robothell | the shit train just keeps rolling

Tarn watches as Galvatron licks his energon from his fingers. Strangely, it helps to calm him, reminding him of something his teammates would do. Nickel would have scolded them; something about consuming non-processed energon, catching diseases, etcetera. A smile twitches his lips; what he wouldn’t do to be with them all again.

At least he has Helex to confide in…

He’s distracted as Galvatron pulls the badge from his own chest and doesn’t realize what is happening until the warlord is reaching for him. He stares down at the glowing symbol in shock.

Surely he isn’t serious.

The firm pressure against his chest makes it real and he looks down at a complete looking chassis for the first time in months. The deep gouge that Ratchet left is still visible behind the insignia, serving as a vicious reminder of what was. His fingers quiver as they come up to brush over the smooth metal. It isn’t his badge, that is truly irreplaceable; made from his own spark chamber. But, the gesture soothes Tarn. He doesn’t feel quite so incomplete

‘Thank you’, he scrawls in the dirt. He has to stop himself from getting emotional. Surely Galvatron would not appreciate it.

“Ratchet…You just beat up the leader of the DJD…”

Ambulon hasn’t quite snapped out of his panic induced daze quite yet. In fact the squeeze of a hand on his shoulder barely rouses him. To be honest the minute Tarn stepped through the medibay doors, Ambulon was already saying his prayers. He didn't think that there was any way around his inevitable gruesome demise.

Only to be saved by Ratchet, crutches and all. He can’t believe the ball bearings that it must take to look that hulking giant in the eye and think ‘yes, I am going to fight that’.

“That was…incredible.”

"I--what? No." Ratchet balks a little, huffing warm air out of his vents. "The leader of the DJD, who was already injured, stormed in here and made a bunch of stupid mistakes, all right? I was lucky he didn't twist my head off."

On second thought, that's probably not the best thing to say to calm Ambulon down. Ratchet shakes his head, trying to center himself again, feeling quite off-balance.

"I didn't do it to be 'incredible,' or whatever, all right? I just didn't particularly feel like dying this afternoon." He nudges Ambulon a little. "We still have work to do."

Ambulons frown deepens at the 'head twisting’ comment and his fuel pump does a weird flip. It’s a very graphic image; he’s seen mechs with their heads torn open and twisted off. The DJD’s handiwork is rather recognizable. Ratchet can say what he likes but he just gained some major points in Ambulon’s book.

He nods as Ratchet nudges him.

“Yeah…yeah, sorry, it’s just… I’ve never actually seen him. I’ve heard plenty of stories, i’ve seen the aftermath of his work, but actually seeing him…”

Ambulon shakes his helm looking down at First Aid’s unconscious frame. He certainly wasn’t so lucky.

"Hey--hey." Ratchet reaches out impulsively, getting a better grip on Ambulon's shoulder and tugs, but the memory of the terrified look in his optics is hard to shake even as Ratchet pulls him in and wraps an arm around his back.

"We're all right. You're all right. So's First Aid. You stayed with him--you did good. We're okay."

"I'm on his list, Ratchet. It's only a matter of time." His tone isn't full of terror like one may expect. No, instead its even, and dull, and resigned. He came to terms with this long ago; right after he left the Decepticons.

He doesn't move from Ratchet's comforting hold, instead he slumps, resting his forehead against his shoulder.

"He'll be back for me."

"He's going to have better things to worry about if I've got anything to say about it," Ratchet says darkly, before he swallows and drops his head to Ambulon's shoulder. "And I'm not--nobody's going to let that happen to you. It's--"

Ratchet takes a slow, shaking vent of air, the last of the adrenaline wearing off, and suddenly he's painfully aware of the spray of energon on his plating, of every scrape and dent and small injury he sustained in the scuffle, of the huge mess all over the medibay. He draws up a little, wobbling on his crutches, and shifts to sit down hard on the nearest stool, struggling for control.

"Sorry. Sorry, just--one sec." He flips his comm open.

"Ironhide?"

"Yeah?"

