Now better, thanks Beta!

So, all thanks goes to ! Khalthar !

Transformers is not mine XD And never will be...

Even before the whole war on Cybertron started, Ratchet had been old. Nobot would ever say that out loud, but nearly everybot knew. Sometimes they would talk about him, with hushed voices, ever prepared to jump and take cover if the grouchy medic had ever heard them. (His reputation about his accuracy with wrenches was something he was very proud of!)

Ratchet had been sparked into the medical and scientific caste, his creators had his life planned out, the Klikk he onlined his optics for the first time. He didn't protest, why should he? Working as a medic, like his creators, was all that he knew. It never even crossed his processor to look into other professions that were allowed in his own caste.

He could remember, clearly, his first steps into a hospital, his nearly frying circuits as he nervously stared at the huge femme, who would become his mentor. He could remember the long cycles of learning and studies he had to do, all the tests he had to pass to become a full-fledged medic. After his graduation he worked in different cities like Iacon, Protihex and even Kaon, where he had to work on a certain pair of twins nearly every other cycle.

But those times were now long gone, just an old file in his processor.

Like the time before Optimus Prime was the leader of the Autobots, a time when his name was still Orion Pax, a simple data clerk he met in the Halls of Knowledge as Ratchet was looking for old medical reference texts. He could still remember the shy and gentle giant who had been his guide, all those many vorns ago.

But that was the past, now Ratchet was standing in a medbay at the temporary Autobot headquarters as a CMO, he worked under his old friend Optimus Prime. He even had two apprentices, two gentle bots with warm sparks and lots of potential. But First Aid and Jolt were not with him now, they were both sent away to provide medical assistance for the fighting mechs and femmes. First Aid was now in Iacon while Jolt had been sent to Praxus.

It had been an extremely lucky guess to send them there.

The tension between Decepticons and Autobots had snapped this lunar-cycle, the first big fights of this newly declared war had started. At the same time every youth sector in every city-state had been targeted by Decepticons. The news had nearly frozen the energon in Ratchets main lines. Sparklings, younglings, femmes and caretakers were either killed or taken by the Decepticons. Many good mechs that tried to protect the poor and innocent `bots were heavily injured and almost killed. They were rushed to hospitals or small medical facilities, but that turned out to be a big mistake!

The second wave of attacks targeted the hospitals themselves, bombing or invading them, ripping families apart, crushing sparks and left nobody behind.

But the worst news had come from Praxus. The city had been destroyed beyond recognition in just one full cycle. Next to no survivors were known. The slagging Decepticreeps had nearly killed a whole frame-type in one cycle.

Ratchet had feared the worst for his apprentice, but the rest of his team had kept Jolt safe from harm.

He hadn't had the time to ponder over the situation they all were in as more and more injured `bots entered his med-bay, spilling energon and coolant on every berth and sheet he could find. All of his berths were taken and more than a few patients were even situated on the floor, till he could work on them. His medical programming kept Ratchet calm but his servos were shaking as he worked joors without rest to stabilize sparks, weld main energon lines and cracked armor, reattach limbs, undent helms, rewire frame parts and to provide psychological help to all of them. To his luck nobot was fatally wounded in the numerous battles and the steady flow of patients had finally come to a stop. Still, the medbay was filled with groaning and moaning mechs and femmes, occupying every berth except the one for surgical works.

Ratchet panted as his medical programming for emergencies offlined slowly. His pedes hurt and his spinal-strut was surely killing him by the next cycle. The cables in his back were tight and tense, his armor plates creaked. All he wished for was a hot oil bath, a cube of highgrade and a good recharge. But all THAT was still out of reach for him. Three teams were still in Praxus, looking for possible survivors and much needed resources.

Prowl's team had sent a message, breems ago, which contained the time of their arrival and that Jazz had found a survivor, a mere youngling. Ratchet had immediately prepared a space on his last, unoccupied, berth, as far away from the other bots as he could manage it. The team had reported, that the youngling was traumatized and nearly catatonic, he hadn't uttered a single word. The youngling had just latched onto the other Praxian, Prowl, clinging to him like he was his last lifeline.

