Chapter 4: The Eldest Sibling

XXX

Gods … there are no gods. Rumble could not believe in Primus as he watched his creator bleed into the earth as if it were a sponge, a long scream echoing through the bond. He wasn’t sure what to do … the only thing he could do was sit there beneath the shadow of a yellow giant. He wanted to cry out and scream like an orphaned child, but the ability to do more than swallow had been lost to him.

The cassette closed his eyes, praying it away. It had to be the dream again. He was still in his creator’s chest having another twisted dream about his host’s death. Soon, he’d be on that dock again and be staring down into the waters, waiting for the corpse to drag him under. Yet, the longer he sat there, blood dripping onto his shoulder from the mech standing above him, the more it seemed real. Then there was the pain in his chest, it was growing and an ache was replacing it. It was as if a web had been crashed into by something larger than a fly, and the winged thing was slowly ripping the web up one small strand at a time. His connection with Soundwave was dying … Soundwave was dying.

And it was his entire fault.

A small whimper filled the air, finally, and a clicking noise. It was the first noise to escape him, and in a way, it ashamed him. A Decepticon does not cry. He tried to push the whimpering down, but a full out sob escaped him instead, his whole form shaking. It was then that he noticed that there were eyes on him. He dimly noted that it was the Autobots that he had just tried to kill a few minutes ago and, despite his shame at being seen as weak with Autobot sentiments, he ignored them and started to crawl forward with his dented body.

It didn’t take him long to get to the blue Cassette Player. For a minute, he just stared, to scared and ashamed to touch the older mech, but a choking noise made him snap out of his sorrow-induced stupor. Soundwave was still alive, if barely. Getting on shaky legs, the cassette tried to crawl up onto the other’s chest to look at the wound. Maybe he had imagined just how bad it was. Maybe it wasn’t that bad.

“I-it’s okay, Soundwave. I remember that first-aid you taught me. J-just hold on,” whimpered the small being more to himself than the body he was slowly crawling up, ignoring the own agony in his body. Yet, as the cassette crawled up to the chest, his hand slid in something wet and hot. He barely had time to compute that he had slipped on some energon on Soundwave’s chassis before he fell … into an open wound. A splash followed after.

Rumble’s eyes widened as he felt liquids of all kinds seep over him and around him. His vents hitched, and he whimpered as his optics turned bright white. He could merely pick himself up and stare at the horror of where he was with its spitting lines, broken metals, and oozing innards. That gore meant nothing to him, though, when his eyes caught the true horror. Not even when the pump gave a vicious push, trying to keep the body alive, splattering blood all over the side of his head and down his back. Rumble could only continue to stare and care …. about the spark chamber.

The light it bore seemed to fade in and out, showing the gore before it dimmed for a moment. Rumble knew his creator rather well, but he had never seen his host’s spark. It was a soft glimmering white which seemed to want to be a blue at times … and it was fading. He hadn’t seen many sparks, but he knew that it was struggling … struggling to stay alive. The youth sat there a second, his vents shivering as coolant fell to his feet.

Finally, his voice finding itself, he sloshed forward in the inch deep mixture of vital fluids at his feet, “S-soundwave. You are going to be alright. Kay, boss.”

With shivering hands he drew towards the lines near the spark chamber, his hands shaking as he tried to pinch off pipes. There was a voice in the back of his mind, telling him it was a useless action, but for some reason he still tried, his hands trembling as they began to get slippery from the slime. He still struggled to do field repairs despite that, but soon he could barely tie anything off as his form became so oily all he could do was fall to his knees. A long suffering whimper escaped him as he sat there, watching that spark dance. It was barely shivering now. Its light would soon end … as well as the song; the soft humming song of Soundwave’s essence.

The cassette closed his optics, a pained yell escaping him, and he surged forward towards his master’s spark chamber. His hands wrapped around it, and he gave it a tug. It was not impossible to take a spark and put it in a new body. Yet, the more he struggled, the more the glass cracked beneath his fingers. Rumble stopped and stared at the crumbling glass. He had to stop … he had to stop or it would continue to crack. But, as he let go - as if it could feel him drawing away - the glass shattered, and with a strangled cry Rumble pushed back the pain in his spark. He lunged forward instead, cupping a warm feeling in his hands. He could only see the dying light in his hands, his mind taking no noticed of the form growing grey about him, the music of the pumping innards stopping. The cassette stood there, a soft light dripping from between his fingers like liquid and to the ground. It was so warm and hot … and loving.

