Fallout: Raising Rachel

by nan00k

Summary:

Because surviving the apocalypse is easy. Surviving raising one of its denizens had never been on Jazz and Thundercracker’s agendas, but hey, somebody has to do it. (A tie-in to "Fallout" and its sibling fics. Jazz/Thundercracker, OC.)

Notes:

Because surviving the apocalypse is easy. Surviving raising one of its denizens had never been on Jazz and Thundercracker’s agendas, but hey, somebody has to do it. There were multiple sub-families within Fallout’s main eleven cast members, but this is about the most volatile and complex one. :) This will be about seven chapters long. Some of the scenes draw on moments from Fallout such as “Creativity” and “View” but it’s all pretty straight forward.

Chapter Warnings: IF YOU ARE A MALE READER, please be warned, there is detailed (but not terribly graphic) descriptions of the wonderful experience of female puberty in chapter 3. :D You have been warned.

Warnings: foul language, violence, disturbing imagery and discussion, alternative universe, slash (aka two or more asexual aliens who are seen as male), and original characters
Disclaimer: Transformers © Dreamworks/Hasbro. The original characters found in this story were created explicitly for this story and its sibling fics.

Chapter 1: On Trust

 

Mechs and femmes weren’t machines like the humans believed at first, Jazz always said; they had to learn how to behave through learning examples from their creators or guardians, just like human children had to. In that sense, he had not been entirely daunted when he and Thundercracker had agreed (with the jet only a little reluctantly) to keep the stray human youngling they had found and, potentially, raise it to maturity.

It was akin to befriending a protoform that had been left alone during those first few crucial cycles of cognitive and social development upgrades. Their first meeting, full of cursing and shouting on her part, had been violent, but surely she’d calm down in the following weeks, Jazz reasoned. Humans were trusting creatures, despite initial bouts of suspicion. All of the humans he had ever met had always warmed up to his charm, so he had only worried about Thundercracker behaving badly in the beginning.

But as it turned out, Rachel Cooper was very much not like all of the other humans Jazz had ever known. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, or a very bad one.

Days following her agreeing to follow the two mechs and actually camp with them, Rachel had not stopped acting like a spooked turbo fox whenever one of them stepped too close, or when Jazz got too nosy with his questions about her origins. The cursing never ceased, especially when she got angry, which was often. At first, Jazz had been at a loss; why? Why did she get so angry with him? It was mostly at him, too, considering Thundercracker kept his distance and Rachel seemed to like that better. Jazz was worried for the little organic’s well being, so he had to get close. That wasn’t good for Rachel’s trust issues, however.

“D’ya got enough food fer tonight?” Jazz asked, not backing off after he built her a small fire. Thundercracker was glowering yards away, not pleased with having to have the fire there at all. It was a small sacrifice of safety in Jazz’s mind since he knew how sensitive organics were to the cold.

Rachel’s shoulders never relaxed from an upward pull when Jazz spoke to her then, her shining white eyes never moving from his frame when he moved even a little. “I’m fine, I already said,” she snapped, her irritation stemming from both exhaustion and that never-ending sense of paranoia she seemed to have. She didn’t trust anything, not even Jazz, after all those weeks of traveling. It was hurtful.

He still tried, though, even if it was frustrating. He always recharged as close as he could without seeming overbearing. Some nights, he thought he could use the environment as proof that the girl needed to get close to them.

“It’s too cold fer ya to be out by yerself,” Jazz said. He moved his arm pressed against the dirt and lifted the other a little in a welcoming, unthreatening gesture. “I give off more heat than th’ blanket.”

“I’m fine!” Rachel would always shout, bundling down in the fifty degree weather under blankets that always seemed too thin.

Jazz sighed heavily and just shook his helm. “Rachel, I don’t wanna upset you,” he said, trying to keep her calm. “I’m just worried.”

That earned him a quick glance that was entirely angry. Just frustrated. “Why?” she asked, before huffing and rolling over in dismissal of him. “Christ, never mind. I’m fine. Just let me sleep.”

He usually did and he always felt torn about the results. He had tried so hard to get her to stay with them because he wanted to make sure she was okay, not to watch her suffer from the elements he could protect her from. She only chose to use his car-mode when it was raining and she was still hesitant about that.

But… over time, Jazz wasn’t sure what wore her down more, his persistent offers or just the weather itself. Rachel was used to living in huge numbers of her own species with access to a variety of supplies. She was a survivor foremost, too, so even in her young mind, she must have worked out the logic in trusting Jazz long enough to scoot a little closer at night for both protection and extra warmth. Jazz just kept encouraging it and hoped her distrust would fade even more over time. It seemed like it was getting better. Maybe.

Thundercracker was the least patient with Rachel’s outbursts and distrust, but he thankfully never complained to her directly.

::She needs to learn discipline, or self control at the very least,:: he snarled, using their language as a barrier as the child walked ahead of them in silence. ::If she was a sparkling, I would have thrashed that attitude out of her already. This is ridiculous.::

Jazz narrowed his visor and tried to dim the growl of his engines as he fought to keep calm himself. ::She’s not a sparkling,:: he replied sharply. ::She’s a ten year old little girl who’s lost everything. We have to treat her like what she is, not what we want her to be.::

That was hard, even for Jazz. He could not ignore the sub-programming that lit up in his processors now whenever he had to deal with Rachel. He was beginning to see her as a sparkling, which was both good and not good. It was good that he was growing fonder of her; it made it easier to put up with her tantrums, and it was almost relieving to have someone else to hold dear besides Thundercracker. However, it also brought up the desire to, well, discipline her when she acted out. She was still in that stage she was being influenced how to respond to situations. He hoped they could weed out her aggression at least a little bit, so that it was easier for all of them to coexist.

She had suffered greatly growing up, however, and Jazz would not disregard that. She needed a kind hand, not a harsh one, and he was doing his best to give her just that.

Weeks turned into months, and by the half year mark, Jazz knew things had improved. Rachel seemed to enjoy conversation with him now and would often ask him for help openly, too. He was delighted when the evening came, a cold one in March, where Rachel went to his side of the fire and walked right up to his side.

“What’s up?” he asked, eyeing her blankets expectantly.

Rachel proceeded to throw her blankets to the ground in front of his chassis as an answer. “Cold,” she explained as she built up an impromptu nest near the crook of his arm. She paused when she tentatively brushed her fingers against his chest, withdrawing in surprise. “You are warm!”

“Th’ metal’s just a ploy,” he joked quietly. He moved his arms, so that they could cover the child a little more of a protective roof. He didn’t expect her to get too close to him. “Cozy on up, I don’t bite.”

Rachel frowned as she tried to organize her bundle of blankets. “I’m more worried about being crushed, honestly,” she muttered.

Jazz smiled, visor glowing a little brighter, making her squint. “I actually don’t move in recharge,” he said, lowering the lights again. It wasn’t like organic sleep; when mechs were offline, their frames didn’t move on its own.

“I noticed,” Rachel said, shrugging. She had probably observed their sleeping patterns for a while now, just to make sure on her own. “Just don’t kick or whatever.”

“Pinky swear,” Jazz offered, waggling his claws at her. Rachel just rolled her eyes as she curled up under the heaviest blanket. Jazz chuckled before going quiet and making sure his systems weren’t rumbling too loudly for the organic. She slept peacefully throughout the night and Jazz couldn’t help but feel happy.

From there, it seemed like things rapidly improved with his patient encouragement, Thundercracker’s respectful distance, and Rachel’s slow growth of trust in others as she learned she could really count on the mechs to be there. Jazz wondered if she was simply against getting close out of the habit of being abandoned or abandoning people so often in her life. She had a home with them for as long as she wanted, he made sure she understood. Rachel didn’t say much about it, but Jazz got the impression she intended to stick around. That made him irrationally happy and not even Thundercracker’s blunt realism couldn't shake that.

One day in spring, more than a year after she joined them, Jazz had told Rachel (out of courtesy; she always liked to be in on their traveling plans) they would be nearing a big river in Germany where they were. When they got to a ridge over seeing it and the embankment of trees that nearly blocked it from sight, Jazz told her it was nearby.

He wasn’t expecting her to suddenly perk up and jump up and down with unusual energy.

“Pick me up!” she exclaimed.

Jazz froze. “What?” he asked, startled. Even Thundercracker stopped further up the path. She never asked to be picked up. She hated it.

“I wanna see,” Rachel said, impatient. She gestured beyond them at the waterfront.

“What, th’ river?” Jazz felt his shock combat furiously with unabashed glee. He exchanged a glance with Thundercracker, who’s stoic front must have been hiding at least a little surprise of his own.

The blond rolled her eyes. “Yeah!” She jumped up and down again, an eleven year old bundle of impatience. “Hurry up.”

Absolutely delighted, Jazz crouched and reached out with his hand, letting her come to him. “Okay, okay, Miss Pushy!” he joked. He waited until she was securely seated and even then, he made sure his other hand was close underneath. He lifted her up slowly. “Hold on, one elevator flight comin’ up.”

He moved as gently as he could. The girl still clung to his fingers and palm tightly, going ridged in nervousness as she left the ground and was brought up into the air. Jazz wasn’t nearly as tall as most mechs were, like Thundercracker, but for the human, it must have been very high up.

“Whoa,” Rachel said, eyes huge as she gazed around them. She brought her legs up closer, away from the edge.

Jazz smiled, steading his hands even more. “Too high?”

Rachel shook her head, still tense. “No. Just… don’t move so much,” she said, shakily trying to find a good position to stay in.

“Can do.” Jazz looked back in front of them, nodding only with his head. “Can you see the water?”

“Yeah, through the trees,” Rachel replied, straining her neck a little without standing up. She seemed impressed. “It’s wide.”

Jazz chuckled. “Yeah, that’s why we’re gonna be walkin’ down th’ creek t’ get t’ a bridge, if it’s still up,” he explained. He exchanged a grateful look with Thundercracker, who was being remarkably patient waiting there.

Rachel nodded slowly. “Okay.” She fidgeted as she glanced around his hand. “I want to get down.”

“I can carry you to the bridge,” Jazz offered, though he already knew the answer.

To his credit, Rachel hesitated before jerkily shaking her head. “…No,” she said. She stopped again, before adding a belated, “No, thanks.”

She didn’t ask to be picked up a lot even after that and still put up a fight when she didn’t want to be picked up and she had to be… but he racked it up to an improvement, regardless.

It took small steps to get where they needed to be. Rachel grew up all too fast for Jazz’s tastes, but while she grew, she also grew fonder of her guardians. She didn’t flinch when they came near. She accepted them as support. She even reached out on her own time to joke with Jazz or share a story with Thundercracker after he finally breached their mutual silence.

One day, after a previous night of heavy rain, Jazz had let Rachel walk ahead of him on a dirt path through another dense forest. He was several yards behind her, but when he saw her sneaker slide down what appeared to be an outcropping of dirt that disappeared off into oblivion over a steep hill, panic jolted in his spark. He dashed ahead, afraid she would be hurt.

“Rachel!” he shouted, diving forward. He stopped short when he realized Rachel wasn’t slipping off the incline. She had simply fallen to another level of dirt only a few inches lower, and much more solid.

His exclamation startled her and she turned around to give him a wide-eyed look. “Wh-what?” she asked, bewildered.

Jazz stood there for a moment in his own personal shock. The panic of her falling down the hill faded. “Primus…” he started, shuttering his visor once to clear his thoughts. He backed up a little, offering a hand up in apology. “Sorry, I thought th’ dirt was gonna give. You okay?”

Rachel frowned and gripped at her sweater. “Yeah, jeez. You scared me,” she accused, though she wasn’t angry. They kept walking and Jazz felt a little guilty.

“Sorry, Rach,” he said, dreading that backlash for getting too close. She didn’t always appreciate him ‘smothering her.’ “Didn’t mean to.”

