Chapter Text
A lot, apparently, could go wrong. It felt like no time had passed, but he couldn't be entirely sure. His chronometer was confused, well, most of his systems were confused, but that didn't matter at the current moment. What was more important was the fact that he was chained to a table on a Decepticon ship and was in the same room as Lord Megatron and Knock Out. Now, while he would have preferred to be in the room with neither of them, he wasn't exactly in any position to be picky about who he was stuck with.
This whole situation was stupid, he decided. If only he had listened to Optimus, or Arcee, or Ratchet, or anyone, frankly. He could have prevented this. If he'd just listened. If only he'd waited just a bit longer. If only he hadn't left at all. If only he had been more alert. He might have been able to notice Soundwave before the Decepticon found him if he had just paid more attention. If only he fought back harder. If...
It was too late for 'ifs' now. Nothing could change what had already happened. He couldn't go back. It was too late for all of that. He was stuck here, and he was just going to have to figure out what to do without thinking about how he could change the past. He could... he could escape. If only he had his phase shifter, or... or... if he could manage to contact someone from the team. He just... he had no idea what he was going to do.
He'd... come up with something. He's sure he could come up with something. He was smarter than he looked, and acted, most of the time, at least. He could escape just fine. It would be okay. He could get out. He would get out.
And then the deep, snarling voice of Megatron cut through his thoughts, bringing him back to the med bay table of the Decepticon. "Remove it swiftly," Megatron ordered. His voice sent a shiver through Smokescreen’s frame. There was something extremely different about hearing it up close rather than in recordings or across the battlefield. It resonated in his audials from this close. It wasn’t pleasant.
Knock Out stepped forward, a playful amusement in his gaze. “With pleasure,” he purred. He held up his servo in front of Smokescreen, then transformed it into his buzzsaw without any further hesitation. “I do so resent a finish flashier than my own.”
Smokescreen’s processor started panicking, not that he wasn’t panicking before, but now, instead of just being held prisoner on a Decepticon ship again, his life was being threatened. He supposed he shouldn’t be as scared as he was, seeing as with war he faces death every day, but now… now it was different. Now it was imminent.
The saw inched closer to his chassis slowly, almost painfully so. Smokescreen tried to push himself further against the medical berth, trying to prolong the inevitable pain and damage he would have to endure. Knock Out didn’t move, though. He held steady, continuing to press closer.
Then it stopped.
"Made ya squirm," Knock Out teased with a smirk as the buzzsaw vanished and was replaced with Knock Out’s clawed digits. Instead, he raised his wrist which was now decorated with the phase shifter he had taken from Smokescreen. “Trippy,” he sang, then he stomped on the floor. “And intuitive. Proper grounding ensures that the user won’t phase through the floor.”
Knock Out looked ready to say more, but Megatron growled behind him, drawing both the attention of Knock Out and Smokescreen to his glaring, red optics. “I said swiftly.” Megatron certainly didn’t seem willing to wait for Knock Out to continue his in-depth description of the phase shifter that no one needed.
Knock Out made a face of annoyance, but it quickly disappeared and was replaced by his usual poker face before Megatron seemed to notice it. Knock Out didn’t say anything, and instead walked up closer to Smokescreen’s side. The phase shifter hummed as Knock Out’s hand grew closer, then he plunged it straight into his chassis.
"Get your stinkin' hand out of my gears," Smokescreen grumbled as he tried to fight against the hand in his system. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it certainly wasn’t comfortable feeling wires be shoved around as his parts were shifted.
Knock Out ignored his protests and looked up at him with a smirk instead. His hand suddenly stopped fishing around and he latched onto the relic. “Got ya.” And then he began to pull with jerked efforts and he twisted the key as it started to emerge from his chassis.
And then it started to hurt. It certainly wasn’t an unbearable pain, but more like a severe discomfort, as his gears shifted to fill in the space the relic had once taken up the pain increased from severe discomfort to mild pain. He felt himself arch off the table as Knock Out pulled the last of the relic out and showed it off to Megatron. Then he fell back down feeling strangely hollow without the key buried in his plating. It felt… weird. The key felt like it had belonged there, but now it was gone.
