Chapter 3: Bunkmates

XXX

Ironhide groaned as he stepped off the plane, shaking his body, “About time that ride ended. That sand in my joints was making me itch. Ugh, it’s going to take forever to get it all out.”

Ratchet came out of the military plane as well, his form transforming as he shook himself like a dog sending sand on all the nearby soldiers whom all yipped and groaned about needing a shower now, “At least you weren’t buried half way in it, slagger.”

Then, as if on cue, the two mechs jumped out of the way with heavy grunts as a flash of yellow slammed itself out of the back of the huge cargo plane. Bumblebee’s tires squealed as he did a u-turn of sort, his tires sending up smoke. He sat there a second, his engine growling twice before the tires seemed to jump off the ground, his body transforming out of its alt mode. He quickly stood, dancing a few steps to the moon walk before he pointed at the older mechs. Both mechs gave him bored looks, typical Bumblebee behavior.

“Come on guys, that Sandbox wasn’t that bad! You try sliding down one of those sand dunes? It’s like surfing,” said the youth, his speakers playing a quick phrase to Surfing USA.

The two older mechs just shook their heads, and then simultaneously glared at the youngling, crossing their arms over their chests as they waited for the other youngling to exit. A moment passed and their frowns grew deeper. The yellow youth, catching the scent of old-mech-grumpiness, quickly chirped and looked back into the plane’s innards, calling out, “Come on Bluestreak! Optimus wants us to give him a report of what we found down there, or what we didn’t find to be exact.”

Bluestreak tightened in his alt mode, his form gripping to the shadows like a scared raccoon. He knew that the older mechs had been watching him since they had left the desert. He didn’t blame them. The youngling knew he had been silent and sleepless for the past two days since the incident, clinging to the adults as if afraid to be alone. They had noticed, there was no doubt about it; Ratchet had even asked him if there was anything wrong.

Thinking of a quick lie, the youth merely stated he was a little paranoid after being alone in the desert for a night. He knew it was a satisfactory answer for wanting to recharge next to the elder mechs, but he knew there was no excuse for his clinginess in the daylight and his silence as if he were trying to listen for something beneath the sands.

What else was he supposed to do? The drone was not gone. He felt it in his spark chamber if he was still long enough. Scorponok was always touching and gripping, trying to find his partner. Using all the strength in his spark, Blue always tried to draw away from the feeling, but it was painful when he’d do that. Flinching would only gain Ratchet’s attention, so he tried to remain neutral, allowing the drone to push into the bond but never responding back. At least the ‘touch’ was weaker now that he was on a different continent. In fact, it almost felt dead. Bluestreak could only blame it on the distance. For the first time he was glad Earth had such deep blue oceans. No mech or drone would try to make such a journey on the ocean’s bottom and even if it did, it would take weeks. He was safe … for now.

“C-coming,” said the grey youth as he drew out of the plane, slowly, staying in his alt mode as the youth waited for the others to stop stretching so they could head back to base. He knew it would be painful to transform, that’s why he was waiting. It was as if his body was rearranging itself. True, it was nowhere as painful as waking up after being attacked by the fiend, but at least the following pains where nowhere near as dreadful as his first transformation. He had nearly passed out from the pain, but at least it looked like he was just in for an exhausted recharge. The next morning he would admit he was grateful for the pain though. Checking his back when he was finally alone, he found that he no longer had to hide the hole in his back by dipping his wings.

The pain wasn’t the only reason he wasn’t transforming though, he didn’t want to transform in the view of the others. Who knew what changes it had made while he had been in alt mode this whole time? Maybe the commands the drone downloaded were going to continue like this until he looked almost like Blackout. The youth shivered at the thought, but tried to bury the reaction by starting his engine and roaring forward, making it look like a race was about to break out with the other youth.

He did not disappoint.

