A/N: I'm so excited to give you guys this chapter! I've been thinking about this one for months :D
Slight warning: character death in this chapter. Don't worry, it'll all be okay.
You might want to buckle up for this one.
35: The end of the world as we know it
"You sure I shouldn't walk you in?" Bumblebee asks, twisting in the front seat to look back at me.
"I'm sure," I reply. "It's just up the steps, and Benji's waiting for me inside. Besides, she needs you." I look down at Parker, sleeping in the seat next to me. "It's been a long, trying day for her."
"For you, too," Bee points out. "I feel bad, leaving you alone like this."
"Don't worry about me," I reply, smiling at him. He really is the most adorable Autobot. "I've had training to handle this kind of thing. She hasn't. She's going to need you, Bee."
"She's my friend," he replies simply. "Of course I'll be there for her. I just wish someone was there for you, too."
"Someone is," I reply easily. "He's got four legs and a tail and offers the most unconditional love I've ever encountered."
Bumblebee laughs as the back door opens for me. "Well, you can't ask more than that. Call one of us if you need to, okay?"
"Okay," I agree, climbing out. I'd agree to pretty much anything to get him to let me go at this point. "Take care, Bee."
"You too, Isobel."
The car door shuts behind me, and he drives off.
I turn around and head inside as fast as I can. The elevator is too slow for me today, and the only reason I manage to convince myself that it'll do is because I know how much pain I'll be in if I take the stairs.
There's no sign of mrs. Stepanyan, and for once I'm grateful, even though I owe her thanks for taking Benji out for me today. I just can't handle her cheerfulness right now. My hands are trembling as I unlock the door, and I dart inside as soon as I've got it open.
The relief when I shut the door behind me is immediate. The warmth of Benji's body pressing against my legs is also reassuring.
"Hey, boy," I murmur. "I've had the most shitty day you can imagine."
Brown eyes look up at me.
"You should be glad you're not human," I complain as I push away from the door. "Because human beings suck."'
Today calls for ice cream, a thick blanket, something reassuring on TV and Benji in the couch across my legs. Sometimes I think he believes he's a Yorkie or something, he's always climbing into my lap.
He walks at my heels as I get a tub of chocolatey goodness, my comm phone, the remotes, and the blanket, and then stands there looking pleadingly at me as I make myself comfortable in the couch.
"Okay, pops," I agree. "Up you get."
As Benji settles across my leg, trying to make himself comfortable, I find a brainless rom-com and let my mind wander.
"You know," I say conversationally, "he's not going to walk. He's not. But he's so damn arrogant, so horrible, so unrepentant, that I kind of wish the 'Bots had taken him down completely. Parker was crying on the stand, and he was just looking bored. Bored! If I had my acid gun, I would have shot him!"
Benji just shifts in my lap.
"Worthless piece of slag man," I grumble. "At least the case is watertight."
It seems to be, anyway. Parker's the main witness, but she's not the only one. There are fourteen victims testifying in total. Four doctors, three psychiatrists. Seventeen other army personnel, including Parker's immediate superior. Catherine's testifying, too, as the SARC of the base Vale was stationed on. And then an endless supply of friends, co-workers, family members, a couple of nurses and assistants that had been stationed under Vale previously.
The prosecutor's built a good case. Hopefully it's enough. I want to see this guy locked away.
Benji burrows under my arm until he's across my body with his head on my chest. I hug him gratefully, letting my hands warm up in the coarse fur.
Cuddle dog.
It's a good way to spend the evening. I slowly relax under my extra heavy, extra warm blanket. And when the ice cream's gone and the movie is halfway done, I can feel myself drifting off.
I don't fight it.
When I wake up, it's dark outside. The movie's long over, Benji's abandoned me for his own bed, and I'm more than a little disoriented as I try to figure out what it was that woke me. A glance at my watch shows that it's not that late – I've slept away most of the early evening, but it's not even my normal bedtime yet.
There's a knock on the door. One of mrs. Stepanyan's light, hesitant knocks, the one she uses when she's worried about disturbing me. It's probably what woke me.
I manage to extricate myself from the blanket and get to my feet.
"Coming," I call, still partly asleep as I stumble towards the front door. I unlock it, though it takes me a few tries, and pull at the door handle. "Hey, I wanted to thank you for handling Benji today, you're a real life-… saver…." My words taper off as my mouth finally catches up to my brain, and I stare.
Because it's not mrs. Stepanyan outside the door.
It's a stranger.
He's got dark hair, slicked back under a navy fedora, dark eyes behind yellowish sunglasses. His suit is pinstriped and impeccable. And he's grinning at me.
I don't like it. He makes me nervous. "Can I help you?"
"Well, maybe you can at that," he replies, winking at me. "But I didn't come to ask you anything this time, sweet-cheeks."
No.
NO.
No, it can't be. It can't. My heart's in my throat, I can't breathe properly. It doesn't make sense.
Swindle can't be here!
