A/N: Holy crap guys, I am in so many English classes this semester, and I am horrible at managing my writing schedule. Someone save me.

But we're thriving! I mean, we're not thriving, but I am allowed to lie to myself, it is spooky season after all. There's nothing more spooky than destructive coping strategies.

Anyways, thanks for sticking with me. I hope you guys have a good Halloween!

Trigger warning: Depictions/mentions of injury and death. Potentially sensitive material will be placed between ▶▶ and ◀◀

Brainstorm wasn't kidding when he said that my dad's team was taking forever. All Misdirect and I could do was sit back and wait, which wasn't as great as I thought it'd be. I expected myself to be relieved by a break but the silence only made me jumpy. I couldn't ignore that Ravage's attack was contributing to the feeling; every shadow or movement in the corner of my eye felt like another potential attack. I couldn't get his red glowing eyes out of my head.

I also couldn't keep my mind off what my dad had said: "Pulling something apart, and putting it back together somewhere else." Except, according to Brainstorm, that wasn't how it worked at all. Of course, I didn't blame my dad's team for keeping their super classified secrets from my random teenage self, and I knew it was such a small detail to begin with, but I had to admit it still bothered me that Dad had lied in the first place. I'd rather he had just not told me anything. Had he lied about anything else?

My stomach felt hollow, my food was dwindling and despite two more attempts by Ratchet and Brainstorm at making food, none had proved edible yet. The last one I tried had been so hard I had not even been able to crack off a piece. I didn't think I would feel so hungry so soon after only missing two meals, but here I was.

I sighed. There were too many thoughts. I swear I was missing the utter chaos that was Swerve's bar, even if it had taken its toll; I gingerly touched the goose egg still throbbing on my head.

Misdirect was leaning against the table with his arms crossed, watching Brainstorm and Perceptor work.

"What's going to happen to Ravage?" I said.

"Why?" He asked.

"I dunno."

"Ultra Magnus will probably do a few interrogations, and then the runt will probably stay shut up in the brig. I promise he won't be crawling around anymore."

I nodded, picking at my bandages.

When he looked at me it was clear he was perplexed, "What's on your mind, Fella?"

"He's just as much of a person as you are, right? He talks and thinks and stuff?"

"Yeah, of course," He said.

"He isn't going to be tortured, or killed, is he?"

Misdirect frowned, "He tried to kill you."

"He just wanted my phone. It wasn't personal." I admit it did feel just a little personal; my wounds still felt warm and sore underneath the bandages.

"Trust me, the Decepticons are no good," He said. "Magnus will keep things handled. Don't worry about Ravage."

I wasn't sure if my stomach twisted from unease or from hunger. Did they have their own laws for war ethics or any giant-robot Geneva Conventions? I couldn't help but feel a bit fearful for Ravage. Sure, he had attacked me, but he was also alone on his enemy's ship. I unfortunately felt myself relating: running through the ship before meeting Misdirect had been one of the most terrifying moments of my life. Maybe Ravage had just been desperate, and who could blame him for that?

Was I really in any position to question the Autobots right now, though? Across the room Brainstorm and Perceptor continued to busy themselves, and as far as I could tell, they had not stopped since entering the Medbay to begin with. And, as the attempts at creating food had continued to fail, Ratchet had also refused to pause in his work. On a table near the large machine that looked strikingly like a 3d printer, the fabricator, Ratchet was practically drowning in vials and samples. I doubted he would willingly step away from the fabricator until either he had procured food for me, or someone was actively dying.

Their compassion felt undeserved by me. I found myself thinking back on what their commander had told me: could I also be just another distraction from their war? And was that necessarily a bad thing? I wasn't sure how long their war had been, but I could see how it had seeped into everything around them. There was this constant tension in the room, I had not noticed it much before, but here in the silence it felt palpable. I had seen it in everyone I had met, even in bots like Swerve.

I studied Misdirect and the way the light reflected off the angled blue metal adorning him. I hadn't given it much thought before: the way they wore their armor as casually as I wore my hoodie.

