Chapter Text
B-127 stood at the edge of the road, staring down at the flooded ruins of Iacon, far below. The blue glow of the energon gave the abandoned, half-submerged buildings a ghostly, haunted look.
Unconsciously, B's hand went to his neck. His digits gently traced the raised, prominent scar across the front of his throat.
He'd given his voice to warn everyone about the Decepticons' plan to destroy Iacon. He'd been told time and time again since he woke up from stasis that without his warning, there would be thousands of bodies down there, drifting through the energon.
He knew his warning saved lives. But for every bot other than the ones in Tyger Pax that night, that message had been his final words. The last thing any of his friends heard him say.
His true last words were known only to the Decepticon command. Because of the trauma, he wasn't sure he remembered them, himself.
It was yet another thing that had been stolen from him. The only bots who knew his final words were Megatron, and his commanders.
Well... the half that survived that night.
Speaking of which...
Ignoring the twist of nausea that always rattled his frame when he thought of Megatron, B glanced over his shoulder. Behind him, the ghost of Starscream whistled, looking down at the destruction as well.
“I warned him it was a bad idea,” the spectral Seeker tutted, shaking his head. “But did he listen? Of course not. What a mess.”
B shot a glare at him, his doorwings twitching in agitation. His emotions were already frayed, thanks to the mental and physical pain he was in.
Seeing the state of Iacon brought back a lot of bad memories. Plus, he'd barely gotten any recharge the night before, and his bad knee was aching after the long drive from Kalis.
Starscream glared back at him, hands on his hips. He must have seen the way B was leaning, barely putting pressure on his right leg.
“What, are you gonna snarl at me like that every time your leg hurts?”
B gave a single, tiny nod, barely moving his head – it still made his throat ache.
“Ugh, how many times do I have to apologize for blowing your leg off?” the Seeker demanded. “I wasn't even trying to hit you, I was aiming for Blitzwing.”
B shot him one last glare before looking away, back down at Iacon.
He had to be careful, responding to Starscream with others around. The chatty ghost had been haunting him since the moment he woke from his coma, three long months ago, and he hadn't told anyone yet. Not even Cliff or Bumper.
His brothers aside, the other Autobots already treated him like he was made of brittle glass. If they found out he was hallucinating dead Seekers, they would never let him out of the medbay again.
It had already been a major struggle, convincing Optimus to let him go on this scouting mission.
Cliffjumper had argued with the Prime on his behalf for the better part of two hours, explaining how B was going crazy being trapped in the medbay, under constant observation. How he wasn't a prisoner, and he needed his freedom back.
Not only that, but he needed to see Iacon, if only for closure. He needed to see what he sacrificed his voice for.
B felt a surge of affection for his brother. Not only was Cliff brave enough to make demands of the overprotective Prime, he also said all of this in front of Elita and Ratchet.
To be fair, they brought up quite a few good counterpoints.
B was still recovering from his ordeal, and had only just regained enough strength to last a full day without needing to lie down. He was still limping, though, and his old struggles with refueling had returned tenfold. Although now, it wasn't because he forgot, but because it hurt.
Not only that, but his mental health was still in shambles. His traumatized frame was still too touch-averse for most bots to even get near him, and if anyone did make contact with him unexpectedly, it usually triggered a flashback or debilitating panic attack.
He also struggled to recharge because of the nightmares. In half a dozen separate instances, he'd woken suddenly in the middle of the night, his hands covered in his own energon from unconsciously tearing at his throat.
Each time this happened, Ratchet had to put him in light stasis to fix the damage – he couldn't tolerate anything less.
Every time B felt like he was finally warming up again, each round of stasis knocked all the heat from his frame, leaving him feeling freezing once more. Even with Cliffjumper constantly at his side, the cold lingered, weighing heavily on his spark.
They pointed all of this out, and more.
That just because B could finally stay awake all day, that didn't mean his healing frame could handle driving that far. And what if the long drive reopened one of his wounds? What if the scouting team got stuck somewhere, and B ran out of energon patches?
