Chapter Text
"Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards." ― Søren Kierkegaard
The squelch of mud echoed through the still evening air, and Arcee was quickly growing to regret every decision she’d ever made that led her here. The grassy field surrounding her and Bumblebee was massive, hedged by rolling hills and scattered trees. And mud. Lots of it. It would take ages to clean it all from her articulators, and she ex-vented harshly as they neared the crash site.
Ratchet’s systems had detected a small Cybertronian ship entering the solar system two days ago, and Team Prime was immediately on edge when the ship failed to respond to their repeated hails. There was no Autobot or Decepticon designation on the ship that they could find, nor was any message sent to confirm its identity. However, when it eventually drifted away from any sort of logical course and became caught in Earth’s atmosphere, Optimus deduced that whoever was aboard the vessel was in need of aid far more than they were a less-than-stellar welcoming committee. And regardless of if potential friend or foe, the crash site would need to be investigated lest the Decepticons found it first.
Now after several minutes of trekking through the muddy Welsh landscape, Arcee and Bumblebee neared the smoking wreckage. The ship looked old. Really old. Like far-too-old-to-still-be-flying-at-this-point old; it made perfect sense to the two-wheeler why its helm was currently buried in a mound of muck. The poor thing was more welding than metal plating at this point, and Arcee felt apprehensive regarding the vessel’s structural integrity as she kicked open what was once a presumably functioning door. She kept her blaster raised and took point, Bumblebee following close behind. He beeped out a tentative greeting, optics whirring as they adjusted to the low light of the ship’s interior. It was largely silent, save for the faint groaning of heated metal as it settled into the soft, damp earth.
“No signs of life yet,” Arcee reported.
“Be careful, Arcee, and for the love of Primus don’t touch anything .”
“Cool your vents, Ratchet,” she teased, tone light, “there’s no signs of this being a plague ship. It’s tiny, for one, only big enough for one, maybe two bots for long-term interstellar travel.”
A series of frantic beeps drew the two-wheeler’s attention to the ship’s control room, which seemed to have sustained the majority of the damage in the harsh landing. Barely visible beneath the wreckage was a single arm, servo laying limp against the crumpled remains of the ship’s control console. Bumblebee hastily retracted his blasters and rushed forward.
“Bee, wait!” Arcee quickly followed and trained a blaster on the bot’s still form, optics flickering between her fellow Autobot and the prone bot’s dull gray chassis. “What if this’s a trap? The ship’s unidentified, we can’t be sure we’re not dealing with a ‘Con here, or another trick from Megatron. Makeshift might be dead, but there’s no guarantee he’s stayed that way.”
::No ‘Con would willingly leave themselves this vulnerable in front of Autobots, Arcee. They’re hurt and need help.::
“We don’t even know if they’re still alive.”
::Then help me dig so we can find out!:: Bee beeped, uncharacteristic irritation in his tone. His optics dilated to reveal wide, round rings of light, and his wings drooped and flickered anxiously where he knelt beside the wreckage.
Shocked, Arcee blinked and considered his words for a moment before she forcefully ex-vented and retracted her blaster. Together they bent the warped metal frame away from the stranger’s legs and cleared away what rubble they could. They definitely weren’t a fighter or laborer, based on frame size--they were a bit smaller than Ratchet and definitely not a new-build, all curves and rounded edges not often seen in bots equipped for combat. Despite their lack of bulk or stream-lined design, it was clear they’d sustained some fairly major damage in their time: some of their armored plating had been replaced, along with a few other parts, some of the plating’s edges scarred by rust. Deep dents and scrapes adorned most of their chassis, which dully reflected the bright blue glow of the pair’s optics in the dark cabin. Their own optics were offline, features blank and smooth in the light, and a dark sludge slowly dripped from a particularly large wound in the protoform on their side. By all appearances, it appeared they’d perished in the crash. Arcee’s spark dimmed in sympathy.
Still, Bumblebee retrieved a medical scanner from his subspace and slowly guided the light over the bot’s still form. There . A faint, barely-detectable signal, a sign of a still-lit spark. He beeped and whirred, elated, and reported their status to base.
“Are you certain, Bumblebee?” Optimus’ voice was tight with worry. When he received an affirmative, he nodded and turned to Ratchet at the ground bridge’s controls. “Return to base immediately. We must administer medical aid as quickly as possible. We can return to the vessel for a more thorough search when they have been stabilized.”
“I’ll prepare medibay.”
“I’ll send you more exact coordinates.” Arcee sent their updated location to Ratchet, one closer to the ship to avoid carrying their new guest on the two-mile trek she and Bumblebee had taken on the way to the crash site. She stepped outside the ship, intent on clearing the way to the ground bridge portal, when she caught a glimpse of headlights and scarlet plating through the dense fog.
“ Scrap . ‘Bee, we have incoming ‘Cons.” She pulled her blaster from subspace and turned to Bumblebee. “You carry, I’ll cover.”
The scout whirred in agreement and carefully extracted the bot from the ship’s wreckage, wincing at the harsh scrape of metal against metal as the crushed control panel protested the movement.
“Sometimes I think Megatron gets off on sending me to the slums of this dirtball of a planet. It will take cycles to clean this muck out of my joints! He’s lucky that I recently applied a fresh coating of ceramic, or my paint job would be ruined!”
“Aw, relax KO, you’ll always look great, Earth grime or not.”
“You do flatter me, Breakdown.”
The familiar voices drew closer with every squelch of muddy footsteps, and Bumblebee was quick to heave the bot completely from the debris and drape their arm over his shoulders. ‘It’s a shame Bulkhead isn’t here’ , Bee thinks, ‘we could use the extra muscle and firepower--this bot is heavier than they look ’, though his thoughts were quickly silenced when that all-too-familiar voice cut through the quiet air, far closer this time.
