FIC: Medical Intervention (Human Series)
Title:Medical Intervention
Author: Keelywolfe
Fandom: Transformers: Bayverse
Rating: R
Series: Human series
Summary: Chapter 48 of the Human Series.
Notes: I am not big on warnings, folks, but everyone who is reading surely knows that this is the aftermath of a battle. Just a heads up.
~~*~~
It was a sight Ratchet had seen before, far too many times. He was an old mech, old enough to remember another Cybertron, one gloriously untouched by corruption and the horrors of war. Few in their ranks could claim that any longer and in very rare moments, Ratchet allowed himself a brief moment of grief for all they had lost.
Now, standing here on the outskirts and staring at the wreckage of their most recent home, was not one of those times.
Next to him, Lennox and his team waited in their vehicles for a signal from Optimus and the others. He could feel Lennox watching him warily, spared a moment to glare at the human. Despite what the others might think, Ratchet was capable of following orders. Stay out of the city until it was clear, Optimus had told him, never mind that his patients were likely dying, hemorrhaging out blood and energon while their medic stood here in safety, letting them die.
Even from here, Ratchet could detect that the fires were already burning out, their desert surroundings a blessing for once as there was little organic matter to burn and their buildings were mostly metal and concrete. Some pyrotechnical chemicals had been used but Ratchet couldn't identify it from this distance. Whatever had happened had been quick and vicious, his night visuals brutally acute, showing him the ruin of all they'd built this past year.
"Communications are back up," Lennox said aloud, low, and Ratchet gave him a distracted nod. Not his problem; communications issues were for tacticians and leaders, all Ratchet wanted was to be on his knees, gathering the wounded to him, helping them. Saving them. Every life he kept from extinguishing, human or Cybertronian, was a victory, his own war waged on a very deep, personal level. And every second he stood here in impotence was a second closer to death for those waiting for him.
He shifted on his feet impatiently and it was only his fear of distracting Optimus from the task at hand that kept him from howling defiance to their leader over the com links. Waiting, Primus, enough, waiting--
::Optimus, PLEASE!:: Ratchet hadn't even meant to send it, hadn't meant to pour his desperation into it, but he had, for just one second he pushed every ounce of his frustrated anguish at their leader. He didn't have time to close down before he felt the soothing response, a single word.
::Clear.::
Ratchet had transformed before Optimus even finished, tearing through the ragged roads towards the city. He barely acknowledged the destruction, his sensors intent on the flickering life signals ahead of him. Cities could and were rebuilt; long years of war had taught him that. But lives could not be recovered and a few of those humans had vitals that were terrifyingly weak.
Jolt and Arcee's blue unit were there already, moving through the wreckage in search of the injured. Not far away, Ratchet saw a few blanket-covered bodies and did not spare them his attention. Later, he could grieve but now his processors had to focus on those who could be saved. Like the human that Arcee was carefully lowering to the ground, his limp form tiny and vulnerable in her hand.
"Move," Ratchet said rudely, and Arcee leapt nimbly out of his way. The human was unconscious, blackened with grime and ash, and Ratchet quickly scanned him. Shock, blood loss, a few fractures. Quickly, he injected him with a sedative that had never graced the FDA's list of approved human medications, watched with satisfaction as his vitals stabilized.
As tiny as the humans were, Ratchet found them easy enough to treat. His hands were as large as their bodies but his tools were nimble and in little time he had them stable. There would be time yet for healing; for now he just wanted them safely alive. Their moans of pain easing into peaceful rest calmed him, Ratchet nodding absently when one of them weakly thanked him as he settled him comfortably.
"You'll be all right," Ratchet told him softly, a human he didn't recognize smiling tiredly up at him. It had been one of his own kind who had done this and none of the humans had looked up at him with fear, even without using a holoform. Adaptable and strong, these humans.
"Ratchet!"
Automatically, Ratchet turned towards the sound of his name combined with the racket of a large mech moving fast. His hands moving with confidence as he finished wrapped his last wounded human in a stasis blanket and Ironhide was running through the rubble, his hands cradled in front of him.
"It's Sergeant Epps and he's hurt pretty damned bad," Ironhide said bluntly, handing him over. "Found him in the front stairwell of Sam's quarters."
"He's alive, 'hide," Ratchet said, briskly, and when the other mech only stood there silently, he glanced up and saw Ironhide was staring at the blood on his own hands. Epps's blood. "I'll take care of him."
Ironhide was fond of all the human soldiers and Ratchet knew Epps was a good friend to Lennox as well. The large mech only nodded, dropping his hands to his sides. "Infirmary is still standing, Ratch. Tell us when and we'll start transporting them."
Of all buildings to remain unscathed, Ratchet thought with sour humor. Perhaps Primus hadn't forgotten them entirely. "Then get moving. The soldiers over there are stable. Take them to the human side and get them beneath a monitor. All you have to do is turn it on, it can do the rest. Got it?"
Ironhide nodded sharply, already moving and Jolt followed, both of them gently cradling a wounded human in one hand as they made their way through the wreckage to the infirmary.
Much as he wanted Epps there was well, Ratchet didn't dare move him until he knew what he was dealing with; humans weren't like mechs and Ironhide's well-meaning rescue might have only caused more damage.
