A/N GUESS WHAT GAIZ. I'M NOT DEAD. 8D
First off, OMP I AM SOSOSOSOSOOO SORRY For NOT UPDATING. x.x I haven't been writing in absolutely forever, even when I have so much to do! Well..I guess we can't change anything. ^^; I'll try to be more active on here...but for now, just take this asked-for second chapter of DOORWINGS! WHOOOO! *danz parteh* JOIN ME! ...no? Oh, oh. Okay..

._.
I guess you all know about that freeze here in the US, right? Well, this is about the biggest snow I've ever seen here. And this is only the second one. It's FREEZING here, and the air conditioner was broken! It's fixed now, but since it was broken, all my family had to sleep in the same room. ... .-. Amazing. I know.
...JUST READ THE STORY DAMMIT

He knew where he was going, right?
Smokescreen swallowed hard, servos out in front of him to intercept anything in his way. All he had seen so far was blackness—there wasn't an end to this. Not that he knew of.
The mech was lost. Totally, completely lost. …It was strangely cold here. The chill air probed chinks of armor where it could reach, pricking the sensitive protoform beneath.
Just then, a figure slid out of the endless shadows, looking as if it was wrapped in dark mist. Somehow, the young Autobot knew to be afraid, to hitch his breath in horror.
Two glowing blue optics appeared on the black form. Normally, blue optics brought relief to Smokescreen, but this time was different. Oh, so different, as he found out, when a sick, wide grin grew underneath them.
Now his spark pounded uncontrollably as he took a step back. His breaths shortened and grew shallower. Unbroken terror took a cold, sharp hold of his spark, filled his body, made him tremble… The fact that the thing was beginning to advance on him didn't help.
Without warning, an ice-cold wall was there to meet him as he backed up. It took him by utter surprise; he was still used to his doorwings sensing objects behind him, but now they were gone, torn away by…
"Ratchet," He whispered hoarsely, voice quavering.
Finally, the dark figure was softly illuminated by some indefinite source of light. Yet, it wasn't normal light; it was sickly, awful, unnatural greenish-gray light that shifted abnormally.
It was then that it was revealed to be the Autobot medic.
Smokescreen was well accustomed to the transformation sequence sounds of clicking and shifting metal, but the sounds that came while Ratchet 'transformed' his servos into his blades were just unearthly. They were screeching, merging and popping noises that made him cringe and press himself further into the wall. It didn't look all the same, either. Ratchet's servos seemed to almost melt, stretch, and sharpen into blades. The blades were unfamiliar, too, as they looked more like Megatron's; deadly sharp, wicked-looking, and jagged. As if they were cut into shape by some crude tool.
"Smokescreen," 'Ratchet' hissed in response, the optics ice-cold and hateful. The voice was not Ratchet's own, yet it sounded just like it.
Before Smokescreen could respond in any way, gravity shifted. Now instead of being backed up against an unforgiving wall, he was staring up at 'Ratchet' from the floor.
Somehow, the young Autobot was in spread-eagle position. When he tried to get up, he found that he was pinned. It felt like there were cold metal cuffs around his wrists and ankles, but there were none in sight.
The medic knelt down beside Smokescreen, a sneering smirk on his faceplates.
"Ratchet," the rookie breathed, desperate. "Please..!"
By now, coolant was stinging his optics.
"If you want me to free you, then no…I won't. Ever." The older mech growled, his own optics savage. But the eerie, sick smile had never left him. "You'll be forever mine to keep..you'll know nothing but PAIN."
"D-don't do th-this to me!" Smokescreen finally wailed, the burning in his optics at last spilling over onto his faceplates in a massive surge of hot, wet tears. He struggled and fought to move, but he was to remain on the floor. A deep, long moan of anguish and begging dragged out of him. "PLEASE!"
'Ratchet' flipped the younger mech over with his blade so that his back was shown to him. "Tonight, Smokescreen, you will have HELL!" He roared, swinging his blade down heavily onto the slab of metal that secured the scar where Smokescreen's left wing used to be.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!" Smokescreen bellowed, optics squeezing shut and mouth stretching open wide in the screech of pain. Burning agony filled his back, forcing him to try and struggle away from the source of this hurt. Still, he was unable to move. Soon, choking sobs took over, wracking his already-trembling chassis.
But 'Ratchet' had already decided one at a time was too boring, though. He raised his other blade.
"RRAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGHHH!" The young Autobot wasn't expecting the harsh spikes of agony shoving cruelly into his back. Optics wide open and tears falling down his faceplates, he screeched. He had never endured this much pain at once. Ever. It sent his entire body shaking uncontrollably, made him tremble so hard that he couldn't move or struggle anyway. "RATCHET, PLEASE! STOP!" He cried helplessly. Smokescreen felt so, so impossibly weak…
