A/N: This story was originally published for the 2019 Transformers Big Bang event.

Log file deletion: Completed.

Initiating reboot.

New build detected.
Frametype: Endurance pursuit chassis.
Errors identified. Spark/frame mismatch detected.
Debug process completed.

Reinitializing.
Identification information modified and loaded.
Designation: Bluestreak of Praxus.
Chronometer reading: 1352.25.9985.01
Coarse GPS location: Central Iacon.

Frame control pack: Loaded.
Sensory system pack: Loaded.
Diagnostic pack: Loaded.
Language pack: Loaded.
Culture pack: Loaded.

Baseline diagnostics: Completed.
Internal power: Low.
Spark containment: Nominal.

Base firewall initialized.
Motor functions initialized.
Sensor functions initialized.
Secondary systems initialized.

"He should be coming up now."

Bluestreak onlined his optics. A mech with medical insignia on his wings stood over him, watching him intently. When Bluestreak's optics came up to full brightness, the doctor glanced at a monitor beside him and nodded. "Everything looks good. He's up and running." He turned and looked across the berth. "You can talk to him now, but his power's still low so he won't be online for long."

"Bluestreak?"

It seemed to take a lot of energy for Bluestreak to shift his focus to the other side of the berth. But after he had fractionally moved his helm and optics to the right, he saw another mech standing beside him. "Hello," Bluestreak scratched out. His voice crackled.

The white and black mech smiled as soon as Bluestreak's optics fixed on him. "Hello, Bluestreak," the mech said again. "You probably don't remember me, but I'm Prowl. I'm a friend."

"Prowl?" Bluestreak's processor scanned his memory files, and found nothing about a Prowl. Actually, they found nothing at all. His memory files were blank. Concern seeped into his processor. "Why don't I remember anything?" he asked, carefully enunciating to be understood through the static in his vocalizer. Every word felt like a chore.

Prowl lowered his sensor wings, drawing Bluestreak's attention to them. "You were gravely injured," Prowl said. There was a slight quaver in his voice. "You almost died. They saved your life, but they couldn't save your memory files."

That would explain the lack of any memory preceding this moment. "How was I hurt?" Bluestreak asked.

It didn't seem possible that his sensor wings could fall even lower, but Prowl managed somehow. "The Decepticons bombed Praxus," he said, this voice taking on a dangerous edge. "You were pulled from the rubble." Prowl grabbed Bluestreak's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "It's a miracle you survived at all."

He had a million questions, and he wanted to ask them all. But a warning pinged on Bluestreak's HUD, alerting him of the need to power down again. He grasped at Prowl's hand with as much strength as he could muster. "Be here... when I... wake up?" he asked, struggling to keep his optics and audials online.

As the room faded back into darkness, Bluestreak heard Prowl say, "Of course I'll be here."

Prowl kept his promise.

Over the next few days, almost every time that Bluestreak came back online, Prowl was there. The two times that the white and black mech was not sitting by his side when Bluestreak opened his optics, the doctor (whose name was Pharma, Bluestreak learned) called him, and Prowl arrived within minutes of Bluestreak waking up.

"I feel like all of the power keeps getting sucked right out of me every time I move just a bit," Bluestreak complained on the fifth day. His memory might have been blank, but at least his chronometer worked. He lifted his arm off the berth, and watched his power level tick downward just while holding his arm out. He glanced around the room quickly to make sure that Pharma wasn't hovering around one of the monitors; he didn't want to make him mad. "You said they had to practically rebuild me from scratch. Are you sure they got it all right? Maybe they missed a connection, or something isn't calibrated correctly. And I keep getting twinges of pain from... Well, it's not really pain, but it's uncomfortable... It's a discomfort, I guess. Yeah. I keep getting discomfort from my spark. And every time I mention it, Pharma just says it'll go away soon. I hope it does, and it's not that I don't believe him, but it's kind of irritating, you know?"

Prowl gave Bluestreak that odd wide-opticked look he often did whenever Bluestreak started talking. Bluestreak wasn't sure what Prowl found so startling about him talking, but Prowl usually recovered quickly, like he did this time. "I'm sure," Prowl said. "You must understand that you were very gravely injured. Even your spark chamber was crushed, and nearly lost containment before they were able to stabilize you. Almost every single part of your frame had to be replaced. It'll take time for you to recover from something like that." He smiled at Bluestreak. "But I have the greatest confidence in Pharma and the rest of the staff here. They tell me that you should start to feel stronger in a few more days, once your systems finish their integration with your spark. You just need to be patient."

