Silverstreak stood outside of Optimus's office, dread clawing at his spark. What would the Boss-bot say this time? Another injury, this one severe. Still, that Oleson fellow didn't have to insult him. And you didn't have to break his ribs, a voice said in his head; it sounded incredibly like Optimus's voice. He had been panicking for two days, waiting for the inevitable moment where he had to face Optimus Prime, and the order had been passed to him from Ironhide, who had stared at him with sympathy and something else, something that Silverstreak couldn't place.

The youngling was just considering bolting when Optimus spoke. "Silverstreak, I know you're out there."

"Of course you do," Silverstreak said before he could stop himself. "You know everything, don't you?"

Silence. Silverstreak's insides quivered. With Optimus, silence was a punishment. He always wished the Prime would yell at him for being stupid and disrespectful. Instead, silence reigned, full of unspoken anger and bitter disappointment that Silverstreak wasn't good enough. He would never be good enough because he was human, and yet Optimus insisted that he could be better. Silverstreak knew he secretly thought that he would never be as good as the Prime wanted. Just the thought sent barbs of pain into his spark.

"Come in, Silverstreak," Optimus said after a long minute of silence. His voice was even, full of forced patience, and Silverstreak slunk into the room.

Silverstreak paused in the doorway, taking in the room. It was neat and tidy, completely unlike his human quarters. Yet another thing that he was a failure at. Silverstreak just couldn't be bothered with cleaning his room. Usually, he let it get so bad that Bumblebee would scold him and clean it up. The threat that he would never do it again meant very little because both of them knew that Bumblebee would do it again. Silverstreak often felt guilty, but he had no desire to do something as boring as cleaning.

"Come in, Silverstreak," Optimus repeated, irritation in his tone.

Wondering if he could still get out of this, Silverstreak hovered in the door. A threatening series of beeps came from Optimus, and he decided that he should listen. In one tremendous leap, he landed on top of the desk. He kept his head down, his long, silver hair hiding his expression.

"Yeah?" he asked sullenly.

Optimus pressed a button and the door slid closed. A mix of defiance and fear stirred inside of Silverstreak, and he gritted his teeth to keep from quaking. There was silence again, and the youngling could feel that Primus-forsaken gaze roving over his form, reading every thought and emotion that they could. But he still doesn't understand, Silverstreak thought angrily. He chooses to ignore everything.

"Look at me," Optimus said, his deep voice holding a command that Silverstreak was unable to disobey.

Silverstreak tossed his head, meeting the piercing optics with defiance. "What do you want?"

Optimus seemed to be irritated by that, which pleased the youngling. "Do you have to speak like that?"

"You going to stop me?" Silverstreak asked, knowing he was pushing his luck.

To his immense surprise, Optimus spoke calmly. "Yes. I am. I am your Prime, and you will speak to me civilly or you will hold your glossa."

"And if I don't?" Silverstreak asked, curious and a bit afraid.

"Then you will go to the brig until you change your attitude."

Silverstreak snorted. He'd had brig time before. It didn't mean anything to him. "Is that all?"

Optimus's optics flashed white, something that made Silverstreak's stomach clench. Still, he held the gaze, daring him to do something more drastic. And he did.

"You are going to be on low-grade energon, plain, with no variation. You will reorganize the human supplies according to their instructions, and then you will categorize the supplies the Autobots need. You will repair the energon converter that you broke last week, and you will clean your room. Bumblebee told me it's a wreck. Again."

Silverstreak gaped at Optimus. The Prime had never, ever given him a punishment like that before. He had always been sent to the brig, where he'd sit for days and then go back to what he was doing. Brig time was on human terms, and what did he care about a few days? He had millions of years to look forward to. But this, this was too much.

"Are you serious?" he demanded, his voice high with shock. "All that for hurting that guy?"

"No," Optimus said calmly. "That is for talking back to me. You are entirely too comfortable with talking back to me. You don't do that for Kup, do you?"

"No," Silverstreak grumbled. Kup was really creative with punishments, and Silverstreak had long ago learned not to mess with Kup. But Optimus? Optimus had never punished him like this. "It's not fair," he finally said, crossing his arms.

"It is fair, and you know it. It's time you start to respect those older than you, especially those in charge. Now, about your punishment for what you did to Oleson."

"More?!" Silverstreak yelped.

"Yes, more," Optimus said sternly. "You have been entirely too temperamental. You've damaged Autobot property, human property, and humans themselves. You need to learn to control your temper, Silverstreak."

"He had it coming!" Silverstreak said hotly. "He called me a—"

"I know what he called you," Optimus broke in grimly. "He had no right to say those things, but just because he did doesn't give you the right to break his ribs, dislocate his shoulder, and send him to the hospital. You are far, far stronger than any human being, Silverstreak. You need to learn that you are responsible for your own actions. You cannot control other people, but you can control how you respond to them. I want you to think about that while you're assisting Ratchet to clean and reorganize everything in his medbay."

Silverstreak nearly swore, but he curbed his glossa just in time. "That takes weeks for him to do!" he sputtered.

"That will give you plenty of time to consider your actions."

The youngling couldn't believe his ears. "Please tell me you're joking!"

The look on Optimus's face let Silverstreak know that the Prime wasn't kidding. He wanted to scream as anger bloomed through him, warming him. Sparks snapped at his fingers, and he glared at Optimus. This wasn't fair! That man had insulted him! Had laughed at him! And yet he was the one being punished? Optimus stared at him coolly. Silverstreak wanted to blast the look off of his commander's face.

