Taken - Chapter 4
A/N Last chapter - some lighter moments in this one; everything's not all better, and won't be for awhile, but the Protectobots are on the mend. Not completely happy with the pacing or ending of this chapter - some leftover NaNo rambly too, but I hope you enjoy!
Title: Taken 4/4 (Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3)
Characters: Protectobots, Air Raid, Wheeljack, Ratchet
Rating: M for mature themes
Word Count: 6300
Summary: Ratchet and Wheeljack worry; Air Raid is crazy, but in a good way.
Warnings: angst, possible triggery material - strongly implied, non-graphic sexual abuse of a minor
Wheeljack finished his song, watching Streetwise’s face as he cycled deeper into recharge. He would smile a little, then frown, the optic ridges rising slightly as if he wanted to ask a question, then the noseplates wrinkled slightly with a mischievous air, his face a constantly changing palette of expressions, even in recharge. Wheeljack remembered how he had been, newly constructed sparkling, all wide optics and eager curiosity and a constant barrage of questions, and you never knew what innocent, perfectly serious, and utterly hysterical or completely brilliant observation was going to come out of his vocalizer next. All he’d been through in his two short vorns hadn’t managed to quash that bright spirit, wiggly and restless, with a spark as big as all Cybertron.
Ratchet came back from checking the other three again, meeting Wheeljack’s optics. “I don’t know. Hot Spot says it’s not feedback from First Aid. Reaction to the antiviral maybe? Or it could be entirely from the stress and trauma. Primus only knows what they’ve been going through.” Ratchet eyed the peacefully recharging Streetwise and Blades, frowning deeply. “We’ll see how they’re doing after a good long recharge.”
“How long are you going to keep everyone locked out?” Wheeljack asked. There had been several pings to the medbay door over the last joor, none urgent, and a slew of comm. messages, but Ratchet had ignored them all.
“They can slagging well wait until I’m sure they’re going to be all right.” Ratchet rubbed at his faceplates wearily. They’d notified Prime, once it became clear that First Aid’s illness could have only been contracted one way, and according to Hot Spot the Aerialbots knew the truth. Wheeljack doubted many of the other Autobots at the base had deduced what had happened-it was too inconceivable-but he knew many of them were worried about the Protectobots. Ironhide. Oh Primus. He didn’t want to lie to the weapon’s specialist; he wasn’t sure he even could, but he was afraid of what Ironhide might do. The big lug would never stop to think that getting himself deactivated trying to take on Motormaster wouldn’t do First Aid a bit of good at all.
“Were they always this hard to get into recharge?” Ratchet sighed.
Wheeljack snorted. “Worse. The Aerialbots were just as bad; you’ve just forgotten.” He was quiet awhile, looking down at Streetwise and Blades again. Streetwise hadn’t asked any questions about what had happened to First Aid. None of them had. Wheeljack hadn’t pressured them for more than Hot Spot had already shared (and what that had cost him, to explain everything in that low, even voice, Wheeljack didn’t even want to imagine), but he wondered if he should, if it would be better to get them to talk more about it.
“Hot Spot thinks they are doing just fine,” Ratchet said, thoughts moving along the same lines. “He agreed to talk to Smokescreen, but he says they really just want to get back to work. I don’t know. I just…” Ratchet shook his head helplessly.
“I know,” Wheeljack told him.
“I’m not letting them off base again for the next two hundred vorns,” Ratchet muttered, and Wheeljack nodded, knowing it was impossible. They were too valuable in the field, saved too many lives, and they would go into cascade failure from frustration if they couldn’t help, couldn’t be useful doing the jobs they had been built for. Wheeljack knew his creations.
Wheeljack was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of someone pounding against the door to the medbay. Ratchet cursed under his breath.
“Whoever that is had better be leaking energon or they are going to be in danger of immediate deactivation,” he said in a dangerous voice as he stomped over to the door. There was some heated discussion and…Air Raid? It sounded like Air Raid, yelping in pain, and then Ratchet was pulling the jet through the door, shutting it immediately behind him. Air Raid was indeed leaking, one wing bent at a strange angle as he stood wincing in Ratchet’s grip.
Wheeljack slid off the end of the berth and helped Ratchet get Air Raid up on to the berth Streetwise had vacated.
“What happened to you?” Wheeljack asked his incorrigible creation, wondering if he really wanted to know the answer.
“Flew into a relay tower,” Air Raid answered cheerfully, in his usual loud clear voice.
Ratchet activated the welder on his hand and held it close to Air Raid’s face. “If you wake them up, I will weld your mouthplates closed and rivet your wings to your aft. Sit. Here. Quietly. I’ll be right back.” Air Raid nodded, optics wide.
“Ratchet…” he said, and Ratchet turned back, glaring. “How…how are they doing?” Air Raid asked, voice soft, carefully quiet.
Ratchet’s expression softened a little (a very little). “First Aid is over the worst of the virus, and his systems are clear. He’ll be out of commission for awhile yet, but he should make a full recovery. The others I’m keeping here mainly as a precaution. They should be fine as long as they get a good long recharge with no disturbances.” Ratchet waved his welder hand a little on the last statement, eyeing Air Raid meaningfully.
“We were worried, when First Aid fell over like that,” Air Raid told Wheeljack, once Ratchet was gone, shifting uncomfortably as his injured wing brushed against the berth. “We were afraid it was something we did.”
“Ah yes, I heard about your little impromptu wrestling match,” Wheeljack said. “Who won?”
“Defensor, but…I think Superion let him win,” Air Raid said with a cheeky grin, “but then, when we separated, First Aid kind of fell over in a heap and we thought maybe we’d damaged him accidentally or something.” Air Raid shook his head at remembered concern. “Hot Spot said no, and First Aid said no, too, but that didn’t stop Silverbolt from going on like it was all his fault.” Air Raid rolled his optics.
“Mmm,” Wheeljack said, noncommittally, as he started unwinding a bit of cable that had somehow gotten wrapped around Air Raid’s shoulder.
“Then he had to go and get himself thrown in the brig,” Air Raid continued mournfully.
“Silverbolt?” Wheeljack said loudly, startled, then glanced over at Streetwise and Blades, and lowered his voice. “How the Pit did Silverbolt end up in the brig? I thought that was your job.”
“I know! I wouldn’t have gotten caught at least. Silverbolt’s not so good at sneaking around. He’s good at catching us, but he doesn’t have nearly enough practice sneaking.”
Wheeljack waved his hand in a small circle at Air Raid. Annnd?
“Oh! Right. So Silverbolt decided he was going to sneak off base and find that fragger, y’know, the one who…anyway. Silverbolt was going to find him and make sure he could never hurt any of them again, only Prowl caught him before he could even get airborne, and of course Silverbolt can’t lie worth a damn, so he went and told Prowl what he was planning and then…” Air Raid waved his hand to illustrate Prowl’s reaction. “Blah blah blah, lock you up until you’re thinking more clearly, and all that. And then Skydive said Ratchet was keeping all of the Protectobots in the medbay and Silverbolt was freaking out, big time, only Ratchet wasn’t letting anyone in…”
“Don’t tell me,” Wheeljack interrupted, one hand going to his optics, “please don’t tell me you ran in to a power relay on purpose to get in here?” It shouldn’t surprise him. Really it shouldn’t surprise him at all. Of course he had.
Air Raid’s guilty expression confirmed it. “Fireflight was asking if they were going to die and he was gonna start crying, Wheeljack, if we didn’t find out and so, well…” Air Raid started to shrug and then stopped with a muffled yelp. “It worked didn’t it?”
“You’re lucky you didn’t electrocute yourself,” Wheeljack chided. “Whatever you do, if you value your aft do not let Ratchet know it wasn’t an accident or he’ll make the brig with Silverbolt look like a luxury vacation to Praxus.”
Air Raid ran a finger over his lips as if welding them shut and smirked at Wheeljack as Ratchet returned and began working on his injured wing. Wheeljack shook his head and went to make sure the Protectobots were all still recharging peacefully. It was almost sweet, Air Raid busting his wing to get in the medbay, if it wasn’t also ten kinds of stupid.
Wheeljack paused when he got to Groove. The scout was curled up in a tight little ball on the berth, but his optics were unshuttered and glowing dimly, staring at nothing. Unlike Streetwise, his face was still. Groove had a gift for stillness, for just being in a place and simply…being there, counterpoint to the fidgety Streetwise. This particular stillness, however, the distant staring-that wasn’t normal Groove. Wheeljack bent and put a hand on his helm.
