Fallout: Apocalypse
Chapter Eight
By Nan00k
Humans, meet Agent Simmons. Agent Simmons, meet some giant angry robots.
Also, more science! Sort of. And Mama-Bear Jazz. Gotta love that.
Thanks again, Shantastic! :D Also, don't forget: I have a twitter (and a tumblr, though I don't think many people would be interested in that) specifically for fanfic updates. I tend to rant a lot as I write, especially with Apocalypse so far, so if you're interesting in non-spoilery commentary, check it out on my profile page.
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Warnings: character death, foul language, violence, disturbing imagery and discussion, religious ideological discussions, theoretical science, and original characters
Disclaimer: Transformers © Dreamworks/Hasbro. The original characters found in this story were created explicitly for this story.
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"You're telling me they're from the future."
The dark haired NEST solider in front of him hesitated, but nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Like, full out, Back to the Future shenanigans."
"They used a space bridge—apparently the Cybertronians have time machines," the private said, stumbling over the key words of Cybertronians and space bridge, whatever the hell that was. "Or teleporters. We're not exactly sure of the science."
"But these refugees… are from the future?"
"Yes. They come from a post-apocalyptic world, sir. Everything's dead, from automated Decepticon drones, or from the subsequent fallout." The grunt paused and seemed to stumble mentally over the information he had. "Or, well, from this other bad guy. The details aren't clear yet. We're not exactly sure why there's a difference now, but most importantly, we all lost."
"That's… great." Seymour Simmons looked at the sheet of information in front of him and when he looked back up at the younger man, he squinted his eyes. "And we are doing… what about this?"
The soldier had the sense to look timid. "Nothing yet, sir," he stuttered. "Major Lennox is currently debriefing with DNI Keller, Optimus Prime and his officers, plus Jazz and his fellow leaders."
Simmons, well-briefed in all things NBE, started. "I thought he was dead!" he exclaimed. The Jazz one, or whatever his alias was, was definitely dead.
"Not quite." The solider held up another sheet of paper and Simmons snatched it immediately. "He's, uh, from the other world. Apparently, it was a whole different time line."
It took a few moments for all of that to catch up to his brain. "That's good. Right? Not the same time line, so not the same future?" Simmons asked, mostly to himself. He turned and looked down the hallway, which was more of a cavern considering the giants that always walked up and down them.
"Maybe… sir?"
Teeth grinding, Simmons turned and glared at the NEST soldier. "My next question may be above your pay grade, but I have to ask," he began, pointing his hand specifically to his left. "If they're in debriefing now, with all major representatives… why am I out here?"
The giant door adjacent to them was closed, presumably with all of those aforementioned officials behind it. And Simmons, newly arrived from Washington, was outside those doors.
He couldn't help but feel something was wrong about that situation.
"Uh, the Major insisted they get started right away, sir," the soldier stammered. He stood back as Simmons loomed ever-so-slightly closer.
"Without me," he stated. Yes. Something was wrong with that.
"Not specifically you, sir…"
Leaning back, Simmons grappled with his annoyance. "Politics," he whispered, glaring at the door and disdaining his position outside of it. "I hate politics."
He ignored the aide's startled yelp as he pushed past him and shoved the sliding door back. It rolled away to reveal six robots and three humans, who were standing up on the catwalk to give them better visibility to the giant robots they were conversing with. At his dramatic entrance, every eye and optic moved in his direction. Simmons grinned and marched on inside.
"Simmons," Lennox said, surprised. At least he had the decency to look like he hadn't planned to exclude the other agent. Epps beside him simply rolled his eyes.
Simmons smiled tightly and waved his hand at the Major as he walked toward the center of the room. He ignored how Iron-Sides scowled his way. "Don't mind me, just popping by," he announced cheerfully. He spun around and saw the three robots not attached to NEST rosters. He grinned openly at them. "So… you're the mechs from the future?"
Two of the robots were unfamiliar and rather strange looking, even for the NBE standards. The pink one was insanely small compared to the other mechs, and if Simmons' eyes weren't deceiving him, he almost wanted to say it was a chick. Chick robots? He shook the image away from his mind, focusing on the largest mech in the room, well, other than Optimus. This new guy had wings—since when did Autobots have wings?
It was the third, middle-sized mech that really caught his eye, however. The silver small one—yeah, that had to be the Jazz duplicate—smirked. "Yup," Jazz replied, nodding. "You still Simmons?"
So there was one of him in the other world, too. Interesting. "Yes, yes I am," he said proudly.
"Is Sector Seven still here then?" Jazz continued, glancing around the room. "Ours got deactivated."
Too interesting. "Yes, well, NEST command found some use for my skills, it would seem," Simmons replied sharply. He waved his hands again at them all. "Carry on, gentlemen and gentlebots."
"We were discussing possible options concerning how to deal with the refugees," Keller said from up on the catwalk. He nodded at Lennox and Epps. "NEST has offered to house them until further notice."
"House is a strong word," the giant winged robot interrupted, sounding peeved. He had a very deep voice.
Simmons peered up at the mech, using his hand to block out a non-existent glare. "Whoa. Aren't you a big guy?" he asked. It was only mildly impressive, really.
