Chicago was crumbling. Efforts to rebuild it after the Decepticon's ruthless attack had been half-hearted at best. The destruction had been too widespread to fully repair, and it hadn't been long before the construction crews abandoned their work. The people of Chicago had followed soon after, leaving a shattered city behind.
It gave Lennox chills. The rest of TRF were unbothered by it, but they hadn't been there like Lennox had when the attack occurred—hadn't watched as Shockwave's machine had torn through metal and glass and buildings, hadn't watched as Sentinel Prime's pillars had nearly destroyed the Earth…
Chicago haunted Lennox's nightmares. It brought up too many dark memories, and with every step he took the sensation of slogging through heavy, clinging mud increased. His head spun as he looked up at towering buildings with dusty and shattered windows, leaning precariously on each other.
Seven blocks North of here, Michael Alitz was killed by falling debris. Five blocks Southwest, Jamison Rodriguez was killed in a Decepticon-caused explosion—
He remembered them all. It hurt to see this place again. He'd never intended to come back, but according to Santos, Chicago was their most-patrolled city in the area. He would have no choice but to become familiar with the razed metropolis.
His boots crunched over abandoned papers and shards of glass. He picked his way around an abandoned truck and glanced back to ensure the rest of his team had followed. Santos' squad was several blocks over, with armored vehicles trailing behind. Lennox was leading the scout team across the area inaccessible to the vehicles—the glass and stray bits of shrapnel would cut up the tires if the trucks attempted to advance.
A shout from one of his men behind him made him pause, and he glanced over his shoulder to watch as two men made their way down a side street, guns raised. Lennox backtracked to their position, motioning for the rest of his squad to follow. As he approached, he got a better look at what had caught his soldier's attention.
A massive hunk of machinery—a ship of some sort—lay in the center of the side street, and sparks were still being flung into the air. It was a recent crash. At his men's inquisitive glances, Lennox gestured them forward silently, raising his own weapon and ignoring the nervous clench in his gut.
What would he do if the resident of the pod was an Autobot?
His men stalked closer to the ship, moving as silently as possible, and Lennox held his breath as the soldier in the lead sacrificed his hold on his gun to lift a heavy scanner towards the wreckage.
A moment later, the man shook his head.
"No energon signal," he said, and in the silence of the ghost city the man's voice cut through the air sharper than any blade. "If an alien was here, it's not anymore."
Lennox sighed in relief.
Then he remembered that the contents of the pod could have also been a Decepticon, and frowned. He reached for his radio.
"Commander Santos, add one more tally for possible Cybertronians in the area," he reported. "We found a crashed pod at the corner of Grand Avenue and North Noble street, but the occupant is nowhere in sight."
"Understood, Colonel Lennox," Santos replied after a beat. "Have your men spread out and search the nearby area. It may still be nearby."
Lennox dropped the radio and relayed the orders to his men, who dutifully obeyed, slipping into the shadows and down alleyways to look for clues. Lennox spent a brief moment surveying the crashed pod, searching for telltale green stains indicating injury. There were none—and whether that was a good or a bad thing, Lennox didn't know.
The Cybertronian was likely deep in hiding. Despite TRF's proficiency at hunting them, Lennox knew if a mech didn't want to be found, they weren't likely to be. He resigned himself to an uneventful search and picked the direction his men had mostly moved away from, struggling to keep the drowning memories of death from consuming him.
As he walked, the wind began to pick up, howling through abandoned buildings like an uncontrollable beast. The sound was unearthly—fitting for a wasteland such as this, and it flitted unevenly across Lennox's eardrums. He squinted, attempting to turn his head against the muffling force, and hissed in annoyance when the action only served to unbalance him.
He was so distracted by the disorienting noise that the whine of the high-performance engine didn't register until the vehicle rounded the corner. Lennox jerked in surprise, bringing his weapon up to fire… and then froze as the speeding form finally registered in his mind. In confusion, Lennox lifted his head to peer at his would-be attacker.
The yellow Camaro screeched to a halt in front of him, blinking its headlights in greeting.
"Bumblebee?" He whispered out the name, hardly daring to believe that the Autobot scout would be here, of all places. The car's engine let out a little rev at the word. It rolled forward a few inches, and then stopped in front of his feet.
"You!" Lennox flinched in surprise as Bee's radio let out a sudden burst of sound. "Soulja Boy, tell 'em! Hey, I got a new dance for you all called the Soulja Boy. You!"
Lennox's jaw dropped.
Bee chirped at him in what sounded like excitement. The Camaro shuddered, cracks forming in what had appeared to be seamless metal and folding as easily as origami, slotting into place with a grace hardly any other being could hope to match. When the swirling tornado of gears and metal plates finally stopped, Bumblebee stood before him, peering at him with wide eyes and wriggling.
"Soulja Boy!" the scout's radio repeated, before spitting out static. Bee waved at Lennox enthusiastically despite already being close, and a woman's voice sounded, another audio clip: "I missed you so much!"
"Bumblebee!" he said again, louder this time, and as he spoke, his bewilderment was washed away by bone-deep relief. "I… I missed you, too." It was true. Lennox had missed the cheerful Autobot, and had spent several long months pacing around his living room, flexing his fingers helplessly and wondering if the Autobots would survive. It was the helplessness that had torn at his heart the most, but he'd been unable to even leave his home for the longest time.