Visibly, the worst damage seemed to be Epps's leg. It was mangled from the knee down, the whiteness of bone visible beneath a leather belt tightened around his upper thigh as a makeshift tourniquet. What lay beneath the surface could be even worse and Ratchet was just finishing his preliminary scans when Epps stirred, his dark eyes flickering open.
"Ratchet?" Epps slurred out. There was a dried blood on his lips, perhaps from an external injury. Ratchet was relieved to see no serious internal injuries, no broken ribs.
"Who else?" Ratchet said, dourly. Very carefully, aware of the human's level of pain, Ratchet began wrapping a field bandage around his leg as he repeated this evening's mantra. "You're going to be all right."
"Oh, so you're in the know now, Doc," Epps coughed out, laughing through the pain.
"As a matter of fact, I am."
"Gonna lose the leg," Epps mumbled, his eyes closing as he breathed against the pain. A strong man, Ratchet knew, and he promised himself he would prove the human wrong.
"And when did you graduate from medical school?" Ratchet asked tartly as he sealed the bandage. "I'll decide that, if you please. I don't like losing any of my patients or their parts so you'd better keep that in mind."
"Yes, sir," Epps said weakly, his hand rising in a feeble salute.
Ratchet grunted. "This is going to hurt for a second and then it will feel numb, all right?"
"Yeah, I got it."
With a single command, Ratchet activated the stasis bandage. Epps inhaled sharply through his clenched teeth and Ratchet held him still through it. Yes, it hurt for a second while the nanites activated but they would keep him stable, prevent infection, and promote healing in the area until Ratchet was able to give him proper treatment.
Repair nanites weren't difficult to reprogram but they were hard to replicate, particularly ones for an organic species. Ratchet had a few 'farms' of them fermenting in the infirmary that Sam had helped him care for. The human had been fascinated by the process, called them little robotic sea monkeys. Thinking of the little human made Ratchet wince and grimly, he pushed the emotion aside. None of the radio chatter indicated that they had found any of the civilians or the mechs that had been here, alive or otherwise.
Beneath his hands, the indicator lights on the stasis bandage flashed green. "All right, that should hold you for a while. Still with me?"
"Yeah," Epps whispered, a greyish tinge to his face. His eyes were glazing over, the nanites obediently suppressing his pain receptors just as they would with a mech. "That yellow one, the big one, he saved me."
"Sunstreaker?"
"Sunny, yeah," Epps smiled a little. "SunnyD."
"When did Sunstreaker sign up to become our anti-hero?" Ratchet muttered. Arcee hadn’t left his side yet and Ratchet suspected Optimus had assigned her to watch his back. A bodyguard, how kind. "Any sign of the Twins or Bee yet?"
She shook her head. "Three dead Decepticons so far. Ratchet, I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it, but I swear this looks like a combiner team."
"With this amount of damage, I'm believing it."
"How's Blaster?"
"Stable," Ratchet snorted. "He's better than we are right now. The humans are transporting him back."
"Shoulda seen 'em," Epps piped up, startling Ratchet. Stubborn human should be asleep by now. "Damn, they were all over that thing. That was some bad ass right there."
"They're something all right," Ratchet agreed, trying not to hope that they still were. Hope was a luxury he'd long since abandoned. Better to deal with things as they came then make wishes that weren't granted.
"Did they get it?" Epps asked suddenly, rising up on his elbows and looking around as though expecting the combiner to tumble out of thin air on top of them. "Did they take it down?"
Gently, Ratchet pushed him back down with one large finger. "Looks like most of it."
"Where are they?" Epps asked, eyebrows drawing in, as though he'd just noticed they weren't with the other wounded.
Ratchet didn't say anything. He had another syringe, laughably small in his large hands but Ratchet was nimble, optics narrowing as he looked for a likely injection site. The little human was bruised and filthy, not exactly a great specimen for him to practice his needlework.
"Don't you put out my lights now," Epps scowled up at him. "Where are they?"
"We haven't found them yet," Ratchet said evenly. "There's a lot of wreckage, they could just be buried."
"Or dead." Epps closed his eyes. "Captured, maybe."
"Maybe," Ratchet agreed softly. His name, again, a familiar sound to be shouted in battle and he looked up to see Jolt was calling for him this time.
"Ratchet!" Jolt shouted, venting loudly as he skidded to a stop next to them. "I found the twins, you better come look."
Ratchet was on his feet in an instant, Epps in his hands. "Where?"
A spat of coordinates was sent directly to him and Jolt said nothing more, his optics wide and pale as he held his hands out for Epps.
"Take him to the infirmary," Ratchet said, already turning away before Jolt could nod silently. He trotted through the shattered remains of their city, Arcee at his heels, and braced himself for what he would find.
~~*~~
"This is a little different than Auto 101, Bee," Mikaela gasped, wiping sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. Deep in the back of the cave Bee had carried them into was dark and oddly damp, but it sure as hell felt safer than out in the open, waiting for another Decepticon to find them.
Bee had stopped reluctantly, explaining to them all softly that it would be better to try and do a few repairs so that he could transform again. Dangerous as it was to stop, he calculated it was better than continuing to travel on foot. Mikaela had immediately volunteered to help and for that Sam was grateful. He'd lost track of what they were doing back at the words transformative differential splines and precision gear tolerances.
