Chapter Text
Bright blinding light illuminated the ruins with a splash of red and orange, the flares howled out in the darkness before they flickered and faded away. Another was shot into the night air, the flare screamed and whistled, lighting the slow painful war. Under the bright lights that insisted on dying, two powers clashed, they weren’t elegant gladiatorial battles, there was no flash of style, no pride. It was slow and heavy, exhausted frames grappled through the thick muck.
Ratchet flinched as gunfire echoed, it was close, a bit too close for him to be comfortable, his frame descended into the shadows, as he tried to become one with the energon stained ruins. Carefully he clutched the soft traps to his chassis, hoping that by some force they wouldn’t make a sound.
A set of heavy peds raced towards the ruins, it was a mech, too young to be fighting, he was covered in energon, optics wide with fear. The mech ducked under a pile of rubbish, curling himself inwards and venting. His whole frame shook.
Ratchet watched him, studied his frame, no injuries, no physical ones that the medic could spot. Only energon, there was no purple stamp, or red badge elevated and shined, only the drying energon of his comrades.
The weight in his arms prevented him from speaking, he stayed to his hidden corner, doing nothing more than observing the mech. He was young, he was forged in this war, thrown into a world he has no control of, he couldn’t even think for himself before a blaster was shoved in his arms. Trapped by two sides that would never give in to one another, the unstoppable force meets an unmovable object.
The mech started to cry, curled up under the rubble, his optics leaked and his face twisted.
Another flare screamed up into the night sky, the mech stilled, turning towards the battlefield. He gasped and scrambled to his peds, running once more into the darkness.
It left Ratchet alone, almost. There was that weight on his spark again, the constant fear he felt. The medic was alone, there was no one else in his berth, only him, or well he thought he was alone. After Pharma cut the bond he found himself spiraling out of control and threw himself into his work. Naturally, this was his way of coping, if his medbay was turning more into a morgue, he threw himself into his private life, and when his berth was no longer warm as soft words turned harsh, he found himself in his medbay.
That left him alone in his medbay, his servos buried deep in a mech’s chassis and connecting wiring. He saved that mech, even if his vision was blurring and his tanks rolled, it was shortly after Ratchet stepped away for a few moments, trying to clear his helm with energon or data patches. That energon didn’t sit still, he purged and brushed it aside, hoping it was some foul energon. Only to have the next cycle repeat and the next cycle.
When he found himself alone he did a quick scan of his systems and found it, his ‘bug’. It wasn’t a bug, it was a bud, a bud on the side of his spark. A new spark in the middle of a war, right after the sire had left, what perfect timing. What will his new spark inherit? A blaster, and anger from older generations, or the never-ending fear of another mech taking their life.
He hoped neither.
Another flare was shot up, this time filling the area with bright reds, Ratchet stilled, as the sounds of battle faded away, the armies were trying to circle around, corner each other, something besides a frontal march into certain death.
A rock rolled down the hill, Ratchet ducked down, intake shut tightly and his frame naturally wrapped around the soft bundle. He waited and listened to the still world, spark racing, cautiously he stepped out of his hiding spot, clutching his new spark.
The cool blade rested against his throat and the medic stilled, he glanced to the side, spotting exactly who he wanted to see. His spark filled with a perfect mixture of dread but ease as he met the yellow visor.
Drift held the blade at his throat, it was sharp, clean, he hadn’t been in the battle yet. “What do you want?” He hissed, his face scrunched up.
The bundle wiggled in his servos and Ratchet’s attention was pulled away from the seething Decepticon. He cooed the bitlet, holding them close, blue optics stared up at him only to shut. Ratchet turned back to Drift, the sword was seethed. “Drift-”
“Deadlock.”
“I’m not calling you that.” He softened, his bitlet wiggled and curled towards his chassis.
Drift rolled his optics. “What do you want?”
“C-can we sit down?”
He glanced around, grabbing a blown up container, and shoved it towards Ratchet, Drift stood, his helm twitching as he listened for any strangler mechs. “Are you going to tell me what you want or are you going to-”
“I need you to take him.” Those words hurt, they hurt so much to say, to even picture. A piece of him, a new life that he was part of, and he was giving up his sparkling.
Drift froze, the rage fell from his frame. “What?”
“I need you to take him. I-i know that it’s a lot and that you’re going to have to leave everything behind an-and-”
Servos rested on his chin, Ratchet stilled, he sucked in a cool vent, digits cleared away his tears, when did he start crying. Drift knelt next to him, his visor off, red optics started through Ratchet. “You’re not alone.”
A thick sob bubbled up his throat and Ratchet collapsed in Drift’s arms, he offlined his vocalizer and sobbed. His bitlet wiggled in his lap, blinking open their optics. Regretfully he sat back. “I needed that.”
He smiled, Ratchet felt his fuel pump jump and his spark twist, and he knew that Drift was the best option for the new spark in his servos. “Ratchet, I- I’m a drug addict and a berserker for Megatron, why me?”
“You can leave, vanish without a trace, you can make a whole new life out there. I can’t.”
“Who is their sire?”
“Pharma, we- we fell apart.”
The Decepticon nodded. “What will I need?”
Ratchet sputtered. “You’ll take them?”
