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#trauma response tw
trauma-is · 4 months
Note
Cw mention of punishment (no details) and panic/anxiety attacks
Trauma is having to learn to hide your panic attacks because you would get punished for them as a child, so now people don't believe you when you tell them you're having one of the worst anxiety attacks you've ever had, because you don't show any signs of it :(
-🌙♠️
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Why You?
CW: PTSD, panic attack, hallucination, traumatized whumpee, escaped whumpee, some referenced gore from the past
Death Valley
For @amonthofwhump day 8; holiday haunting
-
Wichita, Kansas, 2012
A man who had once gone by Finn Schneider sat in a diner just before midnight, sipping weak but scalding hot coffee and waiting for his breakfast plate to be ready. The diner held a scattering of people other than him - a group of five drunk kids who couldn’t be more than teenagers, giggling to each other, a boy and girl shooting each other lingering looks that told the man that they would probably be kissing before the night was out. 
The girl had stolen the boy’s hat five minutes ago and currently wore it with the bright and shining smile of the triumphant. The boy slid her sidelong smiles. 
How long did it take him to realize what it meant when girls stole his sweater, his coat, his hat? He couldn’t remember, really. At some point, though, he understood that it was the same as a sign waved in the air, interest made clear without words. 
There were a couple of truckers meeting for what passed for dinner at midnight, too. They’d nodded to him when they came in, thinking he must be one of them. He figured it was the eating-at-midnight, the loneliness, the heavy canvas coat he wore against the frigid chill of wind outside. 
Noah had given it to him, congratulated him on your first Carhartt, now you’ll fit right in behind the wheel with me, and he’d worn it ever since. Noah was off on a different job, and it was up to the man - who currently called himself Henry Schmidtgall - to try and fit in by himself. Mostly, that meant saying as little as possible to hide his accent and wearing these heavy coats and gloves and a thick hat.
He was on his way from his last job in Illinois, near Chicago, headed up to Montana. There were some people he’d pick up in Colorado, three or four, and then he’d head north for the border and hope they made it before the snows fell.
Meanwhile, he sat in a diner in Kansas freezing his ass off. The chill air from outside made its way through the big glass windows, and he looked out to see absolutely nothing beyond the bright streetlights flooding the small parking lot. Not that there was much to see.
He hated driving through this part of the country. 
There were no trees to stop the wind, for one, no real hills to slow it down. It blew across the fields and plains and cut like a knife. Half the time he thought if he forgot to wear gloves it would slice his skin right open. This time of year, there wasn’t even corn to rustle.
The waitress stopped over to refill his coffee, and he smiled at her, distant and unfocused. Over the tinny speakers, country music played, low enough to mostly escape notice, occasionally breaking into his thoughts as the singers wailed a particularly emotional line. The booth squeaked a little when he shifted, but he ignored it. 
One of the teenagers threw her head back, letting out a bright burst of laughter that traveled through the diner like a gunshot. Everyone tensed a little, then went back to their soft conversations or - in Finn’s case - to staring at nothing.
Two waitresses argued over politics by the countertop, the cook occasionally chiming in while bacon sizzled and eggs fried in a saucepan to one side. The man who used to be Finn Schneider barely listened to them. He didn’t know anything about American politics and he didn’t care, either.
The bell over the door jingled as it opened, a merry little sound, and he looked up on pure instinct.
Then he froze.
His hands clamped down around the cheap ceramic coffee mug until the heat burned his palms, and still he held on. The chill was no longer on the outside of him, but boiling up from within, traveling up his throat and turning into the softest whimper. 
Luckily, that came just as the chorus of the song hit its crescendo, and the tiny noise he’d made was smothered by she was the one that got away, the one that wrecked my heart…
Hesitating just inside the door was a woman in her midtwenties with black hair that flowed loose down her back like water, blown around by the freezing wind. She had a cell phone up to her ear, wearing tight black jeans that flared out over heavy boots, a thick sweater and the same kind of coat the man who used to be Finn Schneider was wearing over that. 
Finn saw her in profile, left side only, her aquiline nose and light brown skin, one green eye - he was sure it would be green, although he couldn’t see from here - and full lips. She laughed, to whoever she was talking to. “Yeah, I’ll call you when I get back on the road,” She said, her eyes scanning over the booths and tables, taking in the sparsely populated little place. “Yeah, I try my best to be. Mmhmm. Love you, too.”
She shifted, shoving the phone into her pocket.
Finn stared at her, years falling away. If she turned her head, he knew she’d be missing one eye. The right side of her head would be bashed in, crushed bone and brain and so much blood. If she turned, he’d see one green eye ringed in a little line of brown, just the one, an empty marble in a broken face.
He never did quite understand what had happened to the other eye.
He last saw her on Robert’s living room floor, a dead body dragged along on a trash bag with her hair a terrible halo clumped with blood and gray matter. He’d listened to the awful, final sound of her body thumping down the basement stairs, disappearing into the dark. Then he’d seen Robert bring up the barrel with little left inside but bones he’d bury somewhere in the wilderness while hunting for new victims.
What had her name been?
Robert had shown him the driver’s license, made him hold it and smear his fingerprints all over the thing. A smiling, pretty woman’s face with long black hair. Nicole Chumani. Age 24, address somewhere in North Dakota.
Robert had commanded Finn to read every detail out so he couldn’t look away from it. Hair, black. Weight, one hundred forty-five pounds, height, five feet six inches…
Only when Finn had broken down into tears inside his cage, Robert disgusted by his emotions, had he taken the license back and driven her body away to be dumped with all the others. She’d been in California, Robert had said cheerfully, to visit a friend who came out here. She’d been to California to have a nice visit, and she’d had one, and then she’d run into Robert at a rest stop at 3 AM when he was hunting.
And then-
She’d been buried in the woods, with the others Robert didn’t keep in his basement. Somewhere in the woods, somewhere along a highway in Wyoming, somewhere no one was ever looking for them.
And here she was, now.
When Finn glanced down at the floor, he could see the blood dripping and puddling there beneath her feet, bits of gray matter floating in it. Bone, like shards of glass, the slight curve of a skull.
“Just you, sweetheart?” The older waitress called out, a woman in her fifties maybe. The dead woman smiled, giving a nod in affirmation. “Sit wherever you like, it’s too late for anybody to be all that picky.”
She laughed in response, and Finn blinked, watching her back as she walked to a booth, pausing just before it. Bloodied footsteps trailed behind her. His heart stilled as he waited for her turn around - to see that bashed-in face, to throw up all over the table and to have only coffee inside of him to lose - and then it began to beat again. The heavy thump of it knocked the air from his lungs.
She turned his way as she sat down and he realized it wasn’t Nicole Chumani at all. 
There wasn’t any blood on the floor. 
No bone or brain.
He blinked, rapidly, and shook himself like a dog shaking off water. 
She didn’t even look like Nicole Chumani, and her eyes were clearly far too dark to be green. Her hair was too long, although didn’t he read once that hair keeps growing for a while after you die? Her face wasn’t broken at all, wasn’t bashed in and destroyed by Robert’s hammer blows. She had two perfect dark eyes. 
She glanced over and caught him looking at her - staring - and Finn immediately looked back down at his coffee. The next time he chanced a look, she had her phone in her hands, and he knew what she was doing.
He knew.
She was taking a photo of him, maybe, or just describing him in a text to someone she trusted. Guy staring at me, creepy asshole.
It was only-
She’d just looked like-
He almost asked. Do you remember Nicole Chumani? She went missing in 2003? But of course she wouldn’t, they probably had never heard of each other. How many people lived in the States, that he should assume any one person would know about any other? This woman would have been a teenager when Robert dragged a body across the floor in front of Finn’s face.
It would have been fine, if he had died, and Nicole Chumani had been the one who lived. She would probably have done a better job with her life than he’d done with his. 
A plate was set down with a clatter in front of him and he jumped, heart in his throat, eyes jerking up to see-
The waitress, blinking with surprise. “You all right, hon?”
Finn swallowed, once, twice, three times. “I-... yes, thank you.” If he kept his sentences brutally short, he could mostly cover up his accent. Noah told him to, that he needed to not seem like someone who didn’t belong here, but it was hard when he belonged nowhere at all. When he shouldn’t even be alive. When he should have been buried in the basement with the rest. “More coffee, please?”
She nodded, bustling away. His stomach flipped at the smell of the cooked eggs and bacon in front of him, the toast with its little cups of butter and jam. He wasn’t hungry any longer, but he made himself spread the butter anyway, take a bite of crunchy browned bread and salty fat. 
The waitress poured his coffee back up to the top, then glanced up at a clock that hung on the wall near the door. “Merry Christmas,” She said, with a solemn thoughtfulness.
“Wh-... what?” Finn blinked.
“It’s after midnight, hon. Merry Christmas.”
“Oh… ah, Merry Christmas, thank you.” He caught himself before he could say danke. 
She walked back over to her argument over the President with the other two, and Finn ate some bacon with a tongue that did not taste it, with teeth that were barely aware as they chewed. He could feel the woman in the other booth looking at him, still. Wondering why he had stared at her like that.
There was nothing he could have said to ease her mind, now that she was worried over him. No way to say, look, I’m sorry, but you look just like a corpse I once knew-
He had to stifle a giggle, put a hand over his mouth. Hysterical fear threatened the edges of his vision, settled like a weight against his back, ringed him like the bars of his cage. 
He didn’t dare look her way again. Not only because he knew what he looked like, but because he was terrified that if he did, she would be missing half her face again. She would point at him, glaring with her one baleful remaining eye, and ask with a mouthful of missing bashed-up teeth and cracking broken cheekbone what made you so goddamn special? Why did you get to live and I had to die?
And he’d have to say, I don’t know.
He fled into the night a few minutes later, his meal barely touched and a twenty dollar bill left on the table. 
The man who used to be Finn Schneider was in Dodge City before he stopped feeling the weight of one single eye on his back. 
-
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What if Strongarm and Wildbreak were sent to a parallel Universe that was running quite a bit behind them time-wise.
The war is still going, cliffjumper has died but Breakdown is still alive and well. In fact, while trying to find a way home they run into him and Wildbreak gets to meet his other caretaker for the first time.
Hey! :)
Do you realize the chaos you’re about to unleash? I’m not mad, I just wanna know. 😂
Now, this situation is delicate for a number of reasons. Allow me to explain:
Wildbreak would 100% want to meet his second caregiver, but we must keep context in mind. At the time of the war, Breakdown and Knockout are Decepticons—maybe not the most loyal, but they’re bad news. We see Knockout eventually become a turncoat, but that takes a very long time and the death of his conjunx to make it happen.
Strongarm’s parents aren’t exactly on the best of terms. How exactly would you take it if some kid showed up and claimed to be the child of you and your biggest rival? Yeah, we need a paternity test on this one-
If we’re going “alternate universe” and not some wacky time-travel hijinks, we must be totally aware that these aren’t Wildbreak and Strongarm’s actual families and that what they do will here not impact their homes. It’s less of a “Back to the Future” situation and more of an “Avengers: Endgame” scenario. Even if they manage to save Cliffjumper and Breakdown, it does not resurrect the ones they lost. It just gives their future alternates a chance at vastly different lives.
We got that? Okay, then.
It was just meant to be a quick hop over to the alternate universe.
Strongarm wanted to visit her siblings on her rare day off (mandated and enforced by her superior officers), and Wildbreak wanted to try and prevent any unnecessary chaos by ensuring that the heavily modified space-bridge was functioning as it was supposed to.
Unfortunately, chaos found them—as it usually did. There was a short in the system just as Strongarm was stepping through, and Wildbreak didn’t even hesitate to run after the best friend he had in any universe.
Following a bright flash and a tumble from far too high in the air, the two young ‘bots landed face-first in sand. And when Wildbreak sat up, he had just one thing to say:
"What the frag, Armi?"
"Ugh.” Strongarm sat up as well, shaking dust off of her head and shoulders. “Okay, that did not go as planned."
"Oh, you think?” Wildbreak asked flatly, then he looked up and blinked. “Whoa.” He staggered to his feet. “Earth?"
“Looks like it.” Strongarm stood up as well, stretching her back before looking at Wildbreak with a sigh. “Whichever one it is, we’ll be fine. I'll just call ‘Jackie, and he'll come get us.” She raised a servo to her comm, bracing herself. “Hey, ‘Jackie? I screwed up.” She blinked. “‘Jackie?” She glanced at Wildbreak worriedly. “No signal."
“That's odd.” Wildbreak frowned. “Let me try my caregiver.” He raised a digit to his comm, his brow furrowing. “Knockout? We need a bridge.” Wildbreak glanced at Strongarm, frowning. “No answer. Our comms must be busted."
"Just ran a diagnostic.” Strongarm glanced up from a monitor in her arm. “I'm fine."
Wildbreak ran a diagnostic on his own systems, and he blinked again in surprise. "Me, too. Huh.” He looked at Strongarm worriedly. “Jammed?"
*Maybe.” Strongarm shook her head. “I don’t wanna stick around long enough to find out. Assuming it’s our Earth, we can make a break for my base. Lieutenant Bumblebee can help us. If it’s the other Earth, we head for Detroit.”
Wildbreak raised an optic-brow. "Either way, our family tears you a new one for Wrecker behavior.”
"Hey, I’m not the one who ran straight into a malfunctioning space-bridge,” Strongarm argued, but she was smiling. “Thanks, by the way.”
Wildbreak blinked, then he crossed his arms. “Well, life would be far too boring without you.”
Strongarm snorted and gently nudged his shoulder, and the young medic smiled.
They didn’t get far.
Just a few miles down the road, Strongarm and Wildbreak’s chatter had to go silent as a red muscle car pulled off onto their stretch of highway and started driving with them.
Whoever that driver was, he was loud and chattering with someone nonstop.
When the driver passed Wildbreak and wound up behind Strongarm, the anxious cadet checked her rear-view mirrors before quickly making a call.
“Wildbreak.”
:Yeah?:
“I need you to stay calm.”
:What’s wrong?:
“Our company has no driver.”
:What?:
“Stay calm. I don't think he's noticed, yet.”
"Oh, I've noticed."
"Ah!” Both of the young ‘bots jumped so badly that they wound up in their biped modes at the side of the road, their optics wide and their frames covered in sand.
The strange car pulled over and transformed, and a crimson ‘bot with silver horns chuckled as he rested his servos on his hips. “Nice try, kids. Your disguises are hardly subtle."
“Mmhm.” Strongarm nodded shakily.
Meanwhile, Wildbreak raised an optic-brow. “And you’re the picture of subtlety?”
“What the-?” The red mech glanced at Wildbreak, visibly surprised, then he looked between the two youths. “Okay... I'm guessing there's a story here."
"Uh, kinda?” Wildbreak stood and held a servo out, helping Strongarm to her feet. That seemed to make the other ‘bot relax. “An Autobot?"
The stranger nodded. “That's right. I see your friend’s emblem, but… I gotta say, kiddo, I’m having a hard time placing you.”
“Unaligned,” Wildbreak replied calmly, squeezing Strongarm’s servo for support. “My caregiver was a Decepticon who changed sides—and honestly, I don’t see the point in choosing. I’m a medic.”
“Huh.” The stranger smiled and nodded. “A medic? Not bad, kid.”
“Trained by the best,” Strongarm assured him, then she stood up straighter. “Cadet Strongarm of the Elite Guard. This is Dr. Wildbreak."
"Impressive,” the stranger admitted. “You both seem a little young for that, though."
His face fell, like the thought made him sad.
“Our caregivers trained us well,” Strongarm stated. “Then and the rest of our family.”
"And where are they?'
"We don't know,” Wildbreak replied. “We got here by accident—and now, our comms aren't reaching them. We figured that our best bet is making our way to our base."
"Base?” The stranger’s optics widened. “Is it here, on Earth?"
Strongarm nodded. “Just outside of Crown City."
"Frag.” The stranger seemed overwhelmed, and he raised a digit to his comm. “Uh, Arcee? Don't hate me."
Strongarm’s face lit up. "Arcee?"
"You know the name?" The stranger asked her, surprised.
"Uh, duh! She's the best!” Strongarm insisted, dropping all formality. “And -like- my hero, just like my parents. And my grandpa. And my uncles. And my brothers. And my sisters.” She sighed. “I have lots of heroes, okay?"
"Heh.” That seemed to please the stranger, and he focused on his call. “Listen, I've found some kids—like, Cybertronian kids. Might be around Bee's age, actually. They say there's another Autobot base, here on Earth. I'm thinking we should bring Prime in."
“Oh, thank goodness.” Strongarm looked at Wildbreak, relieved. “Optimus can sort this out."
“Hopefully.” Wildbreak felt uneasy. This person knew Arcee and Bee, and mistook them for Bumblebee’s age? Something felt wrong, but he tried to remain optimistic. “… He'll probably sentence us both to volunteer hours in the archives, though."
“Yeah, probably.”
When the portal opened members of their family spilled out, Strongarm thought it was all over.
Wildbreak was not so certain.
Where were their caregivers?
“Optimus.” Strongarm’s shoulders sagged in relief. “It’s great to see you.”
"Sir.” Wildbreak nodded politely in greeting, then he smiled. “You would not believe our day." He gestured. “Her fault.”
Strongarm shot a look at him. “Hey!”
“Just covering my bases, Armi,” Wildbreak said jokingly, folding his servos behind his back and rocking in place while Strongarm crossed her arms and deadpanned.
Optimus watched the two banter with a forlorn expression. "They are young.” The crimson, horned mech nodded, and the Prime stepped forward. “My name is Optimus Prime.” Strongarm and Wildbreak looked up at him, surprised, and the large mech gestured to his company. “These are the members of my team: Bulkhead, Arcee, Bumblebee, and Ratchet. You've already met-“
Strongarm raised an optic-brow. “What's with the formality, if I may ask?” She huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, I know—that's weird, coming from me. But we all know each other.” She glanced at the crimson mech and shrugged. “Except for you."
The Autobot standing behind the two kids smiled. "It’s Cliffjumper, kiddo.”
"… No, really,” Wildbreak said after a silent beat while his best friend’s optics narrowed, the young medic suddenly very tense. He was eyeing their companion’s horns, a sinking feeling growing in his tank. “Who are you?"
"Uh, Cliffjumper,” the crimson mech reiterated.
Strongarm turned on her heel to glare at him. "Don't you dare.” She gestured towards Arcee with her head. “Especially not in front of her."
"Whoa, hey!" ‘Cliffjumper’ held his servos up in surrender, his optics wide at this turn, and Arcee immediately raised her cannons.
This went unnoticed by Strongarm, but Wildbreak quickly stepped between his friend and the red mech—holding his servos up as well. "Easy, Armi.”
"No.” Strongarm’s winglets twitched in agitation, her fists clenched at her sides. “Wildbreak, this is sick! You know that just as well as I do!”
Wildbreak cringed. “Armi, I think-“
“Cliffjumper's been dead for over a million years!” Strongarm snapped. “He died right here on Earth, just a few years before the war ended—the last permanent Autobot casualty." She turned her glare back onto the offending Autobot. “So, who the frag are you—and how dare you?”
The crimson mech’s face had dropped. “… What?" Arcee’s optics were wide, and her cannons dipped as she stared at the scene. “I don’t-“
“Everyone knows the story,” Wildbreak said quietly, still making himself a barrier between Strongarm and her target. “He and Arcee were out on patrol, separated but keeping tabs on each other and making small talk. Something about an encounter with human police, and a ticket?”
“A boot,” Strongarm corrected him.