“Well well, what a pleasant surprise, Breakdown! It seems the Autobots also came to welcome the newest arrival to this scrapheap of a planet,” Knockout drawled, his wide smirk plain to see as he and several vehicons broke through the fog. His partner was close behind and grinned at the bots before him. “Though it looks like you’ll have to save your next rematch with Bulkhead for an-”
A blast of energon prompted a surprised Ack! from the medic, and Arcee urged Bumblebee forward just as a swirling vortex of green and blue appeared a few yards away from the ship’s entrance. While neither were ones to run from a fight, they were heavily outgunned, and they needed to fall back immediately if they didn’t want to walk away as damaged as the bot ‘Bee was carrying.
Several energon beams are shot toward them, drowning out Knockout’s enraged cursing over the damage to his paint job. Bumblebee whirred and beeped frantically, and the two Autobots rushed into the familiar sensation of the ground bridge to return home.
The sensation of muck beneath their pedes shifted to the familiar clang of metal as they entered the base, and Bulkhead was quick to relieve Bumblebee and carry the fallen bot to the medical berth.
“Quickly, Bulkhead” Ratchet urged, scanner in servo. Before the bot could fully settle on the berth, Ratchet was scanning the still form beneath him, and what he saw caused a harsh in-vent of surprise. “This isn’t possible…” He examined the thick, sticky sludge sloughing out of the bot’s midsection, optics wide and optical ridges low on his faceplate. “This- this is energon. Old energon. It’s been heated over a long period of time, almost completely evaporated within the bot’s systems. This is the crude remaining material. They must’ve been running on empty for ages ; it’s a wonder they’re still alive!” The medic snapped into action and began preparing a transfusion line. “Bumblebee, quickly, I need two units of medical grade energon!”
The muscle car nodded with an affirmative whir and raced to the energon supply room.
“That must’ve been why their ship crashed--it ran out of fuel just like they did,” Bulkhead supposed, standing well out of Ratchet’s way.
“Guess we’re not the only ones struggling to fill our tanks around this corner of the galaxy.” Arcee crossed her arms, optics flickering anxiously between Ratchet’s well-practiced servos and the bot’s still form. “Gotta imagine it’s hard to come by when you’re bouncing around space without a side.” As far as she could tell, there was no insignia or brand anywhere on the Cybertronian or their ship. A neutral party in the war was far from unheard of--a large portion of Cybertronians did what they could to stay out of the war and fled to the far reaches of space to escape Megatron’s bloodlust--but it was rare for them to actually stumble across any of them; NAILs* tended to purposefully stay out of the action. Why one would respond to a message from Optimus Prime himself was anyone’s guess.
*Non-Aligned Indigenous Lifeforms
“Some of those scars look old, too, all healed wrong. Couldn’t be from the crash.”
“A... correct observation, Bulkhead,” Ratchet admitted, though it sounded like it pained him to do so. “Many injuries were partially repaired through shoddy workmanship, mere patch jobs using junk parts. No, I don’t believe this bot has seen proper medical attention in eons, by the look of things.”
Optimus, unnervingly stiff and quiet through the summation of the bot’s injuries—even for him—stepped closer to the berth. “Will they survive, Ratchet?” he asked, subdued.
The medic scoffed, voice prideful and sure. “They will if I have anything to say about it.”
Optimus offered a small nod, concern in his optics, before he turned his attention from their patient’s prone form to Bumblebee as the young scout rushed into the med bay.
::This is the last of it.:: The scout reported, wings drooping with worry as he placed the high-grade energon atop a medical tray. A tenseness overtook the room, and for the first time since starting his evaluation of his patient, Ratchet’s servos slowed. He looked to his Prime.
“Optimus, if one of you returns injured from your next mission…” Ratchet ex-vented harshly, frustrated and unsure. “Do we risk our own survival for the sake of a stranger? Without a reliable energon supply…”
“They’re a NAIL, and there’s no telling whose side they’ll pick once they come around, if they choose one at all. I don’t know if it’s worth the gamble to heal a non-ally when we need the fuel ourselves,” Arcee admitted, though her conflicted feelings were clear by the lines etched around her intake. There was no cruelty in her words. “We can’t be sure they won’t turn against us the moment they step off that med berth.”
Optimus’s dermas thinned as he mulled over their concerns. “Your concern is noted, but it is the prerogative of Autobots everywhere to help those in need. Clearly, this bot came to Earth in search of aid, and we will deliver said aid, even at a personal cost. We will address our energon shortage concerns once our guest has recovered. Then, we will decide on our next course of action,” the Prime decided, tone firm but not unkind as his optics made contact with each of his team members’. Arcee, unconvinced but willing to follow Optimus’ orders, felt deep in her spark that there was something the Prime wasn’t telling them.
With Optimus’s approval, Ratchet set back to work and finished preparing the energon transfusion. “It will take a few cycles to complete the transfusion, and potentially more to heal some of their more minor wounds, once I patch up the worst of the damage to their protoform. Now shoo, out! I need space to work.”
No one jumped at the chance to argue when Ratchet transformed his servo into a blowtorch, though, they noticed, Optimus’ gaze seemed to linger on the stranger’s faceplate for a little too long before he finally tore his attention away and exited the room.
(cw: vomit, graphic descriptions of medical issues)
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The mech startled awake, blazing optics flickering online and cooling systems kicking on so suddenly they grunted. They lurched away from the hard, flat surface beneath them, optics glancing around the unfamiliar space, gaze unfocused. A familiar flash of yellow in the corner of the room caught their attention, but a sudden spike of pain in their helm drew it away again.
“ Ehp ep ep! Not so quickly. Take things slow, easy now.”
The blue bot groaned, lurched as a wave of pain and nausea lanced through their tanks. They gagged, started to cough. Hard. Something was blocking their intake tube.
“Slag it, you’ve got a clot. Here, turn on your side- that’s it.”
A servo forced its way past their intake, latched onto something. It pulled, and another servo held their pauldron down as they retched around the thing clogging their throat. It pulled, and energon spilled from the corners of their dermas, drip drip dripping onto the berth. It pulled, and the thing came out, pieces of tank lining and metal held together by strings of hardened, blackened energon. The servo against their pauldron moved to hold theirs, to comfort.
“Augh, that’s disgusting!” an unfamiliar voice said.
