Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. Just the plot and OCs.

As always, thank you all so much for the reviews.

Enjoy.

Chapter 36

Tiny cube of sparkling purple in hand Bumblebee sat on a fluffy pillow with Echo's head in his lap—he was using said head as a table of such—with her long, thin body curled around him while Scout set stone ridged like a shadow beside them. The three of them gazing with big optics out the huge panels of glass that circled in a crescent along the small observation deck of the Eternity.

Considering they were underground in a hole there wasn't much of anything besides rocks and dark to see. However, every now and again since morning had come and night had ran the flocks of data-bats that made the caves home would come wishing by in streaks of glowing white light. It was the closest thing to a shooting star show that Jazz had seen in a long time and he figured it would amuse the tiny mechling as he sipped away at his breakfast.

The silver mech was right.

Though he was doing more watching and awing then he was eating at present, but that was alright too. At least up here it was a big expanse of empty room with soft couches and locked doors.

Returned brothers or not, hoping with every part in his frame it wasn't going to end badly or not, Smokey and Rider had come back here as bounty hunters. Bounty hunters looking to cash in the bounty that rested on that tiny yellow head. Letting them anywhere near him until there was positively nothing unwanted going to happen was not something he was going to risk.

No.

There was too much unease and pain trying to be filtered out of his links with other mechs for him to relax. He was not alive now because all these vorns he hadn't listened to his spark. Right now his spark demanded he die before he let the mechling out of his sight. So that was just what he was going to do.

Cross legged just a pace or two behind the youngling Jazz had one arm draped over a knee while the other was bent backwards holding up his slouch. The truth was his processor was running a million miles a klick and it wasn't doing him any good. Every three or four nanos he had to physically make himself keep from opening up a comm line. It was utterly ridiculous.

Really.

It was.

What was he some fretting creator?

The mechs could handle this. It was there brothers after all. And it was Smokey and Outrider. They couldn't have changed that much. They were still the same mechs.

Jazz chewed on his bottom lip trying to make himself believe that.

The thing was though. He didn't. For if there was any mech in this fraction that knew just how much a bot could shed who they once were and become something totally different it was the prince of a fallen tribe.

A sigh rattled his vents as he turned his visor toward the windows just in time to see another flock of data-bats fluttering by looking like tiny fallen stars trying to escape the bottom of this hole and find their way back to the skies. The sight had a happy little giggle leaving Bumblebee. The sound was enough to draw a smile back to the silver mech faceplate.

Picking himself up partially he scooted on over so that he could lay down on his side and curl around the youngling and his pups who all took to purring at the comfort of the one mech they could all agree was pretty downright awesome. Jazz's hand—that wasn't now holding up his helm with his elbow against the floor—reached out and started petting at Bee's antennas.

Bee beeped happily at the touch, leaning backward to snuggle into him even if his big optics stayed focused outside waiting for the living falling stars to come by. He recalled his first explanation of data-bats, he remembered how Roddy told him they were ugly creatures.

Watching the strange little beings of light and dark he couldn't see where Roddy got the idea that they were ugly. They seemed pretty from here.

"Jazzy?"

Tilting his head to the side Jazz kept his hand atop Bee's tiny head, but smiled as he leaned around to hold the mechling's gaze. "Yeah?"

"Those is data-bats right?"

The saboteur nodded. "Yep."

"They pretty." Bee smiled making Jazz chuckle.

"That they are, yes."

"Me not get what Roddy mean when said was ugly."

At that Jazz's chuckle turned into a full on laugh. "Well I didn't say they were pretty up close."

"They not?"

"No not really." Jazz shook his head. "They're not really the nicest little buggers. Nasty fangs."

"Why?"

"Well . . . ." Jazz glanced off to the side wondering if this would classify as stuff to fuel nightmares. Ironhide would probably call it that. There was a good chance Chromia would think so as well. Prowl would call it needed facts about the world, but Jazz wasn't all that sure Bee needed to know there were creatures out there that could suck the very memories from a processor. That fed off the neural pathways of other living beings.