But he is. And as he moves towards me, I can't help but back away, unknowingly letting him into the apartment. My right hand's at my left wrist, pushing the blue crystal frantically.
"Nice place," Swindle says, looking around appreciatively. "Very you. Lacking a certain something, though. I can make you a good deal on some great art, what do you say? You seem like a pop art girl to me." He spins in a slow circle, looking at every part of my living room. "A Britto over there, Thiebaud or Taylor there… We could brighten this place up. Just say the word, sweet-cheeks, and I'll make you a sweet deal."
I wish Benji would wake up. I wish I hadn't woken up. I really, really, really wish the Protectobots were here.
Swindle turns to look at me. "Relax, sweet-cheeks," he smirks. "Ain't gonna hurt you. Stop looking like a deer in the headlights. Or whatever it is you humans say."
I swallow. It doesn't help much. My mouth is dry, I'm almost hyperventilating, I can feel my palms slickening up. "Why are you here," I manage, and I know it's a desperate bid for time.
"I was in the neighborhood," he replies easily, walking over to my bookshelf and examining the titles. "Onslaught sent me with Brawl to make sure he stayed on target. You wouldn't believe how much trouble a tank can get up to in L.A." He picks up my Serenity model and snorts. "This would never fly. Anyway, I was looking up some contacts while I was here, and your name came up. Couldn't resist the temptation to drop in, see how you were doing." He winks. "You seem to be doing okay."
"Get out of my house," I whisper, though there's no volume to it at all.
"Oh, quite soon," he agrees easily. "As I said, sweet-cheeks, I'm not here to hurt you. I just came by to say hi. And to tell you that some big things are going down, and everything's going to change drastically. So you better be prepared to hold on for the ride."
"What things?" I ask, pressing my button again for good measure.
"Oh, big ones," he replies loftily, vaguely. "You'll find out soon enough, I think. Even if you're not with the Autobots anymore. I doubt they've let you go completely, am I right?" He nods towards my hands. "That why you're pushing that button for dear life, Isobel?" He puts the model back with a smirk. "It won't help, you know. I'll be gone before they get here." Then he winks at me, and I shiver. "Although, if you want me to stay, I just might. There were things I didn't get to try out when I had you last time."
"No!" I shout, and it's enough to drag Benji awake. To his credit, he bounces to his feet instantly and runs to my side. Which is good, because I doubt Swindle would have any qualms about killing a dog.
"Relax, I already said I won't hurt you. I'm not Vortex, to force his way where he's not wanted. Nice mutt," he comments lazily, picking up another model. A TIE fighter, this time. "Honestly, you humans think up the strangest things. Oh, Brawl wants me to say hi, by the way. He doesn't quite get why we had to come here, but he's happy enough as long as he gets to roll around and destroy things. He was more than a little disappointed that there were no Autobots here."
My terror spikes and Benji must have noticed, because now he's growling, and I only just manage to take hold of his collar before he throws himself at Swindle. The holoform – and how it freaks me out to realize that the Decepticons have them as well – doesn't even bother looking at him.
"Well, Onslaught's pinging me, so I guess we're ready for the next step of the plan," Swindle continues, putting the TIE fighter back. "I gotta go rein in Brawl as he creates chaos. Be seeing you, Isobel. Don't forget. Big things. Big changes." He winks at me. "You better brace yourself. That's all I came to say. Bye, pooch."
Then he fades away.
It takes ages before I breathe again. Benji's still at my feet, hackles raised, growling.
"Easy, boy," I whisper. "He's gone. I think."
Slowly, carefully, I make my way to the couch and sit down. I feel like every muscle and bone in my body has turned to jelly. Benji takes up position in front of me, staring at the door, still with that growl deep in his chest.
I just stare. I can tell my eyes are wide, my heart's beating faster than it ever has, and my breathing still hasn't settled.
I feel strangely detached, though. Like my mind's just watching my body go through these things. It reminds me of when they told me Laserbeak would have killed me last fall.
I'm freaking out, and as a result my mind is nearly clinical. And distant. I'm not present in my body properly.
Then I'm snapped out of it, sharply, by the sound of very familiar sirens.
I look around for the holoforms, because surely they'll be appearing in my apartment any moment now, right? I can hear First Aid, and I can hear Streetwise and Hot Spot, and though they're still distant, they should be getting close enough to project, shouldn't they?
Except they're not.
It takes my distant mind a moment to realize that the sound is coming from the TV. And when I do, I scramble for the remote to turn the sound up, moving so fast that Benji flinches and barks loudly.
It's the news. For some reason, the Protectobots are on the news.
"… stopped traffic in both directions," the reporter says, a female voice-over on a camera feed that looks like it's being filmed from a helicopter. "As you can see, what looks like a, a missile truck is speeding down the SR14 northbound. We've been told that all entrance ramps are now blocked, as this thing is going – how fast is it going, Ed?"
"It's going at well over a hundred miles per hour, Grace," another voice breaks in. The camera shifts, showing what seems to be a traffic camera. There's a military-looking truck barreling past on the road underneath. The shot slows down, and I can see the hint of purple against the navy plating.
