AUTHOR'S NOTES
WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH, GORE AND NO HAPPY ENDING. The last time I posted a story like this, I was shocked at the generally negative feedback I received. I am going to tell you up front that I LOVE Optimus, so do not think that this story is displaying a dislike for him! I simply enjoy writing depressing fanfics. I don't know why...
ANYWAY, the inspiration for this came about as I was listening to Chris White's instrumental song 'Silent Dawn' - I began to imagine this scene in my mind, and decided to let my imagination run with it. It was originally a one-shot but, after reading and re-reading this about a hundred times, I've decided that I need to expand it (with a prequel or sequel, I have yet to decide.)
Please forgive me, fellow OP fangirls.
SILENT DAWN
Autobot Outpost Omega One was shrouded in a darkness that no light could ever hope to eradicate.
Trailing ribbons of radiant blue Energon lazily traced the contours of the concrete floor of the medical bay, following its slope as gravity dragged the stuff downwards to pool in a gory puddle. Its dying light cast eerie violet shadows on the walls and ceiling, clearly visible despite the startlingly bright reflections of the examination lamp held low over the operating table.
Over the table stooped Ratchet. The medic was working feverishly and determinedly, his arms flashing in the lamp's glare as he tried to mend the bot whose blood stained the floor. His teeth were bared, and he reached up to angrily swipe away the Energon that had splattered over his face, but he only succeeded in transferring more from his hand onto his cheek. He glanced up at the computers monitoring his patient's vitals, swearing under his breath as his optics fell on the dying measurements.
With a stark bitterness, Ratchet realized that he was failing.
Optimus Prime was dying.
He hesitated, debating for the umpteenth time if he should halt his efforts, but he cursed himself for even considering that option and threw himself back into his work.
The main Energon veins in the Prime's body had been severed, and the armor around the breaks hung open, revealing the mech's delicate inner workings. Energon continued to spurt freely from a particularly deep slash marking his chest, and the flow was becoming feebler with every beat of his weakening Spark. Ratchet could see the backup energy systems trying to flare to life within, but failing as the reserve power bled out through the massive gaps in the mech's red and blue armor. He had hooked Optimus up to an intravenous rig that was feeding more precious Energon into his veins, but what good would that do if he kept on losing the stuff faster than he could take it in?
"Don't you even think about leaving me, Optimus," Ratchet whispered, using one hand to manually pinch off the flow of Energon from the Prime's vein while the other welded it shut. He would have to reroute the Energon later, after – no, if – he could stem the bleeding. "Just stay with me. Stay with me, Prime…"
His words fell on inactive audios. The massive Autobot's systems had gone offline hours ago, as his processor was suffering from lack of Energon to support its function, plunging Optimus into a darkness from which he might never wake.
"I swear, Prime, if you die," Ratchet snarled angrily at the fading Optimus, "I will never forgive you."
That was silly, and he knew it. It would not be Optimus's fault if he perished. If anyone's, it would be Ratchet's. Even though it was Megaton who had inflicted these injuries upon the Autobot leader, it was Ratchet's shoulders that took the weight of preserving the Prime's life, and if he failed… he would never forgive himself.
Countless Autobot lives had slipped through his hands, back on Cybertron during the days of the Great War, and he regretted every last one of them. Sure, he had saved more lives than he had lost, but it was the deaths that continually plagued his conscience. If only he had the right materials to save them. If only he had the proper equipment. If only he was a better medic…
And he would not allow Optimus to become one of the lives he had been unable to save.
The monitors told him otherwise. The one displaying Spark activity began to flare red. Its glare mixed with the blue Energon, creating a purplish glow that Ratchet couldn't help but liken to Dark Energon. He began to work faster, ignoring the fatigue that was starting to take a hold of his limbs, slowing his processor. He could not allow himself to tire. He could not afford to allow anything, even exhaustion, to stand in his way.
He tuned one audio receptor to the steadily slowing rhythm of the Spark monitor, listening as the time between each beat increased.
He was losing time.
His arms began to shake as his weld failed and the vein opened again, splattering more Energon over his paint, and he tried to ignore the fact that it had begun to run thin and with less vigor. Signs that there was not enough left in Optimus's body to even pump.
