In the end, it’s the pressure that saves him.

            For any other being, the pressure so deep down in the ocean would have crushed everything; it would have, no doubt, destroyed all evidence.  But he isn’t just anyone: he’s a Decepticon.  He’s Bonecrusher.

            The pressure doesn’t destroy him; it’s the only thing that’s holding his head in such a strangely perfect position, allowing internal repair modules to run and knit wires back together, reattaching head to body, brain to spark.

            The pain is excruciating.  There’s nothing like it – being crushed under the pressure of millions of tons of water, as though the entire ocean were caving in on him and him alone.  But he stays still nonetheless, forcing down screams and feeling his spark, worn and twisted already, bend and almost break under the force.  He’s good with pressure, he’ll deal with it.

            He can’t tell how long it’s been, or where he is on the planet, or even which way up is, but he’s patient.  He’s pissed, but he can wait.  The humans will never see him coming.

            Finally, most of his basic repairs are done – he’ll need to manually reattach the remaining stray wires, but it’ll do for now – and he finds his feet moving, internal compass screaming go up, go up!  So he kicks – once, twice, three times – and feels something dig into his side, something sharp and Cybertronian and not his.

            He sees flickering optics in the black of the water, red flashing lights in the middle of nowhere, and sends out a violent kick in the direction of whoever’s clinging to him.  The grip doesn’t loosen at all; if anything, it tightens, digging into freshly patched wires.

            ::Let go, slagger!:: he rages through hundreds of dead comm-lines, not knowing who’s attached but not caring, ::Rust down here with filthy Megatron!::

            ::.........spark........sp....all.........tron......urts.....pl.........crusher.....::

            He stops kicking suddenly, pushes his sensors to their battered limits and there it is: under the pressure, he can feel the wretchedly twisted spark of Blackout.  He loathes Blackout.  That slagger!  How dare he attempt to use Bonecrusher like a life-raft?  How dare he –

            Metal groans and optics flicker even worse now, and now that Bonecrusher’s listening he can hear the hiss of air slowly leaking from the corpses of the others below them.  And the pressure is starting to really piss him off, and Blackout’s good at pulling others down with him, and all he wants to do is get out, swim up, swim up –

            He finds himself dragging the brutally beaten Pave Low up with him, kicking and screaming against the water, telling it to go get bent, get the slag out of my way I am coming up and I will burn this planet to ash!

            It takes so long to move – every kick, every jerk, every spontaneous burst from his engine feels like it takes an eon, but Primus he’s patient, he will keep moving.  He feels nothing but pure and unadulterated detestation for this forsaken mudball and he will destroy every living thing, and that hate keeps him moving constantly, slowly rising out of the depths of the Laurentian Abyss and into the wider open ocean.  It’s freezing – colder than he’s been in centuries – but he pushes on, feeling out as far as his sensors will allow, aiming for the warmer water and therefore warmer environment.  Blackout is utterly silent, claws twitching in Bonecrusher’s armor but comm-line dead.  He’s not talking – can’t talk, really – and Bonecrusher thanks Primus for small miracles.

            He swims for what he estimates to be a week, running on low energy and barely able to keep functioning.  And then, suddenly, the water feels alive; warm and there and almost caressing, and his processors scream again, up! go up!

            They burst through the water’s surface about 30 kilometers east of sandy shores.  Bonecrusher finds himself actually yearning for the beach, straining to drag himself and Blackout through the water.  The other is now suddenly sending out thousands of signals, most asking why they’re alive, why there’s so much light, where they’re going –

            Bonecrusher snaps out at the other over the comm, sending some of his hate to the other in Cybertronian, and that shuts him up.

            When Bonecrusher’s feet finally hit the ocean floor, he’s forced to lift Blackout up, propping the other against him reluctantly.