“I know how to walk, okay?” Rachel said, surprising him. She sent him a dry look, rolling her eyes. “Don’t you trust me? Honestly…”

He didn’t know what made him more amused; her dismissal of his concern, or her apparent acceptance that Jazz was allowed to care about her.

Her comment on trust was equally intriguing. Jazz smiled to himself when she couldn’t see.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, walking with a much more confident step after his adopted child. “I do trust ya.”

Because in the end—it was what family did.

 

Next: On Discipline, with an angry little human and two angry giant robots.

 

Chapter 2: On Discipline

Notes:

Rachel is a stubborn little tyke, but sometimes, even she is in awe she survived the day—and her guardians, who are just as likely to lash out in anger as she is. …Seriously, I’m not even sure how any of these three survived each other, but let’s just go with it.

Warnings: foul language, violence, disturbing imagery and discussion, alternative universe, slash (aka two or more asexual aliens who are seen as male), and original characters
Disclaimer: Transformers © Dreamworks/Hasbro. The original characters found in this story were created explicitly for this story and its sibling fics.

 

 

When Thundercracker got mad, he got mad. He wasn’t the only one. Each member of their triad had bad tempers. Rachel had the explosive kind of rage; she knew that she was the loudest and most prone to outburst. She had always been that bad, though. She knew it must have been a shock to the genial Jazz and the quiet Thundercracker with how loud the human could get, but they would just have to get used to it.

They must have, after months and months of traveling, plus months of Rachel getting angry and letting them know she was angry. It didn’t matter if it was their fault or not. The problem was, they didn’t act the way she had expected they would when she got mad. Her mother had always ignored her or lashed back verbally (or physically) when Rachel really got upset. But the aliens… well, weren’t very normal when they did react.

Thundercracker typically ignored her when she bitched about the little things. Jazz tried to be nice, oddly enough, when she was in a normal bad mood. If it was the weather or moving that was getting her down, he’d offer to pick her up or travel in car mode. Sometimes it made her feel better, sometimes not. He’d still offer, and eventually stopped after a few tries to give her space, but never told her to shut up.

…Unless it wasn’t about the weather. Rachel would sometimes complain about things more serious than rain, which was what actually pissed Jazz off. Sometimes it was about more obvious things. Like the apocalypse. Or the death of her species. Or the fact she was traveling with two giant aliens while rarely encountering members of her own species—which was literally going extinct. She wasn’t going to cry and bemoan those losses like someone who had given up the will to live, but sometimes… even she had to sit back and curse her species’ circumstances. It just felt so unfair sometimes. Jazz never belittled or tried to make less of her grief or frustrations. He was always the most humble about the actions of his people, which almost appeased Rachel. She knew he felt guilty, and it wasn’t like she was trying to make him feel guilty.

Sometimes though… bitching was really the only thing that helped.

Jazz was kind sometimes when it came to her bouts of pessimism. He’d try to bring her away from those thoughts with games or jokes. But she knew what he was doing after awhile, which only made her angrier. Her anger bothered him, because if anything Jazz was an optimist, which equated him to a fool in Rachel’s eyes, but to him, she was being just as foolish.

The first time Jazz turned and told her, “Shut up,” was the day Rachel literally stopped and felt… not threatened, but definitely uneasy. And angrier. Which resulted in their first shouting match ever, which had been so shocking and abnormal, Rachel felt like she had gone mad. Jazz was just as tricky fighting as he was joking, but his wit never managed to surpass Rachel’s pure emotion. They met at a standstill, where Rachel had to hide angry tears and Jazz’s engines were actually revving loud enough to echo faintly through the forest they were walking through.

And Thundercracker had said nothing the whole time. Rachel had almost forgotten the jet was there, in her blind haze of anger, when she had considered simply breaking away and leaving Jazz in the forest alone. She only realized the jet was still there when Jazz finally stomped over and sat down behind a large boulder in the hill they were slowly moving down. The amount of rocks would give them cover for the night, so obviously this was supposed to be camp. When Rachel glanced up, she saw Thundercracker walking slowly behind, expression neutral.

Rachel had no idea what to expect then, especially from him. He was always so quiet and was obviously fonder of Jazz than of her. She braced herself as he walked past, his footsteps always leaving quiet tremors in the dirt, but he didn’t lash out at all. He didn’t ignore her either, meeting her glare as readily as ever, before looking up to find a place to sit down.

It was going to be a rough night. Rachel didn’t bother making a fire, because then she’d have to ask for help from Jazz, who was pointedly ignoring her. But then, out of no where, the fighting resurfaced (probably because Rachel had made a sarcastic comment about how she would have loved to be in a real house if they even still existed) and Rachel was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to cry, but she’d be damned before she ever cried because some stupid alien robot had pissed her off—

Rumbling suddenly, Thundercracker abruptly sat up, reaching with his hands to lift himself up more. Rachel stifled a gasp and moved back instinctively, because if the jet had reached the end of his patience, she was the most likely target—

But Thundercracker didn’t speak to her. Instead, he shot off a rather vicious sounding comment to Jazz in their own alien language, which always sounded like gears crushing on metal. Jazz flinched and seemed taken back by whatever the jet said, before snarling back his own comment. The argument only lasted a few seconds and Jazz turned away from both of them, irritable, but silent. Rachel sat as quietly as she could, hoping to avoid attracting attention back to her.

Neither mech looked back at her after that, but Thundercracker pointedly moved his legs between her and Jazz, as a physical barrier. The next day, he was the one who woke her up and got her fresh water. Normally, he avoided “human caring” duties that Jazz had always embraced. The silver mech was keeping his distance from her, but seemed in better spirits. Rachel was also feeling better, but mostly because her irritation was being turned into confusion as she dealt with the still-stoic but far nicer jet.

He was the “good cop” when Jazz was mad, she realized, recalling the phrase she had heard in books before. No matter what his attitude was normally, Thundercracker was smart. He knew a split group was a hazard. He also probably hated the noise. And instead of getting angry with them for being angry, he tried to diffuse the situation.

But something else about the situation startled Rachel. Thundercracker, for all of his supposed reluctance to be near the human in his midst, tried to make her feel safer when there was an argument. Even if it was her fault. Even if Jazz was really upset. He’d quietly focus on keeping them from arguing again, but also focus on making sure Rachel wasn’t falling apart at the seams. He’d sometimes do something nice to Jazz too, as if reassuring him of something, but he would always make sure Rachel knew that he, well, was on her side, too.

It was… an odd comfort. It often brought the arguments to an end far quicker than apologies did, because Rachel was so confused and quietly moved by the kindness, she sometimes completely forgot what she was mad about and she and Jazz got along after that.

Then there were the times when Thundercracker was the one who got mad. Those were the days that, well, Rachel sometimes questioned how the hell she was even alive by the end of it all. They were rarer than pissing off Jazz, even though making Jazz angry enough to snap at her was rare in and of itself. Thundercracker was always surly, quite like Rachel, but when he actually got angry…

Mostly it was Jazz’s fault. Rachel sometimes didn’t always understand what happened, because they’d be bickering in their own language. They’d be quietly speaking one moment, and then suddenly, Thundercracker would snarl loudly and lash out, striking a tree maybe with his fist. One time he split two in a row with one swing and was in a horrid mood for the rest of the week.

He never hit Jazz outside of minor playful swats, but Rachel was glad the jet had the sense not to hit the smaller mech with his fists when he was that angry. He’d probably kill Jazz, who stupidly seemed to egg Thundercracker on more, or when Thundercracker did seem ready to close the distance between them and strangle the silver mech, Jazz simply sped up to put distance between them in silence. Rachel was left staring in shock, wondering where the hell that would leave her if they ever split up.

…somehow becoming embroiled in an alien custody battle did not pique her interests.

And then there were the times Rachel was the problem. As it turned out, Thundercracker was more the “bad cop” than Jazz ever was, which was annoying. It wasn’t like he got really mad during those days. It was primarily when Rachel didn’t want to do something and Thundercracker would effortlessly squash the minor rebellion.

“I don’t want to be carried,” Rachel said, as she stared in disgust at the river they were trying to cross. Thundercracker was waiting impatiently with his hand outstretched for her to jump on like a freaking gerbil. “I can swim just fine.”

“The river is polluted,” Thundercracker replied, not impressed. He motioned with his hand again.

Rachel glared back. “I said, I’m not being carried—.”

Leaning closer slowly, Thundercracker gave the human a dark look. “Get. Over. Here.”

…And so she got on the hand.

He was a practical alien, all in all. He got irritated when she refused to do things his way when they would make things easier (mostly for him), her dignity irrelevant. Rachel reluctantly agreed as she got older that it was well-intentioned, but that never made her more willing to compromise.

There were a few times Rachel could think of where she actually pissed the ex-Decepticon off enough that his fist-swinging rage actually came out. It was a rare event, because even the stubborn blond had even sense to Back the Fuck Off before Thundercracker’s rage went supernova.

Like the time she had ignored his warning and went up the two stories into an abandoned library to look for books. It wasn’t like she was holding their trio up (the mechs were refueling across the street at a petrol station) and she didn’t want to just stand around idly. She wanted to grab more books to read. Thundercracker had shot down her suggestion earlier to do that, agreeing with Jazz that the building was unstable, and told her to stay on the sidewalk. It was perfectly stable and Rachel proved it by making it in and out without dying or even getting injured.

Of course, the moment she got outside and found herself between both aliens, Rachel realized just how little Thundercracker cared about the fact his warning had been needless. He was more pissed off that she had ignored him entirely. And Thundercracker, as it turned out, did not like being ignored.

“—stupid, ignorant, foolish brat,” he ranted, ignoring her startled expression, and Jazz’s half-hearted attempts to calm him down. Thundercracker refused to let them move on, shouting on angrily about how stupid Rachel had been. If she wasn’t so scared, she probably would have been insulted. “If I tell you to do something, you do it, I don’t care!”

“But—,” Rachel tried. She was stunned she actually felt a little cowed by his reaction. Since when did the reactions of adults get under her skin?

“BE SILENT,” the jet snarled. Thundercracker, apparently, was just as good as Jazz and Rachel were at letting the world know when he was pissed. Rachel fell quiet obediently in a sense of sheer self-preservation. “What the frag did you think would happen if the building collapsed? That we’d dig you out? Primus, Skywarp wasn’t even that dense! I told you one thing, and you go and—!”

He kept going strong, eventually marching onwards when darkness became a threat. Rachel was forced to keep pace, wincing as the tirade failed to cease, hating it every time the huge alien’s glare fell on her and he openly reminded her that he was mad at her still.

If she were one of their own, Rachel realized, he probably would have shaken her senseless, or at least had smacked her like he would with Jazz. He was angry enough that Jazz said nothing other than a few murmurs of comfort to Rachel, “to just let him rant,” and tried to calm his mate down later, being the voice of reason this time.

Later, Jazz airily suggested she apologize for slipping away and making them worry. Rachel huffed at the idea of apologizing to an alien for doing something that hadn’t done any harm. Thundercracker continued to be in a foul mood for the rest of the week, however, and each progressing day made Rachel feel like she wanted to crawl deep inside herself away from the unfaltering glare from the tallest mech.

It wasn’t because she cared about his feelings, or—or something like that. She refused to think she had actually given into Jazz’s silly jokes about them adopting her. They weren’t her parents. They weren’t… important.

But they were still there. She was still with them for the long run (even she had to admit that to herself). And… the fact that he got so mad must have meant Thundercracker cared, the logical part of her mind told her, even if it seemed like the opposite. Her mother had gotten upset with her for disappearing a few times, so maybe it was the same thing.

