Title: Patronus 10 - Renewal and Rage
Fandom: Bayverse, DotM
Authors: femme4jack & Merfilly
Characters: Ironhide (Patronus), Bumblebee, Carly Spencer, Jazz, Mikaela Banes, Optimus Prime, Ratchet, Sam Witwicky
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Summary: Patronus is certain of who he is, and is intent on flattening any obstacles to his cohort realizing it. But the events around him could provide him with other, less desirable opportunities to prove that Ironhide lives on.

Notes: In case you have missed it, Merfilly is writing a series based on DotM Novelization Canon about Megatron and the remaining Decepticons after the events of DotM. That series, To Build a Future, can be found at archiveofourown . org / series / 9254 (remove spaces for link).

WARNINGS: DotM Spoilers, non-explicit spark intimacy (of the fade-to-black variety), mild cussing, and Mikaela's mental images tend to be a little crass when she is half asleep.

All of Patronus's resolution to bring the issue of his designation and his actual identity to the forefront was lost upon rejoining part of the cohort in the main command center. Bumblebee was standing by; Jazz was briefing a human team. Lennox was listening in and giving dark looks to a pair of humans in the SpecOps team who seemed to be having issues with paying attention to the giant robot.

Patronus hit Bumblebee with a glyph of 'report/status/mission?' that led to him learning of Mikaela's plight and the fact that Soundwave was suspected to still exist. Patronus only barely managed to not let his engine rumble in ominous threat; his wish for a stand-up fight was not likely to happen with that one behind it all.

He filed away Jazz's new designation as well, wishing that the humans weren't so irritatingly closed in their way of thinking. From somewhere deep within himself the glyph 'Prowl' floated up, which was a distraction enough to let him stop glowering at being left out of the fight this time. With a silent curse at bureaucracy, he removed himself from Command, and went down to Medical to check on the tiny cohort member there.

He wasn't so jaded, though, to ignore just what a sight it was to see Optimus, reclined on the berth with a pile of blankets on his chestplates, and the tiny human held close in those blankets. She was in recharge, apparently, and so was Optimus, which let Patronus divert attention to checking on Ratchet instead.

::If you wake them up, I will personally reformat you into a camper trailer and let Seymour Simmons haul you away as his personal love shack,:: the CMO commed him, entering the main part of the bay from a smaller room he had appropriated as his office. ::And you might want to buff out the color transfers. Was he good to you, or do I need to go dismantle Sideswipe on top of all of the other slag I deal with?::

Patronus did not respond, but instead crossed the distance between himself and the medic, and, without hesitation, fully extended his fields to embrace his cohort mate. Ratchet allowed Patronus to pull him close, grills bumping. The black mech put a hand behind the medic's helm and pulled their forehelms together. His other hand reached knowingly under CMO's shoulder plating and began tugging and massaging the over-tight cables, using the heat and the surprisingly gentle strength of his hands to ease the tension there.

He could remember doing the same after Ratchet had nearly worked himself offline stabilizing the tiny flicker of Jazz's spark and repairing the saboteur enough for stasis with the hope that someday that same spark could be repowered. Even with limited data files, he was quite certain that once the CMO had succeeded, or failed, to pull sparks back from the brink, it was Ironhide's place to be by the medic, making sure he fuelled and relaxed enough to recharge.

::Slagging nanny-bot,:: Ratchet grumbled, but it felt good and familiar after a day that had held too much trial and prayer. ::Don't you even think about stopping,:: he ordered when Patronus's hands moved slightly away.

::Then get your aft on a berth where I can reach all of you the way you need,:: Patronus growled, voice all gravel and basso with concern. ::You're tighter than tension wire.::

Ratchet harrumphed at that, but sat so the other could come up behind him and dig into his cabling in earnest. He offlined his optics and focused his attention on the difficult task of relaxing his own overclocked systems, though he still kept a passive scan running on Mikaela. When the massage did not start immediately, he made a sound of protest only to find a cube of fuel being placed in his hands.

Ratchet made a noise that might have been another sort of protest at being nurse-maided, or it might have been gratitude. Either way, he raised the cube to his lips and sipped slowly, waiting for Patronus to resume his self-appointed task of unwinding the medic. ::Lucky for us I had a decent reason to make Prime be still, I think,:: he offered for conversation.