That actually ate thoughts and memories.

They were not the most pleasant creatures that had ever came out of the underworld of Cybertron. Quite far from it actually. They were only still alive on this dying world because they were mean enough. They're whole life was patristic.

Another moment of pondering and Jazz figured to sort of skate it.

"They're not the most nice things out there, Lil' Bee." He said. "They can hurt you."

"Oh." Bee chirped. "So me can't have one?"

Jazz had to hold in a snort. "No. No you can't have one. Scout and Echo wouldn't like them very much."

Scout didn't seem to feel the need to hold in his own snort. The mech pup shook his head hard and lashed his tail hard behind him before leaning over to lick Bee up the side of his cheek. It sent the little mechling to giggling as he wiggled away and hid away behind Echo's audios. The mech pup simply licked his sister's cheek as well. Echo purred in response.

Jazz couldn't help but smile at the three of them.

"If say so." Bee giggled keeping his little self pressed against the femme pup but smiling up at Jazz all the same.

"I say so." Jazz smiled back. "You wouldn't like them up close. I assure you."

Bee shrugged, but whether or not that meant he was actually taking the silver mech's words to spark were yet to be seen. Jazz figured he probably wouldn't know whether or not he was being listening too until the orn Bee probably found himself within reaching distance of one of those things.

Maybe he should let Prowl tell the mechling just what it was they were capable of. After all this blew over and if Hide didn't have a conniption fit about it.

Taking a breath and letting the worry go he figured now it was just better to relax and wait for the inevitable. Well that is that was his plan until the door of the observation deck chimed the pass code to enter and then swished away to show the silver-grey form of a certain young sniper.

Surprise bloomed across the young gunner's faceplate when his bright optics found the pile of protoform and plating over by the main windows. The surprise turned into a nervous kind of smile when Bumblebee perked up.

"Blue!" The little mechling sang, wiggling his way out from under the hold of his pups before he dashed—tripping every third step or so, but managing to stay on his little feet—across the big room to latch hold of Blue's ankle.

The Praxian smiled a bit wider down at the purring little thing. "Hi Bee."

"What ya doin?" Bumblebee chirped as he quickly scaled Bluestreak's frame, settling in the nook of his arm as the Praxian plucked him the last few feet and set him down there. Once he had the little mechling still with no fears of falling he crossed the room to where Jazz had pushed himself back into a seated position watching him. Blue tried to ignore the underlying vibe he picked up in that clear visor. Trying to hide the slightly nervous tilt of his wings.

It was pretty pointless though. There wasn't a better mech—at least wingless mech—in this faction at reading wing language. Jazz knew what every subconscious flicker, tilt, wave, and flutter meant. He knew the tiny differences in shifts in a pair of the best schooled wings.

He could read Prowl after all, and that was no easy task.

Blue had far less control over his wings and the tells they gave. Pit, the Aerialbots had less control over them then Prowl did and they were slaggin' fliers. Quickfire wasn't Praxian and had never had quite the rigid social structure that came along with that lineage so her control over them at least had reason behind it.

And Bee . . . well Bee was still developing the muscles and relays to actually move the things properly. He was just a mechling, what his wings did was all without his thought and all without his control. It would be a long, long time before the lessons Blue and Prowl were giving him about them would be able to be of any use. Until then the appendages would read like an open book.

Jazz though, Jazz had lived in Praxus. He was one of few still alive that had enough time spent among that culture that even without doorwings he knew every in and out about them. That and he was Jazz.

There was no mystery that the silver mech could turn down. It hadn't taken knowing Prowl long for the tribal mech to figure out that to really know the real Prowl it meant he was going to have to find a way to get past the stiffness he was bred to be. Which meant learning what were the secrets those wings would give away. It hadn't taken him long, and he had the friendship to show for it.

It had proved a might useful attribute for him to have though Blue often found it rather annoying. He was use to Prowl being able to read him as easy as look at him, but Prowl would not push Blue for things that the sniper didn't want to think about. Meaning he often said nothing of the things he could read in the younger's wings.

Jazz did not do that.