That didn’t make it any easier to walk up with heavy feet and a heavy heart to the giant mech before they set out on their morning journey. Thundercracker stared back at her with the same harsh look, even though it was somewhat faded now. Rachel braced herself—and her pride.

“Sorry,” she said, forcing herself not to mumble.

Thundercracker didn’t even flinch. “For?” he asked, dragging it out.

Rachel grit her teeth. “Ignoring you.” She knew that was the real problem. It had to have been, since she had always irritated him before, but his reaction this time obviously meant it was more serious.

“No,” Thundercracker said suddenly, making her stare up in surprise. He gave her a severe look and spoke firmly, like a real father might have. “You made us worry needlessly. That is the real problem here. Understand that.”

“Okay,” she said, still fighting that burning sensation of guilt. She fidgeted and was glad this was over.

The jet stood back a little, clearly appeased. He nodded. “Good.” Hesitating a moment, Thundercracker met her stare with another firm expression that demanded her full attention. “If you want books, there are other places to go. I don’t just say things for no reason, and neither does Jazz.”

Rachel wondered, briefly, if he even understood what he sounded like just then. She remembered only glimpses of her real father and only really could recall the harsher moments with her mother. But she knew what a father was supposed to sound like; it was almost sad how much she felt at ease when it was that giant alien who mimicked it.

“…Okay.” Rachel nodded and stiffly looked back up at him. “I’m sorry, TC.” She meant it, even though she wasn’t entirely sure why yet.

If she had learned anything in her time with the two aliens, it was how to read them. Thundercracker was always stoic, but Rachel could still see faint lines of what could have been relief—or pride.

“Good,” he rumbled. He turned slightly, motioning with his hand for her to go in front of him to catch up to Jazz. “Now, let’s go. And don’t rush, the path is muddy.”

Rachel hid a smile that traitorously slipped onto her face as she moved ahead of him. Scary aliens, indeed.

Next: On puberty, wherein Jazz becomes with familiar with the term, “Personal Hell.”

 

 

Notes:

My head canon went nuts in this story, including on the relation between creators/guardians and sparklings. I see the transformers as being rather communal caregivers who don’t care about lineage when it comes to sparklings, because they lack maternal/paternal instincts as humans know it. Basically, every mech/femme has some sort of “parental caring protocols” that make it difficult for even ex-‘Cons to turn away a distressed sparkling. A built in self-preservation instinct for the species, overall, considering sparklings don’t necessarily needed bonded pairs and “parents” aren’t obligated to stick around (and might not and no one would really think less of them).

Chapter 3: On Puberty

Notes:

If you get squeamish with mention of womanly problems, I suggest skipping this chapter. It’s not like I go into grotesque detail, but hey, we are dealing with inquisitive (and soon-to-be-horrified) aliens.

This is probably one of the weirder things I have ever written for fan fiction. Or any fiction, for that matter. Like whoa.

Warnings: foul language, violence, disturbing imagery and discussion, alternative universe, slash (aka two or more asexual aliens who are seen as male), and original characters
Disclaimer: Transformers © Dreamworks/Hasbro. The original characters found in this story were created explicitly for this story and its sibling fics.

 

Jazz had endured many horrors in his long life. He had grown up on the streets of Kaon, narrowly avoiding ending up in the same gladiatorial pits that raised many a ‘Con. He had survived a civil war that had destroyed their world and sent his entire species into an intergalactic diaspora. He had survived up until now the devastation of the drones and the Fallen. One time he had even gotten trapped on Shockwave’s ship; five joors there had been worse any horror film the humans could ever come up with.

But nothing—not a lifetime of the streets, of being an officer in an army, nor facing down the worst his enemies had ever thrown at him—could compare to the horrors of raising a female human teenager.

There were the tantrums and the general moodiness that accompanied most human children. Rachel was a grouchy child by default and Jazz could live with that. They had in (relative) peace for almost a year and a half. He hadn’t expected any more tricks or twists in the challenge of raising a human child.

Until Rachel turned eleven. Specifically, two months and fourteen days after turning eleven. It was then Jazz became acquainted and innately connected with what the humans called, “his own personal hell.”

It had started when Rachel had greeted him one morning with a severe expression and a “need to get to a town” to get supplies. She refused to state exactly what she needed, but it just so happened they were close to a small village. She disappeared into one of its drugstores and reappeared with a stuffed backpack. Jazz had teased her for “robbing the store blind,” but she didn’t return the jibe. If anything, she was rather withdrawn for the rest of the day, which made Jazz immediately even more interested in what she had picked up. If anything, he was concerned something was really wrong.

Timing it right, he waited until Rachel went off to take care of her teeth and other nighttime hygiene concerns, and he then went to poke around her bags. Everything seemed in order, except for a medium sized package that stood out boldly from the rest of her clothing.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t food or clothing. It was bundled up in a thin plastic. It was obviously pre-war packaging, with the bright green coloration of the plastic, and it was a non-perishable item, apparently. Jazz had no idea why Rachel would travel with a package like that when it seemed useless to her, since the little square took up so much room. He would offer to take it later (subtly, of course, so she didn’t know he had snooped around), just so the stubborn little girl wouldn’t be overburdened. She had the terrible habit of demanding to carry most of her own gear, which must have worn down her—

In the process of tipping the backpack to its proper location near her bedding, Jazz stopped when he noticed the big white and pink lettering on the package, the colors odd in their environment (and within Rachel’s possession). It was also in English, which was odd, considering they were in French territory. The label simply said, Always - Maxi.

It took a moment to research the brand and Jazz was honestly surprised. Feminine hygiene products? These were used by adult human femmes during their reproductive cycles, to shield against waste, weren’t they? What the frag would Rachel be doing with—?

And then he realized.

Jazz stared.

::Oh. My. Primus.::

Thundercracker, his turn to recharge for most of evening, glanced his way. ::What’s wrong?:: he asked, still over the comm., following Jazz’s lead.

::TC, we have a problem,:: Jazz said, feeling faint.

::What?:: the jet demanded again, sitting upright with mild alarm in his expression.

Jazz did his best not to panic and sent his mate a strained look. ::We maaaay be havin’ some big problems in th’ next few days,:: he said. Or years. ::Like, human problems.::

After sharing the most important key files on the human reproductive system with the jet, Jazz almost spared a moment to be amused at Thundercracker’s immediate disgust and momentary panic. They had no fragging idea what they were doing, the Seeker hissed; they shouldn’t meddle with things concerning biology, of all things, when it was already dangerous they were messing with Rachel’s social learning.

But there wasn’t another choice. Not really. Unless they were to ignore it—and then get slammed by something down the road they had purposely ignored—or try to find another human camp to get Rachel help at. Jazz didn’t know if they had enough time to get her to one though; it wasn’t like they had MapQuest of human refugee camps.

In the end, Jazz knew he couldn’t ignore it. Reproductive cycles were immensely important for humans—and it was also a scary experience, from what his records told him. Rachel might have been too scared or nervous to ask for help. Thundercracker was far more resistant to taking up the mantle of parenting (well, outside of discipline, or protecting their little group, at least), so that left Jazz with the responsibility to approach Rachel.

It took him a day to get the courage to go ahead. He waited until Rachel had finished her meal and seemed ready to call it a night. He approached calmly; his processors were swirling with anxiety. He knew what he had to do, but it wouldn’t be pleasant. Rachel looked up at him when he stopped close by and seemed confused by his presence.

“Rachel…” he began, sitting down quietly. He smiled at her against the flutter of his nerves. “Can I talk t’ ya fer a sec? Fer serious.”

Reluctantly standing, Rachel walked over to him when he motioned at her. “What?” she demanded, suspicion on her face.

“I need ya t’ listen, come’re.” He frowned when she refused to come up closer. “Don’t gimme that look, come’re.”

Finally, the little femme made it over to his knee and he helped her up to sit on it. She scowled at him openly, but there were flickers of concern there as well. She knew something was up. Jazz braced himself.

“A’ight. I don’t wanna crowd ya or anythin’, an’ I don’t mean no disrespect,” he said. “Ya can tell me t’ shove off later, but I wanna speak fer a minute first, okay?”

Rachel’s eyes narrowed slowly. “What’s wrong?” she asked, now a little worried. Jazz knew he was being too severe then.

“Nothin’s wrong!” he said chidingly. He shifted and then offered, “I’m not human.”

“Duh,” she interrupted.

Jazz sent her a strained look. “Lemme talk.” She frowned, but remained silent. Jazz continued, “I meant t’ say, I may not be human, but I do know my stuff. I had experience with a few before you, an’ even now, I have lots o’ files on yer species. I’m not… new at this. But at th’ same time, I want ya t’ understand there are a lot of things different about us, an’ I respect that. I don’t mean t’ be tryin’ t’ stick my servos where they don’t belong.”

The long disclaimer probably disturbed her greatly. “…Okay…?” Rachel said, uncertain.

“I, ah, noticed… you… ah…” Jazz sank his claws into the dirt to keep from fidgeting. “I suppose you’ve noticed over the last few days now that, well, you’ve been seein’ some changes… with yerself. Yer body.”

From the few human films he had that covered moments like this, he thought that was a good lead. There was a long pause, however. Rachel sat still on his knee, but now, her eyes were a little wider than before as she realized what he was saying.

Jazz smiled, trying to keep things cool. “It’s okay. I don’t wanna make you upset, or scared, or—,” he began.

“You mean my period?” Rachel interrupted, without any sign of alarm or disgust.

Pausing, the silver mech considered where this was going. He had not expected her to be so calm. “…Yes?” he said, fumbling for ground to stand on now.

Rachel made a face that he couldn’t quite decipher. “Jesus, that’s all?” she exclaimed. She frowned deeply. “Yeah, so what? I’ve got supplies, so it’s no big deal.”

There was a lull in noise around the camp. Thundercracker was pointedly ignoring them on the other side of the campfire, and Jazz could really only find it in himself to stare at the human perched on his leg. Rachel stared back with open distrust.

“What?” she asked, more defensive.

Jazz wondered just where his train of thought had been heading before, because now it was successfully derailed. “You… know about… all that?” he asked, knowing he sounded out of his element, because he certainly was.

“All what?” Rachel asked, bewildered.

“Puberty!” Jazz said, motioning with his hands. “It’s a big change fer ya as a lady, so it’s important that you—”

“Jazz. Oh, my God, what are you, a forty year old man?” Rachel suddenly exclaimed. She had that Please Stop expression she wore when he had made a big fuss about her climbing up steep hillsides without his help. “Stop it. It’s normal. Fine. Whatever. I already got the Talk like a bajillion times from my mom and all the old people who said I should have started before.”

“Yer actually kind of early by the info I got—wait,” Jazz started to say. He froze. “So you already know? About… uh… everything?”

“Yeah?” Rachel asked, completely calm.

How…? He wondered if he was allowed to ask. “…Okay… so…” he trailed off, now severely off track. “That’s good?” He hoped so.

“You’re so weird,” Rachel said, rolling her eyes.

Jazz floundered for a moment longer, still unsure how to proceed now. “You know about sex?” he asked. He knew that humans valued privacy foremost when it came to their sexual relationships, but he hadn’t been sure how much children knew of it. It was a very adult thing for their culture, after all.

Thankfully, Rachel just made another face. “Uh, yeah?” she said, unimpressed. “Not like we got curtains in camps, you know.”

Sweet Primus. Jazz did his best not to get mad, because he knew she was being honest. The lack of courtesy towards the children in that environment was still irritating to contemplate.

“Okay, well, don’t feel pressured by it. I dunno if yer ever wanna go meet up with another dude—or a girl, I don’t judge!—but now that yer a lady, ya should know about safe ways t’ have intercourse,” he said. “I know I don’t know much about it outside of books an’ stuff, but if ya have questions…”

He stopped awkwardly when he noticed the expression Rachel was sending his way. Her eyes were pinched closer together and she stared at him in open disbelief.

