What dreams may come?
It had been, simply put, the second-worst day of Bluestreak’s life.
It had started out as a normal day in Autobot City-he had been helping more construction materials and roadblocks around, and that was it. Just a simple, normal, boring day of work. Until the shuttle came in and the fighting errupted, at least.
He glanced at himself for a moment as he leaned against the wall, resting for a moment. One door was only hanging on by a few shreds of metal, while numerous blasts had scorched the rest of him and the metal of his right legs was little more than scrap. Probably the worst of the wounds was the hole in his chest, but the pain from that had been lost among the complaints from the rest of his body. He wasn’t sure how bad the damage actually was, as his systems didn’t seem to be giving accurate reports. For now, just resting seemed like enough.
Bluestreak looked back to the city, shuddering as he did so. It was a wreck; the firefight, not to mention Devastator, had torn the city to pieces in an extremely short amount of time and what was left standing looked as if it wouldn’t be standing for long. He quickly looked away as he noticed a drying streak of pink off to the side. The gunner never could take the sight of mechfluid very well, and he had seen more than enough of it today. With a sigh, Bluestreak bowed his head. There had been more death today than he had seen in a long time-a very long time-and trying to wrap his mind around the fact that many of those he knew were now dead was difficult. Prowl, Ratchet, Ironhide, Wheeljack…and Prime. The last name seemed like an impossibility; he had always had the feeling that if it had ever come down to something like this, Prime would’ve been the last mech on either side standing.
The gunner shuddered again, vaguely aware of the fact that the hole in his chestplate was hurting far more than it had before. He had been able to ignore the pain while helping the rest of the remaining Autobot forces chase off the stragglers on the Decepticon side and help move the more greviously wounded. Wincing, he kept trying to ignore the various pains plaguing him. The medics had more seriously injured patients to attend to, and he still felt like his systems hadn’t been too badly damaged, considering. At least, it had felt that way...
Bluestreak shut his optics off in weariness, still leaning against the wall and feeling slightly relieved as the pain appeared to hit its peak and began to trail off, leaving a strangely numb feeling in its wake. The numb feeling was preferable to the pain and signs that his systems were on the fritz, at least. His mind began to wander as the numbness continued to spread, focusing on odd little snippets of memory that began to run together. He gave a feeble twitch of his doors, not wincing as the metal of the damaged door made an ominious sound, threatning to fall off at any moment. His thoughts were hazy; his mind had a tendency to wander at any given time, but it was worse than usual now and he found that he was having a particularly hard time concentrating on any one particular thing for very long. The gunner was struck with the sudden urge to shut down for a rest cycle, although normally they didn’t come easily. But at the moment, the call to shut down was a siren song, promising rest. With another sigh, he began to let himself shut down. The more he tried to think about it, the more appealing the idea became. It just felt like it was time for a rest cycle, after all.
Time for a long, peaceful rest cycle.
Bluestreak shifted his position slightly, making himself more comfortable as doors twitched again, then slumped as he…
*Blue jerked awake, his optics swiftly coming back online as he glances around his quarters in a panic. As he manages to calm himself down-if only slightly-he shudders, glancing around warily as if to keep an optic out for more nightmares*
Mun's note: This is just a little plotbunny I got after reading the Transformers death list linked to a few posts ago. Just my take on how the poor bugger might've bought it.
It had started out as a normal day in Autobot City-he had been helping more construction materials and roadblocks around, and that was it. Just a simple, normal, boring day of work. Until the shuttle came in and the fighting errupted, at least.
He glanced at himself for a moment as he leaned against the wall, resting for a moment. One door was only hanging on by a few shreds of metal, while numerous blasts had scorched the rest of him and the metal of his right legs was little more than scrap. Probably the worst of the wounds was the hole in his chest, but the pain from that had been lost among the complaints from the rest of his body. He wasn’t sure how bad the damage actually was, as his systems didn’t seem to be giving accurate reports. For now, just resting seemed like enough.
Bluestreak looked back to the city, shuddering as he did so. It was a wreck; the firefight, not to mention Devastator, had torn the city to pieces in an extremely short amount of time and what was left standing looked as if it wouldn’t be standing for long. He quickly looked away as he noticed a drying streak of pink off to the side. The gunner never could take the sight of mechfluid very well, and he had seen more than enough of it today. With a sigh, Bluestreak bowed his head. There had been more death today than he had seen in a long time-a very long time-and trying to wrap his mind around the fact that many of those he knew were now dead was difficult. Prowl, Ratchet, Ironhide, Wheeljack…and Prime. The last name seemed like an impossibility; he had always had the feeling that if it had ever come down to something like this, Prime would’ve been the last mech on either side standing.
The gunner shuddered again, vaguely aware of the fact that the hole in his chestplate was hurting far more than it had before. He had been able to ignore the pain while helping the rest of the remaining Autobot forces chase off the stragglers on the Decepticon side and help move the more greviously wounded. Wincing, he kept trying to ignore the various pains plaguing him. The medics had more seriously injured patients to attend to, and he still felt like his systems hadn’t been too badly damaged, considering. At least, it had felt that way...
Bluestreak shut his optics off in weariness, still leaning against the wall and feeling slightly relieved as the pain appeared to hit its peak and began to trail off, leaving a strangely numb feeling in its wake. The numb feeling was preferable to the pain and signs that his systems were on the fritz, at least. His mind began to wander as the numbness continued to spread, focusing on odd little snippets of memory that began to run together. He gave a feeble twitch of his doors, not wincing as the metal of the damaged door made an ominious sound, threatning to fall off at any moment. His thoughts were hazy; his mind had a tendency to wander at any given time, but it was worse than usual now and he found that he was having a particularly hard time concentrating on any one particular thing for very long. The gunner was struck with the sudden urge to shut down for a rest cycle, although normally they didn’t come easily. But at the moment, the call to shut down was a siren song, promising rest. With another sigh, he began to let himself shut down. The more he tried to think about it, the more appealing the idea became. It just felt like it was time for a rest cycle, after all.
Time for a long, peaceful rest cycle.
Bluestreak shifted his position slightly, making himself more comfortable as doors twitched again, then slumped as he…
*Blue jerked awake, his optics swiftly coming back online as he glances around his quarters in a panic. As he manages to calm himself down-if only slightly-he shudders, glancing around warily as if to keep an optic out for more nightmares*
Mun's note: This is just a little plotbunny I got after reading the Transformers death list linked to a few posts ago. Just my take on how the poor bugger might've bought it.