[G1 AU] Hate the Dark (part 6)
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deceptikittyTitle: Hate the Dark
Arc: 'Til All Are One
Rating: R (PG in this part)
Characters: Optimus Prime, Starscream
Summary: After Cybertron's destruction, two survivors wait out their final months after crashing on a forsaken and dangerous planet.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
I'm not sure what brought it to my attention, but I could feel that something in the air was wrong, and it wasn't just because it had gone stagnant in the months we had been trapped in the cave with the boulder in front of the entrance preventing the air from staying fresh. Good thing we didn't need it to survive.
No, there was something else wrong. I took a brief survey of our "home" - or prison, whichever. The leathery, rotten carcass of the second wyrm I killed so many months ago was as far away from us as I could get it without going outside, and while it reeked, it had been there for months and was nearly nothing more than bones and dried out skin. That couldn't be the problem. We had five energon cubes left and were both as functional as we were going to get on such low quality energon, so there was no need to make more. That wasn't the problem. Even the cave itself wasn't the problem - the ceiling was sturdy, there had been no earthquakes, and the rock looked to be in no danger of caving in on us. It wasn't until I looked over at Starscream that I figured out what was wrong.
"Oh slag," I swore.
It was starting again. He was offline at the moment and didn't notice, but my headlights could easily pinpoint the telltale grey crumble lining his mutilated side, and my systems came fully online in a brief state of panic. He couldn't lose any more of his body - he just couldn't. Not only would it have psychological repercussions, but it would likely kill him. He was already missing vital parts - his body overheated very easily without both intakes and vents properly functioning, and if any more components were compromised, he very well could die.
I didn't waste time trying to wake him gently. I crawled over to him, grabbed him by his remaining shoulder, and shook him awake, demanding, "Open your chest."
He was less than pleased.
"What, again?" he grumbled, still half asleep and trying to squirm away from me. "Primus, you're insatiable. I'm tired, Prime - your way's a lot more exhaustive. Go do yourself." With that, he shut his optics down again and tried to go back to sleep. I might have been embarrassed if I wasn't so panicked.
"Starscream, I mean it - wake up!" I demanded, shaking him again. I think I then understood that human expression "if looks could kill" because he glared at me like he wanted me to burst into flames. Unperturbed though, I insisted, "Look down."
He did. He knew what it looked like from my descriptions, and if he wasn't fully awake when he cast his gaze downward, the look of horror that crossed his face clearly meant he was wide awake now. I think he normally would have checked his reactions, but he wasn't aware the first two times the necrosis had eaten away at his body. I could only imagine how terrified I would be in his situation, and I honestly had no idea if he could feel whatever it was doing to him or not.
I lowered my voice then to try to calm him down, coaxing him to look back to me and away from his rotting side. "Open your chest. I need to take out your spark chamber - that's the only thing that stopped it before." If I was medically trained, I might understand why that was the only thing that worked, but I had no idea - I just knew it stopped it the last two times.
Understandably, he looked at me like I was crazy. "That could kill me." He didn't need to tell me that - I knew that. I almost lost him the last time.
"I know, but it's the only way. Not only that, but if it reaches your spark chamber, you'll die anyway." He flinched and ceased arguing, instead looking away from me and opening his cockpit and the protective panels beyond that. Before our ordeal on this planet, I never imagined the differences between Autobots and Decepticons ran so deeply, from our outlooks and goals to our cultures and even down to our most basic structure. I had seen his spark chamber many times now, but it was still amazing and intriguing. Autobot spark chambers are bulky, opaque, grey metal shaped like a cube, a very boring container for such beautiful matter. A Decepticon's spark chamber - or, at least, Starscream's - was translucent silver, letting the stunning gold light of his spark filter out for all to see while still protecting it. It was diamond in shape and nestled comfortably below his cockpit and protected on all sides by reinforced outer housing. It was also smaller, more streamlined, and much less cumbersome, and considering his body structure, that wasn't surprising. It seems every part of a flight-gifted Cybertronian was sleek and graceful. I'm not sure if anyone else would have found it fascinating, but I did.
I could tell he was scared even though he tried to hide it, betrayed only by his faintly shaking hand where it gripped a rock by his leg, and I wasn't surprised - who wouldn't be? I could kill him by doing this, but he was sure to die if I didn't. Words can't comfort fright like that, and I just don't think he's the hugging type. So, I tried to distract him. I had to touch the chamber to disconnect it anyway.
I gently ran my fingers over the ridges of the chamber with one hand while the other searched for the connections. In response, he gave me one of his delightful, full-body shudders I had grown accustomed to both witnessing and causing over the last few months. Not for the first time, I wondered if his wings shook like that too before he lost them. The image was appealing.
I almost felt badly for not being able to complete the sequence I had started as he let out a tiny whimper when my fingers ghosted over the top point of his diamond-shaped spark chamber, one of the only noises he ever makes during interfacing. At least it was getting his mind off what I was really doing, and bearing that in mind, I became a little bolder, wrapping my hand around his spark chamber and carefully stroking it. The shudder he gave me in response was so violent, he almost shook me back out of his chest. His jaw went slack as his head fell back against the rock wall, his vocal processor trying desperately to make some sort of noise to voice his pleasure. The sensitivity of his spark chamber never ceased to amaze me - I think he almost went into overload right there, and mischievously, I stored that information in the back of my mind for future reference.
