A/N: Some minor slash, mostly in later chapters, nothing explicit and nothing inappropriate.
Disclaimer: Transformers and any recognizable characters belong to Hasbro and ... uh... Marvel and whoever else owns them but certainly not me.
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A spectacular bloom of smoke rolled out from the open doorway of the lab, doors lying mangled on the opposite side of the corridor. Ratchet rolled his optics even as he stumbled over the debris, rushing to get to Wheeljack's side and assess his injuries. "Frag it all, Wheeljack, can't we go a solid week without you blowing yourself up?!" Ratchet hollered over the faint noise of hissing, smoldering wreckage and sparking, crackling wires. A laugh, followed by a hoarse cough to clear clogged vents, allowed Ratchet to zero in on his target and he quickly knelt by the engineer's side, wiping soot away from Wheeljack's optics with a cleaning cloth.
"Aw, Ratch, you outta know me better than that by now," he chortled then coughed again. "Primus, that was a good one - very sparkly. Are smoke clouds considered an art form yet?"
Ratchet suppressed a grin, shaking his head. "Moronic glitch-head… I ought to just weld you permanently to a berth in the Medbay so that when you blow up, I already know where you are." Wheeljack giggled at the banter, relieved to know his injuries weren't too serious. "Primus, but I hate shrapnel from your experiments - tiny little bits of Primus-only-knows-what stuck all in your chassis and Energon lines…" Wheeljack winced as Ratchet worked free a particularly spiky piece of debris, inspecting it suspiciously for a moment before discarding it into the rubble around them. "Anything acidic in this one that could start melting you from the inside, 'Jack?"
"Not that I recall, Ratch. Though with the heat from the explosion, who knows what sort of chemical changes could have been made."
"Very reassuring," the CMO muttered, turning to regard the doorway, waving an arm. "He's over here - still in one piece, remarkably enough, so let's get him to Medbay." Sideswipe scrambled over the wreckage in the lab while Sunstreaker stepped a bit more daintily over the rubble, shoving it out of the way with a ped to clear their path back. The red twin lay a friendly hand on Wheeljack's shoulder and squeezed lightly, smiling, "How's it goin', 'Jack? Great day to blow yourself up, huh? I think my horoscope said something to that effect this morning, but obviously I was reading yours by mistake."
Wheeljack chuckled, wincing a bit under the squeeze as little pieces of debris were pushed deeper into his plating. Sideswipe retracted his hand at the engineer's discomfort, moving to grasp him beneath his shoulders, Sunstreaker gathering up the mech's soot-covered legs with a grimace. "I'm sorry about this, fellas," Wheeljack started, wincing slightly as he was lifted. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything…interesting." His optics crinkled slightly at the corners, belying his grin beneath his blast mask. Sunstreaker barked a short laugh, "I wish."
Perceptor and Skyfire peered around the corner of the open doorway as they paraded past, the microscope mech reaching out to lightly pat Wheeljack's hand as they passed. "It is good to see that you are still conscious this time, Wheeljack."
Skyfire chuckled. "I give it a seven, seven and a half…"
"Oh come on, that was closer to eight and a half or nine - did you see that smoke cloud? Very pretty." Wheeljack winced again when Ratchet thumped him over the helm. Explosions in the labs had long since devolved into some sort of spectator sport - extra points for fireworks, minus points for damage to yourself or others. So far, Wheeljack was both winning and losing.
"Aw, PRIMUS, 'Jack, that's the last time Ah'm replacin' those doors, slag it all!" Ironhide stomped up to the little group, regarding the engineer dangling between the grasp of the Lamborghinis, fists planted firmly on his hips. "Ah am not askin' Hoist to make ya another set. Make 'em yerself this time for the love of Primus! An' good luck gettin' the parts for it!" The Weapons Specialist had dissolved into a rant, arms flailing theatrically, before he stomped over to the engineer and whacked him across the helm with a fist - much less gently than Ratchet's thump. Wheeljack whined piteously, "Have mercy, 'Hide, can't you wait until Ratchet fixes me before you rip me apart?"
"Ironhide! You make more work for me again and I'll weld your hands to your aft!" Ratchet waved his toolkit about in much the same frantic manner one might chase pigeons from their perch, rapidly closing the distance between himself and the larger mech. Ironhide stumbled back from the CMO, growling but unwilling to take the confrontation any further - Ratchet had his tools and it was serious brig time, even for an officer, if he discharged his cannons in the hallway. Besides, who knew what was still lingering in the air around Wheeljack's lab that might spark another explosion?