Patronus, following spark deep instincts as much as memory, resumed his attention to the strained cabling in Ratchet's neck and shoulders. Shoulders first, then arms, and finally the medic's sensitive hands, he recalled. ::And to think Jazz finally had him settled down for a klik,:: he responded, keeping to the safe topic that was neither himself nor the medic.

::He'll settle from this too; Mik is a tough cookie.:: Under that strong trust in the human, though, were unstated fears that something might yet be wrong with her. All of Ratchet's monitoring was indicating operational parameters were being met, but the electrical activity of the human brain still baffled him, for it varied so strongly from time to time, and he had no solid baseline to go by.

::We talk like them now, even between ourselves,:: Patronus noted, both to distract Ratchet from the worry, and also genuinely amused at the description of their tiny cohort member as the equivalent of a stale, human snack he would never process the flavor of. ::I remember arguing long and hard against getting so attached, and then turning around and bonding with a whole family group in less than a single solar cycle.::

::Not like I can call her an energon treat,:: Ratchet snickered over the link with just a hint of lewd humor in it. ::And you did, to our betterment, I believe. It may be rough...though not if 'Jack gets his slaggin' way!:: Ratchet's amusement with the inventor was flavored by a hint of exasperation. ::Optimus thinks it is good for us to adapt their languages for our own thinking, as he doesn't foresee a time when he, or the rest of us, will want to be on Cybertron as it will be under Megatron's rebuilding.:: The medic was still not certain of the wisdom in granting Megatron their world, even if it was a wreck.

Patronus knew that, as Ironhide, he would have been the first calling for Megatron's deactivation rather than a truce. His own Guardian protocols did not allow for forgiveness for what the mech, who should have been his Prime's and his home world's Lord High Protector, had done. But if there were one benefit to no longer holding a lifetime of memories, it made seeing new possibilities, if not outright forgiveness, easier to process. And he had more important concerns on this world, including the mech slowly relaxing into his hands.

::No memories of Cybertron yet,:: he responded neutrally on that topic. ::But I do know that I have everything I need to be home right here, and don't you dare give me slag for saying it,:: he added, squeezing the cabling a little too hard for emphasis.

::Ow...stop that, you slagging brute,:: Ratchet snapped, looking over his shoulder, but his optics were low-lit as he did. ::Better you don't have the images in your banks that we do, Patronus.:: He could still, dimly, remember the towers and the spires, the beauty of the cities all lit with life and energy. More often, though, he remembered the guttering fires, the molten slag, the discarded bits of frames that had once been average citizens.

Patronus could feel the weight of those memories as a dissonant note in the constant underlying resonance of the bond they shared. He began moving down the tense cabling of Ratchet's arm, who helpfully loosened his armor plating a bit for better access. Even as he eased the tense cabling, he embraced the medic more fully in his own fields and carefully opened his end of the bond wider, encouraging his anchoring partner to feel what he now knew. ::I don't know if I'll ever integrate all of it, Ratchet. But I want the memories of us back. I want you to be able to call me Ironhide again, without reservations.::

Ratchet's spark seemed to stutter in his chest. How much did he want the old Ironhide back! He knew, though, it was a fallacy. Patronus would always be different. And yet... was it so much more different than being reunited with old friends, reshaped by what they had been through? Certainly Ratchet had felt at a loss with Wheeljack on the inventor's return. 'Jack had gotten harder, more driven, obsessed with finding a cure for the slow starvation they all faced if they did not fully adapt to non-energon sources of fuels. Ratchet knew it was because of the blockade on Wheeljack's outpost, where mechs had literally starved into stasis-lock despite all he did to extend their supplies.

::Take them from me,:: Ratchet offered, cuing up the bank set aside for Ironhide, for their moments of life apart from the war, those special times that had been carefully stolen from the Pits they had existed in for so long. He opened himself to the other mech, his walls coming down, waiting for Patronus to choose if he wanted to see himself through the optics of the medic or not.

