Handicap
Transformers Prime belong to Hasbro- I don't make any money off of this.
Reviews are greatly appreciated!
His arms ached.
Rafael leaned back, allowing his small hands to fall limply into his lap. The beeps and bloops from the video game currently playing on the boxy television set went unnoticed by the boy, as did his forgotten controller. Jack glanced over from his position alongside Miko on the couch, looking him over with a creased brow. "You okay, Raf?" the teenager inquired worriedly, and the preteen nodded in reassurance.
"I'm fine. Just a little worn-out." It wasn't that strange—he usually tired quicker nowadays, still recuperating from his accident. Not a single day passed in which Ratchet didn't run several diagnostics, especially with his new and advanced knowledge of the human body and the race's medicines. Jack however, like everyone else, had become an overprotective mother hen in less than a fortnight.
"Are you sure?" the dark-haired teen questioned, moving to set down his own controller. "We can stop playing."
Rafael shook his head, smiling softly. "No, Jack, I already told you that I'm fine. You two keep playing."
Jack frowned, but gradually nodded, returning to his game. The younger boy watched them play for a few minutes. The familiar whir of hydraulics swiftly drew his attention, however.
Rafael maneuvered his wheelchair around towards the railing surrounding the platform that the human children had claimed as their "recreational area", rolling up to it. He beamed softly at the familiar forms of his guardian and the Autobot leader. "Hi, Optimus," he called. "Hey, 'Bee!"
Optimus Prime smiled softly, walking over to the platform, followed by the mute scout. "Hello, Rafael," he greeted in his gentle baritone. "How are you faring today?"
"I'm okay," the boy shrugged, wringing his hands. "My arms are getting a workout from using them so often, though."
The enormous mech chuckled, but in his optics, the child caught the same look he's seen everyone sport since his accident; remorse, and pity.
Looking around the larger Autobot, Rafael sent his guardian a smile. "Hey, 'Bee," he repeated.
The scout's door-wings lifted slightly, and he let out a high buzz in greeting.
As Optimus took his leave, bowing his helm in the young human's direction with a soft word of farewell, Bumblebee came closer to his charge. He chirped softly, optical ridges raised in concern.
The twelve year old smiled at his guardian's worry. "I'm fine, 'Bee. My arms are just a little sore." As the yellow mech nodded slowly, an idea came to Rafael, in an attempt to cheer up the young Cybertronian, and he straightened, brightening considerably. "Hey, 'Bee, why don't we go racing?"
Bumblebee buzzed in ecstasy, pumping a fist. The boy laughed, making calming motions with his hands. "Alright, alright." Though the scout did have reason to be excited—Rafael had not been permitted to anything strenuous over the course of the last few weeks (demanded, and enforced, of course, by Ratchet), and he had only been allowed to leave the base to either be driven home, or to school. The Autobots found it their responsibility to protect him even more so than usual.
Continuing, the twelve year old said, "Now, I just have to get down….." Rafael trialed off, glancing between his prone wheelchair, and the useless legs that were contained in it, down to the rungs of the ladder. Bumblebee hummed once, grievously, and his blue optics widened in sorrow and guilt. The Autobot reached out both servos, picking up the boy and his wheelchair with the utmost care, as if the handicapped child were made of porcelain rather than flesh and bone, and placed him onto the floor of the base. Rafael sent his guardian a comforting smile, and the scout chirped once, still apologetic, before quickly transforming into his altmode. The door was thrown open invitingly, and the disguised Cybertronian buzzed again.
But Rafael's smile gradually slipped off of his face as he grasped the implications. He physically couldn't get into the Camaro anymore, not on his own. Silence greeted his realization, the boy having ducked his head to hide his pained expression, before Bumblebee understood why his charge would not enter.
The scout buzzed and chirped fervently, guilt, apologetic, and horrified at the same time. The boy forced a smile back onto his face. "It's okay, 'Bee—," a gentle nudge along his back cut him off midsentence, and Rafael craned his head around. To his surprise, it was Ratchet who crouched behind him. The medic's eyes shone with remorse, certainly from the fact that he hadn't been able to "fix" the child as he did his comrades. The white and orange mech offered him a tight-lipped smile, before he began helping the boy out of his wheelchair. Feeling more than useless, Rafael was carefully set down into Bumblebee's passenger seat, and the disguised Camaro popped open his trunk, where Ratchet deposited the now-folded wheelchair. Before the car door closed however, the medic spoke quietly, avoiding eye contact. "I am…sorry, Rafael," Ratchet murmured. The bespectacled child offered a humorless smile, but nodded in acceptance to the apology.
Bumblebee started his engine, buzzing mournfully. Rafael made small effort to comfort him—instead looking out of the window as they left the base behind. His shoulders sagging, the boy began to sob, albeit quietly. The real reason he wanted to leave was to avoid the looks of pity and guilt that had become all too standard.
And it wasn't any of the Autobots' fault that they hadn't got there in time to prevent that Decepticon from crushing his legs. It wasn't their fault that they couldn't restore the feeling or movement of those limbs….
But they felt pity and guilt for the handicapped child nevertheless.