A/N: Oh boy, first attempt at humor... So this is just a oneshot (for now?) idea I got when playing dodgeball Friday. And hey, guess what! That's right, I don't own Transformers or Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story.
I would like to dedicate this fic to Ratchet's inner, mischievous youngling punk a$$, who doesn't get enough love. Here's to you ;)
"No."
"Pleeeeaaaaaassssse?"
"Yeah, come on Hatchet, uh I mean Ratchet! The team only gotta be playin' one game! You ca' pikit! S'only a game, don't gotta beat no one up or nuffin!"
"Do I need to check your audio receptors again? I said no, slaggit!"
Ratchet raised a wrench threateningly at the mini twins. They yelped, pleading innocence and tripping over themselves in their haste to evacuate the medbay. Unfortunately in their rush they knocked over a carefully organized tool kit of 300+ items. The materials clanged onto the floor in a disarray, scattering about.
Terrified silence took hold as Mudflap and Skids froze with wide optics and Ratchet stared at the tool kit. Ratchet roared, breaking the tension, and flung box end wrench after open end wrench after combo wrench at the fleeing orange and green mechs. The projectiles hit their mark about half the time; the twins sometimes got extraordinarily lucky at dodging, ducking, dipping, and diving- 'Did I already say dodging?' he wondered- from his airborne metal instruments of pain. Ratchet silently and furiously surveyed the mess left in their wake.
Skids and Mudflap had come in with a request that Ratchet was adamant to put down. Primus knew how, but the two had gotten the ok from Prime to form a 'Sports Team', provided with the permission of Ratchet. Optimus was always more lenient than the CMO, who was very unwilling to allow such a thing to ever be created. He resignedly moved to clean up the tool kit, mentally articulating a valid argument to his favor.
For one, it would be highly undignified. He shuddered at the thought of a foreign embassador coming to meet the Autobots, allies that the President held in high regards, only to find them nothing more than slagged and sorry pieces of scrap. And why? Because the beat each other to a pulp over a ball. Not a very good impression at all, aside from the ones given by fists.
Of that thought came the second and more concerning point in the medic's mind: all the injuries. Ratchet could not suppress a groan at the terrible image. He envisioned all the cracked faceplates, the mounds of twisted and broken limbs, and numerous other unimaginable wounds. Under the guise of a 'game', Ratchet knew that, contrary to the twins' claim, some Autobots would not be hesitant to take the chance to get in a few good whacks at each other.
But then again... He looked at the half reassembled tool kit, then his entire, somewhat rundown medbay. He begrudgingly accepted it was in need of repairs itself. Some bots (i.e. twins) just never could seem to stay out of trouble. He imagined the pristine levels of cleanliness the area could achieve through the hard labor of bots owing him favors. Ratchet looked back over to the pile of assorted sports equipment the twins had left behind. Then he looked to his medbay. The tools. The equipment. Medbay. Tools. Equipment. Medbay.
He grinned conspiratorially, dusting off his old political prowess. If he reconsidered his stance on the matter, he could make the opportunity worth his while, 'What could be so bad? They did say I could pick. Something more or less harmless yet entertaining, and causing just intense enough injuries to allow me to pull a few wires... Just enough to work this in my favor.'
Still smiling, he walked over to the pile of mostly spherical pieces of rubber pumped full of air. A bright red ball caught his optics. He picked up the crimson orb and scanned it, learning the nomenclature of the object. It was inconspicuous yet interesting sounding enough. He ran a search on it through the Internet, quickly finding and viewing a film that lit his optics with a long absent mischief. He clutched the ball, grabbed something else, and darted from the medbay.
"After thorough examination, I have reconsidered your proposal," Ratchet announced diplomatically, peculiarly standing at parade rest before Skids and Mudflap.
The other Autobots stared at the exchange in shock. The Hatchet? Actually agreeing with the twins on something?
"Aw yeah man, we knew you'd see it owa way!" Skids was practically jumping in excitement.
Ratchet cleared his vocal processors, "It was however, provided on the provision that I choose the game. And the consequences thereof."
The twins nodded, still too excited to hear the edge that crept into Ratchet's voice or notice the extra provision he had slipped in.
"So wut is it?" Mudflap inquired.
"Yeah! Somfin we'll kick aft a'?" Skids put in.
"Oh, you should be quite good at it, once I teach you how to play."
Now the Autobots were very confused. Ratchet was even going to teach them the game? At this point, Ratchet grinned wickedly, bringing his hands from behind his back, revealing two items. One thing was red, rubber, and pliable. The other was silver, steel, and unforgivingly hard. He cocked his arms back, ready to fire.
"After all, if you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball, right?"
~Fin~