Update! And it's only three days late! WHOOOOO! Big thanks to GoldenEagle and Bumblebee-the-Dork for their help with beta-reading.
Small warning: this is a bit more graphic than previous chapters. Like, amputated-limb graphic. Squeamish readers should proceed with caution. Also, this is NOT the last chapter. There will be one more update to wrap everything up. In the meantime, enjoy this installment-please leave a review or a critique when you're done reading, both are very much appreciated.
Iron Wing launched himself at the medic like a lion going for the kill. Knockout lunged to the side, causing Iron Wing to plow into the trees behind him. He glanced at Sideswipe. The youngling wasn't moving. Energon trickled from various places on his frame—not enough for the loss to be dangerous, but if there was any internal bleeding—
A Predacon fist flashed by his head, reminding Knockout that he had another problem to take care of first. He growled in frustration. Iron Wing took another swing at him. Knockout spun underneath it, jabbing his opponent in his now-exposed flank with his staff. Iron Wing snarled as the weapon shocked him. He spun around, trying to get his claws into the medic, but Knockout danced out of reach.
"Some Predacon you are!" Knockout jeered. "I've seen scraplets more dangerous."
Iron Wing growled. He snatched up the nearest piece of debris and flung it at his opponent. Knockout batted it aside with his staff. "No wonder Predaking exiled you," he continued, giving his weapon a showy twirl. "I'd be ashamed to call you one of my own, too—"
"PREDAKING IS WEAK!" Iron Wing bellowed, taking another swing. "Since his creation, he's done nothing but kowtow to inferior creatures! Even now, he sits idly by and allows bugs like you to rule the planet instead of crushing them into submission as he should!"
"Well, he did crush you into submission—"
Iron Wing's responding blow wrenched the energon staff from Knockout's hands. It spun across the clearing, embedding itself in an uprooted trunk. Knockout cursed, ducking beneath the Predacon's follow-up blow. Iron Wing's foot met him instead, sending him flying a dozen feet. Knockout rolled to minimize the impact, but it still scrambled his circuits. Before he could recover, a clawed hand closed around his throat. He was lifted up to optic level to meet his enemy's gaze, the amber optics smoldering.
"I—AM—ABOVE YOU!" Iron Wing roared in his face. "I AM A GOD! YOU AND YOUR KIND ARE NOTHING COMPARED TO ME!
Knockout gritted his teeth. The Predacon's screaming didn't faze him-he'd experienced rants like this plenty of times among Megatron's forces. Behind his back, he reached into his subspace with one hand and pulled out the object he'd fetched from the junkyard: an auto-injecting syringe full of the strongest sedative he had. It was the formula he'd used for treating Insecticons; if it could knock them out, it should take the fight out of this mech. A quick and easy dispatch—then he could see to Sideswipe.
"Do you doubt me, insect?!" Iron Wing snarled, undoubtedly angered by Knockout's lack of reaction to his tirade. Knockout couldn't hold back a smirk.
"News flash," The ex-Decepticon said quietly. "Insects bite." In a swift, practiced motion, he plunged the needle at Iron Wing's exposed elbow joint.
The Predacon caught it.
Knockout's optics widened as the hand clamped around his wrist. His opponent's grip kept the syringe hovering an inch from its target. Iron Wing wrenched his arm. Knockout yelped as he lost his grip on the syringe. It fell to ground, where Knockout stared at it dumbly.
"Pitiful." Iron Wing scoffed. He arched his tail into a striking position. The world seemed to slow down as Knockout watched it lash forward. Reflexes honed by millennia of battle kicked in. His free hand transformed into a buzzsaw and, as the stinger neared his helm, he swung.
Iron Wing's screech nearly blew out his audials. The Predacon dropped him, cradling the bleeding stump that used to be his stinger. Knockout wiped the energon spatter from his face and made a dash for his staff. Out of the corner of his optic, he saw Iron Wing transform into his beast form. "Angry" was not a strong enough word for the enraged Predacon—he was feral. Knockout pulled the staff from the log just as Iron Wing pounced. He rolled aside, the Predacon's wing actually brushing him as he shot past. Before the beastformer could turn for another strike, Knockout used his staff to vault over the Predacon's back.
Iron Wing reared as the medic landed between his shoulders. Knockout clung for dear life as his enemy tried to shake him loose. He jabbed the tip of his staff into a gap in Iron Wing's neck plating. The Predacon howled in pain. Then, without warning, he pitched to the side. Knockout realized his intentions almost too late. He jumped off just before Iron Wing rolled over—a move that would have crushed Knockout beneath him had the medic still been on his back. Knockout scrambled to regain his footing as Iron Wing completed the roll. His jump had been clumsy; as fast as he was, he didn't get out of range before the Predacon lunged forward.
Pain flared through Knockout's sensors as massive jaws clamped down on his leg. Iron Wing tossed his head, yanking the medic off his feet. He shook Knockout like a dog shakes a chew toy. The world spun every which way as he whiplashed through the air. After what felt like an eternity—but was probably only a few seconds—Iron Wing flung him across the clearing, where a tree rudely interrupted his flight. Knockout slid limply to the ground. His processor was still reeling; he barely even registered the pain of his mangled leg. The still-functioning part of his mind noted the orange-and-brown death sentence coming to finish the kill. Sheer reflex brought his arms up as the beast came to take a bite out of him.
