#two dads

Your little legs burned, struggling over the uneven, rocky terrain of the Nevada desert. Loose gravel slipped under your mismatched shoes—one a tattered slip-on you’d grabbed in a panic, the other a sneaker held together with duct tape and hope. Neither helped as the dirt roads gave way to cracked stone and thorny brush, sharp enough to snag your too-big jacket.

You’d slipped away from Jasper hours ago, the town’s lights long swallowed by the wild. Your backpack, heavy with your carefully chosen treasures, weighed on your shoulders. A crumpled box of fruit-themed bandages. Two water bottles, one now empty. A couple of snack packs, already half-gone. Your small, scratched-up whiteboard and markers, your only voice. And your baby blanket, ratty, full of holes, but warm with love. 

You did have one thing that wasn't all yours. One of your moms lighters. It seemed like a good last second decision, she always kept one by the door to smoke so it was easy to grab.

You knew about stranger danger—school lessons, cartoon villains. Staying visible meant risking someone spotting you. An adult. Someone who’d drag you back. Home. So you stayed low, a shadow in the scrub, ducking behind bushes at every engine roar or crunch of tires. Now, the road was gone, lost to rock formations and creaking, wind-bent trees. No cars. No people. Just you, the desert, and the orange smear of sunset.

Your legs shook, lips cracked and dry. You fished out your last water bottle, taking a careful sip, the plastic warm in your hands. A cave would be nice—a hideout, like a cartoon hobo with a stick and a sack. You’d find a tin can, cook beans over a fire. You’d survive. Because this—alone, hungry, cold—was better than going back.

At least, that's what your eight year old mind could reason out.

———————————

The desert wind whistled low across the ridges, kicking up sand and dead leaves from the brush. Sunset threw long shadows over the cracked earth, and far above the fading heat shimmer, something massive moved between the trees.

Breakdown’s footfalls were heavy, deliberate—each one sending small clouds of dust curling up behind him. He wasn’t worried about stealth. This was just another simple energon scout run. 

His scanner pinged—faint residuals, barely worth the trip. Knock Out had stayed behind, sweet-talking his way out with that velvet voice.

“Oh, won’t you go for me, Blue? Please?” he’d purred, batting his optics, fresh from a buffing session. Breakdown had grumbled but caved. Always did.

“Still sayin’ it’s this way,” he grumbled to himself. “Still sayin’ you should’ve come too, Pretty-Boy.”

He paused and scanned the horizon again, optics narrowing.

That’s when he picked up a sound. 

Not a machine. Not a signal. Just the faint little steps of something nearby, clearly struggling in this terrain. Not mechanical, so not another bot. Organic maybe? A human? 

A sound stopped him. Faint, scuffling close by, on the brush and rocks. It sounded small, organic.

Human? His targeting sensors twitched, locking onto something small, warm, moving without purpose. Post-MECH, humans set his plating on edge—those butchers had carved out his eye, leaving him scarred. But this was no MECH operative.

He veered off the Energon trail, veering around a rock wall and pushing past some trees, his armor scraping bark. Then he saw her.

A tiny human girl, scrambling to try to climb a small rock formation, scuffling on tiny hands and knees. Her oversized jacket dragged, sleeves flapping, her backpack swaying like it outweighed her. Tangled hair hid her dirt-smeared face, her breaths heavy, like she was fighting for every one. 

She didn’t notice him, too focused on not falling. Breakdown blinked his single optic, stepping closer. No Autobots, no humans, no signals. Alone? In this wasteland?

“Gotta be a trap,” he growled, remembering Bulkhead’s human—Miko, if his processor remembered correctly, was loud and reckless, always glued to her bot. This one was different, even as it failed its climb, it was quiet, not fussing about or calling for help.

He crouched, careful not to crunch the brush and have her bolt. He watched her struggle a few moments more before he reached over a servo. 