At that point, I decided it would be cruel to stop then and deny him release, so I stroked the chamber again while my other hand found the final connection, not undoing it until he was finished. His hand flew to my arm and squeezed until it almost hurt as he thrashed in front of me, shaking and sputtering the turbine in his foot. His spark glowed so brightly it was painful to look at, also shuddering in its casing, and as I watched him shake and writhe, I couldn't help repeating the same thought which had echoed in my mind every time since we had decided to make a habit of this months ago, the thought I would be loathe to let him hear me say simply because he would probably laugh in my face:
Primus, he was beautiful.
I released the final connection as his shaking slowed, pulled that hand free of his chest, and wrapped my arm around him to pull him against my chest and hold him until the final tremors ceased coursing through his body. With my other hand, I pulled his spark chamber out and choked back a retch at how his body slumped against me, essentially dying in my arms. It made me feel ill the first two times, and this time was no different. I hated it. So many had died in the war, and a few had died in my arms in a similar fashion, so the way his body went limp and lifeless was disturbing.
Trying to get my mind on something else, I set his body down on the cave floor and checked over his spark chamber to make sure he was okay, turning the container over in my hands and tracing my fingers along the ridges and points. I doubt my touch did anything with it outside his body with no wires and electrical impulses to send a reaction to the spark itself, but I couldn't help myself. I wanted to feel like I was comforting him since I don't think I was just imagining it when his spark seemed to dim a little as if he was worried. Convinced he was in no immediate danger, I turned back to his body and used a free hand to begin breaking off the necrotic pieces which crumbled to dust. With the already necrotic sections separated, I would be able to tell if it was slowing or stopping though I didn't expect it to for about twelve cycles - that was how long it took the previous times.
When that task was finished, I settled myself back into my spot against the wall and cradled his spark chamber in my lap, watching the way his spark pulsed and glowed. It truly was beautiful, and it was amazing that something so fragile held such spirit and ambition. I had initially removed it the very first time because I was afraid of the necrosis swallowing it as it had what was left of his arm and leg and his remaining wing - it was completely unexpected that removing it stopped the necrosis, but I didn't complain.
His spark was different from the last two times - the previous times, his spark had been dim and unmoving, almost extinguished, especially the second time when it almost was extinguished. Now, however, it was vibrant and moving slightly here and there inside the container. It made me wonder...
"Are you aware?" I asked. I don't know what I expected, but I know I didn't expect his spark to bob up and down slightly in its casing as if he was trying to nod. I thought he would essentially be in a form of stasis. I had to wonder what it was like being aware of one's surroundings outside one's body. He could obviously hear me, but could he see me? I doubted it, but then again, I had been wrong about things already, so I just asked him. "Can you see me?" To this, he coasted back and forth, quickly getting a grasp on how to communicate in such a state.
It had to be strange if not disturbing being separated from his body like that. He could hear, but he couldn't see. He could respond by "nodding" or swaying back and forth, but he couldn't speak. I quickly realized exactly what it must have been like, and I immediately felt guilty for having to remove him not knowing he would be aware - sensory deprivation is a horrible thing to experience, and I couldn't tell from the light inside the container how he was coping with it. Was he panicking, or was he more or less unaffected? It needed to be done, but I hated it regardless. Sensory deprivation is normally a form of torture, yet I had brought it upon him with the pretense of helping.
"Well, you should only be like this for a few cycles," I tried to reassure him though actually I was trying to reassure myself even more, absently stroking the casing with my fingers again. That knowledge seemed to be some sort of comfort to him since he settled down in the container, so I relaxed against the cave wall to wait.
Then a week went by.
I looked down at Starscream's body during a brief pause in my worried pacing along the cave. Why wasn't it stopping? Why wasn't it stopping? It stopped before, but now it seemed to only speed up. His torso was crossed with tendrils of grey, and it was crawling up his throat and down the inside of his thigh. If anything, it seemed to have grown worse by taking out his spark chamber, and I hated how helpless I felt. I couldn't do anything to stop something I didn't understand, but if it didn't stop soon, it was going to eat his face, and I was very reluctant to put him back into a body that didn't have a whole face. Meanwhile, he was trapped outside his body suffering sensory deprivation, and all I could do was carry him around as I paced frantically.
I think the worst part was I couldn't bring myself to tell Starscream what was going on since he couldn't see for himself. I stalled continually, telling him it wouldn't be much longer, that he'd be back in his body soon, but it just continued and grew worse.
I looked down at his spark resting in my hands and suppressed a shiver. His voice was annoying, but it was still better than silence. He had only been awake a few months, and I liked talking to him even when we did nothing but argue for seemingly endless cycles - it was nice to finally have someone to talk to after a quarter of a vorn of basically being alone. I missed his screeching voice, I missed his disgusting humor, and I missed his incessant complaining.
At a loss, I dropped back down to the cave floor and curled up as best I could, cradling his spark chamber. He needed to know - he deserved to know what was happening to his body.