“Yes, but-” He held out his servos. “They need a name, mech or femme, sireless, carrierless, a name follows them no matter where they go.”
He placed the bundle in Drift’s arms. “Hold their helm up, a sparkling’s neck can’t support their helm. Hold them close, cozy not tight, some sparklings like the sound of an engine as they recharge.”
Claws servos wrapped around the small frame, not forming a cage but a study cradle, Drift’s optics sparkled. “Hi there,” he spoke softly.
The bitlet huffed, being woken up again, wearing a rather familiar grumpy face, then blinking and cooing as chubby servos reached out and grabbed at Drift’s helm. Chirping followed as the bitlet explored Drift’s face, squishing Drift’s lips, poking his nose and squeezing his cheeks. His- Drift’s new spark cooed.
“Yea little one,” Ratchet smiled, his optics threatening to tear up again. “That’s your sire.”
He didn’t miss the way Drift’s helm fins jumped at that. “S-sire?”
“I can’t think of a better mech.”
Drift swallowed and he held his bitlet to his chassis, engine purring. “R-Ratchet I-”
“You’re going to be a great sire, I know you will be. I packed up everything you could possibly need.” He pulled out a container. “Energon mixes, datapads, data slugs, what to expect if they’re a jet or a car, everything I could get my servos on, even some credits.” Credits he was saving for a trip before the war, a trip to the beaches of Nyon with Pharma-
“Almost everything.” Drift swaddled his bitlet. “What’s their name?”
Another flare was thrown into the night sky, more muffled explosions echoed.
“I-I don’t know, you should name-”
“Ratchet, this might be the last time you see either of us, they- your bitlet needs a name.”
“Why?”
Drift chewed his lip. “In case the DJD ever gets me, and so you can find them again, or they can find you.” He turned away from his bitlet. “Ratchet, they need a name, please give them a name.”
“Drift, I-I can’t,”
“They’re a medic, right? Something medical?”
A medic, there was no doubt that they would have red and white paint, blue optics. “Life?”
“Lifeline?”
His spark swelled and ached at the same time, before he knew it, warm lips met his and Ratchet pressed against the kiss. He kissed Drift, Lifeline beeped between them, a million emotions ran over his spark at once. If only things could be different, if only the war didn’t start, or if Orion took Drift to the center if only Lifeline’s sire was Drift. The kiss broke and Ratchet stilled his emotions. “Thank you.”
“Ratchet, when this is over, and Lifeline hasn’t found you-”
“I’ll find you, both of you.” The words were sturdy, reassuring. “I’ll find both of you, safe and sound. I promise.”
Strong warm arms wrapped around him and held him tightly, Lifeline huffed being squeezed between them. Drift pressed them close together, his field was a mixture of joy and melancholy. “I’ll keep them safe, for as long as I live, they’re always going to come first.” Drift whispered and stepped back, he pushed the container into his subspace, then spared a spark breaking glance at Ratchet, Lifeline yawned and curled up against Drift.
Ratchet watched as the two sped off, Drift’s white and grey frame fading into the darkness.
A bright burning ball of light burned the horizon, the ground shook and the wind kicked up dirt. The sound followed, the dreadful dulling boom filled his helm.
Tires hit the ground, his engine roared as he drove towards the dust, his lines burned as he tore across the battlefield. Fires licked his tires and his frame but he kept pushing forwards, past the frightened mechs, the altierary. His wheels screamed as he slammed on his breaks, Ratchet skidded down the hole, spark in his throat as corpses filled his sight. The world spun as he fell face first into the graveyard, Ratchet pulled himself up, and his servos flew to the closest mech. They were dead, burned, then the next mech, dead, the next, dead, then the next, dead, the next, dead, he kept turning over mechs, begging to whatever God was out there that one wasn’t Drift. That one wasn’t Lifeline.
Every corpse was tossed over, Ratchet crawled through the energon soaked pit, his spark breaking as he spotted a waving tarp. He ran, tumbling over the grey frames, Ratchet collapsed over the corpses, there was so much energon, inner and outer energon mixed. A white and grey arm, still clutching the tarp that Lifeline was wrapped in. The melted corpse was stretched in agony, curled up, almost a cradle.
He fell, his processor buzzed with a single thought as he pulled the tarp out of Drift’s servo. It was torn, soaked in energon, and burnt, it was all he had left. It was the first thing he gave to Lifeline. Comfort, protection, everything a carrier could give to their bitlet, and now.
The energon on his servos mixed with the tarp’s energon, and a sickening sob escaped him. His spark broke in two, the war had taken Pharma, it had taken Drift, and now, his new spark. It took Lifeline and the promise of a better life among the stars.
All it took to crush Ratchet was a random stray shell, it killed his hopes, his dreams, and now his family.
The medic clung to the tarp, the only thing he had to remember Lifeline and Drift, he didn’t even have time to take a photo of Lifeline. He didn’t think that the war could take anymore, but it took them.
Hot tears rolled down his face, he wailed into the night, clinging to the tarp. Ratchet stared out at the stars, numb to the bombs, the yelling, and his spark hardened. This war would end, and he would see it end, then he would see his family again.
One last flare flew into the air, it didn’t explode like the others, but only got smaller and smaller, disappearing into the night sky.