robothell | the shit train just keeps rolling

Tarn barely feels the pain of the crutch against his knee as he locks in on getting to Ratchet, vision going red at the very edges. He feels that last thread holding his mind together snap. Gone are words and insults— the only thing Tarn has left is bestial, brute strength. He can not fail again. Not again.

He roars his rage as treads shake in barely contained sobbing. He would be embarrassed if he was even slightly within himself.

Tarn’s hand makes it to Ratchet’s face, grabbing his chevron and using it to try to pull him closer. At the Same time a knee goes up, trying to plant itself firmly in the medic’s stomach.

Ratchet snarls as Tarn's knee connects, knocking the wind out of him and leaving him briefly stunned--but only briefly. Tarn grabbing him, Tarn being this close is terrifying, but tactically it couldn't be better. Ratchet's far from helpless but he's a surgeon at heart, and when he doesn't have a gun in his hand he fights like a surgeon. He flicks a scalpel out of his wrist and lashes out, precision jabs between armor plates, against sensitive wiring, severing any important connection he can reach before Tarn hauls him closer and his optics widen helplessly.

He drives his arm up without thinking, swinging in to bury the scalpel in against Tarn's vocalizer and twist, doing as much damage as possible before Tarn tries to fling him aside again.

The sharp pain of Ratchet's stabbing only makes Tarn more angry. Pushing the pain aside, he lifts the medic closer, determined to end it once and for all.

Unfortunately, in his blood rage, he neglects to consider that this may be poor planning. His shout of pain is quickly cut off as Ratchet buries his scalpel in Tarn's throat, successfully destroying his vocalizer with a savage twist. Panic seizes him as reality sets in, grounding him. Tarn is quick to throw Ratchet against the nearest supply shelf with all of his strength, hands coming to his throat to assess the damage. The following livid bellow comes out only as a series of clicks. His optics bleach as the flare brightly in shock.

Ratchet slams into the cabinets and slides to the floor, coughing and reaching up to wipe energon from his mouth with the back of one palm.

"Should have talked me to death when you had the chance," he says, his voice thin and staticky. He shifts in place, wobbling to one knee before he slumps back against the wall again, optics blazing. "You want to come here and try that again? Best two out of three?" Ratchet's face splits into an extremely nasty smile, shivering with anger and adrenaline and a strange, helpless fierceness. Ambulon and First Aid aren't behind him anymore, but he's not worried--he's confident he has Tarn's full attention. "Why not, right? What worse damage could I possibly do?"

The shock doesn't wear off quickly. He stumbles back, slipping slightly on spilt energon. He stares at Ratchet, completely disbelieving.

How had he let a crippled Autobot medic, destroy the only weapon he had left? How could be be such a fool? With that realization he collapses to the floor.

'Finish it.' he tries to whisper. 'Finish what you've started.'

He only hisses static.

Ratchet watches Tarn collapse, watches the last of the fight drain out of him as he curls up on the floor, wrecked vocalizer shorting. He takes his time dragging himself across the energon-slick length of the medibay, collecting one crutch where it fell, then the other. He braces carefully as he pushes himself to his foot, wobbling a little before he can get both crutches firmly under his weight and take a short step forward towards Tarn.

He doesn't get any closer, but he turns one crutch out to slide the pad of it under Tarn's chin and tilt his head up, inspecting the damage with a dispassionate, critical optic before he looks back at Tarn's defeated face.

"No," he says, his voice cold as cracked ice--he can't understand what Tarn said, but the desperate, miserable surrender in his frame is clear. "I won't. You go out into the desert and you rust there. I have enough of a mess to clean up."

Tarn stares up at Ratchet as he inspects his throat. He wonders if Spinister will be able to do anything for him, or if he is doomed to be mute for the rest of his miserable life.

Slowly, he tries to get his feet under himself. He can't believe that he's backing down from a fight with a cripple with his tail between his legs; what is the world coming to?

He just has no fight left in him. He's done.

As he gathers to his feet he feels small, and weak, and not at all like the Commander of the Decepticon Justice Division. Tarn feels like a coward.

Ratchet shifts warily as Tarn pushes up, putting himself firmly between Tarn and the other medics. His optics are still bright and intent as his chin jerks up, glaring defiantly up at Tarn.

"Go on, before I change my mind and call Megatron. Or Sixshot. I wonder what he'd think of you now."

The mention of Sixshot has Tarn backing toward the door. He wont have the Phase Sixer see him like this. Anyone else he might be able to handle, but not his old lover. He's seen enough pity and disappointment in his optics to last a lifetime. No, having Sixshot see him this way is unacceptable. Especially when he has no words to defend himself.

With a short weak glare, completely uncharacteristic to Tarn, he turns and makes a hasty retreat; leaving Ratchet and Ambulon with a destroyed medibay. He has what he needs and slowly begins his trek out of the city with his hand wrapped around his throat in an attempt to stanch the bleeding.

Ratchet glares at Tarn's back until he's sure Tarn isn't going to come storming back in before he whirls around to take in the destruction of the medibay, and Ambulon and First Aid.

"Are you two all right?" he demands, hobbling over towards Ambulon, the first threads of panic tightening his voice now. "Did anything hit you, are you okay?"

Ambulon’s eyes are like saucers. He’s pressed up against the wall, as far from Tarn as he could get without leaving First Aid behind in his terror. As Ratchet turns to make his way back to them, Ambulon is snapped from his trance.

“f-fine…” he clears static from his throat “I’m fine. We’re ok.”

He shakes his helm slightly, trying to snap himself out of the horror gripping his mind. He’s gone. Tarn is gone. He’s still alive. He stares very levelly at Ratchet.

“I can’t believe you just did that."

"I didn't have a whole lot of choice," Ratchet says, his voice still sharp before he comes within arm's reach of Ambulon and leans into one crutch to close a hand on his shoulder and squeeze hard, his vents stuttering a little.

"I thought he was going to go after you, or First Aid again. Scared the hell out of me."

“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."

"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.

the shit train just keeps rolling

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