Fire of Youth
One-Shot: Until We Meet Again
*You guys knew this was comin'. Ratchet's up to the plate this time. He and Optimus were so close in the series that one artist said they acted like an old married couple, just minus any romance since she's not a shipper. That's how true friends behave. True friends just know each other so well they can practically know what the other's thinking or wanting to do. True friends are tandem pairs. They compliment each other so well you just can't picture the one without the other.
So were Optimus and Ratchet a tandem pair.
Since they were so close, this'll be a bit longer.
"Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light."
–Helen Keller
For a while, Ratchet stood there at the base of a towering granite monolith many klicks from home, staring at the faint disturbance of the ground as if looking at himself in a mirror – and not comprehending what it was that he saw. Paradoxically, a small part of him understood well enough what he was seeing before him, but a greater portion desired to not see, to not understand. To wish that this was only a prolonged nightmare, and he would soon wake from it.
Deep down, however...he knew this was all too real.
It had been some time since he had been here last, but his aching spark made it feel as if that visit had only occurred the day before. In reality, it had been far longer than than a single sunrise and sunset. The disturbance in the ground was not so heavily pronounced and pine needles littered the area in a fine carpet. A few wildflowers had sprouted in the soil of the grave and nearby, their delicate petals dancing with color and fragrance. The fire-carved glyph in the nearby boulder was still there, a poetic reminder his friend was beyond pain and suffering and death and violence now. Free.
But that didn't make it hurt any less.
They had endured Orion's ascension to Prime. They had endured the War side by side. They had endured the loss of friends together. They had endured being driven from their homeworld as it. They had endured countless uneven battles on this strange, organic world light years from home. They had endured the loss of friends here as well. They had endured against an undead legion, a mysterious organization of former special forces members with a penchant for snatching Cybertronians and picking them apart, sickness, too many wounds to keep count of, and agonizing separation from the little unit of Autobots they were a part of. So many things they had done, so many things they had shared and gained and lost together. And in the veritable blink of a human eye his friend had been taken away. Gone. Dead.
Dead. Dead. Dead...
And they had survived. Each and every one of them.
All except Optimus.
Even now, Ratchet couldn't seem to wrap his helm around that insignificant but infinitely meaningful little word. Just one word. One human word. How in the name of the Allspark could one word, one syllable, hold so much anguish, so much pain? It seemed wrong to him to describe so much anguish in just one word. Language was intended to be vastly descriptive, no matter where it stemmed from. The more descriptive, the better your chances of conveying what you meant to. One word should not be able to describe enough pain to drown the entire North American continent.
Dead.
Perhaps unreasonably, the old medic found himself offended at that Lilliputian word. Only four letters. It was absurd – obscene even. This confounded, four-letter word did not deserve to exist. The word alone was an insult to the Prime's legacy. He deserved more. He didn't deserve to be in the ground. Taken away from his unit and his friends. Dead.
"No."
Ratchet'd helm snapped up in an instant. He could've sworn he'd just heard a voice – his voice. But...no. No, that was impossible. Optimus was gone, no longer tied to this plane. The only reason he had heard him through Infernus was owing to the Matrix's powers. And yet...He looked around to be doubly certain, only to sigh in weary agony. No. There was no one. He was merely letting his grief-addled processor become overly imaginative. Optimus was mute without the Matrix and a host to speak through. He needed a channel, and the only channel was back in the military hangar assisting with Rafael's search for beasts.
"No."
Again the old medic looked around. Was he going mad?
"No."
Was it just his imagination or had he detected an undercurrent of amusement in that whispered word?
His answer came in a chuckle, a sound which had no physical source and that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Now he knew he was going mad. Optimus had never chuckled or laughed, not since Ariel had perished. Ratchet had very nearly lost him then, too. The waveform reset a shattered bond caused had a devastatingly high fatality rate. Worse, it had happened on the battlefield. The Matrix alone had kept him alive. Why would death give him any cause to laugh? He was still out of Ariel's reach.
"No."
The old medic watched in amazement as a sphere of red, blue-rimmed light about the size of a basketball materialized out of thin air just above the grave. The flowers seemed to glow in its presence. In disbelief he reached out. There had always been stories in their culture of spark phasing back into the world of the living. However, there were no stories of a Prime's spark returning for any length of time. According to old beliefs a Prime was under great risk if they returned without a frame, and considering the entity slumbering at the core of this planet that belief did not seem entirely unfounded. There was no conceivable way...this was some sort of hallucination, surely...
Then the sphere surged at him. His vision crackled and whited out, he felt...something latch onto his spark, and the world went black.
Ratchet's optics started to come back online after he felt himself repeatedly shaken. He was fairly positive he'd also heard his name spoken a few times, though that sensation was distinctly hazier despite his processor telling him it was more recent. In fact, everything felt hazy. Even his own thoughts were less than clear.
"What...what just happened...?" he groaned. He felt remarkably sore, and his vision was far foggier than he was used to. He could discern very little through the fog.
