#dirtboss

Wheeljack’s optic twitched—and around the lab, the other members of the team and the Sumdacs watched with wide eyes or optics.

Bumblebee actually raised a servo to cover his mouth, beating Prowl to the punch.

“What I mean to say is that you should probably be out in the field,” Bulkhead quickly tried to recover. “Y’know, helping Prime and the others hunt the Decepticons. Leave the space-bridge to the experts.”

Wheeljack still seemed upset for some reason.

Fortunately (or unfortunately) for Bulkhead, Optimus intervened before the discussion could continue.

“Bulkhead.” The Prime placed a servo on his shoulder. “A word?”

“What?” Bulkhead asked as the Prime led him aside. “I’m just saying-“

“I’m not sure if I want Wheeljack anywhere near a Decepticon right now,” Optimus quickly cut him off, and Bulkhead blinked before his optics widened. “You get what I’m saying?”

“… He’s doing a lot better,” Bulkhead tried, though he couldn’t make himself sound any more certain than he felt. “Besides, it’s not like you’ll be going after Megatron or Shockwave. Fighting’ll probably be good for him, let him blow off some steam.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Optimus protested quietly, then he sighed. “I’m not sure… So, I’d just feel a lot better if he was here. Besides, you should probably start mending some bridges—figurative ones, that is.”

Bulkhead blinked again. “Whaddya mean?”

“I mean, you didn’t tell any of us that you were good with this stuff,” Optimus said, gesturing to the recovered space-bridge materials. “Don’t you think Wheeljack might be wondering why you two haven’t been working together all this time to get him home?”

“I told him I read about this stuff back on the farm,” Bulkhead tried, though he was growing increasingly uneasy.

He didn’t want to talk about this.

He didn’t want to talk about space-bridges and Wheeljack together, not then or ever.

“But you didn’t tell him you were the best in the field, Bulkhead. That’s different, and you know it,” Optimus chided, then his face fell as he looked away. “He’s been away from home for so long now, and he’s taken some real heavy hits recently. I’m worried. You know that he doesn’t like to just… say things. When it got bad, we had to corner him and push it out.”

Huh. Wheeljack had been away from his home for a long time, hadn’t he?

But his home was a bad place! It was probably a good thing that he got away for a little while—especially since his team back home clearly didn’t know how to help him.

Well, this team was still learning—but at least they were trying their best! They were taking care of him... Weren’t they?

“Hm.” Bulkhead glanced over at the Wrecker, who was apparently being reassured about something by Professor Sumdac. “… You really think he might be mad at me?”

“I don’t know. I just-“ Optimus sighed again. “I just think he should be here. Let him see the science.” He crossed his arms. “When this is all over, we promised we would get him home. He has to know that he can trust you to help him.”

Bulkhead hadn’t thought about it like that.

He was suddenly very worried.

“Oh, geez.” Bulkhead cringed. “Prime, I-“

A string of beeps rang out, and Wheeljack glanced at Prowl’s scanner when the he brought it up before looking at Optimus. “Just got a hit on Lugnut.” He gestured to the door, his optics narrowed. “Let’s get movin’.”

The Prime frowned. “Didn’t you want to-?”

“Eh, leave it to the experts.” Wheeljack waved it off as he turned away, and he was the first one on the lift. “Come on.”

Optimus, Prowl, Bumblebee, and Ratchet hesitantly followed him, leaving Bulkhead standing there as the lift lowered and left him and the Sumdacs behind.

“… Scrap,” the green mech whispered.

He didn’t want to talk about Wheeljack and space-bridges together.

He didn’t want to send his friend back to a dark and dangerous place where no one was trying to help him get any better.

He didn’t want to say ‘goodbye’, to lose one of his teammates forever.

But he also didn’t want to hurt his friend, to make Wheeljack think that he wanted to hurt him and keep him trapped.

So, what was Bulkhead supposed to do?

He wasn’t really an expert in the sort of bridge that Optimus said needed fixed, but he needed to figure it out—and quickly.

…

As the team (minus Bulkhead) raced down a highway just outside of Detroit, Optimus had a bad feeling.

Wheeljack had been doing better recently, but the Prime was more conscious than ever of the care that had to be taken with the Wrecker’s weighted mind.

He had hoped to ease Wheeljack back into the fight, and to let him get some work in on the space-bridge himself.

Unfortunately, it didn’t look like that was going to happen. They were on the hunt for Lugnut, so… pretty counterproductive.

At least it wasn’t one of the Starscream clones or Blitzwing. Count your blessings.

“Signal’s moving due north, and we’re closing in fast!” Optimus reported after checking his scanner.

Ever since Professor Sumdac had rendered the Decepticon signal-dampeners useless, a whole new dimension had been added to the Autobot assignment on Earth.

The hunted could become the hunters, and vice versa. It was exhilarating, but they couldn’t let it go to their heads.

“Well, it’ll be nice to have the element of surprise for a change.” Bumblebee remarked dryly, driving side-by-side with Prowl to the Prime’s right.

Wheeljack and Ratchet were to the Prime’s left, with Optimus and Ratchet at either side of the Wrecker.

“The signal’s slowing down,” Optimus noted, then his frame tensed. “Now, it’s heading due south!”

