Sunless

AN: THANK YOU RAP BEAR AND GIRAFFECHAN FOR YOUR CONTINUED FEEDBACK AND SUPPORT!

AN2: This one took a little longer to write. You'll understand why when you read it. It was soooooo hard. Honestly, I brought myself to tears several times as I was writing.

While focusing on it, I haven't had time to really delve in depth into any other fanfic. This particular chapter was one of those kind of chapters that flows out, and yet, there's emotional turbulence that causes long pauses for reflection. But I wanted to get through it and finish it up.

It's heart breaking but I felt it's one of my better chapters.

Then again, fans may not think so.

Let me know what you think… PLEASE DON'T HATE ME!

-o-

o-o

-o-

A week.

It's only been a week.

It's too quiet and yet, too loud. Every noise is thundering softly in my head. My chest feels so tight. If I relied on lungs, I would have suffocated by now.

I don't need to breathe but I still need to cycle air…only, there is no air. It's frozen. Bleak. Endless. Heavy!

So hot! Tight. Can't see! And the noise!...

It's so hot in here! No, it's freezing! Boiling ice!

Please! Make it STOP!

Primus, I can't stand it! There's too much sensory input.

I can't handle it!

The noise! The colors! The explosions!

Make it stop! Make it stop!

I scream into the cold darkness. It laughs at me with your voice. Mocking. Cheering. Condescending.

I thrash from the burn filling my chest. My vents aren't opening properly. I'm burning up! I'm melting! My internals are liquefying and choking me!

I can't cycle air! It's too hot!

Too heavy!

Too MUCH!

Primus! Let this torture END!

o-o

-o-

It's only been a month.

A month? Yes, I'm sure it's a month. Ratchet has confirmed the time. I no longer know the cycles of the day. I'm drifting. Lost in endless seas of ink and darkness.

There are no more lights.

No more colors.

No more sunlight.

Just… darkness. Blissful, beautiful, sweet darkness. It surrounds me. Stretches as far as the optics can zoom.

The explosions have stopped booming in my head.

Ratchet assures me I'm healing well but it's going to take time.

Time? Such a foreign concept to me now.

I don't recognize the night. The day is a stranger to me. Hours are long, minutes ticking by with a laughing sweep, marking the human measure of time.

I'm glad my chronometer doesn't function anymore. I don't need it anyway.

There's no such thing as time.

-o-

o-o

Two months.

Medbay has become home. The halls of the ARK are empty. I wander them sometimes. In the darkness and in the light. I detect the distant voices of other Autobots speaking to me, offering meaningless condolences and reassurances.

At least I think that's what they're saying.

I'm not sure.

My audios don't function like they used to.

My vocalizer doesn't function well either.

In fact, all of me is malfunctioning. My frame creaks and groans. My internals need constant supervision and patches. My memory drifts. I have difficulty placing names and faces. Mechs I have known millions of years. Mechs I have fought beside (and with.) Mechs I have laid down my life for.

But now? Their faces blur together. Their voices are hollowed. Distant. The colors dull and dingy.

I can't see them as well as I used to. Hence why I mindlessly bump into things.

But.. I'm alive.

Right?

-o-

o-o

Three months already.

Wow. Time has gone so slowly.

Ratchet assures me I am healed enough to be released only…. I don't want to leave.

Medbay has become my haven. My place of safety and peace. A place where I can hide from the probing questions and pity filled optics.

Not that I could see or hear such things. At least, not properly.

Everything is still disjointed.

Chaotic.

The noise in my head has totally disappeared. No more roaring or ringing or thundering or screaming.

Unless it's my own.

My own screams wake me when I dare to fall into recharge.

I jolt awake and the rumbling torture echoes in my head until it spends its voice.

Then… silence.

It surrounds me now.

The noise disappears and now I'm faced with silence. Just as the inky void melted away and the mottled colors of reality bled through my dreamlike state, the sound faded and gave me peaceful silence.

Good.

