Fire of Youth

Chapter 6

*Note: I know I forgot to have Ratchet and Infernus grab the Forge, but toting one massive object around is easier than toting two. The reason the doc didn't see it is because Infernus "hid" it by phasing it into the floor just before leaving to assault Darkmount, which I forgot to write in.


Ratchet and Infernus watched as the super-hot symbol he had carved cooled to a deep grayish-black shade, their sparks still heavy with grief, yet at the same time they both felt strangely contented in mind. Optimus's body was safely concealed beneath the ground, hidden away and safe from nefarious tampering. Megatron would never think to look for the body of his age old rival here, in the rugged wilds of the planet he detested with a passion. Their old Prime could sleep peacefully now, not having to worry about his empty shell being desecrated or disturbed.

With a soft noise, the Primeling lay down near the simple, symbolically marked gravestone he had just made, his helm resting on the granite boulder. He let his optics half-way close as he listened to the whisper of wind through the trees, the calls of birds, and the very faint rushing of water as it cascaded down a waterfall close by. He desperately wanted to stay here for a while, appreciate the natural beauty of the place. He could understand now why the Prime loved coming here. This place, it acted as a kind of reminder of what he fought for. It was a place to come and clear one's helm, to relax and unwind after a difficult day.

Infernus made his decision then, that he would come here regularly, to appreciate the beauty of the land and to pay his respects.

Idly his helm bobbed up and down slightly in a nod, and his vocalizer emitted a low, pleased rumbling sound. Yes, that sounded perfect. He'd do that.

A gentle wash of warmth told him that Optimus or maybe one of the others was content with this self-imposed policy of remembrance and respect. For all he knew it had been Primus himself who had sent that wash of warmth. He was still coming to terms with the concept of a portion of the deity's very life force being contained within him. He was also getting used to the notion of "Primus" and "Prime" being oddly interchangeable in terms of psyche and spark. They were different, yet also in a sense the same.

Ratchet looked on, blue optics somber and sympathetic. Smokescreen was looking much better emotionally, but he could still sense his sorrow, his reluctance to accept Optimus's death. Yet, as he watched, he distinctly sensed the youngling's field brighten, become stronger. Glyphs for hope and appreciation and respect and strength flooded the Primeling's field like a raging wildfire. He forced himself to his paws, turned to face him. Blue fire burned in his optics, fire fueled by determination and a need for justice rather than by a blind thirst for vengeance. His baby blue wing mesh, too, seemed to brighten.

It took the medic aback somewhat, this sudden emotional turnaround. But it was also a promising sign. He was steadily coming to terms with events, even if deep down he didn't want to accept them. It would take a while he knew, but eventually he would settle into the role he'd been put in, and they would all be there to help him adjust, not to mention Optimus himself was probably helping him through the Matrix along with Primes of the past. He had every reason to believe his old friend had been the one to convince Smokescreen not to give in to the urge to kill Megatron and Starscream when he'd had the two at his mercy.

*Come on. We're done here. We gotta get back to the cavern and get that other thing Optimus told me to filch from the 'Cons vault.* Infernus urged. *I'm not about to let him down by letting the 'Cons snatch it again.*

Ratchet nodded, appreciating the Primeling's sense of responsibility. He had changed from the mischievous, over-eager youth who was constantly getting into trouble that had arrived a few months ago into a young adult who took his tasks and responsibilities seriously. He had matured since gaining the Matrix, grown older in mind. He still had his trademark boundless energy and more than a hint of impatience, but it was more controlled than it had been in the past. It was almost as if he were afraid of showing too much emotion.

But why? There was no danger in showing one's feelings, especially when one was recovering from a recent loss. Or was there a danger brought on by his new form? According to Ultra Magnus's report from the throne room, Smokescreen had behaved like a mech possessed – almost completely taken over by sheer, primal hatred that bordered on outright murderous rage. That had been quite unlike the clever, mischievous, but inherently honest and kind youngling that the medic had come to know. Smokescreen had seemed more than ready to slaughter both Starscream and Megatron without any hesitation. Something (more likely someone) had stopped him, convinced him otherwise, but he had still found that drastic shift in character frankly disturbing.

If he showed too much emotion, as he had at Darkmount, would something...regrettable happen? Would he, in effect, become those emotions, embody them? Was that why he seemed so oddly toned down? Did his bestial form render him emotionally volatile? If so, that seemed almost unfair to the Primeling, a design flaw. The young weren't meant to be dampened in such a manner, especially not the vivacious Smokescreen.