“ Miko , some privacy, please ! Bulkhead, get your charge out of here.”
“Come on, Miko,” presumably Bulkhead, said, queasiness clear in his tone. “I don’t want to see this either.”
They swallowed, coughed again, and settled back onto the berth. Optical fluid dripped down their faceplate.
“Breathe, take a moment. You’re alright.”
They gazed blearily up at the mech towering over them. A medic, obviously, turquoise optics shining bright with concern.
Primus , their helm ached , their throat, tank, frame. Pain sent crimson alerts cluttering their processor, and they unsuccessfully attempted to dismiss them with a grimace. Their optics shuttered, and it took several nanokliks for them to find the command to open them again.
The medic’s EM field flared out in concern, brushed with orange urgency against their own weak, wavering field. “No, none of that. Keep your optics onli-”
They fell into recharge before the medic could finish.
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The next time they woke, the room was darker.
A slow ex-vent left their cooling system, relieved to find far fewer crimson notifications cluttering their processor. Far less pain this time. They reset their proximity sensors, which told them they were in a far smaller space than before. Almost cozy, save for the faint hum and beeps of equipment beside them.
Heavy footsteps approached them, and they onlined their optics completely to see a smudge of red and white plating. Optics that were met with sharp, searing pain as a light was shone into them, piercing straight into their struggling processor.
“Thought medics were supposed to help people, not make things worse ,” they rasped, breathless, flinching away from the light.
The medic--the same one from before--scoffed and shook his helm. The flashlight in his pointer digit retracted with a soft click, and he noted his findings on a data pad pulled from subspace. “I’m glad to see you’re awake and far more cognizant this time.”
He placed a light servo against their medical interface panel, waited for a moment, and opened it with practiced movements when he was met with no objection. He wired himself into an open port, and the sudden foreign presence rooting through their systems sent a spark of discomfort through their processor. It was far from invasive, or at least no more than any medical exam would be, but it was far from a familiar sensation.
A few more notes typed into his data pad and a few faint hums and huffs from the medic, and he returned his attention to his patient. “Your internal systems are all rebooting as expected, though you could use with a processor defrag sometime in the next few solar cycles, along with plenty of rest.” His field shimmered with impatience and frustration, though, and the light blue bot couldn’t help but wince. “Which is all far better news than expected, considering the state we found you in--I doubt you could’ve found a mech in worse shape!”
He ex-vented, exhaustion clear in the way he held his frame. “The procedures required to get you even remotely functional again took nearly an entire solar cycle! The repair of your external injuries was the easy part; your internals required far more extensive treatment. It will take half a vorn for you to recover completely!” His features softened, as he held their gaze, and his pauldron sagged. “How are you feeling now?”
They allowed the medic’s words to sink in, but static seemed to overtake the space between their audials. They quickly filed the information away in a folder, deep in their processor, to mull over later. They settled as best they could manage, a reflection of the medic’s own weary form. Exhaustion tugged at them, made keeping their optics online difficult despite their recent recharge.
“Like I was hit full-force by an asteroid,” they finally managed. “But I’m alive, which is far more than I expected to be when I offlined. Thank you.”
The medic’s dermas twitched into the beginnings of a smile, and he made a quick adjustment to the device beside the med berth. He wordlessly administered a level II pain chip, and some of their discomfort instantly eased with a soft, relieved ex-vent. Any amusement that had previously warmed his optics quickly faded.
His field bristled and flared, causing them to wince and grow tense where they laid.
“That’s to be expected, with a crash landing damaging your systems in addition to damage caused by long-term starvation. ” A complex emotion clouded his faceplate, one Venture couldn’t quite identify. “The repair to the worst of your internal injuries took nearly a full solar cycle to complete. Necrosis in your tanks led to a mild rust infection that weakened your immune response--you were so low on auto-repair nanites, it’s a wonder you were able to stay alive through the surgery! The lack of energon circulation to your body led to multi-system damage, nearly to the point of complete failure, and what energon did remain in your tanks had hardened and nearly-crystalized from overheating! What in Primus’ name kept you from putting yourself in stasis, if your energon supply was so low?!”
“Ratchet, please,” warned a calm, soft baritone. Venture couldn’t quite see its source, over the medic’s bulky form, though the sound was achingly familiar.
He ex-vented, attempted to tame his wild EM field, and took a step back to settle onto a nearby reinforced crate. He lowered himself to the newcomer’s level. “A conversation for another time--my name is Ratchet, I’m the Autobots Chief Medical Officer at outpost Omega-1, on Earth. Can you tell me your designation?”
The bot seemed unsure for a brief moment, glancing over the mech’s pauldron. Their frame went rigid. Realization flooded their processor, and their faceplate split into a disbelieving grin.
“Orion?”
Optimus stiffened from where he stood near the medical bay entrance. A memory file flared to life within his processor, of his life on Cybertron within the Iacon archives, eons ago.
A young bot, still an apprentice with the Hall’s investigation sector, excitedly wandering the archives in search of any and all information on Cybertronian culture their servos could touch. Even after being assigned there for at least a few centuries, that excitement never faded.
They grinned at the archivist, features kind and full of life as they offered him a small cube of energon between the stacks (despite the Hall’s rules). “You’ve been working hard--it looked like you needed it,” they winked. The gesture was clearly awkward for them, which only made Orion’s smile grow as he accepted the energon and watched them sneak back to their station.
The newcomer struggled to raise themself from the medical berth, though their optics were bright with that same excitement Optimus remembered. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, I-”
The lines of pain and exhaustion etched into their facial plate deepened, then, and they only just managed to catch themselves on the edge of the berth before they collapsed. Ratchet was suddenly close at servo, catching and steadying them where they sat. It seemed that their proximity sensors hadn’t quite recalibrated yet.
“Optimus, do you know them?” the medic asked, incredulous. “You don’t think you might’ve mentioned that by now?!”
