Fire of Youth
Chapter 7
*Note to Kaleia: Is there a glitch with your account, because I can't seem to use pm'ing to talk to you? I mean, it's acting like you're posting as a guest, but you're not since you have an account name. What's up with that? Is there maybe an easier way to talk to you than posting these notes on my chapters, seeing as they take quite a while to write?
*Secondary note: You're forgiven for the yelling, but don't be too harsh on Arcee. She's more a temperamental mother than an angry psychopath. And Infernus, as you well know, would never lift a digit to harm her even if she seemed like she wanted to rend him limb from limb. But yeah, a little cut like that? After getting pounded into an Earth tomb by Megatron by a sword straight from Hell? Yeah. He's bound to dismiss it as inconsequential and joke about it afterwards. He's tough like that. :3
*Note to HardyGal: Glad you enjoy! I read a few of those fics and eh. There was no real effort put into them. I put effort into everything I do. You probably noticed ;)
"Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength."
-Unknown
Outside, the somber grey clouds that overcast the sky had finally been burned away by the light of the sun. The sky above was now a bright, crystal blue and the sun was a brilliant, shinning gold that bathed the ground, turning the dusty desert floor into a carpet of blazing amber-y, copper colors that made one's eyes or optics burn if looked at for too long. There were a few wispy cirrus clouds and a sparse number of short, spindly trees offering shade, but not enough to matter significantly.
Infernus, as such, wisely kept his optics narrow to prevent too much of the light from getting in and searing the sensitive optical wiring as he meandered towards the military barracks in the near distance. Ratchet may have told him he was not allowed to transform for a while, but that wouldn't keep him from tracking down Daily and offering his sincerest thanks to the friendly soldier. If he hadn't stumbled across him the night before, convinced him to go in and talk to the others...
He shook his helm. He wouldn't dwell on those very possible and severely dark outcomes. They hadn't happened thanks in no small part to Daily's timely intervention and...Optimus, too. Unconsciously he massaged his arms as though suffering a chill, a fresh twinge of grief lacing through his spark. Infernus owed just as much to the Prime for simply being there for him, pretty much holding his hand throughout the process, reassuring his doubts and offering advice and hope when he felt so clueless and without hope.
'Hey, hey. Come on. Don't go back under, a'ight? I'll repeat myself as many times as I slagging have to till ya get the message, ya hear? No. Negative. Thoughts. Do I make myself clear? Negativity's a no-no, kid.'
'Do not make your step forward be for nothing by taking two steps back. Melancholy is an easy trap for a Prime to fall into.' murmured Alpha Trion.
Infernus managed a small but sad smile at the tweaked Skyrim quote, made by Paarthurnax to the player after their defeat of the evil dragon Alduin. The old, silvery-hued dovah had been woeful that his former brother was gone, in effect killed by his own arrogance, vanity, and greed. He had watched Miko and Jack play around on the game on more than one occasion, and some of the quotes had just stuck with him due to how deep and fitting and, well, accurate they were. Not all choices, even if they were the right ones in the end, resulted in everyone being happy and satisfied. The right choices were not always the easiest for those with consciences, and they left deep emotional scars that never completely healed.
He sighed softly. How true that was. How very, very true that was. Frankly it pained him at how true that statement was.
Letting the Prime go had been hard, horribly hard, but after everything he'd suffered through, everything he'd sacrificed, it was only fair he be given a break from the toils of the War after all this time. It had simply been his time, and there honestly wasn't much one could do about that. That had been Optimus's choice to make, not his, and he'd abide by his last wishes – to protect life, to end the violence, and to re-light Cybertron so that those who had been lost could finally come home.
A soft pulse of appreciation and affection flickered through his spark, warming him from the inside. Unconsciously he put a single hand above his chestplates. Slowly but steadily he was beginning to get the hang on who was sending these little pulses of emotions whenever they occurred. There was a certain kind of fingerprint that was unique to each Prime and, yes, even to Primus. This one had come from that selfsame entity contained within the Matrix, and he wasn't scared or intimidated of it anymore. Instead, he found the presence comforting now.
"Thanks."
Another pulse, this time coupled with a familiar, ancient, kindly voice: 'Of course, little ember. Should you ever have need of me, you have but to ask.'
"Why do you keep calling me that? Not that I'm asking you to stop, just...why?"
'Because to him, that's what your spark looks like – a young, small, but persistently burning ember.' Solus explained.
"Oh. Oo-kay. Weird, but okay."
