Glances Into a Spark - Heal
Title: Glances Into a Spark - Heal
Fandom: Transformers
Characters/pairings: ensemble
Rating: PG
Summary: Oneshots about any and possibly all of the movie cast, and then some.
Warnings: language
Notes: Old writing, in it's mostly original format (very minor corrections may have been made)
Table of Contents
o o o
Theme #83: Heal
o o o
It's strange, really. For two full vorns, I'd been in the Council chambers, the meeting rooms, standing alone before the Decepticon high command; arguing, bartering, brokering for peace. I believe, very strongly, in the Autobot ideals, and from that, I draw my biggest strength - I believe strong, I speak strong, and I have enough force of personality to make others believe as well.
But as a Council Liaison, I am, at base programming, a pacifist and an idealist. Even after full-blown war was declared, I truly never believed that things would reach the level one hears about in the old history files, that I would have to look over my shoulder at every moment, waiting for an attack.
Reality was brought home to me in a rather painful way.
I hid behind the shattered remains of a wall, pressed against the seamed metal and listening to everything go to the Pit around me. A Decepticon strike force had targeted the Prime's transport, blowing the vehicle right off the raised roadway and separating it from the escort. And as the Prime's liaison to the High Council, I was in that transport.
I don't think the Decepticons had expected most of the passengers to come out shooting. Ironhide was the first into the fray, blasting the crumpled side of the transport open before the Decepticons could get close enough to open it themselves. The Prime followed his bodyguard closely, grim-faced and furious, looking little like his usual, peaceful self. The Prime's tactician grabbed my arm in the hand not formed into a cannon, shooting back over his shoulder as he dragged me out of the line of fire.
"Stay here," Prowl had ordered, shoving me behind a pile of twisted metal that had been damaged in the explosion that took us off the road. I knew next to nothing of battle tactics, but I am far from stupid, and I followed his orders without complaint, crouching down to present myself as a smaller target. Prowl didn't say anything more, jumping the wall and diving back into the battle.
I looked around, as Ironhide had instructed me once, noting landmarks incase it was up to me to call in for emergency help. We were in one of Iacon's marketplaces, and the wall I hid behind had belonged to a warehouse of some sort. Every civilian in the area, as far as I could see, had evacuated.
Already, I was calculating, testing and discarding speech fragments, determining how I was going to present this new development to the Council. Curiosity and a wish for as accurate a description as I could manage drove me into peeking around my shield at the fight, at the six or seven smaller Decepticons against the great forms of Ironhide and Optimus Prime, and the small, fast shape that was Prowl.
It was easy to see that Optimus was not the main target. These Decepticons didn't want the Prime dead, but weakened, his two main supports in the form of his tactician and his body guard taken out from beneath him. I was extraneous, a civilian, useless in this war, meaningless to the Decepticons. What did it matter that I could rouse a room of other civilians into a patriotic frenzy when laser fire scored the ground around me?
Even as I watched, a broken slab of metal shifted under Prowl's feet. The tactician stumbled, brief but enough. The shot caught him full in the side, lifting the small mech right off the ground and slamming him back. Optimus and Ironhide immediately changed tactics, from offensive to defensive, shifting to shield their fallen friend. They backed up, side by side, waited a moment, then Optimus turned and scooped up Prowl in both arms, running towards my hiding place while Ironhide covered them both.
Prowl was still conscious when Optimus set him down, his own hand buried deep in the gaping hole in his side. The Prime left again, joining Ironhide outside of the broken warehouse, and I shook off the uneasy idea of another Decepticon creeping through the empty structure, stalking us. Prowl's optics were flickering alarmingly, and I knelt at his side. "Go into stasis, idiot," I hissed at him. "Save your energy."
"No," he rasped, shaking his head. "Loss of hydraulics right now would be disastrous." I opened my mouth to ask him what the slag he was talking about, when I saw. The hand in his abdomen was closed around a doubled-over main energon line, and above his clenched fist, in the fold of the line, was a gaping tear. It didn't take a medic to know that such a rend would be fatal if not closed off. If he were to off-line now, his hand would relax, and his energon reserves would be empty within a breem.