“…Jazz,” she said, clearly struggling over something.

“What?” he asked, confused.

Rachel stared at him more. “I’m eleven,” she said, practically choking.

Jazz frowned. “And?” Once the humans made it over the puberty line, didn’t age cease to matter when it came to intercourse?

Rachel covered her face with her hands. “You have to be kidding me,” she spat. She glared up at him and held her hand up to him before he started to speak again. “Just. Stop. Stop talking about this.”

“But I’m just tryin’ t’ help,” Jazz replied, flustered. “Humans gotta learn about how they turn into men an’ women properly, right?” He thought that was part of the whole raising and nurturing thing. How did he screw this up?

“I’m not a woman!” Rachel practically yelled, now going red in the face. “Jeez, stop making it seem like I’m about to start having babies!”

That made Jazz scowl. “You better not.” He was quite content in having one wayward human under his care, not to mention he didn’t exactly savor the idea of any creepy ass punk touching his kid.

…Jazz paused and took a mental step back. Maybe he was too serious about this. He had a newfound appreciation for human parental behaviors, though. This was making his protective protocols go haywire.

“TC!” Rachel suddenly yelled, apparently having had enough of Jazz’s concern. She turned her head toward the jet. “Jazz is being stupid!”

Sometimes that plea had gotten her backup in the past. Thundercracker, still lounging by the log, sent her a patient expression. “Not my fault,” he said, thoroughly disinterested.

Rachel huffed and Jazz waited as the little femme sat up properly to fix him with a severe look that always looked so odd on such a young creature.

“Look,” she began, dreadfully serious. “Puberty goes like this: your body starts acting weird and you start acting more, like, uh… hormonal, or whatever the word is. Yeah.” She shook her head. “Anyway, guys have it easy and only their voices get deeper. Girls get periods and it sucks. We also get boobs and stuff, which I couldn’t care less about, but I already know about it, so stop acting like it’s some huge surprise.”

Frowning, Jazz wasn’t sure how to take her blunt explanations. “…You are really open about this, aren’t you?” he asked, mildly disturbed. Were all female children like this?

“You’re robots,” Rachel replied, shrugging. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

Jazz did care, considering it would affect her so much, but he couldn’t say he was entirely at peace with the whole, well, grossness of it. Organics really did get the short end of the stick, or at least, that’s how it seemed with biology. He knew it would simply become part of their routine as it was, so there was no point in making a big scene about it now.

In the end, Rachel shrugged away Jazz’s interest and the mech felt a little more comfortable in just letting it go. He wasn’t human nor had a clear understanding of their biological sexes, so he knew he shouldn’t have tried to ask questions he couldn’t fathom to begin with. If she said she was okay, he’d trust her on that. It seemed simple enough, and by the end of the first cycle, Jazz decided it wasn’t a big deal after all.

But then…

It got worse.

Jazz was rudely reintroduced to the problem the second time Rachel went through the menstrual cycle. One day, she was perfectly fine. The next, she was keeled over on her bedding, refusing to move and near-tears in pain. Jazz panicked at first and immediately decided to backtrack to the last camp they found (over two weeks away), but they couldn’t travel with her like this. All they could do was sit there and wait it out; it had been torture for both parties, with the mechs having to endure Rachel’s pathetic moans.

After the first forty-eight hours, the pain subsided, however, and Rachel recovered just fine. She was absolutely miserable during the first few days of the cycling, but it made sense to Jazz’s records on the topic. Even Thundercracker was disturbed by how bad it got. “Cramps” became a code word for “leave the human alone.”

“I want to DIE,” Rachel cried into her pillow, not moving a single inch all morning, except to curl up against whatever sort of pain she was feeling. From what Jazz could understand, it was akin to his internal components suddenly compressing past their limits.

“Stop talkin’ like that,” he chided gently. He kept the fire going strong for more warmth; they didn’t travel in the first day. It was just too rough on her. “Yer not gonna die.”

“But I want to…” Rachel whimpered. She kept her face pinned to the blankets, speaking in a muffled, desperate voice that made Jazz cringe. “Aughhh, kill me. Please. Step on me. Shoot me.”

Jazz sighed. “No.” He was able to sit close to her on those awful days and she didn’t tell him to back off when he ran a soothing finger down her spine, the best comfort he could offer. “Didja take aspirin?”

Rachel hissed. “That shit doesn’t work!” she snapped, her temper even worse during these times.

While they waited for it to pass, Thundercracker was left to sit around awkwardly, unwilling to move closer like Jazz did. He still kept a wary optic on the human and he finally spoke up about his concerns the third time it happened.

“Maybe something is wrong with her,” Thundercracker said when Rachel finally got to sleep (or passed out), worry slipping through his calm demeanor. Jazz didn’t have the spark to poke fun at him for it though. “Is it normal for there to be this much pain involved?”

“Unfortunately, yeah. This is sort of normal, I think. Mikaela always got sick durin’ hers,” the saboteur replied. Then again, Mikaela had been a grown woman. This was just a little girl and it was making Jazz feel horrible just stand there and watch helplessly. He looked up at Thundercracker in distress. “I feel so bad. We can’t do anythin’ fer her.”

Eventually, the three of them all got used to the Two Days of Hell and it became less stressful after awhile. Rachel claimed it wasn’t always awful some months and they were able to move more when it wasn’t too bad. Jazz did his best to let her rest anyway.

While they didn’t understand it, Jazz and Thundercracker mutually decided it was “beyond theirs to place judgment on,” which was a hard-learned experience for Thundercracker in particular. He’d still make jabs at how inconvenient the whole thing was for them as a group when Rachel was had to stop frequently, or spend a whole day to rest.

That afternoon, Thundercracker had made one short, biting comment about her stopping for the fourth time that day. Normally he was patient with it, but it had been a rough week with drones. Jazz sent him a quiet warning over the comm. to lay off, but then, something happened.

Rachel had looked up at Thundercracker after he had snapped at her. She seemed shocked at first.

Without a single breath of warning, Rachel burst into tears.

Jazz stared on in stunned silence, Thundercracker rendered speechless as well, as Rachel broke down with uncharacteristic tears and incoherent babbling. Rachel… did not cry. She got upset and sometimes shed a few angry tears, but never… like… this. Jazz turned and stared at Thundercracker, who turned back to him, and the two mechs floundered in silence punctuated by the crying child.

::…You’re such a dick,:: Jazz said over the link, unable to not be a little upset as well.

Thundercracker’s engines sputtered. ::I didn’t do anything!:: he exclaimed, both insulted and alarmed as the human continued to cry. Thundercracker motioned wildly. ::Primus! Why is she crying? !::

It was odd, considering how hardy their adopted child generally was, but Jazz had a feeling it was still because of the fragging cycling.

::Hormones… maybe? I have no idea!:: Jazz crouched and motioned with his hand to herd the little girl forward and away from the jet. “Rachel, come on, sweetie. Just ignore him. I’ll read you some Verne.”

It was rough going that first year. Jazz (as well as his other two companions obviously) were relieved when it became clear the experience for Rachel got easier as she got older. In time, he was sure it wouldn’t become an ordeal as much as, well, a fact of life on Earth. Jazz became more and more aware of that fact that this was another example of Rachel leaving childhood behind, which always sobered him. He didn’t like the idea of his little girl having to face any more grown-up issues than she already did (such as running for her life, or scavenging for food).

Then again, under certain circumstances, Jazz knew Rachel still had a few more years of being a kid. He knew his influence had helped in that regard.

“If ya ever have kids, I want one t’ be named after me,” he said while walking one day after they had been talking about the topic of her growing up.

“I’m not naming my kid Dick Face,” Rachel quipped back without missing a beat.

Thundercracker snorted ahead of them, which made Rachel crack up. Jazz scowled. “Yer such a lady,” he said, without any real malice.

Rachel had the nerve to look up at him and wink. “You know it.”

They still had a few years left, he decided; he was glad.

 

Next: On protection, wherein Rachel earns her keep and learns something about sacrifices.

Notes:

The following conversation was inspired after writing this chapter:

Best Friend: I can't even imagine the entire group with this problem. All the girls would sync up. Poor Barns!
Me: Oh god. Wildrider would pretend to have cramps and join in.
Best Friend: OhGOD

And thus it was canon. (No, seriously, this is getting written someday, I swear.)

Chapter 4: On Protection

Notes:

Rachel learns something about sacrifices—both receiving the benefits of them as well as making some of her own—because that’s really what family’s about, isn’t it?

Warnings: foul language, violence, disturbing imagery and discussion, alternative universe, slash (aka two or more asexual aliens who are seen as male), and original characters
Disclaimer: Transformers © Dreamworks/Hasbro. The original characters found in this story were created explicitly for this story and its sibling fics.

Rachel tried to be smart. She read all the books she could and did her best to be on par with the education a child her age would have had back before the world ended up like this. She understood completely, though, that education and common sense were not related. She was grateful to have been given a streak of rational intellect that let her make smart choices for survival, not ones based on emotion.

That became conflicting for her when she had met Jazz and Thundercracker and had decided to stay with them. She never once considered staying with them was anything but a logical choice, a rational one. She needed them to survive. That’s all it should have been. That crazy notion that took hold in the back of her mind that somehow she had become attached to her alien companions—saw them as friends, perhaps more—wasn’t logical. It was suicidal at times.

And then one day, she realized perhaps rational thought really didn’t pay that much weight into her choices after all. Maybe she was just crazy. Or just very, very lucky.

Then again, being bombarded by drones in the middle of a rain-soaked evening out of nowhere was never something Rachel would consider “lucky.”

Rachel had enough time to hear Jazz shout out in alarm and then the entire narrow path they had found in the woods had become the grounds of an all-out battle between five drones and their sorry trio. Rachel had nothing except the ability to run and hide until the battle was over. Jazz and Thundercracker were the ones who had to actually fight.

And did they fight. Thundercracker was terrifying. He could have been peacefully walking one moment, but the second the drones appeared, he became just as ferocious as they were. He could grab a drone clear out of the air and pull it apart with his bare hands. That wasn’t an easy, or safe maneuver, but it saved Jazz’s life a few times as the silver mech was stuck shooting with his guns.

Rachel dodged the firing and tried to hide behind the trees. A drone had spotted her and with a loud screech, it swooped down. Rachel scrambled to get away, but the world was suddenly replaced by a wall of metal when Jazz appeared out of nowhere, leaving Thundercracker’s side, to protect her. His hands were rough, but Rachel would take being picked up like a cat over being eviscerated like a pig any day.

Jazz deposited her on the ground after Thundercracker took out the drone chasing them and immediately jumped back into the fray. Rachel saw the last drone latch itself like a missile into Jazz’s side, but the Autobot was agile enough to pry it loose before its serrated limbs could latch onto him like a leech. He threw it to the ground, right on top of two other dead ones, and blew its head wide open with a close-range cannon shot. Silence echoed it once all of their enemies were dead.

Breathing heavily, Rachel sat on the ground in her pathetic raincoat and tried to collect herself. After a fight, there was no time for a break. They had to move. They had to see to each other and then move.

“Rach, where’d ya go?” Jazz called, limping away from the pile of drones, clearly winded in his own breathless way.

Shivering from the rain as well as the rush of fading adrenaline, it took Rachel a moment to find her voice. “I’m here,” she said in a hoarse voice as she tentatively peeled herself away from the mud to get back to the path.

Jazz immediately crouched and held his hand out to her. “Ya alright?” he asked. His briskness was always a remnant of the battle rush; he was most likely incredibly concerned, but remained in ‘business’ mode until the dangers had passed. “I didn’t pinch ya or anythin’, did I?”

“N-no, I’m good,” Rachel replied. The memory of nearly being hurled by a giant alien wasn’t going to fade overnight, but hell, she was grateful to be alive all the same. “Not hurt.”

