This is more fun to write than I thought it would be! It's something different for me writing chapters without OC's.

But fear not! Hopefully some of my OC's will show up next chapter. I'm not sure if all of them are going to make it, but they might. Fingers crossed! I believe there are four in total that I'm using. Four or five... *goes to review her stats* Meh. Whatever, there's at least four, lol.

I made a cover for this, randomly! I got some new high-polymer erasers last night so I had to test them out. Since I have no tablet and I suck at digital inking, I like as little smudging as possible... so yeah. I'll have to color it soon and get it uploaded so one of my stories will finally have a cover in this new system! XD

Today's chapter title is from "Thank You" by Alanis Morissette. It's actually supposed to be "How 'Bout Getting Off *of* These Antibiotics", but there wasn't enough room in the title bar. So sorry guys!

Anyway, this? This chapter was insanely so much fun to write. Any guesses as to what KO's, erm, "condition" is? I think I dropped a hint or two in this chapter, but it might not be obvious. Then again, it may be. Depends on the reader... MWAHAHAHAHAHA.

Okay, I'll shut up now, lol. Enjoy!


Knock Out furiously jabbed the button to make the doors close. "Just! Shut! Already!" The two sides of the doors stuck, and he gave them a frustrated kick. They shuddered and finally closed, and the medic could at last turn around and attend to himself.

Thanks to someone who would remain nameless - cough, Starscream who had been petty and jealous and spiteful, cough - Megatron had found out about one of the races Knock Out had snuck out to participate in last week. And the warlord's punishments were quite possibly even worse than the SIC's. Starscream gleefully made scratches on his finish; Megatron gleefully his claw into an existing scratch and tore it so badly it started to leak again. He didn't do it gleefully, per se... it was more of a sadistic satisfaction.

His vents sputtered in between trying to cycle themselves, as he stumbled over to the table of his medical tools. Everything in Med Bay was blurred at the moment, probably thanks to his turning too fast. He tried to reorient himself, grabbing onto the edge of the table. His claws searched for a cloth, a patch, anything to stop the leak. It wasn't life-threatening, but it still wasn't a slagging picnic. The loss of energon was beginning to get to him, making him dizzy.

He found a patch, and shook his helm to clear his processor. Unfortunately, the klik he looked down to examine the now-open scratch, he could just barely keep himself from glitching. It was an ironic weakness; he could spill the energon of others all he pleased, and repair the most ghastly wounds, but one look at his own energon and it was a fight not to purge his systems.

Thick blue energon was oozing out at a steady pace, even dripping down the rest of his chassis. He almost gagged at just the thought of touching it to stop the leak. It was times like this when he really wished his partner were here. Breakdown wasn't squeamish in the least, and he he could repair things like this in no time at all. (And did it while chatting like a human hairdresser.)

"Ugh." He carefully applied the patch to his cut, grimacing when the cold material came into contact with the reopened slice in his armor. It always stung a little at first when you put it on. He offlined his optics and cycled his vents a few times, attempting to calm down. There was some pain, yes... but he'd be fine.

Although, he could go the rest of his life without ever seeing Megatron's faceplates again.

After a few kliks had passed and he'd cycled his vents a few times, he could compose himself long enough to at least look down at the puddle of energon that was now on the floor of his Med Bay. "What a mess," he muttered, opening a drawer in search of a cloth to clean it up with. It hurt to bend down, but he had to find something. If he didn't wipe that up it was going to leave a stain, not to mention become sticky.

"Oh dear," was his comment after he realized that, in his daze, he'd opened the wrong drawer. This drawer was where he kept his medicine. The vials were right in front of his face - three more of them. Slag... he'd have to find more soon. It was so tempting to just grab one right then and gulp the whole thing down. He was so upset, and even though the scratch was covered it still throbbed like it was fresh. Having just been reopened and stabbed inside, he wouldn't be surprised if Megatron's claw had caused a new injury as well as opening up the initial cut.

But he couldn't. There was no telling when he would be able to find more of his medicine. He had to watch himself and ration it out; make it last and only use it for the pain where he thought he might go offline because of it. This... This wasn't that kind of pain. He could get through this. "Grin and bear it, Doctor Knock Out," he vented, reaching for the handle of the drawer to shut it. "Grin and bear it, just like you always do. You've had no problems doing it before, you'll have no problem doing it now."

Primus, what he wouldn't give for some high-grade right about now.

He reached over to open the other drawer, he was sure that was where he'd tossed a couple of rags. Before he could even get his servo around the handle, an awful wave of agony ripped through his armor. It was from every single scratch he'd received yesterday, all simultaneously sending horrible, sharp little pulses of pain across his body. It was everywhere. The pain was everywhere. It was everywhere.

