Warnings - Isolation, mental torture, suicidal thoughts
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Sam jerked awake, gasping loudly in the stillness of the medical bay. Gentle servos pressed against him, restraining his body as he struggled instinctively against the berth.
"You're alright, Sam. I've got you." Knock Out said, soothingly.
It was a familiar refrain, that same one that had greeted him the last four times that he had awoken from stasis.
"How long?" Sam rasped.
Knock Out's mouthplates downturned slightly, but he replied, "Twenty-two days."
Sam squeezed his eyes shut, as the fight slowly drained out of him. Twenty-two days in stasis this time; it had felt a lot longer. Once he realized that Sam was no longer in danger of injuring himself, Knock Out withdrew his servo, placing it flat against the berth beside him.
"How do you feel?"
Sam didn't turn to look at him, instead he stared unblinkingly at the ceiling of the hangar. It was the same question that he asked every time, even though Knock Out monitored him the whole while that he was in stasis. The medic knew exactly how he was feeling.
When Sam didn't reply, Knock Out ex-vented softly before helping him struggle into a sitting position. Once again, the medic drew the soft metalmesh around his shoulders, keeping the worst of the chill away. Although the medical bay was appreciably warmer than the rest of the ship, the air was still uncomfortably cool against his bare skin.
"Can you eat?"
Sam shook his head faintly. His stomach felt cramped and heavy, as if he were too full even though it had been three weeks since he had last eaten. Knock Out stared at him for a long moment before speaking.
"You need to eat, Sam." He admonished, "You're already losing weight."
Sam grimaced deeply, bitter resentment lodging itself in his throat. He wanted to make a smartass remark, to point out that Megatron could not be terribly concerned about his physical wellbeing if he was subjecting him to this in the first place, but he didn't have the energy. It was a familiar argument, one that he always lost.
"If I eat right now, I'm going to throw-up." Sam warned. Knock Out's faceplates twisted in response, but he eventually nodded his assent. The medic had learned the hard way that Sam wasn't bluffing when he said it.
"Alright, drink some water. You can eat when your stomach's settled." Knock Out replied, handing a bottle to him. Sam accepted the water, holding it in his lap for a long while. He sat there, shoulders curled forward and eyes half-lidded, as he waited for the queasy feeling in his stomach to abate. Eventually, he twisted off the cap and took a little drink. The water was cool and soothing against his throat.
Knock Out stood a short distance away, fiddling with a complicated-looking piece of machinery. Sam watched him, slowly sipping at his water, as the medic worked at disassembling it piece by piece. As though aware of the weight of Sam's regard, Knock Out glanced towards him.
"It's for repairing secondary pistons. Or rather, it would be, if it wasn't a piece of scrap." His words were punctuated with a loud clang as he tossed a circuit board into the garbage disposal beside him. Once the machine was mostly disassembled, Knock Out glanced back at him apologetically.
"You know that stalling won't help. You need to eat before you go back under, Sam."
Sam felt the familiar twist of anxiety in his gut. He couldn't do this, not again.
Knock Out turned to face him, something like reluctant sympathy on his faceplates, "Don't worry about that right now. Try to eat something, alright?"
After a long moment, Sam nodded faintly. Knock Out made an approving sound, sub-spacing a brown package before firing up his arm-mounted butane torch. The medic held the package near the flame, rotating it slowly, before wrapping it in a square of metalmesh and handing it to Sam. The second time that Sam had awoken from stasis, the gruel-like consistency of the cold MRE had almost made him vomit. Since then, Knock Out had taken to heating the meals before giving them to him.
Sam raised shaking fingers to tear the top off the package. He ate slowly, squeezing small bites of food into his mouth. The food was unevenly heated, but it settled comfortably in his stomach all the same, warming him from the inside out. He was half-way through the package when he thought to glance down at the label. It was beef stew, but he hadn't tasted a thing. He made his way through most of the meal before he lost his appetite. Sam set the package down on the berth, before picking up the bottle of water and taking another drink. In the periphery of his vision, he watched as Knock Out approached, and he braced himself for what was to come.
"Lay down, Sam."
"Knock Out, please… please don't do this."
Sam felt the medic's mental presence brush against him, gentle fingers soothing over his mind.