Wildbreak nodded shakily. “Yeah. But then, he came across this huge Energon supply. The Nemesis found it, too—and they blew it up and captured him, then Starscream killed him. Claws to the chest, severing vital fuel-lines—gone in moments.” Behind Wildbreak, the crimson mech was staring down at him before he looked up at Arcee in shock. “Then, Megatron mutilated his body and brought him back as a Terror-‘Con, using Dark Energon that he discovered in his travels. The zombie attacked Arcee, made her sick because of the Dark Energon exposure.” Wildbreak glanced back at ‘Cliffjumper’, his expression grim. His raised, clawed servos had started to shake. “… I can hardly think of a worse fate, especially for someone so kind.”
“The point is he’s very, very dead,” Strongarm cut in again, still furious. “And she still misses him, after all this time. His voice.” She huffed out a bit treed laugh, glancing at the ground. “What's that thing she always says?"
Wildbreak looked ready to be sick. “Quite the conversationalist, right?"
"Yeah, that's it.” Strongarm looked up and glared at ‘Cliffjumper’ again. “So, don't you dare.” The crimson mech just stared at her. “What? What's the look?"
"How did you know that?" Arcee asked.
Strongarm glanced at her, surprised. "What?"
"That's an inside joke between Cliff and me,” Arcee stated, stepping forward as her optics narrowed.
“Yeah.” Strongarm nodded, turning to face the elder Autobot. “You told us when you were talking about him.” The young Guard grew confused. “Arcee, what's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?” She looked around at the other Autobots, and her face dropped as her optics widened. “Wh-Why are all of you looking at me like that?"
"It's a lot better than how they're looking at me,” Wildbreak admitted as he looked forward and saw how Ratchet was eying him. Cliffjumper noticed the discomfort and blinked, then frowned as he stepped forward in an almost-protective gesture. “Hey, Armi-“
"What's going on?" Strongarm demanded, her winglets flaring.
"That's what we'd like to know,” Bulkhead insisted, then he raised a servo as Strongarm glanced at him with wild optics. “Easy, kid.”
"Uncle Bulk, stop it,” the young Guard pleaded, stepping back. “This isn't funny!"
The green mech blinked. "Uncle-?"
Optimus held a servo up, gazing down at Strongarm with an unreadable expression. “You spoke of an end to the war.”
“Yeah, Optimus.” She looked up at him, visibly shaken. “Y-You taught me my history, back at lacon. The war ended just about three years after Cliffjumper died.”
"lacon?”
“Yeah, where else?” Strongarm asked. “It’s where you work, where both of us were raised. Optimus, what’s happening?”
“Both of you?” Ratchet questioned her, still eyeing Wildbreak skeptically.
“Dr. Ratchet?” The young medic tried warily. “I don’t believe that I’ve ever seen you… quite so angry… at me.” He swallowed thickly, stepping back, and ‘Cliffjumper’ lowered an arm to shield him. “Armi, I think-“
“Optimus, you're scaring me,” Strongarm said, her vents shaking a bit.
"I do not mean to.” The Prime kneeled to face her. “What is your name?"
"You know me,” Strongarm pressed. “Please, Optimus—you know me. Bumblebee, tell him!” She looked at the yellow and black mech, who shook his head and stepped back. “Bumblebee!"
“Armi, I don't think he does!” Wildbreak finally shouted, and Strongarm froze. “… None of them do. Not yet.” He frowned at his best friend’s back. “Don't you see what's happened?"
"… My caregivers are going to kill me,” Strongarm whispered, her optics wide.
“Well, mine might actually kill me—them and the rest of our family—so I can't say l'm feeling very sympathetic, at the moment,” Wildbreak said flatly, resting a servo on his hip. “That, and now: I really do blame you."
"Wildbreak!"
"I blame you!” Wildbreak insisted, then he gasped and ducked behind Cliffjumper as Bulkhead and Arcee’s cannons were pointed his way. Ratchet readied his blades while Bumblebee raised his fists defensively. “Oh, that's fun.”
“Hey!” Strongarm quickly snapped out of it and put herself between ‘Cliffjumper’ and her family, her optics narrowed as she provided an extra shield for the two mechs with her own body. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Everyone, remain calm,” Optimus tried quickly, holding his servos out to halt the fire from his side of the tense encounter.
Wildbreak swallowed thickly again, his optics wide as he peeked out from behind ‘Cliffjumper’. “Y'know, this is all going to be hilarious for me and horrifying for you, someday.” He glanced at Ratchet again. “Especially you, doctor. You hold onto guilt like it's going out of style.”
Ratchet blinked. “What the-?”
“Easy, folks,” ‘Cliffjumper’ insisted, holding his servos up. “I, uh… I think Bee, Bulk, and I have seen enough movies to see what this is about.” He glanced back at Wildbreak, nodding shakily. “It’s okay, kid. I gotcha, alright?” Wildbreak meekly nodded in reply, and the crimson mech gently grabbed Strongarm’s shoulder and coaxed her back—and she let him carefully guide her behind him to join her companion, shielded from harm. “Now, why don’t we all just calm down? These are kids, and they’re scared.”
“Seriously?” Arcee demanded. “Cliff: at best, they have some serious screws loose. At worst, they’re spies. Either way, they’re dangerous. Especially-” She looked at Wildbreak, who ducked behind cover again. “You can’t be buying this!”
“… Hey, kiddo?” ‘Cliffjumper’ glanced back over his shoulder. “You say that Arcee is one of your heroes, right? What’s something else she told you, something special?”
Strongarm blinked, then she frowned. “… She resisted going to Earth to join Optimus right up until you were both backed into a corner, that day when you two were captured by Starscream and taken to Shockwave. She wanted to work alone, to keep isolating herself because she blamed herself for what Airachnid did to Tailgate… but you were able to talk her out of it, and convince her to try again.” She sighed. “And from personal experience, I know that… if she lost you… she’d want to stop trying. She needs someone to be her anchor, a partner.”
Cliffjumper’s expression softened, then he looked forward and at Arcee. “… Would you have told just anyone that, ‘Cee? Even me? Even ever just said it out-loud?” The blue and pink ‘bot’s optics were huge, and she slowly lowered her cannons. “I really don’t know what’s happening. I just know that these kids are scared, and that they need us to keep our heads right now ‘cause they think that we’re people they can count on.” He gave a quick nod. “And I’d like to not have to break it to them that they can’t, if it’s all the same to you. Put the weapons away.”
“Whoa.” Strongarm and Wildbreak both blinked as Bulkhead, Arcee, and Ratchet stashed their weapons and Bumblebee lowered his fists.
Cliffjumper nodded. “Alright, then.” He looked back at the young Autobots behind him, putting on a smile. “Hey. It’s okay now, kids. It’s okay.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Wildbreak told him cautiously, raising a clawed digit. “If it’s all the same to you.”
Strongarm glanced at him worriedly, then she sighed and looked up at Cliffjumper. “I’m… sorry, for what I said.”
“Heh.” Cliffjumper smiled. “Nah. It’s nice to know ‘Cee will always have someone in her corner.” He reached up and rubbed the young ‘bot’s head affectionately. “You’re a real firecracker, kiddo.”
“Hm.” Strongarm smiled. “And I like you far better than your story.” Cliffjumper blinked, then he watched the young Guard step out to face his team. “I’ll have to ask you not to threaten my friend again.”
“He’s a Decepticon,” Ratchet argued.
Strongarm raised an optic-brow. “I’m sorry, I must have missed that. Could you please point out his emblem, for me?” The old medic blinked. “I know not everyone takes on an emblem. Taking on my emblem was a personal choice I made. But now… exactly what about him suggested that he was a Decepticon? Did he attack you? Did he declare himself as such?” She tilted her head. “Don’t tell me that you pointed your weapons at him based solely on his physical attributes as compared to mine and yours?” Wildbreak peeked out from behind Cliffjumper, his yellow optics wide. “Oh, if that was the case… Should I begin listing the many, many violations to Autobot Code that you would have made?” Ratchet, Bulkhead, Arcee, and Bumblebee just stared at her, and she crossed her arms. “Because I can, in whichever order you prefer—or you can just apologize to him, and convince me that you mean it.”
“Optimus, are you hearing this?” Ratchet asked his leader quietly.
Optimus slowly nodded. “Indeed, old friend.” He folded his servos behind his back. “And as one of the writers of the Autobot Code, I must say that she’s being entirely fair in her assessment.”
Ratchet’s jaw dropped, but Bumblebee stepped forward and nodded. |You’re right, it was wrong.| He looked at Wildbreak. |I’m sorry. I guess the war’s made me jumpy, and it’s been quiet, and… it’s been a really weird day.| Strongarm blinked, her face falling as she heard the tones that stories always told her once replaced Bumblebee’s voice. |You acted like you know me.|
“Yeah.” Strongarm nodded. “You’re probably my best friend, aside from Wildbreak. And I might be yours, aside from Smokescreen… who you haven’t met yet.” She sighed. “Oh, this is-“
“Yet?” Bulkhead asked her. “Why do you keep sayin’ that?”
“… You asked who I am.” Strongarm glanced at Optimus. “Well… I'm Strongarm, sir, and I'm a cadet with the Elite Guard—or, I guess... I will be, after l'm born... a few decades from now."
As optics widened, Wildbreak smiled awkwardly and waved his servos. "Dun-dun-duuuun~!"
"Oh, you've got to be joking,” Ratchet insisted. “Optimus-“
"She is not,” the Prime said quietly.
Ratchet scoffed. "And how do you know?"
"… I recognize her optics,” Optimus said, and his teammates blinked as the Prime smiled. “As well as her spirit. Heh… Ultra Magnus must be so very proud of you."
"Ultra Magnus?” Ratchet asked, then he looked at Strongarm skeptically before his optics widened. “By the Allspark.”
“Yeah.” Strongarm put on a nervous smile and raised her shoulders. “I’m his youngest. Believe it or not, I’ve genuinely lost count of my siblings.” Wildbreak doubled-over and wheezed loudly as Ratchet’s jaw dropped. “Yeah, that came out a bit- It’s a long story.”
Wildbreak stood up straight. “Whoo… Just wait ‘til you learn who her other caregiver-“ Strongarm darted over and clapped a servo over his mouth. “Mmph!” Wildbreak looked at her indignantly, his brow furrowed. “Mm!"
“Wildbreak, I’m already in so much trouble,” she insisted, her optics wide. “I don’t need two sets of my parents scolding me. That is actually a fate worse than the Pit.” She turned away, growing frantic. “And my brothers, them too! Oh, and Sari's going to have a field day when she learns- Ugh!” She ran a servo over her face, then she took a deep vent. “… But-... Heh.” She opened her optics and looked back at Wildbreak, smiling. “It's been so long, I can barely even-… We get to see Agent Fowler, June, Jack, Raf, and Miko again. Oh, and Professor Sumdac!” She then clapped a servo over her forehead. “No, no, no! Bad! We've got to get home!"
"Back to your own time?" Cliffjumper asked the kids curiously.
"I'm actually betting on this being an alternate universe,” Wildbreak theorized. “One running behind ours."
Strongarm shook her head. "You watch too many movies, Wybie."
"Time travel has never been proven,” Wildbreak reminded her. “Travel across the multiverse? We do it all the time."
Cliffjumper blinked. "You what?"
"Spoilers.” Wildbreak looked at him jokingly. “Lie down, you're supposed to be dead."
Strongarm sighed. "Sorry, he acts like his caregiver when he's panicking."
Bulkhead raised an optic-brow, growing curious. "And his caregivers are-?"
"Not a discussion that I will be having with you specifically until everyone's calmed down,” Wildbreak said, pointing at the large green Wrecker. “Like, tranquilized calmed down.”
Strongarm turned to her friend and offered a servo. “Pact?"
"Pact.” Wildbreak took her servo and shook it, nodding.
Strongarm tilted her head. "How much do we tell them?"
“We're right here,” Arcee tried to remind them.
"Not our universe,” Wildbreak insisted, not looking away from Strongarm. “This isn't like one of our adventures, Armi. There will be serious, life-or-death consequences if we mess up."
Strongarm just looked at him, then she looked at the other Autobots. "… We're going to have to kidnap some kids."
Wildbreak groaned. "Oh, for frag's sake-"
“After we save Cliffjumper’s life, of course,” Strongarm went on.
“Armi.” Wildbreak released her servo. “… I think we already did.” She looked at him, surprised. “The story, about the boot. That was their last talk… and they’ve already had it.”
“Which means-“ Strongarm tensed, her optics going wide. “… We have to get out of here.” She looked at the other ‘bots frantically. “We have to get out of here, right now!”
“What?” Cliffjumper asked, perplexed, then a shadow fell over them and they looked up.
“The Nemesis,” Ratchet realized, his optics wide, then he looked to his team. “Go, go, go!”
“Come on, kids!” Cliffjumper transformed and sped off, and Wildbreak and Strongarm swiftly followed his lead.
They found themselves boxed in by the other Autobots as they drove off, dodging blasts from the warship as Optimus made an urgent call.
Finally, a swirling portal opened before them—and when they passed through it, they all came to a screeching halt inside of a large, cavelike base.
Wildbreak and Strongarm transformed, their optics wide, and Strongarm’s face lit up. “Autobot Outpost Omega One. It’s still standing.”
“Prime!” A voice shouted, and the two young ‘bots looked back to see a man in a suit standing beside a monitor. “You better start talking.”
“Special Agent Fowler,” Wildbreak realized. “He’s so… young.” He blinked as Strongarm left his side. “Wait, Armi-”
“Sir.” Strongarm stood before the agent and saluted. “My name is Cadet Strongarm, of the Elite Guard. One of my fathers was Optimus Prime’s second-in-command.” She gave a small smile. “It’s an honor.”
“Okay, it’s official: that’s a stress headache.” Wildbreak groaned, putting his face in his servo. “Just wake me up, already. I wanna wake up.”
“Easy there, kid.” Bulkhead placed a servo on the young mech’s shoulder. “Ratchet’s probably got something for your head. You… get those a lot?”
Wildbreak looked up at him with a stressed smile. “Got my first one when I was twelve, the same day Armi was protoformed.”
“Huh.” Bulkhead blinked, then he chuckled. “Oh, we’re gonna get along great.”
“Yay…”
Wildbreak sat and watched with crossed arms, adding the occasional comment or more-detailed illustration as Strongarm assembled a series of charts to explain exactly what the Autobot team would be coming up against.
Her brothers would be proud.
Based on the stories they had heard as children, Strongarm laid out a timeline for the next decade and a half—starting with Cliffjumper’s death, and ending with the splitting open of the multiverse. She kept vague anything that would indicate their parentage, so she didn’t speak much of how the multiverse had opened up—Wheeljack going missing, his time away, or exactly what became of the multiverse’s opening: all they had seen, the larger family they had made. She didn’t really go far into personal details at all, just time-stamps and details as to why what occurred.
“So you see, if you just trust us on this, we’ll be able to think up a plan ages in advance to avoid the tragedy and still keep all of the good,” the young Guard wrapped up her explanation. “We could probably end the war even earlier.” She glances at Wildbreak. “And save lives on both sides.” The young medic blinked, then his optics went wide as he realized what she was implying. "So... how are you following me so far?"
"Uh, I think you lost me after the whole ‘purple crystals that make zombies and vampires' bit,” Cliffjumper admitted.
“That was in the first ten minutes,” Strongarm said, then she huffed and rested her servos on her hips. “That was three hours ago!"
Arcee raised an optic-brow. “You were timing it?”
“Ugh.” Strongarm rested her face in her servo. “Alright, Armi. Desperate times, desperate measures… You need proof that we know what we are talking about? Fine.” She looked at Arcee, smirking. “Let's wait and see. Wildbreak?"
"We need to find Jack, Miko, and Raf—which should set the timeline to rights, save the whole ‘Cliffjumper being alive’ bit,” Wildbreak began. “Since the story says we're supposed to discover the plot when his signal comes online, corrupted by Dark Energon, and that that's supposed to put Optimus and Dr. Ratchet on the trail of what Megatron is planning at the space-bridge-…” He glanced up thoughtfully, then nodded. “Alright. Cliffjumper was going to die at sunrise. It’s not sundown yet, so there’s still plenty of time.” He looked at Strongarm. “If I know that story as well as I hope I do, then Cliff was supposed to die today—and Arcee and Bumblebee were meant to find Raf and Jack in their high-speed chase -turned- scuffle. Then, tomorrow, they are supposed to add Miko to the mix—and find the zombie.” He raised a servo to his chin, perplexed. “No zombie, no confrontation in the mines. Arcee doesn't get sick, and they have no trail to follow. So, we give them the trail—to everything.” He looked at the Autobots, growing determined. “Let’s make a deal. If we can prove our story is real, then you believe us. You trust us.” He gestured to the timeline. “And you let us help.”
"Hm.” Optimus seemed uncertain.
“Our comms aren’t working right now, anyway,” Wildbreak told the skeptical team. “We’re cut off from all communications. Dr. Ratchet can even monitor us to be certain, or even lock us up.” He crossed his arms. “Just follow our lead, and then wait and see what happens."
Bumblebee shifted uneasily. |Uh, Optimus?|
"What are you proposing?" The Prime asked.
"Okay, uh...” Strongarm walked forward, pointing her index-fingers up and shaking them a bit as she worked to remember. “The story goes, Arcee leaves the funeral to drive around Jasper. Some Vehicons start to follow her, so she pulls off into the parking lot of some burger joint-”
"KO Burger,” Wildbreak recalled.
"Right.” Strongarm nodded. “And that's where she meets Jack. The Vehicons think he's with her, so she has to drive away to save them both. Bumblebee goes after her, so he's close enough to come and help. They go over the edge of a bridge, and there's Raf—and the boys escape the fight with some help from Bumblebee, then Bulkhead comes to chase the Vehicons off.” She took a deep vent. “And that night, Optimus worries about their safety and has Bumblebee and Arcee bring them to the base after school the next day. Miko catches Arcee arguing with Jack, so she has to come along too."
Wildbreak nodded. "Right."
"So, what?” Arcee raised an optic-brow. “You want me to go off and sulk by myself just to see if things will just fall into place like you described?” She deadpanned. “Trap.”
"Even if you're right, we'll be willingly bringing three young humans into our war,” Ratchet argued, and Fowler crossed his arms.
"Those humans save everyone here countless times,” Strongarm protested. “They're family. I haven’t seen them since I was small, but I can still remember them—and we still tell their stories.” Fowler blinked. “You need them.”
"And if it isn't enough to convince you-” Wildbreak shrugged. “The day after tomorrow, we're going to tell Optimus and Dr. Ratchet where to find Megatron and what is going to happen there.“
“… Could you actually be any more dramatic?” Strongarm asked after a moment, looking at her friend in annoyance.
“I’m doing my best here.” Wildbreak shrugged. “And I still blame you.”
Strongarm rolled her optics. “Ugh.”
Arcee came storming back into the base, with Bulkhead and Bumblebee right behind her and frantically gesturing for everyone to get out of the two-wheeler’s way.
“No fragging way,” she said, her optics blazing.
Cliffjumper looked at her, surprised. “Arcee?”
“No fragging way!” She snapped, then she turned to Ratchet. “Where are they?!”
Ratchet looked at her, concerned. “Was it a trap?”
“No.” Optimus shook his head, his expression grave. “It was not.”
Arcee was fuming. “I don’t know what they’re were playing at, but-”
“Arcee,” Optimus tried, and she turned her glare on him. “… Did it happen?"
“... Just like they said,” she said quietly, her fists falling open. “Exactly like they said.”
Ratchet’s optics widened. “Impossible.”
“They were just kids, Doc,” Bulkhead said as Bumblebee’s wings drooped. “One of them was a young kid, too. It-… It couldn’t have been a setup. It just couldn’t have been.”
