Disclaimer: oh how I wish…

Summary: (Oneshot). A guardian muses on his charge. Autobot!Sam is involved.

Author note: I have way too much fun with Autobot!Sam.

His Guardian

It was a dark day, when their enemies did something atrocious, something that butchered all Cybertronian pride and honour. They did not allow the human to die peacefully, as befitting the warrior who had terminated a great warlord; instead, out of their panic and short-sighted selfishness, they had turned him into one of their own.

A little lighter was the day when their leader managed to snatch the newly-made sparkling from his watchers and dumped him into the arms of his guardian. "Train him," were the only carelessly given orders. His guardian had looked baffled, holding up the sparkling in front of himself. The sparkling gave a series of clicks and whirrs. His guardian can only shake his head. The sparkling wasn't even equipped properly.

Training began immediately, with his guardian trying to get the sparkling used to weaponry. Fear tactics were often put into place. Threats, bribery, and occasionally (and his guardian would kill any witnesses) begging. Every recharge time, for reasons that were beyond the guardian's understanding, the youngling went to him, forming a spot for himself in arms that could easily crush him, carefully avoiding the armoured spikes, and joined him in recharge. "Love you," the sparkling said every time, to the bafflement of his guardian. His guardian only grunted in reply, and the sparkling delved deeper into his dangerous embrace. Threats, bribery, and finally begging weren't enough to stop the sparkling. The old memories, his guardian reasoned, were less likely to come back this way. So his guardian let him stay.

As soon as the youngling was old enough to string together coherent sentences, his guardian took him out to the roads. They knew that this day would come. His guardian often threatened to make the day come sooner if the youngling wasn't behaving (though he never really did so). Pointing to the roads, he told the youngling, "Start running." The youngling obeyed, changing into his motorcycle form and tearing off. His guardian gave him a minute and five second head start before changing and chasing after him.

It was a deadly game. A lethal game. A game of cat-and-mouse that would hone the youngling's fighting abilities. Needless to say, unlike their enemies, his guardian knew what he was doing. He didn't sugar-coat the fact that he was training a youngling to be a warrior with coddling. Their enemies were just lying to themselves.

Training. Training younglings. Training younglings to be soldiers. It was the specialty of all their leaders—Decepticon and Autobot alike. His guardian didn't believe in that load of slag. Not after the Allspark was destroyed. No, he wasn't training the youngling for the battlefields. He was training him to avoid them. To avoid them all, as his guardian himself couldn't. Behind the back of his leader, his guardian was teaching the youngling how to run, and how to run swiftly. Then his guardian would teach him how to destroy his pursuers.

One day, the youngling got too close to a police car; a police car that wasn't a police car. It was yet another player in this sick masquerade who would take the youngling back and train him for the battlefields. His guardian felt his spark drop—a strange and alien feeling, he had never felt it before—but the police car didn't notice the youngling. His guardian heaved a sigh of relief, and took another road. No need to attract too much attention.

The youngling found the vending machine, the Xbox, the cell phone, and the Escalade, sparklings who were all younger than he was. He told them "Come play with me!" and ran off. They followed his enticing laughter; children to a benevolent pied piper. His guardian decided not to chase him that day. Further observation showed that the Escalade seemed to have a crush on the youngling. And the youngling seemed to reciprocate her affections. His guardian sighed the day that he saw this. He would soon have to be giving the youngling 'the talk.'

But the youngling remembered the duty of his guardian, and occasionally left his newly-formed group to find his guardian and to help him carry out his duty. One day, his guardian noticed that his charge ran a little bit faster, shot with a little more accuracy, and his optics were filled with a little bit of the proper fear. And his guardian knew that he was getting his memories back.

But despite this, for reasons beyond the guardian's understanding, the youngling went back to him every so often, forming a spot for himself in arms that could easily crush him, carefully avoiding the armoured spikes, and joined him in recharge. "Love you," he still said every time, even though by now, his guardian knew that he remembered everything. His guardian was still baffled as to why the youngling says this. His guardian only grunted in response, and the youngling went closer to him.

And one day, his guardian muses, the little monster would be strong enough to break free from all of them. From the Autobots, from the Decepticons, from each and every bloody legacy that boasted tales of carnage in Cybertron's history. The youngling that was recharging in his arms would be the future of Cybertron. His guardian would make sure of it.

Barricade would make sure of it.