“Good,” Jazz said. Finally, a smile appeared on his face.

Rachel would have shooed him away after that—she hated him fussing—but something about the mech made her refocus her attention on him. “You’re all beat up. You’re bleeding,” she said, eyes wider as she pointed out the large wound on Jazz’s left side.

It was a bunch of long lacerations going up from his mid-torso up nearly over his shoulder. If he hadn’t gotten away from the drone in time, they could have taken his arm clean off. Luckily, it was just cut up instead of cut off.

The dripping blue liquid that burned the grass when it fell from the gashes alarmed her anyway. Jazz apparently hadn’t noticed the injury and glanced at it almost disinterested.

“Haa, no, I’m not,” he said, in his overly-obvious way of trying to not upset her. “Bleeding is fer organics. I don’t bleed.” He rotated his arm a bit and winced, his visor darkening. “Does kinda sting, though.”

“Liar,” Rachel shot back, knowing this deflecting routine well enough. She was always using it herself. She peered closer at the blood—energon, whatever—and bit her lip nervously. “Shit, how do you even fix this—?”

All at once, Jazz flinched away from her, alarm lighting up his faceplates dramatically, as if he had just realized something. “TC!” he yelled. He pushed off the ground and walked past the bewildered Rachel, seeing something she hadn’t. “Frag, frag—you okay, mech?”

Immediate dread filled Rachel’s stomach. She did not want to see what had made Jazz so scared; if anything was that bad that he reacted this way… it normally wasn’t good for anyone. Her curiosity won out and she turned around to see where the other giant mech was.

Thundercracker was alive, which was immediately a positive. He was seated now in the middle of the field and was clutching at his chestplates in obvious pain, which wasn’t good. Rachel moved closer in silence, trying to map out exactly what the problem was. She saw a lot of the blue energon stuff, which their bodies made from the human fuel, spilling past his black hands.

“I’m fine,” the ex-Decepticon said irritably. Pain was easily readable on his face, however, despite his attempts to hide it as Jazz came over to take a look at the injury. “It’s… superficial.”

“Yer losing engeron by th’ bucket load, TC. This ain’t superficial,” Jazz said, masking his nervousness with unprofessional wording, as usual. He dared to laugh, the gesture shaky, as he pulled Thundercracker’s hand back to look closer. “Holy Primus, you’ve been holdin’ out on me, man. Since when did ya ever drink this much fuel?”

Thundercracker growled. “Sh-shut up,” he said. He pushed Jazz away and made to get to his knees in order to stand. “Get to cover, now. I can make it.”

He barely managed to stand and Rachel warily stepped back as he made his way to the thicker areas of the forests. The first step after checking everyone was alive was to get out of the attack area. Drones sometimes went after the remains of fallen drones, sort of like bees Jazz said, so remaining where the bodies were was never a good idea. Normally, after establishing that a wound wasn’t life threatening, they’d wait until they could rest safely to further check up on their medical status.

But this time… Rachel felt wrong walking quietly parallel to her mechanical guardians. Jazz was probably hurting from his side and arm injuries, but Thundercracker was visibly limping and moving even slower than normal. It wasn’t even that they could offer an arm to support him either; even Jazz was much too short to be of any assistance, even if he wasn’t hurt as well.

They kept walking for a least a mile and then it became clear Thundercracker needed to rest. Rachel kept looking back at him nervously.

“Is TC okay?” she asked quietly, glancing back at the lumbering jet. She didn’t care if her concern was showing; this could have been serious.

“Yeah, he’ll be okay,” Jazz said, distracted as he continued to peer around the area they had stopped at. It would do for a campsite. He suddenly hissed at the sky. “Slag it. Stupid rain.”

Rachel stood back obediently as the mechs attempted to figure out what they were going to do. The rain began to pour down heavier and it made it difficult to tell what the time was now. Without the leaves in the trees that surrounded them, the rain hit them without any buffer between sky and ground. She pulled out a plastic container she had stored cold leftovers in and scarfed it down as quickly as possible. A few feet away, the transformers continued to fight nature.

“Ya can’t turn over,” Jazz said, clearly too aggravated to remember Rachel was right there. He gestured at the inside of the rather obvious hole in Thundercracker’s chest. “Gravity’ll fuck up the pipes. We’re gonna have t’ make a patch tomorrow, but there’s nothin’ we can do t’night.”

“Rain’s gonna build up,” Thundercracker grunted. With all of the acid in the rain normally, it couldn’t have been good to let it pool up in the wound. Rachel wondered if it hurt to have the wound exposed to the elements; it probably did.

“Well, let’s make ya an umbrella,” Jazz said, suddenly childish again. He had brought out a blue tarp Rachel used to sit on in the rain, but the moment Jazz attempted to raise the tarp up and over Thundercracker’s chest, he dropped the tarp with a yelp of pain. “Ouch.”

“You shouldn’t be lifting your arms at all,” Thundercracker immediately chided.

“Then stop bein’ so fraggin’ tall,” Jazz muttered, gingering moving his injured arm, testing for pain again.

“Forget it,” Thundercracker said impatiently. “I can’t hold both sides there all night and you can’t either. It’ll be fine.”

Setting aside her finished meal, Rachel bundled under her raincoat. It might have been fine… but it probably still hurt them. A lot.

Rachel bit her lip again.

Without giving her common sense the chance to catch up, Rachel acted on impulse. She stood up and waved her hand at Jazz to catch his attention. “I can do it,” she said. She dreaded it immediately, but remained firm.

“Huh?” Jazz and Thundercracker both stared at her in confusion.

“I can hold the tarp over the hole,” the human repeated, irritable to be under so much scrutiny. She pointed up at the blue item in Jazz’s hand. “I mean, I could hold it down.”

It would be difficult and probably the worst night she would have in a while, drone-attacks not withstanding. The rain wasn’t too bad, but it was enough that this was needed. Her eyes wandered to the deep gash on Thundercracker’s chest and she shivered. If that had been her…

“Rachel, it’s probably gonna keep up like this all night,” Jazz replied, looking upwards in example.

Rachel frowned. “I can do it,” she said. She crossed her arms at his hesitance. “Jazz, seriously, I’m not injured. You two are. I can handle a stupid tarp.”

She… owed them, regardless.

Jazz still seemed uncertain. “…You sure, Rach?” he asked quietly. He tilted his helm, claws unconsciously cradling his wounded side. “I know ya can do it, an’… it’d be a real nice gesture. But it’s gonna be wet.”

“I can do it,” she said firmly. She shivered under the cold dampness, but that wasn’t important now.

After a few minutes of preparing for the long night watch as well as finding a safe way to stay up on the Seeker’s chest, Rachel wondered if she actually regretted offering to help. She didn’t, really. She wasn’t entirely sure why she had offered at all, either. It felt right, but… since when had this sort of thing ever worked for a person like Rachel Cooper?

With Thundercracker manually restricting the energon flow to the wound now, so it stopped leaking, Rachel was able to sit almost over top of the wound area without having to worry about being burned. The edge was all jagged and she did her best to think their skin was nothing like her skin. Imagining a human chest having such an open, exposed wound… it was unnerving. This wouldn’t kill him, thankfully.

She held down the one end by draping it over her head to help keep the rain off herself as well, and Thundercracker pinned down the other side, which was about as much as he could do. If he had tried to do this himself, alone, he wouldn’t have been able to make it tent-like like this to really make the water stay away.

“You’re going to get sick,” Thundercracker said suddenly after about an hour of silence and rain. She couldn’t see his face under the tarp, but he sounded irritated. “Organics get sick in the cold.”

“Yeah, and mechs can still die from getting rust on their insides,” she shot back, shivering violently. At least it was somewhat dry up there. Sort of. “I can handle a cold. You can’t handle your insides getting all messed up.”

Thundercracker’s entire frame rumbled beneath her like a miniature earthquake, which made her flinch. She was still unused to that. “You are a brat,” he snarled, though the gesture wasn’t actually made in anger.

“Shut up.” Rachel closed her eyes and pretended she could sleep. He didn’t say anything else in reply.

She had stayed nights up before. Whenever she was in a bad camp, or one where it felt like they were exposed too openly for attack, she never slept, or at least, not for very long. It was too risky. This wasn’t that big a leap for her to stay up willingly just to help an injured teammate.

Except for the whole tending to the injured part. She didn’t have teammates. She didn’t have friends. Or at least, up until three years ago, she hadn’t. Now it was just one big mess.

Jazz had risked his life for her. He always worked hard to protect her. Thundercracker was good at deflecting affection directed at him or coming from him, but Rachel had finally seen through the cracks in his metaphorical armor. He cared. They both did. She didn’t always understand why…

But days like these, she understood that it didn’t matter the reason. All that mattered now was that she repay it. Because whether it made any sense at all, they were a team. She owed them this, and more. Not that she’d ever admit it out loud… but Rachel knew where she stood.

Morning, of course, took forever to arrive, but the rain did let up shortly before dawn. Rachel took Jazz’s offer to crash later in his vehicle mode, because she was exhausted. Thundercracker’s self-repair had apparently fixed a lot of the internal damages (Rachel would never understand their miraculous bodies and she didn’t really want to), but Jazz cited the need to make a sort of bandage for the metal skin of theirs to latch onto and rebuild what had been damaged.

Fascinating in a holy-shit-it’s-living-metal sort of way, Rachel ignored the technobabble and focused on warming up by a small fire and eating. She was looking forward to sleeping, but a part of her was remarkably un-bitter. She didn’t like doing things for others without reason. It wasn’t her style.

But she wasn’t upset over spending her night doing what she had done. It was very confusing.

Thundercracker was thankfully not Jazz, and had no intention of dragging out her motives once he recovered. He did take the time to speak with her directly and that made her nervous all the same.

“Thank you, Rachel,” he said when the two of them were mostly alone. He nodded his head gently. “I appreciate what you did.”

The thing was with Thundercracker, he never got dramatic like Jazz did. He never lashed out with explosive emotion like Rachel mostly did. He just said what needed to be said, nothing more, or less. Rachel liked that best about him, even if right now, the truth was stifling.

She didn’t know what it meant still, but she was trying to learn.

“I… do, too,” she said, surprising him when he went to turn away. Rachel took a calming breath, stumbling over words that meant more than she thought she was willing to give. Maybe she had changed. “I mean… I appreciate… what you guys do. For me.”

They took care of her, protected her, gave her shelter, and gave her friendship. People to talk with, whether that meant arguing or laughing. Rachel was surprised when she realized that mattered as much as it did. She had never had that sort of relationship before.

It was… nice. Somehow, that made it worth trying to protect.

Thundercracker watched her carefully, gauging her like she always did them. He was similar when it came to being guarded on what he was actually feeling. He understood her.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, which was exactly what she needed to hear. Rachel smiled.

“I’m sorry,” she said, blurting it out on impulse again. She clenched her fists; she didn’t know why she was so emotional about this now.

That made Thundercracker confused again. “For what?” he asked, startled.

Rachel grimaced. “Not being stronger. I can’t even watch your backs during a fight.” Even if Jazz caved and let her carry around a human gun someday, they didn’t do anything to the drones hardly.

Unsurprisingly, Thundercracker scoffed. “You’re a child. You’re not going to be expected to do anything like that,” he said, in his usual blunt way that should have stung, but it didn’t. It was normal for him, and strangely soothing. His optics showed more of a smile than his mouth did. “But the feeling is understood and appreciated, Rachel. You’re not a weak link.”

How… how did he always know what to say? Rachel looked away from the large mech and exhaled heavily. She wondered if she had known where she would end up two years ago, would she have believed it.

She was glad she had stayed. What that meant for her sanity or rational intellect, she didn’t care anymore. Not about this.