Everywhere...!

He dropped to his knees, not knowing where else he was supposed to go. The only real option to go was down, wasn't it? Nowhere else. He couldn't very well go up, after all. His servo caught the edge of the desk, as he tried to bring himself up. It didn't work though, and his claws dug weakly into the metal.

The pain consumed every micrometer of his armor, every dark section of his processor. He couldn't think about anything else except how excruciating this was, which as any sane mech knew only made the situation that much worse. His spark beat wildly against its chamber, and his vents were kicked into overdrive.

He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. Why was it so unbearably hot all of a sudden?

A sound slipped out of his audial processor that wasn't as quiet as to be called a whimper, but wasn't as loud as to be called a yell. It grated out and he yanked the drawer open. He couldn't. He couldn't even. This pain was terrible, too terrible. He needed it.

His arbitrarily clumsy claws finally wrapped around the vial of medicine. Finally. Finally! He jerked his servo out of the drawer and fumbled with the stopper for a few nanokliks. Determined, the rubber cork came off at last, and he didn't even give two slags where it landed. His shaking servo brought the lip of the vial up, and he tilted himself backwards as he drank every last little bit. He nearly fell over once he was done, allowing himself to lie back on the floor. He needed a klik, just a klik while he waited for it to work.

His servo fell down beside him, the empty glass vial rolling out of his grasp. "'Knock Out, do this,'" he cried softly, curling his legs up underneath him. "'Knock Out, do that.' What about 'Knock Out, you work so hard and you deserve a day off - go fix your own damage so you don't go offline! You're our ONLY medic!' What about that?!"

He was so angry and hurt and miserable that he wanted to snatch the vial back and just throw it. Smash it against the wall and break it into a million little pieces. That was what everyone else did to him; to his spark. Each time. All the cutting little remarks, all the looks - Primus, the looks he received. Every last Decepticon thought he was somehow below the rest of them. Like he didn't even belong here.

"What are you doing here, Knock Out?"

He rolled onto his side. "I-I'm a Decepticon," he whimpered. "This is our ship. That's... That's why I'm here..."

"Look at you! HA! Just poke you and you'll dent."

"It's not my fault," he defended, his claws twitching. "I can't help that I'm easily hurt..."

"You're not a real Decepticon."

He pouted, offlining his optics. "I am so. I'm as much a Decepticon as any other mech on this ship..."

"You're not one of us, Knock Out. You never could be."

Fluid leaked from his optics, even when they were shut. "I am one of you! I'm a Decepticon! I'm your medic! I've always been one of you!"

"You don't belong."

He tossed his servo over his optics, trying vainly to wipe away the tears. They were right. They were all right. He didn't belong. He wasn't like the rest of the Decepticons. He was every bit as sadistic, but he didn't... he didn't belong. He was so different from any of them. "I don't want to be here anymore," he sobbed. "I don't want to be a Decepticon anymore. I'm not like the rest of you. I shouldn't be here if I don't belong."

The only one who ever truly respected him was Breakdown. His partner, his best friend. Breakdown had always been good to him; never once had his partner criticized his personality, or his rituals, or the way he wasn't like any of the other mechs. He and Breakdown were alike, and added some manner of variety, some unique, upbeat air to the ranks of the Decepticons.

Things may not have always been great when the medical assistant had been around. Conditions weren't ideal, and the medical team was still cruelly teased. But at least they had fun. When Breakdown had been around, it was easier to see the sliver of a positive side.

Where was Breakdown now? Gone. Gone, and he was never coming back.

All that was left was the majority side. The negative one.

A sort of numb sensation had settled over all the scratches on his armor, and he felt better. He couldn't feel the physical pain anymore. But there was still that awful thought at the forefront of his processor; not wanting to be here anymore.

And he didn't. He wanted to just leave. He'd stayed this long after Breakdown was gone, but it wasn't worth it any longer. The constant damage to his finish, the crushing silence of Med Bay when he had no patients, the careless way in which the others treated him. Sometimes it was like he was invisible; he'd be shoved aside if he were in the way, as if there were just air. All the other mechs acted like he was an embarrassment to have in the Decepticons - he could literally count on one servo the bots who hadn't hurled remarks his way.

No. He didn't belong here. "I..." He wiped away the tears before they had a chance to dry. Nobody could know he'd been crying. Decepticons didn't cry. "I have to get out of here."


