Disclaimer: I do not own the Tarnsformers. So far in my fanfics(posted and not posted) I have killed Ratchet twice, Jolt once, Sunstreaker five times, Sideswipe three times, Blades once and a few others. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story, especially Transfan1623 and Answerthecall. You guys spurred me on. Love you!


Ratchet, Autobot medic, lay shivering on the dusty, dirty ground. He was feeling light-headed and weak after losing so much energon, not to mention the various pains and aches that plagued his body. The medic felt, and knew, that his spark would soon extinguish.

At that moment, dying seemed a very attractive thought. To let go of all the pain and hardships that came with being alive. To just relax, and be free forever.

Death was so tempting…urging him to follow it, to let it embrace it with its warm, inviting darkness.

But Ratchet resisted.

He had accepted the inevitable, he was going to die, but not in this blue shelter that bore witness to all his nightmares.

Ratchet struggled to his peds, screaming with the pain that seared through his body. He couldn't give up. He had to get out of this place.

Stumbling and staggering, the medic finally exited the tent and into the cooling air. With a sigh, he dropped to the ground and landed on his side, so that he had an unobstructed view of the setting sun.

This was meant to be a simple mission- to head to a West African country, help get a virus under control and head back to the Ark, perfectly fine. There weren't even any Decepticons to try and kill him. It was intended to be so easy.

He wasn't supposed to be dying, or Optimus wouldn't have sent him.

There had been an eighty-eight point five percent chance that Ebola couldn't spread to Cybertronians. But facts had failed him. That eighty-eight point five percent hadn't been enough.

Ratchet softly moaned in pain, his hazy optics just managing to catch the view of the flame orange sunset.

This was the same view that had greeted him on his very first day in Liberia. His apprentice had called it beautiful, and he knew his bondmate would've done the same.

Wheeljack.

In his life, which was now destined to be shorter than it should've been, there were only three bots he'd truly loved and cared about. His creators, and Wheeljack. The former were long gone, they'd died when this war had first broken out. The events of that gloomy day were what inspired Ratchet to become a medic in the first place.

The latter, however, was perfectly alive. Although that wouldn't be the case anymore if he became one with the Allspark.

Ratchet had never been a fighter. As a medic, it was his task to stay at base, wherever it was, and save the injured from whatever task they were performing. But, as he lay in the afternoon sunshine, Ratchet found himself fighting a losing battle against the force that claimed all living creatures sooner or later; death.

He wasn't doing it because he wanted to. He was doing it for Wheeljack.

::Wheeljack?:: he called through the bond.

His bondmate didn't respond.

::Wheeljack, come back! I'm so sorry::

Still no response.

::DON'T LEAVE ME! PLEASE! WHEELJACK!::

Ratchet allowed a quiet whimper to escape his vocalizer as he waited nervously for a response.

::I'm here, Ratchet. What?::

Ratchet smiled. Finally, he had gotten through to his bondmate.

::I love you::

::Seriously? You called me just to tell me that?::

::I love you, and Jolt's going back to the Ark. He should be there by now::

::He is. What about you?::

::I'll see you later::

Ratchet grimaced as a wave of searing pain flooded his body. Slowly, he offlined his optics for the last time ever.

Wheeljack seemed to sense his pain.

::Ratchet, are you okay?::

Ratchet groaned and sent his reply.

::Yes, I'm fine::

The afternoon air was filled with the quiet humming of a Cybertronian's engine powering down for the very last time.

::Farewell, Wheeljack.::

And with that, Ratchet set foot on the well-used path leading to the Well of the Allspark.