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Click was smart. Click was clever. Caretaker always said that with an odd mix of fondness and sadness as he shook his head.
Click wished he wasn’t so smart. If he wasn’t smart, he could hold out hope that Caretaker would come for him. That caretaker was still alive.
There was no dead body for Click to see, but he was smart. He knew what it meant when he woke up in a new world alone, even without any memories of what happened.
The owners never cared for Click. They only tolerated Click because they could use him to keep Caretaker in line. Caretaker may have belonged to the owners, but the owners were terrified of Caretaker. Click was their only guarantee that Caretaker wouldn’t rebel against them.
No one directly talked about it, not where Click could hear, but Click was smart. The owners referenced it in vague terms during their rare visits that left Click’s internals feeling cold and shaky. Caretaker never brought it up. He never mentioned anything about Click that hurt him, not even flinching when Click accidentally jabbed his sensitive internals when he was squirming around trying to cuddle. Click knew that he hurt Caretaker, but Caretaker never mentioned it. Click was more careful after that.
Click was the only mech that hurt Caretaker. Caretaker was the champion of the arena. No one Caretaker fought hurt him, and in the pits everyone cowered from him. Not even the owners tried to fight him, sending their guards in to attack. Caretaker’s only weakness was Click.
And yet, Caretaker, strong undefeatable Caretaker must be dead. How else could the owners risk sending Click away from Caretaker to another planet? They were strutless cowards. If Caretaker was still alive he would tear the owners in half for this—they would never risk it.
But no, Click woke up outside of the pits for the first time since Caretaker found him with no memories of how he arrived there. He was never allowed out of the pits before for his ‘safety.’ It was just an attempt to keep Click in the pits, to keep Caretaker in the pits. Click hated it, hated how they used him to chain Caretaker down.
Waking up in this new world away from Caretaker Click didn’t know what to do.
He was standing under the sun, orange dust floating past him. Strange organic creatures dotted the area. Some prowled across the land while others flew in the sky. They were too small to hurt Caretaker, but Click was tiny. If they noticed him, would they hurt him? Click didn’t know how to fight. Caretaker said he was too young to start learning, that he had to focus on reading and writing first.
He didn’t know what to do.
He had to get to safety.
Finding a small tunnel in the ground that he fit in near where he woke up was a gift from Primus. Crawling into the tunnel he stayed there, trying to think of what he would do next. He couldn’t. Every time he tried to think of the future his processor was smothered by the image of Caretaker’s body limp and broken, Energon coating the ground beneath him.
And then, he found Click.
“I’m Hound, an Autobot scout. I was patrolling the area and heard you crying. Do you need help?” A warm voice asked. Click didn’t realize he was crying, but his servos came away from his optics wet.
The voice was nice, and Click didn’t have anything left to lose, lost in this strange new world alone. Leaving the tight tunnel, he was met by a green mech who radiated warmth and concern. Nervously stepping into the sun was the best choices he ever made. The warm mech, Hound, was kind when speaking with Click. Offered to give Click a name when he learned Click didn’t have one.
Caretaker was going to give Click a name when he turned a vorn old. “One of the few things we own are our words.” Caretaker explained as he traced words into the ground teaching Click how to read. “Our words, our thoughts are one of the only things they cannot take away from us. They gave me a designation, a serial number when I was onlined; that is not a name. Now they have given me titles, stage names, but those are not actual names. I will choose my own name that fits me, just like I am taking care to name you something that fits you.”
Click loved listening to Caretaker’s words. Caretaker’s poetry was beautiful, one of the few beautiful things in the pits.
Caretaker would never be able to name him now, but here Hound was, offering to name him because everyone deserves a name. Hound’s first suggestion, Click, clearly was the first thing that he thought of, based on how Click could only talk with clicks and other noises. It embarrassed Hound to suggest something so simple, so childish, but Click loved his new name. It was a marker of his new life. Caretaker was gone, but now he had Hound to take care of him.
Hound, who gave him a name and offered to bring him to a doctor—to have his vocalizer fixed. It was a dream come true in the wake of a terrible nightmare. Caretaker would want him to move forward, to live even if it meant leaving him behind. Click could already feel the burgeoning connection between them. That was why Click followed Hound back to the ‘Autobot’ base.
Hound transformed into his vehicle mode—a vehicle Click had ever seen meant to blend in with the local population—as he drove Click to the Arc, his current home. The drive was nice. Hound eagerly explained all the wildlife Click pointed out, talking about the planet Earth they were on, and the intelligent organic species of Humans that lived there. Apparently, the animals around them weren’t dangerous to them and wouldn’t try to attack if they were left alone.
Ratchet was nice. He looked grumpy, but he cared. He cared so much. Ratchet was gentle when he looked over Click. When he poked around his vocalizer Click could barely feel it, it wasn’t painful like he expected. Whatever Ratchet saw made him angry, but he tried not to show it, tried to make sure Click felt safe and comfortable.
Someone broke Click’s vocalizer beyond repair. It would need to be completely replaced. Ratchet would make a new vocalizer for him. Ratchet gently explained all this to Click. These new Cybertronians who found him were like a dream come true.
When Ratchet asked if Click remembered how his vocalizer was broken Click flinched.
***
Click remembered when his vocalizer was broken. It was blurry, one of his earliest memories. He was hungry and alone, his carrier and sire—never his caretakers—left him alone on the solid slab of a berth in their bare room. Click was hungry and knew he needed his carrier or sire so he cried, wailing as loud as he could, trying to catch their attention.
“Shut up you stupid scraplet!” Carrier shouted, angrily storming into the room.
Click flinched back at his carrier’s aggression. Click knew in his programming that his carrier and sire were supposed to care for him, love him. “Carrier, I’m hungry.” Click hesitantly said between his sobs.