Despite himself, the small mech felt tears tumbling down his cheeks. He hadn’t noticed … he hadn’t noticed he had been crying. Slowly, opening his hands, the twin stared at the seemingly alive flame in his hand. Its light could not, would not, last though. It was as if a wind crashed down from the heavens, and then the flame went out in a small flicker. Rumble’s vents held, thinking it was start again, but it did not. All he could do was stare, breathless, at the small amount of white-gold dust on his fingers. It, alone, was all that was left of his creator.

Rumble stared at the last residue of his creator for what seemed like forever; it seemed to shiver like little bits of glitter. Slowly, he sat down in the gore, bringing the last pieces of essence to his chest as if in an embrace. And there he sat.

…

Megatron stared at the tip of his cannon, and the smoke trailing from it for a second as well as Optimus’s hand, which had directed away the cannon in time to deny the warlord a fatal blow to the Autobot’s head. Instead, the shot had been moved just in time to … take out his Communication Officer. Megatron could only stare as his ever loyal soldier slowly fell backwards with a hole in his chest. The warlord continued to stare at the fallen Second for a moment until one of Soundwave’s creations stumbled up the wound, falling inside. Rumble, yes, Rumble was his name, and he was the cause of this.

Soundwave’s only fault was his soft spark for those creation’s and it was his downfall. But, Optimus would pay for now.

XXX

Rumble wasn’t sure how long he had sat there in the medical bay, his master’s energon still coated all over him as if he had just been born from a womb. His arms were wrapped around his knees, and he just remained on the berth, optics wide but seeing nothing. He could not witness the medic rush pass or the injured. The only thing he saw was the form before him on a different berth, still as a stone and just as grey. Rumble was waiting for something, anything, even just a twitch from the Boom Box. He would sit there forever until the being rushed forward like in his nightmare, and he’d wake once more.

“How long has he been sitting there like that,” finally asked Thundercracker from his perch on a berth as Hook worked on his wing. He had been one of the walking wounded, but the injury was at an odd angle so he was forced to go into the medical bay when, generally, Decepticon’s would perform their own repairs if they were walking wounded.

The medic, pushing a finger into the wound to see its depth, made the seeker flinch before stating, “I am not sure. He came in with Soundwave.”

Thundercracker sat there a minute more, just looking at the little slagger shiver, “Is he going to die or something?”

Hook pulled his finger out of wing and came in a little closer, trying to get a visual look at the damage. Then, taking out a pair of metal shredders to peel back any blackened armor, the medic stated, “Don’t know. The way he had that small seizure after I separated him from Soundwave’s body, I was sure we were going to lose him and all the other cassettes. But he came out of his hysterical cries when Mixmaster threatened to rip out his vocal processor. He’s been in that stupor ever since. I might check to see if he has any reflexes left later. I don’t know what happens when a Boom Box dies. Maybe cassettes go through a sort of withdrawal or this is just the beginning of a slow death.”

Thundercracker looked at the small mech, ready to say something, when all he could do was lurch his head forward and dig his fingers into the berth as the pain enveloped him. A pained whine escaped his clutched teeth nonetheless though. It seemed the medic had started to weld and reattach wires before the sensors in his wings were completely nub. Hook merely grumbled something about being a sparkling and continued to do his work as the flier twitched.

A few minutes later, Thundercracker was able to finally pry his fingers out of the berth and away from the finger indentions in the side of the berth. He stared at his stiff hands noting that some of the paint had come off and onto the berth. Primus, he hated going to this butcher, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Skywarp was an idiot, and Starscream was in consul with Megatron. There was little doubt about what. After all, the largest clue was a grayed mech on a berth.

Soundwave was dead; Hook and Mixmaster confirmed it almost before Megatron had laid the body on the medical berth from what Thundercracker understood. He had overheard the diagnosis from the medic’s chatter, which was strange in and of itself. Generally, the medic was grumpy and not very talkative, but he seemed to want suck up to TC today. The flier had a suspicion as to why. After all, Thundercracker had a tendency to be silent like the Communications Officer, and it was not unheard of for Megatron to force upgrades on his soldiers. Hook just might know more than he was giving up. The medic had been a little more observant with his work today as if he were mapping the flier for future reference.

“So,” said the seeker as he watched Hook wipe his hands in a rag. “Who do you think will be the new Third in Command?”

Hook’s visor glowed, and then he stated simply, looking away from the flier as if ignoring his gaze, “Don’t know, but there’s going to be bloodshed. Mechs are going to be fighting for that position and guess who’s going to be sewing them up?”

The blue mech frowned as he looked the medic up and down, looking for a clue. Hook didn’t give him anything, but a glare, before stating, “I don’t know anything. I just want to exam this cassette. I’ve never gotten my hand on one of these for more than a few minutes you know. Soundwave always did their internal repairs, especially around the spark chamber. In fact, I can’t wait to get my hands on that corpse of his. Not a lot is known of cassettes and their Boom Boxes.”

