REGRET ME

"Brainwash, brainwash,
B-b-b-brainwash, brainwash."

⬵⤁

"Jack chose to escape with the Autobots over sparing you from more pain."

Ratchet shuttered his optics, trying to ignore the increasing ache in his joints and the sludge which pumped through his energon veins. Despite Megatron's attempts to make it appear as if the human did not care, Ratchet was grateful Jack had survived and seized the opportunity to return to the Autobots.

When Megatron had brought the human to him with a question the medic nearly had a spark attack. He had never, ever, seen a dehydrated human before, and Jack looked already dead. It terrified him to think that Megatron had killed a human based on neglect alone. He had hoped and prayed that Jack was delivered to a hospital in time; all he felt was relief when he heard the teen had survived.

He barely looked up when Megatron entered the cell, the tyrant's strong footsteps shaking the floor. When he shifted and bent down that drew Ratchet's attention, the medic flinching when a clawed servo filled his vision. The touch was gentle and sent creeps along his spinal strut, his vocalizers straining to work.

"S-stop . . ." He rasped. "No . . ."

The dictator ignored his weak pleas, slipping his servo down the side of his cheek and cupped the side of his chin. The medic gasped and grunted in resistance when Megatron slid a digit into his mouth, forcing his aching jaw to open against his will. Ratchet resisted the urge to bite down, knowing the consequences would only be more pain and waste energy he really did not have.

Silently, Megatron forced him to tilt his helm back as his other servo brought forth an energon cube, allowing the liquid to flow from a punctured corner and into his intake. Ratchet's noises ceased as his vocalzier was closed off and the energon directed straight into his processing tank, which quickly churned into action. He could feel his nanites finally kicking into action as fresh energon washed through his systems, quickly degrading and destroying the used energon within his veins. When the cube was finished Megatron finally let him go, his thumb sliding from between his derma and allowing them to close.

Ratchet's frame shuddered as he took a deep breath, feeling his systems run a little more efficiently. When his optics refocused on Megatron he saw the warmonger was grinning, his faceplates twisted into a leer.

"It would be the most logical to not almost lose both prisoners to starvation," he mused aloud. "But make no mistake, Ratchet, you will be broken in due time. I am already seeing your resolve wither away."

"Are you sure . . . that is not just my patience?" He spat out weakly.

Megatron merely chuckled, gazing at the empty cube in his grasp. With little effort on his behalf he curled his digits and crushed it, reducing the container into small pieces.

"My patience is running thin." He looked back at the medic. "But the game has only begun."

"Game?" His tanks seemed to churn in an abnormal fashion, leaving him feeling nauseous.

The dictator's sharp denta gleamed. "Indeed. Did you really think I was so careless? I allowed the human to escape with his runt of a partner. I am not a fool, medic, he will be your downfall. It is only a matter of time."

"My downfall? What are you talking about?" Ratchet demanded.

He earned a grated laughed. "Now, that would be telling," he purred to the Autobot. "I would save your strength. I have much more in store as I break you."

⬵⤁

"Mr. Darby, are you okay? You are looking quite pale."

Jack jerked from his reverie, refocusing on the concerned face at the front of the classroom. He fumbled for something to say, pushing back thoughts of the Autobots and Decepticons - which plagued him daily - and tried to come up with an excuse.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he said lamely.

"Then perhaps you can answer my question?" When his teacher did not get a response, he repeated himself. "If a cell is unable to receive oxygen in order to go through aerobic respiration, what process will it convert to?"

"Um . . . anaerobic respiration?" He guessed.

Several of his classmates snorted, the teacher giving him a frown; clearly, if Jack thought he was being funny, he was not.

"Partially correct. What is that process called?"

He glanced down at his notes in a desperate attempt to find it, his brain shorting out as a million thoughts crowded his mind.

Movement caught his attention, Sierra having raised her hand.

The teacher nodded at her.

"Fermentation," she said confidently, smiling when her answer was confirmed as correct. Her dark green eyes glanced at Jack, and she offered him a small smile. He merely nodded, too distracted to even care that his crush, the captain of the cheerleading squad, was paying attention to him.

I abandoned Ratchet.

As much as he felt that the crass medic would prefer he was free, the guilt ate at him anyway. Despite what the Autobots thought, Jack felt he was very much a part of this war; perhaps not a direct combatant, but he certainly was not an innocent civilian. Questions also ate at his mind, especially when he saw Optimus.

How does it feel to be fighting your best friend for six million years?

Did you know people tried to brainwash him? Were you okay with that?