Ahead of him lay the military barracks. Knowing what little he knew about Daily, namely his rank, he set his sights on the section delegated in offered schematics as the place where lower ranking officers bunked. He felt a twinge of annoyance on realizing he couldn't rely on his beast mode's sharp sense of smell to find the man as he had thought he would be able to the night before. Ratchet had expressly forbidden him from transforming until the weld on his cheek set, and he wasn't about to tick him off or argue with him by disobeying. He'd have to resort to other means to find Daily.
A quick check of his chronometer and a glance at the generalized schedules of Area 51 soldiers gave him a broadened search parameter. Daily, due to his low rank yet inherently likable personality and knowledge of mechanics, would probably be helping some of his pals in the automotive shop, located just down the wide street from the barracks he was currently at. But just as he turned to go there, something happened that delayed him:
"Smokey!" cried a young, jubilant voice.
Just after that he felt something latch onto him like an energetic Earth puppy in a warm, friendly embrace that he'd despaired of ever feeling again. It wasn't like the one from last night. That one had been grievous, desperate for a point of light in what seemed like a starless, never ending night. This one? This one was full of joy and happiness and life. It filled his spark with a fire of hope and brotherly love. For the first time since the tragedy he allowed himself to laugh. How he had missed Bluestreak!
"Hey Blue!"
Bluestreak let him go at that, blue optics alight with merriment. He began bouncing on his trods as a smile erupted on his faceplates, but then the bouncing stopped and the smile faded as took note of the welding mark on his cheek. That hadn't been there earlier. Where had that come from? What had happened? How had he gotten hurt? Slowly he reached out as though to touch the healing wound, but his hand stopped short, held fast by the Primeling's own, though not fiercely.
"I'm fine, Blue. Honest. It's just a scratch. Nothing to worry about."
"Oh...Okay. You sure you're okay, right? Does it hurt? What happened?"
Infernus shrugged nonchalantly, his replying tone rather pensive: "Not too bad. I mean, it just stings a little. I've handled worse than this. As to how this thing got there...um...yeah, kind of a long story. I'll tell you later, okay?"
He forced his tone into a lighter range then, asking where the young gunner had been and what he'd been up to the whole morning. In response, Bluestreak's smile formed once again and he began bouncing on his trods just as before, a veritable torrent of words gushing out of his vocalizer:
"All over! This place is huge! Well, I mean, you probably know that since you saw it from the air just yesterday. Anyways, while we were out looking for vehicle forms around the compound, me and Magnus met a bunch of human soldiers, a general, a coupl'a other people, and we got to test out our new vehicle modes on that big tarmac strip over there. They were all really helpful and actually pretty nice, but that general guy – Bryce I think his name was – totally needs to lighten up more! He's way, way too frown-y all the time. I mean, seriously! What's his deal? You'd think something crawled into his office and died there he's so stiff."
Infernus's smile broadened. Just listening to Bluestreak babble was enough to lift his spark further out of his moodiness. And in all honesty that was a pretty slagged good description of the way-too-serious General Bryce, an associate of Special Agent Fowler who was up higher in the militaristic pecking order and not near as open-minded or lenient as the darker skinned federal liaison was. If anyone could give Ultra Magnus a run for his money in terms of taking his job too seriously, that man could and then some.
Some of his unconscious tension even simply ebbed away, and his body relaxed into a more casual pose, hip slightly jutting out as he leaned to one side, arms folding across his chestplates as he continued to listen to the young gunner's endless stream of talk. Slowly but surely his smile grew, even though his mind was frowning sadly. When was the last time he had done this? He couldn't even recall at this point. Such interactions between the two had grown briefer and briefer as warfare had drawn nearer and nearer to Iacon, and his duties to Alpha Trion had become more intensive. In his opinion, this idle chatter was long, long overdue. He wanted to savor it, enjoy the little moment of innocence while it lasted, and provide himself with another emotional anchor with which to tether himself.
The more of those he had, the better off he'd be in the long run. Bluestreak was, in effect, his surefire means of staving off negativity.
"So yeah! That's pretty much everything we've done so far. Magnus went off to do something or other, dunno what, but he said he'd be back in a bit. He did ask me to ask you how you were holding up. So...how're you doin'?"
Infernus gusted out a reluctant sigh. He hadn't really been expecting to answer this just yet. Not that he didn't appreciate Ultra Magnus's concern over his mental and emotional state, but he'd really been hoping to avoid that particular question. He simply didn't have a solid answer for it yet, at least not one that would satisfy the mech that he was managing.
