Chapter Text
The next few days meandered by as Optimus and Megatron hashed out a deal. It turned out giant alien robot politics were about as interesting as human ones, and Spike quickly lost interest. But he did find out that the Autobots would be paying the Decepticons in a large amount of energon. Spike asked and no, the US government would not be made aware of this. Spike tried to pay as little attention as possible after that.
In the meantime, arrangements had to be made for the sparklings' journey – which meant constructing a massive transport pod right in the middle of the main deck. It was like a huge bowl with a glass lid, and had to be lined with a material the sparklings couldn’t dig into with their claws. Spike helped with a few of the harder to reach rivets but for the most part he just sat to the side and watched, feeling rather neglected.
Optimus Prime took up knitting. He sat in the command deck covered in sparklings, and used a pair of metal pipes to weave gigantic spools of ship’s rigging into a massive, heavy square. The US government didn’t know about this, either.
“It’s for the sparklings,” Optimus explained unnecessarily. “So they have something warm to remember us by.”
Considering the sparklings had already chewed several holes in it, Spike doubted they’d be remembering more than a few fibres, but Optimus didn’t seem to mind.
Between building the pod, mixing up more glittery ‘sparkling grade’ energon, and looking after the sparklings themselves, the Autobots were busier than they had been for months – and with the ceasefire in effect there weren’t even any Decepticon attacks. Spike never thought being in an alien spaceship could be boring .
At last the day of departure arrived, and a decidedly sombre atmosphere clouded the Ark that sunny morning. Spike was glad to see the sparklings go, but he had the grace not to say anything. He watched quietly as sparklings were rounded up, counted, and buckled safely into the Autobots’ vehicle modes.
“Oh!” said Carly, snapping her fingers. “So t hat’s why you have seats!”
Wheeljack’s helmfins flashed with amusement. “Well sure, we weren’t built for driving you guys around!”
Eventually, all one hundred and eighty four were safely tucked away. The only Autobot who didn’t want to carry a sparkling was Tracks, so Spike and the rest of the human crew rode with him, driving out to the spacebridge with the Dinobots bringing up the rear.
The site was crawling with Decepticons – Spike didn’t think he’d ever seen so many in one place before, even during battles. The Constructicons stuck out in their neon green, Astrotrain and Blitzwing towered above them, and even the Insecticons were watching from a short distance away. Spike couldn’t see any cassettes but he was sure they were sneaking around somewhere, and as he watched a couple of coneheads landed by the road.
Megatron, of course, stood front and centre, flanked by Soundwave and Starscream. They did not look pleased to see the Autobots, ceasefire or no ceasefire, sparklings or no sparklings.
Optimus Prime was the first to pull up, unhitching his trailer and transforming to stand before Megatron. Spike swallowed nervously; he couldn’t hear what the leaders were saying but the dinobots growled threateningly, and Tracks tensed up around him.
“What’s happening?” Carly whispered.
“Old bucket brains wants to see the sparklings,” Tracks muttered.
A ripple ran through the chain of Autobots, and a dull pressure in his back teeth informed Spike that an intense argument was going down in a frequency beyond his range of hearing. It didn’t seem as though anyone wanted their precious little crab-creatures anywhere near a Decepticon, but to Spike’s surprise, Optimus Prime opened his trailer, scooped up a sparkling, and offered it to Megatron.
Spike fully expected Megatron to punt the sparkling like a football, and he suspected the Autobots did too since several heavy-hitters immediately transformed into robot mode.
But… Megatron just sort of stood there, looking at the sparkling as it waved its legs in his face.
The moment was interrupted by Starscream shoving his way to the front, and Spike could hear his shrieking all the way from the back. There was a brief argument that involved Megatron holding the sparkling out of Starscream’s reach, but then the floodgates – and every door, cab, trunk and trailer – opened.
Sparklings were everywhere. Climbing limbs, scratching plating, chewing on helm fins and seeker wings. Only, to Spike’s surprise, the Decepticons seemed just as accepting of the sparklings as the Autobots. The fliers all got one each (except for Starscream, who got two), the Constructicons were passing three between them, Blitzwing and Astrotrain both scooped up a handful, and Soundwave’s cassettes were gathered around another four. The Autobots joined in, cuddling with and cooing at their horrible, ugly alien spider babies.