“He’s heading right for us!” Bumblebee shouted as they all skidded to a halt and transformed.

Prowl’s optics narrowed. “So much for ‘the element of surprise’.”

Lugnut was dropping out of the sky, his right fist reared back with his Punch prepared for detonation as he let out a loud yell.

Optimus got ready to move, but then he heard the should of shifting metal at his side.

Blast!

A beam of blue light flew up and struck Lugnut’s servo, detonating the Punch.

An explosion went off in the air above the Autobots, a burst of orange, red, and blue before plumes of gray smoke filled the sky.

Lugnut dropped down onto the pavement on his back, groaning in pain before his optics closed and he went still. His right servo was charred and damaged, smoke rising from it.

“Nah.” Wheeljack lowered his cannon and shifted it back into a servo. “I think that still surprised ‘im.” The other Autobots looked at their Wrecker with wide optics, and he looked at them with a raised optic-brow. “So… what’d you think of the fireworks?”

“You are actually insane,” Bumblebee decided, then he grinned. “But that was awesome!”

“Hair-trigger reflexes, and a crack shot,” Prowl remarked quietly as Wheeljack drew a set of extra-large stasis-cuffs from his storage compartment and started to walk over to the fallen Decepticon. “No more pulling your punches, then?”

“If that’s alright with you,” Wheeljack said as he cuffed the Decepticon’s wrists. “Thought it was about time, even if I am a little extreme.”

“Well… it gets the job done,” Optimus said, still taken aback. “It’s just rather intense.” He managed to raise an optic-brow. “You’ve really been holding back, haven’t you?”

“Heh.” Wheeljack turned back to face him, giving a small grin. “It’s funny: I wasn’t really thinkin’ about it until that day with Blitzwing, y’know? Most of our problems were caused by humans, or I was tryin’ to deal with all of you bein’ scattered and scramblin’ or hurt.”

“Or you were hurt yourself,” Prowl added, and the Wrecker looked away awkwardly. “Or -well- in the water.”

“Yeah…” Wheeljack cringed. “Gotta love all the water battles.”

“So…” Optimus blinked. “We didn’t have an opportunity to see you fight like you do back home until that day with Blitzwing, when you were protecting Bumblebee and Ratchet.”

“Hm.” Wheeljack shrugged. “And look at how that turned out.” He sighed. “But… you took the PG-grade censorin’ the wrong way, figured I was coddlin’ you. Maybe I was.” He looked at his teammates with a frown. “But while I’m not plannin’ on tellin’ you too much about where I’m from in any kind of detail… not yet… I guess you could say I’m done tonin’ my fights down.” He gestured to Lugnut. “‘Cause they’re fightin’ to kill, so… someone here has to be ready to make that same call, if it comes down to it.” He shook his head. “And even if you eventually hafta see it happen, I never want you fellas to hafta do it yourselves. It’s not about bein’ kids versus adults or even soldiers… You’re never ready for the first time you snuff a spark.”

The Wrecker’s words ushered in a quiet.

What he had said, the openness of it all—that was very… different, for Wheeljack. The team’s Wrecker played his cards close to the chest, let pressure inside build up until he collapsed in on himself like a dying star becoming a black hole.

Telling them what was on his mind, it seemed like progress—like he was improving.

And Optimus felt a rush of protectiveness.

He already understood why Bulkhead tried to avoid any affiliation with sending Wheeljack back to his reality, but he briefly—traitorously—thought that the idea wasn’t so bad.

Ultra Magnus had ‘bots on it, right?

Why did it have to be them? Because they were his team, because they’d do it right?

Of course.

But… why did it have to be them?

And why did it have to be him?

“… He’s not wrong,” Ratchet agreed at last, and Optimus snapped out of his thoughts to glance at the field-tech in surprise.

“Ratchet?” Bumblebee asked, confused—and Prowl rested a servo on his shoulder.

Whatever the field-tech meant, whether it was something that he’d seen in others or actually experienced himself, it was left there.

And Optimus just let it be left there.

Ratchet was a field-tech, after all. He’d been there to heal, not hurt. It was probably just something patients spoke about.

Like Omega Supreme, maybe.

Ratchet wouldn’t blame himself for all of the lives his charge took, would he?

Optimus couldn’t dwell on it for long.

No one could.

Wheeljack was frowning like he had something more to say, then he blinked as there was a loud chirp over the comms.

:Bulkhead to Prime,: a familiar voice spoke quietly across the channel. In the background, someone was yelling “you got a problem?” amidst metal clangs and grunts of pain. :I think we’ve got a problem.:

“… And y’know, I was actually havin’ a decent day.” Wheeljack sighed, his shoulders sagging.

Lugnut groaned behind him, and the Wrecker deadpanned as he raised a foot before letting it swing back to kick the Decepticon’s leg.

“So… what do we do with him?” Bumblebee awkwardly gestured to Lugnut. “I mean, we can’t just leave a Decepticon out in the open—cuffed or not.”

“Our friend’s more important,” Optimus said.

Wheeljack glanced to the side, eyeing the river, then he looked back at his teammates. “… Sure looks like he could use a bath, doesn’t he?” The other Autobots blinked. “What? You guys are waterproof, right?”

“You are actually going to the Pit,” Bumblebee told him, shaking his head.

