The Best Father in the World--A G1 TF Story

Summary: a cute little story about Hot Rod and his father, Fire Storm. Requested by Sparkling Lover. Please, no flames.

 

Fire Storm © Sparkling Lover

Hot Rod © Hasbro

 

 

The Best Father in the World

 

    The sun was barely visible as it steadily inched higher and higher beyond the horizon; it’s weak light reflected off of Cybertron’s metallic surface, giving it a dull, pink glow. The stars were still glistening in the early morning sky, and bit by bit they all slowly began to fade away. At this time, a small majority of the Cybertronian population would awaken from recharge and head off to work. Very few walk the streets at this time of day. But the largest of the few come from the slums of Cybertron, where families work long hours to provide food and shelter for their families, and a number of them do not return until late at night.

    In one slum home at the end of the street, an alarm sitting on a nightstand goes off, beeping rhythmically and flashing a light between beeps. A muffled groan emerged from the berth positioned next to the nightstand as a hand rose up and pressed a button on the alarm, causing the beeping to stop. Fire Storm’s sleepy, exhausted optics lit up and stared at the time. It was time to get up already? With another groan, he sat up in his berth and rubbed the sleep from his optics. Another day of hard work and labor, and then some, he thought to himself as he stared out at the barely lit sky.

    Fire Storm’s occupation was working at the docks of Iacon, stocking many important goods and storing energy. He had worked there for nearly half of his adult life. Despite the back-breaking work, it was worth it because it put food on the table and provided him with a roof over his head. But what made the days even harder to endure were the never-ending taunts and harassment he received from some of his co-workers at the docks. They mocked him because he was poor, and that he practically wasted his strength lifting crates and pulling ropes when he could use it to aid the Autobots in the Great War. Fire Storm was a very hard-working Autobot, very strong both physically and mentally, and yet he was tormented for it. Many times he wanted to give his co-workers a piece of his mind, but he knew he had to be the better bot and kept his mouth shut. If he risked getting into a brawl, it could cost him his job, and everything else he had worked so hard to afford. Some of the kind co-workers ask him why he must suffer the way he does, have to live with their taunts and bullying. There was only one reason why.

    Fire Storm looked beside him and smiled at a little bundle of blankets. Pulling back the blanket a little laid his small son, Hot Rod, still fast asleep, who didn’t have to wake up for another few hours. His son had had a nightmare that night and wanted to sleep with him; of course, how could Fire Storm say no? Ever since Hot Rod’s mother perished after childbirth, he had to play the role of both parents in order to provide for his son. Hot Rod was now the only family he had left—and he was all Hot Rod had left, too.

    With a soft pet on Hot Rod’s helm, he quietly got up, stretched, showered, had a small ration of their remaining Energon supply, and headed off towards the docks on the other side of the city. It was a long, weary trek, and Fire Storm couldn’t afford transport to the docks, so he had to walk the entire journey. He enjoyed the cool air that swirled around his armor as much as he could while it lasted; he knew it was going to be a hot day today.

    By mid day, the temperature had skyrocketed. The sun’s light reflecting off of Cybertron’s surfaces blinded most Autobots, and made the surface feel like they were walking over a smelting pit. The heat was boiling enough to fry one’s circuits and make their temper flare—a problem that would soon get fire Storm into a bit of trouble.

    Fire Storm was tugging and pulling at the ropes, lifting up a massive crate; it was large enough for one bot to handle, but it took a lot of strength. Grunting loudly, he yanked at the rope, keeping his footing firm against the blistering surface of the docks. But he couldn’t let the heat get to him, or else the crate would fall and bust, and he’d no doubt lose his job.

    “Oh, what’s the matter, Fire Storm?” called out a rough voice. “Can’t handle a single task on your own? Come on! I thought you were stronger than that!”

    Fire Storm grunted angrily as he held fast onto the rope. The mech who mocked him was named Cobalt, a burly, large co-worker at the docks who finds it rather entertaining to tease and discourage Fire Storm. Constantly, he received rude and harsh mockery from the self-absorbed mech, but Fire Storm knew to try and avoid conflict. But with Cobalt, it was becoming more difficult with each passing day. The heat was no help either. It not only irritated the scrap out of him, but it also made him easily snappy and frustrated. One wrong thing could set him off at this point. He had to be careful. Despite Cobalt’s distracting comments, Fire Storm successfully raised the crate and loaded it onto a cargo ship. He could breathe a sigh of relief now.

    Or so he thought.