Ideals changed, and Jack knew that, but it sickened him to think that any of the Autobots were once okay with something as twisted as Shadowplay. Or functionalism. Or any of that. Bumblebee had been stated to be the youngest, forged during the former years of the war, so he could only assume Arcee, Bulkhead, and Wheeljack had been a part of that society.

Which side had they been on?

"Darby!"

He jerked again, this time all eyes on him from the sharp bark. He felt his face heat up, looking at his teacher with an apologetic expression.

"If you are not going to pay attention in my class, then feel free to pack your things and go," he said sternly. Jack did not blame him; he only assumed the teen had been sick for a week; he did not know Jack had been through the Cybertronian equivalent of hell and back. Taking a breath, the young man just nodded, quietly debating with himself before he did something he never thought he'd do.

He packed up his things and left.

Flipping his phone open he dialed her number and waited, the odd tings telling him that she was receiving the call.

"Jack?"

Arcee's voice sent a wave of relief and guilt through his chest. "Hey 'Cee, I'm not feeling too great. Can you pick me up from class?"

"I'm on recon right now. Are you fine with Optimus coming instead?"

No questions asked, no scolding that he was essentially skipping an entire day of school. "Yeah, that's fine. I'll be outside on the steps."

"He'll be there as soon as he can."

Jack shut his phone, looking down and seeing his hand shake almost uncontrollably. After the strange feeling in Zurich, he was not so sure he wanted to have one-on-one time with the Prime. It also made him uncomfortable to think that he would be grilled over what happened on the Nemesis, how Ratchet was, and what made him end up in the hospital. Despite almost three days going by, Jack really did not want to talk about what happened. It made him uneasy to recall, and he wished the whole thing had just been one big nightmare.

Optimus arrived almost fifteen minutes later, pulling up the best he could to the front of the school with a soft hiss of his brakes. Jack did not hesitate to throw open the passenger cab door and climb in, placing his backpack on the floor at his feet.

"Thanks for picking me up, Optimus."

"It is no problem, Jack." He spoke quietly, pulling out of the school parking lot. "Are you unwell? Should I take you home?"

"I . . . I'm fine, physically," he admitted, not wanting to lie to Optimus Prime. "I just . . . I don't know where I want to be right now."

On the Nemesis, not leaving Ratchet exclusively to handle Megatron's wrath, because I'm a coward.

"You are troubled."

"That's one way of putting it," Jack agreed, leaning back in the firm seat of the semi. "Which makes sense, I guess, since I was kidnapped and briefly held hostage by the Decepticons."

"Along with Ratchet," it seemed like the Prime knew exactly what to say to drive the knife under his skin even further. "Jack . . . did you witness or experience any form of torture while you were present on the Nemesis?"

The human paused, unable to help but bite his lip.

"Yes," he murmured, hoping the Prime could hear him. "Our first, maybe second day, Megatron tortured Ratchet. He . . ."

The seatbelt around him seemed to tighten a little, like a hug.

"If you are uncomfortable sharing, Jack, you do not need to. Understand that anything Megatron may have said was twisted for your benefit, and Ratchet's. He may speak the truth, but it is woven in a web of deception." The Prime was worried that Megatron had said something to disturb his human ally.

He had no idea it was Ratchet.

"It's not that," Jack ran a hand through his hair, feeling sweat start to bead along his forehead. "He spoke in Cybertronian, so I couldn't understand a word. It was just . . . a lot. Even for me."

"As you were not forged of war, that is completely understandable," Optimus continued to talk with a quiet, gentle tone instead of his normally forceful and commanding inflections.

Jack just nodded, letting the cab go silent. He realized Optimus was driving a bit aimlessly, remaining on a road that would give him the quickest route to base but not forcing Jack to go there. It was like he knew the absence of Ratchet would go anything but unnoticed.

"Optimus . . ."

The Prime tilted his rearview mirror to get a better look at Jack, the human's reflection picked up by the optical sensors and printing the image in his processing core. He looked lost, unsure of his upcoming question or statement.

"Yes?" It was a simple gesture, one which encouraged him to continue.

The human fidgeted for quite some time before he took a deep breath. "What was Cybertronian society like? Before the war?" He questioned. "Ratchet told me about the functionalists . . . and Shadowplay . . . was it really so bad?"

This surprised him. For a moment Optimus needed to gather his thoughts and understand what it was that Jack had asked. Even more shocking was that Ratchet was the one to have shared their history. He wondered what implored the medic to tell him, as they never did bring up the conception of their war with the humans. The topic, as far as he had known, never came up.

He formulated an answer as he drove, mindful of the world around him simultaneously. "What one believed in terms of the functionalist society our race possessed depended on their place in the caste system. For many in the higher castes, they did not see an issue with the current way of life. But those within the lower castes were very much against everything functionalism stood for."

