A/N: Be warned, there IS a scene of child abuse this chapter.

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CHAPTER 10
An Unexpected Episode

Scott felt like utter crap that morning, but mostly kept it quiet. It wasn't that he didn't want to lay down, but it was more that he didn't want the help. He'd gotten good at keeping it hidden when he lived with his aunt and uncle. Neither of them liked it when he was sick, in fact, most of the time it made them angry that they had to put extra work into taking care of him. So he smiled and sucked up all the pain that his stomach felt, even if he had the feeling that Bluestreak could easily tell that he was having a little trouble breathing. Nor the fact he had been coughing for what seemed like forever, for that matter.

Prowl, being the most astute of the two, was inevitably the one that looked over at him the most. No doubt he was suspicious about the fact that he mostly kept quiet and to himself. Which was because Bluestreak wasn't yet aware that the last time he tried talking too much, he had barely been able to speak. But as rough as the feeling was, he was not going to let it ruin their day. He was not going to have Bluestreak be pulled out of work to take him to see a doctor, he could handle this.

"Scott," The boy looked up as Prowl's optic ridge shot up. "Are you functioning properly? You seem to have perspiration everywhere. And you look very... Clammy as I think the humans call it?" Scott looked up and nodded his head, doing his best to perk up. "Youngling, I don't think lying is the best way to handle this. It was a rhetorical question. What is wrong?"

Scott looked at them, his eyes looking between the two mechs. Could they actually detect if someone was sick, and simply not tell from what? He wrapped his arms gently around his stomach, trying to keep his cool. "I-I'm fine," Scott stated, a belch following that made him quickly cover his mouth. "N-e-e-e-ever been better," He gave a thumbs up.

The mistake of removing the hand from his mouth was ultimately what gave him away. As the next thing any of them knew, a mixture of food and water was covering the floor in front of the human sized couch. He clenched slightly, whimpering, though the purging felt good, he also felt pain, and what's more he felt embarrassed now too. "Whoa!" Bluestreak mouthed, his eyes looking over at Scott. "Scotty, are you okay bud?"

But Scott couldn't have responded if he wanted to, he felt the world around him get dizzy, and breathing getting harder and harder. He wasn't sure what was happening, but he could hear as Bluestreak shouted his name, and for someone named Ratchet. What was happening, was he dying? He didn't know, but he sure felt scared. "Scotty? SCOTT! Stay with me, buddy," Bluestreak told him loudly enough that he could make out his voice in the haze. "Slaggit, Scott, don't pass out on me."

He could hear and see Prowl nearby too, what was happening? Why couldn't he breathe? Why did his chest hurt so much? All these questions flooded his head and kept his terrified long before he made out the sight of a green-ish yellow, older mech rushing towards him. The mech in question hovered over the boy, his scanners moving over every inch of him. "Bluestreak," Ratchet turned his head to him. "Are you honestly telling me you had no idea your ward had asthma?"

"H-He, I mean no one ever said!" Bluestreak panicked. "I thought he may have been under the weather. But then he started doing this, and oh slag Ratchet," He breathed out. "You have an inhaler right, or something?" He asked.

The medic gave the younger mech a look as if he were crazy, but quickly transformed one of his fingers He didn't have an inhaler, but he did have a device in his many supplies he'd stored in his transforming hand that functioned just as well. Soon, it had turned into a small, rounded cup like shape, that when looked through seemed to go through into darkness. "Scott?" Scott groaned. "I'm going to need you to breathe in for me. I know it hurts, but breathe in," He added.

Scott had no way of replying as Ratchet quickly moved the transformed finger over his mouth. As he did as the mech said, he could clearly feel his air passageways clearing, and his line of vision clearing too. He whimpered slightly, but the more he breathed in the more he could feel his ability to breathe coming back. "He's stabilizing, thank Primus," Ratchet turned to Bluestreak slowly. "But if the boy has asthma, he needs a prescription and an inhaler, PRIMUS. This attack was quite severe, if I was not on-hand he might not have gotten to a hospital in time," He added.

Once he had finally calmed down, Ratchet removed his finger and transformed it back. Scott cried quietly, even if he could breathe again, curling into a ball slightly. He didn't know what this asthma was, but it was a feeling that he hated all the same. He coughed a little as Bluestreak carefully took him into his cuffed hand. "Scotty, Scotty are you okay?" Scott whimpered a little more. "Ratch?"

"I have equipment more suited to keep him calmed down in the med bay," Ratchet explained. "Let's hurry before this jars his body into a state of shock. If this was the first time he's had an episode, and it scared him... There's a good chance of that," He added.

Scott barely paid attention to what was said then, his body weak and tired. Perhaps, in that moment, it wasn't the best idea to drift off into sleep, but all the same, he did just that. And to his horror, when he did, it was exactly what he feared he might dream about.