“Shut up! I’m not your carrier!” Carrier shouted backhanding Click across the face.
Pain.
Click dropped to the berth. Curling into himself he whined. It hurt.
“I said shut up!” Carrier shouted pinning him down. One clawed servo went to his sensitive neckplate and began to pull. With a pop his bent neckplates opened up bearing the sensitive internals to his carrier.
Click screamed as the metal bent filling his processor with pain. This only made carrier even angrier.
“It you won’t shut up on your own I’ll make you!” Carrier shouted driving a clawed hand into Click’s naked neck and dragging. Pain exploded across Click’s body. He writhed, trying to escape but carrier held him down. Held him in place as claws slowly dragged across his vocalizer.
A high-pitched whine rang in Click’s audials. Everything hurt.
“You fragging parasite! Just shut up!”
Click couldn’t move, his body limp in pain. Was he still screaming? He didn’t think so. Carrier broke his vocalizer. All that left his mouth now was broken static, and even that was quickly sputtering out.
***
Carrier dragged him out of the house after that, tossing him into the side of the road. Click laid there for groons, curled up into himself. That was where Caretaker found him.
Caretaker cut an imposing figure standing over Click, radiating anger as he looked at him. Click tried to flinch away, tried to avoid the incoming pain. Pain that never came. Instead, Caretaker soothed him. Picking Click up in his warm arms he carried him back to the pits and adopted Click as his own sparkling.
Seeing Hound’s anger at his destroyed vocalizer, and how he immediately softened to comfort Click reminded him of Caretaker. The similarities hurt, but it also felt nice. That was when Click was confident in his choice to follow Hound. Caretaker might be dead now, but Hound would be his new caretaker.
Caretaker was the only one who cared for him in the pits and that was enough. It had to be enough. Things were different now; he wasn’t in the pits anymore.
Hound was nice to him. Everyone in the Arc was nice to him. Even Sunstreaker, who Hound didn’t like, was nice when giving Click a proper paint job. Click had always dreamed of having a proper paint job, he spent groons imagining what he would look like. Click could feel Sunstreaker judging the green he added match with Hound, but he didn’t complain and did exactly what Click asked for.
Hound’s friends Jazz, Mirage, and Bumblebee were really nice. He played games with all of them. It was a lot of fun. It was fun until. . .
Click knew something was wrong when the four of them suddenly became nervous, glancing between each other. And then suddenly Jazz pulled a cybercat out of the vents. A cybercat that charged straight for him. Click thought that that would be his end, ripped apart by a cybercat. He had seen holos of it in the pits. When gladiators fought mechanimals they faced a grizzly end as they were torn apart limb by limb and eaten in front of the cheering crowds.
Click knew that mechanimals weren’t naturally that aggressive. The owners chained them up in stalls, starved them, their only source of food was the corpses of those they’ve killed. It was hard to remember that with a cybercat charging at him with a snarl, and all Click knew was how angry he was.
All Click could think was that he would end up like those gladiators. Torn limb from limb, Energon splattered across the break room in front of Hound. But Hound didn’t let that happen. Standing firm between them, Hound grabbed the cybercat, holding him to the ground until the others could restrain him.
And then Hound was in front of him, worried and asking if he was okay.
All the fear and stress from the last orn was too much. Click cried for the first time since his carrier beat him. This time, instead of being hurt Hound gently cradled him in his warm arms, comforting Click with his deep, soothing purr. He promised that it would be okay.
Click wished he could stay in Hound’s arms longer. Instead, Hound had a meeting that Click wasn’t allowed in. Bumblebee and Mirage were watching him until Hound was free. Click wasn’t worried about what would happen to Hound. Optimus and the others weren’t like the owners. They liked Hound and worried about his safety. They wouldn’t try to hurt him.
That left Click being carried by Mirage as Bumblebee led them. . . somewhere. Click didn’t know his way around the Arc, and Mirage wasn’t paying attention to where Bumblebee was leading them, looking at Click in awe at being trusted with someone so important to Hound. Mirage was goo inside the klick Hound put Click in his arms.
“Here we are!” Bumblebee cheerfully said walking into an empty room that was identical to the breakroom they were all in earlier minus the new singe markings on the floor.
That snapped Mirage out of his daydream. He looked around the room, wrinkling his nose. “Why bring us here? No one ever uses this break room.”
“Exactly. I’m not exactly bringing the little guy back to our break room after Ravage, and I figured the little guy wouldn’t like being crowded by new people.” Bumblebee said.
Bumblebee was right. He didn’t want to meet anyone new. The. . . attack, was draining and people were. . . a lot. Click gave some clicks of agreement. He couldn’t wait for Ratchet to give him a new vocalizer. To be able to speak and hold actual conversations instead of people guessing what he wants was a dream come true.
“Now, you’ve had an eventful day and command meetings can take a while. Would you prefer playing a game or resting?” Bumblebee asked.
Click was tired. He was nodding off in Hound’s warm arms, safe and held earlier. He always slept best in Caretaker’s arms, and Hound was the same. Mirage wasn’t nearly as nice, his arms weren’t nearly as save and all-encompassing, but he would have to do. Click held up two fingers before curling into Mirage’s chest. It wasn’t as warm as Caretaker, as Hound, but it would work for a nap.
“Wait, you want to sleep in my arms?” Mirage asked. He was startled. Where else would Click sleep? There wasn’t even a berth in this room. Click nodded his head from where it was smooshed against Mirage’s tepid chest. “Uh, okay then. I’ll just sit down then.”
Bumblebee snickered. “How does it feel being a berth? Maybe you could offer to let Hound recharge—”
“Shut up.” Mirage hissed, warm waves of embarrassment flooding through him.
That was the last thing Click noticed as he fell into recharge.