"Are you guys going to be ok?" I asked quietly

"What?" Misdirect's eyes flickered when he looked at me, slowly a bemused smile drew itself across his metal features, "What in Primus's name are you talking about? What's going on with you, should I be worried?" He tried to give me a nudge with a finger but I dipped out of the way.

"Nothing," I waved him away, embarrassed. "Sorry, I'm hungry, I'm just thinking weird."

His smile fell, "You still have fuel left?"

"Some, but I want to save it, just in case."

"There has to be something you can have." He crouched, resting an elbow on the table, "You need fuel."

"I know," I said. "Maybe something like the chips wouldn't be so bad?"

"That small yellow bag?" He asked, "It looked nearly empty already, why not? Apparently, even alien robots knew that chip bags had too much air in them.

I retrieved the chips from my backpack. He watched me struggle to open the bag, and then struggle to scoop out some of the crushed-up chips. After the first mouthful of salted, crispy goodness, I was unable to resist the urge to tip the bag and pour the rest into my mouth.

"Seems inefficient," He said, "To have so many different kinds of fuel."

I balled the empty bag up and tossed it at his big face. The plastic unballed itself mid-throw and we both watched it flutter pitifully to the ground.

"Did it help?" He asked, poking the crumpled bag.

It had just been enough to make me feel miserable. I somehow felt hungrier than I was before.

"Yeah," I said, "It helped a little." I didn't wait long enough to see if he believed me. "Those wing things on your back. Why do you and Brainstorm have them, but Ratchet doesn't?"

"We just have different alt-modes," He said. "Ratchet is a ground vehicle but Brainstorm and I are jets."

"Right, you're a pilot. You know, my great grandpa was a pilot."

"Not a pilot, a jet." He painstakingly placed the empty chip bag on the tip of his finger. He held it up close to his face, going cross-eyed. The bag was so tiny compared to him that it looked like a bright yellow thimble.

"You fly a jet?" I said.

"I am a jet." He looked down at me, "Didn't we talk about this? No?" The chip bag was flicked away. "Oh, this is going to be fun, don't have another glitch or anything."

He brought his arms above his head in a long stretch and backed up. Then his body literally fell apart. Everything shifted, and pieces deconstructed themselves before reassembling into new shapes. His whole body lost its shape, then collapsed back together. Armor aligned seamlessly, his wings folded out and shifted to his sides. His form sank below the edge of the table out of my sight, and when I moved to look, in his place was an aircraft.

What the fuck.

"What do you think?" His cheery voice announced from the craft. Jet was the closest equivalent, but I had to admit it wasn't quite accurate. It was far more stylized, bearing a fluidity to its shape that made it seem, for lack of a better word, alien in design.

"I told you not to have a glitch," He said.

I rubbed my eyes hoping that would clear things up. Nope, still a jet. Misdirect had just turned himself into an aircraft. I stumbled backwards and took a seat on the cot.

"I'm officially going crazy," I said.

"This is my alt-mode," From out of sight, his voice floated up with laughter. "Where'd you go?"

"You can still see like that?"

"No, I'm blind and deaf," He deadpanned, "Get back over here, I wanna show you something.

Reluctantly I walked back and when the jet came back into view the glass top swung open revealing a cockpit with a single seat.

"I made you a little seat," He said.

I ran my hands through my hair. Where to even begin unpacking this? Clearly, he was a plane now, there was no doubt about that… Actually, no, there were a lot of doubts about that. Because, why wouldn't there be doubts if your friend turned himself into a plane?

"That's you?" I asked, "Like actually?"

"Who else would it be? You saw me transform."

"You're all secretly planes?" I asked.

"We're secretly all sorts of stuff, not just planes," He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world. The cockpit hatch waved, "Come hop in."

"And you can fly?"

Red lights flashed up and down the front of his wings, "These would be pretty useless if I couldn't," He said. Comically, the hatch waved again, "Want in?"

I put a hand to my forehead, "But why can you do this?"

"I'm a super-advanced-giant-sci-fi-alien-robot?" The hatch waved frantically, "Come sit."

"Sit inside you?" I said, "Oh my god, Misdirect."

