Work Text:
And the battle's just begun
There's many lost, but tell me who has won
The trench is dug within our hearts
And mothers, children, brothers, sisters
Torn apart
"Sunday Bloody Sunday" - U2
Decepticons had hit the area days before. Only the remnants of a few buildings remained.
Bee's scans had shown evidence of a living human in the area, not far from their patrol.
They'd found her in the burned out husk of an old church.
Sunlight filtering through the stained glass lit the remnants of pulpit and pews in brilliant hues of blood red and bright gold. And there she'd sat, six or seven years old, crouched in the center of what was left of the building, making patterns in the ashes.
Sam approached her slowly, bent down and admired the swirling patterns that might have meant something in a child's language.
"Angels did this," she said, her voice matter of fact behind the throat-frothing sound of unshed tears.
"Angels?" Sam asked, brow furrowed.
"They flew," she said. "They came from the sky." She looked up at him, green eyes shining, and rubbed her face, smudging ashes across one soft cheek. "…Mama said angels would come from the sky and bring the fire of God with them."