Both blades ripped and sliced through the sheets of metal sealing where his doorwings used to be, easily tearing through. Pain reignited, the younger Autobot's shrieks and roars grew ever stronger and louder, to become audio-splitting. "NO, NO! NOOOOOO!"
The orange and white mech above him didn't slow, eagerly digging into sensitive circuitry, carving deep holes into his back. Hoarse, but bloodcurdling and primitively harsh screams dragged out of the younger as he writhed under the invisible force holding him down.
But it still wasn't enough for 'Ratchet'.
He jabbed one blade into Smokescreen's upper arm, as far as he could go. Stopping only to relish the yells, he dug through further, feeling metal crunch and tear apart under his blade. Energon spurted and gushed around it, spilling over to pool onto the ground.
With screams built on raw agony, Smokescreen thrashed helplessly. Wails of despair ripped through him as the blade slowly, steadily sunk deeper through his arm…
A shriek stabbed at the air.
Ratchet had successfully impaled the younger mech's arm on his blade. The tip of the dagger stuck out the other end, dripping energon.
A dismayed cry left Smokescreen. Tears came faster, streaking down his face from squeezed shut optics. The whole of his arm was shaking violently, agony spiking into it. Pain flared into his shoulder, starting to seep into his back and side.
His breath came quickly, getting shorter and more desperate by the second as he tried to hold off the burning agony. A loud groaning wail escaped him, right before a sudden coldness gripped his servo. His voice fell away in shock, though the agony never left his upper arm.
Then the cold started to slowly creep up his arm, numbness following it…
He wondered if that was normal.
The young Autobot mech let out a screech as Ratchet rammed the blade down, arm still speared through it. He began to shove it through the ground, digging deep, caring nothing about the screams and cries, caring nothing about the awkward, painful angle he was forcing the younger Autobot's arm metal to have.
The orange and white mech laughed darkly, having successfully pinned Smokescreen down by the arm.
Smokescreen let out a last cry, helm falling to rest on the ground. Coolant tears fell uncontrollably down his faceplates as sobs shook his chassis, raw-sounding gasps tearing through once or twice.
Ratchet waited, letting Smokescreen wail bloody despair and agony. Each cry struck through to his chest, slowly satisfying a malicious hunger for his pain. He couldn't stop a sick grin from growing on his energon-stained faceplates for anything.
That pause was just enough to let the young mech cry to his spark's content.
The young Autobot was horribly shaken by the agony forced into his systems, the cold edge of the blade easily sinking into metal. Into him. Every part of his body felt rubbed raw, and he couldn't feel anything but the roaring, burning agony pounding into him. Into his optics. Into his audios. Into his servos. Everywhere.
Ratchet examined the spilt energon once more, finally making up his mind. He'd gotten what he wanted. Now Smokescreen was useless to him.
And what was he to do with a useless body?
The 'Autobot' positioned one blade in the center of the mech's back.
Smokescreen didn't so much as cringe when he felt the needle edge pierce the metal surface, digging in a few inches. It didn't bother him anymore. Not like it used to. Now he was practically numb to the pinprick. But then it began sinking deeper.
Two inches.
Three inches.
Four.
Seven.
Nine.
One foot.
Now he cringed, optics flaring and mouth dropping open to let tight-throated pants out.
Two feet.
Six feet.
Eight.
"Aaagh…" Energon was spurting uncontrollably, and pain was making him tremble again.
Then Ratchet put all his weight on the blade.
"AAAAAHH!" Smokescreen gasped for breath, the razor edge immediately tearing through his body.
'Ratchet' gave a quick twitch, uncontrollable gasping laughter falling away from him. He couldn't stop. He didn't want to. His arm was deep into Smokescreen's chassis, past his wrist.
Broken shrieks tumbled into the air, ridden by hiccupping sobs. And then he couldn't scream. Not anymore.
His spark pulse began slowing, deathly cold and still. Smokescreen could feel the pain from his destroyed sparkchamber. Could feel the icy blade through his spark as the last dying pulses gave around the razor edge.
Energon rose in his throat, trickling down his open mouth. Unseeing optics flickered, the already-dull light in them giving out. But he still lived, just long enough to know that 'Ratchet' ripped him from the ground to an almost upright position. The 'Autobot medic' gave him a rough shake, finally forcing the young mech to cough up a tankful of energon.
The very last thing he felt was being forced down again, helm mashed and rubbed in his own mess. A last satirical laugh…
And then..
Cold.