"What?" he almost sounded offended, "You humans don't sit in your earth-vehicles?"

"But you're alive. You're a person, I can't just sit in you."

"Sure you can." He said, "I modified myself so you can ride. It's not perfect, but it should work."

"That's not what I meant," I pinched the bridge of my nose, "I'm losing my mind."

"Did you expect something different?"

I threw my hands up in exasperation, "I expected you to not turn into a random vehicle? I think my expectations were realistic."

"Is this where I remind you of shoes and boots?"

"You're kidding? You guys figured out how to break physics, you can just swap out arms and legs, and now you can just turn into planes and fly? Where do I even begin? You're a swiss-army-knife-steel-toed-boot that can fly, and I'm a bag tied around someone's foot." I kicked the discarded chip bag, "And I'm made of the wrong kind of plastic."

"What's going on?" Ratchet asked, "Misdirect what in Primus's name are you doing?"

I pointed at the medic, "This is ridiculous! Why do you turn into things? You can do this too? You turn into a plane?"

"An ambulance," Ratchet said.

"Show her Ratch," The jet said.

"I'm busy."

"Primus Ratch, it takes only a klik," Misdirect said, "Just once, just for Kathrine."

I couldn't believe I was watching a robot have a conversation with an aircraft.

The sigh was the longest I had heard from Ratchet yet. But sure enough he backed up from his samples and his body broke apart and collapsed. It seemed to take him a little bit longer, but once the pieces stopped shifting, a white blocky vehicle with red-ish orange details along the sides and front sat in his place. It didn't really look like any ambulance I was familiar with, it was far more stylized just like Misdirect. But the real difference was that there really didn't seem to be any doors and even the windshield was compressed and blacked out.

I looked back at the jet's cockpit. I guess Misdirect really had made some adjustments, just based on the fact it looked like someone could actually sit inside.

Ratchet flashed his lights once before slowly shifting back to his robot-shape.

"This is ridiculous," I said.

"Oh, just get in," Misdirect said, "I worked hard on it."

He was making me feel bad. It was clear he was excited, and I guess it was sweet for him to take the time to do…whatever this was. Reluctantly I eyed the edge of the table. There was probably a five-foot drop to his wing.

"I just hop down? Isn't that bad for wings? What if I hurt you?"

"You're extremely capable of hurting me," He said.

I took a seat on the edge of the table before twisting and dropping down on the wing. It felt sturdy enough. I couldn't get over how much he looked inert and properly jet-like. If I were to walk by without knowing it was him, I would probably never figure out that the jet was actually a robot in disguise. There was absolutely nothing to indicate this was anything other than a normal vehicle besides the strange design.

I took a few steps forward.

"Can you feel me walking?" I asked.

"Of course."

"This is weird," I said.

"In what way?"

I paused in front of the open glass hatch. The cabin looked odd, as if someone had been tasked with designing a cockpit from memory. The seat looked more like a blocky bench that had been cut to fit inside the cabin. The controls were more like a dashboard with random buttons and knobs covering it and there was no space carved under the controls for legroom.

"So hopping inside a living person is just normal for you guys?" I asked.

"Stop stalling."

I tentatively stepped in. The seat was… kind of a seat. It was perfectly flat with barely any cushion and the back of the seat was at an uncomfortable 90-degree angle. I squeezed myself in and sat rigidly. I hated the idea that he could feel every move I made.

"So now what?" I asked.

"What do you think? Look, I gave you your own little controls." He sounded unbelievably proud of himself.

The random assortment of buttons looked especially odd from this angle: there weren't even any gauges or labels.

"Do they work?" I asked.

"Nah. I don't know where to put anything. I'd need to scan something as a reference." The glass hatch above me folded shut with a hiss, "Now you're trapped."

"I'm still confused," I said, "Why do you have a cockpit to begin with? I saw Ratchet had a windshield. Were you guys used as vehicles on your planet? Is that what the war is about?"

"What?" He snorted, "No, nothing like that. We've just always been able to do this."

I reached out and pushed a button, it made a satisfying click. I pushed another one.

"How does a jet not know how a jet works?" I said.

