Stars & Constellations: A Transformers Fan Fiction

Chapter 17

8 - 3 - 2023
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"This is exactly why I didn't want you to go out there!" Ratchet growled, as he patched up my wings. I sighed, flinching away from his touch, as I pulled my pedes close to me. I got hurt, yes. I murdered three Decepticons brutally, yes. And worst of all, I have an angry Ratchet telling me in my faceplates how stubborn I am.

I sighed again, my mind at war, one side beating the other side up, the other side saying that I needed to do something to help.
My beating-up side won. And I silently gave in to the fact I will never help outside of tactics and motivation boosts.
"Fine. You have a point. I wasn't ready, nor will I ever be. Call me a sparkling, fine. I don't care anymore." I said quietly, solemnly, as I looked over at Sunbeam, laying stretched across a medical berth. Half her face melted and burned away, leaving one optic undamaged.
"Y/D... What happened?" Ratchet asked, suddenly gentle, as he paused in his work.
"I ripped them apart. I ripped those three decepticons like scrap metal. I watched their expressions change from sadistic laughter, to terror, faster than it should even be possible. I ripped the first one's helm off. I ripped the second one's spark out, and the last one? You know what I did?" I asked, turning to look at Ratchet, as he looked at me in sadness. "I tore limb after limb off his body, until there was just his helm attached. His optics, once bright red and sadistic, were clouded by agony and terror. Before I finally finished him off." I continued, shivering as I held back the pain that wanted to spill from me, the pain of sadness, of grief, of terror, of hopelessness, all aimed at myself. "And... I didn't have any control. I couldn't control myself, I was so angry." I said slowly. "Why... Did I do that?" I asked, looking at Ratchet who sighed. "Cyberwolf instincts. They have a unique desire to protect whoever they deem their pack, and will do anything to keep them safe, tearing apart everything that steps close to their pack mates. I'm surprised that you have that." Ratchet explains, as I sighed. "So, that makes me dangerous to anyone." I said quietly, thinking over what happened.

"Why... Do I feel sorry for those decepticons? They nearly killed Sunbeam. Yet, I feel sorry for ripping them apart." I said, studying each little detail on my servos and pedes. "Guilt. It may never wash away. You got traumatized, which I wanted to avoid, but you're too stubborn for your own good." Ratchet huffed, rubbing my back gently, and going back to work on patching my wounds.
"You are a scout I suppose, nowadays there aren't many scout missions, particularly because right now our efforts are into attacking, rather than gaining intel. It would be helpful especially if you were to go on the field, to find out the best possible strategies. Just avoid the battles. I'll talk with Ultra Magnus about starting scouting missions again." Ratchet says as he finishes patching my wounds. "Thank you." I said, hugging him, and walking over to Sunbeam.

"How's she doing?" I asked. "Alright, she arrived back at the right time, any longer, and it would have been too late." Ratchet said solemnly, as I sighed sadly. "Well, see you later then." I say, turning and leaving.

I was still upset about earlier. It haunted me, as I walked down the hallways towards my berthroom. Smokescreen found me, walking alone, my wings flat on my back. He started walking beside me, but... I wanted to be alone. I wasn't ready to spit out all of my insecurities, if I ever do. I keep everything to myself. It was a me problem, and telling others, sure they could help me, but I didn't want to hear about it.

Smokescreen reached for my servo out of worry, and I sighed, pulling it out of reach, as I looked up at his faceplates. "Smokey... Not now..." I said firmly, turning, continuing down the hallways. I was gone before I could feel anything from him.

I continued, passing the common room, ignoring my need to refuel. I continued down the corridors, finally reaching the berthrooms. I turned to mine, and entered it. I walked over to my desk, grabbing a thin sheet of metal, and I carefully scratched a sketch into the metal.