What if something triggered his traumatic stress response, and he hurt himself, or someone else? Or on the opposite end, what if there were Decepticons lurking in Iacon? Would B have the endurance to fight, or would he end up a victim? What if someone was hurt protecting him?
So far, Megatron still didn't know that B survived. Optimus wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. It was a risk, sending him on this mission, where any spy could see him and report back.
They were all valid points, with real love and concern behind them. Cliffjumper couldn't argue against that, so B had to force down his panic, and speak for himself.
He remembered taking a deep breath, squeezing his optics closed, and reaching his hand out for Optimus.
The Prime slowly took it, gently pressing his massive palm against B's tiny one. He kept his digits open, not gripping, so B could pull away if he needed to.
His hand was warm against B's cold one.
Shoving down his rising anxiety at the physical contact, B used hand speak to say a single sentence, the words arcing between their palms.
I feel like I'm back in sublevel 50.
After that, Optimus agreed to let him go to Iacon with the rest of the team.
All of this passed through his processor in a few seconds.
One of his doorwings twitched, the sensory panel picking up on something. He was still getting used to the new appendages, though, so he didn't know what they were trying to tell him.
“They're all staring at you,” Starscream helpfully informed him. “Try taking a step back. You're too close to the ledge. I think it's making them nervous.”
B let out a small sigh, but he complied. He took a small step back, then turned to face the rest of the group.
Wheeljack, First Aid, and Hot Rod quickly pretended they hadn't been watching him. Jazz was close by, quietly glancing between B and Prowl, not bothering to hide the concern in his field.
Prowl was the only bot not paying B any attention.
Like the scout, his focus was on the flooded city below them. His face was expressionless, and his field was pulled tight to his frame, but B caught the smallest twitch of discomfort in the tactician's left doorwing.
B knew the cause. He seemed to be the only one who understood why Prowl had come on this mission, when he was normally the type to stay at the base.
Prowl had made it very clear – he felt responsible for the disaster. Not only that, but he nearly died in the flood, too. His presence during this mission was about closure, just like it was for B.
“Alright, everyone gather 'round,” said Jazz, drawing everyone's attention. “Now that we're here, let's go over the plan one more time.”
The assembled bots dutifully gathered in front of Jazz. He'd been put in charge of this mission, and B thought he was doing a good job. Leadership suited Jazz.
B spared a quick glance at the other bots.
Wheeljack was fidgety, anxious to get moving.
Hot Rod looked impatient, tapping one pede. His hand absently traced the long, thin scar that stretched diagonally across his chassis – it was almost healed enough to paint over, and the Autobot decal slapped over it was a good distraction.
First Aid was watching Prowl.
Prowl was watching Jazz, and Jazz was watching B.
B felt his spark pulse oddly. He knew Jazz and Prowl were keeping a closer optic on him than the rest, but he couldn't decide if it was endearing or exhausting. Either way, he felt uncomfortable, and too exposed, too perceived.
He wasn't used to being stared at so much. In the past, he'd either been entirely alone, or surrounded by larger, more impressive mechs, like Optimus. It was rare for bots to pay attention to him, when he stood alongside giants.
But... that was before Tyger Pax.
Yes, he'd been mortally wounded and technically died, but he hated being reminded of it. He hated being treated like he was fragile.
He just wanted everyone else to go back to the way they'd treated him before! Even if it meant he was sometimes ignored. Was that so much to ask?
Although he managed to keep his frame still, and his face blank, his spark was suddenly racing. He felt an itchy, jittery energy seep into his joints, and the urge to run, to drive, to scream, welled up in him.
B? Cliffjumper poked at him over their spark bond. You doin' alright?
Yeah, you don't feel so good, Bumper added.
I'm fine, B responded automatically. We made it to Iacon. What about your team?
He could feel Cliff hesitate, and he knew why.
Cliffjumper was on a different scouting mission, led by Arcee. While Jazz's team had gone to Iacon to survey the damage and search for survivors, Arcee's team was doing something similar in Tyger Pax.
B knew why Cliff wanted to go there. He wanted to see the place where his brother's life ended for himself.