Ratchet motioned for the twins to move on to the Medbay while he stood by, arguing with Ironhide to keep him at bay from further damaging the engineer. Once Ironhide stalked away in a huff and the other two scientists had retreated back to their own labs, Ratchet followed after the little parade.
"Ratchet, a moment, please…" Prowl caught him by the elbow as he stepped through the Medbay doors. "Is Wheeljack conscious? I need to go over the details of this week's destruction for my report as soon as possible - the fresher the memory files, the more concise the information, and the more quickly the unstable substance he was using this time goes onto my contraband list."
Ratchet pinched Prowl's door wing, causing him to wince and arch at an awkward angle, basically dragging the tactician into the Medbay with him. "Yeah, he's conscious, talking - seems fine but for all the slagging shrapnel he got in him again." Ratchet regarded Prowl for a moment, optic ridge aloft. "Do you just keep a stack of blank 'Wheeljack blew up again' forms on standby? You responded awful fast…"
"Actually, I do. His behavior is predictable, at best, and he has a talent for causing more damage than either of the twins, Ironhide and Cliffjumper combined." His left optic clenched shut at the painful tug on his door. "If you please, Ratchet, I have other duties to tend to… and this hurts, as you well know…"
With a grunt, the CMO pulled Prowl further into the Medbay before releasing his grip on the monochrome door and giving him a light shove towards Wheeljack's berth. "There, go get your forms signed and get out of my bay."
Prowl stumbled at the push, catching himself on 'Jack's berth, muttering an apology when his frantic scrambling had landed on an injured leg panel, causing the damaged engineer to cringe, grunting softly in pain. He tossed a sour glance towards Ratchet who glowered darkly back at him. "Now, Wheeljack, shall we go over what happened?"
Ratchet set to work plucking debris from the engineer's chassis, pulling the majority out from his plating with a localized electromagnetic field, but carefully working it free from his Energon lines by hand, constantly scanning for missed pieces of scrap. A small piece of shrapnel in the lines could be fatal were it to get into the main pump. He judged the sensory damage of a particular area by Wheeljack's grunts and gasps of pain while he chatted almost casually with Prowl before the pad was held out for his signature. The Second-in-Command nodded to them both before pivoting on his heel and striding away. Drying his hands off on a nearby cloth, Ratchet sighed, "Alright, 'Jack, you're clear of debris. Your self-repairs should patch up the holes in your Energon lines - thankfully it seems to have avoided any major tears. Get some rest and we'll clean up your dents and paint a bit later."
Wheeljack sat up on the berth with a grimace, clutching his side. "Oooh, Primus, why does it hurt so much more when it's the little stuff than when I get blown across the room into the wall?"
"You just have a talent for that sort of thing, I suppose," Ratchet sighed again, turning to offer the slightest of smirks to the white and green bot. "Now, out. Go to your lab, go to your quarters, go wherever - just get out of my Medbay. You're not injured enough to be taking up space."
Wheeljack chuckled, "For once, huh?" and hopped off the berth, wincing at the quick movement before he shuffled away towards the door. "See you in a joor or so, Ratch."
Ratchet nodded, waving a disinterested hand in farewell as he set to cleaning up the berth and tools before retreating to his office for a cube, muttering about needing 'a stiff drink before dealing with more glitch-headed engineers'.
Shuffling slowly down the hall, Wheeljack ran a few self-diagnostics. The damage was superficial, his self-repairs had already set to work on most of them, and his plating only really needed to be buffed and repainted. Overall, he was fine, just as Ratchet had said, he mused, but he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was just… slightly off. In the back of his processor, he registered that he didn't feel quite right, but simply attributed it to an after-effect of being blown up yet again. The hallway in front of his lab was already cleared of the evidence of his destructive tendencies, save for the ever-present scorch marks on the wall from one of his more 'famous' explosions (that one had been a doozy to explain to Prowl and he still wasn't sure what, exactly, had caused the chain reaction) and the smoke had dissipated into the air vents above his lab which were thrown wide open to clear the haze as soon and as thoroughly as possible. The open entryway to his lab was bright, the lights always the first to be fixed, and the shuffling peds of the mechs inside drew his attention around the frame. "Well hey, guys!" He waved to the trio sheepishly.
Trailbreaker chuckled, dumping his armful of scrap metal into its assigned bin. "Hey there, 'Jack. We were today's unlucky lotto winners for cleanup."
Wheeljack laughed softly, moving more fully into the lab. "Sorry about that, fellas. You know I don't mean to cause such a mess, right?"
