Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N - Real life finally eased up enough to let me finish the last chapter! It's been quite awhile, so things will probably make much more sense in this chapter if you have time for a re-read (there are a few subtle clues scattered along the way for some of the things here). If not, here's a quick recap: Galvatron's off to spawn thirty-one sparks returned from the Allspark, after offering Barricade a chance to go back to Cybertron as his second in command. Optimus and the Protectobots hope he'll stay to raise and train the fourteen surviving hatchlings from The Fallen. Barricade dithers, so First Aid sends him off to think things over, no pressure. What will Barricade decide! Oh the dramaz! :)

The stars were bright and softly gleaming overhead. First Aid watched them and trembled, letting the vast beauty and pain of the universe break over him in waves, until a warm large hand gripped his shoulder. He turned and pressed himself gratefully into Optimus Prime's chestplates, basking in the warmth and comfort of that mighty spark. Optimus held him tightly until the shivering eased and his frame relaxed, and then for a long while after.

"Better?" First Aid nodded, but made no motion to move away. "I wish I could tell you it gets easier," Optimus murmured. As he had done since he was a very small hatchling, First Aid's finger components traced little paths along the front of Optimus' chestplates, finding all the hidden scars beneath. Optimus knew all the shapes of pain, had learned to open again to wonder and joy. His own spark-deep scar where Optimus' sword had pierced him ached softly, somewhere in his chest.

"Galvatron?" First Aid asked finally, smiling at the tangible thrum of joy from Optimus in response to the name.

"Resting, while Ratchet prods him some more. He's taking it rather well, considering."

"Which one? Ratchet? Or Galvatron?"

Optimus chuckled. "Galvatron. Ratchet is 'in a bit of a state,' I believe is the expression. You're next, youngster; Ratchet put a target lock on you as soon as he realized you were in the vicinity." First Aid only sighed and snuggled in closer.

"He'll be back, Little One," Optimus said. First Aid didn't have to ask who he meant.

"He has so many paths, so many possibilities. He trusts himself so little."

"You and your brothers have already corrupted him terribly," Optimus said, smiling a little. "I have high hopes for that one. You like him very much, don't you?"

First Aid ducked his helm. "Hm. I like many beings very much."

"Indeed." Optimus gave First Aid a few gentle thumps on his backplates and then loosened their embrace. "Come. Even if Barricade was not yet ready for them, Ratchet is in dire need of your hugs."

It was more than a day. More than a week. Closer to a month, and the green and heat of the local summer season was transitioning swiftly to fall before Barricade's path finally brought him back, rolling up the familiar drive to the old barn that had sheltered him and the hatchlings. It was empty, he could tell, long before he reached it. They would have relocated the hatchlings by now. Of course. He should have realized.

The barn looked smaller than he remembered, so fragile compared to even the most temporary of structures on Cybertron. He had driven from one end of the continent to the other, from one salt-ocean shore to the next, then north to where roads ended in ice and snow and south through both desert and damp steaming tropics, and everywhere he had seen only Cybertron. Memories long buried, once too painful to access, had overlain everything. Cybertron before the war, gleaming, lit from within. Himself, before the war - who had he been? It was like getting to know a stranger.

A busload filled with raucous, singing humans passed him precariously on the narrow road and he remembered the energon bars of Nova Cronum, where he had caroused through his university days while still managing, miraculously, to keep up with his studies. He'd had friends then, he was astonished to remember, many friends. An easy comradeship, shared bonds of study and the close proximity of the student quarters. His first trip to Polyhex, minor and most junior scientific assistant to Sentinel Prime's division, his transfer to Megatron and the discipline of the military division—a new sort of brotherhood there, born of shared danger and proud surety of purpose, and being packed together like a herd of sheepacrons in tiny ships' holds.

In every sunrise he saw the triumphant return of a sun to Cybertron, the young Orion trailing Megatron and Sentinel like a joyful puppybot. In the teeming, exuberant plant and insect life of the south he saw the flourishing of the equatorial cybersystem, the early dawn flight of humming swarms of energon bees as native plantobots lifted delicate solar panel blossoms to the sun. In the crystal sharp winds of the north he remembered his time as military liaison at the solar power stations at Tagon Heights, the way the energy would sparkle and sing as it coursed through the generators. Starscream and his trine perched joyously on the heights, the light of the new sun outlining their silhouettes with fire. What new dawn arose on their ruined planet now? Barricade's spark ached with loss and hope combined.

He avoided direct contact with the humans as much as possible, but he could not avoid the scars of upheaval, backlash from Cybertron's abortive arrival: great gouges in the earth, crumbled human structures, roads broken and rerouted by earthquake and fire. A new line of volcanic hills and vents stretched across the center of the continent, quiescent now for the most part but occasionally steaming or burbling out a trickle of molten rock. The planet was healing, calming at a much faster pace than predicted, and doing so in suspiciously mindful fashion, according to both human and robot speculation on the subject, targeting areas of either ecological richness or high human population first. It wasn't only this continent; the effects were being noticed planetwide. Barricade was starting to develop a theory on that score.

He'd rarely thought of the hatchlings, which had surprised him; keeping them alive had occupied all of his processing power for so long, but...they were in the best of hands. Of that he had no doubts, not any longer. He'd been left alone, as much time as he needed, as First Aid had promised. Not even a comm signal, although the driller, Bertha, had sniffed him out while he was exploring the now-mountainous terrain of Chicago. She'd been accompanied by a smallish Autobot, rover-scout model, who'd introduced himself as Beachcomber and then offered him a job assisting with geological survey and repair if his other options didn't work out, and a few cubes of truly excellent high grade "for the road" (so that was where Blades had gotten it).

Barricade? Mostly left alone. Barricade acknowledged the tentative communications request from his new friend.

Yes?

What are you doing now?

Saying goodbye, I suppose, he answered.

You're leaving me, too? The Cybertronian glyphs were simple, unadorned, with small sad modifiers that gave the question a wistful tone. When he'd received the first curious, timid transmission, he'd wondered at first if it was one of the hatchlings, except they wouldn't be capable of long-range communications or even basic glyphs like this for a long time yet. Internet anomalies, geological anomalies, planets healing faster than expected - after a few conversations Barricade had a fairly firm idea who this new being might be, preposterous as it seemed (but after Galvatron, nothing could faze him anymore, he was pretty sure). The transmissions reminded him of Groove a little, with his sweet shy smile, occasionally obscure, communicating from another plane of thought where words didn't quite do the job.

The Great Shining One left and then he came back, but he says he will leave again soon. You are going with him?

Barricade hesitated, but hadn't he made his decision? He would make one last stop to say goodbye to the hatchlings, though, instead of slinking away, disappearing on them forever like a strutless coward. Running and hiding had kept him alive for a time, but he was done with it now. He was strong enough. Wasn't he? His engine rumbled uneasily.

I have a chance to rebuild my home. I'll come back someday, I promise.

There was no reply, although the transmission did not sign off. Barricade sighed, weary from his long journey, although the last signs of weakness in his frame had healed. He would recharge here and then set off for the Autobot base in the morning. As he transformed to enter the barn a gust of wind shook loose the ridiculously gaudy orange and red leaves from the tree above him and swept them down and around him in a bright whirlwind of color. He paused for a moment, caught by a strange wonder as the leaves brushed against his armor and rustled under his pedes.

I am rebuilding, too, for the humans and the trees and the kelp and tailless whip scorpions and everything in between. Even if they don't know me yet, even if they would fear me. For them and for you and for all the lives here. When I awoke in Mission City I was too small, and I had no voice, and I was afraid, but the Great Shining One and the Prime and the Little Prime, they talked to me; they showed me how I can help. I am much bigger now, big enough to know my name. Would...would you like to know it?

Barricade nodded his helm, though he wasn't certain how far the other's sensors could reach. Bigger, indeed. The most recent "helpful geological anomaly" reports had been coming in from Indonesia and Australia. I'd be honored.

I only decided today; I haven't told anyone else, yet. My name is Metroplex.

I like it. Metroplex. It suits you. A network, a connector, a complex interweaving of lives, like the long-lost cybersystems of home, like the even more intricate and fragile ecosystems of Earth.

Someday when you come back I will build you a home here too? You will still be my friend?

Barricade's mouth quirked in a half smile. It seemed he'd developed a habit of acquiring allies in high places, so to speak. Two Primes, a gestalt, an Allspark-enhanced Lord High Protector, and now a baby city former. If anything like her long-silent counterparts on Cybertron, Metroplex would be more powerful than anything The Fallen might have dreamed up, and she was asking if they would be friends as endearingly as Starshine asking to be tossed one more time. His spark gave an unexpected pang at the memory.

I will always be your friend, Metroplex, he sent, tagged with gruff modifiers of affection and reassurance. The city former was scarcely older than the hatchlings, after all.

I will build you a nice home, someday. Not as beautiful as Cybertron, but still, it will be very nice.

...the hatchlings were hungry again, Barricade could hear them, a chorus of pleading chirrups and beeps, small talons tapping at his armor. He opened a panel, sliced a line and lifted the first warm, squirming frame so that the energon could reach the eager mandibles. The energon flowed from him, a warm swift rush, wind buffeted and blew it away in a scattering of leaves, small stars, little sparks that flew and grew and swirled themselves into glittering galaxies. He felt no fear, as his life energy flowed from him, no waning or weakness, only wonder. They were his own little worlds, he had given them himself, he would keep them safe, he would set them free to build the universe...

Barricade awoke clutching a double handful of straw tenderly to his chestplates. He snorted and brushed himself off. Just when he thought he'd returned to a state of relative health and sanity, and now he was having weird recharge visions again. No Starscream this time. Starscream was...and here Barricade's processor stalled out and informed him he probably ireally/i didn't want to think too closely about where Starscream was right now.

There were no cows in the fields when Barricade went outside, to his regret. They must have been grazing on the other side of the field. Abandoned by grass converting organics, wasn't that just his luck? With a sigh and a shrug he transformed and headed north, inwardly mocking himself for being so sentimental. And sentimental about more than that, apparently. This time, instead of being lost in memories as he drove, he was struck by beauty everywhere he looked, unexpected fondness for this dirty little mudball with its ever changing palette of vegetation and sky. It wasn't all that bad, actually, when you weren't starving and rusting apart at the seams and had a few friends on your side for good measure (including one that could probably turn the planet inside out if she so chose). He was glad it hadn't been destroyed, although the verdict was still out on its unfortunate infestation of humans.

Barricade slowed as he made the final turn to the Autobot base, his spark pounding as he approached the force field. The urge to turn tail and drive away in the opposite direction was strong (taking Beachcomber up on that offer was sounding pretty good right now, he'd been a fairly decent science officer back in the day...), but at last he forced himself forward. The force field yielded to his passcode.

"Have you taken the road less traveled by?" Barricade unfolded from his alt mode and whirled around, to find Groove grinning down at him, perched on top of an unattached semi trailer that had been parked on the side of the road.

"I took a couple of roads, yes," Barricade answered, fighting a smile. It was good to see Groove again, odd gangling kid that he was, and there was nothing in Groove's expression to suggest he had bad news to give. The hatchlings were fine (not that he'd been worried).

"Thought you might show up today. Welcome back!" Groove swung himself down off the trailer and handed Barricade something. Vegetation, twigs and grasses of some sort, woven into an intricate circle. Groove squinted an impish grin at him again but gave no explanation before transforming into his cycle alt. Kid must have gotten bored or something; how long had he been out here waiting?

"Um. Just what I always wanted. Thanks." Somehow it didn't come out as sarcastic as he'd intended. Barricade folded the gift into his alt mode as he transformed. Groove kept companionably close as they headed toward the Retribution, driving next to Barricade on the wrong side of the road by local human laws, not that there was any oncoming traffic to worry about.

There were several large, thermal signatures up ahead. Cows, Barricade noted in surprise as he scanned them, and then scanned more carefully as they drew closer. Not just cows. His particular cows, grazing peacefully next to the newly installed fence along road. He finally sped up to catch back up to Groove.

"There's a barn for them over the hill. Bitlets missed their cows! Mrs. Anderson is letting us borrow them; she must have gotten a very nice smooch from Optimus," Groove giggled. "And, it just so happens her youngest daughter is the wife of one of our best military allies. She's helping take care of them for us."