"You try anything, soldier, and I'll make sure your entire life comes crashing down around you. Your career, your friends—and your daughter, she's just about to start school, isn't she? It'd be a real shame if she wasn't able to go."
Lennox swallowed, pulled himself from the horrifying memory, and turned his attention to the Autobot.
"Bumblebee, I'm glad you're alive," he said, lowering his weapon. "I worried that—well, no one would tell me if you'd survived."
"I'm still kickin' buddy. It'll take much more than that to kill off the likes of me." Bumblebee posed dramatically, and Lennox couldn't fight down an amused chuckle.
"Where have you been?" Bee asked via a woman's singing. "'Cause I never see you out, are you hiding from me, yeah?"
Lennox's smile faded.
"I couldn't… I wasn't… allowed to be around, Bee," he said in way of apology. "It's a long story, I don't have time to tell it—"
He froze, the word leaving his own lips finally sinking in.
He'd been so elated by Bumblebee's appearance that he'd nearly forgotten the entire reason he was there in the first place. Wildly, he glanced behind him, and slumped in relief when none of his soldiers rounded the bend.
"Bee, it's not safe here!" he said urgently. "Listen, there are men here who will kill you without a second thought. I've seen it already, they don't care if you're an Autobot!" Bee made a confused sound and stepped a little closer, tilting his head. Lennox clenched his jaw and shuddered as images of the last Autobot he'd encountered flashed before his eyes—broken, clinging to life, searching for Prime even seconds from death—and then his breath hitched as he suddenly saw Bumblebee in the nameless Autobot's place, crying out as Santos' men cut him down without an ounce of sympathy in their cold gazes. He shoved at Bee's knee in desperation.
"I'm not kidding, Bee. You need to get out of here, before it's too late."
Bee didn't budge, and tapped his chest twice before pointing at Lennox firmly.
"I ain't leavin' you here," a heavily accented voice said from Bee's vocalizer. Bumblebee's optics were narrowed, and Lennox's breath hitched as he recognized the look the fierce Autobot was giving him. He'd seen it countless times before on the battlefield, an expression of determination and loyalty that was near impossible to find anywhere else. Bee's vocalizer cycled through a variety of stations, picking up splinters of dialogue to help him speak.
"Thought you were dead too… you know… not going anywhere without… You scared, man? We can fix that… come on, then!"
The Autobot twisted, tucking mass away with an ease that never failed to awe Lennox. When Bee was finished, the iconic black and yellow Camaro had returned. The side door opened invitingly.
Lennox's heart stuttered, and he shook his head.
"I… I can't, Bee. I can't come with you. I'll be in trouble if I do."
He ached to explain more, to make sense of his decision, because he wanted nothing more than to get in and drive until TRF was nothing but a bad memory in the distance. He wanted to know who else had survived, wanted to help the Autobots like he had all those years ago—
But Sarah and Annabelle were on the line. He refused to put them in danger like that, not when Attinger's threat still hung over his head.
Bumblebee revved his engine hopefully, and Lennox dragged his gloved hand down his face.
"I'm sorry," he said slowly. "I can't come with you."
Bee transformed again, and lowered his face down so it was nearly level with Lennox's. Lennox stared into Bee's optics and watched as the Autobot began to connect the dots.
"...they threatening you, ma'am?" Bee asked. Lennox swallowed.
"Not me," he answered carefully. "Not me. But they might as well have."
A sound that Lennox could only classify as a muffled snarl erupted from Bee's voicebox. The Autobot reared back, slamming his fist into the ground in anger. Asphalt cracked beneath the blow.
"I'll kill 'em," he raged. Lennox nodded and scowled.
"Get in line," he said. Then: "Bee, you need to leave. TRF is here. They've got weaponry that could even take Optimus down, I'm serious. Get out of here."
Bumblebee didn't look happy, but he listened, for once, ducking back down into his alternate form. The Camaro whipped around with a squeal of tires, zipping off into the distance and turning out of sight.
Lennox sagged. A swirling mix of emotions settled heavily in his gut—too complex to fully identify. Relief and joy warred with fear and uncertainty with such ferocity that after a few moments Lennox couldn't separate them from each other.
He forced himself to take deep, measured breaths and tried his hardest to relax. Bumblebee, at least, was alive, and the simple fact that someone else knew about Lennox's blackmail made the burden easier to bear. The intense desire to explain his disappearance had finally been fulfilled.
His radio crackled suddenly, causing Lennox to jump and nearly fumble his weapon. He scoffed in annoyance, glaring down at the infernal device and wondering what Santos wanted this time.
"All units, we've finally got something," Santos called out, and something in his voice sent a chill down Lennox's spine—a hint of bloodlust, of anger and excitement. "Command has eyes on a retreating vehicle. Yellow Camaro, moving fast… but not nearly fast enough."
Lennox's heart skipped a beat, stuttering unsteadily and making him lurch. He fumbled for the radio, pressing at the button with shaking hands.
"Hold your fire, Commander," he tried desperately, struggling to keep the stress from his voice. "We don't have authorization to fire on just any old vehicle, it could be a civilian—"
It was futile. He knew it before he'd even spoken, knew Santos wasn't going to listen.
