(no subject)

[lifepersists]

Who: First Aid & open
What: post-Tarn drama
When: SHRUG
Where: Autobot Medibay
Warnings: mention of horrible robot gore, hospital setting


First Aid was conscious before he had sight, but the damage to his brain made him too confused to really react much, so eventually he just faded back to unconsciousness. The next time he onlined it was to test his eyes, and he remembers flinching at the light as the freshly built apertures of his optics cycled to pinpoints. Funny, he can't feel his face. That's mildly alarming.

Coherency was a slow build, but by the time First Aid felt fully awake he finally was aware enough of his surroundings to realize where he was, but not entirely how he ended up there. His whole body ached, and he didn't have the strength to lift his hands to his still numb face.

Even after the surgery his frame was sort of a mess of patches of weld marks, not yet fully integrated with his auto-repair to be painted over. His face itself was the worst part, having suffered the most damage, and most of it was a dull gray instead of his usual bright white.

Recharge didn't quite seem too unpleasant, especially when confined to a slab and hooked up to life support and IVs feeding fuel directly into his lines.

Comments

[phase6kindofbot]

Sixshot's been at First Aid's side since the moment he'd been allowed to occupy the space. Sometimes he paces, which probably drove Ratchet up several walls.

Mostly he sleeps.

He's sleeping when First Aid wakes up, curled up in his wolf mode with his nose very, very gently bumping up against the side of the medic's tiny hand.

[lifepersists]

The sentiment probably would have been the same by leaving a vial of innermost energon like a normal person, but once First Aid has some coherency he probably won't complain.

He's very tired, but loss of active energon and a weak spark pulse would do that. When he wakes again, his hand twitches, clumsily brushing over Sixshot's nose. First Aid is uncoordinated-- it's hard for him to really make sense of his movements, so at first he doesn't realize what he was touching.

Slowly, his optics online, and he turns his head -- that was easy, just flopping it to the side -- and focuses on the large bulk at the side of the slab.

"Kffft." He spits confused, sleepy static from his vocalizer.

[phase6kindofbot]

Did Decepticons even leave their sick and injured vials of innermost energon? Who knows? There's a bit of a hole in the canon in regards to Decepticon cultural practices unfortunately.

It's not something Sixshot had ever done even if it were a thing for them, and it never occurs to him to just leave some kind of well-wishing present for First Aid to begin with. The only worthwhile thing Sixshot has known to do and can do now, was to protect First Aid.

His sleep was shallow and proximity sensors alert him to the medic's stirring. Sixshot doesn't move however, not beyond dimly relighting his optics, his eyes tracking the confused twitch of First Aid's fingers.

"Try not to move too much," he says softly.

[lifepersists]

The light of First Aid's visor powers down again for a few moments and he's seemingly gone back to sleep. He was really tired, and the siren call of recharge was always there, but he vents deep a moment later and his hand blindly reaches out until he manages to pat Sixshot's nose a few more times and settle down limply on the large snoot.

He was confused. Why was Sixshot here? Medical base programming informed him he was in the ICU. Other instinct informed him Ratchet would have punted him out before he ever managed to ooze onto the floor in touching range. There could be contaminants.

His vocalizer makes a few whirs and clicks as it calibrates. It would take about a day before it was fully settled in.

"Feel like..." Good start. Full of static, low volume, but functional. "Got hit with a World Burner."

[phase6kindofbot]

Shutting his optic off, Sixshot turns his head into the shaky touch, finally, finally letting relief wash over him. First Aid was stable. First Aid was alive.

"Not exactly." Tarn wasn't quite that classification of power, but he was close. Not that he needed to be close to hurt First Aid; the medic wasn't anywhere near the same level of power as even the lowest ranking Warrior Elite.

"You should go back to sleep. Self repair is going to take a while to sort through everything." At least, that's what the medical techie support team always told him and Sixshot had always done his best to obey. Didn't really work out with the mission loads he tended to get though.

[lifepersists]

Being a non-combatant usually made your body somewhat fragile. He was still a war frame, but considering First Aid's presence on a battlefield was only to lift out the dead and injured, he wasn't built to withstand a lot of damage.