I rose up to look outside again. Help was on the way, Prowl had been calling in the emergency as soon as the first explosion had hit, but the main highroad now had a gaping hole in it, and help was still breems away. Optimus and Ironhide were under heavy fire, and another gun would be useful. I looked down at Prowl. "If that was closed off," I asked, a glimmer of an idea forming in my mind. "Do you think you could shoot?"
"Hm. Possibly," he said, flexing his free hand. "Yes, I think so. Are you going to hold it shut?"
"Not quite," I muttered, dropping back down beside him. He would need his mobility, and having me cling to his waist would be a hindrance. I tapped into the Network, skipping past the usual Councilor databanks and into the huge databanks of Configurations.
I wasn't designed for this, for reconfiguring my body into anything but a single alternate mode. My hands lacked the additions many had, the high-strength hydraulics or multi-suites of tools, or even the power supplies for a weapon that could be converted into a welder. But a simple clamp fit my specs, and my hand shifted into a two-pronged pincer.
Prowl watched me quietly as I cast about, looking for a suitable piece of metal to use as a crimp. They only thing around me, however, was heavy building iron, too hard and brittle to bend with the strength I had. No useful metal - except us. I let out a curse and started prying at the plating on my leg.
"Senator!" Prowl's voice was shocked, and his free hand grabbed my wrist. "Senator, that is unnecess-"
"Shut up," I growled, shaking off his grip. "The Prime and Ironhide need help, and I don't have any weaponry." I glared at him, wedging my new tool under the decorative plating on my shin. "My 'armor' won't protect me if I'm hit. Better to use it for something that can get us out of here alive." The plating came off with a screech of metal and a flash of pain across my sensors. Ignoring the warnings flashing across my vision, I started on the matching piece on the other leg.
Prowl still looked unhappy at my actions, but he complied, shifting his hand up to pinch off the line as close to the tear as he could. I bent the slats in half, praying that the metal wasn't too brittle to not snap, and I slid the first bend around the tubing in Prowl's abdomen, carefully applying pressure.
A medic was probably going to frag me later, but the metal bent willingly enough, closing on the energon line. I tried to keep the pressure even, shifting the pincer across the crimp, and when Prowl let go on that side, the crimp held. I sent up a short whisper of thanks to Primus, then started on the other side.
Prowl was steady, despite the discomfort he must've been in. My own shins were shrieking at me, and I made a note to ask Ironhide to teach me how to reroute pain signals to a subprocess, instead of letting them sit in my main processor and scream. The second crimp also held, and before I would let Prowl up, I pulled one of the flared decorations off my shoulder, clenching a fist for a moment to overcome pain-induced trembling before I bent the piece around the crimps in a protective cocoon of lovely, nigh-useless metal. Prowl flexed his torso, nodding in approval as the repairs held, and his hand was already twisting back into his cannon as he stood and made his way carefully around the wall. I watched, sick worry and pride on my spark as Prowl rejoined the battle, and I wondered that maybe I wasn't so useless, after all.
o o o
Optimus Prime glanced up at me as I walked into his office, giving me a short nod as he finished writing on a datapad. I waited until he set the pad down before I spoke. "I am going to undergo medic training."
Optimus raised an optic ridge, sitting back in his seat. "You are resigning your post as Council Liaison?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Not if you wish me to keep it," I replied. "My Prime, the very fact that this war has begun proves that positions such as mine are obsolete. I am no warrior, am not fit to become a soldier. I could not prevent the damage that will be done, but I can help heal it."
Optimus looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. "I can understand the sentiment," he said. "You have my support, Senator Re-"
I held up my hand, forestalling him. "My designation has also changed," I stated. It had been the medic I had sworn my new vows to, who claimed that my original designation was too pretentious for a medic. Optimus gave me a curious look, and I squared my shoulders, taking a strange pride in my new name, my new purpose. "I am now known as Ratchet."