“Groove?” Groove didn’t respond, didn’t even blink, and Wheeljack felt a stronger twist of worry. His vitals were all stable, Wheeljack noted, checking quickly. “Groove? Hey, Groove, where are you buddy?” he said, continuing to stoke his helm gently. To his relief, Groove finally stirred and blinked, optics focusing slowly on Wheeljack. Wheeljack smiled at him. “You had me worried there for a moment. Are you alright?”
Groove blinked at him silently, and Wheeljack felt his worry come back. “Groove?” he said again, taking one of Groove’s hands and rubbing it a little. His hand finally moved, turning to hold Wheeljack’s in a gentle grip.
“Wheeljack?” Groove finally responded, voice soft and rasping. “I’m sorry, ‘Jack. I was somewhere else.”
“I’ll say,” Wheeljack answered, chuckling a little, although his worry didn’t really abate. Interrupted recharge cycles. Processor lock ups. Could be just a reaction to the antivirals, or stress, as Ratchet had said. Or the first sign of cascading processor failure. Who knew what this was doing to their immature systems? There was just no precedent; there were reasons why things like this just didn’t happen to younglings.
“Where were you?” he asked, and Groove shrugged one shoulder.
“Thinking.”
“Hm, thinking were you.” Wheeljack said. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really,” Groove sighed. “It wasn’t all bad things, don’t worry, Wheeljack,” he added, correctly reading Wheeljack’s worried frown.
“Ah, well, ok then,” Wheeljack said, not certain he entirely believed Groove, but, as with Streetwise he was reluctant to press for more than Groove was willing to give him right now.
“I used to think there was a limit to how bad the bad things could get, but there’s really not, is there?”
Wheeljack felt his spark ache. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I’m so sorry,” was all he could say. Groove’s sad, quiet smile as he looked up at Wheeljack was much older and understanding than it had any right to be. There was a muffled yelp from the other side of the medbay, and Groove craned his neck around to see.
“Is that Air Raid?” he asked. Wheeljack took a deep steadying intake before he spoke.
“Yeah, but if you value his life, just lie still and go back to recharge. Ratchet’s threatened him with dismemberment if he wakes any of you up.”
“Is he ok though? What’s he doing in medbay?”
“Ran himself into a power relay to get in here and see you guys. Don’t worry, just some wing damage, all fixable.”
“Air Raid,” Groove sighed and shook his head a little. “He’s crazy.”
“Yeah, I’d have to agree with you there,” Wheeljack chuckled weakly. “It’s a good kind of crazy though.” He tapped Groove on the noseplates, which Groove rewarded with another faint smile. “Now do you think you can get back into recharge? You need it, kiddo. Your energy levels are still pretty low, and I know Ratchet doesn’t want to give you a sedative unless he has to.”
“I don’t know, Wheeljack. I’ll try.” Groove exhaled wearily.
“Here,” Wheeljack said, motioning Groove to sit up so he could detach the energon drip. “Ratchet let Streetwise get away with it, so I suppose it’s only fair…”
“I love you, Wheeljack,” Groove said, leaning forward to press his helm against Wheeljack’s chest and then wrap his arms around Wheeljack in a tight hug.
“Love ya too, kid,” Wheeljack murmured, surprised, hugging him back just as tightly. All of the Protectobots were affectionate, with each other and with him, but Groove had never been as prone to the giving of exuberant hugs as the others.
“We forget that you can’t feel us thinking it, so I wanted to make sure to tell you,” Groove said, looking up at him seriously.
“That’s very thoughtful,” Wheeljack smiled. “I must say, it is nice to hear once in awhile. Need a hand?”
“Nope, I can do it,” Groove said as he hopped down and went over to check on First Aid, who was recharging deeply in his usual position, hands tucked up tightly beneath his chin. Groove rested a hand on First Aid’s chestplates a few moments before going over to Hot Spot’s berth and clambering easily up beside him.
Groove waved at Air Raid before lying down to cuddle up next to Hot Spot, and Ratchet eyed them from where he was working on Air Raid’s wing, his expression promising dire things for the jet as soon as Groove was in recharge again. Wheeljack made a few hand motions, trying to indicate that it wasn’t Air Raid’s fault, Groove had already been awake, and Ratchet rolled his optics ceiling-ward a moment in understanding. They’d been working together far too long, Wheeljack decided, for Ratchet to get what he meant from those few random hand motions.
Groove was already cycling into recharge, Wheeljack noted. He squirmed a little deeper into Hot Spot’s side, systems humming softly as they powered down.
“What’s that?” Wheeljack leaned closer as Groove said something softly that he didn’t quite hear. Groove lifted one of his hands to loosely grasp one of Wheeljack’s.
“Don't be sad...'Jack....No limit to the good things…either,” he murmured, hand relaxing as he drifted into full recharge.
Wheeljack stayed another breem, just to make sure Groove wasn’t going to wake back up, just to give his spark a moment to break a few more times. Groove seemed…fine, now, curled up peacefully with Hot Spot. He moved to the next berth to check First Aid’s readings again. Improving. Good.
“Supposed to squawk when you’re hurt, kiddo,” he murmured softly, sorrowfully, pausing to rest a hand on First Aid’s helm for a moment. “Haven’t we gone over this before?”
What in Primus’ name had he been thinking. His brilliant plan to build two gestalt teams, and somehow he’d ended up the de facto creator-figure to ten (ten!) new beings. There’d been many cycles when he’d been convinced he was completely and utterly out of his processor, but never before had he felt so…lost. His best inventions, all ten of them, and it was never easy, watching them get hurt, knowing (expecting really, it was inevitable, unrealistic to hope they could somehow all come through unscathed forever, and it was dangerous, dangerous to get so attached but he could not do otherwise) they could be killed, but this…he had never thought to prepare for, to prepare them for, not for another couple hundred vorns. Yet another subject that wasn't covered by "Dr. Sprocket's Guide to Sparkling Care." The old joke suddenly wasn't so funny anymore. Wheeljack pressed his mouthplates tightly together behind his facemask, feeling his optics burn from optic fluid he would not shed. His processor kept trying to find scenarios where he could have prevented it, somehow, some way. He felt like he’d failed them.
He shook himself, drawing air through his intakes in another steadying draught. Don’t dwell on mistakes of the past. Learn from them, move forward. Easier, so much easier, when the mistakes only involved wires and chemicals and maybe an explosion or two. He gave First Aid a last gentle pat, and went to see if Ratchet needed any help with Air Raid.
“Hold this a moment,” Ratchet said when he got there, indicating a few torn wires in one of the gashes on Air Raid’s wing. Wheeljack held them in place while Ratchet went to find the right size wire to splice them. Air Raid didn’t flinch, so Ratchet must have finally numbed the area. There was quiet tapping at the medbay door, and Air Raid looked up at Wheeljack pleadingly.
“Could you let Fireflight know about the Protectobots and that I’m ok? He didn’t mean to knock me into that relay quite so hard.” Air Raid looked at him with a pleading expression and Wheeljack groaned inwardly. Air Raid didn’t quite have Fireflight’s spark-melting optics, but they were still very hard to refuse. Wheeljack waited until Ratchet got back and took over with Air Raid’s wing. When he went to the door, meaning to crack it open slightly, Fireflight pushed his way through unexpectedly, shoving Wheeljack into the wall.
“Oh, sorry Wheeljack!” Fireflight said as he went by in a blurred streak of red over to Air Raid and Ratchet.
“Air Raid! Are you ok? I know you told me to run into you, but I didn’t mean to hit you that hard, it’s just we were flying so low and hey, Ratchet are the Protectobots going to be alright? They’re not going to die are they?”
“Shhhh, Flight!” Air Raid was motioning to his teammate frantically as Ratchet froze in place, his hands still in Air Raid’s wing, and his optics gleamed in a way that did not bode well for those in his immediate vicinity. Wheeljack backed away a little and, on impulse, nudged Streetwise a few times until his optics powered up dimly. He held a finger to his lip components and motioned towards the unfolding drama on the next berth. Streetwise, ever quick on the draw, merely shifted slightly until he could see, shading his optics under one arm so Ratchet wouldn’t be able to see them.
“Told him to run into you. Told him to run into you?” Ratchet’s voice did not rise in volume, but the oh-you-are-in-deep-slag-now quotient rose exponentially with each repetition of the phrase. Air Raid scrambled off the berth and he and Fireflight backed away towards the door.
“Of all of the glitch-headed, misfired things to do, you get yourself deliberately injured and come in here taking up my valuable time, disrupting my medbay, and risk waking up patients who I don’t need to tell you have been through Pit. Oh don’t you even think of running out of here,” Ratchet intoned as Fireflight slipped out the door, and Air Raid tried to follow, feeling blindly for the opening as he was unwilling to turn his back on Ratchet.