“Ratchet-”
“We worked in the Hall of Records together, eons ago,” they explained. Something seemed to click within their processor, then, and their EM field retracted close to their battered form. ““Optimus”… right, I’d forgotten that you were made a Prime. I-I’d left Cybertron, before the Council had…” A different kind of pain flickered in their optics before they fully settled back onto the med berth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- to disrespect-”
“It is of no consequence, Venture.” Optimus assured. He stepped closer, placed a servo atop their pauldron, gave it a gentle squeeze. “I was not certain it was you, before, and wanted to verify that my suspicions were correct. It has been… a long time, far too long. You’ve changed much, since we last met. As have I.” He smiled. “It is nice to see you again, old friend.”
Venture’s features brightened, some, and they glanced away in an attempt to hide the fluid rising to their optics.
“I noticed your form was forged rather than a cold construct, so I suspected you might’ve known Cybertron before the war, but-” Ratchet couldn’t help but smile at the idea of having gained not only a new ally, but a fellow friend of Orion's.
“Yes, I was, uh, constructed before the war broke out. I was made for cultural and historical investigation and preservation and was… gone, when the fighting broke out properly, on a research mission to a distant colony. I did not discover the-” Venture’s vocalizer clicked and briefly turned to static as they fought against the pressure in their intake, but they quickly composed themselves. “Some who fled the planet arrived on the colony later, requesting sanctuary, and they told me what happened. Of the Council appointing a new Prime and the radicals from Kaon wreaking havoc until things eventually…” More optical fluid spilled down their faceplate, dripped onto their chassis. “...I went back, saw what happened to Cybertron later. I needed to see for myself.”
Ratchet placed a servo on their shoulder, offering a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry you had to see the destruction for yourself. It’s- it’s still painful to think about, after all these eons.” Optimus noted the softness in his medic’s optics, one he rarely saw when they were among the other bots, and his dermas twitched into the barest hint of a smile, one that spoke of both great sorrow and affection.
“While it is true Cybertron is lost, there is still hope that life will one day be restored to our planet. And for now, the Autobots have found a new home, here, on Earth. It is a strange planet, but one that we have grown to care for and have sworn to defend against any threat, including the Decepticons. We hope that you might join our cause, if you’d like.” Optimus’ voice grew softer, upon asking his request, words lifted with a touch of hope.
Venture’s optics flickered in surprise, intake agape. “I-I’m not sure how much help I’d be in- in the whole ‘protecting the planet’ thing. I’m not much of a fighter...” They gestured to the myriad of scarred plating and rust adorning their body. “...clearly. I’m not even properly fitted for combat.”
Ratchet stepped back to catch their gaze. “You’ve managed to survive for vorns in space practically on your own! That’s nothing to scoff at.”
Optimus’ smile grew at the irony.
“Besides, preserving Cybertronian culture--it’s never been more important! So much has been lost to time, but perhaps with you, we can rebuild, bring back our traditions! Primus knows these mechlings need a proper teacher.” Excitement and light burned brightly in Ratchet’s tired optics. Having another proud Cybertronian join their ranks and bring back even a small bit of his culture to Earth was more than he could’ve ever hoped for.
He then grew quieter, unsure, but hopeful. “And just think of how your expertise will help if- when we do manage to rebuild. We’ll need your knowledge to teach the next generation of Cybertronians of our ways, our history.”
Venture’s dermas lifted into a shy smile, optics flickering away from the medic’s. “If... if you think I might have a place here then… I’d be happy to join your group. It’s been a long time since…” ‘Since I wasn’t alone.’ Their gaze lifted to Optimus’ faceplate. “Besides, it will be nice to catch up with an old friend.”
He grinned.
“Woah! New ‘Bot in the house!” Miko rushed out of Bulkhead’s alt-form up to the edge of the platform, climbing onto the safety bars in excitement to get a good look at the Base’s newest addition.
Venture smiled politely, processor taking a moment to translate the new, alien language to Neocybex. Once they’d been cleared by Ratchet to leave med bay, Bumblebee had been kind enough to help them connect to a human invention, the Internet , to download enough information to gain a basic understanding of at least English, but it would take a few more solar cycles of processing to nail down the dialect and become comfortable in conversation.
Team Prime hadn’t quite gotten around to developing human language packs for instant download yet in the form of data slugs, as would be standard for situations like this, and universal translators weren’t exactly readily available on a backwater planet like Earth. They would just have to make due, for now.
“Greetings, little one.” Venture offered their undamaged servo to shake, which Miko excitedly returned. “I am told by the Bulkhead that you are the Miko? Loud and excitable and… colorful,” they observed, optics on the vibrant pink of Miko’s hair.
“You got that right! Loud and proud, baby! What’s your name? Are you another Wrecker like Bulk and Wheeljack?! How much Decepticon tailpipe have you kicked? What’s your alt-mode look like? I bet it’s so cool !”
Overwhelmed by the slew of questions, Venture’s optics widened as they struggled to process them.
A quick transforming whir sounded, and Bulkhead rushed over from the hangar entrance. “Alright, ease up Miko,” Bulkhead said, servos raised placatingly, tone somehow both cautious and affectionate towards his charge. “Venture’s still pretty new to English, try not to bombard them with too many questions at once. It took me a while to learn, too.”
Miko grimaced but kindly appeased her best friend’s request. “Aw, my bad, Bluebot. Er- Venture, right?”
Venture nodded and shot Bulkhead a grateful smile. “Correct. I am pleased to be meeting you. Er- no, I am not a Wrecker. I believe Bulkhead’s function was a Maker, before, which was good for Wrecking later. I was created for Cybertronian cultural investigation!”
“Oh.” Miko visibly deflated, though she wasn’t unkind in adding, “Still, that’s pretty cool to know all about Autobot history and stuff!”
Ratchet spoke up from behind his monitors, having been half-listening to the children’s introductions. “Not just Autobot history, Miko-- all of Cybertronian history and culture, far pre-dating the creation of Autobots and Decepticons.”
“Wow…” Raf said in awe, eyes round behind his glasses as he stepped onto the platform himself, backpack slung over his shoulder. He blinked, remembering his manners, and offered Venture a polite wave. “Hi, I’m Rafael, but the ‘Bots all call me Raf. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Pleased to be meeting you, as well, Rafael.” Venture imitated the boy’s wave, to his delight. “And the Bumblebee is your protector?”