"It's me or him, Sam." Knock Out said softly, as though Sam needed the reminder. The third time that Sam had woken from stasis, he had fought the medic with all of his strength. He had been rewarded for his efforts with Megatron's mental presence slamming into his mind with the force of a sledgehammer. The warlord had lashed at him until Sam had submitted to Knock Out's ministrations without further protest. It was not an experience that he was keen to repeat.
Sam bit his lip until he could taste the copper tang of blood, "Please, Knock Out. Please. I can't do this."
Knock Out's mental presence took on an apologetic tone, edged with sympathy and regret.
"You can. Humans are annoyingly resilient, after all."
Although his tone was light, Sam could hear the gravity in his voice. He felt his heart start to hammer against his ribs, his breaths coming low and fast as the inevitably of his situation began to sink in again.
"Knock Out…" He said, unable to look at the medic as he quietly begged, "Please, help me. I can't do this for two years."
Rather than reply, Knock Out reached out a servo to guide Sam back down against the berth.
"Do you want to close your eyes?"
He didn't, but Sam squeezed them shut anyway.
"I'll be right here when you wake up."
Sam flinched as the medic's presence pressed into his mind. He barely had the time to brace himself before it felt as though the berth had dropped out from beneath him, and then he was back in stasis.
"What's wrong with him?"
The concerned words filtered through Sam's brain in fits and starts, but they held no meaning for him.
"Nothing's wrong with him." Knock Out snapped, "This happens sometimes."
Sam became aware of the discomfort in his body, bright points of pain blooming across his hips and shoulders. Was that important?
"Come on, Sam. Open your eyes for me."
It took a moment for the words to make sense, but when they did, he reluctantly obeyed. The medical bay was much the same as he remembered it—but he was startled to realize that Knock Out was leaning over him, pinning him against the berth with both servos. It was only then that Sam realized that he was thrashing violently beneath the medic, heels drumming into the metal as he struggled. The realization made Sam go still, all at once. He lay back against the berth, panting loudly as his earlier panic began to fade away. Knock Out watched him closely for a long moment—experience had taught him not to immediately recede at the first sign of submission—before he slowly withdrew his servos.
"Good, Sam. You're doing well." Knock Out praised gently, "Back with me?"
Sam nodded faintly, closing his eyes again.
"How long?" He asked at last. It hurt to speak—he must have been screaming again.
He felt, rather than saw, the medic's faint disapproval, "Eighteen days."
"Hanging in there, little Prime?"
Sam startled in surprise, glancing in the direction of the new voice. Thundercracker stood a short distance away, his arms crossed over his chassis. Although his posture was loose and relaxed, Sam could see the concern in his optics. After a moment, Sam looked away, trying not to dwell on the moisture gathering on his lashes.
"You're upsetting him." Knock Out hissed angrily. Thundercracker didn't move, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Sam's prone form. After a moment, the Seeker reached out a servo to stroke lightly down Sam's side. The touch was gentle, soothing.
"I brought you something. Can you sit up for us?"
Sam shuddered from head to toe, but he did not resist as Knock Out helped him into a sitting position. The medic made a sharp sound as Thundercracker reached for the metalmesh blanket, intercepting the Seeker to drape the material over Sam's shoulders himself. His slender tensors lingered for a long moment, squeezing lightly before drawing away.
Thundercracker extended his servo towards him and Sam glanced down in surprise. There, nestled in the cage of the Seeker's tensors, was a small, brightly colored package. It took him a long moment to realize that it was a bag of M&Ms—the sight of the confectionary was incongruous in the extreme. Sam glanced from the package to Thundercracker, confusion written all over his features.
Thundercracker's mouthplates quirked faintly, "Soundwave's symbionts can be resourceful."
The Seeker's words startled a quiet laugh out of him. Thundercracker gestured meaningfully with his servo, and Sam reached forward to retrieve the little package. He held it in his lap for a long while, staring down at it as he struggled to make sense of the complicated emotions welling up inside him.
"I used to eat these all the time when I was younger." He murmured at last, thumb stroking over the colorful wrapper. After a long moment, Sam tore the top off the package, pouring candy directly into his mouth. The chocolate flavor exploded over his tongue, almost painfully sweet after months of eating only protein and refined carbs. He chewed slowly, savoring the taste.
The whole while, Thundercracker and Knock Out watched him in silence.
By the time that Sam had finished the treat, he felt marginally better—or, at least, not at imminent risk of crying.
"Thank-you." He murmured, and he meant it.
"You're welcome." Thundercracker replied sincerely.
"Do you think that you could manage something more substantial?" Knock Out asked. Sam flinched at the words, unhappily reminded of their reason for waking him. He had been unable to stomach more than half of a pre-packaged meal the last two times that he'd come out of stasis, despite Knock Out's gentle and persistent coaxing.
"I'll try." He said at last.
At once, Knock Out's mental presence brushed across his mind approvingly. The medic went about the task of getting the MRE prepared, before handing it to Sam with a warning not to burn himself. He heaved a shuddering sigh before he set to the task of eating, wishing fervently to be anywhere else but there. He had barely finished a third of the package before he set it down abruptly.
"Sam, you need to eat more than that."
"I'm done, Knock Out." He replied tiredly, "Don't fuss at me."
Before Knock Out could wheedle him any further, Sam laid down against the berth, pulling the blanket over his shoulders. The medic's gaze sharpened in concern—Sam never laid down without being prompted.
"Sam, what can we bring you?" Thundercracker asked softly, "What would help?"
"Nothing, thank-you Thundercracker." Sam heard himself reply, his voice monotonous.
Thundercracker and Knock Out shared a meaningful look, but neither of them spoke a word. Eventually, Knock Out reached out to curl his servo around Sam's shoulder.
"Are you ready?"
Sam nodded faintly, and then a moment later, he was gone again.
His first conscious thought upon waking was that it was unusually quiet in the medical bay. His second thought was the grim realization that it was quiet because he wasn't screaming.
After a moment, Sam winced his eyes open, blinking in the soft light of the hangar. After the first time that he had woken up, Knock Out had reduced the light level to ease the strain on his eyes. When Sam glanced down at himself, his eyebrows rose in surprise. There, lying pressed against his side with her head resting in his lap, was Ravage. The symbiont stared up at him, rumbling a long, low purr when she realized that he was fully awake.
"Hey you." Sam rasped softly. His voice was always rough now, ruined from months of silence interspersed with periods of frantic shrieking.
Ravage shifted, leaning more fully against him. It was a pleasant feeling, heavy and warm. Grounding.
"Good morning, little Prime."
Sam glanced around the medical bay, looking for Knock Out, but he was nowhere to be seen. Apprehension tightened in his chest immediately, his heartrate picking up as anxiety flooded through him in an instant.
"Be calm, your medic is on his way."
Sam glanced down at her uncertainly, but her voice was reassuring and unconcerned. Eventually, he felt himself relax as he settled back down against the berth. It wasn't until Knock Out walked into the hangar a moment later that Sam realized that he had not been offended by Ravage's implication.
"It's been ten days." Knock Out said, by way of greeting, before extending the familiar rations towards him. Sam frowned in confusion—he had never been in stasis for less than two weeks at a time since the beginning of his punishment.
"Your blood sugar is too low." Knock Out said, helping him into a sitting position, "You need to eat something."
He grimaced deeply. The last time that Sam had woken up, he had cried himself sick. After that, eating anything had been out of the question. To his surprise, Knock Out subspaced an unfamiliar looking bottle, which he promptly placed in Sam's lap after shooing Ravage away. The cybercat lifted her head, but otherwise did not move from his side. Sam reached forward to pick up the bottle, immediately recognizing the label. Megatron had given him the same electrolyte beverage when he had first been captured. Aware of the weakness of his body and the unsteady tremor in his hands, Sam opened the bottle without being told. It tasted salty and faintly sour, but he drank it anyway. When he had finished the bottle of fluids and his trembling had stopped, Knock Out handed him the pre-packed meal. Sam flinched away from him, unable to look up at the medic.
"You need to eat, Sam."
"I can't."
"Please try." Knock Out asked entreatingly. The earnestness and concern in his voice settled like a weight in Sam's gut. Tears blurred his vision before spilling over to run down his cheeks. He made no move to hide the fact that he was crying—there was no point.
"Hey, you're okay." Knock Out murmured, stroking the tips of his tensors up and down Sam's back. The touch was firm but gentle, comforting him as Sam cried quietly.
"I can't do this anymore." He choked after a long while, "I won't."
Knock Out crouched down so that they were of a similar height, never stopping the gentle touches up and down Sam's back.
