A Race Through the Night

Chapter 9

Dreams and Delusions


Merry Christmas!

Thank you one and all for the favs and follows! And everyone that read, thank you all as well! Not gonna give out spoilers folks, but this chapter was unbelievably fun to write. So many feels. I definitely think you'll enjoy this one!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Transformers (sadly), and my amazing sister/beta enmused is as amazing as ever!

Review Responses: To Eyrmia: I know, right? Ironhide and First Aid are personal favorites of mine, so I just couldn't resist the chance to bring them into this story. This chapter is going to send the feels gauge through the roof: you've been warned. Thank you for reviewing, and enjoy the ride!


She was running, running like her spark depended on it. Which it did. Nothing new or out of the ordinary there. What was new was the fear in her spark and the life-En on her hands. Figuratively of course, she was a sniper after all.

Nightracer shuddered, her engine letting out a low keen as she stumbled on, suddenly feeling as though all of her energy had been drained from her frame. Her spark pulse was weak and fluttery.

"Nightracer, you are mine. You are my clone, my creation. And you are defective. Come home to me, little clone."

The giant purple scientist stared down at her coldly, his single ruby optic devoid of any emotion. His massive cannon hung at his side, but his one hand reached out for her possessively, like a toy maker grasping for the one broken toy whose only use was for spare parts.

"Come home, little clone." The mech repeated, his empty tone making her shudder to her very core. Her spark shivered, probing the walls of its chamber as though it were searching for something lost. If the mech would only show some emotion, any emotion-! But the icy void radiated from him like it would consume all in its path, "You remained sane for so much longer than the others… However, this experiment has come to an end."

The teal and charcoal femme looked up at the long-since deceased femme suspended in a greenish liquid. The battle mask, shoulder shields, build, rang so familiar, her spark clenched in agony, but her processor could think of no explanation. Five other frames hung in the same plexi-glass tanks on either side of the first, each the all too well known shade of gray. A seventh tank at the end of the line held no corpse, but the preservative liquid was prepared.

"Commencing experiment termination... Now."

Nightracer screamed.

Her optics were shut, but she bolted upright, hit her helm on something warm and steady and crumpled in that something's arms. Hands rubbed her back soothingly until her vents stopped choking on each intake, then lowered her down gently to the berth.

A calming noise of… noise… filled her tired audios, but she just felt all light and floaty in the helm, so beyond acknowledging that there was noise, she couldn't much process. She knew the voice, and the voice had never hurt her though, so she relaxed. Her hand snaked over and she poked the source of the voice softly.

"Poke." She mumbled, feeling her processors slowing down. The noise trailed off, sounding a bit surprised. The femme giggled weakly, feeling a servo touch the crest of her helm tenderly. The voice slowed enough for her to understand.

"Poke."

He cocked his helm at the once again unconscious femme, drawing his hand back to his lap. His optics ridges drew together in consternation and he vented. Why had he just done that? Ah, who cares? Humor the drugged-up 'Con.

Ironhide would laugh at him. He would tell him he'd let a 'Con runaway get to his spark with no effort on her part at all. To which Blurr would reply that Ironhide was an old bot with rust in his processors, go have a highgrade and leave him alone.

These contemplations were cut off by a soft cough of First Aid making his presence known, "Recharge fluxes?"

"I think so, I'm really not sure though, cause she just sort of screamed, bolted upright – yes, I know, don't yell at me, there wasn't anything I could do cause it's the middle of the night cycle and I fell asleep on watch –" Blurr explained rapidly, "But anyway, she bolted upright and I calmed her down and made her lay back down and she had a bout of delirium and passed out."

First Aid checked over Nightracer's welds and wounds, and after a few minor adjustments, let her be. "It isn't at all unusual for a Decepticon to fight medically-induced stasis, and sedatives are nearly forty percent less effective on them. Unfortunately, that means that while I've already taken the liberty of giving her the maximum dose of sedatives, recharge fluxes are likely going to be a problem for her."

The blue racer regarded the femme in question with pitying optics. If she really was on the DJD's List, then he could only imagine what sort of fluxes she might be dealing with. Especially with her spark shattered, which was traumatizing just to think about, much less live through.

"You mean there's no way we could help her out, or keep the fluxes at bay or something? Some miracle drug for undisturbed rest in your magic-medic kit?"