The CMO was silently pacing from the main doors to the prepared berth, his optics never leaving the mechanical entrance, his audios trying to catch the sound of rushing pedes or something similar, even if he knew that the medical bay was soundproofed. All he could do at the moment was to wait and hope that nothing…

The door opened with a rush of air, sounds of hurried pedes entered Ratchet's waiting audios, he turned again, his optics trained instantly on the small frame in Prowl's arms. He could see the shivering doorwings, the dim optics and the small traces of energon, which stained the small silver frame. Jazz, Moonracer, Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe hovered behind the older Praxian tactician, their posture tense and ready to rip apart any given threat.

"Over here. Place him on the berth. Tell me what you know!"

Ratchet started scan after scan on the youngling as soon as Prowl had stepped away from the berth, impatiently waiting for the results.

Prowl stayed near the youngling, his doorwings twitching in agitation and his optics scanned every movement the older medic made, hushed growls escaped his lip plates. Ratchet tried to ignore the unusually aggressive behavior the tactician was showing. It was not common in the least for the older Praxian to react like this. His optic ridge rose higher and higher, till, finally his scanners blinked, instantly showing him the results on his HUD.

Several dents and scratches all over the frame

Damage to tanks and mobility cables for his legs

Doorwing joints slightly damaged, one out of place

Spark was stabilizing due to a new bond (FRAGGER! I know what you did there!)

Small injuries on Protoform left arm

Ratchet sighed, shot a harsh glare to Prowl, who bared his dentas at him and hissed for a nano-klikk before he caught himself and released a small reassuring rumble for the youngling, who clung to Prowls servo.

"We found him in one of the destroyed crystal gardens. He was buried under the rest of a wall which fell on him, due to the Decepticons. He was pinned down and it was just thanks to Jazz, that we found him. Prowl instantly commed you for our arrival as the twins worked to get him free again. On our way here his status worsened. I think that that happened because of the damage to his spark, the lost bonds with his creators or something like that, which lead to an unstable spark. Prowl, I believe you already know this by now, formed a sibling bond with the small one. His spark stabilized soon after and we made haste to come back to base. Wheeljack's group wanted to go to the Praxian youth sector, scouting for resources and looking for other online `bots. After that they wanted to return to base. We encountered a few enemy scouts, but the twins made quick work of them." Moonracer's calm, soothing and rather and rather deep voice cut through the heavy silence.

As soon as she started talking, Ratchet had sedated the youngling, ignoring the growls directed at him and began working on the damage. His exhaustion was pushed to the back of his processor as his medical coding came online again, his slightly shaking servos stilled and his gaze focused.

Silently, as to not disturb the rambling medic in his worms, Jazz inched forwards to his best friend and stood beside the tense Praxian.

"Calm down, Prowler, all will be `ok, you`ll see. Ahm sure `da docbot gets the mechling on his ped`s again." He whispered, placed one of his servos on Prowls shoulder and started to send soothing magnetic impulses through his modified digits. The older Praxian relaxed after a few Klikks, his rigid doorwings drooping slightly but his gaze still fixed on the youngling, who, even in stasis held his much bigger servo with his smaller ones.

Prowl didn't notice as the rest of his team gave their first reports to Ratchet and then left, after looking over a few of the injured `bots in the medbay and speaking encouraging words to them. Jazz stayed behind, right behind Prowls larger frame, nearly touching him. All Prowl could focus on were Ratchet's movements and the subdued feelings from his newly formed bond, which he constantly filled with love and encouragement, pushing his own sadness back.

He couldn't deny that he was mad and furious but his logic-processor was still working overtime, estimating and calculating the chances of more survivors of Praxian heritage. (The program was running since the beginning of the first attacks and so far the results were devastating, to say the least.)

The attack had targeted Praxians as a main goal, and now the typical Praxian frame type was basically extinct. So for him it wasn't even worth a question as he established the bond to the youngling, one of the last Praxians beside himself.