Giving her a light poke to the back of her head. She jolted with a gasp, stumbling back onto the dirt with a small yelp—no scream, no running. Just big, wide eyes staring up at him, breathing hard through her nose another small gasp as she saw him. One small arm slightly trembling in front of her, her only shield. Wide eyes flickering at each part of him. 

“What kinda pet wanders this far from its Autobot?” he muttered, optic narrowing. Bulkhead’s kid was never alone—her and the wrecker seemed inseparable, connected at the pede. This one was alone. 

He hooked a servo around one of the straps on her backpack and lifted her off the ground like a stray tool. She dangled there, limp in the air, barely reacting beyond a small grunt and a tighter grip on her fraying straps. The only sounds were the soft creak of worn fabric and the faint rasp of her breathing.

Her legs swayed slightly as the wind caught her coat, too big for her frame. But she didn’t flail. Didn’t scream. Just hung there—like this happened all the time.

Her eyes met his optic and didn’t look away. 

Wide. Dust-smeared. Unblinking. 

Her fast, soft little breaths are the only thing his audio receptors are picking up.

Afraid but silent.

“Where’s your leash, huh?” he muttered, giving her a small shake. “Bulkhead lose ya?”

Nothing. Not even a flinch. Just a slow, slight tilt of her head like she hadn’t understood him—or maybe she had, but didn’t know how to answer.

Breakdown scanned the area again.

Still nothing. No heat signatures, no movement in the brush, no Autobot signatures hiding behind a rock ready to shout and charge.

This is the worst trap I’ve ever seen, he thought. Or... it wasn’t a trap at all.

He grumbled low in his throat, venting warm air.

Lowering her slowly, he released the strap, letting her drop gently onto the packed dirt. Her knees buckled from the weight of the backpack and she hit the ground with a soft oof. Still no crying. Still no scrambling to run.

She just sat there, small and quiet, and looked up at him like he was something out of a cartoon she half-remembered from better days.

Breakdown squinted at her, annoyed at the stillness, the softness.

“Seriously? You gonna just sit there?”

Nothing. Not even a shrug.

He scowled and straightened to his full height with a heavy clunk of metal shifting back into place. A final look—then he turned, stomping away toward the trees.

“Whatever... not my problem.”

Each step sent small clouds of dust curling behind him.

He didn’t look back.

Didn’t care.

Shouldn’t care.

Decepticons don’t play babysitter.

Right?

——————-

Breakdowns pedes were on autopilot as he stared at the data pad in front of him, leading him to the signals strongest point. 

As he got back to the mission at hand, his processor couldn’t help but think back to that tiny human. 

He thinks back to Bulkhead and Miko again.

 Bulkhead’s pet was loud and energetic. It even had brightly colored fur on top of its helm. The times he met the pet there wasn’t one time it wasn’t obnoxious and screaming or trying to run, always trying to poke their pesky selves into Cybertronian business.

But Tiny?

You were the first human to not run screaming at the sight of him. 

…what does that mean?

His pedes slowed as he thought, not noticing the little follower behind him. 

——————————

You’d learned long ago: Stay still, stay quiet. That was the rule. It hadn’t always saved you—bruises and other cuts and gashes under your jacket proved that—but it seemed to be working now, on this giant robot man.

He was massive, a cartoon come to life, his blue metal scarred and glinting in the fading light. One eye was gone, just a dark socket, but his grip, when he’d lifted you, was careful, not cruel. You’d frozen, heart pounding, too scared to cry, but he hadn’t hurt you. Just talked—strange words like Autobot, Bulkhead, pet. None of it made sense, but his voice was deep, steady, not angry.

When he set you down and walked away, you slid off the rock, backpack thumping against your spine. 

This wasn’t the escape you’d imagined—but, you weren’t home. She wasn’t here. And that made it better… even if you still hurt.

You padded after him, his loud steps masking your smaller ones. He moved fast, forcing your little legs to jog, the desert’s chill as the sun was setting and starting to creep into your bones. Pet? Did he think you were an animal?

