Transformers © HASBRO


Drag Strip's arms ached.

He was not made for heavy demolition work.

Unlike Motormaster, who was hefting four humongous h-beams over his shoulder. A faint frown of concentration shifted off Motormaster's faceplate as he spotted Drag Strip and his plight. Drag Strip scowled at Motormaster's raised optic ridge, and hoped his attempt to dissuade the semi would turn him away. He didn't need to be embarrassed further by Motormaster diverting from his path to help Drag Strip.

Drag Strip was fine.

Drag Strip was not bending under the weight of a single h-beam. His knee struts groaned as he tried to move, a pede at a time, with the h-beam wobbling over his right shoulder plate dangerously.

Slag him, if he dropped the h-beam, he'd never hear the end of it. Not from the Constructicons helping the Stunticons rebuild Philadelphia. Not from the Aerialbots, who were using their aerial based alternate modes to lift and maneuver framing materials to wherever the Constructicons and human engineers needed it. Not even from his brothers, harmless as some of their teasing was now compared to on the Victory.

Curse his original frame for its lightness. His new alternate mode had upgraded some of his joints and plating, but Ratchet could only do so much. They weren't truly Cybertronian, in the end. Not with Earth materials as their makeup, compared to the cybernetic matter all other Cybertronians were created from.

Drag Strip's pede brushed against a large clump of still soggy dirt as his processor stuck itself on chiding himself. A soundless cry escaped from his mouth as he felt his frame slip and plummet towards the ground.

He had little time to righten himself.

And wouldn't, if a large knee strut didn't appear beneath him to catch his falling frame.

"Got ya," Motormaster's deep rumble rolled through Drag Strip's frame from where his chest plate had landed on the semi's hastily maneuvered right knee underneath the Pagani.

A grunt from the semi greeted Drag Strip next before he felt Motormaster pluck the single h-beam he was carrying from his shoulders. The sudden release of weight allowed Drag Strip to reposition himself and step away from where Motormaster had caught him.

"Better?" There was a hint of strain in Motormaster's vocalizer as Drag Strip straightened and looked up at the semi.

Three h-beams were held over his left shoulder, while the last two were propped over Motormaster's right shoulder. Motormaster simply gave him a reassuring smile as he adjusted the load over his shoulders, then continued towards where Hook, Scrapper and Scavenger were working on finishing the framing of a new human dwelling unit.

Drag Strip followed his brother awkwardly, aware of how useless he felt without a thing in his servos or strength to offer his brother. He could tell Motormaster was struggling under the combined weight of all five h-beams, though Motormaster hid it behind a scowl. A creak of metal bending from within his brother's shoulders had Drag Strip wincing.

Scrapper didn't seem to approve of Motormaster's thousands of pounds of h-beam either. The front loader transformed out of his alt mode and hurried to Motormaster's side, where he took two of the h-beams before the semi could protest.

The reprimand Scrapper sent Motormaster wasn't quiet enough for Drag Strip to miss it, unfortunately.

"Don't you ever lift that much weight at once again," Scrapper snapped, his reprimand drawing Motormaster's backstrut stiff.

Drag Strip hovered behind his brother as Motormaster drew air through his vents. The semi sounded slightly defensive as he looked down at Scrapper and, carefully, said, "I had to help Drag Strip. The ground is harder for my smaller brothers to navigate after last night's rain. I can handle this."

Disapproval met Motormaster's statement with such ferocity from Scrapper that Drag Strip felt his eldest brother quail. Motormaster looked away from Scrapper as the Constructicon leader removed the last h-beams from Motormaster. Once the steel beams were on the ground, Scrapper laid a servo over Motormaster's arm.

"Megatron made you out of an extremely durable war frame, but you have your limits. I'd rather you take longer with transporting these than hurting yourself." Scrapper squeezed Motormaster's arm reassuringly. "I will have Long Haul help you with the rest of transportation."

Motormaster pulled away from the Constructicon's touch with a tired vent, but nodded his agreement. "Alright, Scrapper. Sorry."

Before the semi left, he ruffled his servo over Drag Strip's helm. Drag Strip batted Motormaster's servo away, outwardly embarrassed by his brother's open display of affection while Scrapper watched. A glance towards Scrapper revealed a softness in his expression that left Drag Strip's plating warm.

Scrapper stepped towards him, a jerk of his servo pointing to where Hook and Scavenger were busy welding together different materials. "Apologies," Scrapper hummed as he led Drag Strip towards the others, "sometimes I forget the difference between our frames regarding this line of work."

Drag Strip did not speak. He didn't know what to say. What could he say to Scrapper?

Yes, you're right.

I would rather be anywhere but here.

Why do you treat us like newsparks?

None of those would be wise things to say.

"You can weld, correct?" Scrapper's question was met by the green and purple Cybertronian's servo touching Drag Strip's shoulder.

"Uh, yes," Drag Strip swallowed as he looked up at Scrapper. They'd only just begun the rebuilding portion of the Philadelphia clean up, so Drag Strip hadn't had the chance to show off his self taught repair skills to the Constructicons that they'd noticed enough to invite him to work for them, so many months ago.

"Good, then you will assist Scavenger with finishing that section before we will need Menasor to assist us."

Drag Strip coughed, optic ridge raised in heavy doubt as he looked up at Scrapper. The Construction didn't pause as he closed in on where Hook and Scavenger were working, not even when Drag Strip let out a louder cough. "Menasor? Why not use Devastator? Menasor's not well known for repair work, or much beyond destruction."

A flash of sadness from Menasor chewed at Drag Strip as Scrapper turned to face him. He didn't waste time apologizing to the combiner. Everyone knew Menasor was more destructive than anything else.

Scrapper didn't seem to care about that well known fact, though. With a shake of his helm, the Constructicon turned back to look Drag Strip directly in the optic. Drag Strip straightened at the unstated challenge.

"I need my team's expertise more than we need Devastator at this point. Menasor will suffice for what we need of him. The Aerialbots are working with Long Haul today, not with me."

