A/N: If you see a character you don't recognize, be sure to look them up on tf wiki . net or just message me if you're really curious.

Transformers and its characters belong to Hasbro

Darkness gradually left his vision and was replaced with the smoking, sparking, and caved-in interior of the Jackhammer.

Wheeljack moaned as pain coursed through the panels of his frame, and while not a novel feeling it was certainly one he never enjoyed. He leaned forward enough that his aching helm rested against the ship's main controls, fried and bent and just as damaged as the rest of the craft.

The armor over his left rotator cup had been melted through by the explosion that had grounded him, and when he shifted his upper body anymore in the slightest he could feel the shrapnel peppering his left side and shoulder as it dug painfully into the luckily nonessential circuits below his panels.

He released a hiss through his dentia, containing and classifying the injuries into 'Searing Pain That Made Him Want to Bite Off His Glossa By How He Was Containing His Screams' and 'Agonizing but Manageable' categories. What was it that Miko once said; he thought wildly, 'Suck it up'?

Wheeljack raised the servo that was the least damaged and thumbed the console to activate the ship's mainframe, hoping it was still functional.

"Computer, damage report," he ordered in a tone so weary that it would have embarrassed him under normal circumstances, and carefully sat up.

"Starboard engine detached, critical damage to hull, and shield power is at 20%. Autopilot has been disabled, and hairline cracks are present in the cockpit glass resulted from impact. Estimated repair time: 40 solar cycles."

Wheeljack groaned again, this time out of exasperation instead of pain.

"The 'Cons must think I'm offline if they haven't finished me off," Wheeljack said to himself, if only to hear a voice that wasn't that of the computer's monotone. "How long have I been in stasis?" he asked louder.

"Approximately four megacycles."

The Wrecker grunted as he rose from his seat, an annoying twinge beneath the armor of his right knee added to his growing list of ailments.

"Not long then," he muttered. His digits rested on the ravaged console in a moment of pensive silence, hovering over the comm. He made up his mind in the next klik, sending a brief report over the 'waves.

"Wheeljack to Autobot Outpost Omega One. You 'Bots online in there?"

Wheeljack was met with the jarring though not entirely unexpected blast of static. He tried contacting them several more times, more out of his own stubbornness than actual hope of their survival, before the ache over the entire left side of his chassis grew into an unbearable pain and he was forced to crouch among the wreckage and complete a quick diagnostic and repair. He was in a hurry to get out and assist the 'Bots, and he would be of no help if he slipped into stasis lock from energon depletion. As it was, the longer he was online the more wounds surfaced. The left side of his faceplate stung something fierce, but he ignored it and other superficial injuries in his hurry to the entrance, even if he had to wade through and around bent pieces of the hull and fallen cables to get there. Moonlight shone through cracks in the ceiling and onto his scarred and blackened armor as he kicked the sluggish gangplank open.

Wheeljack stepped out into a cloudless Nevada night, a slender crescent moon providing a limited light source in the endless dark blue of the desert. His ship had crashed at the foot of one of many mesas, and as he observed the wreckage from outside it was a wonder he had survived.

He limped around the rock so that he was in view of the butte that housed the base—only to find that it wasn't there. Correction; the foundation of the mesa was still there, but the rest had been blown apart and left to smolder like a gutted animal, black smoke still rising from the center.

Wheeljack would later claim madness when he felt his spark concave and the bitter feeling of dread fill him. There was no room for second guesses or wild hopes with the final symbol of the Autobot cause blown to the Pit. A shadow had fallen across him; one he allowed himself was to believe was only another one of the desert's countless rock formations and not the Decepticons' newest fortress.

Without a word—for what could encompass the horror of such events—Wheeljack transformed and sped over to the remains of the base, exacerbating his injuries in the process.

He reverted to bipedal mode once he arrived, critically observing whatever remained of the original structure. The automated entrance had caved in, and portions of the rocky exterior remained standing high above him, though areas of it had collapsed under their own weight. It was over these that Wheeljack clambered into what was left of Autobot Outpost Omega One.

After sifting through the ruble for an Earth hour, Wheeljack found no trace of anything Cybertronian—living or dead—although that still told him nothing. Megatron could have come and disposed of the bodies for all he knew, or perhaps fashioned a throne out of them—it seemed sadistic enough on Megatron's part.

Wheeljack growled at the thought of filthy Decepticon servos on the blasted frames of the Autobots, never given a proper ceremony—before he realized what exactly he was imagining.

"You don't know if they're offline, you sick slagger," he swore, standing with his shoulders stooped over the Autobot sigil on the deck of the ruined base. Wheeljack ran a weary servo down the length of his faceplate, an action he'd seen Ratchet do a time or two when he or the children had him at his wits end, though the Wrecker now felt numb as he copied the (possibly) deactivated medic. He didn't even notice how his servo came away sticky with energon.

Wheeljack continued his search, trudging around charred rubble, random components of consoles too fried to be of use anymore, and piles and piles of debris that had become too mangled to discern their original identity. There was no trace of the Autobots' GroundBridge.

He had climbed around a twisted metal frame, perhaps something that was left from a railing or light support, when he noticed something odd about the rubble surrounding it. There was a large gap in the debris, as if whatever was embedded there had simply decided to up and walk away. Raising his cranial unit, Wheeljack found another area of rubble had been disrupted, forming a sort of trail, marking the passage of the entity outside the wreckage.

