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It all started when Ratchet quite literally stumbled across a wounded Decepticon.
He’d been keeping his optics on an ominous cloud on the horizon, and had completely missed the half-buried mech in his haste to make it back to the Autobot base before the storm hit. Before he could so much as cry out in alarm, Ratchet was toppling face-first into the sand.
“What in Solus’s name…” He grumbled, gritting his dentae at the coarse friction of sand in his gears. A groan echoed from just behind him, and Ratchet turned over only to find himself staring into a familiar set of optics.
“Deadlock?”
“Hey there, doc.”
Deadlock offered him a crooked grin, even as his vents wheezed with the effort of cooling his torn and charred frame.
“What the hell are you doing out here?”
Deadlock’s grin vanished.
“Well. It’s nice to see you too.”
Ratchet sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He and Deadlock had encountered each other several times throughout the war, and each meeting was accompanied by a set of curious symptoms– a fluttering feeling in his spark, a churning in his fuel tank, and the sudden loss of his ability to make rational decisions.
The cloud on the horizon drew closer, a pressing reminder that Ratchet had more important problems to deal with right now than Deadlock and his strange effects on Ratchet’s body.
“Are there other Decepticons around?”
“Nope. They turned tail and ran the moment we caught word of the sandstorm. Frelling cowards.”
Ratchet gave Deadlock another once over and winced. Energon stained the sand beneath the Decepticon, trickling freely from a wound in his side. The rest of the wounds were merely cosmetic, though it didn’t stop Ratchet’s spark from clenching in sympathy.
“We need to find shelter immediately. Then I can treat your injuries.”
Deadlock scoffed.
“And who says I want to go with you? As far as I know, you’ll deliver me right over to your Autobot pals.”
“You’re just going to have to trust me,” Ratchet said. “Either that, or you can enjoy dying alone in the middle of a desert wasteland.”
“Are those my only choices?” Deadlock growled, visibly bristling as Ratchet approached and knelt next to him.
“No. I’ve already made a choice for both of us.”
Before Deadlock could protest, Ratchet was hoisting him over a shoulder. He let out a grunt as he stood, adjusting his balance to accommodate the extra weight.
“Hey!” Deadlock began to struggle, limbs flailing wildly.
“Stop that!” Ratchet barked. The sandstorm was quickly approaching, and now his audials were filled with a dull roar. “We need shelter. Do you know of any safe places to hunker down until the storm passes?”
A strong gust of wind nearly knocked Ratchet off balance, but instead of taking advantage of this moment of weakness, Deadlock ceased his struggles entirely.
“There’s a downed Decepticon warship about a half a mile away. I’ll send you the coordinates.”
After a few kliks, Ratchet received the ping on his HUD, and he set off without hesitation. It occurred to him that Deadlock could very well be leading him right into a trap, but he had no other choice. Ratchet had asked Deadlock to trust him, and he supposed that trust went both ways.
Still, he couldn’t help the noise of relief that escaped him when he spotted the warship, exactly where Deadlock had said it would be and very clearly abandoned.
Ratchet ducked through a large hole into an empty cargo bay, and not a moment too soon. Within minutes, the storm had descended upon them, battering the ship hard enough to make it shake.
Ratchet retreated deeper inside, searching several rooms until he found what he was looking for. A medibay. It was small, containing only one berth, but that was just fine. Ratchet only had one patient, after all.
He laid Deadlock gently onto the berth, frowning when he stepped back to examine him. Deadlock was fading in and out of consciousness, no doubt due to loss of energon. Ratchet would have to work quickly to close his wound before he lost any more.
He rummaged through the medbay’s cabinets, but any supplies had long since been removed, if not by the ship’s original occupants, then by scavengers. Thankfully, Ratchet had his own medical kit, but he only had one cube of energon. Hopefully they wouldn’t be trapped here for too long.
He made his way back to Deadlock’s side. The Decepticon’s optics glowed faintly in the dark, staring aimlessly up at the ceiling.
“Where’s your medical diagnostic port located?”
“Back of my neck.” Despite his efforts to come off as aloof, a slight tremble in Deadlock’s voice betrayed him.
“You’ll be fine,” Ratchet reassured him as he unspooled his diagnostic cable. Deadlock probably didn’t want his reassurance, but it was a force of habit. Decepticon or not, Deadlock was Ratchet’s patient now, and he would treat Deadlock the same way he treated all of his other patients.
