Chapter Text
As was usual, he heard the medbay before he reached it. Primus, the Decepticons could probably hear Ratchet at this point. He was in prime form that evening.
Still, Wheeljack didn’t become the Chief Engineer (or Ratchet’s best friend) for lack of courage. He waltzed in merrily, though also braced himself for a flying scalpel at any moment.
“I’m not slagging around, kid. I mean it!”
“And so do I.”
As he entered, Wheeljack looked back and forth between the two glaring medics, not quite sure which one to back up. Defending Ratchet would result in a pair of sad-sparkling optics from First Aid that were still irresistible years after the mech’s creation. Backing up First Aid, however, would definitely result in a wrench to the helm the moment his back was turned.
Neutral third party it is.
It was uncanny how First Aid had the special ability to get under a mech’s plating, Ratchet’s especially, without technically doing anything wrong. And as much as Wheeljack wanted to claim First Aid as his own, Ratchet’s influence on the boy was more than apparent now. They glowered at one another in a battle of wills, each too stubborn to back down now that the gauntlet was thrown.
The familial resemblance was never so strong as that scene before him, and only one topic ever made both mechs act this way.
Primus, neither of them are going to budge on this, are they?
“Guys,” Wheeljack tried, hoping to diffuse some of the ire. “Maybe if we—”
“I’m your fragging superior and I’m making it an order!” Ratchet barked, cutting the engineer off as if he wasn’t even there.
First Aid leaned against the berth he’d been cleaning, arms crossed. Though his expression was hidden behind a mask and visor, there was no mistaking the cool gaze he sent the elder medic. There was no one in the world he respected more than the CMO, no one he loved more, but the disdain in his body language was enough to make even Wheeljack question his sanity. Lambos had been bludgeoned for less disrespect.
“Then I respectfully refuse, sir,” the apprentice said, voice never rising above his gentle tenor. But there was steel there in his tone, a hard line he now drew in the sand.
Ratchet clenched his red hands and then relaxed them, probably weighing the pros and cons of slugging his apprentice to knock some sense into him. “You will respectfully carry a weapon and that’s final!” he growled. “We have enough to worry about out there without you painting a bigger target on your aft.”
“I won’t.” As simple and as difficult as that.
Wheeljack sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose to relieve some of the pressure building in his head. “Ratch,” he sighed. “We’ve been over this. If he says he won’t carry a gun, we can’t very well force it.”
“I’ll weld it into his fragging hands if I have to!” Ratchet pointed at his apprentice, expression dark and menacing as he glared. “And if you think you can just refuse, then you have another thing coming, kid. I’ll keep you outta combat for as long as it takes until you get it through that blasted processor of yours. This is war, you carry a weapon.”
But the young mech would not be swayed. “Defensor needs his arm,” was all he said in response, as if that was enough to overrule the CMO’s orders. Perhaps he was even right; he was often more valuable in his gestalt than on the field as a medic, and he couldn’t ever be too far away from his brothers during battle should the need arise. Perhaps Ratchet truly didn’t have the power to keep him away.
The CMO seemed to realize this as well, because he grabbed the nearest scalpel in reach and flung it across the room where it stuck into the wall.
His aim’s gotten better, Wheeljack thought with morbid amusement.
He had no time to comment on it. The elder medic suddenly stalked toward the younger, and his body language hinted he was close to hitting the real thing next. The engineer stood a little straighter, ready to jump in to defend his youngest creation from the CMO’s wrath. Yelling and stomping was one thing, actually striking the kid was another.
“You’re going to get yourself, your patients, and all four of your brothers killed!” Ratchet roared at the nonplussed apprentice. “Is that what you want? Is that what I programmed into that thick head of yours?”
First Aid, either through unprecedented bravery or sheer stupidity, tilted his head in that curious way all five brothers did when faced with a puzzle. “Do no harm,” he replied. “That’s what you programmed into that thick head of mine. Do no harm.”
“Do no harm! Do no fragging harm, he says!” Ratchet said and threw his hands up in the air. He looked over at Wheeljack, optics begging for back up. “Are you hearing this slag, ‘Jack?”