"Starscream...it's not stopping this time. I don't know why, but it's not." I don't know what his reaction was. I think his spark dimmed, but it was hard to tell, and at this point, I think he had already guessed as much anyway. With that confession out of the way, I had no idea what to do. I hated feeling so helpless. I was completely clueless about far too many things - what was happening to his body, why the necrosis wasn't stopping, or what caused it in the first place, but the unanswerable question I hated and dreaded the most was what would happen to his spark separated from a body for this long. I vowed to vastly extend my medical knowledge should we ever escape this horrible planet. I had relied entirely too much on Wheeljack and Ratchet, and that tendency came back to slap me in the face ever since Starscream and I escaped Cybertron.
"If it takes much more of your body..." I started but couldn't bring myself to finish. He knew I wouldn't be able to put him back into his body if that happened or, at least, wouldn't want to subject him to it. There was only one thing I could offer him if it came down to it. "...I could make it quick." All I would need to do is apply the right amount of pressure to the chamber, and it would shatter and crush his spark with it. It would be quick and would be better than being forced to continue to exist with only his hearing and no other sense, and somehow, I knew he would prefer that too - to return to Primus. I wanted someone to talk to, but I couldn't be selfish and subject him to living like that just so I could run my vocal processor. A part of me screamed at the thought of destroying his spark, the part of me that continued to stubbornly cling to the tiny threads of hope that we would be rescued. The now greater pessimistic side of me, however, knew that the odds that we would be had plummeted as soon as we crashed five years ago.
His spark gave no reaction to my declaration, but I didn't really expect it to, and I was resigned. I knew I would want him to do the same for me, and if I needed to destroy him, I could follow him back to Primus with a close-quarters shot from my rifle. It would be quick and painless.
I shook my head firmly and stubbornly clung to my safeguarded hope that everything would work out, that the necrosis would stop, that we would be rescued someday. It wasn't realistic, but it was better than thoughts of self-termination because I knew if I dwelled on that, it would only make me more depressed than I already was. I kept thinking if only I could switch bodies with him - maybe he could figure it out. He was a scientist - I was a fighter and a dockworker. If he could see and actively analyze what was happening to his body, maybe he could figure out what it was and find a way to stop it.
Unfortunately, even with my stubborn grasping at optimism and hope, I knew we couldn't do that. As soon as my spark chamber was disconnected, my body would go offline, and then we would both be trapped outside our bodies in sensory deprivation, and I couldn't put him back into his body to do the switch because of the same thing, even more so because he only had one hand to work with. Not to mention the fact that the housing where the spark chamber was connected probably wasn't even the same shape in my body as it was his given the drastically different shapes of our casing.
Those thoughts flitted away and left room for worse thoughts to settle. If I just hadn't become so paranoid about being followed by Unicron, we wouldn't be in this situation at all. Or maybe if I had taken better care to map our route so I could have followed the trail back to Earth when I realized we weren't being followed after all. Or if I hadn't spent all the remaining energy in the evacuation pod sending out that last cry for help so we would have had a better source of energon at least for a little while.
No matter how I looked at the situation, it all came back to one conclusion - it was my fault.
I'm sure others would have argued that assumption, instead telling me I did the best I could have given the circumstances in any case, but Bumblebee, Ironhide, Roller, Ratchet - none of them were here, were they? None of them were likely even still alive. The destruction of Cybertron and their deaths - that wasn't my fault. No matter how depressed and pessimistic I became, even I couldn't place that blame on my own shoulders. But getting lost on probably the opposite side of the galaxy, becoming further lost by trying to backtrack with star charts outdated by several million years, using up all of a ship's remaining energy, and then consuming toxic energon which had done I knew not what to my internal workings?
That was all me.
I lifted Starscream's spark chamber up to my face at optic level and stared at the light he gave off for a long time. How does one apologize for sealing someone else's fate to such a miserable and lonely end? If I had just left him behind, he would have died quickly and probably painlessly without ever waking up when Unicron consumed Cybertron. No, I had to be the piteous and all-forgiving sap I am and save him just because I couldn't save Arcee, because I couldn't save Ironhide and Ratchet, because I couldn't save Cybertron itself. I couldn't leave him because I wanted to think that if Cybertronian civilization truly was finished, I was going to save one little piece of it.
"I'm so sorry."
It was all I could say - all I could find the words for. He actually reacted this time though I'm not quite sure what kind of a reaction it was. His spark brightened slowly at length before dimming again and drooping slightly in his chamber.
I swear I think he yawned in my face.
I doubt it - we don't do such organic gestures except as emulation for effect like sighing. Some Autobots liked to mock yawn when Prowl was giving his typical security lectures, so it was usually a sign of boredom among us than it was a sign of weariness as among organics. I might have been offended under any other circumstances, but at the time, I so desperately needed the chokingly depressing mood to lift, I laughed whether he really did it or not. It wasn't just the thought of him yawning at me like Sideswipe and Sunstreaker always had Prowl - it was that thought combined with the knowledge that I knew several Autobots who would have done the same thing and told me to quit blaming myself for everything that went wrong - also Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, come to think of it.
