Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Behold, the Beast Arises

Chapter One: A Gift

He was excited and didn't care who knew it. It was Red Alert's fault, really. Why tell him he had a package waiting for him five minutes into his shift if he couldn't pick it up until the end? Twelve hours of wondering and speculating and twitching with no relief in sight. 

"Honestly, kid, it's like you never got nothing before," Ironhide said with a small, bemused smile. A routine check up had turned into twice as long surely by making the mistake of asking how the apprentice's day was going. 

"I haven't!" First Aid replied, a grin stuck on his face beneath the mask. "I wonder who it's from."

"I swear to Primus," Ratchet groused two beds over while he worked. "If you ask that one more time, I'm going to let Grimlock use it for a football before you open it."

"Aw, give the kid a break," Ironhide chuckled. "Ain't every day a young mech gets a surprise. Might be from an admirer."

His subsequent wink in First Aid's direction made him flush. "I only know a handful of people on Cybertron. I doubt it's an admirer, Ironhide."

"Knowing your luck, it's some more work from the Medical Academy," Ratchet grinned. Ever since the Protectobot's recent promotion to junior surgeon, one of the last remaining medical academies had been trying to recruit him. Ratchet put up with it, mostly, but let them know in no uncertain terms that there would be no relocation for his apprentice. First Aid was simply flattered and accepted any supplemental material to help him keep up with his peers.

"If it was, the dean would have simply sent me an electronic transfer as usual," First Aid said. And he would have known, too. Hammer, the dean and also the CMO's long-suffering creator, never missed a chance to rib his favorite medical team for anything. 

True enough, the only response his mentor made was to grumble about finishing up his work while he returned to his own. 

“Don’t let him get you down, kid,” Ironhide winked. “He’s just grumpy no one ever sends him gifts.”

First Aid muffled a giggle and switched out a finger tool for more delicate work. “I don’t know,” he quipped back lightly. “There was that time the Aerialbots got him that whole flock of—”

“Alright, that’s it!” Ratchet threw up his hands and glared over at the grinning pair. “Get down there and pick it up, and don’t let me hear another fragging word until tomorrow. You darken my doorstep before zero-five, and I’m giving you inventory for the next century. You got it?”

He didn’t want to look an angry gift horse in the face, but Ironhide was still his patient… “But what about—”

Ratchet shook his head adamantly. “He’s egging you on, he can wait his turn. Now git!”

The words had barely left Ratchet's mouth when First Aid flew out of the medbay and toward the room used as a makeshift post office. He knew for a fact that his brother Streetwise was working there at the moment; the mischievous mech had been radioing him various descriptions of the infernal box for the past two hours. At least it would be easier getting it from him than Red Alert, who’d likely blow it up on the sheer principle that it then couldn’t blow them up first.

“Little brother mine!” the interceptor crowed as he skidded in. “I was wondering when you’d escape the Hatchet’s clutches and get in here.”

“He let me out early.” First Aid’s optics scanned the large table that held myriad packages, new equipment, and his bored brother’s propped feet. The rest of the brother sat behind the table in a squeaky old chair, his hands resting behind his head.

“Good behavior?”

“Apparently, I’m being insufferable.”

Streetwise chuckled and tilted his head to the side in acknowledgement. “I don’t know where he got that idea.”

“Agreed.” He looked box after box over rifling through without touching until one small, unassuming package remained. “Is this it?”

“First Aid.” Streetwise read off the top of the box, written in near-calligraphic glyphs. “Junior Surgeon.”

It was an odd way to address the box, not formal enough to have been shipped from anywhere official or via courier, and yet not informal enough to avoid the mail room altogether. If it was someone from the Ark, they’d have just delivered it in person or left it in medical.

Certainly not from the Academy…

“Any idea who sent it?” First Aid asked, his head tilting from side to side as he observed the neat, little thing.

“None. It just showed up here.”

His brother leaned forward in his chair and put his feet on the ground with an eager expression. "So, hurry up and open it already!" He said. "It’s already scanned, so we know it won’t jump out and kill us all. We got a bet going."

"A bet?" First Aid lifted the box and gently jostled it from side to side. Whatever was in there seemed to be padded well. 

"Well, Red thinks it's a mind control device from a Unicron cultist designed to turn you into a mindless zombie.”

Well, that tracks.

“And you?” the medic asked, pulling a scalpel from subspace to open the bindings.

“I think it’s from a ravenously devoted fangirl from that med school of yours planet-side who thinks it’s hot that you argue with the instructors over every slagging thing.”

First Aid paused for a moment but didn’t dare meet his brother’s optics. The more attention one gave the cheeky young mech, the worse he got. Not for the first time, he cursed whoever it was that gave Streetwise his first smut novel.

But still. “Did you just call me hot?”

“Open it! Primus Below!”

As he thought, whatever lay inside was well-padded beneath layers of foam. It took a few careful slices of the scalpel to get through it all, but before long, his prize lay revealed. Delicate tubes of glass connected in an intricate maze, and burnished steel shone with fragrant polish. Copper spirals connected triplet arched canisters that sat like three guardians of old on either side of the contraption. It was breathtaking.

“What is it?” his brother asked.

“I have no idea.” First Aid lifted the device from the box and held it up to look it over. “I feel like I’ve seen something like this before, but I couldn’t tell you what it does.”

His fingers hovered over one of the cannisters, his medic sensors trying to gain whatever information he could. He could have reported the elements contained within, many unknown to Earth altogether. He felt the invisible seams where a master engineer put the thing together. He could even tell the age of the contraption, older than the planet on which he stood.

But it prickled at the edge of his processor; he’d seen something like this before, but not quite so beautiful or well-crafted. From a textbook perhaps? A piece of equipment Ratchet had shown him once?

A nudge against his shoulder took him from his deep musings. “Hey,” Streetwise said. “It’s pretty cool looking regardless, right?”

“Quite.” He set the thing down for a moment and went back through the packaging. He’d missed it the first time, but tucked against the side of the foam was a single card with writing just as lovely as the top of the box.

“What’s it say?” his brother asked. “Any idea who it’s from?”

This writing was in an unusual dialect. Most of the Cybertronian dialects felt more foreign to First Aid than any of Earth’s. The only ones he was truly fluent in was the Standard Iaconian everyone spoke, Ratchet’s native Praxian, and Wheeljack’s Polyhesian. Even those, he spoke with an unmistakable accent; yet one more thing that made him and his brothers stand out. This dialect, however, was one he only knew because it had been programmed into him. The dialect of Kaon.

“A Decepticon sent this,” First Aid murmured, suddenly less sure of the beauty of the device.

“You don’t know that,” his brother said, taking the card and reading it himself. “For all we know, it could be a joke from someone trying to get a rise out of you.”

“It’s in Kaonese, Streets.”

“Lots of people know Kaonese. Hell, Blades knows about twenty excellent curses in Kaonese.”

But the card wasn’t filled with curses, nor any threats to him, his family, or his people. “Well done on your recent promotion,” it said instead. “Please tell your tutor that we are watching and are most impressed with your progress.”

His promotion to junior surgeon and Ratchet’s official second-ranking doctor was just a month prior, not long at all for any sort of word to spread. It would honestly be surprising if Megatron’s personal forces were aware, if they even cared.

Perhaps the Academy after all? But then, why the dialect?

“Maybe we should take it to Red,” First Aid murmured.

“And get a perfectly pretty… thing confiscated? Out of the question. Go show it off to your boss and maybe he’ll be able to shed some light on it.” Streetwise plucked the device up and carefully shoved it into his brother’s arms. “Go on, now. Shoo.”

The medic cradled the thing, whatever it was, in his arms even as he turned back. “Streets!” he said. “Will you at least follow up on the writing? I’m not sure I—”

“Primus, you really are insufferable today,” Streetwise said, but it was with a smile. He nudged First Aid again toward the door, this time letting him out into the hallway. “Go, Aid. Enjoy the gift. Let a mech work in peace, huh?”

He would have argued, but the medic found the door already closed when he turned around to argue. Now that the novelty of his package had worn out, and no one to collect on either bet outcome, it seemed Streetwise had better things to do than visit with his beloved baby brother.

Still, he has a point. Ratchet should see this.

He readjusted the device and made his way back to medical, hoping that the threat of not returning before the next day was just a joke. If nothing else, the older mech loved a good technological mystery, and this seemed just the thing.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: Resonance

First Aid entered the medbay cautiously, knowing better than anyone to expect a flying wrench at any point in time. A hand covered the mysterious gift protectively, just in case.

“Ratchet!” he called out when nothing came soaring towards his helm. “Boss, I’m back.”

“What did I tell you?” came a voice from the side. Ratchet stood in First Aid’s previous spot, completing repairs on the bemused Ironhide. “I swear to Primus, kid, if this is about the—”

“What is it?” The apprentice held up the device to him, cutting off any further complaining from his mentor.

Ratchet paused for a moment and retracted his small welder back into his hand. He tilted his head to the side, a curious expression most of his creations inherited that meant his attention was well and truly piqued.

“Where did you get that?” he said after a long moment.

“It’s what was in the package,” First Aid said. He set it on a free berth next to Ironhide’s so they could all take a proper look.

“Ain’t that a curious thing,” the red mech said. He seemed perfectly content with the pause in his care, yet again, and the younger medic was thankful to him for it.

Ratchet hummed his agreement and got closer to the machine, gently prodding and shifting it this way and that, probably using his own sensors to tell him what First Aid himself had first gleaned. He touched with near-reverence, and his optics softened with nostalgia.

“Slag, kid,” he murmured when he was done with his inspection. “Someone gave this to you? But how?”

“I don’t know,” First Aid admitted. “There was a note mentioning my promotion and that was it. They said to let you know they were watching my progress.”

“A note, huh?”

“It… it was written in Kaonese.”

Again, the tilted head as Ratchet looked back at him. “Who do you know from Kaon?”

First Aid shrugged. The best answer he could give at the moment.

“Well, looks like you got yourself an admirer. These are beyond rare.” The CMO stood up straighter and quirked a half smile. “This thing alone could buy every scrap of equipment in this medbay a thousand times over. It’s a tri-chambered, crystalline sonic resonator with a microline nucleon core. I haven’t seen one of these since the Golden Age, and even then, they were impossible to find. From someone in Kaon, you said?”

 “Perhaps. Should I even accept it if that’s the case?”

“Well, if it’s been scanned and cleared, I don’t see why not. Who knows, one of those so-called instructors at that Academy could be from there.”

He just couldn’t resist the dig, could he?

“Golden Age tech?” Ironhide whistled, impressed. “You don’t see much of that nowadays.”

A piece of medical machinery? Well, that explained why it looked vaguely familiar. First Aid nodded and regarded the device with newfound awe. “It’s beautiful regardless,” he said. “What does it do?”

“The best optical crystals out there were all made by one of these. Rich Towers bots and the military were about the only ones able to afford to hire the use of one. You could get all sorts of fancy, souped up optical tricks with one of these.” Ratchet grinned and leaned down to peer at every ridge and arch. “I’ve never seen one in such good condition before.”

First Aid nodded, thoughts still lingering on the nature of the gift itself. If this truly was as valuable and rare as his teacher was saying, it only made the whole situation more confusing. Some stranger from Kaon decided to gift him a priceless medical tool for no other reason than his recent promotion?

He was distracted as Ratchet nudged him with an excited sparkle in his optics. “You wanna see this thing in action, kid?” It was rare that something like this could get him so invested, but First Aid savored it. It was nice to not be alone in his enthusiasm.

“Yes please!” Mystery or not, this was too fascinating to pass up!

“Great. I’ll find us a crystal to use. You fire it up.”

How he was supposed to do that, exactly, wasn’t quite clear. There weren’t any switches that the apprentice could see immediately, but a little fiddling with the device revealed a small dial near the bottom. Even that was a work of art, like the rest of it, and he was almost afraid to manipulate it at all. He had small fingers, even for a medic, and it still felt too harsh to be moving it too much.

“Don’t worry, Aid,” Ironhide laughed from where he was seated on his repair bay. “It might look delicate, but there’s no messing with Golden Age tech.”

“He’s right,” Ratchet added across the room from where he was rifling through old replacement materials. “You don’t want to step on the thing, but it won’t break that easy. Get it warmed up; Primus knows how long it’s been since it was actually used.”

Reassured, First Aid slid the dial over and immediately felt the vibration of old gears within beginning to rotate. It sounded smooth, recently oiled, and soon a steady pulse of energy ran through the optical resonator. Blue light twisted through the glass tubes and culminated in the center chamber where a single tube faced the berth. The energy held steady at the head of this tube, ready for application.

Fascinating… He leaned closer to inspect just how the information would be carved or programmed into a mech’s optics.

He didn’t even hear it at first, so quiet was the whine and intense his scrutiny. The frequency was well out of an organic’s ability to detect, and nearly out of First Aid’s as well. But when the high-pitched whine grew louder, he had to look up from the chamber to inspect. Had he dialed the resonator too quickly? Done something he shouldn’t? Or perhaps it was just part of the start-up process.

The vibration emanating from the resonator grew louder, a low humming sound.

“What did you press?” Ratchet asked, walking forward with a few sheets of crystal.

“I have no idea,” First Aid shrugged, gently adjusting the dial again.

The whine grew, and felt uncomfortably familiar now.

“Down!” Ironhide roared suddenly from behind them. He dove over the little medic and shoved him to the ground face-first. The bulk of the security mech flattened him immediately and gave no room for fighting back. Surprised as he was, there was little resistance First Aid could give. His mask clunked against the deck painfully and his right shoulder wrenched painfully.

