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silkling · 2 years

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Watermarked by Your Ancestry

Chapter Two

———————————————————————————————————

Smokescreen didn’t know quite what to make of Earth. The organic planet was strange. The species that dominated it, the humans, were young yet, but they’d already accomplished so much in the short time they had existed. It was inspiring, in its own way. Though, he also found their penchant for cruelty and violence a little bit disturbing. He knew, of course, that Cybertronians could be cruel. The Golden Age had been proof enough of that. But Cybertronian cruelty was more subtle, more underhanded and sinister. Human cruelty was violent and bloody, loud and impossible to ignore. It made him wonder if that was due to the species relative youth or their organic nature. Perhaps a mix of both, he mused.

But cruelty and strangeness aside, the humans did know how to make some really nice vehicles. They didn’t have hover capabilities like Cybertronian vehicles did, but damn if they didn’t look good. As exemplified by his new altmode. The sleek racing car made some deeply rooted coding thrum with satisfaction, and he had to constantly withhold the urge to just get on an open highway and gun it.

Overall, the young Elite Guard liked Earth. It was a funky little planet, but it was fun. Of course, him constantly getting into trouble made his already less-than-warm welcome feel even colder. It made an uncomfortable pit settle in his chest. He could understand being told off for revealing his existence to a human. That had been a severe tactical error, but even so his processor had protested the lecture because it wasn’t like he’d known! He’d never been told that the Autobots were trying to remain hidden from the rest of the planet.

And of course, his tanks still churned when he remembered being told off for pulling that prank with Jack. It hadn’t been fair! He hadn’t hurt anyone, hadn’t revealed their secret, hadn’t broken any laws, and yet he was being scolded again for breaking some sort of rule he’d never been told existed. Had the prank been juvenile? Of course it had been. But that was the whole point. And juvenile or not, it had significantly boosted both his and Jack’s moods. And he knew that was good. Better moods meant happier soldiers which meant an increased morale which made the whole team more efficient. It was basic logic, basic tactics. Keep your soldiers in good spirits, and they’ll keep fighting strong.

It frustrated him that the others seemed determined to maintain a high degree of seriousness all the time. The few times they did relax, they never even fully lightened up. Except for maybe Bumblebee. But he was young too, so Smokescreen knew that influenced it a little. It had gotten uncomfortable enough that the young mech had taken to just keeping his visor on at all times, feeling more at east with the optical band covering his optics.

And he seemed to mess up every mission. He knew he could be annoying when he talked about wanting to be great, about seeking a destiny. But he wasn’t trying to be, and he even stopped after the first few times Arcee had snapped at him. She just…wouldn’t understand why. Wouldn’t care, probably.

The truth was, he hoped that if he could become good enough, great enough, maybe he’d learn what had happened to his creators. Because…he knew he wasn’t Well-Sparked. He’d been kindled. He was a halfling, after all. Part Polyhexian, part Praxian. And halflings were always kindled, never sparked from the Well.

But that didn’t matter right now. What did matter was proving that he could be worth something to the team. But every time he tried, it only seemed to make the others more frustrated when he failed, even when it wasn’t really his fault.

Of course, his ever decreasing mood was only made worse when he’d accidentally overheard Prime talking with Ratchet about him. He could still hear the disappointment in Optimus’s voice.

——————————

“I worry for him, Ratchet.” Optimus’s voice was quiet as he spoke to his old friend. “Smokescreen is a bright young mechanism, but he struggles with finding his place here.”

Smokescreen stopped in his tracks, just around the corner from where the two older bots were conversing out of sight. They were talking about him? He didn’t like the tone of the conversation. It made him nervous.

“I know, Optimus.” Ratchet heaved a sigh. “He’s a good kid, but maybe he’d just not a good fit for the team here.”

That made the bottom of Smokescreen’s tanks drop out. Ratchet couldn’t be serious, could he? He’d been trying! He was doing his best here, but it would be a lot easier if the others just bothered to actually explain things to him! But instead they expected him to just know, even though he’d never even really been involved in the war!

“Perhaps.” The Prime said slowly. “I do not wish to send him away so soon. He is making an effort to adapt.”

“But not fast enough.” Ratchet said bluntly. “Face it, Optimus. We don’t have time to coddle a youngling who’s never fought in the war. He’s smart, and learns quickly, I’ll give him that. With time, he could be an incredible soldier. But we don’t have that time. There’s too much at stake here.”

Optimus sighed heavily, not saying anything to refute it. It made Smokescreen shake slightly, his spark clenching painfully. Did they really have so little faith in him? Did they really think that little of him? Primus, they didn’t, didn’t they? They did, and that knowledge hurt.

He was always going to be the odd one out, wasn’t he? At training camp, it had been because he didn’t fight like the others. He fought like a special ops agent, his drill sergeant had said. And he had a battle computer too. Not a hyper advanced one, but he had it all the same and it let him make better, more effective plans than the rest of his cohort. His unusual blend of natural skills had given him an edge, and had also made him somewhat of an outcast. For all the other trainees had found him pleasant to be around, they had never known quite what to make of him.

And now it was happening again. For different, even worse reasons.

“I see your point, my friend. But what is the alternative? We cannot confine him to base, not permanently, and we cannot send him away. Not on Earth, at least. He would be a target for the Decepticons.” Optimus pointed out.

Ratchet grunted. “Then don’t make it permanent. Keep him here for a while, at least until Wheeljack makes his way back. Then we can send the kid off with him.” The medic suggested.

“Perhaps.” Optimus said again.

Smokescreen’s spark squeezed, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from speaking up. Optimus couldn’t agree. He couldn’t! He liked it here! He didn’t want to go off while his friends fought and died, not again! It had happened once when Alpha Trion recruited him to guard the Archives while his friends from training had gone on to the front lines. As much as he’d loved that place, he didn’t want to be a bystander again!

