CHAPTER 2
Uncertain Beginnings

At his own home, Dylan had just finished his dinner and retreated into his room as he usually did. It wasn't that he wanted to, quite the contrary, he might have been inclined to join the family in a movie if he felt more welcome. But Dylan, for all intents and purposes felt like an intruder in the home of David and Edie Johnson. It wasn't that they hit him, because they didn't, or they yelled at him, because they didn't. It wasn't even because they acted anything like his dad.

Rather, it was hard to feel welcome in a family that had four kids of their own, and no intentions of having another one. Those were the families Dylan had come to know were in it for the check and nothing more. And the Johnson's? They were not very good at hiding it. Any time he accompanied them to the movies, or in watching TV, or even sometimes at dinner, there was an awkward silence that hung over them. And besides, it was a day where he wasn't feeling much like looking at their smiling faces, or the loving gestures they gave their kids.

Some days, it didn't bother Dylan, since he'd never had any of that. His dad had been a monster, and his mom had died in childbirth, so he'd never known what a "real" parent was like. Some foster parents had tried, he'd give them that much, but none had tried hard enough for him to let the men near him. Not within distance of doing anything, at least. But on other days, that was the exact reason watching a "happy" family dynamic hurt. The thought that they had something that he couldn't entirely comprehend because he'd never felt that way with anyone. That safety, that security, that unconditional love.

The person who was supposed to show him all those things had instead gone against them all.

And so here he was, stuck bouncing from family to family. Because he knew after the Johnson's there would be another family, or at least another foster parent. And for all he knew they'd be worse, or maybe they'd be better. He had a few good ones after all, nice ones. But the nice ones didn't want him, the first time he acted out, or the first episode of trauma they weren't ready to handle, they dumped him back with social services. For the most part, Dylan was just glad he had yet to run into anyone like his dad.

He sighed quietly, running a hand through his hair and looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully. He tried to think about what happened that day, but found himself groaning. What did that mech, Ratchet, think he was doing anyway? Pushing him into community service? What did he owe the people in this city, anyway? He knew very little about them from the year he'd spent there. He grunted, thinking of how the mech had acted with the fake "understanding" and "kindness". Why had he even waited with him?

Never once did the thought even cross his mind that maybe Ratchet was just a nice mech. One that cared about a kid like him even though he didn't even know him very well. He was pulled from his thoughts by a knock on his closed door, to which he simply turned over to look at the door for a long moment. "Dylan?" Dylan groaned, it was his foster father, Dave, of course. "Are you sure you don't want to watch?" He asked half-heartedly.

The door opened as Dylan turned his head towards the tall, muscular man. He looked at him with a stern look, the same stern look he gave him a lot. At first, he had once thought it was because he wanted him to come, and he looked that way to make him come. Unfortunately, he'd learned his lesson there the first time he'd took him up on the offer. His glare, and mumbling under his breath had spoken for itself. That way of saying quietly enough "Why is this kid butting into time with MY family? Don't we do enough?". It was probably Edie, his foster mother who was a bit more compassionate, that made him come up and invite him that night at all.

"Nah, not really," Dylan stated as he pulled a book off his bedside table. "I uh, was just gonna read a bit," He explained, looking over his copy of "To Kill A Mockingbird" that was part of his curriculum at school. "It's uh, part of my English class, but I actually am really enjoying it. You know, it's amazing how they treated African American people like that," He opened his mouth to continue.

"Yeah, that's really something," Dave stopped him short, shooting down his attempt at conversation. "Look I'll talk to you in the morning. They're about to start without me," He then added. "Night."

And he was gone for the rest of the night at that. He knew they wouldn't talk in the morning either, because he'd be gone before Dylan ever woke up. Thus went the never-ending cycle in the Johnson house; so went the never-ending cycle of his life in a way too. "Well it was worth a shot," He muttered, climbing underneath his dark colored covers and opening the book quietly.

And somewhere in the night, he would convince himself he wasn't jealous of their kids. That he didn't need a family to make him happy, or that stupid thing they called love. He was going to be just fine on his own, or at least, he hoped so.

...

Dylan arrived at the hospital early after school on Friday, much to his displeasure. Then again, what chance did he have with Edie working on weekends? She'd picked him up, dropped him off, and went right on her way about an hour before he had to be there, and he'd bit back complaining. Inside, he found that the hospital was massive, brand new, and seemingly, the most sterilized building Dylan had ever seen.

He stared around slightly, wondering where he would even find Ratchet. He took a few steps forward, looking around quietly, he hadn't looked long until a young mech near the reception are caught sight of him. "Hey, are you the new kid in Ratchet's group?" Dylan turned his head, nodding as best as he could. "Wow, you're early, but it's cool, Ratchet won't mind," He paused a moment, putting his hands on his hips slightly. "Why don't you come back with me, I'll show you to his office," The boy took a few steps forward tentatively. "My name's First Aid."

