robothell | (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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

"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.