Author's Note: This was originally written as a gift for Artemis Prime, who has often complained about the lack of Sandstorm/Octane fic. Naturally, I had to put my own angsty spin on the whole thing.
And now, for the usual disclaimers: I don't own any of these characters, since I'm not Hasbro or Takara or any liscensed partner. And if you couldn't tell already, this is Sandstorm/Octane slashfic. You've been warned. Don't flame me, it'll only make you look stupid. ^__^
It should have been perfectly routine. They weren't even on a mission, just out for a bit of relaxation. Granted, most people wouldn't think of the rim of the Badlands as an ideal vacation spot, but then the isolation was just what Sandstorm and Octane had been seeking. Someplace away from Iacon, away from the watching, judgemental optics of other Autobots. A few hours of peaceful solitude, precious and theirs, wrangled away from Rodimus after too many hours of arguing. . . .
The roads simply stop at the edge of the Badlands, the bridges and spans broken and charred from the early years of the war. Once, it had been a shining province, a center of culture. But that had been long ago, long before either of them had been sparked. Now all that remained were the dead claws of broken towers and the pale bones of shattered bridges. And a sense of something precious, now lost forever.
"Are you sure coming here was such a good idea?"
"You wanted to be somewhere away from everyone," Sandstorm commented gently. "Well, this is definitely away from everyone."
"Yeah, but what if something happens?"
"Relax, 'Tane," his companion replied, briefly pressing his palm against the Decepticon's near wing. "This is Autobot sovereign space. What could possibly happen?"
As if on cue, purple fire slammed into the broken wall above their heads. Decepticon and Autobot ducked instinctively, darting for the vague shelter of a crumbling building.
"How many times have I told you never to ask that question?" Octane groused, a hint of humor coloring his tone.
"Sorry! I didn't even think about it," Sandstorm replied with equal humor. "Don't suppose you got a good count of them?"
"Six Sweeps. But if they got this far in, there's gotta be more . . . somewhere. . . ."
"It's the 'somewhere' that worries me," Sandstorm confessed, cradling his sandblaster in his hands. Octane pushed him back deeper into the building, holding his rifle at the ready as he peered out to spy their attackers. The Sweeps were circling around for another strafing run, but the tactic made little sense. Sweeps were unbelievably dull and stupid in combat, but at three-to-one, they had a definite advantage.
"You've tried radioing for backup, right Stormer?"
"Tried, yeah. They're jamming the comm lines. Of course."
"Figures. Wouldn't want to risk a fair fight, after all," Octane groused. The Sweeps strafed the building once again, sending an unsettling groaning echoing through the structure.
"I think we're about to lose our cover," Sandstorm observed nervously. "Think we can beat 'em in a sprint back to the city?"
"Not even close. What about the tunnels?"
"We'd be lost in ten minutes. Or worse. The tunnels around here are worse than the surface. Dead ends, sudden drops, cave-ins. If they followed us. . . ."
"They don't seem too interested in landing. . . ."
"Not yet," Sandstorm observed, "but they may soon."
The building, such as it was, shuddered and groaned under another strafing assault.
"Right. Time to go on the offensive. Maybe we can take a few of 'em down before they get us," Octane rumbled. Suiting actions to words, Octane dashed out into the open, laying down coverfire for his companion. Sandstorm sighed inwardly as he followed the Decepticon's lead. The Sweeps, apparently caught off guard by the sudden switch to offensive tactics, scattered in six different directions. Sandstorm ignored them to transform to ground mode and made a mad dash towards the road back to Iacon, Octane hot on his bumper.
The fragile strand of bridge suddenly exploded underneath the Autobot triplechanger, throwing him into the air. He transformed, only vaguely aware of Octane slamming on his brakes in a vain attempt to avoid the breach. He watched the other triplechanger tumble into empty space, a twinge of unreasonable pride racing through him as Octane transformed and pulled into a graceful climb.
