Chapter Text
Bluestreak made his way down to Nyon and began to quietly slink his way through the streets. If they could even still be called that, anyway. Bluestreak frowned and shuffled his way through debris, trying not to let his thoughts wander. Or, not let his thoughts wander to Praxus, at least. He didn’t want to think about Praxus on a good day when he was at the base, but here…
Here, he definitely didn’t want to think about Praxus. At all. So he kept walking. He kept walking and observed his surroundings, searching for any type of clue or hint to where his target may have gone. After a cycle of searching, he sighed, bowing his head. His first official mission and he was coming up with nothing but a cold trail now. If he had silverstreak… if silverstreak were here they'd have found Kup and been in the break room back on base already. But bluestreak was alone. He was alone, a sniper left without his spotter. He pulled the trigger, sure… but silverstreak always told him where to aim. So where did he go now, with no one else to guide him…?
Bluestreak pursed his lips and continued shuffling through what was left of the city, making a mental effort not to drag his feet as he walked.
Hot Rod blinked his optics open bleerily, glancing around. He frowned and a pang of worry shot through his chassis at first. Then he slowly recognized his surroundings and began to remember. When had he fallen into recharge? He didn’t remember shutting down. He.. didn’t remember much after Kup had found him, honestly. Well- aside from the fact the old man was one misfire short of a fried processor. Then again, part of Hot Rod wondered if his processor was already fried.
Hot Rod in-vented deeply and glanced around, slowly pushing himself to his feet. His frown deepened and he tried to ignore the shiver that trailed down his back as he glanced at Outback. He briefly wondered what happened to him, and how Kup would react if he asked. Part of him questioned whether he even wanted to really know. He sighed and began to hobble around, taking in Kup’s makeshift base, noticing he didn’t have to work quite as much to stifle his limp, and that the pain wasn’t as bad as before. His auto-repair systems worked fast, but not quite that fast, last he checked. When he glanced down to check the repairs, his optics widened in surprise. His shin was a fair amount more repaired than what he’d deemed acceptable enough to quit. He hadn’t patched himself up that much, or that well, from what he could remember. Unless he was starting to lose it too, but he didn’t think insanity was contagious. At least, he hoped it wasn’t.
Hot Rod huffed as he raised his head and glanced back around. He could just… ask Kup, but part of Hot rod wasn’t entirely sure he’d trust the old-timer’s answer. Had Kup done the repairs? Did Hot Rod just not remember doing them? Had… Outback done the repairs…?
Hot Rod shook his head as if to shake the thoughts away and kept stumbling around, looking for Kup to see where he even was. He got confused when he couldn’t find him. He checked every area, and poked his head outside to peer around. Nothing.
“.. he saves my ass.. Brings me to his hideout, and then just… disappears…?” he muttered to himself, “what the hell is with this guy…”
Hot Rod sighed and slid out to shuffle through the rubble outside. He wasn’t even really sure where he was going. He’d figure it out later. Eventually. Maybe. Probably.
Hot Rod continued making his way through the rubble, trying not to think about when this place used to be something more. Before Zeta Prime’s tyranny. Before he had no choice but to set off those explosives. He was meant to save them. He was supposed to save them. He wanted to save them.
He just hoped Primus would forgive him, because he knew he himself never would. He didn’t care that he was out of options. He didn’t care that Optimus had said time and time again that he’d made the right choice. That he’d been caught in a difficult position and made an even more difficult decision. That didn’t change the way his actions that day made him feel. It wouldn’t erase the memories of the heat from the explosions, the smell of the smoke that flooded his senses, the cries of those caught in the blast. If someone else had been in charge, they would’ve saved everyone. If someone else had been their leader, the city wouldn’t have been turned to ash. If it had been someone else instead of Hot Rod, they wouldn't have failed, like he did. He wasn’t cut out to be a leader. Some days he wished he wasn’t the only one who saw it. Who saw all his shortcomings and his failures, that there were bots who could do it so much better than him. That he was just a kid with no idea what the hell he was doing, or that it would never change. He wished people didn’t believe in him as much as they did. He wished he knew how they believed in him so much, when he barely even believed in himself. He wished he understood. But he didn’t, and deep down he knew he never would, that that would never change. Change was amazing and horrible, grounding and finicky, it was like an itchy trigger finger. And it made Hot Rod’s circuits sizzle. Change was unpredictable. Hot rod had been told before that he was unpredictable, and if change was anything like him it was rarely anything good.
