Chap 15

Rookery

You don't know why you'd assumed the way back would be more exciting than the way to Kalis, but it was incredibly boring in your usual spot in the back of Barricade's cab. He'd insisted on leaving straight away, adamant he could make up time with speed. And time was running out in his opinion; you hate to admit it, but checking your energy levels; they were sitting at 27% and depleting rapidly. He'd been right. The small scrapes and bruises you'd acquired while trying to fly were sucking your energy faster than you'd expected. Barricade had explained that for surface level injuries, Cybertronian bodies ate up a little more energy to stave off the pain and promote some self-healing. That explains why you don't feel as bad as you had expected to, the energy is dampening your pain receptors a little.

It also explains why Barricade is so worried. How would it look if Barricade arrived back at the ship after stealing you away, only to have you returned unconscious after being in his care for a few cycles. He is expecting a firefight, but in that situation it would be a massacre.

Barricade is far from your favourite Cybertronian/kidnapper/guardian, but he is approaching Elita levels of favouritism after his recent confession. You know that it couldn't have been easy to admit that you did wrong (even if he doesn't admit it, exactly), but he is well on his way to rectifying his wrongs and that gave him a gold star in your mind.

The way he was zooming through the city boasted a skill that had taken centuries to develop. The way he weaved in and out of buildings was remarkable, and it was incredibly captivating, if only for a little while. But as the rubble and structures of Kalis became less frequent and the familiar vegetation of the Wastes came into view, it became stale rather quickly.

Worse yet, Barricade spoke even less than usual, as he focuses on keeping up speed, leaving you with a lack of company despite being in the backseat of a living car. When he does speak, it's to unload even more bad news.

"We don't even know if the ship's moved since they landed. They could be anywhere on Cybertron so long as that ship has fuel to move." His tone is sour. "Granted, I don't see any reason why they would move, but unless we get into someone's comm range accidentally, I have no idea if they're still there." He seems more focused on the cargo of the ship than the crew.

Looking for a few inhabitants on an entire planet is worse than looking for a needle in a haystack. You can only hope that they haven't moved, or at least haven't moved far. Deep down you wish the Seekers would come after you, but you stamp that feeling down harshly. You can't blame them for staying together, especially with Skywarp's injury.

(You still haven't forgiven Barricade for shooting him, even if he is steadily moving up your list of favourites. One prank once things chill out, and you'll consider it even. Maybe you'll shove a mine up his exhaust pipe, Skywarp would definitely approve)

But other than looking out the window at the scenery, there isn't anything for you to do to pass the time. Barricade had suggested slipping into a temporary stasis in an attempt to save power, but you have no idea how to activate that. Knowing you, it's probably locked behind that admin code again. Incredibly irritating.

The Sea of Rust comes into view again, as dangerous and unfriendly as the first time. You got here faster this time, a testament to Barricade's consistent speed, but other than watching the steady plumes of orange smoke spread to the sky, it's all stuff you've seen before. There aren't any other ways you can think of to conserve power, and you don't have any information that could be useful to Barricade.

You have no choice but to pass the time idle, at least until Barricade needs to rest. You've seen him drive through the night before, but he had needed Energon pretty urgently after that. Without a break somewhere along the route, there's no way he can make it back in one shot, let alone with you in tow.

Your wings begin to ache from disuse again, combined with your newly acquired injuries. Even your helm still hurts from where you were knocked unconscious, but that's one of the duller aches you can feel throughout your body. The pain in your wings is the worst, combining the stiffness with what feels like a bruise encapsulating your entire left wing. You can still move it, for which you're grateful, but not a lot in this cramped backseat.

The pain along your forearms is dulling too, feeling more like a harsh sunburn than a scrape. A secondary checkover of yourself lets you know that none of your fuel lines have been punctured, but you'll need a replenishment of Emberstone water in order to come back at full health.

It's been a few cycles since you've seen your Seekers at this point. You focus on your memories with them, worried that you might lose them when you inevitably pass out. You may not remember a whole lot of your time as a human, but you cherish these memories with your Seekers all the more. You don't have any memories of kindness from before, and you don't want to lose the only ones you have. In your brief time together, the brothers have grown to mean a lot to you, and you'll be devastated if you lose any of those memories.

So you focus on them, as if replaying the memories in your processor will keep them from fading. There's nothing you can do about the memories that have already been lost, so you focus on the ones that mean the most to you.