"By the looks of it, the police are aiming to control the traffic ahead of the vehicle instead of intercepting," the male reporter continued. "We can only assume that it's because an armored vehicle like this would destroy anything they put in its way. There is a – hang on." The camera breaks again, this time to a completely different scene. "This is just in. We've received footage of what looks like – that looks like a tank, wreaking havoc at LAX, and there is just massive destruction, the police have nothing to set against this thing. Are you seeing what I'm seeing here?"
Based on the footage shown, I'd say everyone's seeing what he's seeing. And this time there's no mistaking the Decepticon emblem on the tank armor. Brawl – because I guess it must be – is driving over cars, through fences, firing at parked planes and dark buildings. There's fire, and sirens, and panicked screaming and shouting.
But not my sirens. When they switched from the view of the highway, my sirens cut off.
"I'm being told now that we've tried to get in touch with the US Army, but we've had no response as of yet," the male reporter says. "At the moment, we have no casualties confirmed, but the property damages are immense and must surely be in the millions of dollars range by now. Oh, wait, something's happening! The tank is changing direction!"
"Here too, Ed," the woman says, and the camera switches again. I can hear familiar sirens, so much closer now. "The truck is slowing, I repeat, it is slowing, but we have what looks like – is that a fire truck, coming down the northbound lane? That is a fire truck, I believe, though painted strangely, and it's followed by more emergency vehicles, and it seems now that – yes, the missile truck is turning around, heading back south, and let's hope the police has that way shut down as well or these vehicles will be headed right against oncoming traffic. I can't say I recognize the.."
I tune out the reporter. Because I can see them now. Hot Spot in the lead, as the lady said, with Steetwise and First Aid right behind him and Groove weaving in between. Blades is above, keeping track, and suddenly five jets streak past above him. The Aerialbots, probably heading to the airport.
My comm phone rings. I pick it up with shaky fingers.
"H-hello?"
"Isobel? Love, are you all right?"
"I'm – I'm okay. Not hurt. Swindle was here."
"We were coming to get you," First Aid replies, and he sounds focused and deadly, more so than I've ever heard him. "But we can't split up now, Onslaught may be meeting up with the rest of his gestalt and then we need Defensor to take him down. The Aerials are going to harry Brawl away from civilian targets."
"O-okay," I whisper, still staring at the screen. The cameras are switching rapidly back and forth now.
"Just hold tight, love. Blurr's coming for you. He'll be there shortly, and he's bringing you and Benji back to base. Something big is happening and we don't know what."
"That's what Swindle said too," I reply. My voice is barely audible. "He said something big is happening."
"Slaggit," First Aid cursed, and the ambulance on the screen sped up. "Vortex just arrived. Isobel, I have to go. Don't go outside until Blurr gets there."
I just nod, not that he can see. My focus is on the screen, where Air Raid is doing low fly-bys over Brawl's position, firing at him.
It looks like a war scene.
The screen splits in two, and I can see the blue racer speed past the Protectobots as if they were standing still. The reporters are exclaiming something in surprise, but what it is doesn't register with me. It's not important.
My eyes are on the blue car, speeding towards me faster than any other land-bound vehicle on Earth can move.
The angle changes, and I watch Blades and Slingshot working together to harry a helicopter I don't recognize. They seem to be working it away from the highway, away from its teammate, and I realize that this is Vortex. Behind them, Hot Spot is pacing Onslaught, matching the breakneck speed, while the rest of the Protectobots try to hem him in.
I can see the crash coming. And I can't make myself look away.
When Onslaught barrels into Streetwise, sending the police car tumbling round and round through the air, I stop breathing. And then Groove changes his angle, driving in between Onslaught and the concrete rails that edge the highway, and everything seems to slow down as the missile truck swerves and crushes the motorcycle against the concrete.
Dark spots obscure my vision. I notice Hot Spot ramming Onslaught's side, Benji barking at me, and then I can't watch anymore. I barely register the fact that I seem to have slipped backwards onto the sofa, my breathing's so fast that it's ineffective, and I couldn't close my eyes if my life depended on it.
I can feel Benji trembling against my side, but I can't hear anything over the roaring in my ears. My mind is stuck on the one track:
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
When a hand touches my arm, I scream. And suddenly the world jumps back into focus with a painful lurch, as Benji snarls and leaps up to bury his fangs in Blurr's arm.
"I'm-sorry-Isobel," Blurr says, and I can tell he's making an effort to speak slowly. "I-didn-t-think. I-didn't-mean-to-scare-you-like-that."
"It's okay," I reply, resisting the tugs on my hand. I think Blurr's trying to pull me out of my scared pile of bundled-up trembling human, but it's not working. My body seems to have frozen in place.
He tilts his head and looks at me. Then he looks at the TV, frowning at it hard enough that it should be cowering from shame in the corner. "As-usual-your-media-gets-stuff-wrong." The screen blackens as he turns it off, and I'm suddenly picked up and embraced. Blurr's left arm is as good as new. One of the benefits of being a holoform.