Doubt prickled through Drag Strip before he could stop himself, the rolling of his optics preceding a disbelieving snort. "The last time Menasor was here, he destroyed everything. He's not exactly the easiest combiner to deal with. I don't know how well he will follow your orders. You should ask Superion for help instead."

The last time they had combined had been out of their control. Menasor had forced them to combine when he recognized Wildrider in Brawl's arms. It had taken all of Motormaster's self to control Menasor into allowing them to become themselves again.

Drag Strip suspected similar could happen again, especially if he was ordered around by Constructicons. The Pagani didn't know what he felt whenever the Constructicons were around, but Menasor sure felt some way about the other gestalt team. Whether it was a sudden surge of energy that turned all of the Stunticons on edge, or Menasor forcing Drag Strip to get closer to any of Devastator's components whenever they worked together, Menasor was weird about the Constructicons.

How would Menasor be able to listen to the six Constructicons instructions if he was so easily distracted by their presence?

Scrapper vented. Exasperation had the front loader rub at his faceplate before he peered down at Drag Strip, unamused. "Perhaps you five would be wise to allow yourselves to combine more often. You would understand Menasor better and he would feel better for it."

"What do you know?" Drag Strip spat before he could stop himself.

What an idiot.

"Much more than you," Scrapper sounded a little harsh as he snapped at Drag Strip. "My team has a good relationship with our combiner strictly because we have spent enough time with him to know him. Menasor is a newspark the same as your team, but he hasn't had the chance to be as active as you. An unruly combiner can only learn through his own experiences."

Drag Strip crossed his arms over his chest plate, uncomfortable. He knew Scrapper was correct (Menasor did act better when they combined more consistently), but Drag Strip was loath to admit such. He needed some semblance of pride left after he'd failed to carry a single h-beam without his worryspark of an oldest brother interceding.

Scrapper simply let out a curious sound before he approached Hook, leaving Drag Strip to approach Scavenger on his own.

The excavator brightened at his approach. Scavenger waved, the head of his welding torch sparking as the excavator greeted Drag Strip with a cheery shout.

Drag Strip could not find it in himself to do much more than say a curt "hello" in return. How Scavenger could find such joy out of their work in Philadelphia, the Pagani could not fathom.

::. Likely because he and his team were not responsible for all of this damage, .:: Dead End added unhelpfully.

With his optics rolling behind his visor, Drag Strip settled down beside Scavenger. Each weld he made was careful and precise, even as Scavenger chattered at the Pagani's side.

"I heard there is going to be an annual sparring event between the Autobots and Decepticons. It was agreed upon by Soundwave and Optimus only a few days ago. Something about letting out old aggressions in controlled manners, I guess. Hook told us that if we participate and get hurt, he's not going to fix us."

"I see."

"Oh, and I heard we can pick anyone as our opponent. I heard Brawl wants to challenge Warpath, and Soundwave might challenge Blaster. I wonder if he's going to challenge him to a fight, or to a music battle—"

Scavenger continued to ramble, to a point Drag Strip tuned him out for his own sanity. He only responded with the occasional grunt as he worked. Scavenger never seemed to mind, as he never stopped talking.

Maybe that was why Breakdown liked Scavenger. The excavator could talk one's audial off. Easy distraction from Breakdown's worst thoughts.

::. He's nice when you listen to him. .::

Drag Strip chuffed at Breakdown's miffed tone, the smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth the best he could do to not tease Breakdown back.

Breakdown grumbled through the bond, rolled his optics, then gave Drag Strip a final, somewhat teasing jab. ::. You're going to burn yourself if you don't pay attention. .::

That ripped Drag Strip back to the present, just in time to see the tip of his soldering iron a centimeter from his left servo. Swearing to himself, Drag Strip yanked his left servo away and shut off the soldering iron.

"Drag Strip? Are you okay?" Scavenger peered down at him through his visor, the excavator's soldering iron forgotten as he reached his servo towards Drag Strip.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Drag Strip waved off Scavenger's servo before he could touch him. "Almost burned myself, that's all."

"Oh!" Scavenger laughed, his servo moving to cover his mouth as another laugh escaped from the excavator. "We've all done that before. As long as you get it tended to quickly, you'll be fine."

Offense bristled through Drag Strip until a quiet reprimand from Motormaster stiffened his backstrut. ::. He's not mocking you. .::

Drag Strip shook his helm. He knew his eldest brother was right, but he couldn't help how quickly he jumped to finding offense in Scavenger's teasing. The Autobot therapist had suggested that G.H.O.S.T's control over the Pagani had dug up insecurities Drag Strip hadn't fully discussed with the therapist or his brothers.

Until he'd accused Breakdown and Motormaster of favoritism after they'd pulled him away from G.H.O.S.T.

Shame, and anxiety, washed through Drag Strip's fuel lines like antifreeze at the thought.

Wildrider hadn't exhibited any of the same animosity as Drag Strip had when he'd been rescued. Instead, the Ferrari had snuggled close to them and loved on them openly. Wildrider was thankful, while Drag Strip was anything but.

Drag Strip wished he'd been able to think beyond his insecurities when Motormaster, Dead End and Breakdown had first visited him in Ratchet's medical bay after. If he'd used his processor instead of letting his emotions control him, Drag Strip knew he would have seen the relief and hurt in his three brothers' optics.

He'd been such an idiot.

Drag Strip had apologized to Breakdown and Dead End, but he hadn't found the way to apologize to Motormaster for his cruel comments. He knew that he'd hurt the semi. Not that Motormaster would ever tell Drag Strip that, no matter even if Motormaster was doing his best to talk to all of them about how he felt since the morning they'd all discussed Motormaster's interest in communicating with Megatron.

As long as you apologize to those three.

A vent left Drag Strip as he inspected his newest weld disapprovingly. It was fine, by all standards of the building code regulations Scrapper and Hook and the rest of the Constructions hounded into the Stunticons' helms every time they arrived for work. But it wasn't perfect.

Just as his feelings around his brothers weren't wholly set together.

Drag Strip had to talk to Motormaster eventually.

"Drag Strip! Scavenger!" Scrapper's call alerted the Pagani to the front loader approaching, all of Drag Strip's brothers in tow.