Spread out by Mikaela's feet was a field kit of tools. She was using a welder, after she'd stopped gaping when it transformed down to a size she could handle. Bumblebee had managed a chuffing laugh at her amazement, "Tools work better when they are one size fits all."
"Guess so," she grunted, ducking back into the gaping wound in Bee's arm. Sam watched from above, moving the flashlight as Mikaela directed. According to Bee there was something wrong with his…er…something. Gears. Something.
Really, it was kind of embarrassing. Sam took comfort in the fact that he would know just as much about performing heart surgery.
"You've almost got it," Bee murmured. His voice mod was tight and Sam wondered abruptly if they were hurting him. Sure, Ratchet usually turned off pain processors when he worked but that didn't mean Bumblebee could. Or would. Gritting his teeth, Sam didn't ask, let Bumblebee do what needed to be done. "Once I get functionality back in my arm, I'll be able to transform again. You're doing just fine."
"Just the coolant lines, now," Mikaela panted, swiping at her forehead again.
"No," Bee disagreed. He visibly relaxed as Mikaela turned off the welder and Sam had to bite his tongue. Bumblebee had been a soldier for years; he knew what he was doing. "The coolant lines have already sealed themselves and my autorepair can take care of any minor issues. But I have a severed motor cable and we'll need to repair that so that I can move my arm."
"Got it," Mikaela's slim fingers probed deeper, tangled through wires that were nonsense to Sam's eyes except in that they were a part of Bee. She made a frustrated sound. "I can't see it!"
"Can I help?" Sam asked, leaning in closer.
"Yeah, hold this back for me, Sam," she said, indicating a few bundles of wire.
He did, wincing a little as slippery fluid slicked his fingers and he tried not to think of it as blood. The second he tightened his grip around the cables, blue flickering from his fingertips like static shock and Bee made a surprised sound, all three of them watching as bluish light flickered over the cables, wiggling through the wires and vanishing. A moment of silence, two, and then Bee's arm whirred and lifted, his fingers flexing.
Sitting further away at the back of the cave, his mother drowsing in his father's arms, his parents didn't notice their sudden stillness, Mikaela's eyes wide and shocked in the yellow light of the flashlight.
"Don't say anything," Bumblebee warned softly. "We'll discuss it later. For now, we need to get going." But Sam couldn't help but notice he looked unnerved. He swallowed, hard, against the lump in his throat. Bumblebee had been his rock throughout all of this, unwavering in his support and if he was disturbed…
He transformed without another word, doors flying open, "Let's get going before anyone else manages to hack through my cloak."
Wearily, they all clambered inside, four humans too tired to do anything but collapse on the seats as Bee drove silently on. Mikaela curled into his arms just as she'd done earlier in the night and Sam tightened his arms around her gratefully, buried his face into her hair and listened to the barely-there hum of Bee's engine as they cut through the darkness.
~~*~~
The coordinates Jolt had sent him were close, through the wreckage that had once been the quarters for the Autobot officers. He knew the buildings only by their location, most of them little more than crumpled steel and beams. One wall was still standing, from Optimus's quarters, Ratchet saw, as it was taller than most. On the other side, he caught the echo of a spark signature, probably what had drawn Jolt.
If they were wounded and Ratchet was certain they were, time was of the essence but he was still cautious, Arcee at his heels as he peered around the corner, taking in the surrounding area. Even if they had been attacked by a combiner team that didn't mean there couldn't be other, smaller Decepticons lingering. True, it was doubtful; any Decepticons still alive after their big hitter had fallen would have been smart to flee but the words smart and Decepticon weren't exactly on good terms and Ratchet would have been dead a thousand years ago if he'd trusted Decepticons to have sense.
A combiner team. The twins had taken down a combiner team, with the help of a tiny group of humans. It was more than Ratchet allowed himself to consider right now. The injuries such a battle might have caused were his responsibilities and only that.
Around the corner, the only visible mech was one Ratchet didn't recognize and instinctively, his battle routines hummed online. Beneath the scuffs and damage, the armor was silver, only since Jazz had passed there weren't any silver Autobots in their ranks. What he saw next made him stand down, suppressing the thick sorrow that threatened to fill his processors.
Even from this distance, even with the damage, Ratchet knew who was in the silver mech's lap.
Barely recognizable, his wounds were so severe they were no longer even dripping energon. Most of his armor had been torn away and the silver mech held his brother close, humming soft, nonsense sounds as his large, black hands gently stroked the scorched and twisted frame.
Very cautiously, Ratchet came closer. Battle routines or not, Ratchet was always on mental high alert when he was around wounded mechs. One of the main reasons medics were so well built was the damage an injured patient could inflict before the medic could stop them. A mech in pain was not in control and couldn't be blamed for his actions but that hardly helped a medic who'd had his arm torn off by a delirious frontliner.
The other mech never looked up, holding his brother as gently as one would a sparkling, ceaselessly stroking the very few undamaged plates of armor that remained. Ratchet vented a weary sigh. Chances were they were about to lose two of their best warriors. A spark twin didn't have to die without their other half but there were those who refused to live. Despite their issues, Ratchet couldn't imagine one without the other.
"Sideswipe?" Ratchet asked, gently. There was no response and Ratchet laid a wary hand on the battered shoulder beneath him, silently running scans. Despite his injuries, Sideswipe didn't seem to be in any danger of offlining immediately. Not from his wounds, anyway, Ratchet amended, and he send a quick report to all the officers, closed off any tremors of shock or sorrow that might have leaked through the com link. He needed complete focus to deal with this.