“Yeah! ‘Bee’s the best.” Raf grinned, though he added a quick “no offense” to the rest of the bots around the base. The muscle car gave a victorious, delighted whir.
“None taken,” Arcee smirked, transforming into her base form. She rested a servo on her hip plate, amusement in her optics as she watched Jack’s shocked expression upon seeing the new bot in the room.
“You didn’t think to tell me that you found another Autobot!?” Jack exclaimed with a dramatic gesture towards Venture.
“Thought it’d make for a nice surprise.” Arcee’s vents whirred in an approximation of a chuckle, and she neared the platform to lean against it, having neglected recharge in favor of keeping watch over the Base as Venture received treatment. “And I was right, as usual.”
Venture attempted to copy Arcee’s laugh, though the chuckle came out far more awkward. “I am apologies if I have offended you by being here.”
Jack, alarmed, climbed the platform steps and approached the newcomer. “No! No, no, not at all. It’s a good surprise, promise.” He smiled. “I’m Jack.”
“I am the Venture,” they introduced with a soft, relieved ex-vent. “I have arrived newly on your planet, and the Or- uh, the Optimus has allowed kindly for me to stay here.” They again offered a servo to shake, which Jack took.
Raf spoke up, concern in his voice. “’Bee told me what happened last night, when you crashed. Are you okay?”
“Wait, crash ?! Were you attacked by ‘Cons?” Jack added, brows furrowed with similar concern.
“No, I am safe! Your protectors recovered me from my ship crash. My ship and me were empty of energon,” they reassured. “The Ratchet has fixed me.”
The kids all voiced their relief, and Venture felt their spark warm in response. It was difficult to fully grasp the human’s feelings and intentions, what with their lack of EM fields, but their behaviors were not completely dissimilar to that of Cybertronians, and it was Venture’s nature to catch on quickly.
“If you would be kind, I have questions as well.” Venture grinned as children eagerly nodded. They retrieved a data pad Ratchet had gifted them from subspace. “Are all of the humans so small? How many millennia are you online? How many languages are on your planet? What are the human reproductive cycles li-?”
“ Okay! I think that’s enough for now!” Bulkhead quickly placed a servo between Venture and the trio. “Plenty of time for questions later!”
Venture’s smile turned tight, but they nodded their assent. “Ah, of course. Gratitude, for the introductions. I am excited to know the Miko, Rafael, and Jack more.”
“Come on , Bulk, there’s no harm in talking to her!” Miko groused.
“ Them , actually, not ‘her’.” Arcee straightened, gesturing kindly towards the vintage blue bot. “Venture’s not a femme or mech. I believe your language has a word for it, but the concept of gender is a bit different on Cybertron. We just are what we are and can transform when we like.” Understanding was clear on the two-wheeler’s faceplate, and Venture rumbled quietly in appreciation.
“Oh, cool! Still, I wanna get to know them!”
“Hooow abouuuut we give ‘em the grand tour, then? I don’t think they’ve gotten a real chance to see anything outside here and med bay.” Bulkhead suggested. He offered a servo to Miko, who happily climbed on with an elated whoop.
“ Heck yeah , let’s go! Come on, V, you’re gonna love it!”
Venture froze, glancing at the two remaining humans with wide optics.
“It’s a nickname. You give them to your friends!” Raf explained, assuming the look on their faceplate was confusion. He slipped his backpack from his shoulder and retrieved his laptop. “After your tour, I’d be happy to talk more about human culture with you, if you want. If I don’t know something, I’m sure I can find it on here.”
Venture relaxed with a warm, easy smile. “I would like this very much.” They offered the two humans and other bots a wave before following the Autobots’ resident Wreckers to explore their new home.
The next several solar cycles went by with little incident, and the Base’s newest resident found themself feeling more at home than they had in eons. Being around other intelligent life that wasn’t hostile was a novel experience, save for the few friendly clusters of colonists Venture had met on their travels. It was a welcome change, and their gratitude towards Optimus for allowing them to stay only continued to grow, though a familiar ache settled in their chassis, seeing how much their friend had changed since they last met.
Optimus, while always a bit more subdued, was far quieter and reserved than Venture could remember them being. The burden of leadership weighed heavily on his shoulders, and despite his new, bulky, powerful form (‘ When did he get so massive !?’ ), it hurt to see him forced to carry the burden alone. Observations and commentary that would’ve once made Orion laugh were met with terse silence, and the Prime was rarely around the Base unless recharging or consulting with one of the other ‘Bots. Mostly, he seemed to drive.
He invited Venture for one of these drives.
(The process of finding a suitable alt-form had been a tricky but necessary one. Rafael’s help in disabling the security cameras at a car dealership a few towns over was instrumental in their success, and it wasn't long before Venture found themself able to transform for the first time in ages.)
(Bumblebee appraised their choice of a vintage blue 1963 VW beetle with an approving whir and two thumbs up, much to Venture’s delight.)
The two of them drove for a long time, weaving through the land on tightly packed dirt and asphalt, through weather-carved canyons beneath the Earth’s sole blazing star. Once Optimus determined they were far enough away from human eyes, he transformed and settled down on the cliff edge to oversee the sun’s slow descent below the horizon.
Venture couldn’t remember having seen such vibrant colors before, such vivid oranges and rich reds and brilliant yellows mingled together to create the picturesque scene before them, one worthy of the awe Venture felt deep in their spark.
“This planet is beautiful,” they murmured, settling beside their old friend.
“That it is. So different from Cybertron, but so full of life. Even in this barren desert, with its extreme climate, these organic creatures thrive.” Optimus gestured to a lizard scaling the side of a rock a few yards away, then to a hawk flying overhead. “I admire their resilience.”