He's too tired to move his hand once Sixshot noses into it again, so it lays limp and cool against the wolf mech's head. The implications of his presence and what had happened hasn't entirely sunk in, but he does remember some parts. Tarn, cornering him in the alley. The rest is... hazy.

He looks at the phase sixer at his side with the dim glow of his optics. What he can see of himself, he looks terrible.

"What happened?

[phase6kindofbot]

Should he tell? Sixshot peers quietly at First Aid's face, tired in a way he'd never before.

"Tarn." He pushes his head very, very gently under his friend's arm, rumbling quietly. "Tarn happened. He claimed you'd... 'exploited' him."

He'd been quietly wallowing in that for a long, long while, wondering if he'd been wrong to side against Tarn, wondering if he should have been mediating instead.

The problem was First Aid couldn't say and the doubt was eating him alive. He can't imagine First Aid being able to do much of anything to Tarn if the DJD commander didn't want it done but...

Damn his doubts.

[asafepairofhands]

"First Aid...?"

Ratchet's by the slab and reaching out, curling one of First Aid's mostly-fixed hands in between both of his and pressing very, very gently, his voice raw with staticky exhaustion and relief.

"First Aid, hey. Just--squeeze my hand if you can hear me all right, yeah? Take it slow."

[lifepersists]

First Aid's fingers are stiff, as are most newly repaired joints before they've had the chance to work out their full range of motion. A medic's hands are even more important-- more intricate wiring, more connections, tiny transformations.

The light in First Aid's optics flickers a few times before he ever has the strength to squeeze, but there it is. One small twitch of his fingers, barely tight enough to be a grip.

"R-Ratchet."

[asafepairofhands]

"Yeah. Hey. Good to see you awake." Ratchet's fingers tighten back, very gently.

"You're gonna be all right. Still a lot of repairs to do, and I know you don't feel all right just now, but you're going to be fine."

[lifepersists]

Of course he'd be fine. Ratchet has lost patients before, but there were reasons why he had a reputation for being so skilled. A cursory diagnostic check informed him what First Aid needed to know about his body, and while it didn't seem good, the only life concerning thing was the weak pulse of his spark.

"Spark pulse is weak," he croaks. "Should be feeding one canister of nucleon in to... increase rate."

He's not critiquing you, Ratchet. This was just second nature to him.

[asafepairofhands]

"Yeah? I'll see if I can scrounge some up." Ratchet doesn't sound offended in the slightest, leaning hard in on his crutches to reach one hand up and smooth it carefully along First Aid's helm, gentle of the newly reconstructed patches. "Wasn't sure if I should, but you're the jump-start expert, not me."

[lifepersists]

"We have..." First Aid starts, but then cuts himself off because did he hear Ratchet right? The jumpstart expert?

Ratchet was right that First Aid was going to give him a verbal lashing.

"Did you jumpstart me? Did you even take any--kffft--precautions?"

Did Ratchet ever read his essays on it? He was sure he had, which means he had no excuses for cutting corners. Jumpstarting was dangerous. You needed a compatible donor. The spark donor had to have a strong spark. Other options had to be explored first to ensure that the fading mech was stable enough for the surge and didn't just burn out. It was most effective on the unresponsive, rather than the crashing.

[legthwise]

Ambulon finds himself checking First Aid almost obsessively; monitoring his stats and checking to make sure that his replacement parts are integrating successfully.

He startles a bit when his colleague's optics flicker a bit in consciousness.

“First Aid… can you hear me?"

[lifepersists]

Ambulon.

It warmed his spark to see his friend. First Aid realizes every day with Ambulon nearby was a gift, but right now he was feeling so very happy to see him. Part of him realizes he could just be dying; it wasn't uncommon for mechs to get sappy when the spark was weak.

"Mmm." It's a small confirmation. He's been in and out of wakefulness for a bit now. When you had medics hovering around you like a swarm of metal mites, there wasn't much to do besides rest.

[legthwise]

[Ambulon reaches out, placing his hand over First Aid’s. He sees no point in not be honest with him.]

You had us worried…I wasn’t sure that you would make it when you were brought in. You’ve been making an incredible recovery.

[He squeezes gently, running his thumb over his his still injured knuckles.]