"The-news-showed-the-crash-huh," Blurr says. I can tell he's trying to make his tone soft and comforting, but it doesn't work. "Don't-be-scared-Isobel. They'll-be-fine. Hot Spot-is-more-worried-about-where-the-last-Combaticon-is-than-he-is-about-his-teammates,and-First-Aid-has-already-patched-them-up. They're-out-of-the-fight-but-they're-okay."
I just shake my head. I can't believe that. There was too much damage.
Blurr sighs and reaches for my comm phone. I watch as he puts in an unknown code and activates it.
"This-is-Pietro-watching-the-princess. Requesting-audio-only-access-to-active-comm-channel."
"Got it, Pietro," someone replies, and I realize it's Blaster. "Access coming up… now. Get the princess home safe."
My phone makes a crackling sound, and then voices fill my apartment. Blurr stands back up and hands me the phone.
"I'm-going-to-pack-you-a-bag-Isobel. Stay-here-and-listen."
It's not a hard order to follow.
"… got him pinned here," Silverbolt says. "Even Swindle won't be getting out from there, I think. Good job, Skydive."
"Vortex is outbound," Blades cuts in. "I don't know what the crazy slagger is doing, but he's acting like this is all fun and games. It's all trick-flying."
"Prowl says to keep them separated until we know where Blast Off is, and why he isn't here, so sit on them for now," Blaster relays. "Good job, mechs."
"First Aid, what's your status?" That's Ratchet, but he doesn't sound overly stressed.
"I've got Groove, he's the worst off," my lover replies. "ETA in five. He's stable, not critical, but the damage is extensive."
"Good. Slagging daredevil driving," Ratchet grumbles, and I can feel the tension in my shoulders ease. "Ironhide is on his way. Hot Spot, can you bring your brother in when 'Hide and the twins get there?"
"No problem," Hot Spot replies, and I can feel the tight bands around my chest loosening as he speaks. He doesn't sound worried at all.
"Blurr, what's your status?" Blaster again.
"I'm-at-her-place-packing-to-leave," my companion replies as he darts around my apartment so fast that it looks like he's teleporting from place to place. "Isobel-is-unhurt-I-think-but-terrified." He chuckles. "Her-dog-bit-me."
That causes a ripple of laughter across the comm channel, and I finally relax fully. Benji burrows in beneath my arm, and I scratch his ears in return.
"Thanks, pops," I whisper. "You're my good boy."
The dark tail, just high enough up to be a serious peril for anything left on the coffee table, is wagging fiercely under the attention.
"You were quite ready to fight for me, weren't you," I continue, leaning on him slightly and absorbing his heat. "You're my hero. Such a good boy."
I continue crooning to him, which strangely settles me as well, until Blurr darts back to stand in front of us with one of my bags over his shoulder.
"OkayIsobel," he smiles easily. Apparently he feels less of a need to moderate his speed now that I'm less freaked out. "I' ."
I nod and gather the rest of my things, keeping a tight hold on my phone. There's still chatter on the open channel, and I've got half my focus on that and the other half on my things and my dog and locking my door.
"Isobel? What is wrong, im sireli?"
I mute the phone and turn to see mrs. Stepanyan, clearly in the process of unlocking her door and staring at me with a worried frown. "Your case today, it did not go well?"
Well, that's an excuse. I seize it eagerly. "It hit me harder than I expected. I'm going to stay with Aidan and his family for a while." I wave a hand, indicating Blurr. "This is my friend Pietro."
"Hi," Blurr says, smiling easily, and it's probably a good choice to say nothing more.
"I really appreciate you watching Benji for me today, mrs. Stepanyan," I say, offering her a smile. It doesn't feel genuine, and based on her expression it doesn't look genuine either.
"He is a good boy," she coos, looking down at him. "It is my pleasure to help. You go to your fiancée, tell him to take care of you. I will watch your home for you."
"Thank you," I reply, bending down to give her a hug. "You're the best neighbor."
"Isobel," Blurr says, nodding towards the stairs.
"Yeah," I reply, stepping away from my minute neighbor. "We should go. Come on, pops."
Blurr helps me down the stairs and outside, opening the car door for me and letting Benji into the pitiful excuse for a back seat.
I put my seat belt on and unmute the phone again.
"… in custody," Silverbolt says. "He admits to visiting Isobel, but says he didn't hurt her."
"That matches Blurr's report," someone new says, and it takes me a moment to realize that it's Red Alert. He sounds very professional and focused, I haven't heard him like that much. "Silverbolt, can you bring him in?"
"Yes," the Aerialbot replies. "Consider him on his way."
"Vortex is finally down," Blades grunts. "Stasis-locked. Dumb fragger. Thanks for sending Wheeljack out."
"Brawl is threatening to back into the water," Air Raid says, and he sounds disgusted. "He wants us to bring Swindle to him, or he won't cooperate."
"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Red Alert replies. "Prowl?"
