Mini Fic: What the medic says, goes.
Title: What the medic says, goes.
Continuity: G1
Rating: PG-13
Character(s): First Aid, Sunstreaker, Hoist
Warnings: TF inspired cursing
Notes: Part of the Oath and Covenant AU. Series masterpost here
Every bot within hearing range stopped, the creak and whirr of gears abruptly grinding to a halt was audible in the silence that filled the room.
"Pardon?"
"I said, you have a slagging fragged up microprocessor with rust for brains." The youngling helpfully repeated himself.
"That's what I thought you said." One hand scratched idly at a vent where some mud was crusted on only to have it slapped away by the small mech.
"What part of don't touch is so impossible to understand, the don't or the touch? You pile of antiquated scrap."
"It's itching."
"Of course it is. Your self repair is actually trying to mend it, why I'm not sure, you're so careless you might as well go smelt yourself down and save your systems the trouble and let me get some recharge because I'm not having to put your sorry skid plate back together every fragging cycle."
"I didn't mean to...”
"Get hurt? No, Primus forbid that you went out racing around the rocks like it wasn't inevitable that you lose traction and roll aft over bumper. Then you drag yourself back here and expect us to fix everything. Well, I've got news for you. I'm on strike today. I don't fix idiots."
The yellow mech didn't say a word, his vocaliser managing a crackle of static as he tried to respond to the pint size authority that was laying down the law of the land.
"Better. At least you've got the hang of when to shut up. Now, you're going keep your aft parked right there on that slagging berth until I come back and you will keep your hands to yourself or I will tie you down so tightly you won't be able to lift a finger." The last part was accompanied by a solid wrench strike at the offending hand that was scratching at an armour seam again.
“Oww.”
“Oh stop whining like a spoilt sparkling, any fragger would think you lost a leg or something.”
Sunstreaker was left staring after the young medic as he marched into the office, his hand jerking away from his torso when the faint “I can see that, stop scratching!” echoed out of the small room.
He glanced around for help, silently appealing to Hoist for help, only to be left gaping when the general practitioner just raised an optical ridge before shaking his helm. “Sorry, can't help. First Aid's in charge of the medbay today.”
Continuity: G1
Rating: PG-13
Character(s): First Aid, Sunstreaker, Hoist
Warnings: TF inspired cursing
Notes: Part of the Oath and Covenant AU. Series masterpost here
Every bot within hearing range stopped, the creak and whirr of gears abruptly grinding to a halt was audible in the silence that filled the room.
"Pardon?"
"I said, you have a slagging fragged up microprocessor with rust for brains." The youngling helpfully repeated himself.
"That's what I thought you said." One hand scratched idly at a vent where some mud was crusted on only to have it slapped away by the small mech.
"What part of don't touch is so impossible to understand, the don't or the touch? You pile of antiquated scrap."
"It's itching."
"Of course it is. Your self repair is actually trying to mend it, why I'm not sure, you're so careless you might as well go smelt yourself down and save your systems the trouble and let me get some recharge because I'm not having to put your sorry skid plate back together every fragging cycle."
"I didn't mean to...”
"Get hurt? No, Primus forbid that you went out racing around the rocks like it wasn't inevitable that you lose traction and roll aft over bumper. Then you drag yourself back here and expect us to fix everything. Well, I've got news for you. I'm on strike today. I don't fix idiots."
The yellow mech didn't say a word, his vocaliser managing a crackle of static as he tried to respond to the pint size authority that was laying down the law of the land.
"Better. At least you've got the hang of when to shut up. Now, you're going keep your aft parked right there on that slagging berth until I come back and you will keep your hands to yourself or I will tie you down so tightly you won't be able to lift a finger." The last part was accompanied by a solid wrench strike at the offending hand that was scratching at an armour seam again.
“Oww.”
“Oh stop whining like a spoilt sparkling, any fragger would think you lost a leg or something.”
Sunstreaker was left staring after the young medic as he marched into the office, his hand jerking away from his torso when the faint “I can see that, stop scratching!” echoed out of the small room.
He glanced around for help, silently appealing to Hoist for help, only to be left gaping when the general practitioner just raised an optical ridge before shaking his helm. “Sorry, can't help. First Aid's in charge of the medbay today.”