There was a great, heavy sigh. Then Optimus spoke again. “I believe you may be right.” He said somberly. “Smokescreen is young, but his inexperience makes him a liability. I do not wish to have his death on our servos. Sending him with Wheeljack may very well be the best option.” He murmured. “I shall inform him of the plans tomorrow, Ratchet. But for now, old friend, you should rest.”

There was a murmur of agreement, and pede-steps coming his way. Smokescreen scrambled to run back to his room, moving on silent pedes to avoid being found out. As he slipped into his berth, his mind churned.

There had to be a way out of this. There had to be.

——————————

The next day, Smokescreen had started avoiding the Prime liked he was carrying the Cybonic Plague. He made use of every one of his apparently inherited Special Ops skills, not giving Optimus a single opportunity to get him alone. It carried on for days, and he could tell the team was getting suspicious. But Optimus was also busy decoding the coordinates for the Omega Keys , so most bots were focusing on that.

He’d managed to avoid serious interaction for a few days. He hadn’t even gotten involved when Arcee and Bumblebee had gone out to retrieve a Key and returned defeated. He’d tried to help lighten the mood after, to bring up their spirits, but then he’d just been told he wouldn’t understand because he’d been in stasis the whole war.

(And that was the point, but they didn’t seem to understand. He’d been in stasis while they were fighting, but he wanted to lessen their burden, to fight with and for them and have their backs. He wasn’t trying to hog glory or make their losses lesser in anyway. He just wanted to help.)

But he hadn’t said anything in response, just going quiet and nodding, then pulling away to slip back into the shadows and hope no one thought to call him back.

He stayed there, observing silently, until Optimus called everyone in. He’d found another set of coordinates for the next Omega Key, but this time only Bulkhead and Smokescreen himself were fit enough to go retrieve it. He snapped a salute as he was given the order, and walked into the ground bridge after Bulkhead.

When they came out on the other side, there was a feeling in the air that set Smokescreen on edge. His doorwings hiked up and he tensed, looking around warily. He could almost hear something, but what?

“What is that?” he asked carefully.

But before Bulkhead could respond, there was the sound of jet engines, and a transformation, and a large blue Seeker landed on the ridge above them.

“That, is the sound of your demise!” he said coldly, and then the beeping started.

Smokescreen reacted on instinct. He bolted, heading for the break in the trees. Bulkhead followed behind him, and as they got to the perimeter of the bombs he leapt. The explosives went off, sending both Autobots flying, and they tumbled over the ground. Smokescreen flipped to right himself, and looked over to see if his mission partner was okay. And he was. They both were. Scuffed and scraped, but undamaged.

The sound of jet engines caught his attention, and he looked up to see the Seeker landing once again on a small hill above them.

“Dreadwing!” Bulkhead snarled, getting to his pedes. The Wrecker turned to the youngling. “Smoke! Go get the relic, I’ll deal with him!” he called out, throwing the tracker at him.

Smokescreen nodded, catching the device, then turning and running into the trees. Behind him, he heard the sound of clashing, and rushed ahead. He couldn’t mess this one up. This was his one chance to prove to Optimus he was worth something. If he succeeded here, maybe he wouldn’t be sent away.

He followed the signal on the tracker until he came to a rock face, and set it down on a nearby boulder. The Key had to be inside the stone. He stepped back, firing his blaster to weaken the rock, and then he moved to to remove the individual pieces manually.

“C’mon, Smokes.” he muttered to himself. “You can do this. Just get the Key and call it in. No room for error.”

Primus, but he hoped he didn’t mess this up. That seemed to be all he was capable of, lately.

Finally, he found the pod with the Key, and pulled it free from the rubble. He opened the top, and the Key rose from within. He found himself grinning, wings fluttering with excitement. Finally.

He grabbed the handle, pulling the old relic free from the pod, and was about to call Bulkhead when his wings detected movement behind him. He transformed his free servo into a blaster, turning to face the potential threat.

And then something slammed into his helm, jarring his processor enough that his battle computer shoved him into a forced shutdown to avoid cascading damage, and everything went black.

——————————

Smokescreen was roused from his involuntary unconsciousness by Bulkhead. The big mech shook him awake, and he groaned as he pushed himself up, a servo lifting to rub the back of his helm. His optics squeezed shut, making his visor go a little bit dim without them lighting it up.

“Smoke? You okay, kid?” Bulkhead asked, concerned. “What happened? Did you find the Key?”

He grunted, lowering his servo from his helm. “Yeah, I’m good. Just got a Pit of a helmache.” he assured. He looked to the pod he’d unearthed, gesturing distractedly. “Found the Key. It was there.” He narrowed his optics, pulling up the last memory from before blacking out. “I picked it up. But then something hit me.” He tensed, looking around a little frantically. “It’s not here! No no no no no no no! I can’t fail again! I had it!” He shot the Wrecker and frantic look. “Bulkhead, I promise! It was in my hand! But something, or someone, hit me and took it!”

The larger mech took a step back, lifting his servos. “Whoa, kid! It’s alright!“ he stepped forward, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Don’t worry about it, alright? Prime won’t be angry!”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” Bulkhead said with a chuckle. He called in to the base, requesting a ground bridge. It spiraled open in front of them, and he led the young mech into the portal. “And besides, we still have one of the Keys! As long as we have those, we still have a chance of getting the others back and restoring Cybertron.” He said as they stepped through the ground bridge.

They walked through, and on the other side Smokescreen was greeted by the expectant caves of the rest of the team. When they realized they didn’t have the Key, their faces fell. It was enough to send a bolt of nerves through he young mech’s spark. How would they react when they learned it was his fault?

“What happened?” Arcee asked, her voice tense with barely repressed frustration.

“Dreadwing happened.” Bulkhead said darkly. “He ambushed us. I held him off while Smokes went after the Key. By the time I finished with the Con, Smokes had been knocked out. Found him unconscious with the relic pod.”