"Thank you - I needed that," I said between laughs and tucked his spark chamber back into my arms, ignoring how the points on its diamond shape tried to stab me. I could have killed someone with his chamber if I really wanted to. That thought brought to mind an image of me standing over a battered Megatron, my foot pinning him to the ground and Starscream's spark chamber in my hand. I'm normally not one to have such gruesome, violent fantasies, but I allowed myself to indulge just this once to have something to think about other than our situation. The points of his diamond-shaped spark chamber really were sharp enough to kill with application of the right angle and strength, and I envisioned driving one end through Megatron's chest to mark the end of the war once and for all. What did humans call it? Poetic justice, I think - to be killed by his mortal enemy wielding the soul of his own second in command who had been trying to overthrow him for millions of years. I think Starscream would have enjoyed the fantasy if I could share it with him.
I spent the next half a cycle breaking or rubbing off the newly necrotic portions of his body, my worry and dread returning once more when I exposed the circuitry of his remaining leg, a wire from his throat snapping off between my fingers at the barest touch. His cockpit was already webbed with cracks, but the cracks were spreading, branching off into new splits in the glass as the necrosis began its work. His body could still function, but for how much longer, I had no idea.
Drained both physically and emotionally at this point, I didn't bother going back to my spot across the cavern, instead settling next to his body while I cradled his spark chamber. I leaned my head back against the rocks and stared up at the cavern ceiling for a long time before my optics dimmed and shut off of their own accord and I fell into a restless, depressed recharge.
I wasn't quite sure what woke me up at first. I did know I was shocked to realize when I checked my internal chronometer that I had been asleep for a little over five days. How in the name of Primus that happened, I had no idea - I vaguely remembered waking up a few times then drifting back to sleep, but I had no idea why since my energy levels were sufficient. My only guess was I had reached a point where I was so depressed I didn't care to stay awake. That made sense despite how disturbing a thought it was, so I pushed it to the back of my mind for now, stiffly pushing myself away from the rock.
A sharp pain in the right side of my head made me dizzy, and I almost fell forward onto my face, but I was able to stop myself with one arm before I could - a good thing, too, since I could have crushed Starscream's spark chamber. I took a moment to get my bearings straight again before making myself comfortable on my knees and raising my right hand to feel my head. My antenna wasn't damaged - save for the broken off left antenna, no part of my head was, so I was clueless as to what had caused the pain. It had subsided though, so I turned to inspect Starscream's body, less than pleased with what I found.
It had progressed further over the last five days I was asleep. The necrosis had snaked its way across his throat and was starting on the vents in his helmet, what was left of his left shoulder vent long gone and his cockpit with barely piece of glass left whole. I couldn't tell how far it had spread internally - I could only hope it wasn't to his central processor. His optics still seemed fine, but I couldn't be positive just from looking, and I was reluctant to break off the pieces on his head which were beyond help. That feeling of hopelessness started to sink in again. It should have stopped nearly two weeks ago.
The pain in my head returned, sharper this time, and I let out a yell until it subsided. I still couldn't tell what it was or what was causing it, and I couldn't help but grumble cynically, "This is how it ends - alone in a cave with a blown CPU..." If I was going to finish that thought, I couldn't as my voice was stolen by another jolt, this one sending a crackling spark up the length of my antenna. Upset and annoyed now, I reached up to wiggle the loose piece of metal, half tempted to just tear it off so it could share the fate of my left one. When I did, static filled my audio processors as the movement flipped on my barely working communicator, and the noise only annoyed me further. I was about to tear the offending antenna off of my head and stab something with it when the pain jolted me yet again, but this time, I cut my yell off and stared ahead of me at the rock wall, wondering if I was imagining things, if the static filling my audios was just disorienting me.
I heard something.
I jostled my antenna again to try to work it back into place, frantic to determine if I really had heard something or if my feeble mind was playing tricks on me. Nothing came to me but static, and after a few breems, I sank back down to the ground, my spark sinking in rekindled despair. It must have been an echo caused by the deafening static.
With a weary sigh, I slumped back against the rock and stared up at the ceiling again. I forced myself to look down at Starscream's body and sighed again. The necrosis wasn't stopping - there was no point in hoping it would at this point. I looked down at his spark chamber where he bobbed back and forth along its length as if he was pacing either from boredom, worry, or possibly bordering insanity from suffering sensory deprivation so long. The last thought just made me feel worse as I was sure that was the most likely case. I raised the casing to my optic-level and watched him before taking him firmly in my hands.
"I'm sorry."
I started to squeeze. A spark chamber is much stronger than it appears to be, so I was not surprised when it didn't crush with the first try. I looked for a weak spot - I was strong, but my energy levels were just sufficient enough to keep me going - I doubted I was in any semblance of fighting shape anymore, so it was more difficult than it should have been. Readjusting my grip, I tried again only to stop once more, this time because the pain in my head had returned, making my hands spasm and drop his chamber back into my lap. My head jerked up to attention, and I was suddenly fully awake and aware as I truly did hear something crackling over my semi-functional communicator. It was broken up with static, but I could still understand it.
