The last thing he remembered were Sparks. Sparks raining over all of Cybertron. It was both a beautiful and a horrific sight to the medic of the Autobots. He sat in his new medbay, having been keeping to himself these past few days. Organizing and cleaning up his new area did little to distract him from what had happened.

He lifted his gaze to the new monitors humming to life, his brows furrowed as his chest felt heavy. His lips pursed tightly as he let his hand slide across the console, hearing it beep. His arm swung by his side before he settled into his chair at his new desk. Bits and pieces of new projects, in which he had worked on earth sat on the surface of the desk, staring up at Ratchet expectantly. Ratchet’s heavy tired optics glanced over to the items and suddenly memories flooded his mind, back to whenever he was working on them. Talking with Optimus. Spending time with their leader. He almost froze.

This was it. Optimus was really gone. There would be no miraculous revival. No new and improved Optimus like what happened when their base on Earth was destroyed. That was it. His Spark no longer existed with them, and he was now one with the All Spark. His hand reached down, shakily taking up a piece of one of the projects, holding with care, as if it would shatter.

This was all he had left. Memories of his great leader. His teammate. His friend. What were they supposed to do without him? His sacrifice hit them all hard, and they were almost scrambling. But what would Optimus say now? The Autobots still hung onto one another, they were family. But without their brave and fearless leader, it was earthshattering for them all. They supported one another.

But Ratchet couldn’t face them. Not like this. He needed time for his own personal grieving. The medic wasn’t openly vulnerable like this among peering optics. Ratchet let out a shaky sigh.

"Optimus," he said aloud, holding that small piece of metal in his hand, his voice almost cutting out.

"Why did it have to end like this? If we had more time, we could have figured out a way to save you. You didn’t have to—"

Ratchet’s optics widened as he suddenly saw the piece of metal in his hand suddenly snap at the sudden pressure his hands had brought. He gasped and tried to grab the falling pieces, only to watch them shatter into smaller pieces across the floor. The old bot fell to his knees and hastily raked the pieces in close, gathering them up into both of his hands.

He held the broken pieces close to his chest, letting out a half choked sob.