    “It’s sad, Fire Storm,” Cobalt said as Fire Storm walked by to help himself to an Energon cube from the supply room, “that such a big, bad bot like you is stuck here at the docks, earning barely enough money to take care of yourself, when you could use your strength to help the Autobots in the war. But then again, you’d have to find your way into the academy, and who knows how much that will cost. Face it, Fire Storm; unlike the rest of us, you’re stuck here for life.”

    Keep it together, Fire Storm repeated to himself over and over again as he guzzled down his Energon cube.

    “Same with your boy,” Cobalt added. “He will get nowhere in life. He will be raised in the slums his entire life because his father is too poor to feed him. He’s just as sad and pathetic as you are.”

    An eruption went off in Fire Storm’s spark as he unintentionally crushed the cube he held in his hands. He could handle the taunts thrown at him, but no one—no one—talks slag about Hot Rod. With a loud yell, he spun around and swung his fist, landing a blow into Cobalt’s jaw. Only stunned for a short while, Cobalt countered with a punch to fire Storm’s face and chest; but Fire Storm didn’t falter and swing his leg into Cobalt’s side. The two mechs fought and the other workers surrounded them, chanting for one mech to take down the other. A few of the workers ran off to get their boss, and very soon the fight was broken up.

    “ENOUGH!” roared the boss as he shoved the two mechs away, holding them by their upper arms. “What in the name of Primus are you two rust buckets doing?! You should both be working, but instead you are fighting like a bunch of school boys!” He shoved Cobalt away and turned toward Fire Storm. “And you, what do you think you’re doing off your work duty and helping yourself to our limited supply?! You come to me for permission, sir! If you think you are better than the rest of us and believe you can just help yourself like you run the place, then you can just walk on out of here and never come back!”

    Fire Storm’s spark stopped. “S-Sir, I—“

    “Get out of here!” the boss roared again and walked off angrily.

    “N-No, sir, please! Please, I...!” Fire Storm was at a loss for words. This was his only job...the only job he could afford...and because he lost control he had lost it.

    “Wait sir!” exclaimed one of the co-workers and ran up to the boss. It was a young mech or red and blue armor. “It wasn’t Fire Storm’s fault! Cobalt kept taunting and insulting him, and then he said something awful about his son. Cobalt’s the instigator, not Fire Storm.”

    The boss grunted. “Is that so?”

    “Yes, sir,” nodded the young mech.

    The boss trusted this young fellow; he had never told a lie or broken a rule since he began working here. He grunted again and turned to Fire Storm. “Alright, Fire Storm. You’re back in. But if I catch you fighting and sneaking Energon again, I’m throwing you into the harbor. Ad as punishment for breaking the rules, you will not receive today’s pay. You got it?”

    “What? But sir, I-I have a boy I have to take care of! I need the money to feed the both of us!” Fire Storm pleaded desperately.

    “Then you should have thought of that ahead of time,” the boss said. “Now you either accept it, or you will not be paid at all this week!”

    Fire Storm let out a deep angry breath and stared at the ground. “Yes, sir.”

     “And you,” the boss pointed to Cobalt, “mind your own business and keep your mouth shut.”

    “Yes, sir,” Cobalt grumbled, and the boss returned to his office.

    Fire Storm was allowed to get off of work early that evening, but he was still fuming from earlier. He had no money that day. How was he going to be able to take care of his son? Every amount of currency counted! It wasn’t fair. Why didn’t Cobalt receive the same punishment? Why did he have to endure that kind of abuse? He started questioning why he should even continue to work at that retched place any longer as he made his way home to the slums.

    He suddenly perked up when he heard a familiar sound of crying. “Hot Rod...” He bolted and followed the crying out, finding his son being knocked around and shoved by three older younglings. He had seen these boys frequently around this area; they were the local bullies who enjoyed picking on mechs and femmes younger than them. He often let local authorities handled them, but seeing them attack his son, he knew to handle it personally. “GET AWAY FROM MY BOY!” he roared and charged straight for them, an infuriated glare in his optics. The boys saw him charging and took off, fleeing the area in a hurry, leaving Hot Rod on the ground groaning. Fire Storm knelt down and picked him up in his arms, instantly noticing a large bruise in his face plate. He rushed home, carrying Hot Rod close; when they got there, he slammed the door shut and placed Hot Rod on the couch.

    “Sit here,” he said roughly and went to go get an ice pack for his bruise. He returned with one and told him to hold it against his cheek, then began checking from for any other injuries.

    Hot Rod noticed his dad was a little flustered and unhappy. “What’s wrong, Daddy?” he asked innocently.

    “Just sit still,” Fire Storm grumbled and resumed checking him over.

    “But you look unhappy. Why are you unhappy, Daddy?”