Fandom: Transformers
Characters/pairings: ensemble
Rating: PG
Summary: Oneshots about any and possibly all of the movie cast, and then some.
Warnings: language
Notes: Old writing, in it's mostly original format (very minor corrections may have been made)
Table of Contents
o o o
Theme #83: Heal
o o o
It's strange, really. For two full vorns, I'd been in the Council chambers, the meeting rooms, standing alone before the Decepticon high command; arguing, bartering, brokering for peace. I believe, very strongly, in the Autobot ideals, and from that, I draw my biggest strength - I believe strong, I speak strong, and I have enough force of personality to make others believe as well.
But as a Council Liaison, I am, at base programming, a pacifist and an idealist. Even after full-blown war was declared, I truly never believed that things would reach the level one hears about in the old history files, that I would have to look over my shoulder at every moment, waiting for an attack.
Reality was brought home to me in a rather painful way.
I hid behind the shattered remains of a wall, pressed against the seamed metal and listening to everything go to the Pit around me. A Decepticon strike force had targeted the Prime's transport, blowing the vehicle right off the raised roadway and separating it from the escort. And as the Prime's liaison to the High Council, I was in that transport.
I don't think the Decepticons had expected most of the passengers to come out shooting. Ironhide was the first into the fray, blasting the crumpled side of the transport open before the Decepticons could get close enough to open it themselves. The Prime followed his bodyguard closely, grim-faced and furious, looking little like his usual, peaceful self. The Prime's tactician grabbed my arm in the hand not formed into a cannon, shooting back over his shoulder as he dragged me out of the line of fire.
"Stay here," Prowl had ordered, shoving me behind a pile of twisted metal that had been damaged in the explosion that took us off the road. I knew next to nothing of battle tactics, but I am far from stupid, and I followed his orders without complaint, crouching down to present myself as a smaller target. Prowl didn't say anything more, jumping the wall and diving back into the battle.
I looked around, as Ironhide had instructed me once, noting landmarks incase it was up to me to call in for emergency help. We were in one of Iacon's marketplaces, and the wall I hid behind had belonged to a warehouse of some sort. Every civilian in the area, as far as I could see, had evacuated.
Already, I was calculating, testing and discarding speech fragments, determining how I was going to present this new development to the Council. Curiosity and a wish for as accurate a description as I could manage drove me into peeking around my shield at the fight, at the six or seven smaller Decepticons against the great forms of Ironhide and Optimus Prime, and the small, fast shape that was Prowl.
It was easy to see that Optimus was not the main target. These Decepticons didn't want the Prime dead, but weakened, his two main supports in the form of his tactician and his body guard taken out from beneath him. I was extraneous, a civilian, useless in this war, meaningless to the Decepticons. What did it matter that I could rouse a room of other civilians into a patriotic frenzy when laser fire scored the ground around me?
Even as I watched, a broken slab of metal shifted under Prowl's feet. The tactician stumbled, brief but enough. The shot caught him full in the side, lifting the small mech right off the ground and slamming him back. Optimus and Ironhide immediately changed tactics, from offensive to defensive, shifting to shield their fallen friend. They backed up, side by side, waited a moment, then Optimus turned and scooped up Prowl in both arms, running towards my hiding place while Ironhide covered them both.
Prowl was still conscious when Optimus set him down, his own hand buried deep in the gaping hole in his side. The Prime left again, joining Ironhide outside of the broken warehouse, and I shook off the uneasy idea of another Decepticon creeping through the empty structure, stalking us. Prowl's optics were flickering alarmingly, and I knelt at his side. "Go into stasis, idiot," I hissed at him. "Save your energy."
"No," he rasped, shaking his head. "Loss of hydraulics right now would be disastrous." I opened my mouth to ask him what the slag he was talking about, when I saw. The hand in his abdomen was closed around a doubled-over main energon line, and above his clenched fist, in the fold of the line, was a gaping tear. It didn't take a medic to know that such a rend would be fatal if not closed off. If he were to off-line now, his hand would relax, and his energon reserves would be empty within a breem.