"I...I mean, as well as you'd expect after having this crazy amount of responsibility tossed in your faceplates. I-It all feels like some sort of nightmare to be honest. I keep thinking that I'm going to wake up, and none of this will have ever happened. I keep thinking I'm gonna see Optimus striding around the corner back at Omega One, but...this is a nightmare we all know is real. I can't get out of it, can't wake up – because I'm not dreaming. All of this happened, is happening right now, but it just doesn't...it doesn't feel real."
Bluestreak's light-sparked demeanor subsided somewhat. He reached out and laid a hand on his sibling's altered arm, surprised to feel a substantial heat coming from it, but nonetheless not removing his hand. He knew the heat was not from Smokescreen's body overheating, it was instead thanks to the incredible power he now held and the modifications done to him to enable him to safely hold that power and to better use it. The heat was strangely quite comforting, more like a heated thermal blanket than a raging bonfire. He was reluctant to let go, and Smokescreen appeared very appreciative of this simple little gesture of comfort. After going through what he had, he needed it badly.
Smokescreen's frame may have changed, but in Bluestreak's mind he hadn't changed a bit. He was still the friendly, kind, protective older brother he looked up to then and still looked up to now. In his mind, nothing had really changed. Smokescreen's personality had pretty much stayed the same, all things considered, not counting his murderous rage at Darkmount, because in all honesty he could be excused for that reaction.
"Just don't forget that we're all here for you, Smoke. Okay? No one's really mad at you, you know. I think almost everyone feels pity towards you, not hate or anger or anything like that."
Then the gunner's optics flickered brighter as an idea came to him. He recalled the animated movie Raf, Miko, and Jack had all watched with him the night before, a cute but moving movie called Lilo and Stitch. That movie had had so many good quotes in it, not to mention many of the parts had been side-splittingly funny, but one in particular he felt suited the message he was trying to get across:
"Ohana means family. Family means –"
Infernus's smile grew while his mental frown shrank. "Nobody gets left behind. Or forgotten. Yeah."
The Primeling drew the smaller grey and blue mech close to him rather abruptly, embracing him out of gratitude. "Thanks, Blue. That helped."
Bluestreak's trademark huge smile softened a bit: "You're welcome."
He released him after a few more moments. "Head on back to the hangar. I'll meet you back there in a bit. I gotta go find someone real quick."
"Okay. See you soon!" Bluestreak started off, but soon drew to a halt and spun to face him. "Um, where're you headed, though? You know, so I can tell Magnus if I bump into him on the way there or before you get back!"
Infernus motioned in the direction of the barracks and the smaller automotive hangars beside them. He said he would be in that general area, but he didn't really know for how long since he had to search around for the guy he was looking for. But he'd try to be back with the others in about half an hour perhaps. One hour at the most, though that was probably just him overestimating his own skill in finding said guy.
"'Kay! I'll tell him that! And Prowl! Later!"
He watched as Bluestreak reverted down into his sleek yet sporty hardtop Mazda Miata x5 vehicle mode, shooting off in a little roar of his engine and a squealing of tires on smooth tarmac. In a short time he was out of sight, leaving the Primeling to continue in his directed wanderings on his own once more. He fought the sudden urge to go after him, battling the emotional instability that he had been able to ignore while listening to Bluestreak babble on, before finally managing to subdue it.
But now, thanks to his ever cheerful youngest brother, he felt a little better knowing that the others would always be there for him, that he had two groups of support who would help him through this step by step. He wasn't going to be dealing with this alone. No, he had people he could count on and rely on no matter what happened.
He'd had it told to him half a dozen times by now, but right then it finally sunk in. And for the first time while alone a genuine, warm smile formed.
Infernus continued in his leisurely meandering towards the the barracks for some time, not feeling the need to rush, when he finally caught a familiar whiff of automotive fluids and stiff detergent. He was rather surprised his olfactory sensors were so powerful outside of his beast form, but he reminded himself that sensors didn't really alter from mode to mode. As a Predacon, all of his senses, including smell, were greatly magnified regardless of whether or not he was in his dragon mode.
Following the unique scent, he turned sharply in the direction of one specific automotive hangar, curiously examining some of the military vehicles parked around outside. Sturdy things, all of them, designed to withstand the harshest conditions on and off the battlefield, their heavy armor and bulletproof tires turning them into highly mobile tanks. How well they would survive on Cybertron...eh, he'd leave that unanswered for now. He didn't know how Earth metals handled strong acids. He wasn't a chemist.