"Yes, you can." He said firmly, his tone brooking no argument, "You're almost there, just four months left to go."
Sam laughed quietly, an ugly, broken sound. He would rather die than suffer another minute alone in the darkness of stasis.
"Think of your bonded, little one." Ravage urged him suddenly, "Bumblebee would not want you to give up."
He flinched as though she had physically struck him. All he did was think about Bumblebee. Sam was reasonably sure that the scout would understand, that he wouldn't want Sam to suffer any more. He glanced morbidly over the side of the berth—it had to be twenty feet to the floor. Not enough to do the job.
Knock Out hissed a harsh in-take.
"Don't think like that." Knock Out said, aghast, "Sam, don't ever."
Distantly, Sam realized that Knock Out could not have been following his thoughts while he was in stasis. He had thought of little else over the last ten days.
"Sam."
He glanced at the symbiont in surprise. It was the first time that she had ever called him by his name.
"If you die, your bonded dies." She rumbled in her usual direct manner. Sam waited for the burst of pain that should have lodged itself in his chest at the thought, but there was nothing. He felt hallowed out and empty, like a vacant shell.
"Here, Sam." Knock Out urged, cutting off the top of the pre-packaged meal before placing it in his hands, "Just try, alright? A few bites, that's all."
The medic nudged the package lightly before Sam finally raised it to his mouth. He ate slowly, staring at nothing in particular as he chewed and swallowed. Distantly, it occurred to him that he might have died that night in the forest and this was his own particular brand of hell. When the next bite made him wretch wetly, he put the package aside. After his stomach settled down, he laid back against the berth, pulling the blankets over him once again. Ravage curled her long body against him, the soft, low rumble of her purr vibrating through him. Sam let his eyes close, content to drift thoughtlessly beside her. Knock Out murmured at him encouragingly before pressing into his mind. He could feel the medic's guilt and remorse right up until he tumbled back down into the depths of stasis.
That morning was the last time that Knock Out was able to coax Sam to speak or to eat for a long while.
Deadlock frowned minutely, staring at the tracking system in front of him. Three glyphs that denoted each member of the command trine blinked in the upper corner of the display. They were half-way through their patrol, currently cruising at Mach 2 near the border of Argentina. As he watched, a fourth glyph appeared at the bottom of the screen with identifying markers of the Lord High Protector. He watched as the fourth glyph made its way towards the command trine until his chronometer flashed a warning across his primary visual display.
It was time.
He pushed back from his workstation, crossing the bridge to stand in front of the third-in-command. He inclined his helm deeply in greeting.
"The reports have been submitted and Lord Megatron has begun his patrol."
Soundwave turned slightly in his seat, his singular optic assessing him for a long moment.
"Deadlock: stands relieved." He rumbled at last in his unusual monotone.
Deadlock inclined his helm again before turning and striding out of the bridge. He walked purposefully down the corridor, making his way through the depths of the ship. It had been tense for the last four days, ever since Soundwave had observed increased air traffic in and out of Diego Garcia. The thought made irritation lance through his processors, but he set his frustration aside—he had to keep his wits about him.
As he turned down the long corridor towards the research section, he sent a ping to Barricade.
/I will be delayed. I must return to my quarters before joining you./
It was less than an astrosecond before he received a wordless acknowledgement in reply. The shock trooper had never been one for small talk, Deadlock mused to himself. He quickly checked his chronometer—ten kilks remaining—before making his way down the corridor. He stopped in front of a large set of doors, pressing the access code with a digit.
His posture was loose and relaxed, his actions unhurried.
The doors slid open in front of him, and he stepped through without hesitation. The medical bay was quiet, lights dimmed to their lowest setting. He glanced around the room cautiously, looking for any sign of Knock Out or Hook. Satisfied that he was alone, the commando slowly made his way across the hangar. He stopped in front of the berth on the far side of the room. The young Prime lay perfectly still, eyes closed and covered to his shoulders with metalmesh. He looked almost peaceful lying there, but Deadlock knew better than to be fooled by his appearance. The boy's mental presence ached with mute agony, causing Deadlock to reinforce his firewalls as a precautionary measure. Having seen the aftermath of what had happened to Blitzwing, he was taking no chances.
When he was satisfied that his mental presence was sufficiently protected, he reached forward, hooking one servo under the boy's knee struts and the other under his shoulders, before picking him up.