The red and white bot shook his helm sadly. "Sorry. The best remedy I know of is keeping the patient in the presence of family and loved ones."

Blurr raised an optic ridge, looking down at her contemplatively. His engine made a disappointed rumble, "… I'm not sure she even really has any anymore, Aid."

Even though the mech wore both a visor and a mask, Blurr distinctly got the feeling that the square little medic was smiling at him like he knew a secret. "Just stay with her, Blurr. It seems to be helping.

Once he was content with his patient's state, First Aid left the room and shook his helm gently, smirking at the blue racer standing vigil over her. Bots never could see things the way they really were in this sort of situation.

It was rather amusing to observe from his standpoint.

Ironhide crossed his arms and quirked an optic ridge at him. He lowered his mask and smiled back, that same, sad little smile that he always wore. It was after all the reason for the mask. Because with all of the loss and war and death – Primus knew he'd lost a lot – what did he have left to smile about? He could still help bots though, and that's what kept him going. As long as there were bots in need of help, who was he to give up on them?

"The femme's condition is still stable, Blurr is watching over her with great care, and I believe she will be in good hands. I'll stay for another rotation or two – I expect she'll wake by then – and then I'll move on."

The old red warrior chuckled, "The kid doesn't reckon she's got loved ones, eh?"

First Aid's visor twinkled, but he simply replied, "As I said, I believe she's in good hands."

He sat down on the couch and took a moment to put his med-kit back in order, frowning as the older mech coughed up a ventful of rust. Automatically his visor shifted to medical use and he ran a deep scan on the mech, but the results came up exactly as he'd expected.

"I can fix that, you know." He always offered. As a medic through and through, he couldn't not offer. But he already knew what the response would be.

"Nah, s'just a little cough, Aid. Ah'll live." Ironhide grunted stubbornly, coughing some more and gulping down a bit of Energon – highgrade, if his scans were to be trusted. Which of course they were.

His engine whined softly at the damage he was watching happen, knowing that he could fix it all with a little serum and a short plan to help him stop. "That isn't good for your systems, Ironhide. I can help, really, I can."

The warrior plopped himself down on the couch beside the medic, clearing his vents with a rattle. He acted as though he hadn't even heard First Aid. Not that that was surprising.

"You're as stubborn as a Nebulon mule." He informed Ironhide, his tone not even the slightest bit sharp or stinging. It was just a statement of fact, as long standing as this argument.

"Blurr's a good kid." Ironhide said quietly, nodding to himself and staring at the door to his berthroom where the racer and the 'Con were. "'E went through a bit of a phase, all high an' mighty. Was an arrogant lil aft, really. Me an' Chromia – bless her spark – went an' told 'im ta take care of 'imself, if 'e thought 'e was all that."

First Aid sighed softly, listening to the mech's story. It was important to let the mech talk, especially when he was in the mood for it. The fact that he'd even mentioned his terminated sparkmate was more than he'd done in a vorn. She offlined a vorn before Cybertron went dark. The two losses combined broke the mech.

Ironhide; the weapon's specialist with the strength of ten bots and the fearlessness and confidence of a mech with everything to fight for. That was the Ironhide First Aid had first met, back in the early days of the war. That was the Ironhide that had helped him live through the termination of his entire gestalt. He'd tried to do the same for the mech when Chromia was killed.

Apparently he'd failed at that so far, but he refused to give up on a patient, and that included Ironhide.

"We never thought 'e'd actually up and out. Never really meant to run 'im off, but he'd crossed one too many lines. We'da been bad caretakers if we hadn'ta put our foot down an' made 'is bound'ries clear." Ironhide went on, recounting Blurr's life story to him again.

First Aid had heard the story multiple times. The red mech would talk about him like he was their own creation, with such longing for him to come home. He acted all tough, treated Blurr like he didn't want anything to do with him, but the medic knew better. He was in better spirits since his charge's return than he had been since Cybertron went dark.

"'E got famous out there. 'Fastest mech alive' they called him. Chromia was so proud of 'im. Kinda wished he'd gone inta somethin' more aggressive, but proud of 'im." His voice was shaky and his hands trembled as he stared down at the highgrade bottle he was holding. "She'da been furious with 'im right now, ya know. She'da yelled at him and giv'n 'im swats like 'e were a sparkling, an' when she'd blown off all the vorns of worryin' 'bout 'im, she'da hugged 'im close like she woun't ever let 'im go again. An' Ah woulda been right beside 'er all the way. Jus' like old times."