Bluestreak turned down the remains of an alleyway, slowly making his way through. The further he got into the alley, the further he realised that he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. Followed. That didn’t bode well. The longer he stayed in the rubble of Nyon the more he wished he hadn’t come alone. He… wasn’t used to asking for backup. With Silverstreak, he never had to ask. He was always just… there, beside him, tagging along. And every time Bluestreak thought about it, he missed it a little bit more.
Bluestreak frowned and kept walking, fighting the urge to just bow his head. He wanted to go home. Was that wrong? He felt like it was wrong. It made him feel guilty. It was his first official field mission as an autobot and he wanted to just go back home. He didn’t wanna think about how Prowl would probably be disappointed in him. He didn’t want to think about the let-down look that would be on Prowl’s face. And Jazz’s. The twins…
Maybe he should’ve asked the twins to come with him. At least then he would’ve had someone to talk to instead of walking in silence and feeling so utterly alone. That was all he seemed to feel these days, and he was getting tired of it.
Bluestreak took a few more steps and froze, every hinge and gear seizing up as a cold voice called out.
“Fancy seeing you again…” the voice said, “... ain’t it dangerous for kids like you to wander around by yourself?”
Bluestreak ex-vented and slowly turned around. He recognized that voice, and as he turned around, he recognized the mech it belonged to. It was the mech from the last time he was in the field, when prowl had saved his ass against this guy. When he’d been looking for Silverstreak.
“... Barricade…” Bluestreak said lowly. The mech smirked.
“You remembered,” he cooed mockingly, "I'm touched.”
Barricade stepped forward, drawing a blade from his side. Bluestreak’s eyes widened slightly and he immediately took a few steps back on instinct.
“What do you want from me…?” he said, trying to keep his voice firm and unwavering. Barricade merely smirked and kept approaching, flexing his grip on the knife.
“Prowl’s not here to swoop in and save you this time, punk.” Barricade tilted his head, twirling the dagger in his hand, “... I wonder what he’ll do when you don’t make it back to base.”
Bluestreak huffed and forced a chuckle as he shrugged.
“You really wanna hurt me?" he asked, “cause it kinda really sounds like Prowl’s the one you’re pissed at. I mean, i can’t blame you. Everyone gets pissed at him at some point.”
Barricade paused and blinked, arching an optic ridge. Bluestreak hummed and shrugged, “hmm, except for Jazz.”
Barricade scoffed and resumed his advance.
“Didn’t peg you as a talker, kid,” Barricade grumbled.
Bluestreak chuckled awkwardly and put his hands up in a mercy position.
“Exactly, see? We can talk about this… cause im a talker…!”
Barricade's knife nicked Bluestreak's shoulder plating as the Con threw it at him, "I'm not.”
Bluestreak’s optics narrowed and he offered a strained smile as he continued to step back and away, clutching at his shoulder.
“... is the violence really necessary?” Bluestreak asked, “... you sure we can’t just talk this out…?”
Bluestreak hit the ground with a groan as Barricade leapt forward and tackled him to the ground. He huffed as his servo shot up to block a punch from the Decepticon.
“I’ll take that as a no…” Bluestreak grumbled. Barricade merely flashed him a menacing smirk. Bluestreak decked him in the face, and the two brawled and tossed each other around until Barricade’s back hit the ground near his dagger. Bluestreak went to pin him, but Barricade moved faster and sat up to drag Bluestreak to the ground, sharp metal piercing into the Praxian’s side just above his hip. He inhaled sharply and curled in on himself as Barricade shoved him off to the side. He curled partially into the fetal position, hunched over as one hand clutched his midsection while the other was braced against the ground, fingers digging into the dirt. He didn’t move or try to get up. He just stayed in place as energon leaked through his fingers and dripped to the ground, forming a steady pool. Then he ex-vented shakily. Prowl was not gonna be very happy. and he was probably going to strangle Springer. Bluestreak almost felt bad. But he felt even worse for Barricade, for the next time Prowl would run into him. The Con had no idea he’d just become a dead mech walking.
Bluestreak shut his optics briefly and slowly pushed himself to his feet, hunched over with a servo braced on his knee. Barricade snorted.