Like how they helped keep you safe from Ratchet the moment they met you, even though their brother had died not even minutes earlier.

Or your failed flying lessons, trying to cheer you up after every one of your failed attempts.

The games you played, being tossed into the air made you feel like you were really flying. Your spark had felt so light, you could have floated up into space.

Your nest of blankets, knowing that there was always a slumbering giant curled around you while the other stood guard.

Bathtime.

Reminiscing about Cybertron.

You choke back the tight feeling in your throat cables. Now's not the time to cry. Clenching your servos for what feels like the hundredth time, you force yourself to snap out of it, and focus on staring out the window impassionately. Distracting Barricade with your useless emotions won't get you anywhere, and you want to stop crying all the time, dammit. You're almost a grown-up, when were you going to start acting like it?

Unshed tears burn at the edges of your optics and blur your vision. The world outside Barricade's window warps and smudges, but you don't allow the tears to fall.

You'll get back to them. You're already on your way.

Thundercracker stayed above the Wastes, hovering at a high altitude to get a wider survey of the land beneath.

It had been three full cycles since the Seekerling was taken; far too long in his opinion. His anger had reduced to a simmer, which he knew would resurface at full strength the moment he catches any sign of the errant Decepticon.

But it had been three full cycles since he'd even seen a clue as to his whereabouts. Three full cycles since he'd had a clear direction to go. Thundercracker was beginning to feel the frustration of a hunter's failed prey. Every breem, the little one was being carried further and further away from him, and he could do nothing but comb the landscape beneath him for the tiniest visual clue as to their location.

On the first cycle he had found evidence of a hastily made camp, and some blast marks at the back of a cave. His quarry had definitely stopped there, if only briefly, as evidenced by the scant amounts of prints he'd found surrounding the area.

The Seekerlet's small pede prints were so tiny in comparison to Barricade's and his own. They were no doubt frightened out of their mind, with little hope that either of his brothers would rescue them. They were oddly mature in that sense, a clue that their past upbringing may have been less than healthy.

They showed signs that pointed Thundercracker in the direction of neglect, or even abuse. The way they cowered whenever voices were raised, or how they had an immediate distrust of everyone upon first meeting. Their tendency to wander off alone, as if the concept of others willing to help was foreign.

It made Thundercracker's spark prickle with discomfort. The fact that they were only just beginning to open up to them (he included himself, as even though the Seekerlet was unaware of his feigned death, they still confided in him). They were only just beginning to show real, genuine trust to the Command Trine, with little pockets of personality shining through.

They were a little terror, a perfect ward for the Command Trine. Thundercracker considered himself a little biassed, but he would do anything for their little Seeker.

Other than their first interaction, Thundercracker hadn't even had a chance to hold the little one yet. All of the live feeds and shared bond feelings had been teasing, bearable with the knowledge that soon he'd be able to experience these things for himself.

Things he'd had yet to experience because of Barricade.

Thundercracker forced himself to steer clear of the Sea of Rust, as much as he knew he'd be able to gain ground quicker by traversing it. But the clouds above were just as acidic and noxious as the gases on the ground, and obscured his vision of the ground below. Reminding himself that it was more prudent to search carefully than race blindly ahead, he focused his processing power on scouring the landscape for any sign of his errant prey.

He hoped that Barricade wouldn't be stupid enough to traverse the Sea of Rust with the sparkling, as the acidic air would do heavy damage on his thicker frame, nevermind the havoc it would wreak on the Seekerling's gossamer thin plating. The air alone would be deadly to their delicate circuits, and Thundercracker prayed that Barricade was smarter than that. Not smart enough to keep his dirty servos off of their charge, but smart enough to avoid such an obvious danger when stares you right in the faceplate.

The Sea of Rust was truly deadly from every angle, and it seemed to be spreading. From Thundercracker's high vantage, he could see the remains of the Wastes that had been devoured by the encroaching rust, creating an irregular looking landscape on the edges. From a lower vantage, it would look as though the Sea was irregular all the way through, but from his vast height Thundercracker could see the difference.

The Rust Sea that Thundercracker knew was as flat as the Plains on Earth; one could see for miles without ever spying so much as a hill. The inner sections of the Rust Sea exhibited that clearly. But the outer edge was rough, with decimated structures being barely recognizable under the destructive coating of rust. Without the Allspark to give the vegetation an extra push of Energon, the metal devouring rust easily overtakes its semi-organic neighbour and adds to the destruction.