“I’m going to beat you there, Bee! Eat my dirt!” cried Bluestreak as if nothing life changing had happened in the past few days, his wheels spiting up gravel. The other youngling’s engine roared in acceptance as he transformed and started to chase after his brother in arms, laughter escaping his speakers.

Ratchet and Ironhide stood there watching the youths’ race. It was a long journey back to Hoover Dam, their new head quarters courtesy of the American Government. They figured it was the least they could do after the incident with Bumblebee. Not that Bumblebee was very thankful. He had stayed at Sam’s house for three weeks, trying to ignore that place, but in the end, when a younger mech like Bluestreak had showed up, he came to the base to strangely … play.

The younglings were always at battle, fighting for their lives and right to exist, so they never got to play like mechs their age should have. So, making up for lost time, Bumblebee was driving the older mech’s crazy. Bluestreak had been as well, talking up a storm, but now he was silent, his spark drowned in fear. Fear was something old mech’s could notice easily.

“Something’s up with Bluestreak,” said Ironhide just as Ratchet opened his mouth to speak as well.

Ratchet turned his head, a frown forming on his face, “You noticed as well?”

“It was hard not to. Primus, I had been cringing about the ride back with that little motor mouth, but the trip back was even worse than I thought with his uncharacteristic silence. I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but he kept clinging to Bumblebee like he knew I wanted to talk to him.”

“I observed that, and it also bothers me that he wanted to recharge by us for the past few days. Generally, he’d hang out with Bumblebee given their close age, but I have a feeling something’s bothering him. I think his current behavior has to do with the desert incident … and the energon that was on his back,” said Ratchet as he glared at the parting piles of dust.

Ironhide stiffened, “You noticed that too?”

“I’m a medic. I notice everything; like that limp you’ve been trying to hide since the first night in the desert. I’m going to have to give you an exam and maybe take that leg apart if sand got into one of your old war wounds,” said the medic as a grin rose on his face, his face still looking forward.

The Weapon Specialist took a step to the side and coughed. It was not a well-hidden fact that Ironhide hated checkups. He’d fight, growl, ignore, and pull rank as often as he could to get out of any medical care that wasn’t immediate battle repair. That was why Optimus almost always had Ratchet and Ironhide on staff together. The CMO was the only one not afraid of the old mech’s medical objection.

“It’s nothin’,” said the black mech as he tried to resist the urge to rub his hip with his free hand. “I’m more worried about Blue. You think the drone in the desert attacked him? It would explain why he’s been jumpy, but it doesn’t make since that he wouldn’t tell us about it.”

Ratchet shrugged, “I don’t know, but I guess we’ll find out. Come on; let’s get moving before the youngling’s get to far ahead of us. We’ll just keep an eye on him till he’s ready to tell us what’s wrong.”

XXX

Bluestreak couldn’t get out of the debriefing room fast enough. He had kept everything about his masquerade in the desert a simple lie of misdirection. He hoped sincerely that Ratchet’s find of ungrounded burrowing would appease their commander’s worry on the matter, and the subject would fall into a distance memory. That was a best-case scenario, of course. Who knew what the aftereffects of abandoning a drone would be, or if there were any, at all. The youngling hoped not. He had taken to ignoring the medical bays since that day when he was … was … the youth buried the thought before it would come back and bite him. He just wanted to refuel and recharge. He might have recharged next to the older mechs, but he didn’t get much recharge in. He had new nightmares to haunt him after all.

Making a quick detour to the rec. room he grabbed a cube, not even bothering to look and see who was in the room. That didn’t mean he went unnoticed by everyone else. Kup, Perceptor, and Prowl looked up, their conversation ending as the youth all but rushed in the room. They all waited for him to run over to them, his mouth running a mile a minute about his latest ‘sand adventure’. The tale never even came, no introduction, no excited banter about earth, and nothing else of that nature. Bluestreak merely grabbed a cube, downed it, and then exited before any of them could even say a word to him. In fact, they all sat there a minute, waiting for him to come hopping back in like some kind of happy pup. Yet, when nothing came, the exhausted looks became worried ones.