Shaking his helm slightly, he endeavored to push these dark musings from his processor. He could ponder such things at a later date, when there wasn't still an ongoing mission to complete. Smokescreen was right – they couldn't allow Megatron to reacquire whatever it was he'd stolen from the Decepticons. Risking his spark to get it would've been for nothing, then, not to mention that finding the warship now, much less sneaking aboard, would be equally risky, and perhaps far more dangerous.

They'd lost one Prime already. Ratchet was not about to let another one die.

"Rafael? Could you open a groundbridge to the previous set of coordinates? There is one last thing that we need to retrieve from the cavern."

[On it.] His voice was slowly starting to sound less tight and clipped, but no doubt it would take time for it to return entirely to its normal bright, inquisitive, and yet childishly innocent tone that the medic had come to appreciate and, yes, even adore. Out of all three humans, Rafael had seemed to have taken the loss of Optimus the hardest, being much more sensitive than his two older companions.

"Thank you. We'll be back shortly with whatever it is that Smokescreen stole."

He could almost envision a tiny, genuine smile form on the tween's lips as he replied back: [No problem. See you two in a bit. Stay safe.] Then the communication was severed, and moments later a groundbridge swirled open before them, bidding them enter into its turquoise depths.


Returning to the shallow rise in the desert landscape a second time around, Infernus felt far less uncomfortable. His hesitation to enter the cavern, borne of the grim but peaceful sight within, had all but vanished, and he phased through the rise willingly while the amber and white medic waited outside for him.

He let his optics quickly adjust to the gloom, an odd sense of release twinging in his spark. The hidden cavern didn't feel...well, it didn't feel burdened any longer. It was no longer weighed down and made haunting and dreary by the presence of the serenely lifeless form they had so recently laid to rest. To him, it was just a regular – if still somewhat dingy and dreary – underground, desert cavern now. It wasn't...it wasn't dark any more. It felt safe and relatively normal now, though still a bit on the depressing side.

Very quickly he slunk to one side of the arched tunnel that the Prime had met his end in, shivering slightly as a sudden chill nonetheless passed over him when his gaze dropped onto the outcropping of rock where Optimus had so recently lain against. He shook his helm firmly, determinedly. That was all done with now. He was here for another reason, an even more important reason. Not that he hadn't been important, but the future of an entire planet and its race? Now that was important.

He activated the Phase Shifter with a touch of his snout and let his front paws and helm sink below the ground. For a brief moment he panicked when he didn't at once lay hands on what he was looking for, but after a second he felt his forelegs bump into something. Satisfied that it was still there, he reverted out of beast form and plunged his hands in, gripping onto the handle of the Forge and lugging it out of hiding with a faint grunt.

Infernus sat the Forge on it's head and simply looked at it for a minute. Solus really had been a master smith. Her Forge was both aesthetically pleasing and highly functional. The same went for the Star Saber and the other Prime relics. Functional, but with an artist's flair to them. Each was stylistically unique, telling of the femme Prime's creative genius far better than mere words ever could. She truly had been an expert in her particular craft.

'Well, I'm glad someone finally takes notice of all the hard work I did.' noted a familiar female voice, sounding irritated but grateful. He recognized it as the femme Prime who had spoken just before his reformatting – Solus, the Maker.

Infernus managed a slight, wry smile. "You're welcome."

'Use it well, Primeling.'

Nodding and vowing he would, he grabbed the Forge's handle and hefted it over his shoulder, mildly astonished that he was able to perform such a feat. The last time he'd tried to lift the thing it had felt like it weighed a million tons. He'd ended up having to drag it half the way. Now it felt strangely lighter. The logical part of his processor said it was his physical upgrades that made it seem so, as he was now stronger than before, but a deeper part of him thought perhaps it was in part due to his possessing the Matrix now. He felt it was lending him strength. Perhaps it was, perhaps it wasn't. It was just what he felt.

After casting one last look at the cavern's interior, gazing briefly at the spot where one life had ended and another had been forged anew, Infernus dutifully made his way back outside where Ratchet was waiting for him, the fire in his spark returning, not full of rage or anger, but gratitude, respect, and hope.

Optimus's death hadn't been for nothing. He'd complete the task he had started. He had the tool needed to reignite Cybertron, and he would die before Megatron got his hands on it again. No way in the Pit would he take it from him, otherwise the Prime really would have died for nothing.