You stayed close, weaving through the brush, your sneakers catching on stray rocks and roots as you followed him through the giant rock formations in the desert. 

You were just wandering, but he seemed like he had a plan, so following him made some sense. Also he was a giant robot, very cool (and slightly scary) to you, any kid would want to stay with him.

You wondered if he was alone, like you. If there were more like him—giant, metal, scarred. You noticed his eyepatch right away, one side of his head missing a yellow glow. 

The thought made your chest tight, but not with just fear, with the thrill of an adventure, like the kind you'd read about in story books. 

You two walked for a bit when you came upon an alcove, some vegetation covering the ground and a small stream flowing through it.

He slowed, and you misjudged, bumping into his giant heel with a soft thunk. You froze, looking up, your whiteboard clutched tight in case you needed to write something.

——————-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Feeling a small tink on the back of his pede, he whips his helm around, to see you, right at his heels. 

“…Tiny?” 

      He quickly snaps his denta shut. Scrap, That’s the first mistake. You name it, you get attached to it. 

…Also, when did he start using that fragging name?

You blink up at him, wide eyed, looking between him and the opening that leads into the alcove.

Breakdown let out an annoyed groan, the Energon ping nagging his processor like a bad comm loop. He shook his helm, turning away. He'd rather not outright squish the human. 

In fact, he’s always seen those under him as valuable.

Vehicons were allies, friends—he’d always thought so, unlike the higher-ups who scrapped their own. But a human? That was a step too far.

Still, his pedes hesitated. 

She was quiet, small, following him around right on his pedes like the sparklings he’d watched over on Cybertron, before the war tore it all apart. 

His servo brushed his optic scar, MECH’s cold table flashing in his memory. Humans were trouble. 

Shaking his helm one last time, He stomped toward the Energon signal, forcing focus. The data pad’s pings grew stronger, leading to a far part of the wall in the alcove. 

He tucked it away, shifting his servos to hammers, and glanced over his shoulder. 

The girl stood a few paces back, clutching a white rectangle, eyes wide, cautious but steady.

 “Stay back, Tiny, unless ya wanna get squished,” he chuckled as he threw those words over his shoulder, but his gruff voice had a hint of underlying seriousness to it. 

His hammers tore through the rock, carving a jagged cave. Dust billowed, stinging his optic, but he paused to clear debris, checking the pad. Soon, blue crystals peeked from the walls—small, faint, barely worth the effort. He started prying them free, each clunk of crystal against his servo grounding him. Mission. Duty. Not some stray human. 

Just as he collected the last chunk of energon crystals, A comm buzzed in his helm. Knock Out’s voice purring through a hint of huff and impatience. 

“Blue, darling, tell me you’ve found a huge vein of energon because normally you would have called in by now. This medbay’s dull without you.”

Breakdown chuckled, glancing at Tiny, who was down by the little stream, splashing water on her face. “Nah, Red, nothin’ like that. Just a few crystals, barely a haul. Signal kept fadin’ on me.” A half-truth—he wasn’t sure if he should even mention the human. 

Knock Out’s huff crackled through the comm. “Fading signals? You’re slipping, love. I swear, if you’re out there denting your finish for scraps…” He trailed off, a playful edge hiding the worry Breakdown knew too well. “Get those crystals loaded and call for a bridge. I’m not dragging my polish through that dust to fetch you.”

He glanced at Tiny. Her small form was still by the stream, but her bag was off her back now, the white board she had balanced on her knees as she swayed her feet in the cool water of the stream. She seemed to be drawing something.

 He felt his spark twinge for a nanoklick---scrap.

“Fine, but you do the buffing for two cycles,” Knock Out shot back, voice dripping with mock indignation. The comm cut off, leaving Breakdown with the desert’s quiet and Tiny’s silent stare. He vented, shaking his helm. What was he gonna do with her?

Breakdown stood, the Energon shards heavy in his subspace, his optic lingering on Tiny.

Tiny stood as well, bare feet splashing from the water and getting covered in sand trotting over to him. She had that white board with her again, holding it up above her as high as she could to show the con. 