Wheeljack smirked as he grabbed Lugnut’s arm. “Never took the dark stuff, so that’s fairly unlikely. However, if I come back with purple optics and a ton of upgrades, just do me a huge favor and shoot—m’kay?”

“Wait, what?” Optimus asked, confused.

Wheeljack looked him dead in the optics, his face neutral. “What.”

…

…

…

As it turned out, finding Bulkhead and his “problem” was harder than expected.

At the tower, the rest of the Autobots could only find a really confused Sari and a frantic Professor Sumdac working on a new plasma dynamic thruster by himself.

The professor did, however, mention Mixmaster and Scrapper—which Optimus could instantly tell rubbed Wheeljack the wrong way.

Those two plus Bulkhead equaling a frightened Sumdac… shouldn’t have been a trend.

But it was.

So, Wheeljack was in a really bad mood.

“For frag’s sake, you’d think he’d learn,” the Wrecker grumbled as the team patrolled the town, searching for their friend.

It was the early hours of the morning, and—as always—having no stasis just made Wheeljack’s disposition worse. He was tired, he was worried, he was frustrated, and he was hurt.

Recovering, thankfully—but still hurt.

And just when he’d been showing progress…

One step forward.

Better not let the Wrecker take two steps back.

“Bulkhead’s always been one to see the good in others,” Optimus reminded him gently. “Even when they don’t choose to act on that good, he wants to see the very best in them.”

“But he has to know he can’t see things just because he wants to,” Wheeljack protested, his engine revving a big as he got worked-up. “I mean, those two are bad for him! They push him around, make him pretend to be somethin’ he’s not so he doesn’t get left behind! He has to know that it’s not right, by now.”

“And if he doesn’t, we’ll help him,” Optimus said quietly. Patience was easier to manage, now that he knew more about his friend and could try to interpret his words. “Because that’s what we do, for our teammates.”

Wheeljack huffed, then he sighed. “He better not have gotten himself into trouble.”

“If he has, then we’ll just help him with that too,” Optimus said, and he snorted as the Wrecker huffed again.

“Shuddup,” Wheeljack insisted, but his voice lacked any bite.

“We’ll find him,” the Prime assured his friend, relieved by the hope that he’d managed to ease his mood. “Don’t worry.” They suddenly came upon a gas station, the pavement around it covered in oil and the premises surrounded by flashing police cars. “… Okay, worry a little.”

“Oh, ya think?!”

…

There were calls coming in from all around the city. Wherever there was oil, the Constructicons—joined by a new, smaller, and nastier third member—were there to take it.

Captain Fanzone also informed the Autobots, after they found him next to a toppled transport truck, that Bulkhead was A) chasing after the three thieves on his own and B) still defending his so-called “friends” with claims that the trio was “good” but “misprogrammed”.

The Autobots always seemed to be two steps behind, missing the ‘Cons and Bulkhead—a dilemma which could only improve Wheeljack’s rapidly sliding mood, obviously.

“Their signals are moving all around the city with great speed,” Prowl reported. “Whoever is leading this chase, they are efficient and they are taking steps to not be caught.”

“There just had to be a new ‘Con with the slimmest shred of intelligence,” Wheeljack muttered. “It must be my spark-day.”

“There aren’t many places left for them to go,” Optimus reasoned. “Detroit’s oil supply is almost completely dried-up.”

Wheeljack suddenly transformed and landed on his feet, and the others transformed as well before they turned around to look at him. The Wrecker glanced down, his brow furrowed, then he looked up at them with a smirk.

“You know how you hit a movin’ target?”

“Naturally,” Prowl replied. “You don’t aim where it is, you aim-“ He blinked, then he nodded in understanding. “Where it’s going to be.”

Ratchet raised an optic-brow. “You think you know where they’re going?”

“Prime said it himself,” Wheeljack said, gesturing to Optimus. “Detroit’s oil supply is almost completely dried-up.” He crossed his arms. “So, where would they go for more?”

“… The refinery,” Optimus realized.

Wheeljack nodded. “Bingo.” He cringed. “And suddenly, all I can hear is what my team back home would say if they knew I was gonna go within a hundred klicks of that place.”

“What’s that?” Bumblebee asked, perplexed.

Wheeljack turned away, strangely stiff. “Well, uh…” He sighed. “… Remember, Wheeljack: blasters and fuel-pumps don’t mix.”

“There’s a story there,” Ratchet decided, a little concerned as he gazed at his teammate.

Wheeljack nodded sharply. “Yeah.”

The Wrecker suddenly transformed and drove off, and the others quickly transformed in order to follow him.

…

As the Autobots drove along the freeway, another call came in from Bulkhead.

There were no words, just grunts of pain and the sounds of metal striking metal.

Bumblebee tried to reach out to the green mech, but there had been no response.

Not from him, at least.

:He’s got an open comm-link!: A voice shouted.

Another replied. :Not for long.:

And just like that, the signal went dead.

So, naturally, Wheeljack decided that it was time to completely ignore all road safety laws.

And Optimus felt his Energon-pressure rising as he, Prowl, and Ratchet chased after the Wrecker. Bumblebee was managing to keep up with Wheeljack, but the Prime could see the surprise written all over his frame.

Wheeljack was fast.