"Colonel." The address was bitten out, sharper than the crack of a whip. Lennox reeled back as if he'd been struck. "We both know that's no civilian."
Lennox was trembling. Sweaty palms grasped at his gun uselessly.
Not again. Not another one, another loss, no, please—
Numb fingers tightened their grip on his radio. "Santos, you can't—"
"I can, and I will, Colonel Lennox. Are you questioning my authority?" The words were tinged with warning, and Lennox deflated.
"No, sir," he muttered. His mind was shrieking in panic. If Bumblebee was killed here, it would be on Lennox's head—Lennox should have pushed the Autobot to leave harder, had gotten him out of the city before Santos had gotten close enough…
"Transmitting coordinates now," Santos said gleefully. "Converge around it and pin it down. Double time, men. We're not letting this one get away."
Lennox broke into a sprint, tearing through the destroyed city. His boots ate up yards, but he knew he wouldn't be able to get there in time. The image of the Autobot from before flashed in front of his eyes as it convulsed and died on the ground—
Gunshots sounded.
Lennox let out a wordless cry of frustration and fear. He was already too late.
All he could do now was pray that Bumblebee would get out alive.
Bumblebee stumbled into the junkyard, dented, sparking, dripping bright green energon positively everywhere, and Cade nearly had a heart attack right then and there.
As it was, he and the rest of the Autobots spent a few terrifying moments frozen in complete shock; at least, until Bumblebee actually keeled over, smashing a battered Honda Accord beneath his weight. Cade surged to his feet, shouting in alarm.
"Bee, what—what happened?" Cade cried, diving for his bag of equipment. Drift was second to move, clearing the distance to Bumblebee almost faster than Cade could register. The samurai ignored the rivers of energon running down Bee's frame, kneeling and clasping his hands down across the worst of the wounds. Bee let out a sharp, binary cry of pain at the pressure, struggling beneath Drift's hands. Drift bit out a vicious curse.
"Hound, help me!" he ordered. Hound jerked out of his stupor, lumbering quickly to Drift's side. As Cade approached, hefting the heavy bag of tools over his shoulder, the larger Autobots worked to keep Bee from thrashing. One ill-timed flail could easily cripple or kill Cade, and they all knew it.
Cade climbed up Bee's immobilized arm and reached into his bag, removing a set of large clamps—most of which were nearly as long as his own arm. The inventor grimaced as he inspected the largest wound on Bee's chassis. Large, armor-piercing rounds had torn through several crucial energon lines, dangerously close to the Autobot's spark chamber. Cade set his jaw and went to work, delving through the spilt energon to clamp the severed lines shut.
Bumblebee's optics were white, delirious from shock and pain. His entire frame shook as Cade progressed, and little whimpers worked their way out of his damaged vocalizer—whimpers that made everyone cringe in pity and fear. Each time Cade moved to clamp another line Bee convulsed involuntarily, and the Autobots had to scramble to keep the erratic motions from dislodging Cade. After one such convulsion nearly ended in Cade's legs being crushed, Drift snarled, turning toward the only Autobot who hadn't even moved since Bee had appeared.
"Crosshairs, are you not going to help us?" the samurai growled. Cade glanced at the pirate in his peripheral vision and swore under his breath.
"Leave him, Drift!" he said sharply. "He's not going to be able to help us!"
Even from a single glance, Cade had seen Crosshairs' frozen, horrified expression and known that he wouldn't be any help. Crosshairs had been stunned, optics wide and fixed on Bee's injuries. Cade had spent enough time with the war-torn species to recognize a flashback when he saw one.
Beneath them, Bee let out a yelp as something inside him malfunctioned, spitting out smoke. Gears ground together unhealthily. The sound grating on Cade's senses like fingernails on a chalkboard. Cade's heart skipped a beat in horror as the scout suddenly went limp, optics fritzing out and then going dark.
"Frag, frag," Drift muttered, releasing Bee's limbs. "Cade, his bipedalism cord—!"
"I know!" Cade nearly shouted, reaching wildly for his welder. Out of all of the Autobots, Drift was the one with the most field-repair experience, and Cade relied on that now, allowing the ex-decepticon to point out the section that had been damaged and rip aside a large chunk of armor so that Cade could get to the organ.
Now that Bee had fallen offline, there was no need to hold him down. Hound backed off to allow the others to work, hovering anxiously nearby. Cade lost sight of him as he worked his way through Bee's systems, desperately repairing the delicate protoform, but after a moment the large Autobot spoke.
"Cade, is there—is there anything I can do, anything at—"
"There is not," Drift snapped tensely, before Cade could say anything in response. "Do not bother Cade Yeager again. The situation is severe, and if we want to save Bumblebee, you will allow the human to keep his entire attention on the injured!"
Hound grunted out a strangled apology and fell silent.
For a few long minutes, the only sounds in the entire junkyard were the snap-hiss of Cade's welder and Crosshairs' loud, stuttering ventilations. Cade's world narrowed down to the gears and hinges in front of him. Whoever had done this hadn't intended for Bee to survive, that much was clear. Cade's breath came out in short bursts as he patched wires and straightened deep dents—tiny, but paramount repairs that would determine if Bee survived. None of the others had fingers dexterous enough to properly fix such miniscule damage.