Scavenger leapt to his pedes with a rapid explanation — which included much pointing with Scavenger's shovel and servos — of his and Drag Strip's work, while Wildrider and Breakdown approached Drag Strip to stare at his welds.

"Nice," Wildrider chuffed as he pointed to Drag Strip's welding work, "but I bet I could have done better."

An offended sound escaped Drag Strip at his brother's implication, but he did not linger on it. He knew when Wildrider was teasing him harmlessly. Wildrider would pay, later. A simple rewiring of the Ferrari's TV remote would drive him plenty batty.

::. Focus, you three, .:: Motormaster's disapproval flushed ice through Drag Strip as he cast the semi a glance.

Motormaster was giving Drag Strip, Breakdown and Wildrider an arched, but hidden, look. The semi's helm jerked imperceptibly towards Scrapper, who was speaking to all of them, servos gesticulating his words.

"— am I clear?" Scrapper finished, his helm turned slightly to stare into the very spark of Drag Strip.

The intensity of the front loader's stare made Drag Strip shift subtly behind Breakdown as Motormaster answered for the Stunticons. "We understand perfectly."

"Good." Scrapper stepped back from the Stunticons as he met Motormaster's gaze, the firmness in the Constructicon's visor eliciting electricity to course through Drag Strip's fuel lines. "Then combine."

Motormaster dipped his helm to Scrapper.

Drag Strip sensed the semi's strength through the bond as he woke Menasor.

Yellow plating flared as Drag Strip's t-cog stirred with Menasor's quickly rousing state.

Worry scythed through the bond momentarily, only for Menasor to drown it as his components formed into place.

Menasor shifted on his pedes as he peered around his surroundings.

Two of Devastator's components were peering up at him, one with crossed arms and the other with a firmness in his shoulder plates that Menasor recognized, deep down. This was the one he needed to listen to.

Especially here.

He'd known that his components were repairing the destruction he'd wrought in the human city. Had known, and was nervous about.

He had to be very careful.

"Menasor?" Devastator's leader-but-not-helm component called as he gestured for the combiner to lower his faceplate in front of the green and purple Decepticon.

Seeing no reason to decline, Menasor nodded to the Constructicon. He watched intently where he moved his limbs until he found a safe place to position himself where he could be at Scrapper's level, helm tilted. "Yes?"

"We need you to hold this frame steady. Hook will assist you, but I need you to pick him up first," Scrapper gestured to a large steel frame — a rigid frame structural system, he heard Dead End note — laying on the ground, then to Hook, standing a short distance from Menasor.

Hook raised an optic ridge when Menasor reached his right servo down to the crane, but he did not hesitate in stepping up onto the palm of the combiner's servo. Menasor moved the crane to his left shoulder slowly, where the crane stepped onto his shoulder plate before he transformed into his alternate mode. Menasor watched as Hook released his hook, lowering it down to Scrapper, who took the hook's spool of cable, then attached it around the middle of the frame's structure.

"Alright, Menasor," Scrapper called, drawing the combiner's attention down to where the Constructicon was pointing to a point on the frame, "I need you to grab the frame here. When Hook agrees, you will both lift the frame together. But carefully."

Menasor looked to Hook, then nodded down to Scrapper. Motormaster prickled within the gestalt bond as Menasor carefully wrapped his servos around the two points on the frame Scrapper pointed to. The semi urged Menasor to be careful, though Menasor sensed it wasn't from Motormaster doubting his ability to not destroy something.

Motormaster was as nervous as Menasor being in Philadelphia again — combined.

Menasor would prove to his components, the others and himself that he was safe.

"Ready," Hook growled, his engine thrumming to life as Scrapper stepped away from the frame, the rest of Devastator's components — except for the dump truck — flanking their leader.

Menasor snarled, his optics narrowed as he slowly, with Hook's cable helping reel the frame up, hefted the heavy frame up. The Constructicons swarmed underneath him as the combiner and Hook continued to hold the frame steady, the roar of their engines and construction equipment pounding below him.

Wind gusted against his frame as the afternoon breeze picked up, carrying the scent of salt as it buffeted the Cybertronians. A shocked sound from Hook had Menasor's helm snap to his left shoulder, where the crane was beginning to slip against the combiner's metal plating. The crane's cable hissed as Hook tried to steady himself by reversing, the screech of his tires loud as they left skidmarks on Menasor's collar plating.

Menasor couldn't let the Constructicon fall.

Motormaster was practically steaming at the thought already.

"Easy," Menasor growled as he carefully released his left servo from the frame, steadied all of the frame's weight into his right servo, then grabbed Hook in his left servo.

The crane let out an amusingly shocked sound as Menasor's digits encircled his chassis, a sound that became even more amusing when Menasor tucked his left servo close to his chest plate — out of the wind's grasp — and held him steady there.

Hook huffed, but Menasor heard the crane let out a quiet "thank you" as he settled against Menasor's palm and realigned his hook on the frame. Both of them continued to steady the building frame until a signal from Scrapper had Hook retract his cable. Menasor released the frame as Hook shifted in his palm, a grumble escaping him before Scrapper yelled up at the both of them.

"It's sound, you can put Hook down now."

Menasor bent down, aware of the many Constructicons far too close to his pedes the entire time, his left servo depositing Hook to the ground next to Scrapper. As Hook transformed out of his alt mode, shoulder plates rolling stiffly, Scrapper turned to look up at Menasor.

"Thank you, Menasor. I appreciate your assistance, but now I need you to decombine, if you will." Scrapper's tone held no allowance for argument.

Menasor wouldn't have given him one anyways.

Drag Strip patted his plating down as his t-cog whirred to a halt within his chassis.

"I'm shocked Menasor behaved," Drag Strip commented to no one in particular.

Irritation flared from Breakdown and Motormaster both at Drag Strip's comment, and the glares both sent him made him purposefully stare Scrapper down. He was just stating the truth.

"As I suggested earlier," Scrapper responded, before any of Drag Strip's brothers could interject, "you should look into combining more often. Talk to him. He will listen better if he gets to be himself more than not."

