It has been a normal week for everyone. That is, after getting the Cybertonium and bringing the Dinobots back.

Though, to some degree, that was kind of normal as well.

After all, when dealing with giant alien robots, the term 'normal' tends to include a lot more than it did before.

In fact, it's so different from the 'normal' of before the first meeting with Cybertronian, that a Decepticon attack to a power plant, another oilfield in this case, is almost downright boring.

Which is why Spike is carefully looking around the battlefield, trying to find somewhere a tiny human like himself can be of use with the same calm of someone who is sifting through the grocery list while in the supermarket.

Standing a safe distance away, of course.

He doesn't want to get trampled or shot by accident. Or intentionally.

Nor does he want to make of himself a hostage.

So, he turns his attention back to the battlefield, after taking a look at his surroundings.

So far, so good.

Frenzy and Rumble are busy with Brawn and Hound, and Laserbeak is up in the air with the Seekers, so that rules three of the Decepticons able to sneak up on him out. And, as far as he knows, the rest of Cassettes are still in Soundwave's chest compartment.

Just in case, the teenager takes a look at where the Communications Officer is standing next to the building, shooting at whatever Autobot gets in range, but otherwise keeping out of the tangle of brawling Cybertronian.

For a second, the boy considers walking up to the Decepticon and ask him about whatever first crosses his mind.

He quickly dismisses the thought with a shake of his head.

Soundwave may have been… civil, since the misunderstanding with Laserbeak, but he's still a Decepticon.

Besides, Spike can always ask the Autobots for any alien-related questions that may pop up, like he's been doing since the differences between them became really obvious with that mess with creation.

And yet, he finds himself wondering if there aren't things that can only by answered by the 'Cons.

With one last shake of his head to get rid of those thoughts, the boy turns his attention back to the battlefield.

Megatron and Prime wrestling, check.

The twins bringing down Thundercracker, check.

Ratchet fixing Cliffjumper, check.

Hound prying Rumble off of Brawn, check.

Frenzy jumping on Hound to get him to release Rumble, check.

Soundwave falling to his knees and dropping his weapon, che—

Wait, what?

Rubbing his eyes to try to clear whatever must be wrong with his vision, Spike quickly turns his attention back to the Cassette Carrier.

He's still by the building, and, just like he's seen, he's on his knees, weapon on the ground, and servos slowly rising to cover his helm.

But he's alone.

There's no one holding him at gunpoint, no one threatening him, no shooting marks around him.

Feeling something that may or may not be worry, Spike hurries towards the fallen Decepticon.

He hears Laserbeak shriek as Bluestreak shots him down, as well as the Cassette twins' roars as they deal with Hound, Brawn and Gears, but he only has eyes for the dark blue mech, huddled into himself and, as he gets closer, clearly shaking.

"Soundwave?" He calls, slightly out of breath, as he gets to his side, and the feeling is obviously worry as he hears the low clicks and whirrs of Cybertronian speech escape the Decepticon in an unending whisper, black servos clenching his helm almost too tightly.

Could it be that he hasn't yet recovered from the lack of Cybertonium?

"Soundwave, are you alright?" He asks, a bit louder than before, as he takes some steps closer, finally able to see the wildly flickering almost yellow visor. "Soundwave…?" The air seems to tremble, a high pitched sound slowly growing louder as the Communications Officer's shaking grows worse—

And is only then that Spike hears the loud shrieking from the battlefield, quickly turning to see Frenzy literally biting Hound's servo as Rumble trashes under Gears and Brawn, both Cassettes staring in his direction with pale pink visors and a weird expression on their faceplates, something almost like—

Fear.

There's a soft click at his back and the teenager whirls around just in time to see Soundwave throw his head back as his chest compartment opens to release three Cassettes—

The world rushes out of focus as something slams into him, almost burying him against a padded surface from the strength of the impact, and a muffled high pitched explosion rattles his brain.

Some kind of tendrils keep him pressed against the cushioned seat-like thing, but he manages to squirm around once he regains a bit of focus, the shrieking still going on, though a lot softer than before.