'Smokescreen, no death is ever truly in vain. Even if you had not succeeded in taking the Forge from Darkmount, I would have been content that the members of my team and our allies had survived the destruction of Jasper and Omega One. My main focus was keeping all of you alive, and I fulfilled it before passing on. That is not dying for nothing. One goal may be lost, but another accomplished. Remember that.'

He would.


Infernus blinked as the sun's light shone directly into his optics. It took a moment for them to adjust to the brightness after having just been underground, away from the light of day. For the first time in his life he found himself dying to get up in the air and enjoy the light and the winds roaring high above, found himself detesting the closed, cramped conditions of being below ground. He could only assume that this was due to his new Predacon form and new coding.

When they did finally adjust, his first sight was Ratchet staring at him, mouth slightly agape and optics round in shock. Uneasily he shifted from pede to pede, taking a wary step back as though such an act might remove the stunned expression on the medic's face. He felt no surprise when it, shockingly, didn't do a thing. Ratchet just kept on silently gawking at him, not quite believing what he was seeing, optics darting from his faceplates to that of the glittering golden hammer held over his shoulder. Infernus found he could do little except stand there under such startled scrutiny.

"You...He asked you...The Forge of Solus Prime?" Ratchet stammered at long last. "That is what he asked you to retrieve?"

The Primeling nodded, still feeling uneasy. If Ratchet was reacting like this to the sight of relic, how might the others react? Would they...would they be mad at him? Should he even return to the hangar with the Forge, even though he had promised he would come back with the item? What if they yelled at him? What if they called him incompetent? Would they be upset that he hadn't used the Forge to save Optimus? His thoughts started spiraling down a negative path then, envisioning all the worst possible outcomes of his arrival back to the hangar with the powerful relic.

'Hey, hey, come on now. No negative thoughts, kid. They won't yell at ya if ya just tell 'em what happened. They already know ya did everything you could for him, obeyed his words to the last. They'll admire that.'

But...

'No. Negative. Thoughts. Repeat that.'

Mentally a sighed rather petulantly, repeating the Shifter Prime's little mantra meant to keep his thoughts and mood out of the emotional abyss he was subconsciously trying to dig for himself. Amalgamous, satisfied that the Primeling's depression had been staved off for the time being, grunted his approval, letting a soft pulse of brotherly kindness and affection flicker over Infernus's spark, soothing him and encouraging him at the same time. He could almost imagine the friendly Shifter smiling, laying an arm over his shoulder, and playfully nudging him in the side.

Slagging Pit-fire would he owe this Prime so many favors. He had just helped dispel his uncertainty with three simple little words. He had to go back. He'd given his word that he would. Maybe they'd be upset at him, but then again maybe they wouldn't. He realized it was best to give the benefit of the doubt in such a situation.

'Thanks.'

Amalgamous chuckled lightly: 'Any time, kid. Any time. Ya ever need someone to drag your sorry tailpipe out of the dumps, just ask me. Least I can do for ya, eh?'

A small ghost of a smile formed and dissipated on his lip-plates, though Ratchet never saw it. Evidently Amalgamous saw more than a bit of himself in him and wanted to nurture his good traits, boost his self-esteem, keep him upbeat and cheerful; or perhaps he simply felt obligated to help him since he wielded his signature weapon. It seemed to be a case of master and student between them. At least, that was what it was beginning to seem like, though admittedly Amalgamous was pretty laid back in terms of being a mentor to him, behaving more like an older brother than an authority figure. It was a welcome change of pace, if a bit on the odd side.

'Hey, what can I say? I'm the joker of the bunch. Taking something seriously? Actually acting like a teacher? Pfft. Yeah. That'll be the day. Just remember: I'm always right here if ya ever need me, kid. The others are, too. S'what we're here for. Advice. Help. That sorta thing.'

Another smile flickered in an out of existence. This one, however, seemed a bit more...pained than the one before it.

"Smokescreen?"

The Primeling jolted out of his directed thoughts as though he'd been shot. "Huh? Wha?"

"...Are you alright?" asked the medic curiously, a glimmer of concern in his optics, helm tilting a little to the side as he regarded him. He took a tentative step towards him, glyphs for worry dancing in his field. "You looked like you were lost in a daydream, and not a very good one towards the end."

He shook his helm: "Nothing. I'm fine. Just...just talking. To them."

Ratchet nodded, his expression comprehending and sympathetic even though his spark wrenched in fresh grief. He knew thanks to his past experiences with Optimus that the Matrix was a conduit to the life forces of those had born it before the current user. But it was also in the most basic sense an energy capsule. In both a literal and metaphorically symbolic sense, the Primes of the past resided within the device, held in a semblance of a pocket dimension. And now – now his old friend was one of them, living on inside the sacred object, still with his team, his family, and yet not so. He was there with them, but also not there.