“That was an abnormality for our adolescent conversation machine, was it not?” asked Perceptor as he looked at the two other mechs.

For a second, the two other Autobots just gave him a look until they computed what he said. Prowl quickly replied, “I can only assume that something happened in the desert … I would know if a certain CMO hadn’t directed me in this direction before the meeting, stating I had to refuel.”

The two other bots chuckled, Smokescreen creeping up and joining the group, a cube in hand, “How is it going my dear Aces. We taking bets on why the youth isn’t talking us all into deactivation. It was his first off-base mission on Earth, after all.”

Prowl frowned, wanting to lecture the mech on proper military etiquette, but Kup interrupted the mech, “You’h think one of us should go talk to the kid?”

“No, I think we should take bets on him, and then we can go and see what’s wrong,” said the wise aft as he stirred his drink with a rust stick.

Prowl’s glare, his wings twitching, yet, before the official could come out with a remark, there was the sound of a tussle in the hallway. The tactician looked up just in time to see Ironhide sauntered into the room, rubbing his leg. Ratchet followed after, griping something about the medical bay. The slight fight still dragging on, the two older mechs grabbed cubes at the dispenser and sat down with the rest of the mechs at the table.

“After this cube, Ironhide, and then it’s to the medical bay with you. That limp has gotten worse,” said the medic, glaring at the other bot before he turned to his other table-mates, “Kup, Perceptor, Prowl, Smokescreen.”

“Hello Ratchet. How was the journey?” said Perceptor as his head perked up, part of him hoping that someone had brought some dirt samples back for him to examine. “Hopefully, one of your retained the information that I wanted you to transport back some mineral collections of the desert’s rock bed?”

Ratchet looked at the scientist before throwing a look over at the grumpy looking Ironhide, “No, but if Ironhide ever lets me clean out his hip and all the sand he collected in it, I can get you some samples Perceptor.”

The red scientist seemed to beam at the thought and gave Ironhide a wink. The black mech merely glared back, taking another sip of his cube.

“So,” said Smokescreen, a slightly traitorous grin on his facial plates. “What happened on your little trip?”

Ironhide looked up and stated simply with a grin, “What? Bluestreak didn’t talk your adios off while he was in here?”

The mech’s shook their heads, Smokescreen stating, “He didn’t say a thing that I could bet on. I take it that either it was the most boring trip ever, which Bluestreak would still consider the most exciting thing ever, or something bad happened? Did the drone try to eat him or something, or did Ironhide start recollecting about his old bonding couples?”

A collection of snorts and chuckles escaped some of the more carefree mechs at the table; the two new patrons frowned, the laughter stopping immediately. Smokescreen’s grin even disappeared.

“H-he wasn’t attacked, was he?” said the orange mech quickly, his usual get-rich-quick attitude draining down the pipe he dared to call a mouth.

The two older mechs looked at each other, and then Ratchet spoke, his frown deep, “We don’t know, to tell the truth. He was alone for a whole night, lost in the desert. We tried to press him for a while about what happened, but he was determined not to say anything.”

The other mechs all went still, especially Prowl. It was not a hidden fact that the mech kept a special optic on the youth. Many wondered if it was because the gunner didn’t have a caretaker of his own. Prowl always was a stickler for protocol, and younglings were supposed to have caretakers. It didn’t matter if it was in the middle of a war, the youth needed someone to look over him. Yet, with all the chaos with trying to find the Allspark, the youngling had passed through the cracks, but not from his thoughts. It was well known, that even though he was not on the same base as the youth, Prowl frequently tried to get him a full time guardian.

“What has his behavior been like? Perhaps we can conclude what happened by observing it?” said the enforcer with a worried look.

Ratchet looked at the other mech, knowing that calculating glance any day. Then, breaking down his metal notes which he was going to add to the youth’s physiology files later, he stated, “He has been jumpy, frightened as if he’s afraid of something. He has even been clinging to us older adults at night. He’s probably been having nightmares.”