< Optim--- --ime, this is Autob-- C-ty vessel J538--97 piloted by W---l--ck and R--im-- P---e. Do yo- -opy? >
Arc: 'Til All Are One
Rating: R (PG in this part)
Characters: Optimus Prime, Starscream
Summary: After Cybertron's destruction, two survivors wait out their final months after crashing on a forsaken and dangerous planet.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
I'm not sure what brought it to my attention, but I could feel that something in the air was wrong, and it wasn't just because it had gone stagnant in the months we had been trapped in the cave with the boulder in front of the entrance preventing the air from staying fresh. Good thing we didn't need it to survive.
No, there was something else wrong. I took a brief survey of our "home" - or prison, whichever. The leathery, rotten carcass of the second wyrm I killed so many months ago was as far away from us as I could get it without going outside, and while it reeked, it had been there for months and was nearly nothing more than bones and dried out skin. That couldn't be the problem. We had five energon cubes left and were both as functional as we were going to get on such low quality energon, so there was no need to make more. That wasn't the problem. Even the cave itself wasn't the problem - the ceiling was sturdy, there had been no earthquakes, and the rock looked to be in no danger of caving in on us. It wasn't until I looked over at Starscream that I figured out what was wrong.
"Oh slag," I swore.
It was starting again. He was offline at the moment and didn't notice, but my headlights could easily pinpoint the telltale grey crumble lining his mutilated side, and my systems came fully online in a brief state of panic. He couldn't lose any more of his body - he just couldn't. Not only would it have psychological repercussions, but it would likely kill him. He was already missing vital parts - his body overheated very easily without both intakes and vents properly functioning, and if any more components were compromised, he very well could die.
I didn't waste time trying to wake him gently. I crawled over to him, grabbed him by his remaining shoulder, and shook him awake, demanding, "Open your chest."
He was less than pleased.
"What, again?" he grumbled, still half asleep and trying to squirm away from me. "Primus, you're insatiable. I'm tired, Prime - your way's a lot more exhaustive. Go do yourself." With that, he shut his optics down again and tried to go back to sleep. I might have been embarrassed if I wasn't so panicked.
"Starscream, I mean it - wake up!" I demanded, shaking him again. I think I then understood that human expression "if looks could kill" because he glared at me like he wanted me to burst into flames. Unperturbed though, I insisted, "Look down."
He did. He knew what it looked like from my descriptions, and if he wasn't fully awake when he cast his gaze downward, the look of horror that crossed his face clearly meant he was wide awake now. I think he normally would have checked his reactions, but he wasn't aware the first two times the necrosis had eaten away at his body. I could only imagine how terrified I would be in his situation, and I honestly had no idea if he could feel whatever it was doing to him or not.
I lowered my voice then to try to calm him down, coaxing him to look back to me and away from his rotting side. "Open your chest. I need to take out your spark chamber - that's the only thing that stopped it before." If I was medically trained, I might understand why that was the only thing that worked, but I had no idea - I just knew it stopped it the last two times.
Understandably, he looked at me like I was crazy. "That could kill me." He didn't need to tell me that - I knew that. I almost lost him the last time.
"I know, but it's the only way. Not only that, but if it reaches your spark chamber, you'll die anyway." He flinched and ceased arguing, instead looking away from me and opening his cockpit and the protective panels beyond that. Before our ordeal on this planet, I never imagined the differences between Autobots and Decepticons ran so deeply, from our outlooks and goals to our cultures and even down to our most basic structure. I had seen his spark chamber many times now, but it was still amazing and intriguing. Autobot spark chambers are bulky, opaque, grey metal shaped like a cube, a very boring container for such beautiful matter. A Decepticon's spark chamber - or, at least, Starscream's - was translucent silver, letting the stunning gold light of his spark filter out for all to see while still protecting it. It was diamond in shape and nestled comfortably below his cockpit and protected on all sides by reinforced outer housing. It was also smaller, more streamlined, and much less cumbersome, and considering his body structure, that wasn't surprising. It seems every part of a flight-gifted Cybertronian was sleek and graceful. I'm not sure if anyone else would have found it fascinating, but I did.
I could tell he was scared even though he tried to hide it, betrayed only by his faintly shaking hand where it gripped a rock by his leg, and I wasn't surprised - who wouldn't be? I could kill him by doing this, but he was sure to die if I didn't. Words can't comfort fright like that, and I just don't think he's the hugging type. So, I tried to distract him. I had to touch the chamber to disconnect it anyway.
I gently ran my fingers over the ridges of the chamber with one hand while the other searched for the connections. In response, he gave me one of his delightful, full-body shudders I had grown accustomed to both witnessing and causing over the last few months. Not for the first time, I wondered if his wings shook like that too before he lost them. The image was appealing.
I almost felt badly for not being able to complete the sequence I had started as he let out a tiny whimper when my fingers ghosted over the top point of his diamond-shaped spark chamber, one of the only noises he ever makes during interfacing. At least it was getting his mind off what I was really doing, and bearing that in mind, I became a little bolder, wrapping my hand around his spark chamber and carefully stroking it. The shudder he gave me in response was so violent, he almost shook me back out of his chest. His jaw went slack as his head fell back against the rock wall, his vocal processor trying desperately to make some sort of noise to voice his pleasure. The sensitivity of his spark chamber never ceased to amaze me - I think he almost went into overload right there, and mischievously, I stored that information in the back of my mind for future reference.