“Wheeljack, come on: you’re the one of us with no siren!” Optimus shouted. “You need to slow down and drive alongside the group!”

“Bulkhead’s in trouble!” Wheeljack protested, not reducing speed at all. “He might already be hurt! We gotta get there, now!”

Prowl was suddenly going much faster.

Ratchet seemed to notice this, then he sped up.

Optimus wasn’t sure what they were thinking, but Wheeljack talked to them a lot more than he talked to the Prime. He increased speed.

Maybe Bulkhead wasn’t the only teammate in trouble.

Maybe Optimus had been right, and it was too soon.

He just hoped, pleading with the Allspark, that it wasn’t too much.

…

Wheeljack was already angry when he learned about Mixmaster, Scrapper, and some brand-new fragger messing with Bulkhead and tearing up the city.

He was even angrier when the team arrived at the refinery to find a shaken Professor Sumdac holding a plasma dynamic thruster, the human quickly explaining that the Constructicons were trying to blow up the refinery and that Bulkhead had only played along with them to protect him.

So, Bulkhead had learned his lesson from last time—but now, he had been dealing with a hostage crisis.

“Reminder: where are we, with me outright killin’ ‘Cons?” Wheeljack asked quietly, leaning slightly to the side so that he could address the question to Ratchet.

The field-tech glanced at him. “Not fans, but they’re technically not on Elite Guard record. No need to report it.”

Wheeljack nodded, his eyebrows raising. “Oh, that’s convenient.”

“And that’s a headache.” Ratchet sighed, and Wheeljack managed a smirk.

That smirk vanished when Bulkhead suddenly ran up, swinging… Mixmaster, attached to his wrecking-ball… and they all had to leap back to avoid getting crushed.

Wheeljack felt his fried nerves start to fray.

“Pretty convincing act!” Bumblebee remarked as Optimus clutched Professor Sumdac to his chest, trying to shield him.

“Sorry, guys!” Bulkhead shouted as he started to spin Mixmaster above his head again. “Can’t help it! Someone’s making me do this!”

Wheeljack blinked, raising an optic-brow, then he noticed a little red dot on his friend’s helmet.

What the-?

“You got that right,” a voice remarked, and Wheeljack glanced behind Bulkhead to see two figures approaching: Scrapper, and the smaller Constructicon that Fanzone reporter. It was the small one who had spoken, and Wheeljack hated him already. “I’m the boss around here, Dirtboss! Now, clamp that jaw and dent their fenders so that we can finish this job!”

Bulkhead charged, but Optimus sprayed him in the face with one of his fire-extinguishers and blinded him—knocking him off-balance and sending him and Mixmaster falling.

Scrapper charged, his drill ready, but Bumblebee used his heel-wheels to zip around the larger mech and leap over him before he could land a blow. “Strike!” He ducked another swipe. “Swing and a miss!”

“Will you slag that annoying little pipsqueak, already?!” Dirtboss demanded.

Bumblebee’s optics narrowed. “Who are you calling ‘pipsqueak’, short-stuff?!”

Scrapper tried to strike Bumblebee again, but the smaller mech leapt back and blocked two more blows with his sparking stingers.

“Bumblebee, watch the sparks!” Prowl warned him. “There’s oil everywhere!”

Bumblebee blinked. “Right! Blasters and fuel-pumps don’t mix!”

Hearing that, Wheeljack cringed. “Oh, that’s not gonna go away any time soon…”

The Wrecker blinked as Bulkhead recovered and ran at Optimus, trying to strike him while the Prime evaded and tried to reason with him.

“Bulkhead, it’s me: Prime! I don’t wanna hurt you!”

“I-I know!” Bulkhead replied shakily. “Neither do I!”

Wheeljack’s optics narrowed and turned on the new Constructicon.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he decided, then he turned and marched over towards Bulkhead. “I apologize for this in advance.”

“Huh?” Bulkhead blinked as Wheeljack dropped onto a crouch, then he yelped as the other mech swept his legs with a kick and sent him falling to the oil-slicked ground.

“Hold ‘im down!” Wheeljack shouted, and Optimus complied as Ratchet ran over. “Get that thing outta his head, and get him loose from that piece of scrap.”

“Hey!” Mixmaster complained.

Wheeljack shot a glare at him, then he turned his gaze on ‘Dirtboss’. “I’ll deal with this.”

“Oh, looks like we’ve got ourselves a real tough guy.” Dirtboss raised his servos mockingly as the Wrecker strode towards him, then he crossed his arms. “You think I’m scared of you and your fancy moves, you big ballerina?!”

“You just don’t know when to shut up, do ya?” Wheeljack asked, his fists clenching. “A lesser ‘bot might say it was a Constructicon thing, but I think you’re just assholes.”

Scrapper disengaged from Bumblebee and Prowl, who were also protecting the professor, and went to charge at Wheeljack.

One glance from the Wrecker halted the ‘Con in his tracks, and Wheeljack simply raised an optic-brow and waited.

Scrapper just looked at him, then he frowned and stepped back before turning and running off into the refinery.

“Hm.” Wheeljack tilted his head, then he turned his glare on Dirtboss again. “Now, you: you just had to take it a step further, didn’t you? That little bug of yours… You like head-games, huh?”