He sat bolt upright.
Fog.
Fog. Shimmering fog.
There had been no fog at the base of El Capitan. Infernus had mentioned being surrounded by shimmering fog when the youth had told him what had really occurred while he had been unconscious; he had mentioned a strange "mist mech" as well, he remembered, one that had dissolved into what had looked like strips of moonlight that had wound around him and begun healing him. He had lapsed out after that point to awaken an indeterminate amount of time later. He had spoken of something else, too – a light in the distance, laughter and merry-making coming from it. He'd very nearly gone to it...Interestingly enough, it seemed that Daily's voice had drawn him back.
He looked around. There was no light in the distance that he could see. In point of fact it was all around him. Instead of nothingness in every direction, what looked painfully like the Iaconian Hall of Records towered around him. The spectacular domed roof was even more spectacular than he remembered. On the ground floor with him was a large fountain decorated with an intricate bust of Solus Prime, expression stern and hammer raised high. Beyond the massive windows he could see spheres of light racing and dancing in the streets and in the skies – some even within the building – though they made no sound he could hear.
"I trust you are unharmed?"
Ratchet spun. His mouth dropped open, optics round. T-There was no chance what he was seeing was real...was there?
"...Optimus?!"
Indeed, standing there with a broad smile was the Prime himself. Spectral, perhaps, but it was definitely him.
"Hello, old friend."
He felt his processor begin to short-circuit.
"What...?! How...?! ...Where...?! What in the Allspark is going on?!"
The smile only grew broader.
"You have answered your own question."
He stared. His neural net began to fire. Dots were connected.
"...I'm...?" He couldn't finish the sentence. It was too impossible a phrase to be spoken aloud.
Optimus finished for him: "Within the Allspark."
Ratchet blinked. He had the wild urge to laugh. Now he knew he was mad.
"That's not possible."
"And yet, through me, you are here."
"But – the Matrix? I thought that was where...?"
"As I have said to Smokescreen, I am not bound to the Matrix. It is not a prison, old friend. It is a crossroads. From it, I may flow between there and the Allspark with ease. Depending on your perspective, one might consider the Matrix a mere extension. Some here even view the Matrix and the Allspark as one and the same."
"...Why did you bring me here?" Ratchet asked after a bout of silence. A frown formed. He pointed an accusatory digit at him: "If you've killed me..."
The Prime smiled. "I have done nothing of the sort. You are but a visitor here, Ratchet. That is why your hearing is muffled and your vision blurred. It is for your own protection. Smokescreen could hear and could see. He was on the outer fringes of the Allspark, far beyond it, and regardless he nearly fell sway to its spell. You, however, are within it. Should you be in full possession of your faculties, the Allspark would mistakenly believe you are offline, and Primus would bind you here. Not out of malevolence, but to keep you safe from the dark. As for why you are here...it is because I wish to prove something to you."
He turned on his heels and began to stride off out of the Hall. Ratchet continued to stare, still computing everything he'd been told. It was too fantastic.
Upon the realization that he wasn't following, Optimus turned to face him. He motioned him forward.
"Walk with me, would you?"
Still Ratchet did not move. His expression became somewhat grave while still retaining his gentle friendliness.
"Your time here is limited, old friend. I have eternity. You do not."
Thus encouraged, the medic followed after him in a daze. He was still having a hard time comprehending this. This had to be some sort of vivid, lucid hallucination or dream. There was no other explanation. Very conveniently, Optimus had not said how he had come to be here. His wording, speech, and mannerisms certainly seemed genuine enough, but he had known him for a significant amount of time. His processor would know how to mimic him to a convincing degree.
His expression unconsciously shifted from dazed to skeptical. The Prime seemed to sense the sudden scrutiny and turned to gaze down at him. There was a peculiar smile on his lip-plates, one which the medic was unable to immediately describe.
"You require convincing, I see." he noted. "You will have it soon."
Once beyond the open doors, Ratchet let his jaw drop at the glittering city. It was Iacon – but Iacon in its heyday. Massive towers scraped the skies, sparks – most likely Seekers – swirling around their spires. The roads below were similarly active, shimmering orbs of color and light darting and weaving around in a complex dance of movement. It was odd, he admitted privately, that the land of the dead should be so lively and colorful. Yet the most peculiar aspect (even, perhaps, unnerving) was that he could hear no trace of sound. Optimus was the only one he could hear plainly. Some curious part of him wanted to know then what the Allspark sounded like despite the Prime's warning, even if it was only for a single astrosecond. Having another describe sounds was a far cry from hearing the sounds for oneself, as hearing could be highly subjective at times.
They had barely gotten down the block when a bright pink light raced up to them, happily whirling around them both. It flickered like a mirage, and a painfully familiar ghostly pink and silver frame appeared.
"Hatchet!"
Spectral arms were flung around him. Ratchet blinked, disbelief warring with pain.
"Ariel?"