Jazz observed his friend and the CMO, as both of them were staring at the youngling, one completely still if not for his moving, rising, twitching and shivering wings, and the other working with confidence but an aura of anger and frustration surrounded both. Jazz didn't dare to move, trying to give Prowl all the reassurance he had, whispering small nothings into the other bots audios. Jazz couldn't track the time they all were in the medbay, the mood rigid and strained, but all of a sudden, without any indication beforehand, Ratchet stopped working and stepped back, his whole frame heaving under a heavy exhale.

The medic's optics flickered from exhaustion and Jazz sprang into action, lunging forward to steady the swaying medic on his pedes, one arm snaking around the older bots waist and the other over his shoulders.

"Thank you Jazz. Oh my Primus, my pedes are killing me." Ratchet groaned and leaned more of his weight on the smaller saboteur, who promptly led him to a big chair to sit in. Prowl only moved closer to the youngling, his wings arched, and gently caressed the small helm with his one unoccupied servo.

"You got here in time. The damage was severe but still manageable; I repaired him as best as I could. His spark is stable now; the bond with Prowl needs time to settle, so I would suggest that you take him with you to your quarters and tend to him. He will wake up in a few Joors (hours) and it would be the best for him, if he wasn't crowded for the next few solar cycles. He will rely on you, Prowl, for everything, he may not even be willing to leave your side for a long time to come. I hope you know what you agreed to. If you have problems or questions concerning the care for a youngling, you know where you can find me. He will have to rest for a few cycles, so don't let him leave the berth for long. Take it slow on him, please."

Ratchet smirked at the protective stance the tactician had, unconsciously, gotten into in front of the mechling.

"And now, if you will excuse me, there is a berth waiting for me!" With slow, heavy movements Ratchet got to his pedes again, observing for a moment how Prowl lifted the smaller Praxian in his arms, cradling him against his chassis, mindful of the small wings. Prowl nodded shortly to Ratchet before walking out of the door behind Jazz, who waved lazily over his shoulder.

Ratchet turned off the light, a small goofy grin on his faceplates, his processor already playing pictures of his personal quarters, wash racks and his berth in a loop. The doors closed behind him and he turned to the door panel, to lock it for the cycle and to finally…

His commlink jumped to life with a rush of static and faint voices he was familiar with. Ratchet's helm met the wall beside him with a loud clanking sound, metal meeting metal. A pained groan escaped his twitching form as he opened the door to the medbay again, ignoring Jazz's inquisitive questions, he tried to concentrate on the message.

The sender was revealed to be Jolt and his team; the voices he could hear behind the static were agitated and mixed. All he could gather from the message was something about more than one survivor, heavily injured, to prepare energon and to get a hold of… a sparkling holder?!

To be sure that his underenergized processor didn't mess with his commlink he listened again to the message, and then a third and a fourth time. After finally confirming what he heard, he looked around the medbay and checking the time of presumed arrival all that was left for him to do was one thing: PANIC!

Ratchet lunged for his office, ripped open one of his cabinets and grabbed a cube of highgrade, he drowned it while sprinting back in the `bay to clean the berth the youngling had rested on. Halfway through the cleaning he threw the empty cube away in a bin, rolling a tray with medical tools to the berth. After that he nearly jumped through the door to one of the smaller cargo chambers around the medbay, got to his knees and shoved different, various things that had gone unused for a long time around till he got a hold of a grey cube-like device, as big as his servo. Ratchet hurried back, set the holder on one end of the berth and hooked it up to a few plugs and cables.

The small metal box with a glass roof onlined with a soft humming sound, the temperature slowly rising. Now, with the essential preparations done and with the highgrade powering his exhausted frame, he allowed himself a look around, mentally calculating all the tools he would need to treat patients.