Wheeljack rose from the crouch he had fallen into to nurse his bad knee and followed the trail, finding that it stopped at the rim of the ruined base.

Hope blossomed within him, however pathetic and faint, and he quickly scaled the craggy outcrop and leapt back down into the cool desert sand, the cool blues of the night a pleasant contrast against the burning red and black smoke he so often associated with war. The calming presence of the desert disappeared in an instant when his right knee gave out as he landed, and as the circuits and tendons twisted he had to grit his dentia to contain his cry of pain.

As the sharpness of his injury began to give way to a throbbing ache Wheeljack could ignore, he carefully bent down and made out drag marks in the dirt, continuing on into the distance. With a vent of his systems he transformed and followed the tracks, not sparing the gutted base a last look. They did not go on for very long, heading away from open desert into the collection of buttes set in a canyon wide enough to easily hide a Cybertronian.

He stopped at the edge of these mountains and reverted to robot mode, setting his scanners to pick up any nearby life signals as he stepped into the canyon. There was definitely a Cybertronian nearby, but the crash had messed with his scanner (and everything else) so he was unable to pinpoint its location. In the end there would be no need. Just as Wheeljack rounded on a final outcropping, he found Optimus Prime leaning against the base of another.

"Leakin' lubricants, Prime," he muttered as he limped over, ignoring the relief that flooded his spark, "You had me looking all over the entire slaggin' desert. Where are the others, did they—"Wheeljack's words died and shriveled on his glossa once he realized that Optimus was not going to answer. His frame was slumped, optics dim, and he was missing his left servo from the elbow down.

Wheeljack moved quickly, skills honed by battle taking over as he retrieved his toolbox from his subspace in one instant and wrenched the Prime's spark chamber open in the next. His spark was weak, but still beating beneath its Matrix sheaf. Wheeljack did not stop to express his relief a second time.

Closing Optimus's spark chamber, he began to work on patching up the energon leaking out of innumerable scratches and gouges in his mesh, starting with the sparking stump of a left arm. After a swift diagnostic, Wheeljack found that the limb had been (Blown off? It seemed likely) severed below the main tendons of the elbow, so a replacement could be easily made and attached.

He dulled the Prime's pain receptors before sealing the sparking wires in the stump. He then stopped the flow of energon by welding sheets of steel he'd retrieved from his kit over the end of the limb, closing it with the next best thing to synthetic mesh.

Wheeljack had just finished patching some of the Prime's more troublesome wounds, the latest being one that was worryingly deep and near to his spark chamber, and to repair it the Wrecker had to nearly lean against the Prime's shoulder to reach it properly, when his patient's optics flared to life.

The previously prone Autobot jolted out of stasis, bucking Wheeljack off of him and trained the glowing muzzle of his lone cannon at his red and green chest plate. Before Wheeljack's shock could be replaced with outrage, Optimus pulled himself to his pedes, his gun never once leaving the white blur his cracked optics saw before him.

"State your designation and your intentions," Optimus boomed, his commanding timbre belied by the quaking of his limbs.

"Should've fixed the optics first," Wheeljack muttered, before saying louder, "It's me, Optimus."

The Prime blinked, sporting an uncharacteristic expression of astonishment. "Wheeljack…," he rumbled, before his stabilizing servos gave out from under him. Wheeljack was there to support him in an instant, his right knee and shoulders screaming from the weight as he helped the red and blue behemoth sit back down.

"You're alive," Optimus murmured before affixing his glassy gaze to the left of where Wheeljack was. "And the others?"

The Wrecker had turned to rifle through his limited tool arsenal for something that would temporarily repair the Prime's vision. "Not sure," he answered honestly. "I didn't find any bodies."

Optimus nodded, ignoring the implication behind Wheeljack's words. "Of course, they departed by SpaceBridge. They were gone before Megatron attacked," he mumbled, and while Wheeljack dare not be presumptuous, it seemed as if the mighty Optimus Prime was talking to himself.

"They left?" Wheeljack asked, unable to hide the surprise from his vocals as he fiddled with the wires at the back of the Prime's helm. Optimus allowed the Wrecker to complete his repairs, unseeing optics trained across the desert.

"They scattered all over the Earth," Optimus said, just as Wheeljack deactivated his optical receptors. Alarmed, he groped for purchase on the stone behind him in a failed attempt to stand again. "Wheeljack—!"

"Relax," Wheeljack interrupted, moving one servo from the bunch of wires to clamp onto the Prime's shoulder. "I just cut the power to your optics for the time being. You'll strain yourself if you keep trying to see out of cracked lenses."

"Is the damage…repairable?" Optimus questioned after a moment, and Wheeljack chuckled as he returned his toolbox to subspace and draped the Prime's complete arm over his shoulders, helping him to his feet.

"Well I may be no Ratchet, but I think you'll live," Wheeljack joked, and felt a sense of achievement at the Prime's almost-smile.

"We must retrieve the Star Saber from the base," Optimus said as they trudged out of the canyon, Wheeljack's knee joint already aching.

Wheeljack huffed through his vents as he judged the distance to the remains of Outpost Omega One. "Well maybe you shouldn't have wandered so far."

Despite the obvious insubordination, the gears in Optimus' throat made a sound akin to a hum. "Perhaps. Although I did not know if the Decepticons had gone or if they were aware of their failed deactivation."