Megatron stared at the key for a long moment, then he turned his gaze on Smokescreen and his spark stuttered slightly. Megatron truly was terrifying. Being close to such a massive frame and a loud engine and a powerful presence. “Tell me the function of these relics.”
Smokescreen managed to keep himself from shaking as he stared back at the warlord. He couldn’t let Megatron know he was scared. He couldn’t show his fear. He tried to shrug, disguising a shiver. “Doorstops? Shavers? Bling? Beats me.”
Megatron growled.
"It's a shame I can't just use this to pluck out the information we need," Knock Out mused, raising the phase shifter once again just to taunt Smokescreen. If he wasn’t strapped to the table he would shoot Knock Out’s smug look right off his face.
"But luckily, we have other methods of getting said information," Megatron said, in a rather amused tone, to Smokescreen’s surprise. Then he was grinning, crooked and full of sharp, terrifying teeth that sent a chill through Smokescreen’s spinal strut.
The patch. The cortical psychic patch. They were going to hack into his head. Into his memories. He couldn’t lie his way out of this one. They would find out whatever they needed to know and more. The others weren’t safe anymore. He needed to find a way out before Megatron managed to dig too deep into his head.
"Knock Out, leave us, and take the relics to the vault with you," Megatron ordered all without removing his gaze from Smokescreen. Knock Out made a confused noise from behind him. "Don’t bother preparing the patch. I have something else I want to try first."
Smokescreen fidgeted under Megatron's stare. If Smokescreen knew the warlord, 'something else' was going to be even less enjoyable than the psychic patch. It was going to be more painful, and, if Smokescreen had to take a wild guess, it was probably going to include some sort of torture. He almost wished for the patch.
Knock Out opened his mouth, likely to protest, but then he snapped it shut the moment Megatron gave him a taste of the same stare that had made Smokescreen go silent. “Ah, right, my liege,” Knock Out stammered out quickly. “I’ll take care of it right away.” He turned to the door.
“And make sure I am not bothered.”
Knock Out only nodded, and then walked out of the room, the doors making a strange click as they closed that Smokescreen could only assume was the doors locking. The silence that settled was unnerving and Smokescreen did his best to keep looking at the closed door and not at Megatron.
Unfortunately, his best wasn’t good enough and he found his gaze drifting toward Megatron anyway. Red optics stared down at him, glowing brightly with amusement as he remained silent. Megatron’s optics felt like they were burning holes along Smokescreen’s frame and as soon as he felt himself shiver ever so slightly, Megatron smiled.
"It looks like this is going to be easier than I thought, little Autobot,” Megatron mused. “Now, we can do this the hard way or the easy way. The easy way means that you tell me exactly what I want to know and I won’t lay a finger on you. The hard way means that I tear you apart until I get what I want out of you. Take your pick.”
“Giving me an option, how generous,” Smokescreen said sarcastically, rolling his head away to make it seem like he was disinterested when it was really to hide the fact that he didn’t want to have to stare at the warlord anymore. “I’m not interested in taking any of your sick offers.”
Megatron let out an amused sort of huff. “The hard way it is then.” Megatron stepped closer to the berth and Smokescreen realized just how large the warlord was. Undoubtedly bigger than Optimus and significantly more terrifying than Smokescreen was willing to admit out loud.
Smokescreen swallowed hard and clenched his fists, opting that it would probably be better for him to keep his mouth shut this time around and wishing that he hadn’t said anything in the first place, to begin with. It was stupid of him, really. He just had to go running his mouth and now he was likely going to be tortured by Megatron.
In response to his silence, Megatron’s grin only grew and he only stepped closer. One of his hands lifted, then it lowered suddenly, wrapping tightly around Smokescreen’s throat, claws digging into his plating ever so slightly until Smokescreen felt them poking into the wires beneath. Smokescreen felt his breath seize as they then sunk in even further, Megatron pressing harder against his throat.
Smokescreen fought against his restraints, desperately trying to escape from Megatron’s grasp and get his freedom back. He strained against the warlord’s hold, his breath growing ragged with the pressure and the pain.