Patronus didn't hesitate. He no longer feared adding to his cohort's grief by what they might not find in him. He knew, and they would know, that his spark had not changed. He wanted the files, yes, but more than that, he wanted to renew their bond, to show Ratchet once and for all that he had not lost his anchor. The doors to Medical were locked, and, for now, all were as protected as they could be. He sat on the berth next to the medic. ::Merge with me,:: he said bluntly. ::Let me see the memories that way. You need to know, and there's no point delaying it. You'll be more at ease once you're sure, one way or the other.::

::Answer me one question.:: Ratchet shifted fully on to the berth, turning to face his companion after setting the now empty cube to one side. ::Are you aware how much you have to take, to open yourself to a medic that carries a piece of every single mech he's lost in his spark?:: Ironhide had understood, had insisted on forging tighter links than anyone else, to help Ratchet cope with the deaths. But with what little Patronus had downloaded, how could he fully understand the depth of that commitment?

Patronus placed his hands on the other's shoulders and gripped them fiercely. ::I already carry you in me, you stubborn pit-spawn. How could I want anything less than to be there for you, fully? My choices about you, about Prime, about the whole slagging cohort, are not going to be any different this time around. Optimus said, before I became the Lennox family's Guardian, that we only have today. I'm not wasting any more of that time.::

Ratchet gave him a slow smile, one that actually radiated through their co-mingled fields. Without further hesitation, he moved in as close as he could get, and realized immediately he needed to get more familiar with the other's reformatted frame. ::Slaggin' bulk of you,:: Ratchet teased him. ::Lay back. Pits if I'm going to be pinned in my own bay, and I'm not sitting upright for this!::

The black mech held back a chuckle, not wanting to risk waking the others. Instead, he lay back and pulled Ratchet with him, his fields pushing into the other's frame with a lifetime of affection that went far deeper than the scant memories he held. ::Love you, too, you slagging aft,:: he said as his chestplates unlocked and the light of a very familiar spark spilled into the bay.

The remote was thoroughly destroyed. The consciousness that had controlled it was still split, part maintaining the life within the satellite-bound frame, and the other maintained by the combined processors of the world's data infrastructure that the organics called the 'Internet'. Integration was highly desired, but the processor damage done by feedback when the remote was destroyed had lingering effects in all of his transmission protocols.

Without full connection to his true frame, Soundwave was limited to mostly planetary communication sources. In the absence of either a recovery team from the Decepticons or further orders, he could only continue the cause. Autobots were to be eradicated, and the humans enslaved, per all orders he had last responded to. And wasn't it a stroke of fortune, Soundwave believed, that humans were more easily united under a banner of hatred than hope?

He sent out a new message, a call to arms for his followers, as time was growing short with the Chicago recovery nearing an end. He had to strike soon, or the Autobots would be hidden once again. Then he sent a signal to a drone whose mission had been in place but had never been activated upon the failure of the conquest of Earth. Its function would be equally suited to his purposes now. The nanite infused alcohol from Dylan's winery was suitable to dispose of his human operatives, should they be captured. But he needed a different tool to enslave the fleshlings and force them to use their swarming insect mass to take out any remaining Autobot traitors.

A small group of humans as diverse as the city itself remained behind after the support group had adjourned for the evening, most of them holding paper cups of stale coffee, intent on a long, late night of planning.

They first discussed the newcomers who had come to the group that evening. None of them had what it took to be one of them. Not like the red haired woman whom they had invited to stay behind the night before. That one had promise, and enough fire in her to actually want to do something about the monsters who had brought down their city and could kill a person without even trying. They had watched her carefully for the week she'd been attending the nightly meetings before inviting her to stay. Her background information had checked out. One of their number who worked in a hospital had verified that a woman with her name and description had been treated for her injuries following the invasion, and the names she had shared of those she'd lost had checked out in the public records of the deceased as well. Nothing suspicious had come up the evenings they'd had her followed back to the refugee center where she was staying.

Still, they had been careful. They never told any one person too much. But they had been encouraged when she told them she had an actual contact on the aliens' base, and could potentially use it to their benefit. One of their priorities was finding out the status of the two missing members after their last failed attack on the robots. They were presumed dead, likely killed by one of the robots as soon as the attack went wrong. That was the dark hope. But if they had been captured, things could be much worse. Either way, they needed to take action, and soon, before they were discovered.