"Sure—"

"That will work?" Motormaster's glare and cold voice cut off Drag Strip before he could finish. There was suspicion in Motormaster's tone, though the semi tried to cover it with his throaty, diesel engine's snarl.

He was going to be in trouble on the way home.

Scrapper nodded, his servo gesturing to Mixmaster, Scavenger and Bonecrusher behind him before he answered. "Yes, it will. It did for Devastator. You should discuss this with these three. I need your team, except for Drag Strip, to work with them in helping Long Haul."

Motormaster inclined his helm before he, Dead End and Breakdown headed away with the three Constructicons in tow. Only Wildrider stuck around, though only to lean close to Drag Strip and whisper a loud, "Good luck!" before he scampered after Motormaster.

"Why me?" Drag Strip grumped to Scrapper.

"Because you have the lightest frame of your team."

"Oh."

Joy.

Drag Strip could only vent, even more so when Hook grabbed his forearm and drug him after Scrapper.

They worked for another hour, with Drag Strip forced to climb up the frame they had just leveled to check for any spots that needed more welding or showed stress. Hook's cable was attached to a fall harness that Scrapper had put on the Pagani, much to the crane's seeming chagrin as Drag Strip climbed down to the ground at Scrapper's call for a refuel break.

Drag Strip ruffled his plating as he tore the harness off, shoving it into Scrapper's servos before he stalked towards a small copse of trees that had survived Menasor's wrath. He flopped down onto a fallen tree, which didn't break — yet — under his frame as he crossed his arms and tried to relax.

He was tired. His servos ached from the constant climbing and scaling of the steel beams, as well as from holding the soldering iron for so long. His entire frame ached as well from how much Menasor had been forced to rely on his arm to steady the building frame after he'd repositioned Hook.

Which was… nice of Menasor.

The sudden weight of a cube of energon in his servos drew him from his sulking. Scrapper peered down at him before he patted Drag Strip's shoulder, then sat down a small ways away from Drag Strip. Hook followed Scrapper with a look down his nose bridge that made Drag Strip roll his optics.

Stupid Constructicons.

But the energon was good.

It lowered the raised temperature of his systems and soothed the ache in his servo joints, which cooled the edge off his temper.

That did not wane his boredom though.

Drag Strip sipped at his cube of energon as he stared at his pedes, bored out of his mind.

He could hear Hook and Scrapper muttering amongst themselves as they sipped at their cubes of energon, but ignored them. Since he'd been spending more time with the Constructicons, Drag Strip had learned the difference between a "Hook and Scrapper discussion" over a "Hook and Scrapper discussion". There was a difference, and always in the hushed tones or their glares.

He and his brothers had followed the Constructicons orders to the letter thus far. There wasn't a Stunticon based reason it should be a Hook and Scrapper discussion. At least, he hoped not.

Both of them were looking a little too closely at Drag Strip for it to not be a Hook and Scrapper discussion, though.

"You might be interested in gardening."

Drag Strip paused at Scrapper's comment.

His red visor churned with bewilderment as he turned to face the leader of the Constructicons.

"What?"

"Gardening," Scrapper repeated, his tone so serious that Drag Strip had to double take.

He shot a glance towards Hook, who continued to sip at his cube of energon, but stopped to give him a flat look. Drag Strip could practically hear Hook's snobbish agreement with his gestalt leader's statement.

But gardening?

Cybertronians didn't eat plants. Was Scrapper mocking him?

Wary, Drag Strip squinted at the Constructicon, denta bared in a snarl as he studied the green and purple Cybertronian's large frame. Scrapper looked down at him, one single optic ridge raised slightly as he watched Drag Strip's anything but subtle observation of the front loader's plating. Defeated, Drag Strip rolled his optics behind his visor, then pinched at the bridge of his nose with a vent.

"Why would I want to become a gardener? I'm Cybertronian, not human. I don't eat plants."

"Primus, help us," Hook muttered to the side, though he said nothing more at a gesture from Scrapper. But it was enough said to make Drag Strip bristle, mouth pursed as his nose ridge curled with anger.

"They don't know, Hook," Scrapper reprimanded, his stern growl aimed at the crane. Drag Strip could only stare and blink at the both of them, utterly confounded by the two Constructicons.

Hook rolled his optics, a sneer twitching across his mouth as he looked towards Drag Strip with a wholly unimpressed look. "They know nothing, Scrapper."

"What do I not know? I'm smart, I know—"

"Blame that on Megatron," Scrapper's snapped tone cut Drag Strip off as if neither Constructicon had heard him. Which they likely hadn't. Typical Constructicons. "He never taught them what he should have about our world and the war when he made them. I told him he should have given them a proper education—"

"Hey!" Drag Strip protested, albeit ineffectually when neither Constructicon looked at him. "I'm well educated!"

"— before he sent them to war. You know what happened when I told him that," Scrapper's servos twitched towards his chest plate unconsciously, the flicker of pain that shot through Scrapper's optics snapping Drag Strip's mouth shut.

Megatron had hurt the Constructicons too?

But their team never messed up. The Constructicons never rebelled (except for that one time when Soundwave went on vacation for a few days and everything devolved. Drag Strip wished he'd been alive then to see the fall out of that), or argued against Megatron's orders or ideas. They didn't fail, as the Stunticons always had.

"I'm fully aware," Hook snarled, "I was the one who had to put you back together. All because you got it in your processor to stand up for the Stunticons. I'd rather have had you than those five."

Drag Strip shrunk where he sat, his digits clicking over the cube of energon that he hadn't yet finished. The two Constructicons continued to discuss between themselves with lowered voices — though not low enough that he couldn't hear them mention him and his brothers by name — as the Pagani lowered his helm and stared into his cube of energon. The blue liquid sloshed in the cube as he swirled the cube, glossa licking his derma as discomfort lowered his plating over his frame.

Scrapper had argued for the benefit of Drag Strip's brothers?

Why would Scrapper ever cross Megatron for the Stunticons when they were on the Victory?

Drag Strip thought the Decepticons had all hated the Stunticons.

They'd all acted like it, Constructicons included (maybe because the Stunticons were annoying) more often than not.

