Friend

Because despite what everyone usually said about him, Cliffjumper was not, in fact, that much of a grouchy mech. Sure, he had his moments because he was not going to take any cracks about his height lying down, frag you very much. And he loved his Autobots like it was no one else's business and got very defensive about them and would slag any and all Decepticons that came within two klicks of their base. And he was annoyed by pranks just as much as the next mech because, come on, who really liked having their peds strung from the ceiling while really bad faux-Mexican music played from hidden speakers and a sign next to the unfortunate 'Bot reading "Free Piñata! Two swings to get the Energon goodies!"

Because, despite everything that happened in war, blood sport was not fun no matter what Blades said.

It was also true that he never ever liked people who talked incessantly, but Bluestreak was the one exception because that mech had learned a disabling technique the humans called "The Kicked Puppy" and had perfected it to a deadly art form that no one could hate the mech and everyone just let him prattle on and on and sometimes listened in. And Cliffjumper did swear like a dock worker during most situations but that was just him because most situations the ARK crew found themselves in generally made any swears (no matter how caustic or mild) both an acceptable and expected occurrence.

And there was also the fact that, no matter how much Cliffjumper would deny it as loudly and vehemently as physically possible, he always loved playing with the natives of Earth.

While Cliffjumper was finally, finally bigger than the majority of beings surrounding him (because the ARK Autobots were outnumbered about 500 million to one in comparison to humans and a billion times more outnumbered if the rest of the living organisms on earth from the microbes to the whales were counted), he was still the right size to interact with any and all organics that decided to interact with him. It started innocently enough: a couple human representatives from the (relatively) local town thirty-something miles down the road.

While these humans had come specifically for Prime, they stayed for Cliffjumper.

Because there is just something endearing about a mech jumping off the side of a mountain shouting to the surrounding deserts "PRAISE THE ALMIGHTY PRIMUS WE ARE ALIVE! THERE IS SUNLIGHT MECHS- SUNLIGHT- WHAT KIND OF PLANET IS THIS!? I THINK I LIKE IT!" and laughing his head off in sheer joy before dancing (stomping, Cliffjumper insisted) across the ground, transforming, and tearing into Earth with his newly repaired wheels.

Ratchet still had happiness classified as a unique and extremely virulent Cybertronian-Human disease the way it spread so quickly from the red mech to the humans.

Several humans had made a point to talk with the boisterous, overly happy red car and were pleased when he talked with them in kind. Cliffjumper, who had still been on a survival high, answered questions and asked his own in turn learning more about the new world they had landed on in two short hours than the rest of the mechs had managed to learn in a week.

The (not-so) serious discussion about intergalactic space travel and how uncomfortable it was to live on a planet without a star to orbit and the fascination of the extent of organic life they had seen so far and how the giant alien robots had seen nothing yet had morphed into a game of tag (not that Cliffjumper knew what marking other beings had to do with it) and a mild play-fight between two of the humans with Cliffjumper cheering in the background while the other two climbed on him and hung on while he swung his arms happily.

The day had ended with four exhausted but extremely happy humans lying on a pleasantly content, warm-plated, purring Cliffjumper, much to the delight of the humans because purring robots was just the best thing ever, especially when you were lying on top of them.

Thus the newly dubbed CJ (and someone had had to explain to the mech exactly why the humans had rechristened him when his own designation was perfectly adequate in describing him) had been the world's first close encounter with an alien.

Prime and Prowl loved the positive PR they got out of it.

Cliffjumper still didn't know why he got an extra ration that night but loved it all the same, chalking it up to another great addition to his already thoroughly enjoyable day.

Soon, Cliffjumper's repertoire of organic buddies expanded.

The humans returned and brought their families. And their dogs.

Cliffjumper (despite loving every single minute of the "picnic" he had been sent off on) still complained every once in a while that he had canine oral lubricant somewhere on his plating from that sunny afternoon.

And despite the war, the pain of injuries, his hurt and anger at traitors and subsequent embarrassment and apology due to a false accusation, the ever present possibility of deactivation hanging over the Autobot frames, the starvation, the fear, the sadness, the homesickness, Cliffjumper still managed to be a friend to whatever organic had come walking, slithering, crawling, or crying to his peds that day. While all he might have done was take the organic to Prime, Prowl, Hound, or Bumblebee, he still somehow managed to talk to or coo at (Cliffjumper will DEACTIVATE the next mech that says his REASSURANCES are COOS) depending on the sentience of the organic in question, and the organic generally left his presence calmer and more content than when they had arrived.

So of course no one was surprised the day Cliffjumper went missing after a battle that the first responders were the humans.

And their dogs.

And the birds.

And the snakes.