It was unending in its vastness, and Thundercracker shivered at the thought that it could one day overtake the planet if left unchecked. If it ever came to that, Cybertron would truly be a dead world without hope of revival.

Stray plumes blasted through the edges of the Wastes erratically, ever so often exploding with gases well within the confines of the vegetation. Thundercracker made the assumption that the fissures were created using weak areas of Cybertron's outer crust, bursting through with vengeance whenever the opportunity arose. The plumes were random and infrequent, but wherever they rose up devastation was met in its wake.

Part of him wished that Barricade and the Seekerling were far from the Wastes, from such nearby danger. But another part of him wished for their proximity, to feel the Seekerlet's EM field against his, safe and unharmed.

So he carried on, high above the Wastes, motivation renewed. He'd look for a whole century if that's what it took. Belatedly, he hoped his brothers were faring better than he was.

Night had fallen again, painting the skies in an eerie purple. While the limited light did little to slow down Barricade, he remarked that he'd have to drive more cautiously until the new solar cycle dawned once again.

Slipping in and out of recharge have become second nature to you at this point, with every sharp turn and bigger than average bump rousing you from your tumultuous slumber. Barricade continues with his uncomfortable silence, focusing instead on the drive rather than his passenger. You don't blame him, but after almost four straight cycles (both driving to and from Kalis), your boredom and exhaustion reached new heights.

You don't scrape at his leather as you did before, knowing that would annoy him. And frankly, Barricade is going through enough right now and doesn't deserve your pestering. While you are excited to go back, he is no doubt anxious about returning after his well-intentioned crime. He had thought he was looking out for you, and in his own way he was. Too bad that means reversing the one thing he had successfully managed to do; which was kidnapping you.

Whatever is going through his processor was probably a slew of hypotheticals. Would they shoot first upon seeing him approach? Or would they confirm the inclusion of his passenger first before firing? And what would happen after? You doubt that the Autobots or the Seekers would let him off easy.

Despite everything that's happened in the recent cycles, you made a promise to yourself that you'd try to ensure that he isn't hurt when you both return. He is doing the right thing in bringing you back, shouldn't that be what counts? He clearly had to make a tough decision, but it was the right one in your opinion. When people make mistakes and choose to fix them, they shouldn't be punished right? You'll make sure that Barricade doesn't get hurt once you are returned.

Will they be angry? Your Seekers? There is a thought you've had that you've spent very little time considering, one that made your tanks churn coldly. Do they think you ran off on purpose? Will they accept you back?

You shake your helm, silencing the thoughts. The Seekers know all about you, your origin, your personality. You're confident that they'll accept you back with open arms and even warmer servos.

The time in the cab stretches on, feeling like an eternity with the ever unchanging landscape. The Rust Sea looks the same as yesterday; still orange with pointed decaying structures dotting the landscape.

At the beginning you'd made a little game for yourself, kind of like visualising shapes in clouds except the only ones outside were an acidic orange colour and noxious looking. But the plumes moved too quickly, and you opted instead for the structures littering the ground in the distance. Your game consisted of guessing what they might be, what the structures could have been used for before they were swallowed up by rust. But one such structure looked a little too humanoid; with a head and shoulder ridge that was too hard to ignore. Turning away from the window sharply, you stopped playing after that.

Feeling groggy and propping your faceplate in your servo, you stare outside impassively, not really looking. Your optics shutter closed, instead listening to the consistent sound of Barricade's engine and the distant explosions of toxic gases in the distance.

One particular explosion sounds out louder than usual, but you don't open your optics. Idly you relate it to thunderclaps back on Earth. Sometimes they're just louder because they're stronger, but sometimes they're louder because they're closer than the others.

You don't have time to make comparisons further before you're suddenly airborne inside Barricade's cab, lifted off the seat by a booming noise. You hit the roof with your helm, and a deafening noise rattles you down to your core. Barricade's shout of pain echoes from all around you amidst the explosive noise and you both slam back to the surface with a denta rattling boom. You immediately get to your feet and peer out the front window.

"Barricade! What happened? Are you okay?" You're shaking all over and scared out of your mind. Barricade only wheezes in response. That can't be good.

Trying the back door, you find it unlocked and exit the cab to take a step outside. The air sizzles like a hot frying pan, making the outside smell more metallic than usual. The door shuts behind you softly, and you get a look at the state of your captor.