“So what you’re saying is, we lost another key.” Arcee stated.

“Unfortunately.” Bulkhead confirmed.

With that, the two-wheeler turned to the youngest member of the team. “What happened, rookie? How’d you lose the Key?”

The accusation made him wince, and his doorwings sagged. Once again, Smokescreen was grateful that his visor covered his optics, so no one would be able to see the flash of pain that had filled them at her words. “I don’t know.” he admitted. “I found the Key buried in a rock face, and I dug it out. When I picked it up, something hit me from behind. Next thing I know, Bulkhead’s waking me up and the Key’s gone.”

“And you didn’t get a look at what hit you?”

He shook his helm. “It came out me from behind, and faster than any of my sensors could track. By the time I registered it was there, I was already down.”

“How is that even possible?” Ratchet asked from off to the side. “I’m not aware that anything on Earth is even capable of moving that fast.”

Smokescreen shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.” He hadn’t meant to let them all down. He’d been trying his best, Pit damn it.

“You’re sorry.” Arcee said, and her frustration clearly bubbled over because she marched over to where the younger mech was standing with Bulkhead. “You’re sorry you lost the only relic we can use to bring back our home.”

“Hey!” Bulkhead cut in. “We still have one of the Keys! As long as we have that, we still have a chance!”

“Bulkhead’s right, Arcee. There’s still hope. We just have to track down the last Key and then reclaim the ones we lost.” Bulmblebee beeped from next to Optimus, trying to soothe the femme’s anger.

“The kid got sucker punched, Arcee.” Bulkhead put a servo on Smokescreen’s shoulder. “It could have happened to any of us.”

The youngling rolled his shoulder, knocking it off. “But it didn’t.” he said bitterly. “It happened to me. Because I got complacent, and I let my guard down.” He looked to the side. “Some great soldier I’m turning out to be.” he muttered to himself.

Maybe it would be better if he never found out what happened to his creators. If they were even still alive, he doubted they’d want to reclaim a youngling that was as much of a disappointment as he was. He couldn’t even just be average. He was a failure, with how often he screwed up.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Arcee calm anger cut through his self deprecation. “A couple of victories aren’t going to make you a legend, and not every mission results in success, not for me, not for Bee, not even for Optimus.”

At her words, the Prime turned to look at the trio, frowning mildly as if concerned. Smokescreen didn’t notice though, too busy with the growing pit of guilt settling at the bottom of his tanks.

Arcee continued, not seeming to notice the growing tension in the youngling she was berating. “We’ve gained relics, and we’ve lost some. We’ve even lost friends.” Here, she looked pained, and her servo lifted to her chest, clenched and shaking. “We’ve even lost a world.” she spat. Then she looked up, her optics burning as she stared into his visor. “But this is one time we get a do over. We have a chance to bring back Cybertron, and everybody in this room needs to be in sync.” she stated, staring at him in accusation. “This isn’t about you, or your destiny.” she added, her engine growling faintly.

It made Smokescreen cringe back, doorwings dropping so low that they touched his back. Arcee didn’t seem to notice in her ire, but Optimus clearly did.

“Arcee, you have made your point.” The Prime cut in, turning to face them fully.

She glanced at him, frowning. “Optimus, he needs to hear this.” Then she turned back to him. “You might actually become a great warrior one day, and I sincerely hope that you do.” she told him honestly. “But greatness begins and ends with putting the team first, not your personal scorecard.”

That was enough to make him jolt. It wasn’t like that! “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you guys!” he protested.

“Then stop trying to be a hero, and start being an Autobot.”

That made him flinch back as if struck, and he looked to the others for defense. Surely they didn’t agree? Surely they saw him as more than just some….glory-chasing sparkling? Didn’t they know him better?

(Of course they didn’t, his processor whispered. When was the last time one of them actually tried to spend time with him, to get to know him? Never, his battle computer supplied, turning over ever interaction he’d had with the team and coming to the conclusion that they’d never made the effort to learn who he was.)

In a last desperate attempt at finding support, Smokescreen turned to Optimus. Alpha Trion had told him that the Prime was noble and good, that he sought to fight for and maintain fairness. Surely he’d step in? Correct the assumptions that had been made.

But…he didn’t. He just stared, his gaze calm and assessing. It made Smokescreen’s spark twist and squeeze painfully. No, the Prime wouldn’t correct hiss assumptions, he realized. He held the same assumptions himself.

Smokescreen swallowed past the thickness in his throat, and his servos curled into fists. Distantly, he was aware of sharp pinpricks of pain in his palms, and he realized he must have unconsciously unsheathed his claws as his emotions grew more turbulent.

“Fine.” he said at last, turning to sweep his gaze over the team one last time. His voice was stiff with the effort it took to not break down then and there. He turned his helm away, doorwings shaking from their position low on his back. “Maybe I’m just not good enough.”

And Primus if that didn’t make him want to cry. He tried. So hard. But in the end, no matter how much effort he’d put into it, it was never enough. And it was starting to look like it never would be. That made a painful pit of resignation settle in his chest, and before anyone could reply to what he’d said to was turning and leaping into his altmode, and then speeding down the hall towards the main doors.

He didn’t know if someone opened the door for him, or if they opened on their own, but right now he didn’t care.

He just needed to get away.

He hit the highway, and then he was gunning his engine, driving even faster than the Earth models of his vehicle mode were capable of going. He didn’t care where he went. He just wanted put as much distance between himself and the base as he could.

——————————

Back at the base, everything remained quiet for a moment in the wake of Smokescreen’s abrupt departure. Arcee crossed her arms, looking concerned and even a little guilty. She clearly hadn’t thought he’d take it so hard.

Pedesteps behind her made her turn, and she was met with the sight of an unusually somber Ratchet walking over to them. “Next time Optimus advises you to stop, perhaps you should listen.” He said, arching an optic ridge at her.

