Based extremely loosely off Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift. And Lullaby for a Stormy Night by Vienna Teng will be mentioned.

I don't own any of the songs mentioned or Transformers (Silverstreak and Bluemoon are mine however) and I write for my own pleasure, not money.

I'm sorry everyone seems a little OOC, but I need them to be this way.

Any similarities between other people alive or passed, or people's work were NOT intentional.

The Autobot search party.

Ironhide and Jazz trudged on, sifting through the rubble of what was thought to be central praxius. Stepping lightly over the debris and carnage that used to be a shinnying city. It was in the wee groons of the morning, nearly half an orn since they arrived. The autobots had split up, two mechs covering a section.

It was like a horrible dream, smoke spiralling through the cracks of ruble, it reminded Ironhide of dancing souls, souls of cybertronians being released from their stony prisons. The rubble was piled precariously, like Primus dumped building blocks across the ground and set it on fire. One false step could set off an avalanche of debris down on you, or send you falling into the dark depths below. But what disturbed him the most was the limbs poking out of the wreckage, the bodies of femmes, younglings and innocent mechs laying strewn about the begotten landscape.

As awful as it sounds, the searching was beginning to seem pointless, nothing could have possibly survived this. 'Hide wanted to cry, to scream, to hit something and release the emotions that were building up in his spark, tearing him apart. It was genocide, the 'cons had wiped out nearly an entire race. They killed mechs femmes and sparklings, violently, without remorse. He keened softly, and stooped to pick up a data-pad from the smoking rubble.

The pad was singed around the edges, yet almost completely intact, the depictions clear as they had been wen they were drawn. A youngling had coloured it, that much he knew for certain. The picture scribbled across it was that of a young family, a boxed red and silver mech, a femme like figure, soft silvers greys and blues coloured her frame. And a youngling, the artist no doubt; grey, gold and blue decorated his delicate frame.

The red warrior took a trembling breath, and subspace the picture, saying a silent prayer for the family. as he moved forward, Hound screamed over the comm

:I think I've got something! coordinates are 12.5, 1.9!:

Ironhide and Jazz jumped, then tore down the battered streets towards the coordinates that the tracker provided.

-000-

The Playhouse

Silverstreak was struggling to keep his optics open, it hurt so much. Half of his spark had been torn out, or at least it felt that way. His only strength came from the youngling laying peaceful like beneath him. It was for his precious creation that he forced himself to stay awake, to stay strong.

The small house had long since collapsed, and the mech was holding up a large chunk of ceiling with his back and wings, it got heavier with every passing breem. Small streams of energon trickled down his trembling arms, coming from the cuts and gashes that he'd acquired in the last few groons.

It was hard to wrap his processor around, that his life went to the pit in under 6 groons. He'd lost everything, and everyone. Well... not everyone. Just below him, curled in a tight ball was his youngling, frame greying. The gouge in his side seemed to be infected.

'Please primus, have your hand on my youngling' he prayed. His vents heaved, his arms trembled. The mech knew he couldn't last much longer. "Please, help" he keened with a broken voice, a desperate plea to anyone who was listening.

-000-

Everymech crowded around the crumpled building, a pastel yellow colour could be seen through the soot.

"Your scanner must be busted" Ratchet said as he stepped over to Hound, and snatched the scanner from his servos. The medic sighed as he looked it over, it was giving of a signal, but it was much to faint. Probably some glitch-mouse. But as he tossed the device back to the green tracker, a faint noise caught their attention.

"… help... Please… Help" it was so weak, yet it was there. The voice of a mech, soft and broken, pleading from the ruble.

In a flash, Ironhide and optimus were attacking the wreckage, flinging debris like they were tossing pillows. All mechs present were helping out, and the pile of rubble began to lessen, revealing the wings of a red and silver praxian.

It took about three clicks and the mech was freed, a pained sigh escaped his derma. He was crouched on his knee-joints and servos, trashed doorwings flared like an umbrella.

Ratchet was at his side in an instant, whispering in a voice he reserved for the fatally wounded.