It was all down to Cade, now.
Eventually, from out of sight, Cade heard Drift let out a heavy sigh of relief.
"He is stabilizing," the samurai reported. "His spark is beginning to steady. I believe he will pull through."
Cade had known that already—he was so far inside Bee's mechanisms that he could feel the unearthly tug of Bee's spark, buried even deeper in the Autobot's frame. The gentle hum had settled some since Cade had begun to work, reassurance that, if anything, Cade was helping.
"Thank Primus," Hound breathed, startlingly quiet. Crosshairs still didn't speak.
Cade wasn't done. He couldn't stop—not yet, not while there was even a slight chance the scout's spark would gutter again. He abandoned Bee's bipedalism cord in favor of checking over some of the other wounds. He'd been able to clamp most of them shut, and self-repair was already beginning to kick in, knitting some of the smaller injuries together.
Cade didn't stop working until his hands were so slick with energon that he could no longer hold onto his tools. The panic was finally fading, and even though Bee was far from fully repaired, Cade slumped, allowing the welder to slip from his fingers. Adrenaline wore off, taking Cade's strength with it. His vision was nearly blurry from focusing for so long. The drop to the ground from Bee's unconscious frame nearly sent him reeling, but a large hand steadied him before he could fall.
"Easy there, Yeager," Hound told him. "Easy. He's gonna live."
Despite the large Autobot's reassuring words, there was a definite tremble running through his frame. Cade swallowed and suddenly realized he was parched. A glance at his energon-slicked watch showed that he'd been working for nearly two hours.
"Yeah," Cade croaked. "Yeah, Bee's gonna live."
The wave of exhaustion took him by surprise. His legs turned to jello, and his head swam. He tried to take a step away from Hound's supporting servos and nearly collapsed, turning and grabbing onto Hound's thumb for purchase.
"Don't think I can walk," he mumbled. The fatigue was both a mixture of physical and mental exertion, and it left Cade sore all over from being so tense.
But Bee was going to live. That was all Cade cared about at the moment.
"Cade?" Crosshairs' voice was faint. At some point during Bee's desperate surgery the pirate had retreated some, putting his back to the old garage-whether that served to support him or keep him from running away, Cade wasn't sure.
"He's alright, Crosshairs," Cade said. Crosshairs didn't look convinced, optics darting from Bee's prone form to Drift to Hound to Cade.
"You… you're sure?" the pirate asked. His voice was incredibly small. It never failed to surprise Cade, how fragile the enormous beings could actually be. To Cade and the rest of the human race, characters like Optimus Prime and the Autobots were invincible legends, creatures of power and grace and no regrets.
The more time he spent with them, the more Cade realized that wasn't true.
Crosshairs had been completely frozen, unable to assist-and of course the poor mech had seized up. He'd been terrified to lose Bumblebee just as he'd lost his crewmates. Crosshairs liked to pretend that he didn't care for the mechs who'd been dubbed the "Pathetic Dirty Foursome" (Thanks, Hound), but Cade knew better.
Cade met Crosshairs' fearful gaze and projected as much comfort as he could with his voice. "Bumblebee is going to be fine. He's not going to die, Crosshairs."
He'd used the same words he'd been speaking since he emerged from Bee's innards, but Crosshairs only now seemed to register them. He slumped.
"Good," the pirate said. "Good." Then: "Cade, I'm-I'm sorry I-"
Cade yawned. In the face of Crosshairs' apology and remaining insecurities it was rude, but Cade was unable to halt the involuntary motion. He wanted to keel over and sleep for a thousand years, even though it was barely mid-afternoon. Luckily, Drift came to the rescue-Cade watched through half-open eyes as the samurai placed a hand on Crosshairs' shoulder. Despite their all-too-common quarrels, this time there was understanding and sympathy on Drift's face. He leaned closer to the pirate, speaking softly, comfortingly. Cade couldn't quite make out individual words.
The whole world shifted as Hound scooped Cade fully off the ground. Large fingers curled around him carefully. Cade was more than happy to settle back and be carried.
"Drift will take care of Crosshairs," Hound said. "You need rest." Cade could have argued, but he refrained this time.
Hound set him down in front of his trailer. Cade swayed in place, squinting up at the Autobot. "You'll come get me if Bee wakes up, right?"
"Course," Hound promised easily. "Don't worry. Drift an' I can keep Bee stable until you regain some strength. You trust us, right?"
Cade trusted them more than he trusted anyone else.
The energon on his hands had partially dried. He had to scrub at it forcefully to get any off at all. Eventually he grew fed up with the sink and stumbled his way to the creaky cot in the back.
Cade was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.
Bumblebee hovered in stasis for two days. On the morning of the third, he finally eased online. The tension that had hovered thickly over the junkyard dissipated with the cheerful scout's reentry into the waking world.
To Cade's horror, Bumblebee turned out to be a terrible patient. The welds crisscrossing his chassis and back needed time to heal—time that Bee wasn't to keen on spending laying down. It took the combined efforts of Cade, Drift, and Crosshairs to keep Bumblebee occupied while Hound took care of the daily patrols ordinarily assigned to the scout. Even then, Bee refused to sit down, wandering around the junkyard forlornly and casting dangerous puppy-dog looks in the direction of anyone nearby. No one was immune, save Drift, who liked to dangle that particular accomplishment in Crosshairs' face every time the opportunity presented itself.