"Dylan."

"I know," First Aid commented cheerfully as he led him down a hallway. "Your social worker is a good pal of mine. And Ratchet's my older brother, so yeah," Dylan's eyes shifted uneasily, surprised that they had talked about him much at all. "Hungry? Thirsty?" Dylan shook his head both times. "You know, I don't bite, you can talk."

Dylan stared up at First Aid with a look that said: "Why would I do that?". But after a moment, he took notice of the fact that First Aid was expecting it. Sighing, he stuffed his hands into his jacket and blew a strand of hair away from his face. "So, what's he like, then?" Dylan asked curiously. "I barely met the guy yesterday... Or at least we barely talked," He explained.

"Ratchet?" First Aid questioned, this time Dylan nodded. "Well, he's a little rough around the edges as a medic. But as a mech? He's a pretty good one once you get to know him," He explained calmly, crossing his arms a little. "Just go a little easy on him, okay? He can be kinda high strung."

Dylan took mental note of that last part, since he wasn't usually good at taking it easy on anyone. In fact he was usually the type that annoyed and frustrated those he came into contact with, whether he tried to or not. His eyes looked up at First Aid, and shrugged his shoulders. "I can try. But I'm not sure he'll like me. Most people don't anyway," He looked away at the mech's frown. "So you're a medic too?" He asked. "Does that run in the family or something?"

First Aid's frown deepened, to which Dylan couldn't help but wonder the cause. "I wish I could tell you, but I can't," The mech replied honestly. "Ratchet and I grew up not so different from you. Except our creators abandoned us when I was barely sparked," He paused. "Ratchet doesn't talk about them at all, so I barely know anything."

Dylan cringed slightly, so these two were "orphans" too then. He felt bad about that, but he couldn't relate as much. For all he knew they had abandoned them to give them a better life, and it was a totally different situation than his own. "Yeah, parents suck," Dylan decided to reply with. "That's why I never got adopted, who needs people like that in your life?" He lied, keeping up his tough façade as usual.

The way the mech looked at him, Dylan got the feeling he was looking right through him. He hated when adults did that, "that" being looking deeper into his eyes for some hidden truths. It wouldn't matter if they did, it never did for as long as Dylan remembered. Even if they found out what he had gone through, the horrors he had survived, the most it did was fill their hearts, or sparks with pity. And pity was an emotion he wished he could wipe from the face of the planet.

They finally came upon a door, and First Aid let out a loud knock. "Hey Ratch, I've got your new recruit here. His foster creators dropped him off early," He then nodded at Dylan with a smile. "It was nice to meet you kid. Good luck, treat him well, and he'll do the same."

Dylan watched as the mech made his way down the hallway, leaving him standing in front of the door. Sure enough, a minute later, the door opened, and standing there was the huge red and white mech from a few days earlier. "They just can't learn to be on time, can they?" Ratchet snorted, shaking his head. "Well, come on in then. I was just finishing up preparations for today," He explained.

Dylan was quiet a moment, then stepped forward into the office. It was huge, probably one of the biggest offices he'd seen. It was nice, neat, orderly, and filled with tools, and a few hologram pictures of Ratchet and different mechs, First Aid among them. "Wow, you keep a tight ship," Dylan muttered slightly.

"Mmm I don't like a mess," Ratchet told him with a shrug. "Tell me, youngling, you have stayed out of trouble as per our agreement right?" Dylan nodded his head, he hadn't done anything to warrant delinquency since he'd tagged Ratchet, thankfully. "Good, that means I don't have to kick you out. Now listen, we have a few rules we should go over."

Dylan put his hands in his pockets and rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall. To say the least, he never did well with "rules" and he figured whatever the mech had up his sleeve wasn't going to be anything he couldn't ignore. "Alright," He paused a moment. "Hit me with 'em."

"First of all, you can CUT that attitude," Ratchet snapped, a fact which surprised Dylan quite a bit. "Don't forget youngling, I'm doing you a favor. If it weren't for me, you'd be in a nice barred cell in some juvenile detention center," Dylan kept his mouth shut, knowing that the mech was very right. "Now as for the rules. Number one, you never leave the group. Where we go are usually not the best parts of town, and I do not want to be liable for one of you getting hurt."

Dylan held back a snort, as if he was scared of the "bad" parts of town. Who did Ratchet think he was dealing with exactly? "Number two," Ratchet commented without missing a beat. "Treat everyone and everything with respect. Especially you, you're here to avoid juvenile hall. I don't want to see you betraying my trust," He told him bluntly. "And third, and finally. Work hard and make friends. We here treat each other like our own. Don't act like a puissant, and you should be fine."

