After many years, I've decided to completely rework this entire story. The premise is good, the execution very poor. I will be reworking most of this story, which means writing a lot of new scenes and developing more character. I was disappointed after rereading this after my edit of Side Effects, and I am now finally ready to tackle this big project. This story will be longer, and a whole lot better. Please be patient as I work on this along with two other projects.
I hope you enjoy this story as it becomes more and more like I originally intended. And let this be a lesson in the power of editing. Thank you.
Optimus Prime's gaze was disapproving as he stared at the report on his desk. Silverstreak was making trouble again. A new human recruit to N.E.S.T. had openly insulted the youngling to his face, and, as was usual with the human-turned-transformer, he had lashed out. Unfortunately for the human, who had asked who had dipped Silverstreak in a vat of paint before calling him something quite unsavory, Silverstreak had lashed out. And when Silverstreak decided to lash out, things got broken. In this case, it was several ribs with a dislocated shoulder to top it off.
The Prime pinched his olfactory ridge, a habit he'd picked up from William Lennox, an old friend and a senior officer with N.E.S.T. He didn't know what to do with the youngling anymore. The war had gone on for so many eons, millions of Earthen years, and in the chaos, sparklings had stopped being made. Instead, mechs had been made and coded with the knowledge of basic life. No longer were there little ones running around, growing and changing as a human child would. Since there were no more sparklings, there were no more younglings.
Most of the sparklings were killed in the initial stages of the war, and the few that weren't were herded into protected areas to grow up and learn to fight. An officer was put in charge of them, Ultra Magnus, whom he hadn't heard from in many ages of Earth time. He was unsure if the sparklings had grown up. If any of them were left, they would be younglings now, and no doubt just as unruly as Silverstreak.
"Silverstreak," Optimus groaned, sitting back in his chair.
What was he supposed to do with him? Younglings were so volatile, even more so than human teenagers. With random bursts of power and emotion, they were dangerous and tricky enough to handle on Cybertron. But here on Earth, with so many delicate humans covered in flesh that was so easily injured and torn apart, it was disastrous. This wasn't Silverstreak's first outburst against humans, and Optimus knew it wouldn't be the last. He needed to talk with him, but the youngling never seemed to listen.
"Prime?"
Optimus started and looked up. Ironhide stood in the doorway, his optics roving over his commander's tense form. Optimus smiled and gestured Ironhide in.
"What's going on?"
"Ratchet told me to report to you on the condition of Thomas Oleson."
"Alive?"
"Yes. Stabilized. Everything's fine." Ironhide seated himself across the desk from Optimus. "What's bothering you?"
"Oh, nothing," Optimus said, turning his head to look out at the ocean that surrounded Diego Garcia.
Ironhide clicked in irritation and snatched the datapad off of the desk. He scanned the report, and Optimus didn't even try and take it back. Ironhide would wrestle him to the floor and sit on him if he tried. The weapons specialist sighed, tossing the datapad back onto the desk.
"Silverstreak," he grumbled.
"Silverstreak," Optimus agreed.
"What are you planning to do?" Ironhide asked.
"Talk to him. Again."
"That never does any good."
Optimus gave Ironhide a baleful look. "What else can I do, 'Hide?"
"Optimus, he's a thousand times stronger than a human, and his electrical powers are deadly to even a Cybertronian. He needs to learn to control himself!"
"I know that!" Optimus shouted, his optics flashing with anger. The Prime took a deep breath and let it out. "I know he needs to control himself. But this planet is not equipped to deal with a youngling's mood swings. Especially one so powerful as Silverstreak. What do you suggest I do, 'Hide? Brig time won't help him learn to control his temper. He has to choose to learn to control it. I can tell he tries, but it's too much for him. I don't know how to get through to him. I haven't been a youngling for millions of human years. I don't remember what I needed to hear back then. I mean, for crying out loud, Bee and Hot Rod aren't anything like Silverstreak, and they're fine."
"Bee and Hot Rod may be younglings by their years, but they were built to be fully grown," Ironhide said. "There are many things they didn't get to experience that we did. They never had to grow up. We need to be patient with Silverstreak, but we also need to be firm."
"You know we don't exactly have time for patience," Optimus sighed. "He is hurting humans now, and at this rate, he will be for thousands of years. He's technically a Cybertronian and has our lifespan. Before he calms down, he might blow up Earth."
Ironhide nodded. "That's true."
Optimus sat back, and they stared out at the ships docking in the bay. The Prime chuckled.
"I remember that you were a youngling when you joined the Autobots."
Ironhide's optics turned a bit purple. "What of it?" he said gruffly.
Optimus laughed softly. "You lied about your age to get in. And by the time I figured it out, I couldn't let you go."
The weapons specialist couldn't hold back a grin. "Yeah. I did do that, didn't I? I'd nearly forgotten." He paused. "What gave it away again? I can't recall."
"A violent loss of temper and an uncontrollable and quite impressive number of weapons discharging."
Ironhide burst out laughing. He covered his face to hide his pink optics. "I remember now!" he gasped through the buzzing guffaws. "Triptease made me mad. He knew I was a youngling and he wanted to prove it. He wanted to replace me on your team. Oh, the look on his face when he found out that I wasn't discharged! That by itself was worth the pain of having to restock my metals. I was forced to eat so much for orns that I didn't want to even look at metal for ages."
