[NaDraWriMo] Some TF!AU
Uh, some NGPG'verse writings for you?
There was an explosion from Jack's lab room. This was actually a fairly normal occurance and Ratchet wouldn't even have pulled his head up from his study of the Heart and Stroke Foundation's new CPR standards because, let's face it, after living with Jack for a few years, he'd learned to ignore any or all loud noises eminating from his roommate's door. They were just part of the whole "mad engineer as a roomie" package and, hey, at least he didn't play porn at annoyingly loud volumes.
So it wasn't the explosion that worried Ratchet. It was the long silence afterwards. As a rule of thumb, Jack's explosions were always accompanied by A: whoops of joy, or B: loud cursing. Option C: dead silence, had never been a factor before.
Slowly, Ratchet set down his reading material and padded to Wheeljack's door.
"Jack? Hey Jack! You okay?"
He knocked hesitantly. There was a long pause, then a soft whimper.
"N-no?"
Ratchet slammed the door open and was greeted with pandemonium. Pieces of metal and electronics were scattered all over the room and there were slight curls of smoke coming up from a metal thing on the desk. What really scared Ratchet, though, was the sight of Wheeljack hunched over on the floor, cradling his arm to his stomach and hyperventilating. Ratchet rushed over, crouching down to get a closer look and wincing only briefly when something started sparking near his ankles.
"Jack, what the hell did you do this time?"
"U-um, blew somethin' up again. Didn't get the capacitators linked right, I think and it blew and I think I fell wrong because something went snap and I can't move my hand right and my wrist... I think I broke it. S-sorry, Ray."
Jack looked up at Ratchet then and there was blood trickling down his forehead. Distantly, a small Ratchet noted that he'd probably gotten hit by shrapnel of some sort. The rest of him, though, was focussed on the bigger problem.
"Shit, we've got to get you to the hospital, Jack. C'mon, up you get-"
Jack hissed as he tried to get up, blinking back tears and curling up around his arm.
"Fuck, ow, no, hurts to move, Ray. Dun wanna."
"Jackie DeWhill."
The full brunt of Ratchet's "BOW TO MY AUTHORITY" glare made Jack cower into an even smaller ball of apologetic, huge-eyed fear.
"WE ARE GOING TO THE HOSPITAL. WE ARE GOING TO GET X-RAYS. AND THEN, IF YOUR WRIST IS BROKEN, WE ARE GOING TO GET IT SET. ARE WE CLEAR?"
Jack stared up at Ratchet, totally stunned at this new facet of his roomie's personality shift.
"Yessir."
Jack winced and slowly rose to his feet, gritting his teeth as his wrist was jostled. He was surprised when Ratchet gave him a hand, gently levering him up.
"C'mon, just hold it steady. The faster we get to the hospital, the faster it'll stop hurting, okay?"
Ratchet's voice was gruff as he turned, carefully not meeting Jack's eye as he slowly herded him out the door to the entrance-way of their apartment.
"Yeah... okay. Cool. You're gonna drive me?"
Ratchet raised an eyebrow.
"No, I'm going to make you take the public transit to the hospital. Ch, idiot. Of course I'm driving you. You've got your health card, right?"
"Uh, yeah, 's in my wallet."
"Good. Let's get going then..."
~
In the end, the two of them spent just over half-an-hour in the waiting room. After several x-rays (damnit, it's blurry... you moved, didn't you?), a heated discussion between Jack's doctor and Ratchet (so tell me, kid, what are your credentials?), a variety of pitying glances from the nurses (oh, you poor dear, have you been getting enough to eat?), and one very, /very/ painful bone-setting (suck it up, I'm not carrying you out if you faint), Wheeljack's wrist was encased in bright-green fibreglass (it's hard enough to get you in water, you think I'm giving you the excuse of a plaster cast?), and he was happily bouncing around the apartment in a pain-killer induced haze.
"Hey Ratch! Ratch? Raaaaaatchet!"
Jack hung over Ratchet's shoulder, peering over and waving around and generally being a nuisance. Ratchet, meanwhile, was batting at the other man's hands and stirring a pot of soup.
"Jack stop that! I'm trying to cook!"
"But Ratch! You hafta write on my cast!"
"No."
"Please?"
"I'm cooking, you idiot!"
"But Raaaaaaaaaaatch!"
Ratchet paused. He carefully set down his soup ladle and turned around. Jack was holding out his casted wrist and a black sharpie. He was also making the kicked-puppy face, angling big blue eyes up at Ratchet through his shaggy blond bangs.
"Pleeeeease? I'll leave you alone after! Promise! I'll even eat your godawful soup!"
Ratchet sighed and held his hand out.
"Give me the marker."
Wheeljack did so, grinning widely as Ratchet scribbled, grumbling, "And you'd eat this soup anyway. It's nutritious and good for you."
"Well now we won't have to find out, now will we- Oy. OY! Ratch, what the heck did you just write?!"
"You told me to write on it, didn't you?"
Later, Jack's friends would ask curiously about the big black block letters on his cast which read: "WARNING: side effects of Wheeljack may include headache, agitation, irritability and extreme fatigue. Do not operate heavy duty machinery after exposure as homicidal tendencies may result."