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In the dream, Uncle Henry had come home drunk again. That was nothing new, nothing new at all in fact. At the time, he was about six, a little over a year after he had been separated from Bluestreak. And only a few months into the living hell that had become his life. He remembered he was playing with a Hot Wheels car on the floor when the back door slammed shut and Henry made his way towards him, the smell of booze, and who knew what else lingering in his nostrils. He remembered that the smell was horrible, and often came with a few good kicks to him out of anger or spite.

But today, Henry wasn't looking to beat him. No, he was looking to do far worse.

The tall man stopped just behind him, looking down at the little boy as he played in the living room. Scott had barely paid attention, but Henry was about to make sure he was paying tons of it, not that he had a choice. "Get up," Henry told him coldly as Scott looked up at him. "Did you hear me you turd-faced, defective little monster?" That time, like most times, he went for his dark hair, grabbing a large clump of it and dragging him to his feet. "We got company comin' big time investors," He added.

"O-O-O-O-" Scott began to stutter out.

"STOP TALKING! God, what did I tell ye? If I want to hear your voice I'll say so," The man rubbed his arm against his nose, and began to drag him down the hallway nearest to the living room. "Listen, you twerp, this one doesn't like kids. And he sure as hell doesn't know you're living here," He added, stopping in front of the door to their basement and pushing it open. "So I'm gonna need you to be a good little boy and stay in the basement for a while."

"Y-You ne-e-e-ever clean it," Scott muttered. "Spiders, A-A-Auntie says."

Henry's mouth seemed to twitch in the way it often did when he was truly annoyed. His eyes flaring up with anger for a moment. Scott didn't even know he had pushed him until he was hitting the bottom step with a loud thud. He felt his arm snap, and screamed, but Henry didn't seem to care, he only lingered at the top step, staring down at him. "I'll be back for ye in the morning," Henry replied sharply. "Because defective little intolerable insects like you don't deserve to be seen around high-class folks like us," He added.

Once the door slammed shut, it wouldn't open for another week. It was the most terrifying week Scott ever spent, which was why it ultimately stuck with him. He remembered how he could barely breathe by the end of it, given the dust was so heavy in the air. He remembered how he had twice had to kick away a couple of rats that had taken to chewing at his clothes, and be weary of a few spiders down there. When Henry had come for him, he'd explained they'd decided to take a vacation down to Vegas, but somewhere along the line, forgot they'd left him there.

When he was out of the basement, he was taken to the hospital and given a cast. And after that, he was greeted by a breakfast of half-cooked meat, and expired milk, since neither his aunt or uncle cared much to feed him. They were mad at him for breaking his arm, mad that it had brought up questions, mad enough that he knew another beating was coming soon. But he'd never forget what it was like in there, nor how hard it was to breath, or how frightening it was to not have anything to eat or drink for days.

And it wouldn't be the last time he spent his days in the basement either.

...

He awoke from the memory filled dream with a violent start, breathing out heavily. He quickly noticed that he had a face mask over his nose and mouth, which seemed to be feeding him air, and clearing his breathing even better. He felt a metal hand fall over him, and quickly found that Bluestreak was leaning over him his optics filled with soft concern. "Easy, Scotty, it's okay," Bluestreak whispered quietly. "We got to keep you on that a little bit longer, bud. That was a pretty bad attack you had," He paused. "Did you even know you had asthma? Because if you did, you should have told me! I would never leave home without your inhaler if I knew."

Scott shook his head, not aware of what asthma even was. Though he was thoroughly aware that he hated it, especially for giving him similar feelings to what it was like to be in that basement. He shuddered quietly, a tear sliding down his cheek slightly. "Hey, don't cry, you're okay now!" Bluestreak insisted. "Blue's gotcha Scotty," He stated rubbing the child's arm with his finger. "Nothing bad is going to happen to you, I promise. We're gonna get you a prescription and you'll never have to worry about this again." He explained.

To his surprise, Scott didn't fight the comfort. But rather, he leaned against his guardian's finger as if looking for more of it. It might have been a sign of relief for the mech, if he didn't remember plain as day the words Scott had quietly cried in his sleep. "Not the basement. N-N-N-N-Not the basement!" A sign that Bluestreak didn't like but was not about to question the child about now, not when he had had such a scary episode to seemingly drag up some form of memory for the boy.

For now, he simply watched him with newfound, even worse concern. Between the episode, and whatever nightmare he had unleashed, he wondered if it would put Scott right back in his shell. Especially if, and the chances were good, the experience had triggered a memory. Shuttering his optics, he took in a deep vent of air, and began to pray to Primus this would not be the case.

...

A/N: For those wanting more Ratchet, he and Scott will formally meet next chapter, rest assured!