Chapter 3: Bunkmates

Ironhide groaned as he stepped off the plane, sand still falling from between plating. "About time that ride ended. That sand in my joints was making me itch. Ugh, it's going to take forever to get it all out."

Ratchet came out of the military plane next while in vehicle form. He transformed a moment later, shaking sand loose like water and sending it on all the nearby NEST soldiers whom all yipped and swore. Not that Ratchet paid them much mind. If anything, he shook more sand on them. "At least you weren't buried half way in it, slagger."

Then, as if on cue, the two mechs hopped out of the way with heavy grunts as a flash of yellow slammed itself out of the back of the huge, cargo plane. Bumblebee's tires squealed as he did a u-turn of sorts, his tires sending up smoke. He sat there a second, his engine growling twice before the tires seemed to jump off the ground, his body transforming into bi-pedal mode. He quickly stood, dancing a few steps to shake off excess sand before he pointed at the older mechs and moon-walked away. Both mechs gave him bored looks. Typical Bumblebee behavior.

=Come on guys, that Sandbox wasn't that bad! You try sliding down one of those sand dunes? It's like surfing,= beeped the youth, his speakers playing a quick phrase to Surfing USA.

The two older mechs just shook their heads, and then simultaneously stared at the youngling crossing their arms over their chests as they waited for the other youngling to exit. A moment passed and their frowns grew deeper. The yellow youth, catching the scent of old-mech-grumpiness, quickly chirped and looked back into the plane's innards. He called out, =Come on Bluestreak! Optimus wants us to give him a report of what we found out there or what we didn't find to be exact.=

Bluestreak tightened in his alt mode, his form gripping to the shadows like a scared raccoon. He knew that the older mechs had been watching him since they had left the desert. He didn't blame them. The youngling knew that he had been silent and sleepless for the past two days after the incident. He had clung to the adults as if he was afraid to be alone. They had noticed, of course. There was no doubt about it.

Ratchet had even asked him if there was anything wrong.

Thinking of a quick lie, the youth had merely stated he was a little paranoid after being alone in the desert for a night. He knew it was a satisfactory answer for wanting to recharge next to the elder mechs, but he also knew there was no excuse for his clingy-ness. What else was he supposed to do? The drone was not gone. It was just below the sands. Had to be. He even felt it in his spark chamber if he was still long enough. Scorponok was always touching and gripping, trying to find his partner.

Using all the strength in his spark, Blue always tried to draw away from the feeling, but it was painful when he'd do that. Flinching would only gain Ratchet's attention so he tried to remain neutral, allowing the drone to push into the bond yet never responding back. At least the 'touch' was weaker now that he was on a different continent. In fact, it almost felt dead. Bluestreak could only blame it on the distance. For the first time he was glad Earth had such deep, blue oceans. No mech or drone would try to make such a journey on the ocean's bottom and even if they did, it would take weeks.

He was safe … for now.

"C-coming," said the grey youth as he drove out of the plane slowly, staying in his alt mode as the youth waited for the others to stop stretching so they could head back to base. He was in pain. He knew it would be agonizing to transform, which was why he was waiting. It was as if his body was rearranging itself. True, it was nowhere near as painful as waking up after being attacked in the desert, but at least the current aches were nowhere near as dreadful as his first transformation. He had nearly passed out from the pain. That next morning he would admit he was grateful for the pain though. Checking his back when he was finally alone, he found that he no longer had to hide a hole in his back. The pains had been rearranging his plating.

Despite the fact that it was nowhere near as painful as his first transformation, Bluestreak found he didn't want others seeing him transform. Who knew what changes the drone programming had made while he had been in alt mode this whole time? Maybe it was going to continue like this until he looked almost like Blackout!

The youth shivered at the thought, but tried to bury the reaction by starting his engine and roaring forward. He was hoping that Bumblebee would make a race out of the challenge.

Bee did not disappoint.

"I'm going to beat you there, Bee! Eat my dirt!" cried Bluestreak as if nothing life changing had happened in the last few days, his wheels spiting up gravel. The other youngling's engine roared and he chased after his brother in arms, laughter escaping his speakers.

