Hey OP. I don't normally write fanfic, I don't even have an ao3 account, but when I saw this phenomenal piece of art I got possessed and wrote this.
All around, the battle continued. Guns cracked and explosions shook the ground. Battle shouts and battle screams echoed around the field. The sonic boom of battle jets roared across the sky.
But none of that registered to Soundwave. None of it mattered.
Not after he heard a high-pitched shriek cut off and saw Rumble jerk with a bullet’s impact, collapsing into the dirt.
Soundwave watched, as if in slow motion, as his son’s small body tumbled with momentum, almost as if he was rolling down a grassy hill, before coming to a halt. Soundwave almost expected Rumble to jump back up, to grin and laugh and boast that they can’t keep a good ‘con down, but he remained horribly, terrifyingly still.
He blinked, and he was moving. He blinked again, and he was once again still, looking down at Rumble’s prone form. He blinked a third time, and he was kneeling, grasping his son in his arms and staring at his face.
Rumble’s eyes were closed. He looked almost as if he were sleeping, except that his chest wasn’t moving, and he was still still still. Rumble was never still. He twitched, squirmed, and jostled about. Even in sleep he would kick his legs, often hitting Frenzy who would punch back. Rumble was never like this, never statue-like and turning colder by the moment.
Soundwave gasped quietly and buried his face in Rumble’s chest, hugging him close and tight. He grasped Rumble like he was about to disappear, and in a way, he had. Rumble was gone. His son was gone.
And he was never coming back.
A moment or a minute or a million years later, a voice crackled in Soundwave’s ear.
“--treat, retreat! Megatron has ordered us to retreat!”
Soundwave slowly stood up, still clutching his precious cargo.
If Rumble had been awake - alive, Soundwave corrected - he would have protested loudly, trying to roll out of Soundwave’s arms. But he was still. And would remain still.
The voice was grating in Soundwave’s ear. The hurt in his chest started to burn hot with fury.
He would retreat. He had a son to bury, and other children to comfort.
But he would be back. And the Autobots would pay.
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