If the scout was in any pain, he hid it well—so well, in fact, that Cade knew this wasn't the first time he'd been injured so badly.
At least Bee was smart enough to not attempt a transformation while Cade's amateur welds were healing. Cybertronians had a self-repair system better than anything on Earth, but the yellow Autobot's injuries had been severe, even by their standards. It would take time, and patience, for him to heal enough for Cade to willingly let him back out into the field.
Bee had explained, haltingly through broken radio channels, how he had been ambushed by TRF. The other Autobots were furious, and Cade had spent the better portion of an hour trying to convince all three of his trigger-happy companions that it wasn't a good idea to go human-hunting—at least, not yet. Bee had also seemed incredibly happy about encountering a human called Lennox, but Cade was skeptical of that.
"If he was working for TRF, I'm not sure he's a friend of yours," Cade pointed out, and instantly regretted it when Bee's engine revved angrily. He still continued, however. "This Lennox character could have set you up, you know. Could have told his buddies where you were."
Bee's optics narrowed, and he slammed his fist into the ground.
"He would never!"
Cade shook his head.
"People change, Bee. Even if you knew him years ago, there's no guarantee he's still—"
"I fought and bled alongside those men, and I'm not abandoning them now!" Bee said at full volume. The Autobot's fists were clenched, and he loomed over Cade, suddenly threatening. His plating bristled. The radio cycled. "Don't assume you know anything about our relationship!"
Cade took a step back, raising his hands and frowning at the sudden aggression. "Right, sorry, I'm sorry, Bee. I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just trying to keep you safe! Optimus would kill me if anything happened to you guys."
Bumblebee seemed to deflate, plating flattening.
"Sorry," the Camaro replied, but somehow the apology didn't seem sincere, even though the recording was. Grumbling subvocally, Bee turned away from Cade.
"You wouldn't understand," Bumblebee said in a teenager's voice, stomping toward Drift's last known location. The sun played over the weld lines on his side and back, highlighting the dark splotches where flawless metal should have been. Cade's gut twisted at the sight.
Hound came loping around the corner as Bee stormed off. The large Autobot smelled faintly of gunpowder and explosives, apparently just coming from their makeshift shooting range. He watched Bee disappear with a wry expression.
"He's touchy 'bout humans from his past," Hound said. "Don't take it too personally. We learned not to ask about it."
"I see that now," Cade replied. "Did you know this guy?"
Hound shifted his cigar to the opposite side of his mouth. "Nah, that was before I got here. Only humans I've ever gotten close to are you, and your daughter. The boyfriend, too, I guess."
Cade sighed at the reminder, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "See, then we've got no reason to trust him besides Bee's word. Not that I don't trust Bee," he rectified hurriedly, "but Lennox works for TRF."
"I hear you," Hound said. "When Optimus comes back, he'll be able to tell us if we can trust Lennox. Until then, we'll say he's open for target practice."
Cade blinked at that last bit, and then frowned.
"No," he said. "No, he's—Hound."
Hound grinned, not repentant in the slightest. "Fine, fine. He's safe unless he tries anything."
"Better," Cade told him. He expected the conversation to end there, and for Hound to begin the long ritual of tending to his enormous assortment of weaponry—but instead, the massive Autobot shifted from pede to pede almost… nervously?
"Listen Cade, I—" Hound stopped for a moment, then continued. "I need a favor."
Cade looked at him suspiciously.
"What kind of favor?" he asked. Hound sighed. He waited for a moment, as if trying to decide what to say.
"Ratchet's dead," he said softly, voice dropping dramatically in volume. Cade blinked.
"I don't know who that is," he admitted. Hound sighed.
"Suppose you wouldn't," he said. "Ratchet was probably the greatest medic in Cybertronian history. A miracle worker, practically. The Autobots would have lost the war without him. Optimus told us Lockdown and those K.S.I. slaggers killed him."
Cade sighed. "I'm sorry." He meant it. "He sounds like a great mech."
Hound snorted.
"Great medic, yes. Great mech… debatable. Ha! His bedside manners were somethin' to behold. Not even Optimus was safe from his wrath. He'd be smacking Bee around with a wrench if he was here now, no doubt."
"That sounds… counterproductive," Cade pointed out. Hound shrugged.
"It got mechs back to the medbay. But…" He trailed off, and his expression darkened. "I couldn't stop thinking about him, when Bee… you know. Couldn't stop wonderin' what he would have done. Pit, I didn't even know the mech very well. He repaired me a couple times, but it was never serious enough that I had to stay long. An' I thought, he's gone now, so who'll be the medic? If you hadn't been here, Bee would have died. Drift knows a bit, but not even he could have done what you did."
Cade didn't know what to say, so he didn't speak. Hound wasn't done yet.
"I know I'm not built for that kind of work," Hound continued, glancing at his large hands. "I can't be as good as Ratchet. But that doesn't mean I can't learn." He looked at Cade seriously. "Teach me. I ain't ever seen any non-Cybertronian who's better than you at fixin' us."