He walked past her, crouching at the spot where the rookie had been standing, and that was the first time the others noticed the small drops of energon staining the ground. “Smokescreen has claws.” Ratchet explained casually. “He was clenching his fists. He must have accidentally drawn energon.”

That was enough to send a ripple of concern through the others. Had Smokescreen really been thatupset? It hadn’t seemed like it, but then again, now they were seeing the evidence that he had been.

“I’ll go get him.” Bulkhead said, stepping towards the tunnel. He was clearly concerned, but he looked up in surprise when the Prime held out an arm to stop him.

“Smokescreen is young, Bulkhead, and has much to learn.” The Prime told him. “But right now, he needs to clear his thoughts, and I need to finish decoding the final Iacon entry.” He said, then walked back to his station to get back to work on the coordinates.

After a few minutes, the console beeped and Optimus stepped back, looking satisfied. “Ah,” he hummed. “The final entry has been decoded.” He stated, turning to look at the others.

Behind him, the console beeped in a new tone, and Ratchet frowned. “Has it?” he asked.

The Prime turned back to the holo-screen with a frown, and the glyphs reorganized themselves into a set of pixels that looked to be rearranging to form an image of some sort.

“Hm.” The Prime frowned, looking at the screen in consideration. “Perhaps it’s a level of secondary encryption.” he murmured.

Behind him, the rest of the team walked closer.

“Maybe it’s a picture of the relic?” Bulkhead suggested.

“Of what possible use could that be to us without knowing it’s location ?” Ratchet shot back.

“I trust that Alpha Trion had his reasons.” Optimus said without looking away.

The console let out a long beep as the image resolved itself, and then one final beep when it cleared. What it revealed left the Autobots reeling.

“Smokescreen?” Bulkhead explained, clearly confused.

“Is that that hotshot’s idea of a joke?” Arcee bit out, still clearly irritated.

“I don’t think Smokescreen would do that.” Bumblebee beeped.

“Maybe he knows where the Key is?”

“And never bothered to mention it?”

Ratchet cut in. “A more likely possibility is that Smokescreen himself somehow is the Key, without knowing it.”

“Whatever the case,” Optimus cut in before the argument derailed further. “He could be in grave danger.” He activated his comm link. “Smokescreen, return to base immediately.” There was no response on the other end, and the tension in the room mounted.

“He may have deactivated his comm link.” Ratchet said grimly.

Optimus turned to the medic, gaze hard and serious. “Locate his position, and prepare the ground bridge.” he ordered.

——————————

Smokescreen drove, and didn’t look back. His processor raced, his spark ached, and his frame strained with ache of the abuse he’d taken today.

Did his team really think so little of him? He wasn’t that bad, as he? No, he knew he wasn’t. He was aware of his flaws, and being self-centered and egotistical wasn’t one of them. He just wanted to prove himself. Everyone else had already done so much. If he wanted to stand at their level, he had so much ground to make up. But every time he tried, he was berated or scolded for things he hadn’t even been aware of as problems, or things that had been out of his control. It chaffed.

“But greatness begins and ends with putting the team first, not your personal scorecard.”

Arcee’s words echoed in his helm again. That was really what they thought of him. That he saw missions as just…another punch in the card, another chance to show off and aim for glory. Another chance to claim a victory.

It made his spark burn. He knew he hadn’t been that bad during missions. And yet, the others never thought twice.

“We’ve even lost friends.”

Remembering made his optics sting. Did they think he hadn’t lost anyone? No, of course that’s exactly what they thought. That he’d stayed behind the front lines, which meant of course he hadn’t lost anyone. Because it wasn’t like he’d had to see the few friends he’d made in boot camp go off to the war, and the next time he heard about them be a report of their death.

Windcharger….

Remembering the minibot who’d been the only one to make an effort to get to know him made his spark ache anew. Windcharger had been his only good friend, really. The mini had been determined in getting past Smokescreen’s defenses and finding out who he was. And once he had, they’d been stuck at the hip. It had been a match made in the Pit, according the their drill instructor. They were both energetic, both loved a thrill, both impulsive. They played off each other’s most extreme qualities. Both the good, and the bad. It meant that when it got the worst of them, they only ended up in trouble. But when it went well…they were a team efficient enough to beat any of the training sims they’d faced.

Warpath, their drill sergeant, had wanted to send them out on a squad together. But Alpha Trion had stepped in once they’d all graduated, and claimed Smokescreen as an Archive guard instead. Windcharger had been sent to the front lines.

He’d never seen his friend again.

It had made him hate the old Archivist, for a long while.

And the next time he heard from Windcharger, it was when Warpath commed him to tell him his friend had been killed in a Decepticon interrogation. The ‘Cons had only sent back his helm.

(And then Warpath had been sent to the front lines, and the next Smokescreen heard of him was Alpha Trion informing him that his old instructor had been killed in an ambush.)

Alpha Trion himself was another loss. He’d hated the old mech for a while, but it had been a conflicting sort of hate. But by the time the Archives fell, the old mech had become a surrogate caretaker, a mentor, and a friend. And then he’d seen him gunned down when the ‘Cons took the Archive.

But before that, the archivist had made frequent visits to the boot camp, and had been the only one to tell him about his creators. It had been his words that inspired Smokscreen to try so hard.

He’d told the then-trainee that his creators were great mecha. That they’d accomplished much for the Autobots, and had become some of the greatest warriors Cybertron had ever known. He’d said that they had given him up in order to fight to end the war faster, and that the old mech hoped that Smokescreen, as their progeny, would be able to live up to the standards they’d set. Alpha Trion has said he had high hopes for him, and that he was sure he’d do his creators proud.

It had inspired in the young cadet the desire to achieve greatness. After all, Alpha Trion had implied that his creators might still be alive. And if they were, Smokescreen wanted to see them again. He’d become convinced that, if he could achieve even a fraction of they greatness they had, then they’d come for him and he’d see them again.