As soon as they hit the deck, the whining reached an unmanageable crescendo and erupted in an explosion of glass and metal. Shrapnel shot through the room, ripping through anything within range. Everything ejected from the resonator tore into whatever lay in its way, and it was only luck that there were no other bots in the room save for the two medics and single patient.

Even with his head covered by the elder mech above him, First Aid heard a cry of pain from his mentor as he was struck. He struggled then to be released and go to him, but Ironhide’s hold was too firm. There was no moving until the larger mech let him move.

The whole ordeal couldn’t have lasted more than a second, but when it was over, anything above berth-level was peppered with shrapnel, and any nearby equipment was completely shredded through.

The young medic lifted his head painfully when Ironhide carefully released him, his audios still ringing from the explosion. Dust and shards of metal and class were everywhere, as well as the unsettling scent of energon in the air.

“Hey doc,” Ironhide called out, still pinning First Aid down. “You alive?”

For a moment there was nothing, and the tightness in the apprentice’s spark increased. Then there was a pained cough somewhere across the room and an unhappy growl of the affirmative.

“The kid?” Ratchet croaked back.

First Aid could only grunt in response and rested his helm back onto the deck, letting unconsciousness take him at last.

Perfect. My first gift ever, and it tries to kill me…

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: Exhumed

“Boss, would you please hold still? This is taking twice as long as it—”

“You try holding still with bits of resonator stuck in your slagging helm.”

First Aid shook his head and continued his delicate work as best as possible despite the fidgeting. The three inhabitants of the medbay had avoided the worst of the blast with only minor shrapnel and burns to contend with. Ratchet himself took the blast head-on, catching hundreds of shards of metal and glass in his windshield and torso. It was luck alone that kept the objects from lodging into worse, more essential places. Any one of them might have sliced into a main fuel line and killed him in minutes.

If he could only just be a better patient and not squirm every time First Aid took the tweezers to him…

Ironhide’s back was scorched and warped from the proximity to the bomb. There was no danger to him now, and he lay in healing recharge until one of the medics could see to him.

As for the target himself, First Aid got by with only a few burns and dents, courtesy of the older mech’s protection. He really owed him one after this.

The room itself couldn’t say the same for luck. A small crater existed where the berth and resonator once stood, and throughout the entire room were large and small pieces of shrapnel. Tools were destroyed, beakers shattered, and spare supplies riddled with holes. It would take weeks for the medbay to get back to full working order.

“Ow!”

“Sorry!” First Aid ducked his head to avoid the glare sent his way. “It’s just a stubborn piece. I’m nearly done.”

His teacher grumbled something unsavory, but did settle down so he could finish up with the tweezers.

As he worked, the younger medic’s gaze flitted over to the security team working on the other side of the medbay. Most of the room was taped off for the investigation with only the two offices and a small corner deemed usable. Prowl oversaw most of the efforts as a harried Red Alert and contrite Streetwise combed through the make-shift bomb and its results. Perceptor stood nearby accepting collections of evidence, hardly able to contain his excitement at doing so. Wheeljack just stood back, seemingly torn between horror at the near-disaster and equal giddiness at the bomb.

We really should give them other things to do if our near deaths make them this happy…

The last shard came out of the center of Ratchet’s chevron and clinked into the collection tray to the right.

“There,” he said. “That should do it. Auto-repair can get the rest. Now, are you sure you don’t want me to check your optics for—”

“I said I was fine, now go mother someone else,” Ratchet grumped, waving him off with an impatient hand. “I just needed help with the shrapnel. You got smaller hands than me.”

First Aid chuckled and finally backed off, knowing that his teacher’s patience had finally hit its limit. Not that he could talk; doctors made the worst patients, and he was no exception. He dropped his tweezers in the tray and set the whole thing aside for Perceptor to take samples from.

“So, what do you think?”

“Hm?” First Aid looked up from the tray and back toward Ratchet who hadn’t moved from his seat just outside his office.

The CMO nodded his head toward the hustle by the crater. “Not exactly what you expected from a gift, huh?”

His spark tightened unhappily, and he nodded, focusing on organizing his med-roll rather than his brother getting his fifth lecture from the Security Director. “No,” he said quietly. “It wasn’t.”

“It’s alright, kid,” Ratchet’s tone softened a fraction. “No one got seriously hurt. Even ‘Hide will be up and running in a day like nothing happened. We got lucky.”

“Too lucky. The way that thing was built… it could have killed all of us. It could have taken out the whole ‘bay itself. And if there were more patients here…” First Aid clenched his fists and relaxed them again. “Ratchet, I… I’m so sorry.”

His teacher and creator looked over at him with an arched optic ridge. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” First Aid repeated, meeting his gaze. “This is my fault.”

Ratchet shook his head, and one corner of his lips twitched in the threat of a smile. “Where the slag did you get that idea, kid?”

“It was my gift, my responsibility. I didn’t feel right about it being from Kaon, and I still brought it in here, and—”

“Aid.” Ratchet sighed and stilled his movements with a gentle hand on his forearm. “You didn’t do this. It got passed Red Alert’s million screenings, so there was no way you could have known anything.”

“—monitor duty for the next vorn!” Red Alert was snapping in the background. Whatever Streetwise’s answer was, it was mumbled from a ducked head.

“It isn’t his fault either,” Ratchet added as they watched. “I’ll talk to Red and see he gets let off easy. Like I said, if it made it passed the screenings, none of us could have known better.”

Prowl looked over at the pair then and said something quietly to Red Alert. The red and white nodded curtly and continued to berate the poor interceptor without pause. The Praxian walked over to the two medics, doorwings held high and tight. Many might not have noticed, but First Aid prided himself on knowing everyone’s bodies as well as they did themselves. This had their XO bothered more than he was saying.

He stopped in front of them, and sure enough, there was a small frown on the corner of his lips. “Are you both alright?” he asked, not for the first time. His optics roamed over the pair of them as if to reassure himself.

First Aid opened his mouth to respond, but Ratchet beat him to it.

“We’re fine,” the CMO said with a wave of his hand. “I’m more worried about my medbay. It’s blown half to slag.”

“The security team still needs to collect a few things before the scene can be deconstructed. I’ll get a rotating shift going to help you put it back in order as soon as Red Alert clears it.”

“Thank you, sir,” First Aid said. “And sir, I want to apologize for—”

“None needed,” Prowl interrupted. “We missed the danger, and so the fault lies with us.”

“See, that’s what I told him,” Ratchet chuckled. “I think he’ll bust something if he doesn’t apologize though.”

Prowl nearly smiled. “Indeed?” He looked back at First Aid. “Please don’t be concerned. We’ll do a full investigation and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Appreciate it.” Ratchet nudged his apprentice beside him. “If it’ll cheer you up, I’ll let you scrub the slag off the floor with a toothbrush, alright?”

That finally got a laugh out of the young mech. He nodded and nudged back. “Very well, boss. You win.”

“I know.” Then Ratchet looked back up at the XO. “I wanna talk to you later about this investigation, alright? I might have something for you.”

Prowl just nodded. “Whenever you’re able.” He looked over at the security crew and then back to the medics. “Please excuse me.”

When he left, First Aid stepped back to collect the tray of shards. No doubt Perceptor would want those right away. Before he could do so, however, a red hand on his forearm stopped him.

“Kid,” Ratchet said in an undertone. “We need to talk. Come into the office.”

The younger mech nodded quietly and followed him, glancing only once more over at his brother. Poor Streetwise looked nothing like his usual joyful self, and instead hung his head with dulled optics. He was miserable. As mischievous as Streetwise was, he took his role as Protectobot and interceptor deadly serious. If he couldn’t keep his family and comrades safe, he felt useless, upended… Red Alert couldn’t punish him any more than he’d punish himself for what happened.

I need to talk to him after this.

Ratchet shut the door behind them once First Aid was in the CMO’s office. They took their usual spots out of habit – Ratchet leaning against his desk, First Aid sitting up on a counter. Behind closed doors, they were mentor and student, creator and creation, and unless it was a formal dressing-down, they were free to relax.

“What is it?” First Aid asked when it was clear his teacher wasn’t going to start. The CMO had a faraway look in his optics, and a troubled frown. He seemed so cavalier about the situation in front of everyone, but now it was clear there were layers the younger mech had no idea about.

Ratchet crossed his arms and thought for a moment, perhaps testing his words, before he finally spoke. “I… I think I might know who’s behind all this. I’m going to talk to Prowl about it this afternoon, but you need to hear it from me first.”

First Aid blinked and looked at him. “What?” he asked. “Who? Why?” This was the last thing he expected to hear.

The CMO looked down and absently brushed glass dust from a leg. His optics were shadowed by the chevron on his forehead, and it was impossible to know what was going through that head of his. Then…

“He’s not after you, Aid. He’s after me.”

He? He who? After Ratchet? Why?

“But how do you know? I don’t understand.”

Ratchet held up a hand to silence him. “I need you to listen, ok? It’s… this isn’t easy to talk about.”

First Aid frowned but nodded, forcing himself to remain silent, giving him the space needed to explain. He hoped his mentor would at least look up at him, but he didn’t. In fact, he seemed to look anywhere but his protégé.

“His name is Mindscape, standard Seeker build, from Vos, but he was living in Kaon when I knew him. He… we went to medical school together, both at the top of the class.” Ratchet chuckled softly then, but there was no humor in it. “Every day, we’d recalculate our scores to see who beat who. He was so… brilliant. Probably one of the reasons I ended up doing so well; I couldn’t stand to see an arrogant slagger like that take the top spot.”

First Aid listened quietly as he’d promised, willing to hear the whole story out. Ratchet never talked about the Academy, though rumors surrounding his time there sifted here and there amongst his own peers. Ratchet was a legend, one of the youngest ever to earn his certifications, a genius surgeon, the sharpest mind…

But there were no stories about a mech named Mindscape.

“We got along well enough when we needed to,” Ratchet continued. “Maybe some kind of friendship, I dunno. But he had these… ideas on how to be a better doctor.”

The apprentice tilted his head to the side curiously and barely stopped himself from asking.

“He had these methods he would try to get passed the instructors, things that skirted the line of our Oath so closely that no one else would have dared try it. He talked about spark manipulation, and hybridizing mechanimals with standard-builds. Once, a student had died from an accident in the lab, and he put in a petition to download the mech’s data files and memories onto a blank spark to bring him back… just really slagging awful stuff.”

“They would have never allowed that,” First Aid said with a frown. Even the idea of it was monstrous, let alone attempting it.

“Of course they didn’t. They told him where he could stuff that idea of his and sent him back to class.” Ratchet’s frame deflated a little, and his optics seemed far away. “Not an orn went by, and I was the one to walk in on him in the lab with that poor kid’s body opened up like some kind of science fair project.”

“What did you do?” First Aid whispered.

“What else could I do, Aid? I turned him in. They stripped him of every qualification he ever got and kicked him out within a solar cycle.”

“And… what happened to him?”

Ratchet shrugged. “Lost touch after that, for obvious reasons. Last I heard, he was locked up for live experimentation.”

“But if he’s locked up, how could he know anything about me? How could you know it’s him?”

Ratchet pulled out the gift’s note from subspace. First Aid had given it to him following the blast. “This note is a straight challenge to me, Aid. If it was about your achievement, why mention me at all? And that bomb out there… fancy and completely over the top to make a point. He did that slag to show that he could, and to rile me up in the process. As for how he did all this… slag if I know.”

“But why send it to me and not you?”

Ratchet quirked a half-smile and finally looked up to meet his optics. “What better way to get to me than through you, Aid? Kill you, hurt me. It’s as simple as that.”

Chapter Text

His brothers descended upon him the moment he walked into the shared Protectobot suite. Even Streetwise was there, momentarily freed from the clutches of a furious Red Alert. One by one, the brothers checked First Aid over, reassuring themselves in person and through the gestalt bond that he was hale and whole.

“Are you ok, Aid?” Streetwise burst out immediately.

“And you’re sure Ratchet looked you over?” Hot Spot fussed.

“Because maybe he missed something,” Groove added.

“Do you want me to slag up whoever did this to you?” Blades asked.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” First Aid laughed, batting away each fussing hand. While he was known throughout the base as the premier mother hen, he couldn’t abide it being done to him. “Primus, let me sit down at least before you hound me.”

When they were together, the bond between the gestalt was the strongest and most active. Emotions and half-thoughts flitted amongst each other as naturally as if they were speaking. Full words were harder to do, and so rarely came across, but the meanings were always clear. Now, concern and love settled between them all and reinforced his place in the group.

First Aid allowed himself to bask in it for only a moment before he regained himself. He stepped through the bustle of brothers toward the old couch in the center of the common area. He was glad the Aerialbot team wasn’t there as well, as they were wont to show up unannounced; they were their older brothers and some of their best friends, but he needed quiet now.

Blades handed him a cube of energon and the siblings all sat in their “designated” spots around the room, all attention on the medical apprentice.

He took his mask and visor off and sipped slowly from the cube of mid-grade. He hadn’t had anything since that morning, and with the panic surrounding his personalized bomb, he was massively undercharged. He didn’t even know it until that first sip just how much he needed it.

“Aid,” Streetwise said, the first to break the silence. “Aid, I’m so sorry. I had no idea what was in that thing, and I just handed it to you!”

The youngest brother shook his head and smiled at him. “I don’t blame you, Streets,” he said. “You couldn’t have known. Like you told me before, you and Red Alert both scanned it. It got in under the radar.”

“It shouldn’t have. I know better than that! You could have died, Aid!”

“But I didn’t. I’m right here.”