"Sandstorm! Watch your six!!" Octane's voice screamed in his audios. He glanced at his rear just as the missle crashed through his tail rotor. The counterbalance to his main rotors in ruins, Sandstorm felt himself tumbling out of control. Air howled past his audios as he realized he was out over a blast chasm; the surface was far off and littered with debris.
This, he thought to himself, is really going to hurt.
"Oh for the love of . . . transform, you nit! I can't grab ya if you're gonna hang around in 'chopper mode!"
Chagrinned, Sandstorm transformed to root mode. Thus negating any remaining counter to the force of gravitation, he plumeted even faster. A silver and purple blurr dove past him, then a solid clang resounded through his entire frame as he made contact with his companion's fuselage.
"Crap," Octane rumbled darkly. "Okay, so this wasn't one of my better ideas."
"What wasn't?"
"Momentum's dragging us down. I can't get the right thrust to compensate for your weight."
"In other words, now we're both going to crash, right?"
"Yeah, but at least I can pick where," the Decepticon remarked, and without warning, he pitched them both into a dive, angling towards an exposed tunnel. The tunnel floor met them without comment, a graceless landing that earned Octane only a few superficial injuries. Sandstorm ran an internal diagnostic, relieved to note that his own injuries were relatively minor. Unfortunately, there was no way he could fly back to Iacon, nor could Octane fly them both. He was effectively stuck until the Sweeps could be sent packing. He took great comfort just in watching Octane transform and take his hand briefly, silent confirmation that he wasn't leaving him behind.
Another burst of laserfire sent them scuttling back away from the tunnel entrance. Both watched the opening warily, waiting for someone to appear. Someone had to figure out that they weren't going anywhere.
"Well, well, well . . . what do we have here? Looks like a pathetic little Autobot and a stinking traitor. I imagine Galvatron will be quite happy to have both your heads, yes."
"Thrust," Octane spat, his optics narrowing in anger. "Come to gloat?"
"You're in a dead tunnel, the only way out being through me . . . it seems a safe bet."
"You're outnumbered . . . two of us to one of you."
"Do you really thing I wouldn't bring backup?" Thrust taunted.
"Hey, it's you we're talking about. Of course I do," Octane sneered right back. Rather than waiting for the Sweeps to join Thrust, the renegade Decepticon charged forward, liquid fire spewing ahead of him to wrap around Thrust like a second skin. The Decepticon jet screamed, swiftly putting distance between himself and Octane. Sweeps rushed forward, opening fire and driving Octane back from the tunnel mouth. Sandstorm grabbed his companion by a wing, pulling him away from the explosions.
"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" he hissed.
"Not especially, but if we can't drive them off, we're stuck here. So how about helping me out?"
"You're impossible, you know that?" he replied with a faint grin.
"Just trying to get us out of this alive."
"All right, but this time, let me go first, okay 'Tane?"
"Just watch that first step, Stormer. It's a doozy."
Sandstorm offered what he hoped was a brave-sounding laugh, then hurried forward, shooting as soon as a Sweep came into view. He could feel Octane at his side, feel the reflected heat of his companion's flamethrower. One Sweep went down, then another. A third blossomed in a riot of colorful flames. Something ripped through his side, but he ignored it. There was no time for injuries, no time to think about anything but trying to survive. Another blast tore into his shoulder and he stumbled off balance. He bumped against Octane, felt worry rush through the other triplechanger. Then his footing slipped.
Time slowed as it will when Fate is set, and in that moment, Sandstorm could clearly see another Sweep die. The two remaining and Thrust were circling around, arrowing in on their precarious position. Then his perspective slipped as he felt himself dropping over the shorn edge of the tunnel, falling into the blast chasm. Shock and horror ripped through him as, too late, Octane grabbed for him. He could see the thoughts flashing through his companion's optics, watched helpless as Octane literally forgot where he was in the need to help his Autobot mate. With his back turned to the attacking Decepticons, the renegade never saw the missiles whistling through the atmosphere. Anger clawed through his spark as a single missle slammed into his companion's back, throwing him into open air. A brief surge of relief as the other missle skimmed past Octane's flank was quickly banished by the realization that the missile hadn't missed it's target at all. Then there was no time for thought as fire engulfed him. Red faults crowded his vision, then all was darkness.
