It was nice to have some quiet. Jack and Miko were on a field trip that Raf apparently could not attend, and Ratchet almost kept forgetting the small human was even there with his barely-audible tapping on his laptop. Hours whisked by without interruption and it wasn't until the sun began to set that something poinked on the screen.
Ratchet tapped it. High frequency message. Well, weld my aft, I wonder who that could be. "INTEL. ALONE," it read. With a snort he turned back to his work. He'd sooner ask Raf to play a primitive racing simulation than help Starscream again. This was, what, the third time? The message was shorter than usual, which the medic was marginally offended by. Perhaps Starscream was getting lazy with these trades.
Please. He did some more repair work on tools, and time melted away again. After buffing scratches out of a spare plate, his optics spun up to the screen again. The message still sat in the corner, blinking active. Starscream must've pulsed out another frequency, knowing he was being ignored. The medic hummed in thought. The others should be back after sundown. Not that he really felt backup was necessary. Honestly, if the 'Con was hurt then what could he do? Ratchet could just leave if he didn't like the way it was going.
No threat, then. Hm. "Raf," Ratchet created a shadow over the human unintentionally. "I am stepping out. Can I trust you to operate the bridge? You remember how, right?"
The medic packed a few tools and entered in the coordinates provided. He stepped into the spirals with ease, and sensed the space of the base leaving him.
"For an aerial you seem to have a hard time getting out of scrapes. When are you going to learn to..." The bridge closed behind him almost deafeningly. Receptors were slammed with carbon and his optics took in the blackened trees, thick ash covering the ground. Finally blue rings focused downward, in front of him.
A sprawled frame, gray mostly. Shoulders and helm propped poorly against a crisped, black, dead tree. The only light source blue, pooled energon. Lots. Ratchet hadn't realized he was standing in it until that moment.
Starscream turned his helm, one visible optic glowing but a dim red, and as he finished turning fully to regard Ratchet, the Autobot's vents hitched when he saw that the mech seemed to be missing the other half of his faceplate. Blackened, burned, a few bright embers where it was still hot. Dentae exposed. Optic socket indistinguishable.
Ratchet, still speechless, swayed forward and tripped over something. His spark went cold when he looked down to see that it was a full leg, heeled lander and all. Detached. He continued to stare, still, and a ex-vent rattled Starscream's already trembling shoulders.
"... 'ctor," Starscream tilted his faceplate in greeting. Vocals distorted. Pitch off. Ratchet found the strength to move forward finally, still chilled, stepping around something—scrap, is that a wing? He looked up, and yes, Starscream was indeed missing a wing. Ratchet wasn't prepared for this. He had bandages, a little bit of a low grade energon (fragged if he would continue wasting the good stuff on a neutral), and a welder.
The medic knelt down into the cooled energon (cooled? How long had Starscream been leaking?) and examined the main wound first at Starscream's midsection and where his other leg should be. There was so much energon. So much. He gently prodded a severed line, ridges tight over his eyes, mouth barely a crease.
"How long ago were you hurt?" he asked, opening his chest plate to reach for an alternative welder and staring at it stupidly. It wouldn't do any good at this point.
"Starscream, how long..." he started to repeat himself but was cut off when he saw that Starscream's remaining optic at half-mast and barely flickering. His spark jolted and the doctor quickly tapped the Decepticon's cheekplate. "Online. Hey." He shook the 'con's shoulder and with a cough of static the other awoke, claw weakly scraping Ratcher's arm in delirium.
Ratchet activated his scanner and sat back. "Is that optic still functional? Can you see me?"
The barely-lit optic ticked in a half-spin, turning up towards the moon and back down again, missing Ratchet by a yard. The bot completed the scan and held Starscream at the chin firmly. "Right here, 'Con," he said, ignoring the tremble in his arms now. When he other mech finally seemed to focus on him, feebly so, cleanser fluid leaking from the socket, Ratchet sat back with a heavy ex-vent. He snapped open his HUD and stared. He didn't need a manual link to know what was happening. There was too much energon under them. Too many vital feeds severed.
"Lied."
Ratchet nearly jumped and spun his optics on the other. "What?"