"Sideswipe," Ratchet repeated, softly. For a long moment, Sideswipe didn't seem to notice him. His hands went still and he looked up slowly, blue optics focusing on Ratchet. It was the smile that spread over his face plates that made a tremor go through Ratchet's neural network. Cool, sardonic…everything that Sideswipe wasn't.
His voice was indistinctive, blurred. "Mostly."
It was only millennia of medical training that kept Ratchet from stumbling back in his shock. Instead, he stayed where he was, his hand firm on Side…on his shoulder. "What happened?" Ratchet asked, tightly.
Those black hands stirred into motion again, stroking over dents and tears, brutal damage a testament of a battle Ratchet hadn't seen. "He was dying. I couldn't…I couldn't let him go."
"You melded your sparks," Ratchet breathed, shuttering his optics. "Oh, child."
Sideswipe ignored that, oddly serene. "I had to. He would have died."
Behind him, Ratchet heard Arcee vent sharply. He sent her a quick, encrypted message. :: Go get Ironhide, I may need a little muscle.:: He waited until she was gone before saying to Sideswipe, aloud, "I want you in the infirmary."
"I'm fine, Ratchet." Never mind that energon was dripping from a dozen wounds. Never mind that he would need days if not weeks to recover. Never mind that he had literally done the unthinkable.
Ratchet ignored all that and fell back on what he did best. Sharply, he said, "Did that sound like a request? I want you in the infirmary, now."
"All right." No argument. Sideswipe started to get up only to collapsed back down with a low whimper, wounds that had been little more than a trickle suddenly spurting energon, spattering them both.
"Shit!" Ratchet snarled, still caught in his English vocals. "Hold still, hold still!" He patched them quickly, only the faintest tremor in his hands betraying him. Sideswipe never flinched, the light in his optics dim and lost. It was disturbing on too many levels, nothing of Sideswipe's warm charm or Sunstreaker's snark visible, only this lost, wounded spark.
"It'll be all right, scraplet," Ratchet said, softly, only absently noticing the endearment. A memory surfaced, of the day the Twins had been sparked and Ratchet had to forcibly lock it back. Now was not the time. There was a question that none of Optimus's team had found an answer and only this mech might know. "Where is Bumblebee? Where are Sam and Mikaela?"
That got a response, feeble though it was. Sideswipe blinked, his optics spiraling wider, brighter, before he replied, little blankly. "They left."
"Did the Decepticons follow them?" Ratchet asked, silently urging him to keep talking. Stay with me, little spark, stay with me.
"I don't…I don't know," Another slow blink. "I'm tired."
"I know." Ratchet clamped the last line and scanned him. Nowhere near as stable as Ratchet would have liked, he wanted a monitor on this mech in five minutes or they would be able to hear him screaming in Mexico. "All right, let's try that again."
Ratchet hooked an arm underneath Sideswipe's and pulled him to his feet. The sudden movement tumbled Sunstreaker's shell from his lap with an irrevocably empty clang.
"Wait, I can't leave him." It was a cosmic joke to Ratchet that now Sideswipe found some animation, struggling against Ratchet's grip as he reached for his brother.
"It's all right," Ratchet tried, his voice drowned out by the sudden hoarse scream of protest, Sideswipe tearing free of his grip and wounds that he'd just sealed breaking open, spilling energon that Sideswipe could little afford to lose as he scrabbled clumsily to pull Sunstreaker's damaged form back into his arms.
"I can't…I can't…" Choked static and Sideswipe fell into guttural keening, words lost as he clung to the wreckage of his brother's shell.
"You aren't…he's not in there anymore, remember? You're both right here," Ratchet tried, uselessly. Sharp reflexes served him well as he just managed to duck when Sideswipe suddenly lashed out, his fist whistling through the air over Ratchet's head with unexpected strength. Before he could try again a strong hand caught his, holding him still, not Ironhide but Optimus and Ratchet plugged in quickly, Sideswipe collapsing into medical stasis.
Without a word, Optimus lifted the smaller mech into his arms, holding his still form close. Ratchet vented a sigh and groaned as he rose up to his feet. Sideswipe trying to take his head off was a perfect ending to a perfect day.
"Can you help them?" Optimus asked, softly, gazing down at the silent, deeply wounded mech. Oh, so wounded, Ratchet thought, aching in more than his body.
"Arcee told you," Ratchet grunted, unsurprised. "I haven't the faintest idea how to separate a melded spark. I'm surprised they survived it, if they survived it, I didn't see much of a sign of Sunstreaker." He rubbed a hand over his face, tiredly, and started towards the infirmary where a plethora of injured awaited him, Optimus following. "And if they are both in there, it's a tossup to whether or not they are even sane. If their spark was meant to be in one piece, it wouldn't have split when it was conceived."
"You can only do so much, Ratchet," Optimus said, softly and Ratchet was sourly grateful that Optimus had his hands full carrying someone else; otherwise he'd be fighting off some kind of touch and right now, he didn't think he had the strength to handle what it would do to him.
"I can never do enough, Optimus," Ratchet snarled, quickening his pace and his Prime followed him without protest. Both of them were filthy and stinking with soot, with death, and Ratchet was grimly looking forward to helping give a little life tonight.
tbc
Next Chapter
Author: Keelywolfe
Fandom: Transformers: Bayverse
Rating: R
Series: Human series
Summary: Chapter 48 of the Human Series.