"Don’t worry, Smokescreen. I’m not going to kill you,” Megatron said as if his statement offered any comfort. Megatron’s other hand began trailing down Smokescreen’s chassis, claws leaving faint scratches in the metal before he picked up his hand. His hand returned to the place he had started, then without hesitation, he plunged his claws into Smokescreen. “I’m going to break you." And then he dragged his claws down, ripping a gaping trail of claw marks down Smokescreen’s plating.
And then Smokescreen screamed, but the pain had him offline before it had even finished leaving his mouth.
~~~
Everything hurt.
Coming online hurt. Opening his optics hurt. He couldn’t move, the pain holding him down even though his restraints had been removed hours ago. He was pretty sure that it was hours ago. Thinking hurt too.
He was covered in energon. His energon. Bright blue trailed from every wound that Megatron left him with, dripping off the table slowly. At least it was slow. That meant he was bleeding slower. That meant he was dying slower. He hoped so, at least. It could also mean that he had bled so much that there wasn’t anything left, which meant he was dying faster.
Maybe that would be better, though. Maybe he should die. Dying would stop the pain. Dying would mean that he wouldn’t have to be here, bleeding out on the medical berth of a Decepticon ship waiting in terror for Megatron to return. Death would be a blessing to him now.
It had been… he didn’t know how long it had been since he first was brought here, but it felt like it had been days since then. Megatron had been in and out of the room, locking the door each time he entered and each time he left. He would always ask Smokescreen the same question.
“Are you ready to talk yet?”
Smokescreen refused to answer, leading to Megatron’s laugh and his claws around Smokscreen’s throat again. They dug deeper each time, piercing further than the time before. It would only be a matter of time before they reached far enough to reach his voice box. It would only be a matter of time before Megatron took that too.
Megatron had already taken so much from him at this point that losing his voice box really wouldn’t be so bad. He almost wished Megatron would just rip it out and resort to using the patch to get the information. Anything would be better than this. Anything.
But no matter how much he hurt and how much he hated this, he wouldn’t talk. He refused. He could survive this if he knew that Megatron still didn’t know anything about the relics or anything about the Autobot base and their secrets. He could survive knowing that Megatron still didn’t have what he wanted.
Megatron would never get it out of him either. He would die before he willing gave up his friends. No matter how hard Megatron tried. No matter how much Megatron clawed and hurt and violated him, he would never give up his friends.
He was still shaking, though. He was still afraid. Still terrified. He could go on and on about how he would never submit willingly to Megatron in his head, but his spark and frame felt otherwise. He was scared of Megatron. He was scared of what Megatron would do next. He was scared of what Megatron might do agian.
He wanted to go home.
He still couldn’t move. He tried. He tried as hard as he could to move. He fought against the pain and tried to lift himself up. He couldn’t. The pain was too overwhelming, too drowning. He wished that he could curl up into a ball and cry. He wanted to hide away from everything and forget that this had ever happened. He wished he hadn’t left the base at all.
He knew it was his fault. He had no one to blame for this except himself. This was his mistake. He messed up. He ran away. He got caught. Now he was left with the consequences of his actions. He deserved this. This was his punishment for getting too cocky. This was his fault.
Destiny, huh?
Smokescreen did end up crying. He felt the tears streaming down his face, choked sobs caught in his throat. He wished he could scream, but his throat was already hoarse from all the screaming he had down before. He was tired too. He couldn’t find the energy to open his mouth. He wanted to go back to sleep, but the pain kept him wide awake.
He knew what he did to deserve this. He knew that he wouldn’t be stuck here if he hadn’t run away. He knew this was his fault, but he still hated it. He needed to get out. He needed to find a way to escape. He needed to--
The door clicked.
He panicked. He shot into a sitting position, crying out in the pain but continuing to move regardless. He shoved himself off the medical berth, deeply regretting it when his impact with the floor only ended up sending a resounding jolt of pain through his systems, making his injuries only burn more.
“Why the Pit are you on the floor?”