Ratchet and Ironhide stood there watching the youths' race. It was a long journey back to Hoover Dam, their temporary headquarters, courtesy of Sector Seven's decommission until something more reliable could be acquired. All the older mechs agreed the humans were trying to apologize about the incident with Bumblebee. Not that Bumblebee was very thankful. He had stayed at Sam's house for three weeks, trying to ignore the place, but in the end, when another younger mech like Bluestreak had showed up, he came to the base to strangely … play. The younglings were always at battle, fighting for their lives and the right to exist. They never got to play like mechs their age should have. So, making up for lost time, Bumblebee was driving the older mechs crazy. Bluestreak had been as well, talking up a storm, but now he was silent, his spark drowned in fear.

Fear was something old mechs could notice easily.

"Something's up with Bluestreak," said Ironhide just as Ratchet opened his mouth to speak as well.

Ratchet turned his head, a frown forming on his face. "You noticed as well?"

"It was hard not to. Primus, I had been cringing about the ride back with that little motor mouth, but the trip back was even worse than I thought with his uncharacteristic silence. I wanted to ask the kid what was wrong, but he kept clinging to Bumblebee like he knew I wanted to talk to him."

"I noticed, and it also bothers me that he wanted to recharge by us for the past few days. Generally, he'd hang out with Bumblebee given their close age, but I have a feeling something's bothering him. I think his current behavior has to do with the desert incident … and the energon that was on his back," said Ratchet as he glared at the parting piles of dust.

Ironhide stiffened. "You noticed that too?"

"I'm a medic. I notice everything, like that limp you've been trying to hide since the first night in the desert. I'm going to have to give you an exam and maybe take that leg apart if sand got into one of your old war wounds," said the medic as a grin rose on his face, his optics still looking forward.

The weapon specialist took a step to the side and coughed. It was not a well-hidden fact that Ironhide hated checkups. He'd fight, growl and pull rank as often as he could to get out of any medical care that wasn't immediate battle repair. That was why Optimus almost always had Ratchet and Ironhide on staff together. The CMO was the only one not afraid of the old mech's medical objection.

"It's nothin'," said the old mech as he tried to resist the urge to rub his hip with his free hand. "I'm more worried about Blue. You think he was attacked by the drone in the desert? It would explain why he's been jumpy, but it doesn't make since that he wouldn't tell us about it."

Ratchet shrugged, "I don't know, but I guess we'll find out. Come on, let's get moving before the younglings get too far ahead of us. We'll just keep an eye on him until he's ready to tell us what's wrong."

...

Bluestreak couldn't get out of the debriefing room fast enough. He had kept everything about his masquerade in the desert a simple lie of misdirection. He sincerely hoped that Ratchet's findings of an ungrounded burrow would appease their commander's worry on the matter and the subject would fall into a distant memory. That was a best case scenario, of course. Who knew what the aftereffects of abandoning a drone would be, or if there were any at all. The youngling hoped not. He had taken to ignoring the medical bays since that day when he was … was … the youth buried the thought before it would come back and bite him. He just wanted to refuel and recharge. He might have recharged next to the older mechs during the trip back, but he didn't get much recharge in.

He had new nightmares to haunt him after all.

Making a quick detour to the rec. room, he grabbed a cube not even bothering to look to see who was in the room. That didn't mean he went unnoticed by everyone else. Kup, Perceptor and Prowl looked up, their conversation ending as the youth all but rushed into the room. They all waited for him to run over to them, his mouth running a mile a minute about his latest 'sand adventure'.

The tale never even came through. No introduction, no excited banter about Earth, and nothing else of that nature. Bluestreak merely grabbed a cube, downed it, and then exited before any of them could even say a word to him, nearly running into Jolt in his rush. In fact, they all sat there a minute waiting for him to come hopping back in like some kind of happy pup. Yet, when nothing came, the exhausted looks became worried ones.

"That was an abnormality for our adolescent, was it not?" asked Perceptor as he looked at the two other mechs.

Prowl quickly replied, door wings rising in worry. "Yes, it was. I can only assume that something happened in the desert, and I would know what that was if a certain CMO hadn't directed me in this direction. He wouldn't allow me into the debriefing room until I refueled … and of course, Optimus agreed."

The two other bots chuckled, Jolt sauntering over and joining the group, a cube in hand, "How is it going my dear old mechs? We taking bets yet on why the young motor mouth isn't talking us all into deactivation. It was his first off-base mission on Earth, after all."