“… Where are they?” Arcee asked quietly.
Optimus glanced back, and the two young ‘bots poked their heads out from behind him.
Wildbreak held his servos up and waved them awkwardly. "Abracadabra?"
“This has to be a trap,” Arcee said, though her spark was no longer in it.
Wildbreak raised an optic-brow. “Do you really think we’re smart enough to come up with something this elaborate, or fragged in the head enough to come up with something this weird?“
Arcee’s optics narrowed again, and she took a step forward as her servos balled into fists once more. “Listen, here you little-“
“No, you listen.” Wildbreak stepped out into the open, glaring right back at her. “Against my better judgment, I am interfering here because Armi thinks it’s the right thing to do. Before the end of these next three years, she and I are going to have saved you a lot of pain and trouble.” He gestured to Cliffjumper. “We already saved his life by accident. All that would’ve been left of him is a horn you buried atop this mesa and a mangled, undead shell at the bottom of a burning mine. That would’ve been the last you saw of someone you loved.” He lowered his servo, frowning. “… And it’s still much kinder than a lot of things that happened—would happen, might happen—before the end… So, why don’t you take five on the whole paranoid, bad cop routine and actually consider the possibility that we are not your enemies?”
Arcee’s optics were wide by the time the young medic was through.
All optics were, actually—and locked on him.
“… You good, Wybie?” Strongarm asked quietly, and he closed his optics. “Easy. Put the tiger back into the cage.”
“Mmph.” Wildbreak stepped back, raising a servo to his head. “I hate getting like that. Gives me processor-aches.”
“And spark palpitations, I know.” Strongarm walked up and wrapped an arm around him, resting her servos on his shoulders. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
“Thanks, Armi.” Wildbreak looked up at her, and he smiled. “Heh. Where would I be, without you?”
Strongarm shrugged. “Probably home and safe.”
“… What fun would that be?” Wildbreak asked, and her optics lit up before she laughed and pulled him into a hug.
Wildbreak hugged back, closing his optics again, then the two of them separated and looked up as Optimus approached and looked down at them forlornly. “Apologies, young ones. This is all just… difficult to accept.”
“I know.” Strongarm turned to face him. “One of my caregivers went through a similar experience, a very long time ago. Or, well—a short time from now. He went to a strange place and had to earn the trust of the people there, people who reminded him of his family… and who eventually became just that.” She sighed. “I guess that Wildbreak and I just never imagined we’d end up in the same place. It’s… scary.” She started to rub at her arms as she looked at the floor. “I really don’t know how he did it.”
“Armi,” Wildbreak said quietly.
“Hm?” Strongarm blinked, then she looked down at her arms. “Oh.” She quickly folded her arms, trying to hide the hives. “Oops.”
“You’re not taking this nearly as well as you’re pretending to,” Wildbreak noted, then he sighed. “Do you have the salve?” Strongarm looked at him awkwardly. “You left it in your bunk, again?”
“… Maybe?”
Wildbreak nodded. “I figured as much. I guess that I’ll just… make some more.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Wildbreak wrapped an arm around her. “You get us into trouble, I get us out of it—but we look after each other. That’s the deal, and why we have fun instead of twisted limbs.”
Strongarm’s little smile returned. “I ever tell you that you got the short end of the stick?”
“About as many times as I’ve told you that no, I haven’t,” he assured her, and she nodded.
“What are those?” Fowler asked, looking at Strongarm skeptically.
“Hives. They can form on the plating as a result of an environmental hazard, or as a symptom of high stress,” Ratchet informed the agent. Fowler looked like he was questioning everything. “The latter form are rare, usually inherited.”
“Indeed.” Optimus was looking at Strongarm sadly. “And while Ultra Magnus is known for composure under pressure, he has his tells.” The other Autobots exchanged surprised glances, and Optimus got down on one knee to address the young ‘bots. “… You are very much his daughter, Strongarm. Please, forgive us for the distress that we have caused—to both of you.”
“It’s okay.” Strongarm put on a small smile. “I know you’d never do anything to hurt us on purpose, Optimus. I’ve known you all my life.” She slowly frowned again. “… I’ve just never seen you so tired. Not that I can remember, at least.” She sighed. “You’re Maggie's best friend. You've always been there for us, for me. So, maybe… I can return the favor, this time around.”
"… He's alive?" Optimus asked quietly.
Strongarm’s smile returned. "So alive."
Optimus smiled back at her, then he tilted his head and raised an optic-brow. "… Who did he-?"
"Oh, you're going to- Hold on.” Strongarm pulled away from Wildbreak to face the Prime. “Swear to secrecy? Cross your spark?”
Optimus reached up and used his finger to draw an X over his chest. “Cross my spark.”
“It's-“ Strongarm stood on the tips of her peds to whisper it to the Prime, then she fell back onto her feet as his optics widened. “Yeah."
"… I knew it,” Optimus said at last—earning a laugh from the cadet, which made him smile.
“Well, Strongarm won him over,” Wildbreak remarked, crossing his arms. “Again.” He glanced at the other Autobots. “So, what's next on the activities list?” They just stared back at him, and he deadpanned. “Okay, that’s getting old. Is this going to become a regular thing?”
Strongarm looked away from Optimus, her shoulders raising. “It better not.”
“Armi, it’s fine,” Wildbreak assured her as she moved to stand beside him again. “It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before. I’ll get used to it.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” Strongarm told him. “Especially not from them.” She looked at Optimus, frowning. “I want to help you, but my first priority is WIldbreak’s safety. If he’s not safe here, then we won’t stay here.” The young medic looked at her with wide optics. “So, from now on, I will not tolerate anything I see as a threat to him—physically or mentally.“
Ratchet shook his head, at a loss. “Are we certain this is Ultra Magnus’s daughter?”
Strongarm’s winglets flared. “Why, you-“
Before she could do anything else, Wildbreak reached out and grabbed her arm. She looked back at him, frustrated, but he shook his head before stepping around her to face Ratchet.
“As sure as I am that you and my caregiver eventually become partners in a lab at Iacon, and you help him raise me,” Wildbreak said plainly.
Ratchet blinked, then his face dropped. “… What?”
“Strongarm’s been carrying this whole thing because she’s Magnus’s kid. I guess it’s my turn to pull some weight,” Wildbreak said, eerily calm. Strongarm adjusted her grip on him and kept it, looking worried. “Because why should you trust me? After all, I look like a Big, Bad ‘Con—even though I’ve only ever learned enough self-defense to keep myself and Armi safe, on a Cybertron where half of the population still looks at me just like you’re looking at me now. It doesn’t matter that I was the first sparkling born on a post-war Cybertron—I came with a large frame and yellow optics, and my only surviving caregiver was a reformed Decepticon.” His optics narrowed. “What exactly was the plan, for the war’s end? You claim to be so righteous, but—aside from Optimus—you’re all just as determined to eradicate all of your enemies as the Decepticons are. You don’t picture them in your ‘after’, because they taint the image.” He took a deep vent. “… I’m not upset because of how you’re all looking at me. I get looks just like that every day. I’m upset because it’s you, and you shouldn’t get looks like that from your family. I know you’re not the people I know yet. You have a lot to learn, a lot of growing to do.” He met Ratchet’s optics. “… I guess I just never considered the fact that if I met you less than fifteen years before I was protoformed, you’d want me dead on sight. Makes me wonder about the time I was too young to remember. Did you all look at me this way when I first left the Well?” He let out a wry chuckle. “Must have been a relief, then—when Strongarm came years later, with white armor and blue optics.”
The tension had left Ratchet’s body as he stared at the young mech.
Strongarm looked crestfallen. “Wildbreak…”
“… One of my caregivers did not survive the war,” Wildbreak began, still oddly resolute. “We still don’t know how I came about as I did without him. The caregiver who lived said it was luck, or a gift from Primus. Personally, I’ve never really seen him as much of a giver. He destroys lives just as Unicron does, he just takes his time doing it and makes you feel grateful.” He shook his head. “Dr. Ratchet said it was some ‘cosmic back-order’, caused by the Allspark being sent off-world for so long. But that’s not really an explanation either, is it? Whatever it was, my caregiver was terrified—he was the one former ‘Con known as a member of ‘Team Prime’, and the adjustment was slow and rocky. The Nemesis taught him that he could trust no one, that he could be hurt or cast aside or sent to his death at any time. He was worthless.” He glanced over at his friend. “… But one of Strongarm’s caregivers broke the ice. He’d done it before, when my caregiver first joined the team—but he seriously stepped in, and the team stepped up soon after.” Strongarm squeezed his servo. “I was way too young to remember that. I don’t remember ever my caregiver being scared, or anyone on this team being cold to us. It’s just not there…. I grew up as the first child born on a peaceful Cybertron, the child of Decepticons—and I was scared all the time. But I always knew that my family had my back, and that… I didn’t have to be what everyone saw me as. I didn’t have to hurt or scare people.” He looked up at Ratchet again. “… So, I became a medic. And I’m actually really, really good.”
“He is,” Strongarm agreed quietly. “Combines Decepticon science with Autobot ethics. And bedside manner.”
“Eh, I wouldn’t go that far.” Wildbreak looked at her with a smirk. “Out of the two of them, we both know that my caregiver tends to be more hospitable.”
Strongarm snorted. “Fair.”
Wildbreak snickered, then looked at Ratchet again. “Hm. You want proof, though? For starters-” He pulled his clawed servo from Strongarm’s and held it out, and he projected a number of documents into the air. “Here are my degrees, and my license. You signed them.”
|What?| Bumblebee asked, alarmed.
“Those are forged,” Arcee decided. “Right?”
“… No.” Ratchet stared at the documents, stunned. “They are not.”
Bulkhead blinked. “You’re jokin’, Doc.”
“Don’t call me that.”/“Don’t call him that.” Ratchet and Wildbreak said together, then they exchanged surprised glances.
Then, Wildbreak smiled and raised an optic-brow. “I guess some things never change.”
“Heh.” Ratchet turned to face the younger mech, a disbelieving smile on his face. “No one else has ever discouraged that.”
“You eventually give up trying, with the Wreckers,” Wildbreak told him. “But I do my best to respect my teacher.”
“… Do you have any more proof for me, doctor?” Ratchet asked softly.
Wildbreak lowered his arm, the hologram blinking off. “I could go with a really low blow. You’ve told me a lot, over the years. Lots of guilt, and regrets.”
“I think I’ve earned a low blow,” Ratchet told him. “Consider it… making us even.” His face fell. “For what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry. War has… changed me.”
“I know.” Wildbreak nodded. “And I know that it’ll keep changing you, in ways you’re not going to expect. But… not all of them are going to be bad.” He walked over to face Ratchet. “Someday, you’re going to be someone who takes care of my family just because we need you to. So… how about I actually try to make us even, and prevent a few of those regrets?”
Wildbreak held a servo out. Ratchet blinked, and hesitantly offered his servo. Wildbreak took it, then reached under Ratchet’s arm and tripped an emergency switch.
The panel built into Ratchet’s arm opened, and Wildbreak took a look at the screen before looking at the elder medic with a sigh. “I always kinda hoped that you were exaggerating, but… my caregiver always watched you so carefully, to be sure.”
“What’s going on?” Arcee asked, and Wildbreak carefully turned Ratchet’s arm to reveal the screen. “Whoa. Are those Ratchet’s Energon levels?”
Optimus’s optics were huge. “Ratchet?”
“We need a cube, stat,” Wildbreak said, not taking his optics off of the astonished older medic. “I’ll prep a slow-feeding IV, so we don’t overwhelm his engine. He’s been like this for a long time.”
|How long?| Bumblebee asked, his optics wide.
Any lingering suspicion held by the Autobots had seemingly vanished, replaced by worry.
Wildbreak was quiet, still looking at Ratchet, then he sighed. “… I’ll tell them, if you can’t.”
“I-…” Ratchet was at a loss.
Wildbreak closed his optics. “Since the war started, and Energon rations became regular. He doesn’t think that he deserves to consume more fuel than he needs to stay functional. He thinks that if he’s fully-fueled, he’s depriving the warriors.” The young medic opened his optics again, frowning. “He talks a big game, but his personal self-confidence and sense of self-worth is practically nonexistent. He blames himself for everything.” He glanced back at the timeline Strongarm had created, then he returned his gaze to the elder doctor. “… And I’m not just going to stand back and watch you suffer. You don’t know me yet, but you are family.”
Ratchet swallowed thickly. “It was… Dr. Wildbreak, yes?”
“Heh.” The younger mech smiled. “I’m not used to that, even from the you I know.”
“You refer to me by my title.”
“Yeah, duh.” Wildbreak rolled his optics, then blinked before smiling awkwardly. “Sorry.”
“Hm.” Ratchet’s expression had completely softened. “Don’t be… You must have truly impressed me.”
Wildbreak shrugged. “Well, I learned from the best.” His smile relaxed. “Y’know, this is gonna be a really weird story to tell me someday.”
Ratchet chuckled. “I expect so.”
“Luckily, no one tells stories like you can,” Wildbreak noted.
Ratchet raised an optic-brow. “I told you stories?”
“All the time,” Wildbreak assured him. “You and my caregiver, you… helped each other, so you could both sleep. You still do. You fuss.”
“Then, I look forward to meeting him,” Ratchet told the young mech.
Wildbreak’s smile grew awkward again. “It might not be the best first impression. We have a long way to go.”
“So, let’s get started,” Ratchet decided, shutting the panel in his arm.
Arcee frowned. “Ratchet?”
“… A brilliant young doctor has delivered his diagnosis, and I concur,” Ratchet said, looking at his teammates. “And I approve of the proposed treatment plan.”
“On it.” Wildbreak nodded, turning away, then he looked back at the elder medic. “Uh, permission to utilize your facilities?”
“Granted,” Ratchet assured him, and he watched as the younger mech got to work.
“… Well, I’ll be damned,” Fowler remarked. “I honestly didn’t think you could like anyone but Prime and Bumblebee.”
As Ratchet rolled his optics, Arcee rested her servos on her hips. “You trust him?”
“Evidently, I will,” Ratchet replied, looking at her, then he nodded. “So, I do.”
She blinked, then sighed and nodded. “This is still really, really weird.”
“Tell me about it,” Strongarm remarked, and Arcee glanced at her. “In our time, you’re practically my aunt. Right now, I kinda wanna punch you—most of you, actually. If you were anyone else, I would.” The cadet looked down, frowning. “… I learned from a very young age that the end of the war wasn’t the end of the violence. My job is hunting down criminals, and… I’ve still had to fight more people wearing this emblem than a different one. I don’t know if I’ll ever break even.” All around, faces fell. “My parents always told me that I didn’t have to learn how to fight, but… I had people to protect.” She glanced over at where Wildbreak was working. “I meant what I said. He comes first for me, like I always have for him. if I see anyone point a gun at him again or even look at him coldly, I won’t let him talk me down again. There will be Hell to pay.” She turned her gaze to Ratchet. “… It really is the thing that’s hurt him the most, so far. How you were looking at him. I grew up with Optimus as… an uncle? Grandfather? I don’t even know. But you? You were always Wildbreak’s grandfather.”
Ratchet didn’t look away from the younger medic. “That would mean that… I came to look at a Decepticon as-”
“Yeah.” Strongarm nodded. “You did… In the end, he was just another young ‘bot who needed you. And you were the first person to show him any true kindness after his conjunx died.” She looked away. “They’d do anything for you.”
Ratchet closed his optics, his shoulders raising. “By the Allspark.”
“… How did we do it?” Arcee asked quietly. “After everything they did, how did we-..?”
“I don’t know.” Strongarm shook her head. “Wildbreak came first, I came second years later—so I wasn’t there at all, for the whole adjustment period. My parents weren’t even bonded yet.”
“Ultra Magnus,” Bulkhead noted. “Huh. Gotta wonder who he wound up with.”
Strongarm snorted. “Oh, I can’t wait to see the looks on your faces.” She glanced at Optimus, smiling. “Yours was good. Theirs will be better.”
Optimus gazed at her sadly. “… If Wildbreak’s assessment is correct, this is not even your reality.”
“I know.” Strongarm nodded. “But I learned a long time ago… a short time from now… that you don’t turn your back on family, and that family can be found in strange places.” She chuckled softly. “Oh, and that’s another reason why you need to shape up… Sooner or later, our family is going to be coming for us.” She smirked. “And they have no qualms when it comes to kicking their alternates’ afts. Trust me, it comes up more often than you’d think.”
“Oh, does it?” Cliffjumper asked, amused.
Strongarm grinned. “Oh, yeah—it’s like nothing, at this point. I’m even an inter-reality chess champion, the best I’ve come across anywhere.” She looked at Optimus again. “I can even beat you.”
"Oh, puh-lease.” Ratchet smiled incredulously. “Claiming that you can outwit not just Optimus but the collective wisdom of the Primes in a simple strategy game? That may be your most far-fetched claim yet.”
"Please, don't.” Wildbreak had returned with the IV prepped, and his optic twitched. “When we were sparklings, she ditched Optimus to cross the multiverse and beat a townhouse full of alternate Decepticons. Twice."
“… What?” Bulkhead asked. “Repeat that, slowly.”
As Strongarm’s optics shone, Wildbreak closed his optics. “Oh, Primus—no. You’ve brought this on yourselves.”
"Up for a game?" Strongarm asked, looking at Optimus excitedly.
The Prime looked genuinely concerned. “I… suppose?”
“Great!” Strongarm grabbed his wrist and dragged him over to the monitor.
“She gets her strength from Magnus,” Wildbreak noted calmly as jaws dropped. “Now, Dr. Ratchet, with all due respect: please hold still, or I’ll get the wrench.”
Optimus stared up at the monitor as Strongarm stretched her arms before looking at him with a smile.
“Predictable as ever,” she joked, resting her servos on her hips. “Round two?” She blinked, noticing the Prime’s face. “Optimus? Hey, you okay?”
Optimus took a deep vent. “Apologies, I-"
“What for? You’re not made of stone,” Strongarm told him, then she sighed. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I know you better than most, but… I guess it’s hard to believe some of the stories, about what all of you were like during the war.” She looked up at him sadly. “It's okay to be overwhelmed, and freaked-out, and worried. Trust me, Optimus: I am, too. But it's gonna be okay.” She managed a small smile. “Wildbreak and I are here. We can help, if you just let us.”
“… I never imagined a life after the war, in any capacity,” the Prime confessed.
Strongarm nodded. “I know.”
“You say that there will come a time where I just get to… rest. To be at peace, doing a job I enjoy and… watching my family live.”
“You do,” Strongarm assured him. “After all that happened, that’s the least you deserve.” She watched the Prime look away. “Maybe you need one last shred of proof. Just to make this all real.”
“I trust you.”
“But you’re scared to,” Strongarm said. “… And it’s not the first time you’ve been scared, or the last. But nowadays, you think you have to be scared alone.” She took a deep vent. “… You didn’t didn't walk into the council chambers alone, and… even though most stories leave this part out… you didn't walk out alone.” Optimus blinked, then he looked at her in surprise. “There was a young Guard who survived the attack, and he followed you. He never went back, but he didn't need to. He was the first one to follow you and with him, he brought discipline and strategy and… more optimism than you ever would have been able to find for yourself had you left alone.” She huffed out a weak laugh. “You told me once that you were speechless, when he came to walk beside you and just started talking because he wanted to keep the ball rolling. After everything that had just happened in those chambers, you were reeling—but nothing could slow him down. He was already trying to help you make Cybertron a better place, and he decided it was worth a shot to try your way—without violence. He knew the law better than he knew himself, all of the darkness and corruption that awaited, but… as uptight as he seemed, he was wild too.” She crossed her arms. “The king of malicious compliance, formal yet reckless and eager—and… a bit nervous and awkward. He could talk your audial sensors into shutdown when excited, but he's an introvert. Like you.” There was a spark in the Prime’s optics. “And you tried to look out for him, because he looked up to you. You trusted him, and... when you saw that his spark—his compassion—was pulling him to the most dangerous place in the war... you let him go.” She sighed. “You were scared then too, of course. Scared to lose someone else you cared about. Scared that you’d lose everyone you cared about, and wind up alone… but you had hope. And if anyone could save the Wreckers, it was him.”