Breakdown tried to be dismissive, was determined to put a pede forward and just walk around her, but again, he felt his spark. As hard as he tried, he didn't think he'd be able to just ignore her and leave. 

Pinching the brow of his helm, he let out a frustrated groan, and lowered himself on one knee, defeated. Betrayed by his own spark. 

He had to really peer at her drawing, it being so tiny compared to him. But he could faintly make out through the squibbles that it must've been him.  A big blue blocky figure—him, maybe, with one big eye and a hammer. He snorted, almost amused. “Got me all wrong, Tiny. I ain’t that boxy.”

She looked up, eyes bright but silent, clutching the board like a shield. No words, just that stare, like she was waiting for him to decide her fate. 

His spark twinged, harder this time. Humans needed… stuff, didn’t they? Human Food, water, shelter. He knew how easily humans broke after fighting off MECH with Bulkhead.

  But the thought of Knock Out’s teasing smirk, that glint in his crimson optics that could cut through any gloom, made Breakdown pause, his servo hovering over the human. 

Those steady servos—precise, unyielding—had patched him up after MECH’s cold tables, when humans had carved out his eye, leaving him broken and raging in a haze of pain.

 Knock Out had worked through a whole Earth night cycle in the Nemesis medbay, his usual flair muted, his touch gentle as he welded plating back together, whispering, 

“Can’t have my Blue looking like scrap, can I?” That care, that stubborn refusal to let him fall apart, had pulled Breakdown from the edge. 

Red got it—saving what shouldn’t be saved, fighting for what the war would crush. 

Tiny, with her wide eyes and silent stare, was like that: a fragile thing, alone in the desert, no Autobot to guard her, no one to care. Like he’d been, before Knock Out’s smirk became his anchor. Another twinge, a glitch of guilt and something softer, as he glanced at her small form in front of him, clutching her tattered blanket. 

“Alright, Tiny,” he rumbled, standing and looking around the cavern. He went over to some stray boulders, grabbing each with ease and setting them up in a crude shelter-like shape by the stream. Just a roof and three walls with a sand floor. 

it looked solid, and good enough to block out the wind. “Can’t let ya freeze out here.”

He snatched up a good pile of nearby vegetation and some dead shrubs. Piling them in front of the little rock house.

“Alright. One cozy little inferno, comin’ up.”

He aimed carefully—well, as carefully as a Decepticon artillery unit could aim at a campfire-sized pile of sticks—and charged the cannon. Just before firing, he glanced back at her.

She was watching. Of course she was. Wide eyes, shivering, huddled.

“Uh—might wanna, I dunno… cover your eyes. And ears. Maybe turn around, unless you wanna lose your tiny fleshy…everything?.”

He said it quickly, casually, like it wasn’t his first time saying those exact words to a Vehicon with bad timing. Then he added:

“Won’t take long.”

You nodded and obediently turned around, hands over your ears, head ducked.

Breakdown smirked. That was cute, you took an order instantly, better than some vehicons under his command.

With the barest flick of power, he fired—not a full blast, just enough to ignite the brush without blowing it halfway across the canyon. The fire caught instantly, crackling to life in a little orange bloom of warmth and light.

Satisfied, Breakdown stepped back, folding his cannon away with a click and crossing his arms.

You peeked back at the fire, eyes lighting up as you scooted closer, holding out your hands toward the flames with a little sigh. Still no words, but for the first time, you looked… maybe not safe, but comfortable. Almost. The smallest smile on your face.

Breakdown blinked.

“Well… guess that worked.”

A pause.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

He watched as something clicked behind your eyes—like a lightbulb finally flipping on. You blinked up at him, then held up one tiny finger, a little wait right there gesture.

You turned back to the whiteboard at your side, clutching the marker with both hands. The drawing you’d made earlier—of him, rough and boxy with a single eye and big fists—got a quick swipe from your sleeve, vanishing in squeaky little circles.