"I guess," Bluestreak said, sinking back into the pillow. Even the small movements he'd made as part of his demonstration had tired him. He looked up at Prowl and said, "It's really boring in here, by the way. Can you tell me some more stories? The ones you were telling me yesterday were interesting. You know, the ones about what I used to do in Praxus. Um... Maybe this time, can you tell me more about you, and how you joined the Autobots? That was interesting when you started to get into that last night, before I fell asleep."

Prowl nodded. "Of course," he said.

Prowl was an officer in the Autobots. The history files that Prowl had given Bluestreak a few days before gave him the background on the civil war that had been raging for over a thousand years, and the stances of the two factions. Prowl explained how he had joined the Autobots to help defeat Megatron and the Decepticons, while Bluestreak had stayed behind in Praxus to help defend the citystate from attack.

"That explains why I was in Praxus instead of fighting alongside you, even though you said we were really good friends," Bluestreak said after Prowl had been speaking for an hour or so. Bluestreak fought to stay online, just for a little while longer. He didn't want to lose another twelve hours to the darkness of recharge just yet. "That must have been hard on you."

A look of grief crossed Prowl's face and he glanced down. "It was," he said quietly. "I wanted you to come join the Autobots with me, but you were adamant that you couldn't leave your post in the city. You were part of the Civil Defense Corps for Praxus, and you said that you'd sworn an oath to protect it. So you stayed." Prowl's sensor wings drooped behind him, and Bluestreak felt him fumble for his hand. The white and black mech didn't look at Bluestreak's face as he added, "When I heard Praxus had been attacked, I feared the worst."

Bluestreak sent one more override to his optics, forcing them to stay open for a moment longer. "But I'm here now, right?" he asked. "Even if I can't remember anything, I'm still here."

It might have been the pixilation in his visual sensors as they finally powered down, but Bluestreak swore that Prowl's expression grew even more sorrowful. He felt Prowl squeeze his hand. Just before he dropped offline, Bluestreak heard Prowl say, "Yes. You are here."

The disjointedness of his first week online slowly graduated into a more regular online/offline cycle. As Prowl and Pharma had both promised, his spark finally finished integrating properly into its repaired frame, and his power issues became more manageable. He was even able to sit up for short periods of time, although he needed assistance moving between sitting up and laying back down.

The unfortunate side effect of being online for longer periods of time was spending time alone. Prowl was very apologetic, but he had work to do and couldn't spend every minute by his side. The hospital staff who tended to him were also understandably busy. Prowl had given Bluestreak some data pads to help pass the time, but they seemed to be mostly dry histories and documentaries of the horrors that the Decepticons had inflicted on Cybertron and their fellow mechs. That, combined with the almost complete silence of the room he was in, started wearing on Bluestreak. There were no windows, so he couldn't see outside. He asked the nurses to prop the room's door open so he could at least see mechs passing by outside, but they said they couldn't do that. Something about 'orders.'

Ugh.

After two days, Bluestreak couldn't take the silence and solitude anymore. "I need someone to talk to or I'm going to go crazy," he said when Prowl finally came to see him. Prowl had only been gone for two hours, but it had felt like days. "It feels like I'm in quarantine or something. All I ever see is you and Pharma, and the nurses. I hear other mechs out in the hallway, but no one ever comes in to see me..." He watched as Prowl's expression shifted into the surprised look that told Bluestreak he was talking a lot, but he barreled on. "I need someone to talk to, or something else to occupy myself. Maybe some entertainment shows to watch? Can I do that? Or a window so I can look outside? Or even something else to read. I mean, thank you for the data pads, but they really aren't my speed."

"I'm so sorry, Bluestreak," Prowl said with a grimace. "It was never my intention to make you feel isolated. You were just very weak after you were initially brought online. We wanted to make sure you didn't overexert yourself."

Bluestreak plucked at the berth covers. "Since I can't do anything except lie here and wait for people to come talk to me, there's no danger of that," he said. "And I feel better every single day. But I'm also really, really bored."

Pharma, who had been checking one of the monitors over Bluestreak's berth, looked down at him. "You are getting stronger. And as soon as you're able to sit up by yourself and stay sitting for two hours, you can begin rehab." The doctor glanced at the monitor again and made a notation on his data pad. "You definitely won't be bored there. And," Pharma added with a flick of his wings that drew Bluestreak's attention, "there will be lots of mechs to talk with."

"That reminds me, one of the Autobot psychologists will be coming to see you soon," Prowl said. "You don't have to tell him anything you don't want to, but he will assess you to see if you might be harbouring any latent trauma." Prowl's optics fixed on Bluestreak's evenly, as if waiting for him to protest.