Prowl frowned. Jolt … his current bane of youthful energy and pranks. There was always one on base. Usually someone like Sideswipe was the suspect, but he wasn't here yet. That would be the day. Currently, that space was filled by the new bot on the block, Jolt. He was a young mech, barely a few vorns in his adult upgrade. He had trouble keeping things low key and so Prowl had to regulate his missions. Personally, he blamed the youth's caretaker for his lack of proper military etiquette. If he had had one. Jolts records were painfully lacking … something Prowl planned to rectify.

Opening his mouth, ready to tell Jolt that was unprofessional of him, Kup interrupted first, "You'h think one of us should go talk to the kid?"

"Sure, but we should take bets on him," joked the newest bot on Earth.

Prowl's … did not find that humorous. If it were possible, he scowled even harder. Yet, before the tactician could comment on the remark, there was the sound of a tussle in the hallway and Ironhide tripped into the room, rubbing his leg. Ratchet followed after like puffed up bird, griping something about the medical bay. The verbal argument even dragged on as the two older mechs grabbed cubes at the dispenser and sat down with the rest of the mechs at the table.

"After this cube Ironhide and then it's to the medical bay with you. You hear me. That limp has gotten worse," said the medic, glaring at the other bot before he turned to his other table-mates, "Kup, Perceptor, Prowl … Jolt."

Jolt smiled weakly … now knowing that you did not try to prank the medic without consequences.

"Hello Ratchet. How was the journey?" said Perceptor as his head perked up, part of him hoping that someone had brought some dirt samples back for him to examine. "Hopefully, one of your remembered my request for mineral collections from the desert?"

Ratchet looked at the scientist for a minute before throwing a look over at the grumpy looking Ironhide. "No, sorry Percy, but if Ironhide ever lets me clean out his fraggen hip and all the sand he collected in it, I can get you a sample."

The red scientist seemed to beam at the thought and gave Ironhide a wink. The black mech merely glared back, taking another sip of his cube.

"So," said Jolt, a slightly mischievous grin on his facial plates. "What did happened on your little trip? I had wanted to go after all, but Prowl doesn't trust me around the humans. He thinks I'm going to transform in the middle of a freeway and scream something stupid like: Aliens! Bow you fools."

Ironhide snorted and Prowl's cube nearly cracked in his hand. Oh yeah, that kid was going to kill Prowl … or more likely the other way around.

Ignoring Prowl's death glare at the new mech, Ironhide looked up and stated simply, "What? Bluestreak didn't talk your audios off while he was in here?"

The mech shook his head, Jolt stating, "From what I saw, he didn't say a thing. I take it that either it was the most boring trip ever, which Bluestreak would still consider the most exciting thing ever, or something bad happened. Did the drone try to eat his face or something? Or did Ironhide start recollecting about his old couplings?"

A collection of snorts and chuckles escaped some of the more carefree mechs at the table. Prowl glared a moment more before taking the digi-pad he was working on, noticeably pulling up what looked like Jolt's personnel file, and then preceded to type away. Jolts laughter slowly died as he looked away awkwardly.

"He wasn't attacked, was he?" said the blue mech trying to smooth things over with Prowl before he got a write up or something equally irritating. Jeeze, mech sure was touchy.

Ratchet frowned deeply, speaking in a calm tone, "We don't know, to tell the truth, and his debriefing revealed little else. He was alone for a whole night, lost in the desert. We tried to press him for a while about what happened, but he was determined not to say anything."

The other mechs all went still, especially Prowl. It was not a hidden fact that the mech kept a special optic on the youth. Many wondered if it was because the youth didn't have a caretaker of his own. Prowl, always a stickler for protocol, stated that younglings were supposed to have caretakers. It didn't matter if it was in the middle of a war, and the youth needed care. Yet, with all the chaos trying to find the Allspark, the youngling had fallen through the cracks, but not from Prowl's thoughts. It was a well-known fact that even though Prowl wasn't always on the same base as the youth, Prowl frequently tried to get him a full time caretaker.

"What has his behavior been like? Perhaps we can conclude what happened by observing it?" said the enforcer with a worried look.

