Chapter Four: Shed Some Light

A/N: I don't know if I've told you this before, but this story takes place almost immediately after "Hurt" in TF Prime.

I hope you enjoy this extra chapter!

"Autobot Outpost Omega One, do you read me? This is Wheeljack, come in! I'm coming under heavy fire, does anyone copy?"

The Jackhammer shuddered as another shot grazed its starboard side. Wheeljack swore, attempting to keep his ship in the air as long as he could. He was in the process of losing one of his thrusters, communications were down, and he was being pursued by over a dozen Vehicons. In retrospect, not one of his best days, though he could easily recall worse.

"Frag it all!" Wheeljack grunted, executing a rather impressive barrel roll to avoid a volley of enemy fire, but he did not have time to be proud. "Can anyone hear me? Bulkhead, Doc – is anyone there? I could use an assist – "

Blaster fire clipped the Jackhammer with more force, sending Wheeljack lurching forward. A spasm ripped through his frame, pain from the injuries he had sustained from Hardshell's vicious attack extending to every nerve. He banked sharply, the pain encompassing his CPU for too long before he managed to contain it again. Wheeljack barely kept the Jackhammer in the air, an endeavor made futile when one of his engines began to die.

Wheeljack stubbornly pushed the aching of his limbs to the nethermost corner of his CPU, instead putting all of his focus on landing his ship and attempting to contact the rest of the Autobots one last time.

"If anyone can hear this, it's Wheeljack. I've got 'Cons on my tail and I don't know if I'll get outta this in one piece. If…if Bulkhead wakes up, tell him I'm sorry."

Wheeljack maneuvered his ship away from a human city, willing the Jackhammer to keep going on its last two engines until they made it past any populated areas. The Vehicons' blaster fire was getting thicker, more than ready for the chase to be over, just as his ship began to speed over a collection of small mountain ranges.

Finally, the Jackhammer's comm line crackled to life.

"Wheeljack, do you copy? This is Optimus – "

The destruction of the ship's second engine decimated any chance Wheeljack might have had of hearing the Prime's static-filled response. He lost control of the Jackhammer almost immediately, and it began to plummet to the ground, flanked by eager Vehicons. At the last minute, Wheeljack was able to pull up enough that he wasn't obliterated with the crash, but it was a near thing. He was knocked into stasis for a few kliks once the ship made impact, luckily for him since he hated watching the Jackhammer crash, no matter how many times it happened.

He onlined to the sound of several functioning t-cogs as the Vehicons landed outside the wreckage of his ship. Wheeljack struggled to stand and limp over to the entrance, which remained more or less intact, and clambered outside.

Everything from the mountains to the ground was lush and green with organic material, other than the deep gouge of charred black the Jackhammer had left in its wake. Wheeljack counted more than a dozen Vehicons surrounded him in a loose semicircle; their blasters deployed and battle stances ready. On a good day, Wheeljack could have taken them all out and had energy to spare.

Unfortunately, this was not one of those days.

.

Wheeljack had thought that the dark and empty building complex would allow him to recharge undisturbed, and give his taxed systems time to repair what they could of his damaged frame. The days leading up to his unorthodox arrival in the human settlement of Griffin Rock were ones he'd prefer to forget, not willing to recall the indignity of having to run and hide from the Decepticons.

He couldn't risk trying to contact Optimus and team, not when Soundwave could hack into their communications with such ease. The Vehicons had chased him as far as New Hampshire, where he had managed to lose them. He wasn't foolish enough to return to his ship yet, and just continued driving. His plan had pretty much consisted of getting as far away as possible, and when he learned of the secluded island of Griffin Rock, he knew it would be the perfect place for him to lie low until most of his repairs could be made.

However, Wheeljack hadn't anticipated the true extent of his injuries, and thus by the time he reached Griffin Rock he was fighting a losing battle to slip into stasis lock. In his haste to find a safe location to enter recharge and allow his internal systems to do their jobs, he blatantly disregarded the human's traffic laws as he tore through the town. What he had first assumed were normal human law enforcement turned out to be anything but as they transformed into bots before his optics. He hadn't detected any Autobot life signals on the island, no life signals at all actually, and instinct spurred him on.

He narrowly avoided the bots, not comprehending what he saw. Cybertronians, on the farthest corner of the country? For what purpose? They pursued him, but did not call out in any familiar tone nor did they attempt to contact him through his comm link. He wondered if the humans had managed to create their own version of Cybertronians, from whatever technology they had eked out from Ratchet and Optimus. Wheeljack did not know or give himself the time to care. His injuries taking precedence over all else, Wheeljack gunned his engine and left the strange bots in the dust.

He avoided the main roads for a few hours, recharging where he could, before he located a desolate uphill trail that seemed promising. It led him to a large building, oddly shaped in comparison to the more mundane architecture the humans normally utilized. Beyond that were a few warehouses big enough to host someone of his size, and he made use of them.