“Damn. you’re tougher than you look, Kid..” he said, “or maybe you just don’t know when to quit.”
“I could do this all day,” Bluestreak gritted out. Adjusting his stance as he slowly raised his fists. Barricade blinked owlishly before barking out a laugh.
“You’re either brave as shit, or stupid as hell,” he chuckled as he took a step toward Bluestreak.
“I like to think it depends on the moment,” Bluestreak grumbled with a shrug. Barricade scoffed and threw a punch. Bluestreak dodged, trying to ignore the pinch in his side as warmth spread over his abdomen. He gritted his teeth and threw a sharp jab of his own, trying to ignore each echo of “what the fuck am i doing” as it repeated in his head over and over. Barricade went to elbow Bluestreak but was stopped short by blaster fire hitting his back, making him stumble forward and drop. Bluestreak tilted his head to peer up through the rubble, seeing a small red and yellow bot looking down at them from the ruins of what used to be a building. He relaxed slightly when his optics settled on the autobot symbol centered on his chestplate. Good. Bluestreak wasn’t entirely sure how long he’d be able to stay on his feet. He’d definitely have to see ratchet when he got back to base. And make sure Jazz was around when Prowl found out about the stabwound. As he peered up at the bot from the rubble… Bluestreak slowly realized he didn’t fully recognize him. This wasn’t an autobot he’d met…
Hot Rod shuffled through the rubble, whether to get out of the city or find that cooky old bot, he hadn’t decided. But then he heard shuffling and what very clearly sounded like a fight. He limped his way up onto a collapsed roof and peered down at two bots he’d never seen before- one a fellow autobot, the other clearly a Decepticon. They looked similar, but Hot Rod brushed that off as coincidence. He watched for a moment, trying to grasp the entirety of what the situation was. Observing before he jumped in. He wasn’t initially going to step in, give away his position and presence. But then the autobot went down and didn’t immediately get back up. When he did, there was energon on the ground and leaking through his fingertips as it spilled down his side. Hot Rod frowned, a slight wave of concern tugging at his spark. Then the Autobot put his fists back up, and Hot Rod could practically feel the determination rolling off the bot in waves. He huffed and smirked slightly. The determination, he could admire. Part of him wanted to get to know this mech. Then the Decepticon went to keep fighting. Hot Rod wasn’t sure what came over him. What ghost possessed him. But he stood up proper and aimed his blaster at the Decepticon, right between his doorwings, and fired without a second thought. The con stumbled, and the autobot shuffled to peer around, blinking in surprise as he spotted Hot Rod. Hot Rod grinned and waved before offering a mock salute. Then he promptly turned and disappeared into the rubble, slinking down into the nearest alleyway. Surely the autobot could handle the rest on his own. Hopefully. Now Hot Rod just needed to find Kup. He needed to find Kup and figure out what the hell was actually going on here. He had a list of questions that seemed to grow every second he did… Literally anything, it felt like. Maybe Kup knew something about that autobot fighting the Decepticon he just shot. Maybe the old nutcase didn’t know anything at all. Hot Rod wasn’t entirely sure he trusted whatever the old man would say to him anyway. At least, not right now. Maybe one day, if he stuck around. But part of him decided he was just allergic to crazy.
Hot Rod made his way through the alley and rubble, deciding to head back to Kup’s hideout. Maybe he’d made his way back by now. Hot Rod huffed and dragged his feet through the battered streets and sighed when he reached Kup’s makeshift bunker. He shuffled in and peaked around inside. Nothing. He frowned.
“Kup?” he called out. He waited for an answer. No dice. Hot Rod sighed and rolled his optics. So he was still out there somewhere, then. Hot Rod stepped back out of the bunker and just about screamed when he turned around.
“Where are you scurryin’ off to, lad?”
Hot Rod slouched forward and ex-vented shakily as he stared at Kup.
“Off to look for you,” he said sharply, “then I turn around and you scare the shit out of me.”
Kup snorted and shrugged, “Sorry, kid.”
Hot Rod scoffed and rolled his optics, peering up at Kup with a frown as he crossed his arms over his chassis.
“Where the hell did you go anyway?” Hot rod half wondered if he’d believe the answer as he asked. Kup arched an optic ridge.
