Title: Hope For The Best
Writer: Left_eye_better
Rating: M
Characters: Ratchet, Dead End, and ensemble
Summary: Ratchet's kind spark causes him trouble, and attracts the attention of a Stunticon.
Prompt: Ratchet/Dead End: Deprived from the Start
Warning: Suggestion of possibly unwanted smexings
Word Count: 4887 (For Completed Piece)
Continuity: G1
Disclaimer: Transformers is property of Hasbro/Takara
Ratchet had been thrown into his cell with enough force to send him skidding across the surface of the floor till his shoulder collided with the wall. It wasn't the first time he'd ended up prisoner to the Decepticons, and he knew that at the next battle the Autobots were likely to catch a Decepticon soldier or four to use as fuel for an exchange. The medic's hands got under his form and he managed to push himself up.
Sitting on the floor of tight quarters cell the white and red mech surveyed his condition. He was scuffed, dented, his right knee joint needed to be realigned in order for him to walk steadily, his right optic's outer lens was cracked, and that slide hadn't done much for his shoulder, but all things considered it could have been much worse. He scooted over to the wall mounted bench and levered himself onto its surface, hoping to escape the grimy floor. Looking to the bench, his expression shifted into a sneer. The bench wasn't much better than the floor for cleanliness. He kept his chemical analyzing programs off. Ratchet had no desire to know what exactly contaminated the filthy cell, although he already had some suspicion.
The door to the cellblock slid open, and Dead End entered with a limp. His optical band was dimly lit, and if the Medic had any opinion on the matter it was that the mech who was likely meant to be his guard was in worse condition than the mech he was supposed to be guarding. The Stunticon looked battered. His battlemask was dented from what looked to be an impact from an oversized fist, and from the grey of the paint smear Ratchet was led to believe it was most likely from the mech's own gestalt leader.
Dead End's dorsal plating ended up against the wall next to the opening to Ratchet's cell, and the medic moved to be able to keep inspecting the other. He'd repaired the youngling before after Warpath had not so accidently put a fist through the Porsche's roof straight through to the flooring of the other's cabin. The shock of the damage had sent the Stunticon into stasis automatically.
Shaking his helm, Ratchet looked at the youngling once more as the mech pulled a polishing cloth from subspace in a rather piteous attempt to remove his armor of some of the damages. Eventually Dead End gave into his leg's demand and moved down the wall to sit on the floor. His operational leg was pulled close while the one that had sustained the damages was stretched out in front of him. "You should be in your Medbay being treated." Ratchet spoke after witnessing the other's discomfort in his descent to the floor. He received no answer. The only acknowledgement he had from Dead End was the sports car's hand pausing in its polishing only to continue after a moment. "I thought the Stunticons from your design schematics had individual forcefields to protect you from damage in Alt-mode. They don't seem to be operational."
"You should be praying instead of making idle chatter. Megatron could decide to end your life." Dead End's helm bowed slightly to inspect a mark on his armor. Behind his mask a frown brought down the edges of his mouth. The damage had gone through the paint to bare metal.
"Could, but I can say with confidence he won't. I'm too useful… whether as a bargaining chip or as a medic." Ratchet leaned back into the wall of the cell and glanced to the ceiling while lifting his more mobile arm behind his helm as a rest. "Speaking of being a medic, you're rather rough all around. I'm surprised they let you guard me when you're this damaged." Again, the white mech's observations were ignored.
He leaned forward, looking to the young mech once more. He rarely had the time to think of the Decepticons as actual mechs and not just foes that caused harm to the ones in his immediate care. The Aerialbots had endured their rough period of adjustment between their group and the regular Autobot troops on Earth. They had fuel though, when they needed it, and emergency repairs were never delayed. Certainly, they'd never have been forced to work in anything resembling Dead End's current condition. They were created as full-sized mechs, their coding completed and their lives given by Vector Sigma. War was not a place for sparklings, nor was it a place for younglings such as the two gestalts, but as Prime had decided it was a necessary evil. He didn't regret assisting in the creation of the Aerialbots, but he did regret not being able to provide them the lives they deserved. In looking at Dead End he doubted the Stunticons knew what they were being deprived of.
