Chapter Text
When Noah had first met Mirage, one of the first thoughts he’d had been of the bot’s stature. It was a panicked thought and bubbled to the surface of his mind as he scrambled back from the Porsche. The robot towered over him, more than double his height, and entirely too energetic and enthusiastic for Noah’s liking.
Watching the metal being circle him, shrouded in shadows, ranting about something or other, his heart seemed nestled in his throat, and his head pounded with fear. When the cold, electric gaze of the Porsche finally turned on him, his skin crawled, awash with dread. He’d leapt to his feet, brandishing a rusted pipe and scrambling backwards to put space between him and the metal being. His military training took the reins, anchoring him in place and forbidding him to be cowed. Even staring at the robot’s metallic face down the barrel of his blaster, eyes all but blinded by the ethereal blue light, he didn’t run. Didn’t back down.
“Tough guy,” Mirage had snarked. There was a flicker of interest in his eyes, a sort of fascination and consideration in the way his gaze roved over the human. Like he was seeing Noah properly for the first time, stepping back and truly pondering the creature in front of him. “I like that,” he had declared. “I like it a lot.”
It took all of five minutes for him to get over his shock at seeing the robot. Something about being lifted into the air by Optimus, cold metal hand closing over his chest and constricting his lungs, had him seeing the chipper blue-silver Porsche in a decidedly friendlier light.
He seemed unyielding, infallible. All of the Autobots did; towering, metal beings, forged from stars and born in suits of armour. When they saw him for the first time, heads tilted with hesitant curiosity, their blue eyes seemed to pierce his very soul, judging the sight before them. Vaguely, his sleep-deprived and fear-addled mind recalled the snakes in his second-grade science class. His teacher would drop a white-furred mouse into their terrarium once a week, and the serpentine creatures would untangle themselves from one another, sizing up prey with cold unfeeling eyes and consuming whatever was before them with a swift flick of their fangs.
Except for Mirage. He stood behind Noah, lingering awkwardly behind the human and sheepishly greeting his fellow robots. The human hadn’t realized yet, that Mirage was the mouse in this scenario. It wouldn’t be something he noticed until far later, too helplessly entombed in the abyss of his own dread to see himself reflected so perfectly in the alien beside him. When he glanced back at the robot, he smiled weakly, a small reassurance for the human.
Enemy, Noah’s mind whispered. His fist clenched, blunt nails biting into the palms of his hand.
Mirage may not have been as strong as his Autobot companions, but he was clever and quick. There was something about the almost childlike wonder and excitement with which he regarded Noah that reminded him painfully of Kris. His casual, laid-back attitude was something Noah wanted to hate. More than anything he wanted to snarl at the robot’s relaxed quips, pop-culture references, and the knowing smiles he cast towards the human.
But de he couldn’t. When the robot spoke to him, electric blue eyes glittering with youthful energy, and enthrallment, all the anxious fury died in his throat. While Mirage seemed to float easily above him, Noah never felt more anchored to the ground when with the silver-blue robot. Exhaustion and exhilarating fear warred in his mind, weighing his bones down and clouding his vision.
When Mirage had first asked for his help, his immediate reaction had been to consider retrieving the metal pipe. The late night was slowly but surely beginning to bleed into young morning, and more than anything he wanted to escape this horrible, stifling warehouse, these unfamiliar, extraterrestrial machines that sized him up like starved wolves with slavering jaws. More than anything he wanted to be rid of the silver-blue robot padding after him with hopeful, eager eyes and a relaxed attitude.
Then Mirage had made him an offer. An olive branch, extending between the two.
"You help us out, and I let you sell me." He'd offered with a knowing smirk. "Ferrari, Lamborghini… whatever you need! You get the cash, and when the moment’s right, I split.”
The door was right behind Mirage, and Noah's gaze drifted from the robot’s face to the space above his shoulder, where the dark sky flooded with light pollution and swirling with smokey clouds yawned above them. He wanted to return home to his mother and little brother. He wanted to collapse in his bed, with his pillow over his face.
Return home… empty-handed. He thought bitterly, longing thoughts souring at the notion. Tell Mom how my job interview went. See Kris in pain and know that I can’t help him at all. He turned back to Mirage, who was regarding him patiently, metallic features even.