Once he’d connected his diagnostic cable, Ratchet ran a full scan, taking in the extent of Deadlock’s damage. The leaking energon was the most pressing concern, and without further delay, he began pulling tools from his medkit.
Deadlock was almost eerily quiet as Ratchet worked, though he was too ingrained in his work to be unsettled by it. Ratchet’s hands flew across Deadlock’s frame, patching and welding and cauterizing. Deadlock winced a few times, but made no other indication of pain.
It took a little over an hour, but finally, Ratchet had managed to close any torn fuel lines and apply nanite gel to Deadlock’s more superficial wounds. Deadlock would need more thorough care later, but for now he was stable. Ratchet leaned against the berth and let out a heavy sigh. He’d been in emergency mode for the past two days, pulling injured bots off of the battlefield and working frantically to save them. The eerie silence of the abandoned ship rang in his audials. It was a sharp contrast to the cacophony outside.
“Here,” Ratchet said, reaching for the energon cube he’d set aside. “You need fuel.”
“What about you?”
Ratchet stared down at Deadlock, taken aback.
“Since when do Decepticons care about some burned out Autobot medic?”
“Hey, that’s not fair. I care about you a lot, doc.” Deadlock’s words were slurred, and his optics flickered as he struggled to remain conscious.
Ratchet decided to ignore Deadlock’s assertion. Surely he didn’t mean it. It was only exhaustion speaking.
“Drink,” he insisted, handing the cube to Deadlock, who took it into trembling hands and lifted it carefully to his mouth. After a few sips, Deadlock handed it back to Ratchet.
“Your turn.”
“Deadlock, that’s really not–”
“Shoosh. You need fuel, too. It would be a pity to have you die on me when you’d make such a valuable prisoner.”
Ratchet huffed and rolled his optics, but accepted the cube in the end. There was no real malice in Deadlock’s words. Even if the Decepticon was able to somehow overpower Ratchet in his injured state, Deadlock had had plenty of chances to capture him before during their numerous encounters throughout the war, and had passed up the opportunity each time, always with some half-formed excuse.
Ratchet took a few sips, and although he’d never admit it, he did feel a little bit better when he handed the cube back to Deadlock.
“There. The rest is yours.”
The smallest hint of a smile crept onto Deadlock’s face, and he finished the rest of the energon without protest.
“What now, doc?”
“Now, you need to rest. The storm won’t pass for several more hours. I’ll keep watch.”
Deadlock made a small tsk sound and shook his head.
“Not gonna happen, doc. If I rest, you rest.”
“I’m not the one who just survived a life-threatening injury.”
“Sure, but when’s the last time you recharged?”
“I’m not the patient here,” Ratchet deflected, crossing his arms.
“I know. But you can’t very well help me when you’ve passed out from exhaustion, now can you?”
Ratchet didn’t have a retort for that, so instead he busied himself with putting away his tools. Deadlock, however, kept prodding.
“Come on, doc. I won’t rest until you do.”
“And where am I supposed to do that, exactly? There’s only one berth here.”
Deadlock scooted to the side, leaving an empty space on the medical slab. It was large enough to accommodate heavy duty warframes and construction mechs, and was plenty big enough for both Ratchet and Deadlock.
Ratchet scoffed. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Aw, c’mon doc. I won’t bite. Look.” Deadlock pulled a gun from his subspace and tossed it to the floor. “I’m unarmed.”
Ratchet was certain Deadlock had more than one weapon stashed somewhere on his frame, but that wasn’t the problem.
“What would someone say if they found us like that?”
“The storm will keep our factions away for a while. Nobody even knows we’re here.” Deadlock huffed. “I’m just trying to look out for you. Primus knows you won’t look after yourself.”
“Hey, I’m not the one who–”
Deadlock cut Ratchet off with a growl of his engine.
“That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”
Ratchet pursed his lips and closed the lid to his medical kit with a sharp snap.
“I’m going to search the ship for supplies. I’ll be back soon. Get some rest.”
He expected anger, but was instead met with silence. Deadlock’s optics dimmed as he began to power down, and Ratchet left without another word.
Unfortunately, the ship had been stripped of anything useful, just as Ratchet had suspected. His pedes dragged as he returned to the medibay, and he had to steady himself against the doorframe as a sudden wave of exhaustion overtook him. He’d been running on adrenaline for the past two days, and now that he was safe and fueled, the fatigue had finally caught up to him.