His optics landed on Jazz, who leaned against the wall, his arms crossed in front of his chassis, his optic ridges arched in a questioning way. Ratchet opened his mouth to shout at him to get the frag out of his medbay, but even before his vocals could warm up for that the doors opened again, revealing Hound with a bleeding, nearly in stasis-lock adult Praxian, directly followed by Jolt, who had his servos clasped together in front of him and was looking around frantically.

Hound positioned the Praxian on the only available berth while Jolt pressed his servos nearer to his chassis, his desperate optics finally landing on his mentor and friend.

"Report!" Ratchet barked, already working on some leaking cables near the main energon line in the Praxian's back, avoiding every contact with the badly dented doorwings. Jolt had found the holder and had Hound open it for him, gently depositing his own cargo in it before turning back to his teacher, but one optic was still focused on the inhabitant of the holder.

"The Praxian, Smokescreen, was trapped in a hospital in the youth-sector. Hound found him while the rest of us looked for anything we could use. Because of the hospital's unstable structure Hound had to go alone and after a few Klikks he commed us, leading us to a destroyed working room. In there we found three offlined frames, two mechs and one femme. Lubricants and energon led to the conclusion of a birth. Hound showed me the sparkling and I tried everything in my power to warm it. But… it is unstable…"

While his assistant was talking in a rush, Ratchet sealed one major leak, but stopped short as Jolt ended his hurried words. Ratchet felt his spark clench painfully as his optics focused on the sparkling holder.

"Jolt, get you're aft over here and repair the Praxian! I will take care of the sparkling!" Jolt nodded and hurried over, passing Ratchet the sparkling holder gently. Ratchet got his first good look at the sparkling inside the cube and cursed to himself. The small one was curled up tightly into a protective ball, its small form a lifeless grey and the optics were offline.

The spark was unstable, indicating that there were no bonds to stabilize it. Further scans showed that the sparkling lacked any energy, the small tanks were empty and still unused, the creators hadn't had the chance to feed their small offspring. Small scrapes littered the Protoform, showing the force with which the small one was forced out of its carrier, probably by the nurses` servo. The nanites were offline, their support protocols would activate with the first energon the sparkling would consume.

Ratchet pressed his denta hard together, grinding them with fury. The whole situation could be solved in a few Klikks but that would involve creating a creator-creation bond, binding the newspark to a responsible `bot.

Ratchet let his optics flicker around. Most of the `bots in his medbay were too injured to take care of a small sparkling. That narrowed the options drastically, leaving just a servo-full of mechs that would be near enough to respond to this emergency.

Jazz was a saboteur and a spy, he would be away on long term missions quite frequently, leaving the sparkling alone. Not an option. And he would probably try to help Prowl, the little slagger had been pinning after the tactician for a while now.

Optimus Prime was a responsible mech, he would be a good sire one cycle, but his position as leader of the Autobots would make any offspring into a priority target for assassination attempts or to kidnap the little thing and use it as a hostage.

Ironhide was still the trigger happy old fragger he met at a bar, a great many vorns ago. His profession was too dangerous to sire a sparkling, you could never know if the gargantuan black weapon specialist would come back from a mission.

Prowl would be a good choice. The tactician was often at the base to coordinate work plans and defenses. But he wasn't an option either, he just took the surviving youngling in, he would have his servos full with the mechling.

Jolt was a gentle and caring mech with a soft spark and lots of empathy but he was too young, too inexperienced to be a sire. As far as Ratchet knew, the younger medic hadn't even interfaced!

First Aid was much the same as Jolt and even worse, he was part of a Gestalt. If the sparkling bonded with one, it would bond to all of them and Ratchet didn't trust several of the Gestalt members to take care of a sparkling.

The femmes would eagerly volunteer for the chance, their carrier protocols would jump alive instantly, but Ratchet couldn't let them do that. As far as the situation showed some points of the Decepticons view, they would try to offline every femme and youngling they could find. That would be dangerous to both the femmes and the sparkling.

Wheeljack was old enough, but… No… Just no…

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were not an option, the two former gladiators were too young and not mature enough. And he would rot in the Pit before he would ever give them a sparkling!

