A/N: So, that damn hiatus bug bit me again. But let me just say, the "I'll Never Desert You" muse is just not there, I'm trying, but no bites ATM. So as part of my new: "I write what I want, when I want to write it." policy to keep my stress levels down, I'm taking this time to swap it out with yet another plot bunny that won't leave me alone.

SOME DETAILS:
I'd consider this somewhat of a spiritual remake of the idea I presented in "What Training Can't Teach You" and its sequels. It will NOT follow any of them, rather redo the idea as I believe that I can do the idea a bit better now, so-to-speak. But for those who will recognize the joint Autobot-Human Earth, this is why.

So essentially in this world, Cybertron was NEVER restored. And Predacons Rising NEVER happened. The rest is explained in the story.

That being said, this fic does come with a WARNING:

The following fanfiction will contain some non-graphic/not-very-detailed mentions of sexual abuse. Any flashbacks in the story will NOT show anything in regards to that, rather skimming over it. But as it's an important part of the character it will be there. You've been warned.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Transformers, only the OCs presented here.

PAIRINGS: Optimus PrimexElita One, RatchetxOC (Past)

...

CHAPTER 1
The Medic and The Boy

Dylan Logan wasn't a bad kid, he'd simply had rotten role models who didn't teach him any other way. At least, that was what most of the adults that were still in the fourteen year old's life preached. And he knew that they were mostly right, after all, had he been dealt the crappy hand in life? After all, he couldn't help the past. No, he couldn't go back in time and change his dad's mind in treating him the way he did. In doing the unspeakable, disgusting acts that he had once inflicted on him.

He remembered those days darkly, all the nights he'd suffered until someone had called the police. To say Dylan was thankful every day for the person that had put him in care was an understatement in some ways. But then again, in others, he couldn't help but feel resentment. It'd been fifteen homes since he'd entered foster care, fifteen homes, fifteen families, and six cities, with Jasper being the latest in a long number.

He could have guessed that perhaps it was because he was a troublemaker. In fact, he was almost positive that his penchant for "acting out for attention" as his social worker, Reese Cunningham, had put it was probably exactly why he didn't have a home. But despite the loneliness a life of being bounced around had brought him, he wasn't actively looking for a home. No, he'd accepted long ago that as much as he wanted one some days, he'd rather not have to change for anything or anybody.

And besides, how could one not enjoy getting into a little trouble in a place like Jasper? After all, ever since years ago, after a failed attempt to bring back their planet, a group of aliens known as the Autobots had revealed themselves to Earth. After the initial chaos that had brought, the humans and Autobots slowly began to merge their societies together, making Earth a joint Autobot-Human controlled planet. Though Jasper had been destroyed earlier in Darkmount, as the Autobots former home, it was rebuilt bigger and better then ever with their efforts. Becoming the hub of this new society in its own way.

That had been over a hundred years or so ago, far enough back that it was in history books. But in his own way, Dylan was still in awe at the titanic machines that he, and the rest of humanity shared their world with. And he had to admit, they made even more fun targets for his mischief than his fellow humans did as well. Fooling the adults, especially foster parents, was easy, but fooling giant robots? Well, if you did it well, you could consider yourself legendary.

Dylan liked to fancy himself the latter.

At the moment, in fact, he was in the middle of one of his masterful "pranks" now. It was rare to find an Autobot in recharge on the side of the street, but he'd done it. And without even a second thought, boy had reached into his backpack for his two best friends: spray paint and stickers (don't ask about the latter, it was his own personal touch and "calling card"), and went straight to work.

On a canvas like the white and red emergency vehicle, Dylan's artistic talent shone brightly. And he had to admit, he was quite proud of the mish mash of colors and symbols he had created on its side, as evidenced by the twinkle in his light blue eyes. And perhaps, if he ever did get out of this "hoodlum life" as some liked to call it, he may make a good artist. At four years from aging out however, Dylan doubted he'd ever find out. A thought that racked his brain ever so slightly as he pulled off a small "D" sticker, his signature and began to smooth it on the side.

He was about to stand back and further admire his work when the engine seemed to roar to life. For a moment, Dylan froze, backing up quickly at the small groan. "What in the pit?" He heard the Autobot groan slightly, transforming as if he had just woken up to the feeling of being painted over. "What is the meaning of this?" He asked, once he had found the paint.

