The Guardian's Guild: All Roads Lead Home

by J.M.Spellbound

Part three: There are ghost among the shadows that haunt young Bumblebee and no matter the light that shines in his spark there is a darkness from which he came. A darkness that is searching for him. A darkness that will lead him into the past and many others home. A darkness that Ironhide and Optimus Prime may not be able to best alone.

44. Chapter 44

Disclaimer: We all know what I do and don't own.

Well, it only took three weeks, over 35,000 words, and somewhere around 80 pages but here it is. The final chapter of ARLH. The chapter that refused to end. So in celebration of GG's birthday (which I forgot) have the longest chapter I have ever written.

Seriously this one alone is longer then part one. *sigh* It just wouldn't end.

But anyway, I like it. Hope you enjoy.

Also, Imagine Dragon's, Smoke and Mirrors, was played pretty much none stop while I wrote if any of you were interested. It makes a pretty good background for this chapter.

---

Chapter 44

For the most part it was an overly simple plan. Take the mechling, walk to the door, take him to Wardrums, cash in the bounty, kill the Ring's Master, and not die in the process.

When one decided not to factor in all the very real possibilities of what could go wrong it didn't seem like all that much of a terrible idea. Really, it had merit.

Sort of.

Standing on a ridge with sand being whipped into his faceplate by the howling wind Outrider let out a heavy sigh. Feeling the little mechling in his spark vault shift around with his breath. Knocking every now and again against the enforced protoform keeping him inside. They'd walked through a whole orn and another night. Chasing the setting sun only for it to come up behind them again as if always would. Having only stopped a few times to pull out the rations Ratchet gave them to feed the mechling and themselves from their own stashes.

Bumblebee had been oddly quiet, but considering how little time the two hunters had actually spent alone with him it wasn't so odd. It was obvious he was confused as to just what was going on around him, but he was doing as his sire had asked of him. He was doing whatever Rider and Smokey asked of him. Even if he didn't really get why.

It was a level of maturity that was little strange coming from one so young. Rider found it a tad bit hard to remember all the time just what Bumblebee was. That he was nothing more than a thirteen vorn old mechling. But that he knew far more about the truths of this world then any mechling ever should.

Gone was the innocence of youth. The illusion of warm, fuzzy, happiness.

He knew what death was, what pain was, what misery was.

He knew what it was like to feel his carrier never come back. To lose a cat that had been his best friend. To watch and feel bots nearly die trying to protect him.

Standing there in the sand it made Outrider wonder how there could be any brightness at all left in the tiny mechling. How was he not as bitter and tainted as all the rest of them?

How did he still shine so brightly when he knew what darkness was?

Outrider didn't know the answer. If he did he might not be the thing he was this orn, but there was nothing he could do about all his life had made him into. He had survived it. Which he guessed was more then enough.

It was a scary notion though, to think on all the things life had put him through on the road back home. That that road would no doubt put Bumblebee through many similar things.

The bots around him could hope and pray all they liked but they couldn't keep the nightmares of this world out forever. They had already let quite a few in.

Both the hunters knew how much they were risking all of it now.

It weighed heavily in both their chest.

"Make him stop that banging." Smokescreen huffed, climbing back up the ridge of sand to stop at Rider's side.

"He's been in there for over an orn. He needs out. He's tiny but even he has to stretch his protoform muscles and cabling, Smokey."

"Oh." Smokescreen rasped sarcastically. "I had no idea. Well then, if that's the case just let the little mech out here. He can roll around and make sand angels. Have a grand old time. Because there is no chance a Hive Hawk could swoop in and snatch him, or a scraplet will burrow out of the sand, or another hunter is anywhere around here."

"Don't patronize me!" Rider sneered down at the shorter hunter. "I'm as nervous as you are, ya glitch."

At Rider's words Smokey's hiked up doorwings fell into a droop while he looked away and mumbled out an apology. "I'm sorry. I just . . . this plan sounded better when we weren't actually doing it."

To that Rider sighed, dark optics shifting among the horizon. "Yeah . . . I know, but we're in the middle of it now. Besides, none of our plans ever work out anyway. We mess up and we improvise. We'll figure it out."

"Normally it's just our lives we're playing with though." Smokey whispered. "It's not our lives I'm worried about."

Cobalt optics dimming, the larger red mech nodded. "I know."

---

With an annoyed huff Bumblebee shifted around again in the slightly squishy surroundings of Outrider's spark vault.

He was annoyed.

Very annoyed.

He was trying to be good. Trying to do what Hide told him too, but this was boring.

Worse then check-ups boring! At least in his medical check-ups there was somebot to talk to. Something to see.

The inside of a spark vault was only interesting for so long. Sure it was soft, protected, warm, and the thudding of the spark beside him was nice, but it wasn't Hide. And he wanted Hide.

However, Hide was not here. Hide sent him to be with Rider and Smokey. To go somewhere and do something that . . . he wasn't quite sure what was. He didn't know if he should be unhappy about that. If he should have complained or thrown a fit.

Even if he knew it would not get him want he wanted the idea of a fit didn't seem like such a bad notion as he sat there on his little aft inside Rider's vault listening to the mechs talk and walk across a world he wanted to see but was not allowed to.

It was frustrating.

And boring.

Bumblebee kept his verbal complaints to himself though. Instead he focused on the pulsing ball of life to his left on the other side of the thick encasing of the massive mech's spark vault. He already had a good grip on Rider's spark. It felt very similar to Ironhide and Bee figured that must be because they were brothers, but there were also many huge differences between the two mechs. Just as there were between Smokescreen and Prowl.

Under it all Bee could sense that once cold connection having already flared back to life and the suppressed feelings that came with it. It was all still a bit overwhelming for Rider and Smokey both. He could feel that very well.

Both mechs were happy the bond was coming back to life, but there was this underlying fear in side both of them that Bumblebee couldn't make sense of. He couldn't grasp the fear that would be connected to that bond coming back to life.

He didn't know what there was the possibly be afraid of between the brothers.

Prowl and Hide along with all the rest of their family wanted Rider and Smokey back.

And they knew that . . . right?

Shifting around once again as he pondered what was his life was right now Bee felt more then heard the annoyed rumble that shook through Rider's chest. It was a nonverbal way of telling him to be still. Bee got that pretty well.

It was safe to say that Rider wasn't use to having things in his vault, but it wasn't like Bee was hurting anything. He just wanted to move. To see. It was so boring in here.

Letting out a soft chirp Bee hoped the big mech would at least let him out just to stretch some. He felt the heavy sigh rattled through Outrider before slowly a thick clicking, sliding, and hissing filled all of Bumblebee's processor. Then the world was bathed in bright light only to be blocked again for a moment as Rider reached in and pulled him out.

Bumblebee found himself blinking into the great big expanse of red in every direction while he pulled himself into an upright position on Rider's palm. Doorwings and winglets wiggling happily at the air and freedom Bee let out a happy chirp while he spun in the hunter's hand to turn his big optics up to him. Giving him a blinding grin he watched the slow smile curl up Rider's lips.

"Hi!" Bee peeped happily.

"Hello, mechling." Rider huffed. "Is there a reason your trying to drive me mad by weird internal poking?"

"It's not weird." Smokey snorted. "You're just not use to having something in there. Besides, how else is he suppose to get your attention? You're not really linked enough for you spark."

"Weren't you just the one telling me to get him to stop?" Rider snorted.

"Yeah, but now he's out . . . and he's cute . . . ." Smokescreen shrugged. "How do they disciple the little mech anyway? I mean look at those damn optics!"

Rider shook his head slowly back and forth at his best friend and brother. "You are so fraggin' sad."

"What!?" Smokescreen threw his hands in the air, doorwings giving an unhappy flicker. "I can't take the face okay!?" He reached forward and cupped a finger around Bee's round cheeks making the little mech giggle and grin at him as the motion of the hunter puffed out his cheeks even bigger making his optics seem bigger as well. "I mean look at it!"

"Yeah." Rider snatched him back with an irritated roll of his optics. "I've seen it. He's cute, I'll give you that." Bee's giggle said for him how funny he found all this. His big optics glancing back and forth between the big mechs. "But he has to stay in there and we both know it."

"Why?" Bee suddenly asked. He wanted to know after all. No bot had bothered to tell him what was going on. Again. So he figured he might as well ask. "What doin' anyway?"

"Because you are safer in there." Rider sighed, turning his attention down to the little mechling staring up at him. "And we're going back to where me and Smokey work."

"Oh." Bee's little mouth formed almost a perfect 'o' for a moment before it vanished in a confused scrunch of his whole face. "Why? Me thought you was gonna stay. Hide said you was goin' stay. Me want you to stay. Like it. Family bigger. Happier. Prowl and Hide missed you. Know that right? They love you bunches and bunches. Me promise. They want you to stay. We can be family. All got to do is stay."

The bright, cheery, almost pleading kind of words left the two hunters staring down at the oh so very strange little mechling. He really was like nothing either of them had ever known before. No mechling should be worried about broken and healing bonds. A mechling his age shouldn't even know what a broken bond was.

He shouldn't know a lot of things he already knew though, and there was nothing Rider or Smokey could do at this point to change what he did. All they could do now was make good on their word and keep him safe from anymore pain. The problem was they were taking him to a living pit.

How were they suppose to keep him from anymore harm when Wardrums and the old mech's world was what they were taking him to?

Optics lifting from the baby blue gaze Outrider let his cobalt orbs drift to find Smokey's bright ones. They were misted with an emotion the Praxian very rarely let show outside of his spark.

Rider wasn't sure if he should find it worrisome or progress. It also made him a little wary to know what was in his own optics. However, he didn't give himself much time to worry about it. Instead he pulled the little mechling up until he could latch hold of his thick neck cabling and burrow himself in.

"What makes ya think we're not going to go back home, Pip Squeak?" Outrider asked softly.

He could feel the mechling shrug against his neck and the way he mumbled against the cabling and protoform made it a bit hard to hear him, but the pair of hunters still made it out. "Goin' away. If not wanna go away why go away now?"

"We're not going away now." Smokescreen told him slowly. "What we're doing is so we can stay, Pip Squeak."

"How does goin' away mean can stay?" Bee pulled himself from Rider's neck to cast his big optics over to the tri colored mech. Little head tilting to the side and doorwings flaring out in an unconscious question to the one that stood there with the appendages to answer.

Smokescreen's doorwings tilted in an answer without even his thought being needed. It was only after the fact did he realize the little mech was using his doorwings to try and ask his question. The little mech didn't know enough about frame language or doorwings to really know what he was doing, and the hunter really doubted he even was aware his appendages were trying to do what they were partly there for.

But it didn't stop the Praxian from feeling a smile curl up his lips at the sight. It had been so very long since doorwings and frame language had been an active part of his life. To see it being sparked again in the little mechling brought a flare of hope to the mech like he wasn't sure what to do with at first.

This . . . hope . . . it was slightly strange but Smokescreen found it made his spark purr warmly with the notion.

"We have to do something before we can stay, mechling." Smokescreen said carefully. He honestly didn't know how to tell the little mech what they were really doing. Optimus and Ironhide didn't seem him to want to know. Even if it was technically lying, the truth would be harder for the mechling to understand than anything else.

The concept that bots were out to kill him because there were credit placed on his name. That would be far too hard for a mechling to understand. And the fact that in all technical terms Rider and Smokey were the same thing.

"Oh." Bee made that round expression again as it seemed he tried to work through very vague answer before he peeped again. "But gonna come back home, right? After do thing that got to do we all go home and you two be happy?"

"Yeah," Outrider told him softly, wishing with every fiber of his being that it was going to be true.

Bee pondered this statement for a little while longer before he nodded, seeming to like the answer, and grinned up at the big mech. "Okay! But . . . where goin' now? And when Hide gonna come back?"

"Soon." Rider told him softly. "But you trust me and Smokey to look after you right? You know we'll take care of you, don't you?"

Bee snorted at him, and gave him a hard poke in the chest speaking in a tone that sounded as if Rider must be the densest mech on the planet. "Duh. We is family."

It and his words got the hunters laughing despite all that was happening around them.

"Well of course." Smokescreen snorted back at him, with a growing smile. "Whatever could the two of us have been thinking."

"Obviously we were not." Rider let his voice take on a grave tone that drew the mechling's optics up to him before he flicked him lightly between his flickering antennas earning himself a song of giggles. The sound leaving to two hunters to watch him with a warm smile each until a low rumble echoed across the endless sands freezing them all up in a matter of nanos.

Rider's hand clenched around the mechling in his hand drawing a surprised squeak from the tiny mech, but the red hunter's hiss stopped it before it could really begin.

"Back in the vault, mechling." Outrider told him firmly, all traces of humor or laughter gone as he dumped the little mechling back in. "And not a sound. Understand? Not one sound, Bumblebee."

All he got was a confused nod and fearful optics, but Rider didn't have the time to worry about that. He slammed his spark vault back shut, chest armor hissing, sliding, and pressuring back into place just as the form of a low flying helicopter broke over the hill just in front of them. He felt his armor tightened down without his consent just as Smokescreen's did the same. The smaller hunter's hands falling down to the swords that one again hung from his hips.

He had recovered from the drain the blades put on him but that didn't make him all that keen to go yanking them out and using them again so soon. However, they were blessedly silent and allowed him just the show of posture as he and Rider watched the blue helicopter catch sight of them. Banking left the familiar frame pulled up just a few feet short of them and with a whirl of twisting transformation the large form of Powercoil dropped down into a crouch before them.

"Well, well, well, would ya look at this." The thin, but strong flier chuckled, his red optics glittering as he straightened up before the partners. "If it isn't my two favorite fools! What's up mechs?"

Rider could actually feel the fearful ball of the youngling in his chest plaster himself against the side of his vault that separated him from his spark. However, he managed not to outwardly act upon the sudden overwhelming needing to calm the ball of fear that was reaching out for his spark and tugging. Begging for comfort. All he could do was offer smooth pulses of his spark as he met the deep red gaze of the flier that neither of them really had all that much of a problem with.

If one was being honest, Powercoil wasn't really all that bad. Greedy, mean, and ruthless, sure, but his life had made him that way. He had survived this long and though his morals were not the highest of saintly quality he had refused to join the Decepticons. That spoke volumes for a mech that grew up in Tyger Pax.

He also had a wicked sense of humor, not to mention he wasn't bad in a fight. He was a good mech to be on good terms with. Wardrums tolerated his presence as one to the mechs that brought Dustoff supplies from his missions in return for steady patch up jobs in which he didn't have to worry about getting jabbed with a needle and never waking up again.

More so then that though, he had contacts and Oblivion liked him. Better yet, he hated Oblivion. Many Gladiators and Hunters did though so that in itself wasn't all that odd. What was odd was he was quiet about it, but he was more than willing to be of help to those that were not.

Like Wardrums.

He was also on the good side of one of Wardrums' better kept secrets.

"Powercoil," Smokescreen managed to pull off a believable smile and not look back at Rider. "How are ya, mech?"

"Bored. Hungry. Broke." The helicopter listed off with a roll of his optics. "You know, the usual. But how about you two? Back so soon? I knew War sent you out but you know the mech is a bastard and wouldn't tell me where you went."

"Of course." Rider lifted an optic ridge. "You might have stolen our job."

And there was that greedy grin. It was a reminder that neither of them needed. As much as Powercoil was on their side the technical truth of their lives was no bot was ever really on the same side. Everybot was out for their own good and their own gain. Powercoil was just good at making acquaintances and not pissing off anybot enough that they wanted to kill him.

It was a fine skill to have around here but in no way was ever to be confused with friendship. Powercoil was pleasant, and helpful, but it was only because Dustoff was a good medic—the only good mech in this pit hole—and being on his good side was the best chance of staying alive. To be on his good side though meant appeasing Wardrums and Wardrums two pet hunters.

Sometimes Powercoil was useful and sometimes he was damn dangerous. It all depended on how greedy he was feeling that orn. With the amount of credits resting atop Bumblebee's little helm along with the words dead or alive how bad Powercoil was looking for a cash in was not something Outrider or Smokescreen were willing to risk.

"I might have." Powercoil's smile was more a sneer, but it was gone as soon as it flashed when he turned his optics to the door they all knew was not but a hill or two over the sands. "So did you get what you were after? Going to cash in?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." Smokescreen offered a sneer of his own as he twisted toward the Ring's hidden gate and Rider started after him.

"I would actually." The large blue helicopter smirked as he fell into step beside Rider's thicker but not taller frame.

"Too bad." Outrider shot him a lifted optic ridge and what he hoped was a playful smile, but the more the mech pressed the more he wanted to punch him. The tiny ball of uncertainty in his chest wasn't helping. That and his own growing sense of unnerve that the little mechling wasn't helping all that much.

Powercoil only laughed at him though as they walked along the last few ridges to find the crest of stone carving out of the spilling sands like some broken knife forever lodged in the shifting skin of the desert. At first glance it looked to be nothing at all. Just a random pillar of rock among endless sands. It wasn't even that strange when one thought about it that some rocks would still have survived out here in the blowing sand. It was only upon further investigation that the sharp arch of stone seemed different.

Carvings marred its surface from root to tip. Old glyphs and symbols of long dead tongues that no living bot knew how to read anymore let alone speak. Apart from maybe Wardrums and Dustoff but Smokescreen and Outrider had never gotten an answer for that question either.

The only answer they had ever gotten was one and that was 'if you want in, touch the middle sun between the two moons'. Which was just what Smokescreen did. Feeling the rush of old, ancient, powerful energy pulse through his whole frame before with a mighty echo of slowly sliding stone the ground just under the stone fell away to a set of stairs disappearing into the gloom.

As per usual the sight of the decent into the dark hole filled the pair of hunters with a sense of dread, but it was nothing compared to the flare of pain over the blue hunter's faceplate. Powercoil recovered quickly though, giving himself a good shake, and with rotor blades stiff behind his back descended down into the West Ring.

It wasn't unusual—Powercoil's reaction—fliers had a natural fear with being separated from the sky and for a mech that was owed by a cage with his name on it here the notion of going down with the possibility of maybe never coming back out was not something that his spark could take lightly. The reaction had always made Outrider wonder, how was it Wardrums and Dustoff could stand to be stuck down there as long as they had over all these vorns.

Shaking it off though both the hunters knew they had more to worry about then flier's fear of the dark. A quick glance was shared between them before they hurried down the steps, hearing as well as feeling the heavy stone and sand slide back into place behind them. Trapping them inside and in the dark.

They had been on their own in this since they broke with the others, but with that heavy slam of stone it all sorta sank in. Just like the questioning, scared ball of mechling in Rider's chest.

---

It wasn't hard to lose Powercoil once they descended into the main tunnels of the Ring. He had his own manager to report to and without even a glance back over his shoulder the flier was gone. Leaving Smokescreen and Outrider standing there in a junction of the narrow, dark, dank, musky, hot tunnels.

One might think that underground the heat of the desert would be lost, but they would be wrong. The Smelt—that burning river of lava and slag—was the life-force that carved out almost all these twisting pathway snaking deep under the sands. It's heat was not lost even long after the river had changed paths and left these paths to the hidden lives of the desert. Its heat still steamed in the air and in the stone. The carved out metal and rock all around them still holding the heat from being in its presence for even a short time.

At night the tunnels cooled down slightly with the air outside, but other than that it was hot all the time down here. It did nothing to help the attitudes of those that lived here either. Hot under the collar was not an expression here.

Bots' energon did boil and tempers flared with it making everything twice as intense and twice as dangerous. Especially for the youngling tucked away in Rider's chest. The natural higher temperature of being in the vault was normally a good thing since Bumblebee was still too young to regulate his temperature, but with the heat down here that was not the case.

He would get too hot very fast down here if Rider didn't keep venting coolant steam into his spark vault to keep him cool. The hunter could do it, it was an instinctual action, but that didn't mean the little youngling wasn't complaining via his spark about the sticky steam.

Bumblebee pulsed a few times through the thin connection he already had with the hunter. His gift making it stronger than it really should be. Making it enough to form words. The sound of which surprised Outrider a great deal, but he didn't outwardly show it as he and Smokescreen walked down familiar, nasty hallways trying to avoid other bots as much as possible.

Bee whined. "Hot. What this place, Rider?"