And Blue knew it was just the silver mech's way of caring. Of trying to look after him.

But the truth was sometimes Jazz could press Blue beyond the capacity that he could handle trying to get him to talk about thing things he didn't want to. It didn't often end well for either of them. There was a reason that Blue only spoke about Praxus with Prowl.

But Prowl . . . well Prowl was busy and the way that one they called his brother had looked at him . . . .

Blue was pretty sure he wasn't doing near a good enough job of hiding the growing dread that was swirling around inside his gut at the moment. That look in Jazz's optics proved it.

It seemed that what he had been planning on being an off shift left alone up on the observation deck where he could try and keep himself busy until somebot told him what was going on was not going to happen. The datapad in his subspace now felt like it weighed as much as a triple changer.

Swallowing down the unease he had no right to feel around his family the young sniper carried the giggly little youngling back over to where he had been and folded himself down into a place next to Jazz. He'd only been sitting a handful of moments when Bee went to making grabby hands at the cube of energon Jazz had saved from getting spilled all over the floor.

With a chuckle the saboteur handed over the cube. Once he had it in his possession Bumblebee quickly went to sipping and slurping apparently having realized somewhere in that run to Blue that he was hungry. It had Bluestreak smiling down at him all the same though as he licked his lips in between drinking, grinning that giddy grin that Bee had somehow trademarked along the way.

With the youngling busy for now filling his tanks, Jazz took the moment to give Blue a once over, what he found did not do anything but twist unease up into his spark. Opening a private comm he pinged the younger mech. Not at all missing the moment the other got the instant alert because his wings stiffened behind him.

Bee was a little too busy being a youngling to notice.

It was a fact both mech were grateful for.

"Yeah?" Blue hesitantly spoke over the private channel trying hard not to look anywhere besides Bumblebee and the window before them.

Jazz was not impressed. "What wrong with ya, Blue-mechling?"

Damn.

It had been a long time since he'd heard that nickname. It had kind of died away after the half grown youngling that got pulled out of Praxus turned into a sharp shooter that nearly killed Shockwave once. When he proved himself more than just, at the time, the youngest mech among the faction.

Then Bumblebee came along and the army had a very real sparkling to fuse over, look out for, and treat like the sparkling he was he had finally been allowed to grow up in the others optics. It had never been that big of a deal to Blue. If anything it had been nice to finally be seen as something besides the youngest mech around. It seemed with some though he would always look young.

Not that he minded.

Jazz was the second closest to him after all. Only after Prowl. And maybe it wasn't fair to rank the two against each other considering how much they both had taken care of him when . . . . well when the trauma he had lived through had still been very real. It was just that the still young part of Blue's processor would always cling to Prowl just a little bit harder then it would Jazz.

Prowl was the last link he had to the breed that had been wiped out. His breed.

"Nothing, Jazz." He responding hoping he'd be believed all while knowing that he wouldn't.

An internal snort drifted over the line and Jazz shifted enough so that out of the corner of Blue's vision he could see the optic ridges lifted over the rim of that visor. He turned even further away pretending for the mechling's sake to be watching the swarm of data-bats fly by again.

"Don't lie to me, Blue." The silver mech huffed. "You're not very good at it. Something you and Lil' Bee got in common."

"Everybot always thinking they know what is best for us no matter if they really do is another thing we have in common." The bite left his tongue before the words fully processed through his mind and though he regretted them the nano they had Jazz leaning back like Blue had hauled off and hit him, but he didn't take them back. There was no point.

"Blue . . . ." Jazz muttered.

"Just . . . I don't wanna talk about it."

He honest to Primus didn't.

Well . . . this was awkward.

Really, seriously, awkward.

His cy-gar resting between his teeth—the thing had almost run out of chemicals, but by damn he was going to keep puffing at it until it was completely empty with how much he paid for these damn things—Smokey blew out another small cloud of vapor trying to ignore said awkwardness while he watched the trails of which flipped around to the side and smack Outrider in the faceplate. The larger mech grumbled low in his chest, waving a hand at the fumes, glaring over at the other.

