Foster Parent
It was said that Ratchet had a sixth sense for people sneaking into his medbay. "Saber," he sighed and turned to the red youngling. Her normally pristine paint job was a bit scruffy looking, which was odd, but not troublesome. Vaguely, he wondered about it before letting the thought drift away. Lots of 'bots looked like that at one time or another. "What are you doing here? I cleared you a long time ago," he stated as he picked up a bit of medical machinery and continued to recalibrate it.
"I had patrol," she replied quietly, antenna-spikes drooping slowly.
"And?" responded Ratchet. "You're fine. Be gone. Go find Wild," he huffed. "The medbay isn't here for everyone's entertainment after a boring patrol," he griped, feeling especially grouchy today.
"I had to stand in the rain," Saber muttered, "And now I'm cold, and I'm tired... and my eye still hurts. I hurt all over and my paint is ruined. Sideswipe teased me, and then I started feeling... psychotic. So I left and he teased me more. I don't think he meant it but it bothered me... I miss my brother," she finished shakily, and looked away, leaning away from Ratchet as though expecting a wrench to the head.
Ratchet could only stare, and for the millionth time, wondered just how young this youngling was. She was due for a final transformation mode upgrade anytime, but she was still fairly young.
Young enough to need some sort of authority figure in her life, he realized with a start.
I should remember this, he thought. Younglings are still... young. They need someone to act as a foster creator. He studied the pathetic creature before him, still shrunk back, staring at the ground.
Then he quietly got her a thermal blanket, some energon, and offered her a reading tablet.