“I told you that,” Optimus said softly.
Strongarm looked at him and nodded. “You did. You weren’t just a teacher, or even just family. You'd volunteer to watch over me when my parents needed help, or just when you wanted company in the archives.” She smiled. “You're my friend. And you don’t leave a friend in the scrap.”
Optimus started to smile at her again. “Then, I am fortunate to have made a friend like you.”
“You say that now,” she joked. “I gave you plenty of spark-attacks when I was younger. I apologize in hindsight, and… in advance.”
The Prime found himself chuckling, then his optics widened and he looked back.
The rest of his team was staring at him.
Optimus didn’t know what to do, but then a servo grabbed his and he looked down to see Strongarm still smiling at him.
“It’s gonna be okay.”
Somehow, he truly believed her.
And carefully, he squeezed her servo back.
Strongarm and Wildbreak examined their timeline together—with Optimus with them, and Ratchet taking notes.
“Okay.” Strongarm rested her servos on her hips. “We know the sequence of events, and that it all happens within the next three years. We don’t have the Iacon database, the Relics, or the space-bridge generator, and we’re waiting on reinforcements.” She frowned. “We need to maintain enough stability to ensure that the wins stay the same while also trying to save lives and prevent tragedy. So… I guess we have to decide whose lives we have the power to save, and what that would mean.”
“Feels like we’re playing Primus, here,” Wildbreak noted. “My caregiver always said to embrace these opportunities as they come, but Dr. Ratchet always gave him looks.” He glanced at Strongarm. “We’ve got tons of Vehicon casualties, obviously—then other deaths include Skyquake, Seaspray, Makeshift, Dreadwing…” He hesitated. “And, uh… And Breakdown.” As Strongarm grew worried, Wildbreak looked at Optimus. “You and Megatron are notoriously hard to perish permanently, and Megatron might not change without that cosmic wake-up call. I think our best bet is to try and strategize to keep you from dying at the Battle of the Well, but Megatron’s on his own.”
“It’s character building,” Ratchet agreed, and Optimus shot a look at him.
Wildbreak looked back at the board. “If we have the opportunity to save lives, we can try—but our primary concern is this family. Cliffjumper is safe, so let’s just focus on getting to the end of this.”
“Wildbreak.” Strongarm was looking at him sadly. “It’s alright to ask for help.”
“It’s not our universe.” He gave her a firm look. “We can’t mess this up.” After a long, quiet moment, Wildbreak sighed and looked away. “I need a minute.”
Strongarm watched her friend walk away, and Ratchet glanced at her with concern. “What is it?”
“… His caregiver,” Strongarm confessed. “The one who died. There’s a chance that… things could be different, here. And I don’t think he’ll forgive himself if he doesn’t try.” She took a deep vent. “If someone doesn’t try.”
Ratchet frowned. “A Decepticon?”
“… Family,” Strongarm insisted, closing her optics. Optimus and Ratchet exchanged glances, and the young Autobot opened her optics to regard the board again. “Okay, so: Wildbreak provided data from the post-war Dark Energon studies. You should be able to locate the signature when Megatron conducts his little experiment, and we can go to neutralize the Terror-‘Cons while a second team disrupts the Nemesis’s communications.”
“How do we find it without Agent Fowler being captured?” Optimus questioned her.
“Heh.” Strongarm rested her servos on her hips, smirking. “Thanks to my caregiver, I know that ship like the back of my servo. It was practically a second home, so it doesn’t matter how hard they try to hide it. I can track it down.”
“Why even go to all this trouble?” Ratchet argued. “We can just find the bridge and destroy it before the Decepticons are ready.”
“No.” Strongarm shook her head. “We have to allow the space-bridge to activate and then draw Megatron out. Then, we detonate it to take Megatron off of the chessboard for a while.” She raised a servo to her chin. “And since Optimus isn’t going to get sick, we can put off his return—allowing us to win the war behind his back.”
Optimus blinked, surprised. “How do you propose we do that?”
“Skyquake,” Strongarm said. “He’s loyal to Megatron and Megatron alone. I believe that if we don’t interfere with Starscream waking him up, Skyquake will kill him.” Her brow furrowed. “But it’s a gamble, one we might have to tip the scales of by making an appearance. If Starscream dies in the gorge, no one removes the Dark Energon from Megatron’s spark. He’ll be awake when Soundwave finds him. But if Skyquake lives to return to the Nemesis, and suspects that Starscream acted out-”
Ratchet’s optics glinted. “Skyquake might finish Starscream off.”
“Yes.” Strongarm nodded. “And for the moment, at least… the Decepticons will have lost their top two commanders. And Soundwave, he’s no leader.” She rested both servos on her hips. “Skyquake and Makeshift will have to make do. There may even be a power struggle between them while Soundwave handles the day-to-day affairs. They may still call the medics for Megatron, but they might be less likely to send medics out onto the battlefield.” She shifted, uncomfortable. “The good thing is that I know that both Skyquake and Makeshift were beaten by this team once. We just have to make sure that, this time, you do it without killing Skyquake. Otherwise, his death will summon Dreadwing—who is actually competent.”
“That still leaves Soundwave,” Ratchet reminded her.
Strongarm shrugged. “Shadowzone.”
“Shockwave, on Cybertron,” Optimus added warily.
Strongarm smirked. “Shadowzone, until we need him for the Cybermatter.”
“You can’t just throw all of your problems into the Shadowzone!” Ratchet protested, irked.
Strongarm removed a remote from her storage compartment and wagged it. “Now that I have this, I can.”
“What in-?” Ratchet blinked as the remote was placed into his servos.
“Snuck out, last night—and found the Harbinger,” Strongarm admitted as the medic’s jaw dropped. “Don’t tell Wildbreak. Also, we can now get you to and from the space-bridge safely… and get the Allspark to the Well in time to save Optimus’s life.”
Optimus grew surprised, then his expression softened. “… You have thought about this before.”
“I grew up with the stories,” Strongarm reminded him. “And no one likes to be helpless when people they love are hurt.”
“This isn’t your war,” Optimus said.
“It’s my family,” she told the Prime. “So, yes: it is.”
“… There’s still the matter of an army of Vehicons,” Ratchet cut back in.
Strongarm nodded. “I know. And… I actually think that Wildbreak can help us with that.”
“What do you mean?” Ratchet asked.
“Well, those medics I mentioned?” Strongarm asked. “If we get rid of the other officers, they actually might be able to help us end this war. There’s just one thing we have to take care of, first.”
Ratchet raised an optic-brow. “What’s that?”
Staringarm’s optics narrowed. “We have to kill Airachnid.”
The whole room seemed to go quiet.
The Autobots turned their attention away from their new charges, their optics wide—and Cliffjumper quickly looked to his partner, his expression concerned.
“… Okay, I’m sold,” the two-wheeler said at last, stunned. “I like her.”
Optimus frowned at that. “Revenge will not bring you peace.”
“But it’ll prevent a moon full of Insecticon vampires,” Strongarm said, and the Prime’s shoulders sagged. “Checkmate.”
“Yo.” A tiny figure walked over, hands on hips and eyebrow raised. “What’s happening, over here?” She blinked, surprised. “That is one wild conspiracy board.”
“Miko, Jack, Rafael,” Optimus began. “I don’t believe you have been properly introduced.” He gestured. “This is Cadet Strongarm, a budding young strategist from our Elite Guard.” He then pointed over towards the monitors. “And we also have Dr. Wildbreak, Ratchet’s fellow medic.”
A boy nodded and waved. “Hey.”
A younger boy nervously raised a hand. “H-Hello.”
And the girl’s face lit up. “Sweet!”
“Hm.” Strongarm’s expression softened, and she smiled. “Hey.” She got down on one knee to face Miko. “You can just call me ‘Strongarm’, or… friends and family get to use ‘Armi’. And it’s… really nice to meet you.” She tilted her head. “Is that a guitar?”
“Sure is!” Miko replied. “You play?”
“My sisters taught me,” Strongarm said quietly, then she grinned. “Hang on.”
The cadet transformed, and Miko gasped and stepped back as an image flickered to life in the air. “Whoa! What is that?”
“A holoform,” Strongarm’s voice replied from the image, which appeared to be a young woman in her late teens or early twenties. She rested her fists on her hips, and she smiled warmly. “My caregivers taught me, and one of them enhanced it. Like this, I can interact with the world much like a human.”
“No way.” Miko’s face lit up again, then she offered the guitar. “Alright, let’s hear it.”
Strongarm took the guitar into her hands, checked to make certain that it was tuned, then smiled as she suddenly began to shred—as the Autobots had heard it phrased.
Miko’s jaw dropped—and Wildbreak looked back from the monitor and rolled his optics, but he was smiling.
When Strongarm was through, she offered the guitar back. “Sorry. I’m rusty.”
“… You looking to adopt another sister?” Miko asked as she took the guitar back.
Strongarm blinked, then she chuckled softly. “Yeah… I think I’ve got a slot open, if there’s room in the band.”
“Room in the-? Get over here!” Miko grabbed Strongarm by the wrist. “You’re showing me how you did that!”
Strongarm laughed as she followed along, leaving Ratchet and Optimus alone in front of the ‘conspiracy board’.
“… Her strategy is extreme, Optimus,” Ratchet finally said. “Perhaps Wildbreak is correct, and we should stay on-course.”
“Wildbreak is a kind spark, but he does not believe in a kind universe,” Optimus argued gently. “He does not want to risk what is for what was—and he doubts we can find the kindness within ourselves to trust his judgment.”
“To save a Decepticon,” Ratchet noted. “His caregiver.” He sighed. “Strongarm is the only one he completely trusts, and that might not only be the case here.”
“She’s earned that trust,” Optimus told his medic gently. “So must we.”
Ratchet frowned. “We don’t even know who his caregiver was.”
“We know that he died before the war’s end,” Optimus stated, turning to regard the board again. “And that it was a brutal death.”
“One of them?” Ratchet asked, indicating the list of the Decepticons who died during the Earth war. “Who-?” Optimus reached up and placed a finger under a name. “… Oh. Oh, of course.” His expression became grim. “You’ve heard the rumors about that one, haven’t you? Rumors that one of our own teammates has corroborated?”
Optimus nodded. “Yes.”
“Can we take that chance?”
“She is going to. For him,” Optimus reminded his medic. “It is only a matter of whether or not we will help… and have hope, for what they can be.”
“Hm.” Ratchet seemed uncertain, then he sighed. “One crisis at a time.”
Optimus nodded again. “Of course.” He looked to the board, deep in thought. “We know what the future holds if we stay on-course, old friend. It is now simply a matter of mercy.” He glanced down at Ratchet. “We know that we shall save ourselves. Do we save the Decepticons as well?”
Ratchet seemed uncertain, then he sighed. “If-… If we’re right about the caregiver who dies, we can make assumptions about the one who lives.”
He reached up and took a drawing between his digits, pulling it from the board and looking down at it with a frown.
“A Decepticon,” Optimus said.
Ratchet closed his optics, then opened them to look at the Prime. “… Family.”
Strongarm’s gifts as a strategist were frightening—but as a child of Ultra Magnus from the future, what had they expected?
It was eerie, how everything fell into place much as she had described—and stranger still, knowing that the actions they were taking may very well change the fates of all.
The dead rose. The space-bridge detonated.
Skyquake awoke, and Optimus and Bumblebee lingered just long enough to distract him until Starscream left to locate Megatron. That was the first major change to the future.
And Strongarm would know if the future had begun to change based upon whether or not the next event occurred as she knew it would.
If Makeshift tried to replace Wheeljack, Starscream was alive. If he didn’t, then Starscream was not around to make that plan.
And there would be no going back.
Plus, Makeshift would still be a problem.
The scraplet trap was never removed from the Arctic, so the ground bridge was never damaged. There would be no delay.
Still, what would be waiting on the other side was terrifying—for many reasons.
"Armi, you'll pace a path into the floor,” Wildbreak chided gently as he watched her walk back and forth. “It’s not like he’s a Decepticon.”
“Ugh. I know, I know.” She shook her head. “But… I’m not ready to look my ‘Jackie in the optics and have him not know me.”
“He’s not your ‘Jackie,” Wildbreak reminded her. “He’s from another universe, another time. Think of it like ol’ Professor Wheeljack, from the other reality.”
“Still can’t believe they let him teach,” Strongarm remarked, then she sighed. “… This is different.”
“Yeah.” Wildbreak glanced down. “I know.”
“… I miss them,” Strongarm whispered. “My parents. Our family.”
Wildbreak nodded. “Me, too. But while we’re waiting for them to find us, we can just… do our best for the people here.”
“All of them?” Strongarm looked at him, frowning. “Even Breakdown?”
Wildbreak sighed. “Armi-”
“Wybie, there’s a chance that this Knockout won’t have to lose him,” Strongarm argued. “That another Wildbreak can have both of his parents. Isn’t that great?”
“But what will it cost?” Wildbreak asked. “Armi, he was nice for a Decepticon—remember? If he lives, it could cost the war. What if him living means no Uncle Bulkhead, or Aunt Arcee? What if it means that you lose one of your caregivers, or that Knockout never joins the ‘Bots?” He shook his head. “It’s too risky.”
“But-” Strongarm looked up as a ship was detected, and a call was made. Her optics were wide, and she looked back at Wildbreak before becoming forlorn again. “Aren’t some things worth the risk?”
“… I wouldn’t know,” Wildbreak told her. “And I never will.”
Wildbreak should have known what would happen the moment that ground-bridge opened.
"Armi?” He asked as she left his side, but there she went—through the portal. “Armi! I'm gonna kill her."
Wildbreak ran through with the others, because that was what he had always done and what he would always do.
And the first thing he saw was Strongarm, a blade held in both of her servos, her optics narrowed as she stood between Skyquake and a fallen Wrecker.
"Get away from him,” she commanded, then she yelled and lashed out.
The fight didn’t last long, not with the Autobot team present and the advantage lost. Wildbreak tried not to think about the fact that Wheeljack never being captured meant that a hundred Vehicons would live to come after them another day.
The Decepticons eventually fled, and Strongarm panted with exhaustion as she gripped a sword stained with blue and turned around. And…
"Whoa.” Wheeljack stared up at her as he recovered on the ground, then he grinned. “You fight like a Wrecker, kid."
Strongarm blinked, looking down at him with wide optics, then she swallowed thickly and nodded. "My parents taught me well.” She walked over, and she held out a servo. “Are you alright?"
“‘M fine.” Wheeljack took her servo, and he laughed as she pulled him to his feet. “Wow. Stronger than you look.” He grunted, nearly collapsing again, but Strongarm ducked under his arm and wrapped her arm around him—keeping him on his feet. “Heh. Thanks, kid.” He looked up tiredly, and he smiled. “Hey, Bulk.” The large, green mech was just staring at him. “Bulkhead? What is it?"
“… Nothin',” he finally decided. “Nothin’.” He smiled. “Heh. It's good to see you."
Wheeljack nodded. "You, too." He then noticed Wildbreak, and he blinked. “Wait, Breakdown?”
“Uh, no.” The young medic held his servos up as Bulkhead looked at him in alarm. “No. Heh. My name’s Wildbreak. I’m a medic.”
Bulkhead just stared at Wildbreak, then he looked at Strongarm, then his shoulders sagged.
“… Oh, for frag’s sake-”
Strongarm knew he’d seen it—she knew, and she knew that he would be coming to find her.
So, after introductions, she waited in a hallway adjacent to the outpost’s main room—ignoring calls and texts from Miko, who wondered where her backup guitarist had gone.
Bulkhead came, just as she knew he would, and Strongarm took a deep vent. Wildbreak had left with Optimus for a drive, so she had time to smooth this out… hopefully.
It was that, or finding a new home.
“Strongarm.”
“Look, about Wildbreak-”
“We can talk about that later,” Bulkhead said. “Look, just- Just-…” He shook his head, his optics wide as he stared down at her. “You're-..?"
Strongarm blinked, then she sighed and nodded. “Yeah.” She managed a small smile. “Hey, Uncle Bulk.”
“Heh.” And he smiled back at her. “Hey, kiddo.” He shook his head. “‘Jackie has a daughter.” He blinked. “He has a daughter... with-?"
"Yeah."
"How'd that happen?"
"It's a long story, and you're not going to believe most of it until it happens,” Strongarm admitted.
Bulkhead seemed to accept that, then he crossed his arms. “Seems like there’s a lot I won’t believe.”
“… His medic parent is the one who survives,” Strongarm reminded him. “That’s Knockout, not-…”
Bulkhead’s face dropped. “Is that why he’s so skittish around me? Did I-?”
“No.” Strongarm quickly shook her head. “No. You didn’t.” She sighed. “But Wildbreak knows that you and Breakdown had history. The you of the future has pretty much… let it go. You’re kind to him, and to Knockout—you even taught Wildbreak how to throw a decent punch. But… he knows you haven’t let it go, here. Not yet. So-”
“He’s been scared I’d hurt him because of who his parents are,” Bulkhead said.
Strongarm nodded. “Yeah.”
“… ‘Jackie was the one who let Knockout in,” Bulkhead recalled. “Wildbreak’s story, he-“
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because ‘Jackie never hated Breakdown for leaving,” Strongarm admitted. “He always used to say that, the last time he saw Breakdown alive, he was smiling. And it was because he’d met Knockout.”
“… How’s it happen?” Bulkhead asked. “Breakdown, I mean.”
Strongarm took a deep vent. “Knockout only ever told the story once.”
“What happened?
“Airachnid. She tore him to pieces,” Strongarm said, and Bulkhead looked away. “It actually gets worse from there, but-…” She looked down. “Wybie doesn’t talk about it much. I just know he’s felt the absence.”
“Breakdown would’ve been a great dad,” Bulkhead said softly.
“Honestly, I hope he can be. Here, I mean,” Strongarm confessed. “Wildbreak’s refusing to really consider it, but-“
“You wanna save Breakdown,” Bulkhead realized.
Strongarm just looked at him, biting her lower lip. “… If you knew the future, and you could do just one thing to spare your best friend pain… wouldn’t you do it?”
Bulkhead blinked, then he sighed and glanced away. “… Yeah.” He looked at her again, and he nodded. “I’d probably be doin’ the same thing you’re doin’.”
Strongarm nodded back, feeling reassured, then she took another deep vent. “Hey, um... Speaking of which. A few years down the line, you and ‘Jackie get into a fight. It doesn't last forever, obviously—but... do you want me to tell you how to stop it, or at least make it less bad?"
Bulkhead blinked. "A fight?"
"An argument.” Strongarm rephrased. “‘Jackie tries to tell you something, and you don't wanna listen, and… it gets bad. Real bad. Like, you still apologize sometimes—and I'm pretty sure one of my first words was 'sorry’. Do you know how hard it is for a sparkling to say that?"
".. Okay, kiddo.” Bulkhead seemed to brace himself. “What've you got?"
"Wait, you trust me?” Strongarm asked, surprised. “Even with-?”
“You’re family. A Wrecker,” Bulkhead told her. “Of course, I do… You’re lookin’ after your own.”
