Trials of the Flesh Epilogue

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Zack snapped, thumping the steering wheel with his fist and honking fruitlessly at the car in front of him.  “Sorry, Fielding.”

“You can really stop apologizing every time you swear,” Fielding replied.

“I can apologize any time I damn well want,” Zack retorted.  “Sorry.”

Fielding sighed but let it go.

“Of course this has to happen on the biggest night of our lives,” Angie groaned.  “We’re already running late, and now this!”  She waved out the windshield at the snarl of traffic blocking the freeway.  “We’re never going to get there in time to set up.”

Conrad blew out a sigh and leaned back in his seat, drumming impatiently with his fingers on his guitar case.  Of all the nights for a car wreck to tie up the freeway!  Their set was scheduled to start in an hour, and they still had to set up and tune their instruments.  And maybe Dragonglass wasn’t the star attraction of the night, but still, this was there big shot at making a good impression and hopefully getting some kind of record gig, and they were about to blow it!

Zack stuck his head out the driver’s side window of his truck, surveying the situation.  “Geez, nobody’s even really hurt.  The one driver’s yelling at the cops and the other’s on his cell phone.  Can’t they just pull everything over to the side and let us through?”

“I’m sure there’s protocol they have to go through,” Conrad pointed out.  “Filling out reports and all that.  Plus, for all we know, it’s not safe to move the cars yet.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” asked Fielding.

“Because if I don’t say something reasonable to keep myself calm I’m going to go homicidally crazy and start wringing necks,” Conrad replied with a perfectly straight face.

Despite her anxiety, Angie smirked a little.  “Ratchet really rubbed off on you, ‘Rad.”

“Hey, shut up.  At least Starscream didn’t rub off on you, huh?”

“Thank God.”

A police officer stepped away from the scene of the crash and walked toward their truck.  Conrad wondered if he wanted some kind of witness report, or if Zack’s truck registration was out of date – the latter wouldn’t have surprised him, even if it seemed kind of silly for the officer in question to be worrying about it right now.  But then recognition hit him, and he smiled as the officer stepped up to the window of the truck.

“Hey, Officer Lindsenmann,” he greeted with a wave.

“Just Jason,” the cop replied, leaning his arm against the truck.  “How are you kids doing?  Didn’t expect to run into you again.”

“Not too bad,” said Angie.  “How’s life after Windcharger?”

“Believe it or not, I’m kind of missing him,” Jason admitted.  “He had a sharper eye than I did, and I got to relying on him to remember things like license plate numbers.  He e-mails from time to time, but it’s not the same.”  He looked wistful for a moment, then shook his head.  “Anyhow… I thought I recognized your truck, so I came to tell you that it looks like we’re gonna have a delay here.  Twenty minutes to half an hour, from the look of things.”

“Shit!” Zack growled.  “Sorry sir, sorry Fielding.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Fielding grumbled.

“You guys in a hurry?” Jason asked.

“We’re performing at the Weird Al concert in an hour,” Angie replied.  “We need to be at the Red Butte Amphitheater by seven or we’re screwed!”

“Really wish I could help,” Jason told her.  “But the drivers here are being kind of obstinate, so they’re not making this any easier…”  His voice trailed off, and he peered past the truck.  “Funny… we didn’t call for an ambulance.”

That statement electrified something in Conrad, and he twisted around in his seat.  Could it be?  There was an ambulance practically crawling through the knot of cars, lights flashing and sirens tearing through the air, but was it the ambulance he knew?  It was an odd make of one – more a glorified van than a true ambulance, and there was a strange insignia on its side…

“It’s Ratchet!” he shouted, grinning widely.

Zack whooped and stuck his arm out the window, almost hitting Jason in his haste.  He waved enthusiastically to flag the Autobot down, and Ratchet responded with a flash of his headlights and silenced his sirens, though his lights continued to flicker.

“You just keep getting yourself into jams, don’t you, Conrad?”

“Har, har,” Conrad replied, popping open the door.  “What are you doing here?”

