re_alignment_logs | Try twice as hard, but I'm half as liked

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Try twice as hard, but I'm half as liked

WHO: Prime!Ratchet, Prime!Wheeljack

WHERE: Ratchet's medbay

WHEN: As soon as Ratchet finds out Wheeljack blew himself up in his room.

WHAT: Wheeljack's feeling the effects of having a grenade detonate in your face, and Ratchet is even less forgiving than the grenade.

WARNINGS: Angry medics and possible cute moments.

This was just not Wheeljack's week. Two bombs had gone off in his face. The average count was zero. Oh, we're not just talking about physical grenades. Sure, the first one was the one he foolishly detonated in his room, which is why he was covered in ash and soot at the moment. Also probably why he had a bunch of shrapnel and cut wires around his shoulders. You know, every day lacerations that could easily be taken care of. That was the better of the two grenades that had gone off.

The other one?

The other one was a bomb named Ratchet. If there's one thing worse about having a grenade go off in your face, it's if Ratchet SEES it happen to you. And he did NOT sound happy on the communicator. In fact, he'd tried to avoid Ratchet for as long as possible, conveniently dodging him whenever he passed through the hall looking for him. The only problem? Those wounds were not getting tended to, and as tough as the Wrecker was, he needed them looked at. He considered the other medics in the area, but Knock Out would be hard to convince (not to mention if Ratchet found out...) and First Aid seemed far off.

Guess it was time to suck it up and go see Ratchet. With a defeated look upon his face, he strode into the medbay, limping slightly from pushing himself too hard. He could only hope that Ratchet wouldn't throw anything at him.

Oh yeah, Wheeljack was a terrible patient, wasn't he.

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The wings aren't going to be an easy thing, especially with how sensitive they are. They seem to twitch whenever Ratchet gets his hands too close, like a bird trying to avoid getting touched.

"Green? What do I look like, Dead End?"

He heaves a sigh, wincing slightly when Ratchet manages to get ahold of the wing, preparing for the slight sting. He's a Wrecker, he knows he can take it.

"Thanks Doc, I owe ya..."

Unable to really touch the wings, Ratchet opens up a panel in Wheeljack's upper back, cutting off most of the sensory and motor innervation to the winglets. There.

"Dead End?" A smirk. "Well with the right amount of paint, you could. Wouldn't be nearly as pretty, though, would you?"

For all that the wing looks terrible, most of the damage is superficial. A few wires need reattaching, then the rest can be patched back up with judicious use of his welder.

Ratchet acknowledges Wheeljack's thanks with a noncommittal grunt and a light pat on his uninjured shoulder, eager to get to work.

"This might get a little hot. Let me know if it's too much and I'll move on somewhere else to let it cool down."

With his wings now full able to be touched, Wheeljack tilts his head over, making sure that Ratchet wasn't serious on the whole 'dyeing' thing. He didn't expect him to carry through with it, but...you never know.

"C'mon, I'm ten times better lookin' than that caution sign."

At Ratchet's warning, he situates himself, ready for the healing to begin.

"Got it, But I think I can handle it, Doc. No worries."

[AFTER MUCH MEDICKING]

Ratchet finishes his last weld and smiles tiredly at the completion of his work.

"Well, that should hold you until the next catastrophe."

He steps back and a wave of exhaustion hits him as he fiddles with the blocks, shutting them down so that Wheeljack can move and feel again. He manages to catch himself, but the slight stagger in his movement might have been caught anyway.

"How does that feel?"

Wheeljack is quick to test out his 'stitches', rolling his shoulders and moving his legs in demonstration. So far, so good. He hadn't fallen apart yet--not that he expected to--so that was a good sign. There's a glint in his eye as he swings his legs off the berth, getting to his feet, although a bit shakily. Sturdiness or not, his legs had that jello feeling.

"Thanks Doc. Guess it goes without sayin' that I appreciate what ya did. Magic with that welder. Sometimes. When you're not tryin' ta tear my arm off."

And then he catches that slight trip.

"Whoa...Doc, you feelin' okay?"

"Not a problem. And if you didn't keep trying to get your arm torn off for you, maybe I'd stop coming after you with my wrenches."

Ratchet's smirk is just slightly less crooked than usual -- he's too tired for it to be as sharp as it normally is. Since Wheeljack's caught him out, the medic lets himself put a hand on the berth to steady himself.

"I'm fine! Just... just fine." He rubs the back of a knuckle against his chevron, belying his words. "I've worked harder and more tired before now."

Wheeljack's lips curl into a slight smile.

"Who knows, maybe I just like visitin' ya."

Granted, most of his accidents were...well...accidents, but a joke here and there could do the medic some good. It isn't long before two hands help hold Ratchet in place, starting to lead him along towards somewhere to rest.

"Doesn't mean ya don't need rest now, Doc. Have you recharged at ALL?"

"If you visited without the grievous damage to your frame, perhaps I wouldn't mind your visits so much."

It's a sign how dulled down Ratchet is that he lets himself be lead off without much more than a weak attempt at shrugging Wheeljack's hands away.

"Well I've certainly recharged at some point in my life, haven't I?"

AKA: he can't actually remember the last time he recharged, but he won't admit it.

"Can't say I'm the tea and cookies kind of guy, Ratch. But maybe I'll pop in unharmed more often. Thought ya didn't like my company."

That IS a big deciding factor, he's finding. Ratchet wouldn't be led along unless he was really out of it. And if he had to fight the medic into a berth, well, at least he's got the upper hand.

"Pretty sure we all have, Doc. How about we try that again."

His voice is playful, like a babysitter to a child.

