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Swindle was going to die.
It wasn’t a pleasant realization, but he was coming to terms with it. He was a practical mech. He could face the facts. He’d had a good run—made it out of plenty of nasty scrapes in the past—but realistically speaking the odds of getting out of this one were so low they were pretty much nonexistent. He was going to bleed to death, or his spark was going to give out, but either way, this was the end. Lying on a battlefield staring up at the sky, waiting to go offline for the final time. Not the most elegant of deaths, but hey, that’s life. At least the view was decent.
It wasn’t great, considering all the explosions going off—not to mention the fact that only one of his optics was still working—but it was decent. Swindle would’ve expected the smoke to block out all the stars, but he could still see a patch of clear sky, right above him.
It also wasn’t a particularly comforting view, seeing as he was staring straight up even though his body was laying chest down. Most of it, anyway. He thought he might have lost a limb or two. It was hard to tell. His internal diagnostics weren’t working quite right.
He sighed. It came out crackled and staticky. The worst part, really, was that it had been a Decepticon bomb. It was a special sort of insult to injury, to go out knowing you’d been turned to shrapnel by your own side’s bomb. Killed by friendly fragging fire. It figured.
Swindle’s remaining optic flickered and went blurry.
So much for the view.
“Hey.”
Swindle startled awake. Something had poked him in what remained of his cheek.
“Mm,” he said.
“Hey,” the voice said. “No, come on, stay with me, I can see you’re still alive.”
Swindle onlined his optics—optic—and blinked drowsily. He couldn’t see very well. There was a vague blue shape looming over him.
I hope you’re a medic, because I could really use some assistance, he tried to say, but all that came out was, “…ow.”
“Yeah, I bet, buddy. You’re a real mess. If I hadn’t seen your spark I would’ve thought you were dead.”
“You can…” Swindle shut off his internal diagnostics. They were draining his processing power, and it wasn’t like they were being helpful anyway. It got a little easier to think. “You can see my spark?”
“Sure can. You’ve got a big ol’ hole in you. Goes all the way through, I’m pretty sure. I can see straight through to the ground. Got your spark chamber, too. Think the hole’s in the front, but I can see the light reflecting off your insides. I’m surprised you can’t feel it.”
Swindle processed that. “So, doc—are you a doc? I can’t see very well.”
“You really think I’d be sitting around on an active battlefield poking at nearly-dead mechs if I wasn’t a medic?”
“Hey, cut me a break, I’m…” He trailed off. The idea of finishing the sentence felt like an exhausting task. “I’m…you know. I’m whatever.”
“You’re the guy who’s dying,” the medic supplied.
Swindle tried and failed to snap his fingers. The evidence for missing limbs was growing. “Exactly. So, what’s the, uh, the—the prognosis, doc? Am I a goner?”
“Well, you’ve got an exposed spark, a whole lotta energon loss, you’re missing a leg and both arms, and your head is on backwards, not to mention blown up to scrap. So, eh, I give you a one hundred percent chance of dying in the next five minutes if I don’t do anything, and a fifty, maybe sixty percent chance of dying from complications if I try to fix you. Those okay odds for you?”
“I’ve heard worse,” Swindle said.
The medic laughed. “Ha! I like you. Okay, so here’s what I’m gonna do. Right now I’m putting a patch on your back to keep your spark from falling out when I flip you. Can you feel that?”
“No,” Swindle said.
“Hm,” the medic said. “Not a great sign…hey, scrapheap, stay with me here. No nodding off.”
“I wasn't,” Swindle said, but maybe he had been, because the medic had moved to his other side at some point and he hadn’t noticed.
“Yeah, you were,” the medic said. “I need you awake, okay? Keep talking to me. Chatty is good. Alright, there’s the patch done. Not the neatest, but I’ll do a better job later. Now I’m gonna turn your body over so you’ll be properly realigned. I’d like to turn your head around instead of your body—less complicated—but one of your optics is completely gone and I don’t want to put you face-down and risk getting mud or debris inside your cranial cavity, you get me? Okay. Brace yourself.”
“Oh, are you doing it n—” he fritzed out as he got hit with the sensation of being twisted all along his spinal strut.
“There we go, nice and easy, just like—oh, frag it all,” the medic said. “You’re a ‘con?”
“Uh,” Swindle said.
The medic poked him in the chest with an oddly shaped hand, right where his insignia was. His insignia that the medic wouldn’t have been able to see until now. Swindle hadn’t thought about the fact that if it wasn’t visible, and if his face was damaged enough to be unrecognizable—scrap. Scrap scrap scrap.
