Chapter Text
Ratchet had been a medic for a long time. A very long one. He was the best medic to ever exist on Cybertron and should not be found in the Dead End, the unclaimed land between Kaon, Kalis and Polyhex. Yet here he was. And not because of some noble reason or because he wanted to help bots out of the good of his spark – no. It was because he was offended about how his best friend and amica endura had refused that his (Ratchet) creation bonded to his (Optimus) creation.
And why? Because he wasn’t of a high enough noble line. The actual frag. Optimus’ own bonded had been but a gladiator before starting a revolution in Kaon and crowning himself after the victory. Deadlock at least was a knight.
The medic growled softly and dressed his patient’s wound with more force than necessary. It’s just, the incident still irked him after all these vorns. He could have his nice office in Iacon where he had far more resources to help the helpless but no, here he was in the Dead End.
“Try to be more careful.” Ratchet growled and gently patted his patient’s arm. “Come back in two orns and I will check your healing process.”
“Thank you, medic.” The bot replied, then limped out of his office.
Ratchet sighed and cleaned up the table, then went to the waiting room to call the next patient. He was interrupted, however, when the doors to his practice were thrown open. In came his beloved second creation together with a mech he didn’t recognise. They were carrying a corpse in between them.
Ratchet frowned. “Drift. As nice as it is seeing you, why are you bringing a dead mech into my practice?”
Drift shook his helm. “Carrier, he isn’t dead, not yet. Please, you have to save him.”
The medic sighed. “He’s grey, it would take a miracle.”
“Request: safe Prowl. Prowl: is carrying.” The second mech said, his voice modulated. “Prowl: still alive. Observation: not for long, however.”
Ratchet flared his plating. A carrying mech. Well, that complicated things immensely. He felt his resolve weaken.
“Please,” Drift begged.
He couldn’t ever say no to any of his creations. “Fine,” he said. “But not here. I don’t have the necessary tools. Quick, put him on the table and I’ll stabilise him enough for a transport. Drift, call you know who. We’re going to Iacon City. And I need a replacement medic to fill in while I’m gone.”
Drift’s field fluctuated. “But my post–”
“Do you want me to save him or not?” Drift lowered his helm and placed the nearly dead mech on the table. Ratchet nodded, then looked at the host mech. “And you?”
“Soundwave: will travel to Kaon. King Megatron: awaits his Head of Intelligence.”
“Megatron, eh?” Ratchet started to work on his patient. “You could come to Iacon with us, Megatron is there right now. Primus, what happened to him? Why – why is all his energon replaced by water? What the actual frag!”
Drift shifted from one pede to another. “He, uh, was sentenced to death by Duke Rapier.”
Ratchet froze. “You better tell me what’s the deal with him, now.”
And they did.
The medic cursed in every language he knew, hands flying over the dying Praxian’s frame. His processor was already rattling down a list of problems he would need to fix in the order of importance. First things first.
“Drift–” he trailed off when he noticed that his creation was on the comms. “You, there, Soundwave. Go to the closet over there and get me–”
The host mech was already moving, confidently grabbing the supplies Ratchet needed. When he noticed the medic’s raised optic ridges, he shifted shyly. “Soundwave: is a telepath.”
“Ah. Well, that’s convenient. Keep reading my mind and give me what I need the moment I think of it.” Ratchet quickly connected the hose with the Praxian’s auxiliary fuel port and started the emergency transfusion. Then he used his medical override to open the Royal’s chest and narrowed his optics at what he saw. “The frag!”
Duke Prowl’s sparkchamber showed signs of a forced severance of a bond. Ratchet knew which device had done it – and that they had been banned by Optimus after he had ascended the throne after Sentinel Prime’s tragic death. And Ultra Magnus, in corporation with Ironhide, had ensured that all pieces had been destroyed. Maybe one had escaped them, but how had it come in possession of the Polyhexian’s sovereign?
He carefully checked both the chamber and spark for any other wounds. Then he quickly slapped a spark stabiliser on the mech and moved to the processor. When he plugged into the duke, the first thing he noticed was the glitchy connection between the mech’s battle computer and his rational/emotional systems. The lesion seemed newly acquired, as if the water had been responsible. Which was probably the cause.
Mindful of the Praxian’s fragile state, he carefully erected a temporary construction to stabilise the connection between the battle computer and the rest of the processor. Then he turned to the last thing he needed to check. With dread rising inside him, he shifted his attention to the sparklet. He really hoped whatever had been done to the carrier had not damaged the poor bitlet.
