[ THE "DRIFT GOT HECKED UP BY TARN" CATCH-ALL POST ]
Who: Drift, Rodimus, Ratchet, Megatron and whoever else wants to chime in
What: the inevitable fallout of the fucked up shit Tarn just did to Drift
Where: Red Alert's clinic
When: starting a few days after Tarn beat the shit out of Drift
Warnings: a lot of sad. a lot of gay
jk i'm lazy, thread starters below
What: the inevitable fallout of the fucked up shit Tarn just did to Drift
Where: Red Alert's clinic
When: starting a few days after Tarn beat the shit out of Drift
Warnings: a lot of sad. a lot of gay
jk i'm lazy, thread starters below
[Drift, Open Prompt!]
There's a sharp clacking of metal as Megatron jostles and taps the scanner in his hand, trying to get it to back turn on. It was working just a moment ago, but decided to shut off a few seconds before he was about to use it to check Drift's vital signs. After one or two more attempts at getting it to work, he sighs irritably and sets it aside, breath seeping out of the gunshot wound in the left side of his face. Scavenged technology could be so moody.
He finds himself a little nervous, of all things, simply because Drift had needed extensive work to pull him from the brink of death, and because his own inexperience. He's had much less time than expected to let Ratchet's lesson's properly sink in. Nonetheless, he continues, resting a gray hand on Drift's wrist to feel for his energon and electrical lines to gauge the fluid pressure and strength of the current. Despite the miner's size, he was learning to acquire quite the light touch.
"Since the scanner here doesn't like to cooperate, I'm going to need check your vitals without it."
He looks at Drift to make sure he wasn't uncomfortable with that.
Open!
To say the week had been busy would be a gross understatement. An explosion of misfortune and violence may have been a more apt description, and it was starting to wear down on Megatron's patience. Nautica, Drift, and Ratchet were all gravely injured. To top it all off, their stockrooms had been raided and he'd gotten his own facial souveneir from the whole encounter.
Ratchet seemed well enough to onlookers, but Megatron was there when he collapsed from exhaustion. The doctor seemed keen on ignoring all of his own advice despite the energon he'd lost and the healing he had yet to do. At times he wished he could just strap Ratchet down for a day and make him rest, even if he was entirely aware of the earful he'd get for doing so.
It was all a lot of stress and no physical outlet to work it off. The clinic wasn't like the mines or Kaon's underworld - he had to be careful here. He couldn't work out some of his frustration by digging into bedrock for a few hours, thinking to himself, and getting some exercise into his actuators. Not that he'd ever miss that form of labor, but he was yearning for something to to work off his own building coil of tension.
In between helping any of the other medics or checking up on Nautica and Drift, Megatron would find himself standing by the entrance, arms crossed, vaguely wondering if he could take a chance and leave for an hour or two.
Open!
He arrives at the clinic, scraping gunk out of his elbow joint with stiff bristle brush. Red Alert would smelt him alive for messing the clinic up and she was already not terribly fond of him. But he needed to visit Megatron and the clinic was the most reliable place to find the fellow.
The moment he sees Megatron leaning against the entrance however, he stops and does a double take and nearly trips over his own feet.
"Primus," he gasps, dropping the brush and rushing over, reaching out to touch the lightest of hands to the uninjured side of the young mech's face. "What happened?"
Open!
"Our stockrooms were broken into. The looter had a gun, but he didn't make off with much."
He reaches up to hold Aftermath's forearm,"I'm fine."
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You don't look fine at all.
But here was the founder of the Decepticon cause and you just didn't just say things like that to another Decepticon unless it was in a private setting. Now that he's looking for it, he can see the tension in the young mech's frame too.
"Let's go have a talk," he offers gently, letting his hand fall to rest atop of Megatron's shoulder. "Somewhere quiet."
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But no one was as aware of the building strain on his frame than he was, and his mind was swimming in - well, in a lot of things. He'd be no use to anyone if he wasn't focused.
"Not too far. I need to be there if one of the medics need me."
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Besides, the young miner looked tense enough to snap. He needed a break.
"There's a spot to sit just a little ways down the side walk. The clinic will be in our line of sight."
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Opening the door, he paces next to the the old bot to their spot outside, just out of earshot. He gives the clinic one last look back before leaning against a wall.
"Has news gotten out of what happened?"
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Of course, the scale of the clinic is huge. June's sort of getting used to feeling the Thumbelina routine around here, but she knows she needs to stay in sight of any Cybertronians roaming about the clinic. She doesn't know much about who's staffing it, exactly, but she's surprised to see the younger, pre-war Megatron here -- on top of the terrifying facial trauma he's recently sustained.
"Oh my god -- Megatron? What happened to you?"