The winged Transformer peered down at Simmons with a level stare. "And you are very small," he said bluntly. Emphasis on small.
Jazz burst out laughing and even the pink chick-bot smirked. Simmons did his best not to scowl; he didn't like the cheeky ones.
"I didn't think you guys came with wings," he demanded, looking around, catching Optimus Prime's gaze specifically. "What's with that?"
The winged mech replied anyway. "I am a Seeker," he said bluntly. The way Iron-Sides bristled was very obvious, even from all the way down on the floor.
"A what—?" Simmons blurted. He hated it when they started throwing terms around that he didn't know. They were supposed to have compiled a list of translations ages ago, but since when did anyone on this godforsaken team ever listen to him?
"An ex-Decepticon flier," Optimus said, catching his attention. He ignored Simmons' gaping expression after that admission. "There are three ex-Cons total in their group. They are Neutrals officially."
The so-called Seeker frowned. "We all are," he pointed out.
The pink chick-bot opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself. She looked away pointedly.
All of that social interaction was quite fascinating, but Simmons had larger concerns at the moment. "You're telling me we're giving amnesty to Decepticons now?" Simmons demanded, rounding on Optimus Prime as much as a six-foot tall man possibly could. "Since when?"
"Since ten of them were spontaneously dumped on our base against their will," Lennox answered instead, looking strangely annoyed. Then again, the soldier didn't really appreciate Simmons, even on his best days.
"We are not all Decepticons," the pink one snapped. She had a very, very faint accent, possibly Mandarin. She drew herself up, towering over the humans despite her comparatively small size. "I am an Autobot. I always will be."
"Don't start, Arcee," Jazz pleaded. "Let's just make sure the kids'll be okay."
Arcee glared at him and turned that same expression to the NEST officials, including Prime. "Then decide what to do with us," she said, firm. "I would have no objections to rejoining the Autobot forces."
"And most of us will not be joining," the flier-Seeker-giant thing countered, stepping up closer. He looked at Prime specifically. "I am a Neutral. I always will be."
Beside him, Jazz nodded resolutely. "Ditto."
Ratchet, one of the few robots Simmons didn't always receive glares from, made a sound more akin to a backfiring car than an alien robot. "Jazz?" he repeated, stunned.
"I have more than just my own aft t' worry about now," the silver mech replied. He looked a little uneasy under all the attention, but he crossed his arms against his chest in a human-like gesture. "If I join anybody, 'Rider and Vortex might feel threatened. If they're Neutrals, I will be, too."
If Simmons had any chance to speak, he would have challenged that statement. As far as the government should be concerned, there were 'Cons and there were Autobots, because anything else was getting too damn confusing. Earth wasn't some catch-all for wayward space orphans.
However, before he could say just that, Optimus nodded. "That is acceptable," he replied, expression guarded. He looked back at Keller, who also didn't look happy, but he didn't say anything else. "For now, though, we must iron out the details of your amnesty. The United States military and government have several concerns we must address first…"
With his boss mute, Simmons seethed in silence. He didn't trust that word—Neutral—any more than he trusted NEST officers to actually comprehend the dangers of having the aliens there to begin with. Sure, the Autobots came in handy, but why that suddenly made them "buddies" instead of "alien refugees and possible enemies" was beyond him.
He didn't want to listen to the politics of this mess; he wanted to get to the decisive action. Simmons left the room, knowing his presence wouldn't be missed anyway.
He still had a job to do, even if no one valued him for it.
"You, with me," he snapped as he walked briskly down the hallway. The solider who had escorted him to the command room jumped up and followed him.
"Sir?"
Simmons glanced down at the intel sheets again, browsing the names on it quickly. "They came with more people, correct? Where?"
"At Hangar B, sir," the soldier replied.
Sighing gustily, Simmons marched across the concrete base with a headache looming somewhere behind his skull. "Jesus… if Banachek could see us now." The lucky ex-Sector-7 agent had retired smartly after the events of 2007. "I want the details on all of these people. I don't care if they're human, mech, or fairy, we're dealing with something a lot bigger than the average alien problem."
The soldier hesitated as they stopped at one of the desks. "Like, sir?" he asked.
Simmons paused in his shuffling of files and fixed the man with an intense stare. "Space-time quantum mechanics," he replied. He snapped the manila folder in his hands shut. "Also, six new aliens walking around. No matter where they came from, an increase of any size was not on the agenda yet."
The Autobots had requested permission to allow more of their own soldiers down to Earth and only recently did POTUS issue the order to allow more friendly aliens to join NEST. The new group was arriving within the month, so this unexpected imbalance of aliens running loose, even within NEST, was unacceptable.
"I don't believe the refugees are available for interrogation, sir," the soldier replied, looking flustered as he took up walking behind Simmons as they headed toward Hangar B. "Jazz was against bringing the humans into this yet. They're apparently severely shell-shocked by something that happened back in their timeline, sir."
"I don't care," Simmons shot back. "It's not like I can do anything worse to them. They survived an apocalypse right—?"
All at once, Simmons felt part of his mind go 'Oh' while the rest of him stopped physically in his tracks. The solider stopped behind him and peered at him curiously.
