Archive of Our Own ^beta

Ringing. The whole world was spinning, tilted and turning in ways that were so unnatural it almost seemed surreal. When did it go so wrong? It had started off as a typical scouting mission, he was running low on energon, giving his reserves to his cassettes. It was a surprise he hadn’t entered a state of emergency stasis. He was running too low, his systems shutting down on him. It was suicide, he knew, but he would rather die than force his cassetes to take his place, given they would most likely do it willingly, anyway. 

He had picked up a big energon signal, enough to pull his ragtag family along (family, that’s what they were now). In his desperation, he jumped in. It was stupid, in any other situation; say, if he was running on safe energon levels, he would’ve noticed the obvious trap this was. He would’ve hung back, come up with a plan, and attacked at the right moment.

But this wasn't any other situation, this was this, the situation where he isn’t running at optimal energon levels, where he isn’t conscious enough to notice the glaring warning signs. It was slow, quiet. He managed to make it into the cave (albeit tripping over his own two feet like an idiot, truly shameful considering his position-past, his past position), reaching the stash of energon crystals without a care in the world, unaware of his surroundings. He barely managed to lightly graze the crystals with his fingers before the shout came. 

It was a voice he came to recognize, of a friend he once knew (A traitor, leader of everything he stood against). Then, bullets came raining down. He shielded his chest, his cassettes safety his main priority (they were family. They were all he had. He couldn’t lose them, not like this. Not them.) It felt oddly peaceful. The pain came in waves but was dulled due to his systems shutting down (His energon levels were too low, they were far below critical, stasis was inevitable).

He knew he needed to do something, if he shut down his cassettes would be alone, defenseless and trapped. So he did the only thing he could think of. The only option that his fried processor deemed as successful. His chest opened, each cassette ready to eject (No they weren’t. They didn’t want to leave his side. It made the pain more bearable, this was the love he was protecting), orders of retreat front and center in their minds (He hoped. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he ejected them to their death. Never. He would never).

Pain. So much, from everyone. From himself as his systems were shutting down. The pain from the bond shared between his cassettes-they were in pain. No…Why? They weren’t supposed to be hurting!

The bullet hit before he could even process what was happening, his chest compartment their main target. It was slow, the way the bullet came dashing towards his kin, hitting their target with accuracy that seemed nearly impossible. Nearly.

Fire erupted as the ejection was interrupted, pain receptors overwhelmed. It was too much to process. His cassettes were hurt. He was on the ground. They were crying (Was he crying?) His vision swam as he stared up at the ceiling, jagged rocks meeting his view. His cassettes were begging him to respond, but he felt stuck.

The shooting had stopped, a deathly silence falling onto the battlefield (Was it a battlefield? Hardly. It was more of a one-sided massacre.) Forcing his head up, he looked towards his chest, eager to see if his cassettes were okay (His spark hurt, as if it knew something he didn’t. Why wasn’t Rumble responding?...). He shouldn’t have looked. He shouldn't have. Now he couldn’t look away.

His chest compartment, charred and wrecked, the glass shattered. Energon covered him, swallowing him whole in a puddle of his failure(He failed. Failed. Failed. Failed. Failed!). The worst part though, (oh the worst part) was the barely recognizable figure of Rumble, charred and burned, bits and chunks missing in several areas. He almost screamed, the pain in his spark from his broken bond (Oh Primus, his bond. His cassette, his beautiful cassette!) finally became clear, his remaining cassettes (remaining, it couldn’t be. He promised!) were crying, begging to be let out to help, to fight and hurt whoever did this (he would kill them, all of them! They would pay…His baby…).

He brought his arms up, painful and slow, covering Rumble’s corpse (his corpse. They're actually dead. Pimus…). It was a pitiful attempt, futile in every way. If an enemy came they would have no problem hurting his cassettes. He didn’t care, his kin… His baby… Lubricant beads formed in his optics as he kept staring, refusing to let the others out (He couldn't risk it, not again). He was shutting down, the world blurring and fading, numbing his pain (His spark still hurt, Primus did it hurt).

Situation; Fine. Soundwave; Present. It felt like a lie, he already failed. How could he keep them safe? His optics were shutting down, processor slowing. His spark was barely beating, entering a state of stasis to preserve whatever energy he had left. It will be okay. He felt his cassettes settle a little bit, worried for his safety. His safety? It didn’t matter, theirs did. Objective; Survive, Thrive.

He could feel their protest about to rise, worry and love and sorrow and guilt all flooding through him before he shut down, memories of his family flashing in his mind before he went.

Cassettes; Loved.

…

Soundwave; Sorry…