The buggy smiled and drew their knees close to their chassis as they admired the view. “It’s… refreshing, to see so much life after spending so long in space. So many sounds and colors and smells, so much to see and experience… It’s wonderful, if not a bit overwhelming.” Venture chanced a glance up to Optimus and managed to catch the tiny, almost relaxed smile on his faceplate.
“Indeed, I can imagine it was rather… lonely, for you, during your travels.”
Venture looked away and hummed. “Makes reuniting with an old friend that much sweeter. And making new ones, too.”
Their optics turned sad, and they worried at one of the bolts on their wrist. “I missed you, Optimus. I miss everyone back home. Teras, Backdraft, Jazz, Influx, Stormrunner… I don’t even know how many of them are still out there… how many are just gone, now , ” they said around the static in their vocalizer.
Optimus’ features turned grim. “It is true we have lost many to the Allspark in this war, that we have lost our home... but we have also gained much: allies and friends, even family.” He reached across Venture’s shoulders and pulled them closer as optical fluid finally slipped down their faceplate. “You will live to see our home reborn, old friend, I promise you.”
Venture curled closer, vents shuttering with pain. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to join your war, Optimus.”
The Prime was quiet for a moment.
“You have far more strength within you than you realize, old friend. But the Autobots and I will respect your decision, whatever it may be, should you choose to join us in our fight or not. You have a home here, with us.”
Silence filled the air between them, save for Venture’s shaky ex-venting, but these too grew quiet as Earth’s star sank below the horizon and the chill of night settled over the desert.
“Do you remember the way Alpha Trion’s faceplate used to scrunch up when he was annoyed by something Cascade did? Seemed like he could never please the guy, no matter how many cycles of overtime he spent in the Hall.”
Optimus smiled. “I do.”
“Or how Influx and, oh, what was his name...
“Blueshift, I believe.”
“ Yes! How they’d find any corner in the Hall they could find to canoodle when Influx would drop off his permit requests?”
“I wish I could forget,” Optimus joked, and Venture laughed, optics bright and far chassis lighter.
The two spoke for hours, reminiscing on lives long past, and discussed their hopes for the one ahead of them. And when they returned to Base late into the night, tiredly bidding one another a good night as they returned to their berth rooms for recharge, Ratchet could only smile behind his monitors.
In the few solar cycles since their arrival, Venture’s grasp on Earth language improved significantly, for which they were grateful. While none of the humans seemed to mind the slight language barrier, it put the cultural investigator more at ease to have a full grasp of the language of the people around them. It certainly made bonding with the children easier, as well as the two adult humans that stopped by the Base from time to time.
(Agent Fowler was pleasantly surprised to see another bot in the Base, though he voiced his dread in informing the higher-ups of the arrival of yet another Cybertronian to Earth. Venture found the human strange, and a little dim, but save for the harsh, demanding tone he used to speak to Optimus, he seemed relatively harmless.)
(June was as kind as her son and was relieved to meet a Cybertronian who didn’t seem as hungry for violence as the rest of the Autobots, if only for Jack’s safety. Venture appreciated her willingness to answer some of their questions about humanity and their strange organic bodies.)
Jack didn’t seem to have much interest in their presence at all--or most of the Autobots besides Arcee and Optimus for that matter--but remained polite when visiting the base. Venture suspected he was simply preoccupied with his education, work, and (as Arcee put it) potential romantic exploits.
Miko turned out to be just as much of a spitfire as her first impression suggested, loudly chattering away to Venture at every opportunity when she wasn’t joyriding with Bulkhead. Both made the occasional social faux pas with one another, simply due to the dichotomy between their personalities, but all-in-all, Venture was grateful for Miko’s immediate acceptance of their entrance into her life. She even suggested Venture find their own human to “adopt,” but caught on quickly to the bot’s reluctance at the thought.
One instance of faux pas took place when Miko attempted to introduce Venture to “shriek metal” music.
“You’ll love this, V, it’s Bulkhead’s favorite!” the teen assured, plugging their musical device into a sound amplifier.
Bulkhead stood beside the main platform, close to Miko’s stage, arms poised in an approximate reflection of Miko’s own. “Enough waiting, let’s rock !”
Venture smiled politely, data pad in servo in preparation to record their observations of human music, but said datapad went crashing to the ground as Miko struck her first chord.
[WARNING] audial overload detected, damage imminent
>> troubleshooting
-troubleshoot phase---COMPLETE [report.fil]
-commencing shutdown sequence [1]
>> program.exe
-speech systems---OFFLINE
-proximity alarm---OFFLINE
-support systems disengaging---COMPLETE
They cried out in alarm and instinctively covered their audials with both servos, hunching down in pain at the shrill noise. Their venting system audibly kicked on in their distress, attempting to cool their systems as their HUD grew clustered with orange warnings. They shuttered their optics with a distressed whine.
Miko could barely hear their distress over the sound of her own playing, eyes closed as she lost herself to the music with her partner wailing beside her. It only took a moment for Bulkhead to feel the frayed edges of Venture’s field, though, and he quickly stopped to send a confused databurst to them. :: What’s going on; are you hurt? :: His frown only deepened when he received no response.
“ Miko , would you mind!? ” Ratchet snapped. He pinched the space beneath his chevron. “Some of us are attempting to-” The irritation melted from his faceplate as he caught sight of Venture’s hunched form, and he rushed over with the calm urgency of a veteran field medic.
He shot an accusing glare towards Bulkhead and his charge, and the music abruptly stopped. “What did you do , Miko?”
Bulkhead spoke up in conjunction with Miko: “ N-nothing ! I dunno what’s wrong-!” “I didn’t-!”
>> self-soothe protocols in progress
-optimal vibrational frequency established
-audial coverings--ENGAGED
-ventilation systems now at maximum capacity
A moan interrupted their shouting, and Venture transformed their helm to create two headphone-like cups around their audial fins, effectively muffling the sound around them. Their engine sputtered to life, and Venture placed their undamaged servo against their chassis to feel the engine’s rumbling, vents now blasting as they attempted to cool their overwhelmed systems. Unaware of Ratchet’s presence and their surroundings, the buggy blindly sent a databurst underscored with emergency glyphs through the shared Autobot frequency. :: Systems compromised. Assistance required. Damage imminent. ::
Bulkhead winced, and his attempt to reach out was quickly aborted upon receiving a death glare from Ratchet.
