robothell | insert one arm joke here

Who: First Aid and U
Where: Red Alert's clinic
When: Post-Pharma cutting off his arm
What: wow the medics are gimpier than the rest of you guys
Warnings: mild robot gore, a sad cinnamon bun

[ Closed to Ratchet ]

Leaving his arm behind was the last of First Aid's problems. His run in with Pharma left him a bit more damaged up mentally -- and physically -- than he'd care to admit to himself. At the very least, he hadn't lost a wheel, something he was grateful for as he speeds off. Parts of his altmode still dragged as he drove through the city, uneven from the loss of a limb, leaving a trail of sparks and energon puddles behind him.

He had nowhere to go except away from the clinic, no ability to comm someone else to locate him. Eventually, he stops, ducking into a half collapsed building, and weeps privately. Seeing Pharma again brought back the rush of emotions he felt after killing him, making him feel drained for more reasons than the loss of energon.

Well, he's a rightful pathetic scene.

First Aid vents raggedly as he reaches up and brushes his fingers over the shredded joint where his arm used to be. He hisses in pain, pinching at a few ragged lines and clamping them closed, before he starts the arduous task of welding broken parts together. It might make the reattachment harder in the long run, but he'd be bleeding less.

It's a few hours before First Aid returns to the clinic, faint and tired, dirty with grit and sticky with drying energon. Even longer he waits outside, making sure that Pharma had left the premises long enough for him to slip back inside. He's tired-- he really wants to sleep, but he knows well enough that it's pain and energon loss, so instead he drags himself into the main clinic, clutching his shoulder.

"Ratchet?" he asks, trying not to be too loud so he doesn't wake the other patients.

-------

[ OPEN ]

Having only one arm proved to be difficult in accomplishing anything useful. It was a significant blow to First Aid's self esteem, and sometimes he spent ages just staring down at his work, feeling helpless. He couldn't lift with ease, but he could clean as much as he's able with one hand and take care of basic maintenance tasks, such as changing fluids and updating charts. Nurse work. He felt so humiliated.

First Aid touches the stump where his arm used to be, rubbing it thoughtfully. Sometimes he thought he could feel it still. Not really uncommon-- it was a psychological phenomena. Sighing, he drops his hand and begins piling charts, looking over each carefully to make sure that he hadn't missed any details. They didn't have a sophisticated database here, so it was important to keep manual records at the very least.

He picks them up holding them delicately in his hand and attempting to balance them against his chest, but they just end up slipping out of his hand and clattering to the floor.

"Oh--" he makes a soft sound. "Slag."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He knows First Aid tends to care more about the patients than his own wellbeing, and maybe that was the cause of the worry. Either way, they were both locked in fretting over the other.

"Can you get it fixed? I mean...hard to do surgery with one arm."

His eyes keep darting to it, that frown becoming ever more apparent. If there's one thing that gave Trailcutter away, it was his facial expressions. And it shows in the way it goes from sad to shocked, almost knocking the same data pads he'd just picked up.

"WHAT?!"

Trailcutter really was an open book. First Aid strokes a thumb over the other mech's cheek in an attempt to comfort him, even though he knows well enough that he'd continue to worry anyway until he had an arm affixed back in place. First Aid wasn't sure how soon that would be.

"It can, when we find the arm. I don't believe in that nonsense about forged hands but we don't have the materials to construct a new one from scratch."

He has no small bit of resentment over Ratchet's stupid hands.

"He's the one that did this. And probably the one who has my arm."

He's right, there. Trailcutter's face doesn't really soften in comfort at the touch, although it's certainly appreciated the way he leans in. Really, the fact that it was lost to Pharma...after everything that'd happened so far.

"So what you're saying is, the things Ratchet spouts are just nonsense and hot engex." Not...completely inaccurate sometimes...

But there's a pause when he hears that last part, standing up a little more from that hand.

"He's got your arm, then..."

He says it softly, plating hitching up like ruffled feathers. Trailcutter wasn't the proactive type, but needless to say he was certainly thinking what we're all thinking.

"That's what I'm saying," Fist Aid smiles with his visor, his field brushing that soft positive emotion at him.

It fades after a moment when it slides back at Pharma, his field rippling with distress. He takes Trailcutter's hand again, holding the larger digits tight in his own so he can't pull away.

"Yes. And you're not going to look for him, got it?"

Trailcutter's eyes turn to their hands, letting his larger fingers wrap around the medic's hands gently, the warmth from his forcefield generator slipping through for just a second. He can feel the tension in First Aid, and it's hard to really know what to say to that.

To any of it.

"I could."

He sounds far less confident than he wants to be.

"No."

First Aid's voice is firm, his visor narrowing, and he curls his remaining hand tighter, the warm brush of the forcefield tickling against his palm.

"You're more important to me than an arm. All right?"

He would, too, if First Aid had needed it. But hearing the firm 'No' causes the 'brow' of his visor to dip. Feeling a bit bad that he can't go get it.

Although hearing that from him warms his spark, even if it's hard to believe that himself.

"Really?"

His voice is soft, as if asking that question might make First Aid change his mind.

"You're my very precious friend. Of course you are."

He's watched Trailcutter die in front of him once and that was once too many. Never again.

"I'm fine. I'm alive. That's what matters, right?"

First Aid had a point. And Trailcutter knew that you can't just go up against someone armed with only leg guns and a forcefield. Those only got you so far.

After all, he only beat Lockdown by mind games alone. Something told him he wouldn't get that lucky again.

"Right. At least we can help make you a new one, right? Until then...I've got you."

Making a new one didn't seem too probable with the lack of resources, but he didn't want to squash Trailcutter's optimism with his own pessimism. He nods, giving his hand another squeeze and then lets it go.

"Thank you."

insert one arm joke here

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