Hound was another possibility, but as a scout he was away often, mostly in dangerous surroundings, so he would be ruled out as well.

Ratchet sighed, his optics traveling over every bot in his medbay again, dismissing them all without much thought. Finally his gaze was back on the sparkling, this small new life resting in his servos, abandoned by force, never able to meet its creators.

Without help, it would offline soon.

They would never know if it was a mech or a femme, never hear it laugh and giggle, never comfort it when it was frightened, never tickle it, never…

His spark tugged painfully, aching like someone was squeezing it.

He groaned, one of his servos gently tracing over the glass roof of the sparkling holder, lingering over the shivering ball inside.

There was still one mech left to consider, an unbounded mech with a stable profession, not a fighter but supportive to everybot. Often grumpy and tense. This mech knew how to care for others. Groaning again, Ratchet slumped his shoulders and shuttered his optics for a Klikk, the good and bad sides were battling in his processor, and his spark felt torn. The war was raging through his whole frame, causing him to shiver slightly but he never slid his servo away from the glass.

The small screen on the side of the sparkling holder changed from green to orange, a warning sign for every medic that the small life was going to extinguish soon.

Ratchet looked around, Jolt was still working on the Praxian, Hound and Jazz were leaning against the wall and stared at him and the cube in his servos, their posture was tense and rigid.

"Ratchet? You have to do something… We can't let the small one offline! After all we did to get it here in time! Please, isn't there something we can do?" Hounds deep voice was trembling slightly.

"I… I WILL save the newspark, I promise…"

With this Ratchet opened the small hatch that covered his sparkling hold. His lingering servo opened the glass casing and gently grabbed the small ball, lifting it up and finally placed the small one in his sparkling hold. The hatch closed immediately.

Jazz and Hound gaped at him, their optics bulging and wide. Ratchet could feel his spark reach out, soft tendrils slowly engulfing the small one. He gasped to himself and sent a nudge through the half-formed bond. Again and again he nudged the unstable spark, hoping for and yet dreading an answering call.

A few tense Klikks passed without indication of an answer and Ratchets own spark was desperately trying to get a reaction, but there was nothing, not even a faint feeling.

Hesitantly his spark slowly loosened its grip, slowly going back to its own chamber and sorrow started to fill the old medic. He had really hoped that the small one would answer, he had been excited to be a creator, his processor produced pictures and images of family units and his spark …

Something tugged at the last tendril of his spark, which still hovered on the still frame inside of him. Instantly he nudged again and a new tug answered him.

Ratchet held his intakes, his optics dimmed in sudden hope as a bond formed. It burned slightly, but there was also a flow of raw feelings, so raw, fresh and honest that it could only come from the sparkling!

Fear, confusion, love and hunger he could feel and Ratchet sent back waves of love, reassurance and hope.

His parental protocols started to online themselves, filling him with confidence and a new wave of paternal protectiveness. Small cables, located near the spark chamber and without function so far, now relocated themselves, breaching through the sparkling hold and started pumping, but the tank, where the end of the cable was, was empty.

Ratchet swore under his breath and swayed on his pedes.

"Jazz, hurry! There is low-grade in the cargo! Grab a few cubes and give it to me!" Jazz sprinted out of his sight, not protesting or whining and he could feel several pairs of optics on him.

A low growl escaped his throat before he could prevent it and one of is servos cupped itself over his chassis, protecting the sparkling.

Three cubes of low-grade were suddenly shoved in his servo, a twitching Jazz standing in front of him, more cubes in his own digits. Instantly he started to chug down the energon and he could feel how the smaller tank filled, his nanites adding some more ingredients to the mix, converting it.

The new cable started pumping again and he could feel the sparkling uncurl inside of him, moving slightly and then latching onto the cable. The medic sent love through his new bond, receiving the same and happiness.

He cooed lowly.

Jazz stared.

Hound gaped.

Jolt froze.

They all had their optics on him.

"What?"

I really love it like this XD

Happy my Beta found me XD