Notes: I am not big on warnings, folks, but everyone who is reading surely knows that this is the aftermath of a battle. Just a heads up.
~~*~~
It was a sight Ratchet had seen before, far too many times. He was an old mech, old enough to remember another Cybertron, one gloriously untouched by corruption and the horrors of war. Few in their ranks could claim that any longer and in very rare moments, Ratchet allowed himself a brief moment of grief for all they had lost.
Now, standing here on the outskirts and staring at the wreckage of their most recent home, was not one of those times.
Next to him, Lennox and his team waited in their vehicles for a signal from Optimus and the others. He could feel Lennox watching him warily, spared a moment to glare at the human. Despite what the others might think, Ratchet was capable of following orders. Stay out of the city until it was clear, Optimus had told him, never mind that his patients were likely dying, hemorrhaging out blood and energon while their medic stood here in safety, letting them die.
Even from here, Ratchet could detect that the fires were already burning out, their desert surroundings a blessing for once as there was little organic matter to burn and their buildings were mostly metal and concrete. Some pyrotechnical chemicals had been used but Ratchet couldn't identify it from this distance. Whatever had happened had been quick and vicious, his night visuals brutally acute, showing him the ruin of all they'd built this past year.
"Communications are back up," Lennox said aloud, low, and Ratchet gave him a distracted nod. Not his problem; communications issues were for tacticians and leaders, all Ratchet wanted was to be on his knees, gathering the wounded to him, helping them. Saving them. Every life he kept from extinguishing, human or Cybertronian, was a victory, his own war waged on a very deep, personal level. And every second he stood here in impotence was a second closer to death for those waiting for him.
He shifted on his feet impatiently and it was only his fear of distracting Optimus from the task at hand that kept him from howling defiance to their leader over the com links. Waiting, Primus, enough, waiting--
::Optimus, PLEASE!:: Ratchet hadn't even meant to send it, hadn't meant to pour his desperation into it, but he had, for just one second he pushed every ounce of his frustrated anguish at their leader. He didn't have time to close down before he felt the soothing response, a single word.
::Clear.::
Ratchet had transformed before Optimus even finished, tearing through the ragged roads towards the city. He barely acknowledged the destruction, his sensors intent on the flickering life signals ahead of him. Cities could and were rebuilt; long years of war had taught him that. But lives could not be recovered and a few of those humans had vitals that were terrifyingly weak.
Jolt and Arcee's blue unit were there already, moving through the wreckage in search of the injured. Not far away, Ratchet saw a few blanket-covered bodies and did not spare them his attention. Later, he could grieve but now his processors had to focus on those who could be saved. Like the human that Arcee was carefully lowering to the ground, his limp form tiny and vulnerable in her hand.
"Move," Ratchet said rudely, and Arcee leapt nimbly out of his way. The human was unconscious, blackened with grime and ash, and Ratchet quickly scanned him. Shock, blood loss, a few fractures. Quickly, he injected him with a sedative that had never graced the FDA's list of approved human medications, watched with satisfaction as his vitals stabilized.
As tiny as the humans were, Ratchet found them easy enough to treat. His hands were as large as their bodies but his tools were nimble and in little time he had them stable. There would be time yet for healing; for now he just wanted them safely alive. Their moans of pain easing into peaceful rest calmed him, Ratchet nodding absently when one of them weakly thanked him as he settled him comfortably.
"You'll be all right," Ratchet told him softly, a human he didn't recognize smiling tiredly up at him. It had been one of his own kind who had done this and none of the humans had looked up at him with fear, even without using a holoform. Adaptable and strong, these humans.
"Ratchet!"
Automatically, Ratchet turned towards the sound of his name combined with the racket of a large mech moving fast. His hands moving with confidence as he finished wrapped his last wounded human in a stasis blanket and Ironhide was running through the rubble, his hands cradled in front of him.
"It's Sergeant Epps and he's hurt pretty damned bad," Ironhide said bluntly, handing him over. "Found him in the front stairwell of Sam's quarters."
"He's alive, 'hide," Ratchet said, briskly, and when the other mech only stood there silently, he glanced up and saw Ironhide was staring at the blood on his own hands. Epps's blood. "I'll take care of him."
Ironhide was fond of all the human soldiers and Ratchet knew Epps was a good friend to Lennox as well. The large mech only nodded, dropping his hands to his sides. "Infirmary is still standing, Ratch. Tell us when and we'll start transporting them."
Of all buildings to remain unscathed, Ratchet thought with sour humor. Perhaps Primus hadn't forgotten them entirely. "Then get moving. The soldiers over there are stable. Take them to the human side and get them beneath a monitor. All you have to do is turn it on, it can do the rest. Got it?"
Ironhide nodded sharply, already moving and Jolt followed, both of them gently cradling a wounded human in one hand as they made their way through the wreckage to the infirmary.
Much as he wanted Epps there was well, Ratchet didn't dare move him until he knew what he was dealing with; humans weren't like mechs and Ironhide's well-meaning rescue might have only caused more damage.
