A/N: Alright, and here's where the abuse depictions (again, not severe) will begin. Again, please be advised!

CHAPTER 2

"Worhtless!"

Slap.

"Barely fit to carry my name."

KICK.

"You are nothing. And you will only ever be nothing. Your kindness is a weakness, not a strength. Act your station!"

SLAM.

And then, a pregnant silence. A soft, shaky young voice spoke up. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, it'll never happen again."

Optimus Prime was only a few vorns old, stood in front of his creator, "the great Sentinel Prime". He quivered quietly, rubbed his dented plating, and stared deep into the sharp blue optics of the Cybertronian leader. The red leader stood over the cube of Energon quietly, then turned his head to the starved miner he'd caught his sparkling sneaking Energon to. Without another word, he crushed the cube under his foot. And with another kicked the Cybertronian he considered to be little more than trash aside.

As he pushed the high grade to his lips, he again turned to his son. A menace in his eyes. "They are worthless to us, Optimus. Slaves, all of them," Setinel spat, putting a servo onto Optimus' shoulder and guiding him away. "Now you're without a lunch. A worthy lesson for the day. Never help those bellow your station. It makes you weak."

Optimus was barely able to steal a glance back at the poor miner before the mech lead him deep into the crowd of Iacon.

Dylan shot awake about the same time Optimus pulled himself out of the dream.

There were two things he was vaguely aware of: one, he wasn't in the truck anymore. And two, someone had not only deposited him on a couch, but during the night, had draped a blanket over him too. The boy pushed the hair from his face and sat up. It seemed to be a car garage, or at least he hoped so. Otherwise, he had questions as to what a truck, a Porsche, and a motorcycle were all doing there. He rubbed his blue eyes tiredly, and stood to his feet. Who had brought him here? The truck seemed to be stalled, there hadn't been a driver? Had there?

Had he been kidnapped?

Well, only one way to find out he guessed. As he looked them over, he immediately recognized the truck as the one from the night before. But the other two, well, they were beautiful to say the least. After all, who wouldn't love to be in the presence of a Porsche!? Of course, Dylan's eyes immediately fixated on that one, hell, whose wouldn't be? He checked however, and frowned as he realized it was locked. As was the truck. And of course, the motorcycle was no luck either. He grimaced a bit, and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Well, if that was all he figured, it was time to go. On one hand, he wanted to thank whoever helped him. But on the other, Dylan had learned from a young age that sometimes it was a bad idea to get involved. In his life, adults seemed to do nothing but hurt him. Chewing his lip, he had made it all of two feet toward the door when a voice rang out. "The storm has only gotten worse, kid," Dylan jumped out of his skin, he spinned to see... No one. "Might as well make yourself at home."

Who... The hell... Had said that?

Dylan's eyes went from one area to the other as a female voice interjected. "Mirage! You weren't supposed to say anything yet!"

"What? Prime already brought 'im. And beside, li'l man definitely was about to run," Dylan felt a chill run up his spine as he tried to comprehend the chatter. "OK, don't freak out, kid... Take a deep breath. I can see in your eyes you're freaking out."

Somewhere around that time, Dylan found his voice. "Who's there!?" He shouted, loud enough to be heard across the garage. "Look, I don't know what's going on... But I am not the kid to mess with, OK? I'm a black belt in uh... Tae Kwan Do."

There was a laugh that seemed to be coming from the Porsche. But there was absolutely no way, right? Cars didn't laugh... What was going on here? After a moment, the male voice spoke again. "He's trying to scare us. Listen to this kid, I like his spunk!" Dylan lept back as the Porsche, without warning nudged forward. "Take it easy, kid. We aren't gonna hurt ya, OK? We're friendly!"

What happened next made nothing short of a scream throttle forward from Dylan's mouth. He'd seen a lot of things in his life, and damned if he did mean A LOT. But he did not have a bingo card with "giant robot transforms from a Porsche" on it. Startled, and bewildered, he fell on his butt. Panic setting in. What was going on here? Before he'd had time to register it, the motorcycle had done the same. Revealing a pink and white robot he assumed to be female. "Mirage, you idiot!"

"What's up, li'l man, the name's Mirage!" The first, a blue and reddish in color and clearly younger greeted. Going in for a fist bump almost immediately after. "C'mon, you know you want to tap it."

Dylan really thought he must have been going insane, but did, in fact give him a fist bump. But just when he'd thought that he'd lost his mind, it was the truck's turn. This one was by far the biggest, and... Well, definitely the oldest. Dylan could tell that just from the features of his face alone. "Mirage, why do I feel as though this is going to be a regular problem?" The truck asked "Mirage" - a pointed glare his way. "We discussed this. Arcee was to speak to him with her holographic avatar, first!"