Ratchet could not remember the last time he had shed a tear. As a field medic he had grown quite accustomed to seeing the gory displays that came with the war, to the point where he could perform surgeries and repairs without feeling much at all. But this… this was different. Not only was it is friend who lay on the table before him, but the last remaining Prime of Cybertron as well.
Ratchet bit down hard as he watched the drop of clear fluid splash onto what was left of the Prime's chest. He swiped the tear away, refusing to let more come. There was still time. He could still hear a Sparkbeat. There was still time.
Still time. Still time.
He chanted this over and over as he renewed his efforts to seal off the broken veins so Optimus's body could hold the Energon he needed to live. Glancing up at the rig dripping replacement Energon, he bit his lip. The last of the three vials he had set up was almost empty. It would take too long to melt down the crystals the Autobots had stored up. By the time they got enough pooled up to feed into Optimus, it would be too late.
Ratchet didn't want to think about that. He couldn't think about it. Not when all his focus needed to be channeled into the task at hand. Patch him up, then worry about the Energon… if he can't hold it in, what's the use anyway… Just seal the holes, patch the wounds… still time… there's still time…
But deep within him, he knew there wasn't.
He blinked back the fluid threatening to spill out of his optics, now allowing himself to cry. He couldn't cry. Time for that later. Not now. His body shook uncontrollably as he tried to seal off the wounds again, ignoring the almost non-existent stream of Energon flowing between his fingers.
And then the inevitable happened.
The Spark monitor froze up, and the peaks of Optimus's Sparkbeat staggered off of the screen, giving way to a thin, flat, line. Ratchet ignored it and kept at his work. Maybe, just maybe, it would beat again. There was no tone. That meant there was still a chance, right?
He got his answer when the machine emitted a single note that shook him to his very core.
Optimus was flat lining.
Ratchet leapt into action.
He rerouted some of his power into his left palm, charging up the metal within, and with his teeth bared he slammed his hand down on Optimus's exposed chest and held it there. He let the electricity run through him, willing the Prime's Spark to beat again, to absorb the shock and use it to reanimate the silent bot. Optimus's body jerked once, giving Ratchet a false hope that quickly melted away as Prime went still once again, his head rolling to the side.
"No!" Ratchet screamed, refusing to believe it. He reached out to touch two gore-stained fingers to Optimus's throat, where he knew he would feel a pulse. The monitor is wrong. The monitor has to be wrong, he thought. The shock had to have worked. He'd feel a Spark. He'd feel something. He had to!
But he felt nothing beside the cold metal beneath his touch. No pulse. No sign of life. NOTHING.
He withdrew his hand from Prime's chest, slowly. That was it. He had used all his reserve power for the shock and couldn't administer another until he recharged.
The monitor was still emitting the single, chilling tone, confirming his worst fear.
The last Prime was dead.
Ratchet bowed his head as the full reality of the situation began to sink in. Optimus Prime was dead.
Optimus Prime had bled out on his repair table.
Optimus Prime's life had slipped through his fingers.
A sudden wave of anger took a hold of him, and he clenched his fists under the agony of it. In one swift motion he slammed them down on the table next to Optimus's head with a resounding CLANK.
As the impact radiated through him and grief began to take its hold on his Spark, Ratchet threw his head back and screamed defeat to the sky.
Arcee stood alone in the darkened halls of the base. Her arms were folded and her head was bowed to her chest as she tried to hide the fact that she was crying.
Ratchet had banished all the Autobots from the main part of Outpost Omega One (where the medical bay was housed) as soon as they had brought the heavily damaged Optimus to the table and laid him down upon it. All of them argued against it – they were reluctant to leave their leader's side, even if it meant following him to the operating table… or his deathbed.
Despite Arcee's offers to aide him in his efforts to save the Prime's life, Ratchet had shooed her away under the guise that he was not in need of any assistance. But she knew the real reason. He didn't want her to see Optimus in that state.