    Fire Storm suddenly exploded again. “Just shut up Hot Rod and sit still, slag it!” he shouted, a very angry and very scary look in his eyes and on his face.

    This frightened Hot Rod; he was already shaken up from the fight and tried to toughen it up to please his daddy, but him yelling at him only made it worse. Tears very quickly sprung to his optics as Hot Rod began to cry; then he shoved his father’s hands away and raced off to his room as fast as he could, slamming his door and hiding under the covers. He was always terrified when his father raised his voice, and it was very rare that he ever did so to him.

    As Fire Storm knelt there, he realized he had just made a huge mistake. Sighing heavily, he ran his hand over his face and cursed himself. He took a deep breath and slowly went to his son’s room, lightly rapping on the door. “Hot Rod?” he called out softly. “Could you let me in? Please? I’m sorry I snapped at you...” But all he could hear was Hot Rod’s loud, frightened sobbing, which only made the ache in his spark even worse.

    But still, he had to apologize to his boy. He hated hearing or seeing him cry. Plus, he had to understand why he wasn’t doing so well today. He slowly opened the door and found a trembling lump under the blanket where frightened whimpers and cries emanated from. He sighed sadly and sat on the edge of Hot Rod’s bed, gently rubbing the lump. “Hot Rod, I really am sorry for being so sour at you. I never meant to snap. It’s just, I’ve had a really rough day at work today—well, rougher than usual—and it made me really angry. But I am not angry at you, son. I’m sorry.”

    There was movement under the blanket. The edge of the blanket was lifted and Hot Rod shyly poked his head out from underneath, his optics a little dull from crying. He carefully observed his father and took in every word, and by the look in Fire Storm’s kind optics, he could tell that he meant his word. He came out from under his blanket completely, crawled into Fire Storm’s lap and hugged him, nuzzling his chest. “It’s okay, Daddy,” he said softly, purring.

    At that moment, Fire Storm’s questions were all answered. He knew why he had to put up with the abuse of hard labor and torments at work, why he had to continue working there despite the hardships. It was all for this little mech in his lap. For his son. He did it all for him—not because he had to, but because he loved him and wanted the best for him. Fire Storm smiled and nuzzled Hot Rod’s helm close.

    After the apology, Fire Storm suggested that they should spend some time together that evening. Hot Rod gasped and instantly agreed, for he knew what awaited him. Fire Storm carried him on his shoulders to their small refueling lounge in their home and opened a cabinet, reaching in and pulling out a canister, which contained the tasty goodness of Energon sweets! Fire Storm cracked it open and let Hot Rod have the biggest piece in the container. Soon one piece became another, and then another, and then another until the entire container was empty.

    Fire Storm regretted his decision instantly as Hot Rod became a wild, hysterical mechling and began racing around the house, whooping and laughing. Fire Storm chuckled and waited for the right moment to reach out and grab his sugar-rushed son. “Whoa, easy there, Hot Rod!” he chuckled, pressing his son close to his chest. “Settle down.”

    “I can’t!” Hot Rod giggled. “I’m too hyper!”

    “Oh, you are, are you?” Fire Storm raised his optic ridge and grinned. Then he got up and carried his son to his berth. “Well, lucky for you, I know the perfect remedy to cure your sugar rush.” The he laid Hot Rod on his berth and knelt beside him. “Hold on tight, Hot Rod, because it’s going to be a bumpy ride!” Then he started wiggling his fingers into Hot Rod’s sides and underarm joints, and the little mech instantly started screeching laughter.

    “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! DAHAHADDY-HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!!!!!! STAHAHAHAHAP!!!! PLEASE STAHAHAHAP!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!” Hot Rod cried out desperately but to no avail.

    “Sorry, son, but it looks like I’ll have to tickle all of that sugar out of you!” Fire Storm laughed along with his son, getting his most sensitive spots. He squeezed Hot Rod’s calves and hips, not hard enough to bring pain, but just enough to send unbearable tickling surges through his quivering body.

    “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! DADDYYYYY!!!!!”

    “Oh, such a ticklish mechling you are! Tickle tickle tickle! Cootchie coo, Hot Rod!”

    “HAHAHAHAHA!!!! HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!!!!”

    “Oh my, what cute little feet you have. I wonder if they want to be tickled, too.”

    Hot Rod gasped. “No! Not my feet, Daddy! Please!”

    “Oh, but they look like they want to be tickled, Hot Rod! And so they shall!” Fire Storm lifted his legs, tucked them under his arm and began to scratch at the soles of Hot Rod’s tiny, ticklish feet, and he smiled when his son went into hysterics.

