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It wasn’t until Chromedome had fallen - collapsed, rather - to the floor that it really hit Fortress Maximus what had just happened. His trembling and bleeding form, heedless of the world around it as shouts and screams still ran through the air, sounds of pain and fear-
Just like any other battlefield, really, but this was different. Except it wasn't. With the rush of energy starting to bleed off…
He kept himself busy. He had to. First in collecting the eerily-silent Chromedome and taking him towards the medbay, then in collecting the rest of the bodies. As someone who’d gotten off without a scratch (just like he’d planned, not like he’d planned) and as one of the biggest mechs on the ship, it was only natural for Max to move the wounded- quick and careful, it wasn’t as though this was a new role for him. And not for the medics, either; war-forged in their own way, they acted almost as one, setting up triage and shouting directions and it was only when Maximus’s hands left the fourth’s frame that he realized they were trembling.
Move. Move. Keep moving.
Keep moving.
Don’t stop.
He chanted the words in his head, forcing exhaustion back (like him) by keeping active, but after long there was only so much he could do. His size and strength, so useful breems ago, was near worthless in the crowded medbay and so he was ushered out just as quickly as he went in, and then there were simply no others to move so he went to fuel, and there was Swerve at the bar trying to crack jokes in a bar filled with spark-numb mechs who were still trying to process what had happened and
Max stayed only long enough to grab a cube of something; he didn’t bother checking what it was, and didn’t care, only knew that he couldn’t stay there around mechs who were the complete opposite of the last time he’d been there, the last time he’d
Keep moving.
The former warden of Garrus-9 downed the liquid in a single go, the fuel all but burning on the way down and rolling in a fuel tank that had become used to the barest of grades. Prisoner’s grade. (Would have killed for it, years ago, didn’t want it at all) and he tossed the empty vial away from him with a grimace, where it crashed and shattered against the wall, pieces falling to the ground just like Chromedome, broken and empty-
He stumbled, reaching for his head. No. No. He was fine, he was- he’d be fine. Fort Max hissed through clenched denta as he shook his helm, forcing his secondary ventilations online to cool once-more heating systems. It was over, he was fine, they were-
too little, too late
they were hurt because he hadn’t been fast enough
I couldn’t get out, not until- not until it’d opened, there was nothing I could do
trapped while they were all dying and screaming and hurting
too slow, too slow, they died because of you, you should have stayed to make sure but he’d been afraid, afraid even as he punched and struck and snarled because he knew, he knew if he let up for an instant Overlord would get his footing and it’d be just like before
Maximus didn’t even realized he’d fallen to his knees until his helm hit the floor. His vents shuddered, as he tried to collect himself, collect anything, but his processor was running away from itself. He couldn’t stop it. It was spiraling out of control and all he could do was shake and hold his helm, and hope and pray there was nobody around to see him because
he couldn’t
stand
anyone
seeing him weak like this because if they did
he couldn’t show it because
he couldn’t
couldn’t
and someone was there, he could hear them but he couldn’t quite react, all he could do was to cycle as much air as he could through vents and mouth in vain. And then that someone was talking, he felt something on his armor and acted without thinking, thrusting an arm, out as he threw himself against the wall, face twisted in a snarl
that froze when he saw who it was.
Immediately, his gaze fell back down, optics offline in shame. He’d lashed out, again, hurt someone again and it made it all the worse because of who it was. Of all people, why did it have to be-
-and all he did was start to speak in that slow, calm voice of his, not angry or scared at all but so damn professional, and asking Max to- to count?
It was so unexpected that he looked up, optics blinking to refocus in confusion as Rung crouched near him, urging his attention to land there, and from one to ten they’d do it together, count with him, one…two…
“Th…three…”
“Good, Max, good. Four…”
Up to ten, and more praise, more soothing encouragement. Back down, he said. “T-ten…nine…”
“Eight…seven…”
Back down, all the way down to zero, and Rung only smiled gently and encouraged him to start over, could Max do that? Still confused, but given something to hold on to, Max nodded and began again, optics dimming a little as he focused on the numbers. And began to realize /that/ was what Rung was doing, and this time by the time he’d gotten up and back down to zero, he at least was in control of his ventilations. Rung was closer, close enough to touch, but he wasn’t too close and Max…
Max could only shake his head a little as Rung reached out, then pulled his hand back. But at that, Max shook his head even quicker; it wasn’t at that, he was…“‘mokay,” he whispered, even though he felt the opposite. And even though he was certain he looked the opposite, Rung only nodded as well, reaching out again to touch Max’s hand.
“I know. You’ll be okay, Max, I’ll help you through this.” A brief pause. “You were very brave today.”
And that- that only set off a choke and him shaking his head, optics offlining as he drew back against the wall. “Afraid,” he whispered, because he had been. He’d been terrified.
“Yes, and you were brave too. It’s thanks to you we’re all still alive.”
Another shake of the head, bitterness and self-loathing all but pouring out of his vocalizer. “Ultra Magnus,” he protested. “The others, the…” The little one. The one whose name he couldn’t remember, even though he could name every single guard at Garrus who had been under his command when…
And Rung just squeezed his hand. “Ultra Magnus is in the medbay. They may save him yet. As for the others, it could have been far, far worse. You saved us, Max. You did well.” Word by word, his voice pierced through the loathing, hitting Max’s spark with a force that could have been comforting if it wasn’t so painful. If it all wasn’t so…
I couldn’t save them. Any of them.
“I’m proud of you, Max. You did so well.”
Again, his ventilations choked up, but this was a different sort. This was the sort that had him pitching forwards and keening, long and low, as Rung wrapped his arms around him and mercilessly whispered how proud he was, how magnificent Max had been, how he’d saved them and made it okay and it was going to be okay and they were going to get past this and it hurt.
After so long of doing anything but, it hurt so much to believe.