"Stay with us mech, hang in there. What's your name?"

The red praxian didn't care, he didn't move, just sat there trembling as the medic patched up his wings. He whimpered, and spoke laboriously in praxian,

"Bluestreak, little wing? Wake up Blue!"

As his clicked and whirred, the mech collapsed onto his side, lying in a heap in Ratchet's arms. Right below him, was a youngling.

-000-

There was a collective gasp, and Wheeljack carefully scooped the injured bundle into his arms. He cooed and murmured softly in the little one's audios, his own audio fins flashing a lavender colour.

Prowl knelt next to Ironhide, both right next to the younger mechs side. The poor praxian coughed painfully, and looked into the tactician's cyan optics. A flash of recognition flickered across his face plates.

"…Prowl?" he wheezed.

The black and white mech choked on his intake. Silverstreak? Could it really be him?

"Silverstreak?" he asked with a quizzical whisper. Silver's butchered wings made a small flick of amusement, followed by a wince of pain.

"Yeah… it's me" energon spilled from his derma, splashing onto his dented chassis.

"Come on mech, stay with us. Stay with me" Prowl pleaded, grasping his former partner's arms. Ratchet let the black and white mech take the young officer, cradling him against his chassis. There was nothing the medic could do.

-000-

Ratchet's spark was racing, how was this poor mech still functioning? His spark had almost literally been torn apart, a dull grey covered the left half, a bond scar. His mate must've been offlined in the chaos. The medic sighed, unable to comprehend the pain he must be in.

With a sigh the CMO pulled a pain killer from his sub-space an carefully eased it into the mech's systems. Not wanting to announce the situation to everyone he opened a comm with Optimus.

:Optimus, he's not going to make it, and there's nothing I can do! All I can do is watch him suffer!:

Prime nodded solemnly, he knew that all they could do was be there for the enforcer, to allow him some comfort in his last moments.

They all winced with sympathy as the red praxian cried out, burying his helm in the tactician's elbow. Prowl hovered over the mech, Smokescreen at his side.

"I'm a horrible cop" he wailed into the tactician's frame, his battered form shacking with his sobs. Ironhide shook his helm and in a soft voice he rubbed the youngers broken chevron gingerly.

"Nah mech, you did everythin' ya could"

"But… I abandoned my post… I left mecha when they… needed me" he wailed weakly. Prowl could feel him start to fade.

"No, you were with your family when they needed you. Your son is practically unscathed" Prime murmured. It wasn't quite a lie, but it wasn't quite true either. Yet besides the infected gash, Bluestreak was fine.

"You saved him, you're a hero. There's nothing wrong with what you did. A true mech stays with his family" Ratchet said kneeling before the dying mech, grasping his servo. Silver' smiled faintly, and tried to squeeze the medics servo.

Optics glowing, Silverstreak made solid-ish eye contact with every mech before him, his golden optics lingering on first Smokescreen, then Prowl.

"Protect my Bluestreak. Take care of him like I should have, like we did. Don't let my mate and I die in vain" he said, tears streaming down his cheek plates, leaving a clear trail through the dust and grit on his face plates.

Prowl's normally cyan optics hardened, darkening to a navy indigo colour. Silverstreak and him were roommates and partners through law school and for a few vorns as police mechs. They were a force to be reckoned with, a dynamic duo. He took those words to spark, and vowed right then and there to he crimson mech

"I will protect Bluestreak with my spark, I will care for him as though he was my own. These words I vow, and a praxian never breaks a vow".

"To protect and defend!" every mech, besides Silver', cried.

Silverstreak chuckled painfully at his comrade's dramatic flare, but felt the powerful devotion with the oath. Finally, he was certain his precious creation would be safe. With that knowledge he sighed and slumped in his former partner's trembling arms.

"Thank you" he whispered with a faltering vent, and let go.


Okay, i don't know what to do now. I could continue this, how Blue' grew up to be a sharp shooter and such, or I can leave it as a origin story. I leave it up to you dear readers. thank you so much for reading, be sure to review.