Outrider recovered quickly from the shock of the little mechling's inner voice and found himself responding. "We are where Smokey and I work. I know it's hot, Pip Squeak, and I know its confusing but you have to be quiet now. Okay? You remember what Hide said?"

"Yes." Bee squeaked, but he didn't seem happy about it.

Rider chose to let him just not be happy about it because at that moment he and Smokey turned one last corner and found themselves standing in front of a very familiar door.

For a moment neither mech moved. They couldn't force themselves to even if they wanted to. For a sudden ball of dread curled up in the bottom of their tanks. Latching hold and seeming to yank all their internal systems into a twisted ball of swirling emotions. Guilt, anger, pain, fear, confusion and many more.

A large part of both of them wanted to throw open that door, match in, and punch Wardrums till he stopped moving. However, a larger—far more rational—part of both the hunters told them they'd both be dead before they got within two feet of him if they so much as appeared to act as if they planned on that.

All these vorns of looking after them and helping them survive or not, if they lifted a hand against that mech he'd killed them both. Probably without even blinking.

Only a fool would think Wardrums wouldn't kill his students.

War had killed his students and bots far closer to him then his pet hunters. He would kill them. And they both knew it. But neither of them cared.

No, the only thing they were worried about was how pissed he was going to be when he found out they had in fact found what he sent them for, but had the entire Autobot army waiting somewhere in the atmosphere to blow this place up.

And that they hadn't bothered to tell him about it before hand.

Well, technically speaking it wasn't really their fault. He was the one that wouldn't answer his damn comm. Though Outrider figured that was probably going to be a rather bad argument when Wardrums started trying to kill them.

Taking a deep breath the shorter, tri colored mech looked over his shoulder to his larger brother. His sweeping chevron catching the dim shadow lights and throwing them around in strange flickers of red. Outrider held his gaze for a klick or two longer, not knowing what to say or what really to prepare themselves for.

Then, before he could think better of it, Smokescreen pushed a button on the keypad beside the door. With a squeaking swish the door slid away leaving the two hunters to step inside the makeshift medical bay that over the vorns had become a safe haven in this living pit, but now twisted their sparks.

It was the same as it had always been. Just barely brighter than the rest of the dark Ring. Two slabs of stone that made make shift medical berths and a few shelves carved out among the stone walls holding a few various things of medical supplies the old mech managed to scrape together. And that was about it.

No way the grand workings of the bays Ratchet had claimed over the vorns, but it did not mean Dustoff wasn't a good medic. It actually meant the exact opposite. He was a slaggin' amazing one. What he managed to do with what little he had to work with was on the small side impressive and on the large downright magnificent.

Bright and cobalt blue optics scanned the relatively small room quickly in search of the pair that could almost always be found here. However, it wasn't the massive shuttle or the almost equally as big helicopter. It was a scrawny, soft red and slate blue femme with cyan colored optics. Her thin frame perched on one of the medical berths, her legs swinging before her. But it was the short, stubby, doorwings stripped in that deep blue that highlighted her curves alongside the long panels of soft red that made her unique. The doorwings that hung behind her back were decorated in new weld scars that told more than enough why she was here.

Her attention snapped up at the sound of the door opening. The bright chevron that swept back long and narrow over her head glittered in the slightly brighter lights of Dust's bay. The bright blue of it that matched her optics standing out against the darker colors that made her frame. It was a stark contrast that seemed to make her stand out even more in this world of pain and anger that no femme lasted long in unless they belonged to somebot strong enough to keep them from being berth toys.

But she didn't, which was why she was almost never here. The fact that she was here spoke volumes in a matter of nanos and gave the two hunters the reason why Wardrums didn't answer his comm when they called him.

Something was wrong.

The was no other reason Flare Up would be her in Dust's bay without her guardian and with welds up her back.

The shock of seeing her and her own for seeing them had them all quiet for a moment until Outrider shoved Smokescreen in the room and let the door shut behind them as the pair of mechs turned to stare down at another one of Wardrums' better kept secrets.

The young Praxian femme.

The secret that Smokescreen and Outrider knew very well but didn't dare breath a word about. Because Smokescreen had no intentions of letting her become what he had been because of the rarity of what he was. For he knew her fate would be even worse simply because she was a femme.

Smaller, far more curved, and a pretty kind of delicate that could mislead the optic from the strength of the survivor. Flare Up was not some helpless youngling. There was a reason she was still alive this orn and it had far more to do with herself opposed to her guardian.

"I thought you two were away on a hunt." Her dreamy kind of voice, tone far away and misty shook them from their thoughts. Flare Up had always been that way. While her voice always had a happy ring to it, it was also kind of faraway. Though the strange quality of it just seemed to make the soft voice even nicer to hear in a world of growling baritones.

"We just got back." Outrider simply shrugged, trying to ignore the curious pulsing of the youngling in his chest he knew would have been able to figure out by the sound of the voice that it was a femme they were talking to now.

"Looks like you picked a fight with something with nasty claws." Smokescreen commented, optics on the sensitive doorwings hanging behind her back.

That got a ruthful smile from the smaller bot as she shrugged. "They didn't live to regret it."

Both the hunter to smirked before they strolled further into the room. Pulling himself up onto the makeshift berth beside her Smokescreen looked down at the not too much smaller bot then him. In all honesty, Flare Up was tall for a femme. She was actually probably about as tall as Chromia, her frame was just thinner like Arcee's which made her look smaller. The thin nature of doorwings added to this appearance of her being small.

"So," Outrider looked around the room but obviously didn't find what he was looking for. "What are you doin' back here?"

Flare Up tilted her head, her chevron glittering as she stared at him. "Don't you mean where is Dustoff? I know you're not here for me."

"Well," Outrider shrugged. "It is good to see you alive, Flare, but we are kinda in need of Dust and War."

"War's not here." The femme shrugged.

Both hunters' optics locked on her. "What do you mean he's not here? He's always here!"

"Well technically he's here but him and Oblivion sorta . . . had an argument."

"They live in an argument, Flare Up." Smokescreen's doorwings tensed up behind his back. "What the frag are you getting at? What happened? Why are you here?"

"I'm here because Flamewar and me found Cons in the desert. Wardrums went with her to report to Oblivion and things sorta got . . . out of hand."

"How out of hand?"

She was quiet for a moment and then, "War tried to kill Oblivion . . . for real this time. Something about The Ring Master having sent some hunters out to collect the bounty you two were after."

Voltage and Bombstrike.

So, Oblivion had sent them.

"And War kinda . . . blew up." Flare Up finished. "I've . . . ." She shuddered slightly. "Never seen him that mad."

After what Smokey and Rider had found out about what War sent them to get they wasn't at all surprised War flipped out when he found out the only real competent hunters Oblivion managed had been sent to collect Mercy's sparkling. Having not heard from Rider and Smokey he would have been wound up already, and that would have been more than enough reason to make him explode.

"What happened?" Smokescreen pressed. "Is Oblivion dead?"

Flare Up snorted. "No, being the Master of this Ring does have a few perks. His damn guards managed to detain War."

"Detain War?" Outrider hissed. "No bot detains War."

Flare Up looked away.

"Flare what the pit is going on?"

"I don't know. Flamewar told me he just stopped. Just gave up. They took him to the area, chained him up, they're gonna execute him."

Smokescreen and Outrider found they could do nothing but stare at her.

---

"This isn't going well." Rich voice pitched low, Evermore turned her green optics from the sprawling desert before them to take in Trickster's dark plating and narrow optics. The fact that he was ignoring her and her comment didn't go over very well with the brightly painted femme either.

Her own green optics narrowing she hissed at her brother.

"Trickster! Answer me!"

"He's doing just what I figured he'd do." Trickster sighed, pushing himself up from his crouch and letting out a snarl. "Taking attention onto himself. He's trying to distract Oblivion. You know how giddy the glitch will get at the opportunity to kill War."

"Yeah," Ever huffed. "Apart from the little problem of him dying isn't part of the plan! We need him, Trick."

"I know." Trickster hissed back at her. "I know! I'm thinking!"

"Thinking isn't good enough." Impulse growled from behind Evermore. "We're running out of time. The youngling is in the Ring, it will not be long before he is sensed by our brother."

"Deathtoll is not here." Trickster argued, their fallen traitor of a brother's name rolling off his tongue like acid. "He does not yet know where the Young One is either. Shootingstar blocked his spark before we saved him from Megatron the last time. Deathtoll can't sense him."

"Not sensing him and not being here are two separate things." Impulse grumbled, before he turned on his claws and fired up his warp drives. "This plan of theirs was fragged from the beginning."

"So what is your point?" Trickster growled back at his brother.

"My point is I'm going to get the Prime."

"You're what!?" Evermore and Trickster snapped.

"We cannot interfere as long as Deathtoll still is not an active threat, and you might trust the hunters to kill Oblivion, save the mechling, and stop Wardrums from getting killed all at the same time but I do not." Rolling his powerful shoulders Impulse huffed. "It's time we sped up this little plan of theirs."

In a flash of bright red light he was gone leaving Trickster and Evermore standing on the cliff edge. Crossing her arms at her brother Evermore glared up at her older brother.

"We have to do something, Trickster."

"Pulse will get the Autobot's moving."

"And what about Wardrums and the mechling?"

"We can't interfere." Sighing, Trickster looked back toward the hidden pit below. "Whatever War is thinking we can only hope he knows what he is doing."

"He's suppose to be doing what you told him to do." Ever pointed out.

Trick barked a laugh. "My dear sister, when has War ever really done as we asked? He plays his part well but more often than not he plays by his own rules. You know that."

"But the mechling is near him now." Ever pressed. "If he's going against the plan how do we know he won't break his word about Bumblebee as well. We both know he hates all this. He hates his part in it."

Trickster sighed. "Wardrums will not break his word. He is a lot of things, but under it all he is still the Knight that fought beside us so long ago. He might not like what must happen, but he will honor his word."

"Even in regards to Deathtoll's bastard son?" Ever whispered, but Trickster spun on her with a snarl. She did not retreat from the massive mech leaning over her, his few sharp fangs bared and his optics narrow. Ever simply puffed up her plating and glared back at him as she growled.

"You were the last bot I figured would call him that!"

"It is how Wardrums sees him. We both know it. He might look like Mercy, but we both know all Wardrums will see only the one mech in this universe that ever bested him. The one that is the reason his little sister is gone. That he and his mate must stay in this pit. The reason his whole breed is gone. The reason all this slag is happening in the first place. Wardrums is many things, brother, but forgiving is not one of them."

"I know."

That was what Trickster was worried about.

---

Smokescreen and Outrider stared two nanos longer before Rider cracked his chest plates, opened his spark vault, pulled out a very confused Bumblebee, and dumped him in Flare Up's very confused hands.

Her cyan optics flared wide in shock at the sight of the tiny ball of protoform she was suddenly holding. "What the—"

"Flare, watch him." Rider bit. "Keep him safe, can we trust you with that?"

Optics darting from the confused baby blue optics blinking back up at her to the narrow ones of War's best hunters, Flare stared. A billion and one questions rolled through her processor.

Where the frag had they found a mechling?

What the frag were they doing with a mechling?

And a billion more, but Flare's optics narrowed with purpose and she nodded to the two mechs. "I'll watch him, but where are you going?"

"To find Dust. " Smokescreen bit. "To help War. No bot gets to kill that bastard until I punch him for lying to us."

"Bumblebee," Outrider knelt down before Flare Up and the little mechling in her lap. Catching those big blue optics that blinked at him with confusion and unease. He smiled none the less up at his current caretaker.

"Yea?"

"I need you to listen to me, Pip Squeak." Outrider told him firmly. "This is Flare Up. She's a friend of ours. She's going to watch you for a little while. We'll be back soon. Do whatever she tales you to do alright?"

He gave a curious head tilt, his little antennas flickering back and forth with his thoughts and doorwings at his back twitching and drawing the femme's attention.

"Okay." Bee said quietly. "But where gonna go? When is we goin' home?"

"Soon little mech," Smokescreen promised him. "We'll be back in no time at all, don't you worry. Flare Up will take care of you."

There was a hard look in both the hunters' optics as Smokescreen said that when their gazes lifted to the smaller femme who huffed at them in return. Her own optics narrowing.

What did they take her for?

She was a bounty hunter not a sparkless monster. She'd never hurt a youngling. She was still trying to figure out where they got a youngling.

"Dust told me to stay here." She told them. "He's down in the blocks trying to reason with Oblivion. From what Flamewar commed me a little while ago he's not having much luck. Be careful mechs. That glitch has been looking for a reason to have your hides since War took you on. He's got one now if you make it look like you're out to free you manager."

"He won't even know were here."

And with that the hunters were gone leaving the Praxian femme alone in the makeshift bay looking down at a pair of big baby blue optics blinking back up at her. For a moment the two stared at each other silently. Appraising and curious until Bee's doorwings and winglets gave an inviting flicker and he smiled up at her, his young spark pulsing happily.

"Hi." He chirped.

In two nanos flat Flare was smitten.

---

Glaring into the desert with a level of annoyance the commander didn't often display Optimus crossed his arms and growled. "They should have reported in by now."

"It's possible a sand storm slowed them down." Jazz commented from his perch on the ridge above the Prime.

"Do you see a sand storm?" Ratchet grumbled.

Jazz hissed at him over his shoulder.

"Oh stop that." Prowl glared up at the silver saboteur. "You're not helping, Jazz."

"Who said I was trying to help." Jazz muttered under his breath. "I hate this stupid plan."

"I'm with Jazz." Sideswipe rumbled. "We should have gone with them. We were fraggin' Gladiators. We know the pits."

"And we know War." Sunstreaker added in a low voice. "Besides, I've got a few points to make with our old master."

"Your old master you say," A deep rasp rumbled, swinging all the mechs to find Impulse standing a few yards behind them. Heavy arms crossed over his thick chest, his red optics narrowed and burning. "Seems you two still hold emotions for the old mech."

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker snarled, weapons systems whirling to life along with Ironhide who growled beside them.

"Impulse," Optimus strolled forward, plating tightening and optics narrowing. "What do you want? It's it normally your brother that plays messenger?"

"My brother is too busy putting his faith in things already proving foolish to be bothered with that what is in front of him." Impulse growled back at him. "I do not agree with his plan, but then again, when do I ever? That is not the point. The point is your plan is falling apart as quickly as you made it. If you want your mechling back in one piece, I suggest you start improvising."

Then, he was gone.

---

Finding Dust was no easy task. The whole Ring was coming alive with motion and action. The whispers of what was to come having already spread among the Gladiators, the Hunters, and all the rest having heard what was happening by now. The massive form of the most powerful mech here chained up in the main arena was sure to gather attention.

So it was where all the attention was Rider and Smokey went. Sliding along beside familiar faceplates, and sneers they knew very well. The known hunters of Wardrums got a certain level of respect here, but with the back up to their status currently in chains in the middle of one of the pit arenas all that went out the window. There was no threat of the anger of the old bastard behind them anymore and it had Outrider snarling far more than normal.

Smokescreen kept his doorwings down and tight behind him. His hands on his sword hilts. The dangerous blades starting to hum through his spark. They already sensed something was wrong, that or Wardrums was calling for them. The later was probably far more likely and sped the hunters along the crowded halls and into the arena stands that were already starting to gather attention.

Oblivion would not allow anybot to stay near to long before the action went underway. That did not mean they couldn't get close though. They still had enough pull in this pit for mechs to move out of the way, and then they were there standing just outside the energy bars of the arena gates staring across the wide sandy circle. Wardrums was hard to miss chained there, massive frame hanging from the ceiling. His long, thick, powerful arms were strung over his head, his feet dangling several yards off the ground. Considering the mech's size that was quite a feat. His frame was covered energon, long strips of his thick black armor torn away to revel the dark grey protoform underneath. Soaking in energon staining him leaving hardly any trace of the gold stripes that decorated his dark armor. One of the shuttleformer's long, thick wings that were folded behind his back was twisted back into an unnatural angle that made Smokey's doorwings pin down against his back in phantom pain.

He looked . . . awful.

Head hanging down limply against his chest it was only the stir of his vents and the color still in his frame that was any indication that he was even still alive. His fire orangeish red optics were narrow and dim as he stared down at the ground below him. For several nanos Rider and Smokey could only stand there and stare at the mech they had for the longest time they had seen as invincible.

He didn't see so untouchable anymore.

The steadily growing pool of energon beneath him was testament enough of that. Neither hunter liked it though.

War was . . . War. No bot hurt him, nothing could.

Oblivion couldn't have done this . . . all his guards though . . . maybe.

But War would have had to have let them.

Why would he let them though?

Leaning forward, swallowing the lump in his throat, Outrider called through the hotly humming bars. "You look like slag warmed over."

A twitch rolled through the colossal mech's frame. It took a moment, but eventually that angled, sharply armored head lifted until narrow optics burned across the yards of energon soaked sand to find them. When that pain filled gaze focused on him Outrider felt his spark clench, but he did not outwardly show it. There were too many around.

Several nanos passed as those dark fire optics stared back at them before Wardrums rumbled out in that haunting rasp of his baritone.

"You're late."

Was that what this was about?

The hunters spared each other a glance before Smokescreen huffed.

"We're here now. We pulled it off."

Something flashed in Wardrums' optics, strength returning to his frame in a flash of rippled plating before he seemed to remember where he was and went limp in the chains that held him again. Outrider and Smokescreen relaxed some.

Maybe he wasn't as bad off as he looked. Then again, they should have known. If War was dying Dust would be here and Dust obviously wasn't here.

Wardrums' dark optics cast around those coming in to sneer and mock with enough disdain that many lesser mechs turned tail and fled. Then the old mech focused his gaze on his hunters again.

"Where?" It was all he said, not enough to be interpreted by others, but more than enough for the two that had spent so long in his service now.

"Here," Smokescreen flicked a doorwing.

Those fire optics narrowed. "Dust?"

"Not yet." Rider should his head. "Can't find him, but it is safe."

He wouldn't give Bumblebee a meaning anymore then that now. Too many were around. Too many were listening. It was too dangerous to turn their prize into anything too substantial in rumors.

War nodded to this, his undamaged wing twitching behind him drawing a grunt out of his huge chest when its partner tired to follow the action. Giving them a growl he rumbled lowly.

"Go to Dust." And with that he looked away, effectively ending the rather stiff conversation. The hunters understood though. Like this it was all that could be said. They could see the tension that had grown in his frame ever nano they had been speaking.

This was a trick.

They could see it well now.

War had planned this, for some reason, and now that they were here it seemed it wasn't so much needed. Problem was though he was scheduled for execution . . . and that was a bad thing. There was nothing either of them could do though. Not like this.

All they could do was obey him.

Turning away they headed back through the halls in search of one likely pissed off medic.

---

Tiny yellow head tilted to the side and antennas flickering back and forth curiously Bee grinned up at the pretty femme who's hand he was currently perched in. Her pretty blue optics shown down at him with something that looked suspiciously like wonder and disbelief. Almost like she wasn't truly convinced he was there let alone that he was real.

She had yet to respond to his greeting though so he figured he would try again. After all, Rider and Smokey left him here. That meant she was their friend and that she would look after him. They wouldn't leave him with somebot they didn't trust, but he wasn't so sure what to make of the femme yet.

She was very pretty, that was for sure. Plating painted a little mutely, but her thin, short doorwings stood proudly behind her back and the chevron atop her head matched the odd blue of her optics so perfectly it was almost hard to grasp. Those optics were very soft though.

Shining and curious, but slightly guarded too. Then again, this place they were in . . . this dark and this hot. The darkness and the stale air that was so hard to breath. She was so very different from that. A sort of bright place to cling too and he was fully intent on doing just that.

After of course he learned her name and figured out if he liked it and her or not. Outrider had said it, but he always liked to hear names from the ones that owned them. His carrier was right all those vorns ago when she told him a lot could be said about a bot by their name. It was not a lesson he had never forgotten.

Straightening himself up in her palm he chirped. "Me Bee, Bumblebee, who is you?"

The sound of his voice seemed to startle her. Making her straighten up as well. Those bright optics blinking a few times before a slow smile curved up her lips and she softly said. "I'm Flare Up, little one."

