Silverstorm awoke with a gasp, his spark pulsating hard. He had to go. He knew that without a doubt. Something terrible was happening, and he had to help. Without a sound, he hurried out of the house and to the shield. He flexed his power, the shield fritzed, and he ran out into the devastated city. He didn't know what kind of force was pulling on him, but he followed it without thinking. He twisted and turned through wreckage and debris, heading past the mines where he'd met Silverbolt. On and on he went, covering several miles as he half-ran toward the disturbance.

When he crested a rise, he saw what he was after. A mech was running, pitiful cries coming from his vocalizer. He fought and struggled with an invisible enemy, dashing here and there, his keening yells loud and frantic. Silverstorm slid down the metal embankment and cautiously approached. When he stumbled over his own feet, the mech turned and screamed, running backward and tripping over his own feet.

"No! No! No!" he groaned. "No more! No more! It hurts! It hurts! Make it stop! Make it stop! Make it stop!"

He scrambled backward, his hands getting slashed by the crumpled metal that littered what must have been a battlefield. His green optics were hazy and unfocused, his intakes were harsh and short, and he seemed to not be entirely there. Silverstorm considered the situation then gingerly got down on his hands and knees. Crawling forward, he began to sing songs in English, lullabies to calm and soothe. Though there was no doubt the youngling couldn't speak any human languages, the low, soothing music calmed him, and he stilled, his optics trying to focus on the Prime. He couldn't quite get there, but he allowed Silverstorm to get closer.

As he crawled, the sharp, jagged pieces of debris cut into his hands, but he didn't stop singing, ignoring the pings of pain that radiated from his hands, knees, and feet. When he reached the youngling, he saw it was another flier. Considering that and the green optics, Silverstorm knew he had to be one of Silverbolt's friends. He sat back on his heels and finished his song, a rendition of Hush Little Baby, then smiled at the youngling.

"Hello," he said pleasantly, smiling. "I'm Silverstorm."

"Bolt," the mech mumbled.

"No. Not Silverbolt. Silverstorm. Are you okay?"

"No. Hurts."

"What hurts?"

The youngling reached up and placed his bloody hands on either side of his head. He trembled.

"Your processor hurts?"

The youngling nodded. "Pain. Make it stop. Please?"

"I'm not a medic," Silverstorm said quietly. "I can take you to a medic."

"No hurt?"

"Pipes won't hurt you," Silverstorm promised. "Will you come with me?"

"You won't leave?" The youngling's optics focused for a few moments.

"No. I'll come with you. Can you stand?"

Silverstorm got no reply, so he stood, grimacing as more wounds opened on his feet. But he didn't care. He gently helped the flier to stand and looped his arm through the flier's, like a courtship on earth. Then he began to walk. The flier was unsteady on his feet, but as they walked, he seemed to be balancing better. As they passed the mines, the flier stopped, reached up to his chest, and began to mouth words. He paused then shook his head.

"They're not answering. Can you contact them? They're worried."

"Let's get you to Pipes first. You have a lot of cuts and you need to see a medic."

A flash of fear lit up the youngling's face, and the green optics unfocused again. Silverstorm knew at once that the flier was afraid of medics.

"I'll be there the whole time," he assured him. "And if he hurts you, I'll hurt him."

The flier began to focus again. "Promise?"

"I promise."

That calmed him, and they made their way back to the shield. When they got there, Hound was pacing up and down very fast. As soon as he saw the Prime, he grabbed the circuit and shorted it. Silverstorm slipped through with the flier.

"By the Spires," Hound gasped, looking the battered and bloody pair over. "Pipes is waiting. Mirage woke us up and told us what was going on. Come on. Primus is there, too."

The two younglings limped through the repaired city, and the flier smiled. "So pretty," he sighed.

"Thank you," Silverstorm said.

Primus met them at Pipes's medbay. "There you are. Come on, Fireflight. Let's see the medic. It'll be okay." He turned to Silverstorm. "Contact Silverbolt. Hound, go and wait by the eastern border. When you see four fliers, open the shield for them."

Silverstorm nodded and contacted Silverbolt's frequency.

"What?!" a voice shrieked, distorting from the volume.

"It's me, Silverstorm. I've got Fireflight."

There was a wild cry. "Is he okay?! Where are you?!"

"I brought him to our medic, Pipes. He's got quite a few lacerations, and there's something wrong with his focus and thought processes. Primus is here, too. Come to the edge of the shield, and Hound will let you in."

"Don't hurt him!" Silverbolt begged frantically.

"I would never hurt him, Silverbolt."

There was a pause, and when the flier spoke, he was calmer. "Okay then. We'll be there in ten. Have somebody waiting."

"We'll be here."

Silverstorm disconnected then went into the medbay. Primus held Fireflight against him, murmuring gently in his audio as Pipes welded shut the lacerations on his feet. Silverstorm hesitated, wondering if he was needed, then Fireflight reached out toward him and whined.

"Want!" he sobbed.

Silverstorm walked over and sat on his other side. Fireflight cuddled into him, watching with his odd green optics as Pipes welded another cut shut.

"You can't?" Silverstorm asked lightly.

"Not right now. I still haven't recovered from the clearing yesterday," Primus admitted. "I'm glad you did such a big vein or I wouldn't have enough energy to be here."

"Okay."

"I'll get to you in a while, Prime," Pipes said, checking a weld line then moving on. "He's got a lot of damage."

Silverstorm nodded tiredly. "It's okay."

