First Aid was internally a wreck when he got home, and as expected, Hot Spot was waiting for him. He should have known he couldn't keep anything from him. "Don't you have patrol?"
His leader shrugged. "There are more important things. What happened to Draft?" He said, cutting right to the chase. That was pretty much all the medic had worried about for the last week, and Hot Spot knew about the extra shifts he was taking. But the sorrow he'd felt through the bond today really took the oil-cake.
First Aid sat down on the couch beside him. He said quietly, "The same thing that happened to me."
"Huh?"
"You remember our first battle, how Defensor took that plasma round at point blank? How it short circuited my processor?"
"No." Hot Spot gasped, knowing exactly what he meant. "Don't tell me he's-"
"Blind." First Aid choked out. "His processor...I thought there wasn't any permanent damage, but his optical feeds….he can't..."
"You did everything you could." Hot Spot assured.
"But he's even younger than I was! I knew the risks in that battle, I signed up for this. He's blind now Hot Spot, and we don't have the parts to fix it. But even if we did Ratchet's the only surgeon with enough experience to fix him. At best he'll have to have his feeds rewired into a visor like me."
"There's nothing wrong with having a visor." Hot Spot said. He flicked First Aid's. "Lots of 'bots have those."
His brother sighed. "For decoration. They can take theirs off and still see just fine."
"Still, surely using a visor is better than being blind."
"I don't know how to make one - I'm not an engineer." First Aid said. "To build one they'd have to sync with Draft's processor, but he thinks in his language from Dirt. This is all my fault."
"Hey, stop it. This is not your fault."
"It partly is. They should have known he didn't have a HUD, maybe this wouldn't have happened."
"Draft didn't have a HUD?" Hot Spot repeated. "What do you mean?"
First Aid leaned against him miserably. "I mean he didn't have a HUD. I installed it in him earlier, when he was in the brig, I thought it just needed to be reinstalled since someone had tampered with him. But he'd never had one before and got upset because he wasn't used to it so I taught him how to use it but not how not to use it."
Draft hadn't had a HUD before? That...actually explained a lot, actually. Wow. And what was that about someone tampering with him and being in the brig? "How's...how's he taking it?"
First Aid vented. "Not well. It's a good thing he can't talk yet."
"What does his guardian think?"
"I haven't told him. You know he hasn't come to visit once? And don't get me started on how he disciplines him. He hit him, 'Spot, for something that wasn't even his fault."
"What!" Hot Spot said sharply. "Who hit him? Whoever did shouldn't be his caretaker."
"There's nothing I can do about it. I hate to admit it, but this is still the best arrangement. I've been in Draft's processor; he's not a sparkling, not really. Primus he deserves better." First Aid said. He felt the same towards the other sparklings now on base - they didn't deserve to grow up in someone else's war either - but it was especially true in Draft's case.
Hot Spot suddenly perked up beside him.
"Hey, I know! Wheeljack owes me a favor. How about you get the specs and do the rewiring, and all he has to do is build it. No one else has to sync with Draft and find out."
"That could work...except I don't know how to do the surgery. Mine was done to me, not by me."
"Wheeljack can walk you through it."
"Isn't that a little suspicious?" First Aid asked. Hot Spot waved a servo dismissively.
"You can say you want to do it because you need the experience - even if Ratchet found out, it would make sense to him. No one would care."
Hot Spot paused and dug around in his subspace for an astro-second, pulling out a datapad. "We can design one that's really cool. He'd like that, right? Didn't you say his, uh, that planet's technology was only Class M? Besides, sparklings love new tech."
"I mean, I guess." First Aid agreed hesitantly, but his own visor was brightening at the idea. That might actually work. Wheeljack didn't have to know the real reason Draft fried his processor, and this way Draft could see again, even if it was through a visor and not his optics. Which they could possibly fix much later, if the right mech and parts came along. It was better than staying blind by a long shot. And Draft's cover wouldn't be broken as long as Wheeljack didn't mention it to Ratchet.