They laughed together, awash in the memories of ages past. When they settled down, Optimus pressed his fingers together, staring at Ironhide, who was looking out to see the humans unloading a new weapon. It was something they had been developing for a few years. Optimus thoughtfully considered what Ironhide had needed when he had awoken, confused at why he was in a medical berth and terrified of being cast out by his leader just because he was so young.
"You needed talking to," he murmured.
Ironhide glanced over. "Hm?"
"When you woke up. After you'd destroyed the rec room and injured twelve soldiers. You needed talking to."
"I did," Ironhide conceded. "But that wasn't what made me change."
"Change?" Optimus asked.
"From the irresponsible fool I was to the responsible mech I became."
"What changed you then?"
"Your trust in me. The responsibility that you gave me," Ironhide said. "The first responsibility you gave me, I fragged up royally. You asked me to do something I considered stupid. It was just after you took me under your wing, as the fliers say. Do you remember what it was?"
Optimus considered long-past memories for a moment. "Something to do with inventory."
"Yep. For Ratchet, specifically. I was to make sure he had what he needed for surgeries and emergencies. I thought it was beneath me. So I didn't do it."
"And?" Optimus asked, curious as to where this was going; he couldn't remember any of this.
Ironhide winced. "There was a huge battle that our team took part in. And there were a lot of wounded. Ratchet ran out of supplies. The supplies I should have ordered. And you were wounded and didn't have what you needed because I didn't think it was worth taking my time to do as you ordered. I was horrified."
Shame was written all over Ironhide's face, and he wouldn't look at Optimus. Optimus reached over and put a hand over Ironhide's worn, trembling one.
"It's okay, 'Hide."
"It is now. Not then," Ironhide said. "Ratchet was frantic. He called me an idiot and other worse names. He told me that I was an irresponsible glitch. And I knew I was. I hated myself so much that I went out on a solo mission to get the needed supplies. I raced right through a heavily occupied Decepticon outpost to get them. I got help from some mechs, which was difficult enough because I never did like asking for help, and we raced back. I took damage, but I didn't let them take any. And when I stumbled into the medbay, with the mechs in tow, Ratchet nearly fainted. He hadn't intended for me to do something so stupid just to right what I had done wrong."
Optimus stared at Ironhide, who was staring out the window and seeing nothing. His optics were flickering from his pain. And this was just the memory. It was something that had defined Ironhide, had shaped who he was now, and Optimus felt terrible because he couldn't remember it.
After a few minutes of silence, Ironhide sighed, his fist clenching. "I wouldn't let him repair me until he'd repaired you. When he repaired me, he found out."
"Found out what?" Optimus asked.
Ironhide smiled slightly. "That I was a youngling. Hard to hide things like that from a medic. I'd forged a medic's report to get me into the Autobots. When I woke up, he confronted me. He told me that he knew what I was. He told me that I was an idiot for going out there alone, but that he admired me for my 'courageous stupidity'—his words not mine—and that if I ever did anything that dumb again, he would tell you what I was. Then he thanked me for the supplies and told me that next time, I should take whatever responsibility you gave me seriously. That even if things are boring, that doesn't mean they're not important. And I've never forgotten that."
"Tattling on me, eh?" Ratchet asked, leaning against the doorway of Optimus's office.
Ironhide turned to smile at the medic. "At least you didn't tattle on me."
Ratchet shrugged one shoulder. "I knew you had learned a lesson. The look on your face when I screamed that I was out of supplies and that Optimus was slipping into stasis told me that you would never forget that day. And I did tell him I knew that you were one after your outburst. We both decided, with Jazz, that you were the perfect member for our team."
Ironhide shook his head. "I don't know why you didn't kick me out, Prime."
"Because I could see your potential," Optimus said. He paused then grinned. "And I knew you would keep fighting the 'Cons with or without us."
The mech snorted. "Yeah. I would have." He shifted, then looked directly at Optimus. "Thank you for not giving up on me."
Optimus was startled. Ironhide rarely said thanks for anything. He was a gruff mech, and a loner by nature. But he was more open with Optimus, Ratchet, and Bumblebee than anybody else, except for maybe Lennox, who was his partner. After a moment, Optimus nodded.
"You're welcome."
"And that's what you need to do with Silverstreak," Ironhide continued.
"What?" Optimus was startled.
"Give him more responsibility. Let him learn how important it is to grow up."
"Surely he learned that as a human," Ratchet said, making a face.
"Did he?" Ironhide asked, staring hard at the medic. "He was a teenager when he was turned. He's never had to have a job, to earn income to survive. He is still a teenager, a youngling, and will be for thousands of Earth years. He has never learned to grow up, and the few lessons he did learn, it was replaced by a youngling's violent mood swings. He needs to learn. If he doesn't, he will never grow up."
Optimus considered this. "Perhaps you are right, 'Hide," he mused.
"I know I am, Prime. He's got hard lessons to learn. And they won't all be pleasant. But the sooner he is given responsibility and has to face the consequences of not taking them seriously, or being seriously punished for doing so, the sooner he will grow up to be the mech he is meant to be."
Optimus nodded as Ironhide got up. "Come on, Prime. Let's go have a drink. Think about this later."
The Prime was about to argue when Ratchet jumped in. "Medic's orders," he said, his optics sparkling with mischief.
Optimus laughed. "Fine, fine. We'll have a drink."
He pushed off from his desk, glanced at the datapad that contained the reports about Silverstreak, then tossed them in a drawer for later. For now, he was going to relax with his friends.