A/N: Hashed out only today, in under three hours – concept an' all. Don't be expecting a work of genius.
Disclaimer: Story mine, characters not.
Hallowed Through the Heart.
Humans had strange festivals. There were few other races in the universe that had become so developed and yet still clung on to these antiquated ways. Bringing an evergreen tree into a house? Dancing around a 'May Pole'? Giving chocolate to each other on a certain spring day? And then there was that unusual day named after that Saint Valentine – why did humans need a particular day to prove their love? Any day would do! And humans pretty much showed their… 'love' at any given opportunity. It was why this planet was becoming so overpopulated.
Then there was this one worthwhile festival – Allhallows Eve. It was a festival where children (big and small) went from door to door getting sweets and partying the night away, dressed in 'scary' costumes. For Ratchet, any holiday that involved heavy partying was to be welcomed with wide open arms. Halloween was also a festival dedicated to celebrating and remembering the dead. Ratchet had a lot of dead to remember. Even before the war started there were deaths – accidents, murders… even a few executions. He had lost a great many in his med bay. Primus had been watching over them since their arrival on this planet – he had not yet had to mourn.
The old country roads were the best place to think – away from the hustle and bustle, away from the city lights and annoying distractions and the ever-battered, ever-bickering twins. No clouds. A new moon. Nothing to hide away the dappled, coloured sky. Such peace seemed appropriate for a day dedicated to the dead.
The landscape rolled onwards and yet remained the same fields and woods and pleasant country winter odour. He was completely alone – until he rounded a bend. What the?! Ratchet could not comprehend what was in front of him – there was no sense. As Prowl might say, it was illogical. Standing there… standing there was a battle-damaged human. His uniform Ratchet could not recognize. He shouldered an antiquated gun. His right leg was missing – bleeding away. Yet he stood there, waiting, though he was miles from the nearest village and no human battles had been logged in this area in recent centuries.
Ratchet's ardent desire to help the wounded overrode any caution he had. His fear, however, still remained. He pulled up alongside the soldier.
"You need medical assistance immediately!" The soldier uttered no reply. He kept staring, staring, staring… waiting. "Your wounds are very serious – please, get inside!" Once more, the wounded man gave no reply. He stared straight ahead, then slowly began to walk forwards, using a leg that was not there. He disappeared before he reached Ratchet. The world was silence.
Ratchet went into gear and shot down the countryside. He had no intentions of thinking about what had just happened – he refused to! There was a soldier from ages past, still waiting by the side of the road, never to be remembered. There had been so many on Cybertron that had suffered worse fates than him – could it be that some of Ratchet's old patients – the ones that had not lived – were still there, haunting the places where they died? Could it be that those that he had operated on and failed still lingered in long-forsaken, ruined buildings, waiting for release? Oh no, not his patients – not his! Not a pain that lasted forever and a freedom that would never come! The thought was too much to bear – he would never be able to look at his med-bay or his patients in the same way again. All those people…all those lives that he had failed. He wanted to wipe his memory of the apparition – he wanted to forget that there might be such a thing as an afterlife where you still suffered. He wanted to believe in nothing. High-grade energon was the only solution he could think of. If he could not remember the dead peacefully, then he would not remember anything at all. At least he was going to get the partying part of this festival correct.
"Aw no! Look out behind ya, lady!" Jazz smirked at the black and white horror film playing out on the large cinema screen. When the Autobots realized that the Ark was going nowhere in any hurry anytime soon, some of the decks were converted into more recreational areas. The cinema had been one such result. Hound, Trailbreaker and the twins were each sharing differing variations of the same smirk. As far as they were concerned, human films were good for a laugh, and easily mocked when compared to the high special-effect standards of their films. The slime monster was slightly harder to take seriously when you noticed that it was, in fact, jam, and Jazz had seen more zombie-looking people stumble out of a pub at two in the morning. The film finished, the credits rolled and Sunstreaker gave an audible sigh of relief. Jazz was slightly disappointed his amusement had not lasted longer. "Well, what now?"
"Cleaning duty for Sideswipe in fifteen minutes," Sunstreaker teased as he walked out of the cinema ahead of everyone.
"You had to remind me, didn't you?" His counterpart replied. Hound and Trailbreaker stayed and helped Jazz turn off the electronics. He sub-spaced the movie-tape and walked to the exit. Trailbreaker had already turned the lights off.
"Anyone up for a party in the co-" Hound stopped short and gaped behind Trailbreaker. Jazz followed his stare. Trailbreaker was too worried to look behind his shoulder joint. A figure staggered forwards, arm raised and eliciting a wail of misery. Trailbreaker scampered away from it and hid behind Hound's side. The form shunted in their general direction. Jazz could feel his fuel pump over-working, beating out the pace their legs should have been moving with. The wan blue optics glowed with feral insight.
"Get me…" the voice was familiar. "Get me… to… my… quarters." Hound found enough courage to pass the figure and turn on the lights. What had been a terrible, shadowy figure before became the terrible visage of their chief medical officer.
"Ratchet man! Don't you go scarin' people like that. You'll increase ya patients list," Jazz grinned with relief. Ratchet moaned again.
"Shame the performance of the zombies in the film wasn't that good!" Trailbreaker added. "You've obviously thrown yourself at the drink full-force. Let's get Wheeljack at you in the med-bay."
"No!" Ratchet defied. "Bed!"
"But-"
"Bed!"
By the early hours of the morning, Mirage had heard all about Jazz, Trailbreaker and Hound's little scare, courtesy of Ratchet. They had not understood why he was avoiding the med-bay so much: at one point, its mention made him look physically ill. Mirage had chortled at the thought of the medic afraid of his own work surroundings, but to be honest, he found it hard to care. Mirage was not awake because of any assignments – he was awake because tonight, he found sleep unachievable. Outside the air was fresh and cool and promised a day of sunshine tomorrow. Those stars were so far away… yet something so distant could be so beautiful; like Cybertron. All the stars… all were different and yet the same as the next and managed to inspire so much awe. Some of those stars were still there, some were long gone, though he did not know which. He supposed that lives were like that – he wondered how many of his old Cybertronian friends were still functional. Life was like the stars – it never blinked out when you were expecting or when you were watching. Sometimes, you would look away, and it would be gone. Sometimes the missing star went unnoticed, and other times its loss was felt. Life was like that.
Mirage had lost so many. He knew also that the loss was not over yet, as long as he held someone dear. But as the stars blink out, one by one, a new star comes into being, most likely unseen, until one day you find you can point out that same individual star. Mirage had found that this had happened to him in the past and Mirage looked forward to it happening again. Last time he had found Hound. Which stranger would enrich his life next? Reinforcements would arrive soon. Change was ever-changing… but, Mirage conceded to himself, not all change was bad. And those that had gone before, those that had brought him so much happiness before they had passed away… would always remain hallowed through the heart.
End.
A/N: In memory of Molly, my cat who died earlier this year. Nine years was not enough time, yet every moment was treasured.