Breakdown tilted his helm, curious.

You wrote carefully. Slowly. Tongue poking out in concentration, brow furrowed like this was serious business. When you finished, you capped the marker with a pop, double-checked your work, and stood.

Hopping up from your spot by the fire, you trotted over and held the whiteboard up high—on your tiptoes, like maybe you could actually reach his chestplate if you tried hard enough.

He looked down.

Two words, drawn neat and straight with a little smile beside them:

‘Thank you! :)’

His optic whirred softly.

“…Huh.”

His comm cut back in.

“Okay, you big lug, finally got Soundwave unstuck and managed to reroute a ground bridge to your location. You're welcome, by the way. It’s coming in now.”

Behind him, the hum started low, then swelled into the familiar whoomp of opening energy. The air rippled with heat as green light painted the alcove, the breeze from the vortex stirring sand and leaves in small circles.

Tiny jumped at the sound, spinning around with wide eyes, nearly dropping her whiteboard as she stared at the swirling portal like it was pure magic.

Breakdown huffed a low chuckle.

“Thanks, Pretty Boy,” he muttered into the comm.

From the other end, Knock Out gave a knowing, amused little laugh before signing off with a static flick.

Breakdown turned back to Tiny. She was staring up at the ground bridge now, whiteboard hugged to her chest, jaw slightly slack.

He crouched, servos bracing into the dirt for balance as he leaned in closer.

“Gotta head back, Tiny. You… stay here, alright? Don't wander….”

You nodded once, fast and serious, like this was the most important thing anyone had ever told you. Your hands gripped the board tighter, fingers curling in the frayed sleeves of your jacket. Big eyes. Quiet trust.

Breakdown felt it again—that weird little pinch in his spark that had started the second she didn’t run screaming.

Scrap. I’m gettin’ soft.

He lingered longer than he meant to—just watching her. Quiet, still, trusting. That stupid little whiteboard still clutched to her chest.

He should’ve walked away already.

This should be the last time he saw her. He shouldn't have helped her. Not this much. Not at all.

But tonight had been full of weird spark-tugs, hesitations, and confusion. Instincts at war with protocol.

He straightened slowly, armor creaking as he turned toward the glowing swirl of the ground bridge. Its energy crackled against the rocks, casting long shadows across the desert floor.

“I’ll… check on ya tomorrow…”

The words came out before he could stop them. He hesitated. Was he lying?

He should be.

But his pedes were already moving, carrying him into the swirling light. The hum of the vortex surrounded him, filling his audials with static as the portal swallowed him whole.

He dragged a servo down his faceplate, venting hard.

Why? Why now?

He’d never felt like this—not for those loud Autobot brats clinging to Bulkhead or Arcee. He barely got a chance to glance at those ones before it was time to throw punches and dodge blaster fire.

But Tiny?

Tiny had been alone. Struggling. Weak.

And Breakdown had always had a soft spot for the weak, hadn’t he?

His mind drifted—back further than it had in vorns.

Before the Decepticons. Before the war. Back to his own early days on Cybertron, when he was a scrawny little thing constantly getting knocked around. Back when he started fighting—not just for the thrill of it, but to survive. To protect.

His old district had been rough. Not much energon. Too many younglings without supervision. And somehow, it fell to him to look out for the ones smaller than him. He’d gotten bigger, tougher, meaner—but it had always been for them.

Then Megatron came. Promising strength. Order. Power. The chance to protect on a bigger scale.

Breakdown hadn’t been swayed by words. He challenged the warlord to a duel. If Megatron could overpower him—fine, he’d join.

Megatron did.  And Breakdown will never forget it.

That’s why he was loyal.

That’s why he left.

To protect the weak. To fight on the side that wouldn’t let the little ones he cared for fall between the cracks.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

soon reader shall be carried around in BD's chassis

WAHHHHHHH so there it is!!

PLS!!! reach out!!!! talk TFP with me!!! BOUNCE OFF IDEAS WITH ME!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA