A/N: Several years ago, I watched a horrible, terrible SciFi original movie that had killer moths from outer space that turned humans with Type B blood into moth-people and ate everyone else. One scene in particular has stuck with me. One of the moth people was captured and separated away from the hive. She stayed huddled up in the corner of her cell, distraught, attacked the glass a few times, and then just keeled over from the sheer lack of other moth people.

Whenever anyone mentions the hive mind theory for the Insecticons, this is what I think of.

What would happen if you took an Insecticon from the hive, isolated it, crippled it so it couldn't get back? What would happen if said Insecticon were to meet another Cybertronian and, desperate for any sort of companionship, latched onto that 'bot as a new "hive"? How would said 'bot feel about this?

At the time I started this, nearly two months ago, Smokescreen had just been introduced. Such a far cry from my G1 Smokey, I wanted to see what I could do with this hyperactive, over-eager mech. I wanted to give him an experience that would leave him confused and mildly distressed, and I think I succeeded. This also unintentionally became a spiritual sequel to "Mud", with Smokescreen and Kickback's roles reversed. I'm still not sure how to feel about that.

As this is a one-shot I would like to thank in advance everyone that reads, reviews, and favorites!

There had been a battle.

The air was still thick with smoke and ash, the acrid vapors an invisible poison to anything organic that might have remained in the area. Energon, a processed ooze that had spilled and spurted from severed lines and torn limbs, still lay in slowly congealing puddles too thick to be absorbed into the ground. Charred skeletons of once proud trees stood as silent sentinels, some with pale blue flames still licking at them like tattered robes, a solemn guard to the destruction and death that had occurred in the forest. A long black scorch mark, the only evidence of a fuel spill, led like a dark arrow to the twisted and mangled remains of a metal escape pod, the insignia that once marked it now illegible. Sheets of metal that had been peeled from the craft like skin were scattered around the battlefield, joining the sharp black splinters and twisted limbs that remained of the combatants.

There was no movement, no sound beyond the crackle and pop of the dying flames.

Then, a desperate wail, soft and gurgling that broke off suddenly. The scrabbling of metal on stone. A thud. A screech that dissolved into frantic clicks. Then silence.

This was it. This was his big break. Nobody looking over his sensory panels to make sure he didn't screw up. Nobody telling him how to behave and what to look for. Nobody cutting the patrol short just because he accidentally blew their cover again. Just him, his blaster, and the world.

Now if only the world wasn't so boring.

Smokescreen sighed, kicking a piece of organic matter (locally called"wood", apparently) and watching as it impacted with an upright tree. Truthfully, he hadn't really been expecting Optimus Prime to send him on any highly dangerous missions just yet. There was still a lot about Earth he had yet to learn, and something like recovering the next relic solo was a bit too ambitious, even for him.

What he also hadn't expected was for Ratchet to bridge him to the same lonely patch of woods he had crashed in weeks ago with the instructions to 'report anything useful'.

Busy work, basically.

Another piece of half-charred wood went flying. He wasn't a stranger to busy work. When he was working in the Hall of Records, Alpha Trion would helpfully "suggest" that he organize and tidy the most out-of-the-way corner of records whenever he started annoying the historian. It was the most pristine corner of the entire building by the time the Decepticons attacked. He had just hoped that being added to the team of the Prime would have changed things a little.

Apparently not.

He stretched, sensory panels flaring up and out before settling back into their normal position, then let out another loud sigh. The thought of going for a short drive through the countryside briefly flitted through his processor, but he dismissed it after only a moment's consideration. It wouldn't be very responsible of him if he ditched his mission to go joyriding, no matter how boring that mission might be, and it wasn't getting done with him standing here. The site had a sort of oblong shape, caused by the crash and subsequent explosion of the craft, and Smokescreen decided to start at the far end and work his way towards the pod.

It wasn't very promising. He picked up what might have once been an arm belonging to an Eradicon, only to have the limb fall apart in his hands. Nearby was the half-buried shell of an Insecticon, its smooth surface marked by gaping holes rimmed with rust and burns. It broke in half when he touched it.