            ::....spark....::

            ::I get it.::

            The walk from the water onto dry land is agonizingly slow, sand shifting below their feet and for every step they take, the ocean tries to pull them back twice as deep.  Bonecrusher can feel water pouring out from every crevasse and dent in his armor, but can feel even more of it sloshing around inside him.  It hurts – salt in wounds always hurts – but he shoves that down under his loathing and presses on towards the empty beach.

            Blackout’s exhausts are wheezing, sputtering, and spitting out gallon after gallon of water.  Bonecrusher sends out a few sensors in annoyance, feeling for the other to gauge his damage.

            ::...You’re slagged,:: Bonecrusher finally calls over the comm, optics flickering from lack of energy.  Blackout doesn’t respond, just stumbles some more.

            When they finally get onto dry sand a few yards from the tide, Bonecrusher shoves Blackout away from him and collapses face-first into the sand, ground shuddering under his massive weight.  Blackout remains standing for a long moment, swaying dangerously before dropping, throwing sand up around him.

            Bonecrusher forces himself to stand after about ten minutes of near-shutdown, forces gears to shift and forces chambers to unlock.  The most important thing to do first, however, is to get the saltwater away from his spark, and so he lets the casing slide back for the first time in vorns.  Water drips and sputters out, drawn away from the spark only by the force of gravity, and Bonecrusher sighs in short-lived relief.

            It’s then that Blackout starts to convulse.

            Rotor blades shudder and grind against the ground, and the massive Decepticon shakes and twists along the sand, water trickling from everywhere, only to be absorbed into the ground.

            ::Release your spark-casing,:: Bonecrusher growls in aggravation, ::Need to let the water out.::

            Blackout hisses but doesn’t make any move to do what the other tells him to, and Bonecrusher finds himself completely pissed at the other.  How dare that... that overgrown blender not listen to him!  He crawls over, completely prepared, and even happy to beat the other to a pulp for not following orders –

            Rust.

           However long it’s been since Bonecrusher had last let his armor loose, it’s obviously been longer for the other.  They hadn’t been in the water long enough for rust to form, but there’s a thick layer of it around the other’s casing.

            ::No wonder you’re so hardafted,:: Bonecrusher grumbles, reaching out with long claws to pry it open.

            Blackout’s hand jerks, grabbing at Bonecrusher’s wrist.  His comm crackles with unbridled fury and raw nerves, and Bonecrusher has to force the hand away.  It’ll hurt, he knows.  He’s hoping for that, actually.

            Blackout screams as Bonecrusher digs nails into rust and metal, dragging the casing open with a deep and reluctant groan.  And when it finally slides back, the sight disgusts him – the spark is completely submerged in salt water, stagnating already from the power of the spark, stinking to high heaven.  Blackout is shuddering, rotor and engine trying desperately to move, to get him up, but he can’t do it, not with Bonecrusher there and his spark in so much pain.

            He forces Blackout to his side, barely avoiding razor sharp blades, trying to force the water from his spark.  Blackout is still shaking, screaming in rage and agony and violation, hands grabbing for Bonecrusher with the intent to maim.

            ::Quit fighting,:: Bonecrusher grumbles, watching the stagnate water sputter out, ::Filthy, stupid glitch.::

            The water takes forever to drain, but as it does, Blackout’s seizures calm.  Bonecrusher finally drops back to the ground, aching for recharge, and Blackout’s frame groans and sighs.

            Silence, blessed silence.  Bonecrusher can feel his processors wind down, ready for a long recharge –

            ::...Where are we?::

            Bonecrusher groans in aggravation.

            ::Somewhere.  Leave me alone.::

            ::Why did you drag me up?::

            ::You held on and wouldn’t let go.  Leave me alone.::

            ::....Where’s Lord Megatron?::  His voice is angry, pissed.

            ::At the bottom of the ocean.::

            ::...What – Why didn’t you save him?::

            Blackout’s voice is panicking now, and Bonecrusher can feel the other grappling with himself to get up.  The mine-clearer can’t really find it in himself to care.

            ::I hate him.::