“You’ve poured your energon and now,” Ratchet lifted one hand, aimed, “you’re going to drink it,” Ratchet said in satisfaction, and threw. Thunk! Ratchet’s welder hit Air Raid dead on the middle of his helm, and Air Raid dropped like a lead weight.
“Well, it wasn’t a wrench, but I hope it’ll do. Happy now?” Wheeljack leaned close to whisper to Streetwise, while Ratchet’s back was turned as he stalked over to retrieve Air Raid.
“Thanks, Wheeljack,” Streetwise whispered back, grinning widely, optics shining with pure delight.
“Takes an Aerialbot to bring out Ratchet’s throwing arm, kiddo. You Protectobots just never got the knack, thank goodness.” Streetwise giggled softly and snuggled his face back down against Blades. Wheeljack tapped his helm lightly in silent warning to go back into recharge and went to help Ratchet lift the dazed Air Raid back on his berth. Not for all the credits on Cybertron, he thought. He wouldn’t trade a single one of them for all the credits on Cybertron, even Air Raid. He’d been completely out of his processor, and thank Primus for that.
oooooOOOOOooooo
Blades woke up to a faint tickling sensation near his audio. He brushed at it irritably, registered that it was a hand, a familiar one, and powered up his optics to see Streetwise smiling at him mischievously.
“Good morning, sparkle wings,” Streetwise said brightly. “You gonna recharge all the next vorn or what?”
“Sparkle wings?” Blades grumbled, stretching and then sitting up with difficulty, as he had to wriggle out from under Streetwise. “You got a processor loop or something? I don’t even have wings. And there’re no mornings on Cybertron.”
“Ah, but you admit you sparkle sometimes,” Streetwise returned, poking him playfully. Blades gave him his best oh-yeah-we’re-gonna-get-Ratchet-to-scan-your-processor look, and then shook his head, smiling despite himself.
“That’ll be our little secret, right loop head?” he said, and Streetwise laughed, optics dancing. He was certainly in a good mood, though Blades could feel the pain, quiescent for now, under it all. It was strange really, how they could still laugh, how anything could still be funny even after the awful thing that had happened. Blades didn’t understand, but he was glad for it nonetheless.
“How’s Aid?” he asked Streetwise, looking over at the form still curled up in recharge on the next berth. Hot Spot and Groove were awake, sitting on their berth (hadn’t they all been on separate berths? Blades vaguely remembered Streetwise climbing in with him…) drinking cubes of energon with good appetite, and Wheeljack came over with two cubes for him and Streetwise.
“First Aid’s doing much better,” Wheeljack told them, smiling. “He should be waking up soon, too, but we’ll let him recharge as long as he wants. Now, see how this goes down,” Wheeljack said, handing him a cube. Blades drank his cube, slowly, but it tasted good now, and felt good, sparkly even, he thought, glancing at Streetwise in amusement, as it filled his tank and filtered into his systems.
“What happened to Air Raid?” he asked Streetwise, indicating the prone Aerialbot on the next berth, and Streetwise started to tell him only of course Groove and Hot Spot wanted to hear too, so they all jumbled together on Hot Spot’s berth, snickering quietly at Streetwise’s spot on imitation of Air Raid’s petrified face and Ratchet yelling. He schooled his face to innocence as Ratchet looked up at them suspiciously from where he was putting a final coat of paint on the repaired area of Air Raid’s wing.
Streetwise was saying something else now, that he missed, but he heard Hot Spot’s reply.
“Silverbolt’s in the brig?” Hot Spot was asking Streetwise urgently, and Streetwise nodded somewhat uncertainly.
“I think so. I think it was something I heard in recharge, but I’m pretty sure Air Raid said that.” Streetwise remembered things that happened while he was recharging, sometimes repeating back conversations word for word, so Blades had no doubt it was true. You had to be careful what you said around Streetwise, awake or no; they’d all learned that a long time ago.
Hot Spot looked troubled at that, glancing from Wheeljack to Ratchet, and then to First Aid, and Blades knew he was weighing the odds of getting out of medbay any time soon and finding out what was up with Silverbolt versus not wanting to leave First Aid.
“You can go if you want to,” Groove said, nimbly pulling his feet up on the berth so Streetwise would have more room to swing his legs. “We’re ok. We’ll stay with him.” Hot Spot looked at them all warmly, but shook his head.
“No, at least if he’s in the brig he’s not going to get himself in any more trouble,” he said. “Huh. And he was worried about me trying to do something stupid.”
“He doesn’t have to answer to First Aid,” Blades said, and they all looked at their recharging medic dotingly.
“He probably will, actually, if First Aid gets wind of it,” Streetwise warned, and they shared a few sympathetic glances for Silverbolt’s likely fate. First Aid might not throw wrenches, but he had no match when it came to making you squirm for not taking better care of yourself-sphere calling the circle round though that was-or doing something reckless and not-well-thought-out in an attempt to “protect” him. That earnest, compassionate, gently beseeching expression…none of them had ever found a defense against it.
Ratchet had finished up with Air Raid, and came over to check on First Aid again, wiping the last paint smears from his hands.
“We should make sure his firewalls are back to full strength before he wakes up,” he told Wheeljack. “He had a pretty intense reaction earlier; it may take awhile before he’s ready for any type of hardline uplink.” Ratchet uncoiled an uplink cable and Blades felt his spark pounding suddenly. He was aware of the others looking at him in concern, saying something, but there was a high ringing sound in his audios and he found himself standing, moving in front of First Aid defensively, weapons powering up.
Hot Spot moved in front of Blades quickly, shielding Ratchet, who quickly put away the cable and backed away from First Aid a few steps, hands open to show they were empty now.
“Blades. Blades!” Hot Spot was talking to him, gripping his shoulders firmly. “It’s Ratchet. Ratchet won’t hurt him. He’s not going to hurt Aid. Blades, power down your weapons. Now.” Hot Spot said the last with a bit of a commanding growl to his voice, and Blades obeyed immediately. He was shaking. Hot Spot was shaking too, but deep, inside, where no one could see it, partly from stopping Blades but partly because his first impulse had been to stand next to Blades to keep Ratchet away. Blades was suddenly, abruptly reminded that none of them were alright, not really.
“I’m sorry,” Blades said, when he could find his vocalizer again. “Ratchet, I’m sorry. I know you’re not going to hurt him, I know that, but I can’t…” his voice cracked and he stopped, clenching his fists and trying not to melt down completely. He knew Ratchet, yell though he might, would remove his own spark with a low-powered welder before he would hurt First Aid, but he couldn’t let him…he just couldn’t. It made no rational sense. Ratchet had uplinked to all of them before, for maintenance checks. He had no reason not to trust Ratchet.
“It’s alright, Blades,” Ratchet was saying calmly. “It’s alright. I’m sorry, I should have realized. We don’t have to do this now.”
“You need to check though,” Blades said unhappily, “to make sure First Aid’s ok?” He might be hurting Aid, not letting Ratchet do this, but he didn’t know if he could even move out of the way.
Ratchet nodded, watching him carefully. “Would you feel better if Wheeljack did it?” he asked. Blades wanted to say yes, (for Primus’ sake, Wheeljack had designed them, constructed most of them, he knew their every circuit and wire) but he just…Blades let his head drop against Hot Spot’s chest and Hot Spot drew him closer in a hug.
“I think you’re going to have to hit me with your wrench,” he said miserably, from under Hot Spot’s arm, and Ratchet’s lips twitched briefly.
“I don’t think it will have to come to that,” Ratchet said, voice calm and soothing. “We’ll come up with something else, Blades, don’t worry.”
From behind him Blades heard First Aid mumble something that sounded like his name and Blades turned out of Hot Spot’s embrace to gather First Aid up to him closely with a little sob. First Aid snuggled up to him without protest, cycling air more deeply as his systems came out of recharge. He felt warm, but it was normal-warm, and his engine hummed smoothly, not hitching and skipping like before.
“Blades…” First Aid cycled another deep breath, ran gentle fingers over his face, then curled them around his neck. “What?” he murmured, pushing at him through the gestalt bond. Blades sighed and showed him, and First Aid pushed off his chest a little to power up his optics until his visor glowed softly and gave him The Look, and Blades hung his head. “Oh Blades,” First Aid said gently, sorrowfully, “it’s Ratchet. Ratchet would never hurt me.”
“I know that. I know it, I do…but…” Blades moaned in frustration and First Aid held him close, murmuring soothingly. From over First Aid’s back, Blades could see Air Raid sitting and watching them curiously from his berth. Wonderful. Blades the basket case, he thought, only First Aid caught the thought and grabbed it and squashed it before it could settle in.