Jack absorbed what he said, thinking for some time. He could see the logic behind the statement; it was like saying the rich was fine with the current state of economics, but the poor were more likely to want to change it. And Optimus said most because he had been in a higher caste, and saw the inequality within their society. He saw Megatron sway hundreds of millions of people to follow him straight to the Council, where he demanded the title of Prime.

"Makes sense . . ." he decided to just outright say it. "Arcee, Ratchet, the others . . . what did they think of society then?"

Optimus saw immediately what Jack was worried about. The teen was struggling to understand their war, their truth, their morals. Many Cybertronians picked the Autobots because they hated the Decepticons, not because they thought society needed to change peacefully. They did not want it to change at all.

"I assure you with all my spark that they too saw flaws within our system, and desired to set about change and generate equality," he assured Jack. The Prime felt a little guilt twist within his spark; lying had never sat well with him, but he did it for Jack's sake. He was a child, and did not need to grapple with the nuances of creatures over six million years old. The human also did not need to unintentionally create a rift between himself and his partner over the politics of a race he could barely understand.

Jack relaxed back into his seat, nodding quietly. "Thanks." He whispered, still thinking. There were a few other questions he had, but they were all wildly inappropriate and something he had no business asking. Optimus most likely did not suspect that Ratchet had told him that Orion Pax and Megatronus had been amica endura. The Prime was already upset about Ratchet, who was essentially one as well, and probably would not appreciate a reminder about his broken past.

"I think I would like to go home," Jack finally decided, knowing it was the best place for him to think for the time being. Guilt still settled like a sickness in his stomach. The uncomfortable feeling was dampened a little with the knowledge that the Autobots he knew were against a system he could only describe as evil, as it was reassuring to know he shared the same thoughts with them.

"As you wish," Optimus Prime rumbled, turning onto a street and heading to Jack's neighborhood. They rode the rest of the way in silence, the human fidgeting with a string on his shirt. The semi worked his way through the increasingly narrowing streets of Jasper, Nevada, and eventually parked in front of Jack's home.

"Thanks, Optimus," Jack told him again, grabbing his bag and slipping out.

"You are most welcome, Jack. Do not hesitate should you need me - or Arcee - again." The Prime assured him. He waited until Jack made it into the house before pulling away.

Glancing at the clock, Jack's jaw nearly dropped. It was barely 10:00 a.m., which meant he had barely made it through two hours of school, if even that. But, he had an excuse, and he could always tell his mom he had gone home sick.

Because he was sick.

Sick from the guilt that settled in every part of his body and fogged his mind, and sick of feeling the way he did despite it only adding on to the feeling. He just wanted to believe it was what Ratchet would have wanted, but he did not know for sure, and felt as if he had left like the medic did not matter to him.

I'm sorry Ratchet. I really am.

⬵⤁

"Hey, where's Jack?" Miko asked as she hopped out of Bumblebee's alternate form, the scout transforming into his root mode. "I saw him before school, but he wasn't in history class; what gives?"

"He went home," Arcee said, not bothering to mask her annoyance. "Optimus picked him up after he said he wasn't feeling well."

"Didn't realize Primes did curb duty, huh?" Their newest recruit, Smokescreen, grinned down at Miko from where he leaned against a console. "I offered to go, but I haven't passed driver's ed yet."

"Dude, lame," Miko agreed, skipping the steps two at a time. Her partner was secluded in his room for the time being, moping about their newest addition. With both him and Ratchet out of commission the Autobots could use all the help they could get, but Smokescreen was proving to be arrogant and far from an adequate replacement. At this point, Arcee was wishing Pharma or First Aid had been the ones to show up - anyone was more bearable than a rookie. The addition of another medic would also be most helpful in speeding up Bulkhead's recovery.

Optimus Prime took a moment to glance over, a little worried when only one human was present. "Where is Rafael?"

"Grounded," Miko rolled her eyes and crashed on the couch. "Went from an A to an A minus, if I had to guess."

Arcee sighed, crossing her arms and looking towards the screen. The base was, for the most part, quiet. Bulkhead was working the best he could to walk, but he had one lame pede; that was concerning for Team Prime. Optimus wanted to hope for the best, that his neural net just needed a reboot, but without Ratchet's expertise they were at a loss. They were all hoping and praying that the Wrecker would make it out okay.

The trill of the proximity sensor jerked everyone out of their reviere, Agent Fowler coming down the elevator with a grim expression.

"We got a problem," he announced. "A satellite-sized problem."