We're... here, Cliffjumper cautiously said. Look, if you need me to, I can be in Iacon before you know it.
No, I'm fine, B repeated. I'll let you know if I need help.
From across the harmonic bond, he felt his brother nod. He was just grateful that Cliff kept the visual side of his bond closed and quiet. The last thing he wanted to see right now was Tyger Pax.
Cliffjumper's side of the bond went quiet again, as did Bumper's. B was glad that Bumper was sticking close to Cliff today. He loved his brothers with all his spark, but today, he needed some space.
“Hey, pay attention,” Starscream hissed in his audial. “If you dissociate, they'll send you home.”
Why do you care? B's doorwings subtly twitched.
Starscream scoffed. “For some reason, you're the only mech I can haunt. Probably because we were in Infraspace together. Anyways, if you get sent back to the medbay, I'll lose my processor from boredom! Then I'll be forced to talk to you.”
He repressed a sigh. It wasn't the first time B wondered if he'd actually died that night, and he was in some sort of torture purgatory, being haunted by Starscream's chatty ghost with no way of telling him to shut up.
B blinked hard, forcing himself not to shake his head – he'd made that mistake once.
Jazz was talking, looking carefully at Wheeljack.
“–really think so?”
Frag, he'd missed most of the conversation. Well, he would pay attention now, and try to figure it out from there.
“Absolutely!” exclaimed Wheeljack. “Those energon pumps are like the ones we had in the mines, for when we hit liquid veins. I repaired more than enough of them. If I can get them working again, they'll be able to drain the energon from the lower levels!”
“And if the refineries are still in decent shape, we could purify all of that energon into something consumable,” added First Aid. “Do you know how much medical-grade we could make from all of that?”
“What, we can't drink that stuff?” asked Hot Rod.
“I wouldn't,” said First Aid. “There's no telling what kind of debris was caught in the flood. There may be chemicals or poisons from the mines, and all sorts of nasty things that could cause infections.”
“So, don't drink it, got it,” muttered the racer. He huffed a little sigh, blowing out a small puff of fire.
“And don't fall in, either,” added Wheeljack. “I can't really tell from here, but it looks like there's a current. Some of the energon may still be flowing into the sublevels, or new openings in the mines. Even if it looks calm on the surface, a current like that could definitely drag a bot down.”
B gave an involuntary shudder at the thought, unable to stop his wings from twitching in discomfort. Jazz definitely clocked it, because he instantly called everyone's attention back.
“Alright!” Jazz clapped his servos together. “We'll be splitting into smaller teams. One team will focus on checkin' the energon pumps and refineries. Cleanin' up that energon will be the first step towards rebuilding Iacon, and findin' anyone who might be trapped lower down. We need to know how damaged they are.”
“That assessment will require two scientists to adequately perform,” said Prowl, his voice level.
“I can help! Y'know, I'm something of a scientist myself,” Hot Rod bragged, giving Prowl a smug smile.
“How so?” the tactician quietly asked through gritted teeth, his doorwings flaring slightly with repressed annoyance.
“I discovered the boiling point of energon,” the racer scoffed, his hand still absently running along the scar on his chest.
“I still don't know how you survived that...” First Aid muttered, shaking his head.
“Guess I'm just built different,” Hot Rod shrugged, giving B a knowing wink. The golden bands around his wrists glinted strangely in the low light.
“What is he talking about?” muttered Starscream, leaning over B's shoulder. “Nobody knows the boiling point of energon! It always explodes before it evaporates.”
He's an outlier, B thought, unsure if that would translate to his wings.
It must have, because Starscream jumped, a startled look on his face.
“Interesting...” he muttered, leaning over to scrutinize the gaudy racer.
Distracted, the ghost reached down and absentmindedly tried to pick a pebble out of B's wing joint. Unfortunately, his hand simply passed through him, making B shudder like he'd just walked through an electric cloud.
“Alright, alright!” Jazz was saying, trying to get everyone to focus up again.
B once again felt bad for not paying attention.