They spent the rest of his off-shift brainstorming on the stupid thing, most of Hot Spot's ideas not even physically possible (First Aid had had to put his foot down on the laser vision one, saying, "You can't make him shoot lasers out of it, that's not even remotely practical"). Blades dropped by and upon hearing their unfortunate news and subsequent solution, suggested a hologram capability. And also lasers. First Aid threatened to put them both on medical leave if they said that again.
"So why does Wheeljack owe you a favor?" First Aid asked. Hot Spot would take their finished design to Wheeljack he went and got the specs from Draft.
Hot Spot snickered. "Oh, I am so glad you asked. See, one time, I was helping him with these subspace modulators, and he….-"
"Draft? I know you can hear me. Hello?"
~...~
"Draft, please respond."
~...~
"Come on, I got something for you." First Aid fished. Still nothing. Okay, time to pull a Streetwise. If Draft was going to be a sparkling about it, then so could he. "Draft. Hey, Draft. Draft-Draft-Draft-Draft-Draft-Draft-Draft-Draft-Draft-Draft-Draft-Draft-Draft-Draft-Draft-Draft-Draft-Draft Draft-Draft-"
~Go. Away.~
Yup, the kid was still upset. "I found a way for you to see again."
~...You mean...you can fix me?~
"Yes, but I'll have to put you under for the operation when it's ready to be wired in. Do I have your permission to do that?"
This wasn't a "necessary" surgery, so he had to ask. Though technically Draft was a minor; he was sure there was some loophole somewhere that allowed him to do whatever he wanted within reason. But it was still right to ask.
~Sure I guess. Wire what in?~
"Your new visor."
~My new...what?~
~Think high tech glasses for Cybertronians.~ First Aid compared, deciding not to say that out loud. There were similarities. ~I wear a wired visor for similar reasons.~
~Can I ever take it off?~ Draft despaired.
~When we can replace the part of your processor that's been affected. And you can physically remove it any time you like, you just won't be able to see without it.~
~Okay. Sure. I mean yes, yes, I'll try anything!~ The sparkling accepted, like he thought First Aid might take it back.
~I have to go now, but don't worry, I'll see you soon.~
~Ha ha, very funny.~ Draft thought, though he was in a loads better mood than his earlier moping. He was going to see again? He was going to see again! Maybe. Likely. He supposed he semi-sort-of-maybe trusted First Aid, at least more than anyone else in this dump. He didn't know what he'd do if he remained blind, surrounded by strangers in a strange place.
...
Draft got his voice before his visor. He was just laying there as usual when he mentally groaned out of sheer boredom, only to hear it out loud.
Wait.
"H...hello?" Draft said hoarsely. He could hear the beeping of medbay machinery, but no footsteps coming his way at the word. First Aid must be somewhere else.
He could talk! Woohoo! This was a step in the right direction, a definitive sign he was getting better. He'd rather see more than talk, but since that would soon be taken care of anyway he'd take what he got. He could talk!
When First Aid did come back that day, he waited until he felt the mech leaning over him, hand clasping his as the other worked at his dataport, saying, "Hey. Twitch your finger if you're awake."
~Lean in closer.~
"Um, why?" First Aid asked. Through the uplink, Draft urged, ~Just do it!~, mentally laughing at himself when he remembered the old meme. When First Aid leaned in closer he suddenly screeched "HEY!".
"Primus!" First Aid jumped. He scolded, "Don't do that!" Then it dawned on him. "Your vocalizer works?"
'Yup! H-How soon until I get the, uh, v-visor?"
Welp, his vocalize was working alright. Too bad he sucked at Standard. He felt First Aid pat his shoulder. "Actually, I was just coming to tell you Wheeljack finished."
"Who?"
"The mech who's making your visor. He'll be walking me through the procedure tomorrow."
"Wait, you've n-never d-done this before?"