He smiled his usual smile at the red mech, putting a hand on his shoulder, just to let him know he was still here and still listening. Pink coolant shimmered in the old, spark-torn bot's blue optics and he coughed, tilting the bottle in his hands. "She'da wanted me ta move on. Ta keep on keepin' on, jus' like Ah always used ta tell 'er to."

The medic tried not to get his hopes up, but this was so close. It looked like Ironhide was finally going to let him help. Maybe Blurr coming back was just the kick the mech had needed. He didn't dare say anything, lest he inadvertently break the tiny bridge of progress.

Ironhide gave the bottle one last wistful glance and tossed it to First Aid, who caught it nimbly and put it in his subspace compartment. "Yer right, Aid. Ah shoulda listened ta ya from the start. That slag ain't gonna bring her back, an' it ain't gonna revive Cybertron either."

First Aid nodded his helm gently in agreement. "… She would be proud of you, right now."

"Yeah." The other mech laughed softly, "After tellin' me off fer not doin' it sooner."

He smirked, knowing the mech's sparkmate well enough to know just how true that was.

"We thought 'e was dead, when the War broke out proper an' everythin' went to the Pits. But now 'e isn't. Ah'd call it a gift from Primus, but ah don't know what ta do with the mech." Ironhide hummed regretfully, "Mech thinks Ah hate 'im. Thinks tha's why we told 'im to leave."

"The War changed everyone, Ironhide." First Aid said quietly, the pain in his own spark growing as his thoughts wandered, "I think you both might be more forgiving than you might think."

Nightracer stirred slightly, her processors still blissfully muddled with the excessive quantities of sedatives flowing through her systems. She moaned and opened her optics, blinking blearily at the blue lump that was looking down at her. Her optics were having difficulties focusing, but they finally focused enough to make out Blurr's fuzzy features.

"Heyo, Cap'n Blurry…" She mumbled, giggling like she'd just told a hilarious joke. "Cause, cause… Ooh. Sparklies. Stop moving, Blurry."

The fuzzy blue lump that she knew was Blurr laughed quietly, looking over her with concerned optics. "I'm not moving."

"O-oh. Okay." She said, slightly confused, but deciding to just go with it. Her lips curved into a pout, her optics ridges drawing together into a plaintive frown. "Talking all slowy-like, Blurry…"

"Would it be better if I talked at my usual speeds, cause I'd really rather do that, but I figured with the sedatives you wouldn't be able to process what I'm saying-"

The femme groaned, shakily raising a hand and poking his face to make him stop, her helm pounding in the effort of trying to understand. Basically what she'd just heard was along the lines, "Wubbiebeftuspeeclyyfiggediveoontessying." Which of course explained everything, ever.

"Ugh… Too many wordses, all stringy… uh…" She struggled to make her mouth do what she wanted it to, waving her servos in the air weakly to explain her point, "Uh, yeah. We like slowy-like."

"It's okay, Race. Slowy-like is fine." His voice was somewhat strained, like it hurt him to talk that way and he was convincing himself as much her. She just giggled again, not noticing the tension in his tone. "How are you feeling?"

Nightracer attempted at a serious face, but was too busy laughing faintly to herself to pull it off. "All woozy in the helm, Blurry. Mmm… You feely?"

He smiled down at her, "I'm fine. Just glad my favorite prisoner isn't dead."

She gave him a coy smile, "Fav'rite? Da's cool…" Her expression turned sad, "Still pris'ner… Eh, Deeezhaydeeze gonna killlll you. Needa lee'me alone."

Blurr stroked her helm with the back of his hand, which made her engine let out a sad little purr as she leaned into the touch. "The DJD isn't going to lay a servo on you, I swear it on my spark. You just worry about recovering, okay?"

The sniper moaned, shaking her helm stubbornly, her helm nodding and jerking as her systems tried vainly to fight the sedation, "Nnnnooo. Y'needa lee'me alone. Deezzzhaaydee… Gonna kkiiilllll you! Gotta keep… Keep runnnnning."