Ratchet was a medic first, and an Autobot second. Seeing the sports car mech attempt to tend to himself was something that tugged at his spark. It wasn't right, not when he had the knowledge to help. "Dead End," The other momentarily stopped inspecting his knee joint but started again as if knowing better than to attempt to converse with the prisoner. "Dead End, I've repaired you before. I'm not exactly in any condition to run off. Let me take a look at your damage." He made a motion to convey he was suggesting that the other join him in his cell.
"I will get repaired soon enough without your help. I'm not so foolish as to betray my orders to seek repairs from an enemy, especially when the enemy offers to conduct them. You have nothing to gain from my repairs." The Porsche left his damaged knee joint to take the polishing cloth to his able leg. His optics didn't even flicker in Ratchet's direction.
"I get not having my conscience eat at me while I'm sitting here. I know you might not understand that concept but I'll explain it really slow for you. I don't like to see mechs injured, especially not when I'm capable of possibly helping. It's called compassion." The medic tried to keep from getting overly snippy, knowing that it would most likely deter the Stunticon. "I just want to help. The cellblock door is locked, if somehow I manage to overpower you in my damaged, weaponless state, I won't get far and I'm not going to take on an underwater base full of 'Cons. I have hope, but not blind optimism. You'd need to talk to Bumblebee for that."
Dead End's helm turned to actually look at him as he spoke. "I don't understand why you keep repairing mechs anyway. We are all food for rust." The statement was solid, and an undisputable fact. The younger mech's visor was barely lit and he let his helm rest back against the wall. Times like this after battle, and before the energon was distributed to the teams, a wise mech should try to conserve energy.
"We are, but the point of living isn't to get it over with… but to get the most out of it while you have it, and that generally implies not giving it up easily." There was silence between them as their optics locked.
"You are just delaying the inevitable." The younger mech was the first to speak.
"And you are too quick to throw away a gift from Primus." Ratchet's temper flared and his voice rose. There were some topics that mechs learned not to argue with a medic. Leaning back and cycling air he reminded himself the Stunticon was a product of his environment at this point. The younger mech had lowered his helm as if in thought about the other's words. At least the youngling seemed like he was willing to think about something beside chaos, and inflicting pain on others.
Reaching into a subspace pocket he hadn't been forced to empty, the medic produced rations of enriched energon. They were packaged in a heat resistant wrapper to prevent them from exploding in high temperatures, as the substance was prone to do. Ratchet tossed one of them through the gap in the bars near his guard making it package fall in the other's lap. Dead End jolted upright, and his visor brightened as he looked down at the item. Picking it up, the Stunticon inspected it, turning it over in his hands slowly as if he'd never seen one, and when Ratchet considered it the other most likely hadn't. "It's energon."
Dead End turned around even more to look at the Autobot. His helm tilted in a quizzical way that made the medic smirk. Ratchet held his package up for the other to see and then demonstrated how to easily open it. The package was then emptied in the older mech's red hand. It was a solid bar that held its shape. He took a bite of it to prove its harmless nature to the sports car.
Dead End turned the package over a couple more times as if debating on if to follow the medic's example or to save it for a time that he might not have energon promised to him, but his lack of belief in his survival spurred him into action. At first he attempted to open it in a similar way to how the other had but after an unsuccessful attempt and him not realizing that the other side of the package was the side he was supposed to open, he pinched the sides of the packaging and pulled the seal on the end apart.
Ratchet had spoken during this process to inform him it was the other side only to quiet once the package was in fact opened. He watched as the younger mech pulled the bar from the wrapper. He had been there to teach the Aerialbots how things were done, but upon watching the Stunticon interact with a foreign and new object he realized had he not, they would have learned on their own and a part of him wondered if he had not robbed them of the potential to learn simple problem solving. The Aerialbots were already insecure from being the only team of flyers in the Autobot ranks on Earth, did perhaps being so used to having everything shown to have a correct way of being done increase their anxiety? He let it go. There was no reason to think about it while in his present situation.
They ate quietly, and although Dead End acted as though he didn't say it, and Ratchet acted as though he didn't hear, the Stunticon quietly thanked the Autobot for the meal.
xxxxxxxxxx
Kindness begets kindness. It was something that Ratchet had known, had believed in but had never dreamed of in this application. It was a strange enough situation they had ended up in. The Decepticons had another one of their brilliant energy harvesting ideas. This plan involved burrowing in under a newly constructed geothermal energy plant and leeching from its collected fuel…only something had gone wrong and it had ended up with a small force of Autobots and an equally small force of Decepticons battling in the underground tunnels. The medic was pretty sure this in some way was Wheeljack's fault for the use of an experimental bomb in an enclosed area.