"Flare Up." He mimicked. Letting the name and her faceplate roll around in his processor and spark. After a few moments he smiled even brighter up at her. It was a pretty name, and the way that her optics shown so brightly it seemed to fit her. So with a bit of shyness creeping into his voice he fluttered his wings and mumbled.

"Nice meet you, Flare Up."

Her wings fluttered back at him, catching his attention and confusing him slightly with what they meant. He was sure Prowl had told him, but for the life of him he couldn't remember right now. Those wing lessons were so hard. His never did what Prowl's or Blue's did. He tired, but he just couldn't control them like they did theirs.

"It's nice to meet you too, Bumblebee." She softly said back to him. Leaning back on one hand while the one he was in lifted to let him rest closer to her spark. With the motion the little mech took a moment to reach out curiously. Poking hesitantly at the ball of life he could feel through his own.

Her life force show as brightly as her optics did, pulsing almost widely in its spin of existence. It matched her name very well. He liked it.

He was about to reach out a bit more firmly and try and see if she wanted to be friends when her voice pulled his attention back out of his spark.

"What on Cybertron are you doing here, Little One?" She asked quietly. "What are you doing with Outrider and Smokescreen?"

"Field Trip." Bee chirped back quickly. "We is doin' something. They said had to come here and finish something before could go back home. Said I needed to come. So, here me is. Though me not really sure where here is."

His doorwings and winglets lowered down against his back as he suddenly thought to take a look around at the world he could suddenly see. This room was strange. Dark and dim even if it looked as if it was trying to be bright. It was still hot, still stuffy, still hard to breath making his little vents work twice as hard.

It didn't take him very long to come to the conclusion that he didn't like it here. Something in his spark seemed to sink as he cast his optics around. This dark feeling creeping up inside his tanks and twisting them into a ball.

No.

No he didn't like it here one bit.

Sinking down against the femme's hand he found himself curling instinctively toward protection a femme could offer and she responded almost without seeming to know she did it.

His optics cast around again. Taking in this room and trying to make sense of the twisting that had started inside. There was almost something . . . familiar about this place.

His spark curled a bit tighter as if in answer.

It—even if he didn't—remembered this place.

He had been here before.

But he didn't know why and he didn't know when.

Flare Up cupped the little mechling against her chest, watching with dimming optics as the reality of what was around him finally seemed to sink into the little thing. This place—this pit—was not where a youngling should be. Why in all of pit those two big fools would bring him here she didn't know.

She was damn sure going to find out and most likely hit them for it, but she was pretty sure she already knew part of the answer. This had Wardrums and Dustoff written all of over it.

But it was more than that.

The longer she sat there looking down at this tiny ball of yellow protoform and impossibly blue optics the more he spark twanged with something like memory. He was . . . familiar. . . but why? She knew for a fact she'd never seen this mechling before.

Primus . . . she hadn't see a youngling in . . . a very long time. She had thought there was no more of them and while a part of the coding that made her up sang in joy about the prospect of what she was holding the hard learned truths of the life she lead was sinking in dread.

This mechling didn't belong here. He would not survive here.

Suddenly, she tightened up. Optics spiraling wide as her jaw dropped open.

"Mercy," She mumbled in what was hardly a breath, but drew the tiny mechling attention back up to her all the same. Flare hardly noticed. All she could do was stare down at him with something between horror and wonder.

"Huh?" Bee tilted his head.

"You're Mercy's." Flare Up whispered, shaking her head back in forth.

It couldn't be.

It just couldn't be.

Mercy was gone . . . .

She didn't have a sparkling!

Bee's head tilted the other way, confused.

Anything else the femme might have come up with was cut off though when the door across the room swished open to a tall, lean, powerful dusty brown and highlighted black form. Aerodynamic armor, angled and curved, and long black rotor blades shuffling apart and together as he walked like some kind of funny feathers. Cool red optics, not dark or burning like so many of that shade. Instead almost a calm kind of red. Like the first fades of sunrise into a darker color.

Dustoff.

For a klick the notion of whipping the mechling behind her back in an attempt to hide him flashed in Flare's processor before she remembered just where and who she was with. Besides, the mechling had turned toward the sound as well. And those cool red optics were focused not on the rare femme on his medical berth, but on the living ghost that sat in her hand.

Flare Up had never quite seen the big, old medic look quite like that before.

Movement behind him pulled Flare's gaze away though to find the tall, thin, but strong form of her guardian and might as well be carrier. The black as night and highlighted in burning flame details with optics that glowed so purple they were almost unreal. It was the stark contrast of her long, sweeping, orange chevron that made them seem so unnaturally wild. Her long, elegantly rugged sectioned doorwings that hung behind her back in proud arches summed up the rest of the femme's appearance.

She pushed around the much larger mech stalking into the medical bay growling under her breath as Flamewar was so often doing. Those striking purple optics catching sight of the thing in Flare's grip drawing her to an abrupt halt. A few klicks passed in which the medic and the ex-Decepticon now turned pirate, bounty hunter, spy, and carrier could do nothing more than stare down at the confused blinking little yellow thing until Dust shoved his way into the room and locked the door behind him.

"Well," If Flare didn't know the old doctor so well she'd have said it didn't happen, but she did know Dust and she could hear the way his voice broke for the swiftest of nanos before he managed to compose himself as he walked forward to stand just a few paces before Flare Up and the mechling that blinked up at him from her palm. "I suppose this means Rider and Smokey have finally decided to show back up."

Flare nodded dumbly back at him, not sure what else to do with the realization of how eerily this little mech looked like her long dead friend.

"What," Flamewar hissed, stalking forward with an elegant prowl more fitting to a turbofox then a bot. "In the name of pit is that?"

Bee blinked back at her, little head tilting to the side. A part of him wondered if he should be afraid, but considering the femme Outrider left him with wasn't afraid he guessed everything was okay. Besides, this was another femme. It was shocking. She looked a whole lot like Flare Up apart from the fact that she was as big as Elita while Flare Up was more the size of Chromia.

They both had those thin, pretty doorwings though and those distinctive arching chevrons that made them look so similar to Prowl, and Blue, and Smokescreen. Bee wondered if that was supposed to be important. No bot else had those chevrons.

His little head tilted back the other way as he looked back at the femme that stood there peering down at him with wide, strange purple optics to gaze up at the towering form of the flier mech that stood looking down at him as well.

There was something eerily familiar about those cool red optics. Bee's spark gave a harsh tug feeling as if it wanted to break out of its chamber in a try to feel for the mech that stood before him. It almost made him squeak in pain with how hard it tugged on his consciences. It left him pulling a hand up to his thin chest and rubbing a bit while he stared up into those red optics.

He didn't know why and he didn't know how, but he knew this mech. He was positive he did.

"That is a mechling." The towering helicopter sighed. "A very important mechling."

"I can see it is a mechling." Flamewar rolled her optics, the bright purple orbs narrowing into thin slits. "I'm asking how in all of pit he is here!"

"Outrider and Smokescreen came in here looking for you and War. I told them what happened and they left him with me. Dust why does he look like—"

"Stop." The harsh bit over a booted so fast comm channel static rolled through her processor more than anything snapped Flare's jaw shut so fast it snapped. The glare Flamewar gave the medic was enough to melt plating but she was ignored as the powerful mech went on. "Don't finish that sentence."

Flare Up's optics narrowed even thinner than her adopted carrier's. "He is Mercy's then."

"What?!" Flamewar had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming it out loud, but the way her energy field flared was clue enough to the audio jarring shout over the comm channel. It made Bee sink down further into Flare Up's hand unsure what was going on and what to do with himself.

Dustoff rolled his optics. "How did you of all bots look at him and not see it? Really, Flamewar."

"Mercy did not have a sparkling!"

"Not that we told you about, no." The femme punched him so hard in the arm the armor plating buckled and he went stumbling backward. No matter that he towered over her. Flamewar was nothing if not one tough glitch. A life in the tribes, the Rings, a short time among the Decepticons, and watching the genocide of her own breed by the side she'd thought was right had turned her into everything she was these orns. She was hard, fairly mean, snarky, sarcastic, threw one pit of a punch, and the most dangerous place in the entire universe was between her what she viewed as her family. Namely the foundling orphan she dug out of the ruble of Praxus. The little femme she saved, raised, taught, and kept alive all these vorns.

Her daughter, no matter that she didn't carrier her.

Flare Up had grown up in this pit of a place under the care of herself, Dustoff, Wardrums, and Mercy. The kind, sweet, soft spoken brightness had become more than just Flamewar's closest friend. She had become Flare Up's as well.

When they came home from a mission War sent them on to learn that she was gone it had nearly destroyed the young femme and it had lead to many a dead fools that crossed Flamewar for many vorns after.

None of them in this fragged up family had ever really gotten over the lost of Wardrums' little sister.

But for the words that just rolled off Dustoff's inner tongue made her want to rip out the blade hidden in her wrist and slit the doctor's throat. However, she didn't.

Instead she just stood there staring back at him along with Flare Up unsure of just how to respond to that when the medic decided to go on.

"Deathtoll sired him."

And suddenly it all made a sad, horrible, twisted kind of sense.

Both femme's felt their sparks fall to the floor in a shatter they could almost see as doorwings went slack behind them, optics widened, and jaws clenched. Dustoff turned his optics away his rotor blades yanked tightly together with pain and anger, but his eternal voice was as calm as it ever was.

"Deathtoll finally got the better of War, just like he always was after."

"He took it out on her." Flamewar's purple optics narrowed into thin slits of burning anger. "When the frag did this happen!? How the frag could you let this happen!? She wasn't a berth toy! She was your apprentice! Deathtoll never dared touch War's sister, he never dared touch any of us!"

"He didn't dare?" Dustoff snorted. "Do not be so conceded, Flamewar. The traitor bastard owns the very evil of this world. He does whatever the pit he pleases. Look at the war around you! All of this is his fault. And you think just because War has kept him at bay from what he holds dear all these vorns he could keep it up forever? You can't be that foolish. He finally got in a lucky shot and he didn't take it at War. He took the far more painful shot. Wardrums was in an arena fight, I was detained by Oblivion while the fight was going on. We all know very well Mercy was no warrior. She never stood a chance against him."

The helicopter shifted, his plating tightening down, optics narrowing. Recalling what he hadn't been able to stop was not something that was easy on his spark. Mercy had been in his care longer then even he had been mated to her older brother. The sickly youngling having come into his care back in the time when the Knights ruled Cybertron and all the stars they wished.

Mercy had been the beginning of the rest of Dust's life, from back in the orns when he was young and the Knight Empire still shown over life on this rapidly dying planet. What felt like a million vorns ago he'd never known what chances the appearance of a sickly femmeling would inflict upon his life.

That was not to say he'd ever regretted any of it.

No.

He loved Mercy like she was his own sister. He had since the days the scrawny, tiny, coughing little femme had stumbled into his clinic. She had been far too small to belong to the mighty fliers and warframes of her breed. Pure Grounders had been rare in those times, but a little one was even rarer. Small even among femmes in a time when everything about their very lives had been supersized. Back when they weren't ancients and Predacons. They had been all there was.

No petty arguments between optic color and frame types. Back when Cybertronians were relatively new. At least in the terms of being Cybertronians.

That was all a very long time ago and the furthest thing that Dustoff needed to be concerned with at the moment. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much it destroyed a piece of each and every one of this fragged up family, Mercy was gone. She was gone and it had been their fault. For not being able to stop the evil that betrayed not only his own kind but all those he was meant to protect so many vorns ago. For not being able to stop it all.

Their whole breed, their way of life, and now it seemed even their planet and race as a whole were crumbling around them.

All because of one mech.

All because of Deathtoll.

The traitor to the Guild, the mech that murdered not only the entirety of the Knights but his balance brother as well. Shootingstar.

The monster that took out his anger against Wardrums and Dustoff for their part in saving what was left of their world on War's sickly little sister. The sire by force to her only sparkling, their nephew. The last link they had to her.

A mechling that didn't know them, didn't know his carrier, didn't know his link to the ancients, the Guild, or the role he would play in all that was to come. The truth of which Dust bore the terrible burden of knowing.

Knowing and not being able to do anything about it. The same burden War bore. Another secret they couldn't share.

Dust was oh so very tired of secrets.

"Who . . . you . . . ?"

The quiet, chirpy, high pitch burble of words pulled the medic from not only his thoughts but the internal conversation as well. His bright red optics settled on the curious tilt of the little head. Those impossibly big and all too familiar optics shining up at him.

They were partly painful to look at while at the same time so eerily familiar the huge medic couldn't force himself to look away. They were Mercy's optics, and he wore Mercy's protoform color. Everything Dustoff remembered from that tiny sparkling he'd helped bring into this world thirteen vorns ago. The premature, sickly, not breathing mechling he fought against every known law of their race to save because his carrier that didn't have a choice in him had wanted him anyway.

Even if it ultimately killed her. Mercy had wanted this sparkling. She'd wanted him to live, to have a chance, to not be blamed for deeds that were not his fault. It wasn't until after Dust defied the very Well and pulled this sparkling back from the clutches of the next world that Trickster had come calling.

And everything had all gone to whole different kind of pit.

The Guild weren't meant to be able to have sparklings. It wasn't that they weren't real enough, but after the Knight Empire fell the direct decedents of the brothers were either all killed or drifted realities like the Guild did. Not dead, but not . . . a part of this reality anymore either. They became myths, stories, and fairy tales just like all the rest of the Knights.

It was why the little mechling shouldn't exist in the first place. Deathtoll—no matter how far he fell and all he caused while he did it all—was still Guild. He shouldn't have been able to sire anything let alone a premature little mechling. However, Trickster's appearance after vorns of being gone. After the last of the fallen Empire thought he was dead. After all, how could he and the rest of the Guild just allow Deathtoll to run rampant over Cybertron and her people.

There was just no way it was possible that the Guild, that Prui and Pritum—Primus and Unicron—could abandon them all if they were still alive in anyway. Dust just hadn't been able to fathom it. The fact that they were left to watch darkness suffocate their very way of life while the Guild sat back and did nothing. Watching as the ones they were suppose to protect developed in vengeful and predacious fools killing their own kind for generations.

But they had.

The Guild had vanished after their brother killed his balance partner and destroyed their very existence in the name of power. They vanished and they left those that survived it to bow down under their twisted failure. They left them . . . alone.

Only to come strutting back in to the game after the unthinkable happened and Mercy was left with a sparkling that shouldn't have been possible. Leaving Dust and War with no idea what to do besides listen to the tale the returned Guild spun. About a plan, a purpose, and a part to play.

All circling around this youngling that shouldn't be here anyway.

This youngling they weren't allowed to play a part in because it wasn't time, but yet this all had still happened. The bounty had been placed when Oblivion found out he didn't kill the mechling with Mercy and no matter that War had called for Trickster to do something the Guild members had done nothing. Leaving Wardrums boiling with anger.

First the Guild decrees they cannot take back the last thing of Mercy they have. Then they refuse to stop what will surely kill this thing they say that will bring balance back to their world. They allowed hunters to be sent to kill him. They would do nothing.

Just like before.

Well, Wardrums had never been one to take anything lying down.

Ignoring Trickster's warning not to get involved with the youngling that by all right should belong to them, he sent Rider and Smokey back to the place they had run from for all these vorns. Knowing what it would cause, but also knowing it was better in the long run.

Besides, the two mechs had learned all they could from this place and from Dust and War. It was time for them to go. Time for them to find their own way. To go back to where they really belonged. And if while they did it Dust and War found themselves protecting the last thing they had of Mercy then well everybot won.

And the Guild could go to pit with their rules, warning, and plans. If they wouldn't save Mercy's sparkling then by Primus Dust would. Even if War claimed he wanted nothing to do with the runt. Dust knew better. Not even War could lie to his sparkmate.

However, planning to save Mercy's sparkling, and actually standing there looking down at him again after all these vorns of thinking he was gone with his carrier proved to be two very different concepts all together. Leaving the calm, level helmed mech quite unsure what to do with himself. Especially after within the last two joor their whole plan sort of went to pit. Flamewar and Flare Up were not supposed to be back yet, Oblivion was not supposed to have sent his damn stupid hunters, and War was not supposed to have flipped the frag out like a glitch and try to kill the bastard before it was time.

Cool red optics gazed down almost absently at the tiny mechling that looked back up at him with this expectant and somewhat nervous expression. But no fear.

Here was this tiny thing, alone, away from home, in a strange place with a bunch of bots he had no way of knowing, but he was not afraid. Not timid. With no apprehension.

There was a bit of shyness, a bit of nerves, but none of the reactions a mechling should have to the environment he was in. The notion did pass through Dust that maybe somewhere in that young processor the mechling might remember some of this, some of him, but he dismissed it.

The last time he's seen this mechling he was two and a half vorns old. No sparkling that young could possibly remember the mech that fought to keep him in this world with a frame that wasn't meant or ready to be in it. Dustoff was not naive enough to believe that he would remember him.

Swallowing down the mix of emotions those optics brought to him the medic let the tension bleed from his frame, tucked his rotors behind him, and knelt down. Though even with a knee on the hard stone floor he was still looking down at Flare and the little bundle that was tucked into her palm.

Taking a deep breath to try and steady his spark Dust was about to try and come up with an answer to that a mechling this young would understand, wondering slightly would the few sharp fangs he bore would scare him.

Those bright optics focused on him as Dust dropped his head a little more, trying to make himself somewhat less threatening.

"My name is Dustoff, little one."

Bumblebee blinked, spark twisting into a ball in his chest. Hot, pulsing, pulling against his chamber. Beating like it wanted out.

It wanted to know.

He didn't know why and he didn't know what, but for some reason it desperately wanted to know.

This mech . . . somehow . . . someway, Bee—at least in his spark—he knew him.

Mouthing the name he was given, feeling his spark pulse brightly with the knowledge of it and the feeling of this bot right in front of him Bee did the only thing he could think to do at this point. Narrowing his focus down to his spark Bee pushed out with all he had. Reaching over the cosmic space between until he pushed hard against the one of the mech right before him.

So focused on the feeling of this spark Bee almost missed the fact that as soon as he latch hold and started searching Dust fell back on his aft. Optics flaring wide and bright while his own spark pulled his focus inward as well. Bee didn't pay his fall much mine. He was too busy scrounging around in this spark.

Old, that was the first thing that Bee realized. This mech was old. Older then Hide. Older then Ratchet. Older then Grimlock.

That alone was strange, but Bee went on past it. Digging and wondering until he got more feelings.

Calm.

That was the next thing he realized. This overwhelming nature of calm. Kind of collected. With an undercurrent of kindness. He had a feeling a lot like Ratchet had. A nature that wanted to fix, to heal, and to feel.

All together he seemed like a very nice kind of mech. He felt different though. That was for sure. Something was different about him, but Bee didn't know what it was.

Under it all there was something that tugged familiar. Something that called to Bee. Something that he knew.

He knew this mech, but he couldn't remember how.

Pulling back with his spark, finally realizing that Dust had actually fell, that the black and flamed colored femme was pulling him up, Flare Up was saying something, and that Dustoff was staring back at him with strange optics. Bee straightened up at that, unsure of what happened or what he did, but the mech seemed okay as he pushed himself up.

Tilting his head back the other way Bee softly chirped. "Me know you . . . ."

Both the femmes went still as Dust straightened back up. A klick or two passed in which the mech stared down at him while Bee stared back before Dust quietly mumbled.

"You remember?"

Doorwings flickering, winglets flaring, antennas twitching Bee shrugged. "Not sure. This place . . . ." He glanced around the room. "Strange. What is place? Who is you? Why remember?"

"How could he possibly remember?" Flamewar whispered. "She died—"

"Hush." Dust hissed over at her, but Bee's antennas flicked with the words. His attention turning to the femme. Flare Up's hand curled slightly around him a little tighter.

"She . . . who?" Bee blinked. "Who you?"

"This is Flamewar." Dust said quickly. "She's an old friend."

Bee rolled over the name. Turning it up and down while his optics ran over her. He liked it and her he supposed.

"Who talking about?"

Your Carrier. The thought flared through all three of them but each one bit their collective tongues.

"What is he doing here?" Flamewar twisted the conversation. Not knowing if she could look at those ghost optics and tell him what they were really talking about. The femme pirate wasn't even sure she knew what the pit was really going on here, but she was going to have this big idiot tell her or somebot was going to get it.