"My guess is they weren't," Wheeljack said, glancing pointedly at the very Decepticon-less night sky—excluding the fortress—that he knew Optimus could not see.

"Indeed."

The pair fell silent, and only the creaks and groans of their beaten frames were heard in the wide open desert as they strained to continue their trek. Wheeljack made them stop when it became clear that the sightless Prime needed time to rest, and his new battle scars would glow silver in the moonlight as he hunched over the much-smaller Autobot to regain what little strength he had.

"So what's this 'Star Saber' of yours," Wheeljack muttered once the remains of the base were only a few dozen yards away. With the moon shining directly over it, illuminating the rubble that once made up a home with a sheen akin to energon, it reminded him of an animal left to die more than ever.

Optimus Prime was quiet for a moment, and the sound of sand crunching beneath their pedes suddenly seemed much louder. "We did not inform you enough on what was occurring."

Wheeljack half-shrugged. "It's all right. I know you had bigger things on your plate. Plus, I bet Ratchet wasn't particularly inclined to have me along after that stunt I pulled Miko into."

The Prime shook his helm. "That does not excuse my negligence. You would have been a helpful asset, though I—"

"Listen, it's fine," Wheeljack interrupted, his second act of insubordination that night. "I understand. Now, what's the Star Saber?"

Optimus did not respond for a moment, and for a millisecond Wheeljack thought he would be reprimanded, but then the Prime vented and relented.

"It is a sword of tremendous power, crafted by one of the original Thirteen, which can only be wielded by a Prime." Even as he spoke of the sword to end all wars, by his deadened optics it was clear that he would be having a proper conversation with the Wrecker once their injuries had both been tended to. He continued gravely. "I do not believe the explosion would have destroyed it, nor the Forge."

Wheeljack whistled. "Wow. Important stuff, then. We're gonna need a way to haul 'em around, plus make repairs…"

"Your ship…?"

"Believe it or not, the Jackhammer's in more need of repairs than we are."

Optimus bowed his helm for a klik and when he looked back up, his optics, while still dim, shone brightly despite their darkness and a chaste smile—almost a smirk, but not quite—was tugging at his faceplate.

"As luck would have it, I believe that we possess something that will manage our needs."

It turned out that Optimus Prime had a fragging space ship in storage.

To be fair, it was little more than a shuttle by most standards, though twenty times the size of the Jackhammer and built especially so taller mechs like Optimus needn't duck to get around.

Before they had gotten to the ship, stored in a bunker smaller than Autobot Outpost Omega One and not far from the ruined base, they had gone for Optimus's weapons. Both were found unscathed, as he said they would be, with only a thin layer of dirt and ash over the Saber and Forge telling what they had gone through.

Once they had arrived at the ship, and the Wrecker had finished fawning over its sleek gold surfaces and stellar controls, he'd directed it to the Jackhammer, where he had the wreckage of his ship lifted into the cargo hold. From there he took his entire medical kit and got to work finishing his repairs on the Prime.

"So what're we gonna do once we're done with all this?" Wheeljack probed as he set to reactivating Optimus' optics. "Are we looking for the others?"

"You do not feel the need to…'work alone'?" Optimus answered carefully, and Wheeljack's servos stilled as he scoffed.

"I'm pretty sure I'm needed as a team player from now on," Wheeljack said with a smirk. "Now, about joining the others…?"

Wheeljack felt the Prime's wide shoulders lower in a near soundless vent. "We cannot contact the Autobots without jeopardizing their positions, putting both them and the children at risk. The Decepticons are stronger now—we can afford no mistakes."

The Wrecker nodded stiffly, despite the ache in his spark at not even being able to hear Bulkhead or Miko's voice. "So Team Prime's on the run, then?" he asked rhetorically, but Optimus nodded all the same. Despite the somber air that had befallen them, Wheeljack took the time to grin regardless of the pain it caused his scarred faceplate.

"Then I think some reinforcements are in order."

Even blind, Optimus's skeptical, suspicious gaze was as potent as it had ever been.

In his journeys, both on and off-world, Wheeljack had come into contact with a number of characters, many of them possible allies. Although most had been too preoccupied with battles light-years away and were not about to listen to the ravings of a 'Bot whose unit had been the only one mad enough to stay on Cybertron and get killed for it. Wreckers were always better to be avoided—you'd live longer.

But once a Prime was the one hailing the Autobots scattered across the cosmos, they came without question, like moths to a flame.

Optimus himself was certainly not as worse for wear as he'd been a month prior. With a replacement servo in place of the one he'd lost, he'd regained nearly all motor function in the patchwork limb. Wheeljack promised when (not if) they got to Ratchet, he'd construct a more battle efficient one that was easier on the optics. Optimus was nonetheless thankful, though a new servo was not the only permanent casualty of war. One of his optical nerves had been blasted to such a degree that the Prime was completely blind out of it. Even with a replaced lens and rerouted cables, Wheeljack doubted that even Ratchet could fully repair it. It had taken Optimus an entire week to relearn how to walk, fight, and survive with only one functioning optic.

Wheeljack had not escaped unscathed either. Beside the shrapnel in his side and shoulders that had been fully removed, his right knee joint would be a weakness for an indefinite period of time, and the left side of his faceplate was heavily scarred, leftovers of the damage he had endured during his crash.