"Shhh." Blurr replied quietly, frowning at her determination even in the state she was in. She shouldn't even be awake, much less even half as coherent as she was being right now. First Aid had to have given her enough sedatives to keep her out of it for an orn. He kept stroking her helm, since it seemed to be making her calm down and drift back into recharge. "Sshhh, just go back to sleep, Race. Don't you worry about them, you're safe here."

His spark twinged with guilt as she whimpered, fighting sleep like she feared it as much as the DJD. She grabbed his wrist with surprising strength considering how drugged she was, pushing him away and shaking her helm, "Nnnoo! No! C-can't sleeep… Nnnneed to keep runninnng. Sstop when… dead…"

He repressed a whine of his own engine, gently extracting his hand from her grasp. She'd been through so much; she was terrified of living almost as much as she was of dying. He made his engine emit a low, calming purr, watching it lull the unwilling femme into recharge.

Her large ruby optics blinked owlishly at him and a small smile graced her lips. She sighed softly, her tone sleepily scolding in a way that reminded him of Chromia, "Mmm… You needa fuel'n'charge… G'way, Blurry…"

He smiled at the now-sleeping femme. "Sorry, Race… I made a promise."

Two Rotations Later

Ironhide stepped into the berth room where Blurr and his femme were, two cubes of Energon in hand. "Mornin' Blurr. Ah brought some Energon fer you an' the little lady…"

Trailing off as he noticed how the blue mech was sprawled out on his chair beside the berth, mouth slightly open and one hand resting on the berth just a short distance from the femme's pillow, Ironhide smirked, huffing in amusement. He set the cubes down on his nightstand and clapped a hand on Blurr's shoulder.

"It's good ta see ya again, Blurr." He sighed heavily, his chat with First Aid having stirred up memories he had avoided for vorns. "It's good ta see ya again."

The red mech turned now to look at the teal and charcoal Decepticon femme that lay recharging. Her features would have been pretty, if not for the pained grimace twisting her face. Her hands were clenched into tight fists, and her frame jerked convulsively every now and then, her engine letting out pitiful whimpers.

Ironhide winced, turning back to Blurr. He shook his charge roughly, "Hey. Hey, mech. Get up. Get up, mech, yer femme's got the fluxes again. Pit, mech, Ah can't help 'er, she don't even know me, she'd just freak. Get up!"

His charge shifted, mumbling something about promises to keep and miles before sleep. He renewed his shaking of the mech, "Blurr! Wake up!"

Finally, Ironhide touched the horizontal streamlined spike on the top of the mech's helm, flexing it slightly and allowing to spring back and forth with a twang. All of a sudden the blue mech leapt to his pedes, flailing his arms and yelling, "Argh! Ironhide, how many times do I have to tell you not to bounce my helm fin!?"

An astrosecond later Nightracer let out a sleep muffled wail, which made Blurr instantly forget that he was yelling at his guardian. He sped over to her side, his whining engine nonetheless letting out a deep calming rumble that seemed to sooth the nightmare-plagued femme. The red guardian mech huffed, impressed by his charge's skill.

Chromia had always been the one to help the little guy when he had a bout of the fluxes. She had enough experience with them herself that she'd known just what to say to make it better. Him? Nah. He got the fluxes and the way he fixed it was to go out and shoot things. Not really the best of coping methods to teach a discretionally lacking third-frame sparkling.

"Hey, Race. It's okay. It's okay, you're safe here, no one can hurt you here. See? My guardian's here, ready to scrap anyone who lays so much as a servo into this building, and we've got the best medic on Cybertron just in the next room over. And, pit, if all else fails, I can run you straight back to our ship where no one can ever find you." Blurr said quietly, his voice smooth and confident. His guardian felt a rush of warmth through his spark at the confidence placed in him. "Yeah, you're safe here, I promise."

The red mech smiled fondly at his charge, now all grown up and taking care of himself and others just like a true Autobot. He'd turned out alright, all things considered. Ironhide watched the Decepticon femme's servos reach out just so that her and Blurr's servo-tips could touch. The femme sighed contentedly and shifted on the berth, falling back into a peaceful recharge.

Ironhide slipped out of the room, sitting down on the sofa with a heavy sigh. A 'Con. Of course it would have to have been a 'Con. Of all the femmes in the wide, starry yonder fawning over 'the fastest mech alive'. Ah, Chromia would have loved it. She would have harassed both mech and femme over it until they were so embarrassed and in denial that they wouldn't even walk on the same side of the street.