"What are you doing?"
Deadlock turned, taking in the sight of Knock Out standing in the doorway of the medical bay. The commando winced internally, cursing his lack of good fortune. The medic was supposed to be in the labs.
Knock Out's optics narrowed dangerously, subspacing his energon shock probe with a flick of his wrist. The weapon sparked loudly in the sudden silence of the hangar.
"Put him down."
Deadlock transferred the bulk of the boy's weight into one arm, pressing his frail body against his chassis. In a single fluid motion, he pulled the large broadsword out of its scabbard on his back, activating it as he pointed the tip in the medic's direction.
"I have no wish to kill you, Knock Out, but I will if you stand in my way."
"Are you glitched?" The medic demanded, "Megatron is going to peel you apart, panel by panel."
Deadlock made his way slowly across the hangar, approaching the medic who stood planted in front of the entryway. Knock Out tracked his movements with surgical precision, pedes spread wide in a combat-ready stance.
"Megatron is not here." Deadlock rumbled in reply.
"What do you think you're going to do?" Knock Out demanded, "Jump off the flight deck? You'll kill him."
Deadlock came to a stop half a dozen meters away from the medic, the tip of his broadsword pointed at his spark casing, "I'm going to ground-bridge out, now step aside."
Something like consideration flickered through the medic's optics. For a moment, Deadlock was sure that he was about to step aside, that he would let him pass without quarrel. Then, the medic's brow ridges knit together with grim determination, and Deadlock tensed in preparation for a fight.
Knock Out stepped forward, extending his servos towards the fragile boy held tight against the commando's chest. Deadlock brought his broadsword down to press against the medic's chassis, hard enough to dent metal. If he pressed any harder, the sword would pierce through the plating to the sensitive circuitry underneath.
"Watch the paint job." The medic scoffed, slapping the sword away, "You'll need both servos in case we run into resistance. Give him to me."
Deadlock narrowed his optics, "Do you think me so foolish—"
"I think you're exactly as stupid as your frame-type suggests. I could have comm'd Soundwave the second I stepped through those doors."
"Not if you wished to live."
"If I had an aversion to life-threatening peril, I wouldn't be deserting with an imbecilic front-liner." Knock Out drawled, snapping his digits impatiently, "It will probably be the last mistake of my tragically short life."
Deadlock stared at the medic for the space of an astrosecond, hesitating. It was not until an alert popped up on his primary visual display warning him of the time that he allowed Knock Out to take the boy.
"I hope you have a good plan, or we're scrap." Knock Out muttered, cradling the Prime in his arms.
Rather than reply, Deadlock stepped around the medic and walked into the corridor. He glanced behind him long enough to ensure that the red mechanoid was following him, and then he made his way out of the research section before heading towards storage.
"Any information that you could provide would be most helpful." Knock Out hissed, "I'm putting my aft on the line here."
Deadlock glanced sidelong at the medic, taking in the tension of his lithe frame. He had no intention of providing him with any information that could potentially compromise the mission or endanger his bonded. After a moment, he grunted, "It's been arranged. We need to get to the ground-bridge in the next four kliks."
"Arranged? Arranged with—oh, slag."
Both Deadlock and Knock Out came to an abrupt stop as they rounded the corner towards storage. There, standing in front of them with nearly identical expressions of surprise on their faces, were Detour and Growl.
"Deadlock, what are you—" Detour began, before his optics fell on the bundle in Knock Out's arms. It only took a moment for grim understanding to dawn on his face. Growl glanced from Knock Out, to his partner, and back again before his optics narrowed in vindictive pleasure.
"When Megatron melts you down, I am going to ask him for your Great Sword." The Micromaster said with a chuckle, powering up his ion canons, "It would be a just reward for apprehending two traitor—"
Growl's words cut off in a shriek of pain as Detour shoved his vibroblade between the Micromaster's sideplates, burying it deep within his chassis, before yanking it up to sever the main energon line. Bright fluid sprayed out of the wound as Growl tried desperately to staunch the flow with his servos. Deadlock was on him in an instant, driving his short sword into the flailing mechanoid's spark casing. With a crunch of metal and an audible crackle, his spark shattered. A moment later, Growl hit the floor of the corridor, motionless.
Detour's expression was inscrutable as he turned to regard Deadlock, "You have half a klik and then I am activating the tacnet. I will fire on either of you if I lay optics on you again."