Thundercracker didn’t know if that was good or not. There was no doubt in his mind that Megatron wanted to replace his Third in Command as quickly as possible, but he always wanted a resourceful mech … like a mech with five helpers. Thundercracker could only hope that that hole in the dead mech’s chest wouldn’t allow Hook to figure out how to remake the designs. It seemed that he was getting looks from the medic’s gestalt members, mocking ones. Yet, before he could open his mouth to pry farther, the med bay doors open and in stepped a rather grumpy looking Starscream.

Everyone in the room turned their heads in time to see the frown on the mech, and then cringed away, expecting the screeching to start, but, strangely, when the Second in Command spoke, his words were almost … soft.

“Thundercracker … come with me. Megatron wants to see you,” said Starscream as he turned and started to walk towards the hall, expecting the other mech to follow. TC tightened in the shoulders and then threw a worried look over at the cassette. His tried not to cringe as an image hit him: his body strapped to a berth as the Constructicons started to cut into his chest in order to fit him with a holder for … cassettes. His left optic twitched, and he made his way to the door, his shoulders stiff in mental agony.

Mixmaster stared at the pair of blue wings disappear through the doors, and then snickered, walking towards Rumble’s berth with almost a chipper excitement as Hook headed over towards the cassette as well. The two mechs stood over the shivering being, and then Hook leaned forward, looking the small being up and down. Rumble was covered in various fluids, and it was hard to tell if any of the blood was actually his. A scan quickly fell over the patient, and it revealed that the cassette was indeed damaged, but it seemed to be simple damaged in nature. Just a few dents had to be hammered out and his shoulder strut had to be adjusted. All other injuries his automated systems had already started fixing long ago.

“Well, his current mental condition isn’t from an injury, that shoulder needs a little work though. It’s not going to fix itself,” stated Hook as he waved a hand in front for the patient. No reaction.

“Who-who cares about that. I-I’ve heard a rumor that cassettes have half-sparks, yet they still can survive. We-we should just crack him op-open and get a peek,” said Mixmaster as his fingers seemed to shiver in anticipation.

Hook seemed to give him a glare with the way his visor lit up, but then a small chuckle shivered up his spine, “You know me far too well.”

The medic then ripped the mech from his inner huddle of his limbs and made him lie down on his back rather harshly. Those huge fingers then quickly started to roam over the smaller being’s chassis looking for the opening switch so he could finally see the cassette’s inner workings. That rumor about cassettes was just that, a rumor, and he was going to see if there was any truth to it. Yet, just as a soft click filled the room, Hook suddenly drew away with a yip, a growl following after the cry.

“Slaggen little monster!” gripped Hook as he looked at his bloodied and bitten hand, a glare setting itself on the growling form of Ravage as the cat-former stood over the prone form of her sibling.

Quickly following the medic’s curse, a collection of cackles from the rest of Hook’s gestalt team filled the room, cat calls, and ‘here kitty’ sayings escaping them. Mixmaster was also having a good laugh even though, he himself, almost had gotten bitten.

“Look-look at that, Hook. The-the kitty likes you,” said the chemical mastermind as he watched blood drip to the floor from Hook’s hand.

“Bite me!” growled the medic as he eyed the cassette.

“To-to bad, someone already did!” cat-called the leader as he looked Ravage over again. He had wanted to see if the rumors were true … but it wasn’t worth losing a hand. Besides, there would be other chances. Waving at the cat, Mixmaster stated simply, “Either-either take him and leave, or leave him to us. He-he is damaged, after all.”

Ravage growled low in her throat, and then she slowly got off the top of her siblings, never taking her optics off the mechs before her. Then, nudging Rumble’s arm with her nose, she managed to get his arm around her neck. With one more parting growl she jumped down, dragging the nearly comatose Rumble with her.

XXX

There was water. It was the waves again. It was lapping at his ankles, the lake just before him. Rumble was not afraid of the waves anymore. He just wanted to wander deeply into them and become a rusting corpse with his creator. He wanted the weeds. He wanted its cold. He wanted its wetness. He wanted … death.

The Cassette didn’t even flinch as he took the first step into the lake. It was freezing and almost seemed to sting as it drowned sensitive circuitry. The blue mech was not denied his want of it though. He continued forward, the mud stirring at his feet and the whispers from beneath the water pulling him forward. Yet, before his head could be swallowed by the waves, the water felt a little too real … and warm.

Rumble drew away only to regret the action as his back slammed against something hard. His optics onlined, and he looked around in a panic. He wanted to get to his feet and run, but suddenly there was a heavy weight against his chest and was forced to look down … it was a paw, a metallic paw.