Cade struggled to prevent his shock from showing. Hound, the violence-loving, explosion-prone, fire-starting Autobot—wanted to be a medic?
Then again, the incident with Bee had scared everyone more than they cared to admit. Cade could understand Hound's desire to learn.
"Of course," he answered honestly. "I'll teach you everything I know."
Hound relaxed. Cade squinted at him. "Did you really think I'd say no?"
"Dunno, maybe. On Cybertron, you were whatever you were created to be. No changes allowed."
"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," Cade said. "You wanna be a medic, you be a medic. This is Earth, not Cybertron. Do what you want, as long as it doesn't end in blowing anything important up."
Cade wasn't positive, but he was fairly certain that was the best thing he could have said, because Hound's smile was tinged with awe and surprise.
The next day, Hound showed up to morning training with red medic crosses on his helm and shoulders. The other Autobots didn't seem surprised. Cade wondered how long Hound had been considering the change, to be so ready to paint the symbols on that fast.
He wondered if Hound's newfound goal would change his demeanor in any way—the roars of victory the Autobot let out as he flattened Crosshairs into the dirt during their sparr quickly answered that.
Some things would never change.
Canopy spent four and a half days huddled in the darkest corner of his hole until the need for energon forced him to crawl his way back toward daylight. Warnings flashed in front of his eyes, unhelpfully reminding him how close to starvation he was. The alerts edged him on, building up his courage. Canopy was no less afraid, but he refused to sit still and waste away. He wasn't that scared.
Not yet, at least.
In fact, he was so desperate for fuel that he was nearly reckless in his determination. When he came to the entrance of his hiding place he was seconds from throwing himself out into the open to get it over with, and didn't hear the heavy footsteps until they were nearly on top of him.
The robot that stalked by with halting, mechanical footsteps wasn't sentient. Canopy shrank back down into the dark as quickly as his bulk would allow, cursing his courage. He'd only gotten a quick glimpse of the walker, but the heavy turret on its front was difficult to miss.
He offlined his optics and prayed it hadn't seen him.
Fortunately, the native-made machine didn't react to his presence, moving on fairly quickly. Canopy's vents cycled heavily in relief as it passed. He waited until its footsteps were nothing but tiny pops in his audios before venturing out into the light again.
The city hadn't changed much while he'd been in hiding. Several of the organic natives had travelled to different locations—or were completely different individuals, Canopy wasn't sure—but other than that, nothing was different. Canopy had been expecting construction crews, or even more destruction. Neither had occurred. It was as if the city was trapped, suspended in an endless state of half-deterioration, and it made Canopy nervous.
He was a construction worker. He'd been created to fix things like this city, and to be unable to do so made him uncomfortable.
The dreaded posters were still in place. Canopy was tempted to rip them down, but thought better of it at the last moment. The walker's presence showed that the city was patrolled—Canopy had been lucky not to run into one earlier. He most definitely would have been killed if he had. Canopy's frame wasn't equipped with weapons—tools, that could be used as weapons with the right force behind them, but nothing long range.
Casting a wary look around, and keeping his sensors trained on the nearby humans, Canopy reached out with a different set of scanners, searching desperately for any trace of energon. To his surprise, several options appeared. One was close, but the signal was faint and scattered. Meaning, it had been bled out. Canopy shuddered at the implication and looked at the other signals. Both were a fair distance away, but it was better than nothing. Squaring his shoulders and forcing his spark to calm, Canopy began to move towards the smaller one.
He felt terribly exposed. The tall buildings felt constricting instead of comforting, with entrances far too small for him to even consider using as cover. He dialed all his senses up to the highest sensitivity possible, straining for any sign of enemies.
Nearly a third of the way there, Canopy realized that the energon trail was leading him into an area significantly more inhabited than his original landing site. His frame shuddered nervously. He considered turning back, but his tanks pinged him another warning—his systems were reaching a critical low point, and he would begin to shut down if he waited too much longer.
That thought scared him more than almost anything else. He steeled himself and pressed forward, nearly trembling from fear.
He saw his first human right as he reached the halfway point, sitting on a fallen concrete beam in the middle of the street. Canopy's sensors had picked him up, but Canopy had assumed he was asleep, or dead, based on how little he was moving. The human didn't seem surprised to see Canopy, simply tilting his head. To Canopy's shock, the he abandoned his seat a moment later, disappearing into a nearby building and tossing Canopy a flippant wave over his shoulder as he did.
Canopy didn't know what to make of it, and quickened his pace. The human's reaction hadn't seemed to imply that that Canopy was an enemy, but he could have been going for help, to fetch reinforcements. The energon was so close now. He had to get to it. He had to.
Little blips of heat surrounded him as he approached the destination. Humans were everywhere. Canopy didn't see any more on the ground, but he caught flashes of color from windows above him and knew they were there. He imagined hundreds of hidden weapons all pointed at his spark and let out a tiny moan of despair.
For all he knew, he'd signed his own death warrant by coming. His choices were death by starvation, or risking death at the hands of the humans. Both were painful, but one was faster… at least, Canopy hoped it was faster.
The humans were small, but Canopy knew better than to judge them by their size alone.