===
Help me hatch these? =D
There was an explosion from Jack's lab room. This was actually a fairly normal occurance and Ratchet wouldn't even have pulled his head up from his study of the Heart and Stroke Foundation's new CPR standards because, let's face it, after living with Jack for a few years, he'd learned to ignore any or all loud noises eminating from his roommate's door. They were just part of the whole "mad engineer as a roomie" package and, hey, at least he didn't play porn at annoyingly loud volumes.
So it wasn't the explosion that worried Ratchet. It was the long silence afterwards. As a rule of thumb, Jack's explosions were always accompanied by A: whoops of joy, or B: loud cursing. Option C: dead silence, had never been a factor before.
Slowly, Ratchet set down his reading material and padded to Wheeljack's door.
"Jack? Hey Jack! You okay?"
He knocked hesitantly. There was a long pause, then a soft whimper.
"N-no?"
Ratchet slammed the door open and was greeted with pandemonium. Pieces of metal and electronics were scattered all over the room and there were slight curls of smoke coming up from a metal thing on the desk. What really scared Ratchet, though, was the sight of Wheeljack hunched over on the floor, cradling his arm to his stomach and hyperventilating. Ratchet rushed over, crouching down to get a closer look and wincing only briefly when something started sparking near his ankles.
"Jack, what the hell did you do this time?"
"U-um, blew somethin' up again. Didn't get the capacitators linked right, I think and it blew and I think I fell wrong because something went snap and I can't move my hand right and my wrist... I think I broke it. S-sorry, Ray."
Jack looked up at Ratchet then and there was blood trickling down his forehead. Distantly, a small Ratchet noted that he'd probably gotten hit by shrapnel of some sort. The rest of him, though, was focussed on the bigger problem.
"Shit, we've got to get you to the hospital, Jack. C'mon, up you get-"
Jack hissed as he tried to get up, blinking back tears and curling up around his arm.
"Fuck, ow, no, hurts to move, Ray. Dun wanna."
"Jackie DeWhill."
The full brunt of Ratchet's "BOW TO MY AUTHORITY" glare made Jack cower into an even smaller ball of apologetic, huge-eyed fear.
"WE ARE GOING TO THE HOSPITAL. WE ARE GOING TO GET X-RAYS. AND THEN, IF YOUR WRIST IS BROKEN, WE ARE GOING TO GET IT SET. ARE WE CLEAR?"
Jack stared up at Ratchet, totally stunned at this new facet of his roomie's personality shift.
"Yessir."
Jack winced and slowly rose to his feet, gritting his teeth as his wrist was jostled. He was surprised when Ratchet gave him a hand, gently levering him up.
"C'mon, just hold it steady. The faster we get to the hospital, the faster it'll stop hurting, okay?"
Ratchet's voice was gruff as he turned, carefully not meeting Jack's eye as he slowly herded him out the door to the entrance-way of their apartment.
"Yeah... okay. Cool. You're gonna drive me?"
Ratchet raised an eyebrow.
"No, I'm going to make you take the public transit to the hospital. Ch, idiot. Of course I'm driving you. You've got your health card, right?"
"Uh, yeah, 's in my wallet."
"Good. Let's get going then..."
~
In the end, the two of them spent just over half-an-hour in the waiting room. After several x-rays (damnit, it's blurry... you moved, didn't you?), a heated discussion between Jack's doctor and Ratchet (so tell me, kid, what are your credentials?), a variety of pitying glances from the nurses (oh, you poor dear, have you been getting enough to eat?), and one very, /very/ painful bone-setting (suck it up, I'm not carrying you out if you faint), Wheeljack's wrist was encased in bright-green fibreglass (it's hard enough to get you in water, you think I'm giving you the excuse of a plaster cast?), and he was happily bouncing around the apartment in a pain-killer induced haze.
"Hey Ratch! Ratch? Raaaaaatchet!"
Jack hung over Ratchet's shoulder, peering over and waving around and generally being a nuisance. Ratchet, meanwhile, was batting at the other man's hands and stirring a pot of soup.
"Jack stop that! I'm trying to cook!"
"But Ratch! You hafta write on my cast!"
"No."
"Please?"
"I'm cooking, you idiot!"
"But Raaaaaaaaaaatch!"
Ratchet paused. He carefully set down his soup ladle and turned around. Jack was holding out his casted wrist and a black sharpie. He was also making the kicked-puppy face, angling big blue eyes up at Ratchet through his shaggy blond bangs.
"Pleeeeease? I'll leave you alone after! Promise! I'll even eat your godawful soup!"
Ratchet sighed and held his hand out.
"Give me the marker."
Wheeljack did so, grinning widely as Ratchet scribbled, grumbling, "And you'd eat this soup anyway. It's nutritious and good for you."
"Well now we won't have to find out, now will we- Oy. OY! Ratch, what the heck did you just write?!"
"You told me to write on it, didn't you?"
Later, Jack's friends would ask curiously about the big black block letters on his cast which read: "WARNING: side effects of Wheeljack may include headache, agitation, irritability and extreme fatigue. Do not operate heavy duty machinery after exposure as homicidal tendencies may result."
===
Help me hatch these? =D