There were frowns all around. Bluestreak was a good kid and all the older mechs tried to look out for him, being that he didn’t have anyone personally. Looking at the others, Ironhide finally spoke, reading everyone’s mind, “So, whose going to go talk with the kid? I would, but the Hatchet is bot-napping me.”

Everyone exchanged looks as if trying to mentally draw straws, but before anyone could even open their mouth, the sound of old shifting gears filled the room and Kup spoke softly, “I think I will go talk to him. You all have places to be, after all … I have nobody at the moment. “

The group was silent as they watched him go, their lips all tight as they waited for him to disappear from sight. Then, as if reading each other’s minds, Ratchet stated in a sullen tone, “He really is taking Hot Rod’s disappearance badly, isn’t he?”

Prowl merely nodded, putting down his now empty cube and standing, ready to leave as well.

“Yes, he is,” added the Second in Command as he quickly departed, his thoughts drowning his processor. Maybe, just maybe, his worries for the young gunner had just answered itself in a more permanent way then everyone else had in mind.

XXX

Bluestreak stared at the shadows of his room from his doorway, his own shadow seeming to want to join the darkness. Why was his room dark? The young mech struggled not to panic; it was fairly obvious that someone had turned off his lights. He never turned them off. They would at least be on two percent power, but never off. He couldn’t take the dark … not after his injuries.

He tried to keep quiet. Not a sob escaped him as he lied in the dark, his whole body aching, but he couldn’t risk it. Someone might hear him and come. It didn’t matter which side would come, Decepticon or Autobot. He knew that they would be happy … not because he was still clinging to life … but because he was so close to death. He was still fresh.

The youngling continued to remain still, hoping his horrors wouldn’t come true, but, just as he was about to fall into recharge, he heard a footstep. Tightening, the youth started to drag his shredded body closer to a pile of leaking and hole ridden bodies. They looked like Decepticon corpses, but he welcomed the old dead mechs as if they were his caretakers. Using his still useful arm, he dragged himself underneath one corpse. His form threatened to shiver as he felt a collection of energon and coolant drip down onto him, but he stilled himself by laying his head on a headless corpse’s chest. He offlined his optics and pretended not to hear the voices nearby, pretending that he heard a spark beating below him and that he was lying with a live mech … not a dead one.

He was safer here with the dead than the living.

Yet, just as the memory was about to pull him the whole way down into its ever encasing horror that haunted his dreams rather often, something seemed to lurch forward and strike at it as if an armored knight. The youth nearly collapsed from the rush that overcame his spark. Was this what interfacing was like, but without the pleasure? Another mind was with his and it forced the fear away without an ounce of trouble or hesitation. The youth merely panted from the charge of other thoughts and feelings, words, yet no words saying calming things. The youngling, giving into the other mind, found himself falling against the wall for support and slowly sliding down.

Gradually, the pain and worry of the memory was lost into the other mind now. Not knowing what else to do, the youngling just concentrated on it, listening to the whispers it had to offer and warm strength. Was this what it felt like to have a spark-mate, where you could feel them all the time? Was it temperate and comforting like this? Was … was … the youngling’s optics onlined, and he found himself fleeing from the feeling. Primus, no, no, no! This was a bond. Not a spark mate, but … a parasite.

Bluestreak struggled to get to his feet but kept falling back against the wall as another wave of emotions that weren’t his washed over him. Now that his fear was drowned, the other mind was asking questions without words, demanding location, base designs, diagnostics, stasis, and current fuel levels. The youth tried to pull away and hide such information. He had let the other mind in too deeply a moment ago though, and it was wondering about in his head as if it had always been there, going down a familiar road.