Even more so after Scrapper had been hurt, Drag Strip had to assume.

He could remember a time when Motormaster had limped back to their quarters in an even fouler mood than normal, with the unmistakable paint transfer of bright green and purple over his entire chassis. Tread damage had Motormaster's left arm, side, leg and optic sparking with exposed wiring, while there was a strange scent of corroded metal that wafted off the semi. The Stunticons had all hid from him that day, and not a single one of them spoke of what had happened to their leader since.

Now Drag Strip could surmise that Bonecrusher and Mixmaster had attacked Motormaster as an act of revenge for their leader's injury.

Which wasn't fair.

Drag Strip glared up at the two arguing — because Hook and Scrapper were now arguing, judging by the heated gestures between them both — anger clawing his digits into his cube of energon until it shattered in his grip. "Did you send Mixmaster and Bonecrusher to attack Motormaster after Megatron beat you?"

Scrapper's helm turned towards Drag Strip slowly. A prickle of anxiety forced Drag Strip to smile weakly as the front loader stared down at him.

Now he understood why Scrapper was the leader of the Constructicons. He was intimidating when needed.

Very intimidating.

"No, I never authorized action against your team then," Scrapper looked towards Hook as he spoke, his tone heavily controlled. Hook met his leader's optics with a look that reminded Drag Strip of the look his brothers got when they communicated through the gestalt bond, then both turned back to face him.

Drag Strip's intake heaved at the heavy focus of the huge Constructicons. Why did he have to be so tiny?

"I will speak to both of them later about this matter. For now, let us finish refueling," Scrapper approached Drag Strip as he spoke, another cube of energon held out to the Pagani as the front loader sat down next to Drag Strip.

Drag Strip blinked at the offer but took the cube of energon, aware of the energon that had spilled over his servos and knee struts when he'd shattered the cube in his anger. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Scrapper nodded before he turned away and rubbed at his chin thoughtfully.

Hook sat down on Scrapper's other side, his servos occupied with unspooling his crane's hook and oiling down the spool of wire with a brush and can of oil he pulled from his subspace. Drag Strip watched them both for a moment before he chugged down the new cube of energon Scrapper had given him. His processor skipped back to what Scrapper had said earlier.

Gardener.

They don't know.

"What is it that I don't know?" Drag Strip finally asked as he looked to both Constructicons curiously.

Hook vented, and shook his helm. "History. Cybertron. All you five know is Earth."

"So what?" Drag Strip snapped, defensive all over again.

He hated the implication that Hook thought him and his brothers stupid due to their association with Earth over Cybertron. It wasn't truly their fault they'd been created on Earth over Cybertron. Even Dead End, the reader amongst them, favored learning about their home planet over the home planet of all other Cybertronians. Only Motormaster studied anything Cybertron based, but then all of that had been battle tactics used on Cybertron, or about ancient battles on the planet.

No one could even reach Cybertron anymore.

What was the point of learning about an unreachable planet Drag Strip had never seen?

Scrapper vented at his side, a wariness in his vocalizer that drew Drag Strip out of his inward grumbling. Scrapper seemed sad. The Constructicon tapped at his knee strut with his right servo before his helm turned towards Drag Strip, but only slightly.

"Cybertron was a cyber-organic planet before our war destroyed it. The surface of our home planet was abundant with life, similar to that which surrounds us here on Earth. There was flora and fauna beyond imagination," Scrapper's voice lowered, a softness to his words that made Drag Strip watch the Constructicon seriously. Scrapper was being wistful. He missed Cybertron, didn't he?

What would Drag Strip and his brothers feel like if they could never return to Earth? To the only planet they knew?

"I heard that Cybertron was fully cyber formed," Drag Strip recalled with a frown, "how could it have flora if it was?"

Now Hook finally interjected, this time with a coldness that wasn't directed towards Drag Strip. "Because our war cyber formed our planet until we lost all ability to grow flora or maintain the fauna populations living on the planet. We killed Cybertron."

Drag Strip raised an optic ridge at the two Constructicons. He felt a worried frown twitch at the corners of his mouth as an unwelcome, paranoid image of Earth being cyber formed filtered through his processor.

He didn't think the Decepticons would ever dare to breach so openly to the surface under Soundwave's rule, nor did the Autobots have the means. At least, that he knew of.

Still, the thought made him shudder.

A shudder that seemed to draw the attention of his five brothers.

::. Are the Constructicons bothering you? .:: Was Motormaster's immediate growl, the abject protectiveness of the semi washing comfort across Drag Strip. His thoughts of a cyber formed Earth faded under the far off stomping off the semi, approaching his position.

::. They aren't bothering me, no. .::

::. But you're upset! What did they do? .:: Breakdown's worry gnawed at Drag Strip.

He felt Dead End and Wildrider prod at his bond, assessing his emotional state before a stronger bond rippled through them all.

::. We're good, .:: Drag Strip reassured before Menasor could fully awaken within the bond. ::. They're just telling me about Cybertron. .::

At that, he felt a tug of interest from Dead End, before the Porsche's gestalt bond moved closer to him. His brothers were coming to investigate.

"So…" Drag Strip finally said when he noticed Scrapper and Hook watching him a little too closely for comfort. "Gardening. Did your team garden on Cybertron? Is that what you are suggesting is possible?"

Scrapper nodded, his field giving off a surge of complimentary warmth that made Drag Strip blink. Was that for him?

"Precisely. Mixmaster has discovered the correct Earth soil and Cybertronian cyber matter mixture that will allow us to grow energon filled produce." Scrapper turned his servo to his subspace before he drew out a datapad and offered it to Drag Strip. "The formula and instructions on how to grow Cybertronian flora is located here. It is for you and your team."

"Uh… thanks?" Drag Strip took the datapad carefully, his optics widening behind his visor as he scanned the datapad, his scanner's read out informing him of the ancient origin of the datapad he was holding. It was dated before the beginning of the War.

Datapads from that era were practically a fable, from what Ratchet had told him once. And Scrapper was giving him one.

The gesture was kind, but the information wasn't useful to him.
None of his brothers had a mysterious batch of energon generating produce plants hiding somewhere deep in subspace.