At first glance he looks fine, just a bit steamed from his unending drive. He's still in vehicle mode. But the closer you look, the more you realise the sizzling sound is coming from him. And the metallic smell emits in fumes coming from his underside. Small flecks of rust are left over from whatever has happened and you quickly piece them together.

"Stand–" Barricade's voice comes out in a grunt of pain, ending his sentence prematurely. You want to check the damage, but you're rooted on the spot in fear. Your wings shiver despite the air being warm. "Stand back. Don't let it get on you."

One of the fissures must've hit him in the undercarriage, a horribly unlucky shot. On the way back to the ship you noted that Barricade had been driving a little closer than usual to the edge of the Rust Sea, presumably to save on time. One stray fissure had hit him right in the delicate vitals, and he wasn't getting back up. You stay where you are, but your fear must show on your faceplate.

"Barricade…" Your bottom lip plate trembles. You want to help him, but you have no idea what to do. You're not a medic, for Primus' sake! You're barely a Cybertronian. What can you do?

"Listen sweetspark, I'm not going to be able to move for a while, at least until my nanites repair me enough that I can get goin'. But that's not gonna be for a while." His words sound like they're being spoken through clenched teeth. The air still sizzles with the rust damage, and you're only slightly glad you can't see it directly.

"You gotta listen to me." He grunts once again in pain. "You gotta stick with me, ok? Looks like I'll be goin' into a mandatory healing stasis shortly, but don' worry. As soon as I wake up we'll keep goin'." Another agonising wheeze. There's no way he can drive like this. He's using unnecessary energy trying to not make you worry. It's not working.

"Promise you'll stick by me until I wake up, aight? I can't have you runnin' around the Wastes by yourself with no escort. You're important, remember?"

You sniffle, unable to keep your emotions at bay. You're not sure if he can see you in vehicle form, but you try to stifle your building stress. Crying isn't going to help you or Barricade, but it's building fast and you can't stop it.

"B-but Barricade…" You don't know what to say. You're so worried about him, and this is the second time that someone has gotten wounded for your sake. Third, if you count Skywarp. You don't want Barricade to die, and you know that if he's acting this way, it's much worse than he's letting on.

The form of the black car ripples as if stifling a shudder of pain. Small drops of Energon are dripping onto the ground from underneath him, and you can tell that whatever it looks like down there it's definitely serious. You want to help, but you can't do anything.

"P-promise…Me…" You've never heard Barricade's voice this soft before, and you never want to hear it like this again. His headlights dim a fraction, flicker, then go out. You can't even tell if he's still alive.

After barely a moment, the emotions spill out of you without hesitation. A wail breaks out and shakes the vegetation around you with its volume. You cry loudly, for someone, anyone to help you. Unable to do anything, but clench your own servos and look to the sky for any sign of wings. You cry out for Starscream and Skywarp, eventually even crying out for Elita-1, Optimus Prime, and Ratchet. At this stage, you'll accept anyone's help, so long as they can help Barricade. You're going to be the cause of another person's death, and you can't do a single thing to help him.

The sobs wrack your frame, causing your systems to overheat and spill tears out of your optics. If there were any cybertronic animals nearby, you have no doubt that they'd be scared off by your loud, horrific cries.

Your neck cables begin to hurt from your intense crying, your intake open and you're unable to close it. Feeling your finials pinned all the way back, your wings even drag across the ground with how low they're drooping.

You can't even leave to get help. Barricade made you promise to stay near him, and you wander in and out of his proximity stressing about what to do.

There's nobody living on this dying planet, and anyone who can or would help you is far away. You only have a vague direction of where they are, not even a definitive location. Your current coordinates beep in your processor, dulled by your sobbing, letting you know exactly where in the middle of nowhere you are.

There are no markers on your internal map, you've found. Only strings of numbers depicting coordinates. If you had been smart when you'd arrived, you'd have noted the coordinates of where the ship landed. But there had been too much going on at the time, and you've berated yourself ever since you discovered the empty map in your processor.

Your crying continues for what seems like hours. Nobody is coming. No one can hear you. No one can help you. You're alone on a dead alien planet and you can't even help one person let alone yourself.