Smokescreen stopped his desperate scramble to get away from Megatron when he realized that the voice he had just heard wasn’t Megatron’s voice. Smokescreen looked at the door, seeing red pedes and tires. Knock Out. It was Knock Out.
Smokescreen relaxed, letting a shaky breath leave him. It was Knock Out. He tensed up again, doing his best to move away from the door. Knock Out wasn’t Megatron, but Knock Out certainly wasn’t opposed to torture either. Smokescreen wasn’t safe here. He needed to get out. He wasn’t safe.
Knock Out sighed, then began walking around to the side of the berth that Smokescreen had fallen on and where he was still trying to move, though his grunts of pain made it quite obvious that he wasn’t succeeding.
“Smokescreen, would you--”
Knock Out came into view and he froze. Knock Out stared at him with wide optics, shock spread across his faceplates. “Dear Primus, what did he do?” Knock Out’s voice was barely audible, filled with abject horror. Something in the way he spoke told Smoekscreen that Knock Out already knew the answer.
Smokescreen flinched back when Knock Out came closer. The medic paused, raising his hand up to show that he had no intention of harming Smokescreen. Smokescreen did nothing when Knock Out got closer. He did nothing when Knock Out carefully avoided the growing puddle of energon and knelt down next to Smokescreen. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to move even if he wanted to. He hurt too much.
“Smokescreen, I’m going to need you to listen to me now.”
He looked up at Knock Out, aware that the Decepticon’s optics were quite obviously filled with worry, which was something he had never before seen in Knock Out’s gaze. It was strange to see it. Strange to see someone so evil look so concerned.
“Smokescreen, can you hear me?”
He realized that he should probably respond. Yes, Knock Out was evil. Yes, Knock Out had just dug through Smokescreen’s chassis to get the Omega Key. Yes, Knock Out had tried to kill members of Team Prime on more than one occasion, but right now, Knock Out was a medic. Knock Out seemed willing to help. So Smokescreen nodded.
“Good. Now I’m going to need to get you back onto the berth so I can treat your injuries, but I can’t do that alone. You’re going to need to help me out by standing up. It will hurt. I know it will, but treating you on the floor isn’t ideal and it will be much easier for both of us if you can get back on the table.”
Smokescreen shook his head. Even that hurt. “Can’t…” He whispered, voice sounding much rougher than he had hoped it would. He hated how much pain talking caused him. He hated how much pain breathing caused him. He didn’t want to be here anymore.
“You’re going to have to do it anyway,” Knock Out instructed. “I’m here to help you, not hurt you. I’m a medic Smokescreen. I’m not going to let you die on my watch. I don’t care if you’re an Autobot or not. All I care about is the fact that you dying would be a mark against my abilities as a doctor, and I don’t exactly plan on sullying that record now.”
“I can’t.”
“Does it look like I care what you can and can’t do? Get up.”
Smokescreen still couldn’t. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t stand. It hurt too much. He just wanted to lay here. He wanted to stay on the floor. He just wanted Knock out to leave so he could go back to being in pain in peace.
“Fine then, we’ll do this on the floor.” Knock Out moved closer to Smokescreen, one of his hands rising to Smokescreen’s helm cautiously. It paused before it actually reached him. “I’ll have you know that I’ve had much worse patients than you, Smokescreen. At least you’re not kicking and screaming, huh?”
Smokescreen didn’t respond, but he didn’t move away from Knock Out either.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just here to help. Will you let me help you?”
Finally, he nodded.
“Good. I’m going to turn off your pain receptors, alright?” Knock Out didn’t wait for a response before he started moving again, hands carefully finding Smokescreen’s wrist. When Smokescreen made no further attempt to get away from the medic, Knock Out’s fingers moved, finding Smokescreen’s medical port with ease.
Knock Out pulled out a medical pad from his subspace, drawing the wire from it and carefully plugging it into Smokescreen’s medical port. There was a ping that came from the device in Knock Out’s servos and then Smokescreen’s pain vanished. It was gone in an instant as if it was never there in the first place.
Smokescreen could finally breathe. He could finally let the air around him fill his vents and cool off the panic and fear that had been raging through him. He looked up at Knock Out, shocked that the Decepticon had actually done what he said.