"We know, 'Jack," Hound grinned, trying to lift a particularly large piece of sheet metal, glancing briefly around to try to locate its origin - probably the ceiling or one of the wall panels, though he couldn't pinpoint any missing. "Admittedly, it's pretty funny when you don't actually hurt yourself." 'Jack grabbed the other end of the panel and helped Hound steer it into its place. "Plus, it makes recovery faster this way - just sort it out and let you go through it later. Nothing gets lost and you find all your pieces." He paused to chuckle, planting a friendly hand on the engineer's shoulder, causing him to wince slightly at the over-sensitive receptors in his dented plating. "We find more fingers this way so Ratchet doesn't have to make new ones."
Wheeljack's headfins glowed an embarrassed, pale pink. "I really appreciate the help, though. It'd take forever to clean this up myself - though I never meant for Prowl to make it mandatory…"
Cliffjumper grunted, kicking at a particularly stubborn piece of rubble. "Well that's Prowl for you - volunteers only exist if they're forced to exist."
"We're about done here, just going to sweep up a bit and set the bins by your work bench," Trailbreaker declared, glancing around the room. "Most of it was either big pieces or tiny little shards of glass and plastic that I don't think you could use anyway - burnt up bits of rubber and such. Why don't you go rest, I'm sure Ratchet told you to. We'll handle the rest of it."
Wheeljack sighed, "I feel guilty leaving you guys to do it on your own."
"Nah, we're almost done. Nothing really major this time - you didn't even dent the walls." Hound chuckled again, waving a hand around vaguely towards the soot-covered but mostly intact wall panels. "Don't worry about it."
"But I…"
"For the love of Primus, 'Jack!" Cliffjumper threw a coil of burned tubing at him, causing him to jump back. "I'm not going to let Ratchet come in here and find you cleaning when you should be recharging, because it'll be ME that he blames it on! Now get out!"
"Oh, Cliffjumper, I think that's an exaggeration--"
"OUT!" A good-sized piece of twisted steel was retrieved from one of the bins and thrown towards the retreating form of the resident 'Mad Scientist'. Hound and Trailbreaker chortled softly at the sound of Wheeljack fleeing down the hall from the scowling minibot.
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Ratchet slumped in his desk chair, swirling the last dregs of his small cube of high-grade about before he downed it in a single gulp and settled the empty cube onto the desk with a sigh. Say what you will about their home-brew, he mused, those twins keep the whole base stocked with a vital resource. He stood, wobbled, and sat down again, shuttering and unshuttering his optics in rapid succession. Though maybe this batch was a bit too strong… He stood again, gripping the edges of his desk for leverage, his knees wobbling beneath him. Ratchet put a hand to his forehead, grimacing slightly as he straightened and strode slowly into the main Medbay, hoping the buzz from his drink wore off soon - it simply wouldn't do for the CMO to be staggering drunkenly around the bay to work on his patients.
First Aid looked up from his datapad, visor lighting up as he hopped to his feet and rushed to Ratchet's wobbly side. "Sir! Are you alright?"
Ratchet waved him off brusquely then placed that hand back against his forehead. "Yeah, I'm fine… Just… if I faint, don't tell Prowl I was drinking on shift, alright?"
He couldn't be entirely sure, but Ratchet was fairly certain that the small Protectobot was scowling at him under his facemask. "Ratchet, Sir! You're an officer, a senior member of this crew! You know better than to go against protocol and then you ask me to lie about it?"
"Not lie, just don't bring it up if he doesn't ask. What Prowl doesn't know, Red Alert will tell him later…" Ratchet grumbled as he staggered to a berth and gripped it for a moment before turning to sit down. "Ugh, strong stuff…I can usually hold more than a single cube." He clenched his optic shutters, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his thighs with a soft groan. "And if I deactivate from this, do me a favor and weld the twins to the ceiling…" He pressed a hand to his abdomen as his tanks lurched uncomfortably, groaning miserably. "Primus…That hit fast…" He staggered to his feet, stumbling towards the sink. "I need… need to…"
Suddenly his optics dimmed and First Aid offered up a cry of alarm as the larger medic's frame sunk suddenly to the floor with a noisy clatter. "Ratchet!" The smaller bot struggled to turn the CMO onto his back, running a series of scans over his frame. His core temperature was elevated, his fuel pump was racing, pulsing rapidly away in his chestplates, and his spark was flaring in small increments of energy. A rarely-heard swear fell from the timid Protectobot's vocalizer as he struggled with the larger frame. With little to go on for clues, he opened his comm. link.