She honestly wanted to strangle him.

Of all the damn stupid ideas. Bringing a youngling here. Bringing Mercy's sparkling they didn't even know about back here.

What the frag were they thinking!?

"There is a bounty." Dust sighed, glancing back into those purple optics before turning his attention back to the tiny mechling. He was about to go on when the door to the medical bay swung open again despite his lock and in stalked two growling bounty hunters.

A flash of warmth that Dust couldn't stop went through him to see the latest two he was trying to save alright and in one piece, but the anger that burned in their optics was like ice to his spark. At the sight of him there they paused. Quickly taking in that Flamewar was with him while also finding the little yellow youngling.

As the door shut behind them Outrider crossed the room, pulling the little mechling back up from Flare Up's hand and pulling him to his chest with a hard look at Dustoff. Smokescreen was at his side quickly, but when he twisted to glare up at the medic that had saved them countless times there was none of his normal playful light.

Stress, anger, confusion, worry, and fatigue. Everything Dustoff was afraid he might find after Smokescreen and Outrider endured what they would have to by going back to the place they had been running from for so long. A part of him had wondered when War sent them out if they were even coming back at all.

There had been a part of him that didn't want them to. The part that wanted them to realize they could stand on their own. That they could make it. That they would figure out that they could take care of themselves and get better if they got out of this pit. Dust couldn't offer them a better life here. Their families could, and sooner or later they would have to face their own ghosts to go back to them. He had held out hope deep inside that part of War's plan was leaning on that idea.

That they would remember they could belong somewhere else and that they would go back where they belonged. For even if Dust hated the idea of not knowing his own nephew. No matter that he hated that it was the Guild's warning and rules that made them have to stay away, he knew deep inside he could offer no home to a mechling here. He had tired enough times to know how often he failed.

Only four—four out of the hundreds he had tried with—had ever made it. And he knew well the premature sparkling of an already sickly femme would never be built to survive in a place like this. Especially if Deathtoll ever learned he was alive.

Ending up where he had was the best place either Dust or War could have hoped for the mechling they thought died, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. Even if War wanted nothing to do with him for the memory he was and the truth Trickster had told.

"You lied." The harsh hiss yanked Dust from his processor. Leaving him staring down into the bright, but narrow optics of the Praxian mech he had grown so fond of.

Cool red optics narrowing slightly, glancing to the little mechling peaking around Outrider's curled fingers. Taking a deep breath Dust lowered his head. "Smokescreen this isn't the tim—"

"Oh mute it!" Outrider growled, cutting him off. "You lied! What the frag, Dust!? Why the pit wouldn't you tell us this!?" He pulled the hand that held the mechling up. Jarring him slightly and making him latch hold of Rider's thumb to hang on but other than that Bee showed no outward sign of protest.

"I'm a bit curious about that question as well." Flamewar drawled, across crossing over her curved chest as she cocked her weight out onto one hip as she swayed with the arching of an optic ridge. "She was our friend, Dust. You didn't even tell us she ran away until after they found her. Until after she was dead. We could have helped."

"There was nothing any of us could do to change any of it." Rotor's tightening up behind his back the old medic looked away. There was so much more to that terrible concept then they knew. Then he could possibly tell them. Because he didn't want to believe it, but he knew without an answer they would never back down. They missed Mercy as much as either him or War did. He knew that very well. "There are some things in this universe . . . some things that you just can't fix, help, or change. You all know that very well."

"We had a right to know!" Smokescreen shouted, finger jabbing into Dust's chest as he crowded into the larger mech's space. The old medic did not move though. Nor did he try and defend himself from the hard jabbing. For Dust knew, the young swordsmech was right. "You—y-you should have never not told us about him! Why the frag would you not!? All this time, he's been out there. Her sparkling! He doesn't even know you! He doesn't know her! Not even her name!"

"Exactly." Dust whispered, the broken sound drawing the building snarls and fights to a stop.

For a few nanos there was silence until finally Flamewar quietly muttered. "Dust, what aren't you telling us now?"

He sighed. "Flamewar, remember that time long ago when I told you about an old friend of mine? About Evermore and her brothers. About the Guild."

The femme nodded as Rider and Smokescreen sucked in a breath.

"The Guild?" Outrider bit.

"Yes, Rider." Dust nodded. "The Guild. The old myth is not a myth. No more than I am or the Knights were. They and their Master were real bots. Real enough for their brother to destroy almost our entire race in a play for power. Deathtoll . . . ."

His optics drifted to the youngling, sitting there in Rider's palm looking between them all and listening.

Switching back to his comm Dust hailed them all and then went on.

"Deathtoll is Guild. He is their fallen brother. The mech that destroyed the Empire. That tainted Megatronus Prime. Who made him the Fallen. That ended up killing the rest of Thirteen. That almost wiped us all out. He started the first Civil War. It was him. None of that is a story. It is true. All these vorns the Guild have been gone. We thought he killed them all when the Knights fell and alone we couldn't beat him. War cannot beat him alone. Even if he has tried again and again. You all know why we stay here, and it's not because we like it."

Fists clenching Dust glanced around the pitiful excuse of a medical bay he had scrapped together here. How many lives had he not been able to save because in this fragging place he didn't have the tools to save them? How many that he swore to protect had leaked out under his claws?

He was a medic. Every life he hadn't been able save lived as a faceplate among his guilt. He remembered them all. He always would.

"Then this little mechling was born . . . premature, sick . . . he shouldn't have survived. I shouldn't have . . . . Well it doesn't matter now. Mercy wanted him. She begged me to save him, to not snuff the kindled spark as soon as I realized she was sparked. And I . . . I couldn't do it. After everything, I couldn't take it from her if she wanted it. But then he was born and Trickster came back. The Guild we could deal with though. No matter what the glitch said War has never bowed to his twisted stories, but Oblivion found out about the sparkling. It wasn't that much of a jump between who carried him and who would have sired him. The damn Ring Master reported to Deathtoll and the old bastard ordered him and Mercy executed."

Taking a deep breath to calm his spinning spark Dustoff's inner voice trailed off into a whisper.

"Wardrums fought him when he came to do it himself. We both held him off long enough that Mercy ran, but no bot can out run fate. The glitch tore us both up bad enough that we couldn't go after her when he sent his . . . things after her. They found her outside Altihex and they killed her. We thought when they hauled back in her frame that the mechling would have died out there with her. Even Deathtoll was sure of it. There was no way he could make it on his own. The Autobots finding him was the last thing we thought would happen. You have to understand, my friends, when it was all over it was easier to just let it be over. She was gone and there was nothing we could do about it. We failed her . . . her and her son . . . . Once again we couldn't stop Deathtoll from destroying everything we swore to protect."

It left the group around him standing in silence. Taking in the tale, trying to process all of it in the quiet summary he shared. It wasn't so much the words, but the way they were given and the look in his optics as he stood there staring at them was more than enough for all of them to stay silent.

Then, quietly, Flare Up whispered. "He's not just her son though . . . or Deathtoll's . . . he's your nephew. She was as good as our sister as well which makes him the same for us. We could have helped."

"None of you were here." Dust sighed. "And that was not your fault, but it's over now. Nothing can change what happened."

"Well what about what is happening now?" Crossing his arms over his chest Smokescreen twitched his doorwings. "War is in chains in the arena, the Prime is waiting for us to call him, we were gonna blow this place sky high."

"What!?" The questioned hiss came from all three of the other bots. A set of blue, purple, and red optics setting on them.

Outrider nodded slowly to the wide stares. "The Autobot sips are up in the atmosphere as we speak. The plan was we get in, we find you two, we kill Oblivion, and then we destroy the Ring."

"The Autobots are here?" Flamewar hissed.

"Well not here per say." Smokescreen tried to appease her. He knew all too well what the dark femme thought of the Autobots. To her they were no different from the other side she had deserted. To her they were all the same, and in a way Smokescreen had agreed with her for a very long time. For he meant it when he told Prowl he had clung to what he had after Praxus fell just as Prowl had done.

Prowl had a youngling he found, and the Autobots called him the only survivor of Praxus. Smokescreen hadn't felt the need to correct him just yet. Flamewar and Flare Up were important to him and he had grown so use to hiding them that talking about them outside of Rider, Dust, and War just seemed wrong. The notion to bringing them up while he had been back with Prowler hadn't crossed his mind.

Now that he stood here looking at them he wondered if he should have. He knew very well what it was like to think their whole breed was gone. These two femmes that had become so important to him. Had become a part of this fragged up family that they built in this place. He adored Flare Up and her sweet nature just as he admired Flamewar for her no slag attitude. But he also knew this family survived because they didn't speak outside their confines of Dust's bay and their rooms.

It was too dangerous. Especially for the two femmes. Bots like them around this place were nothing more than pretty toys—like he had been for so long—and if two much attention was drawn to them not even War would be able to save them. Not twice.

Flamewar and Flare Up's places among this pit hole was not the issue at hand though. If he had any say of it, now that they were back as well, Smokescreen was going to make sure they came out of this little scraped together plan as well as they could. He knew Flamewar would likely not go back to a side of this war and that Flare Up would go where her adopted carrier went, but maybe they could get a second chance as well out of all of this.

"They are going to bomb the Ring?" Dust's questioned pulled Smokescreen optics to him and with a slow nod the Praxian hunter answered.

"That's the plan. They're waiting on us to call them. We figured it would work for you both. You hate this place. And it would save Bumblebee."

Dustoff's optics flashed, but he too nodded with the words. A slow look curling up his faceplate as it was clear the old mech was thinking. Then with a firm nod he turned to Flamewar.

"Time to speed up our little plan."

A cruel smile curved up her lips. "About time."

"What plan?" Rider asked.

"Rider," Dust turned back to him. "Call your Autobot—"

But he didn't get to finish for a boom that rocked them all hard enough to knock them off their feet shook through the underground pit followed by another, and another, and another, and another. Shock staled the group for a moment before Rider and Smokescreen shoved themselves to their feet.

"Damn it! I told them to wait until we called!" Outrider snarled, shoving a confused mechling into his spark vault.

"Guess they got tired of waiting!" Smokescreen scrambled. "Come on! Better get that plan going, Dust!"

The medic was snarling as he pushed himself up and pulled the femmes with him.

"Damn Autobots! I was gonna blow the place up! Stop stealing my moment!" Flamewar hollered, but not even she had time to stand around and curse them now. Explosions, fire, and yelling were rocking the world around them and they had to get to War.

---

The first shock wave of explosion didn't really surprise Wardrums. He kind of figured Flamewar's plan to get him out of these chains would involve an explosion of some kind. Most of her plans did. However, when the booms just kept coming, fire exploded into the heat of the tunnels, and the jagged stone roof far above him started shaking and crumbling the powerful shuttle understood.

This wasn't an inner explosion. Somebot outside was bombing the Ring.

Not a lot of figuring went in to the realization that this had everything to do with Outrider and Smokescreen being back with the mechling and nothing to do with Flamewar and her trigger happy finger. Biting back a sigh the massive black and gold striped mech rolled his fire colored optics to the ceiling his chains dangled him from. The screaming, hollering, and fear he could already hear coming to life around him grated against his audios.

He was not surprised. Most cruel bots were cowards. That in no way was a surprise. Most of the bots that called this pit hole home would run like the scrap rats they were. Scattering from the hidden door as fast as they could in turn showing their attackers the way in. That is if Smokey and Rider hadn't already done it.

Wardrums wouldn't put it past them.

The who mechs were mad at him, and granted he probably deserved their anger, but at the moment he didn't really care. When another bomb rocked through sending a large part of the ceiling crashing down just a few yards from him War decided he'd have enough.

Pushing the aching pain through his frame to the back of his processor and letting a snarl build through his chest he focused in on his heavily leaking thrusters. They whined horribly with his command to fire, but after the third override of overheating systems and low fuel he finally got them to come online. With a hard burst of heat and fire they spun him in a dizzy twist for his aching processor, but the motion got him what he wanted. Enough of a boost to latch hold of the chains that bound his wrist together.

Another chuck of ceiling came crashing down with another rocking explosion, but oddly enough the place that held him captive was resilient enough to stay up there among the crumbling stone.

Rolling his optics Wardrums worked his claws into the thick chains just above here his wrists were hung as went to clenching. If he was lucky he could split the hard metal and drop down to the floor before one of those dropping bombs dropped the ceiling on top of him. That or Dust would get his aft out here and cut him down. Either way, when he got out of here he was going to kill the glitch that thought bombing their way in was a good idea!

---

Outrider and Smokescreen ran as fast as they could back through the growing chaos. Dodging falling stone, crumbling metal, growing fires, screaming bots, and everything else. The little mechling locked away in Rider's chest was letting his displeasure of being ignored very known as he banged away at the thick but soft walls that kept him prisoner. However, both hunters were ignoring him.

They had a few other problems to worry about right now. Like how when they started trying to call their brothers on any of the others the comm channels but they were blocked! It kind of made sense they supposed for what was going on. If Hide and Prowl had been calling and couldn't get a hold of them it was likely they would have panicked. And considering three warships were floating above with cargo holds full of bombs panicked wasn't a good thing.

But no matter how many times they tried to hail them the comms just bounced back at them. Which didn't make any sense. Their comm channels were active. They could call Dust, Flare, and Flamewar. Something outside was blocking the signal. Something else.

What it was though the two hunter didn't have time to worry with. The world was kind of falling down around them at the moment in chucks of burning rock and metal. They had to get out and then yell at their stupid brothers for blowing it all up while they were still in here!

"Don't they get that we're still alive down here!?" Smokescreen yelled as they ran, dodging other mechs and flames. "With their youngling!"

"Who knows!" Outrider hissed back. "I think we've been stressing them out slightly!"

Swinging around another corner they found their answer though when Outrider crashed headlong into his brother. The following clang, tumble, and curse might have been funny had this whole place not been burning down around them as another bomb went off up on the surface shaking the whole infrastructure again.

"There you are!" Ironhide growled, yanking Rider back to his feet with a drag that nearly knocking him over again with the force of the tug. However, Hide was a little too worried about letting him go to let him fall. Tugging him closer, almost into his side, he hissed at his brother again. "Why the frag wouldn't you answer?"

"We were trying to call you." Smokescreen grumbled, sliding to a stop besides the massive weapons specialist and the red hunter. Only to be yanked forward by Prowl's outstretched hand. It was then that Smokescreen let himself glance around to find Bluestreak over to the side, optics glancing in every direction with a rifle on his shoulder. Jazz stood on Prowl's other side. Visor dark and claws flexing. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker growled from behind them, turned away and watching the way they had come with plating tight and long blades freed from their locked positions. It seemed their brothers had decided coming in to find them was a better plan then waiting for them once they wouldn't answer their comm links.

Smokescreen couldn't say he blamed them, but this wasn't really a great plan either!

"Something was blocking the signal." He went on reaching for his right sword, and swinging it to left. Slicing through a crumble of wall that was falling for his head without even a glance. He saw Bluestreak's optics flash at the move, but he didn't have time to explain the pulse that came from the blade that warned him. "But did you have to start blowing stuff up! We have to get War free!"

That got the pair of twins to throw their gazes back at them. A growl in both of their throats.

"Were are Dust and War?" They bit in a shared voice.

Outrider just rolled his optics at that. Cracking his chest plates, he reached in and pulled at the very unhappy form of Bumblebee and handed him over to the quick hands of the little mech's adopted sire. The story Dust had told made it almost hard to look at the little mech right now if Outrider was being honest with himself.

That wasn't Bee's fault, none of it was—Mercy had been right in that part—but that didn't mean Rider couldn't understand why it seemed War didn't want anything to do with the sparkling Deathtoll had sired. Even if he was the spitting image of Mercy. Besides, with this changes of plan he would be safer with Ironhide.

Rider was a bit afraid to have him around to test War's humor now that the world was falling in around them and they hadn't gone to cut him down yet. Even if Dust and Flamewar were on the way. They would need help. Rider and Smokey had to go back

"Here," Rider said quickly watching as Bee squeaked happily at the sight of Hide and the big mech smiled down at him. Swiftly tucking him into his own spark vault, even if those big blue optics seemed far more curious about all that was going on around him. His protest were ignored as Hide shut him away again and turned his attention to the mess around them.

"Come on," He pulled hard on Outrider's thick arm just as Prowl did to Smokescreen. "Time to get out of here."

But both hunters pulled back. Freeing themselves from the two grips and backing away with a shared shake of their heads. Prowl swallowed hard, reaching out again but Smokescreen taking another step back stopped him.

"We have to help War." Outrider said with a glance over his shoulder. "He's in trouble because we took too long."

"You don't have to do anything." Hide's tone was a bit pleading, but it didn't bring Rider closer.

"Yes we do." Rider sighed back at him. "Take Bee and get out of here. We'll be there in a klick."

"Smokescreen," Prowl's tone wavered. Fear sparkling in the depths of those deep blue optics. A fear that didn't take a whole lot of wondering over for Smokescreen to understand. There was nothing he could do to appease it this time though.

He couldn't just turn his back and walk away. Not after all Dust and War had done for them. Not on Flamewar and Flare Up. No matter how weird this nutty little family was it was still a family. Still the one that had kept him alive all this time in this living pit. He would not leave them to fend for themselves.

"Prowler," Calling up a smile, the younger Praxian looked hard into his older brother's optics. "I'll come back, Prowler. I promise. I'll come home to my family, don't I always?"

A choked sound left the black and white mech, but he did not try and reach for him again. Instead his wings tightened up behind him as he gave a curt nod. His response was lost however, in a slide of muted slate blue and deep red sliding around a corner.

Ducking under a falling bit of stone Flare Up came up on the other side of the mechs with a snap.

"Rider, Smokey! Come on! We need some help here!"

The two mechs spun with the sound of her high voice. The sudden strangeness of a femme's voice snapping the other mechs' optics up as well. Only all of them froze with the sight of her. Thin, relatively short, stark contrast of two tone, with a brilliantly bright chevron atop her forehead that match the bright cyan blue of her optics. A thin, short pair of doorwings pinned tightly together behind her back as she tried to keep them out of harm's way in the middle of all this chaos.

Praxian.

That was the first thought that slammed through all of the Autobots. She was Praxian. A Praxian femme.

Femme's around these orns were an absurdity as it was. But a Praxian . . . .

They were all gone!

A glance was shared between the twins, just as one went between Ironhide, Prowl, and Jazz. Bluestreak however stood there in the middle of them all with his jaw hanging open. Optics wide and flared, but not a sound left him as he stood there staring into those cyan colored optics.

Flare Up wasn't bothered with any of them. Her optics were fixed on the two hunters she considered family. Optics narrowing, she glared at them.

"Come on!" And with that she spun, running back the way she came.

Outrider and Smokescreen shared a look before taking off after her without a glance back. Leaving the Autobots standing there blinking after them before Blue's rifle clattered to the ground drawing optics back.

"It can't be." His voice was hardly a whisper, shaking like the rest of him. Wings lowering and quivering he stood a moment longer then took off after them at a dead sprint.

"Bluestreak!" Prowl snatch for him, but missed and then the gunner was gone into the crumbling tunnels after the pair of hunters and the femme. Prowl made to rush after him but Sideswipe and Sunstreaker took him by both shoulders and shoved him back.

"Well get him and help Rider and Smokey. You mechs get Bumblebee back the ship."

With that the twins took off through the growing chaos as well. Prowl's doorwings shook, his whole frame warring with himself. Unsure what to do. His spark screamed to chase his brothers, but his processor knew he would most likely only slow the hunters down. That the longer they all stayed down here the higher the chance of none of them making it back out again.

And then there was Bumblebee.

The little mech even he could feel reaching out and tugging among the sparks. Trying to figure out what was going on around him. Demanding and answer for his confusion and growing fear.

They had to get him out of here.

Which was why when Ironhide turned with a hard swallow and made back for the blown hole that had got them in here, Prowl and Jazz following after him.

---

"Wait!" Bluestreak yelled as loud as he could. Rushing through the falling stone and metal. Getting shoved and pushed by anybot that ran by him. Big, scared, angry looking mechs, but no bot made to stop him. They just got in his way.

