Dètente (Tformers100; Silverbolt, First Aid; Table: War; Prompt: #7- Injury)
Title: Dètente
Series: Transformers G1
Table(s): War
Prompt: Injury
Rating: PG-13 for some pretty nasty wounds mentioned?
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Silverbolt, First Aid; Blades and Fireflight near the end; Aerialbots, Protectobots
Word Count: 627
Summary: Silverbolt gets shot down and wakes up in the med bay.
Disclaimer: Transformers belongs to HasTak and whoever else has gotten in on it while I wasn't looking.
Notes: Not NEARLY as serious as the prompt and summary pretend. Feel-better fic for playswithworms!
The first thing Silverbolt was aware of when he came online was the fact he wasn't in pain. Which, considering that he'd crashed rather painfully into the ground thanks to a well-aimed shot of Megatron's fusion cannon, meant that either he'd hit so hard it knocked his pain receptors offline or they had been taken offline by a medic. The second thing he was aware of was how distinctly orange the ceiling of the med bay was and it was really kind of unpleasant. Before he could attempt to move, though, First Aid's faceplate appeared above him, mask retracted and a small smile in place. Well, that was a good thing at least. “How are you feeling?”
“A lot better than I remember,” he admitted, trying to sit up only to discover his movement was extremely limited. His injuries must be worse than he thought if he'd been partially locked out of his motor control systems. The Concorde ran a quick diagnostics check, receiving the expected damage report with one particular surprise amongst the pings that returned. “I'm missing my right arm?” He didn't remember that happening. Megatron had hit where his wing met his fuselage- if anything, he should be missing a leg.
“Actually, no.” At his confused expression, First Aid tilted his head, obviously considering the best way to explain, before he spoke. “Technically your arm is still attached, but the major support struts suffered multiple breaks when you impacted and all the sensors in that region were sheared off in the crash. It's not surprising it came back as missing.”
Well, that made a bit more sense. “Is everyone else alright?” From his prone position, he couldn't see any of the other berths, but the quiet whirring of support systems that indicated a severe injury was thankfully absent.
The ambulance nodded, absently checking over the readings of Silverbolt's systems. “There were a few more injuries, nothing major. Blades took a shot in the side when we were getting you out of there, so he's here overnight, as well as the rest of our brothers, though none of them have more than a few scratches.” The mostly because we were worried about you remained unsaid, but the Concorde heard it nonetheless. He could feel the grin tugging at his lips as the medic looked back over at him, visor glinting in amusement. “Most of them are recharging in a pile, but Blades needed to stay on a berth, so...” Here First Aid paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “...I really think you need to see this for yourself.”
Between the two of them, he managed to make it into a sitting position without aggravating his injuries too badly (though the sight of his mangled arm and midsection was immensely disconcerting, doubly so because despite all his sensors telling him the damage was there he couldn't feel it) and promptly had to mute his vocalizer so as to not wake the sleeping mechs with his laughter. Sure enough, while most of his brothers had buried themselves in the pile of Protectobots near the center of the room, Fireflight had apparently taken it as his responsibility to ensure Blades wasn't lonely and was sprawled across the helicopter, mindful of the fresh welding on his side.
From his place partially supporting the Aerial's shoulder, First Aid let out a quiet laugh, apparently sensing his amusement somehow. “Blades put up a token fight, of course. Couldn't let Slingshot think he was getting soft on any of you jets.”
Silverbolt couldn't stop his own quiet chuckle, leaning gently into the Protectobot even as he was careful not to give him too much of his larger bulk. “Of course not.”
Series: Transformers G1
Table(s): War
Prompt: Injury
Rating: PG-13 for some pretty nasty wounds mentioned?
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Silverbolt, First Aid; Blades and Fireflight near the end; Aerialbots, Protectobots
Word Count: 627
Summary: Silverbolt gets shot down and wakes up in the med bay.
Disclaimer: Transformers belongs to HasTak and whoever else has gotten in on it while I wasn't looking.
Notes: Not NEARLY as serious as the prompt and summary pretend. Feel-better fic for playswithworms!
The first thing Silverbolt was aware of when he came online was the fact he wasn't in pain. Which, considering that he'd crashed rather painfully into the ground thanks to a well-aimed shot of Megatron's fusion cannon, meant that either he'd hit so hard it knocked his pain receptors offline or they had been taken offline by a medic. The second thing he was aware of was how distinctly orange the ceiling of the med bay was and it was really kind of unpleasant. Before he could attempt to move, though, First Aid's faceplate appeared above him, mask retracted and a small smile in place. Well, that was a good thing at least. “How are you feeling?”
“A lot better than I remember,” he admitted, trying to sit up only to discover his movement was extremely limited. His injuries must be worse than he thought if he'd been partially locked out of his motor control systems. The Concorde ran a quick diagnostics check, receiving the expected damage report with one particular surprise amongst the pings that returned. “I'm missing my right arm?” He didn't remember that happening. Megatron had hit where his wing met his fuselage- if anything, he should be missing a leg.
“Actually, no.” At his confused expression, First Aid tilted his head, obviously considering the best way to explain, before he spoke. “Technically your arm is still attached, but the major support struts suffered multiple breaks when you impacted and all the sensors in that region were sheared off in the crash. It's not surprising it came back as missing.”
Well, that made a bit more sense. “Is everyone else alright?” From his prone position, he couldn't see any of the other berths, but the quiet whirring of support systems that indicated a severe injury was thankfully absent.
The ambulance nodded, absently checking over the readings of Silverbolt's systems. “There were a few more injuries, nothing major. Blades took a shot in the side when we were getting you out of there, so he's here overnight, as well as the rest of our brothers, though none of them have more than a few scratches.” The mostly because we were worried about you remained unsaid, but the Concorde heard it nonetheless. He could feel the grin tugging at his lips as the medic looked back over at him, visor glinting in amusement. “Most of them are recharging in a pile, but Blades needed to stay on a berth, so...” Here First Aid paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “...I really think you need to see this for yourself.”
Between the two of them, he managed to make it into a sitting position without aggravating his injuries too badly (though the sight of his mangled arm and midsection was immensely disconcerting, doubly so because despite all his sensors telling him the damage was there he couldn't feel it) and promptly had to mute his vocalizer so as to not wake the sleeping mechs with his laughter. Sure enough, while most of his brothers had buried themselves in the pile of Protectobots near the center of the room, Fireflight had apparently taken it as his responsibility to ensure Blades wasn't lonely and was sprawled across the helicopter, mindful of the fresh welding on his side.
From his place partially supporting the Aerial's shoulder, First Aid let out a quiet laugh, apparently sensing his amusement somehow. “Blades put up a token fight, of course. Couldn't let Slingshot think he was getting soft on any of you jets.”
Silverbolt couldn't stop his own quiet chuckle, leaning gently into the Protectobot even as he was careful not to give him too much of his larger bulk. “Of course not.”