“That’s need-to-know information, lad,” Kup said, “and I don't think you need to know.”
Hot rod blinked, his frown morphing into more of a pout as his servos fell back to his sides, “but I want to know!”
Kup snorted and shook his head with a faint smile.
“Wants and needs are two different things, lad,” he said. Hot Rod pursed his lips, cocking a hip as he propped a servo on his waist.
“You’re not gonna tell me, are you,” he huffed. Kup smirked and slipped past Hot Rod with a wink.
“Nope. Maybe one day, but not today,” he said, a slight tease to his voice. Hot Rod sighed and shook his head, following Kup back into the bunker. Kup set the worn leather bag back down on the ground and turned to face Hot Rod, glancing him up and down before his gaze settled on Hot Rod’s shin.
“How’s the leg treatin’ ya?” he asked, voice gruff but laced with a mild concern. Hot Rod blinked, hoping he didn’t look as caught off guard by the question as he felt. He hummed, glancing back down at his leg. He flexed his knee and ankle as if to test them.
“It’s uh… good, yeah. It-... it feels great, actually,” he said, peering back up at Kup sheepishly, “... how’d you manage to patch it up so well? You don’t exactly strike me as a medic, old-timer…”
Kup offered a grin, folding his arms as he leaned against the wall, “when you get to be as old as me, lad… ya tend to pick up a trick or two.”
Hot Rod let out a soft huff, pursing his lips slightly.
“Hm… maybe… maybe one day you could teach someone those tricks…” he said quietly, trying to keep his servos from fidgeting at his sides. Kup’s expression softened, offering a small smile.
“... if that someone sticks around, maybe I will,” he said, nodding pointedly at Hot Rod. Hot Rod smiled and bowed his head bashfully. Hot Rod shuffled to the side slightly to lean back against the wall, gingerly sliding down to sit on the floor.
“So what are you doing all the way out here in the middle of nowhere, anyway?”
Kup arched an optic ridge at Hot Rod, scanning him up and down.
“I could ask you the same question, lad,” Kup returned. Hot Rod’s optics widened slightly.
“I-... it… it’s.. Complicated,” he mumbled as he bowed his head. Kup frowned softly, tilting his head.
“Complicated how?” he prompted.
Hot Rod huffed and shrugged his shoulders.
“I-... i-i don’t know, it… it just is.”
Kup scanned Hot Rod up and down again, more intently.
“Survivors' guilt.”
Hot Rod froze and slowly lifted his head to look up at Kup. Kup sighed sympathetically.
“You’re one of the only survivors of the attack on Nyon,” he said gently, “not exactly a hard guess, lad…”
Hot Rod ex-vented shakily and bowed his head, clenching and unclenching his servos in his lap. Kup sighed softly.
“Hey… I get it, kid,” Kup said, “... when you’re as old as me, there ain’t much you can’t relate to.”
Hot Rod let out a soft huff, nodding meekly as he bit his lower lip. Kup folded his arms, leaning against the frame of a makeshift doorway.
“You wanna talk about it?” he asked softly. Not pushy or nosy… just an offer. A verbal hand held out. Hot Rod hummed, thinking about it for a moment. Then he slowly shook his head.
“... i.. don’t think I can..” he said quietly. Kup sighed and nodded.
“That’s okay, kid,” Kup said, “you change your mind, you let me know. My hinges may be rusted but my hearing’s still sharp.”
Hot Rod huffed out a soft chuckle, offering a small nod.
“Sure thing, old-timer…” he hummed.
Prowl almost felt bad when he saw Springer jump out of his chair as he entered the office. Almost. Instead, Prowl merely glanced Springer up and down with a frown and crossed his arms over his chassis. Springer arched an optic ridge.
“... can I help you…?” Springer asked, Prowl didn’t miss the hint of annoyance in the Wrecker’s voice. He didn’t care.
“You haven’t updated me on Bluestreak,” he said pointedly. He narrowed his optics when Springer began to smirk.
Springer sighed and continued scrolling through his datapad.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Prowler-” he started. Prowl sharply cut him off, “don’t call me that.”
Springer arched an Optic Ridge, “Jazz calls you that.”
Prowl glared, “you aren’t Jazz.”
Springer stared at Prowl for a second before exclaiming as though it had all just clicked.
“Ah. so it’s a Jazz-only thing.”
