robothell | (no subject)

Entry tags:

first aid | lifepersists

(no subject)

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.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Seeing Sixshot transform into his root mode still makes First Aid's tank knot and apprehension ripple in his field. It's a mode that unfortunately was presented with some rather uncomfortable feelings and memories.

The pause was just long enough to make him nervous, feeling like he's overstepped his bounds again, and his hands slowly move closer to his damaged frame.

"I just... wanted to see it. You've never willingly shown me."

A few skipped pulses register on the spark monitor, and First Aid's optic flicker slightly. He slowly moves his hands to his chest and takes a deeper vent to steady himself. His frame didn't need the cooling -- it was already rather cold to touch -- but it helped him to relax and focus.

He'd shown it to Tarn without even a second thought. Why was he questioning now? Why was he hesitating now? What was there to worry about?

The spark monitor skips a few pulses and Sixshot's optics dart briefly to the screen before returning his attention back to the medic, watching his friend steady himself. Guilt tightens the anxious coil under his spark again and he looks away, down at his knees.

It was just a mask. It was just his face. And First Aid of all people, deserved to have his request granted- especially something as innocuous as this.

There's a click, the quiet hiss of metal sliding apart. Sixshot clenches his hand and sets it on his lap before slowly looking up.

First Aid was being patient, but the longer Sixshot hesitated, the more he had time to think and regret asking. Embarrassment ripples over him, making him feel hot with shame, and as the silence stretched it just grew worse until he was about to stutter out an apology.

The hiss of the mask retracting makes him pause, and when Sixshot finally looks up his optics flicker again. It's not what he expected. Handsome, but soft. Even the most well maintained Wrecker had a more rugged face.

He puffs out a small laugh, smiling with the ruins of his eyes, and then slowly reaches out again.

"Thank you." He speaks very softly, his voice wavering slightly as relief begins to seep in. "May I have your hand?"

That little laugh was like starlight through dark clouds. Sixshot forgets why he'd been so anxious, forgets everything but the lingering note of abashment at having his face exposed just for the sake of it.

He reboots his voice box with a cough of static and forces himself to keep his chin up. There was no use trying to hide, but there was something about First Aid's gaze that made him feel oddly vulnerable.

"You're, ah, welcome," he mumbles, reaching out, offering his hand for his friend to take.

Sixshot's hand is massive compared to his own, he could crush it just by curling his fingers in too tight, but First Aid slides his palm into the other mech's and rests it there.

"I expected more scars," He teases, rubbing his fingers against Sixshot's palm. "How handsome... If the life support fails, got something nice to think about as I..."

Facts of life here. He knows he's not strong enough to be off the machines keeping him alive, even if he had consciousness now.

Ambulon rolls his eyes, smirking.

“Good to know your sense of humor is still intact.”

The sudden stillness in First Aid’s frame betrays his pain. Ambulon immediately locks on to it.

“What’s bothering you?"

If Sixshot could blush, he'd be beet red by now. He curls his thumb over First Aid's tiny, tiny hand and very gently brushes it over his wrist.

"The support crew who worked on me tended to have exacting standards up to and beyond cosmetics." Of course, his support crew were the sorts who'd worked under Shockwave and knew how to maintain his ridiculous black hole fission cell power core.

Speaking of... "I can double as a back up redundant power source for your life support? Although I think Ratchet's already got it hooked up to several independent circuits as is."

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."

In return, First Aid turns his hand and loosely curls his fingers around Sixshot's thumb. It was far too mangled to have a good grip yet, but it was enough.

"So sweet." He sighs quietly and rubs the thumb between his fingers. "You don't have to do that. Just being here is good."

As gently as he can, Sixshot lowers his helm and touches his nose to First Aid's fingers with the utmost care.

"Please don't die," he says very, very quietly, almost a prayer. "Please, please don't die."

That was... that wasn't expected. First Aid draws in a shaky vent, his vocalizer making a small rattling sound. He turns his hand again, touching Sixshot's cheek with trembling fingers.

"I won't. I'm okay."

His spark aches seeing Sixshot like this. He doesn't want to see him sad. He did this to him. He shouldn't have antagonized Tarn like that. All that hurt and jealousy goes out the window for a moment.

Sixshot shuts his optics off, leaning into the touch, letting his senses reassure him. First Aid was weak but stable, his scent unaccompanied by the smell of a burnt out spark.

He lets himself finally believe in First Aid's words, even if it's just for a little while.

"I'll be here," he promises again, placing his hand over his friend's. "You should rest."

It hurts. First Aid's already small, weak spark constricts as the heartache returns, making pain shoot through his limbs. It's stupid-- a friend already would hurt, but he... He had feelings. Incredibly stupid feelings, since it wasn't like they were reciprocated.

He should follow his own advice sometimes.

"Okay. Promise."

First Aid doesn't let go of Sixshot's thumb, but he lets his optics power off and his systems plug back into recharge.

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.

"Promise," Sixshot says to the quiet of the medbay, listening to First Aid's systems power down.

Once he's sure the medic was asleep, he sighs quietly to himself before drawing his knees up and leaning against the berth, careful not to break the hold on his thumb.

"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?"

So much for trying to hide pain. First Aid exhales that hiss he was holding and shrugs slowly. His shoulders at least work fine without pain, which means he can use them to be sassy.

"My hip hurts." It's no wonder, considering it was slowly peeled and carved away from his body, but to be honest First Aid's memory became a haze after his optics were ruined.

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.

"You're barely out of the last round of surgery, and the next should start up soon-ish, depending on how long you stay awake. ...I'm all right, kid. I'm not tired." Ratchet wraps a hand around First Aid's shoulder and squeezes gingerly.

"It's just good to hear your voice."

“That’s reasonable, the hip joint still has some repairs needed. The damage was extensive…but obviously you know that…” Ambulon trails off, a little bit embarrassed. He quickly sets to work replacing the pain dampener chip.

“How much do you remember?” He’s shamefully and morbidly curious. It isn’t often that anyone lives to see another day after a run in like that with Tarn.

Although it seems to be happening more often lately. Maybe he’s losing his touch.

As the chip is replaced, the pain fades to a dull ache and First Aid's frame begins to relax. The question makes him tense again though as he tries thinking back to what he remembers.

"I-I remember..." Thinking about it made him feel ill. It made him think of the badly mangled mechs on Messatine, barely alive. Had he looked like that when they brought him into the medical bay?

"He... crushed my vocalizer, and ruined my eyes, and then things..."

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.

More surgery. First Aid wondered how sore he'll be when he wakes up next. The pain chip should help at the very least. Mostly he just feels bad about putting Ratchet and his colleagues through this. He knows its their job, but operating on friends always made things depressing.

Ratchet's denial of exhaustion gets him a more critical look from First Aid, looking over the scratches and dents over the elder medic's helm and frame.

"Ratchet... You don't look good."

Ratchet catches First Aid's glance and tries not to look caught, clearing his vocalizer of static and drawing in a slow vent of air.

"Yes, well," he says evasively. "I'm all right. Long story--some things happened while you were out. I can fill you in later when you're feeling better, it's all sorted out now."

“It’s alright…Don’t push yourself.” Ambulon gently grabs First Aid’s shoulder in an attempt to ground him. “I shouldn’t have asked.” Ambulon knows better. After such a traumatic experience, First Aid should be focusing on recovering, not panicking over painful memories. Ambulon tries to distract him.

“At least he received a bit of divine retribution. Ratchet really put Tarn in his place."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 3 of 4