"I'm pretty sure you can hear me. You're safe, at Autobot Headquarters on Earth. Your friends are fine. My name is Ratchet, please don't try to move, you've been badly injured."

Blurr instinctively checked his internal clock to see how long he had been unconscious, and no response was had. His optics didn't work either. Instinctively he tried to move and found that he couldn't. He was helpless, and still.

"I asked you not to move." The voice sounded a fraction sterner now. "Please try to remain calm. We've had to strip you down to save your life. You had shrapnel in the spark casing, but we've removed it. In order for you to heal I have to bring you online for a couple of hours each day. I promise I will get you through this."

For many Autobots, being still and having the chance to rest was a luxury they craved but could ill-afford. Life on Cybertron was a case of always being on the move, trying to set-up new short-term bases, hunting out small deposits of energon and the occasional hit and run operation against Shockwave's forces. Many of the Autobots longed for respite and rest - but not Blurr. He never had, and he never would.

It was odd how people began to regard certain aspects of their character as "a way of life" as they would often refer to it. Hot Rod, for example, sought action. Ultra Magnus likewise based himself on discipline and people assumed that for Blurr, speed and motion were ways of life. They were not – to Blurr speed and motion were life. They were his constants ever since he had rolled off the assembly line, gifted through some freak quirk of fate to be inherent to his very being. Through his peaceful early life, through to his sporting endeavours, his wasted years until his chance encounter with Hot Rod and subsequently (and reluctantly at first) to his efforts for the Autobot cause, Blurr had been almost perpetually in motion.

Motion was the thing Blurr went back to when he felt at his lowest. He was never the strongest Autobot, or the best fighter. Whilst he was pretty sure he was no coward he often felt nervous, afraid or panicked in tense situations. However he knew that he could do things that few others could, achieve speeds undreamt of by other Transformers, and he pushed himself each and every day to use his gifts to ensure the survival of himself and of his friends and comrades during a bitter war that brought only despair and death every day.

He thought briefly of how other robots would get annoyed with him, for how he spoke, or how he zipped from one place to the enxt, whilst he had to hold back his annoyances at how slow he thought they all moved and how long it took them to make decisions. Even when they thought they were being hasty, it seemed like aeons for Blurr and he would get fidgety, which they often perceived as him being rude or panicked.

Now, as he lay, in darkness, unable to see, move or even speak, Blurr felt as alone and frightened as he ever had done. He didn't recognise the voices around him. He knew the name Ratchet, most Autobots did, as it was a name that carried a huge amount of reverence within the Cybertronian ranks, however he had never met the famous doctor. There were two other voices engaged in discussion with Ratchet. One had a softer-spoken voice, discussing medical procedures and updates and deferring to Ratchet in almost everything, while the other had a slightly more manic and enthusiastic tone, and seemed to take a certain amount of enjoyment in suggesting ridiculous augmentations to patients, procedures and weapons. Finally, Ratchet called the discussion off.

"That's enough, Wheeljack. For the moment we're far too scarce on resources to consider any modifications to our patients or to build expensive medical equipment based on a theory of yours."

"There's a whole shuttle sat outside waiting to be stripped for parts!" was the response from the 'bot called Wheeljack.

"It's not our shuttle, and I don't think the pilot will be sticking around. I've asked three times to see him, and he's avoided me. He's not military anyway, we can't stop him leaving."

"But Ratchet-"

"Enough. I have patients to attend to."

The discussion over, Blurr stopped listening and was again alone with his thoughts. His friends were alive, Ratchet had told him that, and Springer was evidently still around also. Blurr was relieved that the whole squad had made it. The pursuit and subsequent engagement with the Decepticons had been a scary combat, and Blurr had been forced to take ridiculous risks, based on the assumption that the Decepticons were not familiar with his gift of speed. Kup had advised only sporadic use as the squad had been entrenched in their defensive positions, but Blurr had risked himself once too often and been caught. He remembered searing pain in his chest, like his spark was about to explode and then he could only recall flashes.