At that point, I decided it would be cruel to stop then and deny him release, so I stroked the chamber again while my other hand found the final connection, not undoing it until he was finished. His hand flew to my arm and squeezed until it almost hurt as he thrashed in front of me, shaking and sputtering the turbine in his foot. His spark glowed so brightly it was painful to look at, also shuddering in its casing, and as I watched him shake and writhe, I couldn't help repeating the same thought which had echoed in my mind every time since we had decided to make a habit of this months ago, the thought I would be loathe to let him hear me say simply because he would probably laugh in my face:
Primus, he was beautiful.
I released the final connection as his shaking slowed, pulled that hand free of his chest, and wrapped my arm around him to pull him against my chest and hold him until the final tremors ceased coursing through his body. With my other hand, I pulled his spark chamber out and choked back a retch at how his body slumped against me, essentially dying in my arms. It made me feel ill the first two times, and this time was no different. I hated it. So many had died in the war, and a few had died in my arms in a similar fashion, so the way his body went limp and lifeless was disturbing.
Trying to get my mind on something else, I set his body down on the cave floor and checked over his spark chamber to make sure he was okay, turning the container over in my hands and tracing my fingers along the ridges and points. I doubt my touch did anything with it outside his body with no wires and electrical impulses to send a reaction to the spark itself, but I couldn't help myself. I wanted to feel like I was comforting him since I don't think I was just imagining it when his spark seemed to dim a little as if he was worried. Convinced he was in no immediate danger, I turned back to his body and used a free hand to begin breaking off the necrotic pieces which crumbled to dust. With the already necrotic sections separated, I would be able to tell if it was slowing or stopping though I didn't expect it to for about twelve cycles - that was how long it took the previous times.
When that task was finished, I settled myself back into my spot against the wall and cradled his spark chamber in my lap, watching the way his spark pulsed and glowed. It truly was beautiful, and it was amazing that something so fragile held such spirit and ambition. I had initially removed it the very first time because I was afraid of the necrosis swallowing it as it had what was left of his arm and leg and his remaining wing - it was completely unexpected that removing it stopped the necrosis, but I didn't complain.
His spark was different from the last two times - the previous times, his spark had been dim and unmoving, almost extinguished, especially the second time when it almost was extinguished. Now, however, it was vibrant and moving slightly here and there inside the container. It made me wonder...
"Are you aware?" I asked. I don't know what I expected, but I know I didn't expect his spark to bob up and down slightly in its casing as if he was trying to nod. I thought he would essentially be in a form of stasis. I had to wonder what it was like being aware of one's surroundings outside one's body. He could obviously hear me, but could he see me? I doubted it, but then again, I had been wrong about things already, so I just asked him. "Can you see me?" To this, he coasted back and forth, quickly getting a grasp on how to communicate in such a state.
It had to be strange if not disturbing being separated from his body like that. He could hear, but he couldn't see. He could respond by "nodding" or swaying back and forth, but he couldn't speak. I quickly realized exactly what it must have been like, and I immediately felt guilty for having to remove him not knowing he would be aware - sensory deprivation is a horrible thing to experience, and I couldn't tell from the light inside the container how he was coping with it. Was he panicking, or was he more or less unaffected? It needed to be done, but I hated it regardless. Sensory deprivation is normally a form of torture, yet I had brought it upon him with the pretense of helping.
"Well, you should only be like this for a few cycles," I tried to reassure him though actually I was trying to reassure myself even more, absently stroking the casing with my fingers again. That knowledge seemed to be some sort of comfort to him since he settled down in the container, so I relaxed against the cave wall to wait.
Then a week went by.
I looked down at Starscream's body during a brief pause in my worried pacing along the cave. Why wasn't it stopping? Why wasn't it stopping? It stopped before, but now it seemed to only speed up. His torso was crossed with tendrils of grey, and it was crawling up his throat and down the inside of his thigh. If anything, it seemed to have grown worse by taking out his spark chamber, and I hated how helpless I felt. I couldn't do anything to stop something I didn't understand, but if it didn't stop soon, it was going to eat his face, and I was very reluctant to put him back into a body that didn't have a whole face. Meanwhile, he was trapped outside his body suffering sensory deprivation, and all I could do was carry him around as I paced frantically.
I think the worst part was I couldn't bring myself to tell Starscream what was going on since he couldn't see for himself. I stalled continually, telling him it wouldn't be much longer, that he'd be back in his body soon, but it just continued and grew worse.
I looked down at his spark resting in my hands and suppressed a shiver. His voice was annoying, but it was still better than silence. He had only been awake a few months, and I liked talking to him even when we did nothing but argue for seemingly endless cycles - it was nice to finally have someone to talk to after a quarter of a vorn of basically being alone. I missed his screeching voice, I missed his disgusting humor, and I missed his incessant complaining.
At a loss, I dropped back down to the cave floor and curled up as best I could, cradling his spark chamber. He needed to know - he deserved to know what was happening to his body.