//You are not a basket case. Overreacting, perhaps, but you’re not crazy// Blades could hear First Aid’s thoughts darting, still a little fuzzy from recharge and being ill, but too fast to follow. //Let’s try this. You stay here with me, and let Ratchet uplink, and then you can be sure// Blades wasn’t certain (he had powered up his weapons at Ratchet, and he was still alive, he thought a little incredulously). First Aid was afraid but unwavering. He was sure he could do this. //I’m a medic, Blades. I have to be able to do this// so Blades wrapped their minds securely together while First Aid wrapped his arms securely around Blades and told Ratchet to go ahead.
“You’re sure about this?” Ratchet asked, and First Aid nodded, patient, but beginning to be a little tired of it. Yes, yes, he was sure already! Ratchet looked wary, but handed his uplink cable to First Aid, and First Aid carefully not-thinking-about-it plugged it in to one of the undamaged ports on his other side. Blades felt Ratchet pushing lightly at First Aid’s firewalls, testing for gaps, making sure they were leaky where they were supposed to be and solid everywhere else.
Blades’ spark was pounding again, but First Aid kept thinking at him //we’re fine, we’re fine, he’s not going to go anywhere he’s not supposed to, and it’s a good thing you’re here because I can’t worry about what Ratchet’s doing when I’m so busy keeping you calm, see he’s almost done and we’re fine//
Ratchet disconnected and gave First Aid a pat on the shoulder. “Firewalls are back up to full strength. Everything looks good. Good job, Aid.”
“There, see that wasn’t so bad,” First Aid said, and Blades gave a shaky laugh. Actually, yes, it had, it had been that bad, but they had done it. He could feel First Aid’s joy and relief at their success, as well as the way his tank was trying to turn itself inside out. Blades squeezed First Aid’s hand a little so his attention went there instead, or else they would both be purging.
“Spot, I think you dented me,” Streetwise complained, flexing the arm Hot Spot had been gripping.
“Oops, sorry Street,” Hot Spot apologized, meeting First Aid’s knowing gaze a little sheepishly. “Ratchet, does this mean we’re all good to leave?”
Hot Spot was itching to go check on Silverbolt and talk some sense into him if possible, reassure Grapple they hadn’t forgotten his bridge, find out what was going to happen to the Decepticon in the brig (//Breakdown// First Aid told Blades, their minds still snugged together. //His name is Breakdown//). He needed to talk to Optimus, as well, about what had happened. It wouldn’t be any easier than talking to Ratchet and Wheeljack had been, but Hot Spot felt like he was ready now, and there were things Optimus needed to know. (Motormaster. That link with First Aid had gone both ways. They had seen things, unimaginable and terrible things that had been done to Motormaster when he was new that had helped make him the way he was. First Aid could not hate him properly, not even a little bit, but even he agreed that Motormaster was beyond all fixing. He had to be kept from hurting anyone else, but there were no easy answers there, not with four other gestalt members who would likely deactivate if their commander died, no matter how much they despised him. They were the enemy, and they weren’t nice mechs, exactly, but they had done their best to help First Aid.)
//You can’t fix everything all at once, Hot Spot. One thing at a time// Groove cautioned, nudging the back of Hot Spot’s leg with one foot. They all knew it was futile; Hot Spot didn’t do one thing at a time, but they didn’t mind. None of them would wish him otherwise.
Ratchet didn’t answer Hot Spot right away, looking at them all contemplatively. Blades knew medically he didn’t have a reason to keep them there, except for First Aid, but trying to get First Aid to take it easy in the medbay…it just didn’t work. They’d been down that road before. Probably worried that he’d freak out again, too. //Stop that// First Aid chided him. //You are not going to freak out//
“I’ll stay with them for awhile, Ratch,” Wheeljack offered. “I have a few projects I need their input on anyway.”
Ratchet narrowed his optics. “Remote monitors. For all of you. Light duty only, I’ve already spoken to Prowl. And you are all back here in two cycles so I can check you over, followed by an appointment with Smokescreen. And as for you…” Ratchet moved to stand in front of First Aid, “I don’t care if you are suffering from severe emotional trauma, if you are in pain YOU TELL ME. And while you are a patient in my medbay, YOU ARE A PATIENT. You do not alter my treatments, disconnect or otherwise tamper with monitoring equipment, or turn off alarms. Ever. IS THAT CLEAR?” Ratchet thundered.
Wheeljack was watching Blades with a concerned expression, but he needn’t have worried; Blades was totally in agreement with Ratchet. First Aid had tried to hide that he was hurting from them, too. Besides, Ratchet wouldn’t yell at First Aid like that unless First Aid was definitely ok.
“Yes, Ratchet,” First Aid nodded meekly. “I’m sorry. Thank you for taking care of me.”
“Hmph.” Ratchet stared hard at First Aid a little longer, his optics suspiciously bright. “Berth rest. You are out of commission until I say otherwise. Half a cube of low grade every joor; if it doesn’t stay down give me a call and I’ll put you on a drip. Keep an optic on your core temperature. Anything so much as twinges and you call me.” They all nodded dutifully, and Ratchet, apparently satisfied, started attaching the remote monitors. They filed past Air Raid on their way out and Ratchet tapped him sharply on the helm.
“You too. Out.” Air Raid didn’t have to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet and caught up to Blades, relieved to have escaped a lecture. Skydive, Slingshot, and Fireflight were waiting just outside the door. They greeted their wingmate joyfully, and then Fireflight had to give First Aid a Very Shiny Rock from his collection. (//Silicon dioxide// Groove supplied to the rest of them, smiling at Fireflight gently.) It was translucent pink, with murky shapes inside that Fireflight said were supposed to look like First Aid’s medical insignia. Blades was impressed; Fireflight didn’t share his rocks with just anyone. First Aid and Groove and Wheeljack admired it extensively while Fireflight beamed.
Air Raid was talking to Slingshot and Skydive, and Blades tuned up his audios when he heard his name mentioned.
“…weapons at Ratchet! It was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen you guys. And Ratchet didn’t do anything!”
“Whoa, no way.” The look Skydive was giving Blades was almost…awestruck…and Blades straightened and tried to look nonchalant. No big deal. Sure, the Aerialbots might be afraid of Ratchet (they were a bunch of big wimps, seriously) but not him. Streetwise snickered a little, and Blades deflated. Ok, so he still couldn’t believe what he had done. That didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy his moment of glory though, he decided, giving Slingshot a deliberately disinterested glance. Yeah, that’s right flyboy. Match that.
“Grimlock’s here,” Slingshot was saying to Air Raid, and everyone turned to look at him.
“Grimlock,” Hot Spot murmured, exchanging troubled glances with the rest of the team. They’d met Grimlock before, sort of, nearly a half vorn ago when he and the rest of his team had declared their intention to leave the Autobots and fight the Decepticons on their own.
//What’s he doing back here?// Blades wondered, frowning. //He wasn’t very nice to Optimus//
//Swoop was nice though// Groove countered. //He took me for a ride, remember?//
//I’ll find out what’s going on// Hot Spot told them, adding it to his list, though they could already hear Streetwise’s processor humming with the information, making connections and leaping to answers faster than they could follow.
//It’s something to do with what happened// he sent. //I’m pretty sure//
Wheeljack looked over at First Aid as his visor flickered.
“You are not to worry about it,” Wheeljack said sternly, guessing First Aid’s thoughts even without the gestalt bond. “Or anything else, not for awhile. Your job is to rest and get better.” First Aid sighed.
Hot Spot was also looking down at First Aid, frowning a little. Enough of this dilly dallying, he was thinking, noticing the way First Aid was surreptitiously leaning against the wall behind him. Blades went and scooped him up, careful not to knock Fireflight’s shiny rock out of his hand. Oof. First Aid wasn’t especially big, but he was dense. //Neutron star// he teased.
“Hey, I can walk,” First Aid protested, as they started down the corridor to their quarters.
“Sure you can,” Blades agreed, not putting him down, “and I can carry you.”
A/N My headspace Grimlock is loosely based on “War Within” Grimlock (not the most articulate guy, but certainly no dummy) - [War Within spoilers ahead, ahoy!] if I’m remembering correctly he was skeptical of Optimus as a leader and he and the “Dynobots” struck out on their own for awhile. Motormaster tries to assassinate Ultra Magnus and nearly kills Grimlock, and then there was also something about the Stunticons being deemed too dangerous and unpredictable and being placed into stasis for awhile before being freed by Rumble and Frenzy. Menasor runs around wreaking havoc and tangles with and damages Defensor before being defeated by Ultra Magnus. Just an idea of how events might eventually unfold, since I left a couple of hints but I’m not planning to write a direct continuation….