“… I’m doing my best to,” Strongarm told him, then she braced herself. “… Uncle Bulk, about your stories…”
(Stay Tuned for Part 2)
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idolomantises · 1 year
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I think I’m gonna discuss this once and hopefully never have to bring it up again. Originally I wanted to talk about it on Twitter but people are very disrespectful when it comes to mental health so… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Basically, I haven’t been doing so great, mentally. Nothing bad has happened to me, I’m safe and surrounded by people I care about, and it’s been like that for months. I just, I haven’t been feeling good.
For people who do follow me on accounts like Twitter and Instagram, you may have noticed I haven’t posted anything new since January. I was struggling to feel motivated to make something for my main accounts despite having countless ideas I’d love to work on. I feel better now and do plan on getting something done in March, but that sudden lack of motivation is pretty rare for me. Art is not only my job but a big hobby for me, I just love drawing. I did get some nsfw art done at least.
I don’t know what really prompted my mental health decline, I’ve been getting a few worried messages and fanart because someone insulted my art. But that didn’t hurt me at all, it actually boosted my account and patreon.
I guess I just… got sad?
I have a really bad tendency to suppress and even ignore my trauma and feelings of guilt. And I guess one day I really sat with my thoughts and I just, lost it I guess. I have so much traumatic memories and sudden and intense feelings of self loathing, something I’ve never felt in almost a decade, that it got overwhelming. I couldn’t reassure myself, I couldn’t really talk to anyone about it because how do you confront things that happened years ago? You feel almost irrational. It’s just memories that haunt you, it’s nothing physical or tangible and yet it’s a crushing feeling of anxiety, self hatred and resentment.
I was crying almost every day, and crying so much that my eyes kept hurting long after I was done, and I could barely see my own screen. I’ve had paranoid thoughts about myself and others, thoughts I can’t get into because they’re so deeply irrational. I was feeling suicidal urges and thoughts of self harm. I don’t see myself doing it, but it’s so frequent and overwhelming it’s like I’m already planning my suicide note.
I was talking to my therapist about it, that I was starting to hate being alive. That I hated living. That I could spend the next 50 years of my life with no more conflict or trauma and I’d still be in intense misery and turmoil. They’re feelings I couldn’t really bring myself to tell friends about because what could they say? How do you calm yourself down and reassure yourself. I can’t even talk about my trauma verbally without crying. And it’s funny because sometimes minor irks started to affect me negatively. I was feeling anxious about what to draw because I didn’t want to do deal with homophobic backlash.
I went to a therapist, I talked to friends, Ive been working out more and eating better, I did everything I should do to improve my mental health and all of a sudden a single night just sitting in my room destroyed everything I was slowly building up over the past 5 years.
It’s been really difficult for me. I think also, I just felt so much guilt over not being the best person I could be. I decided to lessen my online usage, not just for my mental health but because I really wanted to work on being a better person. I want to stop hating myself and letting my trauma push me down and I want to do just be better and do better as a person. A lot of people have been very forgiving and kind to me but I don’t feel like it’s enough and I want to do more and I want to feel better about myself. I want to give everything I can to people around me. I’ve been going to therapy a lot more lately and things are getting better for me, but it’s been a very slow process.
I just want to repeat that nothing serious has happened to me. Nobody attacked me in a way that negatively affected my health. A lot of people, friends and strangers have been really nice to me these past few months. I just was doing a lot of self reflecting and unintentionally forced myself to confront a lot of my trauma. I’m saying trauma a lot. I don’t want to get into depth about what I endured because it’s my business but people who do know me know how bad things were for me. I don’t want to feel like that again. I want to feel better, and I want to do better.
Sorry for the long read. That’s just how I feel.
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brucewaynehater101 · 8 days
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Overwhelming Emotions HC: Tim, Jason, Dick, and Damian
TW: dissociation, panic attacks, unhealthy coping mechanisms
Tauma, upbringing, culture, parenting, and experiences will have varying effects on how one processes and expresses emotion. Not all coping methods will be healthy or deemed socially appropriate. Here's my hc on how their circumstances affected how they deal with overwhelming trauma.
Tim is used to locking down his emotions. When it gets to be too much, he literally shuts down. He'll stare at walls for hours as time passes, be unable to move, and experience difficulty with speaking
Jason has panic attacks. He isolates himself, breaks things, and mentally spirals for hours if not days
Dick will fly off the handle with rage, clutch his hair as he rocks back and forth, and cry hysterically
Damian will flip between intense anger and dissociation. He will either lash out, or he will slip into depersonalization not being fully aware of his own body
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cascigarette · 11 months
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it's really interesting to me how they wrote and how jarpad played sam's trauma from the cage through the soulless sam arc and the hallucifer arc. like when he's soulless he's very much like dissociated out of body hypersexual kind of trauma response with memory gaps and no real sense of self. when he gets his soul back he does sort of a 180. he's overwhelmed, he's hallucinating, having intense flashbacks, using self harm to ground himself, feeling hyposexual, he can't help but remember. I just find it interesting to see his initial trauma from the cage and how it changes over time, how it changes him
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snowflake-sage · 6 months
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Had to get this off my chest
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Neither a freeze nor a fawn trauma response is consent.
Neither a freeze nor a fawn trauma response is consent.
Neither a freeze nor a fawn trauma response is consent.
Neither a freeze nor a fawn trauma response is consent.
Neither a freeze nor a fawn trauma response is consent.
Neither a freeze nor a fawn trauma response is consent.
Neither a freeze nor a fawn trauma response is consent.
Neither a freeze nor a fawn trauma response is consent.
Neither a freeze nor a fawn trauma response is consent.
Neither a freeze nor a fawn trauma response is consent.
Neither a freeze nor a fawn trauma response is consent.
Neither a freeze nor a fawn trauma response is consent.
Neither a freeze nor a fawn trauma response is consent.
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thechosenanubis · 7 months
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Nina is actually a better person than people give her credit for. Like at the beginning of S1, I had the same scenario with Patricia happen to me: new girl at a new school, trying to make friends, and this other girl in my class didn't like my ~vibes~ or whatever and started saying nasty stuff and trying to isolate me. (thankfully in my case no close friends were kidnapped by secret societies in search for eternal life 💀 ) So not only i can sympathize with her situation, but even relate to it.
And what I don't see talked about enough is ( or if people did, I haven't seen those posts) calling out Patricia's behavior for what it really was: bullying. Keep in mind here, that I understand where Patricia's behavior is coming from, since she's being gaslit like crazy. But that still doesn't make her behaviour towards Nina acceptable or excusable.
And I wouldn't have blamed Nina if she refused to accept Patricia's apology, because is not a victim's responsability ( only their choice) to forgive their bully.
Still, Nina forgave Patricia because she's good like that ( and probably didn't want to break the already fragile ecosystem of the house with more hostility even if it was within her right to keep a grudge and refuse Patricia's apology. )
What i'm trying to say, Nina is a good person, flawed but good.
Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.
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gay-jewish-bucky · 2 months
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if magneto were written today he'd [insert thing that completely pretends antisemitism doesn't exist anymore and tries to turn him into a leftist approved tokenized minority]
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tr1ppy6 · 8 months
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“The abuse and trauma I suffered as a kid hasn’t really affected me”
Oh no? You crave intimacy but panic when actually receiving it? Well did you ever hear “stop crying before I give you something to cry about” or “if you didn’t act like this, I wouldn’t have to act like this” from them? You jump and freeze when a door closes a little too loudly or a dish drops into the sink, or get intensely angry at a loud alarm? Did you ever feel guilty for hating them, because they were nice *sometimes*? “I know they really hurt me yesterday but they got me my favorite candy bar, I would be a terrible person for still being upset.” Congrats, you have likely have c-ptsd.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve wondered more and more who I would be, if not the scared little girl trapped in those memories.
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uncanny-tranny · 9 months
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"The world isn't a safe place, so get used to it!"
Man, as somebody who's survived multiple, long-lasting instances of abuse from a very young age, I was under the impression that the world was, indeed, so safe and conforming to my desires. I'm practically stunned to learn that this is not the case, and I have been severely humbled
(Sarcasm fully intended)
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Before it was Decanonized, Ultra Magnus was nearly turned into a dragon by Shockwave during the Exodus, if Shockwave succeeded. How would that effect his relationship with Wheeljack, eventually the TFA Cast?
Hey! :)
Hold on, hold on. What was the picture I used to sum up Ultra Magnus’s reaction to Wheeljack as a dragon in that other AU drabble?
I know I have it somewhere- Ah!
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There it is. 😂
Maximus is Miko. Pascal is up for debate.
Another fun option is:
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I’m sorry, but I could do this all day. 😂
Now, I’ve heard tell of this Exodus story from a few people—and just looking at this-
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Oh, why are you letting me have fun with this?
And can’t Ultra Magnus ever catch a break? 😂
Now, before we get started, I wanna give a quick shout-out to @rewindedart, @echoblaze5, and @letslipthehounds. A conversation with them and with @melishade about why we got Dark Energon zombies and vampires but not werewolves was what eventually led to this Ask being sent in and contributed to many of the ideas you’ll see here.
Seriously, where are the werewolves?
Anyway, let’s get to it!
He was running.
He had been running for a long time, too anxious to dare attempt the use of the wings on his back. They shifted against his frame with every stride made by four powerful legs ending in clawed paws, while a long tail whipped behind him.
He didn’t blame the Autobots who fired upon him when he tried to approach for help, but it had been days and he was exhausted and angry and scared. He still didn’t understand what happened to him, and feared he never would get to.
He would never get to Optimus alive, but he had a set of coordinates in his head. His last chance.
He darted through rubble and avoided traps with a grace unbecoming of his large size and the lack of familiarity he had with his own body, and he came upon the coordinates in a flat space strewn with debris. There, he finally allowed himself to stop and sink to the metal ground, a heaviness settling over his frame as he saw no one.
No Wreckers. No light from their fire. Not even the whines and hums of charging weaponry.
What would become of him, now?
Something clattered behind him.
His head whipped around and his body followed on instinct, lunging and pinning the intruder to the ground as an unfamiliar snarl tore from his mouth. The terror and frustration of the previous days boiled over onto this trapped intruder, and he just wanted to be himself again!
Metal shifted, and he was suddenly pinning his target with clawed servos instead of paws—and the shock of it cleared his head, just enough for him to be able to hear a familiar voice:
“… Ultra Magnus?” The mech pinned beneath him asked, his starburst-patterned optics wide.
“Huh?” The commander blinked, then his optics widened in disbelief. “… Wh-Wheeljack?”
The runaway Wrecker just stared at him, and Ultra Magnus swiftly removed his clawed digits from the smaller mech’s arms. Wheeljack sat up, rubbing the marks and looking at him warily, and the larger Autobot stood and stepped back.
“I-… I didn’t mean-…”
“I know,” Wheeljack told him, standing up as well. “I didn’t even know it was you, at first. But even before you... changed, you-… You looked pretty spooked.” He frowned. “Frag…. What in the Pit happened to you?” The other mech stepped back again, and Wheeljack quickly raised his servos. “Whoa. Easy, chief.” The rogue Wrecker took a cautious step forward. “Weirdness aside, you look pretty banged-up. Can I take a look atcha?”
Ultra Magnus blinked, then he looked away. “I-…”
“… I’m not gonna hurtcha,” Wheeljack said, and the commander looked back at him. “I know we ain’t on the best of terms, but I hope you know me better than that.”
“Wheeljack, I could have taken your arms off,” the larger mech argued. “I don’t know what’s been done to me. I can’t-”
Wheeljack held a servo up, frowning. “You can’t expect to be any good to anyone until you know what’s up, Magnus. It sounds to me like you need a scientist as well as a medic.” He gave a small smirk, raising his shoulders. “And -well- it looks like you’ll hafta settle.”
Ultra Magnus hesitated, then he sat down on a fragment of wall, and Wheeljack walked over as he retrieved a med-kit from his storage. It was quiet as the commander watched his former ally get to work, assessing and patching his wounds while examining the change.
“… Why are you here?” Ultra Magnus finally asked him, then he winced. “I mean-”
“I know what you meant.” Wheeljack didn’t look away from his work. “The last combatants on either side are leavin’ the planet. I figured I’d wait here as long as I could just in case any Wreckers were stranded, offer them a lift.”
“Oh.” Ultra Magnus nodded. “I see. That’s-… That’s very noble, Wheeljack.”
“Ha!” Wheeljack shook his head. “Me and ‘noble’ don’t belong in the same sentence unless there’s a negative involved. I’m just doin’ what I think is best for my family, that’s all.”
“Same as usual,” Ultra Magnus noted. “They’ve been rather worried about you.”
Wheeljack paused, then he sighed and kept on working. “I’m fine, always am.” It was quiet again for a moment. “Gonna give me any details about what happened to you, or-..?”
Ultra Magnus sighed. “I was captured, buying time for a retreat. Since I was alive, I expected to be imprisoned or interrogated—but it seems that the Decepticons who captured me reported to Shockwave, and he-…” The commander closed his optics. “He’s running CNA experiments, and reforging prisoners to build an army. He told me that wanted to use me due to my stature and strategic intellect, create something massive and powerful with a mind to match. A perfect living weapon for the Decepticons.” He opened his optics again. “I was unable to escape what he did to my frame, but the changes granted me the power I needed to escape before my mind was examined and tampered with.”
“You didn’t seem like yourself, when you got here,” Wheeljack noted, glancing up into the commander’s optics. “Why?”
Ultra Magnus shook his head. “I wasn’t myself. My processor wasn’t accessed, but everything just feels different. I-… I don’t know why.” He took a deep vent. “Wh-What did he-?”
“Hey.” Wheeljack snapped his fingers. “Stay with me just a minute longer. You need to vent that scrap soon, Magnus, but just stay with me. Do you remember exactly what kinda CNA he was messin’ around with in that lab?”
“I remember… bones,” Ultra Magnus realized. “Fossilized Cybertronian remains.”
Wheeljack frowned. “And what you were when you came through here, it wasn’t a ‘bot… That fragger, he was usin’ Predacon CNA.”
“Predacon?!” Ultra Magnus’s optics went wide as he looked down at his servos, then he closed his optics and retested his face in those servos. “No, no, no. It can’t be, it just can’t. H-How in the Allspark am I supposed to go back to the unit like this? They’re going to kill me on sight!”
“No, they won’t,” Wheeljack insisted.
Ultra Magnus looked up at him, frustrated. “I was already attacked by Autobots before I changed back! You didn’t recognize me until I got close enough to dismember you! THEY’LL KILL ME!” He blinked, then he clapped his servos over his mouth. “P-Primus, what’s happening to me?”
“You’re fraggin’ panickin’, that’s what,” Wheeljack said, a little taken aback.
Ultra Magnus looked at him apologetically. “I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t yell at you, it’s the worst thing I could do. I-”
“Magnus.” Wheeljack rested a servo on the other mech’s shoulder. “… You’re not made of stone. If you weren’t panickin’, I’d be real worried… You’re allowed to freak out, y’know?”
“I shouldn’t take anything out on you,” Ultra Magnus argued quietly.
Wheeljack snorted. “Yeah, well… I’d know all about that, wouldn’t I?”
Ultra Magnus blinked, then he sat quietly and watched as Wheeljack finished tending to his wounds. Once the smaller mech was done, the commander nodded.
“Thank you,” he said softly, then he looked down at the ground again.
Wheeljack stood and crossed his arms. “How are ya feelin’ now, chief?”
“… I’m just waiting to wake up, to find that this was all a nightmare,” Ultra Magnus confessed, hanging his head. “I just want to forget about it.”
“Hm.” Wheeljack’s expression softened, then he sighed. “Come on.”
Ultra Magnus looked up, surprised, as Wheeljack turned and started to walk away, then he stood and followed. The smaller mech led him through the rubble and to an intact ship, a Star Hammer, and the commander followed him up the ramp and into the small space.
“I won’t be able to change what’s happened, that new alt-mode of yours that came crashin’ in,” the smaller Wrecker said as he started to retrieve tools from various compartments. “That’s just… there, now.” He glanced at the commander. “And I definitely can’t do anythin’ about the fact that you totally growled at me, out there.” He turned to face the larger mech. “But… I bet I can get your armor to look like it did again. If you don’t change into that alt-mode, no one will ever know what’s happened to ya. You just escaped.” He raised an optic-brow. “I can’t say I’m fond of the idea, but it’s my only offer. Will it help?”
“Yes.” Ultra Magnus found himself nodding shakily. “Yes, it will. I-I need to get back to the others, make sure they’re safe.”
“Hm.” Wheeljack nodded, then he cringed. “Uh, just one thing.” He pointed to the commander’s face. “That there is delicate work, and I’m not sure if I have the tools. You cool with casually gaslightin’ folks into thinkin’ you’ve always had fangs, or is that a line crossed?”
“… I have fangs?” Ultra Magnus asked, his optics wide as he reached for his mouth.
Wheeljack sighed. “Oh, scrap.”
It took hours of work, but—when it was over—a mirror was held up and Ultra Magnus knew the ‘bot in his reflection… even if the fangs in his mouth were a bit of an adjustment.
“Wheeljack,” the commander spoke as the smaller mech started packing his tools away. “Thank you.” Ultra Magnus heard Wheeljack grunt in response, and he sighed. “You-… You could come back.” That made Wheeljack glance back at him. “Just until the evacuation is over. Then, you never have to see me again.”
“Heh.” The white Wrecker smiled tiredly and shook his head. “No… We’d just make ourselves and everyone around us even more miserable than we already will be, Magnus.” He went back to work. “What I did, it’s what’s best for all of us.”
“Wheeljack-”
“Look, what I said that day- Ugh.” Wheeljack turned to face him, frowning. “… If I didn’t think you could be trusted with their lives, our last meetin’ would’ve ended a whole lot differently.” Ultra Magnus’s optics widened as Wheeljack turned his head away. “You and I, we don’t get along. But you’re not like- Hm.” The smaller mech looked at the commander. “… You’re no Wrecker, and I always got the sense you didn’t wanna be.” He blinked as the commander glanced away, then he looked away as well. “Hm… But right now, that’s what they need—someone who plays it safe, tells them to run.” He shook his head. “If I come back, they’re gonna wanna fight.”
“But you’re alone,” Ultra Magnus argued. “You could be killed, and no one would ever know.”
“Hm.” Wheeljack shrugged. “Awful end to a story. Maybe that’d be enough to kill it, too.”
“You’re not a story.” The commander stood as his companion turned away. “… Wheeljack, please. I don’t want to watch you walk away again.” The other mech tensed. “I know I’m not perfect, that I misstepped, that I failed the Dinobots and you—but I took responsibility for the lives of all of the Wreckers. I just want to keep you all alive.”
“I told you, the day we met: it ain’t the unit for that kinda optimism.” Wheeljack’s fists clenched. “Don’t do that to yourself, Magnus.”
“I already have… and I know you did, too.” Ultra Magnus looked away from the rogue, not seeing it when Wheeljack looked back at him with a startled expression. “Hm. Maybe distance is best, in your case. You might actually be safer.”
“… You’re really not gonna tell anyone else about what happened, are you?” Wheeljack asked quietly, his optics wide as he turned around. “You’ll just… let them fly away, not knowin’.” Ultra Magnus closed his optics. “… You’ll self-destruct, doin’ somethin’ stupid like that.”
“What am I supposed to say?” Ultra Magnus asked, looking up a with a frown. “I’m one of the monsters Shockwave created to kill you?”
“You’re not a monster,” Wheeljack disagreed, taking a step forward. “A pain in the aft, sure—but-” He paused, then he looked down. “… You’re alone. You could be killed.” He closed his optics, his fists falling open. “And I would know… Ugh.”