He answers it... embarrassingly fast. Then again, he wasn't doing much else at the moment, other than making sure Optimus didn't fall into a hole or something. Being a bodyguard. That sort of thing.

Which left a lot of time for pouncing on his comm when Important People -- see: Ratchet -- called him up.

"You don't sound so hot. Everything okay?"

"Yes. Well. Nothing that is an immediate emergency but--"

Ratchet's vocalizer shorts a little and he hesitates, but he can't just tell Ironhide not to worry about it now, that'll just make things worse.

"Could you come to the medibay, please?"

"... well, that ain't concerning or anything."

He's going to worry. No matter what Ratchet says. He's going to worry. But he'll also get moving. Even before the word "please" is fully finished.

"On my way. Sit tight, okay?"

"Yeah. I--"

Ratchet's voice wavers and he cuts himself off for a moment, his jaw tightening hard.

"...yeah."

"I'm comin'. Okay?"

Now he's really concerned. And transforming to move as quickly as a big, heavy guy like him is able to. Something has the other bot rattled. Maybe... more than rattled.

"Promise. Gonna be there in a minute."

Giving away the badge was of no consequence to Galvatron. He only donned it upon taking the mantle of leadership of the Decepticons. Soundwave had insisted; if he was to lead them, then he would take their symbol to show his acceptance. He had little attachment to the badge.

"Writing in the dirt doesn't dignify you. You can thank me in other ways."

Galvatron cups Tarn's chin, tilting his head up, then rubs his thumb over the thin slit at the mouth of his mask. What he wanted was the mech's loyalty, but his body would be a pleasing bonus. Without Cyclonus at his side he has been lacking in dedicated partners.

"Do you know other methods of communication?"

Tarn’s first instinct is to pull away from the hand cupping his chin, but he manages to still himself, freezing under Galvatron’s fingers before slowly relaxing into them. His optics dim in submission, turning his face into the thumb sliding over the mouth of his mask.

His hands leave the dirt to search out Galvatron’s, fingers twining with his. Chronolinguistics are something that Tarn rarely uses. As far as ways of communication go, it feels far too intimate for his tastes. But, with his voice gone for however long, he supposes beggars can’t be choosers. And, while writing in the dirt may be preferable to Tarn, he supposes Galvatron does have a point.

His fingers shift tentatively against the warlords in the quiet, under practiced, language, stuttering on words with shaking fingers.

‘How can I thank you?'

"Okay. Okay."

Ratchet cuts the comm and just sits, watching Amublon check First Aid over and surveying the total wreck Tarn made of the medical bay, wincing slightly at the light spray of energon on one of the walls, courtesy of his scalpel and Tarn's neck. Maybe he can tell Ironhide they've been redecorating.

It really isn't long before he shows up. A spray of gravel as he slams on the brakes, heavy tread a little too fast for normal strides. The door slams open. Yes, okay, he could have handled this better, but he's worried. Which... doesn't get any better at the sight of the place.

Or the mess on the wall.

And that's why, heedless of anyone else in the room, he makes quick strides to the one who called him, and just...

Grabs him.

Sorry, Ratchet, you're getting a crushing hug right now. Care of your embarrassing bara friend.

"Oof--" Ratchet manages as Ironhide scoops him up and drags him into a crushing hug, shuddering against Ironhide's broader chassis for a minute before he slumps a little, just letting himself dangle in Ironhide's grip.

"M'all right," he says with difficulty, his face mashed into Ironhide's massive shoulder. "M'fine. S'okay. We're all okay."

Sure, he hears Ratchet's voice. And the reassurance is welcome. But at the same time, he doesn't quiet let go just yet. Right. Everything's fine. Sort of...

"Whose is that?"

He jerks his head toward the wall without elaborating. He feels he doesn't need to. And it's then he realizes Ratchet said "we", and not just "me". And slowly levers the medic down to the ground.

"Sorry, I... Got a little concerned there..."

Yeah, he's not letting go quite yet.

"Tarn's," Ratchet says, his ventilations still a hair unsteady. "He came back here half out of his mind looking to pick a fight. I kind of had to give him one." He shakes his head, rubbing the palm not covered in energon up to his wrist roughly over his face. "He grabbed me and pulled too close and I got him in the throat. He won't be talking anybody to death for a while and he left after that, cut his losses."