“I figured I’d get to the concert early and grab a seat.  Show my support for your band.  Looks like you’re a little held-up, though.”

“Ya think?” asked Zack.  “Two idiots on their cell phones plowed into each other and clogged up the freeway.  We’re gonna miss our own concert!”

“Not if I can help it.  Ratchet popped open his doors.  “Grab your equipment and load up.  Hoist is on his way; he’ll haul your truck to the venue once this mess gets cleared up.”

Conrad felt weak with relief.  “Thanks, Ratchet!  You’re a lifesaver.”

“Pays to have friends in high places, huh?” Angie said with a grin.

“Um…”  Jason raised his hand.  “Ratchet, sir, there’s still the accident to clear up…”

“Maybe it’s blocking the road, but the median’s still free,” Ratchet pointed out.

“It’s illegal for motor vehicles to drive on the median…” began Jason.

The medic snorted.  “I’m an Autobot medic.  If I deem it an emergency I can forego your kind’s traffic laws as I see fit.  And at the moment, this is a situation where your legal system can stick its traffic laws up its tailpipe.”

Jason opened his mouth to protest, then gave up with a shrug.  “Just… don’t get caught.  And don’t wreck, not with passengers.”

“I never wreck,” Ratchet assured him.

It took less than a minute to get their instruments and gear loaded into Ratchet’s interior, and Conrad leaped into the driver’s seat while Zack nabbed the passenger-side seat.  Angie and Fielding settled as best they could on benches in the back while Ratchet worked his way out of the knot of traffic.  Once he hit the median, he tore off, sirens wailing and leaving a trail of ripped-up turf in his wake.

“I owe you for this, Ratchet,” Conrad told him, patting his dashboard.

“You don’t owe me a thing,” the Autobot assured him.  “Just don’t make this a habit.  I won’t be around to pull your aft out of every crisis, got it?”

“Got it.  You know the way to the Red Butte Garden?”

“You think I’d go to a concert without knowing where the venue is?  I’m not Fireflight; I think I can find my way.”

Conrad laughed.  “Nice to know I can still get you riled up.”

“Oh, hush.”

***

Ratchet had thought he would be the only Autobot in attendance tonight… but he was proven wrong the moment Dragonglass finished unloading their equipment from his cabin and hurried off to get set up for their set.

“So this is why you requested leave for this evening.”

Ratchet snorted and transformed, eliciting scattered cheering from the crowd queuing up to get into the venue.  “What, a mech can’t take a personal day?”

“I never said that,” Prowl replied.  “I’m simply making a note.”  He moved to walk alongside the medic as Ratchet made his way toward the amphitheater.  “I wasn’t aware you enjoyed parody music.”

“Weird Al’s not my thing,” Ratchet replied.  “I’m just here for the opening act.”

“Dragonglass.”  He nodded.  “I suppose that makes two of us.”

Ratchet raised an optic ridge.  “Didn’t know you liked Earth music.”

“Not especially,” Prowl admitted.  “But your host saved all our lives.  I… felt I owed it to him, to support him in whatever fashion I could.  Even if it was simply attending his concert.”  He nodded in the direction of the amphitheater.  “Also, Tanner’s older brother is a member of Dragonglass, and the boy is here tonight to show his support.  Perhaps I can pay him a visit after the show.”

At that, the medic had to smile.  Prowl was softening up a little, even if he wouldn’t ever admit it.  Time spent in Tanner’s body had been good for him.

It had been nearly a year since the Battle of Autobot City.  Strange, how one event could change the course of the war so drastically.  Not that the war was over – not by a long shot, what with the Autobots having to protect Cybertron from two separate Decepticon armies.  But the fragmenting of the Decepticon forces had meant that they were far busier fighting each other than actively making life miserable for the Autobots, and it gave Optimus Prime a much-needed opportunity to organize efforts to restore their homeworld.  Cybertron was slowly but surely healing from the terrible damage it had undergone over the course of the war, and for the first time in eons there was an end in sight.