Deadlock stared at the saboteur for a long moment before he gestured for Knock Out to follow him. The medic stepped around Growl's chassis, careful not to tread in the pool of energon that was rapidly spreading across the floor.
"We must hurry." Deadlock murmured, breaking into a quick jog as they retreated down the corridor. Knock Out glanced behind them briefly as he followed. Detour stood over his partner, wiping energon off his vibroblade with a neutral expression on his face. Knock Out shook his head in grudging admiration, before they continued through the storage section.
"How is he?" Deadlock asked, glancing around the corner towards the main cargo compartment. The passage was dark and quiet.
"He's alright." Knock Out said, after a while. His voice was tight with tension, "Where are we going?"
"The ground bridge." Deadlock replied as he rounded the corner, jogging toward the large doors at the end of the corridor.
Knock Out rolled his optics expressively.
"Yes, thank-you. I had gathered that fact." He replied sarcastically, "I meant afterwards."
"Scotland."
Knock Out frowned, confusion spreading through his processor. Before he could ask for clarification, however, the corridor went dark. A moment later, the dim glow of emergency lights came on at the same time that a klaxon started blaring through the hall. Deadlock and Knock Out glanced at each other for a brief moment, before they ran to the doors at the end of the corridor. Deadlock punched in the keycode and Knock Out could not hide his sigh of relief when the doors slid open.
Evidentially, Soundwave had not had time to lock down the ship.
The quickly stepped into the large hangar, making their way around storage crates and broken down equipment. There, in the middle of the large space, was the ground bridge arch. Deadlock stepped up to the control panel, powering on the machine and running through the start-up sequence.
Knock Out shifted from pede to pede, glancing anxiously at the doors behind them.
"Not to cramp your style, but you had better hurry your aft up. It won't be long before we have company."
"It takes time." Deadlock replied, not looking up from the control panel. His servos flew over the keyboard in front of him, typing in the necessary coding.
"How much time?" Knock Out demanded. He glanced down at Sam, before tucking the fragile boy closer to his chassis. The kid was going to get one hell of a surprise when he woke up—for better or for worse.
"As long as it takes." Deadlock replied, irritation edging his words.
"Look, I'm not telling you how to do your job—"
Knock Out was interrupted by the sound of shouting in the corridor. He stiffened from helm to pede, moving closer to the archway.
"Any time, Deadlock!"
The sound of shouting drew closer, the ringing of metal against metal growing louder as his former comrades approached the hangar. Red light spilled into the dim room as the double doors slid open.
"Now, Deadlock!" Knock Out hissed, hysteria leaking into his voice.
A brilliant blue-green miasma exploded to life within the archway, colors swirling in on one another. Knock Out glanced over his shoulder in time to see Shockwave, Barricade, and Acid Storm running towards them with canons charged and murder on their faces. Without waiting to see whether the connection was stable, Knock Out ran through the archway—
—straight into a cluster of Autobot troops. Optimus Prime stood front and center, battle mask engaged and his arm-mounted canon glowing brightly in the late-afternoon sun of northern Scotland. Knock Out could also make out Ironhide, Ratchet, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, and Bumblebee among the other soldiers gathered.
He stood dumbfounded for the space of a nanosecond before blurting, "Are you fragging kidding me right now?"
At the same time, Deadlock burst through the ground bridge, energon sword in hand.
"Shut it down!" He roared, pivoting in time to deflect a red blaster bolt that shot through the archway. Chaos erupted for a brief moment—ion and plasma fire streaked through the ground bridge in both directions. Knock Out clutched Sam closed to his chassis, tensing to jump out of the line of fire, when a blaster bolt caught him squarely in the back. He stumbled forward, curling his frame around the precious cargo in his arms. Suddenly, a red and white mechanoid was there, shielding Knock Out as he dragged him away from the arch.
A moment later, the blue-green miasma disappeared.
"Disassemble the arch." Deadlock ordered curtly, "Soundwave can certainly reverse-search these coordinates."
"Perceptor, make it quick." Optimus Prime commanded.
Knock Out ex-vented harshly, his primary visual display cascading with a series of warning messages and damage reports. The red and white mechanoid helped guide him to his knees.
