A brief one today: I don't think explanations are needed.
Compassion
Cybertron: early days of the War
He hadn't seen it coming, and that was embarrassing.
For a mech who made it his business to know everything and say nothing, Soundwave certainly hadn't predicted the blast radius of Wheeljack's grenades. It was a mistake he would never make again, providing he survived the night.
The spy lay on the battlefield gasping. He had sent Laserbeak with a distress signal, but whether or not Megatron would see fit to send help remained to be seen. His own comrades certainly wouldn't come for him unless ordered, and even then he suspected that Starscream would "find" him dead so as to take his place as Megatron's favorite.
The prognosis, Soundwave decided, was grim. Down a wing and half-buried by the dead, the crafty Decepticon wasn't going anywhere.
The night wore on into day and still no one came. Soundwave blinked up at the sky unable to move. His energon reserves had been low to begin with, but now he was approaching critical levels. As the sun dipped below the horizon again, Soundwave heard the scavengers rooting among the mass grave and shuddered.
He could hear something bigger than a scraplet headed his way and realized that he did not have the energy to fight. Of all the ignominious ways to die, this had to be the top of the list. Suddenly, he was looking up into a pair of wide blue optics.
"You're still alive!" a childish voice breathed. Tiny hands began to push and pull at the debris and the bodies that pinned Soundwave down, eliciting the occasional hiss of pain from the fallen mech.
"Sorry!" the little one gulped, but then he would resume his work.
By the time his torso was free, the spy had noted that his rescuer was a youngling, barely out of sparklinghood, not even old enough to transform yet. Pale yellow and blue paint covered him, and the visor on his helmet was far too big.
In one arm, the child clutched a "Bucky the Demonic Scraplet©" doll—a Decepticon product, oddly enough—and in the other he held a pry bar. With a grunt of exertion, the little mech pulled the last of the wreckage off of Soundwave's legs. He scrambled up to the wounded mech's helm and helped him sit up.
"Come on, the scavengers are gonna be here soon! We gotta get out of here!"
Slowly, painfully, Soundwave stood. He cursed his helplessness as he was forced to lean on the youngling for support. The child set his denta in determination and half dragged the spy off the battlefield bit by bit. At last, he came to a bombed-out building and eased the Decepticon down against a wall.
"Here we are!" he exclaimed exuberantly, "It's not much, but it'll have to do until your friends come back."
He rooted around for a moment under some fallen sheets of metal before coming up with a cube of energon. "Here," he whispered, holding it out to Soundwave.
After nothing happened, he realized that the mech was too weak to even lift his servos. His optics widened. "Um...okay, you have to open your mouth," he said solemnly.
Soundwave mustered his fiercest glare, but the youngling was undeterred. "Come on! Do you want this or not?"
Desperation won out over pride and the spy opened his mouth grudgingly. Gently, the child poured the liquid energy down Soundwave's throat, always careful not to spill a drop. By the time half of it was gone, Soundwave felt the strength begin to return to his limbs. His helm fell forward and he fixed his optics on the child.
"Why?" he rasped.
The blue and yellow youngling knew what he was asking: why would an Autobot—or neutral—stop to aid an injured Decepticon? He shrugged and sat down next to Soundwave.
"Cuz you were hurt." he said simply. "My Carrier said that in civil war, there are no sides. Only casualties."
By morning, the blue-opticed sparkling was gone, but Soundwave remained in the makeshift shelter until Laserbeak found him and squawked triumphantly. Moments later, Megatron himself entered the wreckage to Bridge him to a med bay. The warlord didn't ask how he'd managed to pull himself to the building, and Soundwave never told.
Earth, many years later
Hot Shot had never been in so much pain before. On a solo scouting mission, he'd rolled straight into an ambush and been beaten within an inch of his life. If he rolled his dented helm to the side, he could see his arm, independent of him, laying on the rocks a few feet away. Energon leaked from a hundred abrasions across his armor.
He'd sent a distress call, but no one had come yet. He bit his lip. What if no one ever came? What if he offlined out here and no one ever knew? He tried to move his leg and yelped in pain. So, apparently his arm wasn't the only AWOL limb. The young Autobot whimpered and settled back to the ground.
Prowl probably wouldn't come to help him, he decided, not when they'd had a fight that morning. And Optimus wouldn't even know, since he was out with the soldiers in some desert somewhere. A coolant tear trickled from the corner of Hot Shot's optic. Dramatically, he sighed and guessed that at least the humans would miss him if he died. It was probably only a matter of time anyway before some Decepticon came along to finish him off.
He did not have to wait long. Somewhere behind him, he could hear the snap/hiss of a Ground Bridge.
"Hey! Somebody!" he called out weakly, "Help!"
His shouts died in his throat when a cold, black visor filled his vision. The Autobot's optics widened with fright and he shut his mouth. Well, this was it: he was dead. The infamous Decepticon observed him silently for a moment, then moved to pick up the detached arm. He appeared to examine it with interest for a moment, then reached down and grabbed the shattered leg. Hot Shot wondered—with a trace of nausea—if the spy was taking them as trophies.
Soundwave bound the arm and leg together with loose wire and slung them over his wings. Then, he bent down and scooped the prone Autobot into his arms. Hot Shot's spark very nearly stopped as he tried to figure out what was going on. As near as he could guess, he was probably being taken back to the Decepticon fort to be tortured and questioned. He gulped.
The expressionless faceplate turned downwards to meet his terrified gaze, then lifted again as the tall mech began to walk.
A Bridge appeared before them and Hot Shot shuttered his optics as they moved through the portal. As he was preparing himself for a dungeon or laboratory or something equally awful, he realized that they had stopped moving. One optic opened, then the other in astonishment. Soundwave knelt and gently deposited Hot Shot before the doors of the Ark, then removed the arm and leg from his back and placed them beside the young warrior.
"W-why did you help me?" he gasped.
The spy tilted his helm to the side, and a guttural voice echoed from beneath the mask. "No sides, only casualties." With that, he transformed and rocketed away, leaving a dumbfounded Autobot behind him.