A/N: Thanks again to my awesome beta, TFPKOFANGIRL, for her work on this chapter as always!

...

CHAPTER 9
Testing

Sitting in a room, and waiting for Ratchet's inspection was actually nerve-wracking. He'd never liked visiting the doctor, which he guessed was ironic now that he lived with one. So even with the idea that Ratchet might go easy on him, it did make him nervous. "Alright," Ratchet announced as he turned to Dylan. "I take it you have a mild case of anxiety in the doctor's office," He explained.

"What makes you say that?" Dylan crossed his arms, trying to look unphased.

Ratchet gave an amused smirk that told Dylan he was indeed onto him. His guardian crossed over, and looked at Dylan with as soft of optics as he could. It wasn't normal for him to do that, but this was his ward, his foster son, and the last thing he wanted was to make him fear him. "I felt a spike in your stress levels, that's how," Ratchet explained. "But boy, I am going to be gentle so don't worry. It's only going to be a few scans, and a through inspection of your physical condition," He added.

That brought a new fear to Dylan - his scars. What would Ratchet think if he saw those? Maybe he wouldn't be surprised, not all homes in foster care were good after all. But if he saw just how far back some of them dated, back to before his foster care days... "By physical... Do you mean, my clothes?"

Ratchet figured that was coming, taking a deep breath. He shook his head, knowing that of course, that wouldn't be a part of it. But any child with Dylan's past was bound to ask that question anyway. "No of course not. I can tell from my scans if there's anything of concern there. And that would be anything fresh," He explained. "But reflexes and all will be the same. Now, relax, and stay still will you? I don't want to be doing this all day," He added.

Dylan groaned, but sat there, allowing the scans to run over him. The only point in that in which he didn't like it was when Ratchet ran a thumb carefully along his arm to check something. He inched away slightly, and at this point, Ratchet himself groaned. "Dylan, I know you don't like this. But bare with me," Ratchet told him sternly. "I am not going to hurt you, but I will strap you down if you keep doing this," He added.

That froze Dylan right there and then, the boy deciding he'd rather not have that happen. The next thing he knew, his reflexes were being tested, by far the worst thing that Dylan had experienced. Sure it only was a gentle tap to each knee, but he hated it. Lucky for him, after that, it was easy, but Ratchet was far from done yet. "Alright, so here's where you're going to have to be honest about me," Ratchet explained. "Did you contract anything... Unsavory from your father?"

"Oh my God, you did not just ask me that!"

"Co-operate," Ratchet replied bluntly. "I see what your records say but I want to be sure."

"No."

Ratchet sighed, with the attitude he was giving he could already tell this was going to be the longest part of this whole thing. He simply checked the answer off as correct on the data pad. "It says here that in your foster home about four years ago... You received a beating which put you in the hospital," He explained. "That's the last reported abuse case, but I see fresher spots..."

Dylan swallowed, at least he hadn't asked about the old ones. "I'm sure you can tell they're a year old. Before I came here I was with a drunken bastard," Dylan shrugged his shoulders slightly. "It's nothing, I haven't been hit since then. But you gotta know that not every home is great."

Ratchet tried to push back the thought that Dylan had gone through abuse in more homes. Though he knew in fifteen homes there was no way he had avoided it after all. "I'm ordering your medication that you take. The fact you have ADHD is news to me though," Dylan shrugged, but Ratchet knew that much was true. "Adderal, right?" Dylan nodded. "Now, you're not doing any drugs or drinking at the moment, are you?"

Dylan gaped at Ratchet, even if he knew it was an honest question he didn't like being asked. Though if he were going to be honest, he had once gotten into a foster father's beer stash. But thankfully, that had been once. "No, I'd rather die," Dylan replied. "I hate beer, I tried it once when one of my foster parents wasn't looking. And drugs? Crap rots your brain cells," He added.

Ratchet couldn't help but smirk at that, the boy really was smart for his age. Unlike some in his situation who might turn to alcohol and drugs, he was quick to rebuff them. "Well then, that gives me a lot of relief," Ratchet replied. "Now there's one other thing I want a look at. And I want to see it up close, because I want to be sure what it is."

