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Goodnight

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Skywarp was usually so restless a sleeper. You were glad he was still and serene this time. He needed the rest; a small frame like his, small even for a Seeker.

You smiled, blinking the blur from your optics.

Your hand rests on Thundercracker’s shoulder, and you squeeze it. He feels a bit chilly tonight, you hope he isn’t coming down with something.

Your silly trinemates, you wished they’d take better care of themselves. You needed them, you needed them more than they could ever know. You don’t have the words to tell them yet, not without your razorblade eloquence and hydrochloric sarcasm. But you will, soon. 

And then you can tell them all the soft-edged sentences you wished you could vocalize properly.

You lean, you press a warm kiss to Skywarp’s cool helm and trill worriedly. He doesn’t answer and you sigh, rolling optics and pondering why your vision is so watery.

Why do shapes shake and wobble like reality is breaking? Why does it feel like a nightmare waits around a corner. You shake out your wings and go back to cooing over your trinemates.

They do not answer your calls. They do not move.

“Your Highness… Highness, its time to leave.”

“I cannot.”

“Sir?”

“I cannot; you see, Skywarp gets so… so anxious if he wakes up and I’m not around.”, you say, in a voice rasped like you have been grieving, “And Thundercracker, bless his spark, recharges like he’s been bashed over the helm with a full warship. He may not wake up if Skywarp trills. Sky has always been soft voiced in the mornings..”

You look up to the mech who spoke to you, a medic? You don’t remember calling one. You supposed it was Thundercracker… You look over to him and notice your servos bandaged; the welds and patches look fresh, and you frown. You don’t remember doing that.

You hope Skywarp hadn’t witnessed it, your temper distressed him so…

“Sir, come along, its… its time to go.”

“But I have explained, I cannot. If my trinemates awaken and I am gone, they will worry.”, you say adamantly, “I cannot let that happen. Besides, I… I have many things I need to tell them. Things they need to hear.”

You hear the medic sending out a comm, murmuring things softly. 

“I know, I know…. Yes I understand but… No, I can’t seem to pull him out of it… Well, its traumatizing, two thirds of the trine at once after all; I was told he was sedated after trashing… Of course, I’ll meet you in the hall.”

You narrow your optics at the meddlesome medic. Once he vanishes out the door, you go back to stroking helms, patting wings, taking cold servos in your own warmer and bandaged ones and trying to chase the chill from them. You frown at how chilly your trinemates are; they shouldn’t be this cold. You’ll have to tell the medic to kick up the heat in the room; warm the medberths up.

Seekers need heat, after all. It’s why trines curl up in little nests as they do.

“It will be hard to recharge, knowing you two are here. On my wings, after this I’ll be sure to stay home as much as I can…”, you murmur, pressing Skywarp’s smaller servos against your lips. You don’t notice there’s energon left behind.

You look up, and there’s another medical officer. You frown at his melancholy expression.

“Warm the room.”

“Sir?”

“The room is far too chilly, my trinemates might end up shivering right off their berths.”, you explain patiently.

He looks at you with something in his optics. Some mixture of shock and pity. You don’t like it. The feeling that a nightmare hides around the corner increases and you don’t know why. There’s something here you aren’t getting… Something important.

You rub the crook of your arm, glancing down at the tiny patch; like the cover for an exposed IV port.

Your frown increases and you look up at the now gently smiling medic

“Of course your highness. We’ll warm the room right up… But, for now, you need rest. It has been a long day, and there is recovery that needs to be done. You can’t very well do that sitting up in here, can you?”

Your processor fuzzes as you ponder this, and then nod, “Excellent point… I suppose I’ll have to just comm Skywarp in the morning; anxious sleeper you know.”

“Of course your Highness. Come with me.”

You stand, and nearly topple forward before you are caught. Your legs wobble and the medic supports you and leads you out the doors… the doors…?

The thud of doors, the stench of death, energon up to their elbows.
“We are sorry…”
“We did all we could…”
The scream of dual flatlines.
A howl f pain, the wall cracking, servo joints snapping. 
A sting at the crook of an elbow; cloudy bliss.

You push the medic away and turn too fast. Your vision swims before locking onto the plate with the title of the room you just left.

“No… NononononoNO NONO NO!”

In dull glyphs, matte against stainless steel, it shows you the truth.

The truest name of purgatory, the den you left your trinemates in.

It reads in hollow glyphics: MORGUE.