They had ended the previous evening with a glass of wine from the case their funding agent had sent them, toasting to a new partnership with promises to talk more the following evening. She had left rather abruptly, claiming to be ill, creating suspicion, but their watchers at the exits had not seen anyone of her description pass by. Even more suspicion arose when she had not shown up the following night. Fortunately, they had told her very little, but the risk that they had been compromised, and the fact that the majority of the robots were slated to wrap up their operations in the city meant they needed to take action quickly, even if it cost them their own lives. The latest message from their leader had been stirring and true. Preventing any other human casualties to the aliens' war would be worth their lives. They were Earth's defenders. Their deaths, to destroy the soulless abominations, would honor of the memories of those they had lost.

Later, much later, after the group finally broke off their planning to return wearily to their beds, a custodian entered and collected the trash bag of paper cups and empty water bottles. Spying the case of wine, he slipped a bottle into his cart as well. When he finished his shift, he drove to neighborhood on the South Side of the city. He dumped the bag of trash and recycling in a window well in a dark alley, along with the bottle of wine. Shortly after, a yellow Camaro drove up. A young man exited the car, watched closely by the beautiful young woman in the passenger seat. Careful not to touch any of refuse, he emptied the contents of a silver vial on it. The young man stepped away, and after a few moments, the car's headlights flickered. At that signal, the young man proceeded to pick up the trash bag and the bottle and place them in the car's trunk.

::Jazz, we've got a problem,:: Bumblebee commed his superior as he made his way to the next rendezvous point with their human agents. ::That group that Mikki found has infected a whole lot of humans with a different version of Soundwave's pit-spawns. The ones in the wine were coded the same as those in our gal, but the ones in the water bottles scanned differently.:: ::Any of 'em intact?:: Jazz responded.

::Negative. Your counter ones stripped the shielding off the new ones as well. Disabled all of them with an EMP. Couldn't risk Sam and Carly getting infected.::

::Good work, Bee. Bring 'em in and Ah'll check out what's left of 'em.::

There was no way in hell she wanted to wake up. Not with how good she felt in that comfortable zone floating between awake and asleep. And certainly not when she remembered feeling colder than Megatron's junk buried in the arctic...saving that he did not have any junk that she knew of. But if he did, and it had gotten so cold that it had fallen off? She had been colder than that.

And then there had been the pain...better to think about Megatron's mythical mechhood in deep freeze than how her body had felt like it was tearing itself apart from the inside. She needed to stay with the now and the here, where she was warm and entirely too comfortable with the familiar purr and warmth of advanced alien systems and the hum of a spark that she could feel nearby. But there was something she needed to tell someone. Something that was too important to wait, so she dragged her consciousness out of the fluffy, warm blanket it was in and forced herself to open her eyes.

Medical? Why the hell was she in Ratchet's bay? And why was Optimus cocooning her so completely in his hands that she didn't have a chance of moving anything but her head, which was the only thing peaking out of blankets inside that massive, metal grip. She turned her neck and saw Patronus in recharge on his back with Ratchet sprawled out on him, somehow fitting their complicated, angular frames together in some perfect mech origami.

A flash of optics told her that Ratchet was actually awake, and then he was getting to his pedes to come check on her.

"You don't have to get up, doc. You two looked so cute like that."

"I beg to differ," Ratchet responded, too relieved to sound snarky despite his words. "There is absolutely nothing 'cute' about either one of us, and I do need to get up and check on the completely glitched member of my cohort who keeps insisting on putting her far too fragile body at risk for injuries I can't repair."

Their voices stirred Optimus, and his systems hummed louder as they came online.

"Mikaela," he said even as his optics lit and focused intently on her. "Are you well?"

"Well I would be, but there is this gigantic lug nut who is holding me so tight I can't move and I'm afraid my limbs might have atrophied." Mikaela flashed him a smile so he'd know she was not only joking, but also, more importantly, feeling fine. "What the hell happened?"

The giant 'lug nut' in question flexed his digits just slightly, not enough to hurt her, but applying gentle pressure in a motion that reassured him, quite illogically, that she was honestly within his grasp. "You were recklessly endangered because I did not have more logic in assigning your duties."