Dylan knew instantly what Ratchet meant. "No! Please..."

"Dylan, I promise not to probe anywhere else."

"I said NO! You can't look at it you big tin can!"

Ratchet gawked slightly, looking at Dylan in surprise. But he quickly gained his composure, he was definitely not going to let Dylan talk to him that way. "Dylan Elijah Logan, you CANNOT talk to me that way," Ratchet roared. "I'm doing this to be sure it is nothing to worry about. It's something older, and if it's still showing up, I want to make sure it's nothing to worry about," He added. "Now lift up your shirt!"

Dylan felt tears force themselves to the surface, pain filling his eyes. He didn't want to do this as he wrapped his arms around his body. "Please Ratchet. You'll never look at me the same way again," Dylan shook his head. "PLEASE."

However, now more worried than ever, Ratchet approached. He carefully used his finger to push his t-shirt up a bit, and what he saw disturbed him. He'd expected the scars, both fresher ones, and much older, as he knew that some homes had been abusive. He'd mentally prepared himself for the possibility as disgusting and vile as it was. But it was what he hadn't expected that disgusted him the most.

A brand.

Dylan had been branded with something hot, an iron more than likely, leaving a permanent, prominent scar. The three simple letters?: "EKL", Eugene Keaton Logan. Ratchet tried not to heave, letting the shirt fall down for a moment. How could the courts overlook that and let him get a light sentence? Ratchet knew the excuses, if Dylan hadn't told them that he'd done it, what proof did they have? If Dylan hadn't reported physical, as well as sexual abuse from his father, how could they know his father did it? Initials or not.

Dylan looked like he was preparing for Ratchet to yell at him, to scream, or kick him out. But instead, Ratchet crouched low, and gently stroked Dylan's back. The boy jumped a moment, but seemed to actually stay still at the touch, at the comfort. His eyes continued to drip with tears as Ratchet quietly took a gentle tone. "I'm sorry," He told him. "That was unprofessional of me. But I was only concerned," Dylan shook a little. "I will never do that again."

Dylan looked up at him, surprised at the apology, and the kind words. The way he rubbed his back in a soothing manner, and how he never even brought the brand up. Rubbing his tears off on his arms, he nodded his head slowly. "It's okay..." He paused. "I think."

It was not to his surprise when Ratchet ended the session early.

...

Dylan didn't do the volunteering gig that day, instead opting to spend his time in Ratchet's office. Clearly, the moment that he and Ratchet had shared, as well as the revelation, had both shaken and confused him. For that reason, Ratchet didn't bother him, opting to give him time alone with his thoughts and to compose himself. They rode home in silence as well, and Ratchet was only mildly surprised when the boy went straight to his room. Ratchet was wondering to himself if that was it, if Dylan would never even put a small amount of faith in him at all anymore.

When Dylan finally came out of his bedroom, and acknowledged Ratchet, the mech was surprised at what he said. "He gave that to me a little before I got taken away," Ratchet jumped out of his plating, staring at Dylan who stood in the doorway of his office at home. "I can't tell you a lot, it's too hard. But one night I fought him... Or as well as a five year old could," He explained. "He said it was to remind me who I belonged to."

Ratchet cringed, Dylan didn't belong to anyone, at least in that way. He was not an animal, he was a sentient being, a child who should be treated as such, rather than property. Ratchet looked at his foster son with as much calm as he could muster, after all, he was angry, or rather, annoyed, at what this child had gone through. "Primus, Dylan," Ratchet managed. "And you never told a soul?" Dylan shook his head. "And now since charges of physical abuse were "proved wrong" you've got that double indemnity slag," He growled.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I'd probably be just as afraid at five years old," Ratchet commented. "Never be sorry for what happened. Or for telling me. If anything, I should apologize to you for forcing you to let me see, and I am," He shook his head. "I didn't know what I'd find on your back. But I was only scared for you, I promise," He added.

Dylan looked down, rubbing the temples of his forehead gently. "I know, at least I figured it out," Dylan shook his head. "It's just... Everyone else who's seen it immediately just runs in the other direction. I thought, I figured that was it, you wouldn't want someone like that," He grunted. "I tried to avoid a mess."