"Is, uh…Galvatron?"

"Thirty healthy pods, successfully spawned and percolating away as of three days ago." Groove did a happy little sideways skid. "Mudflap and Skids ended up sharing the same pod which is why there aren't thirty-one. Galvatron's been zonked out for a few days, but Optimus says he's planning to leave for Cybertron tomorrow, so…"

"So there's still time." Barricade couldn't decide if the sudden pulse of his spark was relief or disappointment.

"Yeah," Groove said, his alt mode drooping a little. "You're going with him then?"

Barricade couldn't bring himself to answer yet. Of course he was going. Wasn't he?

They transformed at the entrance to the Retribution. "Everyone's out back," Groove said, waving a hand for him to go ahead. The interior of the shuttle bore signs of recent occupation – they had to navigate through a scattering of colorful blinking balls and what looked like a small, bright pink-and-purple plastic vehicle which bore several talon nicks and scratches.

"Barbie's Jammin' Jeep," Groove explained, as Barricade nudged it cautiously to the side. "Annabelle brought over some of her old toys. Shoulda seen the little sprockets pushing each other around in it," he chuckled.

"Annabelle?"

"Sarah and Will's daughter. Phyllis's granddaughter. Don't worry, they're cool. We're still trying to keep the kiddos out of the spotlight for as long as possible, but video feeds of Anna and the hatchlings playing might go a long way towards calming down the more nervous of the humans."

They reached the rear hatchway. Barricade lurked at the opening as he did a quick assessment of the busy scene in front of him. It took a moment to figure out who was who; the hatchlings were a motley crew of different colors and shapes, often somewhat matched to the adult mech they were climbing on or closest to. Some of them had little antennae or wing or door-like protrusions, and was Squiggles sporting a horn in the middle of his little noseplate? Thundercracker was there, wearing a look of frozen apprehension; Gasket, wearing matching-blue colors and set of tiny, fluttering winglets, had discovered where his landing wheels tucked away in his root mode and was chewing away enthusiastically. First Aid laughed and went over to rescue him, while Starshine, Leeway, and Trajectory perched on his helm and shoulders and offered chirruping commentary.

"I don't know why he does that. He isn't suffering from any deficiencies. Here, bitlet, try this instead." First Aid offered Gasket a length of braided copper metal, but the hatchling seemed to prefer Thundercracker's tires.

Blades and Beachcomber—Barricade recognized the small, sturdy mech from their earlier meeting—were sitting in the grass with Barricade Jr., Noggin, Birdy Boo, Escape Velocity, Squiggles, and a human child of approximately the same size as the hatchlings. A taller adult human of the same light hair and skin coloring leaned comfortably against the helicopter's knee, laughing and keeping a close eye on the proceedings, which seemed to involve grabbing handfuls of grass and sprinkling it over one another's helms or hair, accompanied by lots of giggling and buzzing. Frenzy was leading Pingback, Ducky, and Toolkit in a game of chase across the climbing structures. A green tow truck—Hoist? It had to be Hoist, the mech from Wheeljack's files—was teaching Bravespark and Fulcrum to hold and refuel from regular cubes. Bravespark was doing reasonably well, tipping the edge of the cube to his mandibles with only a little sloshing. Fulcrum, with a look of great concentration, was trying to lift his cube up to Hoist's mouthparts.

"I'm not hungry, dear, but thank you," Hoist said gently, but Fulcrum would not be satisfied until Hoist pretended to take a few noisy slurps.

They looked…they looked so happy. So healthy and well-cared for, their shifting colors were bright and shining, full of energy, more than they had ever had under the bare survival care which was all he'd been able to provide them. Hoist and Beachcomber had helped raise the Protectobot hatchlings; he knew from Wheeljack's files his fourteen former charges could be in no better hands. They didn't need him. They didn't need him at all. He started to back away quietly, before they saw him. Saying goodbye had been a mistake. He'd leave them a datapad or something to read when they were older.

"Bear!"

