Chapter Text
“… And this last one is for good, old Sea Spray.” Wheeljack lifted his final ball of light and released the memento into the sky. With a heavy sigh, he stepped back to join the group.
The mech was really starting to show his age, Knock Out observed. Now that the old warrior wasn’t constantly seeking out the next fight, Knock Out could better witness the slowness in his step, the creasing of his faceplate around his eyes and the way he would just stand and just… look old. Knock Out took too much pride in his appearance to allow battle scars and age show on his frame.
Optics sweeping from Wheeljack to the rest of the audience, Knock Out noticed how everyone was now entranced in a silent revere. Following their gaze, he too lifted his helm to the sky. All together, the survivors of Team Prime watched the last light trail languidly into the darkened sky to join its countless brethren. It should have been a miraculous sight to behold, so many lights making their way to the infinite, but the connotation of their circumstance was altogether grim. Each one of those tiny lights, some now but specks against the canvas of space, was a lost spark- a lost friend- someone lost to the war.
Boring. Wheeljack had made sure he had mentioned each and every bot he had ever locked optics with. Knock Out was starting to get stiff in his struts from standing. It’s not like he had known anyone Wheeljack mentioned. It was completely irrelevant to him. What did he care for Sea Spray? Did anyone here? What Knock Out should have done was just pull up a seat and start work on keeping his digits sharp.
He scanned each member of Team Prime- Bulkhead had jabbered on a lot too, often crossing bots with Wheeljack and making the memorial longer than what Knock Out deemed necessary. Ultra Magnus had gone on for awhile, mentioning a lot of stuffy names Knock Out felt exhausted just listening to. Arcee, too, had quite the receipt of dead ones. It baffled Knock Out. Did any of these bots really know all the of the deceased that well? How could one bot even remember so many names let alone feel connected to this many? Why did this group of bots feel the need to mention each and every bot they had ever known? Pious guilt, he surmised. Clearly, it was better to lack it, as he felt he did. Surely, it made life easier.
Ratchet, for all the years he had on even Wheeljack, had barely mentioned anyone. Although- he had lifted one for someone whose name he barely whispered to the light, a secret shared between the two. The look of pain on his faceplate had resonated profoundly with Knock Out, provoking him to reflect inward. Yes, it was recognisable- it was that exact look of pain that was so familiar to him. Out of anything anyone had said at the memorial, it was this, Ratchet’s near silence, that most resembled his own emotions. It wasn’t just about loss, like the others and their impossible list of dead bots, it was a specific loss, a loss that still persisted. Perhaps he and the Autobot medic were more similar than he had previously thought?
Then there was Bumblebee. The young mech had given a light to his sires, even if he didn’t know who they were. Knock Out’s optics then rested on Smokescreen, whose constant fidgeting was somehow going unnoticed by the Autobots- or perhaps they were just ignoring him too. Smokescreen, who was younger than Bumblebee even, didn’t seem to be taking the memorial seriously. Albeit on a different wavelength than Knock Out.
As monotonous as the memorial was for Knock Out, it still raised a conclusion he could hardly accept; the war was over. Really and truly over. Knock Out glanced over to the remaining Autobots. Who could have known that with a war consisting of millions of Autobots, it had only taken these seven to take Megatron down? Knock Out would never have guessed it would have ended in that way. For a fleeting moment, he felt humbled to be in the presence of the bots who had managed to bring upon the end of the war. Well, there had been one other member of the Team who had definitely made all the difference- their leader. His light was now leading the rest. Knock Out now watched the lights grow fainter, each one representing a specific bot. No, he’d never expected it. A shudder ran through his frame as he suddenly realised, despite all the bots he stood with, how alone he was. He hadn’t been expecting that either.
Knock Out knew his being at the memorial was not ideal for most of these bots, and he had been the only defectee who’d been allowed to attend. It hadn’t even been a whole orn since the war had come to its climactic end, since Optimus Prime had decided to willingly take a dive into the Well of Allsparks thus creating new life in addition to restoring their planet. It had been an amazing sight to behold, a real slice of history. As each new sparkling flew out of the well, Knock Out had marvelled at all the little glowing balls of light shooting through the sky, each one a new hope for the future. Had all the new sparklings been those lost to the war, now reborn and given the chance to live a life of peace? That’s what Bumblebee had wondered aloud. Knock Out wasn’t quite sure he believed that philosophy. It had been a nice thought, at the very least.
In the time since the great Prime had died, Bumblebee had risen to leadership. Immediately, he had appointed Ultra Magnus to tightly enforce the rules. Ultra Magnus might be quite the amazing mech, frame-wise, Knock Out could admit, but the bot was as dull to deal with as watching metal corrode. Knock Out had rapidly concluded that he couldn’t deal with Ultra Magnus’ lack of humour. And he didn’t find it the least bit funny that one of the new rules happened to be his terms of probation. For instance, how Knock Out was confined to just two quadrants of the Nemesis: the section containing the medbay, and the one containing his habitation suite. He was denied access to the bridge and forbidden to leave the Nemesis unless accompanied by an Autobot.