"Don't worry." First Aid said. "I'm a professional."
"That doesn't make me feel b-better."
The medic suddenly said, "Uh-oh, Ratchet's coming," and left. A minute later Draft heard Ratchet ask him to get some more mesh gauze for someone else named Steeljaw.
Huh. Steeljaw. That was an interesting name. It always amused him to learn new people's designations. Strange that they actually meant something here, which was part of the reason he'd picked "Draft". In Iaconian-Standard it merely meant a current of air, which made sense for a flyer. But in English it could also mean 'to be drafted', another way to stick it to the Wreckers since he hadn't been allowed to keep his real name.
...
"Still alive?" First Aid asked some time later.
"Only on the outside." Draft snickered. "Is it t-time?"
"Yes. Wheeljack, this is Draft. Draft, uh...Wheeljack." First Aid introduced, forgetting for a second that Draft couldn't see him thus making the introduction kind of pointless.
"Nice to meet you." Came a cheery voice.
"H-hi."
"Okay, I'm going to sedate you out here before we move you to one of the surgery rooms." First Aid said.
Draft was actually kind of nervous, even if he knew he had to do this, and he agreed, "Okay," keeping his voice as steady as he could. Something clicked into the dataport on his arm and he was suddenly drowsy. A different kind of blackness, the kind of not being verses not seeing, claimed him.
/Is he awake yet? What's taking so long? Primus, this kid recharges like the dead./
/Or maybe you're just impatient. Ever think about that?/
/Shut up Streetwise./
/Blades, the orn I follow that order from you is the orn Pit freezes over./
/How about I order you both to shut up and stop distracting First Aid?/ Hot Spot said. They were on the comm, watching through a patch through First Aid's optics to see Draft's reaction to his new visor. Which was technically illegal. But Hot Spot had insisted since this was his idea, and no one would be the wiser.
/Guys, stop it, I think he's waking up./ Groove interrupted.
Sure enough, Draft gave a groggy groan. He couldn't move, so he cried, "First Aid? Are you there? I, I still can't see anything."
His optics, a solid white, clearly registered nothing. They all heard First Aid say, "I'm right here. And that's because your visor's currently retracted."
"How do I m-make it come out?" .
"Just think about it. Like when you transform - you have the parts, you just have to think about using them." First Aid explained, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Draft didn't say anything. After a minute of silence he must have figured it out. He gasped as from each side of his face a piece of visor twisted and unfurled until the two halves met in the middle. The ends intertwined and locked, which started the boot up sequence that made the previously opaque glass turn blue. The look of astonishment on Draft's face was priceless.
"I can see!" He shouted, grinning like a lunatic.
"How many fingers am I holding up?" First Aid asked, the sparkling's expression making his spark melt. A smile like that was rare to come by these days.
/Yay! It worked./ Streetwise cheered over his comm.
/Ooh, ooh, First Aid, tell him about the holo-thingy. Tell him it was my idea./ Blades demanded. They all heard Draft say,
"How do I look?"
"Good. Really good." First Aid told him, his own visor bright. And he meant it. Draft really did look good with the custom visor; it was thin and ice blue. It made him look sharp.
/Tell him he looks like a dork./ Streetwise sniggered. /Like you./
/Nah mech, visors get all the femmes./
/Would you two be quiet? Blades, he's like five./
/Yeah, like you're one to talk you pedophile./ Streetwise reminded him, and he and Groove laughed. When they had relayed First Aid's story about Draft, the first thing the helicopter said was, "Vector Sigma I'm going to jail." He'd thought the sparkling was cute, even fragging material, but not anymore.
They were never going to let him live that one down.
"There's some other features I need to go through with you. Focus on the bottom right side of your field of vision. See the tiny circle? Keep your focus on it." First Aid instructed him.
"A...menu just popped up. There's different color blocks." Draft said.