“What’s it to ya?!” Dirtboss asked as the Wrecker arrived, the smaller mech resting his servos on his hips.

Wheeljack took a deep vent, then he gave a small smirk as his foot swung back. “Heh. I’m glad you asked.”

CLANG!

The rest of the team—including a recovering Bulkhead, who was working to free himself from Mixmaster—looked up with wide optics.

Dirtboss soared through the air with a guttural scream and disappeared over the top of the giant oil drum, and they heard a loud-

SPLASH!

“What’s it to me?” Wheeljack asked, resting his servos on his hips. “Motive.”

“Well, that’s the very last time we leave him unsupervised,” Bumblebee said dryly as Bulkhead spun Mixmaster around to try and release his wrecking-ball. “You realize that’s TWO ‘Cons we have to fish out now, right?!”

Wheeljack snorted as he glanced back at the others. “We? I can’t swim.”

“… We hate you.” Bumblebee deadpanned.

Wheeljack chuckled. “I know.” He suddenly blinked. “Uh, Bulkhead-“

Mixmaster suddenly came loose and went soaring through the air.

Scrapper, who was standing by the massive oil-drum, yelped as his friend crashed into him—and their scraping armor caused a spark.

The oil-slick ground burst into flames, and Wheeljack’s optics widened.

“Okay, we need to move!” He looked at his teammates—then he glanced back at the Constructicons as they managed to stand up, with Scrapper’s servo wedged in Mixmaster’s chest cavity. “Come on, let’s go!”

Scrapper looked up, surprised, then he frowned again as he went to step towards the Autobots.

“Whaddya doing, ya idiot?!” Mixmaster reeled back, and Scrapper snapped his gaze to his partner. “We’re not going with them! Let’s get unstuck, grab what we can, and beat it!”

“But-“ Scrapper glanced at the Autobots again, then he looked back at Mixmaster. “… Right.”

As the duo staggered off, still stuck together, Wheeljack shook his head before looking at his team. “Let’s get outta here.”

“No, we can’t. We have to try and suppress this fire,” Optimus disagreed, stepping forward with his fire-extinguishers.

Wheeljack watched him try to suppress the fire warily. “Prime, it’s spread too far. It’s gonna hit that container, and it’ll all go up—us with it!”

“Dude, what happened with you and fuel-pumps?” Bumblebee asked, looking at him with some real concern.

Wheeljack looked at him, frustrated. “It was my second time on Earth, okay?! How the Pit was I supposed to know what the fraggin’ fuelin’ stations looked like?!”

“Okay, Wheeljack’s right!” Optimus’s narrowed optics had gone wide. “We can’t contain the fire! That tank’s gonna blow!”

“But perhaps we can transport it!” Professor Sumdac ran up, his latest creation still propped-up on his shoulder.

“The plasma dynamic thruster!” Bulkhead exclaimed. “Great thinking, professor!”

“Wait!” Bumblebee interjected. “Isn’t that the thing that sent Megatron transporting randomly around the galaxy?!”

“Well, yeah,” Bulkhead replied as he took the device in his servos and started to tinker with its settings. “But I think I can reprogram it for a shorter distance.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing!” Was all Bumblebee had to say to that.

Bulkhead finished his adjustments, and he watched as the device began to glow.

He went to throw it… then, he stopped.

And Wheeljack blinked before reaching out to catch the device as it was tossed his way.

The Wrecker looked down at it, then he looked up as Bulkhead gave a small grin. “Lob it.”

Wheeljack blinked again, then he gave a short chuckle as he turned to the oil container and wound up his arm. “Heh. Alright, then.”

The plasma dynamic thruster went soaring through the air, and it landed on the platform at the top of the container… right as Mixmaster and Scapper arrived there, having scaled the back of the giant tank.

Wheeljack’s optics widened when he saw them, then he sighed. Typical. “Oh, for Pit’s sake-“

A blue orb formed around the tank just as the fire reached it, teleporting it out into Lake Erie.

The Autobots watched it drop, then Wheeljack got down on one knee to shield the professor as the tank detonated with force that shook the ground and a blast that lit up the night sky.

When he looked back at the site, he couldn’t help but frown at the thought of the annoying Constructicons. At least it was quick.

Still, he thought he had Scrapper for a moment there—whatever that would’ve meant.

Wheeljack was shaken from those thoughts when Bulkhead sighed in relief. “It’s over.”

“Not quite,” Optimus disagreed. “We still have a Decepticon to haul away… A big Decepticon.”

“Who we dumped in Lake Erie to keep him out of trouble,” Prowl added.

Bumblebee crossed his arms. “So, again: that’s two ‘Cons to fish out.”

“Make that one.” Ratchet was checking his scanner. “That third Constructicon, he had to be made with an Allspark fragment. Now, I’m not getting any reading in range.”

“How hard did you kick him?” Optimus asked, bewildered, and Wheeljack shrugged.

He had a bad feeling. He didn’t like the idea of Dirtboss being left unaccounted for.

“Hey, Wheeljack,” Bulkhead spoke up, and the Wrecker looked at him. “Nice lob.”

Wheeljack’s frame immediately tensed at that, then he managed a grin. “Heh. Thanks.”

He didn’t know why Bulkhead looked so sad.