Speaking of Optimus Prime… a familiar red truck pulled into the parking lot, eliciting a roar of applause from the crowd.  Prime opened his doors long enough to let a man climb out, then transformed and made his way toward the amphitheater.  Other Autobots were pulling in close behind their leader – Ironhide, Brawn, Wheeljack, Windcharger, and Huffer.  Evidently Prowl and Ratchet weren’t the only Autobots here to show their support for Conrad and his friends.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Ratchet noted, nodding respectfully toward Prime.

“Please don’t tell me you left Jazz in charge while you’re gone,” Prowl groaned.

Prime chuckled softly.  “Ultra Magnus and Hot Rod are looking after things for the evening.  I saw no harm in taking an evening to enjoy a concert.”

“I don’t even want to be here,” Huffer grumbled.  “Earth music is too loud and just sounds messy, and you know how bad it’s gonna smell in there when it’s packed with humans?”

“Oh, shut up and don’t ruin it for the rest of us!” Windcharger snapped.  “No one forced you to come.”

Ratchet tuned out their bickering and turned his attention to Prime’s passenger.  “Hello, Jon.”

“Hi Ratchet.”  Jon grinned up at him, and Ratchet couldn’t help but visualize the man as he’d first seen him months ago and marvel at the difference.  He walked without slouching now, and his hair and beard were neatly trimmed.  He wore jeans and a T-shirt, both slightly worn but not nearly as ragged.  Most striking of all was his expression – no longer weary and slightly manic, but calm and content, even happy.

“Nice to see Conrad making the big time, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is.  Does he know you’re here at all?”

He shook his head.  “Figured I’d surprise him.  Ain’t seen him in awhile, I hope he still remembers me.”

“Who could forget you, Jon?” asked Prime with a soft laugh.  “Go on and get in line.  We’ll meet up outside after the concert for the trip home.”

“Gotcha.  Man, haven’t been to a concert since the KISS tour, this’ll be great…”  He hurried off.

Ratchet chuckled.  “Conrad’s not even going to recognize Jon, is he?”

“He’s come a long way in a short time,” Prime noted, beaming proudly.  “He saved my life.  I owed it to him to ensure his quality of life improved somehow.”

Ratchet nodded in agreement.  He had worked at Autobot City for these past several months, and in that time he had watched Crazy Jon recover and improve.  Gone was the unkempt homeless veteran he had first met behind the game store – Jon now worked at Autobot City as a custodian, and was attending night school to become a mechanic.  He was still undergoing treatment for his mental issues, treatment that would probably continue for the rest of his life, but he was well on his way to a stable and productive life.

Not all the humans who had played host to a spark had changed so dramatically, though.  Ratchet had kept tabs on as many of them as he could, and for the most part their lives had mostly gone back to normal after having their resident sparks removed.  That was a good thing as far as he was concerned.

A few noteworthy cases had cropped up among the former hosts, however.  Two of them, Heather and Rodriga, were being kept under especially close watch, as the Decepticons who had inhabited their bodies insisted on keeping in contact and even paying visits.  Both women insisted that Thundercracker and Skywarp meant them no harm, that the mechs had become friends despite the unusual circumstances, and they had no intention of cutting off contact.  Heather even called Skywarp a surrogate father or uncle to her child, and threatened legal action should the Autobots try to come between Skywarp and Bailey at all.

Technically neither the humans nor the Decepticons were breaking any laws by staying in contact, Ratchet supposed, so there was little they could do to stop them.  All the same, they were keeping tabs on the situation, just to be safe.

Dr. Donaldson was still recovering from the injuries he’d suffered during the fighting at Zion National Park.  Not wanting to risk a lawsuit, the Autobots had paid for his medical bills, and they regularly checked on his family to make sure they were doing all right.  For his part, the bishop didn’t seem resentful toward the Autobots for what had happened, and while having his body hijacked by Megatron had left scars inside and out, he was well on his way to a full recovery.

