War ruined bots physically and mentally. Physically, Ratchet and his crew of medics were present to treat and heal, but for the wounds they couldn't treat, they had Rung. At first, the mech only came in to talk to Optimus, who was experiencing stress, but gradually the mech had shown interest in the entire crew and he had a permanent post in the Autobot base. Not three minutes after he had hung his sign on his new office door, the first officer came to him, and soon there was a line. Rung found himself both overwhelmed by mechs and awed. Their stories and backgrounds were completely different, but the war had brought them together.

Each mech had his own file, some thicker than others. Optimus', for instance, was one of the thickest. Prowl's was the thinnest, with just the standard form inside with his basic information written in perfect letters. Rung never remembered having a single session with the mech, but he would wait patiently for the officer to come to his door instead of searching him out. He wasn't going to prod a mech who didn't want to be sought out, so Rung remained mostly in his office or in Optimus'. The mech was especially interested in the Prime that had his origin in the Hall.

But one day, he had the start of his life. Optimus padded in as he always did, but at his heels was a mech. Shackles drug on the tiled floor and Rung stood to get a good look at his next challenge: Megatron.

The mech had his head lowered, his eyes studying the floor. Optimus explained the mech had been captured while he suffered an "episode". Due to his capture, the war was at a standstill, the Decepticons struggling to make sense of what had occured. Their strong leader, suffering from a mental condition? The thought was almost laughable, but Megatron was now in the hands of the Autobots. What were they to do?

Megatron sank into the chair across from Rung, who settled in his own chair at his desk. He focused on the mech's soot-covered face, and his eyes narrowed as he nodded. "Thank you, Prime."

Optimus gave a small nod and he left, closing the door. Rung circled the desk and sat on it. He was short, taller than Bumblebee, Brawn, and Huffer, but not by much. He slouched as he watched the mech in front of him, turning his helm to see his face that had lowered again. "Hello, Megatron."

"If you're going to mock me, do it now, because soon I'll have my hands wrapped around your throat and you wouldn't even be able to call in your Prime," he growled. Rung didn't even blink his blue eyes in surprise. He just laughed gently, not even in a mocking way. Megatron's head snapped up and he curled his lip over jagged teeth.

"That's probably true. I don't doubt your strength or your power, but why would you hurt me? I've never been on the battle field. Do these look like hands that had ever seen the handle of a weapon?" Rung extended his hands, wiggling his fingers. He didn't have the rough palms the others had. He had smooth, soft palms, and he would often be mocked by Brawn before the tough mech broke down and spilled his secrets.

Megatron looked at the hands of the mech, then looked up at him. A scratch went over his left eyebrow and Rung tutted gently, grabbing a tissue out of its box. He offered it to the mech, who stared at the scrap of white as if he wasn't sure what to do with it once it was in his hands, but he took it and gently dabbed at his eyebrow. "What is going to happen to me now?" Megatron whispered. He had closed his eyes and he was now doubling over in his seat, playing with the cuffs on his wrists.

"Now?" Rung hopped down and went back around his desk, lifting a blank file. "Now I make a file for you, and you answer some questions as well as you can, and if I think you are a potential candidate to stay in this base while I heal your mind, you'll stay here."

"In a cage?" Megatron's head lifted and he growled. His shoulders bunched, his eyebrows knitted together, and his eyes glittered with rage. Rung remained calm.

"In a room, completely furnished and set up to suit your needs. Running water, a personal shower, a tub, even. Maybe access to a hot tub if you don't try to strangle me." Rung smiled then, lowering his head to write Megatron's name on a blank tab of an empty file. After that, he spun in his swivel chair and lifted a sheet of paper off a pile, showing it to Megatron. "It's just basic questions. But I can answer the first five." He waited till Megatron nodded before he laid it down and started filling in answers.

1. Name: Megatron

2. Gender: Mech

3. Faction: Decepticon

4. Date of creation: Unknown

Rung looked at Megatron as he wrote that. The mech watched him write, but didn't offer a new answer, so Rung figured his assumption that gladiators didn't know their date of creation was right. He also wrote unknown for the next answer: Age.