Ratchet’s optics softened in understanding, though, as he turned to the buggy, and he heaved a heavy ex-vent. “I think that’s enough music for now.” His voice was uncharacteristically quiet as the medic eased Venture to their feet and sent a databurst to the buggy. :: I’ll take you to your quarters. ::
Venture nodded their assent, and the two retreated to the Base’s residential wing.
Bulkhead watched their retreating forms with lead in his tanks, field radiating guilt and concern.
Miko glanced towards Bulkhead in confusion. “What was that about?”
“No idea…”
The pair failed to comment when they noticed the way Ratchet seemed to try and control his volume when chastising them in the future.
Rafael and Bumblebee arrived at the Base sometime later that evening and, after a brief conversation with Ratchet, joined Venture in their berth room. The trio had been meeting regularly since Venture’s arrival to Earth, spending time talking or simply just being around each other while they worked on their own separate projects. Venture threw themself into entering everything they could recall about their knowledge of Cybertronian culture into the Autobots’ data banks. While most of the artifacts and physical effects present on their ship were taken by the Decepticons shortly after Venture’s rescue, the data present on the ship’s hard drive was able to be partially recovered thanks to the combined prowess of Ratchet and Rafael. Now it was simply a matter of trying to fill in the missing pieces.
A comfortable silence had formed between them, and Venture relaxed against their berth with a slow ex-vent. The strain on their processor had eased, now that they were able to do the work they loved in relative quiet, save for the comforting sound of clicking from Raf’s keyboard as he typed.
“Hey, Venture?”
It took a moment for them to tear their attention away from the data pad, but eventually they answered. “Yes, Raf?”
“I think it’s my turn to ask a question.”
The two had created a game of sorts that allowed them to take turns asking questions, mostly about human and Cybertronian culture.
Venture hummed. “Yes, I believe it is.”
Rafael suddenly seemed hesitant, sneakers swinging off the edge of the berth. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, though.”
Bumblebee beeped reassuringly. ::I’m sure it’ll be fine, Raf.::
The boy chewed the inside of his cheek and kept his gaze lowered. “About what Ratchet said, about the music hurting you earlier… was that some kinda side effect of whatever made you sick before?” Upon seeing Venture’s confused blink, he continued. “The rust on your hand and face... I’ve only ever seen stuff like that on Optimus when he got sick, but you don’t seem like you’re sick now… I just wondered if maybe it messed with your processor or something, made you sensitive to certain sounds.” The worry was clear in his voice, and ‘Bee placed a servo on his back with a few sympathetic beeps.
“Yes, um-” Venture unconsciously clenched the partially-rusted servo with a faint creak. “Well, you’re correct in thinking I’m no longer sick, so please don’t worry about that.” Rafael sensed there was more and waited patiently, gaze glued to Venture’s faceplate. The buggy then spoke somewhat clinically, words distant. “This is from illness, though. A plague. Long ago, long before my or Bumblebee’s creation, a Rust Plague spread on Cybertron. It ravaged the population, so Cybertron’s leaders at the time forced the infected onto plague ships and sent them off to distant moons with just enough resources to form their own colonies, should any survive. And some did! Their numbers were small, just a few bots whose systems were resistant to the plague and able to fight off the infection. Eventually, they created vaccines for the infection and its variants. The plague managed to spread via space bridge, too, and infect some of Cybertron’s colonies. While I was traveling, I found one of these colonies, Archon, and while I received the vaccine, I still contracted the sickness. It saved my spark, though, and I walked away with only partial damage. A medic from a different planet I traveled to, Junkion, was able to help me replace many of my rusted parts, sometime later.”
Rafael’s eyes grew round as he listened to the story, and he looked at the rusted section of the bot’s face plate around their left optic and the side of their helm. “Does it hurt? Or make your processor weird?”
Hesitation flashed across their faceplate for only a second, but long enough that ‘Bee’s wings lowered in empathy. “It does not hurt much, anymore. My left servo is a bit slow to respond at times, though.” They opened said servo to demonstrate, the creak and groan of rusted metal slicing through the quiet of the room. “But it’s perfectly alright. I don’t need two optimally functioning servos as an investigator, really. I’m not much of a fighter anyway, though I did receive a couple of upgrades while on Junkion.”
They smiled and moved their right arm a safe distance away, and a sword extended from beneath their armor. It was far shorter than Wheeljack’s katanas for certain, or Optimus’ swords, but has clearly seen at least a few battles, if the small chips along the blade’s edge were any indication. Grooves in the blade gave it a somewhat serrated edge, sure to do some serious damage to a mech’s mesh at close range.
“Woah! Do any of the other ‘Bots have a sword, Bee?”
Bumblebee grew still, and his optics dilated as he remembered one particular ‘Con he knew of who did, fuel lines running cold. Still, he was quick to offer two thumbs up and an encouraging whir. ::Only Optimus, but he shouldn’t really count, as a Prime! It’s very cool, Ven!::
“Thank you.” Venture retracted their sword and reclined against the wall behind them.
If Venture had noticed the scout’s brief flash of fear, they didn’t mention it.
“As for what happened before… I have always been more sensitive to loud noises than others. It was just how I was created,” they explained, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. While Cybertronians rarely balked at physical limitations like missing parts, which were usually replaceable and changed with time, internal issues were another issue entirely.
They found themselves surprised, then, when Rafael breathed a relieved sigh. “I’m glad your processor wasn’t hurt or anything. I thought Miko had really caused some damage. Accidentally, of course! She’d never hurt a ‘Bot on purpose.”
Venture simply stared, unsure of what to say, and Bumblebee was quick to reenter the conversation. ::We’re very glad that you’re undamaged! Ratchet said this was probably normal for you, but we weren’t completely sure.::
“Are there other things that you’re sensitive to? Maybe we can help you avoid those around the Base! I’m sure the others wouldn’t mind making some changes to accommodate.”