When he received the results, his vents opened up and released the hot air he hadn’t known he had held in. Thank Primus. He hated losing a sparkling.
He also hadn’t thought that Duke Rapier condoned sparkling murder.
There was still the probability that the sparkling would suffer permanent damage but since the Praxian seemed to be only in his fourth quartex out of thirteen, there might be the chance that the damage would be insignificant. Ratchet certainly hoped so.
The medic disconnected and sighed softly. “That’s all I can do for now.” His optics fell on Soundwave and Drift when he lifted his helm and met their anxious gazes.
“There’s nothing else you can do for now?” His creation asked, anxious.
“Unfortunately. The only thing we can do is pray to Primus and hope he doesn’t die until we’re in Iacon.” Ratchet checked the hose and harrumphed. “Alright, his energon levels are finally back to where they’re supposed to be. Once we’re in Iacon I’ll need to check his engine and do proper tests on his processor… even so, it’ll be a long road to recovery.”
Soundwave lowered his helm and gently touched the Praxian’s cheek, his field unreadable. Drift leaned against the wall and slid down to the ground, defeat written all over his face.
“Damn,” the knight murmured and Ratchet patted his helm.
“There’s still hope.” The medic reassured his creation. Idling wasn’t in his code, however, so he left the two with the duke alone and returned to the patients crowding his waiting room. “Alright, bots, listen up. I’ll be gone for a while but there will be a substitute medic while I’m gone. Spread the news so that no one’s surprised when they come in and find someone new. Now, who was next?”
***
The transporter finally arrived. It was early in the next orn and still dark but none of them had been able to recharge. Drift and Soundwave because they were worried for their friend, Ratchet because his patient had some near experiences with offlining. He couldn’t risk wasting precious time when every klik counted and could mean the difference between life and death.
Soundwave was the one who alerted them to the approaching ship, curtesy of Laserbeak, one of his symbiotes. The shiny Royal transporter looked so out of place in the Dead End where only the scrap of society lived. They were worth even less than those so-called dishonest bots.
Ratchet stiffened when the first mech to descend from the transporter’s ramp. It was no other than his amica endura, His Serene Highness Optimus Prime. Behind him, ever loyal, followed Ironhide. Then came Ambulon and Ratchet nodded in agreement. Ambulon was a good choice as his successor in the Dead End. Next to the younger medic was a hover-stretcher with an emergency unit.
Immediately in medic mode, Ratchet didn’t even bother greeting the Prime. “Get that stretcher inside, now. He’s very critical.”
Ambulon, bless his spark, did as asked without any question. The three Iaconians followed Ratchet inside and to the only occupied room. Drift clenched his fists when he saw the Prime – not that Ratchet could blame him.
But he didn’t pay it any mind and quickly prepared the Praxian for the transfer. Opposite to him, Ambulon’s optic ridges furrowed after a quick scan.
“What happened to him?” He asked in his gentle voice.
“He was sentenced to death by Duke Rapier.” Drift said gloomily. “This is Duke Prowl, Duke Jazz’s bonded. He was accused of witchcraft and enchanting Jazz to fall in love with him. Which – what a load of scrap! I understand that neither the Duke nor the Duchess of Polyhex-Altihex were happy about Prowl being a dishonest mech, but Jazz and Prowl, they truly loved each other! And they broke their bond and – and now Jazz probably thinks he’s dead and Prowl might actually die and with him…” he trailed off, optics shuttering. “And with him their sparklet.” His blazing blue optics found Prime’s “It’s not fair. It’s not fair they have to suffer for their love.” He clenched his fists. “I know I still have my sentence to serve for you to consider me as a potential mate for Roddy so I’ll probably lose this chance now. But I will come back to Iacon with you. Prowl will need all the support he can get.”
“Observation: agreed. Soundwave: will also go to Iacon. Lord Megatron: will make Soundwave available to attend to his friend’s needs.”
Ratchet huffed and produced a small dataslug. He held it out for Ambulon to take. “Any information you’ll need for the practice are here. Also your suppliants and resources and whatnot. Any questions, don’t hesitate to comm me.” He pushed a button on the stretcher and started pushing it towards the exit. “We have to leave. Every klik is crucial for Duke Prowl.”