Dylan tried to hide the smile on his face, since that gave him a little bit of hope. If only because Ratchet said that last part with a bit more kindness. He sighed quietly, and seated himself in a human-sized chair. "Alright," Dylan said. "Mind if I read while we wait?" He asked slipping his backpack off his shoulder. "I have to read this for school."

"A youngling that actually wants to READ to pass the time?" Ratchet asked in surprise. "That's a first."

"It's a good book," Dylan asserted. "To Kill a Mockingbird, I don't suppose you uh... Have read it? I'm sure Autobots don't waste much time with Earth books," He paused. "It's about this guy named Atticus Finch who's defending an African American man in the South, back when we looked at people differently for their skin," He began.

"I'm familiar with the story," Ratchet commented, looking at him skeptically. "He defends a man named Tom Robinson, despite the disapproval of those around him. It's quite an interesting, if not sad story if I do say so myself," He added. "I won't spoil the book for you if you are really interested, however."

Dylan had to admit, he was, even if he wasn't much of a reader. He was more of the casual reader type than anything, enjoying the occasional book but far from a bookworm. But this book had really drawn him in, in the way that a Harry Potter or Percy Jackson book might draw someone in. "I do, actually. So don't spoil it!" Dylan replied. "I uh, I'm a little weird, or at least that's what other kids say. I don't care though, I've always been weird," He added defensively.

"I wouldn't say weird," Ratchet told him honestly. "I would say intelligent. Many younglings your age would use cliff notes or the like. The fact you are reading the book and very interested is outstanding," Dylan looked up at him with a look of pure shock, had Ratchet just complimented him? "Please, go right ahead and do your reading, I have work to do of my own."

Dylan did so, taking his book out and picking up where he had left off. But another part of him was looking, discreetly, over at Ratchet too. Why had he complimented him like that? No one complimented him. No one generally gave a second thought when he did anything. So why him? What made this mech so different that he seemed to be acting not only nice, but friendly? Was it because he knew how it felt to go through what he did? No, no one understood he figured, it wasn't that.

He hadn't even realized how much of the book he'd read until he finished about a half an hour later. Dylan peered up, Ratchet seemed to still not be ready to go meet the others, and in general he was bored stiff now. "Good book, wasn't it?" Ratchet asked to end the silence as Dylan nodded his head silently. "Just don't bother with the sequel that came out a long time ago," He pointed out with a scoff. "Go Set A Watchman appeared to be such a disappointment I never even bothered."

Dylan chewed his lip slightly, he'd never been good with conversation. But he knew leaving the mech hanging would have been rude regardless. "It doesn't... Really seem like the kind of book that needs a sequel anyway," He told him calmly. "Like how I preferred The Adventures of Tom Sawyer to that Huck Finn book," He shrugged his shoulders. "Also Go Set a Watchman is a stupid title."

Ratchet snorted a little, teenager logic did truly amuse him sometimes. He carefully pulled out an Energon Cube from a cupboard, and began to sip before turning to Dylan. "Another interesting book you may enjoy is Of Mice and Men. It's a fair bit darker, which is saying something, but it is again, a story of early American history and how certain... Humans were treated," He then added. "In this case those with disabilities."

"People with disabilities were treated differently?" Dylan asked, a hint of surprise in his voice. "Crazy to think about, really. My best friend in my... Tenth foster home? He was blind," He explained. "And I, uh. Well they say I have a learning disability, NLD I think they call it," He added. "Makes it hard for me to do math, read body language, and social cues. Kinda minor, but it's tough."

Tenth? Had Dylan just commented on having been to TEN foster homes? Ratchet looked like he might be sick at that. That was far too many homes for any one person to have to be moved from, and perhaps there were even more, he guessed. "Yes, well, your species didn't know nearly as much about disabilities as you do now," Ratchet explained. "Even now you're making far more advances in learning about them than you ever did." He paused a moment. "Have you really been in ten foster homes?"

"Fifteen now," Dylan replied nonchalantly. "No one keeps me around for long. No one wants that kind of trouble."

Ratchet was silent at that, but quickly gathered it was time for a change of subject. "You know, for someone who was afraid to be alone with me before," Ratchet began, raising his optics. "You seem to be doing quite well at the moment."

Dylan turned to the door, which Ratchet had kept open since he entered for that exact reason. The boy had come to learn that open doors were a Godsend, as they meant that anything that happened inside could be seen. "You left the door open," Dylan replied honestly.

So whatever happened, happened behind closed doors, literally. Ratchet now was nearly certain about what had happened to the boy, but he hid his tenseness as best he could. He didn't have any real experiences with victims of sexual abuse, not human ones anyway. But the more he heard, the more he seemed to wonder if perhaps Dylan was his first example of meeting one. "Alright, so I'll make a mental note to keep the door open if you're in my office," Dylan barely looked up at that. "But for the moment, I think we should go and meet the rest of your new colleagues. They should be arriving soon, typically the first person arrives early around this time."

