Silverstorm had no idea what he was supposed to be doing, but in the quiet of the early hours, he thought about everything that had happened in the few short days he'd been back on Cybertron. He still couldn't believe that he'd seen Primus himself. Bumblebee had often talked of him to the Primes, back when they had regularly shared dreams and gone to whatever plane of existence that the Primes were now on. But to have seen him was the most amazing feeling Silverstorm had ever known. But he still struggled with the fact that Primus had so casually made him a Prime. Just thinking of his new name was terribly confusing. On the one hand, he knew that he was Silverstorm. The change from Silverstreak to Silverstorm was exciting and exhilarating. It was the title that he had trouble with.

After a while, the other younglings began to stir, and Silverstorm realized that the next day was starting, which was the first full day he would be a Prime. With great reluctance, Silverstorm got up and headed for the wash racks. He turned on a blast of cleanser and sighed as the warm liquid splashed over his new frame. He had crevices and moving parts where there had once been smooth human flesh. He marveled at this until a youngling walked in. It was Beachcomber, and the mech smiled at him before heading for his own shower. He churred deep in his chest.

"It was very kind of you to fix our showers, Silverstreak," he sighed.

The correction leaped to his vocalized before he registered the mistake consciously. "Silverstorm." Beachcomber glanced over, and Silverstorm's vents hitched. He looked away. "Sorry. My name is Silverstorm now. So… yeah."

Beachcomber studied him then nodded. "Sorry, sir."

Silverstorm burst our laughing, stuttering and coughing through his vents as cleanser rushed into his intake system. After clicking through his mirth, he pushed himself off the wall. In his fit of laughter, the others had peeked in to make sure he wasn't dying. Mirage stepped into the doorway.

"You okay, Prime?"

Silverstorm smiled and nodded, habitually reaching up to wipe now-nonexistent tears off of his cheeks. "Sorry for alarming you. Beachy called me 'sir.'" He laughed again. "Just Silverstorm is okay. For now, at least."

Beachcomber looked bemused. "Silverstorm, then."

Silverstorm finished bathing and walked into the berthroom after being dried under a burst of air. It was novel to not use a towel, and yet he still felt clean and refreshed. All of the younglings kept glancing over at him, anxiety in their expressions. He mused on that, wondering why, when it hit him. They already considered him their leader and they were afraid that he would abandon them. Silverstorm wondered where all of the mechs were. When Mirage came out, clean and dry, he decided to ask.

"Is there anybody else around here?"

Mirage shook his head, a low buzzing in his throat. "No, Prime. Just us."

"Nobody is in charge of you?"

Mirage's optics dimmed. "Well, there's Ultra Magnus."

The tone of his voice let Silverstorm know that Ultra Magnus was not the most popular mech. Still, the new Prime needed to know.

"Who is he?"

"The mech in charge of the younglings," Sunstreaker said.

Seaspray gurgled low in his vocalizer. "I don't like him," he admitted.

"He treats us like sparklings," Pipes said unhappily.

Even Red Alert has nothing positive to say. "He thinks we're too young for everything. Including weapon upgrades."

Silverstorm shuttered his optics. "None of you have weapons?" he asked incredulously.

"No," Mirage spat, his golden optics flashing. "We're too young. We could never hope to defend ourselves."

Silverstorm stared at them in disbelief. "You're kidding." Mirage shook his head. "You can't even fight hand-to-hand?"

"No," Hound said. "We're dead if they break in."

Anger stirred in Silverstorm's chest, and he stood up and began to pace. His movements were still a bit shaky, but he was getting used to his new frame surprisingly fast. He thought of Optimus's smug, I'm-better-than-you attitude, and he growled. It was definitely the same with Ultra Magnus. He could feel uneasy optics watching him as he thought. Then he turned and planted his feet.

"That must be remedied."

Mirage smiled sadly. "I doubt you have the upgrades we need. And you won't convince Magnus."

Silverstorm shook his head, his optics glinting. "You're lucky I'm from Earth." They looked at him strangely, so he grinned. "My native species is not like yours. All of our weapons are external. And it so happens that I have studied our weapons in great detail, enough that I could reproduce them."

"So?" Mirage asked.

"So give me a few days and I will make you weapons."

Hound sat up straight. "Really?" he asked excitedly.

"Really," Silverstorm said.

"What are we supposed to do?" Mirage asked.

Silverstorm considered this. His gaze went to the window, which was streaked and splattered with grime. He reached over and drew his fingers over the pane of thick Cybertronian glass, and his hand came away with filth spread across his armor. Turning to look at the rest of the sleeping quarters, he noticed how dingy and dirty everything was. He couldn't believe what he was about to say, knowing for a fact that he would have balked at the mere thought just a few days before. But he knew they would feel better after it was done. He braced himself for argument then spoke.

"I want you all to clean up this room. I want it spotless."

There was a long pause then Mirage nodded slowly. "We don't have any supplies to clean."

"What do you have?"

They spread out and began pulling absorbent metal-like cloths from drawers, and they were just as filthy as the rest of the room. Silverstorm nodded when they each had a cloth and Pipes had pulled out a Cybertronian mop.

"Do you have a tub?" he asked.

There was a pause then Blurr gave a loud cry and dashed out of the room. There was a yelp and the sound of crashing that got fainter. Sunstreaker snickered. Silverstorm took several steps forward.

"What happened?"

"Blurr fell down the stairs again," Mirage said, exasperated.

"What?!" Silverstorm shoved past them out the doorway and hurried down the stairs to check on Blurr. The youngling was rubbing his head, his optics pink.

"You okay?" he asked gently.