"Okay, Megatron." Rung turned the paper around, expecting the warlord to scoot forward and see what he had wrote, but Megatron's eyes just lifted. "So I filled out everything that I can without your help. The first two were pretty easy, you know?" He laughed then, gently, but Megatron's mouth remained a thin frown. Rung had to find a way to provoke some laughter. "Anyway, the next I'm going to need your help. Do you mind if I sit on my desk again?"

Megatron shook his helm gently. His eyes lowered and Rung peeked at his face again. "Okay, Megatron. First question." He glanced at the sheet, readying his pen. "Have any friends?"

That surprised the warlord. He lifted his head and squinted his eyes at the tiny mech. He shrugged his shoulders. "I have...partners. I never thought them as friends."

"List them for me?" Rung set the paper on his thigh.

"Soundwave...is my favorite. Then Shockwave..." Megatron frowned. "Why does this matter?"

Rung finished writing Shockwave when he started talking. "Some mechs don't have someone they can talk to. I like being in contact with their friends, their support net. You have a pretty good support net for a mech like you, Megatron. I have one client and he has no friends."

"Who?"

Rung made the zipping my mouth closed, locking the lock with an imaginary key, throwing the key away motion, which made the mech smirk.

"Can't or won't speak?"

"Well, would you like me to yak about your secrets to my other mechs?" Rung leaned forward on his thighs with his elbows, his arms crossed in a careless way and the pen dangling in his fingers. "You wouldn't like that, huh?"

"I suppose not," Megatron said. His eyebrows unknit and his mouth eased into an easy grin. Rung smiled and went back to sitting up. "What's the next question?"

"Have any pets?" Rung looked at the warlord, who shook his helm. "Oh. I thought about adopting a minicon, you know. My desk is messy."

Megatron's eyes flitted to Rung's neat-as-a-pin desk and raised an eyebrow. Rung smiled again, wrote no pets on the line.

"Aren't you a shrink? Shouldn't you ask shrink-like questions?"

Rung looked at him. "Why should I be like everyone else? I don't want to seem like a professional know-it-all. I want you to look at me and think 'mech', not 'shrink'. Besides, between you and me, these questions are more fun than asking mechs if they're taking any medication, are pregnant, or have been seeing other counselors." Rung's mouth twitched up at the corners and he shrugged. "But we can do those questions if I'm not professional enough for you."

"No," Megatron said as he shifted in his chair. "I like these questions."

Rung smiled. Success. He lifted his pen again, tapping the next question. "Okay."

ooo

Form all filled out and filed away, Rung was satisfied with his first impression of Megatron: a warlord possibly suffering from loads of stress and with the possibility of addiction, plus a disorder with his brain, but all that had to wait. Now it was time to turn Megatron over to Ratchet and his medics, but he would remain present. After Megatron said that he was ready, Rung helped the mech out of the chair and down the hall to the medical wing.

Ratchet wasn't pleased with treating the warlord, but Ratchet wasn't pleased with treating anyone, so Rung wasn't worried.

While Ratchet cleaned the cut over Megatron's eyebrow, Rung leaned into the counter and flicked cotton balls at Perceptor. The red-haired mech was focused on filling out Megatron's medical file, including his Energon-type, his allergies, whatever Ratchet spoke aloud, and he gave Rung little glares at the other mech before flicking the cotton balls back at Rung.

The medic had gone quiet when he touched Megatron's shoulder and the mech winced, air hissing through his teeth as he sharply inhaled. Ratchet looked at Perceptor, who lifted a pair of scissors and walked over. After determining Megatron couldn't lift his arm, Percy cut through the shirt, revealing one of the worst things Rung had ever seen.

"Shrapnel buried in his dislocated shoulder. Perceptor, get Wheeljack. We need to set this."

Rung walked over, shaking his helm in disbelief. "Are you in pain?" He looked Megatron in the eye.