Oh sure, drag me into this…
“I understand, Aid,” Wheeljack said to his youngest creation. “We all do. But you also have to understand how worried it makes us that you won’t defend yourself out there.”
The gentler tone seemed to relax the little medic somewhat. “And I’m sorry for that,” he said. “I truly am.”
Wheeljack believed him, not that it helped matters any.
“Taking life is never to be taken lightly,” Wheeljack added, hoping to get the boy to see their side. “But Ratchet is right: it isn’t just your life at risk out there. You have to consider the “harm” that can come to your patients, to your brothers if something happens.” It had never been proven one way or another, thank Primus, but there was the leading belief that should one brother of a gestalt fall, the rest would certainly follow. To lose any of his creations to this war was horrible enough… but because of pacifism? To lose all five in one blow? Wheeljack shivered at the thought.
First Aid’s shoulders sagged, and he looked away for a long moment. Both of his creators watched him expectantly, hoping that this time, the answer would be different.
But he was nothing if not his parents’ child. When he looked back up to meet their optics, his body language remained firm and stubborn. “I can’t,” he said. “I won’t.”
Ratchet shook his head and swore under his breath, though loud enough for his companions to catch the drift. “It’s going to be the death of you one day,” he growled. “And Primus help you if it doesn’t take everyone else with it.”
For that, First Aid had no response. He sighed but did not look back at them, unwilling to give in, but unable to deny the facts either. Yes, it probably would mean his death one day, and yes, it was unlikely he’d die alone.
“Just… just finish up with that roll prep, will you?” Ratchet turned his back and stalked away toward his office. “I want them done by noon.”
Wheeljack looked back at the apprentice medic, unsurprised to see the slump in his shoulders as his mentor left. “It’s alright, Aid,” he said as gently as he could. “He’s just worried. We all are. We just want you safe.”
“I disappoint him,” First Aid said. It wasn’t a question, just a simple statement spoken from a place of hurt nearly as old as he was. Yep, he was Ratchet’s more than he’d ever been Wheeljack’s, and the engineer allowed himself a small moment of jealousy before shoving it aside.
“Never a day in your life,” he reassured the little medic. He stepped forward to rest a hand on his shoulders, unsure how to comfort him but wanting to try nonetheless. “Aid, he—”
“I need to finish the med rolls.” First Aid avoided the touch and ducked over to a nearby med berth where a pile of tools sat in a haphazard mess. “I should’ve completed this hours ago.”
“Aid… I really respect you for holding onto your morals like that,” he tried again, watching as he darted back and forth to get his work done. He was following the poor example set before him of burying himself in his work to avoid his troubles. That was a road that led to nowhere but exhaustion and bitterness, but now wasn’t the time to fight that battle.
First Aid mumbled his thanks in reply, but they both knew it wasn’t the engineer’s approval he wanted right then.
Wheeljack sighed and left him to his work. If there was one thing the kid got from both of his creators, it was stubbornness in spades.
OOO
It would be like the Cons to plan an attack while he was up to his headfins in projects. Wheeljack made a mental note to send a strongly worded letter to Starscream later about this. One could spend their day defending the same power plant as the last ten times, or one could do something useful in the lab. He couldn’t possibly do both.
To the Air Commander’s credit, this eleventh time was a much more devoted attempt at taking control of the valuable location. The team he brought was formidable, involving not only both Seeker Trines, but the Combaticons and Stunticons as well. Certainly enough to bring most of the main crew of the Ark out to counteract them. It wasn’t bad yet, but it had all the appearances of getting nasty the longer it dragged on.
It was hard to tell where the frontline even began by the time Wheeljack arrived at the scene. The Decepticons had them flanked on three sides and rapidly closing in toward the center. Normally kept behind the rearguard, all available mechs for medic duty were interspersed between foe and ally alike. Ratchet barked at him to help with pull-out duty so the wounded could be triaged, but the engineer found it hard to know where “out” even was.