Venture’s discomfort continued to grow, processor stalling as they struggled to formulate an acceptable response.
::Or we could talk about it another time:: Bee suggested, to which Rafael slowly nodded.
“Yeah, we could talk about my history homework, if you wanted; we’re talking about Ancient Mesopatamia.”
This eased away some of the tension in Venture’s frame, and they found themselves smiling. “That sounds wonderful. And… I believe you now owe me three questions.”
“Aw, man!”
Venture stood at one of the Base’s monitors, nearly brushing shoulders with Ratchet as he worked beside them, when their task of updating the Autobot database was interrupted. Ratchet opened the flashing notification, optics wide with clear excitement. “Optimus, the Nemesis has entered into sensor range—it looks to be headed towards an energon mine for transport. It’s a small mine, but if we can secure even the smallest amount of fuel....” The computer zeroed in on one of Earth’s continents, far from their current location, in what looked to be a rural highland region.
Arcee swung off the edge of a nearby concrete ledge, landing nimbly on her pedes. “No doubt the Decepticons are expecting us.”
Optimus strode to the console, features grim as he deliberated. “Autobots, prepare to ground bridge.” He turned his helm to Venture, a hint of uncertainty in his optics. “Venture, would you accompany us? It is imperative that we secure the energon before the Decepticons if we hope to replenish our own supply.”
Fear lanced through their chassis. “You really think I’d be helpful in a fight?” they asked, clearly doubtful. “You’ve all been doing this far longer than I have, you’re all such skilled fighters…”
“The Decepticons hold a clear numbers advantage--your presence would help to even those odds.”
“If you really think it’ll help… okay, I’ll come.” ‘ Optimus will keep you safe, you can do this’, they thought. They hoped.
Optimus nods and signals Ratchet to open the ground bridge.
“Optimus…” Ratchet said, tone grave. “Good luck.”
The Prime ushered the rest of the ‘Bots forward with another nod. “Autobots , roll out. ”
.
.
.
It was chaos.
Bursts of blue and red flew from every direction. The clang and crunch of metal and battle cries rang through the air, sparks reigning down with every slash and hit against armor. Venture tried desperately to access battle instincts they didn’t have, their form frozen in terror. A high-pitched whine rang through their audials despite them quickly muffling the sound with their headset. The urge to sink to the wet grass beneath their pedes and cover the sides of their helm was nearly overwhelming.
“ ...ture ...en ... Venture ! ”
Arcee’s voice cut through the whine and the buggy’s distressed hum, ferocity and determination written all over her faceplate as she landed a blow to the vehicon in front of her. “ Move!” she commanded. “A still target is a dead one ! ” Venture stumbled into action.
A vehicon lunged towards them, and the only thought in their processor was Block! as they raised their arms in front of their helm, armored plating shifting into place beneath their forearms. They managed to shield their optics from the slew of sparks created as the vehicon’s servos sliced harmlessly against their reinforced plating, and before they could fully process the action, Venture unsheathed their sword and swung it into the vehicon’s protoform. Energon sprayed from the wound, stealing the air from their vents just as Bulkhead raged past them to slam his wrecking ball mace into the chassis of a huge one-eyed mech.
Optimus’ voice cut through their comms. “Venture, quickly, Bumblebee requires assistance near the mine’s entrance,” the order was cut off with a grunt of effort as the Prime dispatched some of the slew of Decepticons surrounding him.
They moved before the words really sunk in, racing up the incline the scout stood atop of, surrounded on all sides. Venture, with a surge of protectiveness, rammed their sword tip through the back of an approaching miner with a cry, throwing them aside with a swift kick to the back strut. Bumblebee whirred, pointing sharply to their left. ::The energon is inside that tunnel there. We can still beat the ‘Cons to it and take out the rest of the miners if we hurry. Watch my back.::
Venture nodded and only just managed to block an energon blast with their armored plating as their optics locked onto Bumblebee’s retreating form. ‘Cons send a wall of energon beams towards them, and they sustained a few painful hits before they’re able to rush forward enough to swipe away at their violet armor. As they managed to slice off the canon from a Vehicon’s arm and slam armored plating into the helm of another, a fierce smile overtook the buggy’s face. ‘I’m doing this! I’m actually helping!’ And with so much energon in their fuel lines, they felt better than they had in ages.
It wasn’t until they heard a shrill cry from behind them that the smile melted away.
“ ’Bee! ” Bulkhead’s aft was pinned to the damp earth, the arm of the laughing blue-and-orange mech crushing his chassis. Unable to escape, his cry was heard by Arcee, who transformed and raced towards the scout with a spray of grass and mud. She only just managed to beat Venture as the buggy dispatched the last ‘Con and slid down the incline.
Arcee’s knees slid as she kneeled over Bumblebee’s prone form, who weakly clutched at one of his door wings with faint whirs of pain.
“ What fragging happened here?! ” Arcee demanded, optics blazing and voice like steel.
“I- I don’t-”
Venture’s words were drowned out by the roar of Knockout’s engine. “It’s been a pleasure, Autobots, but I think it’s time we cut our meeting short!” A stack of energon cubes was strapped to the roof of his alt-form, and he was quick to speed from the depths of the tunnel and onto the muddy dirt road that led to the ocean shore below, though not without thoroughly coating the three bots in a spray of mud from beneath his tires first. He was followed by a crew of vehicons, each transporting their own collection of energon.
From atop Bulkhead, Breakdown grinned and quickly pushed away from the Wrecker with just enough room between them to transform. As the mech sped off in Knockout’s direction, a wheel managed to catch on Bulkhead’s ankle and the metal joint bent with a shriek and a shout of pain.
Optimus straightened and removed a pede from the chassis of a struggling vehicon, watching as it transformed and followed Knockout and Breakdown into the awaiting ground bridge.
His comm crackled to life. “Optimus, what’s your status? Sensors detected a ground bridge opening nearby. Did you secure the energon? ”
He heaved a heavy ex-vent, looking out at his team as they struggled to their pedes. “Things… could have gone far better.”