A/N: This was originally a prompt by DeathStallion and chimeradark on LJ. All transformers are property of Hasbro/Takara and their respective creators. I own nothing.


Oh sweet one, how still you lay, waiting breathless for first light of day, 'neath blankets thick and sealed tight eyes hear the talons that spell your demise. Death and terror stalks these halls, slips beneath the bed and climbs the walls. Feign sleep, dear spark, and pray that you will live just one more day.


First Aid watched over Ratchet, guarding his mentor as the glowing veil of the dubhan ceann chòsach enveloped him. Shimmering in the hue of sun bright emerald the familiar green aura Ratchet produced was now molded into an ellipse twice its height in length. Slowly, inching like the growing frost in late fall the elongated orb of light radiated outwards enveloping the nearest patients and healers in its glow.

Once the light grew stable, the shape no longer rippling or sending off wispy tendrils of greenish light First Aid moved from his master's side. He ran from the hospital grabbing guards and soldiers as he went, forcing them to follow or be drug against their will. By the time he returned with twenty armed mechs Ratchet had enveloped the primary ward in the hospital he stood in. The healing aura radiated through walls and doorways as it gradually overcame the ground floor. All within the orb, once touched by its outer edges, began healing rapidly their plating losing its cracked and warped appearance returning to its healthy colors.

"What in the Pit?" One of the soldiers breathed, optics wide with fear and awe, torn between attacking the familiar figure of the healer and kneeling in worshipful awe.

"Ratchet can cure this, he can make it better." Aid looked at the soldiers pleadingly, "But if anyone interferes it will kill him and we all will die with him. We need to protect him." Aid met each of their optics desperately, knowing he needed to be free to take care of Ratchet, and ensure the dawn fae didn't kill himself with the daunting healing he now faced.


"Something's here." Sideswipe rumbled pausing in the line of guards he walked with who patrolled the disturbingly empty streets. "Something not mortal."

"What are you talking about?" Ironhide demanded irritated with the red warrior who had stood too close to his mechling, who had touched Ratchet's arm with fond familiarity that spoke of shenanigans best left behind closed doors. "We don't have time for your paranoia."

"He's not playing," Cliffjumper replied curtly as he stared slowly around the deserted thoroughfare, "It's too quiet, and when they say somethin's here take it for gold."

Ironhide paused, neck plating prickling as the disturbing silence in the square suddenly hit him. Where had the noise gone? The groans of the sick, the too familiar crackling of massive funeral pyres burning in the distance, the chanting of a dozen sects to their versions of Primus in the heavens – it was gone as if Primus had taken the city to His spark and left only them behind. "Get ready." He growled lowly signaling the guards loyal to Iacon to take battle positions.

"Wait here," Sunstreaker ordered, slinking forward and shifting, seeming to blur before mortal optics only to reappear a beast.

"Lycan!" Hide bellowed only to be silenced by Bluestreak firmly clamping his hand over the taller mech's his mouth firmly.

"Shhh, he's on our side." The grey mech looked at Hide with a slightly unsteady grin, "You might want to keep him that way." Ironhide only nodded his head silently, optics wide and filled with a mix of terror and betrayal at finding his city invaded by a darkling brought in by his own sons.

"Good, and this time, don't scream," Sideswipe grinned ferally, dropping his guise to reveal his nightwalker form and vanished from sight.

"Now I don't know what ta make of that." Hide spoke dumbstruck, he had never witnessed a nightwalker immune from the sun – "Oh Primus."

"They're called the Blood Twins," Bee spoke at Hide's side, "They were once wrongly sealed by Alpha Trion within Steeldale. Ratchet freed them, and now they are beholden to him. They will not do anything to anger him or to cause him to lose his faith in them."

"And ya know this how?" Hide demanded looking at the three remaining guards from Ratchet's travel group and wondered what secrets they held.

"He's a dawn fae. If he believes them to be a threat he can kill them." Bluestreak filled in, tensing suddenly as the crimson and golden forms appeared ahead crouched tensely. "We're being hunted."

Ironhide fell silent, feeling unfriendly optics on him, sensing the presence of something dangerous locked within their city walls – locked in with them. He looked to his own soldiers, each focused and at the ready despite the disturbing turn of events. He gestured, pairing his soldiers off, keeping Bluestreak with him as they scoured the buildings around the square, and silently prayed that Chromia was safe with her detachment patrolling the opposite side of the death shrouded city.