"The risk is negligible," the second in command replies. "We're sitting steady on Vortex and Onslaught, so Bruticus is out of play. All right, bring Swindle there. See if we can't bring Brawl in peacefully."
"Are we really takin' the entire gestalt into custody?" Ironhide asks, and even with the tinny quality of the phone audio I can tell he sounds doubtful.
"No, we ain't," Jazz replies, chuckling. "We ain't seen Blast Off yet."
"Cut the chatter," Red Alert snaps. "Silverbolt, you have your orders."
"Yes, sir."
Blurr gets in the car, but the holoform just leans back and relaxes. I think he's kept it active mainly to make it look like the car has a driver.
"I'vegotIsobel," he says, and it's his alt mode that's talking. "Headingforbasenow."
"Good," Red Alert replies, dual sound coming from both my phone and the car speakers. "ETA?"
"Oh,abouttenminutesbarringtraffic," Blurr replies, and his holoform is grinning.
"Understood."
Cautiously, I mute the audio on my phone and lean back, holding onto the seat with both hands.
Then we're off.
I'm pushed back into my seat by the sheer force of acceleration. Behind me, Benji's whining in response to the pressure on his body.
As soon as we hit the highway, Blurr's speed stabilizes, easing the pressure on us. I relax slightly, managing somehow to enjoy the ride and the thrill of going so fast. As we flash past a recognizable black truck and two sports cars escorting a missile truck, I can't help but laugh.
"Blurr, you're amazing!"
"Iaimtoplease," he grins, chuckling. "Butthisisnothing. Youshouldseemewheretherearenospeedlimits."
"It doesn't seem like you care that much about speed limits here," I point out, as we flash past a large semitrailer that looks very familiar.
"Thisroadhascurvesandpeopleonit," Blurr replies. "Ican'tgofullspeedhere."
I lean back in the seat, taking a moment to contemplate what it means that this isn't Blurr's full speed. It's weird, because I feel like we're flying. I have a hard time imagining that we could go any faster.
The ramps are apparently still blocked, because we don't pass anyone else. And soon I can see familiar building in the distance.
And then the comm channel, so quiet for the last few minutes, explodes again as Blurr's radio roars to life.
"Slag, we've got incoming! Optimus, Ironhide, Hot Spot, Blurr, what's your ETA?" Blaster sounds frantic.
"Thirtyseconds," Blurr replies.
"I'm ten minutes out," Optimus says. "Blades is coming in above me. What's the situation?"
"Half an hour," Ironhide grumbles; he doesn't sound happy to be that far away. "I can send the twins in ahead of me if needed."
"About fifteen minutes," Hot Spot shoots in, almost on top of Ironhide. "Not sure how much good I'll do with my gestalt split up like this."
"We've got incoming airborne," Prowl replies tersely, and I duck my head as I hear jet engines overhead. Blurr barrels through the base gates at high speed, taking the corner on two wheels, aiming for one of the hangars.
We're just in time to see a dark jet soaring in low over the main runway. Just when I think he's about to crash, he pulls out of the dive. Several dark lumps fall from the jet to crash onto the runway.
Blurr swerves so suddenly that I'm thrown against the windshield. He doesn't stop moving sideways until we're safely behind a wall.
"Stay back," Prowl order calmly over comm. "Wheeljack, are you far off?"
"That thing's going to blow before he gets here," Red Alert breaks in shrilly.
"He's coming back 'round," Blaster calls, interrupting what's building up to be a major argument between the other senior officers. "No, wait, that's not Skywarp! It's Blast Off! INCOMING!"
I can't not look. I can't. I'm not dumb enough to leave the car – if anyone can get me out of range of an explosion, it's the fast-talking Autobot I'm sitting in – but I do stretch up enough to peek out the closest window.
It's a shuttle. He's moving slower than the jet was, and it looks like his cargo bay is open. As he dives low, more pieces of something fall from the shuttle to the ground. And some of those pieces…
I sit back down suddenly, open the car door and dash out, even though I thought I wouldn't a moment ago. This is quite possibly the stupidest thing I've ever done.
But I have to know if it's true. I have to know if I'm right.
I peek past the hangar door just as the jet comes in for another dive. And this time, I recognize the pieces he's dropping.
Because I've seen them before.
Not in person, no, thankfully not. But image is vivid in my mind.
I remember the color of the plating. The angles, sharp and strong.
Behind me, there's a click of silence as the others realize what I did. Then it's all shouting.
Skywarp and Blast Off make one final, low pass, and I watch as the last pieces drop to the runway in front of me.
I'm fairly certain these pieces won't blow up, no matter what Red Alert is shrieking on the comm behind me. Because not even the Decepticons would do that.
I'm not sure what their game is. I'm feeling rather numb, actually. All I'm sure about is that this changes everything.
Everything.
As the jet and the shuttle roar out of sight, I take a step closer to the debris on the runway. The final pieces bounce a bit, and the one piece that's rounder than the others comes to a stop facing me.
