Apologies for the late update, this chapter underwent several rewrites and I had to draw the reference being used for the cover.

Routine patient diagnostics were a task he'd always found to be oddly soothing. The procedure was clear and had multiple contingencies in case sub-systems had poor readings or failed to respond at all. If there was an issue, he could find both it and the answer in a matter of a few minutes. There were no wires to cross or cut, only a thorough scan and basic overview of any sub-routines.

After the stress of the past few days, the monotony of the check-up was a welcomed change.

Ratchet's servos clicked away at the keys on the console, drafting a new file for the mechling in recharge on the medical berth. Part of him still struggled to fathom that it was Jack, but there was no disputing the data he'd received thus far.

The Spark that'd been a burgeoning light a few hours beforehand had matured greatly, now integrated into a form that could house it properly. It was still juvenile, but it was thriving, and the signal was emanating from the new form. While he was certainly no Sparkling, he was far from being considered an adult.

He studied the former-human as he finished creating the data spreads, recalling the conversation that Arcee'd mentioned earlier.

The work had been especially grueling that solar cycle; everything from the continued construction to scouting out sectors looking for traces of Starscream, Shockwave, or the Predacon had been arduous. The Vehicon workers kept bumbling and damaging materials, setting back just as much progress as they made. The other team felt like they were wasting time driving in circles, unable to get so much as a whiff of the Decepticons' trail.

Ultra Magnus and Optimus were trying to keep the returning refugees calm, which was a managerial and logistical nightmare. The only operation that seemed to be getting anywhere at all were the patrols sent out to find energon deposits. The restoration of their planet had revitalized the supply, but now they faced a new problem: refining the found material without any of the necessary equipment.

The incoming ships also brought challenges once their passengers unloaded. Old rivals were bumping into each other and starting fights -or attempting to finish pre-existing ones. There seemed to be a never-ending line outside of the small station Ratchet had set up as an impromptu medical center.

It was too much.

They'd been decompressing in their base of operations. The refurbished military facility was barren, debris still littering the corners in some of the rooms, but it was structurally sound and enough to call home for the time being.

Almost everyone was in the open chamber they used for relaxing when Bulkhead mentioned how much he missed his little Wrecker.

"Who, Miko?" Bumblebee asked.

"Who else?" The green mech answered.

"She never struck me as much of a Wrecker." Smokescreen chimed in.

"That's because you never saw her in action the way we have," Wheeljack grinned. "Trust me, if the girl was a 'bot, she'd definitely be wrecking with the best of us."

There were hums and grunts of assent, no one could find enough reason to argue. Besides, with her loud and bombastic personality, being a Wrecker just made sense for the girl. Heavy-framed femmes weren't too common, yet it was hard to envision such a bold character as hers with anything less.

The group was sharing a good laugh about the absurdity of the topic when Bumblebee quietly mentioned that he'd always sort of imagined his charge as a two-wheeler; quick, lithe, but built more for intelligence operations than out on the battlefield. Another consensus was reached, it was easy to picture him as a data scribe or record keeper working for one of the libraries before the war, zipping between the shelves or delivering the requested records to those who'd asked for them. Besides, no one liked the idea of such a timid figure being sent into battle.

"Not that two-wheelers can't hold their own," the black and yellow mech turned to Arcee with a smile, which she returned. "So," he continued. "What do you think Jack'd be?"

"'Dunno," she shrugged easily. "He's definitely a fighter though."

"You sure about that?" Wheeljack rolled his optics, "the kid always seemed too cautious to me."

"Nah, he could totally be a scout," Smokescreen interjected.

"Stealth isn't really his thing," the femme thought aloud. "So scouting wouldn't suit him at all. Probably a guard, or some sort of enforcer."

Ratchet scoffed and rolled his optics with a chuckle.

"What's going on?" Ultra Magnus' voice called into the room as he approached the small gathering. He was clearly weary from his own work that day, his footsteps unusually sluggish.

"Trying to figure out what the kids would be like if they were 'bots," the blue and gold mech replied. "Can't figure out what Jack'd be. You got a guess?"

Smokescreen failed to notice the looks of mild horror and embarrassment on the faces of the other Autobots present.