Dylan wasted no time slipping his skateboard under his feet, and kicking off. He wasn't about to get caught, and he had hoped that, by the time the mech had seen him he'd be long gone. Fate had other plans for Dylan, and the Autobot he had just tagged, entirely. "HEY!" He heard the obviously older mech shout from behind him as he could hear him transform. "Get back here you little pit spawn! You're going to pay for that!"

Dylan grinned as the wind that blew past him whipped right through the strands of his sandy brown hair. That's what the old mech thought, but ambulances weren't too fast, and Dylan, well, he was definitely fast. He pushed forward faster, looking for any means of escape, a drain pipe to climb up? Dangerous, but Dylan lived for danger sometimes. A store? No, everyone in this part of town, seemingly the least favorable part, knew him and would turn him in.

He moved towards a more crowded area, and ducked into the crowd of humans quickly, trying to lose him. But as he turned his head, the same vehicle could be seen moving down the street, keeping more than easily up with him. But in a crowd like this, he couldn't very well transform and hunt him down. The thought made Dylan grin widely, he was going to get away with it, a third Autobot to fall victim to his foolishness, he figured.

Or he would have been if the Autobot hadn't used his internal comm link to call his friend down the street. Before Dylan had even the slightest idea that something was up, he'd rammed into the body of the one Autobot he dared not cross, or rather his holoform. The lean, muscular, and attentive Autobot holoform of Prowl looked him over with a look of sheer disappointment that Dylan had come to know all too well in the year he'd been there.

"Dylan," Prowl commented. "I had actual hope that you weren't my perp this time."

Dylan smirked slightly, but only to mask his frustration. "Any chance you can let me go this time Prowl? Come on, give me a break," He kicked up his skateboard, holding it tightly. "That mech looked nice in neon green and you know it," He added.

"Get in the car, Dylan," Prowl stated firmly. "You just tagged the head CMO of the Autobots. You're going to be very lucky if you're not headed for juvie this time," He explained.

Well, that one was certainly new, Dylan knew. And for the first time in quite some time, he was beginning to regret an action he'd taken.

...

Ratchet was having a bad day, to say the least. On top of the tagging he had just fallen victim to by a juvenile human, he'd had more issues than he'd had to deal with. He didn't want to be on leave from work, yet he had finally been forced to take the "vacation time" they insisted on, and he loathed. He'd gotten two calls from incompetent replacements that for some reason or another, First Aid had hired. And now? Now he was sitting in the enforcer's station, scrubbing at the unnatural paint of the graffiti and grumbling quietly under his breath.

He was going to kill the young human when he got ahold of him, that was for sure.

But Prowl seemed to think otherwise, for some accursed reason. Even now as he sat across from the head enforcer's desk, scrubbing madly, he could tell by the way his doorwings moved. "I'm not going to press charges," Ratchet groaned slightly. "So you can stop giving me that look. If anything a human that scrawny would not last in juvie," He added.

"I didn't think you would," Prowl replied cooly. "I've known you for centuries, Ratchet. I'd be stunned if you sent a fourteen year old anywhere like that. I only said you might to put the fear of it in him," He looked outside to where the boy was sitting, waiting for his foster parents to arrive. "It's what the youngling needs. A little bit of that, I've learned while dealing with Dylan goes a long way."

Ratchet eyed Prowl evenly at that, surprised to hear that the mech even knew the boy. Ratchet didn't know much about him either admittedly, outside of the fact that he was on the edge of going to juvie. And though he wanted to strangle the life out of him, he would not ruin a child, who was still learning how to handle his hormones, and his actions, rot in a children's prison for something so juvenile. "And what IS the story on Dylan?" Ratchet asked curiously. "I'm not letting a gang member back on the streets am I?"

Prowl eyed him carefully from behind his yellow visor. "Of course not, he'd be behind bars now," Prowl explained, standing to his feet and sighing. "All of Dylan's acts since he came to our city last year... Are seemingly an act out of desperation for attention. At least, that's what I've gathered from the two foster creators he's gone through," He shook his head. "That boy is no more a criminal than the twins are."

Attention? Foster care? Ratchet shifted a little, that explained some things to him. When children were not getting the attention they wanted at home, they could act out like this. And when it was a displaced child, well, they sometimes took it to another level. "Sometimes I wonder if that system does any of them a lick of good," Ratchet replied dryly. "Where are the foster caretakers when he's out doing these things?"