Smokey shrugged a very visible 'what?' sort of look at the other while Rider shot him that glare he'd mastered with all those vorns they spent with Wardrums. That look that said, do it again and there will be death.

Smokey shrugged again looking back to the full cube of energon—not badly refined he had to take note of and then stop himself from hating that too—it was still untouched. Though that was because with the chemicals swirling around inside of him right now he wasn't hungry. Wouldn't be hungry for probably another orn. It was one of the many side effects of using this portable poison. One of the reasons the tri colored had gotten as thin as he had.

Well, that and starving, but that was neither here nor there.

The thing was it was only adding to the tension that was his idiot brother sitting across a freaking table from him glaring while he didn't eat. Instead he smoked. A proven poison.

Yeah . . . .

Smokey decided watching Rider drink while he wished it was highgrade was a far better use of his time. That is until the other bots across the rather large—considering it was three tables pushed together in the back of a now locked mess hall—table decided that talking was a good idea.

Didn't the Prime know that talking was not a good idea?

It would only make all this worse.

Really, what could he possible come up with to say that would make any of this okay?

"We thought you were gone." He mutter low, optics watching the pair of them.

Rider snorted around his cube. "Not gone. In a way dead, sure, but not gone."

"You're not dead." Ironhide growled, cannons pulsing against the table.

Outrider lifted an optic ridge as he lowered the glass. "Aren't we?"

"Really look all that alive to you?" Smokey asked around the cy-gar. At another puff of smoke Ratchet all but came over the table as he snarled.

"If you don't get that damn thing out of your mouth I'm gonna take your slaggin' doorwings off!"

Smokescreen didn't even flinch.

He simply reached up to take the cy-gar between his fingers, held it there, took the last drag of the remaining chemicals inside before puffing them straight across the table into the medic's faceplate.

Rider busted out laughing.

Ratchet didn't think it was all that funny.

Smokescreen didn't care.

At the snarl fit, and Arcee forcing the larger mech back down, Smokey kept the now empty thing between his teeth just to prove a point while he smirked. "No."

"Not a good idea to try that one, mech." Rider chuckled after he calmed his laughing fit enough to be shaking his head back and forth. His now empty cube was put down then he reached over to take Smokey. He began sipping away at that with no problem what so ever.

Neither of them had had anything that resembled fuel in the slightest in half a decacycle. It showed in Outrider's appetite and it was something the others were obviously noticing. That wasn't making it any easier to watch Smokescreen sit there and not eat though. One look past the shock of it actually being them proved the thin protoforms under armor.

Rider's thick plating was just a bit too loose. Showed a bit too much when it shifted along protoform for him to be the correct weight for his frame size. He'd gone hungry, for a long time. They both had. And it was clear they both still did not get enough fuel often enough to put back on any kind of proper weight. In Smokescreen's case he was doing something that made the hunger easier to ignore but right now was the perfect example. It made it to where he didn't want to eat even if he had the chance too.

Prowl and Hide both wanted to bash their heads into the table.

However, that wasn't going to solve much of anything at the moment so they refrained. For now.

"Don't think any of you have the authority to tell me what to do anymore." Smokescreen sneered. "I do what the slag I want." When Wardrums and Oblivion allowed it. "Including this." He pulled the empty cy-gar from between his teeth and twirled it around. Leaving out the part about how even with Dustoff being the type of mech he was he still knocked Smokey over the head when he found out he was lighting up instead of eating when he had the chance.

Rough around the edges or not Dustoff was still a medic and every now and again it showed.

"Just like he does." He flicked the cy-gar at Outrider, it bounced off his shoulder then onto the floor, but it was ignored. "He's a functioning alcoholic, but I don't see you all busting his aft."

Outrider choked on the energon. Like seriously, chocked. Bad enough that it had him dropping the rest of the cube to the table in a splatter while he started coughing and gasping trying to get the damn fluid to go down the right pipe, the whole time staring back at the tri colored Praxian like he turned himself pink. Or suddenly lost his mind.

Because in that moment it was highly possible.