But Bluestreak shrugged. "Sure, that sounds good to me. I'll talk to just about anyone at this point! Although I'm not sure what I'm going to tell him," Bluestreak said. "My whole life story as I remember it is only about a week long!"

The next time Prowl came to see him, he brought another set of data pads. "I brought something new that might be interesting to you," he said, handing the first pad to Bluestreak.

When he flicked the pad on, Bluestreak was expecting to see the title page of yet another analysis of Cybertronian politics, or a history of the Senate. But the first thing he saw was a cityscape filled with soaring, glittering towers and countless lights. Behind the towers, the sky glowed a stunning red. "This is gorgeous," he said, flicking to the next image of a sunset taken through a stand of crystals laid out in rows. "Where is this?"

When Prowl didn't answer immediately, Bluestreak looked up to see his friend sitting with slumped shoulders. "These photos were all taken in Praxus," Prowl said when he saw Bluestreak staring at him. "Praxus before the war, that is. I collected these from the archives, and from my own files. I wanted to show you what it looked like before the Decepticons destroyed it."

Bluestreak reverently paged through the images one by one. "I can see why I wanted to stay behind to defend it," he said quietly. "It's more beautiful than I even imagined from your descriptions." Prowl made a garbled noise, and Bluestreak looked up quickly in concern. Prowl's optics were shut tight, and Bluestreak leaned over to grab Prowl's hand. "I'm sorry," he said. "Did I say something wrong?"

Prowl shook his helm, and he reset his vocalizer. "No," he finally said. "You didn't. It's just still... It's still hard. Remembering." With a flick of his sensor wings, Prowl seemed to collect himself, and he sat up straight again. "My apologies."

Looking back down at the pad, Bluestreak swiped past a few more cityscape photos. Then he stopped on a photo with two mechs in it. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "Who's this? Wait, this one's you," he said, pointing at the white and black mech in the photo. Bluestreak held the pad up and compared the photo to Prowl. "I take it this was a while ago. You look a lot younger."

Prowl smiled. "Yes. This was about twelve hundred years ago, before the war."

"Who's this with you?" Bluestreak asked, looking at the grey and red mech standing next to Prowl, wearing a shy smile.

"That's you, Bluestreak," Prowl said quietly. His sensor wings were held low against his back as he looked down at the pad.

"Me?" Bluestreak asked. He zoomed in on the mech in the photo. His arm was slung around Prowl's shoulders, while Prowl's arm curled around his waist. The other mech was a Praxian, obviously, with wings almost the same shape as Prowl's. Emblems were painted on his wings that Bluestreak recognized from the documentaries that Prowl had given him, showing him to be a member of the Praxian Civil Defense Corps. His chevron was red like Prowl's, but was thicker and less pointed, and his build was a bit larger than Prowl's.

But aside from the mech's similarities to Prowl, he looked utterly unfamiliar.

"I'm not doubting you," Bluestreak said. "But... That's not what I thought I looked like." He looked up at Prowl and then shrugged. "Then again, I haven't seen myself in a mirror, so I'm not sure what I was expecting." He held out his arm, comparing his grey paint to that of the mech in the photo. It was a perfect match. "Do you think you can get me a mirror? I'd like to see myself. Maybe this won't be as weird, then."

"When you're strong enough to sit in a magchair, they'll take you into the washracks," Prowl said. "There's a full-length mirror in there."

Bluestreak nodded and looked back down at the pad. Prowl smiled at the camera, looking carefree and confident, while Bluestreak's lowered sensor wings and ducked helm gave the impression that he didn't want his photo taken. He flipped to the next photo, and this one was just of Bluestreak. He was looking up at the photographer with a relaxed, candid smile on his face. The corners of his optics were wrinkled up with his smile, and there was a slight flash of dentae showing between his lips. He was comfortably sprawled back on a couch, an arm slung over the back and his sensor wings resting on top of the back cushions. In his free hand he held a drink.

"I look a bit less uptight in this one," Bluestreak said.

"The only way I could get a genuine smile out of you for a picture was if you didn't know you were being photographed," Prowl said. When Bluestreak looked up at him again, Prowl was staring at the pad with a small, sad smile. He caught Bluestreak looking at him and shrugged. "I've always liked this picture. You were a little mad about it, but I'm still glad I got it."

"So am I," Bluestreak said. "Although I'm not sure why I was so uncomfortable getting photographed." He grinned at Prowl. "You didn't tell me that I was so good looking!" he said jokingly.

Prowl's smile faded slightly. "I used to tell you that all the time, actually," he said.

Something in the way the words fell from Prowl's vocalizer made Bluestreak pause. He felt as though he was missing something obvious, something that was staring him right in the face.

