Chapter Text
It’s been 6 million years of war and Ratchet is just sick of God’s shit at this point.
“So that’s it?” Jack asked, “He’s just…gone?”
Ratchet shrugged, not looking up from the datapad. “Seems that way.”
Apparently, Jack had missed a lot in the passing months the Autobots spent on Cybertron: Predacons rising, Unicron’s (kinda) resurrection, Megatron’s new and pointy paintjob before the tyrant fragged off into space, and Optimus’ sacrifice.
Only a handful of months for the Autobots; two years for Jack and the rest of humanity on Earth.
You never think about the distance between planets, the size of the galaxy, and the scientific miracle of faster-than-light travel until a spacebridge is unavailable and you can’t talk to your cool alien robot friends on their homeworld to find out if they’re dead or not.
Miko had been disappointed to have missed the fighting. Raf had more scientific pursuits now that he had free range of the Nemesis and all its alien technologies. Cybertron was still hostile to organic life so anything outside the old Nemesis (rename pending) was a no-go zone.
The Autobots now had a functioning spacebridge to Earth…but not much else from the looks of it. He was with Ratchet in the medbay, which looked like an episode of Hoarder’s if it took place on the Enterprise. Every available space on Ratchet’s desk and on the floor was cluttered with boxes of datapads, chunks of machinery, and jars of God-knows-what stared in dusty and/or cracked containers. Jack didn’t know if they were parts of a non-sentient machine or robo-organs, but he wasn’t touching it—even if he was still in his environmental suit.
“It’s just…” Jack didn’t know how to say it politely, so he just went for honesty. “…you don’t seem that broken up about it?”
Jack had expected a shout or lecture from Ratchet, the old but lovable grumpbot who cared deeply for his patients and his fellow robots more than he was willing to admit. Instead, the old Autobot rolled his optics.
“Oh, he always does this.” Ratchet said, “A common symptom of being a Prime is self-sacrificing behavior, death, saying ‘the age of Primes’ are over, usually followed by a catchphrase--”
“Like, ‘One Shall Rise, One Shall Fall’?” Arcee, Miko, and Bulkhead had started a drinking game for each time Optimus said that.
“This time it was ‘Til All Are One’. That ol’ gem.” Ratchet made air quotations, a gesture learned solely from humans. “It’s as if Primes have the same tired bot writing their speeches and they haven’t been allowed a coffinite break in ten thousand years.”
“I see.” Jack said, since he had no frame of reference for speech writers or coffinite breaks (although he could piece things together with context clues, as one always had to do when dealing with alien robots).
“Anyway,” Ratchet grumbled, “either one or two things happen: Optimus comes back through some organo-scrap nonsense or another Prime shows up.” The datapad in his servos gave a metallic creek as the pressure increased. “This kind of absurdity is why I’m an atheist. Why would gods allow for death to be a revolving door for some when others deserve better? Don’t get me started on how many times we’ve ‘killed’ Starscream!”
The door of the medbay irised open and in walked…Knockout? Or rather, a mech who looked like Knockout but his appearance was radically different. The paintjob had less emphasis on the red, adding in black on the chassis and legs and silver for the shoulder pauldrons and arms. The Decepticon shield was gone as there was a large scrape and dent in its place. Under the medbay lights, his paint was dull and far less shiny. The char marks reminded Jack of his Mom’s old metal frying pan rather than the sleek Decepticon racer.
If this was Knockout and not a weird clone, twin, or relative. (Did the Autobots have relatives? Jack was never clear on that)
“Knockout?” Jack asked, just to clarify.
The tri-colored mech grinned, showing off sharp teeth.
“I challenge you to confuse me with any other handsome mechs around here.” he said with a satisfied purr.
This was either Knockout or a very convincing actor.
“But aren’t you a Decepticon?” Jack asked.
“I’d rather he was still a ‘Con. Then I could ignore him.” Ratchet grumbled.
Knockout strutted toward Ratchet’s desk and five datapads appeared in his claws. From his subspace, Jack realized and wondered how the mechs managed to keep pocket dimensional objects so orderly.
“Ignore Doctor Grandpa.” Knockout said, “He’s just mad that besides him, I’m the only qualified medic.”
“I’ll be the judge of your ‘qualifications’ once I get a look at your actual license.” Ratchet looked through the datapads and frowned. “And Knockout, I don’t need this! These manuals are older than my mentor!”
Knockout shrugged. “You were the one that wanted all the medical and experiment related datapads in one location. We didn’t have secretaries on the Nemesis.”
The Nemesis was an alien spaceship--which was still cool on a technical level--but its glamour had worn off on Jack around hour three when there were two brownouts. He was yet to be in a room that didn’t have walls caked with rust, potholes on the ground, or walls looking ready to collapse. Arcee had already warned the human guests from getting too close to the lower decks of the ship that were still ‘under maintenance’, which was a nice way of saying it could kill them. Jack was glad his Mom was still on Earth doing ‘basic training’ for Unit:E or she’d have a conniption over the lack of safety measures.
“Or janitors either.” Jack said, “Don’t you guys have robo-OSHA?”
Knockout suddenly looked forlorn. “I knew an ‘Osha’.” he sighed, “He was a minibot, but he could suck off helm like a champ.” He paused, “Wait, he was the champ. He competed at the Landing Strip.”
“What does that--” Jack began.
“The answer is no!” Ratchet said.
Knockout smirked. “‘No’ to what exactly?”
“No to everything!” Ratchet said. The old mech stood and began shooing Jack out of the medbay. “Alright, the medics have to do their jobs which means all organics out of the room, unless you want to breathe carbon monoxide or one of the many gases that are hazardous to your pink, soft human lungs.”
“Couldn’t that be dangerous to you too?” Jack asked but he was shoved out of the medbay.
The door irised shut behind him and he was left in the hall. It was just like Ratchet to shoo him out of the room like he was still a kid, when he was now a college freshman. As if Jack didn’t know what context clues were.