Blurr nodded. "I always forget about the bad step," he muttered in a rush.

"You should slow down when you go down the stairs."

A harsh laugh sounded from above, and Sunstreaker leaned against the wall. "Blurr never slows down. Ever."

Blurr shifted on the floor. "I can't, Silverstorm," he said miserably.

Silverstorm could hear his own words in the same way, the fact that he felt like he couldn't control his temper. He reached down and pulled Blurr to his feet. Blurr wouldn't look at him, but Silverstorm knew he needed to say what was on his mind. He tilted Blurr's chin up and spoke gently.

"I know it's hard. But we'll work on it one day at a time."

Blurr searched the new Prime's face then smiled and nodded. He glanced around the pulled back. "Tub," he said. He hurried over to a closet and jerked out a large tub. He struggled to hold it, so Silverstorm walked over and grabbed one of the handles. Blurr shifted the tub and they began to heave it up the stairs. It was surprisingly heavy, but when they got upstairs to the berthroom, Silverstorm guided Blurr into the showers and set the tub down. He filled it with cleanser then they lifted it up again and Silverstorm guided Blurr to the window and set the tub down.

"Rag," Silverstorm said.

Hound handed one to him and he dipped the rag in the cleanser and wiped off his hand. The filth came off easily. Then he dipped the rag again and turned to wipe down the window. As he wiped the wet rag across the glass, the buildings across the street became clearer. It wasn't perfect since there was no easy way to clean the second-story window from the outside, but it was better. Silverstorm dipped the dirty rag into the cleanser, swished it around, then wrung out the rag and handed it back to Hound.

"I want every bit of this room wiped down. Windows, walls, floors, berths, everything. We will recharge in a clean room tonight."

Mirage was the first to move, and he dipped his cloth in the cleanser and turned to finish the window that his Prime had started. One by one, the others began to follow suit. When they were well underway with their cleaning, Silverstorm left them to their job, heading outside to look for different types of metal.

He began to consider the type of weapon to make first. He gathered a sturdy, strong metal, tapping a sharp tip with his metal finger. If they were grabbed by a Decepticon, they would need a close-range weapon. So he decided to forge knives. He considered what he needed and began to work. After hours and hours of working, he had started nine knives and finished only one as an example. He took several experimental swings and stabs them he picked up the sheath he'd made and headed back. When he walked into the house, he shuttered his optics in surprise. The younglings had finished the berthroom and were now cleaning the rest of the house. The floors were spotless and dry, the metal looking more like it was supposed to than ever before. The walls were being scrubbed by the tired younglings, but when they registered that Silverstorm was back, they stood up and stretched out their sore muscle cables.

"Hey, Prime," Mirage said. "How does it look?"

Silverstorm looked around the half-finished room, then he looked at the anxious faces before him. "It looks good," he said, beaming. "Better than before. We have a lot of work to do, but this is a good start."

The pleasure that his simple compliment produced made him feel good. The younglings grinned at each other, obviously proud of themselves. Then Mirage saw the sheathed knife in Silverstorm's hand.

"Is that a weapon?" he asked doubtfully.

Silverstorm gestured him forward then wrapped the metal strands around Mirage so that the knife sat at his left hip. He guided Mirage's hand to the hilt and Mirage slid it out of the sheath. The sharp edges glowed gold around the edges as Mirage lifted the small weapon to his optics to study it.

"It's a knife," Silverstorm explained. "I only finished one, but I have the others started. It's made by folding thin sheets of metal over itself and hammering them out. This one is for stabbing and slashing. There are others made for cutting and hacking. Once I get the others done, I'll teach you some hand-to-hand combat techniques to use with the knives. Once you get good enough, I'll make other weapons and then you can practice with those."

The knife was passed from hand to hand, and the younglings all studied it with fascination. They handled it delicately, tracing their fingers over the edges before passing it along. Mirage took it back and awkwardly sheathed it again. The unfamiliar, light weight at his hip excited and scared him.

"Thank you," he said.

Silverstorm nodded then started as a wave of weakness washed over him and a sucking sensation sounded from his middle. The sensation was so strong and so strange that he almost tumbled over. Mirage caught him, frowning at him.

"Did you take any Energon with you?"

Silverstorm shook his head. "I wasn't hungry," he said.

"Sure sounds like you are."

Then Silverstorm realized that the odd sucking sensation was his fuel tank. He had never considered what hunger felt like for Cybertronians. The feeling had hit him with more frequency throughout the process of making the knives, but he hadn't recognized what it was. He shuttered his optics as they turned pink.

"I didn't realize that was hunger," he murmured.

"What?" Pipes asked, unable to believe his audios.

"In my other form, hunger feels different," he said. "I didn't know that the sucking was hunger."

Mirage was the only one who laughed. "Well, let's get you some Energon. But remember this for the future."

Silverstorm chuckled in embarrassment. His body felt so heavy and awkward. "Help me take some Energon. I need to lay down."

Mirage and Pipes helped him upstairs then used the old Energon converter to fill a cube. The sensation of Energon hitting his empty fuel tank gave him a light-headed feeling, and he had to intake air to cool his heated systems. Pipes frowned at him.

"I should have given you some after we recharged."

"I didn't think of it," Silverstorm said.

"Well, now you know."

Silverstorm nodded and laid back after his cube was empty. He offlined his optics and fell instantly into recharge. The younglings picked up their cleaning supplies, emptied the tub of cleanser in the shower, then refueled and lay down. Overwhelmed by the busy day, they didn't even talk before recharging. They fell into a deep sleep without a word, and for the first time in their lives, they were satisfied and tired from a full day's work. It was a good feeling.