The medic, so absorbed in his thoughts, jumped slightly when he felt a hand laid on his arm. He looked up a few degrees and felt his spark spasm in utter emotional agony, for Infernus loomed over him, blue optics apologetic and kind, a tiny smile of sympathy forming on his lip-plates. Could...could it really be...Was it genuinely possible that..?

Then he heard a voice, an achingly familiar voice, rumble like gentle thunder in his mind:

'Keep them safe for me, old friend. A Prime protects, but then, so does a medic. Keep them strong. Do not them die. One lost life is enough. I would rather not be seeing any of them any time soon, no matter how much I yearn to see them again.'

Through his aching spark and a small rivulet of coolant-laced tears, Ratchet solemnly swore on his spark that he would do everything in his power to keep them all alive and well, no matter if it was the last thing he ever did. But oh, just hear to hear his voice again! It did more to quell the grief than the burial had. It affirmed his belief that Optimus was still there, watching over them just as he had in life. He was not truly dead, not truly gone, merely elsewhere, living on within the Matrix, protected by the ancient entity within and by the Primeling who held the sacred device in his spark chamber.

Infernus removed his hand then, his minuscule smile remaining, even if now it appeared horribly pained. Did he regret letting the Prime speak through him? Or was it the fact that the medic, renowned throughout Autobot forces as having a spark of iron, had actually shown emotional weakness in front of him, had permitted tears of pain and happiness to trickle out of hiding on hearing that trade-mark baritone voice one last time?

"Come on. Let's get back to the others." suggested the Primeling, his voice nothing more than a murmur.

He then raised a hand to the side of his helm, switching on his comm. link: "Raf? 'Bridge us home. Got what we needed."

[Okay. One sec.] A short pause. [Alright. One groundbridge incoming.]

Infernus's smile became less pained then, more genuine and a bit more laid back. "Thanks."

Less than a second later the requested portal swirled open, and the two mechs quickly vanished into it.


The instant he stepped back into the hangar the Primeling experienced a bad case of déjà vu. Everyone inside was staring at him as though stunned, optics wide as they fell on the massive golden hammer he toted over one shoulder. Just as before, he unconsciously took a wary step back, fearing a vicious verbal backlash from those gathered. Every circuit in his body was screaming at him to drop the Forge and just run for cover, and he did perform the former impulse without even being aware of the act.

He knew. He knew from those looks that they would be angry with him for not using it to save Optimus. Getting them all to accept him had been for nothing.

'Oi! What did I just tell ya, kid?' Amalgamous reminded him tersely. Infernus could almost imagine him frowning a little at his relapse into fear and doubt.

'Smokescreen, they are not angry with you. Look at their expressions. There is no anger there, no hatred. They are confused, taken aback, but not upset with you. They simply did not expect this particular item to be the one Optimus asked you to retrieve. I would imagine they had been expecting a weapon and not this.' said Alpha Trion gently.

At that he took a hesitant step back into his former spot. The Forge sat, glittering, at his pedes. He took note of Arcee's bluish-pink gaze being glued to the great golden hammer, her expression turning from stunned to pained beyond words. He wanted to go over and apologize to her so badly, tell her he was sorry for letting the Prime slip away, wanted to beg forgiveness for usurping his place as head of the team. She had been one of the first to join his little hand-picked team of warriors, and losing him was just as painful as losing her two former partners. In a sense, Optimus had been a partner to her. He had helped her move past the anger and grief her two losses had caused her.

He took one step forward, intent on doing just that – helping her, and more importantly, apologizing to her.

And he instantly regretted it.

Arcee's expression turned so wrathful so quickly that it was frankly disturbing. She howled in rage and flew at him, arm blades retracting, swiping and slashing blindly at him. Anger, pain, hatred, loathing, grief, all fueled her savage strikes, her optics burning as a few coolant-laced tears streamed down her faceplates.

"Arcee! Stop!" Jack cried, frightened and alarmed at his partner's rage-induced attack on the Primeling, but his cry fell on deaf audials. She was too consumed with her own grief and rage to hear him. The oldest teen felt this attack was entirely uncalled for. Smokescreen had done absolutely nothing, and now Arcee was trying to rip him to shreds.