"It looks worse than it is." He assured Knock Out, already wrist-deep in his spinal plating, "Let me get the energon bleed under control first, and then—"
Before the field medic could finish speaking, Knock Out glanced up to see Ratchet towering over him. The chartreuse CMO extended his servos impatiently.
"Give him to me. Now."
Knock Out hesitated, glancing down at the boy in his arms, before lifting him towards the Autobot medic. Ratchet took him without another word, jogging towards a second ground bridge located across the field. As Knock Out watched, Bumblebee separated from the others, following closely behind the medic as they stepped through the archway together.
A moment later, Sam was gone.
Knock Out grimaced as the field medic clamped his secondary energon line, before glancing over his shoulder at the mechanoid.
"Your technique leaves much to be desired." He commented dryly.
"You're welcome." The medic returned, just as dryly.
"What is the meaning of this, Deadlock?" Optimus Prime rumbled. Knock Out glanced up to see that the Autobot leader was staring down at him with an inscrutable expression on his face. It took him a moment to realize that Deadlock was on his knees, servos restrained behind his back. His weapons had also been removed, and were currently in the possession of the Autobot's bulky weapons specialist.
"He was the boy's primary care provider. He arrived at the medical bay shortly after I did." Deadlock said, a grimace twisting on his faceplates as a large red, white, and blue mechanoid pulled him to his feet.
"So he decided to tag along?" Ironhide sneered, looking up from the broadsword that he held reverently in his servos, "Knock Out's not known for his altruism."
"Perhaps not." Knock Out agreed blandly, wincing as the medic began soldering his tertiary spinal connectors, "But I am a pragmatist. I wasn't staying on the Nemesis to suffer Megatron's wrath."
"There's a big leap between desertion and defection." Ironhide scoffed, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.
"Well, my illustrious companion didn't mention the fact that we were bridging into an Autobot encampment." Knock Out admitted.
"Take them both to the Ark and process them." The red, white, and blue mechanoid ordered curtly.
"I'm going to need a minute here." The field medic said distractedly.
"First Aid, you can have all the time you need after we're back at Diego Garcia."
The medic huffed in exasperation, but dutifully stepped aside as Hot Rod and Cliffjumper pulled Knock Out to his feet. The Autobots made to guide him towards the ground bridge, when something possessed Knock Out to turn towards Prime.
"Wait." He called out. The Autobot leader turned slightly to regard him with solemn optics. Taking this as permission to continue, Knock Out said, hesitantly, "Sam… he's not well."
"Of course he's not well." Sunstreaker snapped, bristling, "He's been your prisoner for almost two years."
Knock Out ignored the warrior, staring meaningfully at Prime. After a moment, his primary visual display notified him of an incoming ping from a source with Autobot identifiers. Knock Out accepted the connection, immediately sending a simple data packet to the Autobot leader. A moment later, Prime's optics widened marginally in surprise, before narrowing in tightly leashed anger.
"Take him to the Ark." He commanded curtly.
Knock Out allowed himself to be steered towards the archway without another word.
Sam's first salient thought upon waking was that he was comfortable—a sensation that he had not felt in all the time that he had been a prisoner. Rather than the hardness of metal beneath his body and the cool chill of recycled air against his skin, he was ensconced in softness and warmth. He squinted open his eyes in confusion, glancing down at himself as he did so. He was lying on a hospital gurney, rather than the familiar berth, covered in heavy linen blankets.
All at once, he became aware of the warm presence in his mind. It wrapped closely around him, solid and comforting. His eyes snapped to the side, following the mental trail, to find Ratchet standing a short distance away. The medic's optics were soft, his expression openly concerned. Sam's heart leapt into his throat in an instant.
"Ratchet?" He whispered, disbelievingly.
"Yes, it's me." The medic said, stepping forward to cup a servo against Sam's shoulder.
Dread lodged itself like a spear in his chest, "What are you doing here?"
Ratchet stroked a heavy thumb across his shoulder blades. The gesture was familiar and soothing.
"You're not onboard the Nemesis, Sam. You're in the medical bay at Diego Garcia. Look." Ratchet swept his other arm wide, gesturing with a servo to the large hangar. Sam's eyes darted around the room, taking in the familiar sight of the berths arranged along the walls and medical equipment stored neatly on workbenches.
Sam felt his throat close up with emotion, tears gathering in his eyes.
"I'm dreaming. This isn't real."