Title: Taken 4/4 (Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3)
Characters: Protectobots, Air Raid, Wheeljack, Ratchet
Rating: M for mature themes
Word Count: 6300
Summary: Ratchet and Wheeljack worry; Air Raid is crazy, but in a good way.
Warnings: angst, possible triggery material - strongly implied, non-graphic sexual abuse of a minor
Wheeljack finished his song, watching Streetwise’s face as he cycled deeper into recharge. He would smile a little, then frown, the optic ridges rising slightly as if he wanted to ask a question, then the noseplates wrinkled slightly with a mischievous air, his face a constantly changing palette of expressions, even in recharge. Wheeljack remembered how he had been, newly constructed sparkling, all wide optics and eager curiosity and a constant barrage of questions, and you never knew what innocent, perfectly serious, and utterly hysterical or completely brilliant observation was going to come out of his vocalizer next. All he’d been through in his two short vorns hadn’t managed to quash that bright spirit, wiggly and restless, with a spark as big as all Cybertron.
Ratchet came back from checking the other three again, meeting Wheeljack’s optics. “I don’t know. Hot Spot says it’s not feedback from First Aid. Reaction to the antiviral maybe? Or it could be entirely from the stress and trauma. Primus only knows what they’ve been going through.” Ratchet eyed the peacefully recharging Streetwise and Blades, frowning deeply. “We’ll see how they’re doing after a good long recharge.”
“How long are you going to keep everyone locked out?” Wheeljack asked. There had been several pings to the medbay door over the last joor, none urgent, and a slew of comm. messages, but Ratchet had ignored them all.
“They can slagging well wait until I’m sure they’re going to be all right.” Ratchet rubbed at his faceplates wearily. They’d notified Prime, once it became clear that First Aid’s illness could have only been contracted one way, and according to Hot Spot the Aerialbots knew the truth. Wheeljack doubted many of the other Autobots at the base had deduced what had happened-it was too inconceivable-but he knew many of them were worried about the Protectobots. Ironhide. Oh Primus. He didn’t want to lie to the weapon’s specialist; he wasn’t sure he even could, but he was afraid of what Ironhide might do. The big lug would never stop to think that getting himself deactivated trying to take on Motormaster wouldn’t do First Aid a bit of good at all.
“Were they always this hard to get into recharge?” Ratchet sighed.
Wheeljack snorted. “Worse. The Aerialbots were just as bad; you’ve just forgotten.” He was quiet awhile, looking down at Streetwise and Blades again. Streetwise hadn’t asked any questions about what had happened to First Aid. None of them had. Wheeljack hadn’t pressured them for more than Hot Spot had already shared (and what that had cost him, to explain everything in that low, even voice, Wheeljack didn’t even want to imagine), but he wondered if he should, if it would be better to get them to talk more about it.
“Hot Spot thinks they are doing just fine,” Ratchet said, thoughts moving along the same lines. “He agreed to talk to Smokescreen, but he says they really just want to get back to work. I don’t know. I just…” Ratchet shook his head helplessly.
“I know,” Wheeljack told him.
“I’m not letting them off base again for the next two hundred vorns,” Ratchet muttered, and Wheeljack nodded, knowing it was impossible. They were too valuable in the field, saved too many lives, and they would go into cascade failure from frustration if they couldn’t help, couldn’t be useful doing the jobs they had been built for. Wheeljack knew his creations.
Wheeljack was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of someone pounding against the door to the medbay. Ratchet cursed under his breath.
“Whoever that is had better be leaking energon or they are going to be in danger of immediate deactivation,” he said in a dangerous voice as he stomped over to the door. There was some heated discussion and…Air Raid? It sounded like Air Raid, yelping in pain, and then Ratchet was pulling the jet through the door, shutting it immediately behind him. Air Raid was indeed leaking, one wing bent at a strange angle as he stood wincing in Ratchet’s grip.
Wheeljack slid off the end of the berth and helped Ratchet get Air Raid up on to the berth Streetwise had vacated.
“What happened to you?” Wheeljack asked his incorrigible creation, wondering if he really wanted to know the answer.
“Flew into a relay tower,” Air Raid answered cheerfully, in his usual loud clear voice.
Ratchet activated the welder on his hand and held it close to Air Raid’s face. “If you wake them up, I will weld your mouthplates closed and rivet your wings to your aft. Sit. Here. Quietly. I’ll be right back.” Air Raid nodded, optics wide.
“Ratchet…” he said, and Ratchet turned back, glaring. “How…how are they doing?” Air Raid asked, voice soft, carefully quiet.
Ratchet’s expression softened a little (a very little). “First Aid is over the worst of the virus, and his systems are clear. He’ll be out of commission for awhile yet, but he should make a full recovery. The others I’m keeping here mainly as a precaution. They should be fine as long as they get a good long recharge with no disturbances.” Ratchet waved his welder hand a little on the last statement, eyeing Air Raid meaningfully.
“We were worried, when First Aid fell over like that,” Air Raid told Wheeljack, once Ratchet was gone, shifting uncomfortably as his injured wing brushed against the berth. “We were afraid it was something we did.”
“Ah yes, I heard about your little impromptu wrestling match,” Wheeljack said. “Who won?”
“Defensor, but…I think Superion let him win,” Air Raid said with a cheeky grin, “but then, when we separated, First Aid kind of fell over in a heap and we thought maybe we’d damaged him accidentally or something.” Air Raid shook his head at remembered concern. “Hot Spot said no, and First Aid said no, too, but that didn’t stop Silverbolt from going on like it was all his fault.” Air Raid rolled his optics.
“Mmm,” Wheeljack said, noncommittally, as he started unwinding a bit of cable that had somehow gotten wrapped around Air Raid’s shoulder.
“Then he had to go and get himself thrown in the brig,” Air Raid continued mournfully.
“Silverbolt?” Wheeljack said loudly, startled, then glanced over at Streetwise and Blades, and lowered his voice. “How the Pit did Silverbolt end up in the brig? I thought that was your job.”
“I know! I wouldn’t have gotten caught at least. Silverbolt’s not so good at sneaking around. He’s good at catching us, but he doesn’t have nearly enough practice sneaking.”
Wheeljack waved his hand in a small circle at Air Raid. Annnd?
“Oh! Right. So Silverbolt decided he was going to sneak off base and find that fragger, y’know, the one who…anyway. Silverbolt was going to find him and make sure he could never hurt any of them again, only Prowl caught him before he could even get airborne, and of course Silverbolt can’t lie worth a damn, so he went and told Prowl what he was planning and then…” Air Raid waved his hand to illustrate Prowl’s reaction. “Blah blah blah, lock you up until you’re thinking more clearly, and all that. And then Skydive said Ratchet was keeping all of the Protectobots in the medbay and Silverbolt was freaking out, big time, only Ratchet wasn’t letting anyone in…”
“Don’t tell me,” Wheeljack interrupted, one hand going to his optics, “please don’t tell me you ran in to a power relay on purpose to get in here?” It shouldn’t surprise him. Really it shouldn’t surprise him at all. Of course he had.
Air Raid’s guilty expression confirmed it. “Fireflight was asking if they were going to die and he was gonna start crying, Wheeljack, if we didn’t find out and so, well…” Air Raid started to shrug and then stopped with a muffled yelp. “It worked didn’t it?”
“You’re lucky you didn’t electrocute yourself,” Wheeljack chided. “Whatever you do, if you value your aft do not let Ratchet know it wasn’t an accident or he’ll make the brig with Silverbolt look like a luxury vacation to Praxus.”
Air Raid ran a finger over his lips as if welding them shut and smirked at Wheeljack as Ratchet returned and began working on his injured wing. Wheeljack shook his head and went to make sure the Protectobots were all still recharging peacefully. It was almost sweet, Air Raid busting his wing to get in the medbay, if it wasn’t also ten kinds of stupid.
Wheeljack paused when he got to Groove. The scout was curled up in a tight little ball on the berth, but his optics were unshuttered and glowing dimly, staring at nothing. Unlike Streetwise, his face was still. Groove had a gift for stillness, for just being in a place and simply…being there, counterpoint to the fidgety Streetwise. This particular stillness, however, the distant staring-that wasn’t normal Groove. Wheeljack bent and put a hand on his helm.
“Groove?” Groove didn’t respond, didn’t even blink, and Wheeljack felt a stronger twist of worry. His vitals were all stable, Wheeljack noted, checking quickly. “Groove? Hey, Groove, where are you buddy?” he said, continuing to stoke his helm gently. To his relief, Groove finally stirred and blinked, optics focusing slowly on Wheeljack. Wheeljack smiled at him. “You had me worried there for a moment. Are you alright?”