It's obviously fatigue getting to him, because Ratchet actually grins and lets himself admit, "Can't say I really mind you too much when you're not calling me names and getting bits of yourself shot off."

He bumps his fist against Wheeljack's shoulder in a friendly sort of way. "You're my teammate. Means something, y'know."

And then he pauses as he realizes that he's been steered straight onto a berth.

"Although if you think you can trick me into a nap like I'm some sort of human toddler, you've got another thing coming. I do have work to do."

He makes as if to stand up from his seated position, having remembered the half-finished plans for Noisy Boy's hands that are still set up at his desk across the way.

That catches him off guard, he won't lie. Ratchet had always been...slightly indifferent to him previously. Yeah, they stuck together, but the Wrecker had always assumed it was out of mutual universe and sticking together was vital for survival. To hear his company was...actually welcomed?

"Teammate? Whoa...that's gettin' a little intimate there, Doc." It's followed by a chuckle as he attempts to get that medic situated on the berth.

Until Ratchet realized what was actually happening.

"Hey! Easy there! You can do all that boring medical work after ya get some rest!"

His arms secure the medic's, pressing them firmly to the bed, hoping to ride out this tantrum.

Ratchet had been less than enthused about Wheeljack's presence when they'd first landed here on Cybertron, but his attitude has changed as he's watched Wheeljack protect Miko and interact with the rest of the population. The Wrecker is still crude and loud and prone to destroying things, but he's a good mech at heart, and he's also the only other bot around from Ratchet's universe. That... means quite a bit.

Although it doesn't stop Ratchet from squawking indignantly when he finds himself pinned to the bed, trying to free his arms.

"Who's getting intimate now?"

He twists, trying to get a knee up into Wheeljack's torso.

"And my work is not boring!"

Wheeljack's kept Ratchet in one place, wincing at the medic's desperate attempt to escape. The medic was a tad larger than he was, and while he had quite a bit of robot muscle on him, it still was a struggle.

"It's boring and you can work on it later, Doc."

That knee gets up there, but he tries to shove it back with his chestplate. No way is he getting one upped by a tantrum throwing old man.

"Will you listen to me, Ratchet?!"

He's not that old, Wheeljack! And to prove it, he will halt his struggling to give you one</> chance at explaining yourself. One.

"... You've got 60 seconds."

And after that he's bucking you off one way or another.

HE LIKES TO CALL YOU OLD OKAY. But the struggling stops, and to give himself some insurance, the Wrecker pins the medic's legs, putting his full weight on him.

"If ya burn the energon at both ends, you're only gonna end up cuttin' wires ya didn't mean to. Medic's gotta get some rest too, ya know.

Cause if they don't, then they're not ready when the scrap hits the fanblades."

Ratchet glares at Wheeljack.

"Really? That's all you've got?"

Because of course he knows that being too tired is going to impact his performance. He's simply not at that level of recharge deprivation yet. Of course he's not... right?

"It's not a very convincing argument."

But even though his mouth is still arguing, Ratchet's body is starting to betray him. The energy rush from his initial indignant struggle is wearing off quickly, leaving him in a quiet room, lying on a comfortable berth with a warm, heavy heat source. Fighting the urge to slip into recharge is becoming distinctly difficult.

"You do realize that the moment you leave, I'm getting up and going back to my work, right?

That glare is met with a glare/pout in return. He can play that game too, you know.

"I need to go on? Cause I haven't even touched your personal health yet. And honestly, doc, I think you're a little fragged in the head."

Just stop being stubborn and lie down, ugh. Wait...did his wish come true? He can feel Ratchet's strength waning, and it became a lot easier to hold the bigger bot down.

"Guess I'll just sleepover then."

HA.

"Coming from you, the master of heads being fragged, maybe I should be a little concerned."

Ratchet snorts, but decides that expending his energy this way isn't going to work. For all that he's slightly bigger, Ratchet knows that Wheeljack is stronger -- Ratchet's adapted to war, but Wheeljack is built for it.

"Well if you aren't afraid of what people will say when they see us recharging on the same berth together, go right ahead."

~~B-baka, it's not like I care~~

There's a slight smile at that first sentence. It's almost as if that was a title Wheeljack was proud of. "Master of heads being fragged, or just bold and stupid enough to get scrap done?"

The struggling comes to a stop, thankfully, because Wheeljack wasn't really prepared to stress himself out too much after just getting fixed.

"I'll just say it's babysittin'. Cause that's all it'd be."

Don't you try to out-tsundere him.

"Well, I'll agree with the stupid part of that statement."

If he weren't being held down, Ratchet would cross his arms over his chest. As it is, his facial expression is dangerously close to a pout at this point.

"Yeah, so you say now..." But he doesn't say more, body relaxing as he decides to let Wheeljack win. Just this once.

He is tired, after all, and Wheeljack's motives are kind, even if his methodology is somewhat crude.

"Wake me up if anyone comes in needing care, will you?"

"Whatever gets ya to settle down's fine in my book."

Once that body relaxes, Wheeljack loosens the hold on those arms, sliding off to the side. He's going to put trust that you'll keep your word, Ratchet, but you're not completely scott free. The bot lies next to him, turning his back towards the medic, wings twitching as he watches the door.

"Yeah yeah, don't worry."

"Uh-huh. Right."

Ratchet tenses when Wheeljack moves off of him, but... trying to escape wouldn't be efficient. He'd be trapped outside of his medbay and trying to hide form Wheeljack and he wouldn't get anything done.

"Well... I'm trusting you."

And with that, he cycles his vents and offlines his optics, powering down into recharge.

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Try twice as hard, but I'm half as liked

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