    “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!! DADDY-HEEHEE!!!!!!!! HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!!!!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!!!!!!! PLEASE, S-SPARE MY FEET!!!!!!!” Hot Rod begged.

    Fire Storm chuckled and then grinned. “Ooh, what is this? A yummy looking belly?” Hot Rod gasped and covered his stomach instantly. “Ooh, that belly really looks tasty! I want to eat it all up!”

    “No! Noho, Daddy!” Hot Rod pleaded through giggles.

    Fire Storm managed to pry his son’s hands away and pin them up over his head, then he pressed his mouth against his son’s super-sensitive tummy and pretended to eat. “Om nom nom nom nom!”

    “Hahahahahaha!!! Daddy, quit being silly-heeheeheehee!” Hot Rod squealed.

    Fire Storm lifted his head and spitted. “Ooh, yuck! This belly does not taste good at all. Oh well, I guess I’ll have to tickle it to make it taste much better!” he chuckled evilly as he wiggled his fingers.

    “No! Daddy!” Hot Rod panicked, but he had a huge smile on his face, as if he wanted him to do it.

    “Here it comes!” Fire Storm then dug his dancing fingers into his son’s belly, wiggling them all over, switching from light, tender strokes to deep wiggling.

    “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DADDYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

    “Oh, my word, such a ticklish tummy! It’s so cute! Cootchie cootchie cootchie cootchie coo! Cootchie coo! Tickle tickle tickle!”

    Hot Rod could not stand it, but at the same time, he was having fun, along with his father. “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE, DADDY-HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!!!!!!!”

    Fire Storm could see tears beginning to form in his son’s optics and decided now would be a good time to stop before he accidentally wet the berth. He stopped his tickling fingers and allowed his son to calm down and cool down. “You okay there, buddy?” he asked, rubbing his son’s back. Hot Rod was so exhausted, all he could do was nod. Fire Storm chuckled and laid in bed with him. Hot Rod then let out a big yawn and he appeared very sleepy. “Aw, you tired?”

    Hot Rod sleepily nodded and rubbed his eyes. “Daddy...can I sleep with you again tonight?” he asked in the cutest, sleepiest voice.

    Fire Storm smiled. How could he say no to a face like that? He helped his son lay down beside him and he turned out the lights, getting comfortable and hugging his boy. “I love you, Hot Rod.”

    Hot Rod already closed his eyes and slowly lulled off to sleep. “Love you, too, Daddy...”

     

    ~~~

     

    “Hot Rod? Hot Rod!”

    “Huh?” Hot Rod perked up and looked around him at the voice. He turned around to see Arcee standing behind him.

    “Come on, we landed! Let’s go greet the others!” she exclaimed eagerly.

    “Huh? Oh, right. I’ll be there soon.” Hot Rod, now a young mech, watched Arcee and the other Autobots step off of the ship after traveling for quite a long time. He looked around at this planet called Earth through the window and was rather fascinated by what he saw; there were large trees growing out of the ground, massive rock formations in the distance, and the earth was different colors. He looked up at the sky and gazed at how wide and open it was. He was very excited to get to work and fight alongside Optimus Prime. He was ready to prove himself a worthy fighter...and because he reminded him of someone he knew.

    Hot Rod slowly journeyed down the landing pad, but stopped at the bottom and glanced back at the ship, and then raised his optics to the blue, wide open sky. I miss you, Dad, he thought to himself. I promise, I will always honor how hard you worked to provide for me, and I vow to do the same as I play my part in this war. I won’t let you down...

    “Greetings,” said a deep, gentle voice.

    Hot Rod jumped a little and looked toward the voice, laying his optics upon the great Optimus Prime himself. “O-Oh, uh...g-greetings, sir,” he stammered, politely saluting.

    Optimus returned the salute. “You must be Hot Rod, correct?”

    Hot Rod blinked a little. “Uh, yes, sir. I am. But...how do you already know my name?” he asked, curious as to how the Prime had already known his name.

    Optimus Prime smiled. “Your father has told me much about you,” he explained.

    Hot Rod’s eyes widened. “He...He did? You knew him?”

    “I knew him. He was a fine mech. A very ambitious one at that, but he contained a strong, loving spark. He worked day in and day out in order to provide for you, he told me once, and it seems he achieved his goal. You have grown into a fine young mech, Hot Rod, and I look forward in fighting alongside you.”

    Hot Rod tried to suppress tears and struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. “Thank you, sir...” he said with a quivering smile. Then he and Optimus Prime headed for the Ark together. “By the way...how did you come to know my father?”

    Optimus chuckled. “You might say we once worked together...long ago.”

     

    THE END.