"Starscream...it's not stopping this time. I don't know why, but it's not." I don't know what his reaction was. I think his spark dimmed, but it was hard to tell, and at this point, I think he had already guessed as much anyway. With that confession out of the way, I had no idea what to do. I hated feeling so helpless. I was completely clueless about far too many things - what was happening to his body, why the necrosis wasn't stopping, or what caused it in the first place, but the unanswerable question I hated and dreaded the most was what would happen to his spark separated from a body for this long. I vowed to vastly extend my medical knowledge should we ever escape this horrible planet. I had relied entirely too much on Wheeljack and Ratchet, and that tendency came back to slap me in the face ever since Starscream and I escaped Cybertron.
"If it takes much more of your body..." I started but couldn't bring myself to finish. He knew I wouldn't be able to put him back into his body if that happened or, at least, wouldn't want to subject him to it. There was only one thing I could offer him if it came down to it. "...I could make it quick." All I would need to do is apply the right amount of pressure to the chamber, and it would shatter and crush his spark with it. It would be quick and would be better than being forced to continue to exist with only his hearing and no other sense, and somehow, I knew he would prefer that too - to return to Primus. I wanted someone to talk to, but I couldn't be selfish and subject him to living like that just so I could run my vocal processor. A part of me screamed at the thought of destroying his spark, the part of me that continued to stubbornly cling to the tiny threads of hope that we would be rescued. The now greater pessimistic side of me, however, knew that the odds that we would be had plummeted as soon as we crashed five years ago.
His spark gave no reaction to my declaration, but I didn't really expect it to, and I was resigned. I knew I would want him to do the same for me, and if I needed to destroy him, I could follow him back to Primus with a close-quarters shot from my rifle. It would be quick and painless.
I shook my head firmly and stubbornly clung to my safeguarded hope that everything would work out, that the necrosis would stop, that we would be rescued someday. It wasn't realistic, but it was better than thoughts of self-termination because I knew if I dwelled on that, it would only make me more depressed than I already was. I kept thinking if only I could switch bodies with him - maybe he could figure it out. He was a scientist - I was a fighter and a dockworker. If he could see and actively analyze what was happening to his body, maybe he could figure out what it was and find a way to stop it.
Unfortunately, even with my stubborn grasping at optimism and hope, I knew we couldn't do that. As soon as my spark chamber was disconnected, my body would go offline, and then we would both be trapped outside our bodies in sensory deprivation, and I couldn't put him back into his body to do the switch because of the same thing, even more so because he only had one hand to work with. Not to mention the fact that the housing where the spark chamber was connected probably wasn't even the same shape in my body as it was his given the drastically different shapes of our casing.
Those thoughts flitted away and left room for worse thoughts to settle. If I just hadn't become so paranoid about being followed by Unicron, we wouldn't be in this situation at all. Or maybe if I had taken better care to map our route so I could have followed the trail back to Earth when I realized we weren't being followed after all. Or if I hadn't spent all the remaining energy in the evacuation pod sending out that last cry for help so we would have had a better source of energon at least for a little while.
No matter how I looked at the situation, it all came back to one conclusion - it was my fault.
I'm sure others would have argued that assumption, instead telling me I did the best I could have given the circumstances in any case, but Bumblebee, Ironhide, Roller, Ratchet - none of them were here, were they? None of them were likely even still alive. The destruction of Cybertron and their deaths - that wasn't my fault. No matter how depressed and pessimistic I became, even I couldn't place that blame on my own shoulders. But getting lost on probably the opposite side of the galaxy, becoming further lost by trying to backtrack with star charts outdated by several million years, using up all of a ship's remaining energy, and then consuming toxic energon which had done I knew not what to my internal workings?
That was all me.
I lifted Starscream's spark chamber up to my face at optic level and stared at the light he gave off for a long time. How does one apologize for sealing someone else's fate to such a miserable and lonely end? If I had just left him behind, he would have died quickly and probably painlessly without ever waking up when Unicron consumed Cybertron. No, I had to be the piteous and all-forgiving sap I am and save him just because I couldn't save Arcee, because I couldn't save Ironhide and Ratchet, because I couldn't save Cybertron itself. I couldn't leave him because I wanted to think that if Cybertronian civilization truly was finished, I was going to save one little piece of it.
"I'm so sorry."
It was all I could say - all I could find the words for. He actually reacted this time though I'm not quite sure what kind of a reaction it was. His spark brightened slowly at length before dimming again and drooping slightly in his chamber.
I swear I think he yawned in my face.
I doubt it - we don't do such organic gestures except as emulation for effect like sighing. Some Autobots liked to mock yawn when Prowl was giving his typical security lectures, so it was usually a sign of boredom among us than it was a sign of weariness as among organics. I might have been offended under any other circumstances, but at the time, I so desperately needed the chokingly depressing mood to lift, I laughed whether he really did it or not. It wasn't just the thought of him yawning at me like Sideswipe and Sunstreaker always had Prowl - it was that thought combined with the knowledge that I knew several Autobots who would have done the same thing and told me to quit blaming myself for everything that went wrong - also Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, come to think of it.