Pipes worked methodically, welding cut after cut while Primus hummed a low frequency from his vocalizer. Fireflight clung to Silverstorm, his optics unfocused, but the important thing was that he was calm. After a while, there came the clattering sounds of feet on metal, and Silverbolt burst in with three other fliers. He looked around, saw Fireflight, and made a beeline for him. Ignoring everybody else, Silverbolt tenderly grasped Fireflight's bloody hands.

"You okay, Flight?"

Fireflight shuttered his optics then focused at once. "Oh. Hey Bolt."

"What happened?" a short flier demanded, his blazing green optics scanning Silverstorm and Primus. He sneered at Pipes, glaring at the blowtorch. "Don't touch him, fragger!"

Fireflight looked puzzled as he took in his surroundings. "Where am I?"

"With Silverstorm and the younglings," Primus said, still stroking Fireflight's hand. "I alerted my Prime that you were having an episode, and he went and calmed you down. Then he brought you here for treatment."

"Oh." Fireflight scanned the room then saw Silverstorm. He smiled then gestured as he turned to Silverbolt. "I like him. He's nice."

Silverbolt stared for a moment then relaxed. "You helped him."

"Yes," Silverstorm replied.

"Why?" The short flier asked, crossing his arms.

Silverstorm shrugged. "It was the right thing to do."

The flier opened his mouth to say something else, but Silverbolt shook his head. "Drop it, Slingshot," he said then turned to Silverstorm. "Thank you. We owe you."

"Excuse me. May I continue?" Pipes asked, looking from his Prime to Silverbolt.

Fireflight shivered and glanced at Silverstorm. "If he hurts me, you'll hurt him?" he asked.

"Pipes won't hurt you. I promise," Silverstorm said.

"I'll make sure of that," Silverbolt said. "Move," he said to Primus. Then he paused. "Do I know you?"

Primus smiled and stood up. "You've been talking to me for a few weeks."

"You're Primus," the blue flier said softly.

Silverbolt took a step back. "How do you know, Skydive?"

"Silver and gold designs, tall, golden optics, knows you've been talking to him, marked with Ancient symbols," Skydive recited, his pleasant, low tone reminding Silverstorm of First Aid's voice.

Silverbolt's green optics flashed orange. "I'm so sorry, sir," he murmured, bowing his head. "I didn't realize who you were."

"I understand your concerns about Fireflight, but you shouldn't rush to be angry at everybody. Nobody here will harm any of you." Primus stepped aside, gesturing for the flier to sit beside Fireflight.

Silverbolt hesitated then sat down, wrapping an arm around his friend. He glanced at Pipes then nodded. "Be gentle, please. We have bad experiences with medical tools."

Pipes nodded. "Understood. This might sting, but I won't hurt you on purpose."

Fireflight offlined his optics and buried his head in Silverbolt's shoulder. Silverbolt nodded at Pipes. The medic began to weld the cuts again, slowly moving from Fireflight's feet up his legs. Fireflight was tense, but he was calm. Silverbolt kept his optics on Pipes, his mouth moving without audible words coming out. Slingshot, Skydive, and the third flier stood and watched, their fingers dancing over their chests.

Silverstorm considered this. There was something strange about these fliers. This was the second time he'd seen Silverbolt mouthing words without speaking, and Fireflight had done the same thing earlier. He has also touched his chest, as the others were doing. Add the fear of medics and the bad experiences with medical tools, and Silverstorm was sure that some kind of torture had happened. That would also account for Silverbolt's reluctance to reveal his friends and their living in the mines.

When the final weld was made on Fireflight's hand, Pipes let out an intake and sat back on his heels. "There you go. I would recommend a good cube of energon and a long rest."

"Thank you," Silverbolt said.

"How are we going to get back?" the light blue and orange flier asked. "He's in no state to fly, Bolt. And it's pretty far."

Silverbolt frowned then slowly looked up. "Silverstorm?" he asked "I have no right to ask you for anything, but is it possible for us to rest here for tonight?"

"A few cycles," Pipes argued at once. "He lost a lot of blood. He needs to regain his strength."

Silverbolt grimaced. "I can't ask that of you," he said.

"You don't have to," Silverstorm said. "Of course you can stay. I'll have my younglings prepare the house next to ours for you. We finished it two cycles ago."

"You don't even know us," Slingshot said. "We could kill you in your sleep."

"Primus sent me to help you," Silverstorm said. "That tells me that he knows you and trusts you. That's good enough for me."

The fliers stared then looked to Silverbolt. Silverbolt gave a gasping whine then collected himself. "If you're serious, then yes. We will stay."

Silverstorm stood at once. "Pipes, go and get them some energon. I'll go and help prepare their rooms."

He strode out to find the younglings standing outside. Mirage paced anxiously, and as soon as he saw his Prime, he hurried over. "You look awful!" he gasped.

"I thought Pipes would help," Hound said.

Silverstorm glanced down at himself to see that he was scratched and bloody. Soreness made itself known, and he swayed.

"Oh," he murmured.

Mirage grabbed him. "Go back in right now!" he ordered.

"We need to prepare the rooms in the house for the fliers," Silverstorm protested.

"How many?" Sideswipe asked.

"There's five of them," Hound said.

"We'll handle that, Prime," Red Alert said sternly. "You get patched up."

"But I promised Silverbolt that I'd help."

"You've done more than enough, Prime," Silverbolt said from the doorway behind him. "You look awful. Let that medic help you. And take some energon."

"But—" Silverstorm began.

"No," Silverbolt said. "Part of being a leader is delegating tasks. You need to take care of yourself or you won't be a good leader."

"How do you know?" Sunstreaker asked.

"Because I'm in charge of them," Silverbolt said, gesturing behind him. "Now get to the medic, Prime."

Silverstorm smiled as he obeyed. These fliers sure were interesting, he thought.