Rider didn't even bother glancing to his brother who's jaw was now hanging somewhere around the vicinity of the table top. He was too busy getting air back into his systems and glaring at his stupid might-as-well-be brother. Once he managed to get his voice back in working order from all the coughing he growled out.

"Seriously mech?"

"What?" Smokey huffed, arms crossed in a pout. He said it because he was tired of his brother and the medic glaring at him. He wasn't the only slaggin' one with problems here and it was about time somebot else noticed it damn it. Rider was just as freaking messed up as he was. Worse maybe, he was the one that carved at his own hide.

That though, that Smokey would not say. He loved his big red brother too much to do that to him. He also hated what he did too much.

Then again . . . Dust had figured out just like Smokey that they couldn't stop Rider from doing it so instead the medic tried to get him to wait and let him help when he felt the need to take that knife of his to his own protoform.

If Dust couldn't make him stop Smokescreen didn't know what could. It surly wasn't him.

But maybe . . . .

Could Hide?

Outrider didn't get the chance to start bashing the smaller mech into the floor though just as Smokescreen didn't get to ponder that little idea of his much longer. For it was in that moment that Ironhide found his voice.

"You're a what?" He hissed.

And the anger in Outrider's form faded away with a drop of his shoulders and a heavy sigh. He twisted around from the glaring he was doing to meet Ironhide's gaze. He found wide, slightly scared, dark blue orbs staring back at him. His elder brother had managed to pick up his jaw it seemed, but it mattered little to Rider. With a thick swallow he shrugged.

"So I have a slight drinking problem, so what?" He huffed. "Is that really the issue here?"

A chocked sort laugh left Smokescreen and he muttered under his breath. "Slight? Really? Slight?"

"You know what, glitch, you're just as fragged up as I am, you shut up! Who's side are you even on here!?" Rider turned back with a growl.

"You're side dear brother of mine." Smokey smiled sadly back at him. "But my head hurts and I don't want to be here. That tends to turn me into a glitch."

"Don't I know it?" Rider looked away again with a shake of his head. "That was the quickest you've ever come off a light."

Smokey nodded sadly, hands already twitching for another. "Don't remind me. And . . . sorry."

"Yeah." Rider shrugged back. Truth was he didn't care. If this went any direction it was going to have come out eventually.

It wasn't the worse thing he did for sure, but that he knew Smokey would never say. Smokey hated that he did it. He honestly did. The little glitch stole his knife from him once trying to get him to stop. Even tied him down another time after that didn't work.

He still did it though.

No matter that he hated himself the whole way through it. It . . . it made him feel better . . . for a little while. A lot like the highgrade did. For a little while it was worth it.

The look that came over Dustoff's and Smokescreen's faces after they found out he was doing it . . . that hadn't been worth it. It still wasn't. He did it anyway though. He couldn't make himself stop.

"You're an alcoholic?" Hide muttered, the words actually tasted bad in his mouth.

Rider shrugged. "I tend to drink myself stupid after a job. Then keep drinking after that. Yeah. It's not a problem."

"Sounds like a problem to me." Ratchet glowered darkly between both the fraggin' morons. However, it seemed the furthest thing from either of their minds to actually care.

Did they not see?

Did they not get it?

How . . . how was it . . . ?

Where were Rider and Smokey because Primus damn it this wasn't them!

"Thing there is I don't really care what you think." Rider smiled, even if he was smiling through a lie. He wondered if they could tell. He wondered if they could see just how much self-hate swam in his optics all the time. "I'm not here to please you."

"Yeah," Smokey snorted. "That is the last thing we are here for, but I do want to know. How are you femme's not dead and what does it have to do with Dustoff? Because we know the mech, we live with the mech, and I don't recall Oblivion having any trophies like you three. Dust would have told us if he knew who you were."

At least, that was what Smokey wanted to go on telling himself.

"So what?" Ratchet suddenly growled out. "You don't want to tell us a damn thing, you don't want to talk, explain, try and I don't know somehow fix this! But you want us to start telling you everything!?"