And his heart skips a beat when he realizes he's sitting inside a F15 Falcon's cockpit.

Though the craft seems to be standing vertical to the ground, judging by the fact the seatbelts are the only thing stopping gravity from throwing him against the controls.

Meaning, either the Seeker is taking a nosedive, or he's still in root mode.

Since he can't hear the engines running…

And I didn't want to get captured…

He can't help the yelp and him grabbing the seatbelts when the whole cockpit jerks, as if the Seeker had jumped, and immediately hears the turbines roar.

"Can I ask where are you taking me?" He asks softly, confused and more than a bit wary as he finds himself hanging upside down from the seat, which can only be because the mech is still in root mode.

He gets no answer.

It doesn't take long at all for the flight to end, and, still tense, Spike can only frown in confusion when he feels the soft movements and hears the tapping that means the Seeker is walking.

And the soft shrieking hasn't stopped, it just hasn't been audible until now that the engines have gone silent.

Worry and genuine fear start to fill the teenager at that.

"What the Hell is going on…"

The soft hiss would have made him jump if it hadn't been for the seatbelts, so, instead, he watches the canopy open a bit, barely enough for him to squeeze through—

If he hadn't been grabbing the harness, he would be lying against the controls as it releases him.

Instead, he steps on the panel under him, careful of the levers and buttons, and, slowly, steps out of the cockpit and onto the waiting servo.

A sky blue servo that, instead of clenching around him, lowers him to the rocky floor of the large cave they're in.

Once safely on the ground, Spike turns around—

And feels his mouth fall open.

Starscream just gives him a solemn look before closing the orange canopy and turn his attention to Soundwave.

Who is cradled against the Seeker's side, arms tightly embracing the Flier as his helm rests next to the cockpit, visor offline, with one of the Air Commander's arms around his shoulders to keep him in place.

With them sitting on the ground, Starscream with one leg outstretched and the other bent at the knee, and the Cassette Carrier nested in as small a ball as possible against his side, it looks, impossible as such a thing should be, like a kid being soothed after a nightmare.

The growling at his back, though, immediately distracts Spike from the sight of the two Decepticons, turning to find Ravage stalking him, mouth open to let his sharp teeth flash in the low light coming through the entrance, Buzzsaw and Ratbat observing from behind the panther mech.

There's a soft whirring at his back, but no way in Hell will the boy look away from the Cybertronian still approaching threateningly slowly.

Ravage's growl is cut by a snarl, and there's some more whistling from either Soundwave or Starscream—though he suspects the latter, seeing how the TIC wasn't exactly focused on the world some seconds before—and, to his utter surprise and not-so-hidden relief, the panther stops and closes his jaws.

Though he's still looking at him with what can only be identified as a glare.

Buzzsaw squawking something quickly takes his attention away from the black and silver Cybertronian, even if just for a moment, to see none of the Flier Cassettes have moved from where he last saw them.

Some more clicking from behind him, and the fact Ravage is returning to his brothers' side, slumped in defeat, finally convinces the boy to look over his shoulder.

Soundwave hasn't moved from Starscream's side, and the Seeker watching the smaller mechs is the only clue he needs to know who has been speaking all along.

When no answer comes forth, Spike decides to surrender to his curiosity, despite his sense of self-preservation urging him to stay still and silent in hopes of the Cybertronian forgetting about him.

"What is going on?" He asks softly, chancing a look at the Cassettes to make sure they're not thinking about pouncing before moving a bit to watch the larger mechs. "Is Soundwave alright?" He adds without second thought, able to once more hear the soft whining now that the cave's mostly silent.

The shaking dark blue frame is quite worrying too, regardless of faction.

"He will be." The Seeker answers simply, voice low to a soft and strangely soothing rasp.

And then, silence dawns again.

Not sure if he should ask once more about the situation, and feeling really uncomfortable with the Cassettes' optics on him, the teenager fidgets and embraces himself, rubbing his arms in an effort to warm himself.