"Are you going to electrocute me, Silverstreak?" Optimus asked softly.

With a huge effort, Silverstreak clenched his fists and forced the sparks to die away. Optimus looked pleased.

"Was that so hard?"

Silverstreak didn't dare speak. He was so angry, and the anger had nowhere to go. His blood, or whatever it was that now ran through his veins, boiled, and he gritted his teeth, his blue eyes bright with rage that didn't want to be contained. Optimus waited patiently, sure that the anger would dissipate. And then he pushed a smidge too far.

"I knew you could control yourself."

With a bellow of rage, Silverstreak stomped his foot on the desk. A wave of electricity burst out of him, canvassing the room. Optimus had one moment to anticipate pain, and then his entire body was lifted by the shocks and flung backward. He crashed to the floor, gasping as every sensor lit with fire, and all he knew was pain.

Silverstreak, breathing heavily, dropped to his knees, weak and shaky. His eyes landed on Optimus, who was slumped over on the floor. For a moment, Silverstreak was pleased, then he saw Optimus twitching and thrashing. It looked like he was having a seizure. Silverstreak didn't know what to do. His spark hammered in his chest, and he began to shake with revulsion. He'd done this. He had lost control of his temper again, and this was the result. What could he do?

Emergency button, his mind supplied. Call Ratchet!

Silverstreak dove across the desk and slammed the button down. A soft, steady beeping came from the desk, and Ratchet came on the comm.

"Optimus? What's wrong? Did you bump it again?"

"Help!" Silverstreak screeched. "He's having a seizure or something!"

There was a curse, and the comm shut off. Silverstreak didn't want to stay, but he couldn't move. He was so tired all of a sudden. He had used so much power, and his energon store was depleted. He hasn't had a drink of energon in days. Lightheadedness washed over him, and he collapsed, lying still. He didn't even have the energy to go through the motions of breathing. He distantly heard a bang at the door, but he couldn't focus. He was so tired, so very tired…

Commotion surrounded him, and he heard Ratchet's voice distorted around him, asking what the frag was going on. Ironhide spoke, too, though Silverstreak couldn't comprehend what he said. Human-sized Autobot hands touched him, and he managed to crack his eyes open to see Bumblebee. He looked sad.

"He lost his temper again," his Guardian sighed. "And he's low on energy. He hasn't been drinking properly."

"And he took it out on Optimus?!" Ratchet raged from the floor.

Ironhide joined Bumblebee on the desk. "I'll take care of Silverstreak, Bee. Help Ratchet with Prime."

Bumblebee looked like he wanted to argue, but Ironhide gave him a look, and the scout obediently disappeared and his real body knelt down beside Optimus. The sounds of thrashing had died away, and Silverstreak hoped that the seizure was over. He wanted to apologize to them all, to say he was sorry for being such a screwup, but his mouth wouldn't open, his glossa wouldn't cooperate. He stared up at Ironhide's grave face and tears stung his eyes. He was so tired he couldn't even whine like a Cybertronian. No, now he was crying like a human.

"Easy, Silverstreak," Ironhide said. "Let's get you to your room."

A large hand curled around him and he was carried through the halls. His human quarters were the only human-sized rooms in the Autobots' section of the base. Ironhide sat down outside the small door, and he projected his holo-matter form on the ground. He was the size of a human, but he was in his Cybertronian form. With great care, he picked up Silverstreak's limp body and carried him into the room.

The floor was littered with various projects and trash, which made Silverstreak feel even worse. Usually, it was only Bumblebee who came in when it was this messy. But Ironhide said nothing and picked his way through the debris to the soft, human-sized berth. He moved the blankets back with one hand, balancing the youngling against his body, and then lay him down. Tears wound down Silverstreak's face, and he finally managed to speak.

"I don't mean to, 'Hide," he whispered, the hot tears flowing faster. "I don't mean to hurt people."

Ironhide sat down next to him on the berth. There was compassion in the usually gruff mech's face, and he reached over and brushed the strands of metal hair away from the young face.

"I know," Ironhide said gently. "But if you don't learn to control yourself, you will end up killing somebody. You're lucky it was Prime."

Silverstreak closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. "You can't hate me any more than I do."

"I don't hate you," Ironhide replied. "None of us hate you. But we all know there is something great inside you, just waiting to burst out. There must be a reason the Primes picked you. Maybe Primus himself ordered them to pick you. Who knows? But this anger needs to be dealt with. You're so angry, Silverstreak. Why?"

Silverstreak's spark ached, and he turned his face away. He didn't want to answer that. He didn't know how to answer that. Bumblebee tried hard to get him to say why he was angry, but he didn't think they would understand. If he was honest, he didn't entirely know himself. Ironhide didn't sigh wearily like Bumblebee did. Instead, he stood up.

"I hope you explore that, Silverstreak," he said. "I know it's hard to come to terms with anger. I had to, and there are many that have to, too. Now it's your turn. And when you figure it out, I hope you talk to somebody. I'm going to go get you energon."

"Wait!" Silverstreak gasped. Ironhide paused and looked back. The youngling lost his nerve. "Optimus said I can't have anything but low grade," he said weakly.

"Then I'll get you some low grade," Ironhide said.

He picked his way back to the door and left Silverstreak alone with his self-deprecating thoughts.

"I will never be good enough," he whispered. "That's why I'm angry."

But nobody was there to talk to him. And the Primes had gone silent years ago. He was well and truly alone.