The crying weakens in stages, usually coming back in self-deprecating full force moments later. Hours ago you were bored out of your mind, and now you're going to stand watch until Barricade wakes up. You don't even know if a healing stasis is a real thing, how long it takes, or if he was even telling the truth. Cybertronians have a different sense of time than you're used to. You could be here waiting for a century; dried up and offline before anyone finds you.

This brings forth a new wave of tears, hopeless feelings consuming your processor like a tidal wave. This had been a freak accident, no one could have predicted this. And because of this unlucky cheap shot by Cybertron's rogue fissure, you were both going to die out here. You'll never see your Seekers again, and once again you're useless in the face of adversity.

Rather than slipping into a restful recharge, exhaustion takes you like a sledgehammer. One moment you're crying heavily in a foetal position on the dusty ground, steps away from Barricade, the next you're unconscious. Blackness greets your vision swiftly, and you don't even realise you're out until you wake up.

You have no idea how long you've been asleep. The grit under your faceplate gives no indication either. The sky is still a dark purple-grey and Barricade is still unmoving in vehicle form next to you.

Waking up gives you clarity in ways you don't appreciate.

The first thing you note is your current energy levels. 15%. Far less than you'd expect. The meltdown must've really taken a chunk out of you.

The second thing you realise is that you won't be able to keep your promise to Barricade. If anyone's going to help him in time, you have to get help. And that means leaving.

You're not super excited by the idea of venturing into the wilds of Cybertron alone, but you don't have a choice. With Barricade's current coordinates as your guide, and following the edge of the Rust Sea just as Barricade had done, you'll hopefully find some evidence of civilization. And with some luck, help.

The idea terrifies you, but not as much as staying here and waiting. You understand where Barricade is coming from, wanting you to stay close where you're out of danger, but unless you face the danger you're both doomed.

All this time you've tried to convince yourself you are mature enough to handle grown-up situations, well now's your chance. There is literally no better time than right now.

You pull yourself upright, not even bothering to dust yourself off. None of the rust particles have gotten on you while you were out, which is good, but the iron-rich smell is still in the air. Glancing over at Barricade, you note that the trickle of leaking Energon has stopped, which is a relief. Unless he's completely out of Energon and offline, but you try not to focus on that.

Your optics feel raw and your throat cables are sore. A few hours of crying will do that to you. And your body still retains that 'hit by a truck' feeling from your failed flying practice session. Despite using up over 10% of your energy reserves in the past two cycles alone, you don't feel any better. In fact, despite everything, you feel somehow worse.

But complaining won't do anyone any good, and the longer you stand here contemplating the worse off Barricade will be.

Locking in your current coordinates, you face the direction Barricade was heading, and set off alone into the Wastes.

The first few steps aren't that bad, spurred on by your desperate decision making. But one step at a time, one after the other, Barricade's coordinates get farther and farther behind you.

You're weirdly grateful to be a robot, probably for the first time since you'd been changed. As a robot you don't have to worry about being unable to see in the low light, and since you're not travelling at Barricade-esque breakneck speeds, light is never an issue.

The sky is still dark above you, from the small glimpses that you can see through the vegetation. The jungle grows denser the farther away from Barricade you get, but you always make sure to keep the Sea of Rust in your sights. Keeping the orange wasteland on your right at all times ensures that you're always walking in the right direction. Keeping it there ensures that you'll never get turned around.

The noises of the Wastes are more audible now that you're outside of the cab. Rustles of giant leaves and small unknown sounds begin to make you nervous, spurring you from a steady walk into a light jog. You don't get tired the same way you would have as a human, and that's another reason you're grateful to be a robot here.

Despite the vegetation, there's not a single bird sound that you can make out. Are there even birds on Cybertron? Ages ago, back in the hangar on Earth, Ratchet had been confused at the concept of birds, but you only now realise he could have been curious due to his lack of knowledge. Besides Seekers, was there anything else on Cybertron that flew?

You wish for the umpteenth time that you had had more time to talk about the wilds of Cybertron with them, before having to brave it by yourself. Sure, you knew from Barricade that things like Sharkticons existed in the Sea of Rust, but they wouldn't come into the Wastes, right?

A trepid fear starts to build within you, pushing your light jog to a slightly faster pace. You try to focus on other, less anxiety inducing topics to stop your fluttering spark.

Think positive. What will you say when you see everyone again? Maybe you'll use your pede thrusters to throw yourself into their servos, gaining that extra bit of speed to encourage them to start cuddling you faster.

