Nanosnipmo - Day 29
Since the meeting with Optimus, First Aid still felt...very odd, as if his processor was wrapped in layers of insulation. He wondered if maybe he had contracted a virus, but all his scans came up clean. Rachet kept telling him not to worry, that everything was going to be all right, but if that were so why was everyone acting so strangely? Sideswipe and Sunstreaker followed him everywhere like two cyberpuppies, and Roller kept bringing him energon until he had a whole string of cubes along his desk, and everyone else would stop talking when he walked by and then pretend entirely too hard that everything was normal.
Bumblebee entered the medbay, with a friendly nod to Ratchet. “So, you’re my sparkling-sitter today?” First Aid asked. Maybe they were planning another surprise sparkday celebration, and that was what was up, like Sideswipe had done when he turned eleven vorns and was officially no longer a sparkling. Except his next sparkday wasn’t for...how old was he now anyway? Time seemed to warp and shift strangely, the reading on his chronometer didn’t feel right.
Yep! Bumblebee sent cheerily, wrapping First Aid in a hug. What can I help you with?
“Oh, that’s sweet of you, Bumblebee.” First Aid patted his arm, and looked around the medbay at a loss, feeling the beginnings of panic. There was always something to do! Why couldn’t he think of anything for Bumblebee to do? Why was he so muddled and anxious?
When was the last time the floor got swept and scrubbed? Bumblebee asked, giving him a worried look. Ratchet was watching him closely as well. First Aid seized on the suggestion with relief. Of course! He tried to activate the vacuum unit, but couldn’t get the sequence to work. He let his helm thunk against the wall in something like despair.
“What’s wrong with me?” he asked, very near tears. What if someone needed repairs? What good would he be like this? Was he dying? He wasn’t ready to go, not yet...Bumblebee said something, put a hand on his shoulder, but First Aid pushed away from the cabinet and paced, unable to stand still.
“They’re here,” he heard Ratchet say to Bumblebee, without understanding any of it. “Silverbolt says they’re not entirely rational, and recommends not getting in their way. I’m half-tempted to put the whole lot of them in stasis together and let their sparks get over the worst of the shock before I wake them up.”
First Aid’s spark gave a sharp throb of something that felt, unfathomably, like wild, elated joy, and that frightened him more than anything else so far. He went into the storage closet and started blindly going through drawers and supplies. Something thumped loudly against the wall, the one that ran along the corridor, and First Aid flattened himself against the cabinets as if holding them up, or as if they were holding him up.
Someone shouted “Hot Spot, door!” at the entrance of the medbay, and the thumping ceased. Someone was shouting his name, and a large blue and black fire truck was at the entrance to the storage closet, and as he met those red optics First Aid backed away into a corner, sliding down into a heap onto the floor as his knee articulations gave out, his own optics wide. Several more mechs wedged behind the first, helo, cycleformer, scout.
“Oh. Hi guys,” First Aid said. “I thought I was going crazy, but you’re really here, aren’t you.” First Aid’s voice was light and conversational, as if he were asking Ratchet if he’d had a pleasant off-shift instead of speaking to his back-from-the-dead brothers for the first time in uncounted vorns. Only someone who knew him very well would recognize it as the sound of First Aid’s spark trying to rip itself into pieces.
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