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"I'm fine."
Apparently being shot in the face wasn't a fatal wound to Cybertronians. At least, when it missed his brain module. There were still some things that he was fairly certain needed to be picked out of his skull at some point, but that would come when the medics' hands were less occupied.
"I was driving out a looter in our storage."
He goes down on one knee so she needn't crane her head up so much.
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"Must have been some looter," she remarks, frowning. "I'm glad you were around, then. I can't imagine supplies are plentiful right now."
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Nonetheless, that was done and over with, and Megatron let whoever it was run off - sans weapon. Whatever trouble they'd do in the future should be significantly hampered.
"All the supplies are scavenged, yes. There's enough right now for the three patients we have, though."
But he doesn't know if they have sufficient amounts of supplies should more people get themselves injured, and the worry for that - among other reasons - seeped into his frame.
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Scavenged supplies? Definitely not an ideal environment for a clinic, but...you make do. June understands that. She frowns still, but it's mostly out of concern and sympathy as she looks thoughtfully up at Megatron.
"'We', huh? I didn't know you had any medical training."
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Ideally, he'd have more time to prepare and practice exercises on things that weren't alive, but Tarn's attacks and other unfortunate mishaps seemed to pay no mind to that.
So, wherever Ratchet needed help, he'd be there ready with tools and able hands.
"It's been a challenge, to say the lease."
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Megatron lays his massive hand over Drift's wrist and asks a totally innocuous question that nonetheless makes Drift question whether or not he's hallucinating. He stares for a long moment before he cranes his neck to look around Megatron toward the door, raising his voice even though it strains his freshly repaired vocalizer.
"Ratchet!"
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The hand lifts off his wrist, despite interrupting Megatron's readings, but he doesn't quite back off. He's ready to restrain Drift if need be, but he doesn't suspect it will come to that. Rodimus had a similar reaction - a little explanation might help calm this Autobot down as well.
"I volunteered to help Ratchet and Red Alert tend to their patients - I'm here to help you."
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"You? You." Drift's clearly still stunned, although increasingly skeptical. He's having an awful lot of mind-blowing discoveries lately and honestly, he needs a break. Can he go, like, one day without having someone break his personal reality. "You're...working in a medibay. With Ratchet. ...You're not an Autobot too, are you?"
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He tries again, large fingers gently pressing into the less armored joint of his wrist to feel the electrical current and palpitations of his energon lines.
Ah, right there.
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He doesn't mean it in offense, just -- surprise. His optics are more curious than anything, except maybe tired. "How far... When exactly are you from?"
Because around here, it's a pretty relevant question.
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"I imagine Clench would probably have had me well-groomed for my first gladiator match by now," there's a little cynicism that came with being constantly reminded of one's own grim future in his voice,"But I showed up here en route."
He brings his hands up to Drift's jaw, pressing his thumbs lightly over the mechanisms of his neck - particularly near his repaired vocalizer.
"Does this hurt?"
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It keeps him occupied until something's going to be done, and that's all that matters.
His optics flick up once, meet Megatron's gaze, and narrow suspiciously. Not saying anything, because Drift's on the mend for all he can tell and maybe some of that is because of Megatron. But that doesn't stop his arms from crossing and giving Megatron a full on glare. So maybe he's a bit protective of Drift. Who wouldn't be after their best friend got mauled by someone who modeled his actions after the writings and beliefs of the person he's staring at?
Say something to him, Megatron. He dares you.
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Taking readings and making tiny adjustments turns out to be the majority of what happens between major surgery and recovery, which is what he'd been intermittently doing while Drift was unconscious. Not particularly exciting or risky, and would have been utterly dull to look at if it wasn't Megatron who was doing it.
As it were, he'd gone through this routine several times before. Approach, scan, occasionally glared at by Rodimus, and leave. Only this time, something makes him look back.
"Can I help you?"
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A novelty he doesn't like because he doesn't trust it. There's a choice to be made, and maybe this one is choosing the one that doesn't lead to four million years of war and killing and slaughter, but helping out in a clinic doesn't count for anything. Megatron at least grudgingly follows the Autobot code out of what Rodimus can only assume is necessity. He doesn't know with this one.
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Well, it should be obvious enough that he doesn't want them dead, so he doesn't retract it. He just does his last scan before putting the tools aside, and writes down notes on a datapad.
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But his curiosity for Drift's conditions momentarily wins out over the enormous amount of ill will he has for Megatron - any Megatron. "How is he?"
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"His vitals have stabilized. For a while, I was considering asking if you and Drift had planned anything in case he was incapacitated."
But Ratchet, unsurprisingly, turned out to be an incredible medic. His systems would almost certainly return to completely normal function soon.
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