“Is Red giving you a hard time?” Hot Spot asked Streetwise. His voice was neutral but not uncaring. He was probably trying to figure out himself just who was to blame for what.

“He’s got me on extra duty for the rest of my life,” the interceptor grumbled. “Not like I don’t deserve it.”

“Ratchet agrees that it wasn’t your fault,” First Aid said. “He’s going to talk to Red Alert for you.”

His brother didn’t look cheered at the thought of their creator doing so, but he didn’t complain further. As the medic suspected, his brother would punish himself worse than any extra duty could do. They took care of one another; they didn’t hand each other bombs.

“Have you heard anything else?” Groove asked. “Any idea who’s after you?”

First Aid took a long sip to allow himself time to think of an answer. His first thought was to admit everything to them; secrets were rare for them, and nearly physically impossible once combined. But the knowledge of this rogue doctor out there… it made the gears between his shoulders itch, and already he caught himself feeling an extra set of optics on him wherever he went. If he wasn’t careful, he would turn into Red Alert himself, and no one needed that in a doctor. He didn’t want to burden them with this, especially knowing how they would all want to jump in and act. Groove was the most restrained of his brothers, and even his legs were visibly twitching with the need for action.

But they’re my brothers… if I can’t tell them, then who can I tell?

“Ratchet believes it’s an old rival of his,” First Aid said at last. He leaned back against the couch and watched his brothers for their reactions. He had to word this carefully or all hell would break loose. “He says that this rival is trying to hurt him by hurting me.”

“Well, where is this guy? How do we stop him?” Hot Spot asked. He had a focus now, and was already geared for action.

“It’s being taken care of,” the younger brother explained. “We shouldn’t do anything right now that might tip him off that we know. He’s already locked up, we just need to find out how he’s doing this and what he’s really after.”

“I don’t like it,” Blades scowled. “If someone’s trying to kill you, the least we can do is kill the slagger first.”

“It does make sense though,” Streetwise said to Blades. “Stealth might help us get him faster.”

“Well, what if we just talk to him?” Groove asked the room.

The four others all looked at him.

“What?” the scout asked with a shrug. “Never hurts, does it?”

“Talk to him?” First Aid asked. “What would that do?”

“You said he’s already locked up, and I doubt it’s what he’d expect you to do so it’s not like he’s going to have you shot at the prison.” Groove tilted his head and smiled. “Sometimes a coupla words solve a lotta problems, my dude.”

Streetwise, Blades, and Hot Spot all chuckled at the second eldest. None of them, not even Blades, really relished the idea of killing, but just talking to a murderer? That was a bit too far-fetched.

But First Aid didn’t laugh. He took another long sip of his mid-grade and thought instead.

What if we just talk to him…

The words floated through his processor for the rest of the day and through the night. They floated there in the morning when he returned to the medbay for a long shift of cleaning and repairing and sweeping in between patching up mischievous Lamborghinis.

They made him itch and wonder and possibly even hope there were answers that could still be given. Ratchet seemed convinced of the culprit, but perhaps it wasn’t as black and white as it appeared?

What if we just talk to him…

But no, his boss would never allow such a thing. He made it quite clear that the safest place for any of them was as far away from the insane doctor as possible.

But since when was greatness ever achieved by following the rules?

Somewhere between Sideswipe’s third visit of the day and Wheeljack accidentally detonating a mock-up of the bomb, First Aid’s mind was made up. He felt guilt even as he drafted up the orders, and he knew he’d catch the Pit for it later, but he was determined to see this through.

Someone went through a great deal of trouble to kill me, and I have a right to know why.

It was with that thought in mind, running around and through him like a mantra, that he handed over a datapad for Ratchet to sign.

“I’m sorry, you want to what?” his mentor asked in surprise.

“I have to take an exam at the Academy anyway, so I may as well do it all in person.”

Ratchet pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, and First Aid saw him struggle not to lash out with something rude. “Aid,” he said after a moment. “You nearly got your aft blown up not a day ago, and you want to go to Cybertron on your own? Did you get some shrapnel to the head?”

His apprentice shook his head, and still held out the datapad for him to sign granting permission. “We need the supplies from the Academy if we’re going to get the medbay up and running,” he pointed out. “And Mindscape’s guard has been doubled since the attack. I’ve made the run a dozen times on my own.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“Nor do I, but I refuse to sit here and cower in safety when I could be contributing.” When his mentor didn’t answer, he went on. “I’ll be fine, Ratchet. Like I said, I’ll get the materials from the Academy, take my exam, and come right back down.”

“And pilot a shuttle by yourself.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“Which shouldn’t be done unless necessary.”

First Aid sighed and waved to the burnt-out sections of their medbay, a good three-quarters worth of it. “Even working around the clock, we won’t be able to get back to normal for several orn. If I can get us the right materials, we’ll be up and running in no time at all.”

The CMO narrowed his optics as he looked down at him. “You’re a right pain in the aft, you know that?”

First Aid struggled to contain his smile. At this point, Ratchet knew his expressions even without his mask, and too much satisfaction would seem suspicious. “I am how you made me,” he pointed out.

“Cheeky slagger. You didn’t get that from me.” Ratchet sighed and scrolled down the bottom of the form to sign, not bothering to read it. He rarely read though such mundane things if his apprentice explained it all first. “Get back in three solar cycles or I’m dragging your aft back and welding you to the ceiling.”

He took the datapad back and subspaced it, fighting back the surge of triumph he felt.

“You won’t even know I’m gone.”

OOO

Primus, this is going to take forever…

“You mind running that by me again, medic?”

First Aid sighed and offered the signed datapad as proof to the mech. “I am here to see one of your prisoners,” he said again.

“These are highly dangerous criminals. They don’t get visitors.” The mech in charge of security, a stern-looking thing named Claw or Maw or something, glared up at him from his desk. He had the look about him that indicated Special or Black Ops, and First Aid didn’t like how twitchy he seemed. Those kinds were always quick to shoot first and ask later.

And here I’d hoped I’d find some bored secretary.

“I’m not a visitor,” First Aid insisted, still holding out the datapad for him to look at. “I’m a doctor stationed on Earth, and the CMO and I have some questions for Mindscape after a recent assassination attempt.”

“There was no attempt,” the mech said, but he took the datapad at last. He looked it over as he continued to talk. “Mindscape is in a high-security cell with no contact with the outside. You think we just let these creeps out on walks or something?”

“That’s what I’m here to determine.”

His cheekiness might have earned him points in the medbay with Ratchet, or even at the Academy where he usually knew what he was talking about. Here, however, he saw it was getting him nothing but an annoyed glare. The last thing he wanted was to return empty-handed.

“Please,” he said with a sigh. “We believe he is behind an attempt on my life, and we want to determine how that was possible. I won’t be long, just a few joor.”

“I don’t care.” But then the mech sighed and handed the datapad back. “But it looks like I’m outranked on this one. Don’t touch the bars and don’t hand him anything. Third cell on the left. Sing out if you need anything.”

First Aid nodded and steeled himself for anything. Every horrible thing Ratchet told him now resurfaced to taunt his processor. Just what sort of monster lay on the other side of that door?

One way to find out.

Chapter Text

Whatever he expected of the fallen doctor, it wasn’t the thin, almost small, creature before him. Mindscape lay on the berth, his hands folded across his lap and optics off in peaceful rest. He was purple mostly, with red and black highlights here and there. There was nothing frightening about him, especially by Seeker standards. Well used to Starscream and his horde of killers, First Aid saw this mech had no extra armor, obviously no weapons, and not even a suspicious purple sigil.

He’s a Neutral?

He looked so ordinary that First Aid wondered if he’d been directed to the wrong cell.

“My, this is a surprise.”

He jumped, startled at the sudden voice from the Seeker inside. The criminal still lay flat with optics deactivated, looking for all the world like a mech in peaceful recharge. But perhaps he was too quiet, too still.

No, this is the right cell alright…

“Step forward, young mech. Don’t be rude.” The Seeker’s optics finally activated, scarlet optics, and he looked up at his nervous visitor. “What could I possibly do to you from in here?”

Mindscape had a pleasant smile, the smile of a doctor, and that was perhaps what First Aid noticed first as he got to his feet. There was nothing tense about him, no hint of underlying anger or conceit or murderous intent.

He was just a mech, like any other, and the apprentice reminded himself that that was just as dangerous.

“I believe you have done enough from in there,” First Aid responded evenly.

“Have I now? This is certainly news to me.” Mindscape approached him from the other side of the bars, moving slowly as if unsure. Or as if he were a predator sizing up his prey.

Mindscape’s optics roamed over the younger mech in a way that made his plating crawl. It was like he was scanning him, though that had to be impossible.

“First Aid,” he finally said with a small, triumphant grin. “Junior Surgeon. Ratchet’s little heir to the throne. A real surprise indeed.”

He knows me by sight…?

“You are… smaller than I expected.”

“As are you,” First Aid said. No fear, he reminded himself. Fear is power.

The prisoner conceded with a nod and motioned toward himself. “Alas, I was not built to fit the role of most Seekers, I’ll grant you that. My talents lured me far away from the joy of the skies.”

“Your talents are what put you behind bars, if I recall.”

Mindscape only grinned at that, completely unbothered by the accusation. “You sound just like him, you know. A pity that. That will surely take some time to undo, among other things.”

He’s a talker, Ratchet told him the other day when he described his old classmate. Always did love the sound of his own fragging voice.

And as predicted, the mech kept going. “What other nasty habits did you inherit from your vaunted master, hm? It’s quite the puzzle I look forward to unraveling. I’m surprised he even let you up here all by yourself to speak with me.” Mindscape watched him for a moment, and First Aid struggled to give no response in body or word. The Seeker must have seen something, however, for he threw his head back and laughed. “He doesn’t know! Oh, you are a clever little one, aren’t you? Perhaps not as hopeless as I feared!”

First Aid set his jaw and banished the guilt that came from his deception. He would deal with that later.

“What are you after, Mindscape?” he asked instead. “Why send me that bomb?”

The doctor’s grin remained wide but frosted over. He stared down at the little medic who suddenly felt as though their positions at the bars were reversed and he was the prisoner instead.

“You are asking the wrong question, little one. Why are you really here? A true student seeks solutions, not answers, and you are nothing if not true.” He chuckled and released First Aid from the hold he found himself in and returned to sit on his berth, only half facing the apprentice. “What interests me lies so much deeper than a bomb.”

“And what is that?” First Aid asked, trying to keep his spark from thrumming too rapidly. The whole of the prison must be hearing it by now.

“Your fear.” Primus, could he truly tell? “You’re afraid, apprentice. Of me, of yourself, of what you’re truly capable of. You’re not here for a bomb, you’re here for something quite more profound, aren’t you?”

“I’m not afraid!” First Aid spat out. “Not of you and not of myself. I know very well what I’m capable of.”

“Do you? Or do you think back on that toy of mine and find yourself envious? Did you hear your master’s poisonous words against me and wonder if perhaps you could achieve greatness too if you only threw off your chains?” Mindscape tilted his head, a seeming mockery of the medic’s own habit, and smiled again. “True talent should never be suppressed, little one, and not one as raw and true as yours. It’s alright. You don’t need to lie to me. You’re among friends here.”

“You’re no friend of mine.” The fear waned and anger took its place. “Stop hiding behind your words, Mindscape, and tell me what you’re after.”

“So impatient,” the Seeker tsked and shook his head with disappointment. “Not good for a medic. Very well, if you will not play my game, then I shall play yours. What I am after is far greater than your death, apprentice. The bomb was not the point.”

“How did you get it past security?”

Mindscape approached again, seemingly unable to keep still for long. A flier trait. As he got closer, the fear returned to stand alongside the anger. What was it about this mech that his mere presence brought out this reaction?

“I have my ways,” the doctor said. He got as close to the bars as possible without touching them, and the pale light of the energy beams played off the purple and red of his plating. “I am the Hydra, little apprentice. I can be many places at once.”

A hydra was a human invention, but the medic didn’t waste any time wondering on that mystery. This mech clearly had plenty of knowledge about Earth and those upon it.

“A hydra is a monster,” First Aid said, lifting his chin in defiance. “Perhaps the moniker is fitting.”

“A hydra is a living creature trying to find its way, just like any other. And if I am the Hydra, then you are the Chimera, little one. A beast made of this and that, thrown together to make something more than the sum of your parts. You have greatness in you, but you are stifled. Chained. I can set you free, just as you can set me free. That’s what a bomb is, apprentice. A releaser.”

He’s insane… First Aid took a step back and shook his head. “You know nothing about me,” he said. “Wherever you’re getting your information, it seems it was inadequate.”

“I see more than you’d ever admit, Chimera. I see you weep after a long day in your office, when you finally take off that ridiculous mask. I see you haven’t lost or taken a life yet, but we both know that day is coming soon. I see you struggle every day to be seen by your master, but he remains blind to your clear talent.” Mindscape paused and leaned in closer, the heat from the bars bubbling the black plating of his face. “I see four big brothers who adore you so much, and all the secrets they keep from you to maintain your innocence.”

How dare this mech presume to know a thing about me!

First Aid tore off his mask and visor and let them drop to the ground, ignoring the shattering of glass. He wanted them to see each other face to face.

“You see nothing,” he hissed. “So, see me now, Mindscape. You don’t frighten me, and you won’t win. Stay away from me and stay away from my family. And stop calling me Chimera!”

“You could be so much greater than them. You and I are a rare breed, little one.” He held up a hand, more claw-like than First Aid first perceived. “You and I can kill with a touch; we can cripple with a pinch. That is power that cannot be bought or sold, only taught and learned by those with the courage to do so. Face the facts, apprentice, you are dangerous and you like it. That is the only reason you are a pacifist, isn’t it? You know your strength isn’t in weapons, but in the power you wield as a god of life and death. Primus and Unicron thrive within you!”