Ratchet frowned, Dylan really hadn't found any understanding, had he? And perhaps, his slightly hard nature in the doctor's office hadn't helped. But he did have a rough-around-the-edges attitude that wasn't going away, no matter how hard he tried. "I might lose my temper sometimes, Dylan," He explained. "But that's because it's just... My nature. Not because you're necessarily pushing my limits," He explained. "I've always had a problem with patience when I'm rushed. Including during check-ups," He admitted.

Dylan made a mental note to remember that about Ratchet, so that he didn't cross over the line. Or maybe he wanted to, he thought. After all, he still didn't quite know just how far Ratchet could be pushed quite yet. But that would have to come later, rather than the first week. "Alright," Dylan finally spoke up. "Listen, Ratchet. I just, if this is going to work I need you to understand... There are things I don't want you to know and see for a reason," He explained. "I kept secrets because... Well, there are reasons I move from home-to-home. I have a lot of stories like that... Stories that parents don't know how to handle."

"I just want you to be aware of the fact that you can tell me anything."

Dylan closed his eyes, shaking his head a bit. "You say that because up until a few hours ago... You thought all my dad did was... Well, y'know," Dylan was so tired of using that word at the moment. "You have no idea what I went through in that house... You can't even begin to imagine it," He told him honestly.

Ratchet understood now, he understood very well. He'd been going about this the wrong way by even trying to pry into his past in that way. Dylan had to come to him, if he ever did. And as hard as that was, especially seeing Dylan in so much pain, he had to do it. "You're right," Ratchet nodded his head. "From now on I won't pry like that again," And then he added with as much firmness as he could muster. "But just know, I am here if and when you want to speak. And do know that I'm not here just to give you a roof over your head."

Dylan paused a moment, having not even considered it, but had Ratchet intended on this? Come to think of it, he had gotten him overnight, and it seemed like... "You wanted a kid didn't you? From the start?" Ratchet's optics widened, stunned that he would have caught on. "Most people who want to adopt... Might say the same thing. I figured you were okay with fostering me, but is that actually what you want your endgame to be? Adoption?"

Ratchet didn't know how to respond, not even a little. Though he supposed he should have seen this coming, maybe because of all the false promises he'd made. But he didn't want to get the boy's hopes up either. For all he knew, they'd end up not connecting at the end of the day. He did want to keep Dylan here, and he wasn't giving up on him, that much he promised. But that could mean a number of things after more time had passed for them.

"I do want a family, yes," Ratchet replied. "I think it's best we leave the "a" word out until more time has passed," He watched Dylan let out a sigh of relief, probably thankful not to have another promise that could be broken. "But if things continue the way they are? Adoption or not, I'd like you to be a part of it, if you decide it's what you want as well," He told him honestly.

That much he was certain of, after all. He liked Dylan, he was a boy with a rough past, but he needed a chance. A chance that in general not many people had given him. He took a deep breath, and replied honestly. "You should have looked somewhere else. Because what you know barely scratches the surface," Dylan replied honestly. "A lot more things happened before I went into care than things that happened while in care," He explained, his voice quiet. "Trust me."

Ratchet's spark twisted in disgust at the thought. But he didn't once waver, in fact, in a way, he wanted to help him more than ever. So many would push away a human like this, a young boy who had been through hell. While in his optics, the way he was still standing, considering all of this, made him one of the bravest young humans he'd met. But he also knew they needed a change of subject, something to get Dylan out of his "dark place" as Ratchet was dubbing it.

"Well then," Ratchet commented. "If our chat's over, I was thinking we could order in a pizza for you tonight. Then we can pull up a movie and watch if you'd like," He added.

Dylan looked as if he was surprised that his final comment hadn't scared Ratchet right off. But Ratchet didn't even waver in showing the boy that it didn't matter. That he mattered more than whatever past he'd gone through. And maybe, just maybe, after his reactions, he might start to trust him a little more. "Alright," Dylan commented. "I like sausages on my pizza, and I'll watch anything but horror movies. They give me too many nightmares," He admitted.

"That sounds good," Ratchet nodded as Dylan started back towards his room. "Dylan?" The boy stopped. "No matter what you tell me... Or how bad you think it may be. I meant what I said," He explained. "The only reason you'll leave my home is if you want to, no other reason."

