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Time: Earth

Sideswipe paused at the entrance to the med bay. In his time assigned to Autobot City, he'd come to learn the arrangement of the triage, mostly due to almost always being in the care of the medics. Code Blacks sat in the back, pain dulled with sedatives. Reds were in the middle, actively being worked on. Yellows sat close to the Blacks, perpendicular against the right hand wall. Greens lay against the left hand wall. Whites waited next to the entrance, and out of the way of the doors.

He saw none of the crew of the shuttle anywhere.

His own injuries forgotten, he turned and headed toward the shuttle crash site. He ignored the people calling his name, his mind set on a singular purpose.

He reached the edge of the impact zone and looked down at the smoldering remains.

Where was Ratchet, directing the injured? Where was Ironhide, insisting he was fine? Where was Brawn offering to help move the debris? Primus, where was Prowl?

The sun glinted off his brother's golden armor. Sunstreaker was talking to an upset Hound. He couldn't bask in his brother's distant presence for long. He needed to find Prowl.

Sideswipe started for the shuttle, his fuel pump hammering, echoing the throb of his spark.

"Sideswipe, wait!" Sunstreaker yelled.

But Sideswipe didn't listen. The Protectobots paused in cleaning up to look at the red twin. Their optics slid back to where Sideswipe knew his brother was running up.

Hotshot grabbed Sideswipe's upper arm. "You really shouldn't go in there."

He jerked his arm out of the team leader's grasp and strode up the ramp and into the shuttle.

The smell of burnt wires and half-processed energon assaulted his olfactory sensors.

First Aid straightened from where he worked on Brawn. "Sideswipe, what are you doing here?"

He couldn't make the scene before him compute. "Where's Ratchet?" he finally choked.

The medic's visor dimmed and he silently gestured toward the fore of the shuttle. Tarps covered mech-sized lumps. Sideswipe couldn't get it into his cortex that they were people.

First Aid materialized at his side. "Why aren't you in medical? You're damaged."

Sideswipe gaped at Aid briefly. His optics slid back to the tarps. As if he just needed a second look, he saw a dark grey hand, one that had beaten so many Decepticons, covered in energon.

There under that tarp, a boxy chest and two protrusions like Ratchet's chevron.

His fuel pump threatening to fail, his optics turned to the last tarp. Door panels peeked out of the edges.

"No." Sideswipe's legs nearly gave out as he recognized that profile. He couldn't bring himself to call it Prowl, not yet, he had to be sure. He had to see. Bluestreak and Smokescreen, both of them, they all have that same conformation. It had to be one of them. Had to be. He moved almost without thinking, crumpling to his knees, dragging the tarp off. Shaking, he stared down at the Datsun. His head hurt and he panted as his cooling system couldn't keep up with his overclocked processor. Black fingers caressed the cold, ash grey crown. It couldn't be, but it was: Prowl.

He looked up at the silent medic. "Why aren't you doing something to help them? You're supposed to be Ratchet's slagging protégé. Save them!"

First Aid just stood there, fists clenched at his side, visor dark.

His fuel tanks churned in objection to his overheating system. He curled over Prowl's form, silently begging the tactician for some kind of response.

Aid's hand appeared on his shoulder. "Sideswipe, I know what they meant to you, but-" Sideswipe whirled, his black fingers latching onto the medic's throat.

"Know?" he bellowed, rising to his full, formidable height. First Aid's head pressed against the shuttle's roof. "You know what he meant? How could you? How could you know anything? How could know that I-" His voice cut off in a short burst of static. Millennia of habit kicked in. What did it matter now if he said anything? How could their punishment be any worse than the ache in his spark.

"Let him go, Sideswipe," Hot Spot ordered.

First Aid dropped to the floor with a crash. Sideswipe couldn't take anymore. With a wail he shoved past Hot Spot and threw himself at the ground. His bumper impacted the hard rock as he struggled through his transformation. His wheels fought for purchase and he took off.

Sunstreaker hollered after him, beating back the Protectobots trying to restrain him.

Sideswipe's bottom carriage dragged painfully against the ground as he drove heedless of the rough terrain. He scrambled out of the crater and throttled away from the lifeless husk of his lover.

He couldn't say it. There was nothing they could do to him and he still couldn't say it. Couldn't say that he loved Prowl. He ignored everyone he passed, striking anyone who didn't move out of his way. He blasted static at everyone trying to reach him, and then turned off his communicator. He shuttered himself from his bond to Sunstreaker.

He drove. Away from the shuttle. Away from Metroplex. He drove on the interstate, ignoring the sirens that chased him. Reminded him. Then he turned off, onto a hidden dirt track, where he jolted to his feet and thrust himself into the foliage.

Warnings of low fuel levels flashed across his vision, but he disregarded them, intent on his destination.

He collapsed at the top of a hill, the crest worn bare from previous visits. He curled into himself, his arms wrapped around his head. He covered his optics; he could still see Prowl's still form. He pressed his palms to his audio receivers; he could still hear that Primus-awful silence. He stopped ventilating; the smell of death lingered.

His systems warned of overheating, accompanied by low fluid levels. He shut down unnecessary systems.

He couldn't remember Prowl's smile, only the look of shock imprinted on his face. He couldn't remember that rare laugh that he always sought to bring out, only stillness, only the quiet. He longed for that warm, gentle touch, but his fingers could only feel cold metal.

Armor crumpled under his crushing grip. Shudders racked his frame and a stressed whine rumbled out of his vocalizer. Overtaxed systems heated. He couldn't even yell at Prowl for breaking any promises. They had both agreed never to make any. They were in the middle of a war, it would be illogical.

He'd just never expected to outlive Prowl.

He squeezed his optics shut. Slaggit, Prowl, I'm the fragging warrior. Why did it have to be you?

The diagnostic overlay in his optics warned of imminent stasis lock from overheating.

Arms wrapped around him from behind.

Surprised he brought his optical sensors back online. "Prowl?" Desperate hope made his voice raise a few octaves.

"No, I'm much better looking." Gold hands forced Sideswipe to look up into steel blue optics. "Primus, bro, I didn't want you to go in there. What a welcome home. You're hot…" he murmured, his fingers caressing Sideswipe's face. "Slag, why aren't your ventilators working? You're not that damaged! Don't do this to me, Sides," A frantic call erupted over all frequencies. Arms clutched tightly at the red frame. "Please."

AN: This isn't the end. There's still more stories to tell.