"Thanks," Drag Strip said as he pushed the datapad back to Scrapper, "but we have no use for this. Even the Autobots don't have any of these," Drag Strip gestured to the screen where a picture of some strange, metallic sunflower looking plant was displayed, "hidden away. I can't garden something that doesn't exist."

Hook growled, his crane hook snapping back into place with a rattle that Drag Strip knew was an angry spooling of wire. Drag Strip retracted the datapad with a nervous shift of his intake, storing it into subspace as the crane stood up, and stalked up to him.

Hook was even more intimidating than Scrapper. Likely because he was the head of Devastator. Drag Strip could almost feel Menasor stirring awake at how close Hook was to him, the steam that puffed from the crane's vents fogging Drag Strip's visor.

Drag Strip swallowed.

He felt Motormaster pick up speed through the bond, now at a full run to his direction.

Hook removed something from his subspace, his clenched servo hiding whatever it was.

Drag Strip shrunk back as Hook's servo moved over him, stopping at a height above Drag Strip's thighs. Anticipation had Drag Strip move his servos up, to grab Hook's clenched servo before he could—

Hook dropped a bag of strange looking seeds in Drag Strip's open servos. They clanged against his metal palms.

No bomb went off.

No pain shot through Drag Strip as the bag settled against his palms.

"Cyber-organic seeds," Hook growled as he pointed to the perforated, clear plastic bag with one digit.

"How'd you get them?" Drag Strip asked, with a noted breathlessness that left perspiration creeping down his backstrut.

"Swindle has owed the Constructicons for millenia," Scrapper's mouth twitched in a smile. "We called in part of that favor recently, and these were included. His team collected them while they were in deep space."

"And you're giving them to me, why?"

Hook gave a frustrated growl at Drag Strip's query, the shake of his helm accompanied by a quiet mutter of "newsparks" that made Drag Strip bristle. But the crane turned away from him and walked back to Scrapper's side, where he sat down beside the front loader without another sound.

"As we said before, our kind must learn to work together," Scrapper interceded levelly. "These seeds, if grown properly, will provide different forms of energon to you and your team. The energy sources on this planet have been dwindling for years. If we cannot return to Cybertron, we all must accept alternative methods for fueling."

"Oh."

Heavy pedes boomed in the range of Drag Strip's audials, seconds before Motormaster and the rest of his brothers skidded to a stop beside him.

Motormaster wrenched Drag Strip to his pedes as he barged in between the Pagani and the two Constructicons, the rage that spilled off the semi's field startling Drag Strip. He clutched the bag of seeds to his chest plate as Motormaster leaned into Scrapper's space and shoved him backwards with one servo and a snarl that ripped from his engine.

"What are you doing?"

Oh, Motormaster was livid.

Someone was going to have their frame remolded in a few seconds, weren't they.

Dead End bristled at Drag Strip's side, his denta bared in a snarl that was so unlike Dead End as he stepped towards the two Constructicons. Wildrider and Breakdown hovered behind Drag Strip, but their fields were edged with the same sharp anger as their two eldest brothers.

Oh, there was definitely going to be some frame dents soon. Drag Strip almost hoped a fight would break out, if only to watch.

Scrapper, for his part, seemed unfazed, even as the much larger semi leaned into his space, Motormaster's servo dug against Scrapper's chest plate. Hook was slowly getting to his pedes in comparison, his crane hook hissing as its wire ran over itself multiple times, but a gesture from Scrapper stopped Hook in his tracks.

"I have not injured your teammate, Motormaster," Scrapper replied calmly. "We were discussing methods of energy production that I believe your team would enjoy exploring. Drag Strip has not been harmed."

Motormaster's vents spewed heavy clouds of steam as Scrapper spoke, the growl that rumbled continuously from his vocalizer dimming when Scrapper gestured to Drag Strip behind Motormaster. That made the semi turn his helm enough that he could flick one optic over Drag Strip's frame. Drag Strip smiled at Motormaster as his brother's violet optic paused on his bag of seed occupied servos with a confused snort.

"Seeds. Gardening," Drag Strip tried to explain as he lifted the bag closer to Motormaster's optics.

Motormaster turned away from Scrapper, his servo pushing the front loader away from him and against Hook as he leaned down to Drag Strip's height. The semi plucked the bag up with two pinched digits, the scowl from earlier still there in full as he examined the bag thoroughly, before placing it back in Drag Strip's still open servos.

"I see," Motormaster growled as he turned to face Scrapper, his field softening as he inclined his helm towards the Constructicon apologetically. "Sorry. I sensed—"

"We understand," Scrapper interjected before Motormaster could finish, "I did not mean to cause any of you worry in return."

Motormaster simply huffed a quiet growl before he looked towards the seed bag, then tilted his helm in the two Constructicons' direction. "What are those for?"

Drag Strip tucked the seeds into his subspace before they could be damaged or torn by his brothers' curiosity. He could feel Wildrider trying to grab the bag as the Ferrari reached for him from behind. Breakdown and Dead End were behaving, but staring quite closely at Drag Strip's seeds.

Too closely.

"Those," Scrapper gestured towards Drag Strip's closed subspace as he looked up into Motormaster's optics, "are seeds which will produce a harvest of energon based plants that can be used to compensate for the standard energon cube."

Motormaster blinked, his helm turning quickly to Drag Strip for a moment before returning to Scrapper's unwavering gaze. "What? That's possible?"

"Yes, with the mixture that Mixmaster—"

Motormaster bared his denta at that name. So Drag Strip's assumption had been right…

"— concocted, you will be able to. You are the only Decepticons—"

"Former Decepticons," Wildrider interrupted, which made Hook roll his optics skyward, though Scrapper seemed unconcerned as he continued.

"— who have open land that you can use to experiment and see if we can produce a yield from Mixmaster's soil concoction and your care."

Breakdown stepped forward as Scrapper finished, his yellow optics narrowed slightly as he looked at the tall Constructicon. "What if we can't produce a yield?"