Arcee and Springer charging. His radio failing. The stars in the distance, and the odd orange or yellow glow as laser fire illuminated the corners of his optics. A white roof inside a shuttle. Trying to scream. A kindly voice. Gentle hands. Pain. Wondering how death would feel, and if he would be welcomed to the Afterspark.

Blurr wanted to get up and run, run as fast as he could and hopefully leave the memories of the pain and the fear behind him but he was trapped. Helpless, and still. A cold piece of lifeless metal on a slab, apparently in a medibay on a planet he had never visited before. Blurr wasn't dead, but he was surely another victim of the war.

As Blurr's thoughts turned inwards and despair threatened to overtake him, he heard the gentle voice from before addressing someone.

"I promise you he is conscious, he cannot respond to you but he is aware. I think some friendly voices would be important for him. I can't imagine how it feels to be helpless and surrounded by strangers. Just talk to him, keep him company. Ratchet says it will aid the healing."

"Of course, First Aid. Thank you for messaging me." Blurr would have smiled, had he a mouth. It was Arcee's voice! His spark, which had felt like it might fade out only a few seconds ago now felt like it was burning Matrix Blue deep in his core.

Due to their fuel economy being amongst the best of the Autobots admittedly sparse forces, Blurr and Arcee had worked many a mission together, despite, certainly initially, being very under-qualified and inexperienced to do so. They had backed each other up, learned through trial and error and become firm friends. He wanted to hear how she was. He could hear her light footsteps approaching to his right.

"Hey Blurr. You had us all worried for a while there. I'm so glad you're going to be okay."

Her voice was at first hesitant, as if she wasn't sure he could listen. She paused briefly and Blurr thought he could hear her move slightly.

"Keep going," came the soft voice that Arcee had identified as First Aid a few moments before.

"So, we're on Earth, at the Ark," Arcee continued, her voice rising and becoming more steady. "Everybody is okay. Kup and Hot Rod were pretty banged up, and the shuttle is just about toast, but we made it here, thanks to you."

Blurr lay there, listening to her voice as she told him about their journey, about new friends she had made with the Autobots, about how Blurr would like her friends Bluestreak and Hound, and how Hot Rod had already annoyed Prowl and had taken to hurtling around the Ark in the alt mode he had designed for himself and Wheeljack – the 'bot from before, Blurr surmised – had eagerly added all sorts of dangerous modifications to. She spoke of how easily Kup seemed to slip back into being part of an elite military unit, and how Arcee had finished third in a shooting contest recently, behind Bluestreak and someone called Mirage.

Eventually, Ratchet had informed Arcee that he had to once again put Blurr back into stasis-lock but he would be re-activated for a couple of hours each day. Arcee promised Blurr that she, Hot Rod and Kup would come speak to him daily and that Springer also wanted to talk to him before he left.

As Blurr felt the power slipping from his body as Ratchet put him gently into stasis lock, he felt a surge of relief pass through him. He had thought himself helpless and still. But whilst he may have to lie still for a while, he was never helpless while he had friends like these. On reflection, he thought to himself, if he had to be nearly killed to save his friends, he would again do it without question. And then he was silent, and still.

(Author's notes - apologies for the lack of updates. A combination of life getting in the way and an unsatisfactory (and ultimately abandoned) Hot Rod chapter meant for delays. The other day I realised that I've never really made much of an effort to understand Blurr, and subsequently this chapter was born.

I've never been a massive Blurr fan, he seemed like just another character with an annoying trait (like Wheelie) but I actually quite enjoyed writing this from his perspective. For one thing - I didn't have to do "Blurr-speak" which I'm dreading when he gets back on his feet in the story, but for another, he's actually a really brave and unique character if you think about him for a while and try to see the world from his perspective.

I'm thinking I might have to finally get down to the oft-hinted at Ratchet and Springer discussion, so if anyone does read this, I hope to give you some more content soon, I promise. As ever any reviews/follows/faves would be received gratefully and provide encouragement for more!)