"They come from a post-apocalyptic world, sir. Everything's dead, from automated Decepticon drones or from the subsequent fallout."
Simmons gaped at the scene outside the hangar's side door, almost fifty yards in front of them still, his mind reeling.
Fallout.
"What the—where are you going? !" the NEST soldier next to him blurted when Simmons suddenly tore away from the railing and took off toward the door.
"I need a team with me, now!" Simmons shouted back, running as fast as he could. "And for the love of God, bring some damn HAZMAT suits!"
The solider looked bewildered, but soon rushed off to do as he was told. Simmons ran on, praying that he wasn't too late.
0000
The past wasn't too bad of a place, honestly. Bluestreak wasn't used to the Autobots being there or the humans, but everything else was almost… the same.
Almost.
The military group they were with, NEST, was nice enough to let them take up nearly an entire hangar of the airfield base they were on and that was a good thing. It was big, filled with nice big container units that gave them cover, and most of the soldiers left them alone. Bluestreak had been afraid they would be separated, but Jazz and Thundercracker's insistence had paid off. Now it was the remaining seven sitting around in the hangar while Arcee, Thundercracker and Jazz spoke with Optimus.
The first sight of Optimus Prime had made Bluestreak's spark sing. He had never met the mech in person, even in his own timeline. To see him standing there in front of them, alive in the midst of this new timeline, was comforting. It made Bluestreak happy to see that the Autobots here had survived. Maybe things were different, but that was a good thing.
What didn't make Bluestreak feel comfortable was the fact that when Optimus and the other Autobots looked at him, or at one of his friends, they didn't look nearly as happy to see him as he was to see them.
He had a feeling Prowl had wanted to speak with him; he never looked at Bluestreak like the others sometimes did. Bluestreak missed Prowl, though not in the same way Jazz had. Prowl had been one of the few Praxians left alive by the time the Allspark was launched into space. They were practically kin, which made it difficult not to reach out to the other mech when they were near each other. Maybe when things were calmer, he would have time to talk with Prowl.
Beside him, Kass was braiding Danny's hair, combing through it with some of the hair care tools the NEST soldiers had given them, along with other sundries and food. The girls had showered, but they refused to wear the ill-fitting clothing that NEST had brought to them. Danny just sat there, letting Kass do whatever she wanted; she looked, as Barns put it, shell-shocked. Bluestreak wanted to whine and cradle all four of his human friends close, because they all looked as miserable as the mechs felt when they… remembered.
Wheeljack was gone. Dead. Bluestreak's processors were still having difficulty writing that as fact into his long term code. He continually expected to turn around and see Wheeljack's lights flashing in a cheerful pattern, hear his voice, especially now as they dealt with this strange new world. But he was never coming back, so that left ten of them now. Only ten.
Looking to the side, Bluestreak saw Wildrider staring intently out the hangar bay door, where they could see glimpses of the green forest at the edge of the base. The desire for freedom was something they all shared, but they had to stay put, otherwise there would be trouble. Even Wildrider recognized and obeyed this silent decree. Bluestreak felt obligated to stay with Vortex and Wildrider, keep them company so they were more comfortable; he knew they were more on edge around the new Autobots than he or any of the others were.
"Who's that?" Rachel suddenly asked, startling Bluestreak as well as the others.
She was perched on Vortex's legs, pointing out the other, smaller hangar door toward the back of the room. Several men were approaching them at a rapid pace; the one leading the group looked sweaty, like he had been running. Bluestreak frowned at the group marching ominously towards them, but recognized some of the NEST soldiers.
Behind him, Wildrider made a soft growling sound as he uncoiled from his seated position, but Kass gently hushed him as she and the other humans stood up properly to meet the new humans face to face. They had had little contact with the NEST soldiers without the presence of the Autobots or Jazz and Thundercracker. Bluestreak couldn't help but feel a little nervous as the new man approached.
The guns weren't helping anyone's nerves, either.
"Hello, hello, you must be our distinguished new guests," the man in the front announced as he drew closer. He wasn't a solider from the looks of it; he was wearing what Barns had told Bluestreak was called a suit.
"Oh, Primus," Vortex growled. Bluestreak withheld a nervous giggle; he thought the guy was silly looking, but laughing at people was rude regardless of where they were.
Ignoring the comment, the suited-man held up a boxy looking device, grinning at the humans specifically. "My name is Agent Simmons," he said. Bluestreak didn't like his smile. "I'm NEST's chief liaison between different government offices and the aliens."
"I thought Director Keller was," Barns said, frowning deeply. Not that they knew much about what that meant, but Bluestreak was certain Barns was correct.
"No." Simmons paused and almost scowled. "I work under him, but they should go to me first."
Kass crossed her arms against her chest, standing in front of Danny more. "They didn't this time," she replied calmly.
"Don't remind me," Simmons growled. He suddenly flipped his emotions and gave her a bright grin. "All right, you, girl with the accent. Step forward, if you will?"
Instantly, the air seemed to change. "What?" Barns demanded, as Kass reluctantly took a single step forward, leery of getting too close to this Simmons, whoever he was. The Frenchman moved forward too, eyes narrowed. "What is that?" he asked, looking pointedly at the boxy device.