Ratchet looked at the other mech, knowing that calculating gaze anywhere. Prowl had his battle computer running. Then, breaking down his metal notes which he was going to add to the youth's physiology files later, the medic stated, "He has been jumpy and frightened. It's as if he's afraid of the ground honestly. He has even been clinging to us older bots at night. So he's probably been having nightmares."

There were frowns while other mechs nodded in understanding. Bluestreak was a good kid and all the older mechs tried to look out for him.

Ironhide finally spoke, reading everyone's mind, "So, whose going to go talk with the kid?"

Everyone exchanged looks as if trying to mentally draw straws, but before anyone could even open their intake, the sound of old shifting gears filled the room. Kup spoke softly, "I think I will go talk to him. You all have places to be after all … I have nobody at the moment. "

The group was silent as they watched the green mech go, their lip components all tight as they waited for Kup to disappear from sight. Then, as if reading each other's minds, Ratchet stated in a sullen tone, "He really is taking Hot Rod's disappearance badly, isn't he?"

Prowl merely nodded, putting down his now empty cube. "Yes, he is. Please excuse me."

Yet, for being a seemingly collected mech, the Second in Command's mind was racing. Kup had given him an idea. Maybe, just maybe, his worries for the young gunner had just answered themselves in a more permanent way then anyone else had in mind.

...

Bluestreak stared at the shadows of his room for a klick, his own shadow seeming to want to join the darkness. Why was his room dark? The young mech struggled to remain calm. It was fairly obvious that someone had turned off his lights while he had been gone in the desert. He never turned them off. They would at least be on ten percent power, but never off. He couldn't take the dark … not after his injuries.

He tried to keep quiet. Not a sob escaped him as he lied in the dark, his whole body aching, but he couldn't risk it. Someone might hear him and come. It didn't matter which side would come, Decepticon or Autobot. He knew that they would be happy. Not because he was still clinging to life. No. But because he was so close to death.

He was still fresh.

It was easier to tell what parts were still functioning that way. Both sides were so in need for spare, decay-free parts.

The youngling continued to remain still, hoping his horrors wouldn't come true, but, just as he was about to fall into recharge, he heard footsteps. Tightening, the youth started to drag his shredded body closer to a pile of leaking and hole ridden corpses. They looked like Decepticon corpses, but he welcomed the old, decaying mechs as if they were his caretakers. Using his still useful arm, he dragged himself underneath one corpse. His form threatened to shiver as he felt a collection of congealed energon and coolant drip down onto him, but he stilled himself by lying his head on a headless corpse's chest. He offlined his optics and pretended not to hear the voices nearby. Instead, he pretending that he heard a spark beating below him and that he was lying with a live mech, maybe a friend … not a corpse.

He was safer here with the dead then the living.

Yet, just as the memory was about to pull him the whole way down into its ever encasing horror, something seemed to lurch forward and strike at the memory. It was as if an armored force had just struck out and cleaved the memory in half. The youth nearly collapsed from the rush that overcame his spark. Another mind was with his and it was forcing the fear away without an ounce of trouble or hesitation. The youth merely panted from the power of other thoughts and feelings. The youngling, giving into the other mind, found himself falling against the wall for support and slowly sliding down.

Gradually, the pain and worry of the memory was lost into the other mind now. Not knowing what else to do, the youngling just concentrated on the armored force, listening to the whispers and strength it had to offer. Was this what it felt like to have a spark-mate or twin, where you could feel them all the time? Was it warm and comforting like this? Was … was … the youngling's optics onlined and he found himself fleeing from the feeling. Primus, no, no, no! This was a bond. Not a friend, but … a parasite.

Bluestreak struggled to get to his feet but kept falling back against the wall as another wave of emotions that weren't his washed over him. Now that his fear was drowned for the moment, the other mind was asking questions without words, demanding location, base designs, diagnostics, stasis, and current fuel levels. The youth tried to pull away and hide such information, but he had let the other mind in too deeply a moment ago and it was wandering about in his head as if it had always been there.

Then, as quickly as it had come, it had left, whispering promises of seeing him soon. The youngling was merely left there with a new feeling in his chest and thoughts full of worry. He had accepted the slagger's part of the bond to push away the memory. Now, it was fully cemented into him.