It may be light outside, and they may still be in a desert, but that doesn't mean it's hot in their rocky hideout.

"Come here." Startled out of his wary analysis of his surroundings, the boy can only look at the Flier in confusion. "Your peripheral temperature is dropping, systems will begin to enter shutdown to maintain your core temperature, and that may lead to damage. So, come here." And this time, when he softly pats his extended leg, Spike obeys.

Carefully, and feeling creeped out by the optics still on his back like the laser pointers of some riffles, the boy moves to be next to the thruster, leaning against it when he realizes it's still warm but not hot enough to burn.

He doesn't even try to hold back a content sigh as he feels the cold release its clamp on his body, sitting down and moving to a more comfortable position against the plating that allows him to look at the two Decepticon officers.

His relief vanishes as he realizes Soundwave hasn't snapped out of whatever has turned him into the quivering and whimpering mess he is now.

It's… disturbing, to say the least.

And terrifying.

What could be so horrible, so powerful, to render the immutable Third in Command and Communications Officer of the Decepticons all but useless?

Embracing himself once more in response to a not physical coldness, the teenager presses his back further against the almost unnoticeably vibrating warm plating, unable to look away from the black visor.

"What's wrong?" He whispers at last, finally managing to meet Starscream's red optics.

The seriousness on the Seeker's face is more than enough for him to shiver again, but the boy doesn't look away.

He will get answers this time.

… Though the Decepticon SIC seems pretty stubborn on not enlightening him.

The shudder that follows isn't Spike's, but Soundwave's, and the Flier quickly turns to whisper something to him, in Cybertronian and with a voice so low that it sounds completely smooth, almost, dare he say, beautiful.

The shivers racking the dark blue frame go back to being almost imperceptible, and Starscream finally turns to the boy with a determined glint in his optics that makes them seem sharper.

"You humans, despite your many languages, lack words and concepts that are basic for Cybertronian, mostly due to the fact your science is too rudimentary." Feeling insulted by the calmly spoken words, Spike stiffens, but one blue servo held up in a gesture for him to wait quiets the boy before he can even begin. "Think of it as your actual science in comparison to that of your first simian-like ancestors. Most of your explanations relied on magic and gods back then. However, it may seem some of your more… ambiguous concepts are actually accurate." Confused, the teenager finds himself holding his breath as the Seeker turns to make sure the Cassette Carrier is comfortable by his side, not looking away from him as he continues. "What ails Soundwave are what you humans call ghosts."

Of all the things he had been expecting, possession was not one of them.

Or, actually, anything in the realm of the supernatural hadn't been it.

Sci-fi? Of course, he's dealing with giant sentient robots from outer space.

But ghosts, possessions… That hadn't even crossed his mind.

And his dumbstruck look may be reflecting that quite well, because Starscream's optics go offline for a couple of seconds, as if he was summoning the needed patience to deal with the situation, before he turns to the human once more.

"If you're thinking about apparitions with the shape of those who were deactivated, forget it."

"I was actually thinking about possession." He answers, too startled to even care about the annoyed tone of the Flier.

Who doesn't immediately answer, instead studying the human with that emotionless façade he seems to have adopted now that Soundwave can't use it.

It's creepy and uncomfortable and slightly terrifying, because he hasn't denied Spike's thoughts—

"It happens."

Oh, shit….

"However, that is not the present situation. Tell me, human, have you ever asked you dear Autobots why there's only one Communications Specialist in each faction?"

The teenager's mouth opens to answer—and the meaning behind the Seeker's words rears its ugly head.

"There's… there's just Soundwave and Blaster on Earth but… you mean, there's only them in the whole of the Autobots and Decepticons too?" The Flier just nods. "What happened to the rest?"