The pair of hunters blinked back at him, then. "Yeah."

Steam might have actually come out of Ratchet's audios. It might have been an actual possibly.

"It's not going to work that way." The steely tone leaving the Lady Prime suddenly was more than enough to make every one of them shut up. Elita's elegant form draped forward slightly over the table. Arms cross against the surface as she held herself up. Those bright blue optics of hers set and focused on the slightly uneasy ones from the pair that looked back at her. She never raised her voice, never gave her sisters or any of the other mechs a second glance.

Anger, pain, and sorrow had twisted together in her gut to form this sickening ball of regret and she could no longer sit there watching and listening. This had to end, and it had to end now before one of two things happened, the mechs around this table started trying to kill each other, or the two returnees left.

Neither option was acceptable, nor was she not going to let this happen. She was not going to let her family fall apart just when they had put it all back together.

Blue fidgeted as much as he could with an arm full of snoozing mechling. Full tanks often meant nap time in the world of younglings and Bee was no exception. After the little recharge he'd gotten last night it was no big surprise that he nodded off in the warmth and safety of the sniper's arms. The pups had skipped over to lounge around Bluestreak's legs sometime within the last breem or so and now the gunner really had nowhere to go.

Not that he wanted away from the purring warmth around him, it was just the tension steadily building in the air between him and the silver spy beside him might be driving him just the slightest bit batty. Jazz hadn't said a word since Blue made his stupid snap. The sniper didn't know if that was because the mechling had still been awake or if Jazz was waiting for him to say something.

Bumblebee was resting deep in recharge now though and Bluestreak could feel Jazz's wheels spinning in his head. That was never a good thing. Not for anybot.

The Praxian wasn't sure if he should start his babbling to fix his stupid screw up or if he should just try and pretend that it never happened.

"Are ya going to tell me what's wrong with ya now, or ya gonna keep sittin' there starin' at nothin'?"

Well looked liked pretending it never happened was out.

Like, really out, because Jazz's accent was thicker in that inner tone then Blue had heard in a long time. His doorwings folded down to plaster to his back before he had time to physically stop the reaction in the appendages. His head ducked low as he shifted his optics away while he carefully lay the resting mechling down into his lap. The pups shifted around him at the move, checking with quick glances on Bee before laying their heads back down.

Once sure that the little mech would stay there comfortably against his thigh Blue dared a glance up at the other mech only to look away again when that visor held him.

"It's not important, Jazz."

"Obviously it is." He retorted. "What's goin' on, Blue-mechling?"

"Nothing."

"Talk to me," A clawed hand reached up to rest on his shoulder.

For a long time after Praxus fell Blue had hated contact. It was understandable after all he'd seen and gone though in that short look into the bottoms of pit. A lot of effort had gone into getting the young mech to open up again after he both mentally and physically shut down once he was released from the medical bay and the truth of reality crashed down on a youngling's shoulders.

It was a shock that nearly killed him.

It was only because of Prowl and Jazz working so hard to keep the young mech's head above water that he was even still here. That was not something Blue would ever forget nor would he ever figure out how it actually worked.

The thing was though.

He didn't want to talk about it.

"It's fine, Jazz. Just . . . I'm sorry."

"Only be sorry if you don't tell me." Jazz retorted.

"Okay, I'll be sorry."

Jazz snorted. "To bad you're gonna tell me either away."

Blue's wings tightened down.

"And that's why." The saboteur sighed. "Now what's going on?"

For a long while he didn't get his reply. Blue just sat there trying to coax his wings to rise like he wanted them too. They didn't seem to want to obey him at this point in time however, and he was left sighing. They were not going to do as he wanted.

Which meant there was no hiding just how much was going on in his head.

"Blue?" Jazz pressed.

"What if he forgets about me?" The tiny voice in which it was said with did not sound like the young mech at all and that along with the words shocked Jazz enough that his hand fell off of the grey shoulder.

"What?" He almost stuttered.

Blue shrank down a little more. "Prowl . . . what if he forgets about me? Now . . . ."

Jazz stared.

