#nbhk earthspark au

[nobodys-hekatonchires]

So, in relation to this post, here is a little snippet :)

“Ratchet, we need you! Wheeljack is down!” “What had he done now?” “I think– Twitch used the Cyber Slayer on him…” That had been almost twenty joors earlier, and Ratchet still hadn’t had the time to clean the energon and oil from his servos. He had seen a lot of death and horror in the eons of war, but Wheeljack collapsed on the floor, Ranger Malto distraught beside him, had caused the medic to pause. Luckily, emergency protocols had overridden the deep and powerful dread in his systems. Had he wasted any more time, they might have lost Wheeljack for good. With First Aid at his side, they had slaved away for groons to get Wheeljack’s spark burning again. It had been touch and go, the spear had made direct contact to his chassis, scorch marks right over his spark chamber… The spear made Ratchet shudder, he never wanted it near him again. He never wanted to see Wheeljack so sparkless either. Had they been bonded, Ratchet might have shattered. Instead, he was having a minor breakdown in the medical waiting room with Wheeljack just next door on spark-support.  “-ow is he?” The medic nearly jumped out of his alloys, helm snapping up. Ironhide was looming over him, shadowed slightly as he blocked out the lights above. He hadn’t heard the bulky, red warrior approach at all. “Sorry?” Ratchet used the back of his arm to wipe away the fluid leaking from his optics. Thankfully, Ironhide didn’t comment on it. “How’s Wheeljack?” Ironhide repeated for him, optical ridged pulling together in concern - for Wheeljack or for himself, Ratchet wasn’t sure. His optics then flicked down to the stains on Ratchet’s servos, and the medic grimaced to himself. He shouldn’t have left the medical bay covered in Wheeljack’s energon, it was unsanitary and an ominous sight. Clearing his voicaliser of static, Ratchet lifted his aching frame up from the slouched position he had been sat in for too long. In his haze, he had completely ignored the chairs, choosing to shove himself into a corner instead. His frame was not appreciative of it, though, joints cracking and clicking. Ironhide followed him as they moved back into the medical bay, Ratchet heading straight to the solvent sink. As he began to scrub his servos, it gave Ratchet something to focus on while he spoke. “He’s functioning, but his spark is still weak…” Ratchet explained heavily, the ache in his chassis not from old age. “First Aid is keeping an optic on him. The surgery was…” “Long? Tiring?” Ironhide suggested when Ratchet trailed off, perching on the corner of the sink beside him. Difficult was another glyph Ratchet might have used, but he just nodded stiffly while scraping the flaking energon from his digit joints.