I'd rather have the silence and muted colors of reality than the overwhelming noise, light, and confusion of the dark.

I'm slowly regaining my faculties.

Well, what's left of them.

Ratchet says there's hope but I can feel what's going on inside my frame. Even if it doesn't show up on his scans, I know the broken and shattered parts. The hollowness in my chest.

I don't return to our quarters.

My quarters.

There's no need.

No one is there to welcome me. To threaten and berate and tease and comfort and…

The room is as hollow as my chest.

There is no longer life. No sense of purpose. No sense of connection.

No two halves, echoing between each other in symphony.

I don't know how I survive. Ratchet claims it's because our sparks had grown strong, enabling us to live separate lives.

But I'm not so sure.

My frame still functions and I'm aware of inhabiting it but… I'm not really here. In the moment. Feeling the world around me. Sensing others. They are but hollow projections, no more tangible than shadows, moving in my blurred and empty world.

I think Smokescreen spoke to me, but during my hazy recollection, I can't be sure.

Could have been a ghost.

I have a lot of those.

You're one of them.

-o-

o-o

Six months.

Six months since you left.

You yelling for Ratchet and then the flurry of activity, ensuring Ratchet was thrown clear before the detonation winked out your spark.

The nightmare still haunts me.

I wake up screaming, reaching out for you. Trying to save you. To stop the explosion. To keep you safe.

But I'm too late.

Always too late.

I failed.

The bond remains hollow as my chest. I keep searching for you. Hoping you're going to send back that thrum of annoyance.

But it's gone, never to return.

You're gone, leaving me behind.

But I'm not alone.

My dreams are shared by Ratchet. He too wakes up screaming, trying to save your life.

He's taken to charging nearby. Hasn't really left my side in six months.

My external injuries were minor, but the internal nearly extinguished my spark.

I should have followed.

I wanted to follow.

I never wanted to live like this.

Alone.

Well, not alone… but without you.

Life is not the same.

I feel… incomplete.

Ratchet seems to understand this. No clue if it's from dealing with us so long and having a deeper understanding than most, but it's his audio and presence that has kept me from fading.

I wanted to fade.

Even tried to let my spark sputter out, but Ratchet wouldn't allow it.

Big surprise.

Slagger is as stubborn as we are…were.

He and I talk. A lot.

He's a much better audio than Smokescreen.

I feel better when we talk. Reminds me of the long nights and endless cycles we would spend talking. About everything and nothing. It wasn't the conversation that kept us together. It was the sense of family.

Peace.

Balance.

How it was supposed to be.

It's been hard finding that balance again.

Not the same as you, but when Ratchet and I talk… it's like you are there. With us. Sitting in the corner, maybe sipping high grade, and listening. Offering low hums of agreement or smiling in that secretly pleased way you had. The smile rarely seen.

You should have smiled more.

Even Ratchet agreed.

We should have told you.

Should have told you a lot of things.

I guess we're doing that now.

Late night conversations…your ghost in the corner, listening and agreeing.

At least you better be agreeing with us.

But, knowing you, you're probably angry, snarling, and scowling.

Your finest personality traits.

It's what made you so lovable.

o-o

-o-

Eight months.

The guys stop by medbay every day to talk but I'm still having trouble hearing them. Their voices are far away. Their faces remain blurred.

Strange, but Ratchet is the only one I can see and hear clearly. He's confirmed my audios and optical relays are operating properly but there remains a grey veil between me and everyone else. Some days I can hear them better, but more often than not their voices are mumbled and garbled.

Frustrated at my requests to speak louder, slower, and full annunciation, their visits become shorter and shorter. Even Prime has reduced his visits to a few moments twice a week.

But it's fine.

I have Ratchet to talk to now.

It's not you but he'll do.

And I think I'm helping him, too.

His colors are getting brighter, his face more emotive, voice stronger and his crankiness is returning.

Maybe I wasn't the only one who was fading?

I think after all these millions of years, Ratchet attached himself to us. We were his best, and worst, patients. When you were lost, there was a part of him that broke.