"Computers send signals to the satellites in orbit around the planet, who, in turn, reflect them back to the receiver. That's how your technology works. And, at the basic level, that's how ours, both integrated and external, do to. However, satellites aren't the only things that can interact with these signals. The radiation from stars, even other planets, can mess with them, reflect them, duplicate them… in short, once a message has been sent, it can never be completely extinguished. Those are our ghosts. The calls, the reports millions of years past, the cries from battlefields that are nothing but rust… and sometimes, backup files of whole processors." Starscream's optics dim, no longer focused on the boy, as Spike feels horror slowly growing at the bottom of his stomach. "We can all sense them, though they're usually nothing more than bursts of static through open comm lines. But mechs specialized in Communications, the whole of the Cassette Carrier frame type, built for that… They can receive them, decode them and have them flood their processors even before they become aware of the intercepted package."

Soft scratching sounds make Spike jump in fright, pressing closer to the Decepticon's turbine, before he realizes it's just the Cassettes moving closer, giving the human a wide berth as they pile against Soundwave's legs.

They look, despite their faceplates and frames being some of the hardest to read, exhausted and worried sick.

"What… what happens when they… receive those ghosts?"

"Usually, a secondary sub-processor identifies and categorizes them, for many are not…" Instead of finishing his sentence, Starscream lifts his head just enough that he can stare at the pure blue sky through the arc of rock of the entrance. "Large enough backup files tend to upload into the mech's processor, sometimes overwriting the original personality and databanks, ending in a 'possession'. Some of them can be cleared of the invading data, but for others, their only option is deactivation." The boy shivers, rubbing his arms again in an effort to keep the chilly touch of fear at bay. "And then, there's the situation where whole data exchanges are received, such as conversations."

"Is this what has happened to Soundwave? That's why he's… talking?" The Seeker offlines his optics, but nods nevertheless.

"Until the transmission ends, until the ghost finishes its message, there's nothing we can do. Trying to shake him out of it will only allow the echoes to take a stronger hold of him. Were we back in the ship, or in Cybertron, we could have tried to scramble the signal. But out here, we can only wait."

"Will he be alright?"

"He's strong. And he knows not everything is real. He's already functioned through this particular ghost, and he's grounded in the here and now. But that doesn't make the voices weaker, or their pleas easier to ignore."

"Pleas?" He squeaks, voice almost too soft, but the Seeker turns to him to show he's heard.

"Simfur wasn't one of Cybertron's greatest cities, but it was a respectable one. It was divided by our war, and was made one of the strategic points between the hemispheres. As such, it was subjected to quite a good number of sieges. Until the Plague of Body-Snatchers."

Not sure if he wants to know or not, Spike finds the decision is made for him as his mouth opens of its own volition.

"Plague of what?"

"Some of your Gastropods, of your snails, create shells of their own, while other species occupy those vacated by larger specimens once theirs grow too small. Your hermit crabs have been known to reside in human-made items, such as bottles. And yet, you do have a word for it."

"A word for what?"

"Zombies."

And now is when the teenager feels himself pale to shades he's never got to before, because ghosts as errant signals when it comes to mechanical beings he can understand, but zombies…

How can metallic creatures have their own brain-eating undead variants?

"In times of war, the frames of those deactivated are recovered and recycled, for spare parts are hard to make, especially in a confrontation as long-lived as ours. With its constant change of sides and sieges, Simfur was a prime example of that, to the point they had more deactivated frames than functioning Cybertronian. Now, there are many kinds of 'zombies' for us, since empty frames allow for lots of vermin to make their nests in, and there are quite a handful that can manipulate those frames."

"The Undead." Spike whispers, cutting through the explanation as it dawns just how easily could mechanical bodies be 'brought back to life', in comparison to organics.

"No. The Body-Snatchers." Starscream corrects, optics as emotionless as his faceplate. "There is no such a thing as a functioning sparkless mech, insults aside. Those are called drones." The boy nods with a small grimace, conceding the point. "As I said, there are many kinds of them. Some are harmless, simply inhabiting the frame, even able to move it somehow, though very little. And then, there are the parasites, the Energon Guzzlers, the Corroders. Those that infect a frame and use it to get more. No energy-based weaponry and no transformation, but no pain, no need to refuel or recharge. Only to find more Cybertronian to infect. And those are the real 'Undead', the ones that find themselves trapped in their own frames as the parasites cut them off, as their own systems are turned against them. The Energon Guzzlers drain all liquid energy sources, leaving the spark to self-consume. The Corroders devour the alloys that make up the frame, until the cascade of errors is such that the spark extinguishes. And there are more, each worse than the last."