Then, as quickly as it had come, it had left, whispering promises of seeing him soon. The youngling was merely left there with a new feeling in his chest and thoughts full of worry. He had accepted the slagger’s part of the bond to push away the memory; now, it was fully cemented into him. With a small click from his vocal processor, Bluestreak pulled his knees into his chest. It was coming for him and there was nothing he could do to stop it. It would sneak into the base, maybe kill someone in the process, and then come feed off him so that the other Autobots could see he was a traitor. Shortly after, they would shoot him, and while he bled out onto the floor, they would cannibalize the parts that they needed, not caring that his spark was beating and his optics still online.

Dragging his head into his knees, the grey mech fought not to start clicking like a weeping sparkling. Yet, he was stressed, tired, and now he had a hungry drone coming his way. His-his time was on the countdown. Maybe he should run away? It was something that had crossed his mind after the incident. He had to push down the idea though because, at the time, energon was rare and deserters were not treated with a kind hand … by either side. So, he stayed and the thought was forgotten. He had become a sniper instead. It was a well known fact that snipers were either never injured or hit with a kill-shot by another sniper. They rarely saw melee or firsthand battle. He would never risk being so close to death again.

Never again would he be someone’s spare parts.

So, the youth sat there, his vents hiccupping. Should he run away? Should he make plans to collect energon secretly and steal an energon converter? Should he find a nice planet or comet to make his home with his parasite? Never again will his voice chit-chat away in its usual buzzing manner because in no way could he have company. Autobots would shoot at him for having a drone, Decepticons would try to force him into their belief, and Neutrals would be afraid of him. He would be, truly, entirely, alone. Despite himself, the youth started to click and cry away, his vents stuttering. What did it matter if he cried? He was alone, after all; no one was there to see him.

Kup stopped in the hall, his fist stalling itself from knocking on the Bluestreak’s door. He drew his head a little closer to the door, listening. It seemed to be clicking … no, crying. The old mech sighed, knowing the sound far too well. He had taken care of more than one youngling in his day, and knew there was only one way to deal with this. Pushing, on the comm. link located outside the door by the key pad, the older mech spoke, “Bluestreak, its Kup, please let me in.”

He then heard the choking of vents as the youngling struggled to drown his cries, and answered hurriedly, “I-click-I’m busy right now. Come back later.”

Kup, in his old age, did not have the patience to play this game. He frowned and stated simply, “Either yah open the door youngling, or I get Prowl to open it for me.”

There was a choking noise, and then a whining sound before there was a screech, the door swishing open. The youth stood there, trying to look as if there was nothing wrong, but his wings were twitching and dragged down towards the floor. Kup himself didn’t have wings but he knew enough mechs that did to know it was a way to show sadness or any emotion located in that field. Maybe he should have let Ratchet deal with this. He always hated this part.

Giving a weak smile, the youth quickly spoke, “W-what’s up, Kup?”

The elder shook his head, knowing this game all too well. Giving a dry look, the old mech stated, “No need to try and hide it, youngling. Just tell me now what’s bothered you in the desert? I could hear your clicking all the way through the door so whatever it was, it was bad. Best to come clean now.”

Bluestreak tightened, his vocal processor whining as he took a frightened step backward. He quickly looked over his shoulder, as if looking for a door, but then looked back at the older mech. He couldn’t run away. Quickly throwing his gaze to the floor, the grey mech whispered, “I-I don’t want to talk about it, Kup.”

The green mech glared at the youth, he was too old for this. He would not daisy-foot around the youngling’s feelings. He had done that in his younger years, but he learned that it was best just to get things out. Leaving them to feaster until the youth was ready was not wise. A simple problem could become a full blown catastrophe. Nope, he wasn’t in the mood for this guessing game. Gaining a frown, he stated simply, “Bluestreak, listen kid, I’m an old mech. My joints are rusting as we speak, so either you tell me what’s bothering you or I’m leaving.”

The youth whimpered as the older mech turned to take a step away, a grin on his face as he set the simple mind game into place, but before he could even take more than one step, a grey hand lashed out and gripped his elbow. Quickly burying the grin he had had on, the old mech looked back and spoke again, “Well, you not going to waste an old mech’s time or what?”