"A wise healer once told me it can always get worse." First Aid growled in frustration as he stood against the ever growing pressure against him.

"He was right, it's worse." Lancer, the highest ranking of the guards Aid had pulled to this duty ground out beside him as he too pushed against the rushing mob. Ratchet's healing aura had finally encapsulated the hospital, all its patients and grounds. Aid had thought this would be easy, put up a healing area - cure the sick - move on. It was supposed to be easy.

Life was never easy. The moment any of the cured left the sphere their symptoms came back two fold. One, cured from near death dropped dead the moment his spark chamber left the protection of the sphere. It wasn't a plague they faced. It was a curse. An evil spell cast by dark powers that drained the life from the living and all hope from the world.

Now Ratchet slowly pushed the bounds of the circular aura, making the sphere bigger to protect more. As he pushed the sphere out, the mob of the sick and terrified healthy pushed closer threatening to trample all before them and break the tenuous hold Ratchet had on his still new abilities. Aid looked to his master, seeing the sure hands tremble and the strong frame shake.

"This is going to kill him!" Aid gasped realizing that as Ratchet pushed harder to save more, enlarging the radius from where he stood to the outermost edges of the orb foot by foot he was growing paler.

Lancer looked over his shoulder to the miraculous healer, taking in the once gray faceplates now turning white, "Do you believe in old wives tales?"

"Right now I'd believe you if you said Unicron was a femme and bond with him!" Aid replied vehemently, shoving his shoulder against the bots struggling against their ragged line, trying to reach Ratchet and the faintly shimmering promise of salvation.

"Just back me up here, alright?" Lancer turned to the crowd and bellowed, "Silence!" His voice resounded through the mob stilling those closest to him immediately and slowly the crowd subsided; fear still emanated from the masses but now he could hear himself think. "Iacon hear me! The rumors are true, Primus has sent down a miracle to aid us." He let the crowd roar, murmur, and let the voices fade, "But as with all things, even miracles need the aid of the faithful. We know our duty to Primus, and our debt to Him. He created All, and we must give of ourselves in return to bring our own survival."

Around them optics brightened with hope, all knowing the litany of the Truest Blessing. Despite the many sects that followed diverging paths to the light of Primus they all shared this one rite from times immemorial. Throughout the crowd voices rose in hymnal song, Aid singing loudest as first just a few, then more raised their voices to pray for Ratchet's continued blessing to touch them all, to save them. The voices rose bringing with them hope, and from hope a faith that was almost tangible like a warm mist on a cool day filled the air. First Aid stared, his voice stilling as he witnessed the faces of the desperate and fearful fill with a fervor that could, if harnessed, move the stars. Awed and hopeful he stepped up on a curb to once more lend his voice and guide the faithful placing his hope in the old myth that singing the Truest Blessing ensured all voices that rose to Primus' glory would be saved.

"Seol do leanbh, a Primus, arna gcaitheamh dúinn a miracle. Déanfaimid teach é de mheon, agus é a beatha le dóchas agus ar iasacht ar ár guthanna sé amhrán. Agus nuair a daor Primus an leanbh a dhéanamh beidh muid a ardú ar ais isteach tú!" The chorus line grew in volume rising like a tide and with the words filling the air and vibrating to each and every mech's very core Ratchet seemed to glow brighter.

First the dawn fae seemed merely lighter, then he shimmered with light. As the crowd's voices rose together and wove into a single perfect song he shone with healing green light. The sphere grew as a bladder inflated with air that spread massively over the city like water over a ball. The sphere grew, fed by power and fueled with prayer as slowly all standing within felt the blooming of hope and renewed health filled their frames.


Bluestreak moved with Ironhide, following subtle clues the twins had left leading down through the bowls of the city and deep into a warren of far too similar tunnels. "Not these again."

"No whining." Wheeljack chided lightly feeling the same churning dismay. "Although I too wish these tunnels had led anywhere else but down."

Ironhide looked to his nightwalker son with mixed emotions. Five years ago 'Jack had been little more than an undying mortal with no power to speak of. Now, he could walk in the sun and materialize from wisps of mist and smoke as he had moments ago frowning darkly as he spread news of Ratchet's miracle above and the curse leaching life from the city.