Ultra Magnus blinked. “What is it?”
“That stupid creed.” Wheeljack opened his optics, and he looked up at Ultra Magnus… and smiled tiredly. “I can’t leave you in the scrap, can I?”
“Wheeljack?” The commander’s optics widened as he realized what the soldier was saying, and he shook his head. “Wheeljack, no. I-”
Wheeljack crossed his arms and raised an optic-brow. “I thought you were all about rules.”
“You said it yourself, I’m not a Wrecker,” Ultra Magnus told him. “Those rules don’t apply.”
Wheeljack just looked at him, then he walked over to face the commander. “… Things change.”
Even with the Jackhammer, it was several days before they tracked the Wreckers down.
Wheeljack set his ship down beside the Mariner, still scraped-up from covering the escape that Ultra Magnus sacrificed himself to ensure.
The Wreckers, around their fire, were on-edge as the ramp lowered—but then, they saw their lost commander come walking down to them.
“Ultra Magnus?” Springer asked, then his face lit up. “Heh. We thought-” His optics widened as a second mech appeared. “… ‘Jackie?”
“Hm.” The white Wrecker crossed his arms and smile. “Hey, Spring. Been a while.”
“… Do we even wanna know what happened?” Seaspray asked, an optic-brow raised.
“No,” Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack said together, earning some rare and much-needed laughter.
“Alright, let’s just get this evacuation underway,” Wheeljack suggested, and he looked at Seaspray as the weak laughter was replaced by surprised expressions. “You’ve got the Mariner, I’ve got the Jackhammer. I saw a raised shipyard not too far from here, looked like there were some leftovers from a previous evacuation. Could be duds, could be a trap—but we can’t squeeze everyone into these tubs longterm.” He rested his servos on his hips. “We’ll fly everyone in and cover ‘em while they grab some ships, then scatter so the ‘Cons can’t just pick us off.”
Ultra Magnus looked at Wheeljack and nodded. “That seems to be our best chance.”
“We’re runnin’ away?” Moonracer asked, raising an optic-brow.
“We’re livin’ to fight another day,” Wheeljack insisted, then he gestured. “Come on, now. Get onboard, while I’m still willin’ to let you slobs on my fraggin’ ship.”
“I did not agree to this!” Seaspray remarked flatly as the grumbling Wreckers started to board the two vessels, then he clapped Wheeljack on the shoulder before heading to the Mariner.
“Nicely put,” Ultra Magnus commended the smaller mech, then he smirked. “Have you ever considered a position as an officer?”
Wheeljack glanced up at him with a smile full of forced pleasantness. “Promote me, and I will actually step in the way of a blaster.”
Ultra Magnus closed his optics when he chuckled, so he didn’t see it when that smile became genuine.
Turned out, it was a trap.
Fortunately, with two ships serving as cover, the Wreckers on the ground made their way to ships and took off even as Eradicons soared about and fired at the supports for the shipyard.
And just Wheeljack’s luck, he saw one sorry fragger still left on the platform as it started to give out and fall. The Jackhammer swooped down and spun, and Wheeljack set the controls for the ship to maintain altitude as he lowered the ramp and ran out onto it.
“Magnus, come on!” He shouted as the larger mech kept firing at the Decepticons. “We’ve overstayed our welcome!” He saw the platform crumbling, and he held a servo out as the Eradicons performed a fly-by while getting into attack formation. “Oh, for-!”
Ultra Magnus looked back as Wheeljack stepped off of the ramp and ran towards him, his optics wide, and he saw the platform falling apart and the Decepticons approaching.
“Wheeljack, go!” The commander shouted, but the rogue Wrecker wasn’t deterred. So, as soon as Wheeljack was close enough, Ultra Magnus grabbed the smaller mech by the armor at his collar and lifted him up. “I said, GO!”
“Whoa!” Wheeljack’s optics widened as he was hurled through the air. His back hit the ramp of his ship and he slid inside, and he sat up just in time to see Ultra Magnus give a fanged smile before the platform gave. “Magnus!” It was all falling rubble and dust, after that. “… No.”
In the moments that followed, Wheeljack barely heard anything. He just stared at the cloud of debris, even as his ship took fire and rocked.
Then…
:Wheeljack, what’s goin’ on?:
:What’s the plan?:
:The ‘Cons are closin’ in!:
Wheeljack blinked, then he raised a shaking servo to his comm. “… Didn’t you hear me?” His optics narrowed. “SCATTER! Go, NOW!”
He stood and ran to his chair, raising the ramp, then he gave those ‘Cons Hell while the rest of the Wreckers escaped. Then, he left.
He could do that much for Ultra Magnus, and follow just one order without complaint.
Eons passed before Wheeljack came across another Cybertronian. His introduction to Earth wasn’t stellar, but he found one of the Wreckers—Bulkhead—alive. That was worth it.
And he was able to do something before he left again, to ease his weary conscience.
“… I was there, when Ultra Magnus died,” Wheeljack said in a quiet moment, when he was able to catch Optimus alone. The Prime looked at him, his optics wide, and the Wrecker looked up at him with a frown. “He saved a lot of lives, includin’ mine. You’d be proud.”
Optimus was at a loss for a long moment, then he nodded. “I always was.”
If anyone knew enough about Wheeljack to know he went easy on the Prime, he’d deny it. And if anyone said it was because of Ultra Magnus, he would actually throw a punch.
Wheeljack found the months that followed his first arrival on Earth to be all turmoil and pain.
He found Seaspray, just to watch him die—and he couldn’t avenge him. Bulkhead was taken as a hostage, then shot in the back while Wheeljack was tortured with the resonance blaster.
Wheeljack’s attempt to avenge his best friend saw him getting the scrap beat out of him, and a sad little kid becoming a killer. He was on his own for a while after that, then came back to help when the base was discovered—only to be shot down by Starscream, and taken to Darkmount.
That was… a whole thing.
Then, he was on the run—and soon enough, Bulkhead and Miko got caught up in his terrible luck. A Predacon was on his tail, which brought on a slew of memories he didn’t want to deal with.
Luck seemed to turn when a ship flew overhead and lowered the ramp, giving them an escape.
Arcee was on that ship, with Jack, and…
“You?”
It was a while before Ultra Magnus could think of any reason why he could step away and get Wheeljack alone without seeming suspicious.
By ‘a while’, it took until after the attack on Darkmount. Before then, Wheeljack managed to say quietly—in passing—“Shockwave’s here”.
Ultra Magnus appreciated the warning, but would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a pit in his tank when he saw the scientist leap down to take his rage over the loss of another Predacon out upon his Wreckers. It took all of his willpower to not abandon his mission and fight alongside them.
The day was only saved by the arrival of Optimus, and the victory called for a celebration.
Finally, just outside Hangar E, Ultra Magnus managed to catch Wheeljack alone.
“Wheeljack,” he greeted his soldier. “It’s been a long time, I-“ And his soldier proceeded to punch him in the arm. “Ow!”
“I thought you were fraggin’ dead!” Wheeljack rested his servos on his hips, his optics narrowed. “The platform collapsed!”
“… I can fly, Wheeljack,” Ultra Magnus said flatly. “I hadn’t tried it before, but desperate times.”
“Oh.” Wheeljack blinked, his optics going wide. “Right.” The commander chuckled. “Hey, quit it.”
“Apologies,” Ultra Magnus said, unable to hide his smile, and Wheeljack huffed and looked away. “Heh. I almost forgot how expressive you are.” The smaller mech looked at him again, and the commander nodded. “It’s good to see you.”
“Hm.” Wheeljack actually smiled back at him. “… Good to see you, too. Glad you ain’t dead.”
“I could say the same to you. I know how you get,” Ultra Magnus mused, then he frowned as his brow furrowed. “… You’re hurt.”
He had noticed the scratches on his chest before—but this was the first time they had been close enough long enough since their reunion for Ultra Magnus to see all of the scratches and dents across his frame, the way the Wrecker seemed sickly and near-dead on his feet.
“It’s nothin’.” Wheeljack shrugged it off, but his optics and biolights looked dim. “I’ll have Doc take a look at whatever I can’t patch by mornin’.”
“It’s not nothing,” Ultra Magnus disagreed with him. “Who hurt you?” He looked at the Wrecker’s chest. “Those marks are deliberate, and you’re not one to hold still and take damage.”
“I’m fine,” Wheeljack insisted, crossing his arms to try and hide the marks. “I’m here, aren’t I? And I played my part, at Darkmount.”
“But you won’t tell me what happened to you.”
Wheeljack sighed. “Magnus-”
“Wheeljack.” The commander’s optics narrowed. “What happened?”
“… They shot me down and dragged me to the citadel, okay?” Wheeljack admitted quietly, glancing around like he was worried about being overheard. “Starscream had his fun with a prod, tryna get me to cough up anythin’ I knew about the location of the team. I didn’t know anythin’, ‘cept the failsafe—and I sure as frag didn’t tell.” His shoulders raised. “I got dragged down to a lab, strapped to a table. And… Shockwave gave me the patch.” Ultra Magnus’s optics widened. “I blacked out, keepin’ those coordinates hidden. Woke up cuffed at the edge of a smeltin’ pit, late for my own execution.” The commander’s fists clenched. “I escaped, and they used a tracker to send an armada after me. Then, they sent that dragon after me. You know the rest.” Wheeljack looked up at him and shrugged. “Happy?” He blinked as the commander just looked at him. “What? Magnus?” A low growl rose from the larger mech’s chest and escaped bared fangs, and Wheeljack’s optics widened. “Uh, Magnus?”
Ultra Magnus didn’t recognize this rage.
It boiled over within him, burning and protective.
Maybe even a little hateful.
Shockwave had gone too far long ago.
This? This was pushing Ultra Magnus to the edge.
“Whoa.” Wheeljack held his servos up. “Easy, Magnus. We need the commander right now, not the Predacon.” That was enough to make the larger mech blink. “And yeah, I can’t believe I’m sayin’ that either. It’s been a week, alright?”
“Hm.” Ultra Magnus didn’t know how this had happened, how the two of them ended-up on good terms. He had to assume that there was some pity on Wheeljack’s part at first, then guilt on both sides. Whatever it was, he was grateful for it. “… Saying it is good to see you was a gross understatement. I’ve missed you.” Wheeljack looked surprised, and the commander hoped that saying it wouldn’t be enough to remind the Wreckrr of their old feud and resurrect it. “Truly, I have… Whatever that’s worth.”
“… It’s worth a lot,” Wheeljack said after a moment, and the commander’s own surprise must have shown on his face. “Heh. What can I say, Magnus? Things change.”
It wasn’t a seamless adjustment.
Wheeljack was the same way he always was, acting on his own—outside of protocol.
Ultra Magnus maintained his patience with the unorthodox methods until he learned that the engineer had brought a child into it, Miko.
That was a line crossed.
Their mission to Scotland ended with bickering, just like their service together on Cybertron.
But Ultra Magnus noticed something amiss: Wheeljack was staying. He wasn’t taking steps back, retreating—he was staying.
That was unlike him, and…
Not good for him.
Not like this.
Wheeljack must have seen it when the Wrecker commander’s expression changed. “What, now?”
“… Hm.” Ultra Magnus gave a small smile, and he gestured across the bluff. “Wheeljack, go.” The smaller mech blinked. “Go blow off some steam. It’s been too long, hasn’t it?” He nodded. “Just leave your comm on, and be safe.”
“Ultra Magnus?” Bulkhead asked, he and Miko—who was now clad in the Apex Armor, stolen from Starscream—looking worried. Wheeljack had gone wide-opticed, his curled fists falling open. “Hey, you shouldn’t just-”
“It’s fine, Bulkhead.” The commander glanced at his other soldier. “… He needs his space from time to time.” He looked back at Wheeljack, putting on a smirk. “And gets insufferable when he puts it off for too long.” The white Wrecker huffed. “… We’ll see you back at the hangar, then?”
Wheeljack rolled his optics, then he looked up at the commander with a frown… and nodded.
“Thanks, Magnus,” he said quietly, then the rogue Wrecker transformed and drove off.
Wheeljack was back at the hangar before they were, and even had the time for an adventure or two with Arcee.
He didn’t have the time to “charge his introvert battery”, as Miko put it—but the mech seemed far more relaxed.
And he came looking for Ultra Magnus. “… I appreciate what you said.” The commander looked at him, and he nodded. “Just… don’t say it like that, again.”
“That?” Ultra Magnus asked, confused.
Wheeljack frowned at him. “The last time you told me to ‘go’, it was the day the Wreckers scattered and I thought I watched you fall to your death. We’re in this together, I’m not gonna go outta my way to make your life harder… but next time you say ‘Wheeljack, go’—I won’t listen.”
Ultra Magnus’s face fell, then his expression softened. “… Very well.” Wheeljack nodded. “… We’re a mess, aren’t we?”
“Heh. Yeah.” Wheeljack crossed his arms and smiled. “But at least I’m the only one who actually knows about your side of this mess.” He glanced away. “Fraggin’ typical, you bein’ the only one who understands mine.”
“Then, it’s a good thing we’re in this together,” Ultra Magnus told him, and the white Wrecker met his optics again. “You were right, you know? Things do change.”
Wheeljack chuckled, and the commander smiled.
They stood in an underground laboratory, with twenty-four rapidly-draining chambers filled with screeching Predacon clones.
They had both done all they could to finish off Shockwave. The least they could do was finish off his latest pet project instead.
But Wheeeljack hesitated, and looked down at the grenade in his servo.
“… Maybe they don’t hafta die,” he said at last.
Ultra Magnus blinked. “Wheeljack?”
“I mean, do you think they’ll pop out of those pods already up to murder Autobots?” The white Wrecker asked, looking up at his commander warily. “What if they can be different? Nurture over nature? What if-?”
Ultra Magnus sighed. “Wheeljack.”
“… I’ve met two, in my life,” the smaller mech told him. “Yeah, one’s definitely after my Energon… but the other’s you.” He shook his head. “I just wanna be sure, before we do this, that we gotta.”
“Hm.” Ultra Magnus gazed at him sadly, then he looked around at the pods and closed his optics… listening… “I’m competition, and you’re prey.” He opened his optics and turned his gaze back to his soldier. “If they escape, we’re all going to die.”
Wheeljack nodded. “… Permission?”
“Granted.”
They managed to escape from one cave to another before the explosion went off—but they were met outside as a space-bridge opened before them, and a massive figure emerged.
“Who’s this guy?” Wheeljack wondered aloud.
“The very same who has previously allowed you to live, but will not today,” the mech replied.
Wheeljack saw Ultra Magnus shift on his feet, putting an arm between him and the new arrival.
The commander’s optics narrowed, then widened in alarm. “He’s the Predacon!”
Just then, the explosion burst through the tunnel behind them and Wheeljack tackled Ultra Magnus to the ground as the cave rocked violently.
When they looked up, the Predacon was gazing into the burning tunnel in disbelief.
“What have you done to my brethren?!” He demanded as he looked away from the smoke-filled lab. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”
It was chaos, after that.
Blasters didn’t put a dent in the Predacon. He threw the Wreckers around like rag-dolls, taking Ultra Magnus out of commission first before going after Wheeljack.
Wheeljack was thrown around and beaten into the walls and ground, but not without a fight—and Ultra Magnus had his back. The two worked well together, better than any of the Wreckers ever would have believed.
They thought they could win.
Then, Wheeljack found himself crushed between a rock and a hard place (another rock). It all came crumbling down around him and he wasn’t buried, but he couldn’t get up.
He could barely even move.
And he saw Ultra Magnus look at him, then at the Forge of Solus Prime. The Predacon must have thought the beaten commander would go for the hammer, as he landed in the direct path—but Magnus went to Wheeljack.
The commander’s optics were wide, and he took deep vents as the Predacon approached, then he closed his optics and went still.
“Prepare to perish,” the Predacon announced upon arrival, his optics narrowed.
And Wheeljack saw Ultra Magnus’s optics open and flash as something inside snapped.
He stood and reeled around to face the Predacon, baring pointed dentas as his fists clenched.
“Don’t you DARE touch him!” The commander‘s shout became a furious snarl as he suddenly transformed, four clawed pays hitting the ground as a mouth full of fangs was bared.
This dragon was smaller than the one which their adversary could turn into, but it was powerfully built with blue biolights shining across its body and the Autobot emblem on its chest.
“Whoa.” Wheeljack stared up at the second Predacon, his optics wide. “Magnus?”
Blue light traveled up the second Predacon’s throat, its mouth starting to glow as it charged a blast—daring the first Predacon to move.
But he didn’t.
He just stared up at Ultra Magnus, absolutely stunned. “Another Predacon? H-How is that possible?” His optics narrowed, his clawed servos closing into fists. “And why would you-?”
“Uh, are we talkin’ now?” Wheeljack asked, trying to push himself up and failing. “Agh… ‘Cause he’s not exactly in a talkin’ mood—and if you’re not in the mood to kill us right now, I should probably calm him down. What’s the verdict, pal?”
“… I have questions,” the first Predacon decided after a moment. “Can he answer them?” When Wheeljack nodded, he stepped back. “Very well.”
“Alright.” Wheeljack tried to push himself up again, grunting as he managed to stand but quickly fell against one of the rocks he had been crushed between. “Mmph. Magnus, little help?” The second Predacon was still locked onto the first, growling lowly. “Come on, Magnus. We-… We need the commander right now, not the dragon. Look at me, Mags.” The second Predacon turned his head and glanced at the Wrecker, and Wheeljack’s optics went wide again as he saw the commander’s face from the front. “Uh, okay—well… Hey, Magnus! How ya doin’?” The blue Predacon did not react. “Good, huh? That’s good. Uh… Look at me. I’m alright, barely even dinged.” Wheeljack held out the only arm he could get to move, at the moment. “See?” That got a reaction. Turns out, the audacity of such a boldfaced lie was enough to resonate with a Predacon. “I’m okay… And it looks like this guy’s gonna calm down for a little while if you do. Wanna do us a favor and change back, now?”
Ultra Magnus blinked, then he closed his optics and changed. Wheeljack stumbled forward and caught his friend as he fell forward, both of them grunting as they fell to their knees.
Wheeljack grunted again, and the commander quickly raised his servos to the smaller mech’s shoulders and looked at him worriedly.
“Wheeljack?”
“Mmph. Heh.” Wheeljack looked up at his friend, smiling tiredly. “Only time I’ve seen you like that since that first night. It’s a good look.”
Ultra Magnus blinked again—then he shook his head and grinned, at a loss. “You are unbel-”
“I grow impatient,” the Predacon said.
Ultra Magnus glanced back at him, his optics narrowing. “He’s injured. There’s no telling what state his internal systems are in.”
“Then, I suggest you speak quickly.”
Wheeljack gripped one of Ultra Magnus’s wrists and nodded tiredly. The commander frowned, but he helped Wheeljack lie down against the rock before he stood. He turned to face the other Predacon, staying between him and his soldier.
“My name is Predaking, and I believed that I was the only one of my kind in existence without the success of Project Predacon,” their adversary said. “How is it that you exist, and why have you chosen to stand against your own brethren?”
“I was not protoformed this way,” Ultra Magnus replied. “I was one of many taken captive by Shockwave during the war. He changed my CNA, my frame, against my will. As far as I know, I’m the only mutation experiment who escaped his labs and made it off of Cybertron.”
Predaking listened to this and processed it for a moment, then he nodded. “I see.”
“As for the clones in that lab, they made it clear that they saw myself as an obstacle and my friend as a target,” Ultra Magnus went on. “For the sake of our lives as well as our team and the people of this planet, I did what I had to do.”