The medic shook his head, now regretting revealing his face. He couldn’t control the fear in his face, nor the bright shine of his optics at what he was hearing. “Do no harm,” he whispered, clinging to it like a lifeline. “The first and most important rule. We are healers, nothing else.”

“And what choice did you have in that destiny, little one? You were created with a purpose and programmed to enjoy it. When have you ever made a true decision for yourself? When have you ever stepped outside the box they put you in?”

It was as if talking to himself in one of his earliest nightmares. That old insecurity reared up suddenly from the depths of his unconscious and agreed wholeheartedly with the insane doctor behind the bars. First Aid was programmed to be exactly what he was, and he fulfilled his role just as each of his brothers did. He was born to be a doctor, he was programmed to love being a doctor, and there’d been no illusion otherwise.

If I chose another life, they wouldn’t let me take it, he realized. Of course, he’d always known it, but to have it said out loud made it so much more real. Without his purpose, he was nothing. Not for the first time, he had to admit that he was created for Optimus Prime’s war machine, not because his creators wanted sparklings of their own. He was a commission, an order to fill, not family. Never family.

But then Mindscape went horribly on, and he hated that he yearned to hear more. “Ratchet must have told you of all the terrible things I’ve done, yes? But did he tell you how many lives I saved? Did he tell you of all the lives he’s taken over the years? No. That would tear at the pedestal he’s put himself on. He wants only what he can control. You are the perfect example of that. But give him a real mystery, a true problem to solve, and he shuns it.”

“You kill people, experiment on them to get what you want from them. You’re a monster.” There, he thought. Keep it simple. Don’t let him confuse you.

“I conduct research to save lives your mentor lost out of ignorance.” Mindscape narrowed his red optics that seemed to sear into his very chassis. “He thinks it’s all about him. I’ll bet he said my gift was for him too, didn’t he? He never could get beyond his own pride to accept the truth.”

“And what truth is that?” First Aid asked.

“You asked me why I sent the bomb, apprentice? I sent it for you. To get your attention, not his. To get you to realize that in your one life, you must choose greatness or be relegated to the mediocrity your life has been so far. It was a risk, I admit, but one must be willing to gamble everything for a thing of great value, and you are truly of great value to me.”

He was lying. Every vile thing out of his mouth had to be a lie. And yet… no one ever treated First Aid like he was worth much of anything, let alone a thing of “great value.” He was the silly little medic, the apprentice always looked over in favor of his betters. He was a coward without a gun, the weakest part of Defensor, the unskilled sidekick always scraping for affection…

But he did have power, he knew he did. He saw it when he excelled at the Academy where his peers failed. He was a fast learner and he did good, thorough work that saved lives back at the Ark. And his thanks? Long hours and little praise from a mech who was his creator and mentor yet who only treated him like a burden.

“Set me free, Chimera,” Mindscape urged quietly. “Prove to us all who you really are.”

“I…” First Aid lifted his hand for a moment, then drew it back to his chest when he saw himself reaching for the cell. “I am First Aid, Junior Surgeon, Protectobot.”

The answer felt hollow even to his own audios, but it calmed Mindscape from the near mania he’d gotten himself into. The Seeker looked at him with disappointment now, and the younger medic was surprised how much that expression hurt. To be looked at with such admiration and now reduced to this? It stung.

“Then you truly are a thing of no courage, content to collapse under the weight of your chains.” Mindscape sighed and looked down at his own claws. “What a pity. Even if you leave now, there isn’t enough time.”

“Time?” First Aid’s spark felt cold and heavy in his chest. “Time for what?” He pushed away the accusation of cowardice, for now. That was something too often hurled his way, and one he still had trouble refuting.

“The Hydra can be many places at once, little one, and perhaps my next gift will find a more… receptive owner.”

The threat sounded laughable from a mech in a high-security prison, but they both knew better than that. If he wanted to kill from beyond his cell, he had the power to do so.

“What are you going to do?” First Aid asked in a whisper. He didn’t bother to hide the horror he felt as he ran through myriad scenarios through his head.

“If you will not break your chains, then I will do it for you. A Chimera bound is of no use to anyone.”

Automatically, First Aid tried his internal comm system, but it was far to distant to make contact with anyone. He had to get out of there, he had to find a way to reach the Ark!

The Seeker practically purred at his terror. “Who shall it be, little one? That lonely little scout so far from home? The brash flier asleep in his berth? Perhaps one of your creators, the ones who chain you down so? Wheeljack experiencing an explosion would just be another day, wouldn’t it? Though Ratchet is such a tempting target…”

First Aid shook his head, refusing to hear it. “No!” he cried. “You can’t do this! They did nothing to you!”

“Would you like to pick, or shall I? These ties weaken you, but if we sever one or two… well, the possibilities are endless for you after that!” Mindscape grinned in delight; his wings even sat higher on his back.

I can’t reach them in time. Even with a comm, it could be too late!

“Stop!” he cried. “Please, stop it!”

The doctor tilted his head with curiosity. “And why would I do that, my little one?”

He didn’t even know what he was saying, even as he blurted it all out in one breath. “You don’t have to do that! I’ll go with you willingly. Just don’t hurt them.”

The grin widened on that ebony face, a deranged and frightening expression he never wanted to see again. “Now, where’s the fun in that?”

“Please. I’ll cut my ties. I’ll do what you want. You win.” The young medic’s optics shone near-white with fear. Not even Megatron bearing down on him ever made him feel this way. “Please… teacher.”

Mindscape had everything he could want now, surely he had to let the others go. There was no victory in useless death, not even for a mad doctor. He had to see to reason… But instead of a satisfied smile, the Seeker only shook his head.

“Begging for their lives… you are stronger than that, Chimera. It is not in your nature to be so weak. You still haven’t truly made your choice. But if you are swift, and if you are clever, perhaps you can avoid this delivery.”

First Aid looked down at his hands. They were trembling… he’d had a steady hand in surgery for years, and yet faced with this monster, he shook like a newspark.

“What can I do?” he whispered, his spark pulsing wildly in his chest. How could I have been played so easily?

“Run, my little one,” Mindscape grinned. “Run fast.”

First Aid ran, the memory of that hideous grin ever present in his mind.

Chapter Text

First Aid ran.

He didn’t bother to check out with the prison guards, he simply ran. As soon as he was outside, he transformed and raced back toward the nearby landing pad that held his shuttle. His own internal comm system was useless out here in the middle of nowhere, but every shuttle attached to the Ark could reach it, even from this great distance.

For one created and raised on Earth, traversing the dying Cybertron was no easy feat. The gravity was all wrong, too low, and even in Autobot-held territory there was danger to look out for at every turn. He’d been too preoccupied on the way in to worry about such things, but now that he knew how close danger could get, he watched for it obsessively.

Stupid… so stupid, First Aid…

Jets flew overhead periodically, and he didn’t know if they were friendly or hostile. An alarm blared somewhere behind him, but he paid it no mind. No time for that. No time for anything. Every nanoclick counted against him and everyone back home he cared about.

He finally reached the docked shuttle just as his engine began to whine in exhaustion. He was built for stamina, not speed, and he would pay for it later. But until then, he had a job to do.

Protect. I must protect them.

He transformed and hobbled up the ramp. His chest ached from the strain on his systems, but there would be time to deal with that on the flight home, after everyone was alerted and accounted for. In the back of his mind, he was aware of another jet passing by overhead, the whine suspiciously familiar. But who would he know up here? He knew few fliers as it was.

It wasn’t until he heard a heavy thud just outside the shuttle door that he recognized the Seeker engine for what it was. He hadn’t spent years on Earth evading Starscream’s Wing on the battlefield without knowing the flier type by sound alone.

First Aid was torn between the comm console and going back to shut the hatch, and in the end, had no time for either. Mindscape strolled up the ramp as though he owned it, stretching luxuriously.

“What a lovely excuse for a jaunt, apprentice!” he exclaimed happily. “It was truly marvelous to get some of those rotor burrs out after so many years.”

“Mindscape…? But how? How did you escape so quickly?” First Aid asked with a frown. The mad doctor had been contained for millions of years, and yet he got out within minutes of the apprentice leaving? It was impossible!

Get to the comms, get to the comms…

Mindscape grinned, delighted, and pulled out a shard of First Aid’s visor from subspace. He dangled it between two laser-burned fingers. “You must be more careful where you leave things, apprentice. Someone could just… take them for any manner of nefarious reasons.”

He tossed it at the medic’s feet where it shattered completely.

First Aid opened his mouth to ask about the guards, before shutting it again. He didn’t want to know. He backed up as the Seeker advanced. He was cornered with nowhere to go, and they both knew it.

“Ah-ah-ah, my little one,” Mindscape purred. He stepped closer, and this time there were no bars to keep the medic safe. “Don’t be nervous. Bad things happen when medics get nervous.”

First Aid stopped in his tracks then, but widened his stance into a defensive one. He set his jaw and splayed both hands to reveal darts at the tips of each finger. A pacifist he might be, but one injection was enough to drop Megatron into a deep recharge for three days.

“Fascinating,” the Seeker nodded with approval – not quite the reaction First Aid had been going for. He did pause where he was for the moment, however, and flared out his wings a little wider. “Imagine the possibilities we have to play with that little feature of yours, Chimera.”

“Stay where you are until the authorities arrive,” the apprentice warned. He hated using his darts, but with this mech, he’d find a way to forgive himself.

“And what makes you think anyone is coming? Your habit of assumption needs to be adjusted, child.” With more flexibility than First Aid had ever seen a Seeker possess, Mindscape’s wings curled around in a pseudo-shield. Not that that would prevent the dart from doing its work, but the younger was impressed nonetheless.

Mindscape moved too fast for him to register it. Only a few of his darts were able to discharge in time, lodging themselves deep into the Seeker’s wings. Even one should have dropped him where he stood, but the older medic just kept coming. He flicked the wings back to give his arms the room to maneuver and slammed into First Aid hard enough to knock him off his feet. He grabbed the younger mech in a backwards bear hug, a standard restraint position known to any medic in their first year.

Despite knowing it himself, First Aid couldn’t break it no matter how much he struggled. Instead, all he could do was glare up at the mech holding him and clench his fists where they were kept pinned at his sides.

“You should be in stasis by now,” he growled. “How did you do that?”

Mindscape blinked down at him in confusion before he nodded with comprehension. “Wings are a weakness easily exploited in any flier. Mine have long ago been desensitized to counteract that, and all energy lines severed. I told you before, apprentice, my talents took me away from the skies, so I have no use for them aside from holding me aloft for brief periods of time. They do make a handy defense, however, do they not?”

A flier who can’t truly fly? No wonder he’s gone mad…

“What do you want?” First Aid asked next. If he could just get the narcissistic creature talking again, he might have a chance to get away or call for help.

“We were having such a lovely conversation, and I’m afraid I ruined it,” the older mech said with a false pout. “It was just getting good, too.”

“I have nothing more to say to you!”

“Oh, come now. I was making sense, and you couldn’t bear it, could you? And now you’re too worked up to listen at all. Look how twitchy you are” Mindscape’s voice lowered in what he probably thought was a soothing voice. “I know you want to call home, so please do. Don’t let me stop you.”

He remained close, but loosened the bear hug. Had First Aid wanted to break free, he might have been able to. As it was, he made no move toward or away from the control panel, but his optics strayed to the microphone. So close, and yet so very far away.

“I mean it.” Mindscape walked him forward until he nearly touched the panel, close enough to make any move he wanted. “In fact, why don’t you call up your teacher, hm? Invite him here to join us. A… passing of the torch, as it were. He really should see it, after all. It’s only right.”

“What?” the young medic said dumbly. “Call Ratchet?”

The Seeker sighed with impatience and reached over himself to activate the comm system himself. “That’s what I said, isn’t it? You must learn to listen better if we are to get anywhere, Chimera. Call Ratchet and tell him to come here. Now.”

What is this new trap? What am I supposed to do!

“Go ahead, little apprentice,” the Seeker whispered into his audio. “Make the call.” He drew a clawed hand along the young mech’s throat, making the threat very clear.

He shouldn’t, he couldn’t. Obedience was the fastest way to get them all killed, and First Aid knew it. Primus, why couldn’t he stop shaking like a newspark?

The deceptively gentle fingers along his neck tightened ever so slightly, and put the lightest of pressure over the main fuel line. A cut there would bleed him out in a breem.

Still trembling, and ashamed of his own weakness, First Aid reached forward and made the call. He dialed into the main feed of the Ark’s medbay automatically linked to all medical staff. Unless he was asleep, which the apprentice desperately hoped was the case, Ratchet would receive the hail wherever he was.

“That’s it,” Mindscape purred, the smirk obvious in his voice. “That’s a good child.”

First Aid’s spark clenched painfully when the hail was immediately answered and put through an audio feed. Of course the CMO wouldn’t be asleep, he never slept even when the medbay was fully staffed.

“What is it?” his teacher’s gruff voice barked. “And where the slag are you? The dean said you never showed.”

“R-Ratchet,” First Aid said, trembling so hard that his light armor rattled noisily against his captor’s. “Primus…”

The tone immediately changed on the other side, and Ratchet’s voice sobered. “You ok, kid? Is something wrong?”

First Aid opened his mouth to answer, to say anything at all that might get him to hang up, but nothing came out. He was torn between fear of the mech behind him and the mech before him. Two Masters, no way out.

“I… I would like you to come here,” First Aid finally said when the claws twitched against that main line. “Please, sir.”

