Twinning the Hatchet rewrite, chapter 3
How long ago did I say this just needed tweaking before it would be ready to post? ^^'
Still not tooooootally happy with it, but i feel i need to move on to the next chapter before this one eats my head.
Title: Twinning the Hatchet redux, Chapter 3
Author: ryagelle
Rating: This part PG-13, overall fic rating NC-17
Characters: Ratchet, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker
Warnings: Kinda-vague references to post-battle injuries, Ratchet's potty mouth
Disclaimer: Didn't own them the first time I posted this story, and still don't own any of them now. Sad as that makes me.
Ratchet wasn’t sure whether to be furious or terrified when Sideswipe half-carried, half-dragged his brother into the medbay ahead of the other casualties. It was supposed to have been more of a skirmish than a battle, yet Sunstreaker looked like he’d been nearly ripped to ribbons, spilled fluids tracing his path along the floor.
Ratchet hurried over to help lift the battered yellow mech up onto a repair table, briefly glancing at Sideswipe as they worked. “Anyone else this bad?” He actually had to rap the red mech’s helm to get him to answer-he looked more than a little dazed himself. Ratchet made a mental note to check him out once he had Sunstreaker stabilized, and tried not to worry too badly until then.
“Ah, no, he’s the worst,” Sideswipe said absently, never taking his optics off his brother while Ratchet bustled around him, leaving First Aid and Wheeljack to sort out the others that were beginning to trickle in. Swoop and Hoist would be here soon to help them, anyway; Ratchet’s priority always had to be the worst wounded. Everyone else seemed to be walking in under their own power, so today it was Sunstreaker.
He glanced around to be sure that everything was well in hand, and turned back to the task before him. He tried not to wince, but it was surprisingly difficult; he’d gotten used to having the two miscreants underfoot lately, and it was more painful than usual to see one of them in pieces on his repair table, with the other looking as though he were halfway in sympathetic shock. The medic shook his head, trying to rid himself of unnecessary thoughts and focus on the repairs-then snarled in reflexive anger when he managed to trip over an anxiously hovering Sideswipe.
“Get out of my way, you damned twit!” The snap was instinctive, uttered without thought and without any real malice-which was why he was taken aback, spark skipping a pulse in guilt when Sideswipe looked as though Ratchet had just kicked his turbo-puppy. The red mech had been…uncommonly pleasant company lately, and once he’d proven he could be a real person with a real spark instead of a thoughtless troublemaker, the medic had started to become-dare he say it?-a little fond of him.
Well-fonder than before. Truth be told, he’d always held an irrational soft spot for the warrior twins, deeply buried, even from himself most of the time. This is not getting Sunstreaker repaired, Ratchet. Focus.
His hands knew their business even without conscious direction from his mind, and he was already elbow-deep in the yellow mech’s internals, finding and sealing leaks, the first step to getting his patient stabilized. He didn’t want him to bleed out before he could even start his repairs, after all.
“How did this happen?” he asked without looking up, his voice conversational despite the speed with which he worked.
He didn’t see the stupidly confused look Sideswipe threw him-the mech was still expecting to be yelled at. “What?”
Ratchet glanced up for a brief nanoklik, arching an optic ridge. Seeing the still-dazed expression on the red twin’s face, his own expression softened. “How did he get hurt this badly, when everyone else is walking wounded?”
Sideswipe blinked. “Oh. We were practicing our Jet Judo again-”
So much for not being thoughtless. “You did what?” Ratchet asked, voice dangerous, suddenly angry-not because of the work they’d made for him, but for the stupid risks that these two mechs routinely took despite all common sense.
Sideswipe opened his mouth to respond, optics brightening a little at the return to familiarity, but Ratchet cut him off. “How many times do I have to tell you slagging sparklings not to antagonize the Seekers? I know they’re shiny and brightly colored, but can’t you just once resist the urge to grab? Every time-every time-you two Pit spawn take on those jets one or both of you comes back in pieces, then I’m the one who gets to slagging put you back together!” He removed a section of damaged plating with such force that Sunstreaker doubtless would have howled in protest if he hadn’t been offline. Sideswipe prudently kept his mouth shut as Ratchet fumed silently for a few more moments.
The red mech had started to allow his mind to drift back into its daze when Ratchet finally spoke again, his voice quiet, tinged by something like anger. “One of these days-”
Before he could think better of it, Sideswipe cut him off, brightly chirping a cheeky end to the medic’s oft-spoken warning, “You’re gonna rebuild us as alarm clocks!”
The expected snarl didn’t come, however. Instead, Ratchet gave him a brief, weary look. “No. One of these days, I won’t be able to rebuild you at all.” He didn’t say anything more, simply turning his attention back to his work.
Sideswipe didn’t know what to say to that. He felt more than a little like a heel, and it was an uncomfortable sensation, so he kept his vocalizer mute. Ratchet didn’t need to be reminded of what they were, and what their job was-it was Ratchet’s job to put them back together afterward. Except…it didn’t take a genius to realize how painful it was to make friends out of mechs when you had to watch them suffer and possibly die, and Sideswipe was embarrassed that he’d had to have it practically shoved in his faceplates.
He’d always held respect for Ratchet’s abilities, but now, a new respect was budding, one for the difficulty the medic faced when he went to work after every battle, the emotional turmoil that Sideswipe was just now realizing ate him up inside, and the resolution with which the white mech faced it. In newfound deference, he kept his silence, watching with intent but quiet optics while Ratchet, as he always had and likely always would, worked to put the broken pieces of his brother back together.