Simmons ignored him as he held the device up in the air and pointed it toward Kass. It didn't look dangerous, but all of their group watched tensely. "Hold still for one second. Thank y—" A shrill noise filled the air and Simmons made a choking sound. "Oh, fuck me."
That immediately made Kass flinch backwards. "What?" she asked, startled. "What's the matt—?"
"No time!" Simmons shouted, eyes huge. He spun around and pointed at several of the armed soldiers. When he spoke, he almost sounded scared. "You! Get decontamination up, NOW!"
And then, Simmons reached out and grabbed Kass by the arm roughly, jerking her toward the door. Bluestreak immediately opened his mouth to yell at him to stop, alarmed by his aggression, but someone beat him to it. Literally.
"LIBÉREZ-LA!" Barns shouted, his voice and face contorted with an anger Bluestreak had never, ever seen on the generally calm man.
Simmons had just enough time to look up when Barns came flying at him and punched him square in the face. The dark-clothed man dropped with a startled yell and Barns lunged, screaming angrily in French. Rachel also joined in the yelling, yanking Kass back, who looked frightened. Suddenly, everything seemed out of control and more armed men came running from across the room. Bluestreak didn't know quite what Simmons had been talking about—but damned if he was going to let these humans hurt his friends.
"BACK OFF!" someone else shouted over the din of the humans fighting. Vortex came in between the army and the rest of them, crouching defensively.
Bluestreak's battle programming activated as soon as he saw the men raise their weapons. Humans or not—an enemy of any one of them was an enemy of them all. That's how they worked. They were a team—this was survival. They might not have had their external weapons, but they were still able to defend themselves.
"—JE VOUS DÉTESTE, VOUS BÂTARDS—!" Barns kept shouting, swinging after Simmons, who had managed to stand. Barns lunged again and Rachel backed him up as they tried to chase the man away with their kicks and hits.
"Calm down, right now, all of—!" one of the soldiers yelled, rushing toward them.
A loud engine roar stopped him from getting close however; Bluestreak jumped back when Wildrider, snarling, rushed forward and almost seemed ready to jump at the human. However, the mech dropped down low over Kass and Danny, optics blazing almost white.
"Come closer, come closer, I vill CRUSH you!" Wildrider screeched threateningly. Vortex quickly stepped in front of him, the entire group moving backwards, Rachel and Barns retreating at the same time, taking cover. Everyone watched the NEST soldiers with as much wary malice as they would a pack of drones or cannibals.
Bluestreak whipped around and stooped defensively as more soldiers attempted to come up from behind. "Do not approach," he warned, louder than he normally would have spoken. He tried to crouch as low as possible, to give the humans in the center of their group cover. "We're warning you to back off."
The men gave him startled looks, clearly afraid, but Bluestreak did not feel guilty. These men were trying to take their friends away. After everything—after all of this—he would not let them destroy their unit. Not now. Not ever.
Not after everything that had happened.
Behind him, he could sense Vortex and Wildrider were just as defensive, growling and hissing, ready to fight the humans off. They would have his back. They always would—
Because this is what they were supposed to be: a family.
"What is goin'—WHAT TH' FRAG IS ALL O' THIS? !"
Bluestreak looked up, stunned, and saw what his battle programming identified as friends. Jazz, Thundercracker and Arcee were quickly crossing the threshold of the hangar, alarmed at the sight of the weapons surrounding the three mechs and four humans in the center of the room.
"They're trying to separate the humans from us!" Vortex snarled angrily in their own language, beating the soldiers to the chance of explaining themselves, with the truth or a lie.
Well, he wasn't too sure what sort of response they would have gotten if they had approached while Jazz, Thundercracker or Arcee had been there. They were trying their best to make peace, Bluestreak knew. He was sorry that they were now involved in this acrimonious altercation but they had not started it.
Thankfully, Jazz and Thundercracker seemed to know this. Instantly, Jazz's battle mask whipped down and he slid in front of Bluestreak, facing the humans in a similar defensive position as the gunner had taken. Thundercracker, looming, footsteps booming, stomped closer. He didn't need weapons to look aggressive. The humans immediately scattered, yelling as the jet walked toward the group dangerously as pure wall of intimidation.
"Back off, right now, all o' ya!" Jazz snapped loudly at the human soldiers who still dared to stand closer than was necessary to their group. "We're not tryin' t' cause any trouble, but if yer causing trouble fer us, any of us, we're not gonna just sit by an' take it."
"What happened?" Arcee shouted, looking positively torn. She rolled up closer to Bluestreak as Thundercracker flanked on Vortex and Wildrider's side. "What do you mean, they tried to separate you?"
"That black-clothed guy, Simmons," Bluestreak began, frustration and anxiety welling up within his spark now, "he pointed something at the humans and then said they had to go with him. He started to grab Kass to drag her off! What else were we going to do, let them take her? What if they were going to hurt her? !"
Wildrider's engine was becoming deafening. "I'll kill them first!" he screeched. "No von hurts humans, not ours, definitely not ours!" His entire frame seemed to shake, either with rage or fear. "No more deaths, no more leaving—ve are staying together!"