“We make a good team, don’t we?” she asked, almost without really thinking her words through. She glanced up anyway and offered a tiny smile.

The jet paused, considering. “Yes,” he agreed at length. He kept pace with her as they walked onwards. “We do.”

 

Next: On fear, wherein we’re reminded we are in an apocalypse… and that one of our protagonists is a twelve-year-old child.

 

Chapter 5: On Fear

Notes:

I should probably put an extra warning up for disturbing imagery for this chapter particularly. ): It’s easy to forget with all this fun times with robots that we are in an apocalyptic setting here. Rachel is reminded rather poignantly today and, well, it isn’t very nice. (And of course, this is my favorite chapter out of all of these. This says a lot.)

Warnings: foul language, violence, disturbing imagery and discussion, alternative universe, slash (aka two or more asexual aliens who are seen as male), and original characters
Disclaimer: Transformers © Dreamworks/Hasbro. The original characters found in this story were created explicitly for this story and its sibling fics.

It was her fault, because it had been her choice. It didn’t cost her life or limb, but it certainly had left a harsh imprint on her mind, for a long time after.

She liked going into towns with Jazz and Thundercracker. Sure, it was scary to walk around the empty cities, always looking for drones hunting them down. But there was so much to see in abandoned towns, even without people there with them. Jazz made it fun and told her a lot about her culture she didn’t already know. He showed her how to safely break into a locked building or store to get supplies—or else Thundercracker would break it down for her.

Usually, she had to go into the stores alone. That got unnerving, sometimes. When it was a small store, Jazz would wait by the door with helpful headlights giving her more light to work with. But there were the times Rachel had to venture into the still, dark buildings alone, when the mechs couldn’t reach. She wasn’t stupid; she didn’t go in those places often, except maybe libraries or hospitals.

That day, she saw it before Jazz did. They were walking down a side street in the town they had randomly stumbled upon when she saw a flag pole. A school, it would appear. She immediately decided it was worth going out of sight, because with schools came books. Particularly, empty ones she could write in.

“Hey, can I stop here real quick?” she asked, breaking up the usual companionable silence that fell over them from time to time. Thundercracker frowned and Jazz seemed confused.

“Why?” the silver mech asked, glancing to the side. “What is… oh! A school?”

“Yeah. I wanna see if they have any notebooks lying around,” Rachel explained, only a little nervous about her friends telling her to forget about it. It was still pretty light out. They had time for her to stop real quick.

Jazz looked thoughtful for a minute or two. “Look fer a jacket,” he said, surprising her.

“What?” she asked, bewildered. Her current jacket was only a month old. Well, she had had it for a month. It was obviously older due to its scavenged state.

“Yer’s is gettin’ all frayed in th’ back. Hold up, lemme see.” Impatient, Rachel made a loud sigh as Jazz twirled his hand to make her turn around in front of him. Jazz tsked and tugged at her hood gently. “Stop gripin’, ya ungrateful lil’ glitchmouse. Look at this. It’s gotta hole under th’ hood.”

Rachel scowled and tugged her jacket back away from him. “Fine, I’ll look for a jacket,” she said. She adjusted her backpack on her shoulders, looking up at the dull school front. “There probably isn’t any left, you know. This whole town is like empty. They probably all evacuated with their personal stuff.”

“Well, look anyway, but don’t take too long,” Jazz said. He glanced over at Thundercracker, who was, as always, patiently glaring at them for taking up valuable time. “Half an hour?”

That would have to do. “Okay,” Rachel agreed, heading to the steps. She could see a large hole in the front door, made possibly by early looters.

“Want t’ leave your bag?” Jazz called.

Rachel shook her head and kept going. “Nah.” She waved absently back at her guardians. “I’ll be right back.”

Breaking into a building wasn’t that complicated, not with years of experience and a flashlight that worked. Ducking low under the broken boards that had once made up the front doors, Rachel immediately turned her flashlight out over the dark, dusty hallway. Nothing moved. It was mostly clear of debris, save for part of the popcorn ceiling having caved in, plus some discarded maintenance supplies. It was a small lobby that lead out into a single branch of corridor that must have led to the classrooms.

Rachel was mindful of broken glass as she progressed further into the school. It was all so quiet. She didn’t like it. Even while traveling outdoors, there was the wind, or crushed foliage to listen to. Here, she could hear her own breath. It made it seem like she was being watched, or if she made a single loud noise, a whole hoard of drones would pop up out of the tiled floors.

Luckily, she was able to get to the hallway without any problems. She saw old drawings plastered up outside of some doors several feet away, so that was probably a classroom… but her attention was stolen by another blank door near an old water fountain. There was a lot more debris where she was standing, but the door had a plaque on it, and if she wasn’t mistaken, it was a supply closet.

Rachel opened the closet and was surprised by how much was left on the wooden shelves, all reachable by children. A stack of black and white copybooks, untouched and unused, sat on one of the shelves in an almost beckoning manner.

“Sweet,” she whispered out loud without thinking. She grabbed hold of the stack of books, but froze. She couldn’t take all of them with her, though maybe she could make Jazz carry some for her…

It wasn’t worth taking it all. She took three empty books and shoved them into her backpack. She also wanted to see if she could find any old school books that might have been interesting, like a history text book. She doubted any of it was in a language she understood, but Jazz could translate. It would give her a chance to practice her German or French, or whatever the hell language dominated the place they were in now. She had lost track a few days previous.

Leaving the closet, she nervously stepped over another fallen ceiling slab and tried to figure out how to reach the first classroom. Rachel glanced over her shoulder, toward the front door, but she didn’t hear anything. She still had some time.

To avoid a low-hanging mess of wires, Rachel took off her bag to carry through the doorway, which stuck a little. She was surprised by the amount of sunlight coming in from the windows, which were all smashed and warped. Maybe that happened during the bombings, she considered.

Her eyes immediately went to the teacher’s desk, where she saw another pile of books. They looked like geography books, judging by the map on the cover. Rachel smiled in appreciation and immediately crossed over to the desk to look at it. With maps, she didn’t need to know the language of the author. She picked up the dust-soaked book and shook the sediment off, though it didn’t do much. It was caked on rather thickly.

She turned her attention to the back of the room, where there might have been a coat rack with something she could use to wipe the book clean—

She stopped at the front of the desk. She stared out at the classroom, which was almost intact compared to a lot of the other rooms. There wasn’t a single sound, outside of her own ragged breathing, but she could imagine. She could imagine the sound of children laughing, or the teacher speaking to them. She could imagine the children, not that much younger than her, taking out their books and preparing to learn.

She could imagine the screams coming from the corpses now strewn about the room, white bone infected with serrated lashes and air-dried strips of flesh. She could almost hear those screams coming up from the jawbone lying at the side of a dust-covered pink school bag.

Rachel grabbed her bag and ran. She ran out of the classroom and nearly fell down the one hole in the floor. She didn’t bother to be quiet, kicking a stray bucket on the way toward the exit. She slid over the dusty tile into the door closer than the broken door she had climbed through before, slamming the wooden door open. It flew out and hit the side of the school wall loudly, but she didn’t care. She flung herself out into the light, with a cloud of dust and nightmares following her footsteps.

They were dead. They were all dead. Children, in school, probably caught in the first siege all those decades ago, where the drones weren’t even a real thought in anyone’s heads, let alone in night terrors or daytime fears. They probably had only a few seconds to react. Children.

They probably died screaming.

“—WHOA, what’s wrong? !” She barely heard someone speaking, but by the time she did, Jazz was already in front of her. “Rachel, what’s—?”

Rachel briefly realized she was breathing heavily, like she had just run a great distance. Whirling around, Rachel saw the door shut, the inside gone from sight, locking away its inner horrors and the screams.

“What’s wrong?” Jazz repeated, more insistent this time. She could hear his weapons activate. Thundercracker moved into the corner of her vision. Both were ready to fight. “Are there drones?”

Shuddering violently, Rachel shook her head as much as she could, until she realized it was unnecessary and she had to force herself to stop. She tried to pull her bag on, because they had to get out of the area anyway, they had to leave, but she couldn’t get her one arm through. She fought with it for a moment before it was pulled away from her by larger hands and she let it go, body numb.

“Rachel?”

She let him have the bag. She didn’t care. She saw the end of the road they had been aiming to move along and set it as her goal. Her legs seemed to be steady, but when Rachel tried to walk forward, her feet couldn’t find the ground.

She had to leave this place, now.

Heavy footsteps behind her increased and Jazz caught up with her easily, slowing down to walk beside her. Rachel wanted to tell him to stop dawdling and just keep going.

“Rachel, come here.”

Rachel tried to ignore him. She ignored the offered hand. She did, at least, until she stumbled slightly and Jazz moved his hand out in precaution. Her hands found the rough metal claws, which promised so much pain if used the wrong way.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze and saw Jazz staring at her intensely, visor wide. In all the time she had traveled with them, she had finally learned to spot the flickers of emotion in the subtle, alien face of his. He had molded his face like many other mechs had, he had told her once, to fit the human range of expressions while on Earth. Now, she could see the concern in his bright blue eyes.

With shaky limbs, Rachel found herself pulling up into the hands, which quickly cupped around her in support, dragging her away from the ground. Everything felt so far away.

Jazz pushed her toward his chest, offering protection. For the first time she could recall, she completely accepted it. Shivering, she pressed as close as she could to the metal chest, the expected cold nonexistent. Instead, it was warm. Jazz was warm. There was a faint noise behind the metal that didn’t entirely blend in with the other mechanical noises he normally produced. It was like…

“You’re okay,” he murmured, somewhere above her head. His voice sort of blended with the whirling noise, which almost—almost—reminded her of purring. “It’s okay, kiddo.”

Rachel tried to stop breathing so hard. She only then realized she was crying. She wiped at the moisture before letting her face drop against his chest again. She was freezing.

“They’re all dead,” she whispered, eyes pinned to the metal. Everything else beyond that ceased to exist. But not that room. “They killed them in the room.”

She had seen plenty of dead bodies. But not like that. Not like that. It reminded her of how Amy and Suzy died. In pieces.

Jazz was moving now, purposely cover her head with his other hand as if to block out the vision of the school. “It’s okay,” he said again, calmly, firmly. “We’re here, an’ now we’re leaving.”

Rachel shut her eyes tightly. “Good.”

They went on for a while, but Rachel only looked up after she had finally collected herself. She didn’t recognize the area, but the farm met up with the edge of forest, which they quickly slipped into. Rachel kept her eyes shut and pressed against Jazz’s chest, the jostling of his steps only a little jarring so far up in the air. Finally, they did stop for evening camp and Rachel had expected to be put down on the ground after Jazz eased her away from his chest and she blearily looked around at the wooded clearing they were in.

Jazz didn’t put her down. Instead, he offered his hands over to Thundercracker, who waited in silence for Rachel to slide over. She wasn’t sure if she should, but Jazz nudged her so she just decided to go with it. Thundercracker did the same thing Jazz did and pulled his hands close to his chest, avoiding pressing her against his canopy. Rachel could see her reflection in the muddy, cracked yellow glass, knowing she probably looked awful. Deep within his blue chassis, Thundercracker started to make the same sound Jazz had made, or something similar. Rachel strained to listen to it, now curious.

“Are you purring?” she asked, knowing she wasn’t very loud.

“What?” Thundercracker asked, deep voice gentle, obviously not trying to sound as intimidating as he normally was.

“Nothing.” Rachel clung to the metal, still way too cold. “I just want to go to bed.”

The reason for the changing of hands became apparent when Rachel heard Jazz transform. She peered down warily, feeling dizzy, as Thundercracker crouched low enough that he could place her on the ground.

“Come on, baby girl,” Jazz said, still horrendously soothing and confusingly nice. Rachel stood in front of the opened side door in a daze. “If ya want, there’s vacancy fer th’ night.”