The few parts that didn't disintegrate upon contact he placed in a small pile to be recovered before leaving, figuring that Ratchet might be able to do something with them. It was when he was elbows deep in the escape pod, trying to remove the Energon converter, that he heard something out of place in the organic woods. He immediately froze, halting his ventilations and increasing power to his audios. The sound was faint; a harsh, irregular gurgling and clicking. It certainly wasn't of Earthly origins.

It also wasn't in the clearing.

Abandoning his evisceration of the pod the Elite Guardsmech took a step back, sensory panels rotating around so that the more sensitive dorsal side faced forward. A terrible position to have them in during a battle, as it left one open to attacks from behind and presented a better target, but perfect for picking up sound waves and electromagnetic fields. One of his arms had already been transformed into a blaster, primed and ready for anything hostile. Taking a moment to pinpoint the source of the noise, he slowly stalked off our of the clearing and into the woods.

The explosion and subsequent fire hadn't reached this far, but there were still splinters of shrapnel scattered on the ground and in the trees. Gouges in the ground and a twisted limb embedded in a tree trunk were evidence of at least one Decepticon being thrown this far from the blast. Smokescreen ignored them, slowing his steps as he got closer to the gurgling sound, finally stopping on the edge of a small sinkhole. His sensory panels twisted back into their normal configuration, and he aimed his blaster down into the hole.

The gorge was probably about the size of the Autobot base's control room, maybe a little smaller. It wasn't so deep that a jump down would kill him, but it would hurt, and he'd have a pit of a time getting back out. A long crack ran vertically up one wall, but otherwise it was a rather unimpressive hole in the ground.

Until he noticed the Insecticon.

Immediately his blaster was trained on it, cables tense and ready to spring out of the way should the thing notice him. He stood there for a few seconds, watching it cautiously, before he realized that it hadn't moved an inch since he found the sinkhole. On a closer look he doubted if it would ever move again.

The Insecticon lay broadside at the base of one of the walls maybe thirty meters from Smokescreen. It was unconscious, sides heaving with every crackling wet ventilation. Burns and lacerations covered most of its frame, and even from the top of the hole the Autobot could see that many of them had rusted over. One of its hind limbs was twisted at an awkward angle underneath its body, while one of the fore limbs seemed to be missing entirely. In short it was a mess, one that was unlikely to be going anywhere soon.

Smokescreen lowered his blaster, transforming it back into a hand. Judging by the state of the Insecticon's remaining claw and the deep gouges he could see in the pit's sides, the thing was trapped and therefore not a threat. Now it was up to him to decide what to do with it.

Arcee would kill it. There was no doubt in his mind that the often violent femme would shoot first and justify her actions to the Prime later. Bulkhead and Bumblebee would probably execute it as well, though it would be more of a mercy killing than an attack. Ratchet might try to save it, or would humanely put it out of its misery in one of the secret ways a medic could offline a mech without them even realizing it. Optimus Prime... he didn't really know what the Prime would do in this situation.

To be honest, Smokescreen wasn't all that comfortable with just shooting the thing. He had no problem with killing a Decepticon in the heat of battle, but to fire on one while it was unconscious and helpless left an uneasy feeling in his fuel tanks. And as he had once heard a medic say, its spark was already in the hand of the Unmaker, and he was closing his fist. It would probably expire on its own before the end of the day. No need to waste any energy on it.

Nodding to himself, the Autobot turned away from the sinkhole and headed back towards the crash site. There would be no need to report the Insecticon to Ratchet, as a corpse on a battlefield wasn't "useful" information. He would just leave it alone and let Primus deal with it.

He really shouldn't be here.

The thought ran through Smokescreen's processor like a mantra as he stepped out of the Groundbridge. The familiar sight of the charred clearing greeted him, bodies and debris exactly where he had left them.

He knew that he really had no business coming back here. He had already salvaged everything useful the previous day, though judging by Ratchet's expression maybe "useful" was too generous a term. There had been no Decepticon sightings or Energon signals in the area, and if there had been he really had no business being here without backup.