Smokescreen shot upright, shaking violently and screaming uncontrollably. He almost didn't feel it when he ended up rolling off the berth and landing hard on the ground beneath. The mech cried out in pain, then curled up into himself. Lost among a sodden blanket, he began sobbing. Sobbing and sobbing until he couldn't anymore, and wails of anguish began tearing from his hoarse, raw throat.
The door to his berthroom was thrown open, and pedesteps grew louder as they advanced on him. Another screech sounded from within the tossed blanket.
"Smokescreen? What's wrong?! Are you hurt?" Servos began tugging at his blanket, trying to help him out. But Smokescreen interpreted it differently. Thinking something was out to get him, he began thrashing, trying to escape. Yet another cry split the air around them.
"Smokescreen, calm down! It's me, Ratchet!"
And Smokescreen froze. Froze in fear at the name. …
HE'S OUT TO GET ME. HE'S GOING TO KILL ME AGAIN. KILL ME!
"AAARRRGGHH!"
"Shh, calm down! You'll wake everyone in the base!"
…The base…..
Home.
He was home again.
The screams died away, chassis suddenly convulsing in sobs. Happy sobs. He was home again. Finally realizing that this was his room, he began to still. At last, Ratchet pulled the sheet off him, and light coming in through the open doorway almost blinded him. "Is...is it over?" He whimpered, voice quaking and hoarse.
Before Ratchet could respond, Smokescreen shakily pushed himself off the ground, throwing himself at the medic. He gave him a tight hug, which the orange and white mech soon returned.

No one expected it.
Screams exploded into existence, ripping away one by one from Smokescreen. He hadn't anticipated the agony slamming into him from nowhere, raking through his systems, radiating from his back…
His doorwings.
It felt like they were being torn off all over again.
Indescribable pain came screaming into him as he relived the agony when Ratchet amputated his wings. The only difference was that, this time, all the pain came all at once.
Energon stained his vision, splattering his sight and giving it a blue haze. Before he knew it, the world crashed down on him, and his perception of gravity became distorted, a strange numbness flooding over him. He only barely noticed when he simply fell to the ground; pain had erased all feeling. He couldn't hear his own cries of agony over the pounding in his audios. Couldn't feel the burning in his eyes and throat.
Numb to the world, he felt nothing but the screaming, raw PAIN blasting into him at full force.

Arcee gaped, optics widening as her fellow Autobot collapsed, screaming and wailing, to the floor. A rush of shock and anxiety crashed into her like a wave, spark hammering almost painfully. She froze for a moment, then staggered over to him on trembling legs. The femme quickly sunk into a kneel beside him, reaching out her shaking servos to touch him. She soon reconsidered, drawing them back. She might accidentally hurt him.
The first word that struck her was emergency. She had to get Ratchet. NOW.
But she couldn't find her voice, nor could she find strength to stand again. She gawked as Smokescreen roared in agony, convulsing with pain from an unknown source. His optics were wide, but they appeared to be unseeing and unfocused. The mech didn't even look as if he noticed her presence at all.