While most of the humans who had played host to Decepticon sparks were perfectly content with having nothing further to do with Cybertronians in general, those who had carried Autobot sparks kept in regular contact, and even visited their former “guests” whenever possible.  Jon was perhaps the most extreme case, what with moving into Autobot City itself, but others had stopped by and called or e-mailed on a regular basis.  The Autobots returned the favor whenever possible, and Salt Lake City was starting to develop a reputation for being popular with Cybertronians.

Ironhide had complained for weeks about being stuck in the head of “an airheaded self-centered female” upon getting his body back, but Ratchet knew that was mostly bluster on his part.  He and Chromia paid monthly visits to her family’s horse ranch on the outskirts of Provo, and had found an unexpected common interest with the girl – superhero movies.  And Ratchet had overheard Ironhide and Chromia discussing a trip to ComicCon as a graduation present for the girl.

Prowl’s visits to Tanner were less frequent, given that his duties as SIC kept him busy.  But he exchanged e-mails with the boy, and had arranged a visit to his school for Safety Week.  Getting to shake hands with an Autobot officer in front of the whole school pretty much made Tanner’s year, and gave him bragging points among the rest of the students.

Wheeljack had logged so many trips to Provo to visit Theresa and Jacqueline that Ratchet wondered why he didn’t just transfer to the Salt Lake base for good.  He’d become a godfather of sorts to little Jackie, and constantly gushed about how much she was growing and how adorable she was to anyone who would listen, much to the Autobots’ annoyance.  Privately Ratchet thought it was good for him – giving him something to obsess over that wouldn’t result in an explosion – and so long as Theresa enjoyed his company as well, no harm done.

Not every story had ended happily, however, and perhaps the worst scenarios had belonged to Howard and Madame Sapphique.  The fortune teller had not taken being separated from Shockwave well, and had begged the Autobots not to go through with the extraction.  Somehow she had seen bearing a spark as an honor, and even reminding her that continuing to keep Shockwave in her mind would result in her death hadn’t dissuaded her – “it would be an honor to sacrifice myself for a spirit,” she had argued.  And she had been unable – or unwilling – to cope with being alone in her mind, and had sunk into depression.

The last Ratchet had heard regarding the woman, she had been checked into a psychiatric hospital.  That saddened him, but at least there she could hopefully get the help she needed.

As for Howard… he had returned to his self-appointed duty of playing guard duck at the game store, showing no ill effects from sharing bodies with a Cybertronian, only to be hit by a car two weeks after the extraction.

When Conrad had called to break the news to Huffer, the purple minibot had reacted in a way no one had ever expected – he had actually broken down in tears.  And for weeks afterward he had moped about the base, inconsolable.  Given that he had complained so much about being trapped in Howard’s body and normally didn’t show emotion aside from griping and moaning, it was a shock to everyone.

After a month of lurking in a funk, Huffer had pulled into the parking lot of Angry Duck Games.  As the bemused employees and owner had watched he had opened his doors, dropped off over a dozen ducks of various breeds, and driven off without a word.  Apparently he had decided that Angry Duck Games just wouldn’t be the same without, well, an angry duck.  Most of the ducks had wandered off to the nearby park to take up residence, but a pair of Cinnamon Teals – whom Zack had promptly named Wesley and Buttercup – stuck around, building a nest in front of the game store and zealously chasing away any customers who ventured too close.  

Perhaps things hadn’t gone perfectly, and there were times Ratchet still felt guilty for the deal he had made with Primus.  But all things considered, everything had ended better than he had expected it to.

If he had any regrets, it was the fact that the Repository was once again lost to the ages.  So much of their kind’s history and mythology lay bound up in that room, and it had been effectively sealed away and forgotten.  He could only hope that someday, the Firstforged would allow them to find it again… and hopefully wouldn’t take it away this time.

“Excuse me?”

Ratchet glanced down to find a middle-aged man looking up at him.  “What?”

“I was just asking if you Autobots were planning on attending the concert.”

“Nah, we all showed up t’ stand around in your parkin’ lot,” Ironhide replied with a smirk.

The man, to his credit, gave an abashed chuckle.  “I guess that was a stupid question, wasn’t it?  Just letting you know we’ve reserved a spot for your group.  It’s toward the back – we didn’t want anyone’s view to be blocked.  I hope that’s okay.”