"I don't entirely know, Ratchet. I only see him fleetingly," Prowl told him honestly. "I only know that when he is caught I never have an issue with him. As though when he finally gets the attention he becomes docile," He shook his head a little, leaning against the wall. "The boy is an enigma if there ever was one. I know some things from his file but I am not at liberty to release that," He explained.

Ratchet nodded his head, continuing to look at the human. Indeed, as Prowl had stated, Dylan had done very little since they got there. Ratchet might even describe his reaction to the whole situation as it stood as calm and calculated. He sighed quietly, if this were the case, he almost wondered if he should do something with the boy. Although nothing as extreme as juvenile hall, no, nothing like that. "Well he's going to be paying me back for the paint job," Ratchet grunted. "I wonder what his foster parents would think of a punishment of working for me. How old is he, fourteen?" Prowl nodded. "Seems reasonable."

"That's young to get in the work force."

"I'm not talking about the hospital. Of course I know that fourteen is too young," Ratchet frowned slightly. "I could always use a extra hand in helping to clean up the poorer sectors though. You do know I run that," He smirked. "And you can be any age over ten to do that," He added.

"You want to put a boy like that," Prowl questioned. "Into community service?"

"You said that he responds well to discipline. Let me help you out a little."

Prowl grimaced slightly, getting the feeling that Ratchet would not let this one go. This was a side project of his, taking a couple of kids down to the poorer sectors, usually volunteers, to clean up around there. He never took them to anywhere inherently dangerous, but all the same there was a lot of graffiti and litter, and Prowl knew Dylan could stand to learn a thing or two about the consequences of both. "It's not a terrible idea," Prowl hummed slightly. "If you could get him to agree."

"I'll simply tell him it's either that or I press charges," Ratchet noted as he finally scrubbed the rest of the paint off. "It's only a little white lie, after all. And I think that should be incentive enough. I'd only make him work a few months at the most before I relieved him," He grunted.

Before Prowl could reply, Ratchet had made his way outside his office. The boy seemed to stiffen the second he stepped out and his optics bore down on him. Was the boy afraid of him? He supposed he wouldn't blame him, he was after all an Autobot and much bigger than him. "I should probably press charges, and put you in juvenile hall with your history of delinquency," The boy sank slightly in his chair. "But," He paused. "Something in my spark tells me I should do otherwise, so Ill make you a deal, youngling."

The red flag that appeared to go off in Dylan's eyes sent chills up Ratchet's metal spine. What was this boy used to a "deal" being? Perhaps he didn't want to know. "What kind of deal?" The boy asked quietly.

"Community service," Ratchet explained. "You're going to be doing it for the next three months. I have a group that goes around fixing what vandals like yourself do to places," The boy grimaced a little at the thought, but Ratchet figured he'd find it better than juvie. "You're in high school aren't you?" He went off the boy's nod. "So you'll be in my weekend group. We meet eight o'clock sharp every Friday and Saturday. Sunday's I give you off."

"Oh," Dylan began. "So you're the guys who deface my artwork."

"Your "artwork" for lack of a better word," Ratchet commented. "Is defacing public property, young man. You might not understand that now, but when you grow up, you will," Dylan didn't seem to back talk him at least, much to his relief. "Now, are you going to take me up on my offer? Or are you going to be spending the rest of your childhood behind bars?" He questioned.

The look of defiance Dylan gave him almost made him think he was going to choose the latter. And for a moment they remained like this, having a long staring contest. Until at last Dylan blew a strand of his hair away from his eyes, and nodded. "Okay, okay. I don't want to go to juvie," He muttered. "Where would I have to meet you?"

"At the hospital where I work," Ratchet nodded. "We'll wait until your foster creators come. And I'll give them the details," He explained. "And I hope you know that the second you even think about pulling another stunt like this. I will kick you out," He explained. "And you know what that means."

"I'm not an idiot, thanks," Dylan looked up. "We ummmm... We wouldn't have to meet alone right?"

Ratchet frowned slightly, why did this boy seem so afraid of him? He hadn't even raised his voice, or acted angry. Rather, he was doing everything he could to seem nice, if only because he didn't know what this boy's life before foster care was. But whatever it was, he had a sinking suspicion that it was anything but good. "No, our entire group would meet at once," Ratchet explained. "You'd never have to be alone with me if it made you uncomfortable," He added.

