Rebuilding was going well. There were a pretty shocking amount of newsparks from the first expulsion from the Well; a good many helped with the rebuilding efforts and the rest were alright with watching. A few ships had come down to land after some new transmissions were sent out. Most of those weren't exactly believing of the messages they'd received, but accepted they were true after landing.
Things were expected to get crazier when more ships headed back and more newsparks came out of the Well, but for now adjustments were going decently smooth.
Breakdown got used to passing by newsparks in the halls of the Nemesis or on the scrappy streets outside. They sometimes wanted to ask unfiltered questions about his size and how they could 'get that big', but never seemed to side-eye him in distrust. Newsparks were, frankly, way too trusting. He didn't remember being that trusting when he was young. Then again, he'd followed the words of his hero into Shockwave's lab and never let himself question whether he wanted to commit to a combiner team. He'd been dense- just in a different way than these kids. They didn't understand the war. They hadn't lived in any portion of it.
The newcomers from ships were a different story. They'd side-eye him all they wanted. Most of the autobots seemed to be looking for some sort of badge. He'd always give them a smile that would make them nervously back off. Stupid bots. The cons recognized him and seemed far too eager to fight over his status as a neutral. Stupid cons. All things considered, Knock Out really had done him a favor: he'd gotten them both out of a faction and then left Breakdown to chose one (now that he'd been experienced with the war and life in general, unlike his inexperienced decision to join the decepticons at the start of the war when all he knew was rage and how appealing the words of Megatron were). He'd decided to go for neither, at least until he figured out if he wanted to identify with the bots like his partner had. And sitting in the middle really had ended up being the best loyalty for him to chose.
So when autobots or decepticons looked for a brand, they saw none and he had no qualms with that.
Despite the fact that only a few buildings had been built and the streets were still scrappy and the fledgling little city they'd been working on creating around the landing pad was tiny, Cybertron still felt pretty crowded. Sometimes, it seemed larger and more populated than it was. Breakdown figured that was a consequence of the weird feelings being on any sort of working street between functioning buildings brought: it was an illusion of finality and conclusion, like the planet was already all fixed and they were living in some surreal post-war world of peace.
Every once in a while, he left his shift on the Nemesis (where he'd picked up a small following of potential nurses-to-be who wanted to learn the trade from the only nurse currently on Cybertron) and would go driving around outside. There were a few almost complete places that he liked to go to. He'd visit a few makeshift benches and sit there and watch the surreal world before him.
Sometimes, he wasn't there alone. He and Knock Out would sit together while a few other bots goofed off in their proximity. Two gray bots would be acting weirdly, though not dangerously, while a third would just lounge near them lazily.
The first gray mech sped around, ignoring their calls for him to slow down or be quieter. At least they knew his lack of reaction was likely purposeful rather than his own inability to hear and comprehend their requests; the doctors had been able to help the young mech gain some semblance of sanity and functioning. They were worth the money his new stand-in carriers put in for him.
The other gray bot was slouched where he sat, barely paying attention to any conversation. His focus was on the game unit in his hand- and, although he was too brusque and embarrassed to admit it, on the usernames of certain friendly players he'd been growing fond of. It was easier for him to befriend these distant mechs; easier to keep from boring of them, easier to only have to talk when he felt alright, easier to keep anger tapped. Really, those around him just cared that he was getting friends at all.
The final mech was sitting near Breakdown and his partner. Red plating shone luxuriously; for a mech that said he didn't care about anything, he could be found frequenting shops to try new colors and polishes a bit too often. He moved from yelling at the speedster to stop spinning circles around them and sulking quietly; that was alright. As short tempered as he seemed, Breakdown felt like he'd be smiling if he had a face; smiling at the messages he'd receive across the net from those he couldn't deny mattered to him.
And sometimes he'd speak to Breakdown. Sometimes he'd share some new fact on cosmetics with Knock Out. Sometimes the gray mech slouching nearby would yell out whatever new accomplishment he'd made. Sometimes the speeding idiot would fold upwards in jarring quickness to share some joke he'd only just then thought of.
And sometimes?
Well, he'd never done it much before. Too many bitter memories, too much hatred and betrayal.
But the time with the autobots had changed that bit. This memorial Bumblebee had wanted constructed seemed only to be proof of that, hitting Breakdown with unhappy thoughts and longings.
So it was a recent development. Maybe around the time he'd first started talking with Ratchet. Maybe when he heard Orion Pax discuss the Starscream he remembered from before the war during a refueling one time.
Whatever the case, it did happen now.
