Chapter Text
Rodimus remembered how each of them died. His close friends, his family.
So many of the primarily non-combatants, like Perceptor, died of low fuel levels. Several died of wounds they just didn't have the resources to patch.
Ratchet. The grump had refused to refuel for orns, giving his increasingly smaller rations to whatever patients needed them. He'd watched the old man slowly kill himself, giving every last drop of what he could to his patients. He'd gone out fighting, charging out to fight off the Decepticons with Ironhide and Chromia while the Medbay was evacuated. No one expected him to survive. He was already stumbling and graying from low fuel levels. Rodimus wasn't even sure Ratchet himself thought he'd live. Kup died similarly. The old codger died protecting the Sparklings in the nursery. It was all for naught; none of them survived.
Ultra Magnus had been ripped apart. Surrounded on the battlefield, no one could get to him in time. Rodimus still remembered dodging an Energon-drenched finger as it sailed through the air. He took out five Cons before he died; all of Reflektor’s components, along with Frenzy and Rumble. Soundwave had been furious, leaving the Decepticons with his remaining Cassettes. As much as he hated him, he hoped the Con survived.
Arcee sailed off a cliff after low fuel levels cut her brakes. Springer rushed after her, but a stray rock tumbling from the cliff jammed his helicopter blades, sending him down too. He'd been close enough to save them; he really tried. Blurr had a similar accident; he crashed into a rock, and flipped down a cliff. It was then when Rodimus had sworn off cliffs. He still couldn't stomach looking at one. Grapple’s death reminded him of them. Arcee at least had the grace of being killed when Springer exploded after hitting the ground, and Blurr was already dead when he hit the bottom.
Bumblebee, Cliffjumper. The Minibots didn't last long once bots started getting desperate. They had smaller tanks, after all. They didn't need as much rations. He'd given them all he could. It hadn't been enough.
And Optimus. Optimus Prime, his father figure. The great Optimus Prime. He'd gotten him shot. He really didn't think Megatron would hit him there; he was trying to warn him. That was when he'd gotten the matrix.
So many of his friends had died. So many innocents. Sparklings. The war was kind to no one. So many dead because of his species’ inability to simply stop fighting.
But now? They were alive again. He had a second chance. A new life.
He was scared. What if the same thing happened? He didn't want to think about that.
What he did know was he wouldn't let them die again. Never. He would never allow little Rodimus to go through what he had.
Not even if it cost him his life.