::First Aid to Sideswipe!::
::Sideswipe here. What do you want?::
::WHAT IN THE NAME OF PRIMUS DID YOU PUT IN THAT HIGH GRADE?!::
::…What?::
::Ratchet had a cube of your wretched home-brew in his office and then he FAINTED right on the Medbay floor! Either get in here and help me with him or tell me what you put in that slag that could have done this to him!::
::Drinking on shift? Huh… that's not like him. I guess we're rubbing off on him a bit.:: Sideswipe's response was smug, far more smug than First Aid would have cared for, especially considering the circumstances, causing an optic shutter to twitch in irritation.
::He's your Bondmate and he's hurt! GET YOUR AFT IN HERE NOW!::
::Alright, alright, I'm…I'm on… my way…oh, Primus…:: Sideswipe sounded nearly breathless and more than a little woozy just before the line filled with static. Panicked suddenly, fearing an outbreak of poison Energon around base, First Aid changed tactics. ::First Aid to Prowl!::
::Prowl here, go ahead, First Aid.::
::Ratchet's unconscious, Sideswipe may be as well! There might be tainted high-grade going around the Ark!::
::Do you know the source?:: Prowl's voice was tense - Jazz had a knack for procuring high-grade from questionable sources, including 'confiscating' the twins' stash. If his Bondmate were to come to harm from such a thing… Well, the resident tactician had a lesser-mentioned reputation for being an Avatar of Unicron himself when Jazz was in Medbay for the stupidity of others.
::If I had to guess, I'd say the twins' home brewed stuff. Ratchet had a cube and then he fainted right on the floor and…::
::And you say Sideswipe may also be unconscious?::
::I was summoning him to Medbay and his comm. went dead.::
::I'll be there momentarily, but first I'm going to send someone to check on Sideswipe and … and collect Sunstreaker…:: Prowl made a soft noise of pain over the comm. before he could restrain it. ::I… I will be there… sh-shortly…::
::Prowl! Are you okay?::
::I…:: First Aid didn't bother to muffle his fearful little cry as Prowl's comm. filled with static the same way Sideswipe's had.
::Jazz! Jazz! Please be okay!::
::Jazz 'ere, First Aid - Sorry but I'm a lil' busy, somethin's wrong with Prowler. I'm headin' to his office right now.::
::I know! I know! There's bad Energon on base!::
::Ya know where it's comin' from?::
::I think the twins had a bad batch of home-brew! First Ratchet, then Sideswipe, now Prowl! This could be very bad, Jazz!::
The comm. was silent for a moment before Jazz spoke up again, ::I don' think Prowler's 'ad a cube o' high-grade in the better part o' two months, 'Aid…Y'know 'e ain't one fer casual drinkin'…::
::B-but… Ratchet fainted right after he drank some of the twins' brew… And Sideswipe … and…::
::Ratch is down too? Primus. I'll be there wit' Prowl shortly, 'Aid. Jazz out.::
"Oh Primus, Ratchet," First Aid set a trembling hand on his mentor's shoulder, squeezing it for a moment. "Please be okay… I… I don't know what's wrong…"
::Mirage to First Aid.::
::First Aid here…::
::I can't get a hold of Ratchet - there's a medical situation in the Rec Room. Sunstreaker and Hound are both unconscious.::
First Aid gripped his helm with both hands, swearing profusely. ::Did they drink any high-grade?::
::Well, Sunstreaker, yes, always, but Hound was about to go on patrol. He hasn't had a cube of high-grade since the last party a few weeks ago.::
::I… I'll be right there.:: 'Aid whimpered slightly, running another scan over Ratchet's prone form. His core temperature had stopped rising, but his spark was flaring more rapidly now, his fuel pump pulsing so fast that the small medic worried it might burst a valve. ::Perceptor! Skyfire! Please come in!::
::We're here, 'Aid, are you okay?:: Skyfire's friendly voice did little to soothe the anxious medibot.
::I need you to come to Medbay immediately! Ratchet is unconscious and there's a medical situation in the Rec Room!::
::Go ahead, we'll be there in two kliks. Skyfire out.::
"You'll be okay, Ratchet," First Aid patted the unconscious CMO comfortingly again, though he seemed to be trying to reassure himself more than the larger bot. "You'll be okay, and I'll be right back…" The smaller mech grabbed his tool kit and a scanner, darting from the Medbay.