The femme laughed. "You know any other bright pink femmes off the top of your helm?" When he didn't answer right away she finished: "No? Didn't think so."
Ratchet stared some more. His skepticism began to lower. Two pieces of proof were now looking at him, ghostly but happy. Together. Two light spheres sped towards them, wove around the Prime, and raced on.
"You brought me here to prove something. I still don't understand what it is you are attempting to prove."
"You believed earlier I was separated from the others. From Ariel. You see now that such an assumption is false. I am not isolated – far from it. Nothing impedes me from traveling here, and whenever Smokescreen has no urgent need of me, I do so. I am rather surprised he has failed to mention that to you."
The medic gave a short snort and admitted Smokescreen was probably trying to spare him as much as he could.
"The other point I wish you to understand is that I do not necessarily require Smokescreen or the Matrix to communicate. I admit using that medium reduces difficulty and risk, but as you saw I can manifest outside of both realms if I so desire – and with permission. Risk is reduced further in such situations should I manage to bind myself to something tangible."
Something tugged at Ratchet's memory banks, something Wheeljack had joked about not so very long ago. "Like a magpie for instance?"
At that Optimus gave another chuckle. "Precisely."
"...You do realize the moral and ethical implications of possession, I hope." Ratchet said, one brow ridge arcing.
"Is it possession if I am not controlling the subject and merely offering suggestions that the subject then choose freely to accept and then enact?" the Prime queried philosophically. "Possession implies by default that the subject is entirely under the control of another, external force. It cannot be labeled as such if the criteria is not met."
Ratchet looked ready to snap a retort but the argument died before it could escape his vocalizer. Instead he merely glowered, arms folded. Slag this mech's gentle logic.
Ariel giggled. She had never forgotten the arguments these two had gotten into. Some were heated, some were friendly, some were both, and sometimes the poor doc just needed someone to rant to. Being a field medic was a pretty slagged stressful career to have during a war. Optimus had always been a wonderful listener. And he still was. So many here had arrived with unfinished business of a mind-boggling variety, and they just needed to tell someone about it. Lost friends, lost unit mates, a personal goal never achieved, a secret kept that no longer needed to be kept, something that needed to be said but never had been – the list went on, but whenever he came, he would always listen. He would always find time for her, too. There was no sense of urgency here. They had all the time in creation.
The medic's glower turned into an expression of guilt. Ariel looked at him, puzzled.
"What?" she asked.
"...I'm sorry I couldn't save you. Either of you. I should've...I should've..."
Ariel pulled him into an embrace.
"You don't need to apologize. You never would've reached me in time even though you fracking well tried either way. No. First-Aid did his best, but you can't bring someone back who's offline. Megatron was brutal, sure, more than he frankly needed to be, but once the blade went through me everything just...cut off and went black. I woke up here. And Optimus – you had no way of knowing where he was. You're not psychic. Order of radio silence given and mineral interference cut off comm's. You couldn't have found him even if you tried. He wasn't in pain. You know that."
She pulled away, smiling. He hadn't seen that smile for so long.
"Don't feel guilty." she said. "You did nothing wrong."
All around him, the light began to fade. But at the same time, he very faintly heard the laughter of many. A baritone voice rumbled kindly:
"Stay strong for me, old friend. I will always be by your side."
"Ratchet? Ratchet! Doc, answer me! Wake up!"
The sense of being shaken returned, and for a moment he thought the old medic hadn't been sent back, that there had been some sort of mishap. But the voice this time was not calm but drowned in panic, and far younger. His optics flickered back online to meet another pair of blue optics wide in fear.
"Oh, thank Primus!" Infernus gasped. "Don't scare me like that again! Your signal went offline and you nearly gave us all spark attacks! You nearly scared Raf to death! We thought Soundwave or somebody had found you and – and...and I came here and found you lying dead still and slowly turning grey and I've been trying to get you to wake up for the four breems almost!"
"Thirty minutes?" he demanded. That much time had passed? Really? It felt like only a few minutes had elapsed, and his chronometer was saying the same. Curious. But if he really had temporarily gone offline through Optimus's intervention, however, then that actually made sense.
"What the scrap happened?!" the youngling demanded.
Ratchet rose unsteadily, feeling somewhat light-helmed. Infernus helped him up and supported him, and gave him a quick once over to ensure no injuries. That fiery blue gaze demanded an answer. But what was he supposed to tell him? And would he even believe him if he did tell him?
"...You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Infernus's expression became somehow deadpanning and haughty at the same time.
"Seriously? Try me, old timer. You're lookin' at the guy who got turned into a dragon by a bunch of mechanical demigods and who has said demigods stuck in his helm as we speak. Fracking. Try. Me."
:3 This one is a lot more spiritual than any other of the one-shots I'm gonna write. Also by far the longest of the one-shots by necessity. Ratchet and Optimus were such close friends and had a very long history that I was only able to touch on here.
I will admit the Allspark is based largely on the Norse concept of Valhalla and the Land of the Remembered from the Book of Life animated film.