He was trying to speak so nicely, with quiet jokes, and it just made Rachel feel more disconnected with the world. She did stumble forward and curl up on the dark seat, which was already warm. The first thing she thought of was to be defensive and to tell him to stop coddling, because that only made her feel worse.

Only this time, it didn’t. Not really. Rachel saw her bag already sitting in the other seat; Jazz probably had sub-spaced it or whatever they called it earlier. She stared at it for a moment before slowly pulling it over to grab her blanket. She was tired and sick of being awake. She could only hope she didn’t dream; she doubted they would be pleasant.

It was so odd to curl up as early as it was, especially inside Jazz. She didn’t like sleeping inside him because well, you just didn’t sleep inside someone else. Especially someone she saw a lot. All of the time, actually. Jazz didn’t care. He never did. Rachel curled up tighter under her blanket and tried to ignore where she was.

Jazz was thankfully quiet for a while, but when he noticed she wasn’t falling asleep, his whole frame vibrated gently. “You want me t’ talk?” he asked. “Or play some music?”

“No.” Rachel knew it wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t bother her either, to be honest. “I don’t care.”

“I got some music files,” Jazz offered, speaking so calmly, it made Rachel’s eyes burn. “Soothing stuff, it’ll help ya sleep.”

She shook her head and tried to sleep. It was a hopeless effort. “No.” She stopped, opening her eyes into the darkening car interior. He was trying to be nice. She didn’t understand it, but… She looked up at the dashboard and imagined she could see his face. “It’s okay. I’m… fine.”

She knew he didn’t believe her. She didn’t care. She shuddered and curled up more. She sort of wished she could still hear the purring noise.

“We’re safe here,” Jazz said, voice urging a sort of promise no one—not even at her mother at the very end of her life—had ever offered her before. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

She couldn’t understand how an alien like him could ever care about a creature like her. She didn’t know why he expected her to trust him, when it had been his species’ fault her own had suffered all of this. Why did she want to trust him?

Why did she believe him?

“I… know,” she said, closing her eyes again. She fought ugly visions, hoping and struggling to just let all the images fade away. They would, as all the others had, but it was so heavy to carry around, especially when trying to rest. “I just keep seeing them,” she whispered, her emotions traitorous. She pressed her face more into the seat. “They won’t go away.”

Jazz rumbled slightly, before falling into a warm silence, his presence everywhere. “TC’s gonna keep watch all night, an’ I’ll stay up here with ya, so don’t worry about being alone, okay?” he said quietly. “We’re here fer ya.”

Rachel closed her eyes. It wasn’t hard to believe that. It was almost a relief.

“Okay,” she whispered.

She fell asleep knowing she’d wake up again and things would be better. She could go on from there. She was just grateful she wouldn’t do it alone.

 

Next: Jazz takes on a role of parenting that even Thundercracker can get behind. Knowledge!

  

Notes:

A/Ns:
-Related to that parental caring protocol head canon from “Trust”: The purring thing is just a comfort noise, which would be more poignant to an actual distressed sparkling. It’s instinctual here.

Chapter 6: On Education

Notes:

Because education is important! Seriously. A bookaholic like Rachel and an information guru like Jazz would be BFFs, after all.

Warnings: foul language, violence, disturbing imagery and discussion, alternative universe, slash (aka two or more asexual aliens who are seen as male), and original characters
Disclaimer: Transformers © Dreamworks/Hasbro. The original characters found in this story were created explicitly for this story and its sibling fics.

“Th’ capital of th’ United States.”

“Washington, D.C.”

“England?”

“London.”

“India?”

Rachel paused in mid-climb, frowning. “Uhhhh. New Delhi?”

“Correct!” Jazz effortlessly launched himself over the fallen tree on the path, jostling her a little. “Japan?”

Thundercracker wasn’t sure how it started, or when, but the spontaneous questions from Jazz came and went as they became used to traveling with the tiny human femme that Thundercracker reluctantly acknowledged wasn’t leaving any time soon. At first, the questioning seemed just a way for Jazz to stave off boredom, but when Jazz began to ask more specific questions, Thundercracker realized his intentions.

“Didja ever go to school?” Jazz asked, as the mechs watched Rachel heat up a can of coffee over the fire.

“I never stayed a camp long where they had some sort of school,” she said, surprisingly talkative. Normally, she shunned questions about her past.

That seemed to give Jazz the idea that he should somehow become a tutor, albeit a relaxed one who could keep up with the moody pre-teen’s shifting attitudes. Thundercracker was vaguely pleased by the idea, once he became used to Rachel being around. He despised idiots, and while the child already had exceptional common sense, he was always a proponent of academia.

Jazz’s sentimentality on the matter was odd to contemplate, however.

“She won’t know anythin’ about her culture or Earth if we don’t help,” Jazz had explained to the jet in private, surprisingly grim despite the good humor he had had toward the training earlier. “Kids need adults t’ teach them. That’s where we have t’ step in. Fer her own sake.”

That was fine by Thundercracker, granted Jazz was the one who was obligated to bother trying. It made the child’s presence seem that much more permanent, considering human knowledge production took, well, a long time. It promised she’d be around awhile and Thundercracker wasn’t sure he liked that just yet.

Human refugee camps were good for teaching human behavior, but not much else, as it turned out. Jazz tutored Rachel on nearly every subject, or at least nearly all of the ones human culture valued that Thundercracker was aware of. She didn’t like mathematics too much, but Jazz still made sure she knew “the basics,” like multiplication, division, and some minor algebra. He turned it into games for her when they stopped for rests, drawing in the dirt for her to visualize, since humans lacked precise internal visualization abilities apparently.

What Rachel really liked were the studies of history and literature. It was strangely amusing to watch how the child’s face lit up with joy when Jazz read stories out loud (if they couldn’t find the books in towns they ransacked), or when she got his geography quizzes correct. She enjoyed the sense of accomplishment clearly, but Thundercracker also came to realize she simply enjoyed learning. Her mind was as ferocious as her temper.

After awhile, Thundercracker became curious as to what the child would actually retain from the meager mentoring attempts. He was also interested to see if she had any aptitude for studies he found to be important.

“Do you know chemistry?” he asked as they walked through tall grass, which was high enough that Rachel almost disappeared into the dead brown stalks. Thundercracker had to be extra careful not to step on her.

Rachel shrugged. “I know H2O stands for water,” she replied, indifferent.

A brief reference back to human knowledge data files told Thundercracker she was correct. “What is the chemical make-up of air?” he asked.

“Oxygen,” Rachel replied, confident.

Thundercracker made a tsking sound. “Wrong.” He tilted his helm at her indignant confusion. “The Earth’s atmosphere is composed of many elements, oxygen being dwarfed significantly in ratio to nitrogen. Other elements such as argon, neon, and carbon dioxide are—”

Rachel abruptly made a groaning sound and waved her hand up at him dismissively. “Ughh. I don’t care,” she said.

Optics narrowing, Thundercracker was displeased by her rejection. Science was just as important to understand as anything else, perhaps even more so than her literature studies. “You should have a well-rounded knowledge base,” he said, though afterwards he had to question why it mattered if she did. It wasn’t like he cared—

“But I don’t like it,” Rachel complained. She suddenly changed topics, brightening up in a way only one real topic ever did for her. “Do you know the names of the plays Shakespeare wrote?”

He could have looked them up. It was all irrelevant. He should have just gone back to ignoring her. “…No,” he admitted at length, unsure why he was bothering.

Rachel actually grinned. “I know all of them! I think.” The youngling’s brow furrowed as she tried to recall the names, her enthusiasm a relief, though he didn’t know why. “There’s Romeo and Juliet, Twelfth Night, A Midsummer’s Night Dream, uh, King Lear—”

As she nattered on about plays he had never read (but reluctantly noted he would in the future), Thundercracker was still trying to understand why any of this actually mattered. It was beginning to. He wasn’t sure if that was normal, or even sane.

Sometimes the information was briefly discussed and never brought up again. It bothered Thundercracker to waste time teaching the girl things that weren’t going to be actually honed to decent proficiency, but she seemed to enjoy the spontaneous tidbits Jazz came up with, probably keeping her mind active and the information fresh.

“Count to ten in German,” the silver saboteur instructed as Rachel made her bed on the ground with blankets. Thundercracker wondered where the materials had all come from, when he realized it had been over two years since they met up.

Rachel frowned. “I don’t remember all of them.”

“Try it,” Jazz coached.

“Ummm.” The face of forced memory recall was mildly amusing on the child’s face, as Thundercracker watched on in silence. “Eins… zwei, drei…”

She counted past ten and started rattling off other languages until she fell asleep. Jazz just smiled happily, probably at sentiments that would make no sense to Thundercracker’s processors—

Except he would never comment on it, because he smiled faintly, too. Of all things to be proud of… he had either fallen as far as he possibly could, or he had simply been missing something for all of the mega-vorns he had been alive.

One day, they were caught up in a light rain. It was bad enough that Thundercracker had chosen to carry Rachel, her tarp protecting her adequately from the rain. He still used his hands to help keep it in place and give her extra cover. With Jazz a bit further down the path to keep up scouting, Thundercracker decided to bring out the questions if only to pass the time in more than comfortable silence.

“Name all the planets,” he said quietly, ignoring the faint sensation of water colliding with his armor.

Rachel yawned and rested her face against his canopy more. “Earth, Mercury, Mars, Venus, Saturn, Jupiter… Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto,” she said. She paused and then added, “And Cybertron.”

It almost made him laugh. “That’s not in your solar system,” he said, though he knew she knew that. This was all elementary material for her at this point.

“No, but it’s still out there, isn’t it?” Rachel pointed out, shuffling her cover closer.

Thundercracker paused. “Many others are,” he said, not looking down at her. He thought about all the far off worlds he had ever explored. Or helped to destroy. There were too many.

Rachel shrugged against him, indifferent to all the things that should have mattered, like how much Cybertron’s very existence had doomed her own world. “It matters more than the others,” she said.

For all of her anger and occasional blaming of the aliens for her suffering, Rachel never once blamed Thundercracker or Jazz for what happened. She accepted them not as aliens anymore, he didn’t think, but rather… people. People she could either trust, or at least count on.

Thundercracker resisted the urge to clutch her tighter, fighting various feelings unbefitting of a mateless ex-Decepticon. He was glad she did that. That she saw them worth counting on. He would not fail in that.

“Summarize Beowulf. From the beginning.”

 

Next: On family, in which they find a camp.

 

Notes:

A/Ns:
-Pluto is not a planet, yes, I know, but just let the kid have her nine planets.

Chapter 7: On Family

Notes:

They find a camp. TC discovers something out about his feelings about their little trio, and they all have to make a choice.

Warnings: foul language, violence, disturbing imagery and discussion, alternative universe, slash (aka two or more asexual aliens who are seen as male), and original characters
Disclaimer: Transformers © Dreamworks/Hasbro. The original characters found in this story were created explicitly for this story and its sibling fics.

It was spring, or the weak spring Europe could now support. The morning nearly over, Thundercracker had resigned himself to walking quietly through the alpine woods with Jazz and Rachel talking amicably about some novel both had liked. Their chatter made good background noise and was surprisingly comforting.

That was why when Rachel abruptly stopped talking, it was an immediate concern. The blond human had stopped a little past Jazz and was peering at something with intense little eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Jazz asked. Thundercracker refrained from activating his weapons just yet.

“Look,” the little girl said, pointing out across the field they were close to.

Both mechs honed in on the direction she was pointing and Thundercracker did not expect to see much. Rachel would never point at something dangerous so calmly. He was still surprised when he saw the faint outline of a wooden wall.

“A camp!” Jazz exclaimed. He grinned at his two companions, readily changing directions to head over to the camp. “Well, let’s go check it out.”