Because, the truth was, Smokescreen remembered his creators. Sort of. He’d been young when Iacon fell, but not young enough to not form memories. So, he remembered them, in bits and pieces.

He remembered the sounds of their voices, and color of their armor. He remembered the feel of their sparks, and the way they’d loved him. (He knew he had his Carrier’s colors, and his Sire’s frame.) He remembered that his Ri loved to dance and sing with him, and that his Sa had used to tuck him in his lap and read to him. He remembered their love for each other, and the way they’d treasured every moment. He remembered the way he’d used to curl between their frames as they all recharged, and he remembered waking them by crawling over them and bringing them to laughter.

He remembered a lot, in the end, but not enough to figure out who they were and how to find them.

But his most recent interaction with the team was starting to make him think he’d never achieve that goal. What if his creators met him, and just saw him the same way the others did? He could take not ever getting to see them. He couldn’t take it if he met them and they found him a disappointment. All he’d ever wanted was to make the people who he cared about and looked up to proud of him.

Warpath had been, he knew. For all his old instructor had had difficulty finding out the best way to teach him, what with him being better suited for Special Ops tactics and the red mini being a frontliner, he knew the older mech had been proud to see him rise above his difficulties.

And he knew Alpha Trion had been proud, too, when he’d gotten over his grudge for the old mech and started learning from him. It had been Trion who’d helped him foster and develop his tactical abilities, who’d taught him how to use his battle computer to its fullest. And he knew the old Archivist had been proud when he’d learned how to utilities all his unique skills efficiently.

He’d always hoped he’d be able to make his creators proud, if and when he ever found them again. But…if he couldn’t even make his team respect him, what hope did he have of that?

A blaster bolt struck the ground in front of him, and he swerved on instinct to avoid it.

The realization that he was under attack tore him from his spiraling thoughts, and he cast out with his sensors to detect where the shot had come from.

There. Behind him. Laserbeak.

More shots rained down, but he swerved and spun, neatly avoiding them all, and then he was transforming and flicking his hidden blades from their sheathes in his forearms in the same movement. Let the minicon come closer. He’d slice her when she got within range.

And then his doorwings picked up something new. He turned his helm to look, but only caught a glimpse of Soundwave holding some type of weapon before the wave of indecipherable noise hit him.

It was intense enough to send him flying, and he hit a rock and fell limply to the ground. His vision flickered, and he choked on a cry of pain. It hadn’t been the impact with the rock that did him in, in the end, but rather the sound-wave itself. The sheer volume and cacophony of noise had been too much for his doorwings and sensors to make sense of, and the overwhelming data had started to force his processor into shut down. The impact had only sped things up.

The last thing he saw before his consciousness left him was the form of the Deception Second in Command walking over and reaching out to grab him.

Then his processor shut down, and he was lost to the deepest recesses of his mind and all it held.

——————————

He squealed as servos wrapped around his middle, careful of the little doorwings fluttering at his back, and lifted him up. He was tossed, briefly, into the air, and then those same servos caught him again and pulled him close to a white chest, striped in red and blue. The sparkling shrieked with laughter and slapped the chest of the mech carrying him, looking up with bright optics and an even brighter grin.

“Ri!” He squealed.

The bigger mech laughed as he spun with his sparkling, holding the little one securely in one arm so he could use his other servo to tickle under his chin. It prompted a loud, trilling giggle from the sparkling, which in turn made the mech laugh in delight.

“‘Ello, sparklet!” He cooed at the bitlet. “How are ya doing today?”

“Ri! Ri! Ri!” The sparkling squealed with excitement, beeping and buzzing up at his creator.

“Tha’s right!” The mech cooed. “Ah am yer Ri! Very good, bitty, yer a real smart little thing, ain’t ya?”

The sparkling just babbled at him some more, squeaking with delight and lifting a small, clumsy servo to pat his carrier’s cheek. The mech laughed again, gently nuzzling into the small servo and grinning. His optics shone past the blue visor he wore, though he was quick to let it transform away when the sparkling reached for it.

That, of course, just made the little one squeal in delight and babble again, little doorwings waving.

“He’s rambunctious today, isn’t he?” A voice mused from behind the pair. The mech spun, and saw his mate standing in the doorway, looking amused.

“Aw, he’s jus’ happy, love.” he mech purred, sliding closer.

The sparkling also clearly recognized the new arrival, because he squealed again and reached out.

“Sa!” He cried. “Sa! Sa! Sa!”

The new bot smiled and walked over, easily taking the wiggling sparkling from his mate’s arms and cradling him close. “Hello, little spark.” he crooned. “How are you?”

“Sa!” Was his only reply, the sparkling burbling in delight.

He chuckled, lifting his sparkling slightly and lowering his helm, letting their chevrons press together in a gesture of affection that was traditional for their frame type. It made the sparkling quiet slightly, cooing and pressing into the contact.

The mech smiled down at the little one, then pulled back. He freed an arm, holding out his free one to his mate. “Come here.” he said, a smile on his face and in his voice.

His mate acquiesced easily and with a lilting laugh, moving close enough to be pulled into an embrace. The sparkling was tucked between his two creators, who shared a kiss over his helm, and he beeped up at them and grinned brightly when they looked down at him and smiled.

“We love ya, sparklet.” His Carrier whispered. “Yer our greatest treasure. I hope ya never forget tha’.”

The sparkling only cooed in response and patted both his creator’s faces, which only made the two mechs laugh softly and hold him closer.

For that moment, the world outside could not touch the small family, and everything was good.

——————————

Jazz was roused from recharge by Prowl gently shaking him awake. He blinked, the last remnants of the dream, no, the memory, fading as he grew more aware. The phantom feeling of holding his sparkling close made his spark ache, and he had to close his optics again. He vented slowly, taking a moment to remember where he was and what they were doing. Then he carefully rolled over and sat up. He stretched, then stood and hummed.