Visibly, the worst damage seemed to be Epps's leg. It was mangled from the knee down, the whiteness of bone visible beneath a leather belt tightened around his upper thigh as a makeshift tourniquet. What lay beneath the surface could be even worse and Ratchet was just finishing his preliminary scans when Epps stirred, his dark eyes flickering open.
"Ratchet?" Epps slurred out. There was a dried blood on his lips, perhaps from an external injury. Ratchet was relieved to see no serious internal injuries, no broken ribs.
"Who else?" Ratchet said, dourly. Very carefully, aware of the human's level of pain, Ratchet began wrapping a field bandage around his leg as he repeated this evening's mantra. "You're going to be all right."
"Oh, so you're in the know now, Doc," Epps coughed out, laughing through the pain.
"As a matter of fact, I am."
"Gonna lose the leg," Epps mumbled, his eyes closing as he breathed against the pain. A strong man, Ratchet knew, and he promised himself he would prove the human wrong.
"And when did you graduate from medical school?" Ratchet asked tartly as he sealed the bandage. "I'll decide that, if you please. I don't like losing any of my patients or their parts so you'd better keep that in mind."
"Yes, sir," Epps said weakly, his hand rising in a feeble salute.
Ratchet grunted. "This is going to hurt for a second and then it will feel numb, all right?"
"Yeah, I got it."
With a single command, Ratchet activated the stasis bandage. Epps inhaled sharply through his clenched teeth and Ratchet held him still through it. Yes, it hurt for a second while the nanites activated but they would keep him stable, prevent infection, and promote healing in the area until Ratchet was able to give him proper treatment.
Repair nanites weren't difficult to reprogram but they were hard to replicate, particularly ones for an organic species. Ratchet had a few 'farms' of them fermenting in the infirmary that Sam had helped him care for. The human had been fascinated by the process, called them little robotic sea monkeys. Thinking of the little human made Ratchet wince and grimly, he pushed the emotion aside. None of the radio chatter indicated that they had found any of the civilians or the mechs that had been here, alive or otherwise.
Beneath his hands, the indicator lights on the stasis bandage flashed green. "All right, that should hold you for a while. Still with me?"
"Yeah," Epps whispered, a greyish tinge to his face. His eyes were glazing over, the nanites obediently suppressing his pain receptors just as they would with a mech. "That yellow one, the big one, he saved me."
"Sunstreaker?"
"Sunny, yeah," Epps smiled a little. "SunnyD."
"When did Sunstreaker sign up to become our anti-hero?" Ratchet muttered. Arcee hadn’t left his side yet and Ratchet suspected Optimus had assigned her to watch his back. A bodyguard, how kind. "Any sign of the Twins or Bee yet?"
She shook her head. "Three dead Decepticons so far. Ratchet, I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it, but I swear this looks like a combiner team."
"With this amount of damage, I'm believing it."
"How's Blaster?"
"Stable," Ratchet snorted. "He's better than we are right now. The humans are transporting him back."
"Shoulda seen 'em," Epps piped up, startling Ratchet. Stubborn human should be asleep by now. "Damn, they were all over that thing. That was some bad ass right there."
"They're something all right," Ratchet agreed, trying not to hope that they still were. Hope was a luxury he'd long since abandoned. Better to deal with things as they came then make wishes that weren't granted.
"Did they get it?" Epps asked suddenly, rising up on his elbows and looking around as though expecting the combiner to tumble out of thin air on top of them. "Did they take it down?"
Gently, Ratchet pushed him back down with one large finger. "Looks like most of it."
"Where are they?" Epps asked, eyebrows drawing in, as though he'd just noticed they weren't with the other wounded.
Ratchet didn't say anything. He had another syringe, laughably small in his large hands but Ratchet was nimble, optics narrowing as he looked for a likely injection site. The little human was bruised and filthy, not exactly a great specimen for him to practice his needlework.
"Don't you put out my lights now," Epps scowled up at him. "Where are they?"
"We haven't found them yet," Ratchet said evenly. "There's a lot of wreckage, they could just be buried."
"Or dead." Epps closed his eyes. "Captured, maybe."
"Maybe," Ratchet agreed softly. His name, again, a familiar sound to be shouted in battle and he looked up to see Jolt was calling for him this time.
"Ratchet!" Jolt shouted, venting loudly as he skidded to a stop next to them. "I found the twins, you better come look."
Ratchet was on his feet in an instant, Epps in his hands. "Where?"
A spat of coordinates was sent directly to him and Jolt said nothing more, his optics wide and pale as he held his hands out for Epps.
"Take him to the infirmary," Ratchet said, already turning away before Jolt could nod silently. He trotted through the shattered remains of their city, Arcee at his heels, and braced himself for what he would find.
~~*~~
"This is a little different than Auto 101, Bee," Mikaela gasped, wiping sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. Deep in the back of the cave Bee had carried them into was dark and oddly damp, but it sure as hell felt safer than out in the open, waiting for another Decepticon to find them.
Bee had stopped reluctantly, explaining to them all softly that it would be better to try and do a few repairs so that he could transform again. Dangerous as it was to stop, he calculated it was better than continuing to travel on foot. Mikaela had immediately volunteered to help and for that Sam was grateful. He'd lost track of what they were doing back at the words transformative differential splines and precision gear tolerances.
Spread out by Mikaela's feet was a field kit of tools. She was using a welder, after she'd stopped gaping when it transformed down to a size she could handle. Bumblebee had managed a chuffing laugh at her amazement, "Tools work better when they are one size fits all."