Knockout caught Iron Wing's jaws before they could close on him, holding the Predacon back by his saber teeth. The stench of stagnant fluids from his maw snapped Knockout back to his senses. His mind raced to come up with a strategy. He could see his staff a few feet away—he'd managed to keep a hold of it while being tossed around like a rag doll, but he must've dropped it when he hit the ground. If he could reach it—scrap, if he could even get one of his buzzsaws out, he might stand a chance. But he couldn't do either, not with his hands occupied like this. His arms trembled from the strain of holding the Predacon at bay. Letting go of the snapping jaws for even an instant meant certain death. And it was only a matter of time before his arms gave out and those blade-like teeth reached their target. Knockout glanced around himself in a desperate attempt to find a solution.
His optics settled on a spot just behind Iron Wing. They widened for an instant before surprise was overcome by practicality.
"Shoulder joint," he grunted. Iron Wing heard him. It was such a random thing to say that for a moment he wondered if he'd damaged his prey's processor. Then he felt something pierce his upper forelimb. The Predacon grunted at the unexpected sting. He swung his lion-esque head around to find a Cybertronian syringe sticking out of his shoulder joint—and, holding it, a battered but very much alive Sideswipe.
Iron Wing could only gape at the youngling. He thought he'd squished this insect; what was it doing still functional? How—
His thoughts were interrupted as a thousand volts of energy shot through him—courtesy of the energon staff Knockout had just jammed into his neck. Iron Wing stumbled back as the electricity coursed through his body. He frantically shook to dislodge the weapon, but the drugs, energon loss, and electric shocks proved too much for his systems. The mighty beastformer crashed to the ground—and stayed there. His optics flickered feebly before he went into stasis.
Sideswipe stared at the fallen Predacon, watching for any more movement. When Iron Wing remained still, the youngling let out a relieved vent and plopped down on the ground. Knockout carefully pushed himself into a sitting position, using the tree behind him for support. Silence fell over the clearing. It felt unnatural after the fervor of battle.
"…Are you all right?" Knockout asked after a few seconds. It took Sideswipe a moment to realize the mech was addressing him. He glanced over his cracked and scuffed-up frame.
"'M okay," He muttered. "Nothing irreparable, anyway. You?"
"I've had worse," Knockout shrugged. He was so nonchalant about it that Sideswipe almost believed him. The silence fell again as they regarded Iron Wing's prostrate form.
A sudden chuckle from the medic had Sideswipe eyeing him questioningly.
"You remember that first time we talked?" Knockout asked, still watching the Predacon. "When you were still in the sparkling center? You'd crawled into an air vent to hide from your medical exam. Remember?"
Sideswipe nodded slowly, suspecting the fight had knocked a few of his guardian's bolts loose.
"You bragged about killing a cyber-roach," Knockout went on. "'I just squished-ed it,' you said. 'Splat!' You were so proud."
Knockout chuckled again. He gestured at the stasis-locked Predacon next to them. "Your quarry's gotten a little bigger since then."
Sideswipe frowned. "That was a long time ago," he mumbled. "I've changed—I've grown up."
"I know."
That wasn't what Sideswipe had expected to hear. He looked at Knockout—really looked at him for once. The medic was staring off into space, an uncharacteristically tender expression on his face.
"You're growing up, Sideswipe; I can't deny that." Knockout said quietly. He raised his helm to meet Sideswipe's gaze. The earnestness in his red optics was clear. "But even if you're not a sparkling—you'll always be my sparkling."
Sideswipe's spark clenched. He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again. There was nothing to say to that
Wordlessly, Sideswipe scooted over to Knockout's side and leaned against his shoulder. Knockout grew tense at the contact—he'd never been a touchy mech. Hesitantly, he put an arm around the youngling.
And neither of them spoke, because somehow that awkward, one-armed hug said everything that needed to be said.
"Sideswipe! Knockout!" Bumblebee's voice suddenly shouted through the comm-link. In the blink of an eye, the mechs had separated, both trying to pretend the contact had never happened.
Knockout hastily clicked his comm-link on. "We're still online, Herr Kommandant. Did you get the space bridge fixed?"
"Fix-it's putting in the coordinates for your location now; we'll be there in a nanoklik."
"You're a little late to the party," Sideswipe said over his own comm. "I hope you have a stasis pod ready for this sucker."
"You've captured him already?" Bumblebee couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. "Are you damaged?"
"We got a few dents out of it, but yeah, he's down for the count."
"And with minimal collateral damage," Knockout added. "Well, besides a few dozen trees, but they'll grow back eventually."
Bumblebee sighed—out of relief or exasperation, they couldn't tell. "Glad you both survived. And…good job."
The two scarlet mechs ended the link and settled back to wait for their teammates.
"…So," Sideswipe said after a second. "Are you gonna tell him about—y'know, being my guardian?"
Knockout raised an optic ridge at the youngling. Sideswipe continued. "I mean, he'll probably figure it out eventually. And if you're gonna stick around for a while, we might as well get everything out in the open."
"You wouldn't be embarrassed if they knew?" Knockout asked. He seemed surprised—and, to those who knew him well enough, hopeful.
Sideswipe thought for a second, then shook his helm. "Nah."
Knockout's lips curled into a smile—not a smirk, not a grin, but an actual smile.
"We can tell them when we get back—once repairs get taken care of." He agreed. He held out a hand to the younger bot. "Help an old man up?"
Sideswipe smirked as he pulled the other mech to his feet. A ground bridge appeared a few yards away, as Bee had promised. The mission wasn't over yet—there was a prisoner to contain, wounds to tend, and cover stories to concoct. But for the moment, it was just the two of them: the youngling and his guardian, one supporting the other. Nothing else mattered.
"By the way-your paint's scratched."
"Shut up, Sides."