The corner of Starscream's mouthplate was crooked, something that might appear as a smile if the other half of his face hadn't been blown off. "I lied," he ground out, pitching high at the end and static surging out even after the words. "No intel."
Ratchet snorted and sat back. "Well, clearly." He slipped his tools back into subspace and looked at Starscream evenly despite the race to his processor. "Starscream. You've lost too much energon. I..."
Starscream's faceplate, or half of it, tightened for a moment, fizzles sounding within him and smoke rising from his chest. Energon now lined down his mouth, dripping onto his collar. "Aware—that—"
Ratchet scanned him again, hiding his panic, why was he panicking, this wasn't a friend or a team member. He cursed himself as he opened the Decepticon's chest plate and fanned the smoke away. Systems pulsed red, beeping critical.
His comm blipped, "Ratchet. Optimus and the others are back. Want me to send backup?" Raf.
Starscream's optic flickered and buzzed, and Ratchet could no longer detect the already weak energy field. "Don't—" the 'Con ventilated shallowly. "go."
Don't go.
Ratchet stared, and pressed into his audial. "No, Rafael. I will return shortly. I'll tell you when to bridge me back."
The medic closed his patient's chestplate and tugged him gently up. Another few minutes, he guessed. Maybe less, with the way Starscream was struggling with ventilation.
"Hey," the Autobot pressed his dentals together, putting a hand on broken shoulder. "Slow intake. Are you in pain right now?"
Starscream didn't answer but continued to feebly ventilate, fans shuttering on and off. Between intakes he managed to get out that he could no longer see.
"I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere." Ratchet once again reassured the 'Con with a hand, this time on badly damaged servo. Finally the other mech's vent speed slowed. "There. In and out. Easy."
Starscream managed a feeble nod and once or twice looked like he was attempting speech. In and out. Ratchet counted the nanokliks between intakes. Good.
One, in... two, out... three, in... four, out... five... six... seven... eight...
Ratchet looked up, frame seized. Red optic without light. Dark. Mouthplate open, helm forward heavily. Energon no longer tap, tap, tapping.
"Starscream." He leaned in barely inches. "Starscream." No feedback. No field to detect. No humming of systems or processors.
Ratchet closed his optics, ventilating deeply and giving himself a moment before standing. "Ratchet to base," he called, turning away from the metal husk on the ashy forest ground.
"Do you require backup?" Prime's voice came through this time.
"No... But I would like some assistance." Tense silence between the two ends.
Finally Prime blipped in, "I am on my way."
In the washracks, Ratchet rinsed his large hands so many times he ran out of cleanser. By the time they had finished piling dirt, it was luckily late and the other bots had filed off to their berths, too exhausted from a day's work to wait up and see what intel Ratchet had acquired.
"You have no reason to feel guilty, old friend," Optimus sounded from the archway.
Ratchet stilled and quickly dried, trying and failing to stifle a laugh. "Why should I feel guilty about a Decepticon's passing?" He didn't look at his Prime, who despite this turned his optics downward politely.
"Even if you had responded immediately, the damage was too much. I believe Starscream knew this."
Another laugh, this time in a forced snort of gears. "Then why call a medic? Why lie and say he had intel?" Ratchet didn't want to hear this, and pretended to be organizing their coolant supply. But he caught the look his leader was giving him. "What, you're saying he didn't want to..."
"Pass alone, yes. That is my guess."
Ratchet stared at him, still, vials in hand and ex-vented in an emotional rattle. He found another speck of dirt clinging under a digit and set the bottles down in a hurry, moving quickly back to the cleaning basin. Dirt. Still dirt. Dirt they buried an enemy with. Buried and said a blessing for and frag it—
A large hand came to rest on his shoulder. "Why me, Optimus?"
The Prime saw no need to supply the medic with more guesses about the Decepticon's final behaviors, and simply tilted his helm in a trusting little nod. "Rest. I will relay the news to the others in the morning." Perhaps individually would best. Away from Ratchet. "You may take a few solar cycles off if you like."
Ratchet simply nodded back, gears too tight to permit him thanking the Prime without static. When he was finally alone, he pinched between optics.
Intel. Alone.
"May you be one with the All Spark and rest in peace."