Octane tried to transform, but the relays defaulted. He crashed hard at the bottom of the artificial shaft, unnerved at the near-silence that engulfed him. Mindful of the fault messages scrolling through his vision, he carefully levered himself into a sitting position. And then he saw Sandstorm.
His Autobot mate was functioning still, but barely. The fall, or rather, the sudden stop at the end, had shattered one leg and splayed his limbs in a decidedly unnatural configuration. One of Thrust's missiles had blown through his chest, internal components and vital fluids leaking out of the charred hole in his plating. Octane carefully dragged himself to Sandstorm's side, lifting his mate's head into his lap.
"Stormer? Farking pits, hang in there, Storm. Don't leave me. . . ."
The only response was a faint flicker of power through dark blue optics. Optics that should have been the cerulean of the Carribean sea.
"Sandstorm? Dammit, fight Autobot!"
"Awww . . . did the Autobot mean something to you, traitor?"
"So help me, Thrust, if he dies, I'm ripping your spark out with my bare hands," Octane growled up at the blackened jet. He could tell Thrust wasn't up to fighting him, even if he did still have two Sweeps for backup.
"Octane? You actually feel something for this pathetic Autobot? Well . . . that is a surprise. I didn't think you capable of the emotion. . . ."
"Smelt off, Thrust."
"Maybe I don't have to kill you. . . ."
Octane narrowed his optics in a wary frown. He had never trusted Thrust and he wasn't about to start now.
"No . . . no, I don't think I have to kill you at all. In fact, I think it would be so much more fitting if I let you live. Sweeps! We're outta here!"
Octane watched in stunned disbelief as Thrust transformed, leading the remaining two Sweeps off-world. He tried opening a comm line, surprised again when it actually worked.
"Iacon here. State your business."
"This is Octane. I need an emergency medevac on this location right now!"
"Where are you?"
"Badlands somewhere. We were attacked. Sandstorm's badly hurt . . . really badly. Ya gotta hurry. . . ."
"Med team is already on it's way. Keep this line open so they can track your location."
Octane left the line open, but activated the mute. He desparately wished he knew something he could do for the Autobot cradled in his lap. But the fear of doing more harm than good kept him frozen in place.
"Hang in there, Storm. Help's on the way. Just hang in there."
"Oc- . . . -tane. . . ."
"Shhh. I'm right here, Sandstorm. Just keep hanging on, you get me? Don't you dare leave me. . . ."
". . . 's hard. . . ."
"Save your energy, Stormer," Octane murmured, sliding one of Sandstorm's hands into his own.
". . . Val- . . . -kyr- . . -ie. . . ."
The Decepticon wracked his memory system, but the recall only produced a mention of an Autobot who had taken her name from some aspect of human mythology. Sandstorm had never mentioned her, so he failed to see why he was doing so now.
"It's okay, Stormer. Whatever it is, you can tell me later, after they get you all patched up again. Just hold onto that thought, okay? Hold on. . . ."
Power flickered through his companion's dark optics briefly, then died once more. For the first time in his life, Octane couldn't be bothered to care that he was sitting in the middle of a growing puddle of vital fluids.
"Hang in there, Sandstorm. Please . . . don't leave me. Oh Primus, please, don't take him from me. Not like this. Please. . . . Please, Sandstorm. . . . I can't do this without you. . . ."
He could hear a rattling, liquid wheeze issuing up from Sandstorm's ruined chest, an audible cue that his mate wasn't going to survive much longer. He prayed as he never had before to a god in whom he had never had strong faith, prayed that help would arrive soon, that Sandstorm could survive long enough for the Autobots to find them.