“...Okay. I’ll help you out.” I never should've broken into that stupid car.
From there, their relationship gradually improved. He learned pretty quickly that for all his suave, nonchalant talk, Mirage was nothing short of a diva when it came to having a passenger.
“No shoes on the upholstery.” His voice had instructed, crackling out from the pale blue display on the console. “Or on the dash. Or, really, just anywhere except on the floor.” Noah had nodded impatiently, leaning back against the headrest and slamming his tired eyes shut, trying to nurse the ruthless tension headache behind his brow. The car started but continued to idle, the engine rumbling at a smooth purr.
“And no food. Just, like, for future reference. Don’t. And no bags on the seats, you’ll scratch the leather. Or dogs. Or just kinda any animals, not on the seats. Oh, and definitely don’t-”
“I got it, man. Let’s go,” Noah interrupted impatiently, grabbing the steering wheel, only for it to jerk harshly, knocking his grip, and he yelped, hissing in annoyance as his wrist ebbed with dull pain from the sudden movement. “What the hell?”
“I’ll drive. You just kick back and relax,” Mirage said smoothly, with a sharp edge to his voice. Noah huffed, crossing his arms, and staring out the window.
He’d seen Mirage’s energetic, friendly demeanour slip at the museum when the enemy robots ( Terrorcons, he’d later learn to call them) had attacked. The silver-blue Autobot was entirely focused on battle, sarcastic quips becoming frustrated and terse.
Noah had failed that first mission. He'd watched helplessly as the Terrorcons left with the key, unable to do so much as cry out in protest. Mirage had barely spared him a glance as Airazor perched over the group, her even voice laced with grim determination and the hollow, sordid grief of a warrior who truly believed herself to be the last of her kind.
As they spoke of the key’s importance, Noah glanced at the Autobot closest to him, his metal gleaming a brilliant sapphire blue and silver in the moonlight. Mirage didn’t notice the human’s gaze focused on him, and Noah drew in a steadying breath, silently balling his hands into fists.
Whatever happens, he thought. I can’t let those Terrorcons win. Mirage’s head bowed, as Bumblebee’s destroyed shell was carried past them. His metallic face was distant, eyes unfocused and glazed over. Noah clenched his jaw, steeling his nerves. I won’t let that be me. I won’t let my family get caught up in someone else’s war.
If all else fails, I’ll destroy the key. Even if it strands them here forever. He vowed to himself, turning away from the unusually silent robot. Even if it strands… him here forever.
He’d see Mirage’s casual, arrogant facade melt away one more time before they left Brooklyn.
As the other Autobots bid each other farewell, Mirage skulked away from the group with his head inclined slightly. After the Autobots had broken away for the night, retreating to their corners of New York, he approached Noah, kneeling before silently shifting into his car form.
“If there’s somewhere you need to be before we go, I’ll get you there. And when you need me, just shout and I’ll come get you.” The radio crackled. Noah sighed, leaning back in the seat. The time flickered on the dashboard, illuminated in faint glowing numbers. 3:46 AM. May as well head home and try to sleep for a few hours, he mused. Kris has gotta be asleep by now.
“...Okay. Let’s head to my place.”
The drive wasn’t too long, with Mirage swiftly racing over the cold asphalt roads and slipping through traffic with ease. Noah even started to doze off, lulled to sleep by the steady thrumming of the engine.
Eventually, the car stopped, and he shook his head, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “We’re here,” Mirage helpfully supplied. Noah scoffed.
“Yeah. Thanks.” The door opened of its own accord, and Noah hopped out quickly, shoving his hands into his jacket’s pockets and shuddering in the cold night air. He made it to the front steps, reaching out for the apartment building’s door handle, before hesitating. Whirling around, he stared at the motionless Porsche idling a few feet away.
“Don’t… don’t go anywhere, okay? Just sit tight. I don’t need people seein’ you.” The car’s door locks flicked shut agreeably, and Noah hummed, satisfied with the unspoken answer.
Mirage kept his promise, idling on the street near the front of the building for a few moments. Eventually, though, curiosity got the best of him, which is how the robot found himself creeping around to the back of the building.