Transforming played merry hell with his injuries, but it was better to be in bipedal mode no matter how much it pained him. He would heal faster this way, and be able to treat himself properly – only if he didn't slip into stasis lock first, which was becoming a real possibility. He sent one last message to Autobot Outpost Omega One on the most secure frequency he could find, trusting the obsessive compulsive medic to locate it eventually, if he scanned frequencies as often as Wheeljack was certain he did.

Energon was leaking heavily from his systems, the injury exacerbated by his reckless driving and prior transformation. He was steadily losing consciousness, sincerely hoping he woke again, when a heat signature registered on his scanner. Ratchet had demanded he install it, as the planet was crawling with innocent, oblivious fleshlings that they didn't want accidently harmed by Wheeljack on his travels.

Wheeljack glanced toward the doorway, hoping that his scanner was malfunctioning like every the rest of his systems, only to find a pair of brown organic optics looking back.

He recognized them as a female organic youngling, roughly around the ages of the ones Optimus kept around base. Her optics were very wide, her breathing restricted, and it didn't look it she would be speaking anytime soon. Annoyed by her presence, useless as it was, he snapped at her in such a way that she almost seemed to flinch.

Wheeljack expected her to scream or run away, or perhaps a combination of both, but instead she inhaled deeply, her frame trembling, and in a rush said, "Do you need help?"

Disbelief cut through Wheeljack like a heated energon blade. The organic was clearly afraid of him, but had recognized that he was injured and offered him aid. Still, he was dubious that she could help and bitterly mocked her for it. However, she put on a brave face, reminding him of Miko in that moment and listed equipment that while not ideal for repairs, would be the best humans could offer. She identified the strangely shaped building as a laboratory and rushed out to gather the much needed supplies. All the while, Wheeljack fought stasis and a diffusing feeling of surprise.

It did not take long for the child to return, pushing a cart laden with the supplies she had mentioned. By then recharge was too tempting of an offer for Wheeljack, and he was shutting down all nonessential systems while the girl looked on with an expression that he could've sworn betrayed concern.

He briefly explained to her what was happening and the girl still managed to shock him further when she demanded confirmation that he would eventually leave recharge. He responded gruffly, his optics powering down, and was rewarded with the sharp statement of her designation

Huh. Frankie.

It was his last conscious thought before he slipped into stasis.

000

Wheeljack's systems onlined piecemeal, sluggish from Energon depletion.

His frame creaked, joints groaning painfully from lack of use. It had been days since he'd transformed to root mode and he was feeling the effects of remaining in vehicle form when so grievously injured. He was lucky that most of his processors were still in working order; otherwise it would've been impossible to shut down his primary pain receptors, which was finally possible when he allowed himself to enter much needed stasis. He could still feel a ghost of his damage, but nowhere near as biting as it originally felt.

His optics were the last to reactivate, but vision only proved what he had already learned through his sensory array.

The girl was gone.

Wheeljack couldn't admit he was surprised. Throughout his travels of the planet Earth he witnessed very little of the goodness Optimus seemed to believe thrived within the humans. He was sure Bulkhead thought much the same way as his beloved Prime (he always was too soft, even for a Wrecker) but he didn't want to think about Bulkhead right now.

He saw the humans inflict pain on one another, had seen them cheat, steal, and lie. No matter where he went, Wheeljack always seemed to find himself in the dregs, slums, and ghettos that reminded him all too well of Cybertron before the War. Bulkhead – all of Team Prime told him about the beautiful sights Earth had to offer, and Wheeljack knew he would have preferred them to the misery he subjected himself to, but he didn't change his routine. The others could delude themselves by believing in the innocence and purity of humankind, but Wheeljack had always been the cynical one. Petty hopes had never kept him going, nor alive. He forced himself to see the truth hidden behind clever lies, just as he'd done on Cybertron.

It was a depressing lifestyle, he could admit that, but it had become custom and almost normal when he got the call about Bulkhead.

The kid, Miko, was probably the strongest being Wheeljack has ever met. He would like to see her again, which was unlikely since Prime knew where he had taken her and what danger he put her in (and Bulkhead would find out too when, not if, he woke up). He supposes that not all humans can be Wrecker material like her.

He couldn't blame the girl, Frankie for leaving. He was a little bitter, yeah, but humans often reacted negatively to the unknown. Alien robots were definitely up there with "unknown".

"Oh! You're awake."

Too weak to be properly startled, Wheeljack's processor stalled for several kliks as he numbly watched the little dark skinned human enter the warehouse.

"…Kid?" he muttered slowly, still incredulous.

"How're you feeling?" she asked, carefully approaching him. So her fear hadn't completely dissipated – Wheeljack was impressed. Only idiots trusted blindly, and idiots were the first to get themselves killed.

"Better," he responded, and wasn't that the truth. He didn't feel like he would slip into stasis at a moment's notice anymore.

Frankie made a relieved sound. "That's good. I was worried you weren't gonna wake up." She gestured at the supplies she had brought him. "Will any of this help?"

"Well I've got nothin' else on me, so it'll have to do."

Frankie dashed over to the cart holding the equipment before Wheeljack could make a fool of himself by falling on his faceplate in attempting to stand, pushing it over to him.

"Thanks, kid," he muttered, retrieving his toolbox from subspace. He caught the girl's frown out of the corner of his optic.