Dark red optics find Spike's gaze, and only then does the boy realize he's shaking, huddled into himself and whimpering softly, because he knows the horror movie zombies that move slowly and moaning and are always after brains or flesh, but they're always reanimated corpses, and, more importantly, not real.

Yet, in at least one inhabited planet of this universe, the made up tales of rotting monsters with known faces that are used in Earth to amuse and give a quick scare, are living nightmares, are things that can and do happen.

A terrified hiccup-like sob escapes through his lips, and he suddenly finds himself being surrounded by warm dactyls, carefully closing around him to bring him to the Seeker's chest.

From his new position, nestled between the cupping servo and the red chest structures, Soundwave's mutterings are even louder and more desperate, even though his voice is trying to sound composed.

"What happened?" He whispers, still shaking, as he curls tighter against the warm metal he's all but lying on.

"Simfur was under Decepticon control, besieged by Autobots. The civilians had long since deactivated each other as they chose sides, only a third having escaped the massacre to join one faction or another. That meant that the occupying forces, approximately a quarter of Simfur's previous population, had five million frames in various states of disassembly. Too many empty frames in the same place, and with our attention focused on our enemies…" Starscream's voice trails off, but Spike doesn't need more.

Face distorted by horror and disbelief, he can only look down at his shaking hands, pressed flat against red plating, and shake his head.

"Oh God." His voice is strangled and so soft he barely hears it himself, but he can't find it in himself to care about it.

… five million frames…

"Oh God."

"When the Plague spread, it did so fast. The alarm was triggered late, all sensors pointed to outside the city walls, all optics and audials turned to the Autobots. Few escaped, and of those, none made it through the siege. Fortunately, the walls stood strong still, containing the menace, but we had to move fast. We obliterated Simfur, razed it to the ground. We even had Autobot support, once we managed to get a message along to Prime of what was going on. And then, once there was nothing but ashes left, we bombed it again. And again. And joined the siege lines to ensure none of those monstrosities escaped to wreak havoc anew. A whole vorn, that tenuous peace lasted. One whole vorn of having nothing but torsos, or arms, or even decapitated helms drag themselves to any living creature they first sensed. We had an outbreak in the lines, a minor one, more of a scare than anything else. But we managed it. And when the parasites stopped coming to us… we went to them. It took us another vorn to clear the whole of what had been Simfur, and even after that, we rained fire on it once more, just in case."

The following silence is cut only by Soundwave's soft whirring and clicking and, once he manages to process everything, Spike realizes his question hasn't been answered.

"How about the ghost—"

"When the Plague first spread, not all of the Decepticons in the city made it out." Ominous silence falls again, red optics—haunted red optics, if such a thing is possible—locking with his dark eyes. "Some fell, some escaped, and others barricaded themselves. Theirs were the messages we received, the alarm that was sounded. But we didn't have the forces to get them out."

"You destroyed the city—"

"And everything in it." Starscream finishes solemnly, before turning his once more distant gaze to somewhere in the past. "But it took us too long to get ready, too long to convince Prime and prepare the strike. And they never shut down their comms."

"Soundwave…"

"Is trying to calm them down, to reassure them."

Enemies of his friends they may be, and they may have threatened him with death and worse no few times, but, in that instant, the teenager's heart breaks for the Decepticons.

"Does he know…"

"Deep inside, he does. But that is the problem of such advanced communications arrays. That, along his own memories of the event… He knows he's not there, he is fighting what he hears and sees. We're anchoring him as best as we can, but only Soundwave can fight this battle now."

Soft whining under them gives Spike enough strength to stretch his neck and see that the three Cassettes are slowly moving to their creator's lap, soft sounds escaping them.