…

Unfortunately, Dirtboss wouldn’t be the only ‘Con who managed to give them the slip.

When the Autobots returned to the site of their earlier entanglement just before dawn, after returning Professor Sumdac to the tower… Lugnut was gone, as was his signal.

So, the team returned to the Plant in the early morning—drained and empty-handed.

Bulkhead transformed at the front door and watched as Prowl, Bumblebee, and Ratchet made their way towards their rooms.

Wheeljack lingered for a moment, looking at the hole in Bulkhead’s helmet before regarding him with a frown. “Better get that patched, once Ratchet’s rested-up.” He raised an optic-brow. “And, you-… You just let me know if you wanna talk about that—alright, Bulkhead?”

“I’m okay,” the green mech told him. “And, uh… You didn’t have to -y’know- apologize in advance. I’m glad you stopped me.” He shifted awkwardly. “And… that you kicked him.”

“Heh.” Wheeljack grinned. “Same here.” He grew serious. “We’ll find him, alright? He’s not gonna get away with this, any of it.”

“I know,” Bulkhead said. “So, uh… Thanks.”

The Wrecker nodded. “No problem, pal.”

And there was more that Bulkhead wanted to say, a lot more—but he didn’t.

He just watched as Wheeljack yawned and stretched, then the Wrecker was gone—off to some well-earned stasis.

Only Optimus was left.

“… You’re right, Prime,” Bulkhead said after a moment. “I didn’t tell him.” He looked at his leader, feeling nothing but guilt. “I mean, I-… I wasn’t really thinking about it—like, trying to keep it from him. But once I did start thinking about it, I just-… I know he has to go home, but I didn’t wanna be the one who sent him there.”

The Prime blinked, then he frowned. “What do you mean, Bulkhead?”

“I don’t wanna be the reason why he leaves,” Bulkhead explained awkwardly. “And… I don’t wanna be the reason why he might get hurt again, once he does.” He looked away. “He’s doing a lot better, now.”

Optimus blinked again, then he sighed. “And you wonder if, once he goes home, that might all go away.” He shook his head. “Bulkhead, you won’t be the reason why he leaves. You’ll just be the one who opens the door, and… it’ll be his choice of whether or not he walks through.” He grew a bit more stern. “But we promised we’d get that door open. He gets that choice, we don’t make it for him.”

“I know.” Bulkhead nodded. “But… I dunno. I guess I just don’t want things to change.” He crossed his arms. “Things are still crazy, but it feels like they’re just starting to be okay—not just for us, for him too.” He looked at Optimus, frowning. “We didn’t just say we’d get him home. We told him that we’re his team, that we’ll be there for him.”

“And we will be,” Optimus insisted. “But that can mean something different than you think. I thought we should keep him in the lab to give him more time, and I got scared when he got really upset—but he was just tired and worried about you, and he took care of Lugnut and Dirtboss with no problem.” He raised his shoulders. “You were right. He was okay, and he needs to blow off some steam—and we took a big step last night, talked about how he’s going to be fighting from now on and not… coddling us, with what he does on the battlefield. He’s just going to do what he has to.”

Bulkhead grew surprised. “Really?”

The Prime nodded. “Yes. And that’s just what happened, what he did and had to say. It was different than I thought.” He let his shoulders drop. “So… you might think that you building that bridge would take him away and send him to a place that hurt him, and you could be right. If you are, we’ll be there for him.” He took a deep vent. “But you might just be giving him a way to really face all of it, every hurt—and decide where to go, from there. And if that’s the case… we’ll be there for him then, too.”

“… What if I build the bridge, and he’s just gone?” Bulkhead asked quietly.

Optimus gave a small smile. “You really think that Wheeljack would settle for a one-way trip? He’s family, Bulkhead.” He glanced towards the hallway. “He has to go back, but… I think it’ll be a point of personal pride for him, making sure that he can move back and forth.” He returned his gaze to his teammate. “… He’s spent his whole life saying ‘goodbye’—because he’s lost someone, or because he had to escape. I don’t think he’ll say ‘goodbye’ to us by choice, and… he’s stubborn. He won’t give the multiverse the option of denying him that choice.”

Despite himself, Bulkhead huffed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, that sounds like him.” His face fell a bit. “… You don’t wanna lose him, either.”

“… No,” Optimus agreed softly. “I don’t.” He put on a smile. “Again, I guess we went about things differently. You didn’t wanna help him go… and I think that, somehow, I’ve just made up my mind that he’ll never really be gone.” He straightened his posture. “… One of those ways can work, for now—whatever bumps in the road we might run into, with the science. The other way doesn’t help anyone, Bulkhead—not Wheeljack, and not you.”

Bulkhead sighed. “Yeah. And… you were right, Prime. I really gotta build and fix some bridges, with Wheeljack.” He looked up at his leader. “… He’ll never really be gone?”

“Not a chance,” Optimus pressed. “None of us will let that happen. We’re in this together—all of it, no matter what.”

The Prime sounded so sure.

Maybe it would be enough for Bulkhead to really start believing it.

…

…

…

Bulkhead woke up early the next morning.

Unable to return to stasis, he wandered out into the main area of the Plant—and the large, green mech blinked in surprise as he saw someone.

Wheeljack was sitting on the cement couch, a canister of blue Energon resting on the table.