Prowl wrapped his arms around his waist to hold him close, and Jazz leaned into the embrace and let out a shuddering sigh.

“What has you troubled, love?” Prowl murmured. “Just recharge fluxes, Prowler. Mah processor decided to dip into the ol’ memory cache for this one.”

“Oh?” He looked down at his mate, intrigued.

“Wasn’ an importan’ memory, Prowler. Just…one from before.”

His mate understood his meaning immediately, and Jazz saw his optic light dim behind his visor. “I see.” he murmured. “I have memory fluxes as well.” he admitted.

“Yeah?” The Polyhexian hummed.

“Yes.” Prowl confirmed softly. He tightened his grip on his mate. “We will find him again, Jazz. And this time, we will not let him go.”

“Course we ain’t gonna, Prowler.” He chuckled, leaning up to steal a kiss.

Mood suitably lifted, he tilted his helm. “Whatcha wake meh up fer? Yeh need meh to take over monitoring so yeh can recharge?”

The Praxian shook his helm. Then he paused and nodded. “Yes. I also wished to inform you that we have entered the star system Optimus’s message originated from.”

“Oh, goodie!” Jazz laughed.

He tilted his helm, taking in his mate’s sagging doorwings and dim biolights. His gaze softened, and he leaned up for one more kiss. It was slow and soft, carrying a comforting tenderness that came with centuries of security and affection. After a few klicks, he broke away and smiled.

“Go get some rest, Prowler. Ah can handle the rest.”

Prowl nodded, squeezing his mate briefly in thanks, and then he released him and settled down on the berth. In another klick, he was out.

Jazz smiled at him, then went to take the pilot’s seat. They were almost there. The faster they finished helping OP, the faster they could get back on the search for their sparkling.

He just hoped they weren’t too late already.

———————————————————————————————————

And here was chapter 2! Man, this one was long. It took a while to get out. I’m not sure if future chapters will be this long, it just depends on what needs to be included in one chapter from a narrative standpoint.

Anyway, let me know what y’all thought! I hope you liked this one. I used the dialogue from the show for a small segment, since that point was pretty vital to Smokey’s development and it still went mostly the same here. Anyway, I don’t know when the next chapter will be out, but I’ll try to get it out soon.

Until next time, folks!

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silkling · 2 years

Text

Watermarked by Your Ancestry

Chapter One

———————————————————————————————————

The news had surprised him, when it had first come. Prowl and Jazz were going to have a Sparkling. He’d known his Third in command and Second in Command had been bonded to each other. Had known it for vorns. But Optimus had never expected that they’d kindle and create a Sparkling together. Even so, past the surprise, he had been pleased for them.

When he’d asked for the little one’s name, they’d told him they wished to keep it a secret, but they had given him the alias ‘Bluestreak’ in place of the little one’s true designation. They intended to move off base, to an hab-suite nearby so they could work and do their jobs without any in the Autobot forces learning about their child. He’d granted them permission, understanding their desire to keep their bitlet safe. He had never learned the true Sparkling’s name, but the pair had never been shy about telling the other Officers, who were the only ones aside from the Prime himself they told about it’s existence, any updates and news they had that wouldn’t identify their Sparkling.

And then….and then the worst happened.

Iacon was attacked, the last of the great cities that had not been decimated by Megatron and his Decepticons. Thankfully, by this point in the War, most of the civilians and Neutrals had left the planet. All that remained in Iacon were Autobots and the few Neutrals who had chosen to remain in their home city. The base had withstood the attack, as had the various Autobot outposts scattered around.

The rest of the city had not.

And that included Jazz’s and Prowl’s Sparkling.

The Autobots lost far more than their city and some of their soldiers, that day.

They lost Cybertron’s last Sparkling, and with it, hope for their future.

——————————

DECAVORNS LATER…..

A prison ship drifted through the vast expanse is space. It was minimally manned, all its prisoners restrained against the walls and stuck in deep stasis. Thus, only a handful of Decepticons were needed to keep the ship running. The Prisoners were Autobots, taken from the last assault on Iacon before all Cybertronians remaining on the planet had been forced to flee. Most of the bots were from the Central Archives and the surrounding areas, as those had been the only parts of the city not destroyed by the initial strike on Iacon.

The ship drifted closer to an rare spacial anomaly–an electrical storm which was a result of solar flares from a nearby sun reacting with a asteroid belt. A bolt of electricity struck the ship, and the shielding dispersed the charge. The Decepticons continued on their business, unaware that the storm had caused one change within the ship.

One of the prisoners was different from the others. The youngest Autobot on board, unbeknownst to his captors, had systems primed for an Ops mech. Which meant his frame had unique adaptations that let him draw energy from sources other than energon, in a pinch. The small electrical charge dispersed through the ship, and was just enough for his systems to register and boot him from stasis.

He was reacting on instinct before he was even aware.

A low pulse from the magnets in his servos, inherited from his Carrier, scrambled the manacles keeping him restrained. He dropped, and his tactical computer took over while his processor still struggled to fully reboot. He stumbled through the ship, lucky enough to not encounter anyone, and when he found his way to the escape pods he spilled his weak frame into one. He slapped the release button, not caring to put in coordinates. The pod locked on to a random signal from deep space, and then he was off.

The mech fell back into recharge, overstressed systems sending him under to reboot naturally.

The escape pod sped away from the ship, taking its single occupant with it.

The Decepticons were none the wiser, and would not realize they were missing a prisoner until they were several star systems away and the pod was too far gone to track.

——————————

Optimus didn’t know what to think, as he stepped from the ground bridge. Ratchet had said a Cybertronian signal had hit Earth, but he couldn’t tell if it was Autobot or Decepticon. The Prime had taken Bulkhead, Arcee, and Bulmblebee to investigate. But the scene they had found was….