"Please . . . Primus, I know I've never been a faithful worshiper. No matter what Sandstorm said, I just . . . I didn't see the point. But please, if You're really out there . . . don't take him from me. I can't do this without him. . . ."
He felt Sandstorm's presence then, a touch on his very spark that both warmed him and chilled him to the very core. Without a single word passing between them, he felt a reaffirmation of Sandstorm's felings for him . . . and the young Autobot's confidence that he would be fine.
Don't leave me. Please, Stormer . . . I can't do this without you. . . !
I will always be with you, his mate's voice whispered. Maybe not physically, but a peice of me will always be with you, Octane. You don't have to be afraid of losing me.
"Don't go," he whispered, his voice little more than a dry rasp.
I . . . I have to go, 'Tane. You have to let me go. This body . . . this body is dying, 'Tane. It hurts, oh Primus, 'Tane, it hurts so bad. Please, let me go. I know it's gonna hurt you too, but please . . . end my suffering. . . .
"I don't think I can, Stormer. I need you too much. . . ."
I'll always be with you, Octane. Please . . . I'm begging you, let me die. . . .
"I . . . I . . . I can't. . . . I have to save you. . . ."
As you love me, 'Tane, please . . . let it end. Let me cross. . . .
"I love you," he whispered at last, little more than a wheeze. Once more, power surged through azure optics, then faded to nothing. The liquid wheeze slowed, then stopped as tiny LEDs flickered and died within Sandstorm's body. As he felt the last shred of life fading from his mate's shell, a howling pain tore into his spark as a peice of himself was ripped violently from the world of the living.
"He's coming out of it. . . ."
Octane scanned his surroundings, feeling empty inside. The Autobots had come at last it seemed, as he was in one of the Iacon Medical Center's wards. He didn't recognize anyone in the room, but that didn't particularly surprise him either. He knew the Autobots only barely tolerated him, and much of that had been for Sandstorm's sake. Now . . . emptiness yawned inside him where once he had felt Sandstorm's vibrant presence. Emptiness and a bleak, deep ache that refused any remedy.
You said you'd always be with me. But you're not, Storm. You're gone, and I'm left here wondering what I'm going to do now. . . .
"Octane . . . what happened out there?"
"We were attacked," he growled darkly. "We were outnumbered, bad. Sandstorm . . . well, if you saw the body, that says it all. He just couldn't hang on long enough."
"Your injuries were far less severe. And you remained alive. Why?"
"Because Thrust found out. Found out and decided it'd be better to leave me alive, torture me that way. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to figure out what the frelling pits I'm doing with the rest of my life."
Octane didn't even bother to wait for permission, stalking out of Medical in a cloud of self-loathing. He never should have let Sandstorm go. But he'd been in pain, real pain. And now . . . now he was left with nothing.
"Octane! Wait!"
"What?!" he growled at the red medic that hurried to catch up with him.
"You left before I could give you this."
"What is it?" he rumbled guardedly as he accepted the data disk.
"Norse mythology. Sandstorm meant to pick it up later today. He said . . . well, he was researching myths of the Valkyrie. . . ."
"The Valkyrie. . . ."
"He said there were obscure references to something like them in our past. I thought, well, it's yours now. . . ."
Octane watched the medic walk away, unsure what to say. Curiousity finally got the better of him and he slid the disk into a reader. He flipped through the index, surprised to feel a familiar touch brushing against the edges of his spark.
. . . told you. . . .
"Storm?" he whispered, hardly crediting what he sensed.
. . . always keep . . . my promises. . . . You'll never . . . be alone. . . .
I love you. . . .
. . . I . . . know . . . my love. . . .
"Lo there do I see my father.
Lo there do I see my mother.
Lo there do I see my brothers and sisters and all of my line back to the beginning.
They do call unto me, asking me to join them in the halls of Valhalla
Where the brave may live forever. . . ."