Ratchet's mouthplates quirked in a smile, but his optics were fathomless.
"I assure you, Sam, this is very real."
Sam struggled into a sitting position, reaching out an unsteady hand to press flat against Ratchet's spark casing. The metal was warm beneath his skin, familiar blue light glowing from between his fingers. The sight caused his head to pitch forward, chin falling to his chest, as he started to cry. His thin body was wracked by the force of his silent sobbing, but his hand did not move from where it lay pressed against Ratchet's chassis. All at once, Ratchet's familiar presence filled their bond-space, concern and affection washing over him in waves. The medic stepped closer, curling forward to bracket Sam with his body, as his servos brushed down his back.
They stayed like that until the force of Sam's sobbing had abated. It was only then that he became aware of the sharp note of anguish and concern that niggled at the edge of his consciousness. Sam went rigid, his head snapping towards the hangar doors, as he threw himself at the winter-white glow that waited at the edge of his mind.
"Bumblebee!" He shrieked, and their bond flared to life in his mind.
Immediately, Bumblebee's holoform flickered into existence at his bedside. The holoform was much the same as he remembered, although the lines around his eyes were more pronounced. Sam kicked off the blankets before lunging at him with a cry. Bumblebee met him halfway, crushing Sam against his chest. He dug his fingers into the flesh of Bumblebee's arms, burying his face in the crook of his neck.
"I love you." Sam gasped, "I love you."
He felt a burst of love-agony-relief flare across their bond, as the holoform's arms tightened around him. There was the sound of rapid-fire transformation, and Sam opened his eyes to see Bumblebee crouching beside him in his bi-pedal mode. He let go of the holoform, reaching out his hands to grasp either side of his bonded's face. Bumblebee's optics were impossibly bright, brimming with barely contained emotion. After a heartbeat, the scout raised his servos to press gently against Sam's hands.
Sam squeezed his eyes shut again. If this is a dream, please God, let me die right now. I don't want to wake up.
Bumblebee made an anguished sound, his mental presence spilling across their bond-space to fill Sam's mind. It was reverent and longing, fierce and protective, and impossibly tender. It was a promise and an apology, both.
"Sam." Ratchet admonished gently, reaching forward to brush Bumblebee's servos away, before tugging at Sam's arms. All at once, Sam became aware of the sharp pain in his hands. It took him a long moment to realize that he had been gripping the edges of Bumblebee's faceplates until the metal had cut into the soft skin of his palms. He let Ratchet draw his hands away, but his eyes were glued to Bumblebee's optics.
"How?" He asked, at last.
"There was a coup. Three Decepticons defected, taking you with them when they fled."
Sam tensed, glancing at Ratchet as he spread cool gel over the cuts on his palms, "Who?"
"Ambulon, Deadlock, and Knock Out." Ratchet replied.
Sam's eyebrows rose to his hairline at the news, a flurry of emotion lodging itself in his chest. Knock Out had come—had helped to rescue him from that hellhole.
Ratchet glanced up at him, mild surprise in his optics. Sam flinched slightly, uncertainty and embarrassment combining to spread a flush across his face.
"He was kind to me." Sam said after a moment, an apology in his voice.
Ratchet's optics hardened as he leaned forward, gripping Sam's arms in his servos.
"You have nothing to apologize for." Ratchet said, his voice uncharacteristically emotive, "You did what you had to do to survive, there is no shame in that."
Sam stared up into Ratchet's face, searching for any hint of derision or disappointment. The medic's mental presence swelled across their bond—a complicated mix of concern, anger, and guilt—before he receded behind a heavy block. The sudden absence of his presence was like a cold dose of water, and Sam shivered in response.
"Don't… don't go." He said, hating the vulnerability in his voice, "Please."
He didn't want to be alone, not for another second.
Ratchet's optics flickered to his face, staring at him for a long moment, before the blocks in his mind shivered and fell away. The medic's presence filled his mind again, warm and comforting, as he drew Sam's mental presence towards him.
"Alright, Sam. It's alright." He murmured, "You aren't alone, not anymore."
Sam's eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of sincerity that thrummed through their bond. He leaned into their mental presences—his Creator and his bonded—allowing their light and warmth to keep the shadows of his mind at bay, at least for a little while.
Notes: This song is absolutely Bumblebee and Sam's song for the whole time that Sam was in captivity.