“That sounds just fine,” Prime told him.  “Thank you.”

“If you’ll come this way?”  The man waved them toward the amphitheater.  “You’re a bit big for the regular entrance, so we’ll have to use the service doors.  We’ll get you seated before we bring in the rest of the attendees.”

Ratchet nodded and followed him, the other Autobots close behind.

***

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, from Provo, Utah – Dragonglass!”

Conrad wondered if his shaking was visible to the audience.  He couldn’t even see them, actually – the stage lights reduced the crowd to a vague collection of bodies.  Still, knowing that there were so many eyes on him at this exact moment was more than a little freaky.  The fact that a group of jokers near the stage was booing them and shouting for them to “bring out Al already” didn’t exactly help matters.

He sucked in his breath and shifted his guitar in his hands.  It was time to do this… and he’d never felt so unprepared in his life.  He felt that if he opened his mouth, nothing would come out, or worse, he’d start babbling instead of singing and never be able to stop.  

Angie flashed him a questioning look, wondering why he hadn’t signaled for them to start yet.  He gave a shrug in reply and squinted out into the audience, as if hoping he could pick out his family – Mom was out there, and Dad and Theresa were supposed to be here to at least see their opening set.  And if Ratchet was to be believed, many of the humans who had carried sparks were in attendance too, including Jon.  That didn’t exactly make things better, in his mind.

Finally Angie rolled her eyes and signaled Zack to start counting out the beat.  “One, two, one two three four…”

Zack drew in another deep breath, then began to play.  At least it would be Angie singing their first song, a cover of Nightwish’s “Amaranth,” and not him…

By the intro to their second song – his goofy number about being abducted by aliens, which wasn’t too out of place at a Weird Al concert, he figured – his stage fright had largely abated.  There was something about the music that transported him, that washed away negative emotions and filled him with a joy he couldn’t quite describe.  It was as if he were part of the music, his own identity woven into the melody and chords.  And somehow, the fact that hundreds of people were watching and listening didn’t detract from that.

Once the final chords died away, he looked out into the audience again.  Funny… the cheering sounded louder than even this crowd should have managed.  And some of the voices sounded odd, like they were coming from a loudspeaker…

A wide grin broke out on his face as he spotted a handful of towering figures at the back of the amphitheater.  Ratchet hadn’t just gotten them the gig; he’d apparently invited friends to come watch the concert.  And they were making a racket of it, bellowing their appreciation and chanting “Dragonglass!” over and over.  Even Optimus Prime, who he’d always seen as calm and collected, was joining in, his commanding voice joining in the applause.

Well, it was only appropriate that they had a Cybertronian audience for this next number, he figured.  He signaled, and the band began to play – not the metal-flavored chords of their first song or the wacky vibe of the second, but something akin to a ballad.

In a cold faraway world
A battle is raging between evil and good
From the stars, they came here to Earth
Caught in their struggle for the whole universe

Robotic warriors
Giving their all
Fight in disguise
‘Til the winner takes all

Transformers!  Defenders of truth
Robots who fight in disguise
Transformers! When the battle is through
Only the strong will survive
‘Til all are one…

***

“For our first gig, I don’t think we did too bad,” Fielding noted as they hauled their gear out of the amphitheater.  “Maybe next time we’ll even have more than four songs, huh?”

“Dude, they totally loved the Autobot song!” Zack whooped.  “We had them all standing and cheering!  And hey, Weird Al signed my chest!  Who wants to see?”

“I do NOT want to cap the greatest night of my life with a shot of your scribbled-on chest, Zack,” Angie said with an eyeroll.

“You’d do it if it was ‘Rad’s chest,” Zack pointed out.  “Hey, you think I can get this tattooed in place before it washes off?”

“Don’t ask me,” Conrad replied.  “Somebody find our truck.  Ratchet said some guy named Hoist was bringing it by.”