He flipped to the next picture, which was another picture of Prowl and Bluestreak. In the photo, they were both looking off to the side at something out of view, and they were both smiling. Prowl's arms were wrapped around Bluestreak's waist, and his helm rested on Bluestreak's shoulder. One of Bluestreak's arms was draped around Prowl, and his hand gently cradled the side of Prowl's helm. His fingers were curled as if he was in the act of gently brushing Prowl's audial. It was a cute, candid scene of two mechs who were obviously close, and...

Oh. Oh.

Bluestreak looked up at Prowl again. All of the pieces fell together: Prowl hovering at his berthside when he first awoke, his sadness every time that Bluestreak's brush with death came up, the affectionate glances Prowl gave him when he thought Bluestreak wasn't looking... It all suddenly made sense.

"Prowl, look..." Bluestreak said, searching for words. He liked Prowl, but just as a friend. Frag, he'd hardly even met anyone else at this point. Prowl was all right to look at, but Bluestreak didn't feel any kind of attraction to him at all. He felt like he was trying to pick his way through a minefield while wishing he could just fly over it instead. "Look, I like you as a friend and all, but if you were hoping for something more... I don't think I can promise you anything."

"What?" Prowl's gaze was ripped from the data pad to Bluestreak. Then his sensor wings suddenly shot up over his shoulders, and he held up his hands. "Oh. No. Bluestreak, I don't expect... I'm not expecting anything to be the way it was before you... Before you almost died," Prowl said, then shook his helm. "I know you don't remember anything about... us. My intention was never to make you feel pressured into picking things back up the way they were." He motioned as if to take the data pad from Bluestreak. "My apologies if I've upset you."

Bluestreak moved the pad out of Prowl's reach. "No, look, it's all right," he said. "I'm sorry that we can't pick up where you remember, but... I don't think I'm exactly the same mech you knew before. I don't see how I could be, without my memories." He frowned at Prowl's quivering wings and stricken look, worrying that he'd somehow made the situation worse. "But we can still be friends... Right?" He reached out and grabbed Prowl's hand. "I mean, you're really my only friend at this point, and I don't want to lose you." He ventured a grin, hoping to make Prowl's sensor wings stop twitching.

Prowl stared at him for a moment, and then he visibly relaxed. "Sure," Prowl said, his sad smile returning. "We can absolutely be friends. I would like that."

Two days later, Bluestreak finally got to see himself in a mirror.

Two nurses came to shift him into a magchair, and pushed him into the room's attached washrack. Even though Bluestreak couldn't stand up in the shower, the warm solvent felt glorious as it washed down over his plating.

As the nurses helped him dry off, Bluestreak examined the strange mech in the mirror. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he looked exactly like the mech in Prowl's pictures. He had silver and grey and red plating, and his bulky chevron was identical to the once he'd seen in the photos. His sensor wings were just like Prowl's, and Bluestreak moved them up and down experimentally as he watched himself in the mirror.

The movement felt right, but it looked wrong, somehow. Bluestreak couldn't put his finger on what was wrong about it, exactly. Maybe it was because his sensor wings were shaped slightly differently than Prowl's, and those were the only ones he'd seen in motion before now? He wasn't sure.

That feeling of wrongness stuck with him until later that day, when a blue and red Praxian walked into his hospital room. "Bluestreak, I presume?" the mech asked. When Bluestreak nodded, he stuck his hand out with a smile. "I'm Smokescreen. I think Prowl told you I was coming to give you a preliminary psyche assessment."

Bluestreak gripped his forearm and gestured at the seat next to his bed. "Yeah, Prowl said you'd drop by today or tomorrow. I'm glad you're here, because I am so utterly bored, and I could really use someone to talk to."

"Well, that's great, since all I want to do is talk." Smokescreen settled into the chair and took out a data pad. Glancing at it, he said, "I've read your file and saw that you received a full frame reconstruction, and that all of your memory files were lost." Smokescreen lowered the pad and looked at Bluestreak. "How are you feeling about that?"

Bluestreak thought about Smokescreen's question for a moment before answering. Finally, he said, "I'm not feeling anything, really. I mean, Prowl showed me some pics of us together before the war, and that made me sad for the things that I don't remember, and I'm sad for him because he's obviously sad about Praxus and everything that happened, but... I'm not crushed about the things I can't remember, if that makes sense. I don't remember them at all, so when he tells me about something that I did or said, it feels like it was something that happened to someone else and not me." He shrugged. "I'm not sure if I'm making myself clear."

