Chapter Text
Just how exactly did Ratchet get himself in this position? Why, and how?
Why now when he finally thought he could get some peace and quiet.
Though, it is to be expected working a life of a medic.
Peace, and quiet wasn’t something you could just get on a whim as a medic. At least, not for Ratchet.
Which is exactly why he is now cradling a
sparkling in his servos, the tiny bitlet letting out soft whirs,
still too small for his baby blue optics to be opened.
Still too small, to even realize his carrier is gone,
and its all because Ratchet couldn’t do
enough.
The sparkling, still covered in goo, was curled up in his chestplate—looking for the warmth that only a carrier could provide. His carrier.
Ratchet turned his optics to the femme now resting on the medical berth, the femme that was too gray, too still, and too quiet. The femme he promised to fix, the femme that was supposed to be holding her sparkling right now.
He couldn’t fail her, not now.
Not when her last breath was spent telling him to take care of her bitlet.
Before he could even scold her, chastise her crude—thoughtless claims..her optics had already offlined.
The sparkling bear little to no similarities with his carrier, though, they were both a minibot frame type, quite obvious due to his smaller pedes and bigger helm.
Ratchet knew the risks, he knew he couldn’t possibly take care of a sparkling, a bitlet, with the amount of duties he has as a medic.
But Ratchet was always known for having a thick, stubborn helm on his shoulders, and a difficult to sway spark in his chassis.
This sparkling.. will live, and it will thrive in his servos.
It doesn’t matter what he has to do, and what he will do. The High Guard, Primus or Megatron himself will have to pry this sparkling away from his dead servos to break his spirit.
Oh Primus, have mercy.
Have mercy, indeed.