“What? Why?” Ratchet sighed. “I can’t just drop everything to come help you with whatever trouble you cooked up, kid.”

“Oh, but I think you can, old friend,” Mindscape grinned into the microphone next. “I really think you can.”

Nothing came back over the feed, and the little medic feared the call had been dropped entirely. Then—

Ratchet’s face appeared as the feed shifted to both audio and visual. It only took a moment for him to see the mech standing behind First Aid, and the apprentice saw his expression twist into something ugly and hateful. Though the gaze wasn’t directed at him – he hoped – that snarl curling at Ratchet’s lips made the young mech want to sink into the floor. That, or let the hand at his throat finally finish the job.

“He’s adorable, Ratchet,” Mindscape praised, tugging him closer into a twisted embrace. “I can see why you kept him all to yourself.”

All First Aid could do was stand there and let him, afraid that any resistance meant death.

Emotions warred on the CMO’s face: fear, anger, horror, hatred… each played across his features like a terrible movie, until he finally settled into stubborn ferocity. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll put him right back where you found him,” he said, voice low and full of unspoken threats.

“And why would I do that?” The Decepticon surgeon nuzzled the younger mech’s cheek adoringly, as if he was a newspark who’d just opened his optics. “We were just getting to know one another.”

“There’s nothing he needs to know from you,” Ratchet said flatly. “Now what is it that you want?”

“Didn’t you hear the boy?” Mindscape asked with false confusion. “We request your presence, old friend. It just wouldn’t be proper without you here.”

The CMO leaned forward in his chair and narrowed his optics. For one moment, he and the apprentice shared a glance, but then he refocused on the captor. “And just what wouldn’t be proper?”

Mindscape kept his grip on First Aid, but shifted them so he could face the camera more effectively. “I want to be the first to invite you to an Oath-Speak. I’m taking an apprentice under my wing.” His smile grew wistful as he sighed. “I find myself in need of companionship after so long on my own.”

“How nice for you,” Ratchet said with a tight jaw. “I’ll put in a good word with the warden to give you some one-on-one time.”

First Aid felt the Seeker grin without needing to look at him, and he shuddered despite himself. The grin widened.

“I’m afraid my time there is done, my friend. No, I’m moving on to better pursuits. And your student here… he’s just what I need.”

“The frag is that supposed to mean?” The CMO’s optics narrowed further into dangerous slits, and his shoulders tensed.

“Ratchet,” First Aid whispered. “Ratchet, I—”

“He’s agreed to be my apprentice! Isn’t that marvelous?”

First Aid’s spark shuddered in horror as his mentor’s optics darted back to him. The expression on his face was unreadable, giving nothing away as to what he was thinking. Safe in front of Mindscape, perhaps, but the apprentice desperately hoped he knew it was a lie.

But it isn’t a lie, is it?

He just shook his head under Ratchet’s glare, quietly denying the horrible thing. Ratchet was his teacher, his creator, as dear to him as his brothers and Wheeljack. He’d never leave any of them for some twisted freak. Surely, he knew that!

“Oh…” Mindscape rested a thoughtful claw on his chin and looked at the two medics with such fake concern. “It seems you two have a few things to discuss. I shouldn’t intrude.” Then he backed up a step and released the boy entirely.

Though he no longer held the younger medic, First Aid didn’t trust the guise of freedom. He didn’t trust anything the Seeker did or said. So he stayed where he was, pinned under his teacher’s hard gaze.

“I have my own preparations to make before we meet again, little one.” Mindscape patted him on the head like a sparkling and offered a simpering smile. “I must be on my way before my old captors catch up. So, be a good child while I’m gone, won’t you?”

First Aid flinched back from his touch and turned his head to face him. “They’ll find you,” he hissed. “Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, Hydra.”

The older medic tilted his head to the side again in gleeful mockery, and his ruby optics glittered. “Oh, I shall, Chimera. We will see each other soon.”

“I certainly hope not.” First Aid weighed the words in his mind for a moment before leaning closer. This message was for Mindscape alone, not for Ratchet to hear. “You’ve misjudged me, monster. Poorly.”

“And how have I done that, apprentice?” Mindscape asked in the same conspiratorial whisper.

“The Chimera is stronger when it has something to protect, not weaker.” First Aid’s optics narrowed as he fixed him with a hard stare.

The mocking smile shifted into something almost genuine. “I’ll remember that.”

He looked over the Protectobot’s shoulder to face the fuming Ratchet one more time. He bowed and backed away from the young mech. “Good to see you again, my old friend,” he said. “It has been a true pleasure.”

Then he turned and exited the shuttle before disappearing into the gray landscape beyond.

Every joint in the apprentice’s body released all at once and he sagged against the console with an exhausted groan. “Primus…”

“He do anything? Hurt you?” Ratchet asked in concern.

First Aid shook his head quietly, not wanting to see his creator’s face. “No… no, I’m ok.”

“Good. Lock up the shuttle and stay right there, Aid,” Ratchet said from the comm. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t open it for anyone until you see it’s me.”

“I could fly back…”

“In the condition you’re in? And I don’t trust that Pit-spawned Seeker not to have rigged it if you took it up. Stay there and don’t touch anything. Got it?”

The little red and white nodded. He got it.

Chapter Text

First Aid didn’t trust the solitude any more than he trusted Mindscape there. Whatever transpired between the three of them was surely not the end of it, and Primus only knew what else lay in store for them.

It took several joor for him to stop shaking enough to nibble on the few rations in his subspace. He wasn’t the bravest mech to have ever been sparked, but he rarely ever got afraid like this. It took a lot more than one would think to rattle him, more than Megatron, more than Bruticus, more than a Priority One patient in his medbay.

But this… this rattled him to the core.

Worse, Mindscape asked for Ratchet to come, and now the CMO was on his way. It was stupid to do anything the former prisoner said, but there was no helping it. Aside from letting his four overprotective brothers loose on Cybertron, there weren’t many options otherwise. First Aid couldn’t fly the shuttle back due to both nerves and a possible booby trap, and no other bots knew what to possibly expect when they arrived.

Besides, he thought rather selfishly. I’d rather just be with someone I know right now.

He waited for half a day, the time it took for travel between the planets, before starting to get anxious. Any number of things might have happened to his mentor between their conversation: Decepticons, Mindscape, natural forces… and all because he lied and couldn’t leave well enough alone.

I’m going to be scrubbing the medbay floor for the next vorn, and I’ll have deserved it.

The time in solitude gave him enough time to think of all the nasty possibilities that were coming. It also gave him plenty of time to replay the entire interaction with Mindscape, start to finish, and come to another horrifying realization.

I see you weep…

Primus, he thought. He has direct access to the Ark…

By the time Ratchet’s shuttle finally made landfall, the apprentice was nearly beside himself with paranoia. Red Alert would have been impressed. He didn’t wait for the all-clear from his mentor, nor for him to even approach his own shuttle. First Aid hit the button to release the ramp and darted down to meet him halfway.

“Ratchet!” he exclaimed, optics bright. “Primus, I was afraid that something—”

Ratchet cut him off with the lift of a hand and looked to either side of them. “Not here,” he said. “Let’s go.”

First Aid blinked at the brusque attitude but let it go. His teacher was right, it wasn’t safe out in the open where they could be picked off by anyone with a half-decent rifle. So, he nodded and straightened up, determined not to embarrass himself further by acting like a terrified sparkling. “Yes, boss.”

He followed the older mech back to the new shuttle, surprised at the long strides. It was easy to forget their size difference when working so often in closed quarters. Normally, Ratchet would slow for him if he needed following, but this was a near jog back.

“We need to call ahead to warn security,” First Aid said, struggling to keep up. “He has some way to see into the Ark. A bug or a spy or something. He told me things he’d seen, and I know he was right.”

Ratchet only nodded and continued, not shortening his strides to make it easier for his apprentice to keep up. His face was like stone, expressionless and cold.

I see you weep… I see you struggle every day…

“I told him what I had to to keep you all safe,” he tried again, a little louder to be sure he’d be heard. “I would never agree to be his apprentice, you must know that.”

Again, there was no answer.

The interior of the shuttle was nicer than the one First Aid had taken. It was more commonly used for supply runs and longer excursions rather than the little planet hopper. Regardless of the space, the apprentice stuck to his mentor’s side and sat in the co-pilot’s chair. They needed to talk, and he needed the security the other’s presence offered.

Except as he fastened himself in and looked over, it was clear that Ratchet was not in a talking mood. His cold expression had darkened in the few nanoclicks since their onboarding, and one glare of warning was all First Aid needed to keep his mouth shut.

Ratchet did not speak to him the entire flight back except to announce when to reharness for their landing. Even then, his voice was tight and clipped, without any of the patience First Aid knew him to have. He did not try to breech the silence between them, not wanting to stoke whatever had his creator so furious. Whatever it was, it was enough to keep him angry for the entire flight. Not even a misbehaving Lambo brother could manage that.

He’s simply worried, he told himself as they touched down. That’s all. Everything will go back to normal soon.

Before they disembarked, Ratchet pulled something out of subspace and offered it to him. It was a new mask and visor to replace the lost ones. He must have grabbed a spare set from the apprentice’s office before he left. His expression was still closed off to his apprentice, but it was a kindness, nonetheless.

“Thank you,” First Aid said quietly and clipped them both into place.

They settled back into an uneasy silence.

He followed Ratchet wordlessly down the shuttle ramp and into the hangar, then back to the medbay. There was comfort in the familiarity of their movement. One step behind the CMO and one to the right, his place, where he belonged, in his home and surrounded by friends and family. His domain. Nothing could hurt him here.

I just need to apologize properly, explain it to him. He’ll understand. It will be ok. We’ll figure this out together, like we always have. Things will go back to the way they were.

The tension around every joint slowly began to loosen.

When they got into the medbay proper, Ratchet nodded for him to sit on one of the berths and took out a scanner. “Are you hurt?”

A neutral question with a neutral tone, but at least he was speaking now.

“No, boss.” He kept his own tone light and pleasant, trying to return to baseline between them.

“Sir.”

The apprentice blinked and tilted his head at him. “Hm?”

His teacher scoffed lightly and put the scanner back down once he was satisfied there were no injuries. “If you’re old enough to go galivanting with psychopaths, you’re old enough to start using those manners I programmed into you.”

First Aid paused a moment before chuckling softly. The unhappy tension finally eased from his body like water. He knew this game; they played it well and often. “I would hardly call it galivanting, Sir,” he teased gently. “And I’m afraid my programming in courtesies has long since been overridden by your examples in bedside manner.”

Ratchet’s head jerked up and he narrowed his optics at the boy. The smile slowly left the younger medic’s lips.

This isn’t in the script…

“Well, then you’d better slagging find them again, shouldn’t you?” Ratchet snapped. “It’s Ratchet or Sir to you now, understand? You’re a doctor, not some first-shelled newspark chasing after its creator. I’m your superior officer, not your damned mommy.”

It was hard to tell if he meant it or not… but the hard expression did not change, and First Aid realized he was deadly serious.

“Do you understand me, First Aid?”

“Y-yes, Sir.” The tension returned and he felt his throat tighten. It was like Mindscape’s claws at his fuel line again.

Ratchet nodded and crossed his arms expectantly. “Anything else?”

Make it right. He deserves to be angry. He needs to hear you say it. He’s your creator, he’ll forgive you.

“Ratchet…” First Aid said, his voice hesitant in case he did anything to anger his mentor further. He slid off the berth to face him properly. “I… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to—"

“You lied to me!” Ratchet snarled, leaning forward to fix him with a glare. All the pent-up anger seemed to burst out all at once, taking the young medic off-guard. “To my fragging face, you lied! That’s what you meant, isn’t it?”

First Aid gulped, but knew he deserved that. “I’m sorry,” he said again quietly. “But I had to know. I had to see him.”

“Get yourself a good optic-full, did you? I had half the slagging Academy up there looking for you when you didn’t show up, did you know that?”

Ratchet stalked forward and poked the center of First Aid’s left red cross hard enough to hurt. The apprentice stumbled back a step but resisted the urge to rub it. He probably deserved that too. He was only grateful the rest of the medbay was completely empty, sparing him the humiliation of this dressing down.

“What else are you lying to me about?” his mentor demanded. “What else don’t I know? And now this slag about being his apprentice?”

“That’s it!” First Aid insisted. “I just wanted to see him and ask him questions! You know I’d never—”

“I told you everything you needed to know, and you went behind my back anyway. How could you be so fragging useless!” Ratchet’s anger erupted into a roar, his fists clenched in anger.

First Aid shrunk back, optics widening behind his visor. Not for the first time, he was desperately glad to have his expression covered behind a shield of glass and metal. It was bad enough he kept retreating in the face of his teacher’s – his creator’s – anger, but Ratchet didn’t need to see how frightened he was getting on top of it. Ratchet never lost his temper this badly, and certainly never to him.

“What is this place?” the sparkling asked, optics wide with wonder. “Will you show me?”

“You’re not a day old yet!” his red and white creator laughed. “Be patient.”

“But I want to know everything!”

“Ratchet,” First Aid tried again. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know! I—”

“You never fragging know, do you!” Then the younger mech was shoved back until he hit the bulkhead. The back of his helm clipped the wall, momentarily dazing him. “Primus, I built you with every advantage I never got, and you still can’t get anything right, can you? Always with the questions and the whining and… will you stop your Primus-damned trembling!”

His teacher’s fury seemed to stop just short of striking him, and First Aid didn’t know how long that barrier would hold either. Every horrible word threatened to stop his spark in his chest. An actual beating would have hurt less. Just hours before, he couldn’t wait to see Ratchet again, to be reassured that everything would be alright. He never imagined how fast it would—

“Coward.”