He seemed to be tinkering with a compartment in his wrist, and Bulkhead wondered briefly if his secret grenade trigger had somehow been damaged. He’d only seen it for the first time in the mine, and the Wrecker’d fallen into the river after using it the second time.

But it was the wrong wrist.

Bulkhead blinked, then he carefully walked closer. Wheeljack was so preoccupied, he didn’t even seem to notice his teammate.

The green mech peeked over the Wrecker’s shoulder, and he saw that the armor there had split to reveal a small, flickering gray screen imbedded in the other mech’s forearm.

“C’mon,” Wheeljack muttered, using his tool to make an adjustment—and he sighed in relief when it turned green and began to clear. “There we are.” He gave a small smile. “Heh.“

“What’s that?” Bulkhead asked without really thinking about it, and his friend nearly jumped out of his armor before looking at him with wide optics. “Oh! Sorry! My bad!”

“Frag, Bulk.” Wheeljack raised a servo to his chest. “Give us a warnin’, will ya?” He shook his head, then he blinked and glanced down at his wrist. “Oh, uh- This? It’s, uh… It’s the visual aid for some of my internal systems. It lets me see where my Energon levels are, shows me the location of the other members of my unit or team are within a certain proximity, displays the locations and levels for whatever substance or energy I’m scanning for in a short range, and lets me access a small personal database.” He raises his shoulders. “These beauties weren’t too common, during the war—mostly used by the medics as health monitors—but I’m crafty, rigged one up myself.” He looked down at the screen. “It got busted, towards the end of the war on Cybertron—and I never bothered to fix it. Pit, I even welded over it once or twice.”

“It’s in you.” Bulkhead’s brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t you want it fixed?”

“No need for it, by the time I had -well- the time,” Wheeljack replied, and Bulkhead blinked before his expression dropped. “Then, when I was on a team again, my Ratchet had it all covered. No need, again.”

Bulkhead frowned, and he walked around the couch and sat down next to the Wrecker. “… You didn’t want to see who wouldn’t be there.”

Wheeljack blinked, then he huffed quietly before offering a small grin. “Nothin’ gets past you, now—none of ya. Fraggin’ nightmare.”

Bulkhead just looked at his friend, then he looked down at the screen.

Wheeljack: —/\——\/——/\——\/——/\—

Bulkhead: NO SIGNAL

Ultra Magnus: NO SIGNAL

Ratchet: NO SIGNAL

Arcee: NO SIGNAL

Bumblebee: NO SIGNAL

Smokescreen: NO SIGNAL

Knockout: NO SIGNAL

Optimus Prime: OFFLINE

Bulkhead tensed when he came to the name “Optimus Prime” and saw the word where the spark-beat should have been.

Everyone already kinda knew, but that silent confirmation just seemed so final, and it chilled his Energon.

Wheeljack’s Optimus was really gone?

There were more names beneath that name, all with OFFLINE or NO SIGNAL beside them.

He bet there would be dozens, if Wheeljack decided to scroll down to view them all.

“They update on their own, when it happens in a certain proximity or I connect to a database that confirms it,” Wheeljack said, sounding very numb. “So, these are old. Some of ‘em haven’t been updated since long before the war left a dead Cybertron. Others just haven’t changed since I left my Cybertron.”

Bulkhead looked at Wheeljack, his optics wide, then he looked at the names again.

All of those NO SIGNAL names were ‘bots that Wheeljack cared about—his team, his family—and there was a good chance that they were missing Wheeljack, back in his reality.

Back in his home.

Wheeljack’s home always sounded so scary to Bulkhead, and he wasn’t always so sure that the Wrecker was treated well. He was in no hurry to send his friend back there, to lose him…

But if Bulkhead had come to care about Wheeljack so much after only a few stellar-cycles… and if Wheeljack had come to care about the team as much as he did in that same short time… the green mech decided that could not even imagine how much love was carried in those names, pain or no pain with it.

He kept the red names.

He kept them—out of others’ sight, but still in his systems for his hidden access—even though he knew that they were gone.

Whatever they had felt about him, Wheeljack loved them all that much.

And Bulkhead didn’t just feel guilty because he had let his worry get the better of him. He felt guilty because he knew he had been selfish.

What right did he or anyone else have to keep Wheeljack anywhere?

Prime was right, this was his choice—and he wanted to get home.

He deserved to get home.

“Wheeljack?” Bulkhead tried, only to lose his words when he saw that the Wrecker was snapped out of deep thought. “Um…”

“Heh.” Wheeljack shook his head. “I, uh… I should patch you fellas into this thing, get some real use outta it now that it’s workin’ again. Otherwise, it’d just be pointless...” He looked at Bulkead, and he put on a grin just like he’d always do. “What is it, buddy?”

“… I’m sorry,” Bulkhead told him, and that grin dropped. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what I knew about space-bridges.” He gestured to the green screen. “I’m sorry you’re missing your family… and I’m sorry you’re not home.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere until I finish what I started here,” Wheeljack insisted. “Bridge or no bridge, I’m here now until the fight’s done.”