"How does an organic not know how to make its own fuel?"

"Can you feel the buttons too?" I asked.

For several seconds all the buttons sprung to life, clicking up and down at random. I took that as a yes.

A few long moments then passed in silence. I cleared my throat. "Are we just sitting here, or…?"

"Yeah, I guess I can let you out."

As soon as he said it, everything around me seemed to have shifted just out of place. Then it became alarmingly clear that things were in fact out of place because pieces started actively moving around. In a jolt of horror, I felt the seat beneath me begin to break apart.

"Stop stop stop!" I frantically grabbed around me, searching for anything remotely solid to cling to.

The pieces around me froze, "Kathrine?" He asked.

I gripped the seat, "You gotta let me out! You're gonna crush me!"

"Oh!" He laughed.

My heart pounded in my chest. He was laughing? In what world was this funny?

"Nah don't worry," He reassured, "I know what I'm doing. Just sit still."

My ability to protest dissolved as soon as my surroundings snapped back into motion. It was all I could do to squeeze my eyes shut and keep myself curled up in a ball. When the motion stopped it took me a second to actually open my eyes. I was… still in the cockpit. But it looked weird, it looked like it had been compressed, the 'controls' were gone and the glass now sat vertically in front of me like a tall window. Outside the glass I could see that I sat much taller than before, I could even see above the exam table.

A muffled snicker came from above but when I looked up all I saw was the ceiling of the cabin. I wasn't really sure what I expected.

Misdirect's arm appeared in front of the glass and I jumped.

"It's just me, fella," Misdirect's voice came from above. The glass hissed open, swinging downward, creating a makeshift platform. I did not get up from my seat.

"Where am I?"

"See for yourself."

I carefully stepped out onto the glass, and I looked up to see a beaming Misdirect. I was in his literal chest. How did this keep getting weirder?

"Does this count as you eating organics?" I asked.

He chuckled and the motion made me fall flat on my back. The curve of the glass made me feel like I was clinging to a glass canoe.

He plucked me up. To my slight satisfaction, it took him an extra second to remove my grip from the glass. I was then placed on my cot.

"I want to give you a ride outside the ship before you leave. I think you'd like it." He said.

As always, the lighthearted atmosphere didn't last long. The main Medbay door hissed open, drawing everyone's attention, and something immediately felt very wrong. An unfamiliar bot stood awkwardly with something grasped in his hands.

"Jazz," Ratchet greeted.

"I just cut it from the wall, like you asked," The new bot said. He was shorter in stature with silver armor and a bright blue visor over his eyes. He looked around the room and when his attention fell on me, I swore I saw him wince behind the visor. "Where would you like me to put it, Ratchet?"

The medic directed him to the other side of the Medbay, away from us, and something was spoken between the two of them. When the new bot passed to leave he looked at me again. "Hey, I'm real sorry," He said, then was gone.

Misdirect and I looked at each other. It was clear he had no clue what was happening either.

"Ratchet?" Misdirect asked, "Are you going to explain?"

"Yes, but the news isn't good," Ratchet spoke solemnly. "We found another Human, a few kliks ago, that is to say several minutes ago."

I wasn't sure what emotions were buzzing around my head, but there sure were a lot of them. "The bad news?" I asked.

"I'm sorry, Kathrine, but they did not survive. Their death appeared to be instant," Ratchet said.

When I struggled to respond, Misdirect spoke for me, "You can't fix them? How many more could there be?"

"There's nothing I can do. I don't believe there will be any more."

"But you checked, last time you said I was the only one," I said.

"It was our mistake," Ratchet said, "We only scanned for living organic material. We only found them when we made the adjustments. I'm sorry to tell you so late, but I wanted to be sure of what we found."

"Can I see them?" I asked.

For a rare moment, Ratchet looked indecisive. "Kathrine," He said carefully, "Given your current stress levels I'm not sure if that's a good idea."

"I need to know who it is." I said, "Please."

There was something in Ratchet's expression I couldn't read. He nodded, "Very well."

Misdirect offered his cupped hands to me, and he carried me over.