Dylan seemed to relax at that, his arms falling limply at his sides. Yes, Ratchet figured, whatever it was must have to do with his status alone. Perhaps as an adult mech, but even as a medic he couldn't jump to any conclusions. "Alright then, where are your foster creators then?" He questioned.

"I don't know," Dylan shrugged his shoulders. "I don't think they like me too much. Last time it took them two hours to get here," He paused a moment. "We could be waiting a while."

Ratchet couldn't help but frown at that, why would anyone do that to a child? Sure, this was not acceptable behavior, but leaving him alone and afraid in a police station was not the answer by any means. Looking thoughtfully at the child for a moment, he took the transformer-sized seat next to him and looked down at him. "Very well, I can wait," He told him calmly.

By the look in his eyes, it was not the response Dylan was expecting.

...

Ratchet was even more exhausted after he returned to his small, one-story home in the heart of Jasper late that night. It had taken Dylan's foster parents, the Johnson's, close to three hours to finally arrive from work. At which point, they'd only passively cared about what Ratchet had to say, though they agreed to take Dylan to the community service. Ratchet huffed slightly, he really couldn't imagine a number of reasons why the boy was still acting out with foster parents who seemingly could care less about him such as that, as much as it surprised him.

In a way he didn't understand it, and perhaps that was because he didn't have anyone in his own home. Living alone made Ratchet do a lot of thinking on what it meant to be lonely, and how much family, and mates meant to a mech. For a while, he'd had the latter in a "girlfriend" by the name of Sparkbreeze, a nurse in his hospital whom he'd been very fond of. At the time, he had even dreamed, at his older age that they could settle together and have sparklings that would (to his delight) bring life into the home.

But, as if he was not meant to bond, she had dumped him some time ago. And so, his home remained empty other than his own presence. It was quite sad, as he was growing in his vorns, but he had to shake it off as best he could. Not an easy task when he saw someone take the presence of someone in their home for granted as Dylan's foster parents seemed to. But it was best not to dwell on these things, he figured as he fixed himself an energon cube. It was not his business, most certainly not.

A soft thunk on his door grabbed his attention as he frowned slightly, approaching the door. He quickly found the form of his younger brother, First Aid, standing there with a wide grin. "Well YOU had quite the day off," First Aid teased, patting his older brother on the shoulder. "I can't believe you became a human's art project like that." He added as he entered into the large foyer.

"Oh quite so," Ratchet murmured as he closed the door. "Little tagger had been doing it a while too. But I showed him," He added with a smirk of his own. "Or rather, I hope I did. Because I'm going to be seeing a lot of him the next three months," He grumbled.

"Oh wow, you made him agree to community service, really?" First Aid shook his head slightly. "Wow, you really want that stress? I heard who the kid was, and according to my pals, he's a doozy," He explained, with a raised optic ridge.

Ratchet replied with a small shrug in response, his optics matching his brother's own. He knew First Aid didn't mean it in a rude way whatsoever. In fact, his younger brother was one of the softest mechs he knew, and enjoyed the company of children even more than he did. But at the same time, he did not like it when anyone questioned his position. "It didn't feel right sending a fourteen year old to juvenile detention," He admitted calmly. "Not to mention he looked so scared I couldn't help but feel some amount of sympathy for him."

"I don't blame you, obviously no one can go into real details. But from what I gather he has a history," First Aid explained. "According to my friend, that social worker, Reese? He was part of some big scandal back where he comes from," He shook his head. "Couldn't tell me what, but definitely something bad."

"Something he did?" Ratchet asked questioningly.

"No, something that was done to him. Reese got pretty sick just thinking about it," First Aid commented.

Ratchet tensed slightly, just what exactly had this young human been through? He already had an idea, and it made his own fluid tanks churn in disgust. But then again, until he knew more he could make no conclusions, however obvious his younger brother may have been making it. "So Reese is his social worker then?" Ratchet asked calmly, going off First Aid's nod. "You should give me his number, so that I can get in touch with him. Perhaps I can learn how to best work with the youngling."

First Aid shrugged, as if he were still surprised that Ratchet hadn't fled already. "Alright, I mean I'm not sure he's gonna be able to tell you any more than I did. But I'll call him about it," First Aid commented. "Now, how about we flick on some TV? I didn't come here to just talk about this. wanna spend some time with my big bro too."

Ratchet smiled, and followed the mech towards his den, sighing. He hoped that the man could at least tell him some of what he was dealing with.