"Good. The green rectangle is for night vision. The red is for infrared. The yellow is for scanning. The black-"
"Woah woah woah, infrared? Night vision?" Draft breathed. First Aid got the impression that if he could move, he would be jumping up and down in excitement right now. "Damn, what else does this thing do? Shoot lasers?"
/I told you it was a good idea!/ Streetwise laughed. Hot Spot sent a smug ping to First Aid, who tried his best not to facepalm in front of Draft now that he could see it and think it was because of him.
"Uh, no, I'm afraid it doesn't do that." He chuckled. "I'm glad you like it though."
"First Aid, I love it! Thank you! Really. What do the other colors do?" Draft said. He was already trying out the night vision, which didn't work quite as advertised in the brightly lit operating room.
"The white changes tint; if you focus on it, another color menu will pop up, and you can tint everything in your vision that color." First Aid Said. "Though it's kind of pointless. And the black is for projection. It's a little more complicated."
"How come?"
First Aid was confused by the phrase. "What?"
"I mean why. Projection? Like, I can watch videos on it?"
"You could do that with your HUD anyway. I mean you can project holograms with it."
"Bullshit." Draft immediately challenged, fighting the smile that threatened to take over his face again. This was So. Cool.
"I...don't know what that phrase means either." First Aid admitted. What did animal fecal matter have to do with anything? Gross.
/What did he say?/ Hot Spot wanted to know.
/Was that the alien language? Make him say something else./ Groove pestered, intrigued.
First Aid ignored his brothers, used to Draft's bouts of English, as the Earth mecn explained, "I mean no way. Are you s-serious? I can do that? C-Can you do that?"
"No. My visor wasn't modified that way."
"But mine was, err, is?" Draft clarified. He couldn't believe it. This was like something out of a Star Trek episode. Wow.
First Aid nodded. "Yes. I believe the phrase is, merry Christmas?"
Okay, first of all, it was past December, but Draft didn't have the heart to tell him. Wait a second. How long had he been missing? Draft had been on Ultra Magnus's ship nearly a month traveling to this stupid planet, and he'd been a member of its Autobot army for maybe another one. It was probably around February or March back home.
Damn.
"Yeah, uh, merry Christmas." Draft just went with it. It was the thought that counted. And to be honest, this was one of (if not the) coolest gifts he'd ever received. Discounting the fact that he was blind without it.
/The slag are you two saying to each other?/
/Now kiss./ Streetwise snickered.
/Party's over, get out of my head./
/Aww, but First Aid…./
/Bye./
The patch was abruptly disconnected, leaving the other four Protectobots in the blank. In reality Blades was sitting beside Streetwise on the couch in their quarters, and he punched him, laughing, "Now kiss? You are such a codpiece."
"Hey, it was funny." The racer defended, trying to not giggle at how abruptly First Aid had booted them. That alien phrase must have actually been an endearment or something. Ha. "I'm glad he liked it. He'll probably find a way to get himself slagged with it though. I can't believe he fried himself so badly with a datapad - that takes talent."
"He does seem to have a knack for getting slagged." Blades mused, standing up and stretching.
"Where are you going?"
"Out. I haven't flown in a while."
"Ugh, that is such an excuse."
Unlike ground troops, those with aerial alt-modes could go outside - even if only a few hundred thousand feet - whenever they wanted. Streetwise snorted. Blades could go frag himself. He exited his quarters, going the opposite direction as Blades, towards the rec room.
/Hey Slingshot, you busy?/ He commed.
/That depends./ The aerialbot replied. /What do you need?/ The two were friends; maybe it was a shared love of annoying their commanders. Maybe it was maybelline.
/How about a wingman? Rec room in five?/
/You know every mech and their creator's doing the same thing now that the femmes are back, right?/
/So? Since when have terrible odds ever stopped you before?/
/Pfft, never. That's probably why I'm terrible at Ranker, ask Smokescreen. I'm in./
I just thought how cool it would be if Draft had a kick-ass visor, and it'll have relevance later I swear.