Knock Out looked past the door into Megatron's throne room. There he was as usual, sitting on that stupid throne and just waiting for somebot to come in so they could be punished. Sitting there. Like the world owed him something.

"Lord Megatron," he called. He felt weak inside and in body, even without the pain, but he was trying to sound no less confident and flamboyant than he always was. If there was any falter of his normal personality, any little crack in his act, he'd be suspicious. And he'd seen what his "master" did to suspicious bots. It wasn't pretty. Wasn't pretty at all. "Our energon reserves are low. I'm going scouting for a few joors."

The warlord grunted. "Anybot else going with you?"

"No. I prefer to do it alone ever since... Breakdown's termination. I work better alone. If nothing else, there are fewer distractions that way."

Megatron shook his helm. "I'd send Starscream with you, but he's too busy kissing aftplate. And Dreadwing is just busy in general." He waved his servo at the medic. "Well, what are you waiting for then? Go see Soundwave and get a ground bridge. Out of my sight."

"Of course..." He turned around as the doors closed. Making sure no other mech could see, he practically sneered out the last word, dripping with sarcasm, "Master."

He was ready to leave. He'd stored the rest of his medicine - only two vials - and some tools (mainly a buffer and patches) in a subspace compartment. He wasn't sure where he planned to go, but he had to go somewhere that wasn't here. Living here wasn't life at all. Living here was ridiculous. It was a joke.

At last he found Soundwave. By the time he caught up with the silent mech, his heel struts had started hurting now. What else can go wrong? he thought bitterly as he approached the spy. "Oh Soundwave," he greeted in the most unassuming manner he possibly could, with a sort of singsongy lilt as he usually did to get others' attention. "I'll need a ground bridge, if you wouldn't mind. Heading out to do some scouting."

Soundwave's faceplate seemed to inspect him for the longest, most unbearable time; as if looking for any trace of lies. "Scouting," he repeated finally, displaying a map of the area on his screen.

He laughed nervously, reaching back to rub at his helm. "Well, er, anywhere, I suppose. You never know where you might find an energon deposit, right? I didn't really have any specific place planned, so... wherever you want to send me, I guess. Surprise me, heh-heh."

Soundwave nodded, and put some coordinates into the computer. "Wherever you want to send me."

After a few nanokliks, a swirling vortex appeared in front of Knock Out. The ground bridge. His gateway to freedom, because he was never coming back. This would be the last time he ever set pede on the ship. The last time he ever saw any of the other Decepticons.

... Nope, his processor reminded him. I don't care.

In fact, he was happy to get away from all of them. Soundwave never talked to anybot, and was constantly plotting ways to use other mechs' words against them, yet was quick to defend Megatron over every other bot in their ranks. Starscream may have been a better leader than Megatron, but that wasn't saying much; and besides, he'd sell out anybot to save his own aft, not to mention the pleasure he took in doling out cruel punishments. Dreadwing wasn't too bad - unless you were in the way of his justice, and add that to the fact that he was too serious, intimidating, and overall a rather boring mech to talk to.

And Megatron would be the one he was happiest to get away from. There weren't enough words to describe how relieved he would to never have to see that mech in his life ever again.

He gave Soundwave a trademark salute before stepping closer to the bridge. "See you, Soundwave." And good riddance to all of you, he mentally added before jumping through the bridge.


Knock Out landed somewhere near a road. Probably still in Jasper, but the road was what the humans might refer to as "the path less traveled." It looked like it was seldom used; all the better that way. Soundwave would never had bridged him somewhere there would be a high risk of being seen, after all.

He shook his helm, reaching up to brush at one of the scratches on his chestplate. No use thinking about that fragger now. About any of them. The fewer times he was reminded of them, the better his life would be from now on. "Yes, Knock Out," he murmured, transforming. "This is where it all finally starts for you. What's that human saying... 'It can only go up from here.' Exactly."

He revved his tires, and merged onto the road. The concrete felt smooth and comforting beneath his tires - one thing that even the humans had managed to get right. Turning on his headlights, he eased his gearshift forward and began to accelerate. He was just going to drive until he couldn't drive any longer.

Off he sped down the road, with no plan but one: just drive, and never look back.


... I like that plan. 8D

Getting out of there and having the courage to LIE like a rug? GOOD FOR YOU, KNOCK OUT. GOOD FOR YOU!

Alright, now we all have to give him a giant mosh pit hug. Come on, everybody, bring it in! Just be careful. Don't scratch the paint, he's hurt enough already. X'D

No tears, KO, no tears. Soon you'll be happy! ... I think. I hope.

Thanks for reading! ^^