“Yeah, but there should be a bridge!” Bulkhead argued, looking up at his friend in frustration. “I should’ve started working on one with the professor the day you got here so that it would be ready, and I didn’t! I didn’t, Wheeljack—and now, I’m not even started on one that can move around this universe! Figuring out how to get you back to your reality could take years, and you’re gonna be stuck here all that extra time because of me!” He looked down, that guilt crushing him. “I promise, I’m gonna get you home… but it’s gonna be a while. I’m sorry.”

“Bulk?” Wheeljack sounded surprised, then he looked down at the screen. “Hm.” It was quiet for a little while, then the Wrecker glanced at the green mech with a raised optic-brow. “… Can I be honest with you, for a minute?”

Bulkhead nodded, not raising his head. He couldn’t bring himself to. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

“Home.” Wheeljack gestured. “Like, the idea of it… That’s pretty complicated, for me.”

“Huh?” Bulkhead blinked, then he looked up at his friend. “Whaddya mean?”

“Well, let’s look at it in terms of ‘place’,” the Wrecker began awkwardly. “See… I had a place once, with folks lookin’ after me—then I was on my own for a while. Then, it was campuses.” He looked down, folding his servos. “I had a place I was barely ever in while I was workin’ at Kimia, then I was always on the move durin’ the war. I had a ship for a while, the Jackhammer, but… that blew up.” He shrugged. “I stayed at a base for a time, though -again- we were always on the move with bridges sendin’ us out on our missions—and then I was suddenly back on Cybertron, and… I never fully settled in.” He gave a bitter laugh. “I have never had luck with optimism. I would get my hopes up, then have ‘em thrown in my face. So, to be frank, I was savin’ myself the effort and the pain and just… keepin’ myself ready for it all to go away again at any time.” He looked at Bulkhead, his strained smile dropping away into a forlorn expression. “… Even the team. My family.”

Bulkhead’s optics widened. “Wait, what?”

“All I ever do is lose, and… you know by now that my relationship with ‘em wasn’t exactly the best it could’ve been,” Wheeljack said, being completely genuine, then he looked at his screen. “I miss them, I really do—every day, them and the humans we had with us. I want to get back to my reality to see them again, to let ‘em know I’m alright and that I didn’t just leave ‘em hangin’. I worry that, if I can’t get to ‘em, something will go wrong while I’m not there to help.” He took a deep vent. “But honestly? Every day, it gets a little weirder to try and refer to my reality as ‘home’… ‘cause I’ve come to learn that ‘home’ can’t be a place, not for me.”

“I don’t understand,” Bulkhead admitted.

Wheeljack sighed, still staring at that little screen. “I always lose. Nothin’ ever lasts, but… at times, I can convince myself that I can count on some things better than others. I can risk bein’ optimistic, for them.”

Bulkhead’s brow furrowed again, then he looked at the little screen covered in names.

“Every day, it gets a little weirder to try and refer to my reality as ‘home’.”

What was going on? What was he trying to say?

“Home can’t be a place, not for me.”

Not a place? Then, what was it?

Then, it clicked.

Bulkhead blinked, because that list on the little green screen was suddenly more than just a group of ‘bots Wheeljack cared about: his team, his unit, his friends, his family.

It was the only home that the Wrecker’d ever let himself count on—not a place, people.

His home was made of people.

And… that made sense, to Bulkhead. The Plant wouldn’t be home without the team.

Wheeljack wasn’t missing his reality so much as the people in it. They were his home.

But there was more to it than that.

“My relationship with ‘em wasn’t exactly the best it could’ve been.”

A lot more.

“I should patch you fellas into this thing.”

Because no matter what a ‘home’ was for a person, a ‘home’ could be many things—at the same time or one after the other—and change just like the person could.

Wheeljack was trying to figure out which it was.

So, maybe Bulkhead had been right again. Maybe it was a good thing that he got away for a little while, so he could think.

But all the same, a promise was a promise—and he wouldn’t be neglecting that promise again.

Wheeljack would have his time, but he’d also have options ready when he needed them.

“… We’ll be making the portal on purpose,” Bulkhead said at last, because he felt like he finally understood. “It’ll be a door.” The Wrecker glanced at him. “Doors open both ways.”

“Heh.” Wheeljack’s smile returned, and it wasn’t forced this time. “I suppose they do.” He looked back at his little screen, and Bulkhead watched that smile go away as the Wrecker’s optics gradually went vacant. “… They have to.”

“… It will,” Bulkhead pressed, and he was very careful as he rested a servo on the Wrecker’s back to stir him out of his thoughts. “Count on it.” Wheeljack looked up at him, and the green mech put on a smile. “Optimistic, right?”

Wheeljack blinked, then he grinned. “Yeah.” The panel in his wrist slid shut. “Optimistic.”

The real weight of it all set in on Bulkhead. It was so much bigger than him.

He’d been worried that someone who fell into his world from another would leave someday. He’d never stopped to really consider the fact that Wheeljack no longer just of one world.

He was of two worlds. He had two families.

He was loyal. How could anyone expect him to choose between them, even if his relationship with one wasn’t as smooth as the other?

He loved them both… but that just made it all harder—because if- no, when the space-bridge finally went active and Wheeljack found he could walk between two realities and families freely, what was he supposed to do?

Even if he never let either reality go, where was the Wrecker supposed to go?

What would be home?

In the end, that would be Wheeljack’s choice.

Bulkhead would just open the door.