Prowl huffed agitatedly as he kept his optics narrowed, “something like that. Now- Bluestreak.”
Springer shrugged again.
“I really don’t know what to tell you. Kid hasn’t checked in.”
Prowl felt his spark drop and the energon in his lines go cold.
“What do you mean he hasn’t checked in.” Not a question. A demand. Springer frowned.
“I mean what I said. I haven't heard from your kid since I sent him into the field.”
Prowl’s servo’s clenched.
“He’s not my-.. How is this even possible?” he questioned irritatedly, “it’s been cycles, did you not think that if he has not checked in by now, that maybe you should have tried to contact him and figure out why he hasn’t checked in?”
Springer narrowed his optics.
“Let off the throttle Prowl, I know what I'm doing.”
“Really?” Prowl challenged, “cause it seems to me, if you did know what you were doing you would have updated me on my kid!”
Springer scoffed, crossing his arms.
“So you admit, he’s your kid.”
“Go frag yourself,” Prowl hissed.
“Woah, easy there, Prowler…” a smooth familiar voice called from behind the tactician. Prowl ex-vented heavily, relaxing slightly as he felt Jazz rest a servo comfortingly on his shoulder.
“What’s goin’ on here?”
Prowl huffed and crossed his arms. “Springer sent Bluestreak out into the field and lost him.”
Prowl could feel Jazz tense beside him, and he felt slightly guilty for telling him so bluntly. Jazz levelled his gaze on Springer.
“What do you mean he lost blue,” Jazz said, his voice hitting that low tone it always did when he was trying to keep his temper under control. Prowl narrowed his optics.
“He sent Bluestreak into the field to track down Kup eight cycles ago, and hasn’t heard from him since, because Bluestreak hasn’t checked in.”
Prowl could sense the frown as it formed on Jazz’s faceplate.
“He didn’t think to contact Bluestreak?”
Springer rolled his optics and slouched in the chair he was sitting in.
“Will you two just relax?” he grumbled, “I have a plan.”
Prowl huffed incredulously, “is it as good as your plan to send Bluestreak into the field on a wild goose chase? Because that seems to be turning out swell.”
Springer stood up at that, and jazz discreetly placed himself between him and Prowl.
“If you would hear me out for five nanokliks, you might actually agree with my plan,” Springer said coldly. Prowl went to respond, likely with something viscous and cruel, but Jazz stopped him with a hand on his chestplate.
“Maybe we should hear him out, Prowler…” he said. Prowl stayed quiet for a moment, then sighed.
“You get five kliks to explain,” Prowl said curtly, “but the second I think it won’t work I'm going straight to Prime.”
Springer scoffed, “no faith, huh.”
Prowl frowned, “you’ve failed to retrieve a missing veteran after months of trying, then sent a kid into a warzone and failed to maintain communication with him,” Prowl said coldly, "I don't see much reason to have faith in you at this moment.”
Jazz sighed and gave Prowl a look that said ‘be nice’.
“What’s this plan you’re so sure of, Springer,” Jazz asked. Springer folded his arms over his chassis and leaned back against the edge of the table.
“Trailbreaker,” Springer said.
Prowl blinked owlishly. “Trailbreaker?”
Springer hummed and nodded.
“Kup was dealing with highly radioactive crystals when he went missing. With his forcefields he can protect himself from the radiation. He’ll find your kid, then the two of them will find Kup and they’ll all come back home as a group.”
Prowl pursed his lips, half-considering the plan.
“Just one major flaw I see,” Prowl said. Jazz sighed, hanging his head. Springer arched an optic ridge.
“How do you expect Trailbreaker to find Bluestreak, when we have no clue where he is?”
Springer snorted.
“I may not be as smart as you Prowl, but I'm not mentally deficient," he said, “it’s the kid’s first mission. I'm a Wrecker. Do you really think I'd send him into the field without slipping a tracker on the little punk?”
Prowl’s jaw just about hit the floor. Then he glared hard.
“And you’re only mentioning that now?”
Springer snorted, "I just thought it was entertaining to watch you get all worked up and worried about your kid.”
Prowl leapt for Springer but jazz caught him by the waist and held him back. Springer let out a soft chuckle.
“We just have to wait for Trailbreaker to get here. Then it’ll only be a matter of time before you get your kid back safe and sound.”