Soft clicking noises fluttered from within his helm as his optics cycled through alternate forms of vision. Eventually, he stopped, satisfied to see the world take on a cool blue hue, and the building swarmed with glowing orange silhouettes. He smiled to see one close to the ground, recognising Noah quickly.
The robot peered over the fire escape, blue eyes wide with curiosity and features even. He caught a glimpse of movement in the dark room, and though he thought he saw a flash of Noah’s dark green jacket, he wasn’t tall enough to comfortably peer through the window.
Frowning, he tore his gaze away from the window and searched for a way to boost himself up, even just slightly.
Which is how one totalled car later, he found himself face to face with Noah’s younger brother.
There was something about the brazen way the young boy approached him, chin turned up defiantly and eyes alight with determination. He marched across the fire escape, arms crossed across his chest, scrutinizing the silver Porsche before him. Mirage did his best not to shudder under his gaze. This kid’s intense, he cursed inwardly. Then again, so’s his big bro.
He’d only just decided that, yeah, this kid’s cool, when Noah’s younger brother lashed out quick as a flash, tossing a discarded soda can at the Porsche. The rusted can clattered harshly against his pristine metal, sharp warped edges biting into the polished paint.
Okay, he’d revised, annoyance mingling with horror at the crescent-shaped dent on his hood. That’s not cool.
When he’d revealed himself, protesting indignantly and tuning out Noah’s panicked scolding, there was something in the way Kris’ eyes glittered with awe that quelled his anger. When he glanced at Noah, and saw the fear glimmering in his eyes mixed with a protective ferocity he’d only known in the way his teammates regarded each other, it was like a switch flipped in his mind. He bowed his head slightly, stepping back, and Noah sighed with relief.
Watching Noah speak with his young brother, he was struck by something he couldn’t quite define. A hollow, downcast feeling accumulated in his spark, shadowed by yearning and fondness. They called each other code names, but there was nothing militarian about the gentle way Noah regarded Kris. The unguarded way they spoke with each other was something strangely familiar and yet forgotten to the Autobot soldier, and he all but bristled in the awkward atmosphere of bearing witness.
Eventually, Kris turned to him, hazel eyes gleaming in the dull glow of the lampposts around them.
“Protect my brother, okay?” His request was earnest, hopeful and all too trusting. At that moment, Mirage's uncertainty melted away, and he nodded firmly.
“I will. I promise.” His words sounded heavy, even to him.
Peru was a formidable enemy, a mission that leeched the energy from his spark with reckless abandon. Throughout all of it, he did his best to watch out for Noah, guarding the human and overseeing his actions from afar. Kris had given him one of their communication devices, and as primitive as it seemed to him compared to their tech back home, he enjoyed talking to the young human. He was definitely more lighthearted than his older brother, something Mirage was starting to understand to be typical for his age. He eagerly enthused about his favourite games to Mirage, who dutifully listened and tried his best to keep up. He even granted the silver-blue robot a code name, “Knuckles”. (He didn’t have the heart to tell the kid that ‘Mirage’ was technically already a code name.)
Noah stayed distant and aloof, for the most part. Mirage felt like their friendship (as he’d eagerly dubbed it) was finally beginning to strengthen. Until that point, it had been generous on his part to dub his relationship with the human as “one-sided”. Slowly, but surely, he’d fostered trust with the human. It was hesitant, and unsteady, sure, but there, and that was good enough for the robot. Be it a friendly shared glance, or a weary grin, the human was totally warming up to him.
Not that I blame him, Mirage reflected smugly. If he’s got me, or one of the other hard-ass Autobots to choose from, I’m definitely the obvious choice.
Still, despite the optimistic outlook he’d tried to maintain, things seemed painfully grim, even for the usually chipper robot. He’d resolved to just steer clear of the other Autobots as best he could, reasoning that their grievances over his misdemeanours could be smoothed out when the world wasn’t at risk of burning down around them. When we’re back in Brooklyn, I’ll sort stuff out. I won’t even complain about going back to that parking garage. Or at least, not much. Better to not incur Optimus’ wrath any more than he already had by bringing a human to their headquarters.