Both, even when their injuries healed, had not gone after a single Decepticon. Wheeljack was able to hack into their comm frequencies unnoticed from time to time, to learn when Megatron would launch his inevitable master plan, and as far as the Lord of the Decepticons knew, Optimus and his team had been obliterated. That idea had only been cemented when neither Autobot had been able find Optimus' missing limb, most likely taken as a trophy. Wheeljack had been all for a counterattack, after all he had succeeded in surprising Megatron a few times with his assaults on the energon mines, but he obeyed Prime's orders. They could not stage a defense without reinforcements, ones which did indeed come.

The first to join 'Team Prime 2.0', as Wheeljack had affectionately dubbed them, had been on the planet for quite some time, though according to Autobot records had never taken part in the War. A Neutral, or so he said, named Drift who had lived among humans in Japan for centuries. He had been staying with the descendants of the family he first met upon his arrival in Tara, Saga two hundred years ago.

They met Drift on the peak of Mount Kyōga under the cover of night, their ship cloaked from detection by human technologies. Optimus himself lumbered down the gangplank to greet their newest recruit and was surprised by that he found.

The 'Bot before Optimus certainly matched the clipped and polite voice print they had heard on the ship's communication frequency, younger than Wheeljack but older than Bumblebee, standing tall before him in white armor that had hints of orange decals and Japanese kanji on his shoulders, with a faceplate of somber silver and standard blue optics. Across his brow was a chevron the same shade of white as his helm. Though he carried three swords, two in his hip scabbards, shorter and blunter than Wheeljack's own blades, and one massive sword strapped to his back that Optimus found rather familiar, Optimus saw no blasters or room for them on him.

Drift bowed deeply before the battle-scarred Prime before rising to meet his leader's optics, one bright blue and the other a diminished gray, determination set in the corners of the ninja-bot's mouthplate.

"I am honored to be considered recruitment material, Optimus Prime, sir."

Wheeljack snorted from where he leaned against the gangway railing.

"Like we had a choice."

Drift spared the Wrecker a cool look before turning back to the Prime. "And, again, my sincerest apologies for not answering to your initial call." He lowered his helm in submission. "But as I was never an Autobot, and everyone scattered after the war, I figured there would be no more use for me."

"Well we have use for ya now, so come on—"Wheeljack began impatiently, only to snap his mouthplate shut when Optimus raised his patchwork servo.

"We appreciate your company all the same, Drift," Optimus said sincerely, and the white 'Bot inclined his helm again. "Now more than ever. I personally thank you for deciding to join us in a battle that is not your own."

"I fear it has become everyone's battle," Drift said solemnly, and he accepted the Prime's outstretched servo.

After Drift, the Autobots that followed came much quicker.

Their ship, while functioning flawlessly in nearly every way, was unable to break through Earth's upper atmosphere due to damage to her navigation grid when they landed. Wheeljack joked that all the Autobots' tech wanted to keep them planet-side.

The new Autobots were required to hide their vessels, whether that be in the densest of jungles or cloaked on some mountaintop, before meeting with the Prime. The next Cybertronians landed together, though not by choice, and they could be heard bickering even as the gangplank lowered. Wheeljack and Drift were the first to disembark, the latter as silent as a wraith, both standing as sentinels before the ship entrance and the gathered party paid them no heed.

There were three Autobots before them, already sporting Earth kibble, one of them a massive crimson mech taller and slimmer than Bulkhead, with cannons that were nearly half his length attached to each forearm, clicking and whirring in agitation. He was heavily battered as well, with so much chipped paint, gashes, and nicks that it was evident how little he cared for his looks.

The two younger mechs he was lecturing were much shorter, about Drift's height, and clearly twins. One had scarlet armor and a black helm, and appeared to be the instigator of their squabbling. His twin looked alike in nearly every way, gangly and brawny, though his bright yellow armor had clearly seen a great deal of polishing and glistened in the sunlight. He had his servos crossed over his chassis and a stormy look on his faceplate as his other half ribbed at him and the huge mech behind them ordered for them to clam up in a thick drawl.

Once the echoes of the Prime's steps could be heard as he descended the gangplank all voices stilled. The twins appeared as cowed as their respective prides would allow as they stood at attention before their commander, while the crimson Autobot grinned.

"Prime!" he bellowed as soon as Optimus had stepped off the ship, and he moved forward to intercept the red and blue mech. "If you aren't a sight fer sore optics! I hardly recognized ya without yer mask!"

Wheeljack was only mildly surprised to see Optimus's mouthplate lift in a genuine smile. "It is good to see you as well, old friend," he said fondly, clasping the red 'Bot's servo. "Although, I am surprised to see you in this sector of the galaxy, Ironhide."

The 'Bot, Ironhide, made a sound akin to a human snort. "Ya mean that yer surprised to see me still online." He rolled his shoulders and jerked his helm in the direction of the twins, the scarlet one having been elbowing his brother in the side and stopping once the focus had been turned on them. "Ran into these walkin' malfunctions on my way to Alpha Centauri. Told me 'bout yer call an' here ah am."

Optimus rested a servo on Ironhide's shoulder, and if he noticed the veteran's flinch did not comment on it. "And for that we are thankful, old friend." He looked up to include the twins in his fathomless gaze. "And I promise that all will be explained." His servo fell from Ironhide's shoulder and the mech's enormous cannons clicked as they shifted in place.

"For now," Optimus continued, "You may state your designations."

The yellow twin stepped forward, snapping into a smart salute. "Sunstreaker, sir. I was part of Project Generation One, Gamma unit, during the War."