“It's settled,” said Jazz. “Wheeljack and Hot Rod will go check out the siphons. Aid, you and I will go sweep the residential quadrant for survivors. That leaves Prowl and B to loot the Autobot tower for resources. Everyone clear?”
Every bot in the group nodded, except B, who gave a thumbs-up. Nodding still hurt.
All things considered, he was glad to be teamed up with Prowl. For some reason that nobody seemed able – or willing, Starscream – to explain, the cold tactician was the only bot besides Cliffjumper that B felt comfortable making physical contact with. He had no idea why.
As if to prove this, Prowl moved so he was standing next to B, then absently picked out the pebble Starscream had been reaching for. B hadn't realized how irritating it was until it was gone.
“Alright, we'll meet back here in an hour,” said Jazz, glancing behind the rest of the group to look through the entrance to the cavern. “The weather's been goin' downhill quick, so we may be in for a storm. We might have to spend the night here if it's severe, so keep this first sweep short, and we'll make that call in an hour. Clear?”
Everyone confirmed, then the three groups split up, transforming and driving deeper into the abandoned city. They quickly separated, the roads of Iacon branching into three separate paths.
Hot Rod and Wheeljack sped off to the right, their road angled steeply downward. Jazz and First Aid went left, heading towards the largest cluster of residential buildings.
B and Prowl drove towards the Autobot tower, straight ahead.
They took it slower than the other two groups. Although B was a speed-frame, he didn't have the energy to spare on flashy driving. His endurance had taken a major hit after spending nearly a full cycle in stasis, and he had to slowly build it back up again.
He was grateful that Prowl let him set the pace, driving silently at his side while maintaining a respectful distance.
Starscream, however, was being annoying.
Even as a ghost, the Seeker was still able to transform into his alt-mode. He did so as soon as they were on the move, flying circles around the two slower grounders like a hyperactive sparkling.
B knew Starscream was claustrophobic – so was he, to be fair – and he was just enjoying the open space while he could. Still, it made B flinch every time Starscream shot over him, his frame bracing to avoid incoming fire.
The pain in his bad knee intensified, as did the ache in the large scar on his chest.
His memories of his last conversation with Megatron may have been blurry and disjointed, but the battle with Starscream and Blitzwing before that was relatively clear.
Starscream clearly had no idea he was causing B such discomfort. Fifty cycles of isolation in sublevel 50 had done so much damage to B's spark, that his electromagnetic field was too weak to reach beyond the confines of his frame. The only way for other bots to feel it was with physical contact – not an option, especially for a ghost.
He also couldn't use his doorwings to speak while in alt-mode, and if he suddenly switched back to base-mode with no explanation, then Prowl would know something was wrong. He would see the rising panic, and send B back to Kalis, and then Ratchet would never let him leave the medbay ever again!
Starscream shot overhead again, and B wobbled, nearly swerving off the road.
He could suddenly feel Blitzwing's hand around his throat, and a knife in his chest, and his T-cog bleeding from a plasma canon shot. He heard the incoming missile, saw the fear in the triple-changer's face, felt himself drop as Blitzwing dove for cover.
There was a blinding light and a wave of heat, and pain all over. His leg was gone, and he couldn't run, couldn't escape, as Blitzwing dragged his broken frame through the ruins, closer and closer to Megatron, to his doom–
“B, would you mind if we walked the rest of the way?”
Prowl's calm voice cut through the storm of his thoughts, bringing him back to himself. He'd nearly driven off the road again.
Without slowing, B instantly switched back to base-mode. He staggered from the momentum, then tripped, landing hard on his hands and knees. A flare of pain ran through his right leg, so bad he was immobilized.
He was breathing hard, and although he felt so cold he was shivering, there was a thin layer of condensation on his forehead. He kept his face low, so Prowl wouldn't see the frantic darting of his wide, panicked optics.
In the corner of his vision, he saw a pair of Praxian pedes appear. Prowl knelt down next to him, his EM field gently reaching out. It was steady and warm. B's own field reached for the comfort of it, but couldn't quite reciprocate.