Slowly, he stands on red plating with the help of the servo still supporting him and, carefully, reaches for the helm resting so close yet so far away.

After a second of nothing, blue plating moves, and the boy barely has time to attach himself to a couple of dactyls like a leech before he finds himself suspended in front of a half-hidden black visor.

"Come on, Soundwave. Come back." He whispers, standing on the servo carefully and, finally, managing to rest a hand on warm dark blue metal.

Soft tingling goes up his arm at the touch, but the slight pink color the surface in front of him has taken is more than enough to push the weird feeling aside, the chirring and clicking growing lower until they finally stop, pale red visor rebooting in a blink before the mech slowly moves away from the Flier, though he cradles his Cassettes close to his chest.

The other pale blue servo comes to secure Spike on his perch, but he's not put down.

"Thank you." The Communications Officers whispers, still shivering softly, as he looks at all those present, voice soft yet mechanical and emotionless.

"No need to." The teenager answers, and he can see Starscream nod in agreement from the corner of his eye.

"Query…" The Cassette Carrier's voice breaks softly, and, when nothing follows, the Seeker slowly stands up, cradling Spike closer to his chest with one hand to offer the other to his fellow Decepticon to help him stand.

"He was too close. I got him in my cockpit to shield him from your sonic burst, and I had no choice but to bring him along. I've been telling him horror stories while we waited for you to come back." The Air Commander answers the unvoiced question, a humorless smirk on his faceplate as the dark blue mech stands up with his help and allows his creations to go back into his chest compartment.

"Ghosts, Body-Snatchers, Spark Eaters—" A burst of static and the whirring of transformation cut Soundwave's words and drown the boy's startled yelp as a sharp movement sends him to his knees, fortunately managing not to fall from the servos under him.

He quickly looks around, noting the Decepticon Third's startled orange visor, how he seems to be a step further from before and his tense position. As he turns to his handler, he feels his mouth fall open, for never before has he seen the stark terror that is now clearly seen on Starscream's faceplate, along the way his optics are pale amber and flickering madly, and—

He has no wings.

His wings have vanished, the spaces they should have been occupying far too obvious even in the dim lighting—

No, there they are.

Bent back and down to press flat against his back, one on top of the other, as far as the poor angle he's seeing them from allows him to tell.

He has moved his wings to protect them, to make himself smaller.

It's not hard to arrive at that conclusion when one takes a second look at the Flier's face, the horror making him shake hard enough that Spike dares not try to get to his feet again more than obviously being the reason for their movement.

"Not… not about Spark Eaters." He whispers at last, cooling fans working so hard that they are easily heard, shaking stopping and wings rising once more, whirring back to place when the Air Commander finally composes himself. "Let's go. We have to drop the human off, and Megatron won't be happy that we just vanished in the middle of the fight."

Without another word, Spike finds himself once more in the Seeker's cockpit, though this time with the mech in his alt mode and the Communications Officer sitting quietly in his lap.

The Autobots are still at the oilfield, no sign of any other Decepticons, so Spike is left far enough that, by the time Ironhide arrives to collect him, the F15 Falcon is not even a speck against the blue sky.

And here I thought nothing could be worse than learning about Cybertronian reproduction…

AN: A bit late but the chapter didn't want to collaborate... until it decided it was going to write itself on its own. I sincerely don't know what happened! All I wanted to explain is there, all the main points in my mental draft have been covered... but I swear I don't know how things progressed as they did!

Alright, as always, Bibliotecaria.D has been a great source of HC inspiration (especially the ghosts, I knew what I wanted, but I didn't know how to put it), as well as Max Brooks' World War Z and The Zombie Survival Guide (both for the ghosts and the zombies themselves. I really don't know if I love or hate that author for making them be so slagging realistic). Also, the Spark Eater name and some of the idea is taken from IDW's More than Meets the Eye.

Qwertzu: I can't believe I haven't answered before, I'm so sorry! I want to thank you for all your reviews and for taking the time to write them in the first place. I'm really glad you enjoy the fic, and even more that you let me know! Thanks again!