Ah, Brooklyn. The thought was like a soothing balm to the anxieties he’d been trying to fight back over the upcoming battle. He’d only spent seven years there, lying in wait, watching the human’s lives unfold around him. Even after Optimus had ordered him to relocate from his favoured street corners, brimming with life and energy, to the sheltered industrial quiet of the parking garage, he’d still treasured the borough around him. Sure, Cybertron would always be his home, but there was something about the business of Brooklyn that soothed him. It was far better than jumping from star to star, hiding from Decepticon eyes and constantly being on guard.
He really didn’t think he was getting quite enough credit for how well he’d managed to stay away from humans so far. Seven years being practically up to his afterburners in the things and only recently he’d come into close contact with one (completely against his will, mind you.) Plus, Bumblebee said he met one of them, and that seemed fine.
On a surface level, Noah and himself seemed completely and irrevocably incompatible. The guy was tense. Which, Mirage figured, was understandable enough, given the circumstances. He couldn’t say he really got it, but it had to be a lot for a human, the whole 'intergalactic war' thing. Even if they were ex-military.
Still, underneath that rough exterior, he saw something there that drew him back to the human. It was like he was caught up in a gravitational pull, and he’d be lying if he said he got why. What he did know, though, was that after so many years rubbing shoulders with the sticklers (yeah, he said it, so what) that were the Earth Autobots, Noah was like a breath of fresh air. Somebody that actually got him.
Not that I don’t like the other Autobots, of course. He amended himself. I mean, Bee’s… nice. Arcee’s cool, you know, sometimes. Wheeljack’s… eh, also cool. They just weren’t on the same wavelength, was all.
He’d promised Kris he would protect Noah, and he was determined to keep his word. This wasn’t like carrying out orders given to him by a superior Prime. Kris had entrusted him to protect his brother, and Mirage vowed he's do so with all the dedication and ferocity of a soldier guarding a close ally.
When Airazor was killed, Mirage couldn’t bring himself to really grieve her. He’d barely even known the Maximal, and what little time they had spent together he’d shown her scrutiny and distrust. When he looked at her rusted and broken form, feathers split and frayed, wings limp at her sides and sparking pitifully, he could only feel scared for what lay ahead.
Is that selfish? he wondered hopelessly. To see her like that, and only wish I won’t meet the same fate? He thought of the solemn way Primal’s shoulders slumped, the way his blazing green eyes died down into smouldering embers of sorrow. Even Elena, as short as her time with the matronly warrior had been, seem to have felt the loss greatly, dark brown eyes glittering with unshed tears as she watched the shell of what had been her mentor lay dying.
It’s not just me I’m worried about, though. My friends too. And Noah. Just thinking about it made him uncomfortable. The further they got through this mission, the more he was beginning to doubt himself about bringing Noah along. Humans are just on a separate calibre from Cybertronians, he fretted. How can I guarantee he’ll stay safe? I won’t always be there to hover over him.
He’d tried to solve this problem temporarily by giving the human a miniature blaster, almost a complete copy of his own. But it was proving itself to be a temporary defense, and that was a shame, too. He’d pieced it together from spare parts of himself, spreading himself thin to create this vivisection of his abilities. Exhausting, painful even, but worth it if it meant some part of himself was there to protect him.
I won’t fail Kris. I won’t let him down. I’ll keep Noah safe. It was cold comfort, and he wanted more than anything in that moment to return to the safety of Brooklyn.
“Alright. This should lead to the bottom of the transwarp control panel,” Mirage instructed the two humans, tearing off the metal vent cover with minimal effort. Elena clambered into the vent quickly, but Noah hesitated.
“What about you?” His voice was small but projected as though he were trying to smooth the uncertainty out of it.
“I’m gonna go distract Scourge. Buy you two some time.” Mirage tried his best to grin casually at the human, but his servos were trembling at his sides. In the corner of his eye, he saw the blurry shapes of his teammates and allies racing out onto the battlefield, blotches of colour shadowed by the looming form of the Terrorcon structure that erupted fron the ground, gouging trenches into the earth. It’s now, or never. All, or nothing.
“You can’t fight Scourge alone.” Noah’s voice was urging, imploring. His eyes flicked uncertainly over Mirage, as he lingered in the unsteady space between the frenzied chaos of the battlefield and the stifled dark of the vent.