I rose up to look outside again. Help was on the way, Prowl had been calling in the emergency as soon as the first explosion had hit, but the main highroad now had a gaping hole in it, and help was still breems away. Optimus and Ironhide were under heavy fire, and another gun would be useful. I looked down at Prowl. "If that was closed off," I asked, a glimmer of an idea forming in my mind. "Do you think you could shoot?"
"Hm. Possibly," he said, flexing his free hand. "Yes, I think so. Are you going to hold it shut?"
"Not quite," I muttered, dropping back down beside him. He would need his mobility, and having me cling to his waist would be a hindrance. I tapped into the Network, skipping past the usual Councilor databanks and into the huge databanks of Configurations.
I wasn't designed for this, for reconfiguring my body into anything but a single alternate mode. My hands lacked the additions many had, the high-strength hydraulics or multi-suites of tools, or even the power supplies for a weapon that could be converted into a welder. But a simple clamp fit my specs, and my hand shifted into a two-pronged pincer.
Prowl watched me quietly as I cast about, looking for a suitable piece of metal to use as a crimp. They only thing around me, however, was heavy building iron, too hard and brittle to bend with the strength I had. No useful metal - except us. I let out a curse and started prying at the plating on my leg.
"Senator!" Prowl's voice was shocked, and his free hand grabbed my wrist. "Senator, that is unnecess-"
"Shut up," I growled, shaking off his grip. "The Prime and Ironhide need help, and I don't have any weaponry." I glared at him, wedging my new tool under the decorative plating on my shin. "My 'armor' won't protect me if I'm hit. Better to use it for something that can get us out of here alive." The plating came off with a screech of metal and a flash of pain across my sensors. Ignoring the warnings flashing across my vision, I started on the matching piece on the other leg.
Prowl still looked unhappy at my actions, but he complied, shifting his hand up to pinch off the line as close to the tear as he could. I bent the slats in half, praying that the metal wasn't too brittle to not snap, and I slid the first bend around the tubing in Prowl's abdomen, carefully applying pressure.
A medic was probably going to frag me later, but the metal bent willingly enough, closing on the energon line. I tried to keep the pressure even, shifting the pincer across the crimp, and when Prowl let go on that side, the crimp held. I sent up a short whisper of thanks to Primus, then started on the other side.
Prowl was steady, despite the discomfort he must've been in. My own shins were shrieking at me, and I made a note to ask Ironhide to teach me how to reroute pain signals to a subprocess, instead of letting them sit in my main processor and scream. The second crimp also held, and before I would let Prowl up, I pulled one of the flared decorations off my shoulder, clenching a fist for a moment to overcome pain-induced trembling before I bent the piece around the crimps in a protective cocoon of lovely, nigh-useless metal. Prowl flexed his torso, nodding in approval as the repairs held, and his hand was already twisting back into his cannon as he stood and made his way carefully around the wall. I watched, sick worry and pride on my spark as Prowl rejoined the battle, and I wondered that maybe I wasn't so useless, after all.
o o o
Optimus Prime glanced up at me as I walked into his office, giving me a short nod as he finished writing on a datapad. I waited until he set the pad down before I spoke. "I am going to undergo medic training."
Optimus raised an optic ridge, sitting back in his seat. "You are resigning your post as Council Liaison?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Not if you wish me to keep it," I replied. "My Prime, the very fact that this war has begun proves that positions such as mine are obsolete. I am no warrior, am not fit to become a soldier. I could not prevent the damage that will be done, but I can help heal it."
Optimus looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. "I can understand the sentiment," he said. "You have my support, Senator Re-"
I held up my hand, forestalling him. "My designation has also changed," I stated. It had been the medic I had sworn my new vows to, who claimed that my original designation was too pretentious for a medic. Optimus gave me a curious look, and I squared my shoulders, taking a strange pride in my new name, my new purpose. "I am now known as Ratchet."