"Admirin' my work, yázhí? Or are you lookin' for someone 'round here?"
The Primeling jolted, nearly jumping out of his armor. He glanced down to find a late middle-aged, fit, muscular man, lying on a creeper half-way under one of the vehicles, wearing military garb and obviously of Amerindian decent, his dark skin pleasantly but very lightly sun-wrinkled and his long, black hair accented with a few streaks of grey. His green eyes were so vibrant they resembled tiny peridots. His hands were coated in oils and lubricants which he was wiping off on a dirty rag hanging on his waist. Coiled around one ear was a Bluetooth device.
He simply stared at him, blinking a few times. For an Amerindian he sure sounded like a typical Southerner.
"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" joked the man, cracking a smile at him.
"Um..."
At that the man laughed. "Oh, come on now. I'm not that intimidating, am I? You're bigger than I am!"
"Who are you?" Infernus managed, finally managing to kick his vocalizer back into gear. He felt it was an inane question, but he honestly had no idea who this guy was other than he was obviously an army mechanic, and maybe that meant he knew Daily. That was kind of a long shot though. There were a lot of people at this particular base, and he wasn't even sure Daily was a mechanic.
"Well, my traditional name's Niyol, but you can just call me Neal. Neal Rowland. You must be one o' them aliens the boys are goin' bonkers over. I gotta admit, I see why. You guys are pretty impressive to look at. You look...different than the others though. Not as vehicle-y – is that a word? Vehicle-y? I dunno. Never was much good at English in school."
He rolled back under the vehicle, and the sounds of tinkering soon returned. Infernus, however, did not leave. He seemed to be rooted to the spot as though frozen. Something about this man left him utterly baffled, and yet he couldn't quite pin down what it was. In a short time the man rolled back out to glance up at him quizzically, a humorous glitter in his peridot eyes.
"Well? You gonna ask me whatever question you wanna ask me, or are you just gonna keep on gawkin' at me like a deer in headlights? In case you didn't notice, I'm a bit occupied at the moment. Don't got all day."
"Uh..." Unconsciously the Primeling tapped two digits together like a shy sparkling. Why was it that he just couldn't seem to form words around this man? He wasn't nearly this inarticulate around other humans. What was it about Niyol that made it seem like his glossa had been cut out – his age, his odd, contradictory accent, his appearance? He was clueless as to the cause. And he didn't like being clueless.
Infernus was saved from having to answer when a familiar young man emerged from inside the nearest automotive hangar, silvery dog tags jingling around his neck and uniform neatly pressed. His attention seemed to be focused on a smartphone in his hands and from the rapid movements of his fingers it was pretty clear he was busy texting. For one reason or another his gaze abruptly jerked up and locked onto the Primeling's blue optics, a friendly, sympathetic smile forming. The smartphone was quickly stashed in a side pocket.
"Hey! What're you doing all the way out here, Infernus?" asked Daily, still smiling in that pleasant, understanding way.
His smile faltered a bit on noticing the weld mark on his cheek, worry trickling into his eyes, but in the end he decided not to ask about it. The young mech looked a little on the haggard side and yet also a lot more chipper than he had the previous night. Some of his emotional tension had just flat-out vanished. Damned if he was going to dreg up something that might send him spiraling back down. It didn't look like the cut bothered him, so he wouldn't bother him about it.
"Um...looking for you?" replied the young mech.
"Well, what do you need me for?"
"I...just wanted to say thanks. For what you did last night. You know, helping me. When – When I was too scared to go in and talk to the others."
Daily's smile returned. He hadn't needed to come all the way out here just to say that, he said. Thanks weren't necessary. He had just done what he thought had needed to be done, and he'd been brought up to never ignore someone in need of help, regardless if the person was a complete stranger. Repayment wasn't a set-in-stone requirement. All he asked he do in return was pay it forward. That was all.
"Pay it forward?" He'd never heard of that before.
"Earth concept. Basic'lly someone does you a favor or gives you an assist, and you then do the same for another person, and then they do the same, until you got a massive chain o' people helping other people. Make sense?" Neal explained from beneath the vehicle, gesticulating with a spare hand as he spoke.