Smokescreen listened to Bluestreak calmly, without the startled look that Prowl sometimes wore when Bluestreak spoke. He nodded. "No, that makes a lot of sense. What you're describing is fairly common for mechs who've lost their memories. But just because you don't have the memory files about an event doesn't mean that part of you won't remember." He pointed at Bluestreak's chest. "The spark remembers. Not in detail, of course. You won't remember places or specific events or conversations. But the spark can remember things with a strong emotion attached to them: love, fear, desire, anger, things like that. So don't be surprised if you suddenly experience an emotion or feeling that doesn't seem appropriate. It could be your spark reacting to what's happening."

"That makes sense," Bluestreak said. He held his hand over his spark for a moment, wondering how he could tell the difference between an expected emotion and an unexpected one.

"How about everything else? How are the frame repairs treating you?" Smokescreen asked.

Recalling the strangeness of seeing his wings move in the washrack that morning, Bluestreak said, "It's good. But there is one thing that is bothering me a little." When Smokescreen gestured for him to go ahead, Bluestreak continued. "It's my sensor wings. When I move them, like this," he said, demonstrating with a little dip and a waggle, "they feel fine. But I saw them for the first time today in a mirror and..." He gestured vaguely, trying to find the words. "They didn't look right. They weren't mine. It's like I was watching a vid of someone else."

"What about them didn't look right?" Smokescreen asked.

"I don't know!" Bluestreak exclaimed. "That's the problem. All I have to compare them to are Prowl's sensor wings... and now yours. And the photos Prowl showed me of myself before the war, and they look the same."

Smokescreen leaned back in his chair. "That's not uncommon for mechs who've had major reconstructive surgery," he said. "It's possible that your sensor wings are shaped a little differently than you remember. Even subtle differences in proportion or how the panels are angled could be enough to trigger something in your spark that says 'not quite right.'" He lifted his own sensor wings so that the tips stood well clear of his shoulders. "Do mine look wrong?"

"No," Bluestreak said. "But Prowl's don't look wrong either. And in the photos of me, they looked ok. It was just..." He frowned. "It was just when I looked in the mirror."

Thumbing through the information on his data pad, Smokescreen asked, "Were your sensor wings damaged or ripped off in your accident? Perhaps your spark is remembering the trauma of them being removed from your frame. Bad accidents like that can leave lasting psychological effects."

Bluestreak thought about what he'd been told about the state of his original frame when he'd been found in the rubble. "I guess? They said that my frame had been totally crushed, so I'm guessing that my wings might have come off at some point."

Humming quietly, Smokescreen made a notation on his data pad. "It could be that's what's causing your discomfort. In any event, I'd suggest giving it a little bit of time. But if they truly make you feel uncomfortable, and you can identify exactly what the problem is, it might be possible to have minor reconstructive surgery to fix the problem... If the resources are available, that is," he said. Then he smiled at Bluestreak. "I have a feeling that once you get more used to moving around in your new frame, the feeling of 'wrongness' will disappear. But if you do continue to have problems, please let me know."

Even though he was tired, Bluestreak stayed online into the evening after Smokescreen left. He flipped through the pad of photos that Prowl had left with him, and stared at the photo of the grey mech standing with his arm looped around Prowl.

It still felt like he was looking at a stranger.

Prowl was extremely apologetic that he would be away from Iacon for several weeks. "I have some work for the Autobots that I have to attend to personally," he said. "But I'll return as soon as I'm able."

"It's all right," Bluestreak said. "I know how much your work means to you."

Prowl smiled, dipping his sensor wings in thanks. "I'll be back soon. Besides, they tell me you're starting rehab today, so that should keep you busy with other mechs to talk to."

Prowl was right. As soon as Bluestreak was lifted into his magchair and pushed into the hallway, he felt as though his helm would twist right off, he was looking around so much. There were mechs everywhere! Doctors and nurses hurried here and there, and other patients were pushed around or slowly walked the hallways.

When they arrived at the rehab clinic, Bluestreak was deposited at a station against the wall. The room was filled with patients, all waiting at stations like his, while the center of the room held a variety of stairs, poles and other equipment. Patients were being assisted to use them in turns.

A tech came up to Bluestreak and ran a hand held scanner over him. "New guy, huh?" the tech said. "My name's Pipette. I'm going to get you plugged in via your medical ports here so we can run an initial diagnostic, then we'll get started. It should only take a few minutes." Without waiting for any kind of a response or permission from Bluestreak, he inserted a plug from a nearby monitor into Bluestreak's medical port, then walked away without another word.

"Rude," Bluestreak muttered.

"Don't mind him." Bluestreak turned to see a green mech sitting at the next station smiling at him. He also had cords running from the medical port in his neck to a monitor beside him. "They're just really busy right now, and he's got a lot to do. Pipette can be sort of gruff and short on berthside manners, but he's a good tech once you get to know him." He gave a little wave and added, "I'm Hound, by the way."