“I did say that I wasn’t going to hurt you, didn’t I?” Knock Out had a smug look on his face. A look that just screamed ‘I told you so.’ Knock Out’s hand then transformed into what seemed like a welder. Smokescreen had no idea that Knock Out had something like that. “Let’s see what we can do about those injuries now, shall we?”
Smokescreen nodded, allowing Knock Out to start fixing his wounds with a delicateness that seemed impossible for someone as self-centered and apathetic as Knock Out. It was strange, to say the least. Strange to see Knock Out helping him. Even stranger to see Knock Out caring for him.
He supposed he shouldn’t be complaining, though. This was far better than anything he had expected when he was first captured. He had expected nothing but pain and torture, and while he had gotten that, he would have never guessed that he would find even an ounce of relief on a Decepticon ship. He never would have guessed that that relief would have been felt in the company of Knock Out, either.
He’d have to thank him later.
He’d have to thank him because Smokescreen knew that Knock Out didn’t have to turn off his pain receptors. He knew that Knock Out didn’t have to be so gentle. He knew that Knock Out could have welded his wounds shut without so much as a warning or a care. He knew that Knock Out didn’t have to be here at all.
Yet here he was.
Smokescreen met Knock Out’s optics again, searching them for some deeper meaning, for some reason, for some possible explanation for why he was doing this. Knock Out could have just as easily left him alone and in pain. Knock Out could have used this opportunity to violate him as Megatron had, but he didn’t. Smokescreen found nothing in Knock Out’s gaze. There was no ulterior motive. No reason for this. No reason other than a doctor wanting to help a patient. Knock Out wasn’t ruthless or evil at this moment. He was… kind.
Smokescreen found himself crying again.
~~~
The coolant tears that started running down Smokescreen’s face caught Knock Out off guard. At first, he thought that Smokescreen’s pain receptors were still active and that he was crying because of the pain, but Knock Out knew that he wouldn’t have made such a rookie mistake. Smokescreen was crying because he wasn’t in pain. He was crying tears of utter relief. The tears of someone that had been so hurt and so violated that they found solace even in the presence of someone that was still one of their greatest enemies.
Knock Out had seen it before. He had seen it when the war was still on Cybertron. When he was a medic that had barely finished his degree and still had a flying alt mode. He’d had his bright red paint job back then as well, though. A paint job that screamed medic and kept him from getting shot down because as opposite as the Decepticons and Autobots were, neither side would shoot down a medic on duty. He’d gotten shot down eventually, of course, which is why he ended up getting reformatted into a ground frame, but that hadn’t been important at the time.
He’d cared for Autobots back then as well. Autobots that were so injured that they wouldn’t have made it back to the Autobot medical bases before they died. They were terrified at first. They would fight him, trying to keep him from touching them until he finally did and they realized that he wasn’t there to hurt them. Most of them cried. Most of them cried because here they were, fighting a violent war against people they thought were ruthless murderers and now they were being treated by those same ruthless murderers.
Knock Out had gotten told off several times by his superiors for helping to treat Autobots, but each and every time, he brought up the fact that more than one of their fellow Decepticons had been treated by Ratchet himself and lived to tell the tale, although most of them didn’t tell the tale for fear of punishment for allowing an Autobot to aid them. So Knock Out continued to help.
Then more people died and more people fled and suddenly Knock Out shot up through the ranks because all of his superiors weren’t there anymore. It meant that he couldn’t help Autobots anymore. It meant that he had to watch a mech bleed out on the battlefield knowing that he could help him if only they had a different badge slapped on their chest. Or if he did.
He had thought about defecting. Several times, in fact. He thought about it after nearly each and every battle. He thought about it after each and every bot that died in his care. He thought about it after he washed energon off his servos knowing that there was someone out there that he couldn’t save because he was on the wrong side. He thought about it when Megatron had called him to earth.
He thought about ignoring the message from the warlord. He thought about pretending that he had never seen and could have continued his life on the run hoping that the DJD just assumed he was dead and never came for him.
If he had defected then, Breakdown would still be alive.
