Chapter Text
It was routine at this point: fix the mechs who came from the front lines, broken and battered. Try to keep them tethered to life just for a while longer, care for them as much as the commanders would allow, stand helpless as they were called to fight again while enduring the barely welded injuries with enough pain blockers to make them feel invincible.
Sigh deeply; unable to do anything. Share a dark look with his CMO, Greenlight; let her look after the ones still unconscious in the grey medberths, and go to the back room to take stock of the supplies. Grumbled whispers counting each category every sundown - and as his hands moved through the reserves, he would snag a set of wound dressing. A few painkillers, leftover from a prescribed recipe. The last sip of a medical energon batch, poured into a small cube. Everything safely tucked away in his subspace; the thievery just too minor to be noticed by the pricking eyes of the generals barking drills at the foot soldiers who would be dead tomorrow (never learn their names, never care too deeply; words passed from medical professor to trainee, words he himself had passed but could never obey. He wondered if anyone else had ever been able to not care).
And when it was his turn as first responder, split off from the rest of the meager group and search for the struggling mechs among the corpses leaking energon and tainting the soil a sickly iridescent pink. Fix them up, call for transport; red insignias flying in and loading the patients to take them back to base. And as Ratchet watched them disappear into the horizon, he’d reach into his stolen stash and look for purple badges. And as quickly as he could, he’d continue to honor his medical oath.
He hadn’t realized who he was, at first.
Ratchet was working to patch the leaks along the white mech’s waist and weld as fast as he could, knowing it’d hold enough to let the mech walk back to his base and, hopefully, to his own medbay; even though he suspected those would be as badly understaffed as his. He noticed a pair of optics shoddily coming online with a groan while his hands tried to be more gentle with the prone body.
‘Don’t move yet, you lost energon. Let the welds set and get out when-’ Ratchet had to catch himself as he found himself looking at those red optics. The color was different, but he knew the light behind them.
Sticky silence stretched for a few seconds.
‘It’s you.’ The voice was staticky, and the medic heard the clicks of a resetted vocalizer until the injured mech gave up on trying to clear his words.
Ratchet looked down and continued working, this time with a softer and more through touch. ‘It is me, indeed.’ He debated with himself for a second, and his vents hissed as he took a tube and connected it to his fuel lines. Just a small donation from his secondary auxiliary system. Nothing short of standard for injuries like this.
‘I always wondered what you’d think of me.’ Ratchet’s hands barely trembled, and he called it a victory. The weld wouldn’t look any different, but it’d heal with a small ridge - noticeable to touch. ‘If you felt betrayed.’ The con’s words came out ragged, but slowly losing the edge of burnt circuitry.
Ratchet finished up his work, turning off an angry comm demanding to know where he was. He helped the white mech sit up and handed him one of his stolen medical grade cubes, making sure he wouldn’t immediately pass out as soon as his medic protocols disconnected. The red optics were on him again, relentless little lights.
‘It isn’t my place to judge’ Look him in the optics don’t be a fucking coward just look at his face you helped this monster this is your patient he needs 2.3 ounces of energon and 46 hours to finish healing enough for combat movement he needs a bullet in his brain does he need syk to stave off withdrawal not enough non official painkillers for the pain he needs rest he needs. ‘That’s the job of whoever gets appointed once this is over. Maybe Tyrest, I suppose.’
He laughed a hollow, pained laugh; fangs showing through lips stained with medgrade. ‘You have changed much. Or maybe not at all.’ Ratchet ignored that and started putting all his equipment away, wincing again as he blocked another, more urgent comm by his superiors.
‘If you want any of those fixes to hold, you should wait at least an hour, but we both know you won’t do that, so. Do try and leave at least ten minutes after I’m gone.’ Ratchet’s expression went back to his usual bedmanner scowl. The other mech continued smirking, holding his injured side as he continued to sip at the green cube.
‘Have you made a habit of committing high treason, medic?’ He stared with burning optics and Ratchet still couldn’t hold his gaze. He turned and began transforming, but the pit on his tanks just kept growing.
‘Just take care, Deadlock. I won’t always be around.’ The name didn’t come easily. Neither was speeding away, but he found himself doing both just fine.
‘Duly noted.’
Deadlock smiled as he saw the medic disappear in the distance. So the legends were true, then. A strange medic bot who would try and fix ‘cons as fast as possible, leave before any commander could see what he was doing. He finished his drink and closed his eyes, counting the seconds until the ten minutes were up.
You’re special. I can tell.