Work Text:
A punch. A feint. A leg sweep. A hook, another one, an uppercut.
It was a flurry of blows between the two bulky fighters, and Wheeljack just couldn't find any opening to help the green Autobot against the Con. He had to find one, though, because the longer this fight was taking, the more likely both Autobots were to get left behind. And that, Wheeljack thought while consulting again the countdown until the Decepticon attack, really wasn't a good idea.
Suddenly, the Con got in a good punch that sent the other Autobot flying far enough that Wheeljack got his opening. Immediately he was on the Con, distracting him with a handmade grenade before both of his new swords came to strike the Con's upper joints.
It barely scratched his paint.
A quick glance to the side showed to the green Bot needed more time to get back on his feet enough to help, so Wheeljack attacked again. No matter how resistant the Con was, he had to have some weak point.
But Wheeljack kept striking and slashing and thrusting, and the Con kept swatting him away like a cyberfly. It was honestly a little insulting, but Wheeljack couldn't afford to dedicate too much processor power to that feeling. There were attacks to parry. He hadn't planned to become scrapped metal today.
Then the big green Autobot was near him again, and the Con actually moved a foot back. Then another when Wheeljack's sword finally cut his knee joint deep enough.
Then the Con went down under the assault, and Wheeljack made a mistake.
His swung his sword high, fully intent on cleaving Con armor in two. He saw the movement too late.
Wheeljack's old analysis software was always working overtime during fights, so he knew exactly what happened as it was happening:
The Decepticon's transformed fist shattered both his sword and his hand (his pain sensors sent one last agonizing packet before turning to dust), didn't slow down in the slightest (the Con must have been compensating for the impact, something that Wheeljack would have appreciated if he wasn't the subject of it), and collided with his face with a force wholly incompatible with continued awareness.
The green Autobot was here when Wheeljack woke up.
"Hey, wow, no, don't try to move, First Aid said you can't leave yet," he said when Wheeljack tried to roll out of the medical bed.
"Urghh," Wheeljack answered, because everything was hurting.
"…Right. Okay. Breakdown sure did a number on you," his new friend said, and he pushed a button on the side. Probably something to call whoever First Aid was. Hopefully the bot's name would be accurate and they could hook Wheeljack up with some painkiller code.
"My swords-" Wheeljack managed to say through the pulsing pain.
The other Bot pulled a face.
"Sorry. Only got the one back for you. The other one got destroyed when- Well, you know when."
Yes, he did know. He remembered that very well, in full details. The memory of his pulverized hand kept pinging back his front processes, and the most painful area of his entire frame was his now-gone hand.
He really didn't want to look at where his hand had been. But at spark he knew he needed to. Recovery was much longer when the patient refused their situation, after all. Sometimes it sucked knowing all that.
Wheeljack looked at his stump, and found a hand.
"?" he said.
"First Aid managed to find some stuff," the green Bot said. Then he looked slightly uneasy. "He also said that you're very lucky to have had your hand destroyed now, because those were his last fingers."
Wheeljack looked more closely at the source of so much pain. The hand was a slightly different model from his own, but he'd be able to make his usual modifications to it later. The new fingers fit awkwardly, and painfully.
He tried to move them, and suddenly agony shot through his entire new hand and made him double over in pain.
"The Cons bombed a lot of Iacon yesterday, including the hospital," the red and white bot that Wheeljack assumed was First Aid explained, when he finally arrived after the shouts. At least Wheeljack thought he had shouted. His memory of the event was honestly a little fuzzy. Funny that he would remember exactly how his (previous) hand had been destroyed but not how the new one was settling in.
"We used to have every type of parts in stock, but not anymore. It's all destroyed now," First Aid (?) said next.
"So I'm stuck with these?" Wheeljack showed him the hand and the still-burning fingers.
"Unfortunately, yes. There are exercises and patches I can get you to lessen the pain and integrate them fully-"
"Seriously?" Wheeljack said, because come on, exercises? Patches?
"But he'll be fine?" his new friend asked.
"He should be, with time," the medic answered.
"We don't have time," Wheeljack pointed out. "You said the Cons are closing in."
"Either you take the time to integrate the new fingers or you get used to living in pain, those are your only two options," First Aid threw his hands in the air.
Wheeljack actually considered it for a second.
"Alright," he sighed. "Send me the exercises."
First Aid left quickly afterwards, called away by other patients. The green bot stayed.
"I really like how you fought," the bot said suddenly.
"You weren't bad yourself," Wheeljack answered, smiling through the pain at the memory of strong punches that did what he couldn't do.
The bot offered his closed fist. Wheeljack honestly appreciated the care. He would not have been able to shake a hand today.
"I'm Bulkhead," the green bot introduced himself.
"Wheeljack. Nice to meet you," he replied while gently bumping the offered fist with his own.