"Guess so," she grunted, ducking back into the gaping wound in Bee's arm. Sam watched from above, moving the flashlight as Mikaela directed. According to Bee there was something wrong with his…er…something. Gears. Something.
Really, it was kind of embarrassing. Sam took comfort in the fact that he would know just as much about performing heart surgery.
"You've almost got it," Bee murmured. His voice mod was tight and Sam wondered abruptly if they were hurting him. Sure, Ratchet usually turned off pain processors when he worked but that didn't mean Bumblebee could. Or would. Gritting his teeth, Sam didn't ask, let Bumblebee do what needed to be done. "Once I get functionality back in my arm, I'll be able to transform again. You're doing just fine."
"Just the coolant lines, now," Mikaela panted, swiping at her forehead again.
"No," Bee disagreed. He visibly relaxed as Mikaela turned off the welder and Sam had to bite his tongue. Bumblebee had been a soldier for years; he knew what he was doing. "The coolant lines have already sealed themselves and my autorepair can take care of any minor issues. But I have a severed motor cable and we'll need to repair that so that I can move my arm."
"Got it," Mikaela's slim fingers probed deeper, tangled through wires that were nonsense to Sam's eyes except in that they were a part of Bee. She made a frustrated sound. "I can't see it!"
"Can I help?" Sam asked, leaning in closer.
"Yeah, hold this back for me, Sam," she said, indicating a few bundles of wire.
He did, wincing a little as slippery fluid slicked his fingers and he tried not to think of it as blood. The second he tightened his grip around the cables, blue flickering from his fingertips like static shock and Bee made a surprised sound, all three of them watching as bluish light flickered over the cables, wiggling through the wires and vanishing. A moment of silence, two, and then Bee's arm whirred and lifted, his fingers flexing.
Sitting further away at the back of the cave, his mother drowsing in his father's arms, his parents didn't notice their sudden stillness, Mikaela's eyes wide and shocked in the yellow light of the flashlight.
"Don't say anything," Bumblebee warned softly. "We'll discuss it later. For now, we need to get going." But Sam couldn't help but notice he looked unnerved. He swallowed, hard, against the lump in his throat. Bumblebee had been his rock throughout all of this, unwavering in his support and if he was disturbed…
He transformed without another word, doors flying open, "Let's get going before anyone else manages to hack through my cloak."
Wearily, they all clambered inside, four humans too tired to do anything but collapse on the seats as Bee drove silently on. Mikaela curled into his arms just as she'd done earlier in the night and Sam tightened his arms around her gratefully, buried his face into her hair and listened to the barely-there hum of Bee's engine as they cut through the darkness.
~~*~~
The coordinates Jolt had sent him were close, through the wreckage that had once been the quarters for the Autobot officers. He knew the buildings only by their location, most of them little more than crumpled steel and beams. One wall was still standing, from Optimus's quarters, Ratchet saw, as it was taller than most. On the other side, he caught the echo of a spark signature, probably what had drawn Jolt.
If they were wounded and Ratchet was certain they were, time was of the essence but he was still cautious, Arcee at his heels as he peered around the corner, taking in the surrounding area. Even if they had been attacked by a combiner team that didn't mean there couldn't be other, smaller Decepticons lingering. True, it was doubtful; any Decepticons still alive after their big hitter had fallen would have been smart to flee but the words smart and Decepticon weren't exactly on good terms and Ratchet would have been dead a thousand years ago if he'd trusted Decepticons to have sense.
A combiner team. The twins had taken down a combiner team, with the help of a tiny group of humans. It was more than Ratchet allowed himself to consider right now. The injuries such a battle might have caused were his responsibilities and only that.
Around the corner, the only visible mech was one Ratchet didn't recognize and instinctively, his battle routines hummed online. Beneath the scuffs and damage, the armor was silver, only since Jazz had passed there weren't any silver Autobots in their ranks. What he saw next made him stand down, suppressing the thick sorrow that threatened to fill his processors.
Even from this distance, even with the damage, Ratchet knew who was in the silver mech's lap.
Barely recognizable, his wounds were so severe they were no longer even dripping energon. Most of his armor had been torn away and the silver mech held his brother close, humming soft, nonsense sounds as his large, black hands gently stroked the scorched and twisted frame.
Very cautiously, Ratchet came closer. Battle routines or not, Ratchet was always on mental high alert when he was around wounded mechs. One of the main reasons medics were so well built was the damage an injured patient could inflict before the medic could stop them. A mech in pain was not in control and couldn't be blamed for his actions but that hardly helped a medic who'd had his arm torn off by a delirious frontliner.
The other mech never looked up, holding his brother as gently as one would a sparkling, ceaselessly stroking the very few undamaged plates of armor that remained. Ratchet vented a weary sigh. Chances were they were about to lose two of their best warriors. A spark twin didn't have to die without their other half but there were those who refused to live. Despite their issues, Ratchet couldn't imagine one without the other.
"Sideswipe?" Ratchet asked, gently. There was no response and Ratchet laid a wary hand on the battered shoulder beneath him, silently running scans. Despite his injuries, Sideswipe didn't seem to be in any danger of offlining immediately. Not from his wounds, anyway, Ratchet amended, and he send a quick report to all the officers, closed off any tremors of shock or sorrow that might have leaked through the com link. He needed complete focus to deal with this.