I stare at the optics. They used to be red, I remember that much. Red, and sharp, and piercingly insane. The sharp line of the helm throws them into slight shadow, but I can still see that they've gone dark.
Not that that's surprising. I doubt even Ratchet can put this one back together.
"All the king's horses and all the king's men," I murmur, and it's almost a giggle. I can tell that it's the shock sneaking up on me.
Wish shaking fingers, I pull my phone back out of my pocket and unmute the volume. Instantly, the chaos of the open comm channel blasts at me – Prowl, calling for everyone to stay calm, Red Alert panicking, Ironhide snarling, Blaster shouting. None of it helpful. None of them understands fully.
I lift the phone to my ear, get ready to interrupt Red Alert's rant about what the Decepticons would hide in spare parts.
They haven't realized it yet. These aren't spare parts.
"It's Megatron," I force out, and the chatter dies down instantly. "In pieces. It's Megatron."
For a while, everything is chaos. Wheeljack arrives in a streak of white metal, skidding to a stop next to the runway. He pushes me back into Blurr's hands without ceremony, and the blue Autobot stands up, ready to run, with me in one hand and Benji in the other.
I try to tell them that it's no point worrying. They don't listen. Not until Wheeljack's declared the frame free of explosive materials. Even the energon that ran through Megatron's lines has been cleaned off.
Prowl arrives and Takes Charge. It's reassuring – he's got this calm presence that somehow makes everyone think it's going to be okay. And he's very good at what he does, too, if I'm to judge by the way he's treated and obeyed.
I have a feeling that Optimus may be the leader of the Autobots, but without Prowl they'd have ended up in a ditch a long time ago.
He takes one look at me and Benji, high up in Blurr's hands, and gives us a nod. "Blurr, find Mirage and Hound. The three of you will scout near the last known Decepticon base. Skyfire will take you."
"Yessir," Blurr replies. "WhataboutIsobel?"
"Just let her down," he says, already turning away from us to focus on the problem at hand. "First Aid is coming to pick her up after he's finished in medbay." A quick glance and fleeting smile back at me. "It is good to see you, Isobel."
"It's good to be back," I reply, because it is. Despite everything going on, despite the nasty sight of dismembered Decepticon in front of me, being back at base feels heavenly.
Blurr lowers me carefully to the ground. "IguessI'llseeyoulater."
"Happy hunting," I reply, smiling back at him. "And thanks for coming to get me."
He winks and throws me a mock salute. Then he's gone.
I step closer to the wall, Benji's lead in my hand. The Autobots have never been close to stepping on me before, but everyone's a bit distracted right now. Besides, back here I have an excellent view of what's going on without them really noticing me.
Ratchet arrives, traces of energon still covering his frame. He examines the dismembered frame for a few minutes, then nods. "Definitely him," he replies. "There are too many indicators of it being Megatron for it not to be. There's distinctive scarring across his spark chamber and down the back of the protoform on the left leg, there – physical reminders of wounds he took at Tyger Pax and Simfur, where he ended up in our hands afterward." He cleans his hands off with a rag, turning away from the remains. "The scarring is so minute you'd had to know it was there to find it. No one's going to replicate that. No one in the 'Con army has the skill. I doubt most of them knows it's even there."
"Thank you, Ratchet," Prowl replies. "I'll let you get back to your patients. How are they doing?"
"They'll live," the medic says gruffly. "Now if they only learned to use their processors instead of their afts when they're driving, I might get some peace around here."
In Ratchet-ese, that means that they'll be fine, and they're healthy enough that he dares to snark at them. Which is a good thing.
"Prowl," Blaster says, and I jump a foot in the air. I'd forgotten that the comm channel was still active on my phone. "They're bringing the Combaticons in now. Optimus and Blades first with Vortex, then Ironhide and the twins with Onslaught. Silverbolt's got both Brawl and Swindle in his hold."
"Tell Silverbolt to use the second runway," Prowl commands. "Optimus, Ironhide, hangar three. Two armed guards to each 'Con. Disabled comms. We will interview them separately."
"Won't do much good with the gestalt link active," Ratchet interjects.
"I know," Prowl sighs. "But it's the best we can do. At least they can't combine without Blast Off, and Red Alert has confirmed that he's gone."
"Small favors," Ratchet agrees. He turns towards the road. "Optimus is coming in now. Do you want me to disable their comms?"
Prowl shakes his head. "Wheeljack can do it. Go to your patients, Ratchet. I know you're itching to do so."
Ratchet smirks as he transforms, giving a double whoop of his sirens before he drives away. He passes Optimus coming the other way. The Prime turns and drives into one of the large hangars. Behind him, I can see Sideswipe and Sunstreaker corralling the missile truck from the TV. He's driving along on four flat tires, which I bet has to hurt, but he follows the other two into the hangar without making a fuss.
"They're not acting up," I observe, not really expecting anyone but Benji to pay any attention.
But to my surprise, Prowl was listening. "No, and it makes me apprehensive," he frowns. "There's something going on here that we don't know about." He turns then, facing me fully. "Tell me, Isobel, what did Swindle say?"