"Any bets?" Bee asked almost lightly as he nodded to another set of marks the twins had left gouged into solid stone, his cryptic question sending nervous tremors along the guards' back struts.

"Nightwalkers," Cliff spoke up.

"Lycans," Bluestreak countered "Werewolves count too. The slagging beasts are like scraplets." He shuddered.

"Ghouls," Bee offered with a cringe thinking of their last encounter.

"Worse, they're necromancers." Sunstreaker spoke as he appeared in unison with Sideswipe still showing his true nightwalker self and Sunstreaker bearing the form of the lycan. "Below, three levels down. The spell they are chanting speaks of calling the dead to rise and spreading a plague among the living, turning the city into a well of despair."

"But if it makes you feel any better our old master is down there, too." Sideswipe snarled darkly, his normal humor lost to the bleak memories of long ago serving their sire and master when they had been young.

"Who's this master?" Hide demanded not liking the implications that something more powerful than day walking nightwalker-lycan hybrids lie ahead.

"We've only known him as Master, but we once heard someone call him Galvatron." Sideswipe moved forward into the darkness once more, hissing lowly as figures approached, shadowy figures slinking through the gloom.

"Hope we ain't missed the party." Jazz grinned leading a mixed team of nightwalkers and mortals through the tunnels. "Hide, long time."

"Jazz," Hide nodded, grateful to see familiar faces from the mysterious Sanctuary Wheeljack called home. "Ah'd ask 'bout the new nightwalkers, but Ah've enough ta worry 'bout." Hide shook his head shooting a pointed glare at the nightwlaker and lycan twins.

"Whatever is going on up there, its spreading through the tunnels." Prowl approached, nodding to Hide silently, "Optimus is waiting down the next corridor."

"Then let's move, we need all the help we can get." Bluestreak replied, nodding his greeting to the leaders of his old home and led the way leaving those who had known him as a terrified youngster worried as to what had transpired between his departing their village in the winter and now.

The group moved silently, now nearly twenty strong, to Optimus' position. There in an old transport chamber stood the Shadowed Prime surrounded by his twelve co-rulers and nearly every guard of Iacon, all staring as the mixed group of mortals, nightwalkers and lone lycan entered with Ironhide. As they entered all standing at the Primes' sides took aim at Sideswipe, Sunstreaker and the unfamiliar nightwalkers.

"Optimus, get them ta lower their weapons, these devils are on our side." Hide drawled, eyeing Cliffjumper warily as the mini-bot sniggered unfathomably giving the strange twins a wicked grin. The Shadowed Prime signaled his troops to lower their arms, looking askance of Hide for this new development.

Jumper walked by Sideswipe, patting him lightly on the leg, "No one targets mini-bots."

Sideswipe scowled at the jibe, absently wondering how they could win Ironhide over as their future in-law if they were already mere devils to his optics.

"Elita and Chromia have troops guarding every entrance. We must be on guard, we have seen the walking grayed moving through the tunnels, and we have no idea how they move." Optimus spoke swiftly, "We need to know what we are dealing with, and how to combat it."

"You've got necromancers raising the gray," Sideswipe stepped forward, dark violet optics gleaming challengingly in the darkness, "Kill the warlocks and you stop the curse and the undead. It's getting close enough to kill them without all of us dying that's the hard part."

"You know this how?" Hide demanded.

"Our little brother was a necromancer, but he died ten thousand vorns ago. We raised him, and showed him to others who could teach him their ways." Sideswipe replied. "Triatoma was the best of his kind long ago."

"Triatoma? The Triatoma? The founder of the assassins' guild?" Prowl asked taken aback, eyeing the nightwalker with the dark twilight optics with new respect. "What do we do?"

Sunstreaker looked to Sideswipe, both startled by the honest question. No one before Ratchet had asked for their opinions or directions, and outside of their small group no one had asked them since. Now, the leader of the Sanctuary asked them what to do seeming to trust them willingly.

Sunstreaker stepped forwards, taking center stage as this was his strong suit, "This won't be easy …"


Ratchet felt his optics open of their own accord, looking through the green haze he saw all of Iacon singing as one. First Aid stood at the fore of the crowd, guarding Ratchet and keeping the crowding faithful from reaching towards Ratchet's position. Suddenly, Ratchet noticed one mech, on the floor, covered with a sheet in death.

