Chapter Text
It began with restlessness, that didn’t go away even after a drive down Route 66. Smokescreen bugged Ratchet to let him go wind through the Sierra Nevadas next. Ratchet denied it, saying, “You’ve already had one joyride for the week.”
“But doc,” Smokescreen pleaded, “I’m just...all wound up with nowhere to go. Like I’ve got too much energy.”
“One excursion per week is the rule, otherwise we’re using too much energon and there’s more of a risk of discovery, either by the humans or the Decepticons.”
“...Fine.” Smokescreen stomped off, presumably to cause trouble elsewhere.
---
The next week, Smokescreen didn’t contact the base when he was supposed to request a groundbridge to return.
“Smokescreen, come in Smokescreen.” No response. “Smokescreen, I know your communicator is in working order. You were supposed to check in an hour ago.”
“Okay, okay! Fine. I just can’t seem to burn this energy off. I’m not even tired, but it says my energon’s low. Just a few more minutes, c’mon.”
“You’re already late. Standby for coordinates.”
“Please, Ratchet!”
“No can do. You’re late again, you lose off-base privileges, you know that.”
All Ratchet got in response was the angry snarl of a V10 messily thrown into a higher gear.
---
“Optimus.” The Prime turned around to face Ratchet, his faceplates arranging to an expression of mild concern as he felt the worry in his friend’s field.
“What is bothering you, old friend?”
“I cannot locate Smokescreen. He has either managed to turn his locator off, or is deliberately hiding in a shielded area.”
Optimus’s processor helpfully informed him that lack of a locator signal could mean Smokescreen was in serious trouble, possibly involving the Decepticons.
“What is his last known location?”
Ratchet tapped quickly on the groundbridge’s console. “I bridged him to here, then lost his locator at this point. I attempted to contact him at fifteen minute intervals, but I have received no response thus far.” His shoulders drooped. “Optimus, you don’t think…”
“It could be a minor malfunction, but his inability or unwillingness to contact the base is of serious concern.” By this time, several of the other Autobots had clustered around, curious and worried. Optimus turned to face them. “Ratchet, he may need a medic. Bulkhead and Arcee, you stay behind--” Arcee’s field flashed momentary ire. “--in case this is a plot to draw our attention away from the base.” The winglets on her back relaxed. “Bumblebee, you’re our best scout.”
Bumblebee whistled happily at the praise, but followed it with lower whirrs of worry about his friend.
“Autobots, transform and roll out!”
---
The bridge deposited them at Smokescreen’s last known location. Bumblebee immediately got to scanning the area. Optimus consulted the maps he had downloaded for any possible information about where Smokescreen may have ended up.
Bumblebee stood up from his examination of tracks on the road, and whistled to get the other bots’ attention. “He went this way.” He pointed, toward a turnoff to a road that went up into the foothills.
“Oh wonderful, he’s up in the mountains. Of course.” Ratchet grumbled.
Bumblebee led the way.
---
Smokescreen's plating itched, and he'd run outta road. Just great. He’d driven hundreds of miles away from where he’d started and he still felt like it wasn’t enough. He was exhausted - fuel and fluid levels were all low, and temperature was still high - but he felt driven to continue. What the frag was he missing?
He found an overhang under some rocks to shield him from the sun and the sky, parked and transformed. As he drank from a small flask of backup energon, he tried not to think too much. He still didn’t want to go back to the base, and he wasn’t sure why.
---
The roar of engines, revving at the start of a race. Blistering heat shimmering on the track, every electromagnetic frequency band crowded with lust as they jockeyed for pole position, wanting a good start. He wasn’t sure if he yelled something but he ran, before falling into his alt and accelerating faster than he’d ever gone in his life. He had to outpace them, go faster, harder and longer than any one of them. And then…
“Smokescreen, are you alright?”
...no, it was too soon, he had to keep going, there wasn’t enough time, he didn’t want it to end yet.
“He’s coming out of a slow boot. Looks like he’s overheated.” Smokescreen vaguely heard the hum of a scanner, felt a light touch to his neck plating. He arched into the cool, grounding touch, which quickly withdrew.
“...Ratchet?”
“Oh good, you’re awake. What were you thinking, ignoring all your system warnings?”
“Ratch...don’ wanna go back. Have to keep...going.” He couldn’t get his vocalizer to work properly, every mechanism was full of sand and his coolant lines were dry.
“Ohh, no you don’t. Only place you’re going now is back to the base.”
There was a pause, and the unmistakable field of the one bot he’d looked up to most in his entire life covered him gently. Smokescreen reached out towards Optimus’s field. It was comforting-- he wanted to wrap himself up in it and never leave.
A large hand took his, helping him to stand up. Smokescreen was unsteady on his pedes, and leaned into cool, solid plating. He lost track of what else was going on around him again, as the green light flashed for the race, but he knew he’d be fine.
---
Smokescreen awoke, more easily this time, and feeling a whole lot better. He blinked as his optical sensors recalibrated, and he tried to sit up. There was a hand on his shoulder.
“I wouldn’t try to sit up just quite yet.” Ratchet’s characteristic caring grumpiness was there all right.
“What happened?”
“Well, you disobeyed orders, and drove yourself into an overheat. We had to go find you the hard way and bridge you back. I’ve given you some energon and coolant - mind the connections - but you’ll likely be wanting more soon. And a trip to the washracks.”
“Can I get that energon?” He was hungry. Ratchet passed him a cube and Smokescreen downed it inelegantly. He managed to place the cube down in a manner that did not earn him an irritated chuff, and proceeded to shut down again.