I shiver at the name, and Prowl suddenly looks apologetic.
"He said something big was happening," I reply. "Something that would change everything."
"Well, he's not wrong," Wheeljack mutters, walking towards us from among the wreckage of Megatron's frame. "This is pretty much the biggest thing to happen since… I don't even know."
"Since Praxus," Prowl says softly, and Wheeljack looks at him.
"Yeah," he agrees after a moment. "Probably." He prods a piece of arm with his foot. "And it will change everything." He turns towards where I can see Silverbolt is coming in for landing, followed by the rest of his gestalt. "So," Wheeljack says conversationally, "who d'you think's in charge of the 'Cons now? Screamer?"
"Everything points to that," Prowl nods. "Skywarp's involvement. The Combaticons' involvement – I'm not sure who has their loyalty, really, but they've been Starscream's before. The flashiness of the delivery."
I'm shaking my head before he's even done talking. Wheeljack notices. "You don't think so, Belle?"
Crap, not that blasted nickname from him, too. I glare at him as I move away from the wall. "Don't call me that. And no, I don't think so."
"Why not?" Prowl is looking at me curiously.
"Because if Starscream managed to overthrow Megatron, we'd be seeing pictures of him posing with Megatron's head, on Megatron's throne, on every hijacked news channel in the world," I reply, walking up to stand next to the tall Autobot. "This? This is… almost juvenile. He's dumped in inelegant pieces on your doorstep. Someone's saying 'here, have some Megatron, we broke him and we don't want him anymore. Also, look what we can do!' To be honest, and without knowing them very well, this seems almost like a prank."
Prowl is considering something, I can tell. And I'm not sure I'll like what it is.
"Isobel," he begins carefully. "Would you mind coming with me to talk to the Combaticons? Not to interrogate them," he continues hurriedly, probably noticing the disapproval on my face. "I just want to evaluate them. I need to find out what's going on."
I hesitate, then sigh. "Okay. I guess that's important."
In the end, I walk behind Prowl and Jazz as they march into the brig-slash-hangar. Or, well, Prowl is marching. Jazz is sauntering.
"Onslaught," Prowl says, stopping in front of the closest Combaticon. He's on his knees, hands bound in front of him in some sort of cuffs, both twins standing with bared swords and staring at him, but he looks like he merely decided to sit there for a while and meditate. He's not fazed at all.
"Autobot," he greets calmly.
"Mind tellin' us what's goin' on, mech?" Jazz voice is about ten degrees colder than when he talks to me usually, and I realize I'm now in the presence of Jazz, spec ops officer.
Onslaught just looks at them. "I fail to see where I should have a vested interest in informing you of anything."
"I'd say you have a vested interest in cooperating, considering you probably want to get out of here at some point," Prowl says levelly.
"Oh, please," Onslaught scoffs. "We all know you won't harm us. I have nothing to say."
Prowl stares at him for a moment longer. Onslaught just stares right back.
Then Prowl just turns and nods at Jazz. "Put him in stasis lock. We'll cage his spark when we get the chance."
That throws Onslaught off balance. His visor brightens suddenly. "You won't put us back in spark prison!"
"And why not?" Prowl asks, and now he sounds disinterested. "We both know you won't be traded back this time. You were sacrificed. The one who usually bothers to barter for your miserable lives is laying in pieces out there on the runway." He glances at Jazz again. "Go ahead."
I'm impressed. And repulsed.
Onslaught is just terrified, though. He turns towards Jazz, pulling back until Sunstreaker's bared sword is just touching his back, and he shakes his head violently. "No. No, you can't do this. You can't do this!"
"Can and will, m' mech," Jazz says cheerfully, and he does something to Onslaught's neck that I can't see.
The big Decepticon slumps forward, visor dark.
Oh, I will have words with Prowl and Jazz later.
Behind Onslaught, minded by Air Raid and Fireflight, another large Decepticon is kneeling in similar position as Onslaught was. But he's very different. He looks mad, seething, but he's also terrified. "No, no, no, no, not spark prison," he murmurs. "No, no, don't, no, not there, not again."
Prowl walks past him, heading for a figure kneeling in the back corner under Skydive's and Slingshot's watchful gazes..
I recognize this one. His face is as familiar to me as my own.
After all, I spent eleven days scrutinizing it for any sign of sympathy.
Prowl just stops in front of Swindle and looks at him dispassionately. Jazz is leaning up against the wall, looking lazy. I'm willing to bet everything I own that it's an act.
Swindle smirks. "So I know you don't want to put us in spark prison."
Prowl just arches an optic ridge at him.
"It would be a real waste, is all," Swindle continues.
"Oh?" Prowl says disinterestedly. "Are you saying there is a merit in keeping you lot of pit-spawned troublemakers active?"
Swindle looks around, somewhat desperately, and he notices me. "For her!" he says, brightening. "I saved her life!"
"Soundwave saved her life, hurting her in the process," Prowl counters. "You may have played a small part in it, but that is a past merit, not a present one. I'm not altogether sure you have a merit at this point."