“Don’t move. I haven’t cleaned it all off yet,” said Ravage as she drew her paw away, picking up a rag in that same limb as she started to wipe off … wipe off energon. Rumble couldn’t stop himself as a whimper escaped him, the memories of why his was covered in blood returning. He suddenly found himself wanting to hide, to get away, to bury his shame, but Ravage merely pushed down with her paw again.

“Calm down, youngling. You don’t want to wake your siblings, do you? It was hard to get them into recharge, the ache in their sparks so terrible,” said Ravage, her words suddenly seeming … soft. In all his times, Rumble could never recall her words seeming soft or even feminine, but for some reason it seemed like all those things tonight. But most of all … it seemed safe. He couldn’t help himself. The youngling couldn’t help but allow a choking sob escape him, his arms throwing themselves forward and around the feline’s neck. He expected her to yell at him or bite him, but the strange thing was that she didn’t pull away. Her paw, instead, came up onto his shoulder, and she purred softly into his ear.

“It’s alright Rumble. I’ll protect all of you now … if it’s the last thing I do,” said the cat mostly to herself then the weeping youth. There was a lot of promises behind those words, she knew it, but she had to take up the responsibility. True, she could survive without Soundwave being that she had been alive long enough that her half spark – as all cassettes are – had slowly developed into a full spark over the millennia. The rest of the rack was not, too young. They would die without a host to support them.

She knew what she had to do, as Rumble clutched at her brother, she made a vow to find a new Cassette Rack … or make one.

XXX

There was cheering and overall merriment. Now, this was not rare in the Ark, especially when it came to the fact that everyone seemed to have a secret stash of high-grade to drown themselves in. But, tonight, the Prime had allowed it. So it was the good stuff. Not that Blaster could complain. He was a mech that loved to parties, but he was slightly confused as to why. He had been on duty when they had received the call of Megatron’s forces attacking and was left behind.

Not that he complained, he was still a little sore after being shot that last time.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to join in on the celebrations. Something good must have happened as he wanted to know what it was. Letting his cassettes out and telling them to be good, he flaunted over to a slightly intoxicated Jazz, Ironhide, and a trying-to-escape Prowl.

“What’s happenin’?” grinned the mech as he took a seat, successfully barring in a now-peeved looking Prowl. It was likely that he had been dragged to the party by the Third in Command. Poor slagger. “What’s with the shin-dig?”

Jazz grinned lazily, his drink spilling itself all over the table and probably a bit onto Prowl as well.

“Well,” said Jazz with a happy grin, “Weh’ had a gooood battle’h today.”

“Good, how, my brother,” said Blaster as he stole Ironhide’s drink right out of his hand, taking a sip. For a minute, the red mech stared at his hand as if not understanding where it had went. Then, probably thinking he drank it, stood up shakily and headed back to the dispenser for anther cube.

“Well … weee’h no-h longg-her have to worr-he a-bout some-hun peeken on us in the show-whores,” said Jazz so sloppily, there seemed to be energon dripping down the side of his mouth.

Blaster quickly took a sip of his borrowed drink so he wouldn’t laugh his aft off at Jazz’s … language. Once, he finally managed to get it down without choking, he said, “So Reflector is deactivated?”

Jazz leaned heavily on Prowl who’s wings twitched. For a minute he just laid his head on the annoyed mech’s shoulder as if waiting for his brain to catch up.

“What?” asked Jazz in complete confusion.

Prowl, finally able to take no more, shoved the other slightly so that he was no longer drooling on him. Then, as if dusting off Jazz’s presence, he rubbed his shoulder, saying, “No, he was talking about Soundwave.”

Blaster’s lips quickly fell away from his drink, the Cassette-Rack’s Obligations echoing in his head, “W-what happened?”

“Nothin’ much,” chuckled Ironhide as he flopped into his seat, nearly falling until Blaster grabbed his arm to support him; once steady, Ironhide continued, “he jus’ has a hole in ‘es chest. Deactivated as a doornail. We won’t bee’h seein’ hair or hide of those ‘Cons till old Buckethead ‘as a new Second in Command.”

Blaster’s worry quickly drown itself, the thought of the Cassette Rack Laws forgotten momentarily as the high-grade started to kick in and make his mind fuzzy. Soundwave had been blown through the chest so the cassettes died with him; the Cassette Obligations therefor held no immediate importance to him as he knocked cubes with Ironhide.

XXX

Paw07: Poor Ravage. She’s now got a lot of responsibility on her shoulders, not to mention a collection of suffering siblings. I wonder what she’s willing to do to keep them alive. Also, if anyone is interesting, this story needs a beta, so any volunteers would be wonderful.