The image was humbling. Despite this power that flowed through him he was unable to save everyone. Spark saddened he focused on pushing his powers further, reaching out beyond the last tenuous sickly spark until the presence of his lovers seemed near. Wherever they were they were with his brother and creator. He sensed Chromia somewhere within the city, carefully enveloped within his healing shield.

A motion near the deceased mech pulled Ratchet's attention, made his shield ripple in horror. Overhead the shield sparkled, flashing white and dark green, pulling the optics of the masses to the sky. Their song faded, and the support Ratchet had gained from the song vanished, leaving him gasping as the weight of his workings seemed to bear down on him making him tremble as he tried to hold his shields in place.

Aid turned, fearful that someone had gotten to his master then saw the death grey mech on the floor stirring as if coming to life. Yet, no color brightened the death grey frame, no words issued from his slack, lifeless lip components. The movements were jerky, uneven. Then the figure rolled stiffly onto its side pushing up on arms and knees before locking lifeless optics with Aid and lunged.


Words, archaic and blasphemous rose through the darkness filling the small hidden alcove with arcane mists. In the center of the cramped space three figures circled a cold fire burning with writhing black flames. Jazz swallowed his fear tightly watching the three figures hidden in voluptuous folds of heavy cloaks. From their low pulled cowls optics each colored an eerie icy blue-white glowed vibrantly in the darkness occasionally illuminating the death grey plating of their master, a nightwalker aged past being an ancient, the oldest of the vampyres.

Optics dimmed, slinking forward on arms and the slow, painfully silent shifting of hips Optimus' team moved into position. One chance allowed them to attack the necromancers, one chance to stop the plague spreading above and potentially wiping the living out leaving only the risen grey to walk in their place. Finally in position, all mechs synchronized their movements by the dim, distant dripping of water, they waited five drop seconds.

Drip … drip … drip … drip … splat … As one the mortals moved rushing through the dark space on silent pedes blades drawn and rushed to the still chanting-moving-dancing figures around the night black fire – and collided with each other. Screams echoed through the small space, ringing as the mortals were impaled, wounded and dying on each others' blades.

In the darkness, a sinister laugh cackled cruelly drinking in the scent of fresh mech blood. Below the long, dark laughter a more chilling sound echoed through the tunnels. Groaning, rasping and lifeless filled the darkness. Slowly, Optimus led the nightwalker units deeper into the tunnels seeking out the grays. Meanwhile the mortals regrouped some tending their wounded and seeking safety while others tied off their leaks and picked up their weapons rejoining the battle group once more.

"This was a trap," Optimus sighed looking to where Ironhide stood frowning. "You could not see through it?"

'Hide shook his head gravely, knowing he had caused the deaths of his comrades. The nightwalker twins had told him the chamber was too small, but he had not listened. Decavorns of experience hunting the dark things of the night had made Hide proud, now he fell to his false pride. The mechs were dead, their silent assault a waste of effort and before them the walking gray holding wicked weapons in lifeless hands shuffled through the darkness.

Head bowed, knowing this was their last chance 'Hide looked to the twins who glared silently at the approaching grays. "How do we – do I – fix this?"

"It can't be fixed," Sunstreaker rumbled smoothly seemingly unruffled by the walking grays approaching, "Especially not with your demise. Ratchet would never forgive us."

"We need magnesium fire. Fighting the grays is pointless. They don't stop to feed; they don't crowd around living morsels until sated and move on. They kill, period. Chop off an arm it still grasps to trip the living. Chop off a leg, it will kick and writhe. Chop off the head, it will bite. Any mortals who fall to them will rise increasing their numbers, as for us immortals?" Sideswipe shrugged unhappily, letting the image of grayed nightwalkers dead and undying at the same time fill their sparks with terror.

"Only magnesium fire will cremate them, and we need that between them and Iacon." Sunstreaker continued. The twins looked to the remaining mortals and Ironhide who could only concede that his talents were not needed here. This was a battle between the undead and the living gray, mortals would only feed one and add to the ranks of the other. Turning, 'Hide led the remaining mortals to provide the magnesium fire that would consume the grays while Optimus turned the nightwalkers from the grays seeking a route to bypass the lifeless horde and find the necromancers.