The orange and white medical officer was in his personal quarters, sitting on a Cybertronian version of a chair. He drummed his fingers on the arm of it, waiting for a comm. from Optimus; The Prime, Bumblebee, and Bulkhead were off on an energon scouting mission in the Himalayan Mountains. Ratchet was also expecting the new models of doorwings that he'd ordered earlier that day for Smokescreen.
All was peaceful. All was calm. Even the humans were gone, away at school. The Decepticons weren't much for activity, either. A rare smile graced Ratchet's faceplates.
In the medic's opinion, there hadn't been a day more perfect.
That he had spent on Earth, of course. He'd even managed to forget about Smokesc- oh.
Never mind.
Awful memories flooded back to him, swarming his mind with screams and energon. The mech's optics grew dark at remembering what he had done to Smokescreen, the pain that he had inflicted…
No.
NO!
He tried to close his optics against the memory, but that just made the images clearer.
Energon spraying from wounds, spilling onto the ground, smearing onto the walls. Staining his form. Dismay washed over him again as he heard the desperate cries for him to stop. Ratchet winced, just like he had then, at the hoarse screams echoing in his audios. Agony was so clear in them…
"No!" The white and orange mech blurted, violently shaking his helm to clear it from the images.
Just set your mind on the things that are going well, he told himself. Everything is fine.
It's not happening now…

…but it was, wasn't it?
Smokescreen was out there right now, just outside the door, on monitor duty with Arcee. Ratchet could hear him pacing if he strained his audios. He could get up right now, stride through that door, and approach the younger mech. He could go and see what he'd done, the loss that Smokescreen had to endure. The torment continued even now.

He thought back to the dream he had several nights ago.
It was about him and Smokescreen, if he remembered correctly. But Smokescreen seemed…different.
Really, at first, he dreamt about Megatron steadily advancing on him, fury in his burning blood-red optics. Ratchet had been running from him, spark and internal fans working overtime as his legs pumped with all the strength and speed he possessed. It felt like he had run an eternity through blackness before the ground just disappeared under his pedes.
And then he was sent falling.
He could recall his insides lurching as icy wind whipped past him blisteringly. Another eon had seemed to pass before the painful, solid impact with an unseen floor. He had grunted as the wind was knocked out of him, surprised to find he hadn't offlined. Not so much as a dent marked his chassis.
Megatron had hovered above him in his Cybertronian jet mode, then transformed back to his bipedal mode. Ratchet saw pedes planting themselves on either side of him. The medic had landed on his chest, so he only heard the sounds of transformation. Claws dug into his shoulder and flipped him over. Of course, constant fear had a tight grip on his spark the whole time. But not long after, even more shock and horror blossomed in his chest when he saw who poised above him. It wasn't the silver and purple Decepticon leader anymore.
Smokescreen glared down at Ratchet, his forbidding blue optics frosted with disdain. He bore a hatred-filled scowl, his face a mask of scorn.
A gasp tore away from the orange and white mech, optics stretched almost painfully wide.
"You've been deserving this for a long time," Smokescreen had growled breathily, optics flaring. "Now you get it."
And then the agony began.

Arcee knelt down beside Smokescreen, mind racing. She had absolutely NO idea what to do, but she felt she had to help in some way…
"Smokescreen, do you hear me? Smokescreen!" She put her servo on the mech's, lightly squeezing his trembling one. "Relax, Smokescreen, Ratchet's coming." The blue femme whispered, trying to settle him.
Ratchet. Smokescreen thought, finally hearing the single word through the awful haze of agony. This pain, this hurt, was the doc's fault…wasn't it?
Fear suddenly pumped through him, making his optics widen. He tensed. …no. No, NO! Don't let Ratchet near him! The agony in his back seemed to flare.
A wail tore from the mech at the surge of pain. Coolant surfaced in his optics, and a deep groan was heard as he began to roll onto his side and kick his legs.
All Arcee could do was watch helplessly as Smokescreen turned into sobbing, trembling wreck. She let out an anxious whine, tension increasing when she realized there was nothing she could do. "Come on, Ratchet, you had better get your aft over here soon…" She muttered under her breath.
Wish granted.
The medical officer jogged into the room, a tool kit of sorts clenched in his servo. Arcee sighed loudly, happily welcoming the relief that flooded her. She stood up again, backing away from Smokescreen and turning to leave the area. She'd had enough trouble trying to deal with Smokescreen herself, and wasn't looking forward to Ratchet possibly giving the mech some more 'surgery'.

