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Scrapper's memories were… hazy.
His optics flickered behind his visor as he looked around himself.
Neon lights illuminated the alleyway he was in.
(When did he get here? Wasn't he last in his berth in his room?)
Shuttering his optics, Scrapper took in air through his vents and tried to steady himself.
Orientate himself. Where was he?
In an alleyway.
He opened his optics, searching for the nearest neon sign or marker to suggest where he was. Everything was dusty. There was a pallor of grime along the metal walls of the alleyway. He could smell the stench of dampness, as if the alleyway had never seen sunlight in its entire build existence. It was the stench of pollutants, factory produced judging by how heavy the air felt with carbon and smoke, that finally keyed Scrapper in to where he was.
Blaster City.
Odd.
Why was he in the Borderlands polity Blaster City? Hadn't he and Hook been working at a site in Iacon?
Now thoroughly confused, Scrapper looked down and reached down to the ground with one servo, to prop himself up—
And froze.
The neon lights from the nearest store sign — a night lounge — had illuminated a bright pink stain that covered his servo and traveled up his arm.
Energon?
Scrapper blinked, confused. He raised his servo off the ground and raised both up to the faint glimmer of the neon lights.
Energon was all over his neon yellow plating. Coating it in sickening splotches of pink.
A pulse of fear shot through him.
Was he hurt?
His spark raced, beating furiously within his chest, before he scrambled to his pedes and slammed his pede into something large. He heard the clang of metal before he registered what he'd kicked. It resounded through the alleyway, echoing against the bare walls. He slumped to the ground, stunned by the noise, and tilted his helm to look down.
A body lay at his knees.
A body stained with energon, just like Scrapper's arms were.
Strange.
What had happened here?
"Hey," Scrapper shook the unconscious Cybertronian, "you alright?"
No response.
The front loader's brow furrowed as he shifted his frame over the unconscious Cybertronian and shook them, much harder this time. Yet again, there was no response. Nothing beyond the Cybertronian's helm lolling to the side. Confusion settled into Scrapper's mind like a fog.
Unresponsive and stained with energon?
Scrapper adjusted his position, until he was merely propped up on his knees beside the unconscious Cybertronian. He tilted his helm, gaze narrowing onto the other. It was only after much examination that he realized that there was a large gouge in the Cybertronian's side. One that went deep and slashed wide, as if hit by a large blade.
Scrapper blinked.
They were hurt.
Scrapper had to find them medical attention.
He scrambled to his pedes, darting out of the alleyway, only to be greeted by slums of Blaster City. He heard hushed voices from the night lounge, and saw an off roader speed by in alt mode, but there was no one nearby he could ask for assistance. Though he'd only been through Blaster City once before, he had heard of the rumors of Blaster City's lack of medical facilities often.
By the time he searched for someone with a modicum of medical knowledge, the Cybertronian in the alleyway would be deactivated.
So he did the only thing he knew.
Hook? The comm communicator crackled as Scrapper contacted the crane. He winced, imagining Hook being ripped out of his recharge by Scrapper's voice, after a long three day surgery on an injured cassetticon. Hook had hardly slept during the surgery, and when he did it had been fitful. He'd have to make it up to the crane somehow.
So expectant of Hook's rage was Scrapper that he startled, jumping and scrambling back when Hook instantly responded, panic in his voice.
Scrapper?! Where are you?
Uh… Blaster City? There's someone hurt, I need you to help.
Hook didn't say a glyph, until Scrapper heard the crane's curt voice bite out a cold, Do not move.
It was only after Hook had hung up and left Scrapper to stand awkwardly in the alleyway that the front loader realized Hook had not even questioned him on why he was in Blaster City. He knew Hook well enough to know Hook would have become hung up on Scrapper's location, berating him endlessly for leaving their home without him telling Hook beforehand. That he'd avoided, or perhaps not even noticed, the topic worried Scrapper.
It could only mean Hook was very upset with him.
Scrapper whined anxiously and approached the injured Cybertronian. He placed his servos over the gash in their side, hoping to stop the flow of energon seeping from their frame. As he must have been doing before he'd snapped back into awareness. Seeing someone injured was not a sight he was used to. Of course he had lost focus.
Time seemed to pass slowly until Scrapper heard the loud thrum of Hook's engine, the smooth hiss of his transformation and then heard the crane run up to him.
But Hook did not move Scrapper away to tend to the injured Cybertronian. He froze near Scrapper and let out a tiny gasp.
"What did you do?" Hook hissed, before he grabbed Scrapper and yanked him away from the injured Cybertronian.
Scrapper staggered, engine growling with confusion as Hook drug him away from the Cybertronian. "Hook, they're hurt—"
"They are dead!" Hook snapped, his gaze molten through his golden visor. His dark blue chest plate was flecked with pink stains of energon (from Scrapper's stains, Hook was going to be furious with him for getting a mess over his plating), and the light blue of his arms was notable for the obvious shake to them.
"No," Scrapper said, helm shaking as he looked to the injured Cybertronian, "they need some repairs that is all."
Hook stared at him. He worked at his jaw, a flash of fear — fear? — shooting through his visor before the crane grabbed Scrapper's arm and leaned into his space. "There are no repairs I can muster to save someone who is deactivated."
"You didn't examine them!" Scrapper protested, throwing Hook's grip off him as he gestured to the Cybertronian. "How can you declare them deactivated without examining them?"
