Chapter Text
Shattered Glass:
“I assume you’ve seen those childish cartoons of skeletons playing their bones like musical instruments,” Ratchet paused to lift a scalpel into the light. It was dull and peppered with old blood, but it would still do the job. “How realistic do you think those actually are?”
His little prey began to thrash, wrists flailing in their restraints and head whipping back and forth. Their screams were gagged, but not for much longer. Ratchet wanted to hear every agonized note.
“Hmm, I agree. Let’s make some music, shall we?”
Bayverse:
When Ironhide had suggested they go for a romp in the leaves, ending up face down, ass up with leaves jammed in every joint was not how Ratchet was expecting this night to go.
---
“Ironhide, where did you get all those pumpkins?” Lennox noted how the gourds were not just spilling over the sides of his truck bed, but had occupied the back seats as well.
“Don’t worry about it. Now, let’s do some target practice!”
“Wasn’t Ratchet growing pumpkins to test mineral levels present in soil?”
“Yes…he was. I suggest we hurry. The others are waiting.”
---
An infinite database of costume references Ironhide could have modeled his holoavatar from, but no. Sarah had insisted on buying him one. If only so she could play matchmaker.
“It’s last minute, but I know just what to get you. Ratchet will have his eyes on you all night,” she said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.
And it worked marvelously. Not only did Ratchet follow his every movement, but so did every pair of eyes, human and Autobot, at the party.
“I am so, so sorry, Ironhide.” Lennox had shed actual tears at the sight of Sexy Nurse Ironhide walking into the party. Now he just pitied the clearly uncomfortable mech.
“The high heels aren’t even the worst part,” Ironhide growled and tugged the skirt down so it was covering his ass again.
MTMTE:
“I’m pleased to report the culprit responsible for blasting a recording of a civil defense alarm ship-wide following our Halloween movie night has been identified and punishment is being meted out.”
---
“WHICH ONE OF YOU STUFFED THE MAGNUS ARMOR WITH HAY?”
Cyberverse:
It had been millions of years since Ratchet had tread this path, the ground still scarred and shattered. Even Cybertron’s graveyards and memorials hadn’t been spared from blaster fire.
The medic sat on his knees before a small, domed headstone and set down a cube of supplies he’d brought. The headstone looked worse for wear, a victim of millennia of disrepair, but in comparison to the others around, it was the least damaged. Not to mention the newest, one of the last laid to rest before the war moved off-planet.
“Long-time no see,” Ratchet rasped, trying to push down all the emotion rushing to the surface after so many years. He wiped away a few tears of lubricant and moved to brush fingertips over the fading glyphs. “I’ve missed you, Ironhide.”
He moved to the cube and fished around for some polish and a rag.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”