Groove blinked at him silently, and Wheeljack felt his worry come back. “Groove?” he said again, taking one of Groove’s hands and rubbing it a little. His hand finally moved, turning to hold Wheeljack’s in a gentle grip.
“Wheeljack?” Groove finally responded, voice soft and rasping. “I’m sorry, ‘Jack. I was somewhere else.”
“I’ll say,” Wheeljack answered, chuckling a little, although his worry didn’t really abate. Interrupted recharge cycles. Processor lock ups. Could be just a reaction to the antivirals, or stress, as Ratchet had said. Or the first sign of cascading processor failure. Who knew what this was doing to their immature systems? There was just no precedent; there were reasons why things like this just didn’t happen to younglings.
“Where were you?” he asked, and Groove shrugged one shoulder.
“Thinking.”
“Hm, thinking were you.” Wheeljack said. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really,” Groove sighed. “It wasn’t all bad things, don’t worry, Wheeljack,” he added, correctly reading Wheeljack’s worried frown.
“Ah, well, ok then,” Wheeljack said, not certain he entirely believed Groove, but, as with Streetwise he was reluctant to press for more than Groove was willing to give him right now.
“I used to think there was a limit to how bad the bad things could get, but there’s really not, is there?”
Wheeljack felt his spark ache. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I’m so sorry,” was all he could say. Groove’s sad, quiet smile as he looked up at Wheeljack was much older and understanding than it had any right to be. There was a muffled yelp from the other side of the medbay, and Groove craned his neck around to see.
“Is that Air Raid?” he asked. Wheeljack took a deep steadying intake before he spoke.
“Yeah, but if you value his life, just lie still and go back to recharge. Ratchet’s threatened him with dismemberment if he wakes any of you up.”
“Is he ok though? What’s he doing in medbay?”
“Ran himself into a power relay to get in here and see you guys. Don’t worry, just some wing damage, all fixable.”
“Air Raid,” Groove sighed and shook his head a little. “He’s crazy.”
“Yeah, I’d have to agree with you there,” Wheeljack chuckled weakly. “It’s a good kind of crazy though.” He tapped Groove on the noseplates, which Groove rewarded with another faint smile. “Now do you think you can get back into recharge? You need it, kiddo. Your energy levels are still pretty low, and I know Ratchet doesn’t want to give you a sedative unless he has to.”
“I don’t know, Wheeljack. I’ll try.” Groove exhaled wearily.
“Here,” Wheeljack said, motioning Groove to sit up so he could detach the energon drip. “Ratchet let Streetwise get away with it, so I suppose it’s only fair…”
“I love you, Wheeljack,” Groove said, leaning forward to press his helm against Wheeljack’s chest and then wrap his arms around Wheeljack in a tight hug.
“Love ya too, kid,” Wheeljack murmured, surprised, hugging him back just as tightly. All of the Protectobots were affectionate, with each other and with him, but Groove had never been as prone to the giving of exuberant hugs as the others.
“We forget that you can’t feel us thinking it, so I wanted to make sure to tell you,” Groove said, looking up at him seriously.
“That’s very thoughtful,” Wheeljack smiled. “I must say, it is nice to hear once in awhile. Need a hand?”
“Nope, I can do it,” Groove said as he hopped down and went over to check on First Aid, who was recharging deeply in his usual position, hands tucked up tightly beneath his chin. Groove rested a hand on First Aid’s chestplates a few moments before going over to Hot Spot’s berth and clambering easily up beside him.
Groove waved at Air Raid before lying down to cuddle up next to Hot Spot, and Ratchet eyed them from where he was working on Air Raid’s wing, his expression promising dire things for the jet as soon as Groove was in recharge again. Wheeljack made a few hand motions, trying to indicate that it wasn’t Air Raid’s fault, Groove had already been awake, and Ratchet rolled his optics ceiling-ward a moment in understanding. They’d been working together far too long, Wheeljack decided, for Ratchet to get what he meant from those few random hand motions.
Groove was already cycling into recharge, Wheeljack noted. He squirmed a little deeper into Hot Spot’s side, systems humming softly as they powered down.
“What’s that?” Wheeljack leaned closer as Groove said something softly that he didn’t quite hear. Groove lifted one of his hands to loosely grasp one of Wheeljack’s.
“Don't be sad...'Jack....No limit to the good things…either,” he murmured, hand relaxing as he drifted into full recharge.
Wheeljack stayed another breem, just to make sure Groove wasn’t going to wake back up, just to give his spark a moment to break a few more times. Groove seemed…fine, now, curled up peacefully with Hot Spot. He moved to the next berth to check First Aid’s readings again. Improving. Good.
“Supposed to squawk when you’re hurt, kiddo,” he murmured softly, sorrowfully, pausing to rest a hand on First Aid’s helm for a moment. “Haven’t we gone over this before?”
What in Primus’ name had he been thinking. His brilliant plan to build two gestalt teams, and somehow he’d ended up the de facto creator-figure to ten (ten!) new beings. There’d been many cycles when he’d been convinced he was completely and utterly out of his processor, but never before had he felt so…lost. His best inventions, all ten of them, and it was never easy, watching them get hurt, knowing (expecting really, it was inevitable, unrealistic to hope they could somehow all come through unscathed forever, and it was dangerous, dangerous to get so attached but he could not do otherwise) they could be killed, but this…he had never thought to prepare for, to prepare them for, not for another couple hundred vorns. Yet another subject that wasn't covered by "Dr. Sprocket's Guide to Sparkling Care." The old joke suddenly wasn't so funny anymore. Wheeljack pressed his mouthplates tightly together behind his facemask, feeling his optics burn from optic fluid he would not shed. His processor kept trying to find scenarios where he could have prevented it, somehow, some way. He felt like he’d failed them.
He shook himself, drawing air through his intakes in another steadying draught. Don’t dwell on mistakes of the past. Learn from them, move forward. Easier, so much easier, when the mistakes only involved wires and chemicals and maybe an explosion or two. He gave First Aid a last gentle pat, and went to see if Ratchet needed any help with Air Raid.
“Hold this a moment,” Ratchet said when he got there, indicating a few torn wires in one of the gashes on Air Raid’s wing. Wheeljack held them in place while Ratchet went to find the right size wire to splice them. Air Raid didn’t flinch, so Ratchet must have finally numbed the area. There was quiet tapping at the medbay door, and Air Raid looked up at Wheeljack pleadingly.
“Could you let Fireflight know about the Protectobots and that I’m ok? He didn’t mean to knock me into that relay quite so hard.” Air Raid looked at him with a pleading expression and Wheeljack groaned inwardly. Air Raid didn’t quite have Fireflight’s spark-melting optics, but they were still very hard to refuse. Wheeljack waited until Ratchet got back and took over with Air Raid’s wing. When he went to the door, meaning to crack it open slightly, Fireflight pushed his way through unexpectedly, shoving Wheeljack into the wall.
“Oh, sorry Wheeljack!” Fireflight said as he went by in a blurred streak of red over to Air Raid and Ratchet.
“Air Raid! Are you ok? I know you told me to run into you, but I didn’t mean to hit you that hard, it’s just we were flying so low and hey, Ratchet are the Protectobots going to be alright? They’re not going to die are they?”
“Shhhh, Flight!” Air Raid was motioning to his teammate frantically as Ratchet froze in place, his hands still in Air Raid’s wing, and his optics gleamed in a way that did not bode well for those in his immediate vicinity. Wheeljack backed away a little and, on impulse, nudged Streetwise a few times until his optics powered up dimly. He held a finger to his lip components and motioned towards the unfolding drama on the next berth. Streetwise, ever quick on the draw, merely shifted slightly until he could see, shading his optics under one arm so Ratchet wouldn’t be able to see them.
“Told him to run into you. Told him to run into you?” Ratchet’s voice did not rise in volume, but the oh-you-are-in-deep-slag-now quotient rose exponentially with each repetition of the phrase. Air Raid scrambled off the berth and he and Fireflight backed away towards the door.
“Of all of the glitch-headed, misfired things to do, you get yourself deliberately injured and come in here taking up my valuable time, disrupting my medbay, and risk waking up patients who I don’t need to tell you have been through Pit. Oh don’t you even think of running out of here,” Ratchet intoned as Fireflight slipped out the door, and Air Raid tried to follow, feeling blindly for the opening as he was unwilling to turn his back on Ratchet.