Still not tooooootally happy with it, but i feel i need to move on to the next chapter before this one eats my head.
Title: Twinning the Hatchet redux, Chapter 3
Author: ryagelle
Rating: This part PG-13, overall fic rating NC-17
Characters: Ratchet, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker
Warnings: Kinda-vague references to post-battle injuries, Ratchet's potty mouth
Disclaimer: Didn't own them the first time I posted this story, and still don't own any of them now. Sad as that makes me.
Ratchet wasn’t sure whether to be furious or terrified when Sideswipe half-carried, half-dragged his brother into the medbay ahead of the other casualties. It was supposed to have been more of a skirmish than a battle, yet Sunstreaker looked like he’d been nearly ripped to ribbons, spilled fluids tracing his path along the floor.
Ratchet hurried over to help lift the battered yellow mech up onto a repair table, briefly glancing at Sideswipe as they worked. “Anyone else this bad?” He actually had to rap the red mech’s helm to get him to answer-he looked more than a little dazed himself. Ratchet made a mental note to check him out once he had Sunstreaker stabilized, and tried not to worry too badly until then.
“Ah, no, he’s the worst,” Sideswipe said absently, never taking his optics off his brother while Ratchet bustled around him, leaving First Aid and Wheeljack to sort out the others that were beginning to trickle in. Swoop and Hoist would be here soon to help them, anyway; Ratchet’s priority always had to be the worst wounded. Everyone else seemed to be walking in under their own power, so today it was Sunstreaker.
He glanced around to be sure that everything was well in hand, and turned back to the task before him. He tried not to wince, but it was surprisingly difficult; he’d gotten used to having the two miscreants underfoot lately, and it was more painful than usual to see one of them in pieces on his repair table, with the other looking as though he were halfway in sympathetic shock. The medic shook his head, trying to rid himself of unnecessary thoughts and focus on the repairs-then snarled in reflexive anger when he managed to trip over an anxiously hovering Sideswipe.
“Get out of my way, you damned twit!” The snap was instinctive, uttered without thought and without any real malice-which was why he was taken aback, spark skipping a pulse in guilt when Sideswipe looked as though Ratchet had just kicked his turbo-puppy. The red mech had been…uncommonly pleasant company lately, and once he’d proven he could be a real person with a real spark instead of a thoughtless troublemaker, the medic had started to become-dare he say it?-a little fond of him.
Well-fonder than before. Truth be told, he’d always held an irrational soft spot for the warrior twins, deeply buried, even from himself most of the time. This is not getting Sunstreaker repaired, Ratchet. Focus.
His hands knew their business even without conscious direction from his mind, and he was already elbow-deep in the yellow mech’s internals, finding and sealing leaks, the first step to getting his patient stabilized. He didn’t want him to bleed out before he could even start his repairs, after all.
“How did this happen?” he asked without looking up, his voice conversational despite the speed with which he worked.
He didn’t see the stupidly confused look Sideswipe threw him-the mech was still expecting to be yelled at. “What?”
Ratchet glanced up for a brief nanoklik, arching an optic ridge. Seeing the still-dazed expression on the red twin’s face, his own expression softened. “How did he get hurt this badly, when everyone else is walking wounded?”
Sideswipe blinked. “Oh. We were practicing our Jet Judo again-”
So much for not being thoughtless. “You did what?” Ratchet asked, voice dangerous, suddenly angry-not because of the work they’d made for him, but for the stupid risks that these two mechs routinely took despite all common sense.
Sideswipe opened his mouth to respond, optics brightening a little at the return to familiarity, but Ratchet cut him off. “How many times do I have to tell you slagging sparklings not to antagonize the Seekers? I know they’re shiny and brightly colored, but can’t you just once resist the urge to grab? Every time-every time-you two Pit spawn take on those jets one or both of you comes back in pieces, then I’m the one who gets to slagging put you back together!” He removed a section of damaged plating with such force that Sunstreaker doubtless would have howled in protest if he hadn’t been offline. Sideswipe prudently kept his mouth shut as Ratchet fumed silently for a few more moments.
The red mech had started to allow his mind to drift back into its daze when Ratchet finally spoke again, his voice quiet, tinged by something like anger. “One of these days-”
Before he could think better of it, Sideswipe cut him off, brightly chirping a cheeky end to the medic’s oft-spoken warning, “You’re gonna rebuild us as alarm clocks!”
The expected snarl didn’t come, however. Instead, Ratchet gave him a brief, weary look. “No. One of these days, I won’t be able to rebuild you at all.” He didn’t say anything more, simply turning his attention back to his work.
Sideswipe didn’t know what to say to that. He felt more than a little like a heel, and it was an uncomfortable sensation, so he kept his vocalizer mute. Ratchet didn’t need to be reminded of what they were, and what their job was-it was Ratchet’s job to put them back together afterward. Except…it didn’t take a genius to realize how painful it was to make friends out of mechs when you had to watch them suffer and possibly die, and Sideswipe was embarrassed that he’d had to have it practically shoved in his faceplates.
He’d always held respect for Ratchet’s abilities, but now, a new respect was budding, one for the difficulty the medic faced when he went to work after every battle, the emotional turmoil that Sideswipe was just now realizing ate him up inside, and the resolution with which the white mech faced it. In newfound deference, he kept his silence, watching with intent but quiet optics while Ratchet, as he always had and likely always would, worked to put the broken pieces of his brother back together.