Odd.

There was an escape pod half buried in the dirt. A quick look revealed it was a Decepticon escape pod, but whoever had been inside–for it was empty now–was clearly no friend to the Decepticons.

The offlined frames of the eradicons surrounding the pod confirmed that much.

Optimus bent, and saw that the Eradicons had been killed by single, clean cuts to their throats. If the Prime didn’t know any better, he’d say this looked like the work of an Ops mech. But that wasn’t possible. His Special Operations unit had been lost to him. He was unsure if any of them were still alive. Primus, but the potential loss of his Third in Command, of one of his oldest and dearest friends, still hurt so many vorns later. Jazz had deserved better.

He stood, then nodded at his team. They had to investigate the site. Whoever had done this, whoever had been in the pod, might still be close.

He started walking, moving slowly and carefully around the pod. The others moved away, but stayed in a loose circle around him. They came around the back of the pod, between the dark forest and the open half of the escape pod, and before Optimus was even aware they were no longer alone he felt a presence on his back. Literally.

A smaller mech was on his back, pedes cleverly pressed against the edges of his armor plating so he didn’t fall off the Prime. The unknown’s arms were around his shoulder, and Optimus could tell he was about to meet the same fate as the Eradicons.

Time slowed, and he reacted on instinct.

He ducked, rolling tightly to try and slam to mech to the ground. The bot disengaged before the bulk of the Prime could slam down on him and leapt away, and Optimus used the momentum to roll back to his pedes. He came up with his blaster held to his assailant, his team closing ranks in the next beat and following suit.

That was when he got his first good look at the mech who’d attacked him.

No, not mech. It was…

“A youngling?” He couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice, and the EM fields of his team echoed his shock.

The youngling was still, staring at them. He was a slim little thing. Primarily white, with red and blue racing tripes and some black accents as well. The chevron on his forehelm and the doorwings at his back gave away his Praxian heritage, he was too slim and short to be full Praxian. And…Praxians were rare. Very rare. Precious few had survived the Fall of Praxus.

The youngling’s most striking feature, however, was his face. He wore a battlemask over his lower face, and an amber visor that was painfully familiar covered his optics. The visor and mask were both in the Polyhexian style, and something that Optimus had seen countless times on Jazz.

The youngling cocked his helm sharply, clawed servos flexing. His doorwings, held high, flicked out, and one of them ticked in a pattern he knew meant curiosity. That exact display, down to the doorwings twitches and cocked helm, was one he’d seen often enough on his Second that it stole his breath to see it again. Oh, but how he missed Prowl as well.

Then the youngling was stiffening with shock, and the visor and battlemask snapped to the side.

“Holy frag!” he blurted. His voice was young, and there was a lilt to it was was pleasant and smooth, reminiscent of the musical dialect of Polyhex.

Optimus was willing to bet this little one was Praxian-Polyhexian. The thought of that combination made him ache for the unknown sparkling his dear friends had lost so long ago.

Little Bluestreak had deserved so much better. So had his creators.

“You’re Optimus Prime!” The youngling continued. He snapped into a formal salute, and Optimus was suddenly aware of the elite guard badge on his armor. “Elite Guard Smokescreen, Sir!”

Before Optimus could reply, Arcee cut in. “You expect us to believe that? You attacked us!”

A frown was directed to the femme. “Yeah, and I’m sorry about that. But I was I stasis until I hit this planet, and when I came out of it I saw ‘Cons getting ready to deactivate me. I reacted, and I wasn’t able to shut down the battle protocols until I realized who you guys were.”

“Likely story.” Her tone was biting, and it made the youngling jerk back.

“I didn’t do it on purpose! My battle protocols have always been a little more intense! I can’t help it!”

Before Arcee could respond, Optimus put a servo on her shoulder and stepped forward. “That isn’t very usual, young Smokescreen.”

Smokescreen shrugged helplessly. “I wouldn’t know, Sir. Alpha Trion told me it must be from my CNA. Apparently I have Ops coding somewhere in my heritage.”

That name got his attention. “Alpha Trion?”

“Yeah. I was orphaned after the first attack on Iacon. He found me and took me in. Helped me become an Elite Guard. I was with him at the Archives when the ‘Cons attacked us.” He nodded back at the escape pod. “It’s how I got here. They loaded all the prisoners from the attack onto a ship and put us in stasis. Something must have gone wrong with my stasis generators though, cause I woke up and made my way to a pod. I don’t remember much of that. I think my higher processor functions were still offline so I was kinda going by luck.” he admitted, seemingly sheepish.

Arcee shared a look with Bulkhead and Bulmblebee, but when Optimus put his blaster away so did the others. “I see. You did very well then, young one. But we should leave before Megatron sends more mechs here.”

“Megatron is on this planet?” the youngling yelped, optics bright and wide.

“Sure is, rookie.” Bulkhead chimed, sounding friendly. “You don’t gotta worry about old buckethead though. We usually take care of him pretty well!”

“Indeed.” Optimus agreed. “Nonetheless, we shall return to base. Smokescreen, come along. You can give us a full report there.” He commed Ratchet, calling for another ground bridge. Bumblebee scurried over, beeping a cheerful greeting to the younger mech, and Bulkhead plodded after the pair as the scout led their new arrival through the portal.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Optimus?” Arcee asked. “It could be a ‘Con trick.”

“I doubt it.” The Prime smiled sadly at the femme. “No Praxian would join the Decepticons. And even if that was possible…using a youngling is not Megatron’s preferred method of operation. He would not use a mech a considers weak for a task he considers as vital as defeating us.” he pointed out.

Arcee seemed to consider that, and after moment she nodded. “Alright. Fair enough.” Then she strode forward and through the ground bridge.