Of course, I can’t, Mirage wanted to bite back. His mind was despairing as he glanced again at the battlefield, the swarms of Terrorcon soldiers aiming to slaughter his teammates. He was overwhelmed with apprehension, and his spark seemed to stall in his chest, fear and panic writing itself into every line of his very sourcecode. Turning back to Noah, he saw the human’s face, fearful, and hesitant. His eyes were wide, sparkling with concern.
But I have to do this. Better to die fighting than live as a coward who did nothing at all. The words were harrowing, and harsh, cutting through his core deeply. He drew a steadying breath through his vents, and his features softened, an easy smile gracing the polished metal of his face.
“Relax. I’m Mirage, remember?” I can do this, he said without speaking. Noah held his gaze a moment longer, before slowly reaching up. Mirage stilled, watching warily as Noah’s hand closed into a fist.
The tension left his body immediately, and grinning, he returned the fist bump, reciprocating the unspoken acknowledgement, and reference to their first meeting. Then he stepped back, turning away before he lost his edge, before he gave in and surrendered. His pedes felt heavy and anchored to the ground as he painfully dragged himself forward, and away from his newest, closest, and most unexpected ally.
Noah watched the robot step away, feeling Elena spur him onward by tugging on his arm, urging him onward.
“Let’s go, Noah. Come on.” He nodded at her, his features growing cold with focus, and they dashed through the vent together. The metal corridor shook with the vibrations of tires racing across it, and a shadow swept over them as Mirage ran over them. Noah’s breath hitched, suddenly reminded of the shadow of Airazor’s wings. Please be careful. He felt sick to his very stomach.
He could faintly hear the metallic alto of Mirage’s voice, calling out his typical quips and snide remarks while he clashed with Scourge. He was hopeful for a moment, undeterred by the dizzying anxiety in his gut as he marched forward, and the wild thundering of his heart in his chest.
When Mirage came crashing to the ground, it seemed as though the world shuddered. His electric blue eyes met Noah’s, pain mingling with panic.
“M’rage,” Noah breathed, eyes wide as saucers. The robot winced but didn’t speak, as Scourge's claws bore into his back, casting him aside like scrap metal. The Terrorcon glared through the grate at the humans within, before slamming a serrated talon through the ground and seizing Noah easily.
He gasped like a fish out of water, flailing in the Terrorcon’s grasp as the dark, closed-in space of the vent fell away and he was brought into the fray of the battlefield.
Scourge’s voice rumbled in his ringing ears, the smell of scorched metal and ozone burning his nose. His grasp constricted around Noah’s chest, pressing his arms to his chest uncomfortably. He held Noah away from Mirage, and try as he might he couldn’t crane his head around to see where the grievously wounded robot had landed.
Scourge raised his blade to the human, red eyes flickering like embers behind his mask. Noah stared fearfully at the robot’s face, letting the glow of his optics and the lava behind him sear into his eyes. As soon as he’d begun to go limp in his grasp, the Terrorcon was hit by a swift flash of blue light, sending Noah flying to the ground. Scourge snarled, clutching his side and stumbling back.
“Mirage!” The cry tore from Noah’s throat on instinct. Slowly, the silver-blue robot rose to his feet, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders as he regained his balance.
The Autobot lunged at Scourge, tearing at his armour with the reckless abandon of a cornered, wounded animal. His electric blue eyes were alight with wild fury, and his witty quips had completely died away, diminished facade dropping completely.
Scourge caught him by the shoulders, shoving him backward before lifting him off the ground with one arm and readying his blaster. Noah gasped, scrambling backward on the ground. The landscape around them melted away, becoming the dark, smouldering ruins of the museum. Dull silver armour became brilliant yellow, and he recalled how Bumblebee had been subjected to the same attack.
Mirage must have thought of the same thing. He clawed at the hand grasping him, swinging his leg forward to connect with Scourge’s chest. The Terrorcon threw him back and Noah watched helplessly as Mirage clattered to the ground behind him, groaning with pain. Sparks jumped from the gashes in his armour and the Autobot stiffened, before going limp.
“Mirage! Get up, man, you gotta get up!” Noah’s voice was manic, even to his own ears. His words were a desperate plea, and the Autobot’s eyes opened, blinking sluggishly. He shuddered, servos flexing uselessly at his sides, and Noah’s breath hitched, suddenly awash with dread.