And when I was fading, he battled so hard, so valiantly, screaming at me to stay. Even as I was drifting in the void, I could hear his voice loud and clear.

The pain. The anguish. The pleas. The threats.

He wasn't going to let me go without a fight.

Maybe that's why I came back? Why I stayed.

Someone needed to stick around and keep the cranky medic annoyed.

I know you'll understand this. You know me better than I know myself.

But, no matter how much I wanted to follow you, I didn't want to leave Ratchet behind.

I couldn't.

He's as much as family as if by our own sparks.

He's our brother, too.

And he would be alone.

I couldn't let that happen. He was too good of a medic to fade with grief. The Autobots still need him. "I" need him.

I'm no longer suitable to fight, though now it's a moot point. As the Autobots remained frozen by the suddenness of your termination, Megatron took the opportunity to gloat. Little did he know he was being stalked…. By Praxians.

One minute ole Tin Head is laughing and taunting the Autobots, and next thing we knew, there were several rifle shots concentrated on the warlord's chest. Prowl's acid pellets ate away the thick armor while Smokescreen sent a volley of shock shells, giving Megatron an electric kiss to keep him distracted while Prowl's pellets eroded the extra thick armor.

As Megatron shook and swore, pawing at his chest to wipe away the peppering pellets, Bluestreak took aim and ended the threat, once and for all.

I'm told the look on Megatron's face was priceless.

As he fell, Blue added a dozen more shots, ensuring the evil tyrant was down, never to return.

The war was over.

The Cons fled, scattering to the stars.

Prime had Megatron melted down as a precaution.

I would have loved to have seen it.

You would have too. Then again, maybe you did see it.

I hope so.

I hope where ever you are, you're witnessing Megatron's torment.

-o-

o-o

One year.

Hard to believe you've been gone an entire year.

A lot has changed.

Since the end of the war, several of the bots returned to Cybertron. The rest of us stayed here on Earth.

My hearing has improved, as has my sight. I can now navigate the ARK without bumping into things and spend the evenings with our brothers. We talk and laugh and reminisce. Not exactly how I pictured our retirement, but as long as we're together, I don't care what happens.

Prowl, Wheeljack, Bumblebee, Hound, and Jazz stay at the ARK, keeping the base operational while Prime works on plans to make a more permanent base on Earth.

Smokescreen and Bluestreak spend most days lounging in the sun or going for long drives.

Bluestreak was named a hero for ending the war but he shied from the recognition.

In fact, he's quiet.

Can you believe it? He doesn't chatter like he used to.

And something else you'd find hard to believe…. But since you've been gone, I haven't had high grade.

At first it was due to my injuries, but now… I don't know. It's… bitter.

It's not the same.

Hard to imagine I'd lose my taste for high grade.

What's even funnier? Ratchet hasn't had any either!

Claims it leaves a bad taste on his analyzers.

Oh well. Don't need high grade anyway. We're better off without it.

Bet you never thought you'd hear me say that!

There's a lot of things I never thought I'd say or do, but here I am, a year after your termination.

The emptiness isn't as bad. The chasm is slowly closing. Our brothers are helping tremendously.

In fact, I think the reason we're surviving is because of each other.

If one of us goes, our sparks can't take the pain. We draw upon one another. To be there. To help see us through. Hence why we all moved to medbay and now occupy the berths that once saved our lives.

They're still saving our lives.

Not in medical care but by keeping each other close.

I know you were never one for the sentimental stuff, but there is something to it. I can't describe it. Don't think there are adequate words.

But we still love and miss you. Often our conversations drift to you and your sacrifice.

You're not forgotten.

You live on.

Sitting in the corner, listening.

Watching over your brothers as you have always done.

But oh, how I wish you were here, Sunstreaker.

-o-

o-o

-o-

Told you it was emotional! This chapter took a lot out of me.

Next time, I'll make it happy and funny!

Now, I need to go have another cry and try to work on my turtles fics!