“How can you live with yourself, being the only one of your kind?” Predaking asked, sounding near-desperate, then his optics narrowed again. “You should not have done that.”
“… Speaking personally, I have lost many hours of stasis knowing that I owe even a fraction of my existence to a place of evil,” Ultra Magnus told him quietly. “One day, I may finally come to terms with what was done to me and what the intention of it was, but I haven’t yet.” Wheeljack looked up at him worriedly. “And I had much life before, and much life since… You have not had so much time.”
Predaking blinked, then he looked away as his fists fell open. “My first act was the hunt.”
“The hunt?” Wheeljack asked, and Predaking looked at him pointedly. “… Ah. Right.”
“… How can you live with yourself, knowing that you were created as a weapon?” Ultra Magnus offered the other Predacon. “A tool for someone to use up and then cast aside?”
Predaking bared his fangs. “The Decepticons have vowed to rebuild our people! This was merely the first attempt!”
“No.” Ultra Magnus shook his head. “Shockwave cloned the beings whose bones we have been chasing. Then, he made me and others like me just because he could. Then, he made you—and those who were held within this facility.” He raised an optic brow. “What’s the one thing in common with all of these iterations? Extinction.”
“I cannot speak for the others, but this was by your own hand!” Predaking snapped.
“Why was there even an Energon operation being conducted here—in broad daylight, outside of this cave?” Ultra Magnus asked. “Look at the walls! This was not a mine, but we detected a pulse. How could we be allowed to find this lab if the project was so important to Megatron?”
“You imply that you were led here?” Predaking was taken aback. “Why would the Decepticons do such a thing? I transformed for the first time before them just yesterday, pledged my loyalty to their cause with my own voice. I merely asked for permission to lead my kind among them.”
Ultra Magnus’s face filled with pity. “Can you think of no reason why they would turn against you after such rapid development?”
“Hint: they’re called ‘the Decepticons’,” Wheeljack noted, and Ultra Magnus shot a look at him. “Hey, I’m just sayin’. Why does anyone trust them?”
“… They are afraid of me,” Predaking realized, looking up at Ultra Magnus in disbelief. “Of our kind, of my autonomy… So, they could not let our numbers grow—let us organize. They-!” He looked away, baring his fangs in frustration, then looked back at Ultra Magnus. “… They led you here, and set me up to come alone.”
“Where one could finish the other,” Ultra Magnus agreed. “If not destroy each other outright.”
Predaking’s expression grew wary. “Shockwave would have to know what you are.”
“Yes.” Ultra Magnus nodded.
“One of us would have killed the other,” Predaking said quietly. “And there would’ve only been one Predacon left for them to exterminate.” He closed his optics. “… I do not condone what you’ve done here today, brother. There had to be another way. I could have spoken to the others.”
“It’s all instinct at first. You know that,” Ultra Magnus told him. “And the Decepticons never intended for them to live. We were all set up.” He hesitantly stepped towards the young Predacon. “… One day, they may come again—but not like this, Predaking. Not by their hands. It would be the end of this world, and for what?”
Predaking opened his optics and looked up at the commander sadly. “… I don’t know.”
“So… don’t freak out.”
“We’re kinda freakin’ out!”
“Don’t freak out! I disabled his tracker. It’s good.”
“That’s the dragon.” Miko pointed at Predaking, her eyes wide. “You guys actually brought the fucking dragon home!”
Jack shot a look at her. “Language.”
“Look on the bright side!” Wheeljack chimed as he laid on a cot, where Ratchet was tending to him. “Someone has to explain this to Megatron.”
“Oh, I would pay to see that,” Arcee remarked, and Bumblebee nodded.
“It’s alright, Optimus,” Ultra Magnus insisted to his leader for what felt like the millionth time. “We have come to an understanding.”
“An understandin’?” Bulkhead looked at him, agitated. “You had to carry ‘Jackie back. Looks real understandin’ to me!”
Smokescreen snorted. “Yeah, I mean—what did you do, feed him to that thing?”
“He’s not a thing,” Wheeljack protested, trying to sit up—but Ratchet pushed him down. “And he’s standin’ right fraggin’ there.”
Ultra Magnus got the strangest feeling that Wheeljack was not just alluding to Predaking. “…Our companion also has a name.”
“Indeed,” the new arrival spoke up at last, sending a perturbed look towards Ultra Magnus before looking at Optimus. “I am Predaking, and I did not come here to be disrespected.”
“Welcome, Predaking,” Optimus greeted tensely. “May I ask why you came here?”
“… The Decepticons used you as the tool of their betrayal,” Predaking stated. “In complete truth, I do not trust either side at the moment. I am new to this war, this life—and I’ve found a disparity in honor abounds among participants… but to bring an end to the backstabbing and the slaughter, I believe that this is where I must stand until peace permits a parting.” He gestured to Ultra Magnus. “Just let it be known that, for now, what loyalty I can offer in the wake of this revelation is reserved for Ultra Magnus alone.” He glanced at Wheeljack. “And that one there, he is under my brother’s protection… So, he is under mine as well.”
“Awesome!” Miko grinned, then she blinked before tilting her head. “Hey, wait… Brother?”
It got quiet.
Ultra Magnus’s optics were wide when Predaking looked to him in confusion. “They do not know?”
The steadfast commander felt ready to bolt.
“… Optimus, I-” Ultra Magnus choked on the words. He was hyper-aware of the fangs in his mouth, sharper than a razor’s edge. “I-…”
A servo grabbed his.
Ultra Magnus looked down and saw Wheeljack looking up at him tiredly. “… You’ve already had to explain it once, today.” He gave a small smile and shrugged. “I got nothin’ better to do.”
Ultra Magnus stared at him, then clasped his soldier’s servo. “… Thank you.”
So, Wheeljack finally broke what had evidently been millions of years of silence.
All those years, despite not knowing the fate of the commander, he kept the secret.
No one knew.
Wheeljack told them about waiting at the secret coordinates and being found there by a rather panicked dragon, learning what had happened to the commander he’s turned his back on, and doing something about it. Bulkhead hadn’t even known that Wheeljack had gone back to help the Wreckers evacuate, it was all secret.
That worried Ultra Magnus.
Just how much could Wheeljack bury?
The story ended with the events in the cave.
Despite not telling the story again himself, Ultra Magnus felt drained. It was all so much…
Then, a servo rested on his shoulder—and he looked up to see Optimus gazing at him.
The Prime was actually in tears, and then he pulled his former student into a hug.
Ultra Magnus froze, his optics wide, then he closed his optics and hugged back.
“… Bad timing, but does this mean that Ultra Magnus is not only an Elite Guardsbot who served as Optimus Prime’s right hand before becoming the commander of the Wreckers who now wields the Forge of Solus Prime… but also a dragon?!” Smokescreen asked. “Oh, man. That means he’s -like- the coolest person ever!”
“Kid, he’s traumatized,” Fowler said flatly. “Can you give the poor guy a minute?”
“One more, one more.” Smokescreen held his servos up in surrender. “… Can he fly around, as a dragon, with the Forge in his teeth? Or would that be a problem when he wants to breathe fire? OH! HE CAN BREATHE FIRE!”
Predaking listened to the rant that followed, visibly bewildered. “He is allowed to speak in such a manner? On the Nemesis, I’ve observed dire consequences for far less.”
“Yeah, buddy: we’re gonna hafta talk,” Wheeljack remarked. “Your month of life? Not stellar.”
“Wait, he’s only a month old?” Raf asked, and the Wrecker held a thumb up.
The kids glanced at Predaking, surprised, then Miko raised an eyebrow. “… Dudes, we gotta show him How to Train Your Dragon.”
The tide turned quickly.
Wheeljack recovered under Ratchet’s care, and the team adjusted to the presence of Predaking and the knowledge of Ultra Magnus’s mutation.
Predaking was absolutely adamant that the Wrecker commander embrace his Predacon CNA. The young mech was fiery (no pun intended), and told Ultra Magnus that—while what happened was beyond his control—he had nothing to be ashamed of. Ultra Magnus tried to argue, but Predaking pointed out a crucial part of the story: he had been willing to approach his fellow Autobots as a Predacon until they had turned on him. The larger Predacon was convinced that Ultra Magnus would have eventually learned to embrace the strengths in being a Predacon had those encounters not contributed to his trauma.
“Until they attacked you, your actions imply that a part of you was willing to accept your new shape so long as you had support,” Predaking stated. “I thank Wheeljack for helping you to cope in the aftermath, but you are no longer a lone Predacon among Autobots.” His optics narrowed. “If you feel you still have anything to fear, brother, then I question the sense in either of us being here. If you are not safe, this is no ‘family’.”
Ultra Magnus just stared at him, then he looked away and crossed his arms. “… I wouldn’t know where to begin accepting it, let alone embracing it. I’ve suppressed it constantly since-…”
“Almost constantly,” Predaking corrected him. “You’ve changed twice, and did so well. In those moments, what were you feeling?”
“… Fear. Frustration,” Ultra Magnus began quietly. “Anger, more than I’ve ever felt.”
“The same things I felt when I first changed shape, going from beast to this.” Predaking gestured to himself. “Starscream gained satisfaction from beating me.”
Ultra Magnus growled, then he closed his optics. “… I thought that I was going to die, that someone I cared about was going to die. No matter what, I couldn’t let that happen—I wasn’t done yet, and I swore that I would protect them.”
“Them?”
“The Wreckers.” Ultra Magnus opened his optics and looked up at Predaking. “An Autobot combat unit crafted to take on the missions no one else would dare to. Their past leaders sent them off to their deaths, sitting back to watch and take credit. They deserved more than that.”
Predaking raised an optic-brow. “And now, it’s just you four left: you, Bulkhead, Wheeljack, and the human girl.”
“Miko.” Ultra Magnus took a deep vent. “She’s strong and clever and brave, but still just a child. She never should have gotten involved in this, but now: she will not be safe until we end this war.” His optics narrowed. “And I can’t protect any of them. I just keep failing, over and over again! The Dinobots, Wheeljack, Miko, the unit: they depend on me, and I was never strong enough!”
The sound of shifting metal rang out.
“… You are strong enough, brother,” Predaking said, folding his servos behind his back as he gazed at the dragon before him. “You carry that strength within you. You must acknowledge that, and accept yourself as a whole.” He shook his head. “The beast will not steal your reason from you. In fact, my reason emerged from that side of myself… Stop holding yourself back.”
Metal shifted again, and Ultra Magnus looked at Predaking with a hesitant frown. “I don’t know what will happen.”
“No one ever does,” Predaking argued. “And in the texts I read upon the Nemesis, it was implied that that was the whole point. We never know how anything will end, it’s an eternal unknown. That’s what makes life worth living.”
“I’ve never been one for unnecessary risks,” Ultra Magnus protested.
Predaking frowned. “If you don’t come to terms with this, it will only continue to haunt you. If you do not act as all that you can be, you will regret it forever. What part of that is unnecessary?”
“… Hey, do you charge for therapy?” Smokescreen asked from the entrance to Hangar E, and the two Predacons glanced at him. “Just asking ‘cause, between us, I’m planning an intervention for Prime. I’m genuinely worried. Got anything for low self-worth and self-sacrificial tendencies?”
Real change came when Soundwave was taken prisoner. He crashed his own drives, preventing interrogation and proving that heightened senses came with a drawback.
Wheeljack had kneeled to check on Ultra Magnus and Predaking, his optics wide as the Predacons gripped the sides of their heads long after Soundwave’s sonic attack. He had his own experience being tortured by Soundwave, and experiencing it again and watching others suffer through the same pain made his tank churn.
That night, they also managed to capture Shockwave—but not before Soundwave broke out, taking Ratchet with him.
It was radio silence on all channels after that, no offer of a hostage exchange—and Shockwave, like Soundwave, refused to talk… in any way that was helpful, at the very least.
He admonished Predaking for defying the purpose of his creation and siding with an outnumbered and outmatched force, to which Predaking flatly replied that it seemed more ‘logical’ than staying with an army that betrayed him and plotted his demise.
That actually shut Shockwave up.
Meanwhile, on the Iron Will, Ultra Magnus had isolated himself. Wheeljack excused himself from the Chip project to go after the commander, who he found sitting in a corner of his ship.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly as Wheeljack approached. “I just-… Battle is different. I just can’t be in there with him. I can’t.” The smaller mech sat beside him, pulling his knees to his chest. “You must think the worst of me. Here I am, hiding away like-“ Wheeljack leaned on the larger mech, and Ultra Magnus blinked before looking down at him. “Wheeljack?”
“… Sorry for intrudin’. I know you wanted to be alone, and I wanted to respect that like you’ve been respectin’ me,” he murmured. “I just-… I didn’t know where else to go—and Raf could tell somethin’ was up, and I needed to get away.” He shook his head. “I can’t turn my back on him. Makes my neck, my head… my processor burn.” He took a shaking vent. “I just hafta finish that drone. It's almost over… It's almost over."
Ultra Magnus silently wrapped his arm around his soldier’s shoulders, and they closed their optics.
As it turned out, they wouldn’t need the drone.
:Yes, well—I'm submitting my formal surrender,: Knockout was saying across a private comm frequency when the commander and the white Wrecker returned to the hangar together.
Arcee blinked. "What?"
:l have Ratchet here with me in the lab, and he's very persuasive,: the Decepticon medic stated.
Ratchet snorted. :Hardly. If you could see me at my base, you would know that I can’t convince anyone of anything. Just tell them the truth.:
:… He’s the nicest person that’s been here since Breakdown and Dreadwing died,: Knockout said quietly. :That, and I really don't want to die and Ratchet claims you go easy on medics.:
“We protect our medic ‘cause he’s the most valuable member of the team,” Bulkhead argued. “That’s not exactly goin’ easy on the guy.”
:Oh, you don’t even know who you’re talking to,: Knockout said with strain in his voice. :I’m opening a bridge. Please, get us out of here.:
Knockout used an old, private frequency set up by Breakdown to ask the Vehicons to stand down after he disabled the Nemesis’s cloak. It would be the Autobots and their allies against Megatron, Starscream, and Soundwave, and Knockout told the grunt soldiers not to die pointlessly when the war would be ending that day.
As far as the crimson medic was concerned, it was over the day Predaking changed sides due to Starscream’s plan and Megatron learned from a far-too-bold Shockwave that this would mean that the Autobots technically had two Predacons. The application of the Cybermatter discovery could wait for the conflict’s end.
It just needed to stop.
So, the Autobots boarded the Nemesis with all of the weapons and Relics at their disposal, and some planning on the part of their human allies. The children trapped Soundwave and Starscream seemingly fled in terror, while Optimus and Predaking finally subdued Megatron on a nearly-constructed Omega Lock fixed to the underside of the Decepticon warship.
They planned to take him as a prisoner, then a missile hit Megatron right in the spark and blasted his chest apart.
Starscream lowered his shaking arm, his optics narrowed, and said: “You never would have been able to hold him.”
Then, he transformed and flew off into space while Megatron’s body fell to Earth.
“… If he was going to die anyway, I would have like to have been the one to do it,” Predaking remarked dryly as the Autobots watched Megatron burn up upon reentry. “I am ‘calling dibs’, for when we track down Starscream.”
Optimus looked at him and shook his head. “You have spent far too much time with Miko.”
From the Decepticons’ files and Knockout, the Autobots learned of the Cybermatter discovery and that only Ratchet and Shockwave together could complete it. After the return to Hangar E, Shockwave was made aware of the circumstances, and deemed it logical to work towards the restoration of Cybertron regardless of allegiances with the war ended.
It was unanimously decided that, while at work, the scientists would be on constant guard—and Wheeljack volunteered to help Bulkhead lead the Vehicons in finishing the Omega Lock. Predaking and Ultra Magnus watched from Shockwave’s laboratory as the Wreckers and Vehicons worked together—minding the work of Shockwave, Knockout, and Ratchet behind them.
“… You’ve chosen well,” Predaking said quietly.
Ultra Magnus glanced at his fellow Predacon, puzzled. “I beg your pardon?”
“I had my reservations about Wheeljack, given our initial encounters,” Predaking said, looking at the elder mech. “But you’ve chosen well… Not that I care much for such things.”
“Such-? Oh.” Ultra Magnus’s optics widened, then he shook his head. “No, no. We’re not-” Predaking snorted. “Stop.”
“Heh.” The younger dragon smiled. “You are a strange one, brother.”
“… Why do you call me that?” Ultra Magnus asked quietly. “You despised me, when we met—and I told you, I’m not- I’m not like you.”
“I disagree,” Predaking told him. “We were both made in a lab to be weapons… And whatever our past, the future of our kind is ours to decide.” He looked forward. “… Personally, the moment you turn your back, I’m going to threaten Shockwave into reviving Project Predacon.”
Ultra Magnus sighed. “I didn’t hear that.”
“Didn’t you?” Predaking seemed surprised.
“He did this to me against my will and used the cortical psychic-patch on Wheeljack.” Ultra Magnus glanced at the younger Predacon, optics narrowed. “… I didn’t hear anything.”
There was a fair amount of screaming in the lab when a bickering match between Ratchet and Shockwave was ended by Knockout taking a fistful of Cybermatter and slapping it onto Bumblebee’s neck.
“Consider us even for the ‘unpleasantness’ while your T-Cog was under the weather,” Knockout said flatly as Bumblebee held his throat and looked at the medic with wide optics.
The scout’s winglets flared in agitation. “I wasn’t sick, Knockout! My T-cog was gone! MECH stole it!” Knockout just looked at the yellow mech for a long moment, his optic twitching, then slapped more Cybermatter onto his neck. “Hey!”
Once everyone fully processed that the young mech was talking, it was cause for celebration.
Ratchet didn’t approve of Knockout practically experimenting on Bumblebee, but didn’t complain much after receiving a hug from the excited young scout.
Cybermatter production began, and the restoration of Cybertron went underway—starting with the spark of Primus, then moving on to repair the surface.
While Ratchet and Knockout took over the synthesis and asked Bumblebee and Arcee to assist with organization, Predaking brought Shockwave to Optimus and asked for help. He wanted his species revived, and Shockwave was the only one who could possibly help. There was no trust there, but—seeing Predaking’s desperation—the Prime permitted the supervised revival of Project Predacon.
Miko likened this decision to something out of ‘Jurassic Park’, then tagged on a “no offense” when she looked at Predaking. He assured her that he would keep an optic on things—and that, when it came to security, they would “spare no expense”. He smiled as the children burst out laughing, and promised to visit.
With Cybertron’s restoration underway, the team relocated there—and after Bumblebee was promoted to warrior status, Optimus announced that there was one task left uncompleted: the retrieval of the Allspark.
And he needed Wheeljack’s help in order to complete his mission.
Ultra Magnus didn’t like the idea of staying behind, but it was good that he did. Shockwave set the first two Predacon clones he created loose, and they went on a rampage until confronted by Predaking.
Ultra Magnus arrived to see all of them brawling like sparklings, and his optics narrowed.
Predaking could hold his own, but seeing them fight two on one?
He set the Forge down on the ground and transformed, and the two new Predacons were knocked to the ground after the Forge came spinning through the air and crashed into them. They looked up with wide optics as a smaller Predacon approached, optics narrowed but not even growling, then they scrambled to their feet and transformed.
Fast learners.
“I had it handled,” Predaking insisted as he stepped forward to stand beside Ultra Magnus. “But thank you, brother.” He looked to the other two, his optics narrowed. “I chose to be known as Predaking. By what names will you be called?”
“… Skylynx,” the sullen one replied.
The other snickered at his sibling’s face, only to be elbowed in the chest and to barely be able to wheeze out. “Darksteel!”