Swallowing, the youth looked to the floor and then whispered, “I can’t Kup. Please, I just had a bad night at the desert. That’s all that’s wrong.”

Kup really wanted to believe the youth, but with the way he was shaking, things were far worse than a bad night. Turning around, the elder reached out a hand and cupped the youngling’s cheek, giving him a slight pat before he started to pull away. Bluestreak suddenly tightened, his wings dropping as if they were drowning. The youngling started to panic, thinking the older mech was leaving him to the parasite that was coming his way, and before he knew it he was clutching to the older mech’s hand tightly. With shivering optics, he quickly whimpered, “Please don’t leave. I just had a nightmare in the desert. That’s all. I just want to recharge, Kup. I haven’t been able to recharge in the past few days because if it. I’m just scared from being alone. Please-please don’t go.”

Kup sighed, knowing the story all too well. Nightmares were something that constantly plagued many younger mechs. Giving into the plea, Kup got his hand free and drew forward, petting the youth on the back softly, trying to make sure he didn’t touch the gunner’s sensitive wings. Then, deciding that he’d suffer Prowl’s wrath later for missing his shift, he took a few steps into the gunner’s quarters and towards the only berth in the room, “Come on youngling, if you can’t sleep, I’ll sleep with you tonight.”

The younger mech merely stood there in shock as he watched Kup crawled onto the berth before him, waving for the youngling to crawl on with him. Bluestreak stood there a minute, clicking, slightly surprised by the older mech’s offer. It wasn’t that mechs didn’t sleep together or share berths in a non-sexual way, but mostly such actions were only done between younglings and creators or younglings and caretakers. Kup wasn’t his caretaker though. He had Hot Rod. Bluestreak didn’t have a caretaker. Nobody wanted him truly, and if they did … they always died shortly afterwards. He never had had a caretaker snuggle with him when he had a nightmare … especially after the incident when he needed one the most. Almost as if not knowing what to do, the youth continued to stand there, his vents picking up in hiccupped gasps, he was going to start crying again.

As if reading Bluestreak’s thoughts, the older mech sat up and took the grey mech by his elbow and willed the slightly smaller mech onto the berth. Bluestreak followed simply, his clicking becoming choking gasps. With a small whisper of its okay, the elder mech wrapped his arms around the smaller frame, allowing Bluestreak to bury his head between Kup’s neck and chest. Then, once comfortable, the youth continued his earlier crying and clutched to the older being as if he’d fall away from existence if he didn’t have an iron hard grasp on Kup’s form.

Clicking back in a way that was meant to calm sparklings and younglings, Kup allowed the youth to cry all he wanted. He didn’t mind, he knew younglings could be easily upset especially when the world started to calm down. The youth probably wasn’t really upset about the nightmare in the desert, but his thoughts in the desert which bore the nightmare. It was a reflection period, and the youth probably couldn’t take in the things that had happened to him and what he had done. Bluestreak might have left the desert, but the things he had found there were still haunting hi

XXX

There was a whine as the larger aircraft fell down to the earth like a goose finally ready for rest. The tires squealed as they hit the landing strip, the large beast coming to a loud, grounding, halt. For a minute, all was still, the unloading vehicles dragging up the strip towards the airborne military vehicle. There was a loud clunk though, and suddenly, something fell to the ground … something metal. Then, as the lights from the coming vehicles threatened to taste the underbelly of the huge ship, there was a scurrying of many metallic legs. So, when the light fell on the underbelly, there was nothing there. The thing was already scurrying for the grass, one thought on its mind, “I’m coming master.”

XXX

Paw07: Hope you liked the chapter. I’ve decided that I’d like to have a beta for this story. So, my loyal readers, if you happen to want to beta for this one just drop a review. I figure that I’d rather have someone who likes the story beta than just pick somebody at random. ^_~