Which of course would have been his mischievous sparkmate's plan all along.

And he was probably just going to sit here on his sofa and feign ignorance. Blurr could take care of himself and what he chose to do was his own set of problems. Who knew? Maybe he'd make a 'Bot out of her yet. If not, it was no big deal and the speedster was smart enough to keep himself out of trouble. Or at least get himself out of it after the fact.

"Whew." The couch shook as the afore thought of speedster flopped down with an exhausted, exaggerated exhalation. "She's asleep properly now, still, again, whatever. I think she's getting better, cause I didn't have to call the little white and red guy to redo her welds after her fit, which means she's healing up I hope. She's gonna blow my brains out with that fancy new gun once she finds out how long she's been here."

"Why's that?" Ironhide questioned, his suspicions spiking. Decepticon femme terrified of staying in one place. Always on the run she'd said. Can't ever stop running. He connected the dots to the little puzzle and shuddered, hoping to the Allspark he was wrong.

Blurr's optics darted around nervously, and he chuckled, shrugging lightly and brushing off the question like he usually would, but his voice was a bit unsteady, "Oh, you know, the usual messed up fugitive Decepticon reasons, made her boss mad, has a couple a bots tracking her off and on now. No big."

"No big, eh?" He commented, putting on his best unimpressed caretaker face.

His charge nodded, the action just a brief blur of his helm, making the older mech's optics struggle to process the speeds.

The two of them sat in uncomfortable silence. Just guardian and charge and a tidy abyss of time between them. Slag, Ironhide thought, rubbing the back of his helm awkwardly, too many vorns had passed, he didn't have a clue how to talk to his own ward.

"So… I heard about what happened." Blurr said solemnly, looking even guiltier than before, and more than a little regretful, "To Chromia, I mean… I meant to come home before- but with the War and the missions and the errands for the Prime, I didn't. I should've come back and I wanted to come back, but no one could take my place and it was during the assault on Iacon and I couldn't get back and I'm so sorry, I wanted to come back, I swear I tried to come back but-"

Coolant shone in both of their optics, but Ironhide resolved to be strong for his charge. He needed a strong guardian right now, to comfort him and tell him it was alright, that he wasn't to blame. He hugged the teary mech fiercely, drawing Blurr into his lap just as though he was still the youngling he was so many decavorns ago. "It's alright, mech. It ain't yer fault. It wasn't nobody's fault, really, it's just part o' bein' in a war."

"It doesn't make it feel any better."

His own engine whined quietly in sync with his ward's but he rocked him in his lap all the more fiercely. "No… No, it dunn't. It still makes me wanna smash bots' helms in, makes me wanna rip out their sparks and shove 'em down their throats till it makes 'er come back to us. But Primus don't work that way, an' fillin' up the Well cause we're mad ain't gonna do anything 'cept make us feel like slag."

Ironhide took in a shaky vent, pulling Blurr closer to his spark, just to reassure himself that he still had something left. Something left of her, in the mech that they'd raised. "But she's in the Well now, and we can find peace in knowin' that one day, when our time comes, we'll get ta spend the rest o' ferever wi' 'er. An' don't you worry 'bout not bein' here, cause you were out there helpin' bots, an' Ah think she'da liked it better that way, than if ya'd stopped doing yer duty to our people just ta sit aroun' an' feel bad. She'da wanted us both out there kickin' Decepticon cans for 'er."

Blurr let himself be cradled in the big red mech's arms, crying unashamedly into his chest-plates. He sniffed, wiping his optics and pulling away after about a breem. At last the mech asked quietly, "Do you think she forgave me? For leaving and not ever coming back?"

"Aww, mechling, we never meant fer you ta leave at all." He stared up at the ceiling for a bit in silence. "'Course we forgave you. We all made mistakes through that, an' we both knew that. We messed up, an' we lost you cause of it, but we never held it against you, mech. Never. You're our kid, might as well've been our own fer's much as we cared – care – 'bout you. That ain't gonna change, Ah swear it on my spark."

After a while, when no response came, Ironhide glanced down at the mech and smiled. Snuggled into his side, the blue racer was fast into recharge again, no doubt worn out from all that had occurred in the past orn. A small smile tilted the young mech's lips as he rested; safe and at ease in his guardian's embrace.