"I'm Bluestreak! Nice to meet you." Bluestreak was partially aware of the diagnostic running in the background of his processor. It was similar to the ones that Pharma ran on him regularly, and he tried to ignore the sensation. He pointed at the emblem on Hound's shoulder. "You're an Autobot, too? Like Prowl."

"Yup, I'm an Autobot," Hound said, and his optics brightened. "You know Prowl?"

"Yeah," Bluestreak said. "He's a friend of mine."

Hound nodded. "That would explain why you're here, being a Neutral," he said. "This medical center is pretty much only Autobots. He must have pulled a few strings to get you in here. They've got the best doctors in the whole army here." He shrugged. "Of course, not many places for Neutrals to go now, what with Praxus being gone, of course." Hound's optics widened. "Sorry, that was thoughtless of me. I really am sorry about your city."

"It's all right," Bluestreak said with a shrug. "I don't remember anything about it. They told me they had to rebuild me from scratch, and my memory files were lost."

Hound frowned. "Wow, that's rough," he said. "I know a few other mechs who lost their memory, and they all had a pretty hard time of it." When Bluestreak shrugged again, Hound shook his helm. "No, I'm serious. You tell me if there's something I bring up that you don't want to talk about, all right? No harm, no foul. Everyone's got baggage now with how long this war's dragged on. I'll do the same if you get too close to one of my sore spots." He smiled at Bluestreak. "We've all gotta look out for each other these days."

Bluestreak returned Hound's smile. He'd immediately taken a liking to the green mech: he was warm, friendly, and – best of all, as far as Bluestreak was concerned – talkative. "Thanks, Hound. I'll be sure to let you know."

Another tech came by and dropped a cube of fuel at each of their stations, admonishing them to top up their fuel levels before they started their exercises. Hound opened his and took a sip. "So if you don't mind me asking... Where were you when Praxus went down?"

"Praxus, I guess." Bluestreak took a sip from his own fuel cube, then another. There was an additive in the fuel that made it taste way better than the stuff he'd been getting in his hospital room. "That's where I was damaged. Prowl said they dragged me out of the ruins on the verge of deactivation."

"Praxus?" When he looked up again, Hound was frowning. "That's weird," Hound said. When Bluestreak tipped his helm to the side, Hound added, "I was part of the search and rescue team that was dispatched to Praxus. We only found about a dozen survivors. I don't remember a Bluestreak being one of them."

Bluestreak set his cube down after having made short work of the fuel, and shrugged at Hound again. "I don't remember anything about it, of course, but Prowl said they found me in Praxus. I don't know why he would lie about that." Bluestreak's thoughts wandered back to the photos that Prowl had shown him of the two of them in Praxus. "Maybe they found me after you were done?"

"Maybe. I was there until they called off the search effort, but I suppose that it's possible they found you after I was reassigned," Hound said, still looking doubtful. Then his smile returned. "But if Prowl said that's where you were found, that's good enough for me. He's one of the most loyal Autobots I know. I've been on a few missions that he's planned, and they've all gone off without a hitch. The mech is never wrong."

"So how about you?" Bluestreak asked. He gestured at Hound's frame. "What got you sent in for remedial movement lessons?"

Hound laughed with a deep, joyful sound that made Bluestreak's spark spin a bit faster. "Remedial movement. I like that!" He finished his own cube of fuel before replying. "My unit got hit with an acid gas attack about a year ago. A few of us took the brunt of it, and were able to warn the others off before the whole unit was taken out. We lost one mech," Hound said, the joy vanishing from his voice. He was silent for a moment before heaving a small sigh. "Anyway, the acid got into my lines and systems. I had to have my whole ventilation system replaced as an emergency repair, but they didn't have the parts to replace the hardware and hydraulics for my joints. They've been slowly seizing up, and it finally got bad enough that they had to send me in for repairs." He held up his arm, and Bluestreak could see thin welds running the length of his limb. "I'll need a few weeks of rehab to get my full strength back, and then I'll be back out in the field." He smiled. "Back out where I belong."

Pipette appeared in front of their stations and clapped his hands together. "All right, I'm glad you two are bonding over whatever, but it's time for you to start working. Hound, we're going to start you on the stairs today. Bluestreak, you're just going to work on getting up onto your pedes and staying there." The tech smiled, and Bluestreak couldn't figure out if it was a good smile or a bad one. "I'm afraid that this is going to hurt."