"Then we will simply troubleshoot Mixmaster's concoction and start over," Scrapper offered, the simpleness of his response seeming to satisfy Breakdown as the Lamborghini began rubbing at his chin thoughtfully.

Drag Strip could already hear Breakdown mapping out the acreage they owned around their shop, to find the best spot for a garden. Wildrider joined in with Breakdown's theory crafting as Dead End turned to Scrapper and addressed the Constructicon.

"Will you require a percentage of the yield from whatever we might produce?"

Hook vented as Scrapper shook his helm, his servos raised in a placatingly gentle gesture. "Not at all. These are meant as thanks for what you five did to help free the Decepticons from the lingering threat of G.H.O.S.T. While I wish this did not come from your capture and torture, you have given us Decepticons freedom we could not have before."

Dead End raised an optic ridge, looked up at Motormaster, who shook his helm at the quiet question Dead End fielded him — do we think he's lying? could be heard through the bond — before the Porsche turned back to Scrapper. "Then we appreciate this gesture. I hope we will be successful, for all of our sakes."

"Indeed," Hook growled as he finally sat down again, tension unspooling from his crane's cable as the Stunticons relaxed.

Wildrider and Breakdown sat down first, their discussion now verbal and no longer trapped in the gestalt bond. Motormaster looked down at Drag Strip for a moment, his expression tight with something Drag Strip couldn't read, before he sat down beside Wildrider and Breakdown. Dead End stood to the side, his optics off in a different world as he zoned out.

Scrapper sat down near Hook, his gaze narrowed on where Wildrider and Breakdown were drawing out blueprints in the dirt while Motormaster watched, his servos steepled under his chin while the semi's optics softened considerably from the early rage. Drag Strip looked at Scrapper for a moment, then darted to his brothers' sides, where he sat down next to Breakdown and watched.

Breakdown had already drawn out the diagram of their auto shop building and living annex, as well as their total acreage. Their property was just off to the east of Birney Road and stretched out to the river. They used most of the acreage for little but to sometimes doze in alternate mode late at night when their annex was too warm. There was plenty of space to try what Scrapper was suggesting, if Drag Strip and his brothers wanted to.

"What else can we grow?" Breakdown asked Scrapper as he and Wildrider debated on the exact acre to put a garden on, his expression thoughtful.

"You could grow vegetables for your human customers as well," Scrapper suggested, his expression distant but curious as he looked at the five Stunticons. "Humans need fruits and vegetables to maintain a proper diet. Perhaps you might plant some Earth plants in a normal plot of land to curry better views from your human customers?"

Breakdown hummed in response, the nod of his helm instinctual over intentionally as he turned back to his and Wildrider's planning. Motormaster continued to watch over their shoulders, his curiosity endearing as he pointed out things to Wildrider and Breakdown and questioned them both on their ideas.

Drag Strip nestled up to his brothers, a rumble of happiness settling inside his engine as Wildrider drug him into the planning with his usual beaming smile.

The Stunticons were only pulled from their planning when Scrapper approached with new assignments for Drag Strip — working with Hook on a new welding project — and his brothers. Motormaster got to his pedes first as Scrapper led him, and the rest of Drag Strip's brothers, to the structure Menasor and the Constructicons had worked together on.

Sunset was the end of their shift, and one Drag Strip was relieved to take.

The Aerialbots wished the Constructicons and Stunticons goodbyes before they soared away, while the Constructicons settled into their temporary quarters they'd set up for the entire reconstruction process. The Stunticons had a three day weekend to look forward to, which meant the long drive back to their shop.

They were half way there and Drag Strip had already nodded off twice on the drive. Breakdown had woken him up with a gentle bump to his quarter panel each time. Wildrider seemed unfazed as he swerved in and out of the lanes in front of him, his humming only just keeping Drag Strip awake.

"There's a rest stop on the next exit, let's take it and recharge for the night," Motormaster interrupted over their comms, the dull rumble from his voice leading Drag Strip to believe the semi was as worn out as he was.

The five Stunticons pulled into the rest stop, following behind Motormaster as he found an open spot that would fit his alternate mode and parked. Wildrider and Dead End parked further from Motormaster, in the compact spots underneath a tree. Breakdown pushed Drag Strip forward until he caught his tires underneath him and pulled into the spot beside Dead End, who was already in recharge.

Drag Strip himself was almost in recharge when he opened the private comms channel of Motormaster's and prodded at his brother. Motormaster responded after a moment, his exhaustion keeping his tone curt.

"What, Drag Strip."

"I… ah. Wanted to say… sorry."

Motormaster simply growled, though Drag Strip knew this growl was the semi's "and? I'm waiting" growl, rather than his angry "I'm going to bite your helm off" growl. It was all in the tone of voice and how much Motormaster used his engine as emphasis. Considering Motormaster's growl was tired and his engine didn't tick over, Motormaster was simply tired and somewhat exasperated.

Exasperated was better than miffed.

Aware of the awkward heat rushing under his plating, Drag Strip continued. "For thinking you wouldn't have put effort into looking for me, or Wildrider. Logically, I knew that you would."

A vent escaped from Motormaster. "It's fine. We'll have to work on convincing you of that. I'm not mad at you for that belief, I understand myself."

"Oh." Drag Strip quelled the urge to vent with relief. "Good. Glad we understand each other."

"Go to sleep."

Drag Strip chuckled, nervously, but did as his brother ordered.


"The plowing is all done," Motormaster growled as he entered the annex, servos and lower leg plating stained with dirt. Wildrider bounced in behind Motormaster, his servos and lower arms completely filthy with loam and dirt, which only seemed to make the Ferrari smile more.

Drag Strip watched as Motormaster stomped off to the showers, while Wildrider simply stood there, giddily bouncing on his pedes.

The seeds the Constructicons had given them were all his brothers had discussed on their way home from Philadelphia. They'd picked a spot on their property to use as their garden, after Dead End had purchased seeds and planter boxes for the human vegetables Wildrider insisted on trying to grow, then had begun the process of plowing.

Wildrider had been the first to volunteer — he'd said he'd wanted to rip the ground up for ages — while Motormaster had automatically offered his strength to the project. Drag Strip had spent all that time sorting the seeds out by the color and size and type, while referencing the datapad Scrapper had given him.