On the other exam table, the slab of thick metal had been placed. Its edges were rough and uneven, they had been burned black from the cutting process and blobs of cooled metal could be seen frozen in mid-drip. I was set down. ▶▶ Something thin and delicate protruded from the surface of the slab and as I carefully approached I slowly recognized what it was. It was a human arm.

My whole body became pins and needles. I could feel the heat still radiating from the blackened metal edges of the slab and the acrid smell stung my nose. The figure sunk into the metal seamlessly. Half the face, an arm, the upper torso, and the knees were fused into the surface. Twisted in this unnatural way, it was as if they had been thrown and then abruptly frozen in the material. It was a woman wearing a lab coat, no doubt an employee at my Dad's research facility. She was motionless. I turned away. ◀◀

"What can we do for her?" I asked.

"Normally I'd offer an Autobot burial in the stars," Ratchet said, "But, I believe that if we send you home, everything will also return, including her."

"Would that undo anything?" I said.

"She'll be unfused from the metal, but the body has already died. Given the circumstances, I would like your permission to keep her here in the Medbay, since a burial won't be permanent."

"What's her name?" I asked. "It'll be on her badge, if she has one."

There was a rustling noise as he searched. When it quieted down I turned to look.

"Is this it?" He reached out and a small white card attached to a clip was placed in my hand; I still couldn't believe how gentle these robots could be despite their size.

In the photo, the woman smiled brightly. She looked probably in her thirties, her brown hair was tied up in a messy bun, and her smile somehow felt genuine, as if the person behind the camera had told a joke the instant they snapped it.

"Th…ohm-us?" Misdirect read over my shoulder.

"Thomas," I corrected, "Melody Thomas."

"Thank you, Ratchet, for showing me. She can stay here, if that's what you want. Misdirect, I want to go back now."

Misdirect carried me back to my table.

"Did you know her?" Misdirect asked as I was set back on my cot.

"No," I said, "I don't recognize her." Somehow that felt worse: Melody should have people here who could mourn her. Instead, she only had strangers.

I pulled my knees to my chest. I could feel Misdirect searching for something to say, but truthfully, I didn't know what to say either. I didn't want to think about Earth or how I should be feeling right now. So, I decided to save us both the effort.

"Tell me about Cybertron, what is your home like?" I asked.

He pulled up a chair to sit. "Cybertron was…" I knew he was still studying me carefully. "Cybertron was messy, complicated, but beautiful. On my days off—before the war—I'd fly, just on my own. From the air nothing looked complicated; it was just bots living their lives. Some of my friends hardly flew anywhere, but I saw it all. Crystal City, Iacon, even places like the Mitteous Plateau and the Sea of Rust. I'd give anything to see them again."

"Are you guys going back?" I asked.

He shifted in his seat, "The Ark is our home now. Cybertron got pretty messed up in the war."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"We're searching right now for the AllSpark—Optimus named it when he got your language, I think he did pretty good. We had to launch it into space during the war to keep Megatron from getting it, it's been gone for a long time now. If we find it, there's a chance we'll be able to go back home."

"What does an Allspark do?"

"It…I'm not sure exactly. It's powerful and ancient. If we get it, it might help us win the war, but I think it's good for a lot of things, it might help us fix our planet? Optimus would know, he's got the Matrix. I've heard some bots say it holds all our knowledge, or that it's the life source of the planet, and I've even heard Drift call it Primus's spark. But, the one time I saw it, it just kind of looked like a big cube."

My stomach dropped.

"It's always the really important things that trick you like that isn't it? Even The Matrix only looks like a ball with handles. You'd think they'd make the important stuff look important, just so you would know."

"Misdirect," I said, "I think I know what's on my planet."

"You do?"

"My dad mentioned a cube, it was something they were studying. I didn't really know what it meant at the time though, 'A perfect piece of technology,' he told me."

I could practically see the gears turning in his head. His mouth hung open.

"Oh." He said.

I was not prepared for the look of sheer horror that settled across his face. I clutched Melody's badge close to my chest.

"Ratchet!" Misdirect leaped to his feet, "Ratchet we have a situation!"