While the Autobots had begun a perimeter sweep of the areas immediately adjacent to the site of the latest battle, the humans were already checking and double checking their significantly larger grids. The dogs worked double time, tracking down the specific scent of the red mech, running through desert and forest, over rock and gorge. They knew they were getting close when they saw a huge flock of birds of many different species circling an area well removed from the battlefield and from the loud caws, chirps, and cries of the avian organics, there was little doubt in any of the humans' minds what was the cause of the birds' turmoil.

The humans were understandably upset when they found him in a crater.

Cliffjumper had taken on several seekers himself, as he was wont to do. While he had known that he couldn't have taken on those Decepticons in a hand-to-hand fight (because he was bold, brave, and daring, not stupid), no one said anything shooting down the annoying slaggers pinning his comrades with the arsenal he kept in subspace. Unfortunately, the seekers finally diverted their attention from the injured Autobots and had gotten in close.

Two missing limbs, a damaged cranium, both optics missing -plucked right out of the sockets-, heavy dents to every single exposed armor plate, energon everywhere, sparks flying randomly from severed wiring, smoke curling lightly out of a gash so deep through his torso light and heat was spilling out onto the sand-

The snakes were having none of it.

The humans, frustrated beyond all belief and practically screaming at the Autobots to hurry to their position, couldn't get any closer to Cliffjumper, not with the number of snakes slithering across his plating, avoiding sparks but curling around the warm tear in his armor, moving in and out of his empty eye sockets, and across all portions of his unmoving and hot plating.

Taking the initiative, the humans had proceeded to scare off as many of the snakes as possible which was more difficult than it sounded because rattlesnakes and their cousins do not like to be moved from warm areas and Cliffjumper's plating was no exception. Thankfully a couple hawks and eagles were hungry and dived for a tasty roasting snack.

That got the snakes off quickly.

The humans managed to haul the Autobot out of his crater and onto a parked distinctly non-sentient semi truck. When the rest of the Autobots arrived on scene, there was the distinct sound of power tools at work and the scared cries of a hundred professional and impromptu rescue workers shouting, crying, pleading, and soothing.

"Please still be alive-"

"Don't you dare die on us you mechanical-"

"Don't make me explain to my daughter why-"

"You can get through this we believe in you-"

"They're on their way you'll be okay-"

"Hang on a little longer-"

"God or Primus's not getting you we're not gonna let them-"

"CJ please be okay-"

"RATCHET!"

Cliffjumper groaned as systems rebooted, each one giving an all clear before slowly revving back to full functioning order. He slowly onlined his optics, static clearing as the optical input linked up with the proper data interpreters and memory cache.

"Welcome back to the world of the living," Ratchet's dulcet tones said sarcastically.

Cliffjumper turned to look at his CMO without really seeing the red and white mech looking relieved. Ratchet plugged into Cliffjumper's neck ports to monitor the boot up sequences of his last few systems then disconnected. Cliffjumper rubbed his face with his hands.

"Hey, Doc," Cliffjumper coughed, removing his hands from his face.

The relatively light tap was unexpected.

"Ow," he said.

Ratchet withdrew his fist from Cliffjumper's forehead.

"Cliffjumper," Ratchet said, eyes narrowing, "If you ever do something that Primus damned stupid again, I will make you clean out every single organic growth in this Med-bay without your limbs. Are we clear?"

"Organic what-?" Cliffjumper began.

He looked around.

Almost every inch of the Med-bay was covered with odd knickknacks, from balloons with "GET WELL SOON" emblazoned on them, to tiny pieces of paper and giant pieces of paper with "REPAIR STRONG" written in the sloppiest Cybertronian he had ever seen, to tires and other mechanical parts, to drums of motor oil, to what looked to be two thousand birds made of folded bits of paper, and glass, ceramic, porcelain, plastic, and metal containers all filled to bursting with flowers of very shape, size, and color imaginable which overshadowed every other object in the room with their great, organic, flowery glory.

Cliffjumper stared at all the objects lining the room, speechless.

Ratchet placed a hand on the minibot's newly repaired shoulder and turned Cliffjumper around to face him.

"Think about this the next time you decide to get yourself slagged for our sakes." Ratchet warned, but with an air of kindness (which was the single scariest thing the medic could have done). "Apparently two orn repairs are extremely nerve-wracking to humans. They don't like 'Bots being in here for a month."

Ratchet pulled out a datapad out of subspace and placed it on Cliffjumper's chest.

"There was one other thing they sent." Ratchet said. "A message for you." Ratchet then spun on his heel and disappeared into his office, suddenly leaving the minibot alone.

Cliffjumper stared at the array of gifts around him for a few moments more, then pulled up the video file in the datapad.

"The good man is a friend to all living things," the human, one of the first four Cliffjumper had ever met, said, "While Gandhi might not have thought his words would be applied this way, I don't think I have to say that the good man I'm talking about is a mech..."

The End

AN: Prompt fill for the TF-Speedwriting community. May 25, 2013 Prompt 1: "The good man is the friend of all living things." -Mahatma Gandhi.

And because I feel Cliffjumper needs more love.