"You guarded the Ark," Optimus realized. Sunstreaker nodded wordlessly and the Prime turned to his twin.

"Name's Sideswipe, mon capitaine," the red mech stated with a grin and looser salute than his twin. "Member of Project Generation One, and pilot of the Ark."Sideswipe's grin slipped into something more wane. "But I'm sure you already knew that."

Optimus nodded all the same. "Indeed, Sideswipe. I am grateful for both you and your twin's safe arrival."

Sideswipe bobbed his helm vigorously, his grin returning in full force. "Slag yeah! And I can't wait to see the rest of your team—bring crammed in a tin can with Sunny over here was not a pleasant experience, let me tell you." Disregarding Sunstreaker's affronted grunt, he pressed on. "Cliffjumper told me a while back that he was meeting up with you guys, and Jazz said he was on his way too."

By the ship, Wheeljack winced and Drift sent him a mildly curious glance. Optimus seemed unfazed, and it was his cool exterior that alerted Ironhide and Wheeljack, letting them know that he had tucked his guilt (and any other revealing emotion) away.

Optimus still managed something that was passable for a smile, while Ironhide watched him with an expression that demanded explanation, from the state of the two absent Autobots to his useless optic and replaced servo, a look that Optimus consented too without a word.

"I believe it may be time for us to depart," was all he said, however, motioning to their ship with his genuine servo. "If you two wish to be the first aboard….?"

Sideswipe whooped as he dashed forward, calling "Shotgun!" behind him.

Sunstreaker followed his twin at a saner pace, and muttered "Idiot" under his breath.

The final additions to their team came completely by surprise.

It had been nigh a week since Ironhide and the twins had joined them, and it was clear that the Decepticons were growing in power.

Thanks to Wheeljack's careful ministrations their ship was nearly undetectable by both Decepticon and human scanners, and the peace they were provided was filled with training exercises and battle tactics. All of them were gunning for the 'Cons, but Optimus held then back with a steady, false servo and grim countenance. They were not yet ready.

The Decepticons were, however.

The transmission had been received by accident—they had parked the ship in the Rockies, and the snow was so thick and the blizzard so fierce that no human would be foolhardy enough to come near. Wheeljack had ducked under the control console, repaired a few loose wires to the communication grids, when the transmission began to play, one that Wheeljack would later say had broadcast across the planet.

Megatron was on the screen.

"Greetings, inhabitants of Earth," the cruel-faced Cybertronian leered, and the bridge began to fill with the other Autobots, staring at the projection in equal horror and forbidding understanding. "I am Megatron, Lord of the Decepticons, and Destroyer of Worlds. As of now, your planet is not your own. I am in possession of a warship, an armada—you retain no way to defend yourselves. Your governments have known of our existence and done nothing—they can do nothing now.

"Make what you can of the days you have left, humankind. Your lord and master's rage will be swift, and only the strongest of your pathetic race will survive."

The transmission faded to static, and only the howling of the wind beyond the hull could be heard. Optimus was the first to break the stifling silence.

"Megatron will not take long to act," Optimus Prime said, exhaustion and guilt and a quiet rage displayed in every corner of his frame. "We must be prepared for the coming battle."

A ship crash landed nearby the next day.

Optimus set out into the snow with Ironhide and Wheeljack. The storm had calmed, though the blizzard was still very much raging.

On their way toward the plume of smoke beyond the next peak, Wheeljack took point as he was smaller and lighter on his pedes, while the two senior Autobots debated the trustworthiness of their ex-Neutral.

"Somethin' about the look in 'is optics, Prime," Ironhide opined as their massive stabilizing servos sank in the snow. "Somethin' not-quite familiar, but definitely sneaky. You sure we can trust the ninja-bot?"

Optimus nodded in reassurance. "I believe in Drift's worth as a solider and as an Autobot. He has not displayed any traits suggesting otherwise, and was gone for a majority of the War for Cybertron, as you are aware, old friend."

Ironhide harrumphed, his cannons twitching. "I'm still keepin' an optic on 'im."

"Understood," Optimus said with one of those barest of smiles. Up ahead, Wheeljack let out a cry as he was thrown bodily back into the snow.

Ironhide had his cannons charged in less than a klik, and Optimus too shifted into a combat position with his one blaster deployed.

As Wheeljack scrambled to his pedes, a disembodied crimson visor appeared amid the sleet. The snow-covered ground trembled beneath the Cybertronian's mighty pedefalls, and a deep tenor was heard, silencing the wind with a plaintive roar:

"Who dares attack me, Grimlock?!"

With that crude and familiar statement, the Autobots dropped their battle-ready positions. Ironhide groaned, muttering an expletive, Wheeljack shuttered his optics, and even Optimus appeared surprised.

It nearly took him a breem, but Optimus found his vocals. "Grimlock, you are not under attack. It is I, Optimus Prime, with Autobots Ironhide and Wheeljack."

The crimson visor was joined by another, and then a cerulean visor and a pair of burning red optics, the frames of these behemoths only shadows against the blizzard. The biggest of them growled, only his and Optimus's voices able to completely trump the wind.

"Optimus Prime?! Of course you'd still be alive."

Despite Grimlock's sour tone, he was forming complete sentences with little difficulty—a good sign. Optimus's optical ridges furrowed, however.

"Did you not receive my summons to this planet?"