Even Tracks was finally convinced to hold a sparkling, although he kept it well away from his paint job.
It was so absurd and chaotic that Spike completely missed the sparklings' transport bowl being set into the spacebridge. So did just about everyone else, it seemed. The morning dragged on, just ‘bots and ‘cons and sparklings.
“Optimus,” Blaster said eventually, “we’ve set the coordinates for Caminus.”
The sombre mood returned with a vengeance. Spike crept forward, keeping close to the Autobots and steering clear of any Decepticon feet. Bumblebee spotted him and plonked Spike on his shoulder, giving him a front row seat to the final moments.
The sparkling bowl’s dome opened like a flower, and Optimus lay his well-chewed blanket along the bottom. Sparklings were collected, counted, and caressed goodbye. One by one they were set gently into the pod, until all one hundred and eighty-four were nestled snugly in the blanket, chewing yet more holes in it.
The pod was closed, beady white eyes staring out at their caretakers for the final time. The spacebridge powered up, coordinates were triple checked, and a few hands pressed against the pod’s lid as final farewells were spoken.
“Autobots… Decepticons,” Optimus Prime began, a deep sadness in his voice as he addressed the gathered crowd. “Although it pains all of us, we know in our sparks that this is for the best.”
“Speak for yourself,” Starscream muttered, although even he seemed to have lost his fire.
Optimus gazed steadily at Megatron. “Perhaps one day we will be free to create without having to say goodbye,” he continued, “but until that day arrives, let us live with the kno–”
“Get on with it, Prime,” Megatron huffed.
Optimus didn’t dignify him with a reply. Just turned to Blaster and gave a solemn nod. The spacebridge activated with an electric whine and a hum that built into a roar. Energy gathered, condensed, and burst into a brilliant pillar of light, burning an afterimage into Spike’s eyes. A flash, a pop, a ripple in space-time, and then the pod was gone.
No more sparklings.
A quiet sigh whispered through the crowd. Metallic clangs rang out as various robots clapped each other supportively on the shoulder. Words of remorse and consolation were spoken. Bumblebee gave a staticy sniffle and Spike gently pet the space between his horns.
Then it was like a spell was lifted. Everyone became aware that they were standing very close to people they really didn't like. Spike went from petting to clinging as Bumblebee took several hasty steps away from Thundercracker and immediately stepped on Shrapnel's foot. The crowd parted quickly and with many muttered curses, until they were enemies once more.
For a long, tense moment Spike was certain Megatron would call off the ceasefire then and there, and clearly several Autobots thought so too since there was a distinctive sound of weapons powering up. Optimus and Megatron faced each other, neither of them moving, fighting a silent battle of wills.
But the moment passed. Optimus’ frame relaxed minutely, and he gave the smallest, slightest nod to Megatron.
“Autobots,” he said calmly, “return to base.”
The trip back involved very little fanfare, not potshots at or from seekers and barely a word spoken.
The morose silence lasted until they reached the Ark. It felt empty and quiet – almost eerily so without the sh-click sh-clack sh-click sh-clack of little metal claws. Where Spike expected to see sparklings scaling the walls, he saw only pitted orange tiles. It seemed the only thing left of them were the nibbles from their teeth, and even they would fade with time.
The whine of a distressed engine made Spike jump and look around, half expecting a Decepticon weapon. Instead he found Grapple curled into Hoist’s arms.
“It was for the best,” Hoist said softly, although he looked almost as distraught as Grapple. “You know it, we all know it…”
“I never liked them anyway!” Sunstreaker proclaimed, then marched towards his quarters without looking back.
Red Alert nodded jerkily. “They were a terrible hazard,” he said, voice full of static. Inferno gently slipped an arm around his shoulders.
Tracks said nothing. Just gazed sadly at the scratches on his arms.
Even Spike felt pretty glum by that point. Carly bit back a sob as she pulled him into a hug, and Spike didn't even realise how thrilling it was until about a week later. He just gave her a gentle squeeze.
Optimus Prime made his way to the main console. The grief seemed heaviest around him most of all, dragging his normally proud shoulders down.