Barricade suddenly found himself the focus of an ecstatic hatchling stampede as fourteen little frames scrambled, stumbled, and swarmed their way to him, all of them changing to match his black-and-white pattern as they went. He found himself laughing helplessly as they swarmed up his legs like a pack of cyber-monkeys. He was thoroughly patted and prodded and clung to, little talons tickling and clasping firmly on his armor like they would never let go again, their chirps and squeaks of his name sending warmth through his spark. He tried to pat as many as he could in return; they were absolutely quivering in their excitement and eagerness, transmitting simple glyphs of joy – just when had they learned to do that? He sat on the exit ramp of the Retribution, holding them all close. Happiness is inevitable, he thought. Oh Primus. It was if he'd gone into alt mode and transformed into a seeker or starship or some other entirely unexpected shape. He would never have foreseen this path for himself, not in a million vorns, but in that instant his choice was made.

"Missed me, did ya," he murmured, patting someone's aft where it was wedged tightly up against his neck. "Little Pit spawns." He would tell them about Cybertron-that-was, the important things, the little things, the good and the bad. He would teach them to be strong, to fight for both worlds, Cybertron-that-could-be and the fledgling, awakening Earth with its teeming organic inhabitants. He had despised it, once, but somehow along the way it had also become his home, and, stranger yet, his friend.

Barricade bowed his helm over his noisy horde, making a silent vow. With his spark, with his frame, he would protect them. When the time came, he would let them go. He knew exactly what he was getting into this time, oh yes. Whatever happiness the universe did or did not hold for him, it didn't mean the hatchlings weren't going to break his spark into a million pieces, the lot of them. His processor quailed a bit, but his spark, wiser than he knew perhaps, forged ahead anyway. And this time…this time he would not be doing it alone.

He looked up to find First Aid and Blades both standing there, smiling at him fondly, with Thundercracker behind…also smiling, sort of a crooked half-smile, but still soppy as all get out. Thundercracker. Completely corrupted by Autobots. What was the planet coming to? He had to stay if for no other reason than to keep it from getting any worse; the poor hatchlings wouldn't have a chance, otherwise. Of course, he might also be somewhat corrupted, he realized, sitting on the ground laughing and snuggling hatchlings as if...as if he were a newbuild in a pile of cyberkittens—gah!

He got hastily to his feet, scowling, or trying to. One corner of his mouthplates refused to cooperate, insisting on quirking upwards. He squinted hard with one optic to disguise it. First Aid had his hands clasped together tightly, doing that little rocking thing again. "Barricade, welcome…home?" he said, the question clear in his intonation and the hopeful tilt of his helm.

"Yeah, well…yeah," Barricade responded gruffly, inelegantly. He'd meant it to sound firm and decisive but instead he just sounded sullen. Frenzy made a wild cackling leap from somewhere to land painfully against his helm.

"Agh! Fraggin' glitch!" Barricade batted at his helm as the little hacker glomped him from above.

Barricade, once he'd gotten Frenzy subdued by squashing him with one hand, looked up to find First Aid bouncing and rocking towards him again, his optics and visor gleaming bright. He eyed the medic warily, leaning back a little.

Blades grinned at Barricade's alarmed stance, laying a restraining hand on his brother's shoulder. "It would make him very happy, you know."

Barricade groaned and rolled his optics, bracing himself. "Fine, go ahead."

Blades lifted his hand and First Aid made a small hatchling-squeak of delight, and leapt to engulf him in a hug, the little ones snuggled between them. The warmth and resonance of First Aid's spark energy washed over him, unfettered, as strong as if he were basking full in the light of Earth's steady golden sun. Barricade wondered if he'd been holding it back before, or maybe he was just paying better attention now? He felt his own spark swell with tenderness and a touch of awe, and fought back an unseemly desire to giggle. "My Prime," he found himself murmuring.

Galvatron will be bummed, but Aid'll need a Lord Protector someday, keep that in mind, Blades sent on tight beam, causing Barricade's optics to widen.

The hatchlings hummed and cheeped and murmured, peering up at him with their optics bright, transmitting more of their little glyphs of joy. "Bear," one crowed. "Fraggin' glitch!" merrily sang another. Happiness is inevitable, Barricade thought again. Why had he been fighting it so hard? No more running. He was home. With a reluctant sigh and grumble and roll of his optics (because he had a reputation to maintain, slagitall) Barricade lifted his arms and returned the embrace.