That was why Knock Out had welcomed the invitation to attend the memorial. He had been in the medbay at the time, going through his stock, taking inventory of those few supplies the Autobots had left him with after having confiscated more than just a few. He had been tsking bitterly to himself on the state of his medical storage when the leader himself, Bumblebee, had dropped by unexpectedly. He’d informed Knock Out of the upcoming memorial and extended the invite. It seemed like a benevolent gesture, but Knock Out had taken note of how the young bot, younger than himself, had stood in the doorway the whole time with Ultra Magnus lingering, expressionless, behind him. Neither of them bothered to step inside. Then the two had left, leaving Knock Out to himself, as every Autobot did.
No, Knock Out hadn’t accepted the invite because he felt it to be the stirring, spiritual connection and source of emotional support that the others regarded it to be, but simply because it felt good to stretch his pedes and see something other than the Nemesis’ walls. Plus there was watching all the Autobots. Observing how they interacted with one another was mildly interesting. Getting to know his new teammates, it was healthy for him, right? He vented deeply. ‘Teammates’. He added an optic-roll to that vent.
“Bumblebee,” Ratchet murmured, breaking the silence gracefully. “I’m going to head back to Hanger E. Would you operate the spacebridge for me?”
“Of course, Ratchet,” Bumblebee replied.
“You don’t want to hang around a little longer?” Bulkhead asked.
“No, no,” Ratchet waved a hurried hand. “I need to return to the sparklings.”
Thank Primus Knock Out wasn’t on sparkling duty! He watched as Ratchet and Bumblebee walked off conversing in hushed voices as they went.
“Well, it was a touching ceremony,” Wheeljack said gruffly. “But we should all get back to work.”
“Agreed,” Ultra Magnus chimed. “We have a lot to achieve before the sparklings are ready to transform.”
“Wait a minute,” Bulkhead said while looking over each member of Team Prime. He turned to Smokescreen and asked, “How about you? Anybot you wanna give a light to?”
Knock Out’s optics instantly deviated to the bot just mentioned.
“Well I don’t know anyone who died in the war,” Smokescreen replied jauntily. “I mean, other than Optimus, and Alpha Trion, I guess. But it’s just been me guarding the library then BAM! Millions of years of sleep later, I’m here with you guys!” A few groans came from the small group. “We just did a tribute to Optimus, so I dunno if there’s anyone else I can think of!”
“Lucky you,” Bulkhead grumbled mostly to himself though it was clearly audible to all.
Smokescreen chuckled nervously. “Hey, come on. The war wasn’t that big of a deal to me, I mean, you guys know what I’m saying, right?”
“Listen, kid,” Wheeljack interjected, “A simple no would have been good enough. Some of us have seen hundreds of friends slain in the course of a joor.”
“It’s fine,” Knock Out spoke up, cutting Wheeljack off. Suddenly, all optics were on him… the ex-Decepticon. Had they forgotten he had been with them the whole time? “I’m not mentioning anyone either.”
There was an awkward pause. Smokescreen, who was taller than Knock Out, looked down giving him a sidelong look. He grimaced uncomfortably.
“Yeah,” Smokescreen said, “but it’s not because I didn’t care about anyone.”
If Knock Out’s surprise showed on his faceplate, no-one appeared to be noticing.
“I was barely in the war as it was, right?” Smokescreen blundered on. He was now speaking to everyone but Knock Out.
“As you keep saying,” Arcee spoke. So tiny, she almost blended in with the large bots she stood next to. Knock Out realised he had lost track of her presence. Like him, she had been quiet for most of the memorial, having only spoken when it had been her turn to mention those she’d lost. Now, Knock Out realised that he was being studied by those acute optics of hers. Had she possibly witnessed his expression fall or taken note on how he’d stepped backwards?
Arcee continued addressing Smokescreen. “Since you keep reminding us that your part in this ceremony is over," she said, "You can carry these containers of light back into the ship. While you’re at it, you can start hauling out all the building equipment.”
Smokescreen groaned. “Seriously!?”
“Come on, kid,” Bulkhead strode over to the metal containers and lifted two of them easily. “I’ll make it easy on you and take these.”
Taking the lead, Bulkhead began lumbering towards the ship. Before Smokescreen joined him, he gave one last awkward glance at Knock Out who broke the contact almost right away, looking down at the ever-fascinating ground.
“Medic.” Ultra Magnus stirred Knock Out from succumbing any further to his thoughts. “I will lead you back to your suite.”
Disposition doing a one-eighty, Knock Out smirked and rolled his optics. He held out his servos and feigned a venting sigh. “Take me back to my cell, prison guard,” he responded dramatically. He couldn’t help but chide, “But, please, don’t be so rough this time.”
He watched, chuckling to himself, as Ultra Magnus glared at him with hatred. Without waiting for the enforcer to lead him away, Knock Out waved a cocky good-bye to the remaining Autobots. Out of the corner of his optics, he noticed Wheeljack and Arcee exchanged what might have been doubtful looks. What did Knock Out care what they thought, or any of them for that matter, if none of them were ever going to accept his presence? Was it the return of that pious guilt that made the difference in treatment between Knock Out and the defectee Vehicons?
Knock Out was about to look away, when he caught Arcee’s optics. Knock Out reconsidered how she studied him earlier when he had stupidly attempted to speak up. In that brief scrutiny, Knock Out realised it was the only time he had literally felt visible to any of the Autobots. He wasn’t sure what to make of it yet.
Shaking his helm, Knock Out resigned himself to his current lifestyle and stepped back into the darkened halls of the Nemesis.