With a small click from his vocal processor, Bluestreak pulled his knees into his chest. The drone was coming for him and there was nothing he could do to stop it. It would sneak into the base, maybe kill someone in the process, and then come feed off of him so that the other Autobots could see he was a traitor. Shortly after, they would shoot him and while he bled out onto the floor, they would cannibalize the parts that they needed. They wouldn't care that his spark was still beating and that his optics were still online.

Dragging his head into his knees, the grey mech fought not to start clicking like a weeping sparkling. Yet, he was stressed, tired, and now he had a hungry drone coming his way. His time was on the countdown. Maybe he should desert. It was something that had crossed his mind after the incident. He had had to push down the idea though because, at the time, energon was rare and deserters were not treated with a kind hand … by either side. So, he stayed and the thought was forgotten. He had become a sniper instead. It was a well-known fact that snipers were either never injured or hit with a kill-shot by another sniper. They rarely saw melee or firsthand battle. He would never risk being so close to death again.

Never again would he be someone's spare parts.

So, the youth sat there, his vents hiccupping. Should he run away? Should he make plans to collect energon secretly and steal an energon converter? Should he find a nice planet or comet to make his home with his parasite? Primus, that would be quiet. Never again will his voice chit-chat away with its usual buzzing, because he would have no company. Autobots would shoot at him for having a drone, Decepticons would try to force him into their ranks, and neutrals would be afraid of him. He would be truly, entirely alone.

So, despite himself, the youth started to click and cry away, his vents stuttering. What did it matter if he cried? He was alone, after all. No one was there to see him.

...

Kup stopped in the hall, his head hung.

Frag, what was he doing here? Was he really so spark broken over losing a charge? He had lost youngling's before to the war. Had more than one bleed out under his hands as he struggled to save them. That … was war. Why had Hot Rod's loss and different? He should mourn, move on, and think of the young bot fondly.

Then again, his other younglings only left him when they got their final upgrades or when they offlined. Hot Rod … had run away from him.

What had he done that was so wrong to warrant that? Had he done anything wrong at all?

Burying those thoughts, knowing he would never have any answers, the old mech stalled before Bluestreak's door. He had been ready to knock when he heard a soft sound. It was a sound he knew all too well, yet he drew his head in a little closer to listen. There seemed to be clicking … no, crying. The old mech sighed, knowing the sound far too well. He had taken care of many younglings being an old bot, and knew there was only one way to deal with this.

Knocking on the door, the older mech spoke, "Bluestreak, its Kup. Please let me in."

He then heard the choking of vents as the youngling struggled to drown his sorrows. He even answered hurriedly, "I-click-I'm busy right now. Come back –click- later."

Kup, in his old age, did not have the patience to play this game. He vented and stated simply, "Either yah open the door youngling or I open it myself."

There was a choking noise, and then a whining sound before there was a screech, the door slding open. The youth stood there, trying to look as if there was nothing wrong, but his door wings were twitching and dragged down towards the floor. Kup himself didn't have door wings, but he knew enough mechs that did to know something was wrong. Maybe he should have let someone like Optimus or Ironhide deal with this. He always hated this part.

Giving a weak smile, the youth quickly spoke, "W-what's up, Kup?"

The elder shook his head, knowing this game all too well. Giving a dry look, the old mech stated, "No need to try and hide it, youngling. Just tell me now what bothered you in the desert? I could hear your clicking all the way through the door. So whatever it was, it was bad. Best to come clean now."

Bluestreak tightened, his vocal processor whining as he took a frightened step backward. He quickly looked over his shoulder, as if looking for a door, but then looked back at the older mech. He couldn't run away.

Quickly throwing his gaze to the floor, the grey mech whispered, "I-I don't want to talk about it, Kup."

The green mech glared at the youth. He was too old for this. He wasn't going to daisy-foot around the youngling's feelings. He had done that in his younger years, but quickly learned that it was best just to get things out. Leaving them to feaster until the youth was ready was useless suffering, especially when a simple problem could become a full blown catastrophe. Nope, he wasn't in the mood for this guessing game.

Gaining a frown, Kup stated simply, "Bluestreak, listen kid, I'm an old mech. My joints are rusting as we speak, so either you tell me what's bothering you or I'm leaving."

The youth whined as the older mech turned to take a step away, but before he could even take more than one step, a grey hand lashed out and gripped his elbow.

Trying not to smirk at such a simple victory, the old mech looked back and spoke again, "Well, you are not going to waste an old mech's time are you?"