His hand stalled for a moment, but he continued his welding before Smokescreen even noticed the lapse in Knock Out’s focus. Breakdown was gone now. There was nothing Knock Out could do and there was nothing that thinking about hypotheticals could do. He had been too late to save Breakdown, but he was a medic. He would have thousands of chances to try again.
Smokescreen was one of them. This young and innocent Autobot that had barely tasted the pains of war. This young Autobot that had just tasted the wrath of Megatron and had survived. Whether for better or for worse, they would have to decide later. But for right now, Smokescreen’s spark was still glowing and still beating, and Knock Out was going to make damn sure that it stayed that way. This mech would not die on his watch.
When Knock Out had finished welding the larger wounds, he looked up at Smokescreen. “You alright?” He asked, trying not to make it seem like he actually cared about the answer. The look Smokescreen gave him though said that it was obvious anyway.
“Why?”
Knock Out leaned back a bit. “Why what?”
“Why do you care?” Smokescreen’s voice was still so incredibly soft. His question sounded serious. He sounded like he was genuinely curious as to why Knock Out cared. He supposed it was a valid question, though. They were enemies, after all.
“Is a doctor not allowed to care for his patient?” Knock Out answered Smokescreen’s question with a question before he got close again to begin working on the smaller wounds that littered Smokescreen’s frame.
“Yes, but it’s just… you know…” Smokescreen trailed off, making a vague gesture with his hand to motion between the two of them. “Autobot. Decepticon. We don’t really have a history of getting along. I didn’t think you would care.”
As much as Knock Out was relieved that Smokescreen seemed to be talking again, he wasn’t particularly enjoying the accusation of him not caring. He was a doctor, for Primus’ sake he cared. Even if he knew he shouldn’t. “Well, against my better judgment, I do,” Knock Out answered, hoping that Soundwave wasn’t currently watching the med bay camera, although seeing as Megatron seemed very serious about Smokescreen living, it seemed likely that the communications officer was. He just hoped now that Soundwave wouldn’t say anything.
“Why?” Another hesitant whisper from Smokescreen. One that tugged every so slightly at Knock Out’s spark. One that made him physically hurt because he had heard Smokescreen mocking Megatron earlier, and he couldn’t believe that this was that same mech now. So small and weak and hurt. So different.
Knock Out thought upon it, for a moment. Why did he care? Why was he so concerned about this mech that he had barely met? He had no reason for it. No logical explanation for why he wanted to make sure Smokescreen was okay. “I’m not entirely sure,” he mumbled.
Smokescreen’s optics feel and Knock Out’s spark sank once again. Was this mech seriously disappointed that Knock Out didn’t have a reason for liking him? Or maybe… maybe there was something deeper. Some inner conflicts and insecurities. Something inside Smokescreen’s head that made him feel unwanted.
"But perhaps it’s because I've taken a liking to you."
Knock Out couldn’t believe he was doing this. He couldn’t believe that he was trying to comfort an Autobot. He had just lied to make this insignificant bot feel better. It wasn’t entirely a lie, though. He knew that. He knew that all he was really doing was lying to himself.
He’s been doing that for far too long. He’s used to it these days. Used to the falsehoods he tells himself every day to keep him in the med bay and to keep him on the Nemesis. Used to the stories he makes up about Megatron in order to continue to serve the warlord. He tells himself that he’s not still here because he’s afraid. He wants to be here. Remaining is his choice, and no one else can make that choice for him.
He lifted his welder, admiring the patch job that he had just performed. Not a scratch left unsealed. All he had to do left was smooth down the rough spots and the lumps and then Smokescreen would look good as new again. After a paint job too, of course.
That and the matter of the state of Smokescreen’s interface equipment that he didn’t know the full extent of damage to. Smokescreen would likely be less than thrilled with that, but Knock Out was here to ensure that he was taken care of.
“Alright, Smokescreen, I’m going to need your help with this one,” he began, leaning back just a bit. “I’m going to need you to give me a self-assessment of the damage down to your interface equipment. I need to know if there’s anything that I have to do, or if I can leave it all to self-repair. This is rather personal, which is why I want you to run a diagnostic and give me the results of it. The complete results.”