“I'm sorry for asking you to stop so suddenly,” said Prowl. He carefully rested his hand on B's shoulder, and when the scout didn't pull away, he gave it a gentle squeeze. “The weather on the surface is worsening, and it is causing my helm to ache. Driving with a helmache is uncomfortable, so I thought we could walk. It is not far.”
B felt his vents slowing as he calmed down, leaning further into Prowl's hand. After a moment, Prowl felt the gratitude in his weak field, and silently returned it.
They both knew Prowl was lying. Like B, the tactician was the type to ignore pain and injuries until they knocked him offline. He wouldn't stop driving for a simple helmache.
Although Prowl couldn't see Starscream, he clearly saw B almost swerve off the road, and knew he needed a moment.
Now that he was in base-mode, B was certain his doorwings were doing the equivalent of an energon-curdling scream.
Primus, he needed to scream. The jittery energy – the feeling of being trapped – was getting worse, and driving wasn't helping this time.
Prowl's other hand appeared. “Shall we continue on?”
Or should I call First Aid? his field asked.
B gave a shuddering sigh, then took Prowl's hand, letting the tactician help him to his pedes. He still felt shaky and feverish, but standing there with Prowl comfortably supporting him seemed to stabilize him somewhat.
Starscream landed nearby, back in base-mode. There was a guilty look in his electric blue optics.
“Slag, was that my fault?” he asked, looking genuinely apologetic. “Sorry, kid, I was just trying to tease you. Didn't mean to give you a flashback.”
It's fine, B forced his wings to say. I'm fine. Let's just go.
To his surprise, Prowl seemed to respond to his wingspeak.
“Are you sure?” the tactician asked, his own doorwings giving a slight flick.
Prowl was still holding his hand, keeping their palms pressed together. B lined their digits up, then switched to chirolinguistics to answer.
Yeah, I'm fine. It's just my knee. Really hurts. Must be the weather, like you said.
Prowl nodded. “Yes, a drop in barometric pressure is known to cause injuries to ache. I expect walking will help loosen your joints. We have driven quite far today, after all.”
B gave him a thumbs-up, and they started walking down the road, towards the dark Autobot tower – it was only a short distance away, he realized.
As they walked, Prowl let go of B, but the scout immediately hooked their arms together, not ready to let go of one of the only bots he felt comfortable touching. Prowl barely responded, though B heard his engine let out a low, comforting purr. It was the same noise he'd heard creators use to comfort their sparklings.
Starscream walked on B's other side, watching the interaction closely. B glanced over, and the Seeker wasn't fast enough to wipe the knowing smile from his face.
B wondered if ghosts felt it when they got punched. He'd have to find out later.
They reached the Autobot tower a few minutes later. B let go of Prowl, allowing him to lead the way to a broken window on one of the upper floors. The glass was blown out, as if someone had shot it from the inside.
B reached out and took Prowl's hand. I thought I was the only one who shot out windows.
Prowl chuckled. “No, this is Sunstreaker's handiwork. Here.”
He climbed through the window, then turned to offer B a hand, helping him avoid the shattered glass. It took B's optics a moment to adjust to the low light, but when they did, he froze.
The broken window led to a small recovery room, in the tower's private medbay.
“Oh, great, another medbay,” groaned Starscream, rolling his optics. “As if I haven't seen enough of these.”
Prowl's wings twitched, and he turned around. For a split second, B thought he was looking directly at Starscream. But no, he was looking at something behind the ghost – well, through him.
B turned as well. From out the window, he could see the archives, hanging from the cavern ceiling. It was closer than he thought.
“This is the room I was brought to, after I was shot,” said Prowl, his hand pressing against the scar on his upper left chassis. The welds had almost healed enough to paint over, but he was still working with only a single functioning optic, and the left half of his chevron was still broken off.
B looked around the room again. It was small, but most of the equipment had been removed, taken elsewhere. The berth was untouched, however. B saw a few drops of dried energon on the blanket, which hit him unexpectedly hard.
Prowl nearly died here.