That was it. The final thing. The one thing.

First Aid ceased his shaking, the entirety of his core hollowing out until nothing remained.

“What?” he whispered. Surely, he misheard. Surely, Ratchet would never…

“You heard me. You’re a liar and a coward.” Ratchet lifted his chin and regarded him with optics of pure, blue ice. “And I don’t need liars and cowards crowding up my medbay.”

“You’re going to be a medic, Aid,” the CMO promised. “And I’m going to be with you every step of the way.”

First Aid’s intake clogged as he struggled to cool his frantically running systems. Some dust or dirt must be stuck, a little hiccup of a valve… But the more he tried to control his haggard breathing, the worse it got. “Ratchet, no… please…”

“Do you know how many resources I just wasted getting you back here? How much of the Academy’s resources you wasted? The hours and the shuttle fuel we don’t have and locking down the whole base just to keep you safe… Not to mention the risk down here if anything happened while I was gone!” Ratchet’s optics narrowed. “All because you snuck around and got too scared to deal with a non-combatant Neutral? What was he going to do, First Aid? Cackle you to death?”

“Y-you don’t know what he threatened to do!” Surely Ratchet would understand. He’d never mean to say these things if he only knew!

“I don’t care. You’re a fragging Protectobot, and you can’t even protect yourself. You’ll never make CMO, and I should have seen that years ago.”

No… please no…

First Aid stepped forward and hated the sob that burst out of him. “No! I’m not a coward! I can do this!”

Ratchet’s lips twisted in a disgusted sneer. “Get out. And take off those slagging crosses before I see you again. You don’t deserve them. Your apprenticeship is over, First Aid.”

And like a coward, he fled. First Aid practically flew from the med bay, desperate to put as much space between himself and his teacher – his creator – as he could. The universe wasn’t large enough to separate them. Deactivation wasn’t far enough.

He tore through the hallway, a little red and white blur. He must have passed at least a dozen people, but he couldn’t recall later who they were. All that mattered was escaping that horrible rending of his spark.

OOO

The moment his former apprentice fled the medbay, Ratchet stumbled to the side as if knocked by a gust of wind. He reached toward a tray to keep himself steady, but it tilted and collapsed beneath the sudden weight. He fell to the ground and grit his teeth to keep in the howl in his throat.

He didn’t need to see First Aid’s unmasked face to know the damage he’d done, the effect those carefully crafted words had. Each vile thing that came out of his mouth was designed to break the boy, to hurt him in the worst way possible.

Judging by how fast his devastated apprentice ran, he succeeded brilliantly.

“I’m sorry!” he wanted to scream. “Primus, I’m so sorry, Aid! Come back! You’re not a coward, you’re the most deserving mech I know. I’m sorry… please come back…”

But there was no one there to hear him if he had, and all he heard, all he would ever hear again, was that boy’s haggard breaths as he escaped him. Because that’s what Ratchet had become now. Not a teacher, not a superior, not a creator… just a thing to escape.

And for the first time since he activated that young spark, Ratchet felt so very alone.

“You’re going to be a medic, Aid,” the CMO promised. “And I’m going to be with you every step of the way.”

He sat there on the ground, optics so pale they were nearly white. He couldn’t lose it, not now, not when he was still exposed to whatever spy device Mindscape was using to collect intelligence. Even this show of pain could be enough to reveal the façade and risk the apprentice’s life further.

Keep him alive, keep him safe… it’s worth everything if he’s safe…

He’d suspected since the beginning that Mindscape had a way to see into the Ark, and First Aid had just confirmed it. Even now, he knew he was probably being watched, studied, laughed at. So that meant he had to lie. He’d hurt his creation as badly as he could, in the way only he knew how. He’d use everything against the boy, drive him so far away that he’d wish the CMO dead by the time he was done. The further his creation got, the safer he would be. Mindscape had no use for meaningless pawns, and the boy was still too young for him to take any personal interest in. He was only good as a tool to hurt Ratchet, but if Ratchet himself didn’t care, then the Seeker would lose interest and find something else. Something not-Aid.

Everyone’s downfall with First Aid was underestimating him, and it was best if Mindscape did the same. Few realized the boy’s potential, but Ratchet did, and he had to keep them as far away from each other as possible.

Besides… a broken spark is better than an extinguished one.

Chapter Text

He tried. Primus knew he tried. But in the end, he couldn’t paint over the red crosses on his shoulders. The memory of their application stood out so fresh in First Aid’s mind, and he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. The happiest moment of his life was the day Ratchet painted them on, unusually solemn as he spoke the Oath for his student to repeat.

“Above all else, do no harm…”

“Do no harm,” the sparkling repeated as well as every other vow asked of him. Was it ok if he was smiling as he said the words? Was he allowed to smile, or did he have to do it all over again? It seemed like such a serious occasion, and—

But then the Oath-Speak concluded, and he was pulled into a fierce hug before he could ask.

“Proud of you, kiddo,” his mentor murmured to him.

First Aid smiled wider and hugged him back, savoring the rare display of affection from his creator. “Thank you.”

“You’re going to be a damn good doctor, Aid. We’ll get you there together, don’t you worry.”

That was how his brothers found him, shaking and crying with a paintbrush in hand, a can of white paint, and just the slightest of white smears over his left shoulder.

The gestalt bond they shared wasn’t strong enough to carry full words over by way of thought, but they didn’t need them. Each brother went to his side and wrapped him up in a tight, layered cocoon of love. Each whimper he let out or gasped apology to no one in particular sent a dark wave of unhappiness throughout each of the brothers and echoed through the bond itself. Groove shook with fury for his brother’s sake, and Blades held him as if he was made of glass.

Together, Defensor wept.

OOO

Honestly, Ratchet expected the brothers first, but perhaps that was wishful thinking. Protectobots he had a chance, slim though it was, of intimidating into retreat. Surely, they were as hurt and confused by his actions as First Aid was, they would be so easy to drive away as well. Just as with their brother, Ratchet knew every insecurity they held, every word that would hurt them the most.

But no, it had to be Wheeljack looming at the entrance of the medbay. Best friend. Brilliant engineer. Unstoppable maternal rhinoceros of a mech now looking at him like he’d flayed their youngest creation alive.

But that’s exactly what I did, isn’t it…?

Wheeljack’s headfins glowed a dangerous crimson as he bore down on the CMO, and Ratchet knew if he didn’t do something to prevent it, he might very well get the beating of his life. Perhaps the last beating of his life.

His friend was normally the more temperate of the pair - calm, understanding, willing to hear something out… But when he got in a mood like this, even Prime knew to steer clear. Few things could throw him into such a fury, but one surefire way was to threaten any of the fifteen lives he brought into the world.

“’Jack…” he hedged carefully and backed away from his workbench. He held out a steadying hand as if to fend off a rabid Sharkticon. “You stay right there.”

Not that his friend ever listened to him in the best of times.

“How dare you,” Wheeljack hissed, not stopping until he was chest to chest with the CMO. His self-control was visibly on the thinnest of threads. One push was all it would take…

[‘Jack,] Ratchet tried again via comm. It was best Mindscape not overhear this part. [‘Jack, you can be angry, but you have to listen to me!]

The Chief Engineer snarled and shoved his friend back hard, just as he had pushed First Aid. Nothing from the comms seemed to register through the fury. “How dare you!”

“My medbay, my rules!” Ratchet yelled back, putting as much heat as he could into the words. At least this time, he didn’t have to pretend to get worked up. [I did it to save him, listen to me!]

[I don’t have to listen to a fragging word you say!] Wheeljack’s fists clenched, ready to pummel the life out of him for what he’d done, and Ratchet knew he deserved every pending blow. But he had to get the mech to listen first! To understand why he’d done what he’d done!

“If you want him so badly, then you take him on! He can be your problem!” [I love the kid, Wheeljack! You know I do! He’s my sparkling too!] There, he said it, even if it was over a private radio. He said the words he swore to never say about anyone ever again. If that didn’t get his friend’s attention, then nothing would.

“He’s your apprentice, Ratchet!” Wheeljack roared. “He’s the best slagging thing that ever happened to you and you… you destroyed him!” [What the frag are you talking about? You better answer me right now before I--]

[Primus, Jack, I had to! Mindscape is going to kill him!] Then aloud, he put all his frustration and pain into the lie. “He was a mistake,” he snapped back. “Just another failed experiment of yours that you coddled way too long.”

He kept backing up as Wheeljack advanced, though the snarl remained on his face. Perhaps he looked furious and self-righteous to an unknowing outsider. Perhaps he didn’t look desperate and afraid and full of self-loathing.

Perhaps his friend could stop his rampage just long enough to tell the difference.

Wheeljack said nothing for a moment. His headfins remained their furious red, but he stayed his blow. For now. [Explain.]

Ratchet let out a shaky breath, unable to contain the tension within himself any longer. “He’s lucky I don’t just reformat him into something useful. Or just replace him altogether.” [Mindscape has some sort of audio device in this room. Maybe visual. I have to pretend I don’t give a slag, ‘Jack! Now punch me!]

Well. That… that seemed to be within the engineer’s capabilities. He reared back and punched the CMO’s jaw with a closed fist, not holding anything back. First Aid’s broken spark was in that blow, and his brothers’ confusion and pain, and Wheeljack’s undying loyalty to every young life he helped bring into the world.

Ratchet blacked out for a split second, finding himself back on his aft and not remembering the fall.

Wheeljack leaned in close once more, his optics a pair of furious white slits. Ratchet imagined this was the last thing a Con saw before their journey to Primus.

“You stay away from him, you hear me?” Wheeljack hissed. “You so much as look at him and I’ll fragging kill you.” [Half a joor. You meet me at the park downtown and you explain yourself or I’m giving the brothers your room code and an alibi.]

The CMO nodded dumbly and rubbed his helm to check for any real damage. Not as delicately built as many medics, he nonetheless felt something rattle that probably shouldn’t be.

[I’ll be there.]

He leaned his head back against the wall with a sigh and deactivated his optics. He didn’t get up again until well after Wheeljack stormed back out of the medbay.

OOO

The Lancia was already parked at the far side of the parking lot by the time he arrived. No other vehicle or human was near him, ensuring them a private conversation. That, or a private beating. Ratchet didn’t know which one he was driving into.

He hated the tightening of his lasercore that he felt when he approached Wheeljack. This was his best friend, his brother for the vast majority of his long, cursed life. He was supposed to help him solve this whole mess, not turn on him.

You turned on him first, a mutinous voice whispered back. When you turned on what was his.

Ratchet sighed and pulled up beside the car, settling low on his tires and trying his best to relax.

“You didn’t have to hit me that hard,” he groused quietly, trying to find some sense of normalcy between them.

Beside him, Wheeljack’s engine growled low in warning. “You have thirty seconds to explain yourself before I hit you harder,” he said, none of the usual lightness in his voice Ratchet was used to.

For the first ten of those seconds, the CMO carefully weighed what he was going to say.

“Mindscape is after Aid to get to me,” he eventually said.

“You told me that already,” Wheeljack snapped. “What the frag does that have to do with what you pulled?”

“He thinks the kid is my weakness, and frag me that he’s right. The closer I am to Aid, the more danger he’s in. I don’t know how he’s doing what he’s doing or how he knows things, but I wouldn’t put it past him to have some kind of in at the Ark. A bug or a watcher or something.”

“So what? So, all that was an act to keep Aid off his radar?”

“Exactly that.” Ratchet sighed with relief, glad that he finally understood. “And I can’t let Aid know; he can’t act to save his life, and I need to save his life. Mindscape has to believe that the kid means nothing to me, and he’ll leave him alone.”

Instead of the understanding and empathy he expected, Ratchet was instead faced with another dark growl of his best friend’s engine. The mech’s chassis radiated heat, but the medic was not stupid enough to comment on it.

“You fragging idiot,” Wheeljack hissed. “You think that’s going to stop anything? Only thing you accomplished was breaking the one bot who loved you most. This ain’t gonna stop your old pal and it won’t stop Aid from trying to figure this all out. And instead of being able to protect him from it, you threw him out on his aft without the dignity of knowing why.”

“That’s why I need your help,” Ratchet said, trying to ignore the pain his words caused. He knew all that already! “You have to keep him safe while I figure out this Mindscape slag.”

“And how am I supposed to do that, huh? You cut him loose, and there’s no telling what he’ll do! Only reason he’s semi-sane right now is because his brothers won’t let him lose it!”

Ratchet vented a sigh of frustration, though knowing the Protectobots were taking care of his lost charge helped. A little. “Lie to him. Convince him I never gave a slag. He’s still got you, doesn’t he?”

“He’ll always have me,” Wheeljack answered firmly. Ratchet had never had a doubt of that, but it was good to hear it.

“Then, that’ll be enough. He doesn’t need me, and he sure as slag doesn’t need Mindscape playing with him.”

The Lancia’s engine growled again. “You don’t deserve half the love that kid has for you, you know that?”

Of course I do! Aloud, he just sighed and sank deeper into his wheels. He’d barely begun trying to solve the problem of Mindscape and he already felt defeated. “I’d rather give up that love than his life. I care about him too much to put him at risk.”

“You don’t love a damn thing.” A dark accusation that both knew held no truth.

“What’d we promise each other when we made the Dinobots, ‘Jack?”

“What the slag does this have to do with—”

“We promised no matter how many creations we made, we’d take care of them. Remember that? They aren’t just an order to fill for Prowl or an experiment to study. They’re people, ‘Jack. They’re ours. This… this is just the best way I can take care of him right now.”