Hoist dashed to and fro beside him. Not able to do the delicate work of a surgeon, and having the better armor of the bunch, his job was light patch work on the go. He barely had time to flash Wheeljack a wink before he disappeared into the dust and fire of the battlefield.
“What a mess,” Wheeljack sighed to himself. Yes, a strongly worded letter later.
A peppering of bullet fire from Thrust brought him back to attention, and he dodged out of the way just in time.
“Be careful!” he heard from behind. “They’re fast today!”
Wheeljack looked back to see First Aid darting like a rabbit as he worked his way through the field. It was unusual to see him so far into the thick of things; his place was normally at Ratchet’s side, learning and patching and saving. Why come out here when Hoist and Wheeljack could do the heavy lifting? And there was something about the kid’s body language. Something he didn’t like…
He had no time to ask. A loud explosion erupted above them and drew their attention skyward. The Aerialbots seemed to have finally joined the fray. Air Raid and Fireflight wove between the Seekers with finesse while Silverbolt and Slingshot picked off loners from the sidelines. And Skydive…
He was the cause of the explosion. The gray and red plummeted to the ground not a hundred yards away from the engineer and medic, smoke billowing out of both engines.
Wheeljack opened his mouth to direct the younger mech, but First Aid was off without a word. He charged toward the Aerialbot without a care for the chaos around them.
Idiot’s going to get himself killed!
“Aid!” he cried, scrambling to catch up to the younger mech. “Get back to the med-line! I’ll take care of Dive!”
The Protectobot tilted his head to the side and glanced at him for a moment before continuing on. He surged forward once more toward the rising smoke coming from Skydive’s chassis, already taking a med kit from subspace.
Idiot boy… he knew better than to rush into the thick of it without any back up. The rhythm of battle dictated the medics’ responses, they all knew that. Wait for a lull or a distraction, get the wounded, get back to safety. Don’t rush into gunfire like some berserker waiting to get picked off. There were rules on this for a reason!
“Aid!” he called again, finally close enough to grab First Aid’s shoulder. “What’s gotten into you!”
“I will not be a disappointment!” the medic cried, pulling himself from his hold. “I can do something right!” He squared off against the engineer, fists clenched so tight they shook.
“Where is this coming from, kid?” Wheeljack kept his head on a swivel to anticipate anyone targeting them. Luck was not on their side and would only hold out for a second, if that. “If this is about earlier, you can’t…”
He’d forgotten to check behind him, and the scream of diving engines was his only warning before the world exploded all around. Wheeljack barely had time to dive to the ground as Thundercracker strafed the area, and his audios momentarily fritzed to static from the deafening boom of the missile. Dirt and shrapnel lodged into his back and shattered one of his delicate headfins. It was only through the grace of Primus that it wasn’t much, much worse.
“Aid,” he coughed and lifted his head. “Kid, are you…?”
And then he saw him.
First Aid dropped where he stood, without a word or reaction. Half of his torso disappeared in a flash of white and yellow and orange, and the acrid smell of vaporized energon filled Wheeljack’s sensors. He hardly realized what had happened, but his body moved on autopilot. He dove forward to catch the young mech before he hit the ground, carefully laying him on his back and immediately scanning the damage.
What he saw threatened to stop his own spark.
“Ratchet!” he hollered into a private comm. He could only hope it made it through the wave of other comms the CMO was no doubt receiving. “Ratchet, I need you!”
“Busy,” was the curt response.
“Slaggit, Pri-One! Get over here!”
There was only a momentary pause before the medic responded. “Get Aid, I’m swamped!”
“Primus frag you, Ratchet, it is Aid!”
A flurry of curses was his only response before the comm cut out. Wheeljack busied himself by trying to stem the worst of the bleeding, trying to stop the unstoppable, firmly ignoring the exposed lasercore peppered with shrapnel and flickering dangerously. He wasn’t a doctor by any stretch, but he knew a lethal wound when he saw one.
But this was different. This was First Aid, his creation, and he was not allowed to have lethal wounds.
“Don’t you dare die, Aid,” he growled low as he worked. “That’s an order.”