Vortex snarled and Bluestreak couldn't help but agree himself. They had to stay together, no matter whether they were in the wilderness or in a camp, surrounded by enemies or by friends. If they didn't—if they let other people or the world take each other away—
Bluestreak whined. How did it come to this? Years of simple living, the feeling of being home, loved, safe—
All of it gone in just a matter of days. It just wasn't fair.
"—it was for decontamination! You're all irradiated!" he heard one of the humans shout. "He wasn't going to hurt them! We just need to get you guys clean, or else you could affect other people! Please, calm down!"
The soldier's plea for order didn't work too well. Between engines roaring and the soldiers yelling and the mechs conversing hurriedly in Cybertronian, trying to keep calm, the whole garage was becoming a chaotic, noisy mess. Bluestreak's sensors alerted him to the approach of other mechs, however, so he knew to look to the South entrance. It was a huge signal, one he had learned was Optimus'. Bluestreak's initial reaction was to feel relieved; they had Optimus there now!
But then realization struck him: Optimus was no longer his leader—and no longer an ally. Because Bluestreak… Bluestreak was not an Autobot.
He braced himself, as did the others; it was impossible to mistake his signal. When the large Autobot appeared, Ironhide and Sideswipe appearing behind him, Bluestreak immediately squashed his instinctual reaction to feel happy; he tried to feel scared. It wasn't too hard, really. Even if they had ten on their side, Optimus and Ironhide were legends by themselves; if they had to fight them… it didn't look too good.
Sideswipe and Ironhide brought out their weapons, but Optimus didn't bother. He walked up within a hundred yards of the poised ten survivors and just looked down on them.
"What is going on here?" the Autobot Prime demanded, optics hard and voice promising swift action if needed. It made Bluestreak afraid.
Before Bluestreak could explain again, one of the NEST soldiers spoke up. "They've got radioactive dust all over them and their gear," he said, angry. "We need to decontaminate it all. They could have infected the whole damn compound!"
Next to him, Jazz suddenly flinched. "Radioactive…" he repeated, confused. All at once the confusion vanished and was replaced with alarm. "Oh, slag!"
Rachel, suddenly visible from behind Vortex, made a choking sound. "What the hell?" she blurted. She seemed more angry than panicked. "We aren't radioactive! We've never been near one of the spill sites!"
Kass nodded nervously. "Yeah, w-we stayed away from Asia!" she added.
"It ain't us, it's th' dust," Jazz said, startling them. He looked at his hands and his battle mask retreated. He looked stunned. "All th' particles in th' air. Of course it would've fallen on us eventually."
"Wait, what?" Barns began, alarmed. He looked down at his chest and suddenly grew alarmed. "We have nuclear fallout on us—? !"
"No, no, just dust. It'll come off. You're not internally contaminated," Jazz said, trying to reassure them as well as keep the NEST and Autobot soldiers from holding their weapons out still. He looked at one of the human soldiers that had come into the hangar with him. "Where can we hose down, Will?"
The blond man gestured toward the outside of the hangar, to an area they hadn't been in yet. "We have mech-sized decontamination chambers for newly arriving 'Bots. We have smaller decontamination showers for the humans," he said. "It's all standard. Come on, we have to do this now, quick."
"I'm not leaving them alone!" Bluestreak suddenly exclaimed. Vortex looked at him, but nodded in agreement. That was not even a possible suggestion now; he didn't trust the soldiers. He could have trusted the Autobots, but not the new humans—
Images of unfriendly caravans and cannibals and strangers flashed over his processors. It wasn't right—
"Blue, we can't fit in a wash rack for humans—!" Jazz was saying, trying to be the peacekeeper. Bluestreak shook his helm, refusing. Kass made a sighing sound and Danny hung onto her fiercely.
Without much prompt, Arcee rolled forward, catching their attentions. "I will go with them. I can fit in a human stall," she said. She looked down at Simmons and scowled deeply. "You were right to confront us about this, but not in this manner. Do not think you may harm the humans when we are not here."
"I wasn't!" Simmons exclaimed, scandalized. Bluestreak glared at him; he had never specifically disliked a human before, but now he did.
Barns suddenly surged forward again, looming with surprising height. "You are lucky I have no interest in being gunned down," he said darkly. He glared at Simmons, unafraid and obviously furious. "Do not… do not touch us. I will do more than hit you."
"Come on," Jazz said, stopping the fight from continuing. He looked at the four humans, frowning. "Follow th' soldiers. Arcee, watch 'em."
"I will," she replied, optics narrowed. She rolled forward and only then did anyone else move.
Bluestreak was forced to watch their four humans be escorted out of the hangar, Arcee vigilant behind them, and then the soldiers started to grab all of their gear. Their pillows, sleeping rolls, cooking supplies, clothing—everything. Wildrider hissed, but thankfully did not retaliate. None of them felt right watching it, Bluestreak surmised. It had been one thing to confiscate their weapons; it wasn't right to inflict this on the humans.
"I want our shit back!" Rachel shouted from outside the hangar. Barns grabbed her and hurried her along and they disappeared around the corner. Thundercracker scoffed.
The whine that rose up between them could have been Bluestreak's or Wildrider. Both looked back at Jazz plaintively. The smaller silver mech was watching the humans leave but then turned to face their group.