Barricade wasn't the cuddly type. He was more of a standoffish, awkward uncle. He tried a few times to pat your helm, but each time it felt stiff and it hadn't induced that warm gooey sensation that happened when the Seekers cuddled you.

You admit to yourself that you'd been spoiled for cuddles before you'd been kidnapped a second time, and you can't wait to receive more. The lonely recharges in the back ofBarricade's cab would be swapped out for your blanket nest, with one Seeker curling around each of your sides. You'd hold onto both of their servos and finally recharge with both at the same time.

Starscream always insisted on recharging separately from you and his brother, saying that someone should always be alert to keep watch. But how wonderful would it be to see both brother's sleeping faces at the same time?

A bud of warmth nestles itself inside your spark next to your thudding fear. The positive thinking is doing wonders in quelling your anxiety, though it hasn't completely dissipated yet. You try to think of more nice things.

How great would it be to see their first Trine flight? You're hard pressed to think of anything you'd want to see more. From the moment you'd heard of it, you knew it must've been spectacular. Daring dives, aerial displays, feats of courage tied together in coordinated harmony; it must've been amazing.

If you ever get the chance to fly, you know there's little to no doubt that you'll never have a trine of your own to fly with, at least not in the same way. At this rate, getting yourself back to normal and back to Earth is a secondary goal, with survival being the first. You've barely thought about changing back since you've been here, and it's starting to feel less like a pressing issue.

Would it really be so bad to stay this way?

Being a robot on this alien planet makes it easier to survive, and for that, you're grateful. It makes it easier to jog long distances without getting tired, and it means that you need less time in between refuelings; time that if you were still a human, you'd be long dead. You have people that care about you, which you can't say the same for when you were human, since you don't really remember. Was there really anything that kept you tied to that life anymore?

More than anything, the thought that spurs you on the most is the idea of being able to fly with the Seekers. You may never have a Trine of your own, but you know they'd never abandon you. You'd get back to them, and maybe one day you'll be able to fly with them with the same precision and coordination as their Trine flight. The thought quenches any remaining fear in your spark, and you break into a run.

To fly with them.

To fly together.

To fly.

And all around you the world shifts, your pedes feeling lighter than air. You note that your thrusters have come online, and a whirring mechanical sound is heard from around you before suddenly being silenced as quickly as it came. Suddenly the leaves and vegetation around you are coming at you with terrifying speed, knocking against your plating and appearing faster than you can swat them away.

You jump, or something that feels like jumping, and the jungle is suddenly far beneath you, getting smaller and smaller in your vision. Confusion rings with your realisation that you can't feel your arms or your legs or your head. But it doesn't feel painful, just different.

Barricade's coordinates are ticking farther and farther away on your internal map at impossible speeds, and you realise with belated glee that you're flying.

A whoop leaves your intake, wherever it's located now in your alt-mode, and you surge forward with speeds you didn't even know you were capable of. You're flying, and for once things have gone right.

The joyous mood fills you to the brim, all the previous fear squashed under its powerful heel. You experiment a little with changing speeds and turning, revelling in the sensation of being free in the air. There's nothing up here that can get in your way, but you're still super new at this.

Banking left, twisting right, you don't quite have the courage to do a barrel-roll just yet, but this new ability fills you with newfound hope. You can get help in time to help Barricade! Maybe you'll get back before he even realises you're gone! Giddy with excitement, you accelerate skyward, gaining altitude and then proceed to nosedive in exhilaration. You scream with joy at the rush of gravity and the unimportant g-force. You feel unstoppable.

Flying is quickly becoming your favourite thing ever. If you had any hobbies before the change, they mean less than dust to you now. Flying is literally the best and you'll be happy if your pedes never touch the ground again.

Suddenly; the concept of how awful it is not being able to be in the sky makes perfect sense. The Seeker's prior comments rattle around in your processor. Why would anyone choose a Grounder frame when they can have this? The pure freedom makes you giggle with bliss, as if all the pieces suddenly slot perfectly into place.

Flaring your wing panels, you direct your gravity into more of an angled swoop, and channel that excess energy in further accelerating your speed. The Seekers had been right all along, you felt each motion instinctively and knew exactly where to press and turn in order for your new form to obey your commands. Flying felt innate, like it was something you were born to do.