“Nobody will remember this… pathetic planet.” Scourge snarled, voice laced with venom and unfettered hatred. He raised his blaster once more, and Noah’s vision blacked out, losing sight of everything except the steadily mounting surge of power in front of him, swirling and growing brighter, filling his ears with a high-pitched electronic droning.
He slammed his eyes shut, but the promised shot never came. Mirage leapt in front of him, hovering over the human with his arms planted on either side, supporting his weight above Noah.
The blast bore into the silver-blue robot’s back, carving a large gash in the thick armour. Mirage hissed in pain, metallic face twisted with pain in a way Noah hadn’t seen before. The air was flooded with the burning scent of molten metal and plasteel, and the sharp smokey scent of gunpowder.
“Mirage! What are you doing!?” The human screeched, voice panicked and mind wracked with primal fear.
“Keeping… my- promise, rgh!” The robot hissed, metal form shaking under the impact of repeated shots. Under his chassis, Noah could hear every minute fluttering of gears, every hiss of hydraulics, every scraping grind of metal seams clashing together.
His arms shuddered, and the robot fell forward, further enclosing Noah beneath him. His eyes were burning with grit and sweat, and he could feel warm blood running down his forehead. The overwhelming scent of ozone grew to a cloying degree, and he desperately slammed his hands against Mirage’s chest, trying to spur him onward into action.
“Come on, man, come on, you gotta get up! Please!” His voice was hoarse, strained. Smoke filled his lungs and he wheezed, chest heaving.
Mirage strained but barely rose at all. The metal around him shuddered under more impact, and Noah gasped. The grievously wounded Autobot shook with the sheer effort, his breaths coming through the ragged whirring of his vents.
“It’s okay, Noah…” Mirage muttered, voice strained and barely more than a whisper. Noah looked into his optics, and his heart wrenched painfully in his chest to see the mournful finality there. “H-home team…” The robot grimaced.
“Home team…” Noah uttered, eyes wide. Then, Scourge shot again, and Mirage collapsed, plunging the world around him into cold, empty darkness.
For a while, Noah lay unmoving with his eyes closed, still not entirely sure he’d survived the impact. When he’d managed to come to his senses, eyes unfocused and head swimming with adrenaline, it was to the tinny chattering of Mirage’s radio. Kris’ voice was laced with static and almost inaudible through the ringing in his ears.
“He’s… he’s gone. Mirage is gone,” he found himself saying. Through the gaps in the armour, he saw the faintest sliver of the sky. Yawning over them as it had the first night he met Mirage, pale grey and streaked with smoke. His stomach churned with fear, and his mind was clouded by terror, rage, and a deep, resounding sense of loss that sank its teeth into the very being of his soul.
“We ain’t gonna win this one, Tails.” The words felt hollow, and no sooner than he’d brought them into existence he wanted them gone, crushed beneath his foot like smothered embers. To voice those thoughts felt like a eulogy, a declarative time of death, the spoken planting of a white flag. It was painfully quiet, trapped under the lifeless husk of his friend’s chassis, and his wavering unsteady breaths echoed like fanfare in the dark. He couldn’t stifle the exhausted sobs that tore from his throat.
When the hydraulics in his systems hissed, and the gears clicked back to life, Noah’s breath caught in his chest. Slowly, Mirage’s eyes flickered back to life, glowing dimly.
“You’re okay,” Noah breathed, relief washing over him. A weary grin spread across his face, and he reached up to rest a hand against the robot’s sapphire blue helm
“I…” Mirage breathed, eyes flickering restlessly. His voice was strangled, and weak, and he reeled, disorientated. “I-I’m gonna need you… to… take the wheel.”
Noah wanted to question him further, to try and glean any information at all. At the same time, he wanted to fall to his knees, to claw his dark curls out, to scream at the top of his lungs, until his throat was raw and his voice no longer answered him. He wanted to curse the robot out of scaring him so badly, and he wanted to throw his arms around his friend and express the sheer relief overwhelming him. More than anything, he wanted to return home to Brooklyn, to his brother, his mother, and his friends.