“You’ve poured your energon and now,” Ratchet lifted one hand, aimed, “you’re going to drink it,” Ratchet said in satisfaction, and threw. Thunk! Ratchet’s welder hit Air Raid dead on the middle of his helm, and Air Raid dropped like a lead weight.
“Well, it wasn’t a wrench, but I hope it’ll do. Happy now?” Wheeljack leaned close to whisper to Streetwise, while Ratchet’s back was turned as he stalked over to retrieve Air Raid.
“Thanks, Wheeljack,” Streetwise whispered back, grinning widely, optics shining with pure delight.
“Takes an Aerialbot to bring out Ratchet’s throwing arm, kiddo. You Protectobots just never got the knack, thank goodness.” Streetwise giggled softly and snuggled his face back down against Blades. Wheeljack tapped his helm lightly in silent warning to go back into recharge and went to help Ratchet lift the dazed Air Raid back on his berth. Not for all the credits on Cybertron, he thought. He wouldn’t trade a single one of them for all the credits on Cybertron, even Air Raid. He’d been completely out of his processor, and thank Primus for that.
oooooOOOOOooooo
Blades woke up to a faint tickling sensation near his audio. He brushed at it irritably, registered that it was a hand, a familiar one, and powered up his optics to see Streetwise smiling at him mischievously.
“Good morning, sparkle wings,” Streetwise said brightly. “You gonna recharge all the next vorn or what?”
“Sparkle wings?” Blades grumbled, stretching and then sitting up with difficulty, as he had to wriggle out from under Streetwise. “You got a processor loop or something? I don’t even have wings. And there’re no mornings on Cybertron.”
“Ah, but you admit you sparkle sometimes,” Streetwise returned, poking him playfully. Blades gave him his best oh-yeah-we’re-gonna-get-Ratchet-to-scan-your-processor look, and then shook his head, smiling despite himself.
“That’ll be our little secret, right loop head?” he said, and Streetwise laughed, optics dancing. He was certainly in a good mood, though Blades could feel the pain, quiescent for now, under it all. It was strange really, how they could still laugh, how anything could still be funny even after the awful thing that had happened. Blades didn’t understand, but he was glad for it nonetheless.
“How’s Aid?” he asked Streetwise, looking over at the form still curled up in recharge on the next berth. Hot Spot and Groove were awake, sitting on their berth (hadn’t they all been on separate berths? Blades vaguely remembered Streetwise climbing in with him…) drinking cubes of energon with good appetite, and Wheeljack came over with two cubes for him and Streetwise.
“First Aid’s doing much better,” Wheeljack told them, smiling. “He should be waking up soon, too, but we’ll let him recharge as long as he wants. Now, see how this goes down,” Wheeljack said, handing him a cube. Blades drank his cube, slowly, but it tasted good now, and felt good, sparkly even, he thought, glancing at Streetwise in amusement, as it filled his tank and filtered into his systems.
“What happened to Air Raid?” he asked Streetwise, indicating the prone Aerialbot on the next berth, and Streetwise started to tell him only of course Groove and Hot Spot wanted to hear too, so they all jumbled together on Hot Spot’s berth, snickering quietly at Streetwise’s spot on imitation of Air Raid’s petrified face and Ratchet yelling. He schooled his face to innocence as Ratchet looked up at them suspiciously from where he was putting a final coat of paint on the repaired area of Air Raid’s wing.
Streetwise was saying something else now, that he missed, but he heard Hot Spot’s reply.
“Silverbolt’s in the brig?” Hot Spot was asking Streetwise urgently, and Streetwise nodded somewhat uncertainly.
“I think so. I think it was something I heard in recharge, but I’m pretty sure Air Raid said that.” Streetwise remembered things that happened while he was recharging, sometimes repeating back conversations word for word, so Blades had no doubt it was true. You had to be careful what you said around Streetwise, awake or no; they’d all learned that a long time ago.
Hot Spot looked troubled at that, glancing from Wheeljack to Ratchet, and then to First Aid, and Blades knew he was weighing the odds of getting out of medbay any time soon and finding out what was up with Silverbolt versus not wanting to leave First Aid.
“You can go if you want to,” Groove said, nimbly pulling his feet up on the berth so Streetwise would have more room to swing his legs. “We’re ok. We’ll stay with him.” Hot Spot looked at them all warmly, but shook his head.
“No, at least if he’s in the brig he’s not going to get himself in any more trouble,” he said. “Huh. And he was worried about me trying to do something stupid.”
“He doesn’t have to answer to First Aid,” Blades said, and they all looked at their recharging medic dotingly.
“He probably will, actually, if First Aid gets wind of it,” Streetwise warned, and they shared a few sympathetic glances for Silverbolt’s likely fate. First Aid might not throw wrenches, but he had no match when it came to making you squirm for not taking better care of yourself-sphere calling the circle round though that was-or doing something reckless and not-well-thought-out in an attempt to “protect” him. That earnest, compassionate, gently beseeching expression…none of them had ever found a defense against it.
Ratchet had finished up with Air Raid, and came over to check on First Aid again, wiping the last paint smears from his hands.
“We should make sure his firewalls are back to full strength before he wakes up,” he told Wheeljack. “He had a pretty intense reaction earlier; it may take awhile before he’s ready for any type of hardline uplink.” Ratchet uncoiled an uplink cable and Blades felt his spark pounding suddenly. He was aware of the others looking at him in concern, saying something, but there was a high ringing sound in his audios and he found himself standing, moving in front of First Aid defensively, weapons powering up.
Hot Spot moved in front of Blades quickly, shielding Ratchet, who quickly put away the cable and backed away from First Aid a few steps, hands open to show they were empty now.
“Blades. Blades!” Hot Spot was talking to him, gripping his shoulders firmly. “It’s Ratchet. Ratchet won’t hurt him. He’s not going to hurt Aid. Blades, power down your weapons. Now.” Hot Spot said the last with a bit of a commanding growl to his voice, and Blades obeyed immediately. He was shaking. Hot Spot was shaking too, but deep, inside, where no one could see it, partly from stopping Blades but partly because his first impulse had been to stand next to Blades to keep Ratchet away. Blades was suddenly, abruptly reminded that none of them were alright, not really.
“I’m sorry,” Blades said, when he could find his vocalizer again. “Ratchet, I’m sorry. I know you’re not going to hurt him, I know that, but I can’t…” his voice cracked and he stopped, clenching his fists and trying not to melt down completely. He knew Ratchet, yell though he might, would remove his own spark with a low-powered welder before he would hurt First Aid, but he couldn’t let him…he just couldn’t. It made no rational sense. Ratchet had uplinked to all of them before, for maintenance checks. He had no reason not to trust Ratchet.
“It’s alright, Blades,” Ratchet was saying calmly. “It’s alright. I’m sorry, I should have realized. We don’t have to do this now.”
“You need to check though,” Blades said unhappily, “to make sure First Aid’s ok?” He might be hurting Aid, not letting Ratchet do this, but he didn’t know if he could even move out of the way.
Ratchet nodded, watching him carefully. “Would you feel better if Wheeljack did it?” he asked. Blades wanted to say yes, (for Primus’ sake, Wheeljack had designed them, constructed most of them, he knew their every circuit and wire) but he just…Blades let his head drop against Hot Spot’s chest and Hot Spot drew him closer in a hug.
“I think you’re going to have to hit me with your wrench,” he said miserably, from under Hot Spot’s arm, and Ratchet’s lips twitched briefly.
“I don’t think it will have to come to that,” Ratchet said, voice calm and soothing. “We’ll come up with something else, Blades, don’t worry.”
From behind him Blades heard First Aid mumble something that sounded like his name and Blades turned out of Hot Spot’s embrace to gather First Aid up to him closely with a little sob. First Aid snuggled up to him without protest, cycling air more deeply as his systems came out of recharge. He felt warm, but it was normal-warm, and his engine hummed smoothly, not hitching and skipping like before.
“Blades…” First Aid cycled another deep breath, ran gentle fingers over his face, then curled them around his neck. “What?” he murmured, pushing at him through the gestalt bond. Blades sighed and showed him, and First Aid pushed off his chest a little to power up his optics until his visor glowed softly and gave him The Look, and Blades hung his head. “Oh Blades,” First Aid said gently, sorrowfully, “it’s Ratchet. Ratchet would never hurt me.”
“I know that. I know it, I do…but…” Blades moaned in frustration and First Aid held him close, murmuring soothingly. From over First Aid’s back, Blades could see Air Raid sitting and watching them curiously from his berth. Wonderful. Blades the basket case, he thought, only First Aid caught the thought and grabbed it and squashed it before it could settle in.