Ratchet watched silently as Arcee stormed past him, a look of concern crossing his faceplates when he turned his gaze back on Smokescreen. The mech had a haunted look in his optics. Optics that were stretched wide with terror. He was shaking violently, mouth open wide.
"How will I ever live with you…?" Ratchet sighed in anguish, even as he realized this was all his fault. …
Well, it needed to be done! The poor mech had fragging Doorwing Cybercancer, what else had he to do when he couldn't cure him? Watch him slowly die, maybe?
Ratchet silently argued with himself, spark aching with the tension and emotion.
..no. He could never watch the young mech lay in his med bay, each day slowly and painfully being eaten away from the inside.
And then Ratchet froze.
Why was he overthinking this? Since when did he care so much for Smokescreen? He had hated that mech from the day he arrived, thinking he might be a Deception spy. Now he only served as the annoying member, someone who would probably break everything he touched.
And here the medical officer stood, fighting with himself over the life of Smokescreen.
Breaking his thoughts, the said young Autobot groaned suddenly, rolling onto his back.
Swallowing hard, Ratchet stepped forward and knelt. A servo reached out to gently press against the mech's shoulder, slowly, as to not frighten him.
Smokescreen remained still, as if he never felt it. As soon as Ratchet started taking note that he was unnaturally warm, the young Autobot turned his helm. Ever slowly, his optics focused lazily on the target, blurring often. At last seeing the orange and white paintjob, time seemed to stop.
Horror bled into Smokescreen's being, optics grave. And he began to scream.
Scream at Ratchet. He screamed at him, a primal fierceness in his voice. He wanted him to go away. NOW.
The medic snatched his servo back, stumbling away some. His spark pounded in his chest almost painfully in surprise.
Smokescreen panted heavily, trembling more than ever now. Without warning, his helm dropped back onto the ground as he began to sob.
Ratchet let out a long sigh of relief, knowing now that he was just frightened. Having an idea of the situation, he began to stand, heading towards his tools for a sedative.
But he couldn't.
He was stopped by a servo, clawing at his arm. He almost cringed, mouth starting to open in a protest, but he stopped. Ratchet could only stare down at Smokescreen as he brought up another servo to clutch at the medic's arm. But even as his hold grew even more painful, Ratchet stayed where he was. The needy, helpless look that the mech fixed him with didn't let him look away, much less move. Below him, Smokescreen mouthed a plea. Feeling the servos that held him tremble, Ratchet suddenly understood.
Smokescreen was desperate.
He needed comfort.
"Arcee," The medic called for the femme, never taking his optics away from the one below him. "Please hand me my tools,"
He wasn't going to leave Smokescreen's side. Not ever.

A/N ...okay, so how was that?! XDD It's a bit weird, with some parts done REALLY WELL and other parts so crappy I can't even ._. It was finished bit by bit over a long period of time...and...uh...SO IT'S LIKE THIS TAKE IT AS IT IS.
Finished this just now, and I didn't even read it over. I'm too lazy for that now. ...yes, I'm that bad.
And I'm desperate, guys. Really. I LOVE YOU ALL, AND THANK YOU ALL FOR THE SUPPORT YOU'VE GIVEN ME THROUGHOUT THE YEARS!
So I owe you all a late Happy Thanksgiving, Happy Halloween, Merry Christmas, AND a Happy New Year. ^^; JUST TAKE IT
As always-owaitimtoolazyforthis
youcandoitsmokey
Smokescreen: WHY ME? After all this-
Me: JUST DO IT TARD. ...iloveyou
Smokescreen: ...
Smokescreen: Uhh...review, please. =_=