The warlord shrugged with his good shoulder. "It comes and goes."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Rung pushed his hands through his hair, his eyes wide behind his glasses. What had he done? Why didn't he check up on the mech before he sat down with his questions? An hour wasted that could have been used to repair the mech!

Ratchet focused on the mess in front of him, pulling shrapnel of all sizes out of the shoulder before him. He talked in his medical language to Perceptor and Wheeljack when they arrived and Wheeljack took the mech's arm in both hands. Perceptor held Megatron's torso, hugging him from behind and pressing his cheek into his spine while Ratchet took his shoulders.

"Hold his head, Rung. He's not in any pain, yet."

Rung barely moved in time. Wheeljack, who was supposed to jerk on the count of three, did so on one. With a loud click and a roar from Megatron, the shoulder was set back into place. Perceptor's vice-grip on Megatron prevented him from moving and attacking the medics, and for such a thin mech, he kept the well-muscled warlord in place. Rung let go of Megatron's face, watching him. "Are you okay?"

Megatron slowly moved his shoulder, then investigated his shirt. "You ruined it, my favorite shirt." He looked at the medics.

Ratchet sighed and waved him and Rung out. "Get out of my MedBay!" He laughed gently, shutting the door behind Rung.

The smaller mech looked up at the warlord. "I think Prime might have a shirt for you. But why didn't you tell me you were injured before? I could have waited!"

Megatron was silent as he walked beside Rung towards Optimus' office, but then he turned to Rung. "I thought you would fuss and whine about how you weren't getting your time with me while my shoulder was set." His smile disappeared and he glowered at the floor as if it offended him. Rung gaped at him for a long moment, then gave a bark of laughter. That surprised Megatron and he looked at him in surprise for a moment before he grinned, faint and barely there longer than a few seconds.

Rung stopped in front of Optimus' office and knocked twice before opening the door.

Optimus looked up and gave a small smile. "Ah. He looks better." He got up, Kickstart seated on his shoulder. The little Predacon-like minicon crawled down the Prime's arm and transformed into a bracelet. Rung marvelled at the little thing before he took Optimus' hand in his own and shook it once, firmly.

Megatron watched the exchange, then looked at Optimus. "Your pets ruined my shirt."

Optimus touched what remained of the shoulder of the plain grey, Energon-and-soot-spattered shirt, pinching the ruined fabric. "I have a replacement. It is not grey, but it will fit." He disappeared behind the door on the left. Before the door struck the frame, he was back, a blue shirt in his hands. He handed it to Rung, nodding. "Thank you for taking care of him, Rung."

Rung nodded once, then pointed Megatron towards the exit. "I will tell you all about our adventures when I return, Optimus, but first I will get him set up in his quarters and get him in a shower."

"Take your time, Rung," Optimus said before the door closed behind Rung.

Megatron stared down at the littler mech. "A shower, too?" His eyes stretched wide in a mocking way. "What have I done to deserve such a treatment?"

"You didn't strangle me."

So, I don't know exactly what I'm thinking as I'm writing this new story. I like Rung and I like Megatron, so I'm deciding to pair them up and see what happens. Honestly, this was inspired by the first two paragraphs in Heir to the Throne. Allow me to copy-and-paste to allow you to see:

The whip. It was designed to bring down the strongest, most dedicated being to its knees, to make it obey the commands given to it. As Megatron thought this, he bathed. He stood in the shower, facing his son, who was only a few weeks old, and letting him see what had been done to him.

The whip-marks were tragically pretty. Normally, they were pale spiderwebs clinging to his sun-darkened skin, thin on his arms and around his neck and thicker on his trunk, back, and aft. Lower than that and all you would encounter was white scar tissue. His legs were oddly muscled, bulging in some areas and then...nothing. Just a deep divot where there was literally nothing but bone, as if someone had taken a bite out of his leg, and that happened to Megatron more times than he would like to remember. In the steamy water that spurted from the shower head, his scars were pink and fresh-looking, vivid on his tanned skin...

So I thought, who else to care for a mech with a terrible past than Rung? I haven't written about Rung, ever, so I thought I should! Tada!