"I told you my name," she said, sounding disappointed. Wheeljack nodded, retrieving an arc welder.

"Yeah, I remember. Frankie."

The girl smiled widely. "And you're Wheeljack."

"Don't wear it out," Wheeljack retorted, picking up one of the metal sheets. He would tend to the wounds on his chassis first – they were the most damaged, though thankfully his repair systems had closed off his leaking Energon lines.

Frankie was quiet for a time, apparently content in watching him work. He folded the sheet of metal with one servo, enough that it could be molded against his chassis and fused in place with his welder.

"So…what are you, anyway?"

Wheeljack glanced up, surprised by the interruption. Frankie met his gaze curiously, standing a good deal away from him, but not about to bolt either. He shrugged.

"What, 'giant robot' isn't enough for you?"

Frankie frowned again. "I've lived in Griffin Rock my whole life, and believe me, I know robots. You're no robot."

She felt silent, and the only sound was the steady hiss and crackle of the arc welder as Wheeljack resumed his repairs. He wondered at the procedure the situation required – according to "Team Prime" they were robots in disguise, meant to be hidden from the general human population. But Frankie had already met him, helped him even, and he considered what harm it could be to tell her the whole truth.

Once again, Frankie was the one to break the silence. "I heard you trying to contact someone. Before…when you hadn't seen me yet."

"Maybe," Wheeljack responded absently. He finished welding the first of the sheets, eyeing his work critically. He'd be a bit boxy in the end, but it was better than having the entire left side of his chassis caved in.

Frankie continued stubbornly, folding her organic servos over her chest. "It means there are more of you."

Wheeljack couldn't help but scoff as he lifted the second sheet of metal. "Not that many."

"Then what are you?" Frankie demanded.

Wheeljack meant to humor the girl, but her constant pestering was wearing thin on his already slim patience. He raised his head, intent on telling her off, when her expression caught him off guard. Though her tone was impetuous, her brow was furrowed in a poor guise of irritation. Her eyes betrayed her curiosity and confusion, reminding Wheeljack that she was only a child. Like Miko.

He ex-vented loudly, startling Frankie. He decided to be straightforward. "I'm an autonomous robotic organism. From the planet Cybertron."

Frankie blinked. And blinked again.

"You're an alien," she said.

Wheeljack went back to his welding. "Well yeah. What did you expect?"

"I-I don't know," Frankie responded shakily. She inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself. "What're you doing here?"

"Trying to patch up the gaping hole in my chassis."

Frankie planted her servos on her waist. "I mean on Earth."

"Long story, kid," Wheeljack said shortly. "And I mean a really long story."

His servo shook as he raised the arc welder, and Frankie noticed. "Is something wrong?" Like flipping a switch, all the irritation had bled out of her voice. Wheeljack felt like laughing at the change.

"I'm low on Energon," he responded.

Frankie's brow furrowed. "What's that?"

"My kind needs it to survive," Wheeljack explained, setting down the arc welder when the tremors didn't stop. At this rate he'd weld his fingers together. "It's rare on your planet, but not too hard to find. I've got some on me, but most of its still on my ship."

He retrieved the small canister from his subspace, and Frankie perked up at the sight of it. "This is all you have?"

"Yeah." At this rate he'd survive another week, if he was lucky.

Frankie's forehead puckered, clearly pondering something. "Could I take a look at that?" she asked.

Wheeljack cycled his optics in mimicry of a blink. "What for?" he demanded, incredulous.

Frankie rolled her eyes. "My Dad's a scientist. The best on the island. If he can analyze a sample of your fuel maybe he could make more of it."

"Synthetic Energon?" Wheeljack cocked an optic ridge. "You know my kind has tried to create that for millennia?"

"Well they didn't have scientists like my Daddy," Frankie retorted confidently. Wheeljack eyed her carefully, uncertain of her intentions. Wordlessly, he siphoned a portion of the Energon from the canister into a container small enough for her to carry. He handed it to her, and she beamed.

"Why are you helping me?" he muttered as she opened her mouth to speak.

Frankie startled. "What-what do you mean?"

Wheeljack leaned forward, wincing and clutching at his side when pain laced through his sensory grid. "You're human. I'm not. Why haven't you contacted the authorities, or your creators, or – "he cut out with a hiss of static, sagging against the wall. He didn't have the Energon for this.

He felt something warm and unfamiliar brush against his pede, and with a start he realized he'd offlined his optics. Wheeljack onlined them and glanced toward his stabilizing servo, only to find Frankie resting a small servo against his panels. She'd never stood so close to him before.

"Wheeljack," she said firmly, though her uncertainty was still evident in her optics. "I want to help you. I'm going to do the best I can to get you more Energon, okay?"

Wheeljack found he didn't have a ready answer. Trust wasn't something he gave easily, not like humans did. But his systems were sluggish, and he nodded as he unscrewed the lid of the larger Energon canister he still held in his servos.

"Fine," he grunted, taking a long swing that left him with less than half of the original amount.

The smile returned to Frankie's features and she hurried out of the warehouse, promising to "be back soon".