Chapter Text
Sawbones' laughter is an awful sound. It fills the confines of the cave, a grating echo that has you tightening your grip around your rifle. He is standing over the prostrate form of the Decepticon, shaking his head as his laughter dies off into a rattling chuckle. Finally he looks at you.
"You, human, are just full of surprises," he remarks. "This is why you need my help?"
You hadn't exactly been forthcoming after your flight from the Merge, owing to the fact that pursuit would undoubtedly be swift and also that you knew that telling him precisely why you needed him to accompany you would likely end up in a confrontation you did not want quite yet (and weren't entirely certain you could survive). You had the advantage of the gutter controls, yes, but even with that considerable deterrent you are wary of Sawbones. No, that's not honest — you are afraid of him. You know what he can do. You've seen evidence of his callous disregard for humanity firsthand.
He's watching you, waiting for your response. You give him one, the words sounding tinny through the power armor's modulator. "It is."
"Fascinating," is his response, his gaze shifting to the comatose Decepticon who is lying in the exact same spot he'd been when you left. "You realize he may very well already be dead?"
"Yeah."
"A dead Decepticon," he says with a cruel, mirthful curve of his lips. "I fail to see how this is a problem."
"It is," you repeat.
"And why is that?" he transfers those blue eyes to you and you're thankful he can't see through the armor because their speculative gleam has you gritting your teeth. Everything, everything about him is a reminder of just what a monster he can be. Even when the Decepticon had you in his grip all those hours ago, the fear you'd felt hadn't been comparable to this. Your hold over Sawbones is a considerable one — the gutter can kill him in the blink of an eye. Still, that advantage feels insubstantial and you hate that fact.
He's still waiting for your reply. The truth is... well, you don't really know what the truth is. Your guilt and your conscience are the reasons why you want the Decepticon to live, but you're not going to tell Sawbones that. Instead you make something up on the fly. "I owe him."
Sawbones' brow plates flit upward. "Yet another point of intrigue. You are proving to be quite unusual."
The course of the discussion is making you distinctly uneasy. You forcibly steer it back to where you need it to be. "Can you check him?"
You point your rifle and its flashlight attachment at the body of the Decepticon. The pool of energon hasn't beneath him hasn't grown all that much since you left him, you note. A good sign, maybe — or a sign he had nothing left to bleed.
Sawbones steps closer to the prone body and drops to one knee. He taps at the interface embedded in his wrist, running a scan. It takes several seconds. "He is alive," he says finally, "though not by much."
"Can you help him?"
"I see you already attempted to," he remarks, leaning over to inspect the patch job you'd done. He lifts his head to look at the scavenged Autobot corpse. You brace yourself for censure or anger. Instead, unpleasant amusement creases the corners of his mouth. "You were very innovative in your work. Pity he was already too wounded for it to be effective. Tell me, how did you come to find these two?"
"I had been tracking the Autobot."
"With the intent to scavenge?"
He says it without any inflection, unlike the Decepticon, who had made it clear he thought your profession was the lowest and most unforgivable line of work imaginable. There's no point in lying to Sawbones; all the evidence is right here. "Yeah."