When Prowl finally returned to Iacon, Bluestreak had managed to stand, walk, climb the small set of stairs in the rehab clinic, and even transform into his alt mode. There was something that felt off about his transformation sequence, but – like the issue with his sensor wings – he couldn't quite put words to what was wrong about it. So he didn't bother bringing it up to the techs, or mention it to Smokescreen during one of their sessions.

Every day he felt stronger and stronger, and when Prowl finally walked into his hospital room after several weeks away, Bluestreak was able to greet him by standing up and giving him a hug.

Prowl's sensor wings flared out in surprise, but he readily returned the embrace. "I see that rehab has been going well for you," he said. He had to tip his helm up slightly to look at Bluestreak; as he'd seen in the photos, Bluestreak was slightly taller than Prowl. "I'm very glad to see you up and about finally!"

Bluestreak slowly lowered himself back into his chair; his power consumption was still out of whack, and he had another rehab session later that day. He didn't want to tire himself out before he even got there. "It's been going really well!" he said. "There's been so much to do and so many mechs to talk to, I haven't even had a chance to be bored. I met a mech there named Hound. Small world I guess: he was at Praxus, helping with the search and rescue. He said he didn't remember hearing about me being rescued, but we figured that I must have been found after he left. Have you met him? He's really nice and I think we're becoming friends." His sensor wings fluttered a bit at the thought, but he froze when he saw the expression on Prowl's face. "I mean, you're still my friend, too, Prowl. I can have more than one friend, right?" He leaned over and patted Prowl's shoulder, trying to stop Prowl from looking so serious.

For once, Prowl's optics didn't go wide at Bluestreak's barrage of words. Instead, his brow furrowed at the mention of Hound's name, and Bluestreak's touch to his shoulder did nothing to erase the frown on his lips. His wings flicked up and down indecisively. "Yes, yes. Of course you can have more than one friend," he said distractedly. "Hound is a good Autobot. I just didn't realize he was here."

"He thinks the world of you, you know." Bluestreak grinned as his words caused Prowl's flicking sensor wings to stop suddenly. "He said you were one of the most loyal Autobots he knows, and that you're never wrong."

"He... said that?" Prowl asked, cycling his optics at Bluestreak, and slowly sat down next to him.

"Yup!" Bluestreak sat back in his chair, glad that he'd gotten Prowl to snap out of whatever momentary worry had affected him. "He said he always felt better knowing that you were planning a mission he was on, since that meant it would go off without a hitch. And I absolutely believe him, with what I know of you so far." Bluestreak cheered internally when a shy smile returned to Prowl's face at the compliment. "Oh, and I got some good news yesterday... They said I'm making really good progress, and they think they might be able to release me into outpatient care in a month or so, and then discharged completely a few months after that."

"That's wonderful!" Prowl said, a real smile lighting his face. Bluestreak loved when he got Prowl to smile like that, since his optics always became a brighter shade of blue. This time, he noticed that they became the same azure blue that Hound's were. "Have you thought about what you would like to do when you've been discharged?" Prowl asked.

Prowl's question made Bluestreak pause. He'd thought about getting out of the hospital, but only in the most general of terms: getting to see more of Iacon, more of Cybertron, seeing the sky, looking at the stars that Hound had described to him. After all, he didn't remember anything about his life before waking up in the hospital. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Not really," he admitted, then shrugged. "But I guess I'd better think about it, huh?"

With a nod, Prowl said, "You don't have to decide right away, of course. And I don't want you to feel pushed in any specific direction. But, now that Praxus is gone..." He leaned over and grabbed Bluestreak's hand. "I would be honoured if you'd join the Autobots, and fight at my side."

Bluestreak blew air through his vents. "I'll think about it," he said.

Three days later, as he was sitting back down after spending almost an hour on the alt-mode treadmill set up in the corner of the rehab clinic, Hound said, "They told me they're releasing me tomorrow."

"Really? That's great!" Bluestreak said. He drank from the cube of fuel that had been dropped at his station. "I've still got a month left in the hospital, they said. But I'm apparently getting better faster than they expected. Tomorrow they're going to work on my endurance to try to improve my energy consumption." He smiled at Hound. "I'm sure going to miss you. You're great to talk to."

Hound returned Bluestreak's smile. "Thanks," he said. "You're fun to talk to as well. I..." His voice faltered for a moment, a flicker of a shadow crossing his face. "So many mechs out there are hurting... Up here and in here," he said, tapping a finger against his helm and again on his chest, over his spark. "It can be hard to just have a regular conversation without someone bringing up the war, or what they've lost." His smile returned, his optics brightening again. "You've been a beam of light for me these past few weeks. So, thank you."