If he were being honest with himself, as he traipsed through the trees away from the crash site, he was here because he was curious. A horrible, morbid sort of curious, but curious all the same. As he had decided not to shoot the Insecticon, he was sort of responsible for it. And wasn't it his duty as an Autobot to make sure that all threats had expired?

Though truthfully, when he reached the sinkhole and peered over the edge, the last thing he had expected was for something to be looking back.

The Insecticon, the one that was supposed to be dead, was sitting upright at the base of the wall, turning its massive dented head back and forth as it scrutinized its prison. As soon as its cracked visor caught sight of the Autobot, it let out an audio-shattering wail and threw itself at the cliff. Smokescreen jumped, backing up a few steps and transforming both arms into blasters. The weapons were primed and trained on the bug before his processor could catch up.

As he watched, the Insecticon's twisted leg slipped, dropping it back down into the hole and gouging another set of marks into the wall. It wailed again, the sound breaking off into a harsh rattling cough that shook its frame.

Smokescreen lowered his weapons. He wouldn't need them, the thing was trapped. It obviously couldn't transform, otherwise it would have already done so. It wasn't even trying to attack anymore. Instead it was...

The Praxian frowned, leaning out as far he dared to try to get a better look down into the sinkhole. The Insecticon was directly beneath him, and it looked like it was trying to scratch the rust off of its hide. There were certainly chunks of rust flaking off. As he watched, he became aware of a low pitched sound, a combination between a hum and a purr.

Okay. That was weird.

The Insecticon let out a mournful moan as Smokescreen retreated from the sinkhole. The Autobot shuddered, sensory panels hiking up in disgust. The thing was obviously more resilient than he had first thought, but definitely damaged beyond repair. He had never heard of an Insecticon making a noise like that, but it had to be abnormal. Maybe it had gotten some sort of processor damage from the explosion, or the constant falls, or maybe a rust infection. Maybe it was just crazy. It would explain why none of the other Insecticons had come back for it. He'd never seen them in groups smaller than three, and yet here was this one all by itself at the bottom of a hole.

The bug had stopped wailing, trailing off into staticky chitters and chirps, and Smokescreen looked back in time to see it flop down onto its aft. A quick scan revealed that it's energy levels were absurdly low, and already it seemed to be falling into stasis. Smokescreen nodded to himself and turned towards the clearing and the Groundbridge.

It certainly wouldn't survive another day.

The Insecticon was still alive the next day.

And the day after that, and the day after that. For a whole Earth week Smokescreen returned to the sinkhole, and every day the Insecticon was up and moving around. True, its motions became more clumsy as its energy levels dropped further, and he was pretty sure it was spending most of its time in recharge when he wasn't around, but it still should not have lived for so long. It continued to hum whenever he visited, a low throbbing sound that he never quite got used to. He learned that no matter where he stood around the rim of the sinkhole the Insecticon would shuffle after him, and it wouldn't flinch even if he dropped small rocks on it. It had almost become a sort of pet, albeit one that was on its last legs and never got fed.

Then one day it disappeared.

Smokescreen frowned, sensory panels pricked up in irritation as he scrutinized the sinkhole. The bottom was somewhat hard to see as the sky darkened and the local time shifted from mid to late afternoon. From what he could tell there were some scraps of rusted metal and a claw at the base of the wall, but otherwise the hole was deserted. A small part of him, the bit that had gotten used to the routine, was disappointed. Mostly he was just confused. If the Insecticon had finally died he would have expected to see it's rather sizable corpse laying around. It was larger than Optimus Prime for Primus' sake! Much too big for anything organic to have carried off. Maybe it had finally escaped, but why now and not weeks ago when it was stronger?

So distracted by his examination of the apparently empty pit, Smokescreen failed to notice the hum of wings behind him, nor the staccato rhythm of several mechs transforming. It wasn't until he felt the thud of something heavy hitting the ground that he spun around, just in time to get a massive metal fist to the face.

Stunned by the impact and sudden flare of pain, he was dimly aware of stumbling backwards. The heel of one pede found the edge of the wall, slipped, and he let out a short yell as he fell into the pit. He only had a moment to brace himself before he crashed into the ground, the sensory panels on his back taking the brunt of the impact and causing his vision to dissolve into static.