Patronus, coming alert on the other berth, heard those words, and made a very rude noise in Cybertronian, the equivalent of a Bronx cheer. "Listen to his slagging self! Prime, get over it; you don't hold every single on of our fates in your hands. Mikaela's upgraded enough to make her own choices on service!"

"Hey," Mikaela said more gently, ignoring Patronus for the moment, though not without noting that she could no longer distinguish his tone from Ironhide's. She arched her neck to look up at the optics of the mech holding her. "My choice, remember? Freedom, sentient beings, the Autobot way, and all that stuff?" She squirmed a little as the distinctive tingle of a deep-level scan ran through her. "Seriously, what happened. Was I compromised?"

"In an all too dangerous manner, yes," Ratchet answered, feeling tremendously relieved by both the external data indicating Mikaela's obviously functioning processors, as well as the results of the internal scan. The residual cellular damage was healing at an accelerated rate. He had to wonder about the effects of her exposure to Prime's unique spark and the energies of the Matrix.

"You were infected with a self-replicating nanite virus," Ratchet continued. "The same one that infected the humans who ambushed Bumblebee. They were trying to take you apart at the cellular level. Your camouflaging nanites protected you long enough for Mudflap and Skids to get you here so we could deactivate them, but the defenders taxed your cellular structure so much that they were endangering you as well. And so I'm afraid I concur with Prime, though not with his slagging hyperactive guilt complex. We never should have allowed you to test the damn things."

"Well...it sounds like if I hadn't, the other ones would have killed me before I got back," Mikaela said breezily, though she knew she couldn't hide the spike in her vitals and the sudden flash of fear at just how close it had been. "Must have been in the wine...I remember having a drink, and then...I just knew I had to get the hell outta Dodge."

There was a short silence that told her that all three mechs in the room were searching the internet to reference her colloquialism. She opted not to mention the pain she had felt when fleeing from the room where the group had met. Optimus did not need anything else to flagellate himself over. "Optimus...these people. There's someone on the outside pulling their strings. They shared a few of their organizer's messages. They didn't tell me much more, but enough to know that they are extremely well funded, have access to way better technology than a group like that should have. They're total amateurs. Just normal people who lost friends and loved ones, and they're getting manipulated. They need help."

"They're not the only ones who do, an' Ah'm afraid Ah know who's pullin' their strings," Jazz said, coming out of Ratchet's work room where he had been hard at work reconstructing the function and coding of the second type of viral nanites Bumblebee and his other agents had detected. "Soundwave ain't gone. Not sure he's fully back, 'cause the way he's usin' the humans lacks some of his normal finesse, but he ain't gone. Those nanites in Mikki had his codin' marks all over 'em, an' this new set is infectin' the workers, folks in the refugee centers, and even NEST as we speak. They self replicate, are spread by fluids, and go straight t' the nervous system."

Jazz held up a clawed hand to stop them from asking any questions until he was done. Now that he knew what they were dealing with, time was critical. "Whoever can signal them can cause 'em a scrap load of pain, or even stop their pump for good, and the signal's keyed t' be part of Internet, over cellular, wireless, an' satellite transmissions...so it's pretty much anywhere Soundwave's fragged up program is, which is everywhere. A slaggin' good way to force obedience on your slaves, if ya know what Ah mean. An' the worst part is that every bottle of water we've located from the shipment that was distributed yesterday is full of 'em. One signal, and that Pit spawn can torture...or kill...every human who's had a drink of the stuff or had fluid contact with someone who has, includin', by now, a good number of the humans on this base. And...likely every other human being in this region who's had water from that same bottling plant."

Patronus stood, his engine roaring and systems fueled with rage. All he could process was Sarah, Will, and worst of all, Annabelle, at the mercy of someone who could torture or murder them with a single signal. He could not even put himself between them and the danger; if they'd already been infected, the danger was inside of their own fragile systems.

But it was nothing compared to the rage Mikaela swore she could physically feel rush through Optimus like a wild storm coming from his spark. He swiftly handed her off to Ratchet before his hands clenched tight and he growled out a single word in the darkest tone she'd ever heard from him. "Megatron!"