“Hopefully it’s not a bunch of cannibals,” Rachel said, glancing their way. She frowned.

Thundercracker growled lowly as he followed up behind her and Jazz. He didn’t like stopping too frequently for camps, but he knew Jazz enjoyed it. Rachel also needed human contact. He agreed with Rachel, however, on the dangers the camp might hold for them. Or rather, for her.

Once, they had run into a wandering band of cannibals, almost a year ago. Jazz had quietly told him what they were while the bandits were watching them intensely, eyes on Rachel. The girl in question had frozen up like a wild rabbit. Thundercracker wasted no time stalking off toward the horrid humans, making them scatter like the wretches they were; he would sooner rust over before he just let something eat one of his allies.

Not that he’d let his companions know that, but most likely they already knew.

“Nah, look at that fortification. They’re pretty organized. I can see sentries,” Jazz said, breaking into those thoughts. He seemed upbeat now. “I think they’re an old military group. Let’s check it.”

They walked up slowly, Thundercracker already holding his hands out at his side to show he meant no harm. Jazz did the same. Rachel didn’t have to worry about it, but she kept to Jazz’s shadow while they approached, just in case these weren’t friendly. They had never had the situation where a camp attacked the two mechs, but Thundercracker didn’t want to risk their luck.

There were already eyes watching them. Thundercracker could see faint movement behind the barricade. The humans were watching them through cuts in the log walls. The entire structure was surprisingly sturdy.

“Hello?” Jazz called up at the gate. He grinned up at the hidden humans, obviously knowing they were there, too. “Anyone home? Bonjour?”

There was a long pause. Whispers, shuffling, then silence.

“S-state your business,” a voice demanded behind the fortification wall, attempting to sound brave. Thundercracker snorted.

“We’re just travelers lookin’ fer a place t’ rest up a bit,” Jazz replied, smiling winningly. He gestured below at his feet. “Got a human who would like some water and food if ya can spare it.”

“I also need a hair brush,” Rachel suddenly said. She ran her hand through her messy hair with disdain. “Look at this mess.”

Jazz frowned. “What happened t’ yer other one?”

“TC stepped on it,” Rachel deadpanned, glancing upwards at the jet calmly.

Thundercracker growled, especially when Jazz burst out laughing. He didn’t say much during these exchanges, mostly because his size and voice tended to frighten the organics they encountered. Jazz was a much better speaker, but combined with Rachel, the two put on this usual spectacle of joking around. Rachel instinctually went along with Jazz’s antics as if she knew the benefits of making them seem silly instead of intimidating in order to gain the trust of strangers. Considering who she was, it was most likely true she knew they were being manipulative and went along with it.

As usual, it worked. The humans were incredibly wary about letting the Cybertronians in, but Rachel soothed a lot of fears by insisting Jazz pick her up with far more emphasis than needed. She was definitely in on the whole we’re-innocent-jokesters routine. Thundercracker just stood in the background as they moved inside the base, knowing multiple weapons were pointed his way, as well as terrified gazes of those brave enough to be out in the open.

The camp had military-grade tents in two rows toward the back of the mountain-fortified wall. There were carved out entrances into the mountainside as well, so the base had probably been around for a while. Telltale markings of soot and gashes in the earth at various points in the circular camp told of previous drone attacks. They had been standing for awhile then. True survivors. That was a good sign.

The three stopped in the center of the camp and waited for the humans to collect themselves. Jazz put Rachel down. Thundercracker immediately noticed a tall red-haired man walking their way. His faded military fatigues had to be hand-me-downs from real soldiers long since dead, but he had an authoritative air about him. He was clearly in charge.

“’Ello there,” the redhead said, eyebrows up high on his forehead. He had an odd accent that wasn’t quite British. He looked specifically at Thundercracker and Jazz. “This is new.”

Jazz had a knack for knowing who leaders were in a group. He nodded his head politely. “We’re just passin’ through an’ thought t’ see what was happenin’ in here. Don’t worry, sir,” he said. He gestured at himself and his friends. “I’m Autobot Jazz, th’ big guy’s Thundercracker, an’ this darlin’ is Rachel.”

“You can call me O’Conner,” the human leader said. Thundercracker finally decided the accent was Scottish. He glanced specifically at Rachel, eyes narrowing. “And what are ye, lass?”

“I’m American,” Rachel replied, her shyness dissipating as long as she was right next to Jazz. She looked around the fort appraisingly. “You’re pretty fortified here.”

Such words from a youngling; sometimes it was difficult to remember Rachel was as observant as she was. Thundercracker silently watched the exchanges and ignored the number of soldiers still scoping him out. They’d be leaving soon, anyway.

“You know it,” O’Conner said proudly. He thumped his chest with a closed fist. “We aren’t going to hand ourselves over to those ruddy aliens without a fight.”

Jazz and Thundercracker exchanged brief glances. Rachel nodded, awkward. “Right…” she said, averting her eyes to look at the walls again. Perhaps they should leave relatively soon, Thundercracker thought.

Small talk was continued, courtesy of Jazz. O’Conner had seen mechs before, when he was a boy. He spent a good time glaring at Thundercracker’s chest sigil despite the fact that Jazz and Rachel both vouched for his Neutrality. Thundercracker endured it patiently. They still had daylight.

Rachel managed to trade a book of hers, one she had long since finished reading, for fresh clothing and a new hairbrush. None of the items were new, really, but the humans made do with what they had.

Everything had gone perfectly fine, with Jazz sharing his stories about the Autobots and Rachel’s story of how she met the mechs, but then, the attention turned from the transformers. Rachel found herself being questioned by O’Conner himself, with several eager looking humans beside him. Several women had been looking at her with pitying expressions when she recounted her joining up with the two mechs, but none of the three had noticed the problem… until now.

“Ye can stay if ye want,” O’Conner announced. Thundercracker froze when he realized the human was speaking to Rachel, and only Rachel. “I can’t let the aliens stay, but you’re a bit young t’be wandering around with them, aren’t ye?”

Instantly, the air changed. The humans didn’t notice it, though Rachel was currently staring in shock at the camp leader. Jazz had stopped moving and was watching the situation like a hawk. For Thundercracker…

A raw sense of anger filled him. And fear.

“I’m…” Rachel began, hesitating. She didn’t look at the mechs, but seemed unsure of what to say. She adjusted her backpack nervously. “We’re fine. Thanks, but no thanks.”

O’Conner scoffed. “Come on. Ye can’t really be thinking of staying with them for the long run? I imagine the protection is nice, but ye should be with your own kind, lass.”

A nearly inaudible growl rose up in Thundercracker and it took almost everything he had not to snarl something at the human. He wanted to leave—now, with both his companions—because this had suddenly become unacceptable.

::TC.::

Thundercracker turned his helm and saw Jazz watching him with a sad visor.

::Let her choose,:: he said simply.

The fear only increased, which didn’t make sense to Thundercracker. There was… no logical reason to be afraid. He looked back at the humans and his spark grew heavy when he found Rachel.

…It was her choice. And there was no reason at all for him to feel this way about it. She wasn’t their kind. She was just a child, and children needed their own kind, after all.

That didn’t make it easier to stand there, waiting. Thundercracker fought back the fear and tried to focus on what was the right thing for the youngling. After everything else they had experienced in the last three years, he owed her that.

Rachel looked uncomfortable facing off between the humans in front of her and the mechs behind her. It was both a blessing and a curse she didn’t say anything right away; she didn’t defend her traveling companions, but at least she didn’t outright agree to part ways.

“I was with my own kind. For most of my life,” Rachel began, her shoulders drawing back slightly. She glanced to the mechs before looking back at O’Conner and the other expectant humans. “The only thing is… the only group that’s lasted the longest for me and worked out the best was with these two.”

Her answer didn’t please the humans, but Thundercracker didn’t care what they thought. He felt a ridiculous amount of relief flood his spark when Rachel awkwardly thanked the campers again and backed up alongside Jazz, letting him take over goodbyes. Thundercracker sent O’Conner a glare before he turned to follow his companions out. He was glad to be leaving this place.

Outside, it was about mid-afternoon. Rachel had grown more at ease once they were past the wooden gates and walked ahead of them confidently. Thundercracker and Jazz exchanged another quick look before Jazz make a fake clearing-his-throat sound, causing the human girl to look his way. They were already far enough way from the camp they wouldn’t be heard by the campers.

Jazz tilted his helm and smiled at Rachel’s inquiring stare. “You could stay. We wouldn’t stop ya, Rach. It might be better fer ya,” he said, hiding whatever emotion he was really feeling then with calmness.

Whatever reaction Thundercracker had anticipated, didn’t show. Rachel shot her shorter guardian a mocking smirk. “Why would I leave?” she asked. She walked on past him in an arrogant saunter. “Without me, you guys wouldn’t last a week.”

Momentarily stunned into silence, Thundercracker stared after the human, who seemed perfectly content to lead the charge back into the woods again. Jazz recovered faster than the Seeker did, and broke out into chuckles. The saboteur looked up at Thundercracker with a small smile on his faceplates and both mechs took after the girl at a sedate pace.

Something was still off. Thundercracker kept glancing behind them, as if expecting the humans to reappear. They didn’t. Rachel continued to walk calmly with them. It didn’t make sense, considering how much Rachel seemed to dislike making poor choices for survival. Certainly sticking with the mechs made sense; they could protect her better than even a whole group of human soldiers.

But they weren’t her kind. Out of every other concern she had ever had about survival, surely Rachel would consider that a factor in staying or leaving?

What did she think of their group? It was such a mismatched unit: a Seeker, an Autobot, and a human youngling. Thundercracker didn’t think about it often, because it never really mattered most days, but now… it got him thinking.

“We don’t have a word for this,” he said quietly. She glanced his way as they walked. “The three of us.”

“Thought you had trines,” she said. She did remember things with uncanny memory sometimes, just from brief conversation, despite not remembering other things. Her memory was quite selective.

Thundercracker shrugged. “That’s different. We’re not like that.” This was nothing like a trine. It was nothing like anything he had known on Cybertron.

Her yellow head shaking, Rachel rolled her eyes and huffed in the usual way she handled Jazz’s inane jokes, or something she found ridiculous. “Well, on Earth, we just call it family,” she said bluntly.

The frankness was her defense; she hid her emotions beneath layers of disdain and disinterest. Thundercracker knew the routine as well as she knew his and Jazz’s. None of them would ever admit such routines existed, but that was the point. They didn’t have to. The others already knew after years of enduring them, and ultimately, understanding each other.

Family. A social unit consisting of creators and their offspring. On Earth, it meant everything. There was a lesser meaning found on Cybertron, but Thundercracker knew it didn’t matter. On Earth, family was what mattered most…

Because after losing everything else, it was more important than energon or resources. It was the only thing left to tether yourself to. Thundercracker didn’t know if he deserved to be a part of such a word, but he trusted Rachel’s comment and Jazz’s knowing smile to confirm that maybe, in this twisted, warped world of theirs, he did.

“…Acceptable,” he said averting his gaze.

Jazz fell in step with him and seemed to hum, visor bright with honest happiness. None of that exaggerated kind he would pull up like a veil when things got bad. Thundercracker liked the quiet happiness far better. Jazz moved in closer and brushed against his armor like a breeze.

“We’ve done good, haven’t we?” he asked quietly, linking hands with the jet.

Thundercracker squeezed the smaller hand gently. “Yes,” he said. “We have.”

Ahead them, Rachel jumped from rock to rock. Jazz spontaneously joined in and the laughter that followed, from both mech and human, made Thundercracker smile to himself in the rare peace afforded to them that brought moments like these out for him to acknowledge and cherish.

They had done well, indeed.

 

The End.

 

Notes:

Thank you for reading!

Series this work belongs to:

• « Part 5 of the Fallout series