The ground quaked again, and all four pairs of optics moved closer. "I ignored your slagging summons," Grimlock announced. "We came to this rock 'cause of all the 'Cons."

With that, the Dinobots stepped fully into that Autobots' line of vision, just as massive and intimidating as they'd last seen them. Grimlock glowered down at Optimus Prime.

"Why would you want us here?"

Swoop took a step forward, a calming servo on his friend's arm. "I think they want our help, Grim," the transforming pterosaur advised with a grin.

Grimlock whirled his helm back to face Optimus, something like self-satisfaction on his otherwise nonexistent expression. "So the mighty Optimus Prime needs our help," he said smugly, leaning forward so that he loomed over the Prime. "And why should we help you, Prime? I can take my Dinobots and kick Megatron's sorry can ourselves." He was keeping his temper in check, for now, and his pride was certainly aiding in the attempt for the time being.

Optimus, not one to be easily threatened, only splayed his servos, palms up, in a peaceful gesture. "We are all of us outnumbered on this planet, Grimlock. If what you said is true, and more Decepticons are arriving, we cannot leave humankind to fend for themselves."

At this, Grimlock snorted, stepping back. "You want us to protect the organics? I knew you were weak, Prime, but—"

"Hey, scrap-for-brains, these 'organics' have more worth than you ever will!"

All heads turned to the Autobot who had spoken and found Wheeljack standing tall against their stares. Grimlock growled and took a menacing step toward the Wrecker, his teammates rushing to stop him.

"Peace, Grimlock," Optimus rumbled, stepping pointedly between the struggling Dinobot and the Wrecker. "Wheeljack meant you no insult." Wheeljack opened his mouth to disagree, but a sharp look from the Prime silenced him.

Grimlock sent Wheeljack one final scathing glare before nodding stiffly, and the Dinobots released him. They all knew that he easily could have broken their hold and the fact that he had not meant he was still able to control his rage.

"Now, Grimlock, I understand your frustration," Optimus assured, servos outstretched. "I empathize with you, even. You may not have known, but we have accepted Earth as our new home."

This was evidently the wrong thing for Optimus to say as a roar tore through the gears of Grimlock's throat and he stomped forward, the ground jolting from under them. "Cybertron is home!" he thundered, and his tone grew coarse and harsh and dark, brooking no argument. Optimus tried anyway.

"Cybertron is gone, Grimlock," the Prime argued gently, his rolling velvet timber becoming anguished, "We can never return to it. I made sure of it."

Everybot started, even Wheeljack, who hadn't heard of the news until now. The Dinobots exchanged uncertain glances as well, until Snarl spoke up from behind their leader.

"What do you mean, Bossbot?" the youngest of the Dinobots queried slowly.

Optimus Prime lowered his head but his one functioning optic flickered from Autobot to Autobot, capturing each of their gazes as he told what happened to the Omega Lock, the almighty secret he had kept from all them. At the end of his tale Wheeljack was enraged, Ironhide looked like he wanted to pummel something, preferably Megatron's bucket of a head, and the Dinobots sported various expressions ranging from shock to fury. Grimlock, surprisingly, was impassive.

"Why should your failure mean anything to me?" Grimlock finally ground out, folding his massive arms over his chassis.

"It should not," Optimus responded honestly. "It is my blame to bear, Grimlock, but believe me when I say this—you will not find what you're looking for by exacting revenge."

Grimlock stiffened. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do. We all do, Grimlock, as you are more than aware." A sigh made its way through Optimus' intakes. "We know what Shockwave has done to you—"

"No," Grimlock interrupted, jabbing a digit into Optimus' chest, directly over his spark chamber. "No you don't, Prime. You don't know what true torture is like." His rage practically rolled off of him in waves, undeterred by the snow that swirled around them, but Grimlock kept himself in check, and he lowered his arm. "And why would joining your slagging 'team' be useful to any one of the Dinobots?"

"I believe it to be time for us to set aside our differences, Grimlock," Optimus said simply, though not unkindly, and he made no move to comfort the leader of the Dinobots. "Long have we been at odds, and, as of now, that must come to an end. We are on a new planet, battling an old enemy who outnumbers us yet again." He stepped forward, firm and unwavering despite having doomed their planet for the umpteenth time, exactly as Grimlock remembered him from eons ago, only more worn and perhaps the wiser for it.

"You said before that you did not see the purpose in protecting the life forms upon this planet," he said, more of a statement than a question, and Grimlock lifted his chin in challenge. Optimus was not goaded, and continued as if he had not noticed. "Join us, Grimlock, if only long enough to meet some of these humans you so revile. If your opinion of them does not change then, you and your teammates are free to go."

Grimlock leaned back, folding his arms again. "And if we refuse?"

"We will not stop you," Optimus answered. "But I feel you would come to regret that decision."

The leader of the Dinobots appeared impassive for several moments, though by the glances his teammates shared it was clear that they had opened a private comm channel.

'I think we should do it.'

'You sure, Swoop?'

'We've been let down by Optimus before.'

'He's weak.'

'That's what you always say, but—'

'But what, Snarl?'

'Calm down, Grim. Snarl has a point. We can't take on all of the Cons; you saw how many were on their way.'

'We've done it before.'

'We were almost killed before. Listen to Swoop, Grimlock—we want our comeuppance too, but we won't get that on our own.'

'Shockwave will still be there after we meet these organics.'

'That's what I'm afraid of.'