His sensors blared out in success as Canopy turned the corner and emerged into a large, open area—some sort of park, or a central area. It was hard to tell what it was suppose to be through the destruction and debris. In the center, wide out in the open, three cubes of energon sat abandoned. Canopy gaped at them in shock.
Surely he wasn't that lucky? It had to be some sort of trick.
His hands were shaking. He needed the fuel badly, so badly that he was tempted to race in and grab what he could, scrap the consequences.
He almost did. Just like before, he nearly let instinct take over. Motion in his peripheral vision made him pause, and he tensed as a shape emerged from several streets over.
Sharp, pointed edges and wicked razor teeth gleamed in the sunlight. Canopy froze, vents stuttering in pure panic. The newcomer was Cybertronian—a small build, but a dangerous one, and Canopy's terror skyrocketed when he noticed the dull purple emblem painted over the mech's green and silver plating.
A Decepticon. A Decepticon, here—and by the looks of it, a hungry Decepticon. Canopy needed that energon… but the other mech wanted it, too. And the other mech wasn't afraid to kill for it.
"Well, well, well," the Decepticon drawled. Canopy jumped, but the Decepticon hadn't noticed him yet. "Lookit all that nice energon." He prowled a few steps forward, glancing around warily. "This belong to anyone? Not that it matters. I'm taking it anyway." The Decepticon narrowed his optics, and a searching gaze pinned Canopy in place. Canopy stifled a gasp as it leered at him.
"Heyo," the Con said. "What do we have here? Who are you, mech? Don't see an Autobrand on ya."
"I—" Canopy started, but his vocalizer seized before he could say anything else. His spark was pulsing frantically—he took a step back, and the Decepticon took a step forward.
"You shy or something?" the Decepticon prodded. "What's wrong with you? You got a problem or something?" There were vicious looking blades running along his plating. Canopy had no doubt they doubled as weapons.
"Neutral!" he nearly shouted when the Decepticon came closer again. "I'm a neutral, I don't want any trouble, I just want—!"
The Decepticon bared its teeth at him and snarled.
"Want the energon, do ya? You willing to fight me for it?"
Canopy shook his head. "No, no I'm not, I'll leave, you can have it—"
"Well, you're no fun," the Decepticon groaned. He sounded slightly unhinged, swagger and gusto combining with starvation and desperation to create something hideous, wild, half-crazed. "Don't wanna play with me, coward? I'll go easy on you!"
Canopy didn't need any kind of special training to know the other mech was lying. He backed up further, trying to distance himself, but the Decepticon kept advancing, even leaving the energon in favor of pursuing his prey.
"The name's Mohawk," the Decepticon said. "You seem like a decent guy, Neutral—what's your designation?"
Lie, Canopy's common sense screamed. "Excavator," he blurted out, a coworker's name, and then stiffened in terror when his back collided with a building. Glass shattered. He hoped the humans didn't kill him for it.
"Excavator, huh," Mohawk repeated. He slid closer, coiled and ready to strike. Canopy flinched away, struggling against paralyzing hysteria. "You know, I was going to take this energon here, but I don't think I will anymore."
It took Canopy a moment to register what had been said through his all-consuming fear, and even once he did he didn't understand it.
"Wh—what?"
"That's right," Mohawk sneered. "I'm not going to take that energon, because I found a much larger source of fuel somewhere else."
Canopy didn't understand. He shook his head again, and Mohawk grinned. His teeth were serrated.
"You, neutral. I'm going to tear you apart, and drink the fuel from your veins!"
The Decepticon launched himself at Canopy, a whirlwind of silver and green death. Canopy cried out in horror, flailing wildly and diving to the side—but Mohawk was much faster. Sharp blades and claws and teeth dug around his armor, digging at vulnerable transformation seams. If Canopy had thought his armor was going to protect him at all, he would have been wrong. Mohawk tore at him with the expertise of someone who'd been fighting larger, heavily armored mechs all his life.
Canopy struggled wildly, optics straining to follow the Decepticon's quick, erratic movements. Warnings blared in front of him as wires and lines were slashed. Energon spewed from the wounds, further draining his already meager savings.
In desperation, he flung himself forward, toward the energon cubes and away from the building boxing him in. At the very least, it caught Mohawk off guard. For a moment he'd freed himself. Mohawk whirled to face him, flexing energon-smeared claws threateningly and crouching into a low fighting stance.
"Please," Canopy gasped. "Please—" He wanted to ask for mercy, to plead for his life, but he stopped himself. He knew that would only excite the Con further.
"Please?" Mohawk mocked, just as Canopy had known he would. "Please, tear me apart? Why, darling," he bared his teeth in a disgusting parody of a smile, "all you had to do was ask!"
He lunged again. Canopy struck out at him this time, but Mohawk dodged the weak blow easily and scored another long cut across Canopy's thigh.
There were missile launchers on Mohawk's shoulders. Weapons that would take Canopy down in an instant, but he hadn't bothered to even activate them. Mohawk knew he wouldn't need them.
The Decepticon circled him, optics bright in anticipation of the kill. Canopy rotated to follow, terrified, shaking—
He wasn't getting out of this alive. Mohawk was toying with him. It was only a matter of time before he got bored and delivered the killing blow. Canopy whimpered, and then cringed when the Decepticon hissed out a laugh. No one was coming to help him.