Breakdown was checking Mixmaster's soil, loam and cyber matter mixture fastidiously beside Drag Strip, his helm peeking over Drag Strip's shoulder plate whenever he needed to refer to the datapad himself.

"We will begin planting seeds tomorrow," Dead End began, his own servos occupied by a datapad that he was using to blueprint and log where each seed would be planted based on sun and shade needs, as well as soil aridity.

"Can it be a competition?" Wildrider begged.

That perked Drag Strip's helm up, where he licked his glossa over his derma in anticipation.

Everything was better as a competition.

Dead End didn't seem to agree, judging by the deep vent that hissed from him before he rubbed at his helm, then nodded. "If that will make you plant the seeds more willingly, then yes, we can make it a competition."

Wildrider beamed, his purple optics snapping to Drag Strip before Drag Strip felt him challenge him specifically through the gestalt bond.

Fool.

He was going to lose.


A knock on Drag Strip's door snapped the Pagani out of recharge, a startled yelp escaping from him before he could stop it.

Embarrassing.

A glance at the clock to the side of his berth read out an early hour that was, frankly, unseemly to be woken. How rude of—

"Drag Strip?"

The deep baritone of Motormaster.

"Apologies for waking you," his eldest brother vented from the other side of the door, "may we speak?"

Drag Strip hesitated. Technically, he didn't have to accept. Motormaster wouldn't force him to, even if the semi wanted to speak to Drag Strip. There was no more demanding, or snarling commands for the Stunticons to obey their brother. If anything, Motormaster stressed their own choice with near self-punishing conviction. But if he denied Motormaster's request, Drag Strip would not know what had brought the semi to his room so late in the night.

Blurriness greeted his optics as he opened them to the ceiling of his room, helm tilting towards his closed door as he contemplated not answering, but only for a moment.

If Motormaster sought out one of his brothers, he had something on his mind that Drag Strip couldn't deny.

"Hold on," Drag Strip yawned lazily as he stood up off his berth.

With his pedes gathered beneath himself, Drag Strip stretched out his arms, rolling his shoulders before he rubbed at his optics. He could practically hear Motormaster tapping his pede outside his room as Drag Strip lazily approached his door. For all Motormaster had tamed his temper, he was still impatient as a hornet when he wanted to be. Prolonging his brother's patience would be all the payback Drag Strip would force the semi into for waking him up.

When he heard Motormaster's engine notch up an octave, Drag Strip opened the door, mimed an exaggerated bow, then gestured his right servo to his room. "Whatever have I done to earn this late night visit from the boss?"

Motormaster rolled his optics at Drag Strip before he ducked down to fit through Drag Strip's door frame — too short for the semi to normally walk through —, but Drag Strip couldn't miss the soft chuckle that finished off the optic roll.

Drag Strip's mouth quirked into a smirk as he followed his brother to his berth. Motormaster sat down first on Drag Strip's berth, where the semi reached for one of Drag Strip's models (one of his Tyrrell diecast models) and fiddled with it in his servos. Drag Strip raised an optic as Motormaster spun the model around a few times, then placed it down gently on Drag Strip's nightstand. The yellow Stunticon couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped from him at the sight. Ever since fleeing the Victory, Drag Strip had hoarded models of his two alternate modes, each that he collected held dearly to his spark after the loss of his original collection from the Victory. Not that Motormaster would ever intentionally break his models again, Drag Strip would rather never run the risk.

"Do you still believe that I would have left you behind in favor of Breakdown and Dead End?" Motormaster didn't meet his gaze as he spoke, for the semi was peering around Drag Strip's room with a curious, studying expression. But the gestalt bond ached of pain, and an unending regret that clung to Motormaster like one's shadow.

Drag Strip swallowed, sighed, then sat down beside Motormaster. When he did, Motormaster turned to look at Drag Strip, his mouth turned into a frown that was contrasted by the gentle servo he placed over Drag Strip's shoulder. Warmth burned through Drag Strip as he shuffled closer to Motormaster and pressed his side against the semi. He would never tire of his brother's affection, given so freely and without recourse, even before G.H.O.S.T, but even more now than before.

"No, I don't," Drag Strip huffed as Motormaster wrapped his left arm around the Pagani's chassis and pulled him closer. "Everything you do is for us. I... knew that before. I'm an idiot, alright?"

Motormaster scowled down at him, the disapproval in his optics silencing Drag Strip immediately. "You aren't an idiot for struggling to see that. All that means is we have to work on proving our intentions towards you more clearly. What can I do to assuage those feelings?"

Insecurity clogged Drag Strip's vocalizer for a moment, before he closed his optics and gathered his thoughts.

What was it he'd encouraged Motormaster to be with his brothers? Open... honest...

The same had to be said of the Pagani.

But what did he want?

Motormaster was already attentive, and listened to him. The semi was overly protective and, considering the old Motormaster, kind.

But Drag Strip's insecurities had formed from something. That was what the therapist had affirmed when they'd discussed his reaction after being pulled from G.H.O.S.T.

With a low sigh, Drag Strip explained. Motormaster listened without speaking to each of Drag Strip's preferences and demands, his optics narrowing fractionally with thoughtfulness until Drag Strip finished. Embarrassment had the yellow Stunticon staring at his knee struts, anywhere but at the semi. He hated being vulnerable, hated admitting to his insecurities and anxieties. He was Drag Strip, he wasn't supposed to be so easily misled by his worst feelings (but he always had...).

Two large arms wrapped around him, holding Drag Strip as Motormaster moved his left servo to the back of Drag Strip's helm. A soft rumble from that strong, unyielding diesel engine engulfed and drowned Drag Strip's anxiety as much as his brother's hug did.

"Thank you," Drag Strip whispered.

Motormaster hummed quietly, but not enough for Drag Strip to miss the soft smile and laugh as he pulled Drag Strip closer, then lay down on Drag Strip's berth. Drag Strip snuggled closer to Motormaster's chest plate, his optics closing as Motormaster continued to hold him steady.