Bonecrusher dragged the twisted remains of an arena wall section across the floor, hydraulics whining with every step. The slab screeched against the sand, gouging deep furrows as he hauled it toward the waiting pallets. Tonight’s fight had gone long, the combatants wild enough to rip half the plating from its mounts before one of them finally fell and didn’t rise again.
His vents rasped in uneven bursts, hot air cutting through the haze of dust and spilled energon. His arms trembled, the ache in his shoulders running all the way down to his struts, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.
Hook’s tuition didn’t care if he was tired. Tuition didn’t care about burned hydraulics, or the ache in his plating, or the fact that every extra shift carved a little more strength out of him. Tuition only cared about the chits. And Bonecrusher would drag every wall in Kaon down into the dirt if that’s what it took to keep his little brother’s name on the academy rolls.
He dropped the wreckage with a clang onto Long Haul’s waiting pallet. The slab hit hard, rattling the stacked debris already tied down, dust rising in a choking cloud. Bonecrusher sagged for a second, vents pulling harsh, before straightening his shoulders again. Another load done. Another step closer to the credits Hook needed.
Long Haul stood there as he always did—steady, solid, silent. The loader didn’t complain, didn’t sigh, just kept stacking and securing each piece with the patience of a mech who had long ago learned how to outlast the grind. Normally he’d turn away as soon as the binders locked and the load was balanced, trundling back into the smog without a word.
But tonight he didn’t.
Instead, Long Haul stayed where he was, leaning against the edge of the pallet, optics narrowing slightly as he studied Bonecrusher. He let the silence hang a moment, loader frame idling, before he finally spoke.
“You’re burning yourself out,” Long Haul said flatly. “I can hear it in your vents.”
Bonecrusher wiped a streak of dust off his faceplate with the back of his hand, scowling through grit-streaked plating. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” Long Haul’s tone didn’t shift, steady as the load he carried, but his optics flicked toward the arena gates where the last of the crowd was spilling into the Kaon night. “There’s a bar on Ferric Street. Nothing fancy. Food’s cheap, but hot. I’ll buy you a meal. You need it more than I do.”
Bonecrusher froze, caught off guard. A cycle ago it had been drinks Long Haul offered, and he’d turned him down without hesitation. This was different. The loader wasn’t offering escape or distraction—he was offering fuel, something tangible, something Bonecrusher couldn’t just shrug off.
He wanted to refuse out of habit, to grind out the same answer he always did. But the thought of real food made his tanks clench, the thin rations he lived on suddenly bitter in his memory.
Long Haul didn’t press, just stood there against the pallet, waiting, patience radiating off him like it always did.
Still, Bonecrusher shook his head, dust rolling off his armor with the motion. “Hook. He’ll be asleep by now, but I always go straight back. Can’t waste time sitting in a bar.”
“Not wasting time,” Long Haul countered. His voice wasn’t sharp, not like the foremechs who barked orders—it was steady, deliberate, like he’d been carrying this thought for a while before letting it out. “You’ll wreck yourself if you don’t eat right. That kid of yours won’t have much if you collapse before he makes it through the academy.”
The words hit Bonecrusher harder than the wreckage he’d been dragging all night. His jaw worked, vents pulling rough, because Long Haul wasn’t wrong. The aches that lingered longer each week, the way his hydraulics screamed louder after every shift—they weren’t going away. And Hook’s future depended on him holding together long enough to see it through.
Long Haul shifted his weight, loader frame humming softly, waiting without pressing. The bar offer wasn’t about wasting time. It was about survival.
Bonecrusher stared at him, the silence between them heavy as the wreckage piled on Long Haul’s pallet. For a moment the temptation ached in his chest—one hot meal. One night where he didn’t have to count the cost, one time letting someone else cover the bill. His tanks knotted just thinking about it.
But then Hook rose in his mind’s eye: small frame hunched over datapads, optics bright with focus even after long hours of study, too young to be carrying that kind of determination. The kid deserved every chit, every hour, every sacrifice.
Bonecrusher’s vents rasped, harsh in the cooling arena air, before he blew a long, steady exhale. His fists tightened once, then loosened at his sides.
One meal for me doesn’t matter. One chance for him does.
He shook his head, heavy and final.
“I appreciate it. Really. But I can’t.” Bonecrusher’s voice came out rougher now, almost raw, scraped thin by exhaustion and conviction both. His vents rattled, pushing heat into the night air.
“Every chit, every minute—goes to him. That’s not gonna change.” He shook his head once, hard, as if daring anyone to challenge it. “He’s eight, Long Haul. Eight. And he’s smart. Smarter than me, smarter than this place’ll ever give him credit for. I promised him he won’t end up here, hauling junk or cleaning pits.”
His optics burned faintly as he looked over the ruined arena floor, scattered with debris still waiting to be dragged away. “One day, he’s gonna build things. Big things. And he’ll know it’s ’cause I didn’t stop.”
The words hung between them, heavy as steel. For Bonecrusher it wasn’t just explanation—it was a vow, the only truth he lived by.
Long Haul held his gaze for a long moment, the big dump bucket at his back resting silent and heavy. Finally he nodded once, slow, like he understood more than he was saying. “Fair enough. Offer’s still there. Anytime.”
Bonecrusher grunted, the sound low and final, already turning back toward the wreckage piled at the edge of the arena. “Thanks. But I’ll keep hauling.”
Long Haul didn’t press. He never did. He just locked down his load, the bucket clattering as the debris settled into place, then trundled off into the haze, his heavy treads grinding softly against the floor until the night swallowed him up.
Bonecrusher stood there for a beat, watching him go, then bent down and got his hands around another slab. His hydraulics screamed, muscles burning under the strain, but he heaved it up anyway. His vents roared, dust clung to his plating, but none of it mattered.
Hook’s future was worth every ache.