"That went so fragging well," he snapped, though the aggression was half-hearted. He motioned at those that remained. "A'ight, decontamination room, now!"
Bluestreak obeyed, his sensors constantly seeking out the four humans they had just let go off on their own. He understood the worry NEST now had, but that didn't make him feel better. He ignored Optimus as he passed by, the mech suddenly not as awe-inspiring as before.
This place was not right.
"I do not like this place," Wildrider muttered lowly next to him.
"Me neither," Bluestreak replied, spark heavy.
Why… why had they come here?
0000
Jazz was angry.
No, he thought as he exited out of the mechs' decontamination chamber, not caring if he was the only mech in his group out of decontamination yet. He wasn't angry.
He was fucking PISSED.
"That was fraggin' stupid," he snarled, marching over to the drenched agent standing opposite him with Lennox and several other soldiers, all of whom had gone through the decontamination process. Everything and everyone on the base would have to be decontaminated now. "Look at me, Simmons, you little creep."
Simmons, for all of his uncomprehending ignorance, saw the incoming danger. "Hey, hey, I was doing my job!" he sputtered, backing up so far that he almost slipped on the puddle of water he had dragged with him.
Jazz didn't care if he was scaring the human. "FRAG THAT! I remember th' shit you pulled with Sam an' Mikaela. You ever touch any of these kids like that again, Wildrider will be th' least of your fraggin' worries!" he continued, purposely flexing his clawed hands overhead. He was pleased to see Simmons pale three more shades.
Almost out of nowhere to his left, Optimus appeared and he quickly stepped between Jazz and the humans. "Enough of this, Jazz," he ordered firmly.
"No, Prime." Jazz turned on him, unafraid, even when a sopping wet Ironhide and Sideswipe reappeared as well. He pointed up at Optimus fearlessly. "You make no mistake: we might be outta our element, but we're still t'gether." Trembling, Jazz gestured at himself and then at his own crew in the washracks. "They are still my responsibility, an' I am done fuckin' that up. No one, no one messes wit' th' kids. No one separates us. No one hassles us."
He was done losing people and not having bodies to bury. He was done screwing up his one responsibility—keeping the people he loved safe. He was done.
"We stay t'gether an' we protect each other," he snapped. "Period."
Optimus, equally undeterred, frowned deeply. If Jazz wasn't mistaken, he also saw regret in his optics.
"You don't have to worry about protecting them here, Jazz," he said, slowly. "We aren't your enemies."
Jazz glared. "Ain't th' vibe I'm gettin' here, Prime. We ain't yer enemy either, granted ya don't make us inta 'em yerselves."
"Come on, let's not fight, guys," Lennox suddenly spoke. He walked closer and the fact that he didn't seem afraid of Jazz was slightly reassuring. "We'll take care of the humans. I promise," the human said, looking specifically at Jazz now. "You knew me back in your world right? You know you can trust me."
That made Jazz hesitate. "I don't know fraggin' anythin' right now," Jazz managed to say, looking down at Lennox. "And I—"
At the hangar door, more mechs appeared. Jazz felt Ratchet first, his signal familiar even after fifty years of him being dead to Jazz. Next to him was the other Autobot, Jolt, and with Bumblebee missing, Jazz hadn't expected to see anyone else.
But no, of course, there was another.
Prowl stood behind Jolt, looking just as worried as the rest of them, but he stopped short of the threshold of the hangar when he saw the mechs standing there. He completely ignored the human soldiers, but that didn't strike Jazz as odd; he himself had just had the world drop out beneath his pedes.
Briefly, Jazz was very happy Thundercracker was still in the showers.
He wasn't the only one who noticed the tension. The entire room seemed to grow silent as Prowl walked up toward Prime, optics on Jazz. "…I apologize, Prime," he said, slowly. He looked around the room stiffly. "I heard the commotion."
"It's fine," Optimus said, glancing between both Jazz and Prowl. He probably saw Jazz's tight expression, so he proceeded cautiously. "Jazz… I take it you know Prowl."
Jazz felt his spark twist violently under his chestplates. "…Yeah." That was one way to put it.
The room was quiet as Prowl walked closer, stopping next to Optimus. Jazz was very, very glad Thundercracker wasn't there at the moment. The last thing they needed was an actual fight; the last thing Jazz needed was a fight between those two mechs.
"I'm not going to harm you," Prowl said, frowning. His doorwings were up defensively. The black-armored mech leaned a little closer. Jazz drew back farther. "I… I learned you were dead the moment I came to Earth. I never expected you to be alive ever again, especially like this—"
Jazz shook his helm, stepping back once more. "Don't talk t'me. Please," he got out, vocalizer threatening to malfunctioning. "Just don't."
He couldn't do this. Not now. Not now—
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Prowl challenged, optics narrowed. His doorwings also went down, betraying his emotions far more than his face did. To anyone unfamiliar with the motions, they would have just been nonsense; to Jazz, they spoke volumes—even years later. "What, in your world, do you hate me?"
Jazz tried to stop shaking. "In my world, I buried ya a long fraggin' time ago," he said harshly. He ignored Prowl's wince. "Leave me alone."