Why was Hook being so stubborn? The crane was usually much more thorough with his patients than this. None of his reluctance made sense to Scrapper. Nor did the crane's fear, no matter how briefly he'd seen it.
"I have seen enough deactivated frames to recognize one without an examination," Hook bit out, slowly, methodically, judgingly. Then he grabbed Scrapper's arms and turned them, so that Scrapper had to look at those bright pink stains once more. "You killed them."
Scrapper blinked.
He tilted his helm and gave a confounded look to Hook, before he pulled his arms from Hook's grasp and shook his helm. "I found them like this, Hook. I didn't kill them—"
Hook grabbed Scrapper's helm at that and harshly turned it so that he could see his bucket. "Look at yourself," he snarled, before Hook released his helm and backed away.
To satisfy Hook, Scrapper looked over his bucket. Hook was exaggerating. He often overthought and fussed over the littlest matters. Things no one but a perfectionist like Hook would worry over. He—
Scrapper's thoughts stalled.
He felt his processor reboot as his optics finally registered what Hook had insisted he look at.
His bucket was smeared with energon. Pink stains coated the teeth of his bucket, and ran down into his bucket link, covering the hydraulics with oozing smears of energon. In between the heavy stain of energon were new, and deep, scratches on his bucket that he knew had not been there before he'd settled into his berth for the night.
Scars that too closely resembled that of a Cybertronian's digits scraping at his bucket. There was a dull brown color that bordered the scratches — paint transfer.
"Primus," Scrapper gasped.
He staggered backwards, crashing into the wall behind him. His optics shorted out as he stared at the deactivated Cybertronian laying near him. The gouge in their side… It was from his bucket. The large dent in their chest was from his pede.
"Oh, Primus," Scrapper vented out, his digits digging into his helm as he felt flashes of his subconscious awaken.
He saw the Cybertronian beneath the teeth of his bucket.
Felt their spark dent underneath his pede as he crushed their chest plate in.
Heard their timid pleas for him to stop.
"I should report you to the authorities…"
Hook's whisper was loud, only to Scrapper. He jerked his helm up, staring at the crane in horror.
Hook was standing away from him, a palm over his mouth as he looked between the deactivated Cybertronian and Scrapper alike. His visor was bright with fear. Hook was afraid of him.
"No," he whispered. The front loader took a step towards Hook, servos extended in a placating motion, only for the crane to scramble backwards, expression terrified.
"Don't touch me!" Hook snapped, his stance bristling - boom raising to spring his hook out, ready to defend himself. But it was the crane drawing his sword from its scabbard in subspace that had Scrapper freeze.
His spark plummeted to the depths of his tank as his best friend drew his sword and aimed the point at him. His arms retracted to wrap around his chest, a keen escaping him the longer Hook held the point of his sword to the front loader.
Shame tugged Scrapper's helm to stare at his energon stained frame. He opened his mouth, but closed it. What did he say? What could he say?
Scrapper had killed someone.
He couldn't even recall why he'd killed the Cybertronian in the alleyway. Had they said something to him? Threatened him? Had he killed them simply because he could?
"I won't hurt you, Hook," Scrapper whispered, hurt aching in his words as he looked up to Hook, pleading for Hook to believe him.
The crane continued to stare him down, stance braced with his sword. Time eked by until Scrapper finally saw Hook lower his sword, storing it back into its scabbard. Hook stood there, the distance between them loud as a train whistle, before he looked away from Scrapper.
"Do you expect me to believe that? You killed someone, Scrapper."
Scrapper looked down. He looked to the Cybertronian he'd killed, aware of a numbness in him the longer he looked at the frame. He'd killed someone, possibly without provocation. Of course Hook feared him.
The sound of Hook's fans seemed to roar in his audial receptors in the silence between them.
Hook would be justified in turning him in. Scrapper was sure the crane was already contacting authorities to bring officers to arrest—
"Help me move them." Hook's command preceded the crane shifting past him.
In a blur, Scrapper watched while he and Hook moved the deactivated Cybertronian amongst a pile of scrap and broken construction debris. He stood awkwardly as Hook wiped the energon stains off his frame with medical wipes before the two of them slipped out of the alleyway and found a wash station.
Hook was thorough as he washed Scrapper's frame down until it was spotless, and just as thorough with his own plating. He listened and drove without a word as they headed home to Iacon, aware that Hook was making comm calls to his parents to have them use their vast connections to ensure that Scrapper's… deviance… would never be traced back to him.
It shamed Scrapper deeply to know that his straight-laced best friend was going so far to protect him. He cleared his vocalizer as Hook and he reached their home, near Hook's small medical clinic in the depths of Iacon's slums.
"I…"
Hook ignored him, slamming the door to his room shut before Scrapper could say anything else.
"I'm sorry, Hook," Scrapper whispered, shoulders slumped as he walked to his room, curled up on his berth and tried to recharge.
Not that he suspected he would for some time.
Not with the specter of a Cybertronian's life being taken by him — and the utter lack of understanding for why he had — haunting him. Not with the thought that Hook had gone against his morals of upholding the law (except in regards to his illegal medical clinic, for no unlicensed practitioner of medical repairs could run a clinic as Hook was) to protect Scrapper.
And what would he do if Hook decided to protect him no longer?
What if Scrapper killed again?
Would Hook stand by his side a second time?
He hoped so, but he would work to the point of earning Hook's trust. Even if Scrapper himself couldn't trust what he was. Or who he was. A killer?