//You are not a basket case. Overreacting, perhaps, but you’re not crazy// Blades could hear First Aid’s thoughts darting, still a little fuzzy from recharge and being ill, but too fast to follow. //Let’s try this. You stay here with me, and let Ratchet uplink, and then you can be sure// Blades wasn’t certain (he had powered up his weapons at Ratchet, and he was still alive, he thought a little incredulously). First Aid was afraid but unwavering. He was sure he could do this. //I’m a medic, Blades. I have to be able to do this// so Blades wrapped their minds securely together while First Aid wrapped his arms securely around Blades and told Ratchet to go ahead.
“You’re sure about this?” Ratchet asked, and First Aid nodded, patient, but beginning to be a little tired of it. Yes, yes, he was sure already! Ratchet looked wary, but handed his uplink cable to First Aid, and First Aid carefully not-thinking-about-it plugged it in to one of the undamaged ports on his other side. Blades felt Ratchet pushing lightly at First Aid’s firewalls, testing for gaps, making sure they were leaky where they were supposed to be and solid everywhere else.
Blades’ spark was pounding again, but First Aid kept thinking at him //we’re fine, we’re fine, he’s not going to go anywhere he’s not supposed to, and it’s a good thing you’re here because I can’t worry about what Ratchet’s doing when I’m so busy keeping you calm, see he’s almost done and we’re fine//
Ratchet disconnected and gave First Aid a pat on the shoulder. “Firewalls are back up to full strength. Everything looks good. Good job, Aid.”
“There, see that wasn’t so bad,” First Aid said, and Blades gave a shaky laugh. Actually, yes, it had, it had been that bad, but they had done it. He could feel First Aid’s joy and relief at their success, as well as the way his tank was trying to turn itself inside out. Blades squeezed First Aid’s hand a little so his attention went there instead, or else they would both be purging.
“Spot, I think you dented me,” Streetwise complained, flexing the arm Hot Spot had been gripping.
“Oops, sorry Street,” Hot Spot apologized, meeting First Aid’s knowing gaze a little sheepishly. “Ratchet, does this mean we’re all good to leave?”
Hot Spot was itching to go check on Silverbolt and talk some sense into him if possible, reassure Grapple they hadn’t forgotten his bridge, find out what was going to happen to the Decepticon in the brig (//Breakdown// First Aid told Blades, their minds still snugged together. //His name is Breakdown//). He needed to talk to Optimus, as well, about what had happened. It wouldn’t be any easier than talking to Ratchet and Wheeljack had been, but Hot Spot felt like he was ready now, and there were things Optimus needed to know. (Motormaster. That link with First Aid had gone both ways. They had seen things, unimaginable and terrible things that had been done to Motormaster when he was new that had helped make him the way he was. First Aid could not hate him properly, not even a little bit, but even he agreed that Motormaster was beyond all fixing. He had to be kept from hurting anyone else, but there were no easy answers there, not with four other gestalt members who would likely deactivate if their commander died, no matter how much they despised him. They were the enemy, and they weren’t nice mechs, exactly, but they had done their best to help First Aid.)
//You can’t fix everything all at once, Hot Spot. One thing at a time// Groove cautioned, nudging the back of Hot Spot’s leg with one foot. They all knew it was futile; Hot Spot didn’t do one thing at a time, but they didn’t mind. None of them would wish him otherwise.
Ratchet didn’t answer Hot Spot right away, looking at them all contemplatively. Blades knew medically he didn’t have a reason to keep them there, except for First Aid, but trying to get First Aid to take it easy in the medbay…it just didn’t work. They’d been down that road before. Probably worried that he’d freak out again, too. //Stop that// First Aid chided him. //You are not going to freak out//
“I’ll stay with them for awhile, Ratch,” Wheeljack offered. “I have a few projects I need their input on anyway.”
Ratchet narrowed his optics. “Remote monitors. For all of you. Light duty only, I’ve already spoken to Prowl. And you are all back here in two cycles so I can check you over, followed by an appointment with Smokescreen. And as for you…” Ratchet moved to stand in front of First Aid, “I don’t care if you are suffering from severe emotional trauma, if you are in pain YOU TELL ME. And while you are a patient in my medbay, YOU ARE A PATIENT. You do not alter my treatments, disconnect or otherwise tamper with monitoring equipment, or turn off alarms. Ever. IS THAT CLEAR?” Ratchet thundered.
Wheeljack was watching Blades with a concerned expression, but he needn’t have worried; Blades was totally in agreement with Ratchet. First Aid had tried to hide that he was hurting from them, too. Besides, Ratchet wouldn’t yell at First Aid like that unless First Aid was definitely ok.
“Yes, Ratchet,” First Aid nodded meekly. “I’m sorry. Thank you for taking care of me.”
“Hmph.” Ratchet stared hard at First Aid a little longer, his optics suspiciously bright. “Berth rest. You are out of commission until I say otherwise. Half a cube of low grade every joor; if it doesn’t stay down give me a call and I’ll put you on a drip. Keep an optic on your core temperature. Anything so much as twinges and you call me.” They all nodded dutifully, and Ratchet, apparently satisfied, started attaching the remote monitors. They filed past Air Raid on their way out and Ratchet tapped him sharply on the helm.
“You too. Out.” Air Raid didn’t have to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet and caught up to Blades, relieved to have escaped a lecture. Skydive, Slingshot, and Fireflight were waiting just outside the door. They greeted their wingmate joyfully, and then Fireflight had to give First Aid a Very Shiny Rock from his collection. (//Silicon dioxide// Groove supplied to the rest of them, smiling at Fireflight gently.) It was translucent pink, with murky shapes inside that Fireflight said were supposed to look like First Aid’s medical insignia. Blades was impressed; Fireflight didn’t share his rocks with just anyone. First Aid and Groove and Wheeljack admired it extensively while Fireflight beamed.
Air Raid was talking to Slingshot and Skydive, and Blades tuned up his audios when he heard his name mentioned.
“…weapons at Ratchet! It was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen you guys. And Ratchet didn’t do anything!”
“Whoa, no way.” The look Skydive was giving Blades was almost…awestruck…and Blades straightened and tried to look nonchalant. No big deal. Sure, the Aerialbots might be afraid of Ratchet (they were a bunch of big wimps, seriously) but not him. Streetwise snickered a little, and Blades deflated. Ok, so he still couldn’t believe what he had done. That didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy his moment of glory though, he decided, giving Slingshot a deliberately disinterested glance. Yeah, that’s right flyboy. Match that.
“Grimlock’s here,” Slingshot was saying to Air Raid, and everyone turned to look at him.
“Grimlock,” Hot Spot murmured, exchanging troubled glances with the rest of the team. They’d met Grimlock before, sort of, nearly a half vorn ago when he and the rest of his team had declared their intention to leave the Autobots and fight the Decepticons on their own.
//What’s he doing back here?// Blades wondered, frowning. //He wasn’t very nice to Optimus//
//Swoop was nice though// Groove countered. //He took me for a ride, remember?//
//I’ll find out what’s going on// Hot Spot told them, adding it to his list, though they could already hear Streetwise’s processor humming with the information, making connections and leaping to answers faster than they could follow.
//It’s something to do with what happened// he sent. //I’m pretty sure//
Wheeljack looked over at First Aid as his visor flickered.
“You are not to worry about it,” Wheeljack said sternly, guessing First Aid’s thoughts even without the gestalt bond. “Or anything else, not for awhile. Your job is to rest and get better.” First Aid sighed.
Hot Spot was also looking down at First Aid, frowning a little. Enough of this dilly dallying, he was thinking, noticing the way First Aid was surreptitiously leaning against the wall behind him. Blades went and scooped him up, careful not to knock Fireflight’s shiny rock out of his hand. Oof. First Aid wasn’t especially big, but he was dense. //Neutron star// he teased.
“Hey, I can walk,” First Aid protested, as they started down the corridor to their quarters.
“Sure you can,” Blades agreed, not putting him down, “and I can carry you.”
A/N My headspace Grimlock is loosely based on “War Within” Grimlock (not the most articulate guy, but certainly no dummy) - [War Within spoilers ahead, ahoy!] if I’m remembering correctly he was skeptical of Optimus as a leader and he and the “Dynobots” struck out on their own for awhile. Motormaster tries to assassinate Ultra Magnus and nearly kills Grimlock, and then there was also something about the Stunticons being deemed too dangerous and unpredictable and being placed into stasis for awhile before being freed by Rumble and Frenzy. Menasor runs around wreaking havoc and tangles with and damages Defensor before being defeated by Ultra Magnus. Just an idea of how events might eventually unfold, since I left a couple of hints but I’m not planning to write a direct continuation….