It wasn't until one big flier hit him hard enough in the rush to get by that he crashed back to the ground. He probably would have gotten trampled then had Sideswipe not appeared and yanked him back to his feet. Pulling him out of the way of another crumbling wall as another boom shook the hidden pit hole.

"What is wrong with you?" Sides snapped, shaking him one good time by the grip his larger hand had around Blue's smaller arm. Bluestreak didn't bother with huffing about being held almost off his feet like some youngling though. His processor couldn't make itself concerned.

He had to get that femme! He had to do it now!

"Let go, Sides!" He pleaded, struggling and trying to chase after the others. "Let go!"

"Not until you tell me what the frag you are doing!" Sideswipe snarled as Sunstreaker caught up with them, shoving through another crowd making a path for the red twin to drag the smaller gunner.

"That femme!" Finally managing to ring himself free of the frontliner's grip and took off again Blue yelled behind him as he went. Rushing forward again he managed to fight his way through the growing flames and shaking roars of falling bombs to get to a clear hall where up ahead he caught sight of Rider's frame before he turned another corner.

Leaping into another sprint, Blue ran as fast as he could. Spinning around another corner only to skid to a stop two feet short of crashing head first into the very thing he was chasing. Outrider and Smokescreen were before her, prying their way through a locked door. She was behind them, pacing and growling, but when Blue almost slamming into her she spun around. A knife drawn from somewhere and pinned under his chin so fast he hardly had time to blink.

Optics cycling wide as he was suddenly staring down into those optics that made his spark clench in his chest and then slide to a stop. She glared up at him through those orbs narrowed with a sneer.

"What the frag are you suppose to be?!" She bit just as Sideswipe and Sunstreaker caught up. The frontliners letting a low snarl build in both of them at the sight of the knife cutting in to the underside of Blue's chin as he stood there pretty much on his tip toes before the shorter femme trying not to move, but not really thinking he could even if he wanted to. Not while he stared into those cyan optics.

Those optics . . . .

He knew those optics.

"Get away from him!" Sideswipe snarled down at the femme, not wanting to hurt her, but willing to if she so much as dared twitch that knife under the neck of a member of his family.

Those cyan optics cut to him, in their narrow glow, but it was Smokescreen's snarl that cut them all off.

"Don't either of you fraggin' touch her! Flare Up, let the mech go! We don't have time for this right now!"

Her gaze cut back to the tri colored swordsmech with that glare still burning, but she stepped away from Blue all the same. Stowing the knife in a flick of her wrist. Her gaze still swept over him though. Him and the twins with that narrow, suspicious glow.

Bluestreak's suddenly tripping syllables pulled her focus fully in a matter of nanos.

"Fl-f-f-l-flare Up?" It was little more than a squeak. Leaving the two tone femme to tip her chevron pointed head at him. Narrow optics widening with a curious glint while she looked him up and down.

"Yes." She muttered.

Just then Outrider and Smokescreen pried the door open and were through. Rushing into the arena. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker spared one last long look at Bluestreak, trying to figure out what was going on here. Worried about leaving him, but wanting to see for themselves Wardrums and Dustoff again. If this femme would stop her threatening at Smokescreen's words she must not be something to worry about. So with one final long look they rushed into the crumbling arena after the pair of hunters.

Left there in the hall staring at each other the two Praxian's just looked each other. Blue with something between disbelief and wonder. Flare Up with confusion. Her spark hummed strangely in its chamber. Suddenly feeling like in the wake of all this pit going on in her home something right was happening. It shouldn't have been possible, but it was happening and it left her curious. The nanos stretched on into klicks until finally she quietly asked.

"Do I know you?"

Bluestreak choked on air. His vents wheezing as his vocal processor constricted so tight he felt like words would never come out again. His spark was screaming in its chamber. Doing these weird flip feelings that left him wanting to pull a hand up and rub at his armor in an attempt to stop it. His processor on the other hand was warring.

Because it wasn't possible.

It just wasn't.

She was dead.

She died when Praxus fell. At home with their creators. At the age of eighthly-three vorns old. She'd just been a youngling.

His little sister . . . .

She was gone.

It . . . it just wasn't possible.

But, but those optics. Those brilliantly blue optics and the chevron to match. They were hers.

"Flare," His whole frame shook with his voice. His optics desperately searching her faceplate. "Flare, it's me . . . ."

Those optics narrowed again. Searching his faceplate just as he searched hers. Confusion clear in those orbs.

She didn't know him.

Blue felt his spark sinking from the place hope had pushed it. He could feel it start to crumble inside his chest. Then, something flashed in those bright orbs and a gasp tore though her vents. Startling Blue with the suddenness of it before she was hardly an inch from him. Pushed up onto her toes, optics flicking rapidly around his faceplate.

"Blue?" She whispered, almost as if she was afraid that saying it any louder would shatter the small change of surged hope that it could be true. However, when a smile bloomed across the grey mech's faceplate and he started nodding rapidly she couldn't stop the one that plastered itself across her own lips.

"Yes." Blue nodded rapidly. "Yes. Yes it's me!"

Flare Up's smile grew wider before she flung herself at Blue's chest and latched hold with all her strength. The sniper's arms clung tightly back around her back, burying his faceplate into her shoulder as they both started crying.

"I thought you were gone." He sobbed into her slate blue shoulder.

"I thought you were gone!" She cried back at him, clinging to his chest and for a moment the falling world around them no longer mattered. Clinging to each other there in that hallway something in both siblings spark burned back to life from the debts of their sparks.

---

Through the pried open doors and on the other side of the arena the other Praxian femme in this living pit was dangling several hundred feet off the ground holding onto a chain she was rapidly trying to burn through with the blow torch Dustoff had thrown to her. War was snarling at the both of them, but when Dustoff smacked him over the shoulder from where he was trying to cut through the chain as well hanging from his thick arms he shut up.

It wasn't until Outrider and Smokescreen burst in through the growing walls of flames that the massive shuttle started growling again, but this time at least it wasn't against the two that were trying to cut him down.

"What the frag are you two doing back in here!?" He roared at the pair of them as they slid to a stop in the sand under him. Staring up at the mech that had saved their lives more than once.

Outrider snarled back at him for the comment, but Smokescreen just rolled his optics up at the massive shuttle.

"We're back to save you, duh."

That got him another snarl that Dustoff smacked him again for as the helicopter's rotors spun in an effort to keep him airborne and not damage more of the aching mech's huge frame as they tried to get him down. Flamewar was cussing up a storm as she burned herself again with the torch because of Wardrums' annoyed swaying from his dangling prison.

"Will you knock that off!" The femme hollered.

"Just get me the frag down from here!" Wardrums roared back at her, only to cut himself off when out of the flames came a pair he never thought he'd have to see in an arena again.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.

His fire red optics narrowed, and his spark clenched in his chest. The feeling of which twisted through their sparkbond pulsing over to Dustoff making the medic turn his optics down to find them just as War had. It was almost worse to feel the shock roll through Dustoff. To feel the sudden assault of emotions that the medic didn't have the time to stop before they were shared.

Surprise, pain, fear, joy, and much more.

A mix of emotions that a whirled together in a knot that choked the both of them until they managed to push it away. Only for it to crawl back up their throats when the pair of mechs slowed there in front of them. Staring up at the two mechs who had taken two youngling and turned them into killing machines to keep them alive. Then abandoned them to the world when they felt they were finally ready to take care of themselves.

The only other two they had ever managed to save, though how much of them was actually saved was something that probably could be debated. However, they didn't say anything. Just turned their attentions across the arena when another boom shook the falling hidden pit. It wasn't anther crumble of the miles of ground above their heads that did it though. It was the boom of the other arena door sliding open to one very big, very pissed off looking orange mech.

Oblivion.

Wardrums snarled at the sight of him, fighting harder against the hold of the chains keeping him trapped in the air. His thrusters fired, pulling him up on the chains, but he didn't have enough fuel left to keep them going. All the action ended up doing was knocking Flamewar off her perch, sending her crashing her down to the ground. Though with a twist of her frame she landed in a crouch a pistol drawn in a twirl of her hand, pointed and firing before the mechs even realized their latest fight had arrived.

The hot zing of plasma round slamming unheeded off of armor certainly did the trick though. Outrider's weapons systems called up his blasters before he even turned, firing off three shots, that slammed hard into the oncoming charge of the orange mech.

Oblivion didn't even feel them.

Smokescreen drew his swords, the twins' blades sprang free, and braced was the only thing any of them could do. After all, there was a reason Oblivion ruled this Ring.

War could best him, but all of them?

Well, they were about to find out.

In a twisting leap Smokescreen threw himself up and just enough out of the way that the massive orange mech slid right under him crashing into Rider's tensed and locked frame. The resulting bang jarred more than just the red hunter's audios. The force of the hit knocked him sliding backward, his feet dragging in the sand floor while he tried to keep his balance.

Oblivion might be a stupid glitch, but he was strong and in a matter of nanos Outrider was reminded of why War always called him a fool for thinking he stood much of a chance against the bright idiot. In little more than a twist Rider was flung sideways, the force of Oblivion's drag and pull yanking his arm out of socket, ripping through cabling and protoform, and almost yanking the whole limb off. Tearing a cry from his throat with the white hot pain that tore through him.

Flung the rest of the way out of Oblivion's path he just managed to miss the swipe of the axe that the Ring Master yanked from subspace and swung for his head. He probably wouldn't have missed though had Sunstreaker not suddenly been there slamming into him.

Oblivion roared with the hit from the golden frontliner, swinging and grasping for any armor he could get a hold of. He miss horribly though when Sunstreaker's hard shove and twist took him out of the line of fire while Sideswipe crashed into the mech from the other side.

Blades sinking deep through gaps in hideous orange armor, striking systems and drawing a gush of energon as Sides twisted his wrist with a snarl. Twisting the blades even deeper and deeper into the orange mech's side. Fangs bared with a sneer Sides yanked his blades back out in a splatter of thick blue energon and another cry from Oblivion. Dancing back out of the wild sweep of the Master's axe the crimson frontliner avoided the dangerous edge by just a few inches. Surprised by the speed and aim of such a desperate wild move.

Over the vorns he had never forgotten the wild rage that was a Gladiator match, but he had forgotten this mech here. It wasn't until he was forced to duck and spin back again still managing to get nicked in the hip by the edge of the axe blades.

The hit would have been a lot more than a nick though had Sunstreaker not latched hold of his arm and yanked him out of the way. Both frontliners fled a few paced back from that wildly swinging axe, growling at the attacks. The last thing they saw coming was Smokescreen ending up on the mech's shoulders in a spinning jump. Or his blades burying into those thick, pointed shoulders all the way to the hilts.

Oblivion's scream shook the arena only to be cut off with in a blur of black and red Flamewar slammed into his front. Her long claws latching hold and keeping her there as she freed one hand to empty her blaster clip under the mech's chin.

The straight shots right though the weaker cabling and protoform burned deep and hot, but they missed their mark of his processor when Oblivion's claws dug into the femme's back and ripped her off with a choked cry from her vocal processor sending him sailing across the arena and crashing into a fallen beam.

Smokescreen snarled from his perch at that, ripping out one blade and slicing from the mech's rapidly leaking, torn, and burned throat. However, a quick twist and grab the mech had Smokescreen by the doorwing and threw him after the femme in a crashing roll flinging his blades after him.

With a low growl the orange mech chuckled. "You fools forget who owns you."

A glance back and he dodge the next blast of plasma that Outrider fired at him. Right arm hanging limply at his side. Energn gushing down from his shoulder. Torn cabling and wires sparkling dangerously against the flow of his lives blood. That whole side of his frame ached with the feeling of it, but he gritted his teeth and glared up at the taller, bigger, nastier mech. Cocking back the hammer of his blaster again with a practiced one handed flip and fired again, and again, and again, knowing he was missing and knowing it wouldn't be enough against the mech's but not giving a damn. It would distract him.

Which was just the chance Sideswipe and Sunstreaker needed. They saw the shot Rider was trying to give them, and they took it. In two blurs of movement both frontliners slammed into the back of the distracted mech. Sunstreaker catching one of Rider's last shots in the shoulder, but growling through the sting of pain he ignored it in favor of sinking one blade deep into the Ring Master's ribs as Sides did the same on the other side. Both keeping an arm free to reach up and latch hold of the mech's slippery, leaking shoulders, trying to get a hold of that axe as he fought and pulled their grasp. Snarling and yanking against their hold.

But together the twins were not to be underestimated.

With booming growls echoing up through their engines they kept hold of the struggling mech. Sunstreaker squeezing the arm that held the axe so tight he could feel the struts crack under the layers of armor and protoform. The howl it earned him in his audio made his head ring, but he held fast as Sides fought to keep his own hold on the larger mech's other side.

They were getting more drug along though, then they were holding. Oblivion's larger bulk and weight, slicked with energon, was hard to keep hold of even for them. No matter that Outrider was suddenly there in front of them whipping out his own blade and swishing for the mech's throat. In a half drop, half twist the orange Ring Master managed to get a foot around the back of Sideswipe's calves and rip his weight out from under him with a quick tug. Tearing the blade dug deep out with a nasty tearing gash that pulled a cry from them both. Sides' blade lock twisting his arm at an unnatural angle with the motion.

Using the momentum Oblivion tossed Sideswipe hard into Outrider's front sending them both crashing backward before he ripped around to come faceplate to Sunstreaker. Snarl matching snarl for the pain echoing over their twinbond from Sides and Oblivion's own pain from the grip the frontliner had on him didn't slow the orange mech down one bit when he bent rabidly forward and slammed his forehead into Sunstreaker's nose plate.

A hissing yelp left Sunstreaker as the unexpected blow knocked him back and lose from his grip just long enough for Oblivion to pull himself free of the golden mech's grip. With a spin of his axe he caught Sunstreaker in the side of the chest, drawing a thick gash of splattering energon, sending the elder twin back with a crash as well.

Oblivion followed though, roaring out a snarl as he flung the axe up over his head and then swinging it down in the intent to take of Sunstreaker's head.

Everything seemed to slow down in that moment. Crashing back to the hard sand and stone floor hardly registered with the golden twin. Every instinct inside him screamed get up, being down was the worst possible place he could be, but as he scrambled in the slick dirt he couldn't get a grip fast enough. Leaving him with nothing else to do but stare with wide optics above him as that blue tinted blade arched down for his neck.

A part of him could hear Sideswipe yelling, could feel his panic and his fear, could see Smokescreen and that black femme scrambling to get up as well. However, he didn't pay it much attention.

It might prove just how very messed up the ex-gladiator was too, but in that strangely slow klick the rest of his processor and spark sort of fell away leaving him with nothing but the urge to notice the way the flames of this burning pit sparkled off the cold steel of the axe blade. The way it made the energon that soaked the type catch light and glitter an almost purple along the dark edges.

It was sort of beautiful . . . in a horrifying kind of way. But considering the darker parts of Sunstreaker's processor and the things he had more than once put down in ink and paint he couldn't make himself feel surprised.

Then, as quickly as his death had come upon him, it stopped.

When long, jagged, black claws snaked into his view and latch hold of that oncoming axe. It was ripped lose of the grip that held it, snapping in half as it flew out of his line of sight by the pressure those dangerous claws put on. Then the orange mass that was over him was removed in a rather vicious swipe of those claws in a backhanded hit.

The world rapidly spun back into real time with that and Sunstreaker found himself laying on the sand on his back staring up at the towering form of the mech that more or less raised him standing over him energon rolling down his frame, a long thick wing twisted at an ugly angle behind his back, and his whole frame practically vibrating anger.

But he was there.

Wardrums.

Fire red, orange optics blazed as the colossal shuttle stood rumbling over the golden twin he had spent far too much time and effort on to let die like some glitched scrap-rat. Long claws dripping both his own energon leaking down from the tears and cuts in his wrists as well as Oblivion's he let his rumbling growl shake the very air around him. Glaring down at the scrambling back up vane of his latest existence.

"Get your fraggin' claws off my hard work!" War hissed out before lunging forward. Oblivion didn't even have time to scream. War had him by the neck in half a step. Pulling him up off the ground in a quick yank, latching hold of the shoulder that still had Smokescreen's borrowed blade buried in it. The blade sang through his neural net the nano his claws closed around it. Zinging into him with wills and wants, but he snarled at it and its protesting twin somewhere over behind him laying in the sand. He didn't have time for their whining right now, and considering he was the one that forged the two finicky things in the first place he knew how to make them shut up.

Still it was rather appealing to appease it somewhat by slicing it through thick armor while he tossed it away drawing a scream out of the slimy glitch that had caused him so much torment over the vorns. Blade forgotten in a matter of nanos as he drank in that scream War hauled the shorter mech up off his feet so that he was dangling several feet off the ground so much like he had so gleefully string War up not long ago.

Sneer curling up his thick lips with a wicked chuckled echoing though his chest. Wardrums hiked the struggling, kicking, hissing, choking, cursing mech up to the full length his arm could take him. Glaring up with that sickening sneer he had perfected long ago. Then with hardly a flick of his wrist he latched hold with his free hand to the glitch's right arm as he had done to Outrider and yanked it clean off.

The pitch of the scream that broke from Oblivion did little more then make War roll his optics as he flung the rapidly graying limb back over his shoulder. Not even worrying with Dustoff landing down behind him, pulling Sunstreaker to his feet, and watching him. Dust knew very well what he was going to do and no matter his nature as a medic he wasn't about to try and stop him.

No.

A dangerous gleam shown in Dust's cool optics as well with the feeling of anger, vengeance, pulsing back from his side of the sparkbond. This mech had taken far, far too much from them over the vorns in the name of the mech he bowed too.

Their home. Their family. Their freedom.

Now, War was going to make him regret it.

Then, he was going to kill him.

Tightening his hold around the glitch's throat to choke off the scream he let lose a low chuckle watching Oblivion's optics brighten with fear as he fought with his one remaining arm. Clawing at the already aching leaks of Wardrums' wrists. The shuttleformer hardly felt the hold, choosing to ignore it just as he did the clawed feet kicking for his middle.

Another retched tare and the mech's other arm was gone, but he couldn't even scream with it for how tightly War was squeezing his throat. Suddenly yanking the leaking, rapidly graying frame he hissed into the bastard's audio.

Lowly he whispered. "I warned you long ago. You should have listened."

All the last of it was, was a flick of his wrist, a pointing of his claws, a stab though thick layers, a grasp around the quivering ball of life, and then a yank back. Protoform, armor, energon, and spark shredding. Shattering life in what really was a bit anticlimactic after all the vorns of trying to take off each other's heads they had done.

Wardrums didn't care.

A clench of his sticky fist and the mech who chased Mercy to her death was gone forever. Nothing more than a crumpling pile of energon covered graying armor laying at his feet. It didn't really make the ache in his chest where she was missing any better but it did let him breathe a little easier.

One down, one to go.

Another rocking boom shook through the underground arena knocking another chunk of ceiling down sending it crashing down just a few paces away from him. War did little more than blink at it and the fire that came falling after it. With a quick glance he caught a glimpse of sky making his spark clench in his chamber with the repressed memory of how long it had been sense he had had any of the wide open wonder of the sky.

A painful pulse up his back reminded him the state his wings were in and he repressed a sigh. This rather grim orn had taken a somewhat positive turn but that didn't mean War was in any better of a mood.

Nope.

He was still pissed.

Then again . . . these orns he was usually pissed . . . so . . . .

Turning from the mess at his feet, giving the limp frame a hard kick that may or may not have been on purpose as he did the massive shuttle turned his optics down to the collection of bots that slowly made their way back together before him. Flamewar limping, but in one piece as she stayed near Dust's side. Outrider and Smokescreen both having seen better orns but standing all the same looking up at him. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, standing so close together if it wasn't for the paint it would be hard to tell where one started and the other stopped.

It had been so long since he'd seen them War couldn't help but taking them in a moment longer than the rest. Optics tracing up and down the forms he had raised from the ripe age of a handful of vorns. Had turned into the capable monsters that no doubt allowed them to stand there wearing the brands of the Autobots proudly.

If he didn't think that was the best place for them he'd have huffed at the sight of it. But there was nothing more he could offer to them, that point had come long ago. It was why he freed them in his first explosive attempt to end this Ring and kill both the Ring Master and the Emperor.