The fighting mercifully moved away from their corner, reducing the number of times work had to stop so he could shield the exposed Protectobot from further damage. If he tried to move the boy now, he would die in seconds, so there was no choice but to remain.
Ratchet skidded to a stop just in front of them only moments later. He wasted no time with words, instead shoving the engineer out of the way and getting to work. He didn’t so much as curse as he frantically struggled to keep the little medic alive, a sign as to how dire the situation was.
Wheeljack handed over tools as needed, not needing any prompting to do so. He knew First Aid’s body as well as Ratchet himself, every delicate wire, every carefully placed sheet of metal and hinge.
He never thought he’d have to see it all again so soon, like this.
Sometime during the emergency surgery to save his life, First Aid’s mask and visor were removed and tossed aside. They’d been splintered by the initial explosion, potentially saving his life by taking the brunt of the blow to his head. Even underneath the protective gear, his face was shredded nearly beyond recognition. On the few occasions Wheeljack had seen his creation’s face, he knew it to be an open, expressive face, full of curiosity and joy.
Here, like this, it was dead and bleeding and all things horrible. The lone optic intact remained dark.
Too young… too slagging young…
Wheeljack forced himself to look away from the mech’s face. He couldn’t fall apart until later, when all danger had passed. And it would pass. Ratchet would save him. He had to. There was no other option.
Even still, he reserved half a second for a quick prayer. Just in case.
Either through the rumors of battle or feeling it in their own bond, First Aid’s brothers descended upon the scene not long after Ratchet arrived. They said nothing, hardly even reacted to the sight of their youngest bleeding out into the dirt. With only a nod from Hot Spot, they formed a protective circle around the trio, cutting down anything and anyone that got too close.
“Hoist,” Wheeljack radioed as soon as he got his wits back. “When you get a chance, Skydive—”
“Percy’s already got him,” was the quick response. “We got things in hand here, pal. You just keep doing what you’re doing.”
The engineer responded with gratitude and let his spark unclench just a little. He wasn’t allowed to have favorites, but Primus help him the day he lost one of his own.
Not today. Not any of them. Not today.
OOO
The battle eventually died down around them, and each side backed off to lick wounds. Per regulation, that would be Ratchet’s cue to round up the wounded and complete triage if not done already. He’d order the evacuation and keep everything nice and neat on the way back to base.
But their CMO was still elbows deep in First Aid’s innards, and nothing else seemed to exist beyond that.
“Radio Hoist,” was all he mumbled to Wheeljack on the matter before shifting his focus back on the task at hand. “He’s got lead.”
Wheeljack nodded and notified the alarmed mech of his recent and sudden promotion in the face of things. Until First Aid was stabilized, he had to take care of things as best as he could. To his credit, the maintenance bot took the order in stride and completed his tasking. They were nothing if not a well-oiled machine after this long working together. He knew how Ratchet liked things done and would see it happen.
The engineer knew he should have gone with him but didn’t have it in him to move from Ratchet’s side. Despite the CMO’s great efforts, First Aid’s spark was failing, had been failing for the past half hour. If it finally went out, he was going to be there when it happened.
To their joint relief and surprise, the little medic’s spark didn’t go out. He was nowhere out of danger, but due to some pure miracle, First Aid was finally able to be moved after most of their faction mobilized. It was decided that he be carefully set on top of Hot Spot so that Ratchet could transform and rush to him if anything happened on the short journey home. The Protectobots didn’t argue, cry, or even beg for their brother’s life. They simply stood by and waited for whatever orders came down.
“Get him back fast, Spot,” Ratchet said when his apprentice was secured to the fire engine’s roof. “And don’t you dare hit any bumps on the way.”
The Protectobot leader’s only response was a flash of his siren, and then he was off. Streetwise and Groove remained resolute in their duties and flanked him and Ratchet on the drive home. Blades hovered above, offering protection from the air even if they were surrounded by comrades.
Wheeljack brought up the rear, trying to ignore the puddles of energon he had to drive through to make it back.