He must have blacked out for a moment, because when his vision cleared he was staring into the ugly, upside-down face of an Insecticon warrior. It was flanked by two identical clones who immediately spread out to surround the prone Autobot. The one looming over his head, obviously the leader, let out a low growl, but before it could lift a single claw to crush his head like a rusted Scraplet it was distracted by a weak warbling cry.

From his position Smokescreen could barely see the injured Insecticon crawling out of the narrow crack in the sinkhole wall, bits of rusted armor snapping off against the rock. For a moment it appeared to be stuck, then after some thrashing it finally freed itself from the crevice and flopped onto the ground, ventilations ragged. It lifted it's head slightly and let out a soft hum.

There was stillness for a moment, then the leader growled and made some sort of motion with its secondary arms. Immediately the other two Insecticons wailed and charged at their injured comrade. The damaged bug let out a piercing squeal, scrambling to its feet and retreating back towards the crack. One of the Decepticons landed a blow just as the bug made it to the crevice, and Smokescreen winced at the screech of metal on metal.

He didn't know what the bug had been trying to do, but it had served as the perfect distraction. Before Leader-con could turn its attention back on the Autobot, Smokescreen had already transformed both arms into blasters and fired several shots point-blank into the thing's chest. It wailed and stumbled away, leaving open space that Smokescreen immediately filled by rolling to his feet. He trained both weapons on the Insecticons while he desperately tried to think of some sort of plan that would get him out of this alive.

He didn't get much time to plot, because as soon as the Insecticon regained its balance it let out an angry shriek and charged. Smokescreen blasted it a few times in the face, trying to divert it or at least slow it down, but was forced to leap out of the way before it crashed into him. The leap turned into a roll, aching sensory panels pressed flat to keep them out of the way as another Decepticon took a swipe at him.

He had just enough time to wonder where the third bug had disappeared to when a set of heavy metal claws wrapped around his throat and hoisted him into the air. Struggling, one hand trying to pry the appendages away from the delicate structures in his neck, he was greeted by a dripping gaping maw as the Insecticon wailed in his face.

In other words, a perfect target.

Trying very hard to not think about what he was doing, the Autobot shoved his blaster into the thing's ugly mouth and fired. It made a strangled sort of noise as the blast tore through its sub-processor, then topped backwards. Smokescreen was tossed some distance away as the thing thrashed and spasmed in its death throes.

One Insecticon down, two to go. Maybe this wouldn't be as hard as he first thought.

That thought, and any of the ones following it, were immediately driven out of his head when something twice his size and three times his weight slammed into his side. He went bouncing across the bottom of the pit, only coming to a halt when he hit the rock wall. Dazed and aching, he tried to push himself up, but was stopped by an enormous foot coming down on his still transformed arm. The Insecticon leader slowly and maliciously twisted its foot, and Smokescreen stifled a whimper as the cables and lines in his shoulder began to separate. He froze as one huge clawed hand gently touched his cheek, the sharp metal tip a pinprick of pain that traced a line down his face and neck cables to the center of his chest. If the Insecticon had a facial structure that allowed for any sort of expression it would be smirking at him, claws beating a tattoo right over his spark chamber.

Aw, scrap.

Smokescreen began thrashing, trying to ignore the stretch and pop of the cables in his pinned arm. Shedding a limb would be worth it if it meant he wouldn't be killed – or worse. He yelped as the Insecticon shifted its weight, trapping his free arm with one of its own and making it very clear that he wasn't going anywhere. The not quite a smirk broadened, mandibles incessantly twitching as it grinned down at him. The claws on his chest stopped tapping and began to slowly dig into his chest plating, intending to either rip it off or pierce straight through into his spark.

Smokescreen was spared finding out which option when the Insecticon's weight was suddenly and violently ripped off of him. A metallic shrieking filled the air, though whether it was angered or panicked he couldn't tell, and the ground shook as something heavy hit it. He took a moment to check the condition of his injured arm (he wouldn't be using it any time soon, that was for sure), then sat up to assess the situation.