It was kind of funny to think that now it was once again an explosion that rocked the Ring to its struts, but that this time it was well and truly sunk. The Master was dead and with it all those he owned were fleeing to the wind. Deathtoll just lost his last hold on the surface outside a tainted prince.

It was a small victory, but it was a victory all the same.

"I suppose," Wardrums finally drawled, optics sliding over to Outrider and Smokescreen again. "This is your doing?"

The pair of hunters at least had the sense to at least look somewhat guilty when they cast their optics around the growing carnage around them. Rider let out a huff, good arm cradling the damaged one, but it was Smokescreen that rolled his optics and answered.

"Some of it . . . yeah. But in our defense the plan was for all of us to be already out by the time they started bombing." Another explosion rocked the area around them. "That wasn't how it ended up though."

"Something was jamming our comms." Outrider sighed. "Hide might have sort of panicked."

"It wasn't the comms." Sideswipe spoke up, drawing all optics to him. "It was Impulse."

Suddenly Wardrums was snarling. "What?"

Dustoff's hand shot out and gripped his mate's massive shoulders keeping him from turning his rush of fury toward the leaking frontliner that was doing well at the moment to look as if the rage of his former master didn't scare him. Maybe it didn't. Maybe the twins had come to a point where they thought they could take on anything.

Dust was glad to think that maybe they had come to terms with their lot in life, but if they thought they stood on the field War was capable of he was going to smack them upside the head. They were talented, and powerful, but they were not Knights. If they had grown foolish enough to think they could take on the mech that taught them everything they knew it was about time they were knocked down a few pegs again.

"Impulse came." Sunstreaker sneered back at him. Dark optics narrow and challenging. "Do you know who that is?"

Wardrums made to swing at him, but Dust's quick grip stopped him. It got him snarled at as well, but the action seemed to remind both the twins just who they were dealing with. Their heads lowering slightly as they took a step back.

"Do I know who Impulse is!?" War mocked in a roaring growl. "I know the mech's maker! I know what he really is! I fought with the glitch before your breed was even a notion! You forget who you're talking too, Sunstreaker!"

"Enough, War." Dust's low order cut through the spiraling anger, pulling the shuttle back down to some sort of level. Forcing him to look away, close his optics, and hissed out a long breath. Trying to get a grasp for the ease and calm Dust pushed through their link.

When he finally got his breathing back under some kind of control and relax his frame to loosen up slightly. Glancing back again he caught sight of the femme he'd wondered in the back of his processor where was came rushing in with another Praxian. Even from the distance away War could tell a Autobot when he saw one. He'd known the faction had a few, though what this one was doing here he didn't know. Also didn't really care.

What he cared about was the femme that had spent so long under his protection holding tightly to his hand as he held back. It narrowed his optics again, but left it for the gleam in Flamewar's optics.

The truth was they had other things to worry about right now.

"I don't have time to remind you of your obviously forgotten place." War hissed toward the frontliner but turned away from the growl back he got. Pinning his optics on his hunters instead. "Where is what I sent you for? Where is the mechling?"

"Back where he belongs." Outrider straightened under the sudden hotter gaze. He figured what he was about to say would not please War, but frankly he didn't care. The mechling belonged to Hide and Mia now. They were his creators. Mercy was gone and Outrider would die before that bastard Deathtoll ever got anywhere near him.

Bumblebee had a family.

A real family.

And no matter that his fragged up one had become very close to his own spark the life Dust, War, and Flamewar lived was no place for a youngling. They pulled it off once or twice, but more often than not they failed. Failure was not an option when it came to that tiny bright spark.

Rider would not allow it.

No matter if by all rights of Cybertron, War and Dust had a claim to him. Even if he should technically belong to them since they were his relatives by energon and code.

Wardrums' fire colored optics narrowed at the words, but to more than just Rider's surprise, he said nothing. Simply stared for a moment longer before glancing over at the dead frame behind. With a huff he lifted his optics to the burning, falling pit around them.

"It's time to go."

---

What happened next was more blur than anything else. It was nothing much more then Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and Bluestreak—who had yet to let go of the femme that the brothers kept glancing at—chasing after the ones that at least had a clue how to get out of here. Fire, falling stones, melting stone, suffocating heat, and dark smoke ruled for too many long klicks. Then, suddenly, there was air. Open sky, and spilling chaos.

The bombs still dropped and fleeing frames flew in every direction. The massive battle ships hanging low in the atmosphere obvious timing the drops of the explosives, trying to missing as many of the running criminals as they good. Optimus wanted this place gone, but he was not willing to kill innocent lives to make it happen. Many in this pit hole were as evil as it was, but more were just like Rider, just like Smokey, just like the twins. Circumstances that couldn't be changed.

They should not have to die for the crimes other around them committed.

When their rag tag group made it to the surface something shifted in the air—obviously some of the ships having been waiting for the sight of them—and then as the freed hunters, gladiators, slaves, and toys fled into the cold night the pit that had held them all captive for so long caved beneath the onslaught of falling flames.

It bowed to the force greater then it, swallowed up by the sand.

Hidden among the dark shadows, watching as the firebombing came to a rather dramatic end as bots scattered into the darkness Blastoff and Vortex backed off from their watching. An Autobot patrol they would have been able to deal with, but the entirety of the Autobot army not even Vortex was demented enough to think they stood a chance against. The comm jammer they'd brought with them had done little more good then to keep them hidden as they recorded the goings on.

It was when Blastoff's dark optics narrowed at the sight of a frame so very similar to his own but a great deal bigger then even him that he decided it was time to go. Wardrums was not a sight he figured he'd ever see again, but the massive shuttle was not alive this orn because he was foolish. That mech had wanted him dead vorns ago and no matter of circumstance was going to change his mind.

They had enough now to appease Soundwave. They'd seen the mechling return to the ships. They'd seen that red mech and that tri colored Praxian get free of the bombing with even more in tow. All Soundwave had demanded was proof about who was with the Autobots now and who was alive.

And while the shuttle figured Soundwave would not know who the ancient mech that stood down there among the sands was just as much as he doubted the mech would stay let alone talk to the Prime was enough to convince him they were more the capable of going now. Blastoff had no wish to try his luck with Wardrums' temper again. Especially in the company of Vortex's mouth.

Blastoff had gotten then out of more than enough trouble because of that tongue of his mate's to know it was dangerous. When applied to War's temper though it may very well be a death sentence. So it seemed back to the confines of their cages, hiding and indebt was where they were headed back to.

However, standing there in the shadows of the desert night watching prisoners and slaves rush to their own freedoms. Not at all caring about the faction that may or may not have purposely set them free and saw no reason to try and stop them, Blastoff wondered. Just how easy would it be to disappear?

Knockout and Breakdown had done it.

Thundercracker had taken Skywarp and defied the laws of trine. They were nowhere to be found. Some where out there in the freedom of space that Blastoff had almost forgotten.

Dark optics drifting down to the smaller form of his mate the massive mech watched Vortex's rotor blades twitch without his notice while his visor gazed longingly up after the fliers that had taken to the sky.

Free.

Blastoff could count the times in his life he'd made rash decisions on one hand; two fingers in fact. For it had only happened twice. Once when he broke his own shackles from a place such as that that burned down there below him and fled without looking back. Without thanking the mech that had spared his life. The second time was when he bonded with the mech standing next to him.

He had never regretted either no matter how much his processor refused to allow him to do anything else in his life without over thinking it to the highest level of anxiety. It was just a part of Blastoff's nature. While Vortex cared very little for planning Blastoff needed it to be able to function. He needed order, structure, and a plan to follow. Otherwise everything always went right to fraggin' pit.

Well, most of the time at least.

Two times it hadn't, that he had to admit too.

Those two times he'd actually found a new kind of happiness he never would have thought before could belong to him. Spark tightening in his chest he lifted his optics from Vortex's rotors, staring back out across toward the fire burning. Suddenly he stiffened, when the silhouette off the bigger mech turned from the burning light. Even with what had to be a mile of openness stretched between them Blastoff could still see those fire colored optics, and feel just how much those old but wise orbs could see.

There was no doubt in his mind that Wardrums knew he was there. Hiding like a coward among the shadows in more ways than one. Instinctively reaching out to tug Vortex behind him he ignored the helicopter's huff of protest when he found he could not take his optics off those optics. It was too dark, too far away to make out what expression the old Knight wore, but somehow Blastoff felt it all the same.

Call him sentimental, or demented, but he did.

He knew the appraising look, the drinking in of details. Then in what Blastoff was sure was something between an acceptance and a dismissal the old Knight turned away. Focusing instead on the ship lowering before him. Even from here the threat was clear as he turned his back and walked away, but so was the words Blastoff could almost hear him say.

"You were free once, remember?"

It seemed to echo in his spark. Ringing out form a place he had long since forgotten of a time long, long ago. Coming with an answer to a question he'd been afraid to ask.

It was decided in less than a nano. Hardly a thought really. More of just a breath that turned into action. Taking Vortex by the wrist he turned from the mission they had been sent on.

Turned and walked away.

"Umm Blastoff," Vortex questioned rather quietly for him as he was tugged along beside his massive mate. "Home is the other direction."

"Not anymore it's not." Blastoff rumbled without looking back.

"What?" The copter muttered.

Blastoff didn't answer. He simply called up all the data they had gathered, sending it in a quick data burst to a private channel. As a parting gift of such to the mech that kept their secret for so long even if it was for no other reason than to use it to his own gain. Soundwave had still spared their lives and Blastoff had always considered himself an honorable mech. He would repay the favor with the thing the mech had asked for. He would just not do it in person.

Because he and his mate were never going back.

"We're done, Tex." He said simply over his shoulder. He was rewarded with a slowly building smile and a flash of that visor before they vanished into the shadows of the night.

---

Optimus Prime wasn't quite sure what he had been expecting when he stepped off the hanger drop door to the sand, but looking up into the optics of a mech like this one had not been it. In all he'd heard so far of this mech both the twins and the hunters had failed to mention the fact that he was a shuttle that made Megatron look normal sized. Optimus himself had always been a huge mech. It ran in his coding. He towered over most all his bots even if his brother and many Decepticons were larger still.

Only the Dinobots had come to make him feel relatively normal sized in this world. This mech though . . . Wardrums could look Grimlock in the optics if he so pleased and that was saying something for a mech built with armor as fine as his.

With Bumblebee tucked safely away on the ship behind Mia's plating, and a Dinobot guard Optimus felt no quarrel in straightening his back, tightening his grip on his axe and staring hard into those fire colored optics glaring back down at him.

Fire burning around them now in the audio jarring silence that came after the bombing that had just went on he forced himself to be unconcerned with those fleeing around them. He would try and offer shelter to any willing to find it later. For now only the mech that had sent hunters after what Optimus called his own was his priority.

The Ring had fallen, but the Prime was not naive enough to think it would all end with that. Nothing with Bumblebee was ever that simple. Especially when the Guild had already shown up once on this damn trip.

That was why Ironhide, Ultra Magnus, Roddy, Prowl, Jazz, Ratchet, and Elita stood behind him. If this fight was over then so be it, but if it wasn't Optimus was not going to risk anything else by thinking that this mech would fight fair.

Optics darting around the towering two tone commander took in the sight before him. Of Ratchet glaring and motioning hard for the twins to come to him which they did with no protest. Optics watching both the shuttle and the helicopter mech with wary before they slid in along with the medic that had adopted them. Not minding as Ratchet quickly checked over their wounds. Then the yellow and red CMO turned his optics to the hunters. When his bright optics caught sight of the limp arm hanging at Rider's side he let out a deep hiss that matched Ironhide's growl.

Rider however, hesitated slightly when the smaller filer's optics ran over him. It wasn't until he shrugged and nodded that the hunter went to the others with Smokescreen following after him. Bluestreak didn't move though. Not even when Prowl's optics focused on his instead of on the other Praxian femme standing in the shuttle's shadow. Blue stayed where he was. Rooted in the sand with his hand grasping the smaller one of the slate blue and dark red femme with that strikingly bright chevron. She was a world of difference from this second one. Dark black, red flames, an orange chevron, and startling purple optics.

The one beside Blue was smaller and thinner, but it was the way Blue held onto her even when Wardrums, Dustoff, and Flamewar turned their gazes on him that smoke volumes.

Bluestreak was not a outspoken mech; he was a chatterer, he was a rambler, a bit of a scatter more often than not, and he was never quiet, but he was not outspoken. Him speaking was a reaction of not knowing what else to do in a situation. Based more on his desperation to keep things right then on him wanting to be heard.

He very rarely challenged or anything of the sort.

So for Blue to plant himself firm, raise his doorwing wide and broad behind his back as he looked hard around the assortment of bots was more than enough to draw Prowl forward a step only to stop when Wardrums' voice echoed down to the much smaller gunner.

"You do not belong here, youngling. Go back to your family and leave what belongs to me be."

Optics narrowing, doorwings broadening out into a gesture the sniper couldn't actually remember ever making he hissed. The colossal shuttle's optics narrowed, the huge helicopter crossed his arms looking down with a curious gleam, and the other Praxian femme staring at not him but Flare who stepped around his wide protective wings.

"It's Blue," Was all she said, optics fixed back on the purple ones of the femme that raised her. Noting how those purple optics flashed with the two simple words. Then darted to the mech standing beside her.

"That's not possible." Flamewar slowly shook her head.

"Obviously it is." Dustoff cut in before the young sniper could snap back at her. "Never known Flare Up to be wrong."

Flare gave the medic a small smile at the vote of confidence. She knew Flamewar didn't really doubt her, she was just in shook. She had heard the story of Flame Up's lost family many times. Of the creators she watched die when their home came down around them, and of the brother that had been away at school the night Praxus went up in flames. The brother they assumed dead. The chances that he was standing there beside her now had to be a chance in a billion.

But he was.

"Bluestreak," Prowl called carefully, watching the massive frame of the leaking shuttle and the dark femme that was walking forward. Gaze fixed on the grey doorwinged mech only to stop when Prowl growled at her.

Obviously Praxian or not, she wasn't getting anywhere near the apprentice that had become another little brother.

Smokescreen snaked a hand out and latched hold of him, stopping the rumbling sound though with a roll of his optics. Then turned his attention to the pair before them.

"What's going on, Flare Up?"

At the name Prowl and Jazz both froze. Optics snapping back to Bluestreak to find the mech slowly nodding back at them. They two had heard the story of Blue's family many times. They knew the name of the sister they all thought gone forever.

"He's my brother." Was the quiet answer the femme gave them. Glancing up to Blue's optics she found him staring across the space between them and his family. Something like hope but tainted in fear in his glowing blue orbs. Because neither knew what happened next.

What were they going to do?

Blue had lost his sparkling sister once. He had no plans on ever doing it again, but he was not stupid. He knew what came first here. He too would put Bee's safety over what he wanted. But that didn't mean he wanted Flare to leave . . . and he . . . well he couldn't leave. This was his family. This was his home.

The problem was, not matter if it was a bit of a strange kind of one, hers was a family all the same.

"You're joking." Sides snorted and got a few very dark glares for it, but Blue just shook his head.

"No. Don't you think I'd know my little sister when I saw her? Time changes frames, but it doesn't change sparks." And he knew that spark warming through a forgotten bond very, very well.

"Well," Wardrums drawled, fired optics running up and down the frame of the gunner that tensed again under his scrutiny. "This could be something of a problem."

"War," Dust warned quietly, but the massive shuttle paid him no heed.

"You, little Autobot, are in no way needed. I have no interest in keeping you."

"You're not keeping anything." Ironhide's deep baritone snarled out over the dark sand yanking Wardrums' attention back to him. Fire red meeting dark blue in narrow bands of bright burning tensions. The building fight in those optics crackled in the air across the space between them. Weapons systems responding to what many fields were picking up.

It was a foolhardy move on the weapons specialist's part. Ironhide was a very strong mech. He was built to take what he threw out, but standing only to this mech's lower middle made something of a very large problem.

Ironhide was a fighter, Wardrums was a destroyer.

He came from a different time and a different war. No matter how much time and life had changed around him he really hadn't. He was still a Knight by nature and while he wasn't cruel he was just capable and vorns of watching his world fall down around him had done nothing for his already short temper.

Wardrums was not a mech to play with and he was not a fight Ironhide stood a chance of winning. No matter the artillery the huge ebony mech packed, when it came right down to it War was simply built harder than him.

Sneer curling up the shuttle's lips, showing off the gleam of fangs behind, he hissed. "Don't you dare assume you can tell me, Tribe brat. If I wanted it I would simply take it, but you have nothing of interest to me. You can keep what you have stolen. I don't want the little bastard runt."

A chorus of snarls rose at those words, even Optimus' deep baritone joining the mix, the verbal protest came, however, from a very unlikely source. In the high hiss that came out of Flare Up.

"How dare you!" Her voice drawing War's and all the other sets of optics to her in a flash. "How dare you call Mercy's sparkling that! I don't care who fraggin' sired him! Mercy still carried him! She wanted him! How dare you throw that away!"

Optics narrowing into even thinner slits War huffed at her. "Mercy is gone. Understand that, Flare? My little sister is gone. She is never coming back. You really think I want the thing that killed her?"

"He's not a thing!" Sunstreaker spit out, teeth grinding as he clenching his jaws. Fist flexing, armor flaring, matching his brother's. Vibrating with the anger that burned in their dark optics to the mech that might have saved their lives more than once, but seemed to be forgetting he had made them into monsters. Monsters that weren't afraid to rip, tear, and break even if they knew they couldn't win.

He kept up his sneering and Sunstreaker was going to wipe that look off his face with the blunt side of his dueling blade.

And the twins' reactions were nothing compared to what was burning in Ironhide's chest. His cannons sparking with the hot plasma they had already cycled into their chambers itching to fire.

War didn't let up though. Injured or not he wasn't done. There was too much riding on it, whether he liked the plan or not. His plan on making it enough though ended in a very vibrant flash.

A brilliant bright blue of light followed by a crash of a heavy black flame. Trickster's bright blue optics flashed out with a growl as he raised a hand.

"Enough of this."

And with a snap the world vanished in that glittering blue brightness.

---

Landing on his aft with somewhat of an undignified yelp in some strange, distorted, grey world might have surprised Optimus just the slightest bit. Not that he didn't think he had a right to be somewhat surprised with the sudden change. It was more the sight of the huge black and gold shuttle throwing himself to his feet with a snarl, glancing around every direction into the never ending grayness as he screamed that really shocked him.

"Trickster!" Wardrums roared, paying no mind to the Prime slowly pushing himself to his feet, or that black tribal brat, or the yellow and red medic. It only took a quick inner glance through his spark to see that Dustoff was alright as he too pushed himself up to his feet. So for the moment the shuttle found a far better use of his time was screaming at the top of his vocal processor for the glitch that dared show his face after all this slag.

War was gonna kill him. No matter that that wasn't possible. This time, he was gonna figure out a way to kill him.

"You bastard!" He growled. "Get out here!"

A spark of hot air, a shimmer of light, and the huge black mech that only looked up at him by a little bit was standing two inches from his side.

"Now War, lets—"

He didn't get to finish as long, thick, black claws swung for his head. In a nano of bright light the mech disappeared again leaving Wardrums' claws to slide though hot empty air tearing another roar from his throat.

"Trickster!"

Another flash of hot air and the black mech with the ice optics appeared again, this time a few paces back.

"War we need to—"

Another quick swipe of claws, but once again all the shuttle came up with was empty air when Trickster vanished again in a flash of blue. War snarled, spinning around in search of the warping glitch. Not at all worried about the tired glare Dustoff was giving him. Standing there with his arms crossed wearing that look that War knew all too well.

Not really disappointment, but a fatigue that hung in his shoulder and on his downturned lips. It wasn't a look War liked on the faceplate of his mate, but right now he was too mad to care. When another bright flash brought the tall, lean, black mech hiding behind Dust's shoulder the Knight had to pause. The tan and black mech glanced back at the black painted Guild member, but did little more then turn his optics back to his mate as War froze with the form of Dust between him and the glitch he wanted to throttle.

"Will you chill out for like three nanos and let me speak!" Trickster snarled back at him. Those odd canine audios of his pinned back to his head with his growl and the gleam in his optics. "We need to talk!"