For once, Dylan was starting to believe that was true.

...

Dylan wasn't sure what to make of that entire day. His mind trying to comprehend it even after the weekend had come around. By that time, his room was finally ready after the two other days he had spent doing his usual work with Ratchet's group. And to say the least, it was the closest thing to a REAL bedroom he'd ever had. It was big, and spacious, with soft blue walls and a typical metal floor. His bed was bigger, with the softest mattress, blue sheets, and white blankets he'd ever felt.

The rest of the room consisted of his regular furniture, art supplies, and a newfound desk where Ratchet had left a laptop to do his schoolwork on. Dylan had tried to convince Ratchet to let him have a television in his new room. But Ratchet knew better than to do that, as he knew by now how he procrastinated on homework. Rather opting for a large bookshelf where he could keep his books to continue reading. He was also thankful to find that the only window was too high for a human to climb in, and far from his bed, as Ratchet wanted him to feel safe.

The only non-plus he saw was there were two doors into his bedroom now. Considering this one was big enough for Ratchet to move his real form inside, after all, it did make him nervous. But Ratchet promised him that he had installed sensors to inform him if anyone other than Dylan entered the room. As well as given him a pad which controlled the lock on the Cybertronian-sized door, if any threat from a Decepticon came.

Dylan had to admit, he liked his new room, and what it signified. The fact that, at least for now, Ratchet was not going to desert him. And the fact he had taken the time to let him help in collecting this stuff made him feel a sense of individuality too. He sighed, leaning against the pillows that night, he couldn't believe he was thinking it, but the more time he spent with the mech, the more he was liking it there.

And perhaps, that strange sensation was why he laid there now, relaxing in his bed. He knew he should have been asleep by now, but for the moment, it didn't hurt him to lay awake. His mind thought over everything, rubbing the back of his head as he finally felt the desire to get out of bed. By now, Ratchet was in recharge, so he could simply walk into the living room and take a seat. Thinking things over yet again, but now, sitting up on one of the human sized chairs Ratchet had gotten, and more awake, he felt as though he could think things over more fully.

Not for the first time, Dylan felt like running away, from Ratchet, from the house, from everything. He wasn't used to this kind of treatment, this feeling of being treated like he was anything more than a piece of crap. He was scared, and not in the usual way, not the type of fear he was used to. But rather afraid of what all of this might mean for him. Would he really become part of Ratchet's family? Originally, that had seemed like wishful thinking, becoming part of any family. But then their talk had happened, and he had seemed so, well, serious.

He leaned back slightly, trying to keep himself calm as he thought about all of this. Why did Ratchet look at him with such softness? How could anyone look at him and see anything but a damaged kid who was doomed for a dark future? After a long time of thinking on it, Dylan made his choice on the matter. Or so he though, at least.

Sneaking out of the home with only a small backpack of things was easy. Ratchet's room was so far from the entry to his house that Dylan figured slipping away would be rather simple. Sure, Ratchet would probably be upset in the morning, but eventually he'd get over it. Probably even find another kid who, in Dylan's opinion, would better deserve the compassion that he was showing him. So he simply did it, he sneaked right out the front door and made his way into the night.

He'd done it a few times in other, bad foster homes. But this was the first time that Dylan felt bad about it, considering it wasn't a bad home. It was actually the opposite, and in general Dylan for the first time wasn't sure if he was doing the right thing. None-the-less, he traversed the streets of Ratchet's side of the city, which seemed a lot more intimidating in the dark, given its tall skyscrapers, and seemingly endless streets.

About an hour after starting off, however, Dylan began to really regret his decision. He'd been trying to find his way back to the part of town he knew, but he found himself cold, alone, lost, and maybe even a little scared. He could always go rogue here, he figured, take to the streets, be his own man. But another part of him knew that no matter how tough he presented himself to be he'd never able to survive on the streets.

But his only option, going back to Ratchet's home, had probably been lost about an hour ago. And so he stopped, thinking through what to do next. Did he just bring out his cell phone and call Ratchet? And if he did, what did he say? That he was scared? That he had run away due to a mix of emotions? He closed his eyes tightly, smacking himself in the head slightly with his open palm. He'd really screwed up now, no matter what he did this time, Ratchet was going to kick him out.