The Wastes and the Sea of Rust beneath you no longer seem like foreboding, danger filled areas, instead from up here they remind you more of an abstract painting. Colours meshing and combining in an impressionist fashion, the bright orange of the Sea creeping up on the grey-blue of the jungle. Up here there's no worry of any animals getting you, or running out of time. Facing the direction you were previously headed, you're easily travelling at more than ten times the speed, and the burst of energy gives you a better chance of making it back before you slip into stasis.

Which reminds you to check on your energy levels. 9% and dropping. It appears that changing into your alt-mode does sap your energy faster than your bipedal form. Probably something to do with using your energy as fuel, but it barely puts a damper on your excitement. You're moving at faster speeds, yes. But you're also using up energy faster than you would have been otherwise.

The other thing you realise as you're up here, is you have no idea how to land. And that's not 'you have no idea how to land safely' it's 'you have no idea how to land at all.' Starscream had mentioned something ages ago about familiarising yourself with your landing gear, but you've passed the point of no return now. Maybe your boastful assessments of being a natural at flying were a bit premature. If you can't land, then you have no choice but to fall once your energy runs out. You make a mental note to find somewhere safe to crash when your levels are near 1%.

But so far, flying is awesome. All those games of catch were mere crumbs in comparison to the real deal of being able to soar through the sky without restriction. You could go anywhere, be anything, the feeling of freedom is so palpable you could assign it a specific taste.

But you were on a mission. Fly, get help for Barricade. Bring help back to the coordinates that you have listed. Look for familiar structures that you saw during the landing. Fly like you've never flown before.

Beneath you the vegetation becomes more sparse, or at least it looks that way with your high vantage point. A few building structures peek out from beneath the vegetation, partially obscured by the overgrowth. Cybertron, you decide, can be pretty when not viewed with the optics of someone terrified. The miniscule leaves sway in a light wind, creating a picturesque scene that reminds you of ocean waves far out at sea. Up here, everything beneath you looks small, which is a sensation that you haven't experienced much lately.

All other Cybertronians are huge in comparison, and finally up here you can look down on things. The feeling of freedom isn't a new one, but you try not to let the feeling of power go to your helm. Up here, with nothing to hinder you, is an amazing feeling, but you're going to have to descend at some point. Back to the ground, where you're smaller than the average Cybertronian.

Will you get bigger, if you stay this way? Will you grow as big and tall as the Seekers? You'll miss curling up into their palms, but there's something to be said about meeting them optic-to-optic. You can imagine their proud looks on their faceplates, and the thought fills you with joy.

You're not sure if you want to give up your power of flight, now that you know what it's like. If you were able to return to being a human, you'd do so knowing that you'd never feel this way ever again.

You fly for a while, flickering between thoughts of the future and the memories you have of the past. Checking your energy levels constantly, you watch the number tick down with a growing anxiety. Structures have only just begun to appear beneath you, but they're still sparse. Like you're stuck in the vast outskirts of some city. The buildings look similar in material to those that you saw when you first landed, but then again the buildings in Kalis might have also been made of the same crystalline material. Hopeful but anxious, you have no choice but to carry on.

Your energy levels now sit at a concerning 5%, but now there's no sign that you're still heading in the right direction. The Sea of Rust sits behind you now, with the Wastes taking up the majority of your vision. The vegetation is sparser, but still visible. In the far distance a gleaming cityscape glitters under the barely rising sun, and you make a decision then and there to make it your destination before running out of energy.

Goal in mind, you carry on.

Staring focused at your destination, you let the rest of the world fall away from you. You fly with a single-minded purpose–to make it to the cityline before you crash. You toe the line between speed and energy efficiency, using the light wind to buffer your wings and let you coast on them whenever you can.

The city sparkles in the distance, as if cheering you on. The light flickers between yellow and blue, catching the light of the shining towers.

But–wait. The glitters are flickering more blue now. The light shines in your vision, confusing you. Is…something there? It's steady, whatever it is, and it's approaching fast.

You have half a mind to veer off and try and lose it (whatever it is) in the sparse vegetation, but you stay your course. You could be imagining it, but this could be a survivor still living on Cybertron after all these years. Or something else you don't recognize. You don't recognize the colours from the Seekers you do know, except for…But that's impossible. If you had a helm in this form you'd be shaking it.