"Sideswipe," Ratchet repeated, softly. For a long moment, Sideswipe didn't seem to notice him. His hands went still and he looked up slowly, blue optics focusing on Ratchet. It was the smile that spread over his face plates that made a tremor go through Ratchet's neural network. Cool, sardonic…everything that Sideswipe wasn't.
His voice was indistinctive, blurred. "Mostly."
It was only millennia of medical training that kept Ratchet from stumbling back in his shock. Instead, he stayed where he was, his hand firm on Side…on his shoulder. "What happened?" Ratchet asked, tightly.
Those black hands stirred into motion again, stroking over dents and tears, brutal damage a testament of a battle Ratchet hadn't seen. "He was dying. I couldn't…I couldn't let him go."
"You melded your sparks," Ratchet breathed, shuttering his optics. "Oh, child."
Sideswipe ignored that, oddly serene. "I had to. He would have died."
Behind him, Ratchet heard Arcee vent sharply. He sent her a quick, encrypted message. :: Go get Ironhide, I may need a little muscle.:: He waited until she was gone before saying to Sideswipe, aloud, "I want you in the infirmary."
"I'm fine, Ratchet." Never mind that energon was dripping from a dozen wounds. Never mind that he would need days if not weeks to recover. Never mind that he had literally done the unthinkable.
Ratchet ignored all that and fell back on what he did best. Sharply, he said, "Did that sound like a request? I want you in the infirmary, now."
"All right." No argument. Sideswipe started to get up only to collapsed back down with a low whimper, wounds that had been little more than a trickle suddenly spurting energon, spattering them both.
"Shit!" Ratchet snarled, still caught in his English vocals. "Hold still, hold still!" He patched them quickly, only the faintest tremor in his hands betraying him. Sideswipe never flinched, the light in his optics dim and lost. It was disturbing on too many levels, nothing of Sideswipe's warm charm or Sunstreaker's snark visible, only this lost, wounded spark.
"It'll be all right, scraplet," Ratchet said, softly, only absently noticing the endearment. A memory surfaced, of the day the Twins had been sparked and Ratchet had to forcibly lock it back. Now was not the time. There was a question that none of Optimus's team had found an answer and only this mech might know. "Where is Bumblebee? Where are Sam and Mikaela?"
That got a response, feeble though it was. Sideswipe blinked, his optics spiraling wider, brighter, before he replied, little blankly. "They left."
"Did the Decepticons follow them?" Ratchet asked, silently urging him to keep talking. Stay with me, little spark, stay with me.
"I don't…I don't know," Another slow blink. "I'm tired."
"I know." Ratchet clamped the last line and scanned him. Nowhere near as stable as Ratchet would have liked, he wanted a monitor on this mech in five minutes or they would be able to hear him screaming in Mexico. "All right, let's try that again."
Ratchet hooked an arm underneath Sideswipe's and pulled him to his feet. The sudden movement tumbled Sunstreaker's shell from his lap with an irrevocably empty clang.
"Wait, I can't leave him." It was a cosmic joke to Ratchet that now Sideswipe found some animation, struggling against Ratchet's grip as he reached for his brother.
"It's all right," Ratchet tried, his voice drowned out by the sudden hoarse scream of protest, Sideswipe tearing free of his grip and wounds that he'd just sealed breaking open, spilling energon that Sideswipe could little afford to lose as he scrabbled clumsily to pull Sunstreaker's damaged form back into his arms.
"I can't…I can't…" Choked static and Sideswipe fell into guttural keening, words lost as he clung to the wreckage of his brother's shell.
"You aren't…he's not in there anymore, remember? You're both right here," Ratchet tried, uselessly. Sharp reflexes served him well as he just managed to duck when Sideswipe suddenly lashed out, his fist whistling through the air over Ratchet's head with unexpected strength. Before he could try again a strong hand caught his, holding him still, not Ironhide but Optimus and Ratchet plugged in quickly, Sideswipe collapsing into medical stasis.
Without a word, Optimus lifted the smaller mech into his arms, holding his still form close. Ratchet vented a sigh and groaned as he rose up to his feet. Sideswipe trying to take his head off was a perfect ending to a perfect day.
"Can you help them?" Optimus asked, softly, gazing down at the silent, deeply wounded mech. Oh, so wounded, Ratchet thought, aching in more than his body.
"Arcee told you," Ratchet grunted, unsurprised. "I haven't the faintest idea how to separate a melded spark. I'm surprised they survived it, if they survived it, I didn't see much of a sign of Sunstreaker." He rubbed a hand over his face, tiredly, and started towards the infirmary where a plethora of injured awaited him, Optimus following. "And if they are both in there, it's a tossup to whether or not they are even sane. If their spark was meant to be in one piece, it wouldn't have split when it was conceived."
"You can only do so much, Ratchet," Optimus said, softly and Ratchet was sourly grateful that Optimus had his hands full carrying someone else; otherwise he'd be fighting off some kind of touch and right now, he didn't think he had the strength to handle what it would do to him.
"I can never do enough, Optimus," Ratchet snarled, quickening his pace and his Prime followed him without protest. Both of them were filthy and stinking with soot, with death, and Ratchet was grimly looking forward to helping give a little life tonight.
tbc
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