“You’re not supposed to be a ‘con! I kill ‘cons, I don’t save them. Primus’ rusty fragging aft, this is just perfect.” The medic—the Autobot medic, Swindle had the worst luck in the universe—smacked the ground. Or possibly he smacked Swindle. Swindle couldn’t tell.
“There’s no need to kill me,” Swindle said, frantically calculating what he had on him that could be offered as a bribe. “I—”
“No, shut up, shut up, I don’t want to hear it.”
“But—“
“I said shut up. I—hold on.”
Swindle watched hazily as the Autobot medic got to his feet and grabbed a long, blurry gray object off his back. Swindle was pretty sure it was a gun.
The Autobot medic pointed it at the ground, and proceeded to unload what must have been an entire round into the mud. Or possibly a corpse.
Probably a Decepticon corpse.
“Okay!” The Autobot holstered the gun and crouched back down. “I’m back. Listen up, con. I’m not going to kill you, because I already started working on you and that means you’re a stupid fragging patient and I have a stupid fragging personal code of honor or whatever. But you’re still a Decepticon, so here’s how this is gonna go. I’m going to fix you until you’re not actively dying, and then I’m going to leave, and whether you make it out of here or not is up to you. Arm or leg?”
“Arm or…what?”
“Arm or leg, genius, it’s a simple question. You’ve got one arm still attached. Pretty grisly, but still attached. I see your other arm and at least one of your legs nearby, but like I said, I’m getting you not-dead and that’s it. I’ll reattach one. You choose.”
“What, no haggling?” Swindle asked reflexively.
The Autobot paused, then snorted. “Either you got guts or you’re stupid,” he said. “Sure, what the hell. Haggle.”
“Oh,” Swindle said. “Um. Right. Uh.”
“You’re not very good at this,” the Autobot observed.
“I’m great at this,” Swindle said, because he was. Usually. “I just can’t…think. Right now. Could you do two limbs? Arm and a leg?”
“What’s in it for me?”
“I…” Swindle couldn’t think.
“Relax, relax, I don’t actually care. Arm and a leg?” The Autobot made a movement that might have been a shrug. “Eh, sure. Won’t take that much longer, and it’ll get you more stable for when I seal up your spark chamber. Gotta fix your fuel lines first, though. If your spark’s held this long, it’ll keep.”
An explosion went off somewhere close.
“Is it safe to be exposed like this?” Swindle asked.
“Nah, not really, but there’s no shelter in sight, and even if there was moving you would probably kill you.”
“Oh,” Swindle said, lamely.
They worked in silence for a while after that. The Autobot medic worked on fixing Swindle, and Swindle worked on staying conscious. It wasn’t easy. He was so tired.
Swindle didn’t notice when the Autobot got all his lines sealed, but he must have, because Swindle very much did notice when he started injecting energon into Swindle intravenously. The rush of energon made him even woozier than he already was.
“Hey,” the Autobot piped up suddenly. “You ever notice that your wheels are different sizes?”
Swindle blinked. “I…huh?”
“Your wheels,” the Autobot said. “The ones on your shoulders are smaller than the ones on your legs. Here, look.”
He shoved one of Swindle’s legs in front of what was left of his face.
“Oh,” Swindle said. It really was hard to think. “Yeah, um, I…I mass shift them. When I. When I, um. Transform.”
“Huh. Well, that’s stupid.”
Swindle didn’t really have anything to say to that.
The Autobot reattached Swindle’s leg with a clunk, and then started soldering it. Swindle watched the fuzzy sparks as they flew past his face. When the Autobot was done with that, he started on reattaching Swindle’s arm, and Swindle watched those sparks too.
Another explosion went off somewhere in the distance.
“Those are getting less frequent,” The Autobot said. “Sounds like the fighting’s dying down. Good news for both of us. Mainly you.”
“Mmhmm,” Swindle agreed absently.
The Autobot started poking around his face, prying at his optic. It didn’t hurt, but it did feel distinctly odd.
“Hey, wheels, focus,” the Autobot said, tapping him right on the optic. “I’m gonna try to get this optic working again before I work on your spark more—the other optic is a lost cause, but I think I can fix this one. I can’t do it while it’s on, though, so I’m gonna need you to turn it off, mmkay?”
Swindle obediently turned his optic off. He drifted for a bit. When the Autobot tapped him again, he blinked his optic suite back online automatically. The estimated time until it would come fully online was fairly long, but already he could tell it was a little clearer than it had been, a little more in focus.
The Autobot peered down at him. Swindle squinted.
“Oh,” he said. “You’ve got the…the empurata stuff. With the claws and the—the face. That’s why your hands felt weird. Don’t have ‘em. I didn’t know there were any other empurata…ed Autobot medics. You must get confused with the murder medic a lot.”