Sometimes, unexpectedly, some new yell of a rookie or sight of a youngling sent Breakdown into a scene that never happened. A scene the war prevented from ever occurring.
'Sometimes'? More like too many times.
They were still camping in the Nemesis for now. Since the vehicon he was training had stolen the medbay berthroom, the two of them had moved into Breakdown's old quarters. Knock Out would complain that Earth was preferable to this, which was a bit of a lie to both of them. Earth was not entirely comfortable and Knock Out liked comfort. But Earth also had a personality to it that made their stay nostalgic. This room on the Nemesis didn't really have any nostalgia tied to it to give it charm.
But the cities being built all over the world were hardly anywhere near finished. This was far more comfortable than trying to set up in some sparse, half-built skyscraper or rickety dome.
Besides, the room on Earth had been cluttered, cramped, and he remembered his incident there. Sure, he'd been low on recharge and his processor had been overstressed, but it still hadn't been pleasant for his head to convince itself it saw one of the Stunticons in there.
Heh. Was that the first time things really built up enough for him to stress over that? It had been a bit of a starting point then. Sure, good scrap had come out of it. He'd decided to accept the reasons for change that others had pointed out there being in regards to his dynamic with his partner. He'd gotten the thoughts he needed to go set up some sort of closure with Bulkhead.
But he'd also changed his perceptions on the Stunticons while he was at it and now they bothered him at random times.
"Hey."
The doctor on the berth glanced up at his word.
"I saw some kids running around graffitiing the entrance to the new hospital," he said.
That earned a look from the other.
"Oh, did you?" Knock Out purred. Honestly, Breakdown wasn't sure if he was seething at the nerve (it was his hospital, for now, that they were messing with) or amused at the vandalism (there was always something about chaotic troublemaking that tended to appeal to the mech).
"Did you scare them off or let them deface our new workspace?"
Breakdown smirked.
"I thought about it," he answered with casual slowness. "But I left them alone."
Judging by the way his partner was shaking his head with a smirk of his own, the story amused him.
"You know, I used to do that," Breakdown started up again after sitting down at Knock Out's side.
"Hm?" the other mech acknowledged. "Do what?"
They'd known each other for so long and never really bothered to talk about what and who they had been before they'd met. It was an illusion; they existed only after running across each other. Or perhaps it was only an illusion on his part. Knock Out just didn't like to speak about the past.
"Vandalize," he shrugged. "That was pretty light for me really."
It was mostly arson with an end goal of leveling a place, after all. That worked to his point far better than drawing things on walls or windows. It didn't run the risk of being spotted as highly either.
That was his history. Nothing fancy, nothing nice. The same could be said of the other three Stunticons. Somehow, he was pretty sure it hadn't for Knock Out. Most of the stories he did tell over the vorns ended up contradicting each other or known facts, so Breakdown didn't really think any of them were accurate- but they still painted a picture of glory and loyal fans earned through being in a spotlight rather than crime in the shadows.
It had been one of the appeals when they'd just started working together. This was a mech who didn't come from a background like he had. It was something completely unique in that unit.
"I bet you did a far better job than whatever newsparks were out there today," Knock Out said with a pat. It was inane enough to be funny. No doubt the other knew it: they were familiar enough with each other to know how to make the other laugh.
"Not as good as the stuff-"
He almost said it. ...-that Wildrider probably made before it happened. The thought had come, he'd been ready to say it aloud, and he'd stopped. He couldn't do it. They didn't talk about that team. It still felt ungrateful to even be thinking about them after everything Knock Out had done to wipe them out of their lives. That had been a favor to him. Why did he have to bring it all up after that favor wiped it away? Because it only hid the slaggers; it wasn't him making peace with everything they hadn't gotten the chance to be, it was him hiding from the confusion that brought on.
Breakdown sighed.
"I've been caught up in something," he started after the pause on his part. "Just at random moments, not all the time, but. But I keep getting little reminders about them."
Knock Out was quiet. No scathing remark came about the old team. No remark of the like that would make him feel that he shouldn't have ever thought those thoughts in the first place. Not that he could help it. Who could help what they felt?
"I'm not really sure what to do with them. I think I've made peace, but I'm tired of thinking about all things they could've been if the world had been different for us all."
Still no tease or reassurement or offense.
"Are you listening?" Breakdown changed course suddenly.
The other snapped his head up to face his.
"I was," Knock Out promised. "I was."
That felt so much better than not knowing at all. Maybe it used to feel more comfortable to take it for granted; maybe it used to feel safer to never ask if he was being ignored and just believe that he wasn't. But that was kind of a hollow sentiment. Making assumptions that he was being listened to may be safe and comfortable, but it never let his head really catch on to the fact that he was. Confirmation changed that. Confirmation let him know.