He gazed across the room at Deadlock, who was still deep in recharge. His features were surprisingly delicate, unmarred by his typical scowl, and for a moment, Ratchet caught a glimpse of the desperate leaker he’d saved in the Dead End all those years ago.
Ratchet sighed and approached the slab with gentle pede steps, careful not to make any noise that might rouse Deadlock from his rest. He stopped when he reached Deadlock’s side, processor whirring as he stared down at the sleeping Decepticon.
I shouldn’t do this . Yet every bolt in Ratchet’s frame ached with exhaustion, and it was getting more and more difficult to ignore.
Maybe a quick stasis nap would be fine. Deadlock would never have to know.
As carefully as he could, Ratchet climbed onto the slab, settling into the empty space beside Deadlock. Ratchet’s engine stalled when Deadlock shifted slightly, but the Decepticon didn’t wake.
At this proximity, it was impossible to keep their plating from touching, despite Ratchet’s best efforts. After several attempts to adjust his frame and put some space between them, Ratchet finally gave up, settling onto his back with his shoulder pressed up against Deadlock’s.
He hadn’t shared a berth with anyone since before the war. Had it been Pharma? Or Optimus? All of his previous lovers had melded together in his mind over the years, transforming from individuals into a vague and looming sense of rejection.
The proximity to Deadlock felt strange, but not as uncomfortable as Ratchet had expected. Warmth radiated from Deadlock’s frame, and Ratchet found himself pressing closer, soaking up the heat as the frigid desert night settled in around them.
-
Ratchet woke to find himself in a tangle of limbs and plating. He tried to shift, but Deadlock’s arms tightened around him, and the Decepticon made a small growl of protest where his face was buried against Ratchet’s neck.
“Deadlock,” he said softly, which only earned him another growl.
Ratchet sighed, relenting, and stared up at the ceiling. The noise outside had ceased, which he could only assume meant that the storm had passed. He ran a quick burst scan on Deadlock, which revealed that his injuries were healing nicely.
He was in the process of figuring out how he would explain his long absence to the Autobots when Deadlock stirred, venting a hot puff of air against Ratchet’s neck.
“Well, well, well. Look who actually heeded my advice.”
“Don’t act so cocky. It was a strategic decision.”
“Sure it was,” muttered Deadlock, pulling his arms away from Ratchet so he could sit up and stretch. “Is that why you were saying my name in your sleep?”
“I was not!” Ratchet protested, energon rushing to his face. He didn’t talk in his sleep. Did he?
Deadlock smirked. “Maybe not. But it’s fun to see you get all flustered.”
Despite his teasing, Deadlock’s voice was quieter than the night before. He no longer carried himself with his usual bluster, and his plating rested calmly against his protoform. Perhaps surviving a life-threatening injury had calmed him somewhat. But judging by the scars on his frame, Deadlock was no stranger to injury. So then what else could have mellowed him out like this?
“How are you feeling?” Ratchet asked, steering the conversation away from himself. “Are you experiencing any pain?”
“A bit, but nothing I can’t handle. To be honest, doc, I feel like I could take on the entire Autobot army on my own.”
Ratchet snorted. “Don’t go trying anything of the sort just yet. You need at least two cycles’ worth of rest before you’re fit to fight again.”
A distant look fell across Deadlock’s optics. “Right,” he muttered.
Ratchet rolled off of the slab and gathered up his medkit. Deadlock’s gun was still lying on the floor next to it. He picked it up and handed it to Deadlock.
“Do you think you can make it back to the Decepticons on your own?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Deadlock’s shoulders slumped a bit, and he watched in silence as Ratchet finished packing up his supplies.
“Hey, Ratchet…”
Ratchet glanced up at him, quirking a brow plate in anticipation of whatever verbal barb Deadlock would fling at him next, but his expression softened when their optics met. Deadlock seemed to be struggling to say whatever it was, and finally, he broke their shared gaze as he leaned down to pick up his gun.
“Thanks,” Deadlock said at last. “I owe you one.”
“I’m just doing my job,” Ratchet replied, praying to a deity he didn’t believe in that Deadlock wouldn’t ask him what part of his duties constituted sharing a berth.
In the end, Deadlock said nothing. He gave Ratchet one last long look before turning and wordlessly walking out the door, taking the warmth of his frame with him.