She laughed a little bit at that. Ratchet didn't know what she'd already seen. She had been there, standing next to Optimus when Megatron thrust his blade clean through the Prime's chest. She had cried out Optimus's name as she saw the Decepticon strike at him, again and again, opening up his red and blue armor and allowing his blood to spring free of his body and dye the ground a sickly bluish color. She had tried to fight Megatron off, slashing at his legs with her own blades, not giving up until he stumbled, the motion causing him to remove his blade from Optimus's body.
Without the Decepticon leader's sword to support him, the Prime had fallen.
Hell, she was the one who had cradled Optimus's head in her lap as he laid awaiting unconsciousness to take over. She had been his final comfort as his systems had plunged his mind into darkness. It had been hard not to burst into tears over him. She had vaguely heard the battle continuing around her; the angered cries of Bulkhead and Bumblebee as they carried on the fight despite the fact that their leader was down. They knew they had to – for his sake.
If that wasn't worse than seeing him on an operating table, Arcee didn't know what was.
She didn't remember the ground bridge's vortex appearing behind her, or Bumblebee picking her up and half-dragging her through it while Bulkhead hoisted Optimus's damaged body and hauled him after them. She didn't remember screaming, either, until Bumblebee had laid a hand on her shoulder and beeped his comfort to her, signaling to her that she needed to be silent.
As soon as Bulkhead had laid Optimus down on Ratchet's repair table, the medic had sent them away. Arcee could not stand to be around anyone after that. She had simply fallen down against the wall in the hallway, not wanting to stray too far from Optimus, but at the same time, not wanting to be close enough to disturb the medic in his work. She knew he needed all of his focus if he was to save Optimus Prime's life.
She played the scene of the battle over and over in her mind, trying to piece together exactly what had happened. Why had Optimus allowed himself to be impaled on Megatron's blade? Had something distracted him or had he suddenly weakened in the fight? Was there anything she could have done? Prime had been fighting valiantly just moments before, as he and the Decepticon leader had engaged in pure hand-to-hand combat while the rest of the Autobots fought off the Vehicon army.
What had the fight even been about? Arcee couldn't remember what had started this particular battle, but she had known it was coming: the final showdown between Autobot and Decepticon. Sure, they had gone at it countless times before, but the time had to come when only one would continue to stand. That's what Optimus always said: One shall stand, one shall fall.
If only he had known that he would be the one to fall…
A sudden scream of fury cut into her thoughts, startling her to the point where she instinctively activated her guns. Whipping around the area she expected to see a Decepticon army come back to finish them all off, but after a moment without any such attack, she realized she hadn't heard a cry of fear. No, it was Ratchet…
And if Ratchet was screaming, that could only mean one thing.
She folded her guns back into her armor and ran, crossing the distance between her position and the cordoned-off medbay in a few long strides. She skidded to a halt, only to see Ratchet standing with sagging shoulders and a bowed head over the Prime's body. He was shaking uncontrollably, his hands chattering against the metal slab that held Optimus.
Arcee had never seen the medic like this… and it scared her.
She felt some sort of liquid pooling around her feet as she stood, not wanting to advance on the scene afraid of what she might find. She didn't have to look down to know that she was standing in Optimus Prime's blood. There was so much of it. She could see it still dripping off the side of the operating table, out from the edges of Optimus's charred wounds… but what struck her most were the droplets raining from Ratchet's armor. His entire front was streaked with the stuff.
Arcee clamped a hand over her mouth and tore her optics away from the gory scene. Ratchet had been right. This was almost worse than the battlefield.
The medic was still bent over his patient, gripping the side of the table with one hand while the other had found Optimus's shoulder. Arcee wasn't sure if he even knew she was there. Tentatively she took a step forward, trying to ignore the excess Energon splashing up around her feet as she walked. There was so much of it…
"Ratchet – " Arcee started to say, but was silenced by a sudden movement from the medic. His orange and white armor flashed in the harsh white light of the operating lamp, and in a jagged, agonized motion, he shattered all three of the now empty Energon vials with his forearm.
"He's gone, Arcee." Ratchet didn't even look up as he spoke. Arcee could barely hear his nearly-whispered words. "Damn it, he's gone."