Smokescreen tensed for a moment, but then he nodded. Sitting still as he ran a scan of his systems. There was silence for a moment, then Smokescreen shook his head. “No. Nothing you have to do.”
“Are you sure? Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“Alright, I trust you,” Knock Out said it like he didn’t have access to Smokescreen’s medical port and could tell that Smokescreen was lying because he knew that when a patient lied, it meant that they weren’t ready. They weren’t ready to face what telling the truth meant.
Knock Out knew what Megatron had done. He knew the damage that Megatron had done. Physical and psychological. He knew that Smokescreen, a young Autobot that hadn’t seen a real battle, would have taken more psychological damage than physical. He knew that Smokescreen wouldn’t take some time before he was ready.
Interface injuries were rarely fatal. Smokescreen wasn’t going to die because he was hiding this kind of injury. He wasn’t bleeding in any places he shouldn’t have been, so he was going to be physically okay for the moment. Knock Out could give him some time for his processor to actually do the processing.
“Thank you.” Smokescreen sounded so genuinely thankful. So genuinely relieved. This was why Knock Out did what he did. He did this to make people feel relieved. He did this to make them feel alive. To realize that they weren’t alone and that they could trust him.
Primus, what was wrong with him?
Did he really care about an Autobot? Did he really care what this Autobot felt? Did he really care whether or not this Autobot trusted him and was comfortable in his presence? No, of course not. Of course, he didn’t care.
He didn’t.
He just wished that he was on a different side of this whole war. It would be so much easier to just be an Autobot. Then he would have an excuse to care for bots on the other side that wouldn’t be considered borderline treachery.
And then his comm sounded. A terrible buzz that pulled him away from his desperate wish for a different leader. He answered it anyway, despite how much he wanted to ignore it.
“Knock Out, speaking.”
“Knock Out, I expect that you’ve completed your task?”
Knock Out looked down at Smokescreen. The Autobot’s wounds had been taken care of, which was why Knock Out had been sent down here. Megatron had asked him to ensure that the Autobot did not perish while aboard the ship. Knock Out knew why Megatron wanted to mech to be kept alive, but he was still confused as to why Megatron was so insistent about it.
He hadn’t said anything then, of course, because he would never dare to question Megatron to his face, and instead chose to ignore the fact that Megatron’s claws had been dripping with energon and obeyed the order.
He had a feeling he knew why Megatron had asked him to fix up Smokescreen, though, and that feeling had something to do with the fact that after he saw Smokescreen, he knew that Megatron was going to do it again. Smokescreen wasn’t safe just because Megatron had left. Megatron would be back, and he wanted to make sure that Smokescreen was well enough for whatever else was to come.
“Yes, I have.” Knock Out answered hesitantly, almost not wishing he was as good a doctor as he was. After all, Megatron would surely be back as soon as Knock Out gave Smokescreen a clean bill of health. A relatively clean bill of health, at least. There was now what Smokescreen was okay up in his processor even though he wasn’t bleeding out anymore.
“Good. Leave him now. I will send for you when I need you again.”
“Of course.” Knock Out ended the call, eying Smokescreen carefully again. He wished he didn’t have to leave because Smokescreen was still far from well and as a doctor, Knock Out only left when his patients were okay.
“You… have to leave?” Smokescreen’s voice had gone even softer, which Knock Out hadn’t entirely thought possible. Smokescreen’s face had fallen into a deeper frown and his eyes had grown sadder. His hands started shaking even more.
“I do,” Knock Out answered solemnly. “And I’m sorry. I don’t wish to leave you. But I will be back. No matter what happens, I will be back and I will fix you again. You won’t be dying on my watch, alright?”
Smokescreen just looked down.
“Alright?”
Smokescreen finally nodded. “Alright.”
Knock Out began to stand, slowly, so as to not startle Smokescreen. “I promise I’ll be back.” He stepped away, drawing out a cloth to clean his servos as he approached the door. He entered the code to unlock the door, then glanced back at the young Autobot. “I’m sorry.”
The door clicked shut behind him.