"We have nothing to talk about!" War snarled back at him, stalking closer only to come up short when Dustoff cleared his throat, hardened the hold of his crossed arms, lifted an optic ridge, and looked long at his mate.

"Stop it." Was all he said.

The anger in War didn't die with it, but he did stop trying to strangle the Guild member. Taking a deep breath he relaxed his frame just enough to seem as if he wasn't still plotting how to murder Trickster should he be foolish enough to get close enough to him to pull it off. Optics cooling, he gave a short nod.

Consenting, for the moment.

"Thank you." Dust nodded back at him, twisting to the side to remove Trickster's mech shield. The Guild member didn't retreat any further, but the humming of his warp drive could be heard. He was not foolish enough to think War was done with his anger. He also wasn't foolish enough to think he should be.

War had his reasons for hating him and his siblings. That was not something Trick was foolish enough to argue with.

"Now," And when Dust's cool optics lit with a fire of their own as his gaze raked Trickster he knew this next handful of klicks would be anything but easy. "You've got a lot of nerve with this stunt, Trickster."

Pulling up a charming smile the black mech chuckled, ice blue optics glittering as he glanced between the two ancients and the other three he'd pulled with them into this reality jump. Ratchet, Ironhide, and Optimus had seemed to get their wits about them again which was probably why Ironhide went to charge forward and most likely try to do what War wanted. Ratchet's and Optimus' quick hands stopped him though. Pulling him back to a tense, growling, hold.

Trickster wasn't very intimated. His only concern was that the mech's anger would make all this harder than it had to be. He was already breaking rules here; again.

He didn't really need to push his luck. Wardrums had always been a sensitive spot in his Master's optics.

Optimus' deep baritone finally joined the mix, though he wasn't looking at Trickster. Instead his optics were fix on the two old ancients. "You know him?"

When those two sets of red met his, Trick cut in with a snort.

"Know me?" He pulled his smile up a bit wider along his lips. "Dear Prime, they are older then me."

The Autobots' optics widened, but then again that wasn't much of a surprise. They still didn't really know what they were looking at here let alone what was going on. They didn't know the truth of Cybertron's past. Where they all came from or how they all got here. The story their ancestors had made about the higher powers . . . well . . . it was a bit off.

"Older then you?" Ratchet questioned. "How is that possible?"

Wardrums rolled his optics. "Very, very easily. Your whole understanding of history is a lie, mech. You just don't know it."

Dustoff's rotors flexed behind him. "Remember, you thought he was a myth right? The same can go for the two of us. We are not myths, we are not stories, even if all the stories you know are wrong."

"Start explaining, you glitch." Ironhide snarled at the mech.

However, Trickster just grinned with the sound and shrugged it off. "Unfortunately, dear friend, that would take more time then we have this orn. So if you would kindly just hush up and let me—"

"Don't play as if we are fools, Trickster." Wardrums' booming voice cut him off. "Perhaps you can play that card with these blind mechs, but you cannot with me. You are a reality bender. We have as much time as you deem fit. The only issue here is you do not want to have to explain it."

Ice blue orbs narrowing, Trickster cut his building glare to the older mech with a warning. His rich voice dripping into a tone none of the Autobots had ever heard him use before. "You're pushing it, War."

War just grinned. "I cannot help my nature, old friend, anymore then you can."

"There are things I can't say, War. You know that!"

"No! I know that is a excuse you and your fraggin' siblings hide behind. You will never make me believe all this pit was meant to happen! You can't! But if it was as you so claim, then why don't you tell them. Why don't you tell the crowned prince, the chosen Prime, why it is his brother fell?"

Optimus straightened like he'd been slapped.

Ironhide and Ratchet went very still.

And this time no warning came from Dust to stop his mate. He simply stood there watching. Wondering what Trickster would do with that. For there was no way back out of that.

For a long moment Trickster did nothing. Didn't even breathed. Instead he simply stood there in this dull grey piece of reality looking back at Wardrums with a tired and annoyed expression. Then, in a harsh breath that seemed to deflate the mech more than either Dust or War had seen in the better part of six thousand vorns he turned on the Prime and started talking.

"There are laws you must understand. Laws that no matter how much I skate and how much I tweak I must in the end still obey. I cannot interfere with the natural order of fate, not in the long run. I cannot change the balance of the universe. I cannot rewrite what has already been written. Not even my Master can do that. The Guild is called the Watchers for a reason. We were created with the purpose of guarding the Empire, but time changed things. New plans had to be made. So now we guard the balanced of reality. I know to you that doesn't make any sense but that is to expected. I cannot give you a reason for everything—no matter how much sometimes I find that would be so much easier. So call this a shortened history lesson."

A glance was cast over to War and Dust, and in that slight pause they were both surprise to see the pain glittering in Trickster's optics. Past pain or future pain, however, neither knew. There was a good chance Trickster would find himself punished for this, but in the end he was the one that caused the brewing fight.

He should have never told War and Dust what he did thirteen vorns ago. He should have never gotten back involved. He should have stayed out and watched, but if he had War would have killed Bumblebee the first breath he took and all of them knew it. No matter how much it would have made Mercy hate him.

He would have done it.

"The Knights were not a legend, they were real. Our race was not born here, Cybertron was not made for us. That old story your stupid councils came up with the core of the planet being Primus' spark is a bunch of slag. Cybertron itself is technically as alive as any other planet in the universe, but not in the sense that it has a spark. Oh, and by the way Primus is not his name. At least not the name he was sparked with. He and Unicron both adopted the titles your generations gave them, but the names they were born with were Prui and Pritum. Not that it really matter, but seriously the slag those stupid councils came up with is just insane."

"Trickster," Dust sighed. "You're rambling."

"Oh. Yes. Sorry." Shaking out his plating the black member went on. "Anyway, Prui—Primus—and Pritum—Unicron—were real mechs once. Real as any of you. They came to Cybertron with the first Knights. The colonist that found this planet. The Knights were explores, pioneers, wonders, and warriors. They searched out new stars and new planets to explore after their original home was destroyed. This giant floating rock was very similar to the home they had lost and so they set up roots, and renamed it after their lost world. The colony became an Empire, and the Empire prospered under the leadership of the twin kings; who wouldn't you guess it, were Prui and Pritum. And yes, I said twins, deal with it. But this universe is chaos as much as it is balance and so it is a constant."

His claws flexed and his shoulders slumped.

"The Guild and I came to be, not really born as much as we were sort of made, to help keep order in the expanding Empire. The twins and their mate had sparklings. Thirteen of them to be exact and they really were born. The first Primes. The Thirteen. When they came of age Prui and Pritum broke the growing Empire up into separate states to better care for it. But power is always the same. There will always be one that wants too much or too less. The Guild was originally six bots. Myself and my balance partner Impulse. To put it simply I am chaos while Impulse is order. Evermore, she never needed a balance partner, she could contain herself. Put simply she is healing, miracles. Then there were the two you don't know. Shootingstar and Deathtoll. They were each other's balance. They were life and death. Ironic when you think about it I suppose. Considering what Deathtoll did."

A low growl worked its way out of War before he could stop himself, but Trickster didn't stop to worry with him. He knew all too well what the last Knight thought of the mech that destroyed his whole world.

"Deathtoll was always bitter about our Master's sparklings. He hated that they were natural, that they were born not made, that they were treated like their sparklings while we were more of just their tools. As they grew so did his anger, and when they handed over their Empire in pieces to all of them something in him just snapped. We should have seen it coming. We should have noticed before it became what it did, but we didn't. We didn't know our own sibling was breaking on the inside. I imagine you would know something about that, Optimus."

The red and blue commander flinched but said nothing.

"The beginning of the end was when Prui and Pritum died. Their mate—Iceeia—was killed and being twins they died with her. Leaving the Knights Empire in the hands of their grown younglings. And for a while it worked. The Guild watched the world around us as our Master created us for and the Primes looked after the population. We were all blind to the anger and darkness that was growing inside. Deathtoll wanted what they had. He wanted to be more than a tool especially when our Master was dead. So he found the bad seed among the Prime siblings. I imagine you know the name, Megatronus Prime."

Optimus took a deep breath, but once again stayed silent.

"I've often wondered how much your carrier really despised you sire to name his first born son after the Prime that ended it all. Karma was a good femme, but she never had a choice in where her life took her. Mated off as a political stunt to look as if the high class cared for the low. You of all bots must know there was more to her death then just a sickness, don't you?"

Those bright optics dimmed, and Optimus throat worked in a hard swallow.

"When she finally gave Sentinel an heir he could use. An heir that looked like what your politics wanted. Not red optics, and a warframe that favored his carrier. You, you were big and strong, and built for battle but you bore blue optics. You were what Sentinel wanted. No matter if you were the second born son. But with you born your sire had no more use for Karma. She was in the way of his plans. As his mate she would technically have a say in who was heir so as long as she lived she was in the way. So he removed her from the picture. Removed her and renamed her Orion Pax, Optimus after the youngest of the Thirteen just as she named your brother after the second oldest. Much the same could be said for what happened with the Thirteen. Prima was the oldest and by right was the leader of sorts of all the leaders. He was a fair mech. He was my friend. He knew that while he and his siblings could handle the Empire, power still needed to be divided some. So with the Empire's warriors that no longer had any wars to fight he created the Enforcers and in so I met this here old bastard."

A motion toward War earned him a grunt. Trickster just snorted back at him.

"He was the highest ranked general the twins had, one of the oldest mechs in the Empire at the time. So it was only natural that Prima turned to Wardrums for help with setting up a more in-depth legal system. The process made War more than just a general though. As the Empire grew he earned the respect that the siblings had. A leader, a protector. He's a glitch, don't get me wrong. Mean and quick tempered, but he is a good mech."

Dustoff wore a small smile toward Trick even if it made War roll his optics.

"Not that you care, the point is War climbed ranks. He became important, and Megatronus hated him for it."

"Damn greedy glitch." War grumbled under his breath. "Couldn't he just have been happy with his own corner of the world?"

"No." Dust whispered.

"Megatronus was never happy with shares of anything. He wanted it all and under all that greed he really was just a twisted mech. He always did creep me out if I'm being honest, but creators very rarely see fault in their creations. Deathtoll saw the darkness in him though and it didn't take very long for the two of them to become something none of us ever had a prayer to stop. The Civil War began and in a matter of decacycles Megatronus had destroyed all his siblings on some mud ball across the galaxy while Deathtoll was here killing . . . our brother . . . his own balance partner. And the whole world went to pit. In a matter of orns . . . . Well I'll put it this way, you think Praxus falling was bad. When the Empire came down there was . . . nothing. Wardrums, Dustoff, and Mercy really were only bots that made it out alive."

Letting out a short breath Trickster's forced smile turned into more of a sneer.

"Even we died . . . in a way. When Deathtoll killed Star the balance shattered and with it our hold on this reality. I'm not sure if it was death because in all technicality we really can't die. Well no more than any of you can. Like I said, your idea of death is a little messed up. Or maybe it was our Master, whichever it was this reality was taken from us for a long time. Leaving us in darkness. By the time we actually found our Master again on the other side everything we knew had changed. I can't tell you . . . what it is . . . or how it is . . . or how death is not really . . . the notion that you think it is . . . . The point is we were thrown back into this game with a plan to fix what our fallen brother destroyed when he got his hands on yours. So there, Optimus Prime. There is your reason. This is your rhyme. Your brother fell into the grip of a pair of insane, evil bastards. So technically speaking . . . none of it is really his fault. But at the same time it is . . . . Like I said I can't tell you everything. The point is we are back and Wardrums hates that but that's too bad because even if he refused to believe me it is all actually suppose to happen. All the good and all the bad. Our brother changed the game when he lead the Fallen toward the darkness and when he destroyed everything, but the universe had a way of righting itself. Everything will work out the way it is suppose to."

"The way it's supposed to." Wardrums mocked with a low growl, cutting Trickster off. "You see ya glitch, that is in where the problem lies! I don't like your supposed to. Yours or the fraggin' twins—your Master—whatever! They let them all die! They let this damned race find its footing again and then slaughter each other for nothing! They let The Fallen and your damn brother get a hold of a desperate prince and twist him into their latest play thing to rule the universe with! And what's worse is they let this fraggin' runt come to be to FIX THE PROBLEM THEY ALLOWED! He's just a little runt!"

"Well Wardrums," Trickster drawled, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought you said you didn't care about him."

This time when War lunged Dustoff didn't nothing to stop him, his own chest rumbling with a growl, but Trickster poofed out before the shuttle's claws could find home leaving his swiping multiple times at empty air in his frustration. A roar bubbling out of him in an octave that vibrated the armor that covered him.

"Get out here and let me strangle you, Trickster!" He hollered.

"I'm sorry, but that would be rather counterproductive." He poofed back into sight, but this time kept his distance from both parties. Optics narrow and plating flared. "You cannot blame me for things that are not my fault, War. What will happen with the mechling I cannot change. No more than you can. At least I've given him a chance to still be breathing now, if you'd had your way you'd have killed him the orn he was born! You tried!"

Swinging to face him with another growl his answer was drowned somewhat in the angry snarl that worked its way up Ironhide's throat. War paid him no mind.

"At least it would have saved him the fate you and you Master have enslaved him too! You call me a bastard for wanting to end a mechling alive in a war before he'd have had to know it, but you want to give him a life and keep him alive only until the point for him to do what you all so desperately think he will and then you will let him die! He exists to die for sins that aren't is fault! So call me a glitched bastard if you like, Trickster, but I refused to play your games. I will not do this!"

"You have no choice." Trickster hissed back at him, optics flaring bright. "You will do just what I said you would. Because no matter how bad you want to deny it I know you, Wardrums. I know when you look at that mechling you do not see my brother. No bot could. You see Mercy and because of it you will do as you are supposed to. Eventually. You will have no choice. Fate, destiny, time, it is always changing but the under lying threads will stay the same. His purpose is what it is—"

"So to die then?" The quiet words rolled off of Dust's tongue as soft as a breeze. Drifting out over the stale grey air of this grey world around them. Drawing Trickster up short in his tirade and leaving him turning to the old medic with sagging shoulders. "His purpose, the reason this little mechling that shouldn't be possible, exists in the first place is to die. That's what your saying isn't it? Through all these vorns you have created the circumstances for him to have a shot at life. You have stepped in even when you claimed you can't interfere and kept him breathing. Haven't you?"

The thick swallow that left Trickster was answer enough.

"You claim he is Guild, that he is one of you, but Trickster we both know you are no normal mech. You were not created as all other life is. You were made—willed—by a power long forgotten. Prui needed help on this new world so you and your siblings came to be. The mechling is not that. He was born, I delivered him myself I would know. I fought underdeveloped lungs and vents that couldn't breathe on their own. I filtered energon through veins that couldn't pump by themselves. I jumped a too young spark, eight times, before it finally caught a good enough hold on life to try and beat by itself. And then, I did it more over the course of his first three orns. I listened to his carrier cry every time his spark gave up because he was too young. He was premature, Trickster, he shouldn't have lived. No matter how hard I fought to keep him that way I am nothing more than a medic. There is a line to how far I can cheat death. He was past that line. We both know it wasn't me that saved him. It was Evermore. Even if I didn't know it at the time. Her hand is the one that kept that spark alive and in this reality. Out of the Well. So you see, you can't claim you three haven't been interfering all the time. You saved a mechling that should have died when he was born, a mechling we all should have let die . . . it . . . ."

Taking a deep breath Dust squeezed his optics shut and looked away. For it hurt, it really did.

"It would have been kinder . . . to let him die. Instead of selfishly hanging on. Because what you claim, what you ask and what you tell. It's not fair, Trickster!"

"Life isn't fair." The black mech mumbled. "You two of all bots in this universe should know that. You've seen it all. Empires rise and fall. Breeds come and go. Our race claw it's way back time and time again. You were born on old Cybertron. You were pilgrims to this one. You've seen our history write and rewrite itself. Our deities change as time went on and generations needed knew leaders. You know what life really is. You're older than me! As old as the mechs these generations call gods, you call old friends, and I call Masters. Who are all and none at the same time. You know as well as I do life isn't fair. It is what is and you make the most of what you have to work with. Well no matter how much all of us might not like it what we have to work with is the son of the mech that destroyed everything. My Master and his brother made his life possible and it will be what it will be because of it. The solution to this problem couldn't not be what failed the first time. Something else was needed to fix it this time. So here is your answer. One of us born like we had never been before. A bot that would live like all those that had paid for his sire's doings. Because it would give him what he needed to stop it."

"To live like us, but die like us too." Dust frowned. "All because he must fix what isn't his fault."

"Something like that." Trickster nodded slowly.

"What are you fraggin' talking about!" Ratchet's bellow jarred them all. Snapping attention back to him to find the yellow and red medic standing there with his armored flared, his optics narrow, and his jaw clenched.

"I would have thought it would be pretty obvious." Dustoff shifted his rotors. "The Guild came back after a million or so vorns of leaving us to deal with their brother alone—fail miserably at it as well mind you—when the mechling you've taken as your own was born. Spinning this story of us having to keep him alive but not play a part just yet. Well it all kind of went to pit when Deathtoll learned the mechling was alive. He came looking for him, we tried to stop him, but we failed. So Mercy ran with him, but she didn't make it very far. Deathtoll's monsters caught her and they killed her. You found the mechling they didn't bother with. Figuring he would die alone in that falling city that was already under attack. He didn't. All because of Trickster."

"Hey," The black mech threw up his hands. "I had nothing to do with that one. They actually did that all on their own. They sort of beat me to him."

"You are a reality bender. Nothing can beat you anywhere." War snorted.

"Oh, but some things can." The way Trickster said it was a tad depressing, which was odd coming from him. Trickster was always the upbeat one of the three that were left. His nature making it hard for him to get low. That didn't mean it couldn't happen to him though, and this situation was one of those things that could.

"You expect me to stand here and listen to you talk about killing my mechling?" Ironhide growled.

"Not killing him." War corrected. "Letting him die. Because that is what will happen. It's what the Guild plans to happen anyway. And he's not yours, you just have stolen him."

"That's rich coming from the mech that wanted to kill him." Optimus grunted back. "We didn't steal anything. We saved him, and if you expected me to let you plan out his death you've got another thing coming, Trickster. I don't care who, or what you are. Any of you for that matter. I will not allow it."

"Well," Trick smirked. "Spoken like a Prime raised by your sire. You think the whole universe will bend because you want it to be so? Hate to break it to you, my friend, but it will not. I'm a reality bender and not even I can make that happen."

"You. Will. Not. Hurt. Him." Ironhide spit out in a low snarl. Whole frame shaking with the emotions boiling inside him.

"It won't be Trickster that hurts him." Dust said quietly. "He will just allow it to happen."

"He'll hide behind a gone mech's word like a coward. Letting a youngling do the work he is to afraid to do." War rumbled.

The hot flare of blue plasma not even the old Knight's reflexes had seen coming. One moment he was standing there and the next he was laying on his aft clutching the side of his chest where a deep hole now burned into his armor. Fire red optics snapping up from the wound to find that it was not Trickster that had lifted a weapon against him, but the rather pissed, smaller form of his little sister.

Evermore's whole frame quivered with her anger as the tall femme stalked across the grey sand of the grey reality to stand over Wardrums with a burning glare. Surprisingly though, she said nothing. Smoking blaster lowered to hang by her hip she did little more than glare as her finger curled and uncurled from their tight grip around the blaster's hilt.

Not even Dustoff dared moved as she stood there over the much larger frame of his mate. Impulse appearance in a hot flash of red was almost unnoticed considering how hard it was to look away from the anger burning in those galaxy holding green optics.

When Evermore finally spoke though there was no anger in her voice. No yelling or growls. There was only a lower pitch to her higher voice that oddly enough sent chills of dread down the bigger mechs' backstruts.

"Your anger in many things is justified, Wardrums. You have suffered more for the mistakes we have made then almost any other leaving creature, but mark me, last Knight of Cybertron. If you ever call me or my brothers cowards again I promise you this not even your mate's skills will save you. All it takes me is a touch for a bot like you, remember? And I promise you, I will be the last thing you ever see. We need you, but we don't need you that much. We can supply the Young One with his lessons elsewhere should the need truly arise."