"Eh, I got tired of waiting," Mirage replied, as he crossed his arms. "What's your name, kid?'

Dylan swallowed, every part of his body shook from fear. Were they going to hurt him? Dissect him? They had to be aliens, right? So what the heck gave? Just as he'd started to shut down, however, the truck came forward. Crouching to one knee, he put a gentle finger on his knee, his blue eyes staring into his. "You have no reason to be afraid of us, little one," The soft baritone of his voice, in fact, did relax him. Even momentarily. "My name is Optimus Prime. You've met Mirage." He gestured to the "idiot" that Dylan had just been conversing with. "And this is Arcee. Now that we are properly acquainted, might you give us your designation?"

The teen didn't speak for several seconds. What kind of upside down world was he in right now? Cars didn't turn into robots, cars didn't talk... Yet something about Optimus' eyes was calming.. Different. He took a deep breath, and finally spoke in a quiet squeak. "D... Dylan, my name's Dylan," He managed. "What are you...?"

So began the longest hour of Dylan's life. It sounded like something out of a sci-fi film, giant space wars, evil empires, a planet-eating monster... And finally, being stranded, here on Earth. What the heck had Dylan walked into? By that time, Optimus had sent Mirage and Arcee on patrol, likely so that Mirage wouldn't freak him out further. So Dylan and Optimus were left alone - and Dylan wasn't sure whether to run or... What to do, really. "This is... A lot to process," Dylan managed. "... I guess I'll start by saying, sorry for trying to break into you."

Optimus gave a small chuckle. "I let you in," He explained with all honesty. "If I might inquire, you were very maul-nourished and ill-dressed. I was lead to believe you were homeless."

Dylan avoided eye contact at that, dang, he had just read him like a book, huh? He shifted his feet and looked down. He figured lying wasn't in his best interest, plus what could they do if they were in hiding? "Yeah, by choice... I mean," Dylan managed. Though he didn't want to get deeper into it. "I ran away from my foster home a year ago and never looked back."

Optimus turned his own head, as if thinking... Was he researching what a foster home was? Dylan assumed so - given they had to have a supercomputer in their robotic brains, right? "Hmmm. I understand," Optimus replied when he'd turned back. He stood back to full height and considered for a moment. "I don't suppose I can convince you to let me call a friend of ours?"

Absolutely not. "I mean... You could, but then word of an alien robot might get around the care home."

Instead of anger, Optimus seemed amused. "Very well, then you may - as you say bunk here for the remainder of the storm," He offered. Chancing a glance outside, he turned back to him. "I believe our allies will stay in for the storm, so it will give you a chance to regroup and recharge."

After some hesitation, Dylan nodded and returned to the couch. Vaguely aware that Optimus was still looking at him. The boy turned his head slightly, and pulled the blanket over his shoulders. He suppose if nothing else, he owed the robot one thing... "Thank you," He told him. "I've been on the streets a year... Crashed in a lot of cars. On a lot of doorsteps. You're the first person to... Actually give a shit."

Optimus' optics softened at his words. Dylan couldn't tell if it was pity, or genuine sympathy, but the mech made his way over. And as Dylan laid down again, carefully pulled the blanket over him once more. "I know what it's like to have people turn a blind eye to your suffering," He offered. Dylan looked up - curious, but not about to pry. "Rest as long as you'd like. I'm sure you'll need it."

Dylan didn't argue, too tired from the excitement... And insanity. He felt his eyes grow heavy and close within minutes.

Optimus was then left with only his thoughts.

The hurt in the boy's eyes bothered him, on a level he hadn't expected. What had this boy seen? What had this boy been through that he was willing to accept a place on the couch with alien robots... Over his own kind? The thought made his plating shudder. If he was in foster care, and what he had read was correct... What had his parents done to him? Without a last name, the Prime had nothing to go by. Yet he thought of all of these things as he stood over the boy for the next several minutes. Considering whether to call Noah after all - even if the boy was against it. No one would believe him about the giant aliens anyway, right?

Yet, something inside of him decided against it. As he stood there, and watched, something in his spark told him he needed to keep a watchful optic on him. Even if it meant they had a visitor for the day... A small tug that just seemed to pester him. He closed his optics, reminded of his own memory he'd gone through at recharge. Perhaps, it was his own upbringing that gave him second thoughts... Perhaps his words about him being the only one who had cared. Maybe he was just growing softer...

Or perhaps, it was all of these things. He guessed, as he went to go about his day. He'd think about it more when the boy was awake again, he decided. Until then, at least he'd saved him for now.