He just stared, for a long while he didn't know what else to do. Then it felt like his spark started straggling himself as he took in those plastered wings. Visor dimming with the pain that suddenly swelled up in his chest Jazz sighed.

"Oh Blue,"

"I know that makes me a horrible bot." He quickly stammered. "I know it's stupid. And selfish. And sparkling worries. I'm sorry. Please don't tell Prowl I said that. I should be happy right? This is good. Yeah. Good. I'm happy. I am. I'm stupid. Forget it. I—"

Reaching out to take hold of the mech Jazz pulled him sideways—careful of the mechling in his lap—plastering him onto his side and wrapping an arm rightly around his shoulders. Tucking that chevron topped head under his chin he let out a low purr. Keeping hold even with the slight scuffle and tension as the gunner fought it for a moment until finally Blue went limp then all of a sudden was clinging tightly to Jazz's side.

Fighting the tears that bubbled up in his optics Blue bit hard into his bottom lip trying not to let the liquid and the sobs out. He didn't want to cry over something so stupid. He wasn't a youngling and the absolute last thing he wanted to do was wake the tiny ball of yellow resting in his lap. But when Jazz took hold of him and held him tight it was hard to do anything other than come apart at the seams.

He thought he was past emotional breakdowns.

Apparently he was not.

"Easy Blue," Jazz shushed out loud, reaching a hand down to try and massage the tension out of those plastered wings. "It's alright."

"I'm not his brother." Blue whispered as a few tears leaked over the rim of his optics. "Not really. And Smokey's back. What the pit am I anymore? He's gonna forget me, Jazz. He is! Who wouldn't? I'm me for Primus' sake! I'm a freaking walking emotional train wreck!"

"You stop that right now." Jazz tightened his hold, with a low growl. "No bot is going to forget you, Blue. Prowl is never going to forget you. Are you listening to me?"

Blue sniffled.

"Blue," Jazz sighed. "That is not going to happen."

"Smokescreen hates me." He whimpered. "I saw it in his optics. He hates me. What else is Prowl suppose to do?"

"I'm pretty sure at the moment Smokescreen hates all of us." Jazz admitted. "It's got nothing to do with you."

"Yes it does." Blue sniffed.

"No. It. Doesn't." Jazz growled into his audios before stroking down his spine in a calming motion meant for sparkling's but it served just as well for grown bots. Then when that didn't work he leaned back taking hold of Blue's faceplate in both his hands—spared a glance down to the remarkably still out of it mechling—then locked optics with the watery ones of the younger mech. "No bot is forgetting you. Ever. We're family you hear me? You know what that means and you know what you mean to Prowl. Don't you dare doubt that. Yes things are a little . . . odd right now and Prowl can't see past Smokescreen but that does not mean he is forgetting you."

"But the way Smokescreen looked at me . . . ."

"Is the same look he's giving all the rest of us. There is a lot going on right now that doesn't make any sense. A lot of info we don't have. But ya are not gonna start thinking that this is ya getting replaced." The accent thickened again when the pain glimmered in those optics. "You know Prowl would never do that to ya. Ya know none of the rest of us ever would. Ya are our Blue-mechling, Blue, and ya always gonna be. We're a family, you silly thing. That's why we win."

Another sniffle left Bluestreak while he sat there staring back into the clear glass of Jazz's visor. Optics lowering from the stare Blue nodded slowly.

"Yeah I guess so."

"I know so." Jazz clipped him lightly on the chin with a smile, grinning slightly hoping that would be enough to cheer the younger mech back up. "Do ya believe me?"

Pulling back a little bit more Blue whipped at his cheeks to remove the coolant stains. "I want to." He admitted.

Jazz's smile saddened a little, but he nodded all the same. "Everything will be okay, Blue. You'll see. We'll figure this out and you will still mean as much to Prowl as you always have. You should know that."

He nodded slowly. "I'm just a lot of trouble sometimes."