Silence followed the stiff, hard words. Hanging heavy in the air around them all while the mechs watched the femme stand there breathing hard as she tried to work through the urge to murder the mech right where he stood. It was only Evermore's nature that saved War. Her nature and how long she had known the mech.

Then, slowly, Wardrums pushed himself back to his feet. Rising to his full height to stare down at the femme that showed no signs of backing down. It was with a shameful dip of his head that the old mech apologized without a word. Which for War, really was something.

Ever looked hard at him for a klick or two longer before she slowly nodded, turned, and returned to her brothers' sides. One look was spared in the direction of the hopelessly confused trio of mechs that made up the core element of Bumblebee's stable family. However, there was not much that could be done. They were already breaking the rules as it was.

"This has gone on long enough." Impulse's deep baritone softly slid out. "The matter is over. Oblivion is dead, Deathtoll's Ring is gone which will greatly piss him off and I'm thrilled. But the bastard isn't even on the planet, and he's not likely to come back now that the information about the Young One has been lost to him. It's time for you all to go your separate ways. That is, unless you two were planning on joining the Autobot army in an effort to get to know your nephew."

Wardrums snorted a ridiculous sound.

Dustoff sighed. "I've had enough armies, thank you."

Clapping his hands together with a grin, pulling himself back up into a picture of excitement, Trickster said. "Well then, let's be done with this little pause button trip and return to reality shall we?"

"Hold up a klick," Ratchet growled.

Trickster deflated like stick balloon. "So close and yet so far."

"You can't just send us away like younglings when you don't want to tell them the hard facts of life." Optimus slowly said, optics darting between Wardrums, Dustoff, and the Guild. "All you've said—"

"Isn't anything you didn't already know." Evermore cut him off, her voice quiet and a tad bit sad. "You just didn't what to admit it, Optimus."

"You've known all along what your creators were really like. Why you really were chosen over your brother. Why it is we come and go and never really get involved. Now maybe you didn't know the truth of history your ancestors have deemed forgettable, but the point of all this isn't what has been. It is what will be. You've had your latest warning. No matter if you don't like it." Rolling his shoulders Impulse said.

"We won't let you hurt him." Ironhide growled back.

"It won't be us you have to worry about." Trickster said quietly. "I warned you before Optimus, he will be the one to find it. I meant it."

"Find what!?" Ironhide yelled.

Trickster smiled. "That one I can't give ya, but believe me you'll find out soon enough. Have fun until next time, friends."

"You can't just leave us with this and nothing else!" Ironhide snarled.

"Oh but we can." Impulse shrugged.

"And they will." Wardrums hissed.

To that Trick just smiled. "You've had your hint and your rant. See ya sooner then you want!"

With another flare of bright blue everything vanished.

---

Left standing there in the sand again in a stumbling flare of brightness the overwhelmed Prime, medic, and guardian found themselves looking up into those fire colored optics. The sudden questions, snaps, and growls from those that had watched them all vanish only to poof back in what to them was nanos later was ignored.

For Wardrums cast his optics down to Flamewar for only a moment. When she nodded sadly to what they both already knew was decided he huffed out a deep vent. Then, turned that burning gaze back to the Prime.

"I will only warn you once." He said quietly. "I am not the Guild. I do not care for false promises or the hope for a brighter future. I simply do not care. I will do what I please when I please and no bot will stop me anymore. So keep you mechling. Keep him and look after him. Appease the Guild and yourselves. That is simply the truth, but mark me, Optimus Prime. I am not your enemy, but I am also not your friend. Stay out of my way, I have scores to settle and I don't give a damn if you're the leader of the free world or not. If you slag up my plans I will end you. And do us all a favor, keep the little runt the frag out of my desert."

With nothing else, the powerful shuttle turned and walked away.

Dustoff and Flamewar had stood a moment longer. Staring into the optics and faceplates that stared back at them. Looking a tad bit harder at Flare Up's firm look. The two femmes stared back at each other, a silent assurance passing between them.

Then, suddenly, the black and red femme turned not on the Prime but the strong black and white Praxian standing over to his side. With a hard voice and narrow optics she said.

"You look after my femmeling, Praxian." Then she pinned those purple orbs on Optimus. "And you keep my best friend's sparkling safe. I'll be keeping a very close watch."

Then she to spun from the Autobots and vanished into the burning shadows of the desert without a glance back. No goodbye. No farewell. Not even a hug shared with the femme that had become her youngling over the vorns. But then, Flamewar would not be who she was if she was any different.

Flare Up's optics might have been swimming slightly with coolant as she watched her adopted carrier walk away, but it was not with sadness.

No.

It was far from sadness.

Dustoff stood firm still. Optics set on the picture before him for a few more klicks. When he did speak it was with that calm, quiet that made him who he was. His optics dancing over the set of hunters and the pair of twins.

"Look after yourselves." He said softly making a bit of surprise flash in the twins' optics while small smiles graced the hunters. "You've been taught well enough how. I'll be seeing you."

Then, they were all gone.

---

To be completely honest Bumblebee wasn't quite sure just how it all happened, and considering it all seemed to be so giant secret nobot wanted to talk about he figured it would quite a long time before he got any real answers. It wasn't something he was all that happy about, but being unhappy around home these orns was something pretty hard to pull off and he didn't really want to.

Too many things were going on. The largest of which being his newest family member. Bluestreak's little sister, Flare Up.

At first, when Blue told him who the pretty femme that didn't leave was he had sat quietly and stared. Then had promptly started giggling uncontrollably. That seemed to amuse everybot greatly as well as him following the pair of siblings around for four orns straight.

Considering how much changed in that short amount of time though nobot really seemed to mind. He was staying put and they knew where he was as the three ships went their separate ways again. His whole little world had changed all over again in more ways than one.

Besides the new addition of Blue's sister, Outrider and Smokescreen had stayed as well. Hammerdown hadn't gone back to Hot Rod's ship either. Instead he now shared a room with Rider and Smokey just down the hall from Bee's, Mia's, and Hide's own room.

Bee had also giggled like made for a few joors after that one as well.

However, there was one thing that just didn't quite add up. The thing nobot wanted him to talk about.

Where the other ones went.

He'd asked Flare Up one of the orns he had been perched in her lap coloring, where it was the other femme went. A bit of sadness had filled her optics at the question, but she had quietly told him her adopted carrier went back to doing what made her happy and that they would without a doubt see her again. When he'd asked why she didn't want to stay like Flare Up did all he'd gotten was a soft pat on his head and another paint brush handed to him.

She hadn't wanted to talk about it.

Which was confusing, but he decided he'd find his answer eventually. So he let it go.

There was one problem with that though. That mech. The helicopter, with the cool red optics and the spark that knocked so hard and so familiar against his own. Bee had known him, known him but not known why.

And now he was gone. Gone without a goodbye.

Gone and no bot even wanted to talk about it.

They all thought that they could distract him, divert his attention, and make the little mechling forget, but they couldn't. Bee was young but he wasn't stupid. He knew when something was going on, but he also—even at the ripe age of thirteen vorns—knew how to pick his battles.

This was one he wasn't going to win. No matter how hard he tried and no matter how much he wanted to. This time, he wasn't going to get what he wanted.

That was okay though. On the large scale everything was perfect. They were back to flying, everybot was back together, and everybot seemed pretty happy. So, he would be happy too. File away the questions he had and wait for later. Prowl kept saying he needed to learn patience after all.

This orn found Bumblebee sprawled out on the rec room floor with a canvas eight times as big as him laid out before him. Paint brushes and paint cans scattered all around him and enough different shades splattered on him it was kind of hard to tell—if one didn't already know—just what color he really was.

The happy gleam that shown in his optics while he worked though had killed every word of protest on the tongues of those that had come along to find him like this. He was gonna need one pit of a long bath when he finally decided he was done, but for the smile he was wearing his family could live with that.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe got one long hard glare from Ironhide when the big ebony mech came in to find him like this while the twins had been watching him. Their gleaming grins had told him just how much they weren't at all worried with it. They'd give him his bath if they had too. Besides, Bee and bubbles were a whole lot of fun.

As the evening worn on around him and Bee didn't so much as pause in his drawing—going so far as to hiss at Hammer when he tried to sneak a peak, the big blue mech had backed away quite comically with his hands in the air at that—Bee worked in frantic scrubs and strokes. Sunstreaker had given him the canvas this morning and dumped his bag of colored pencils, pens, brushes on the floor next to him letting him play all he wanted. He'd asked for something to drawn on and with no thought at all Sunny gave it to him. Then he set to work, and to save their floor from his paint smudge fingers the twins snatch him up and brought him to the rec room.

It hadn't been the plan for most of the ship to end up piled around the room come evening watching him draw, laughing and joking with each other. Their whole world had been rattled slightly, but they were all setting back in as they always did. They were survivors. They had a job to do, and a mechling to take care of.

Besides, it was a little difficult to stay stressed out when there was a tiny ball of yellow running around the ship giggling.

With Scout and Echo sprawled out on both sides of him Bee sat up from his sprawl with a paint brush stuck in the corner of his mouth in thought. Stubby doorwings and winglets wagged behind him with the thoughts rolling through his processor. Tiny antennas flickering back and forth while he ran his optics up and down his work.

It kinda looked good if he did say so himself. Sure it was no way near as good as what Sunny could do but he was working on it. Stick figures were quite a feat for hands that could hardly reach around the tools he was using.

He thought it was pretty awesome that he managed to fit everybot on the thing this time. That had to be some kind of accomplishment. After all, he had a really big family.

Letting out a chirp he twisted around on his little aft, casting his gaze around the room in search of who he was after. In a matter of nanos those bright baby blue optics found the group he as after somehow all fitting around a table in the back laughing and talking with each other as gazes slipped over to check on him now again.

Optimus, Elita, Hide, Mia, Ratchet, Arcee, Bluestreak, Flare Up, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Jazz, Prowl, Hammerdown, Outrider, Quickfire, Mirage, and Smokescreen. Bee grinned at the sight of them. Scrambling to his little feet, wobbling slightly in the hurried motion. He might have toppled right back over to his tiny aft hand Echo not pushed herself up and nipped hold of his scruff bar in the nick of time. Pulling him back upright with a scolding chuff before licking him up the side of the cheek.

He giggled at her. Petting her a few times over her long soft audios then spun down on his latest task.

Huh.

Wings lowering slightly behind his back pulled the brush out of his mouth and pouted. How was he supposed to get the huge thing up now that he painted it?

Well slag . . . .

This one he didn't think out that well.

Scout's low huff drew his focus making him twist to the side to find the ever growing dark black hound looking down at his picture. Those deep black optics of his sliding back and forth until they lifted to his gaze.

"Family?" He questioned softly, more feeling then word, but Bee understood all the same. Smiling brightly at the pup he nodded quickly. Pointing to the two black shapes that vaguely sort of resembled both Scout and Echo. At least if Scout tilted his head far enough to the side he figured that might be what him and his sister looked like.

Maybe.

Though he was pretty sure his audios weren't that big.

Said appendages flattened to his head in protest to the thought.

"Yep. That you," He pointed to the black blob on the right. "And that Echo." Then the blob on the left.

Echo purred at the words and the picture. Laying her chin over the little mech's shoulder as her tail wagged happily behind her.

"Me like." She said.

"Me look like blob." Scout snorted back.

Echo whacked him over the back with her tail making him yelp and Bee laugh.

The sound drew a few sets of optics over to him, but it wasn't until Bumblebee turned back to look at the table that anybot spoke.

"Ya alright, Lil' Bee?" Jazz asked.

Bee nodded, glancing down at his picture before he mumbled, pointing down at the canvas. "Need help."

Without further question the silver saboteur pushed himself up and padded as silently as Jazz ever did the short distance across the room to kneel down next to the little mechling.

"With what, little mech?"

"Can't pick up." Bee huffed.

That was when Jazz's visor slid over to actually take in what Bee had spent the better part of the orn doing. A slow smile worked its way up his lips at the sight of it.

"Cute, Bee." He purred at him, reaching out to pet the little mech over his antennas while using the other hand to snatch up the large canvas. "Now where to?"

But the answer was already had when Bee turned around and ran with wobbling steps across the room laughing the whole time until he'd latched hold of Hide's leg and went to climbing. The massive ebony mech chuckled, staying still as little hands found holds in the gaps of his armor and climbed. Up his leg, sliding over his thighs, up his chest, and then back down his arm until the landed on the table with a plop and a huff. Sometimes Bee forgot just how much size difference was really between him and his family. They were a long way up off the floor.

Jazz reached the table by that time. Carrying Bee's picture with him. At the sight Bee pushed himself back up, making grabby hands for the canvas much to the amusement of those around him. Jazz smirked at him with a fond chuckle as he laid the canvas down on the table beside him.

Once it was plopped down, the optics around him focused down on it.

With a beaming smile Bumblebee threw his arms out wide around him and squeaked.

"Ta da!"

For a nano the bots laughed at the outburst, looking over his picture with growing grins, before those various shades of blue focused back down on him brimming affection.

"Well," Smokey drawled, leaning up on his arms to get a good look at the assortment of brightly colored stick figure bots. Finding what he figured—by size and color scheme, not to mention those big fat flat lines kind of looked like doorwings. Sorta—what was him among the line of colors. "That's just downright adorable."

Bumblebee beamed like a mini sun. Bouncing around on his tiny little feat.

"Thanks."

Hammerdown, sitting on Smokey's left while Rider was on his right, huffed. "I am not that short."

Outrider about fell out of his chair laughing when the words brought Bee's bouncing to a halt. Making the mechling tilt his head down at his picture for a klick before he shrugged making a circle with his fingers.

"Okay maybe not that short, but me got the roundness right."

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker fell backward out of their chairs in a fit of laughter as the table and the rest of the room just about exploded into laughter. All except Hammer whose pout of a frown was the stuff of legends as he glared down at Bee who just smiled back up at him.

"Are you calling me fat?" Hammer growled, but it was a playful sound.

Sides choked from the floor. "You said it mech! Not him!"

The words widened Bee's optics quickly while he drew out. "No."

His family seemed to find this equally as funny. Shared laughter reaching an even higher pitch around the room. He just grinned a little brighter.

Hammer rolled his optics, and slumped back into his seat with his arms crossed over his strong chest.

"Little glitch."

"Ah come on, Hammer." Chromia teased, poking the mech in the shoulder.

Rolling his optics Hammer huffed, but said no more. At that response Sunstreaker and Sideswipe finally managed to haul themselves up off the floor. Climbing back into their chairs still laughing, but with it back under some manner of control. Taking in the picture again Sunstreaker leaned his chin on his hand. Dark optics darting to Bee.

"More family portraits, Half Pint?"

Bee nodded quickly. "Yep. Like?"

"Of course we do." Sides nodded. "But didn't ya make one of these not that long ago, why you drawing another one?"

To that Bumblebee shrugged, glancing around the table.

"Because," He said, optics lifting to find Hide's and Optimus'. "Family got more awesome."

This time it wasn't a chorus of laughter the youngling got. In fact, he didn't really get a sound at all. The optics and smiles around him simply softened and warmed. Then a strong hand scooped him up off the table and pulled him up to his sire's chest. Bee snuggled in without complaint. Relishing the warmth and the safety that came with the strength of his guardian.

"Love you." He purred, burrowing in and holding on.

The warmth in Hide's voice when the spoke made the little mech's spark sore. "We love you to, Bumblebee."

Bee smiled.

Because yeah, his family really was awesome.

---

Far enough up in the atmosphere that the pair of moons took up the entirety of every view Wardrums stood on the bridge of their relatively small ship staring out at the light of the glowing brighter moon.

Why?

He didn't know.

It was late, he was tired, he should be in their makeshift too small berth but he wasn't. Instead he was staring here looking out at the thing that part of him wanted to think was more than just a hunk of stone stunk in the atmosphere. Considering he'd been standing there looking up the night both the moons took their place in the sky as well as the constellation that hung above them it was easy to believe that they were more than just rocks stuck in the sky.

That however, did not make him feel any better. If anything, it sort of made him feel worse.

Deep, ruff voice grating with lack of rest the massive shuttle sighed. "I still blame you two for this, you know that right?"

The every bright moon didn't answer, but then it never did. When Prui and Pritum died with their mate War's ability to speak to his friends was lost to him forever. At least, in this life. He remembered the night they died, the night those bright flares of light had streaked across the sky and in its wake left a pattern of stars as well as the twin moons hanging there keeping watch over what they left behind.

War had lost more than his Kings and Queen that night. He had lost his friends.

"You left far too soon." The sigh trailed off into a whisper. "They weren't ready to do it on their own. None of them. And no matter what Prima tried, I am not a King."

"Unfortunately, you are." Dustoff's voice turned War from the window to find his mate standing the doorway across the bridge. "No matter if you hate it. When Prima named you head of the Enforcers it was so you could help him figure out how to lead bots. Because you were good at it. It was the same reason Pritum named you General. No matter if you like it or not. You are a good leader, War."

The massive black and gold shuttle turned away with a shake of his head, but there was a small smile on his lips.

Taking a deep breath Dustoff pushed off the doorframe, walking to War's side. Leaning up against the larger mech's side when he reached him. Shifting his weight War lifted his arm to wrap it around Dust's thick shoulders, pulling him close, and tucking him in tight. Then together, they stood there. Looking up at the brightness of the night sky.

"How's Flamewar?" The larger mech questioned after a few moments of silence.

"She misses her adopted sparkling." Dust admitted. "But she will be alright. I have a feeling we will be seeing Flare, the Autobots, and that little mechling again before long."

War grunted, but Dust did kind of figure that would be all he got out of a statement like that. That was fine with him though. He knew what War really thought, even if he wouldn't admit it to himself.

"She's glad to be back on her ship." Dust added, leaning his head against War's strong shoulder.

Now at that he snorted. "Figures."

"And you're glad to finally be out of that hole."

A nod.

Dust smiled at him. "Where to now?"

Looking a nano or two longer up at the bright light of the moon War stiffened his shoulders in determination. "Home, Dust. It's long past time we went home."

---

"Well?" Leaning against what was left of a once mighty support pillar, Impulse looked all kinds of upset.

That was because he was.

Trickster let out a short snort at the words, knelt down in the ruble shifting through what was left of the fallen Ring the ice optic colored mech really wasn't in the mood to deal with his elder brother at the moment. "Mute it, Pulse."

The larger, grey Guild member snarled back at him. "Answer me, damn it! We pulled off your plan and remarkably no bot died."

"Yes." Pushing himself back up to his feet Trickster spun around. "Yes that is what we did, now will you please tell me what it is I'm suppose to answer?"

"I think what Impulse is so poorly trying to say is this," Perched up on a piece of stone just above the two of them Evermore sat picking apart what seemed to be some sort of medical kit she'd found among the ruble. "You're the one that thought up this little scheme to get War and Dust out of Deathtoll's hold. Which I will give you worked pretty well. The Autobot's know enough to be careful and War has had to face up to the truth. Not to mention it was about time we did something to free them. The question is, what now?"

"Now we wait." He sighed. "It's all we can do. Wait for the mechling to do what he must do next."

"That's going to take a while." Impulse growled. "So what, we sit around and wait?"

"Waiting is what we've been doing for a while." Evermore shrugged. "I suppose we can do it again."

"I'm tired of waiting!" Throwing his hands over his head, stalking around in a circle Impulse yelled. "They all got to go home now. The roads all linked back up like they were supposed to and we're left on the side lines waiting again!"

"Yep." Trickster said quietly. "That's just what we're doing."

"And that doesn't bother you?!"

Pausing, Trickster turned those ice colored optics back to Impulse's deep red and Evermore's expansive green. "Of course it bothers me. All of it bothers me. But we all know what we can and can't do. We've got a long way to go before any of this ends. For now we wait."

"For what?" Ever sighed.

"For his curiosity to get the best of him."

---

It's done! *throws confetti*

It's finally done!

I want to thank all of you wonderful readers and reviewers. The new ones and the ones that have been along for the ride since I started this all in part one. I hope you enjoyed the so far ride as much as I have. I'm looking forward to seeing what you all thought of it.

Now, it's on to Part Four: Killer Curiosity !

The first chapter will be posted soon, keep an eye out for it.

And once again, thank you all. I adore you all so much.

-Jaycee