Infernus nodded. It was a simple enough concept to wrap his helm around – Daily had helped him, so he had to help someone else in return. And in effect he already had by helping Arcee, so, rather shyly, he explained to Daily that he had paid the act forward, and consequently, the source of the weld mark on his cheek and how it had come about. The private winced sympathetically as he told of the emotional fury Arcee had been unleashing at him and her sudden draw back on injuring him. From the drop in tinkering noises as he spoke it was plain that Neal was interested to hear what happened, too. When he finished they did not resume. Instead, there was the sound of the creeper being rolled back out from cover. The man let out a faint groan of effort as he hauled himself upright.
"Y'know, for a so-called youngster, the way you handled that whole fiasco shows you got somethin' special inside you – little somethin' we older folk call common decency." noted the mechanic thoughtfully. "Not a bunch o' hotshot kids nowadays seem to have it, and don't even get me started on how often it doesn't occur during wars." He snorted derisively to himself.
Daily nodded sagely as he murmured assent, his smile returning, though a bit softer than before. "So you're doing a bit better since I last saw you?"
The Primeling shrugged. "I mean...yeah, I guess. But then it kinda helps having...him...there to keep dragging me out of the abyss I'm trying to dig for myself. And a team that really wants to help me. I thought they'd just turn their backs on me seeing as I was and am the resident rookie. Dumb assumption to make, I know, but having them there helps, too. You know, when they aren't trying to maim you and all."
In spite of the grimness of the joke, Daily managed a short, dry bark of laughter. He knew Infernus didn't hold the attack against Arcee. He'd forgiven her already. He was just glad the young alien was able to crack jokes about such things, and was apparently returning to his former self bit by bit with help from two support groups. Infernus, in his opinion, was more than capable of standing in a command role – he just needed a few nudges to convince him he could.
Neal grinned, winking up at him playfully: "You'd best be gettin' on back, yázhí. They'll be missin' you by now, and I know how friends tend to fuss, 'specially if you're hurtin' on the inside and the outside."
As if on cue, Infernus's comm. link began beeping persistently. A quick check revealed it to be Prowl, requesting he come back to the hangar so Ratchet could check on him. Additionally, due to their nightmarishly low Energon reserves, all efforts were to be made to replenish their small, dwindling stockpile. If the medic said he was good to go, and if he himself felt up to it, then going on a scouting mission was highly advised. Optimus hadn't saved them just to see them starve to death.
He looked back down at Daily and Neal as though requesting permission to leave.
"Go help your friends, Infernus." the private urged. "We'll be here when you get back. Don't worry. Well, I dunno about me being here here, since I got a damned busy schedule, but Neal will still be here. Guy practically lives here."
"Ha! Boy's not wrong. But yeah. If Markie's not available, you're always free to come sniff me out and have a chat with old Neal. I'd appreciate the company. Sound okay?"
Infernus nodded, smiling gratefully. That sounded fine to him. He liked the man's friendliness even if he found him inexplicably baffling. In a way he reminded him of a gruff but kindly uncle, one who spoke rather bluntly and yet had a certain generous, compassionate warmth to him that you couldn't help but cling to.
A quick check of his chronometer revealed that almost an hour had passed since his departure from the hangar and, acting on an impulse, he reverted down into his dragon form and lightly bumped Neal with his snout, letting out a low growl of thanks. He was somewhat taken aback that Neal didn't freak out or try to run, but instead grinned broadly and rubbed an oily, calloused hand over the heated metal before lying back down and sliding the creeper back under the vehicle he was working on.
He turned his focus on Daily after that, doing the same grateful snout-bump with him. The private merely smiled and patted him in return, then told him to be on his way. His friends needed him right now. He and Neal worked here. They weren't going anywhere. His team's survival and safety took precedence over chatting with military members.
Giving him one last snout-bump, Infernus pumped his wings and rocketed into the air, the baby blue mesh of his wings igniting with sunlight. The private watched him until he lowered behind one of the nearby hangars and was lost from sight. His smile grew, a soft chuckle escaping his throat. Neal heard it and joined him, his own laughter loud and hearty, accompanied by sounds of incessant tinkering.
'You don't even realize how we'll you're doing.' Daily thought in mingled pride and amusement. Infernus seemed completely oblivious as to his own progress.
Then, turning sharply on his heels, he strode off to continue with the day's long list of tasks.
Author's Note: Buh! Stupid college keeping me super busy! :( Enjoying it, but damn do I rarely have time for writing except on weekends! It's torture I'm tellin' ya'll, absolute torture! Especially when writing is a stress management strategy for me! D: This chapter is a teensy bit shorter than my other ones for that reason.
*grovels and begs forgiveness for the lateness*