Raf and Miko were equally scared, and they also cried out for the femme to halt her strikes, horror in their eyes as they watched, helpless to stop the femme.

Wheeljack tried to spring in and forcibly pull her away, but Bulkhead held him back. This was not their fight. This was something these two had to settle between themselves, with no outside intervention. This was something Arcee herself had to settle, to come to terms with.

"Why didn't you save him?! Why?!" Arcee screamed, her fury and pain lending strength to her blows.

But not once did Infernus strike back. He simply moved around her brutal attacks, waiting, waiting for an opportunity to grab her and placate her. Arcee wasn't dangerous, she was just volatile right now, and that volatility could be toned down with the right move. She just needed someone right now, and perhaps a means of physically venting her emotions. It wasn't ideal, but he'd let her blow off some steam on him until she was worn down enough that he could make a move without fear of an injury.

"Because he told me not to." replied Infernus, voice level but quavering. "He told me it would've been a waste."

"A waste?! A WASTE?!" howled the femme. "How would saving Optimus's life been a waste?!"

He continued to dodge and avoid her. However, one strike soon found its mark. A vicious upper-cut slash left a small cut on the Primeling's cheek that began oozing still-warm Energon. He ignored the slight stinging of air seeping into the wound and kept up the game of keep away. It wasn't a massive cut, barely an inch or so long and a few centimeters wide, and would in all likelihood heal on its own given enough time.

But it was enough. Wounding him jarred her out of her wrath as though she'd been struck by lightning. She drew back, optics widening, aghast at what she had just done. She had let her anger speak physically. She had just hurt the young Prime, the youngling that Optimus had selected to stand in his place. In her mind she had just attacked, just wounded, Optimus Prime himself. How could she have just done such a thing? How could she have let her grief and pain blind her so completely?

Arcee's shock quickly gave way to confusion when Infernus approached her, and confusion gave way to spark-felt thanks and relief when, rather than reprimand her or be mad with her, embraced her, wrapped his arms around her in the same manner a Guardian would wrap them around a frightened or upset sparkling. She hadn't even realized her frame had been imperceptibly trembling, but having him hold her helped dispel it.

Then he simply let her go.

"I'm sorry." she rasped. "I-I didn't mean – A-Are you okay?"

Infernus snorted, waving aside her concern: "It's just a scratch. I'm okay. Seriously. No biggie. Remember, I got smacked with Megatron's Dark Star Saber and flung into a slagging pyramid. This? This little thing?" He pointed at the cut, smirking. "This is nothing. 'Tis but a scratch!' and all that scrap."

He was pleased to see her crack a wry grin at the Monty Python reference. She gave him a light shove towards the old medic standing a few dozen paces away from them, saying he should have it looked at anyways no matter if he thought that. He had an injury, he needed to have it tended to. That was what Ratchet was there for – aside from being wordy, cantankerous, and generally an all around pain the aft some days.

"I'm standing right here. I can hear you, you know." Ratchet frowned, planting his hands on his hips and looking incredibly insulted. Yet despite his seeming to take offense at her words, there was a playful little smirk ghosting in an out on his faceplates.

Infernus comically groaned and rolled his optics, but went over to him regardless. Ratchet was quick to tend to the small cut on his cheek, using a large piece of cloth coated in some wet substance that stung harshly to clean it, and then using an fine-tipped arc welder to seal the injury up. Once done, he was released from the medic's mercies with the warning not to transform for an hour or so to let the weld set. That meant no flying for a while, did he understand?

"Yeah, yeah. I get it. No frolicking up in the air for an hour. Gotcha. Um...I'm still allowed to go outside though, right?" asked the Primeling a bit hesitantly. "'Cause there's...someone I kinda need to find out in there in the compound. I mean, that's okay, right? No flying involved. Also, I kinda wanna check on the others since they aren't back yet."

Ratchet waved him away with an air that at first seemed surprisingly annoyed. "Fine, fine. Get out of here before I remove your T-Cog to make sure you don't try anything foolish." But then he cast a sideways glance at the Primeling and he saw that he was doing nothing more than screwing with him.

"Slagger." Infernus smirked. Then he turned to leave, and was soon out in the hot desert sun once again.


Author's Note: Argh! This took forever to get done because of college stuffs! But here it is!

*Note 1: Tensions are a bit high with Arcee at the moment. Losing Optimus was like losing Cliffjumper and Tailgate all over again. All that pent up grief and remorse and yes, anger, were bound to implode at some point. She was the fuse and powder keg, seeing the Forge in Infernus's hands was the igniter.