Blame wasn't his main priority at the moment, though. Ratchet dangled over the edge of a magma pit and the only thing saving him was the firm grasp of a Stunticon's hand on his forearm. It was a worrying thought, and he was certain that the mech would drop him but when the mech started to pull him up shock replaced the knowledge of his potential end. When close enough, he moved his hand to grip the earthen ledge to help in pulling himself up.
They both collapsed on the sturdy ground. The heat and stress making their intakes draw air frantically. Neither of them could move at first. "Why?" Ratchet started to get to his hands and knees joints. He was still confused at the younger mech's actions. Dead End remained still and didn't answer. The Stunticon's visor flickered. "You okay, kid?" Shakily straightening, he crossed the short distance to the other's side on his knees. Glancing around them, he noticed that the explosion had resulted in their separation from the battle. A massive amount of stone and earth blocked them from their brothers-in-arms. His attention turned back to the mech sprawled on the ground before him. He winced in empathy when he saw exactly why the other wasn't responsive.
The maroon and grey mech's midsection had a large clean semicircular hole take from it. Dead End's hand must've moved to cover it after he'd moved from the edge of the ground to somewhere safer. If left untreated, it would be the death of the younger mech. Ratchet's hand took hold of the Decepticon's, moving it gently out of the way. All he would be able to do in this environment would be to seal any leaks and possibly patch wires back together.
It wasn't long before the medic was wrist-deep in his patient's torso. He had been concentrating on his work when the Stunticon's hand found his forearm. "Why?" Ratchet looked from his work to the other's helm. Between the optical visor and the battlemask the younger mech's face was practically unable to be seen. The mech wasn't as readable voice-wise as First Aid, seeming to prefer to stick to a near monotone.
"You pull my aft out of a smelter, literally, and you are asking why I'm patching a hole in your gut?" The medic's optical ridge rose in a mocking way. "I know you Decepticons might not have much idea on repaying debts, but I owe you this one." His hands continued to work as he spoke.
"You don't make any sense." Dead End's helm tilted back as he looked to the tunnel's ceiling above him. "As a Medic you'd save more lives by letting me die."
Ratchet cycled air and concentrated on the damaged area. "As that may be, I have to worry about what is in front of me now. While what you said might have something to it, but I'm not prepared to deal with the repercussions of watching you slowly bleed out." It was hard not to raise his voice. It was hard not to yell creative obscenities at the younger mech but it was something he felt compelled not to do, for once. He had the chance to be a positive factor in this mech's life.
"You're a medic. You could deactivate me and I wouldn't feel it. A much kinder fate than I would likely-" The sudden strike silenced the Porsche. His helm was still turned in the direction the hit had forced it. The youngling didn't turn his helm back to look at Ratchet, a learned reaction from dealing with aggressors.
Ratchet was surprised by his own action. He hadn't expected to lash out…not in the middle of treatment. "I will not murder you." His voice was sharp, and hopefully crystalline clear.
"You'll wish you had." Dead End's purple optical visor dimmed before powering down as the Stunticon lost consciousness again his hand sliding off of Ratchet's forearm.
xxxxxxxxxx
Wheeljack regretted using that bomb back at the geothermal plant battle. The medbay and his adjoining lab had been permeated with a black cloud of anger from his long time colleague. When he'd apologized, Ratchet had even stated that he wasn't mad at him…which while that should have been a relief it wasn't. When they had recovered Ratchet he'd been with a seriously injured Stunticon which once the repairs had been completed the medic was all too ready for the mech to be thrown in a cell somewhere where he wouldn't have to deal with the beliefs of the other.
First Aid, being the amiable mech he was created as, offered to take Ratchet's place in checking on the progress of the sports car mech's self-repair, but the CMO had declined the offer. It was his work. He started, and he'd sure as well fragging make sure it was finished. Grabbing a tool kit for delicate repairs, the older mech had taken his rage with him, leaving the medbay oddly quiet. First Aid had moved his work into the lab as to have company, and Wheeljack was at a loss on what it would take to cool their main medic's anger.