[lifepersists]

Ambulon wasn't ever good for keeping secrets anyway, and when he tried usually First Aid could tell. He's nosy like that and working together so long meant that he'd learned Ambulon's particular... tics.

"I still can't feel my face."

Funny, on Messatine he had always found Ambulon kind of a gearstick. Getting away from Pharma's leadership did a lot for their friendship. He squeezes his hand, weakly, keeping it in his grip.

[legthwise]

"Yeah that might take a bit of time; Tarn really did a number on it.”

First Aid was victim to Ambulon’s worst fear. He can’t imagine what he felt as Tarn ripped into him. He knows that there is nothing that he could have done to stop it, but he can’t help but feel something like guilt. Like it should have been him. The Decepticon deserter, living right under the DJD’s nose for all those years.

All Ambulon knows is he doesn’t want to let go of his friend.

[lifepersists]

"I'm still handsome though, right?"

First Aid is trying to take some humor in it. He tries shifting, but he aborts it quickly as a stab of pain lances through his hip. He couldn't even prop himself up to get a better look at it.

He just manages to hold back a hiss. He doesn't want Ambulon to worry too much.

[aminerproblem]

It's been an exhausting week.

Between managing more rogue Decepticons and trying to keep the shaky, tentative peace in the city, doing familiar work in the clinic was calming to him. Even though First Aid was there under circumstances he'd do anything to reverse, going through the motions of checking his vitals and helping nurse him from near death brought an odd form of ease to his mind.

It seemed paradoxical, how gentle and quiet he was while managing the machinery that helped keep First Aid alive. When everything seemed to check out, he just sat by the medic's berth, resting his head in his arms on the emptier end by First Aid's feet. It's only now that he realizes it's been a few weeks since he's recharged.

[lifepersists]

The thing about face and brain injuries is that even though it was something a cybertronian was fully capable of recovering from, prospects were always up in the air. They could be fine. They could die. They could be in a coma for years, or they could have lingering issues.

First Aid's body was on the way of repair, but his brain had still been injured. His bouts of wakefulness were brief and usually ended in a headache or just drifting to sleep again.

He wakes again as Megatron takes his seat, the monitor showing increased brain activity as he drifts out of recharge. He almost bonks Megatron in the nose as his foot tilts to the side.

"...Hey."

[aminerproblem]

He notices First Aid's awakening when the medic's feet stir. Whatever fatigue was in Megatron's frame evaporates as a little excitement fills him. After giving the monitor a glance, he stands up and gently rests a huge hand on his uninjured forearm, mindful of First Aid's own hands.

"How are you feeling?"

Cybertronians were hardy, but First Aid's injuries were severe. It was only with exhaustive efforts that they were able to help him thus far, so seeing him stir a little was an enormous relief.

[lifepersists]

"A little banged up," First Aid croaks out, trying to have some humor.

Truthfully he was feeling pretty awful both physically and mentally, but Megatron was a junior doctor, not a psychiatrist. And even when they had a psychiatrist, First Aid had never went to Rung to sort out his issues, opting to neglect himself and come out only when needed.

Slowly, he becomes aware of the warm hand against his arm, and his attention drifts to that. His eyes still need some work, but they do focus, the apertures cycling as he looked at the sight.

"Did you... work on me?"

[aminerproblem]

First Aid's arm gets a light squeeze as the beginnings of a smile begin to tug at the corners of Megatron's mouth. If he could manage enough energy to crack jokes, then maybe he'd be better off than they originally thought.

"Ratchet and Ambulon needed a bit of help," he replies sheepishly,"You focus on getting your strength back."

He may not be a psychiatrist, but First Aid wouldn't be the first injured friend he's tended to. He didn't mind listening. At least now he could do more for someone than top them off with his own energon.

[lifepersists]

To be fair, it was better to make a joke than to sink deeper into the pit of anxiety and depression he was finding himself in. It helps to see Megatron smile, and his optics dim slightly as he lets his focus drift a little.

"This is my fault," he murmurs, unable to keep the wave of horrible guilt back. "I shouldn't-- I shouldn't have antagonized him. I j-just hate the DJD so much."

He wished Tarn would rot.