The Rec Room was bustling with concerned bots trying to revive their companions - puddles of water lay beneath both prone forms mixed with spilled amounts of mid-grade Energon. Trailbreaker was lightly shaking Hound by the shoulders, patting at his faceplates, trying to get a reaction out of him, while Silverbolt was struggling to pull the heavy, unconscious frontliner to his feet in hopes that the elevation change might bring him back online. First Aid shouldered his way past the onlookers, stumbling as he dropped to the floor next to them, shuffling hopelessly, cluelessly, through his tool kit for inspiration. "What were they doing before they went offline?" He ran a series of scans over both forms, comparing the results to one another, and then to Ratchet's. Elevated core temperatures, racing fuel pumps, spark flares… the flares were mild enough to not be in danger of extinguishing, but any flare was cause for concern.
Mirage wrung out a cloth over Hound's face, splashing him with cold water again - a human remedy Spike had used on his father more than once that had evolved into an annoying prank on recharging bots. "He was just getting a cube from the dispenser, he didn't even drink it! All of the sudden he's dizzy and then he's nauseated and he just collapsed!"
"What about Sunstreaker?" First Aid jacked into an outlet on the back of Hound's neck, checking for irregularities in his coding.
"Nobody really pays much mind to when Sunstreaker goes offline after drinking high-grade, 'Aid…" Trailbreaker muttered, sliding an arm beneath Hound's knees and hefting him up bridal-style, Mirage uttering softly for Trailbreaker to take good care of him. First Aid groaned softly, unplugging his unsuccessful diagnostic from Hound's neck. "Get them to the Medbay. They're not the only ones…"
Skyfire looked considerably more panicked than he had sounded on the comm. line when First Aid returned to the Medbay with the other bots in tow. "Thank Primus, 'Aid! I don't know what to do! I've never seen this before!"
"What?!" The little medic squeaked fearfully, a dozen horrid scenarios flashing through his processor, unbidden. "What happened?!"
"Ratchet - he's… he's…" Skyfire's hands waved about as though trying to pluck an explanation out the air. "He's a sparkling!"
First Aid froze, so did the bots with him putting their charges on the berths. "Wh-what…?"
"He… He turned into a sparkling! Prowl too! And Perceptor's fallen unconscious!"
"Sparklings? But… but that's impossible!"
Skyfire grabbed the small Protectobot by the arm, hauling him quickly into one of the private exam rooms, thoroughly startling Jazz who had been waiting inside. On the berth, cuddled quietly against one another, were two small sparklings, one white and red, the other black and white. First Aid stared, dumbstruck, and twitched as a logic relay burnt out in his processor. "But… it's… not possible…"
"Obviously it is, because it happened!" Skyfire was nearly as frantic as the medic, waving his arms about, wincing when he smacked his wrist on a ceiling panel. "Look at them! What could have caused this?!"
"I… I… What are you asking me for?! You're a scientist, you deal with… with quantum physics and dimensional shifts! I'm just a medic! This is … this is far outside of my line of study!" The little bot's voice had risen to a panicked squeaking, his whole frame trembling. He rushed out into the main Medbay, pushing the conscious bots towards the doors. "Out! Out! I can't take the risk of any more casualties! If it's contagious, you could all be in danger!" They started to protest but First Aid had already locked the doors and turned to lean against them, vents hissing as he gasped for breath. "Oh, Primus, I'm going to go into spark-arrest at this rate…"
Jazz peeked his head out from the exam room, visor glowing a muted blue, "Gotta tell ya, 'Aid, I don' think it was th' Energon…"
"Not helping! Where's Perceptor?" First Aid rushed between the private rooms, emitting a little despairing squeak when he lay optic on the small, offlined form of a sparkling Perceptor. He carefully lifted him up, whimpering a bit, and placed him on the same berth with Prowl and Ratchet. "What do we do? Who… who else will be effected? Where's Sideswipe?"
::Cliffjumper to First Aid…:: The medic cringed as his comm. crackled to life again.
::Y-yes, Cliffjumper…?::
::I… you need to come down to the training room…::
::Who is it?::
::Ironhide's unconscious in here - it looks like he and Sideswipe must have really had it out this time…::
::I'll be right there…:: First Aid buried his face in both hands, trembling. "What do I do what do I do…"
Whirling suddenly, the smaller bot grabbed Skyfire by the forearm, tugging him insistently. "I need your help, I can't haul Ironhide and Sideswipe in here on my own."
Skyfire glanced around at the unconscious bots and then nodded, hurrying to the door. "You stay here, I'll fetch them both." He ducked through the doorway and set off jogging down the corridor, causing the plating of the floor to tremble just slightly - far more subtly than Grimlock's rampaging despite being the bigger bot. First Aid emitted a hopeless little whimper, looking between Jazz's worried gaze and the unconscious forms on the berths. "Sweet Primus, what's happening…?"