Knock Out had always been way too good for the Stunticons. He'd shown up all dazzling and intelligent and witty and everything they weren't. He'd taken on one idiot and made him feel special too. Made him feel capable and appealing and strong, all through the confidence the other showed in his own efforts to improve the blue mech.
Even if he touted his own faults these days, he was still amazing. And being listened to- heard- by someone as amazing as that?
Frag comfort and playing it safe by assuming. Confirmation ran the risk of finding out he wasn't being listened to, but it also offered so much more reassurement than assuming cautiously did.
Breakdown took a drive out to a single park among those that had finished being built. The city was looking a bit more like somewhere to live in rather than a heap of scrap, but this spot looked even more complete than many of the others. He'd watched it change. First, it had just been a flat piece of land that two mechs had decided to sit a memorial on. Then, the buildings around it started being important enough to repair. The ground was cleared of left over rubble and benches were set up nearby. It wasn't the most well known of the memorial parks that had sprung up at the end of the war, but it was visited enough. He was one of those visitors. Breakdown transformed when he entered the square and walked up to the wall.
The concept behind this one stuck with him more than most of the statues or fancy monuments. This one was deceptively simple. There was a large engraving and then the remainder of the stone was free to cover in names memorialized by those who walked by.
Bumblebee had come up with the idea with the lead predacon, actually. Apparently, they talked enough to each other about their own respective ages to come up with a decision to honor that subject. Since Predaking didn't know anyone from the start of the war, he had left no names on the memorial. He and the autobot had come up with the statement engraved at its center while the rest of the autobots left names scratched on. Smokescreen and Bumblebee knew the most. It seemed the others either didn't know how young their comrades potentially were or hadn't personally known many of the younglings-turned-soldiers in their unit. It seemed that the two youngest autobots knew enough; probably old friends of theirs, pals that had enlisted together. Most of which never made it out. None of which made it out with stable, healthy development.
Anyone was free to add to the memorial. Neutrals, bots, cons. Breakdown had watched some passerbyers scrape new designations on the large monument during his own times here.
He'd never put any on during those visits. Just stood and watched the others passing by. Just read the declaration and let it drive him nearly crazy.
The war damaged the young the most when did not allow their youth to belong to them
Who came up with stuff like that?
...it was right, though. He just wasn't one who liked to admit to that kinda thing. Besides, it wasn't just the war that did that. The Golden Age hadn't exactly let every youngling be a youngling. From what he'd heard about the Age of Wrath, it was happening then too.
It'd never been something to occur to him back then though. He'd never gotten that chance to be young, he supposed. It hadn't bothered him until he actually paid attention to what he'd never had. The newsparks were all younglings. Fully forged frames, sure. But mentally? They were called 'newsparks' for a reason.
They ran around and played games and acted like idiots. They learned what was acceptable and what wasn't by trial and error. They grew as the world around them helped give them this chance to.
It was more than he'd gotten.
It was more than any of them had.
And it bothered him. He could hate who they'd all turned into, but that didn't mean they were destined to have become those afts. Maybe if they'd all been sparked in this world, they could've turned out differently. Maybe they wouldn't have treated him like something to break. Maybe they could've been happy.
It didn't seem fair that he got to be when the others had hit the end of their roads. But it'd been too late for most of them, hadn't it? And that was what really stung.
The war, the boss, the stupid streets they'd been trapped on before it all started: they'd never gotten the chance to mentally reach maturity, but they'd all been forced into an adult role regardless.
Frag it all. No wonder they were ghosting him. Demanding he pay attention, demanding he think- the old blind hate was gone, but now what? There had to be closure at some point. He couldn't just be stuck mourning something that had been out of his control.
That's what this entire memorial was for though, wasn't it?
Bumblebee hadn't gotten his chance either. He'd still survived the war and grown and managed to kill the guy who officially started it all. Predaking had come out of his growth tube at only a cycle old and then was thrown into situations that had ruined any chance for normal development for him either. The rest of the designations were written by those who had lost someone, or more than one someones, young that they cared for in one way or another. All of them had their issues irreversible, but none of them could sit in front of a memorial all day grumbling about that.
Breakdown leaned down to scratch a few more designation on the shiny wall.
When he walked away, the stone had scrawled in tiny glyphs Dead End, Wildrider, Heatseeker among the younglings Bumblebee and Smokescreen and the rest had remembered.
The memory of the Stunticons remained with the memorial, no longer following their surviving member wherever he went.