He looks around at the medibay helplessly, trying not to lean into Ironhide's hands on his arms, or press his face to Ironhide's shoulder again, or do anything else embarrassing. He shivers a little with the effort.

"I figured we could use a little backup, just in case," he says, his mouth crooking in a weak half-smile as he manages to look up at Ironhide's face. "And some help cleaning up, since Tarn's gone and half-wrecked the place again and I'm next to useless picking stuff up. And--" He stops, bereft of other excuses for him calling Ironhide here in a panic before he feels suddenly and extremely foolish for even needing them in the first place. He swallows, words sticking thick in his throat, surprisingly difficult to say.

"And I wanted to see you," he says simply, but he leans in against Ironhide again and his helm clanks gently to the flat plate of Ironhide's shoulder, his shoulders slumping in.

"Who is that? Where did he head off to?"

He feels like he should know the name, but there's nothing in his memory to match up to it. The words come out angrier than he means them to. Tenser. Like he's spoiling for a fight, now that he knows some new threat popped up to try and mangle something of his. Er -- something he wants to protect.

"You got it," he says, and he means it, with everything he's got. Ratchet might not get a choice in whether or not to lean on him, because he's pulled him even closer again, while his optics flick around to all the destruction.

Looks like he's got a new place to stay for a while.

"All of it. I'm not goin' anywhere, all right?" One big arm drapes across Ratchet's shoulders, keeping him where he's leaning. "I got you."

Ratchet chokes down the impulse to wriggle away, to tell Ironhide he's fine, to try to get back to work--he shudders with it against Ironhide's broad heat before he lets it go, letting himself rest against Ironhide a little harder. He is all right, really, but... this is nice.

"Thanks," Ratchet says, a little belatedly, then shakes his head a bit. "Tarn. Head of the Decepticon Justice Division. He's just bad news, but I don't think we'll be hearing from him anymore for quite a while. Not half because he can't talk now, I guess."

"They give him a long enough name? I'm callin' him Torn. Easier to say."

And a terrible joke. He's not sure if it will have the intended effect, but hey. He tried.

"... What's he look like, anyway? Aside from the missing chunk out of his neck."

As he asks, he lets his hand gently smooth across the other bot's plating. He's never really known Ratchet to be rattled like this. So whoever this idiot is -- or was -- he's got to be more than just 'bad news'. More reason to look into it himself.

"I'm not telling you so you can go after him," Ratchet says firmly, though he can't help leaning into the slow stroke of Ironhide's hands against dented plating. "Megatron already damaged one knee badly, which is the reason that fight went the way it did, but I took care of it. I want you to stay out of his way unless he comes back here--don't go borrowing trouble. We have more than enough of it."

"I'm gonna find out. Gotta know what he looks like so I don't hit the wrong guy, don't I?"

He can't promise he won't go spoiling for a fight, though. He'll stay here. If he has to, he will. But on the other hand... this Tarn thought he could just waltz in and start a fight of his own. That can't stand.

Right?

"... Is it wrong if the thought of you taking out some guy with a scalpel is... uh. How'd it go again?"

"He's purple and turns into a tank. Other than that I have no idea what he looks like, he wears an extremely stupid mask all the time. You can't miss him."

Ratchet eyes Ironhide narrowly, his mouth turning down in firm censure.

"He's not going to come back, he was too badly injured. He used to have this ability to modulate his voice somehow, use it to get people's sparks to slow or quit entirely. Even if Spinister somehow rigs him a new vocalizer, which he needs, I doubt he'll ever be able to do that again." Ratchet huffs.

"And how it went is that Tarn limped in here with an already badly injured knee angry half out of his mind, picked me up and shook me until I rattled like a tin can full of rocks and tossed me around some, then made the mistake of letting me get close enough to stab him in the throat. It was not fun, or tidy, or particularly impressive, if that's what you're thinking. I'm lucky I'm in one piece."

the shit train just keeps rolling

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