Prowl tensed up and stared at the smaller 'Bot in confusion, not understanding the emotions coming from him nor the meaning behind his demand. Jazz fought the urge to start screaming, at anyone—
"Prowl," Optimus suddenly said, his voice breaking through the intense silence like an avalanche. He turned around and gave Jazz a look that the other mech couldn't quite tell was sad or just sympathetic. "I understand that things were different for you. I am sorry, Jazz."
Apologies did nothing. They didn't bring people back to life. They didn't stop regret or self-hatred. Jazz, at one point, would have died to see Prowl one last time. Now, it filled him with uncontrollable grief.
He had buried that mech with his spark, fifty years in the future, only to give it to someone else.
And now… Prowl was alive. And so was he.
Jazz grabbed hold of his arms, which were shaking, and forced them to stop. "It's nothin' t' apologize for," he managed to say. He looked away from them all, even though Prowl's presence burned against his sensors. "I ain't th' Jazz you lost. I won't ever be. I ain't yer enemy, but I can't promise I'm th' same mech ya thought of as a friend." He looked back at Optimus, visor narrowed in pain. "I don't know you. An'… it's clear ya don' know me."
He wanted to look at these mechs as the friends he had lost, but everything was different now. This wasn't his home and these weren't the friends he had buried; he wasn't the friend they had lost either.
That did not make this easier, however.
Optimus watched him and seemed to consider his answer for a moment. "…That may be true," the Autobot leader replied quietly. "You don't have to fear us, Jazz. We must all learn as we go for now, but…"
Jazz turned back around and looked at his old friend face to face. Optimus looked down at him with sad optics. Between them, the void just… grew.
"We can always use your help," Optimus continued. He inclined his helm gently. "You were a good Autobot. You were my friend and one of my best officers. I know that much about you."
For their mutual survival, Jazz had been hoping to get an offer like that. He had to protect what was left of their group and if he could somehow prove himself useful to NEST now, they'd be secure here. What bothered him more than that, however, was the fear of having to work with the very people he had never, ever dreamed of seeing again. Optimus looked at him kindly, as did Ratchet, Bumblebee, even Ironhide…
But all that did was open old wounds. Jazz hoped it wouldn't kill him to just let it happen.
"I don't know what I can offer without risking my friends' safety yet, but…" he started, knowing it was for the best. "I'll help ya if I can, Prime. It's th' least I can do."
Lennox sighed and shook out more water from his hair. "We can use that help keeping everyone calm and not freaking out like that again," he said, a warning in his tone.
"I'll talk t' them." Jazz laughed; the sound strangled in his vocalizer when he suddenly felt a surge of despair. He ignored how the other Autobots looked at him oddly. Everything hurt. "We lost… Wheeljack. We lost him th' moment we stepped foot in this time," he told them, feeling dizzy. "That was three days ago, man. Three days. Those kids are still grievin'." He gripped his helm with one hand and stared at the ground. "We all are. Ya can't blame us fer bein' on edge."
"We'll give them space," Lennox assured him. He looked honestly sympathetic. "And counseling, if need be."
"Thanks, man—an' I do mean it. I'm sure we all can use some." Jazz ran a heavy hand over his faceplates. He ignored the stares from the other mechs. He probably looked worse than ever. The thought irritated him, and brought him back to the crux of the issue they faced right now. His voice hardened as he continued, "But it'd help just's much fer ya t'keep Simmons on a leash an' for all o' ya ta stop looking at my mechs like they're about ta kill ya'all. Ya keep threatenin' an' harassin' 'em an' 'ventually somethin's gonna give. Just give us a chance t'know ya, fer ya'll t'know us. That'll go a long way t'helpin' things along." Jazz sighed, exhausted. "And fer th' love'a Primus, get their books an' stuff decontaminated and bring it back. Ain't bad enough ta lose a loved one, ya gotta lose ever'thin' reminds ya of him too." He turned away from them; he couldn't stand the stares. He sighed again.
Optimus moved closer, his frame creaking. Jazz could feel his optics piercing through his back armor. "It will get better, Jazz," the Autobot leader said. "You're in a safer place now. Your friends are safe here."
He wanted to believe that. Maybe… it could be. It was better than where they had come from. It was unknown, but they could adapt. They'd always adapted.
Maybe they could do this.
"…Yeah," he said quietly. "Just kinda hard t'keep rememberin' that."
Below him, Lennox walked past the speechless Simmons and gave Jazz a reassuring nod. "Leaving a warzone is tough," he said. "You guys have probably seen the worst of anything war can throw at you. You'll be fine."
Jazz stared back. "You have no idea," he said. Beyond them, the others began to file out of the washracks, and he looked toward them.
No idea at all.
0000
Four Days Later
After six hours of driving, two pit-stops and five consecutive games of I-Spy, Sam was more than grateful to reach the last check-point outside of NEST's compound.
He leaned out the window and grinned up at the security guard present at the gate's entrance. He wasn't going to comment on the state of the gate, since it was possible one of the mechs (Sideswipe came to mind) had broken it. Instead, he waved and introduced himself and Mikaela. The guard, a man he didn't know, smiled back and waved them through, Bumblebee honking as he rolled over the threshold onto the airstrip.