The figure begins to take shape, and appears exactly like you expect it. A jet is heading directly towards you, and it's not veering off course. Whoever they are, maybe they can help! You hope they're nice, but you try to be realistic. They don't know you and they have no obligation to help you. At best, this stranger can point you in the direction you need to go, or better yet escort you themself. You try to stop the well of emotion building within you at the familiarity. It's not him, stop thinking like that. It's just your processor playing tricks on you.

But hey! Figment of your imagination or no, they're clearly another Seeker. That's great news! Skywarp and Starscream will be so happy to know that they're not the last. You hope your lack of knowledge of Vosian customs doesn't put a proverbial pede in your intake.

An astrosecond later, more colours take shape, and you have to stop your spark from surging. They're his colours. You'd know them anywhere. The yellow glass cockpit. The deep blue paint. The purple Decepticon symbol on his wing.

The shock hits you so hard that at first you don't even register the fact that you've transformed in midair, suddenly freefalling using leftover momentum from your flight. The mechanical clicks and whirrs fade in your audials alongside the sudden rush of wind, and you barely notice the freefall. In that same instant he transforms too, exactly as you remember him, and you're mutely grateful that the wind from your descent makes your optics water and dry at speed.

His faceplate is grey, surrounded by a black helm, and the expression he holds is one of fierce affection. Activating his pede thrusters in a downward position, he follows after you in a gravity-assisted plummeting descent, and outstretches his familiar black servo to you. You let out one choked sob, and reach back.

Your digits make contact with his larger one, and he pulls you to his chassis without pausing. The roar of his thrusters make a deafening cacophony beneath you, as a cloud of warm air presses into you on all sides. You're thankful for the noise, because you're definitely crying again. Your mutual descent is slowed until it finally stops, and Thundercracker touches ground without ever letting you go.

Your digits touching everywhere they can reach, you never want to wake up from this dream. This can't be real, he can't be real. You can't see through your tears, but you can feel him petting you back. He's saying something, but you can't hear through the roar of your audials and the volume of your cries. His voice brings back the only memory you have of him, all those weeks ago. He called you strong, called you little wing, and promised to protect you.

And he died protecting you. But he feels real and warm underneath your knees and under your servos. You can't find words to speak, too overwhelmed with everything. If this is some hallucination from your low energy imminent stasis, then it's a good one. He brings you up and tucks you closer, under his chin like Starscream always does. You clutch at a few cables there, careful not to puncture anything with your tiny talons, and try to stifle your sobs.

You can hear him clearer now, he's shushing you and saying it's going to be ok. You don't care if this is a hallucination, you're going to stay in this mirage for as long as you're allowed, and you'd give anything for it to be real. Clutching at him desperately, the sensation of him here is better than anything you could have dreamed.

Your sobs die down to hiccups as tears continue to stream down your faceplace. They drip down your chin and onto your chassis, eventually dribbling down onto Thundercracker's armour. You choke back a few particularly heavy sobs, and gather the courage to meet his optics.

As you pull away to get a better vantage, his red optics bore down onto you. A frown mars his faceplate, but his optics are full of affection. Raising one of your servos to his cheek, you let out in a quiet voice.

"Are you real?" Your words are barely a whisper, as if the volume of your speech could scare away this illusion. His eyebrow ridge furrows at your words, and he tsks lightly, a vibration you can feel underneath your palm.

"Oh, little wing." His throat cables rumble under your other servo in tandem with his voice. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Fresh tears spring up from your optics, but the shudders and sobs have ceased. Do you let yourself believe it? That he's really here?

"It was never my intention to deceive you, especially not this long." He speaks in a rushed voice. "But no longer. I'm not going anywhere. Not even if you try to send me away."

Looking deep into his optics, you begin to believe the illusion might just be real. Your servos caress his cheek of their own volition, and each movement solidifies that he might really be here.

"B-but, you were dead." The last word leaves your mouth like a ghost, barely audible. His expression scrunches, but he doesn't look away.

"A necessary deception, I'm afraid. But it doesn't matter anymore. That plan can't exist anymore, and I couldn't care less-" His faceplate flashes with a familiar annoyed grimace that reminds you of Starscream. "Are you injured? How did you get back here?" A moment later his expression breaks out into a soft grin. "You flew."

You can't stop your smile underneath your tears. Your grin back at him. "I did." You laugh wetly. "I'm a natural."

There's so many things you want to ask him, but they all seem far away, unimportant. He's here, he's here. A missing piece slots itself alongside your spark. You finally feel whole.