“You’re taking care of yourself and no one else.” The engineer sighed and vented another blast of hot air in frustration. “I’ll keep your fragging secret, Ratchet. You better clean up this damn mess once it’s all over.”

Ratchet sighed in relief. “Thank you, ‘Jack. I—"

“You and me got nothing more to talk about until you make this right,” Wheeljack said. “I thought you were supposed to be the smartest doctor of your generation. When did you turn into such an idiot?”

Sometimes, Ratchet wondered that himself.

He kept wondering it long after the Lancia tore out of the parking lot, leaving him behind without another word.

Chapter Text

He managed to stay away from the medbay for a whole day. It felt odd to be gone for so long if not on a mission, and First Aid realized just how little of a life he had outside of his primary function. He stayed to himself, not wanting to talk about it with anyone else, least of all any of Ratchet’s many friends.

Not that that seemed to be a problem. He didn’t know who spilled the beans, but the whole of the base seemed to know about what happened. He was given a wide berth, and that was just the way the former medic preferred it for now.

Try as he might, he knew he had to go back at least once more. There were too many things he left behind to warrant him avoiding it longer than he had to.

Maybe he’ll change his mind, he thought, allowing himself to hope just a little. It didn’t help much, he still felt like a mech walking to his own execution, but it was something. He tried to get back to his calm baseline, just another day walking into the medbay. It was fine. It would all be fine.

The second he walked in, however, that tenuous feeling of ease evaporated. Just the sight of his creator made him feel nauseous.

Ratchet sat at his workbench tinkering with something. He paused mid-weld when the former medic entered but didn’t look up from his work.

“I told you never to darken my medbay again,” Ratchet growled over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” First Aid whispered, so quiet that the CMO would have had to boost his audio receptors to catch it. “I… I just forgot a few things in my office.”

Ratchet did look up then, his head was lowered just slightly, showing off the pointed chevron that was very capable of doing damage if he so chose. But since when had such a thought ever entered the young mech’s mind?

First Aid looked at his blank shoulders and flinched. He knew exactly when.

“Not your office,” Ratchet corrected.

“No, of course not.” The former apprentice shuddered once and crept into the med bay, optics on the floor and shoulders hunched forward to make himself as small as he could.

“Fine. Be quick.”

First Aid edged toward his office – former office – but paused before he entered. Inside, it looked so normal. Everything was just as he left it and spoke of a happier time just a few days prior. A report that needed filing, lessons to go over, a pet project he was dying to finish…

Now it was a tomb to a past life he’d never get back.

I see you weep…

“Sir,” he said quietly, unsure if he was even loud enough to be heard. But the slight tilt of his creator’s chevron told him he was listening. “Sir, about the other day…”

“What?” Sharp. Impatient. Angry. Everything he’d never been to him before.

“Please… give me another chance. Being a doctor is everything I’ve ever wanted. I can’t…  I can’t do anything else. I belong here. With you. With our patients.” Primus, could he sound more pathetic?

Ratchet said nothing for a moment, and he allowed himself that tremor of hope to return. Perhaps he could fix this. Perhaps if he apologized enough—

“Get your slagging things and get out.” Quiet. Controlled. Angier.

First Aid’s intake hitched, and he hurried inside the office to subspace a few essentials. Most of the contents had to do with his former life… he had no use for them now. It could go to the next apprentice, perhaps a new creation built to be better than him. Someone who could make the CMO proud.

I see you weep…

He shook his head and absently rubbed a bare shoulder before forcing himself to stand up straight. A coward he might be, but he could pretend to be brave a little longer. He stepped back out into the medbay and it was one of the most frightening things he’d ever done. He was glad that Ratchet’s back was turned to him as he was re-immersed in whatever project he had going on. Even now, he fought the urge to peek over his shoulder, offer a joke or playful remark, ask to help…

“Stop your fragging lurking,” Ratchet growled without looking up.

First Aid walked toward the exit, trying not to make any noise. Primus, but it seemed so wrong to leave it like this. Ratchet had only been truly angry with him a handful of times in his life, and they always resolved things within a day.

“Ratchet—”

The older mech stood up so fast the chair was knocked back. He glared at his former apprentice with dark blue optics, daring him to say another word.

First Aid’s mouth shut with a click, and he darted out.

I see you weep…

OOO

On the third day of his exile from medical, First Aid found the strength to leave his room. Even with his brothers taking shifts mothering him, he was still dangerously undercharged. Much longer without real energon, and his systems would start to divert power from his auxiliaries.

The last place he ever wanted to see again was the medbay, and certainly not over something as stupid as hunger. Ratchet would have been grumpy enough with anyone who starved themselves into medical. If he saw his former apprentice in for that… Well, that was motivation enough to go into public.

He needn’t have worried about extra attention. The whole crew seemed to wordlessly agree to leave the boy alone, to let him do as he pleased until something happened to right the upside down world they all lived in. Ratchet made First Aid’s demotion official on the staff rosters, so no shifts in the medbay could very well be scheduled, and all general watch standing duties were already filled. He didn’t even qualify for most of them, having devoted his full-time to his apprenticeship as soon as his allotted three-month infancy was over.

No one offered to show him anything about their job, and certainly no offers of apprenticeships. What would First Aid do? Scouting? Intelligence? Primus, fighting? Each idea was more absurd than the last. Who was First Aid if not Ratchet’s undisputed heir?

He was nothing, and so he was left alone. No one held any malice for him, not even the most callous of the crew felt anything but pity and empathy for his plight. But he wasn’t theirs, never had been.

He sat with Groove and took down his energon as quickly as possible. If the second eldest brother noticed anything odd about him, he kept it to himself. It was a welcome silence, and even if he felt the occasional curious optic on him, not being pressured to interact made it easier.

“Hey, kiddo.”

That was, until Wheeljack caught sight of him. No mech alive disliked him, but Primus he could mother hen worse than First Aid.

“Hi, ‘Jack,” First Aid said, and he hoped he sounded chipper enough to get him off the hook.

“What are you doing later?”

No such luck, apparently.

“My schedule appears to be open for the foreseeable future,” the former medic said, keeping his voice light and uncaring.

Wheeljack just looked at him, and he knew he’d laid it on too thick. Scrap.

“Great! Come on by the lab when you’re done. New parts for the energon dispenser came in and I need some help.”

Groove stifled a chuckle behind his own sip of his mid-grade, offering no help at all. The twinkle in his optics said it all when they met optics: better you than me, little brother.

“Yes, of course. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

It honestly wasn’t too much of an ask for him to go; he didn’t want the fussing, but it was no chore to spend time with the Chief Engineer. Of all the brothers, it was Streetwise and not First Aid who’d inherited the tinkering bug, but he was unquestionably good with his hands. The role of engineer and medic crossed so many times anyway that it wasn’t unusual to help out when time allowed.

Despite his initial reluctance, Wheeljack’s lab was as comforting to First Aid as the medbay once was. It smelled and looked and felt like home. Half of his time as a newspark was spent exploring and playing in the large room with his brothers and creator there for company. The sound of Wheeljack’s quiet tinkering – and loud explosions – was as familiar to him as the spark pulses of his brothers during a gestalt merge.

It helped that despite his mother hen-ish ways, Wheeljack didn’t ask a lot of question, nor demand anything of him. He, like his youngest creation, knew the balm of a day of work. He simply cleared off a space next to him at the workbench, pointed at the schematics for the dispenser’s replacement parts, and let him work.

It wouldn’t heal his broken spark, but it was a start, and he was thankful for it.

Chapter Text

It felt good to work on something again, even if it was just a filter for the lounge’s dispenser. First Aid’s fingers moved without conscious thought; if a mech’s internals was just another day, then a filter posed no problem. But even mindless work was work, and it soothed his frazzled nerves.

Wheeljack worked beside him in comfortable silence, asking nothing of him except his skills.

It wouldn’t be so bad to work for him, he realized. It isn’t medicine, but it’s helping. It’s something I can do.

The words struggled to come out, however, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask. But perhaps it was worth it to ask; honestly, he had nothing left to lose in doing so. Wheeljack had shown none of the anger that his mentor had, hadn’t so much as reprimanded him for his lie.

Well, neither have any of the officers, but I suppose my demotion was punishment enough…

“Hey, Aid?” Wheeljack’s voice cut in through the reverie.

“Hm?” the red and white looked over curiously.

“I’m sorry, but there’s one thing we gotta do before you head out today. Figured we could get it over with now before we get too deep with the dispenser.”

“What’s that?” First Aid asked with a tilt of his head. He didn’t like the sudden somberness to his creator’s voice. Am I getting kicked out of this place too?

Wheeljack sighed and put down the remote he was working on. He swiveled in his chair to face him and flashed a sad, dark blue. “Your medical protocols.”

“My… oh.” Of course… how could he have forgotten? He still had access to everyone’s medical files, held medical override codes to access others’ systems, and other classified information he was privy to only while he wore the crosses of a medic.

But I’m not a medic now, am I? I’m nothing.

“Ratchet could do it,” Wheeljack explained gently. “But I thought you’d rather it be me. I know you can do it yourself, and I’d trust you, but…”

“No,” First Aid said quickly. “No, I understand. Yes, thank you.”

“We can wait a little bit before you go, or…”

“Let’s do it now, please.” Not that he wanted his last link to his function to go, far from it, but dreading it would be so much worse.

I see you weep… Mindscape’s words had been floating in his head for days now. Every time he remembered Ratchet’s face when he threw him out, or wondered what the future held for a ‘bot with no function… he remembered the doctor who’d sent him the bomb, and he wondered what else he had to say.

If his creator noticed any of this, he said nothing. He set his work down and waited for First Aid to do the same before wheeling his chair close enough to work. It was a simple matter of the engineer connecting to his medical port and requesting access, something that was granted immediately.

However much it hurt for this to happen, Wheeljack was right: it was so much better than the alternative. The Lancia was gentle as he worked and pried only into the files needed to fulfill the medical debrief requirements. There was no sense of recrimination or anger or disappointment or anything else in the link, nothing but the task at hand to delete that which wasn’t needed any longer.

First Aid sat still as the other worked, not fighting the engineer on anything he needed to alter or delete. His fists remained clenched painfully in his lap, and his shoulders trembled only a little. His intake hiccupped only twice, and the tears only began as the last of the files were removed.

All in all, it could have been so much worse. It could have been Ratchet stripping him of these last honors.

And he was grateful that the engineer ignored the small drips of fluid that escaped from under his mask as he worked.

All that time letting me find my baseline only to rip it up again. But then he banished the accusatory thought and forced himself to still.

“Wheeljack,” he said quietly when the gristly work was done, and he was unplugged. “Could… could you…?”

It’s now or never. Ask. Just ask him.

“What is it, kiddo?” Wheeljack asked, shutting the ports.

First Aid forced his hands to unclench, and he looked up into the other’s optics. “Could you… take me on? As your apprentice?”

Anyone who claimed that the inventor’s face was impossible to read with a mask on had never spent any time with him. He visibly deflated and had such a look of sadness and pity that it broke the Protectobot again to see it. Wheeljack’s answer was in his expression, but he needed to hear it anyway.

“Oh, Aid,” Wheeljack breathed. “You’re not meant to be an engineer. We both know that.”

“B-but I’m not meant to be what I’m meant to be,” First Aid replied unhappily. “I could be useful. I could help you.”

“I’d be honored to have a mech like you to apprentice with, but you’d hate it. You’d resent me the rest of your life, kiddo.” Wheeljack waved his hand over the expanse of the lab where every flat surface was covered with one invention or another. “It ain’t all building dispensers and sparklings, Aid. It’s bombs and guns and every way possible to kill another mech. It’s inventing new ways to kill a mech. That ain’t a life for you. And if I took you on… that’s what you’d be doing.”

The last of the fight left the red and white and the tears pricked at his optic sensors again. He bowed his head and nodded in acceptance. “What am I going to do?” he whispered. “What’s going to happen to me?”

Wheeljack shook his head and rested a heavy hand on his shoulder. “One day at a time,” he replied, just as quietly. “It’ll get sorted, Aid. You just gotta trust me on that.”

“Will I be reformatted? Replaced? Will Defensor…?”

The hand on his shoulder tightened a fraction, but not so much that it hurt. “Never,” Wheeljack promised. “Over my dead slagging body.”

“If it was an order, though. If they demanded it...”

“Never.”

He didn’t question it again, but instead leaned into the touch. It grounded him and helped pull him back from his train of thought. Perhaps it was childish, but he needed that comfort, and hearing his creator promise that without hesitation helped more than he would admit. “Thank you, ‘Jack.”

Wheeljack squeezed his shoulder once more and then released him.

“Just because I can’t take you on officially doesn’t mean I don’t want your help whenever you’re able,” the Lancia said with a soft flash of his headfins. “Now, what do you say we finish this dispenser before half the Ark comes for our heads, hm?”

The younger mech couldn’t quite manage a smile, but he nodded and returned to work feeling lighter. As long as he still had the rest of his family – ‘Jack and his brothers – he would be ok. He could find some way to be useful, to prove that he was worth the risk of training.

Perhaps another doctor could teach me someday, he thought as he worked. Perhaps I can still be a medic.

Even as he hoped for that, he knew it was unlikely. If the Prime’s CMO didn’t want him, the most respected doctor of his day who custom-built First Aid himself, why would anyone else? Like it or not, afraid of him or not, Ratchet was his only hope if he ever wanted to have crosses on his arms ever again.

…Isn’t he?

“Has he… said anything?” First Aid asked quietly. There was no need to mention who he was talking about.