"All righttt," Sam said, stretching back with a gleeful expression. "It feels good to be recognized."
Next to him, Mikaela snorted into her bottle of iced tea. "That just gives them more of a chance to hunt you down if you ever screw up," she said unhelpfully.
Sam sputtered. "I won't!"
"I can't wait to see everyone," Mikaela said, cutting his tirade off. He sulked against the window. "Did they miss us?"
Bumblebee chuckled. "Yes, very much," he said, as they made a casual pace toward the receiving bay. "Ratchet was talking about your request to train with him just the other day."
"What about it?" Mikaela asked, suddenly far more attentive. Sam frowned; he and Mikaela had each offered their help to NEST, but where he'd been told to bug off and go to college first, it seemed like the powers-that-be actually considered Mikaela to be immediately useful.
"He thinks it would be a good idea to have a trustworthy human medic, just in case," Bumblebee answered, as expected. "When more of the Autobots arrive, we will need all the help we can get."
"Right." Mikaela smiled happily. "Well, I'll be glad to help."
"Yeah, yeah…" Sam glowered out the window, feeling much less happy than he had before. "At least you can help now."
Mikaela looked at him with sympathy and Bumblebee rumbled gently beneath them. "In due time, Sam," the Autobot said. Sam sighed.
"Hmph." The human peered out the window as they passed several soldiers. He couldn't see anything too out of the ordinary, but then again, he wasn't out here much. "So, are we gonna meet the new mechs?"
Bumblebee tensed up. Literally. Sam felt the seat shudder a little. "No," the Scout said, firm. "Not… yet."
Mikaela put the cap back on her bottle and put it back into her purse. "Why?" she asked, surprised. "I thought you said they were Neutrals. Doesn't that mean they're safe?"
"There are other concerns at the moment, but firstly, we have to let them get acclimated," Bumblebee said. He sounded agitated over something. "They have suffered a lot. They aren't ready to meet new people yet."
"Oh…" Sam frowned at the dash. He had heard only bits and pieces about the background of the new arrivals. They had survived some really awful things, courtesy of Megatron's actions, so Earth for them was almost paradise in comparison. He didn't know what that meant, but he could still feel bad. "Right."
"Don't worry," Bumblebee continued. "When the time is right, I'm sure introductions will be made."
Sam looked at Mikaela, who shrugged. Both of them had talked about how they'd like to meet the newcomers, whenever that would work out. Sam wanted to meet more Cybertronians in general, just because. He found them fascinating and they always seemed to view him the same way—
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw something far larger than a human move in the side mirror. Sam peered into the mirror as they turned. It was a mech, but none Sam had ever seen before, looming in the doorway of Hangar B, which he had thought was mostly storage. He was dark gray, almost like Prowl, but this one had propellers. For a second, he thought it was that one Decepticon from Mission City, but since he was walking willingly back into the hangar with several NEST soldiers, he could only be one thing.
"Who was that?" he asked, looking down at the dashboard.
Bumblebee said nothing. For a moment, Sam suspected Bumblebee had missed seeing the other mech, but when the silence was dragged out further, he realized that wasn't the case.
"That was one of the new guys?" he prompted, peering out the window. The helicopter mech was long gone, somewhere back in Hangar B.
"Yes. His name is Vortex," Bumblebee answered. He sounded strained. "Do not go near him, either of you, alone. He was once a Decepticon, and though he and the others claim to be unbiased now, I don't trust him, or the other two."
Mikaela glanced at Sam, both teens surprised. "Does Optimus?" she asked.
"I think so," Bumblebee replied. He rolled to a stop and added tersely, "But I don't."
That didn't exactly make either human feel better. "Okay," Sam agreed, nodding awkwardly. Mikaela shifted, uneasy.
Bumblebee came to a complete stop and the two grabbed their overnight bags and slid out. The yellow scout transformed, several NEST soldiers waving hello to him as they passed. Sam smirked; they were all so comfortable seeing the aliens now. He wondered if the rest of the world would ever be the same.
"Come on, Sam, Mikaela," Bumblebee announced. He looked down at them, smiling in that mouthless way he always did. "Let's see if Optimus will talk with you now about your school work."
Both smiling, Mikaela let Sam take her bag and the two headed in after their guardian. Sam wasn't sure if they'd get a chance to meet the new mechs while they were there, but he wouldn't turn the option down.
He just hoped that Optimus knew what he was doing.
.
End Chapter 8.
.
A/Ns:
- "Iron-sides" – yes that was on purpose. Because Simmons is a jerk and doesn't bother to get names straight. XD Sam is Example A.
- They're coming from a post-apocalyptic world where nuclear plants went Chernobyl all over the world, which was enough to cause minor radioactive dust clouds to drift over time. It was the clothing that had the dust, though, so it's not like the humans or the mechs are suddenly glowing. Otherwise, the humans wouldn't still be alive. :/ (Thanks, dad, for helping me with all of that!)
- In case you're reading this without having read the first story, "Fallout," the reason Jazz is emo is because in his timeline, he finally accepted that Prowl was (most likely) dead and he moved on (with Thundercracker). You can see why this would be sort of awkward now.