The general paused, bemused by their reactions and the conversation. "He's a knight," he said decisively, as if this was the most obvious answer. "It wasn't a common warrior class, even before the war, but he certainly acts like the few I've had the pleasure of working with." He stared down at his pedes, a somber smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "All of them were diligent fighters, but reserved, authoritative." His optics were distant for a moment, then they flashed back into focus. "Most of them were assigned to squads to make sure everyone else got out alive."

A heavy implication weighed in the air. 'They usually didn't come back.'

"Never seen him charge into a fight," Wheeljack shrugged.

"Does he hesitate to offer rescue?" Ultra Magnus countered.

No one offered a rebuttal.

He gave the Wrecker a knowing smirk. "That's the difference."

Ratchet hadn't offered his own input at the time, but he had to admit that while he might not have given credence to the class assessment the second-in-command had given, he did agree with the broad characteristics he gave the boy's character. Jack had always been the quiet, deliberate one of the kids, and though he did not embody the brazen will of a fully-realized warrior, the medic had to admit that he had an edge to his attitude. It was a rare sight, only invoked when the wellbeing of others were at stake, but he'd be foolish to call the boy passive.

However the mechling in front of him now wasn't a build he was familiar with at all, and though he was certainly not a one to classify others by their frames, it did help when he could look a 'bot over and at least get a rough understanding of their frame's functions and limitations. Yet this build didn't lean too much into any category, nor did he seem specialized enough to fit into a distinct sub-class or specific purpose.

Jack looked sturdy, armored consistently throughout his frame. While his chassis was certainly the most well defended, his limbs were not lacking in their own armor by any means. His shoulders were broad, a detail usually assigned to mechs of a heavier build, and his upper legs were reinforced in a similar manner -yet he was shapely. The layers of blue and silver metal almost gave him a regal appearance. His helm was rather unique, a single form that surrounded the face and branched off into two short spines. It was strange to see components from different classes blended together on one form, yet it worked.

Ratchet vented a sharp huff. Whatever he was, the boy looked forged to survive, and he thought that was fitting.

'Well, time to wake him up.'

He moved over to the berth and gently shook the new mechling's shoulder. The form twitched, bright blue optics cracking open to squint in the light of the military hangar.

"Ratchet?"

The medic felt like a hand was constricting around his Spark. It was so startling to hear the familiar voice come out of a figure so drastically different than the one he'd associated with the sound. "How are you feeling?" He forced himself to ask the question. He needed to remain calm. There was no need to make the boy panic or uncomfortable when he'd survived switching species. 'It's just like running a diagnostic on one of the others,' he reminded himself.

"I feel weird," the former-human rasped. His servos flexed and curled against the metal table, then his pedes shifted back and forth slightly. "Nothing hurts though." He gave a weak smile.

"Good," the white and red mech nodded his helm as he went to retrieve a diagnostic tool. "Your internal systems should be calibrating right now, so you might experience some slight numbness, dizziness, or mild discomfort if you try moving too quickly." He returned with the device and held it up in his servo; the small gray box had two long cords attached. Ratchet plugged one into his own wrist, and he moved back over to the silver and blue mech.

"I need to give you a systems check," he explained as he took one of the boy's servos in his own and turned it over to find the small port on the underside of his wrist. He glanced up to meet the startlingly bright optics looking at him. "It might feel strange, but it shouldn't hurt. If it does, tell me, and we can try again later."

"Okay," came the answer after a brief pause.

The medic attached the other cord and went right to work.

The boy's primary systems were fine, most working at optimal levels and those that weren't were just finishing their final warm up protocols before coming online fully. The secondary and tertiary functions followed suit; he was completely healthy, just disoriented as the new programs started up for the first time. His T-Cog was fully functional, all base readings normal. The only discovery he came across were active weapon systems; it was unusual for the newly forged to have any such protocols from the beginning. 'He's been in war,' the medic reasoned.

Everything else was completely unremarkable. Within moments, the check-up was finished, and both cables were unplugged.

"There, all done," he stood up, running the results through to the screen on his arm so he could enter them into his data-log on the main console.

"That was so weird," Jack vented. "It was like you were in my head."

"Hardly," he laughed. "That was just a typical check-up. I suppose it'll take some getting used to," he conceded as he began the transfer. "It was only good news though. Your motor systems should be finished initializing and allow you to move in a few minutes."

"Okay," the other replied.

A few minutes went by as the older 'bot typed quietly at the console.

"Hey Ratchet?"