Swindle looks from Prowl to me. "Isobel…" And he sounds scared.
Now, he's probably a good actor. But I've had almost a year to practice my Cybertronian tells. I've practiced on Sunstreaker, whose emotions show up in a quirk of the mouth or a minute change to the angle he holds his head. On Sideswipe, who spends half his time trying to convince others of not blaming him for something everyone knows that he did. On Ratchet, who's never anything but surly, on Bluestreak, whose every emotion shows up in a chaos of twitching doorwings, and on Prowl, who never shows anything he doesn't mean to.
Swindle can't hide from me. Not this time.
And he's terrified.
So I take a step forward. "Hey, Swindle. I'll make you a deal."
He just looks at me. So do Jazz and Prowl, but I really don't care what their game is at the moment, or whether or not I just threw a wrench into it.
"You tell me something I don't know about why there's a Megatron jigsaw puzzle on our runway," I continue. "And I'll bring you energon every day, enough to keep you fueled while you're in Autobot captivity."
"That doesn't keep me out of spark prison," he points out, and his innate conman is pushing the terror aside and taking over.
I shrug. "Take it or leave it. It's the only deal you're going to get." I turn to leave. "And consider this – even the Autobots wouldn't take the trouble of fueling your frame if you were in spark prison."
For not knowing what spark prison actually is, I think I got it right. Because Swindle sputters behind me.
I just walk away.
And Swindle caves.
"Okay! Okay. Pit, sweet-cheeks, you drive a hard bargain."
I turn back, arching an eyebrow at him. He looks defeated, but not upset somehow.
Jazz moving catches my eye. He tilts his head, very slowly, towards the back wall. Where there's a stack of energon cubes, probably left for the guards.
That's clever. We can get an answer today already.
I don't know how he expects me to get one, though. The things are almost as big as I am.
Luckily, I have help. "Slingshot, would you get me one of those cubes?"
He grins at me and saunters over to the pile. The cube is put down between me and Swindle, just out of reach.
When Swindle reaches for it, I just arch an eyebrow at him again. Surprisingly, it works. Though that might also have been Skydive's rifle aimed at him.
"You haven't told me anything yet," I point out.
"You ate while talking," he counters.
I smile a bit at that. "I did. But unlike you, I can be trusted. So you'll tell me something first. And then you'll get your cube."
He huffs, and groans, but he complies. "Fine, fine. Okay. That thing today? We were just a distraction."
I wait for more, but he doesn't continue. So I scoff at him. "That won't do. The deal was that you tell me something I don't know. I already knew that you were a distraction."
He smirks a bit at the reminder, at his own words to me all those weeks ago shot back at him.
"So you better have something better," I continue. "Or this cube… Well, Sunstreaker's probably hungry, right?"
"Starving," the golden mech replies from behind me. I knew he was paying attention.
Swindle looks at me. I can tell he's evaluating, considering. Weighing every nugget of information he possesses to see how useful it is. I can see the moment he makes up his mind, and this time, I let him reach for the cube.
"The order came from Soundwave," he says, and I can tell that's it. That's all we're going to get today.
And that's okay. Because behind me, I can hear familiar pedesteps entering the hangar.
"Isobel," First Aid calls, and I turn and run to him. As much as I can run on this leg anyway. And he scoops me up, cradling me close and crooning to me as if I were a child. It's comforting, and I hadn't realized I still needed that.
"How are your brothers?" I ask when I finally find my voice again.
"They'll be fine," he replies. "We've got them straightened out, the repairs just need to set." His finger moves on my back. "Ready to come home?"
I nod with real feeling. "Absolutely."
My house still stands. I shouldn't be that surprised, since I've only been gone for about two weeks. I'm a bit more surprised to find the fridge stocked and Benji already installed, box of dog candy and all. Apparently, someone's been busy.
First Aid follows me inside, trails a step behind me while I get ready for bed. I'm beat – it feels like Parker's first witness statement was two days ago, not this morning. I can barely keep my eyes open as First Aid climbs into bed with me and pulls me close to him.
Of course, since I'm so tired, my brain drags all my questions to the surface.
"Hey, Aid," I murmur, snuggling up against his side. "Am I okay to be here?"
He chuckles. His hand is moving lightly over my back. "It's Autobot business at this point. We haven't told anyone, and if the humans ask, we're keeping you in protective custody."
"Sounds good to me," I mumble. I can feel my body heating up, my breathing slowing down, and I know distantly that I'll be asleep soon. But I have one more thing to ask first.
"What'll happen now?"
"I don't know, love," he sighs. Gentle fingers come up to caress my cheek. "Sleep now. We'll figure it out tomorrow."
"But is the war over?" I insist, both needing an answer and a bit intrigued that he suggests we'll figure everything out in one day. Which is enough of a hint really that my brain is half asleep already.
"I guess we'll find out," he replies softly. "But not tonight. Sleep, love."
He begins humming my lullaby. I can't fight anymore after that.