"Thank you - I needed that," I said between laughs and tucked his spark chamber back into my arms, ignoring how the points on its diamond shape tried to stab me. I could have killed someone with his chamber if I really wanted to. That thought brought to mind an image of me standing over a battered Megatron, my foot pinning him to the ground and Starscream's spark chamber in my hand. I'm normally not one to have such gruesome, violent fantasies, but I allowed myself to indulge just this once to have something to think about other than our situation. The points of his diamond-shaped spark chamber really were sharp enough to kill with application of the right angle and strength, and I envisioned driving one end through Megatron's chest to mark the end of the war once and for all. What did humans call it? Poetic justice, I think - to be killed by his mortal enemy wielding the soul of his own second in command who had been trying to overthrow him for millions of years. I think Starscream would have enjoyed the fantasy if I could share it with him.
I spent the next half a cycle breaking or rubbing off the newly necrotic portions of his body, my worry and dread returning once more when I exposed the circuitry of his remaining leg, a wire from his throat snapping off between my fingers at the barest touch. His cockpit was already webbed with cracks, but the cracks were spreading, branching off into new splits in the glass as the necrosis began its work. His body could still function, but for how much longer, I had no idea.
Drained both physically and emotionally at this point, I didn't bother going back to my spot across the cavern, instead settling next to his body while I cradled his spark chamber. I leaned my head back against the rocks and stared up at the cavern ceiling for a long time before my optics dimmed and shut off of their own accord and I fell into a restless, depressed recharge.
I wasn't quite sure what woke me up at first. I did know I was shocked to realize when I checked my internal chronometer that I had been asleep for a little over five days. How in the name of Primus that happened, I had no idea - I vaguely remembered waking up a few times then drifting back to sleep, but I had no idea why since my energy levels were sufficient. My only guess was I had reached a point where I was so depressed I didn't care to stay awake. That made sense despite how disturbing a thought it was, so I pushed it to the back of my mind for now, stiffly pushing myself away from the rock.
A sharp pain in the right side of my head made me dizzy, and I almost fell forward onto my face, but I was able to stop myself with one arm before I could - a good thing, too, since I could have crushed Starscream's spark chamber. I took a moment to get my bearings straight again before making myself comfortable on my knees and raising my right hand to feel my head. My antenna wasn't damaged - save for the broken off left antenna, no part of my head was, so I was clueless as to what had caused the pain. It had subsided though, so I turned to inspect Starscream's body, less than pleased with what I found.
It had progressed further over the last five days I was asleep. The necrosis had snaked its way across his throat and was starting on the vents in his helmet, what was left of his left shoulder vent long gone and his cockpit with barely piece of glass left whole. I couldn't tell how far it had spread internally - I could only hope it wasn't to his central processor. His optics still seemed fine, but I couldn't be positive just from looking, and I was reluctant to break off the pieces on his head which were beyond help. That feeling of hopelessness started to sink in again. It should have stopped nearly two weeks ago.
The pain in my head returned, sharper this time, and I let out a yell until it subsided. I still couldn't tell what it was or what was causing it, and I couldn't help but grumble cynically, "This is how it ends - alone in a cave with a blown CPU..." If I was going to finish that thought, I couldn't as my voice was stolen by another jolt, this one sending a crackling spark up the length of my antenna. Upset and annoyed now, I reached up to wiggle the loose piece of metal, half tempted to just tear it off so it could share the fate of my left one. When I did, static filled my audio processors as the movement flipped on my barely working communicator, and the noise only annoyed me further. I was about to tear the offending antenna off of my head and stab something with it when the pain jolted me yet again, but this time, I cut my yell off and stared ahead of me at the rock wall, wondering if I was imagining things, if the static filling my audios was just disorienting me.
I heard something.
I jostled my antenna again to try to work it back into place, frantic to determine if I really had heard something or if my feeble mind was playing tricks on me. Nothing came to me but static, and after a few breems, I sank back down to the ground, my spark sinking in rekindled despair. It must have been an echo caused by the deafening static.
With a weary sigh, I slumped back against the rock and stared up at the ceiling again. I forced myself to look down at Starscream's body and sighed again. The necrosis wasn't stopping - there was no point in hoping it would at this point. I looked down at his spark chamber where he bobbed back and forth along its length as if he was pacing either from boredom, worry, or possibly bordering insanity from suffering sensory deprivation so long. The last thought just made me feel worse as I was sure that was the most likely case. I raised the casing to my optic-level and watched him before taking him firmly in my hands.
"I'm sorry."
I started to squeeze. A spark chamber is much stronger than it appears to be, so I was not surprised when it didn't crush with the first try. I looked for a weak spot - I was strong, but my energy levels were just sufficient enough to keep me going - I doubted I was in any semblance of fighting shape anymore, so it was more difficult than it should have been. Readjusting my grip, I tried again only to stop once more, this time because the pain in my head had returned, making my hands spasm and drop his chamber back into my lap. My head jerked up to attention, and I was suddenly fully awake and aware as I truly did hear something crackling over my semi-functional communicator. It was broken up with static, but I could still understand it.
< Optim--- --ime, this is Autob-- C-ty vessel J538--97 piloted by W---l--ck and R--im-- P---e. Do yo- -opy? >