The medic hummed in response.

"Do you know what I turn into?"

He paused his typing, surprised by the question. "Alt-modes aren't pre-programmed, Jack, even on Cybertron we had to scan something or have the schematics uploaded at a later date. That being said, you're definitely ground-based." It was rather obvious from the lack of larger wings or fins, but seeing as the mechling still wasn't acclimated to his current state, the medic guessed he likely wouldn't have been able to tell until he'd regained his full faculties.

"Oh," came the quiet reply as the other shuttered his optics. "Thank goodness."

Now the mech was curious. "Is something the matter?"

"I don't like heights," he admitted. "And at least I know how to drive a car, and road laws. I don't know anything about flying."

'He's afraid of heights?' He hadn't expected that, not when he was used to seeing the boy on raised platforms or riding in his own or Optimus' hands. "Well, I suppose if you want to pick out a vehicle later, we might find out if you've got any other restrictions. If anything's too big or too small, you'll be able to tell intuitively."

The blue and silver mech grunted, looking like he might fall back into a state of recharge.

"I know you're tired, but you have to stay awake," Ratchet vented. "If you don't, the calibrations will reset and have to start all over again the next time you try and wake up."

He received a withered groan in reply, but Jack's optics remained open. "Where's Arcee?"

"She's busy helping Fowler. She left after helping me get you onto the berth." He chuckled, "It was quite a struggle, I'd expected you to be a Minicon."

The former-human turned his head, "a 'Con? Really? After all we've been through?"

"No, a Minicon. They're small Cybertronians that are about the size of humans," the medic understood the confusion immediately. "They're named after Micronus Prime."

He resisted the urge to chuckle at the look of reverie on the new 'bot's face.

"Wait, how tall am I?"

He didn't quite understand, but then it clicked. 'Heights,' the mech grimaced. "Hard to say with you lying down, but I'd say you're roughly my size." He gave Jack a critical glance, "likely taller."

"Nope," the boy shuttered his optics again. "No thanks."

"We can't exactly change this."

There was a beat of silence.

"Mom always said that dad was tall, so," the dry remark came. "This might as well happen."

Ratchet cracked a smile, "I doubt this is what she meant."

"Not even close."

"If it makes you feel any better, you're about average height by our standards."

The mechling snickered, "if I end up being taller than Smokescreen, I'm not going to hear the end of it."

"What?"

"You never saw him tease 'Bee?"

"No, can't say I saw too much of that at all."

"They messed with each other all the time! Geez, half of their sparing was trash-talk, at least, from what I was able to tell."

"I must have been a little busy," the doctor said flatly. "Trying to prevent Earth from being taken over by the Decepticons was quite a consuming task."

"True," he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position, only to slip back down. "Still, it was pretty funny. They acted like brothers."

"There's only a few orns difference between them age wise," the mech shrugged. "I'm not all that surprised. If anything it explains why you three got along so well. Though, I must admit," he raised a brow-ridge. "Each of you certainly have your own varying levels of maturity.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He feigned offense, breaking the facade with a smirk.

The medic scoffed, "mechlings."

"Mechlings?" Jack snickered at the word, "there's no way that's a thing."

Ratchet pointed at him, "you're one now."

The former-human blanched.

The mech crossed his arms and rolled his optics. This was too much fun.

The cityscapes of Cybertron were dormant, their metallic surfaces gleaming in the night. Such a sight was something he'd dreamed of for vorns, yet now, it felt hollow.

Intangible.

Optimus Prime stood stoic in the dark, optics staring at the horizon towards a world galaxies away. He hadn't heard anything from Ratchet, and anxiety was eating away at his processor like a horde of starving Scraplets. Yet for all of the grief it caused, it was nothing compared to the heavy burden of guilt weighing upon his Spark.

He did this.

This was his fault.

Although many would argue against him, he knew this was the truth. It was his decision to entrust the boy with the key to Vector Sigma, permanently altering his fate. Yet even before that, there were other signs he should have acknowledged. However the fog of war was thick on Earth, and once again, he'd allowed his judgement to be obscured.

He knew his old friend was right. Had he made another choice, their desperate bid against Unicron and Megatron might not have succeeded, but the realm of possibility was a haunting one.

His thoughts were circular, repeating the events that had brought them all to the crux of the moment and the peril he'd put his young human ally in. He vented softly, allowing them to replay once again.