“Teletraan-1,” he began, so softly Spike could barely hear him, “have there been any transmissions from Caminus?”
“One transmission, Optimus Prime,” Teletraan-1 reported back.
That got everyone’s attention. The atmosphere switched into something far more tense as everyone looked to the screen, anxious to know if their babies had arrived successfully.
A mech Spike had never seen before popped onto the screen. Her helm looked almost like a crown, and she had swirls of red under her blue eyes.
“This is Windblade of Caminus, transmitting this message to Optimus Prime and his Autobots, currently stationed on the third planet from the Sun in the 99th Solar System in the Milky Way galaxy,” she began, voice formal and crisp.
“She sure is precise,” Perceptor said admiringly.
“I am pleased to report that the sparkling transport arrived intact,” Windblade continued, “and that all one hundred and eighty three sparklings are alive and well! Windblade out.”
The screen faded back to black. What should have been a joyous moment was rather undercut by the glaringly obvious error in Windblade’s message.
“Those damned Decpitcons! ” Ironhide roared, making everyone jump. “I knew it! I just knew they’d pull somethin’ like this!”
A chorus of curses and complaints rose up from the crowd.
“I’ll bet it was Starscream,” Bumblebee sneered, with a nastiness Spike rarely heard from him. “He was all over them!”
“I should have made him open his cockpit,” Prowl agreed, fists clenched as his sides.
“I don’t suppose,” Mirage said weakly, “that Caminus simply failed to count them properly?”
“I doubt it,” Jazz said bitterly. “We didn’t send the bitlets there for no reason. Caminus knows what they’re doing.”
“Autobots!” Optimus called, voice cutting powerfully through the ruckus. “I share your anger. We must mobilise!”
“Um, guys?” said Chip.
“I’ll go ahead,” Mirage volunteered, “see if I can find where they’ve hidden the poor thing.”
“Guys!” said Chip, a little louder.
“I’m gonna – blam! – shoot those seekers out of the sky!” Warpath vowed.
“Oh for goodness’ sake,” Chip muttered. Spike craned his neck to look, but he was blocked by Hauler.
“Blaster, see if you can pick up any comm. chatter,” said Optimus. “Prowl, Ironhide, I want you to–”
“GUYS!” Chip bellowed, finally loud enough to make himself heard. Everyone stopped and stared. Hauler finally moved.
Chip was by the command station, looking distinctly put out. He had both hands on his wheels but seemed unable to move.
Probably because of the sparkling clinging to the side of his wheelchair.
There was a moment of stunned silence. Then a stampede of Autobots descended on Chip, who was all too happy to surrender the sparkling to the first pair of hands who reached for it. They belonged to Windcharger. The sparkling was passed around with an air that bordered on reverent, until it finally landed in the loving hands of Optimus Prime.
“Well,” he began, voice back to a smooth, comforting rumble. “Aren’t you a surprise!”
The sparkling chittered at him, like scrap metal in a washing machine.
“How did it get here?” Smokescreen asked, mystified. “Did it hitch a lift on one of us?”
“Not me,” said Bluestreak, and so began a chorus of ‘not me’s and ‘nuh uh’s and 'no way's.
“Alright, alright,” Prowl said tiredly. “Whoever did it, own up. I’m not mad. Just disappointed.”
“I really don’t think anyone did it on purpose, Prowl,” Bumblebee said earnestly. Then he paused. “Except maybe Sunstreaker…”
“No way,” Sideswipe said immediately, “he would’ve told me.”
Prowl scowled. “Then who…”
“It didn’t hitch a lift with anyone!” Chip shouted indignantly. “I’ll have you know it crawled out from under the terminal.”
One by one, all heads turned towards Ratchet.
“I…” Ratchet looked unusually sheepish. “I, um, I…”
“Go on,” said Optimus Prime.
Ratchet shrugged helplessly. “I guess I must have miscounted?”
A beat of silence. Then a low chuckle spread through the crowd. It quickly grew to a chortle, then a laugh, and then a roaring guffaw.
Optimus’ eyes creased on a smile. He cradled the sparkling to his chest, where it immediately bit into his windshield.
“You are one lucky, cheeky little sparkling,” he said fondly.
Spike found himself smiling. One sparkling would be just fine.
THE END