Chapter 4
Memor

AN: Possibly the last chapter. Not sure. I also forgot to mention that I have a Tumblr page, so you can ask me on anything regarding to any stories you've read from my profile. I don't post stories on Tumblr, but if you want, you can share it or let me know about it, I love to receive opinions about any stories I have written so far. (bad timing when writing this story, I know. I'm really sorry for this...)

Sensitive material like self-harm is still in effect. Read at your own risk.


Knock Out wasn't sure how long he had been out, but the memories of his time before was much harsh and real. He didn't bother picking himself up from the comfort of his berth, fearing that he was back with them.

He thought saw a memory of his old friend, standing in front of him, gun in his servo; pointing at him like their time in the field. He thought he was dreaming, he thought he was hallucinating. He through he was them coming back to collect him.

But that warmth felt real, his voice sound real, he himself was felt real. And Knock Out refused to believe himself that he was safe, he wasn't sure if he was safe, but his body couldn't take the shock of the comfort his old friend gave, he shut down and couldn't remember any of it.

He slowly online himself, not wanting to alert anyone who had brought him here. He slowly picked his arm up and looked at his scars that he had done to himself. Some were, surprisingly were patched up and he wondered if they had patched his scars to prevent him from dying. A flash of sight had covered his vision and he found himself seeing his arm still covered in dirty void. It was dirty and it made him ugly.

"Do it," They said, "Try harder to take them off."

So he scratched, scratched and scratched and scratched, but the dirty void won't go away. He felt pain shooting up from his arm, but he ignored it, trying to get rid of that void out form his arm. He heard them laugh, he heard them sneer, he heard their insult. He heard, he heard, he heard, he heard, but he ignored them. They kept on jeering, they kept on encouraging, they kept on laughing.

He heard them laugh. He saw their sickly, dead blue optics that covers their madness. He sees their familiar shape; thin, large, pointy, blocky, and sleek. He sees their familiar paint, blue to white, red to green. They kept on laughing. He saw them pointing at him of his misfortune. They kept on jeering.

They kept on and on and on and on.

And he kept on scratching and scratching and scratching and scratching.

But his task was stopped abruptly and the voices of his tormentor had hushed. He saw and felt grey servos gently laid on his brightly blue servos. Knock Out froze, are they here? Are they going to torture him more?

Knock Out stopped his scratching, deciding that he'll do it when they were truly gone, and studied the servo more in detail. It seemed familiar and the warm touch had brought him back to the haze before his 'moving'. Who is it?

He looked over to the source of the servos and froze. Yellow and black armor, along with a familiar cyan blue that no mechs has, while the mech may have changed and grown-up, Knock Out can still make out whom it is.

"Bu..Bumble..." He tried to call his friend's name; his stutter was hesitant and quivered in fear. Is he one of them? Or did they have disguised themselves into him to torture him more? What more do they want? They took everything; his pride, his place, his mind. What more?

"It's alright." They hushed, as they caressed his servos in comfort matter, "Everything's okay. It's going to be okay. You're safe now."

They even sounded like him, but Knock Out couldn't help it, but whined at the familiar voice of his old friend. He felt himself move and was engulfed into warmth that he hadn't felt in such a long time. He wrapped his arm around his neck, not wanting this to be a dream. If this is their way of torturing him, he hoped this hadn't last, as the feeling of comfort was real as he cried for a long time.

"Ar...are you..." Knock Out shivered, afraid of the answer, "Are you real?"

He held his breath when he saw his friend's faceplate, covered in pain and relief as he squeezed his scarred blue servo again.

"I'm real as I can be, Knocky."

Knocky.

He hadn't heard that nickname in such a long time. They had never used that nickname; they never knew it, as Bumblebee was the only one who uses it when they were alone and when they were together in private. A sign; that no others use but only him.

He's real.

He's here.

He's here.

"B...Bee-bee." Knock Out shook, as he used his friend's old nickname he hadn't used in a long time, lubricant rushing down his marred face, raising his unoccupied servo to cup his friend's face "You're here. You're here..."

He was engulfed into warmth again, as Bumblebee shushed and rocked him back and forth slowly, murmuring sweet nothings that everything is going to be okay. Knock Out believed his every word as he hugged his long-time friend tightly, not wanting to let him go.

And for a long time, he felt safe. He felt warm. And most of all, he felt pure again.

But the tainted touch caused by them, still linger through his frame as he shed his pain away. He heard them whisper through the darkness as he was rocked back into sleep. He panicked as he was going back into slumber again, to face his memories again, but the soft murmur of his friend seemed to have pushed them away. They have become silent, but they weren't gone forever.

He felt them claw into his frame.

"We're not done with you," They hissed, their blue optics glinting with fresh hate, "we're not done."