From the instant he'd met Jackson Darby, he'd known he was not the same as the other children.

At first he'd pondered whether or not this was because of the boy's inherent caution when compared to the other charges; Miko and Raf were lively, excited, and always ready go forth out into the world in pursuit of an adventure. They had a naivety matched only by the folly of young Sparklings before the war had started, an eagerness to witness what the world had to offer and how they could find their place in it. It always brought fond memories of peace to mind when the mech would see them out of the corner of his optics, though lingering regrets still found their way into his thoughts.

Yet the eldest charge did not elicit the same reaction, nor did he have the same exuberant energy that the others possessed. Instead he was still young, restless, but a quiet strength belied his temperament. A piece of the boy was hardened, guarded. And he was kind anyway. It'd seemed counter-intuitive, so the Prime had waited, watched, even advised and scolded, and was surprised to behold the teenager take his words to heart.

Jackson was not the same kind of light that his friends were.

They were joy, and laughter, and the ferocious, untouched arrogance of youth and possibility.

Jack was a smoldering fire on the precipice of either going out or bursting into a brilliant blaze.

All he'd needed was a push.

One that had come when the Matrix had started resonating with him.

It had started as a gentle tug, one that would prod at his Spark when the boy was in close proximity.

When he'd realized what was happening, the Prime had paid even closer attention to the youth's actions. He'd been relieved to see him acting more responsible, though there was trepidation as well.

If the Matrix and the wisdom inside it was drawn to another, then there must have been a reason.

When Unicron had begun to rise, it was clear why.

With such a great threat looming over them, Optimus chose to trust the choice of his predecessors. He'd entrusted the Key to the unsuspecting youth, he'd lied to him about its nature.

In that moment, he'd marked him to become more than what he was.

Though his memories of being Orion Pax again were vague once he'd been restored to normal, his visions of what happened at Vector Sigma were all too clear.

Jack had come.

He'd retrieved the Matrix.

And when he touched the reloaded key, the embers of his being ignited.

Optimus mourned briefly, a part of him acknowledging that he'd stolen the boy's path away from him. His bonds to those before him were filled with a myriad of different feelings.

Approval was chief among them.

He'd kept it a secret as time progressed, guilt gnawing at him in the rare spells of quiet that fell between the attacks or raids of the Decepticons and their conflict. He wished he could undo it, but answering a greater call was in the boy's nature. Whenever he questioned himself for too long, he would receive a quiet push from the Matrix. The soft gesture silenced his fears, and he'd move on to the next task.

Then the charges were captured for ransom, their planet on the verge of destruction.

They were willing to die.

Optimus refused to damn another human.

So he acted.

And with the Omega Lock gone, he'd damned his remaining people instead.

He hated it.

Yet they needed to keep going.

So he did.

And he sent them away.

And then, he'd died.

Alpha Trion had assured him that there was a worthy candidate to bear the Matrix nearby. While he did not question Smokescreen's potential, he was hesitant to leave with so much else left unfinished.

How could he?

Thankfully, the young mech did not allow him to go and become one with the AllSpark.

And a new battle began.

Old allies returned, and new enemies rose up to face them.

And they'd prevailed.

And Cybertron was born anew.

The goal he'd had for vorns was finally achieved. His home was alive again, the Well of AllSparks restored, and the war was over.

With this accomplishment, he'd forgotten his connection to the boy through the Matrix.

Until he started dying.

So he'd sent Ratchet back to Earth.

And they'd found a solution. The only one that he was sure would work.

For he was not the one who suggested it.

And if those before him had confidence in it, if they had chosen this youth for something greater, he knew that this would not be the end.

It was only the beginning.

Another transformation.

The ignition of a flame.

"Sir!"

The sharp shout pulled the Prime from his thoughts. He turned to find Ultra Magnus approaching him, "is there something I can assist you with?"

"We're receiving a call from Earth," the general explained with a small smile. "I thought you'd like to be present for it."

Relief and anxiety dueled in his Spark, "of course."

As they walked to their temporary command center, he tried to settle his thoughts. He knew Jack was alive, he'd felt the tepid Spark's sudden flare of strength earlier. Yet the part of him that wasn't just a Prime wondered what pieces of the boy had survived.

The soft push from the Matrix returned to dampen his doubts.