A few breems passed before they all turned to face Optimus and the two stoic bots behind him. Grimlock drew himself up, but this time made no move to intimidate Optimus.

"Fine. We'll join you, Prime."

Optimus' stiff joints loosened in relief. "I am glad, Grimlock. This will be worth your time, I—"

Grimlock silenced the Optimus with a servo. "I said we're coming, but at the first sign of Shockwave, you don't try to hold us back. The Pit-spawned fragger deserves what's coming to him." His crimson visor gleamed, holding Optimus' gaze, and from behind the Prime Ironhide's cannons shifted and Wheeljack hopped from pede to pede.

At last, Optimus nodded. "Very well, Grimlock." He made no move to shake the Dinobot's servo, knowing the attempt would be one in vain.

With the Dinobots among them, tensions had been riding high. The ship was too small for a group their size and one could only avoid the object of their irritation for so long. Without any clue as to where Optimus Prime's team could have fled to they were lost and spent a majority of their time grounded or on patrol, not about to waste the ship's precious energon in a fruitless quest. And it was, the Dinobots were forced to stay on the ship at all times as they had no Earthly guise to transform into. Remarkably, they were all able to control themselves rather well, Grimlock included. He stayed back, usually behind the sturdy barrier of his teammates, and away from anything or anybot who might stoke his inescapable fury.

Unfortunately, there was one 'Bot who succeeded in raising everyone's ire. Drift.

The ninja bot had done nothing that would warrant distrust, which was why the Autobots were so on edge. Always silent, always invisible, and always infallible in his ability to see and hear everything had garnered him the title "Soundwave of the Autobots", along with all the wariness that came from such an allusion. No everyone treated Drift any differently, but they were sure not to turn their backs on him either.

The forced calm on their ship was sure not to last forever, and unsurprisingly it was Wheeljack who brought about its end.

Grimlock was plodding along a hallway on his way to the quarters he and his teammates shared, little more than a storage room due to their massive size. Wheeljack had been coming in the opposite direction, and due to his bulk Grimlock could not maneuver his way through the halls as well as he might have wanted to, and as a result one of his swinging arms caught Wheeljack in the shoulder and jerked him into the wall. Grimlock did not pause in his stride nor did he offer any form of apology.

Had they been on a cramped ship for a shorter time with less passengers, Wheeljack was certain that he would have brushed the incident off. But he was at the end of his rope after another failed attempt to contact the other Autobots, and they had been on a cramped ship for a very long time, with more Autobots than it was built to hold, and was unable to contain his outburst, even when he knew it to be suicidal to reprimand Grimlock of all bots.

"Hey!" he snarled. "Watch where you're goin', half-clock!"

The Dinobot's hulking countenance stilled, and it was with deliberate slowness that Grimlock turned his bloodied gaze on the much smaller Wrecker.

Sanity wasn't always a given when you joined the Wreckers, Wheeljack noted in growing glee as Grimlock's servos moved to retrieve the sword from his back.

Meanwhile, on the bridge Slug was running routine maintenance on the ship's main consoles, Drift hovering at his elbow observing and handing tools to the technician from the nearby supply box. They worked silently, in no rush, and Slug's massive servos that so easily crushed Decepticon cranial units skimmed and danced around the circuits and wires and everything else that made up the navigational grid that Drift had no name for with a certain grace.

The sound of nearby blaster fire stilled Slug's servos and both of them exchanged a glance as Grimlock's roar bounced off the walls. Drift straightened, thankful that Ironhide had taken the twins out for target practice as the sounds of fighting drew nearer.

It was not even a breem later when Wheeljack flipped through the entrance, pedes gaining purchase on the floor with a shriek of metal against metal. He had a sword in one servo, the other was reformatted into a blaster, and he was cackling like a madman. The effort it took him to move so fluidly had him favoring his right leg, and the limb itself was trembling. Drift was quick to notice this weakness, and as another savage roar reached them he swiftly approached the Wrecker.

"Wheeljack, whatever it is you and Grimlock are doing, you need to stop," Drift ordered gently, servos lifted in an attempt at mollification.

"Yeah," Slug agreed from behind the ninja-bot, still stooping over the control console, "Some of us are trying to get actual work done over here."

"Apologies," Wheeljack said with a grin that told the exact opposite, and he tightened his hold on his sword. "But I don't think I could call off Big Ugly if I wanted to."

"SLAGARD!" Grimlock boomed from just beyond the entrance, and Wheeljack's grin threatened to crack his faceplate.

"I think that's for me," the Wrecker drawled jauntily, his mirth not faltering, and he spun his sword in one servo. The crash of Grimlock's pedes came to a head as the hulking Dinobot stormed through the entrance, burning crimson light escaping from beneath his armor as boiling vapor, which hadn't come from the shallow blaster wound on his shoulder, rose from his chassis

His blazing energon sword extended, Grimlock leveled his blood-red glare on Wheeljack.

"Hey, big guy, I didn't think you'd make it," Wheeljack wheedled cheerily, "What with that thick head you're hauling around."

"Making me angry—not good idea," Grimlock managed to grind out as he heaved massive vents, his internal systems churning audibly. He clamped both servos around the hilt of his blade. Slug finally rose from the console and carefully made his way over to his leader, his calm words attempting to pacify Grimlock.

Wheeljack had to continue goading the Dinobot. He nodded exaggeratedly in false agreement to whatever Slug was saying. "Oh of course, calm him down. Wouldn't want the science experiment to short circuit, now would we?"