As Ratchet crossed the room, Dylan carefully set his book back into his backpack and followed him out. Still curious, at least in the back of his mind, why Ratchet had even shown him a lick of kindness. He'd defaced his alt mode, usually that meant that the person would want nothing to do with him. Yet they had just talked like normal people, and he'd even seemed... Gentle.

Dylan shook his head slightly, he wouldn't fall for this. He didn't even know the mech, and for all he knew, they were just like his father. He'd been a smooth talker, one that knew how to get your trust before he made you do things to him, or, more often than not, he did things to you. Maybe Ratchet was like that too, maybe someday soon, he'd conveniently "forget" to keep the door open.

No, Dylan promised himself, he wouldn't let himself trust this mech. He wouldn't let himself be lied to, or used, or disappointed (if he were to actually be nice and eventually leave him high and dry). Dylan was too smart to do any of that, he told himself that he was too smart to even consider the fact that maybe, just maybe, the mech cared.

...

There were ten kids, ranging from ten to eighteen years old in the group. Dylan figured they went to school in a better part of the city too, because he recognized none of the older kids from his school. Not to mention that, next to them in their new clothes, expensive jeans, and nice shoes, his mostly hand-me-down clothing looked old, and worn out. But none of them offered him any rudeness, even when he barely gave a very nervous greeting to them.

To clean up, they entered the part of Jasper that Dylan knew well. After all, many a time, his art had been featured on at least most of the buildings. It was an old, run-down part of the city that hardly anyone, except a bit of the homeless population occupied anyway. That's what made this part of town such a good target for kids like him to "express themselves" in ways that they saw fit.

That day, however, Dylan was only armed with cleaning supplies, rather than spray paint. And so, he was forced to do the work that Ratchet wanted him to do. Scrubbing away his own art, though there was no way that the mech could have known that it was his. In a way, the fact he was scrubbing his own art off hurt, Dylan thought it was really good. But on the other hand, he knew every scrub he made got him one step closer to finishing this "community service".

Ratchet, of course, oversaw everything. He sometimes stopped to talk to them, and half-way through had even broke them for lunch. Dylan had packed his own sandwich that day, and eaten away from the other kids. Knowing that they'd ask questions, questions he wasn't comfortable answering at the moment, and as a result, he didn't want them around TO ask.

He could feel, even as they got back to work, as they bore into the back of his head. Watching him silently, wondering why he wouldn't even talk to them. But Dylan had his own reasons, especially after fifteen foster homes. Friends were pointless, he'd been in so many schools that he barely remembered who he met in them. The only kids he wasn't afraid to make friends with were other foster kids, because they were, for the most part, in this together, and he knew they understood his mindset.

Other kids, well, just didn't totally understand.

"Alright, younglings, sun's going down!" Dylan heard Ratchet announcing as he had just finished the last of his brilliantly gold and green colored graffiti. "Let's all make our way back to the hospital," He added.

Dylan's whole body ached, and he was exhausted. But pretty much everyone else looked like they were used to these feelings by now. Dylan grimaced, if nothing else, he hoped he wouldn't be around long enough to get used to the pain. "Is he coming back on the bus with us?" A young boy spoke up, pointing at him. "Or is he too good for that too."

"Neil," Ratchet warned. "We've been over that mouth of yours."

The boy, Neil, looked annoyed, but aside from a sharp glare at Dylan, he shrugged. "Sorry, but I didn't like a tagger joining to begin with," He added, calmly. "But for him to completely ignore us all day? Really, the nerve," He added.

Ratchet appeared to be ready to say something, but the boy had already headed towards their waiting bus. He hadn't exactly expected such a hostile reaction, in fact, he wasn't sure what to expect. But to say the least, Dylan already had the feeling he was going to have some trouble with "Neil" coming. "To the bus, all of you," Ratchet nodded the kids up towards the bus, but as Dylan moved, stopped him slightly. "I know what you're doing. And let me be the first to say, that doesn't fly in this group. You have to talk if you're going to-."

"What?" Dylan scoffed. "Make friends? Fit in?" He shook his head. "I won't be in this group, let alone Jasper long enough for it to matter."

And then he was headed off too, leaving a very confused Ratchet. Had it been something he said in his office that caused him to be somewhat-hostile yet again? He doubted it, their conversation had gone well. But a part of him also wondered if Dylan was pushing them all away because he was scared. Scared to get attached, scared to make friends with anyone outside of the world he lived in. And definitely, scared of what Ratchet might do if he did, one way or another.

Inside, Ratchet made note to get on calling Reese, who he still hadn't been able to reach, as soon as possible. Because the sooner he knew what kind of a boy he was dealing with, the better.

...

A/N: Woo, working on these last two chapters was a doozy! I hope you all enjoyed them though! :D