Bluestreak's sensor wings fluttered, and he was suddenly conscious of how much he enjoyed it when Hound simply looked at him. "You're welcome," he said, then realized his vocalizer had somehow become underpowered. He reset it and tried again. "You're welcome. And... It's a shame you have to go back now, especially if you're not having fun. Not that war is fun, I guess. And deserting would probably get you into a heap of trouble. But couldn't you just..." He glanced around the room, and saw that Pipette and the other techs were out of hearing range. "I don't know... Pretend you're not better? Tell them that one of your knees started mysteriously locking up again?"

"No," Hound said, and shook his helm. "I have to go back. My unit needs me." He gestured to the data pad he had on his lap. "I've been writing to them. They've seen some more fighting, and they could really use me. I don't want to let them down." With a grin, he added, "Besides, Trailbreaker owes me money."

Bluestreak laughed along with Hound, then sipped at his fuel. He tried to picture smiling, cheerful Hound with a gun, his mouth twisted into a snarl as he shot at the enemy... And failed. He looked at Hound again and asked, "Can you tell me why you fight?" When Hound glanced at him with a quizzical expression, he elaborated. "Why do you fight for the Autobots? What made you choose that side?"

Hound sat back in his seat and looked at the cube of fuel in his hand for a moment before answering. "I almost didn't," he said. "Fight for the Autobots, I mean. In the beginning, Megatron said things that made a lot of sense to me." He picked at the corner of his fuel cube. "He argued that your alt mode shouldn't determine your path in life, and that you should be able to choose your own road. That spoke to me, being a truck frame. Before the war, the only jobs I could get were hauling things, construction, or intercity courier runs. But that's not what I wanted to do."

Bluestreak thought about the stories that Hound had told him about the wilds of Cybertron. "You wanted to explore," he said.

"You got it," Hound said, smiling at Bluestreak. "Wandering off the paved road, exploring new trails, it called to me. I wanted to do more than just take a load of stuff from point A to point B. So when Megatron started talking about self-determination and getting a chance to make your own way, it made me really think."

"So what happened?" Bluestreak asked. He'd never heard Prowl talk about the good things that Megatron did... Only the horrors that had been committed in his name.

"The rhetoric changed quickly, fast enough for me to decide that I didn't want to follow where Megatron was leading," Hound said. "They made demands, demands turned into protests, protests to riots..." He sighed. "When Starscream stormed the Senate and murdered the senators there, I decided I couldn't agree with anyone who advocated for violence as a means of change." Hound looked at Bluestreak, his blue optics dimmer than they'd been a few minutes before. "I signed up with the Autobots the next day."

"Wow," Bluestreak said, sitting back in his chair. "But what about wanting to go your own way? Wanting to explore? How could you just give that up?"

"I was sad about giving that up, at first," Hound replied. "But it turns out I shouldn't have worried. I guess it is a little ironic." He laughed quietly. "I'm fighting against the faction that was founded on being able to choose what you want to do, but it's the war that's given me the chance to do exactly that." He paused again, then threw back the rest of his fuel. "But I suppose life is just strange like that. You never know what path it's going to send you down."

When their rehab session was over, Hound and Bluestreak said their goodbyes. "I'm taking off early tomorrow," Hound said. "It's been good getting to know you. You're a good mech, Blue."

"Thanks," Bluestreak said. "You made rehab a lot better than I was expecting it would be. It was awesome having someone here to talk to.

Hound pulled Bluestreak in for a hug, and Bluestreak was pleased that he kept his balance. It was proof that his strength was improving. "Take care of yourself," Hound said, and smiled at Bluestreak. "It's a rough world out there. I hope I'll see you again someday."

That night, staring at the ceiling of his hospital room, Bluestreak couldn't stop thinking about the friendly green mech, the stories he'd told, and the reasons he'd given for fighting with the Autobots.

Bluestreak remembered the documentaries and information that Prowl had given him to read. He remembered reading that their frametype was usually assigned to peacekeeping or Enforcer duties, and Bluestreak suddenly realized that's exactly what he had been doing when Praxus had been attacked. He'd been assigned to be a protector, and that's what he almost died doing. But Prowl made it sound like Bluestreak had chosen to do that. Maybe it was what he'd wanted to do, even though he'd been forged for it.

Then he thought about all of the things that Prowl had told him about the Autobot cause. It had been Decepticons who had bombed their city, and nearly killed him in the process. It had been the Autobots who had rescued him, and put him back together. He trusted Prowl, and he liked Hound. Pharma seemed all right, as did the other Autobots he'd met around the hospital.

When Prowl came to see him the next morning, Bluestreak had made his decision.

"I've decided that I want to join the Autobots," he said.

Prowl's satisfied smile was all that he needed to know he'd made the right decision.