Canopy had two choices. Die at Mohawk's merciless servos easily, without resistance… or, go for the energon, and die fighting. Both sounded horrific, but Canopy didn't want to go down like a mechanimal in a slaughterhouse. As Mohawk sauntered toward him, oozing confidence and cruel amusement, Canopy made his decision.
His hand transformed into a hammer at his bidding, out of Mohawk's sight, so the Decepticon wasn't expecting Canopy to swing at him with all the strength he had left. It wasn't a war hammer by any means, but Mohawk was small and light, meant for quick assassinations rather than brutal brawling. The work hammer collided with Mohawk's chassis with a sickening crunch, sending him sprawling backwards. Canopy nearly didn't move at the opening, too surprised at his luck. He only bolted into motion when Mohawk let out a murderous growl and began to rise.
Canopy leapt for the energon. Even spurned on by his hammering spark, he wasn't fast enough. Mohawk beat him there, snatching up two of the cubes and crowing in victory—
The moment he touched the cubes, a cannon sounded. Mohawk screeched as a massive bullet tore through half of his pelvic plating, shearing a leg right off. Canopy dove to the ground as more shots streaked through the air, narrowly missing him.
The energon had been a trap all along. Canopy cursed himself for not realizing it sooner.
From the opposite side of the park, humans began to emerge from various hiding places, firing their weapons on Mohawk. A few of them shot at Canopy, too, but the bullets ricocheted off Canopy's thicker armor.
Mohawk shrieked and raged, writhing under the barrage of weaponry. His missile-launchers finally roared to life, firing blindly at his attackers. Some of them hit their marks, sending humans flying, and others soared into the nearby buildings, starting fires and devastating innocents huddled inside.
It was chaos. Canopy stumbled, and one of his pedes kicked something solid—
He glanced down, and his spark nearly stopped.
The energon cubes were right in front of him. Hope swelled within his chassis, so suddenly that he almost fell over. He snatched them off the ground and stuffed them in his subspace.
He had the energon. He had the energon.
Now, he had to escape.
The humans had shifted their focus onto Mohawk, the obvious threat. The Decepticon was doing his best to fight them off, but he was drastically outnumbered. It wouldn't be long until they overwhelmed him.
Canopy turned on his heel, and ran.
A few stray bullets followed him as he dove for the nearest side street. One managed to strike a gap between two armor plates on his back. He gasped at the unexpected pain, but it wasn't enough to fell him. He struggled on, forcing his bulky frame to move far faster than what it was accustomed to.
He was being followed. The heavy steps of a walker, like the one he'd nearly run into before, followed him. Canopy turned down another street, then another, desperate to stay out of its line of fire. A crumbling wall behind him exploded as the walker missed its first shot.
Primus, Primus please, help me get away, Canopy thought desperately. He was so close. So close to getting away, with three whole cubes. If he rationed them carefully, they'd keep him alive for weeks.
Assuming he escaped, that was.
Canopy rounded another corner, vents cycling air so quickly they were nearly howling.
There!
A pile of rubble, so large and so quantitive that it would easily hide him. He went for it, diving into the concrete and shifting just enough so that the debris covered him—and then he went completely still.
The walker came closer and closer. The ground shook, and Canopy knew it was right next to him. He offlined his optics and waited, expecting the worst.
The walker buzzed. Canopy nearly flinched, barely remembering to restrain the motion in time…
The robot moved on. Canopy couldn't believe it, but he still didn't dare move.
Had he… had he really gotten away? It had seemed so hopeless. He'd… he'd done it?
Once the walker's footsteps had faded into the distance, Canopy poked his head out of the rubble and peered around, half expecting to be shot.
The street around him was deserted. Canopy was alone.
The relief was so strong it nearly knocked him offline. His tank pinged him a warning again, and this time Canopy could do something about it. Several sips of one of his successfully retrieved cubes made his engine purr in happiness.
He'd done it. He'd faced down walkers, humans, and even a Decepticon, and he hadn't died.
Even though he had fuel, exhaustion weighed down on his shoulders, heavier than a metrotitan. Canopy knew the rubble wasn't the most secure hiding place, but it had hidden him from the walkers—and he was uncertain if he could find his original hiding spot again.
For the moment, he was safe enough. It would have to do.
He let recharge sweep him away.
A/N: lPriime pointed out in the last chapter that I had made Hot Rod a ferrari instead of a Lamborghini. Don't worry, it was intentional! Hot Rod could have been any car before he belonged to Vivian, since he only scanned the lambo after revealing himself to her. I like ferraris, therefore, I made him one. Thank you for checking me for mistakes, though! Sorry, I should have made that more clear the first time around.
Also, jeez, Hound always gets so angsty and emotional when I write him. I dunno, his character in the movie kind of reminds me of Kup, from G1 just a little bit? So I always get this flashback-prone sense from him. Sorry!
Reminder: Shoot me suggestions or ideas for what you think the last knight should have included, and I'll see what I can do to include it!
I'm trying something new, guys: I made a tumblr page and an instagram, where I'll be posting snippets of work and headcanons for all of my stories there. You're welcome to shoot me questions or remind me to update or even come fangirl about robots or ninjas or anything else with me on either of those sites! Same username as always, meridianpony! :)