The room itself was above the flood line, but the power to all of lower Iacon had been knocked out when the wave hit. Prowl had been on life support at the time, his spark externally stabilized by machines that couldn't function without power.
“First Aid and the twins were with me when the evacuation alarm went off,” said Prowl, his voice quiet and his working optic distant. “Thanks to your warning and Cliffjumper's broadcast, they had time to gather the resources they needed to keep my spark from guttering.
“They fled with me to the archives. First Aid kept me alive, and the twins fended off Airachnid long enough for Jazz to make it there. He and Mirage worked together to kill her.”
“Ha!” Starscream exclaimed. “Serves her right. It's partially her fault that I was murdered. Shame they didn't torture her, first.”
Prowl silently looked around for a few more seconds, before turning back to B.
“I really am sorry about your voice,” he said. “I know you're still in a lot of pain, and seeing Iacon isn't making it any easier. But... I'm glad you're here. I don't think I would have been able to handle this mission without you.”
A wave of agony and anxiety ran through him, but it faded after a moment. He really, really missed his voice right now, because if he could still talk, he would have told Prowl he was equally glad for the support. That it was nice to have someone who went through something similar, and was feeling the same pain.
It was a sentiment that didn't translate well in anything other than spoken words, though. Instead, all he could do was offer a half-sparked smile to the equally traumatized mech. His throat burned with words unsaid.
Prowl may not have lost his voice, but he'd nearly lost his life. He was clearly haunted by the incident, and the consequences that followed.
When B thought about his loss, he could always look at Iacon, and remember all the lives his sacrifice saved. But when Prowl thought about his incident, it was clear that all he saw was the war. That he held himself responsible for everything that Megatron did in retaliation.
Including Iacon.
Including B's voice.
B gave a little sigh, and reached his hands out. Prowl took them, expecting B to start using hand speak.
Instead, B pulled him into a hug.
Prowl froze for a moment, and B heard the cooling fans in his processor kick on – that meant his Pit of a processor was doing some hard thinking. For a second, B thought he might crash.
After that brief moment of surprise, however, he gratefully returned the hug. His engine started purring again.
It seemed B wasn't the only one who was a little touch-starved.
“I'm not touch-starved,” muttered Prowl, making B jump and pull back.
Prowl chuckled, his white-blue optic glowing a bit brighter. A rare, soft smile appeared on his face.
“I didn't mean to startle you," he said. "It was a lucky guess. But no, I am not touch-starved. Jazz hardly lets me out of his reach, the same way Cliffjumper barely lets you out of his. In fact, I'm proud of both of them for giving us some space today. I know it took a lot of restraint.”
“Yeah,” B mouthed out, nodding.
The attempt at speaking, along with the movement, sent a ripple of pain across his throat. He grimaced, and his hand flew to the scar.
Instinctively, Starscream made a grab for his hand to stop him – which passed right through his arm – but Prowl didn't. Instead, he just watched with interest as B carefully ran his digits over the scar, gently enough to not rip the delicate welds.
“It must get irritating, having other mechs grab at you when your hand gets too near to your throat,” Prowl quietly observed.
Slowly, carefully, B nodded. As long as he moved slow enough, it didn't hurt much.
Starscream, meanwhile, was glaring at Prowl. “Just when I thought I had this freak figured out... Can he see me, or something? Or can he just read minds?”
B tried not to shrug.
“I'm sorry to ask this, but are you alright?” asked Prowl. “Can you continue on, or do we need to go back? Either way, I'm with you.”
B took a deep breath, and thought for a moment.
He was tired, and his frame hurt. After a night of restless recharge, he'd gotten up early, avoided refueling because of the pain in his throat, then driven two hours from Kalis to Iacon, working hard to keep up with the rest of the team.
His throat and knee were absolutely killing him, his fuel was low, and he was exhausted.
At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to lie down and rest.
He reached out and took Prowl's hand. I'm alright. We can keep going.
Prowl nodded. If he picked up on the lie, he didn't let it show.
“Okay. Let's keep moving, shall we?”
B gave a thumbs-up, and together, he and Prowl headed deeper into the dark, cold building.