"Believe me you were whole lot less trouble then Smokey ever was, and probably is shaping up to be again." His smile turned a little bit fond at that. "But the thing is Bluestreak there is no comparison between you two. They should never be. You're Blue and you mean all that entails to Prowl. The same with Smokey. And when this settles down you and Prowl are gonna have ya selves a little chat."

The sniper stiffened.

And then was quickly shaking his head.

"No." He stammered. "No. No that is really not necessary. Really, its fine. Fine. He doesn't have to know that's—"

"Blue," Jazz's smile hardened. "This upset you."

"But I'm over it! Really! It's fine, I swear!"

"Blue you know this isn't how you're supposed to handle these things."

The wings fluttered down again. "Yeah, I know."

And with the sad look Jazz let lose another sigh. "Things will be okay, Bluestreak. You'll see."

"I hope so."

"Is that so?" Smokescreen straightened on the other side of the table. Arms crossed on the surface in front of him and optic ridges lifting almost to the bright chevron swept over his head.

Rider actually snorted at the words. Propping his chin on his fist, dark optics settled on the femme's faceplate. "How is it going to go then, 'Lita? You're gonna tell us what to do?"

"Only three mechs tell us what to do." Smokey huffed. "And they're a lot bigger than you."

"The truth is, mechlings." Elita started. "I really don't care what it is you've done to keep yourselves alive. You're alive. That's all I care about. And yes I am sitting her completely terrified that the mechlings I help raised are gone whether your alive or not. You're here though. And that has to mean something."

"They are gone." Smokey started, though there was a bitter note to the end of the words. "We don't know who they were anymore. That's just a fact. Don't know how to get 'em back. Don't know if anybot could. Not really worried about, honestly. And as to why we're here . . . well you won't like that either. We're here because the bot that owns us and runs our lives made us come here."

"To steal the mechling." Rider finished.

The air around the table dropped out twenty degrees.

And then a rumble started up in Ironhide's chest as he narrowed his optics to his younger brother. "Rider," He warned.

"Oh relax." Rider waved him off with a shrug. "If we were gonna steal the little pip squeak you'd have never even seen us. We'd be gone by now."

Now didn't that pause the officers.

A few glances were shared before Optimus muttered.

"And why didn't you?"

Smokey opened his mouth but nothing came out. A bit of confusion clouded those bright optics before he suddenly snapped his jaw shut, rested his chin on a fist and took to staring at the table.

"I don't know." He muttered.

About the same range of emotions swept over Outrider's faceplate as well before he narrowed his own optics and looked down at well.

Why hadn't they?

Would they have if Prowl and Jazz hadn't turned that corner?

Would they have taken the mechling and never shown their faces?

Would they be gone?

Would they have talked to them at all?

Why did they stay?

Rider's spark rolled as he shifted uneasy back and forth in his chair, thoughts twisting this way and that before something just seemed to click. It was almost as if he could hear Dust's voice in his head.

You know why you stayed, mech, you know very well.

And then he let out a long tired sigh.

Yeah.

He supposed he did.

He spared a glance over to the smaller tri colored mech that had his head in his hands now staring down at the table as if some great world mystery could be found between the grains of the metal that made it up. As if he could feel the cobalt optics on his plating, Smokey shifted just enough to peak through the bend in his arm.

Rider lifted an optic ridge down at him and the words flowed between without even a sound or feeling. Not through their comm channel or the link of the bond. Smokescreen's wings tensed and then they sagged down as he let out a sigh.

That look on his faceplate and shining in those bright optics said it all. Couldn't have been a bit clearer 'I hate when you're right' if he said it out loud.

Rider shrugged in response while his optics drifted back over to Hide's.

"I suppose it's because we sorta wanted to see you bots."

In that moment, a little bit of hope sparked back into the elder brothers' chests.

Maybe the mechlings they once knew weren't so dead after all.

Oh Rider and Smokey, they really thought they could pull of devil may care with their family. They can't. About time they realized that. War and Dust already did.

And Blue. Gah, Blue! The adorable mechling makes me want to cry.

Anyway, I hope you guys liked it. I look forward to seeing what you have to say.

I'm planning on having another chapter done next weekend, so see you there.

-Jaycee