robothell | (no subject)

Who: Tarn and First Aid with a guest appearance by Rampage, Tarn and Sixshot
What: Tarn has "words" with First Aid
When: a few weeks after pollen
Where: somewhere near the Autobot Medibay
Warnings: gratuitous robot violence. Seriously.

Embarrassment. It’s the only word Tarn can find to describe how he feels upon recollection of his last meeting with First Aid. The tiny Autobot had taken him firmly in hand, taking advantage of every shameful desire that he could muster; drunk with the effects of the pollen that had clogged his systems.

Worse than what the medic had seen was what he probably thinks. After how Tarn had acted, any respect or fear that First Aid had was surely long gone. And what rumors had he been spreading? Who else knew about the incident? His tanks churn at the thought.

Really, Tarn knows what he must do. The only thing keeping him contained, so far, was the thought of Megatron finding out. They had come so far, trust was just beginning to be rebuilt. Was his pride really worth shattering all that work?

Yes. It was.

Which is how Tarn found himself prowling the back alleys near the Autobot Medibay, optics scanning for a certain small red and white Autobot that he was to have words with.

Fortunately it doesn’t take him long.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"What the hell are you doing?"

Ratchet barely manages to modulate his voice into something that isn't a shriek, hobbling around a broken chunk of building and finding Rampage pressing one of his own torn lines to--he feels the bottom drop from his tanks and fall, endlessly, as he barely recognizes the medic insignia emblazoned on one energon-smeared shoulder of the crumpled mess on the ground. It's First Aid--it has to be, though he's unrecognizable. Ratchet takes a split second to be stunned and sick before he refocuses his attention, drawing himself up on his crutches.

"You want to help?" he snaps at Rampage, his ventilation short and shallow now, calculations for equipment and supplies needed already running through his head, triaging injuries as he sees them, barely taking his optics off First Aid. "Get him back to the medibay, now, let's go!"

Rampage finds himself hunching protectively over First Aid at the sound of Ratchet's shout. His head snaps up to glare at him - the medic red and whites actually make his horns bristle threateningly, never mind that the crumpled form he's feeding energon into shares the same paint job.

There's a soft growl escaping his vocalizer, and he hesitates. He doesn't want to go the medibay. He doesn't want this medic anywhere near him.

But... there's no way First Aid will survive without medical attention. He's not like Rampage. He can't heal himself. So before he lets himself think too much about it, he forces himself to his feet, clutching First Aid's tattered chassis to his chest and follows Ratchet. His spark is so weak next to his own...

"How long has he been leaking there?" Ratchet demands as he moves, all his attention focused on his patient now, barely acknowledging Rampage at all. He shoulders his way into the medibay and holds the door open for Rampage behind him, his optics pale with fright and concentration.

"There, on the operating slab. Grab me that cart, the one in the corner, and the pole stand next to it." He doesn't even question whether Rampage is going to stick around to help, just moves to the slab in question and spreads what's left of First Aid out on it before he starts to work.

"Not long-" Rampage starts. He makes it halfway to the operating slab, then locks up.

His optics fixate on the metal bed and Ratchet's words fading away, not even noticing as First Aid is pulled away and laid out.

On the operating slab, X.

No, he doesn't want to-

Follow the order, or there will be consequences.

Not again, it hurt last time-

Good. The restraints, please- thank you, now we may begin.

No, no, no-!

The only thing he ends up grabbing are his own upper arms, fingers pressing tight against the metal. Most useful assistant.

Ratchet looks to the side to grab his tools only to find them still across the room and Rampage curled in on himself.

"Out of the way," he snaps, moving around Rampage and hooking a crutch around the corner of the cart to drag it over, then turning his back on Rampage again as he starts to work in earnest, patching lines and reconnecting circuits, struggling to get First Aid stable.

"Are you hurt?" he asks over his shoulder, barely looking away--Rampage had moved all right getting there, and he hadn't complained, but Ratchet has no idea why he's just standing there. "What's your name?"

Rampage isn't hurt at all, physically. Even the torn line he'd used to feed energon into First Aid has squirmed its way back into placed and sealed tight.

"Nnh," is his only response at first, backing away from the medical berth.

What's his name? He doesn't have a name. Names are for people, he's not a person, he's an experiment, he's Experiment X-

His hands tighten until his plating dents, grounding him. "...Rampage."

"Rampage," Ratchet says and grits his teeth, wanting four extra hands, wanting both his damn legs, wanting to scream as First Aid's small body leaks itself dry under his hands. "Unless you're about to drop dead, I have to do this first. Can you call any of the other medics? Ambulon, Megatron, anyone? Please."

The next words feel ripped from him as he leans harder into his crutches, his hands never slowing.

"I can't do this by myself."

Rampage gives a shudder, shaking off his past as best he can, though he remains unsettled. He rubs a hand over his face.

"I don't- I don't know anyone..."

He's really been keeping to himself for the most part. He can call First Aid and Sixshot but otherwise... He stares helplessly at First Aid.

"His spark is shrinking," he adds. Helpful, helpful, so very helpful.