Optimus followed, but not before casting one more look at the scene he was leaving behind. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something about this scene that seemed oddly familiar. The sound of approaching jets forced him to abandon that train if thought, and he hurried back through the groundbridge.

Whatever the case, he was sure that Smokescreen’s arrival was bound to make things interesting.

——————————

In the dark expanse of the stars beyond Earth, where the universe stretched endlessly, a battered and worn shuttle powered along without a sound. The once silver metal was messily painted dark, the vessel made to blend into the surroundings it flew through. It had been outfitted with modifications to make it nearly undetectable, and it was currently locked on a faint signal it had picked up from hundreds of light years away. A Priority Prime message, sent to guide lost comrades back to the fold.

Within the shuttle, a pair of black-and-white Cybertronians sat. One was small, mostly white with black servos and a black helm, two stubby audial horns the primary feature that signified Polyhexian heritage. His optics were masked by a blue visor, and the red and blue racing stripes suggested an alt-mode built for speed and agility.

At his side, in the pilot’s seat, sat a taller, broader mech. He, unlike his companion, was almost entirely monochrome, and the only color to adorn his frame was a red chevron and an amber visor covering sharp optics. His doorwings were still at his back, held high and stiff with the tension his frame was carrying. The star of the Praxian Enforces surrounded the Autobrand on his chest, and his claw-tipped digits tapped the console to put the shuttle into autopilot.

He leaned back, staring silently out of the window in front of them. “It’s done. We are set course for the coordinates of Optimus’s last message.”

“Good to know.” He smaller mech leaned back, frame deceptively relaxed. “Ah ‘spose this means we’re givin’ up?” He said, tone bland.

His words were met with a sharp look. “Hardly.” The Praxian stood, making his way to the viewport in the side of the shuttle, over where the single berth was welded to the wall.

The dim lighting flickered slightly, casting his frame in brief shadows before it came back on to reveal him standing and staring out the small window.

“Sure sounds like we are. We pick up Prime’s message and suddenly leave behind the coordinates we were gon’ check out?”

“We are….putting the search on a temporary hiatus.” The Praxian stated. “Prime needs us. I calculate a 78% probability that, with the destruction of the Ark and the scattering of the Autobots, Optimus will not have the necessary degree of aid on whatever planet he has made his way to. Following that, I predict a 96% chance that Megatron followed Prime with the Nemesis. Given that, it is our duty as the next highest-ranking in the Autobots to go to his aid….regardless of our own personal commitments.”

The Polyhexian heaved a sigh, padding over. “And yeh can live with that, even if turnin’ away now means we lose ‘im forever?”

Those doorwings quivered, and then dropped. “I have to be, Jazz.” He sounded pained. “I gave my oaths to Optimus. So did you.” He pointed out.

“Yeh think Ah don’ know tha’, Prowler?” Jazz snapped. “Ah do! Primus help meh, but Ah know!” He walked over, frame tensed with agitation. “But we also swore to protect our sparklin’! That’s what we promised when we discovered Ah was sparked.” He shook his helm. “An’ we failed! Twice!” He hissed softly. “We shoulda taken him and left with the last o’ the Neutrals when Iacon fell.” he said, sagging suddenly.

Prowl stared at his bondmate for a long moment, and then he turned his frame and reached out, drawing the Polyhexian close. Jazz allowed it, and leaned in to listen to the thrum of the Praxian’s spark.

“I know.” Prowl said softly. “We should have left when he was still a sparkling, and when that failed we should have taken him from the Achieves when the Ark left Cybertron. We did not. That failure is mine.” His visor dimmed as he closed his optics. “When the Archives fell, we knew nothing of his fate. But when we went back we did not find his frame among the fallen. Perhaps it was destroyed, but it is more likely that the Decepticons took him and any other survivors as prisoners of war.“

“Ah know, Prowler.” Jazz heaved a sigh. “Tha’s what you said. But that jus’ means we gotta find him.”

Prowl nodded, then curled a digit under Jazz’s chin to tip it up. “I know, love.” he murmured. “And we will.”

“But we gotta help OP firs’.” Jazz sounded defeated.

“We do.” Prowl said somberly. “If we cannot defeat the Decepticons, then we will never be able to safely reclaim our sparkling. He will never be able to live without looking over his shoulder. I do not want that for him.”

“Neither do Ah m’mech.” Jazz sighed heavily. “But that means that by going to OP, we’re takin’ the chance that the ‘Cons kill him.” he said bluntly.

Prowl flinched. “Yes.” He said, voice cracking. He reset his vocalizer, then tried again. “Yes.” he admitted. “But it is a chance we must take, if we truly wish for him to spend the rest of his life in safety and comfort.”

Jazz sighed, optics offlining as he leaned his full weight into his mate. “Alrigh’.” He murmured. “Ah don’ like it, but alrigh’.”

“I know, love. Neither do I.” He leaned down, stealing a brief kiss before he dragged his mate to the berth. “For now, let us rest. We must be at our best when we rejoin Optimus.”

Jazz followed him, casting one last look out the viewport in the direction they’d come from. “Hang on jus’ a little longer, sparklet.” He whispered. “Primus willin’, we’ll see you again someday.”

———————————————————————————————————

And here is is! The first part of my fic where Smokescreen is the JazzProwl secret sparkling. This one….took a while. But let me know what y’all think! (BTW for those who didn’t see the original post, here’s the one that inspired this.)

Also, the title for this fic comes from the song “Watermark” by Sleeping at Last.

Anywho, comments and shares are greatly appreciated! Feedback fuels my writer’s soul.

Until next time, folks!

#Watermarked Ancestry AU #this is what I’m calling this au for tumblr tagging purposes btw #tfp #transformers prime #smokescreen #tfp smokescreen #optimus prime #tfp optimus prime #Jazz #prowl #jazzprowl #smokescreen is a JazzProwl sparkling #he’s a tiny badass #but still a dumbass #transformers #maccadam

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