And then, a pair of headlights shone near him, making Dylan jump. "Dylan?" Dylan turned his head, watching as a familiar yellow and black car drove up to him. "Oh thank Primus! Slaggit kid, we've been looking for you everywhere," Dylan blinked a little. "I got a call from Ratchet on my patrol, screaming at me that you were gone. What the frag were you thinking making a run for it at this time of night?"

Dylan crossed his arms defiantly, he didn't like the tone that Bumblebee was taking with him. But inside, he also couldn't believe Ratchet had been awake enough to worry about him. How long had he known he'd been gone? How long had he been panicking? "I was fine," Dylan told the young mech. "Really, nothing happened."

"Then get in so I can make sure nothing does," Bumblebee popped open his door, beckoning him inside. "Ratchet is worried sick, and like it or not something could happen to you out here. So if you even think of running, we'll just move onto doing this the hard way," He explained.

"Yeah, yeah," Dylan threw his hands up. "Save me the third degree."

He was almost certain that Bumblebee continued to explain things to him as he got inside. But Dylan only half-paid attention, given he had heard it all before. He only came back "down to Earth" when they pulled up to Ratchet's house, and of course, his guardian was waiting for him. "I've got one tired perp for you," Bumblebee commented as Dylan stepped out, transforming behind him. "Lucky for him I found him before trouble did," He added.

"Where the pit have you been!?" Ratchet's voice was loud and angry. "Do you have any idea how much you scared me? I get up for my midnight ration and you're gone!" Dylan backed up slightly, he had never heard Ratchet so scared, and he felt his fear slowly growing. "If anything had happened to you..."

"I'm sorry, I went for some fresh air and got lost."

"With your backpack? Yeah, I really believe that," Ratchet grunted. "Thank you for finding and bringing him home, Bumblebee. I promise we will not be making this a continuing occurrence," He added. "Right Dylan?"

But when Ratchet looked at him this time, it wasn't anger, it was hope. And at that point, Dylan could tell that despite his anger, Ratchet really had been worried. He kicked up a rock on the sidewalk, and tried to look like he didn't care. After all, this was his way of testing Ratchet now. A test to see if his indifference would mean he was leaving tonight. Clearly, the act of running away wouldn't, even when it hadn't been a test it had answered a question.

"Whatever," Dylan shrugged. "Maybe if you don't want to risk the trouble, you can just send me back to social services."

Ratchet looked down at Dylan with a look that made him think that was it. This was Ratchet's limit, and it was better that he learned it now. "No, you won't be going back. Because the next time you do this? You won't be seeing the outside of our house for a week," Ratchet commented. "Right now, I'll take this as a slip-up. But the next time, I'll go out and haul your aft back here myself."

"And trust me, Dylan, you don't want that," Bumblebee shuddered. "If you think Ratchet's angry now. Wooo boy, just wait until you see him when he's the one hunting you down."

Dylan blinked, that was it? Ratchet wasn't going to threaten to kick him out? He would come looking for him himself? The boy seemed to loosen a bit, and realize he may have given Ratchet too little credit. "Yeah, alright, I'm sorry," Dylan told him honestly. "And I'm sorry for making you go out," He added. "I'll go to my room, since I know that's coming too," He added.

"Good," Ratchet added bluntly. "Get some good rest, because this conversation isn't over, young man," Dylan turned his head slightly. "We're going to have a nice, long chat about trust," Dylan felt his eyes lower to the ground. "But I will remind you of my promise, youngling. So don't even think of a "just send me back" retort. Unless you really want it," He added.

Dylan didn't reply to that, he simply made his way towards the human door. But as he did, he glanced back at Ratchet silently as he and Bumblebee talked. And ever so slowly, a smile that neither could see crossed his features. If he could handle this so well, then maybe, just maybe... He could be what Dylan needed, in time.

...

A/N: Woo, this was a hard chapter to get through. Given it was an extremely important chapter and step towards Dylan trusting Ratchet. :) I hope you all enjoyed!