Swallowing, the youth looked to the floor again and then whispered, "I can't Kup. Please, I just had a bad night in the desert. That's all that's wrong."

Kup really wanted to believe the youth, but with the way he was shaking, things were far worse than a bad night. Feeling sympathetic and yet stern, the elder reached out a hand and cupped the youngling's cheek, giving him a slight pat before he started to pull away. "Well then. Good night kind."

Bluestreak's wings dropped immediately as if he were drowning. He really didn't want to be alone with a drone coming after him! Before he knew it, the youngling was clutching to the older mech's hand tightly. With shivering optics, he quickly whimpered, "Please don't leave. I just had a nightmare in the desert. That's all. I just want to recharge, Kup, but I'm too scared. I haven't been able to recharge in the past few days because if it. Please, please don't go."

Kup sighed, knowing this story all too well. Nightmares were something that constantly plagued many younger mechs. Younglings really shouldn't be allowed in war, but they were big enough to die … they were strong enough to fight.

It wasn't like there were youngling care centers anymore anyway.

Giving into the plea, Kup got his hand free and drew the young mech into a hug, trying to make sure he didn't touch the gunner's sensitive wings. Then, deciding that he'd suffer Prowl's wrath later for missing his shift, he took a few steps into the gunner's quarters and towards the only berth in the room, "Come on youngling, if you can't sleep, I'll sleep with you tonight."

The younger mech merely stood there in shock as he watched Kup crawled onto the berth before him, waving for the youngling to crawl in with him. Bluestreak stood there a minute, clicking, slightly surprised by the older mech's offer. It wasn't that mechs didn't sleep together or share berths in a non-sexual way, but mostly such actions were only done between younglings and creators or younglings and caretakers. Kup wasn't his caretaker though. He had Hot Rod. Well … had. Bluestreak didn't have a caretaker. Nobody wanted him and if they did … they always died shortly afterwards. He never had had a caretaker snuggle with him when he had a nightmare … especially after the incident when he needed one the most.

Almost as if not knowing what to do, the youth continued to stand there, his vents picking up into hiccupped gasps, he was going to start crying again.

As if reading Bluestreak's thoughts, the older mech sat up and took the grey mech by his elbow and willed the slightly smaller mech onto the berth. Bluestreak simply followed, his clicking becoming choking gasps. With a small whisper of its okay, the elder mech wrapped his arms around the smaller frame, allowing Bluestreak to bury his head between Kup's neck and chest. Then, once comfortable, the youth continued his earlier crying and clutched to the older being as if he'd fall away from existence if he didn't have an iron hard grasp on Kup's form.

Clicking back in a way that was meant to calm sparklings, Kup allowed the youth to cry all he wanted. He didn't mind. He knew younglings could be easily upset, especially when the world started to calm down. The youth probably wasn't really upset about the nightmare in the desert, but his thoughts in the desert which bore the nightmare. It was a reflection period, and the youth probably couldn't take in the things that had happened to him and what he had done to survive this war.

Bluestreak might have left the desert, but the things he had found there were still haunting him.

...

There was a whine as the larger aircraft fell down to the earth like a goose finally ready for rest. The tires squealed as they hit the landing strip, the large plane coming to a loud until its engines cut and it slowly came to a halt. For a moment all was still, the unloading vehicles driving up the strip towards the airborne vehicle. There was a loud clunk though and suddenly something fell to the ground … something metal. Then, as the lights from the nearing vehicles threatened to reveal the underbelly of the large plane, there was a scurrying of many metallic legs. Then, when the light fell on the underbelly, there was nothing there. The thing was already scurrying for the grass, one thought on its mind, "I'm coming master."

XXX

Paw07: Hope you liked the chapter. I've decided that I'd like to have a beta for this story. So, my loyal readers, if you happen to want to beta for this one just drop a review. I figure that I'd rather have someone who likes the story beta than just pick somebody at random. ^_~

Update: Alright, did some semi-heavy revisions on this chapter. For one, I decided to go with Jolt instead of Smokescreen like the original version. I really love Smokescreen from Transformer's Prime over G1 Smokescreen so if he shows up, I will be using that version of him. I then revised some of Kup's inner thoughts. Most of the other stuff was grammatical though.

(Revisions March 2016)