“Hm.” Skylynx looked at Predaking, irked. “And who died to make you king?”
“Our species, unfortunately,” Predaking replied. “As of this day, we four are the only Predacons currently walking the face of Cybertron. If we are to grow our numbers and stand as equals upon this world, we require organization. We must work together, my brethren.”
“Hm.” Skylynx raised an optic-brow as he looked at Ultra Magnus. “And do you bow to this would-be king, pipsqueak?”
The leader of the Wreckers transformed and hoisted the Forge onto his shoulder, his optics narrowed. “It’s ‘commander’. And I bow to no one.” He rested his free servo on his hip. “But act out of line again, and I will not hesitate to put you in your place. You are rational beings.” He stepped forward to face them, his expression softening. “… My name is Ultra Magnus. I understand that you are new to life and likely overwhelmed, and the first being you encountered upon waking was hardly the best influence. I’m sorry we weren’t there for you.” The two newborn Predacons looked surprised. “Shockwave may have created you, but he does not determine what you are. Stand with your own and those you learn you can truly trust, and see Cybertron rebuilt into something better than what was torn down.”
Darksteel blinked, his winglets twitching, then he looked at Skylynx and shrugged.
The moodier Predacon did not seem pleased, but he sighed and nodded.
Predaking gave a small smirk as he glanced at Ultra Magnus. “Shall we track down Shockwave together then, brother?”
Ultra Magnus looked at him and nodded. “He has some explaining to do.”
They were wrong to think the universe had run out of surprises.
Unicron arrived, wearing Megatron’s warped frame, with the goal of destroying Primus and rendering the future dark and uncertain.
He deemed that the best way to achieve this goal was to resurrect Cybertron’s dead—and, following Megatron’s antics, the dead left on Cybertron were those victims of the Great Cataclysm unearthed by the shifting of tectonic plates following the planet’s revival.
Predacons.
The army marched on the Well of Allsparks, where a warship and a force of Autobots. Decepticons, and Predacons readied to make a stand for their home. Ultra Magnus relinquished authority to Bumblebee, so that he could lend his might to the line of Predacons who would defend the Well if all else failed.
“Are you ready?” Predaking asked him, and Ultra Magnus looked at the younger mech as he gave a fanged smile. “Together.”
Ultra Magnus nodded. “Until the end, brother.”
The undead Predacons pressed those who lived down into the Well, all the way to the core of the planet, before they were destroyed by unknown intervention. So, the Wrecker commander wasn’t there to see Optimus and Wheeljack’s return, or Unicron shooting the Iron Will and its pilot out of the sky. By the time he returned, Wheeljack had been retrieved from the wreckage by Arcee and Bulkhead, Unicron had been trapped inside a strange reliquary, and Megatron’s vastly altered body was strangely missing.
He got the feeling that he’d missed a lot.
However, he tried not to think about that as he made his way to Wheeljack—who was stubbornly standing in spite of his injuries.
“Wheeljack?”
“Mmph.” The smaller mech looked up at him with a weary grin. “I got shot outta the sky by Unicron.”
“And I just fought a horde of undead Predacons,” Ultra Magnus told him honestly.
Wheeljack huffed out a laugh. “No kiddin’? What the frag was this day?” Ultra Magnus chuckled, and Wheeljack smiled. “Hm.”
“Let’s take care of these wounds,” Ultra Magnus suggested quietly, looking his friend over.
“Yeah. That’d be good.” Wheeljack didn’t even bother complaining, though his optics did go wide as he was suddenly scooped up. “Whoa! Hey!” Ultra Magnus was incredibly amused, and Wheeljack rolled his optics. “Ugh.”
Despite his annoyance, he was smiling as Ultra Magnus carried him towards the medics.
Since an Autobot from another reality had quite literally tumbled into their universe, the TFA Crew had borne witness to a great many fantastic things and heard many fantastic stories: gods and monsters, order against chaos and light against dark, and forces of good and evil that were equally terrifying. Out of all of those stories, strangely enough, among the hardest to believe were those about dragons.
Wheeljack, while not fond of embellished stories that did not serve a purpose, would not hesitate to speak about Predacons as he knew them: massive and powerful yet rational beings brought back twice from extinction, created to be weapons but taught to be more.
What’s more, he even implied—once or twice—that he actually knew an Autobot who became a Predacon. He wouldn’t tell the story, and it seemed to make him sad—and even warranted extra sympathy towards the “Predacons” he encountered while in TFA.
Everyone got the feeling that, if the stories were true, that Autobot who had become a Predacon was someone Wheeljack cared about.
Someone he missed.
Still, by the time Wheeljack found his way back to his universe and they tagged along, it was still hard to believe. Dragons? Wheeljack’s reality sounded ridiculous and scary, but that- That was just a bit too much, wasn’t it?
At least, that was what they thought until—during the reunion, when someone the Wrecker thought to be dead was revealed to have returned—Wheeljack was left looking around for someone who was apparently missing.
“Hey, where’s-?”
“On his way, as fast as he can fly,” TFP Optimus assured him, smiling. “As soon as I saw you, I made certain to call him.” He gestured to a door. “He should be here, any minute now.”
Wheeljack’s face lit up, and he ran outside.
The others followed him, and the TFA Crew was bewildered to find a large circular platform right in front of the Iacon Hall of Records. There were three emblems stylistically incorporated onto it: the Autobots’, the Decepticons’, and…
“Are my optics glitching, or… is that a dragon?” TFA Bumblebee wondered aloud.
TFA Optimus blinked. “Uh…”
A shadow darted overhead, circling the platform, then it came in for a landing. Four clawed paws hit metal as massive wings spread and flapped before furling, a long tail curling around the landed creature as it stood before the Autobots with a regal confidence.
The TFA Crew immediately stepped back, their optics wide, as they came face-to-face with an actual Cybertronian dragon.
"Whoa!” Jazz reeled back, stunned.
TFA Bulkhead pointed shakily. “Dragon! Dragon! Why is there a dragon?!"
"He wasn't kidding?!" Sari asked, looking at the Autobots with wide optics. “You told me he was kidding! He wasn’t kidding!”
"Wheeljack, what is that thing?!” TFA Optimus asked, then he gasped as the creature suddenly ran forward before it lunged and tackled the Wrecker to the ground. “Wheeljack!"
The dragon suddenly transformed, and it was a large mech there—gazing down at the Wrecker beneath him in disbelief. “Wheeljack.”
“Heh.” And Wheeljack looked right back at him with the biggest grin. “Hey, Mags. Miss me?”
The large mech let out a weak laugh. “That would be a gross understatement.” He blinked, then he quickly kneeled and pulled Wheeljack to his feet. “A-Apologies, I-” He blinked again as Wheeljack hugged him, then closed his optics and hugged the long-lost Wrecker back. “Hm.”
“I missed you, too,” Wheeljack told him.
Ultra Magnus raised a servo to the side of his partner’s face. “You’re alive.”
“I always come back.” Wheeljack shrugged his shoulders. “You know that.”
“Heh.” Ultra Magnus rested his forehead against the crest of Wheeljack’s helmet. “Don’t I?”
“… Oh, don’t tell me that’s the boyfriend,” TFA Ratchet said flatly.
Wheeljack looked back at his friend with wide optics. “Doc-‘Bot!”
“Kids are dinosaurs. Boyfriend’s a dragon.” The field-tech shook his head. “I’ve seen it all.”
“Ugh.” Wheeljack rolled his optics and pulled away from Ultra Magnus, who looked at him curiously as he stood up. “Kids. Doc-‘Bot.” The white Wrecker gestured. “Meet Ultra Magnus: commander of the Wreckers, ambassador to the Predacons…” He looked at the larger mech, and he smiled as he reached over and took hold of his servo. “And the best mech you’ll ever meet.”
“You flatter me,” Ultra Magnus told him, then he raised an optic-brow. “And these are… smaller versions of our family. Where have you been?”
“Uh… Heh…” Wheeljack raised his shoulders and smiled awkwardly. “Other universe?”
“Ugh.” Ultra Magnus reached up to massage the space between his optics. “Why am I surprised? It’s you. I shouldn’t be surprised…”
“Oh, not a boyfriend,” TFA Ratchet remarked, looking surprised himself. “You’re bonded.”
“Doc-‘Bot!”
TFA Ratchet’s teasing aside, Ultra Magnus became a part of the TFA Crew’s lives once the multiverse had been cracked open.
They were wary at first, and the commander was subdued after their initial fearful reactions to him and then hearing about their experience with his alternate.
However, they were all pretty much sold after a few conversations and Wheeljack circling the footage of TFA Ultra Magnus opening his office door and screaming upon seeing a dragon waiting politely in spite of his rage for a scheduled formal meeting.
It was easy to realize that the well-meaning if formal Wrecker commander was nothing to be afraid of, for any reason—and upon hearing his story, the TFA Crew became endeared to and even protective over the this alternate Ultra Magnus.
Years of affection and acceptance from his family, even in Wheeljack’s absence, had allowed Ultra Magnus to grow more comfortable with being a Predacon even if he could never forget how it had happened. He worked with the rising Predacon population to maintain peace, transformed into his dragon-form with a fair frequency, and could even tell a dry joke or two about being a Predacon whenever he caught someone forgetting.
That encouraged others to talk about it, though they remained sensitive and kind.
Once, Sari made a joke about dragons having hoards and Ultra Magnus commonly being found sitting among stacks upon stacks of data-pads in his office and even in his quarters.
“Eh, I disagree,” Wheeljack said. “If he has a hoard, it’s made up of all the dumbasses he constantly has to keep alive.”
The commander looked mortified, but then he shrugged and nodded before looking at his data-pad again. “I’d say a hoard can be made of two things.”
“What are you reading through, now?” Sari asked curiously.
Ultra Magnus waved the data-pad casually. “I’ve been helping Optimus sort though Iacon’s old government records, but I am technically on break—so, I elected to entertain myself. This is Volume Three of Wheeljack’s lifetime of disciplinary reports. I haven’t even reached his academic career yet.”
While the TFA Crew either laughed or gaped, Wheeljack deadpanned. “Our planet was dead for eons, but all of that survived. Unbelievable.”
It was safe to say that they had settled in as a family long before Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus were bonded and adoption papers were signed. The commander was uncharacteristically shy throughout the whole process, like he thought they would recall some unacceptable detail and change their minds at any time.
Then, TFA Bumblebee grabbed him for a “post-adoption selfie with Papa Dragon”—and that string of pictures which showed Ultra Magnus’s expression shifting from surprise to a deadpan then finally to a fond and amused smile spoke louder than any words ever could.
The family had finally adjusted… so, naturally, they should have expected this.
The universe—multiverse, actually—never ran out of ways to surprise.
"Wheeljack, thank goodness.” TFP Ratchet sighed in relief as the white Wrecker replied in the main protoform hall.
Wheeljack blinked before raising an optic-brow. “Who are you and what have you done with Doc?”
“Don’t call me that. And be serious, now,” the medic insisted, leading Wheeljack further into the hall. “There’s something loose among the protoforms. I had Knockout clear any sparklings out, they’re safe—but whatever this thing is: it has fangs like a scraplet and claws, and we’ve been finding burn marks everywhere. I don't know how it got in here, but-!”
“Easy, Ratchet.” Wheeljack held a servo up. “Whatever it is, we’ll find it… Huh.” He noticed a trail of scratch marks and scorch marks on the floor and got down on one knee to take a look. “You weren’t kiddin’. But where is the little devil?”
“I’m not sure,” TFP Ratchet admitted, looking around warily. “It moves too fast for me to get a good look, and then-“ His optics widened as he pointed. “There!”
Something small and fast was darting towards them, and TFP Ratchet reeled back as it lunged at Wheeljack.
"Whoa!” The Wrecker caught the creature in his arms, recoiling briefly, then he grew surprised. “Oh… Whoa, whoa. Easy, lil'un.” He held the little creature close, suddenly worried. “Easy… Oh, you're shakin' somethin' fierce."
“Wheeljack, you should put whatever it is down and get back,” Ratchet warned the Wrecker, but he just stood with it still on his arms. “Wheeljack, that thing could be-"
“She’s not a thing,” Wheeljack insisted, turning around as his optics narrowed.
“… Oh.” Ratchet’s optics widened in disbelief. “Oh, my goodness."
Wheeljack looked down at the tiny dragon curled up in his arms, and he gave a small smile. “Quite an entrance, kiddo. Heh… That’s my girl.”
Ultra Magnus heard the door to his office open and raised an optic-brow.
“Wheeljack?”
“Nah, it’s Unicron.”
“Hilarious.” Ultra Magnus rolled his optics as he turned around in his chair, still looking at his data-pad. “Did you assist Ratchet with the-?” He blinked as he noticed something moving in front of him and glanced up, his optics widening in disbelief. “By the Allspark.”
“Heh. Yeah.” Wheeljack grinned and nodded as he carefully held the squirming sparkling up for the commander to see. “Looks like we’re real fraggin’ lucky that I can handle teethin’ with fangs, and fire breath.” He blinked as his conjunx remained frozen in place. “… Mags?”
Ultra Magnus fell back in his seat and dropped his data-pad onto the desk, looking utterly baffled but starting to smile. “… She’s absolutely perfect, Wheeljack.” He shook his head, still awestruck… then he started laughing. “We’re going to have to sparkling-proof and fire-proof our apartment!”
Wheeljack blinked. “… We broke ‘im.” He glanced down at his infant daughter, and he let out a soft chuckle. “Well, kiddo: that’s your other dad. Fierce ol’ Predacon, ain’t he?” He looked back at his conjunx, and he smiled. “Hm.”
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newtabfics · 5 months
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Could I ask for a drabble with drunk Astarion? It was adorable how he got drunk from a bear. I wonder what would he do if he got even more drunk later in the story? What would do his female Tav, would she make fun of him or get drunk too? Thank you in advance!
In my personal headcanon: Absolutely would get teased for it. But I'm feeling a type of way today :3
Basically, they're all at an inn for this.
Below cut for scrolling
Triggers for I guess drinking, mild angst. basically going into astarion's thoughts and fears about not being a sexual being.
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His stumbling into her arms made her sigh as she helped him to his room. "You're drunk again. What happened?"
"Some...guy...he was drunk first," Astarion slurred, leaning into her. He nuzzled against her hair and gently pressed a kiss behind her ear. "Gods, you're so sweet to me. Makes me love you so much."
Her cheeks warmed at his words as she helped him to his room. They were lucky they could afford separate rooms. After the camping, it felt needed for everyone.
Though, as she helped him into his room and gripped her hips, she felt that desire building again. "You're drunk, Star," she said gently, guiding him to his bed.
"You're drunk, Darling," He giggled out as she helped him sit. "Ooh. Gonna take advantage of me?" He joked. His eyes flickered a slight as a panic rose in his chest.
Tav smiled gently and knelt down, carefully removing his boots. "Let's get these off," She said softly.
He watched her through rosy vision. It was startling. She was so careful with him, not letting her touch linger too long. He could see it in her eyes, how much she wanted to be intimate with him again...
"Do you hate me?" He mumbled out.
"No, Astarion," She said firmly as she set his boots aside before reaching up and helping him out of the padded overcoat. "Let's get this off. You can't sleep in armor. You'll be fussy in the morning."
Astarion felt his throat tighten as he reached up and touched her hand. He couldn't grasp it still. She was so careful. Her hands stopped, letting him do what he needed. It was like she refused. to move now without his permission.
"Why...not?" he asked softly. "You could...whatever you wanted."
Tav looked up at him from her kneeling position as she gently took his hands into hers as she rested them on his thighs. "Because you keep asking that," She said. "Astarion..." She blushed a slight. "You mean so much to me. You're the first to...to really look at me. And you didn't have to. You said you wanted us to be real. I want us to be real too."
His heart fluttered when she gave a gentle kiss to his knuckles before resting her forehead against them. "I'm not going to do anything, because that's not what you need. and I think you know that too, My Shining Star."
Astarion's face went red at the nickname. "W-Why do you keep calling me that?"
Tav smiled and shook her head. "No particular reason," She giggled.
"What? But I wanna know," he whined.
Tav's soft laugh made his heart melt as she carefully got off the overcoat, leaving him in his loose shirt and pants. He gulped and looked at her, eyes flickering with anxiety as he studied her. His eyes glanced to her neck, seeing the familiar fang bruising on her flesh.
"I feel like I owe you," He sighed, gently tracing the marks. He watched her shiver and still. It was like she was reigning herself in for him. His heart dropped as he thought about how he was neglecting her. How he could do better or--
"Astarion," She said firmly, reaching up and cupping his face as she adjusted. She stood and his hands tenderly found her hips as her lips pressed against his forehead.
He shivered and hugged her close, burying his face against her stomach as he sighed heavily. "I'm sorry I'm a mess," He muttered.
"Don't be sorry," She sighed, running her fingers through his hair as she held him. "I just want you to be comfortable again. I'm never going to make you do anything you don't want."
Her words stopped. She almost wanted to think of something else to add to the statement, but even unsaid, she had spoken volumes more.
Tav smiled as she watched him starting to fall asleep against her. "I'm going to tuck you in now, alright?"
"Don't go..." He muttered into her stomach. His hands clutched the back of her shirt, almost cradling her close to him. "Just...stay?"
She smiled and kissed her head. "I can do that." She hummed as she lay with him in the bed, watching him cling to her. "next time, you're not going out for blood alone though," She told him with a gentle look. "Or at least, maybe don't grab a drunkard."
Astarion smiled softly as he felt the alcohol already clearing out of his mind. He couldn't tell her that his vampirism made him process alcohol so much faster and that it was a buzz. Not after it meant he could be wrapped in her arms and feeling her hands through his hair.
maybe he'd tell her in the morning once his mind stopped reeling.
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dappersautismcreature · 4 months
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*shakes the fandom like a fuckin rat* people arent "setting eggs up for dissapointment* when they say things like "tallulah will be nice" or "jaiden will like you" because assuming kindness and the bare minimum is not some sort of bad or dumb or evil act.. it is the right course of action to tell children that they should expect the bare minimum of care and kindness from those in their community. they deserve it
and while im at it it makes me fuckin sick to see people saying "well the new eggs are suspicious!" THEY ARE BABIES I DO NOT CARE I DONT I REALLY DONT i dont care about your suspicions, i dont care about your weird enjoyment of eggs bullying other eggs, i dont care about how easily people are settling into an us vs them and a mob mentality against these LITERAL CHILDREN.
im not asking for arguments here, you cannot convince me of something i feel is wrong in my bones
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takami-takami · 9 months
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Hot take: I do not think Hawks is lying to Twice here. I've seen people say he was lying to get an in with the league, was picking at Twice's weaknesses and insecurities (which he did do, granted, but not all of it was a lie.) The first part about empathising with the liberation army is a lie, he does not agree with their morals at all, but I don't think the second part is.
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Notice how he visualizes Endeavor's back when he says "the world I once admired and dreamt of joining"— This is crucial, and intentional. It's evidence that the image is a flashback to young Keigo, looking up at Endeavor from behind with a spark to want to be a hero. This scene, I think.
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Endeavor was his link to "heroes are real", he thought of Endeavor when the commission picked him up and warned him of the brutal training he would have to endure to become one. But he wanted to save other people like he was saved. So he said yes.
Now take a look at this panel (ignore the top-right part, that's from a different part of the conversation.)
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Keigo wasn't lying when he said he felt caged down by the world he admired, how it turned out to be.
The commission ordering him to kill over and over is what he's talking about here. The grip they held on him and his life, the leash they tried to keep him on.
A fantastic source of insight into what happened to him there is explored in the episode with Lady Nagant. Essentially, what happened with her is what happened with Hawks.
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