But before he could voice any of that, he was interrupted by the shifting of metal. The blue-silver chrome surface warped, the towering figure shifting and melting away to close over him. At first, a simple silver frame, before white and blue plates slid upwards, fortifying and protecting the interior. At the sternum, his breath was stolen by the sight of an energy core, seemingly gone dark. The sight was uniquely powerful in a way he couldn’t quite define, and the next moment he looked, the metal plates had moved to cover it, snapping shut with a solemn, definitive click.
At first, the suit moved on its own, lifting his arms to fire at enemies or afterburners kicking into gear, propelling him out of harm’s way. Noah continued to fight, marching onward with a grim, hollow determination. It seemed to possess him, giving him the strength to keep moving. All too often, though, he found himself losing time covering an area he shouldn't be covering, watching out for somebody who wasn't there. The presence of his friend seemed to linger, though the suit seemed relatively lifeless. As though the metal it was forged of was imbued with some kind of spiritual influence, his actions seemed guided by hands that weren’t his own.
When he stood before Optimus and Primal, voices echoing like thunder as they ordered their allies out on the battlefield, he waited to hear Mirage say something reassuring. To crack wise about Prime’s stern attitude, or to banter with Arcee with fond familiarity. To smile knowingly at Noah, an unspoken acknowledgement of how very out of his depth the human was, and the reassurance that things would be okay.
But the only thing to answer his expectant silence was the soft whirring of the suit around him. The same whirring he’d come to associate with the silver-blue robot.
He hadn’t had time to say goodbye. He hadn’t even had time to mourn him.
The suit kept whirring. Noah kept marching onward.
Halfway through the final battle, Noah was hit by an electrified blast from one of the enemy Terrorcons. He gasped, and the sound was weak and strangled, as the suit locked up around him, constricting on his body and system alarms blaring. He writhed on the ground, tiny jolts of electricity biting into his skin through the internal mechanisms of the suit. His vision was swarmed with flickering red alarms, and he slammed his eyes shut.
After a few moments, he managed to recover from the attack, suit mechanisms purging the excess electricity from the sensitive internal circuitry. When he bounded back into battle, the suit seemed to operate with a swift, precise energy he hadn’t seen before. Cleaving through enemies and leaping from stone to stone, traversing the rough terrain with deft ease rivalling that of the Cybertronians themselves, he felt an odd sense of freedom bubbling in his chest, surpassing the exhausted dread that had staked its claim there.
It was the same sense of freedom and exhilarating, volatile energy that powered him onward when it came time to confront Unicron. When he leapt forward, catching Optimus’ hand and anchoring him against Unicron’s assault, it was his determination and desire to protect that surged through him.
Hours later, resting as Stratosphere carried him back to Brooklyn, he finally shed the exosuit, only to be caught off guard by a flickering blue light, pouring from the seams in the armour. Creeping forward, he swept his hands over the panel on the sternum, which slid open to reveal the energy core.
Glowing. Flickering. Alive, his mind whispered. Illuminated in brilliant blue light, a small spark of electricity danced in the centre of the core. Gingerly reaching forward, he laid a warm hand on the side of the core, and the spark jumped wildly, sending chills up his arm at the electrified buzz.
Mirage. The spark settled, jittering minutely in the centre of the core, thin limbs of electricity sweeping upward to lance across the glass where Noah’s hand lay. It’s you. You’re alive.
He removed his hand, and the glow dulled, the spark settling. Noah exhaled, realizing he’d unintentionally held his breath this whole time. His head swam with a million thoughts, and he stared at the tiny core, eyes wide. In the swirling shadows of the dark airplane, it seemed as though the tiny ember of energy was what the universe revolved around.
The core trembled slightly, and Noah’s hands shot forward abruptly, as though to steady it. When the trembling quickly stopped, and the spark settled contentedly, thrumming to its own tune, Noah grinned so wide he was sure he must look manic.
I can fix you, he promised, determination crashing over him. His hands closed around the core, plunging the room into darkness once again, save for the slivers of blue light escaping through the gaps in his fingers. With his grasp locked around it, he pulled with all his might, dislodging the sphere from its chamber. It thrummed languidly in his grasp, and Noah rubbed a thumb over the gleaming surface. With this, I can fix you.