“Found it.”  Angie pointed to the parking lot.  Zack’s truck was in a lot in the back… and a familiar white van was parked beside it.

Conrad grinned, and he picked up his pace.  When they were twenty feet away from the truck the van backed up, shifting and coming apart with a metallic grinding sound.  Once he was finished transforming Ratchet crouched down to better address the group.

“Well?” asked Conrad.  “How’d we do?”

“Not bad at all,” Ratchet replied.  “Especially that third song.  Nice incorporation of one of our standard phrases.  Though for future reference, we prefer not to call ourselves robots, all right?”

“Got it,” Conrad replied.  “I’ll just jot that down and remember it for the next Autobot song I write.”

“Cheeky.”  Ratchet smiled and held a hand out, and Conrad set his guitar case down and reached out to set his own hand in it.

“Thanks,” he said.  “For doing this for us.  It means a lot.”

“It’s the least I could do.  I owe you my life, Conrad, and I’d be fragged if I’m going to let that debt go without fulfilling it.  And if I gained nothing else from this whole mess, at least I got to know you, and gained a friend.  That’s worth something.”

Conrad smiled back.  “I’m glad I got to know you too.  I dunno much about your Primus… but it looks like he knew what he was doing after all.”

“He generally does, even if it’s not apparent at first glance.”  He stood.  “I have to head on back… you four drive safe, all right?”

“Can do, Ratchet,” Fielding replied.  “Thanks again!”

Ratchet stepped back and transformed, folding down into his ambulance form again.  Conrad waited until he had driven off and vanished before going to load the truck.  Friends with a giant alien robot… he’d never imagined that happening, not anymore than he’d imagined Dragonglass performing on an actual stage for a paying audience (even if it wasn’t necessarily their band they were paying for).  But life was full of surprises… and now that it had actually happened, he wasn’t about to complain.

“Until all are one, Ratchet,” he murmured.  “Take care of yourself.”

Author’s Note

This fanfic has literally been years in the making – I came up with it in late 2009 or so, but sat on the idea for a long time before finally deciding to sit down and write it.  It turned out somewhat less epic on paper than it seemed in my head, but then again, stories are fickle creatures and seldom do as they are told.

I put off writing Trials of the Flesh for a couple of reasons.  One reason was simply because I had other writing projects I wanted to complete first and Trials simply had to wait its turn, but a major reason is that I came across another fanfic, Juxtaposition, that used the same idea – a human carrying the spark of a “deceased” Cybertronian in their body.  Dangit, and here I thought I had an actual original idea.

I seriously considered nixing Trials at this point, because Juxtaposition is a popular fic and I didn’t want to be accused of writing a ripoff.  But in the end, I decided that my story would take a different enough direction that it was safe to go ahead and write it.  

(And of course, shortly after posting the first chapter of Trials I’m told that the opening is markedly similar to ANOTHER fanfic, Second Chances.  I can’t win, can I?)

For those readers that noticed the sudden swerve into Transformers: Prime territory toward the end – yes, that was intentional.  I love the idea of the relics and the Firstforged, and seeing as I had no clear ending planned out for this fic to start with, adding them in helped me tie up what would have otherwise been a confusing mess of a fic.  And hey, Hasbro likes to recycle its own concepts from time to time, so why can’t the fans do some mixing of universes?

All humans in this book are fictional, and any resemblance they bear to any actual people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.  Angry Duck Games and Dragonglass, likewise, are a fictional game store and a fictional band respectively.  There IS an actual gaming company called Angry Duck Games, I’ve come to find out, but they specialize in card games.  And no, I had no idea Dragonglass was a Song of Ice and Fire term until well into this fic…

Song lyrics in the epilogue are from “Til All Are One” by Stan Bush, and are not mine.

At this point I’m unsure if I’ll ever write a sequel to Trials of the Flesh.  If I do write again in this universe, it will probably be a one-shot focusing on one of the supporting cast, such as Crazy Jon, Madam Sapphique, etc.  I have a feeling I’m not done with Conrad and his friends yet, so keep your eyes peeled…

Thank you for reading.