He couldn't believe his optics. Maybe the bounce across the pit floor had damaged his processor in some way, because what appeared to be going on couldn't possibly be right.

It looked like the injured bug, the one that had hummed and followed him for a week, was grappling with the Insecticon leader, sharp denta buried deep into its shoulder and claws scratching at its underbelly. The Leader-con hissed, one powerful arm coming up to dislodge its attacker and sending the injured bug rolling across the ground. It came to a halt and lay there, small puffs of dust coming up with every hard wheeze of its vents. It moaned, plating shivering with either exhaustion or pain. A low gurgling started in its chest, and it hacked up a glob of rancid energon.

A sharp bark of what could only be cruel amusement snapped Smokescreen's attention back to the Insecticon leader, and he realized that he had been staring at the spectacle rather than doing something intelligent, like maybe getting the frag out of here. The Insecticons must have realized the same thing, as the Leader-con was now flanked by its previously absent subordinate, and both were watching the Autobot with a very focused interest. He swore under his breath and quickly got back to his feet, transforming his functional arm back into a blaster.

The Insecticons both wailed, crouching down and preparing to charge at him once again. Before they had taken two steps, however, they were interrupted by a rasping growl. All three Cybertronians turned their attention towards the damaged Insecticon. The injured bug staggered to its feet, swaying for a moment before lurching towards Smokescreen. For a moment the Autobot thought that it intended to attack him and aimed his weapon at it, but the thing merely turned so that it stood between him and the other Insecticons. It growled again, remaining mandible twitching in obvious anger and plating bristled out in a threat display.

It was almost if the thing was protecting him.

The thought was enough to make Smokescreen lower his weapon entirely, despite the fact that he was surrounded by hostile Insecticons. A Decepticon, mostly dead and leaking fresh energon, was protecting him.

Why?

He would never get an answer. While the bug's actions had frozen Smokescreen into a sort of stunned stupor, the two Insecticons were less affected. Their own plating raised and claws at the ready, they charged forward without hesitation. The injured bug stood its ground against the assault, even as one of its former comrades jumped onto its back, knocking it to the ground with sheer weight and immediately tearing into its plating with sharp claws. The bug screamed, twisting around to try and bury its claws into its attacker, only to be stunned by a harsh blow to the back of the head. The Insecticon leader was snarling, enraged, and it sunk its fangs into the bug's neck without hesitation. Another scream was cut off suddenly, becoming a thick gurgle as vital lines were severed. Fresh energon pooled on the ground.

It was when the bug's chest plating had been torn open that Smokescreen realized that he should do something. So far he had been ignored, safe while the Insecticons directed their fury onto one of their own, but he couldn't be sure how long that would last. Logically he should leave, take this opportunity to run and contact base. He couldn't take on two Insecticons by himself while wounded.

But he couldn't shake the sick, twisting feeling in his fuel tanks. Even as he backed away silently, a small part thankful for so many years working in a library, he couldn't stop watching as his protector's remaining forelimb was savagely ripped from its body. Even as he dug blunt fingertips into handholds in the pit walls, forcing his damaged arm into movement and gritting his denta against the pain, he couldn't stop replaying in his mind how one of the Insecticons had shoved its face into the other's abdomen and tore out components with its denta.

Even as he climbed out of the sinkhole and radioed base for a Groundbridge, all he could think about was the look in that shattered visor as the Insecticon was brutally attacked.

It had never once stopped watching him. Making sure he was safe.

The materializing Groundbridge portal bathed the area in a sickly green light, startling the Praxian out of his thoughts. He gravitated towards it, just wanting to be back at base with the other Autobots and Optimus Prime and where things just made sense. Just as he reached the portal a loud, high-pitched keening made him flinch.

He almost, almost looked back. He wasn't sure why, but a part of him just want to see, to confirm what logically must have happened. Instead, he shook his head as if to clear everything that had happened today out of it, then continued forward. The portal closed silently behind him, robbing the woods of light and leaving them to the near-darkness of dusk.

There was only silence.