All movement on the bridge ceased and Slug swore. Grimlock looked back up at Wheeljack with a glare so hateful it would have made a weaker 'Bot spontaneously combust.

"What did you say?" Grimlock, frighteningly calm, began to draw himself up to his full, terrifying height, and the blaze beneath his panels increased tenfold. Slug struggled to hold him back. "WHAT DID YOU SAY?"

Wheeljack grinned, undeterred. "Sorry. Shouldn't have expected a pet of Shockwave's to understand. Should I talk slower?"

Grimlock broke Slug's hold in an instant and stormed toward the absurdly smug Wrecker with a ferocious roar, only for a blur of white to get in the way of his target.

"Control yourself, Grimlock!" Drift planted his servos tiny against the Dinobot's chest plate. "Violence only begets more violence, and the ship would not be able to withstand a battle of your magnitude!"

Grimlock stopped and his glower landed on the ninja-bot before him. "You're not even a real Autobot," he accused sharply, not seeing Slug run out into the hall. His rumbling tenor rose in volume. "You can't give me orders, traitor!"

With a snarl, he swung his arm and backhanded Drift into the communication console just as Slug returned, Optimus and the other Dinobots on his heels.

"Grimlock, cease this aggression immediately!" Optimus thundered amid the chaos, and Grimlock's teammates hurried to restrain him.

Wheeljack's circuits were still sizzling and as he returned his sword to its sheath he grinned wickedly. "Do you always take Prime's orders, experiment?"

Grimlock roared and Optimus trained his one working optic on the Wrecker. "Wheeljack, stand down," he commanded icily, optic blazing, and Wheeljack finally had the sense to obey.

Turning away from the Prime and the growing effort to compose Grimlock, Wheeljack transformed his blaster back into a servo and extended it toward the ninja-bot still lying against the now dented communications console.

"Ah…sorry about this," he began awkwardly, suddenly looking so much smaller than the bot that had just insulted one of the strongest Autobots in existence, with a buckling right knee and haggard look in his optics that showed just what had been hiding beneath the mask of bravado.

Drift accepted the assistance with a grimace and servo to the back of his head.

"The only thing injured was my pride," he responded, rubbing the dent on the back of his helm. Wheeljack managed a smirk at that, (though he still saw the hate in Grimlock's optics as he denounced Drift as, what, a traitor?) and he opened his mouthplate to respond when a very different voice reached them all.

"Bald eagle to Omega 10-22," the voice warbled from the comm line in the dented communications console. All movement stilled, and Optimus, in the midst of reprimanding Grimlock, craned his head back in bewilderment, an action that was mimicked by the Dinobots.

"Bah-weep-Graaaaagnah wheep ni ni bong. It's time to go to our home away from home."

Wheeljack blinked, arms hanging loosely at his sides, and Drift appeared equally confused.

"Tiny?" Wheeljack hissed incredulously as the transmission replayed. He turned on an equally stunned Optimus. "Prime, is that Tiny?"

"What's the fleshy babbling about?" Ironhide grunted, having arrived tardy to the spectacle, shoving past Grimlock who seemed determined on becoming an immovable object for those coming on and off the bridge.

Optimus stepped forward, the lectures for his two rabble rousing soldiers momentarily forgotten, both optics remaining wide as relief began to shine even in the dimmed gray lens.

"It is a code," he intoned, digits skimming over the keys of the main console. "One that Agent Fowler created long before the base was lost."

"How in Primus's name is the Universal Greeting a fragging code?" Wheeljack demanded, but a reproachful look from Optimus silenced him, in reminder that he was still on thin ice.

"In this instance, Agent Fowler decided on a phrase that would be unsuspected, informing us of when it would be safe to meet. It must have been broadcasting on a loop, though only upon this certain channel."

"Meet where, sir?" Drift asked. Quiet as usual, he received various looks ranging from mild distrust to full loathing (courtesy of Grimlock). Optimus Prime did not turn as he answered, but his shoulders lifted in the epitome of relief.

"Griffin Rock, Maine."

"I'm not happy about parking the ship underwater," Wheeljack groused as he instated lock down. The Autobots around him had gathered whatever supplies they would need, and where now bustling by the entrance.

"There was nowhere else, Wheeljack," Optimus Prime reminded him, his velvet timbre easily reaching the Wrecker through the din. "I cannot imagine how the inhabitants would react to us landing our ship on the island."

"Yeah, yeah…"

Optimus turned to face his team. "You must all remember these humans already know of our existence, so maximum precautions need be taken. Stay in your vehicles modes for as long as possible, do not draw attention to yourselves, and Dinobots, you must travel through the woods as they are thick enough to hide you all without alerting anyone to your presence."

The Autobots all nodded, Grimlock a bit stiffly, and the Prime looked to the Wrecker at the console. "Wheeljack, you may unlock the doors."

They all crowded into the airtight room, Wheeljack sprinting after them, and once the doors had closed behind him he entered the code to open the spillway, instantly filling the room with seawater. As the bots all transformed and rushed out into the deep, headlights blazing, Grimlock requested communication over a private comm. line with Optimus.

Optimus accepted, and Grimlock's rough tenor reached him. : You had better hope that these humans are worth it, Prime.:

: They will be: Optimus responded confidently, and above the surface the lights of the island town grew increasingly nearer.