𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 ━ transformers

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐨

Ratchet doesn't pry after that. He leaves silently with his boss and Ron, saying that we can try again later. I frown after him, pressing into my chest to try and loosen it up. Mom hands me a tissue for my tears and I blow my nose into it.

Neither her nor Dad say anything about my outburst or the fact that I am not helping Ratchet when it's clear that my situation is concerning and calls for utmost care at the moment. For that, I am grateful. I sink into the bed, hand on my chest, and try to will the memories away before they swallow me whole.

The next time I am lucid, it's dinner time, and Ron is the one pushing a tray in my space, sitting beside me with the air of a spooked cat.

Blearily, I glance over at him, rubbing at the exhaustion from my eyes. I was not sleeping by any means, but I was in a state of rest; the prescriptions that Ratchet gave me have worked far better than I could have imagined. There's no pain in my chest that I can feel, but it does make me feel like I'm floating through a bog, my body like lead.

Because of this, I am not in the right headspace and therefore do not panic when I see the gleam in his bright eyes. For a moment, a flash of the light tricks me into thinking it's Cade, but I'm too doped up to care. To weightless to react.

"Evening, Eleanor," he says curtly when he notices that I'm staring at him.

I manage a nod, trying to pick myself up into a sitting position. I push up on my arms, grunting with the action. A sharp burst of pain shoots through me, and I clench my teeth, closing my eyes.

"Do you require assistance?" Ron asks, and there's a tremor in his voice that almost sounds concerned.

"Fine," I mutter, pressing the pain away. "Just strained. . . the wound."

I inhale deeply, opening my eyes slowly and glancing at the ceiling before I turn my attention back to Ron. He's sitting as straight as a board, frowning hard enough that his forehead creases. Something shoots through my head, and my eye twitches at the ache.

"I have brought you dinner," he says after a moment's silence.

I hum, glancing at the plate in front of me. Bland looking tofu and greens are placed on the pristine porcelain, the smell resembling motor oil rather than actual food. I pick up the fork hesitantly and start eating tiny bites, careful not to overdo it.

"Thanks," I say because it's only right. Polite. Then, "Where are my parents?"

"Taking a much-needed rest, it seems," Ron replies. "And I believe they desired to give you some space. They have not left your side since you were admitted except for bathing."

"I see." I push at a piece of broccoli and open the peach cup that was given to me, taking the spoon and scooping a cubed thing out. "So, am I on surveillance or something? Does someone need to be with me at all times?"

The food helps the weightless feeling. As I continue to eat, my brain becomes less fuzzy, my thoughts more concrete. I gaze at Ron for a moment, raising a brow in curiosity. I cannot tell from his stony expression what he is thinking.

"No," he states, sounding put out. "You do not need to be constantly watched, but it would ease your parents' mind if there was someone with you. In case Starscream or Barricade were to come back."

"Barricade? Cade, I presume."

Ron flinches, then nods. "Yes. That is his full designation."

Barricade. I weigh the word in my head. Fitting, for someone so sinister. Someone so vile.

"Makes sense. Use a human name. Lure the human in. The perfect crime. I wonder how many others use human names to trick us."

I laugh like it's a joke, but I silently recall every moment I've had with every person I've met. Could they have been a Cybertronian in disguise? Someone like Barricade meant to deceive us only to hurt us in the long run. How many are there?