“The murder medic?”
“Yeah, you know, the murder medic. Whirl. The Autobots’ one-eyed nightmare. Never gives up on a patient, if he sees you you’re dead, and all that.” Swindle paused. This was an Autobot. He probably didn’t want to hear a ‘con call his buddy—or his colleague, at least—murderous. “Or those are—those are the rumors.”
“The murder medic,” the Autobot repeated. He sounded…delighted. Huh. “That’s the greatest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. The murder medic. The murder medic. Oh, I am never going to shut up about this. Now I definitely gotta stop you from dying, wheels!”
“Oh,” Swindle said. “That’s…good.”
“The murder medic,” the Autobot said again. “Genius. Poetry. Hey, does this thing open? I gotta get at your spark chamber now.” He rapped on Swindle’s chest.
“It hinges at the top,” Swindle said, “But it’s not—it’s not working.”
“Slag, yeah, they’re melted shut. Ah, well, looks like we’re doing it the hard way, then,” the Autobot said. The distinctive hum of a laser saw started up. “I’m gonna widen the hole that’s already there. Probably pretty grateful your pain sensors aren’t working, huh, wheels?”
“Very much,” Swindle said.
“Well, this is almost definitely gonna reboot them, so I’d savor it while it lasts.”
“Hold on, what?” Swindle said.
The Autobot cut his chestplate open in one quick motion.
The pain hit a moment later. Swindle convulsed weakly as the searing pain flashed through him. He wanted to curl into a ball, but he was still hardly able to move. After a few blinding seconds, it flattened into a dull, burning ache that seemed to come from his limbs as much as his chest, and he panted shallowly, all his working vents roaring.
“Have to admit, I was expecting more of a reaction,” the Autobot said. “You might be in worse shape than I’d realized, scrapheap. Shouldn’t have done the optic after all. Whoops.”
“Can I—pass out now,” Swindle grit out.
“Nope,” the Autobot said. “Here, take your mind off it, tell me more about the murder medic. Or, ooh, do you ‘cons have nicknames for all us medics? What are the stories about Pharma?”
“Tried to sell that guy medical supplies once,” Swindle said faintly. “He called Ultra Magnus on me.”
“Ha! Really? Oh man, classic Pharma. He hates ‘cons, ‘con. If he was in my place I’m pretty sure he’d’ve left you to rust. Maybe not, though. He’s kind of a wimp. I don’t think he’s ever killed in his life. Okay! Here comes the really painful part. I’m welding your spark chamber shut. Try to hold still.”
Swindle held still. He held very still, in fact, because the moment the Autobot touched the soldering iron to his spark chamber, every strut in Swindle’s body went so tense his entire frame locked up. He could hear the click-pop of his spinal strut.
And then he passed out.
He came back to the Autobot poking him in the face.
“There you are,” the Autobot said. “Almost thought I lost you for a moment.”
“Hhh,” Swindle wheezed.
“Yeah,” the Autobot said, “Didn’t seem like much fun. But you should’t have to worry about snuffing out any time soon unless you get snuffed, so three cheers for that. And you know what that means? My work here is officially done! Six cheers for that.”
“Really?”
“Really and for true,” the Autobot medic said. He pushed himself up to his feet. “You probably feel like slag right now, but that should pass after a few minutes. You’re stable, which means you’re officially not my problem anymore.”
“Thanks,” Swindle said. He didn’t really know what else to say.
“Eh, don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t mention it. I don’t want you telling any stories of the Autobot medic that saved you, got it? I’ll hunt you down.”
“Got it,” Swindle said.
“Good. Well then, see ya ‘round, wheels,” the Autobot medic said.
“I really hope not,” Swindle managed.
“Ha! Smart mech.” He gave—a salute, maybe?—started whistling, and ambled off.
And then he was gone.
Swindle lay there for a while, in the debris and the muck, listening to the medic’s monotone whistling fade into the distance. He could feel thinking get easier and easier as his energon levels stabilized throughout his systems, and he began flexing his fingers, testing how responsive they were. He was just pushing himself up—he needed to find his other leg, or at least something he could use as a crutch—when his brain came fully back online, jolting him into alertness like a switch flipped, and—
Blue empurata Autobot medic.
Oh, sweet Primus.
Nevermind, Swindle felt faint again. He lay back down. He would stay here a little longer, he decided. Until the shock wore off. Just a little longer.
He stared up at the sky. All the smoke had dissipated. He could see the stars everywhere he looked, now. In sharp definition.
It was, he thought, the best view he’d ever seen.