if it hurts." Breakaway replies, one metallic finger automatically moving forward to stroke at the car's neck components, a gesture picked up by humans; Touching softly meant to calm and heal...
The lil' bee snorted, a mechanical grunt that was emphasized by a hiss of metal: "C-Can talk if I want..."
"Yeah. I'll let you off this time." Breakaway acts like an older sibling, sometimes. Like Sideswipe, whose natural fiery rage for war was countered by Bumblebee's compassion, and the Corvette loved the Camaro like a younger brother. They all looked to him as the younger brother, to be honest. Except Jolt. He's the other young sibling.
"W-What you doing?"
The question is repeated, and Breakaway turns to look at the little Camaro.
Poor Bumblebee. He cannot truly live until he has seen the sky unfold before him. But in exchange, he is the younger sibling that the jet always wanted. No matter what he may say, Breakaway admits he is glad to have something to bring him back down to Earth.
So, the jet turns back to his life, the glory of the sky, and replies: "Preparing to feel alive." And then an idea strikes him like the lightning Jolt wields so skilfully, and he adds: "And so are you."
And with a smirk, he seizes' the torso of the suddenly shocked car, and his thruster explodes into a roar of fire, his wings flap down to provide lift, and they are flying, and flying, and flying, and Bumblebee is yelling out in shock and exhilaration, clutching tightly to the flyer as the World becomes their back-garden view, and Breakaway is laughing as the wind soothes his spark, like two lovers hugging after a long separation.
That is what he does. He breaks away from what was, and lives in what is. He breaks away from the land and see's what it is to truly live.
He is, after all, Breakaway.
"Can you p-p-put me down now?" The Camaro squeaks, burying his yellow form into the flyer to escape the crushing temptation of gravity, though his optics are wide with amazement as the World becomes nothing more then a map of blue and green and white and brown. Breakaway merely chuckles.
His little brother can learn to breakaway too.