“I have nothing to say to him,” Wheeljack answered, soft but firm. “And I don’t think I will again.”

The former apprentice shook his head and fussed with a delicate part of the tubing to avoid looking at his creator. “You’ve been best friends since before the war,” he said. “It isn’t right for you to stop.”

“You come first.” As easy as that, without a hint of regret or anger in his voice.

First Aid did look up then in amazement.

“You’re not my commission, Aid. None of you are.” Wheeljack continued to work, voice as light as if they were talking about the weather. “People may not think I take my work seriously, but I do. And I knew when I agreed to build you and those fourteen other crazies that you were not just another project to me. You’re not some… some experiment I cooked up here on this bench. You’re my creation, you all are.”

He met his youngest’s optics and flashed a light blue in a comforting smile.

“You’re mine, kiddo. Deal with it.”

First Aid felt his faceplates warm happily, feeling the first rush of joy in days. It was foreign by now, and he clung to the words like a lifeline. “Well,” he said. “Then does that mean you’re mine too?”

The engineer chuckled softly and ruffled his helm gently. “Been yours since your first blueprint. Ain’t getting rid of me that easy. I’m in this for the long haul, good and bad.”

The younger mech smiled then, a real smile, even if it was just for a second.

“Now then, speaking of bad, I wanna hear about your trip planetside.” Wheeljack flashed once more to show he wasn’t angry and returned to work.

“You do?” First Aid swallowed thickly. “What do you know?”

“Nothing. And I’d rather hear it from you.” Wheeljack fiddled with a button and cursed softly when a thin stream of smoke poured out. “Slaggitall…”

First Aid chuckled fondly and held his hand out. “Let me see,” he said.

The engineer handed it over with a good-natured grumble. “Here. See what you can make of it.”

He took the remote and opened it back up, using the time to think of a good response to the question. His creator wasn’t pushing him, but he knew an answer was expected.

“I shouldn’t have lied,” he said first, retracting a fingertip to use a fine soldering iron. “That was unforgiveable.”

“It was nothing of the sort, but that’s not what I’m asking.” Wheeljack picked up the components for the filter and started on that. “Tell me about this Mindscape.”

“Have you ever met him?”

Wheeljack shook his head. “He was before my time,” he said. “Heard a couple things here and there, but nothing substantial.”

“He…” First Aid paused to measure his words. “He’s one of the most frightening mechs I’ve ever met. But he’s brilliant as well. Just a few minutes with him, and everything he was saying started to make sense.”

Frightening, but he’s a doctor…

He shoved that train of thought aside. He wasn’t so desperate as to ask a mass murderer for help getting his crosses back.

“If he was good enough to rival Ratchet in school, I imagine he was one of the smartest mechs around,” Wheeljack allowed. “What did he say?”

Just repeating the words felt like treason, but who was he even betraying anymore? His teacher? He had no teacher. “That I had talent… greatness.” First Aid blushed. “I can’t deny it felt good to hear.”

“It would.” First Aid risked a glance to the side, but his creator kept working, as calm and unbothered as ever. “You never get enough praise for what you do here, Aid. You save lives and deal with the worst our species has to offer, and you’ve never complained once about it.”

The blush darkened. Wheeljack said it so easily, like it was the most obvious thing in the world and hardly needed mentioning.

“What I used to do,” he corrected quietly.

Wheeljack shook his head and snapped the filter into place. “There!” He looked back at First Aid. “Aid, you’re a healer. It’s who you are and who you’ll always be. Some fragger on an ego-trip can’t take that away from you.”

He didn’t know which fragger the engineer was referring to, but he could guess.

“You’ll be a doctor again, kiddo, I promise. Nothing will stop you from that. It just may not happen the way you thought it would.”

Oddly, that renewed some of the dwindling hope in the red and white’s spark, and he nodded in agreement.

“It’s what you made me to be,” he said.

“No, it’s what you decided to be. Base code and a frame for your spark only goes so far. You’re a healer, because that’s what you wanted. If I took you on as my apprentice, you’d still be a healer. If I reformatted you into a little Ironhide clone, you’d be patching up every monitor he sat you in front of.”

First Aid giggled at that mental image and had to admit that was true. Plus, it helped to hear Mindscape’s accusation of pre-programmed destiny fall apart. “I suppose you’re right.”

Wheeljack nodded. “Mindscape filled you up with the warm fuzzies and went after what you love. No shame in admitting that it got to you. He’s been known to turn the most loyal of mechs traitor with just a few words. I know that much.”

“Then what do I do with it? He’s still out there, and he… he said he wanted to teach me. But the things he’s done…”

“What does your spark say?”

First Aid thought for a moment and shut the remote case again. This time, the button lit green. “He’s a liar and a monster,” he said at last. “And he has nothing to offer me.”

Wheeljack patted his back in approval. “Keep telling yourself that whenever you doubt,” he said. “He’s stuffing half-truths into a bag of lies. He wants you confused. Stick to what you know and what your spark is telling you, and you won’t go wrong.”

OOO

Recharge didn’t come easily to him these days, so when it was interrupted, it was a problem. He didn’t know what pulled him from it this time, only that he was far too exhausted to have gotten up on his own.

“Groove?” First Aid mumbled, slowly sitting up on his berth. His elder brother had sat with him until he’d fallen asleep the night before. Each of the brothers had taken turns doing so the past few days much to his embarrassment. But no, the scout was nowhere to be seen.

The room was cast in a low, blue light as his optics reflected off the metallic surfaces of his quarters. Nothing seemed out of place. His few datapads carefully placed on his desk, his mask and visor beside him on a shelf, a few pictures set up beside a now-redundant medical kit…

And a dark shadow lurking in the corner.

First Aid’s fuel pump ran cold, and he flared his fingers out to activate his darts before remembering they were deactivated earlier that day. Wheeljack had taken that from him, too.

The shadow rasped something low, and it sounded like a laugh mixed with the gurgle of energon in one’s throat. Perhaps it was.

Then it charged.

Chapter Text

It didn’t matter that he didn’t scream; the Protectobots were all woken by the fear spiking through him as the creature pounced on him. First Aid felt each brother come to alertness even as he struggled against the thing that rasped in his audios.

“Chimera,” the thing hissed, low and gargled and all things ugly.

First Aid struggled to get him off, but the thing’s weight was far greater than his own despite its haggard appearance. Up close, he saw all the plating on this bot was stripped clear away; only wires and essential coverings remained where a full body should be. It leered down at him with one optic in the center of its face, just over a rudimentary mouth that could barely form a word.

He heard Blades pounding at his door from the other side and realized the creature must have locked it before it made its move. Not that that would stop his brother, but it did leave him at its mercy for at least another minute.

“What do you want?” he cried, trying to squirm out from underneath it.

“To talk, apprentice. To talk.”

Worse than the poor attempts at speech were the giggles that erupted afterwards, and it was almost painful to hear. No drone would make that sound; this thing was alive, and it broke his spark to realize it.

“I can help you,” he said instead. “Just please… please stop!”

To his surprise, the misshapen bot did scramble off him, though it didn’t go far. It lingered just over his berth, looming, yet he sensed no ill will from it.

“Help, apprentice,” the thing hissed in delight. “Help and talk and help, apprentice.”

“Help what?” First Aid asked. He sat up slowly and scooted to the edge of the berth, ready to dive out of the way if the thing should charge again. “Help you?”

“Help yourself. Paint your resignation on the walls in their energon.”

First Aid frowned and tensed at his words. “Tell your master I—"

“Poor little apprentice,” the creature cut in with a coo. “All alone.”

“I’m not alone.” He nodded to the dented door as proof of that. “Say what you want before my brothers get it out of you by force.”

The thing tilted his head to him, and he swore it smiled. “Three-nine-seven point two-nine,” it said. Then its chin tilted up and optics deactivated.

It was dead before it hit the floor, just in time for Blades to finally break the door down.

OOO

When Ratchet arrived at his former apprentice’s room, a dead body was not quite what he’d expected. The call came in from Hot Spot, and while the blue mech was never one to lie, hearing there was a corpse he needed to attend to, in a pacifist’s room no less, was a new one for him.

First Aid kept a wide berth from him when he entered. A good thing, because he nearly asked him if he was alright simply from habit. Each of the brothers watched him like he was a loaded weapon, and he hadn’t missed the chilled voice in the leader when he called. He was here due to lack of options, not by choice.

“What happened?” he asked Hot Spot in a gruff tone. Keep it professional and get out.

The blue mech nodded toward the grotesque mess of wires and exposed circuitry laying at the foot of First Aid’s berth. “It attacked him about a half hour ago and just collapsed.”

“Collapsed?”

Streetwise nudged the thing with the tip of a foot, and several of them grimaced at the sound of oiled cables against one another. “Dropped dead,” he added. “None of us touched him.”

“Did it say anything?”

First Aid shook his head.

Ratchet knelt down and gently tilted the head to the side to look. It was an absolute mess, a macabre assortment of circuitry and wires. It wouldn’t have lived long no matter what happened to it.

“You didn’t do anything to it?” he asked First Aid over his shoulder.

The little red and white shook his head again and remained quiet. Beside him, Blades bristled.

“Of course he didn’t,” the brawler snorted. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Blades,” Hot Spot chided gently, but the glint in his red optics showed he was probably thinking worse.

Ratchet let it go. The brothers were just looking for an excuse to lash out, and he was too tired and too grumpy to give them one that night. He stood up and nodded to the group. “I’ll get someone to come grab him.”

“He’s fine, by the way.”

The CMO blinked and paused on his way out the door. “Huh?”

Groove’s golden optics stared right into his, angry and hard. “Aid’s fine. You didn’t ask.”

The little scout had a temperament better than First Aid’s, but his fists were clenched into balls, and his head lowered as if looking at the enemy. The other brothers, Streetwise, Blades, and Hotspot, watched him with equal anger clear in their expressions. They’d never looked at him like that before. The only one who didn’t glare was First Aid himself, who was stubbornly looking at anything but his former teacher.

Ratchet set his lips in a thin line, nodded once, and walked out. He made his way directly back to the medbay, unwilling to leave his domain for any length of time if he didn’t have to. Doubly so, now that they were down a medic.

He tried to banish the thing’s face from his mind, but found it impossible. There was no doubt where it came from; the Decepticons had no use for such a creature nor to torment a gestalt’s left arm. Mindscape was still sniffing around, which meant his ruse wasn’t working perhaps as well as he’d hoped.

Nothing I can do about that, but now I have something physical to track him with.

The CMO sent the call out to Hoist and Grapple to fetch the dead creature and bring it to the morgue. He would learn what he needed and use it to hunt his old classmate down. This would end as it should have done millions of years ago.

Should’ve come after me instead, Mindscape. I’d have gone easier on you.

OOO

With his quarters considered a crime scene for the moment, First Aid had no choice but to bunk in the main living area of the Protectobots’ suite. Each brother had offered their own room, but he refused them all. He cherished the safety their presence gave him, but the price to pay for that safety was endless questions and concerned glances.

And he just wanted to be left alone for now.

Three-nine-seven point two-nine. A hailing frequency. Perhaps he shouldn’t have lied about the creature remaining silent, but he had a feeling this number was for him alone.

I should tell them, he thought as he lay on the couch unable to get back to recharge. They could use it to track Mindscape down or find out what he’s really after.

He should, but he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Too many decisions had been made for him already, and it was time to make his own.

When he first met Mindscape in that prison, the doctor taunted him with his own pre-destined future. He was built to be a doctor, and even if he chose another life, they’d never let him have it. It was something he’d always believed in the darkest corner of his mind, but it was said so easily, like it was so obvious. First Aid felt like an idiot even refuting it.

But now they won’t let me be a doctor when it’s my choice to be one… stuck in that box they built for me, just as he said. They’re exactly like he said! Every decision made for me since then has only proved it more.

They jerked him around from the moment he first activated his optics. They bound his life to his brothers’ knowing full well that the death of one would be the death of all in the gestalt. They forced him to love his function and tortured him daily with the knowledge that he would never achieve it now.

I see you weep…

The large common area felt too confining now, like a cage only pretending to be something else. He got to his feet and began to pace around the room. He couldn’t keep still, not with so much treason running wild through his mind. It was all he could do not to let his emotions drift over Defensor’s bond and reawaken his brothers.

I am in chains… He was right. He’s right about everything!

The more he thought about it, the more Mindscape’s voice echoed back all the truths he’d tried to ignore through the years. Wheeljack’s gentle reminder of the doctor’s lies grew quieter each time he completed a circuit around the room. Of course it was easy for his second creator to say such things; no one ever tried to stifle him or tell him what he could and could not do. Wheeljack was the master of his field, just as Ratchet was, just as each of their creations were expected to be. Every Dinobot, Aerialbot, and Protectobot was a credit to their creators…

But not me. I’m a disappointment to them both, and now I’m nothing.

But he could be something. He might not be the smartest, strongest, or bravest of his many extended siblings, but he still had worth, didn’t he? He outshone his peers at the Academy who were hundreds of times his age, and he saved lives every day he worked under Ratchet’s tutelage.

But what more can I do? What more am I capable of? Mindscape offered to show me…

He could hardly believe he was considering it. Mindscape killed so many and betrayed his Oath in favor of experimentation. He had to be insane for thinking it… but once he allowed that thought in, it wouldn’t leave him.

I could be a doctor again. I don’t have to walk down any roads my conscience won’t allow, but he could be my last chance.

Already regretting his choice but knowing he didn’t have any other, First Aid forced himself to calm down long enough to sit back on the couch and activate his internal comm. He tuned to 397.29 MHz, hailed, and waited.