A/N: Sorry for the wait. I'd meant to post last week but my computer stopped recognizing my charger. Fixed now. There was some sort of static build up in the battery.
While I accept and often encourage criticism, I'm going to ask that no one flame this chapter (not that anyone has given me any sort of grief so far). This is based pretty heavily off my own life and experiences. I hope the emotion comes across as deeply as I felt it while writing.
One last thing. School's started up again, so posts will always be at least two weeks apart. If it will be any longer than that, or if something happens that makes it so that I can't update, I'll let you know on my profile.
Thank you all for your continued support of this story. Enjoy.
A brown haired head peaked from under the covers, a common hiding place for young Rafael. His hand, not far behind, slithered out to grasp at the phone about to vibrate off the nightstand. The light illuminated the makeshift blanket fort as he ducked back under. It took a moment to locate the 'answer' button against the blinding cell phone back light.
"Hello?" Raf whispered just loud enough to drown out the sound of escalating voices from the floor below.
"Hey, Raf." Jack sounded tired beyond his years.
"Hey, uh, Jack," Rafael mumbled. He winced as a crash rang through the floor. "Can I call you back? This is kinda a bad time." The shouting increased, Rafael retreated further into his makeshift cave.
"No, Raf," Jack said, a bit more hurried in his speech, "Bee and I are coming to get you. You need to come down to base."
Raf shook his head even though he knew Jack could not see the gesture. "I can't, Jack. It's past curfew and there's no way I'd be able to sneak out right now." A shout of frustration from the kitchen punctuated his statement.
Jack's tone softened, lowering to nearly a whisper. "Raf," He mumbled, "Ratchet isn't going to make it through the night."
"Wh-what?" Raf stuttered. "But your mom said he had at least another week before we had to put him in the CR Chamber."
"I know. But he had a nasty seizure this morning." Jack explained, "If my mom's cure doesn't work then this will be our last opportunity to talk to him."
There was a moment of silence. "O-okay," Raf sounded near tears, "I'll figure something out."
"Bee and I will wait across the street for you." With a sigh Raf clicked off his phone and held his hands in his head and allowed himself to cry. Heavy sobs wracked his small body. He was nowhere near as attached to Ratchet as he was his own guardian, but he had come to see the elder bot as a mentor and friend.
Eventually the flow of tears dried up and Rafael drew in several deep breaths, composing himself. He had to come up with a way to get past his parents, who by the sound of it were still in the kitchen.
The young boy slipped his head out of his bedroom door, scanning the hallway. When he saw the coast was clear he slid out, closing the door behind him as quietly as possible.
"What are you up to, Champ?" Raf whirled, nearly smashing his nose against the broad chest of his elder brother.
"M-Miguel," He stuttered, "I didn't know you were up."
Miguel shrugged. "Thought I heard crying." He wiped gently at his sibling's cheeks. "You okay, Raf?" Rafael stared for a moment, brilliant mind working quickly to come up with a response. If he played this right Miguel would help him but say too much and he'd grow suspicious.
Raf sighed, exaggerating the action just enough. "I'm just sick of the shouting and screaming and fighting," he whimpered, "I was going to spend the night at a friend's. It's not like we have school tomorrow. And I practically live there already. He's already outside to pick me up." At the fundamental level, it truly was not a lie. Miguel placed a hand on his shoulder, nodding. He too had snuck out on occasion.
"Okay. Let's you and I go for a walk, huh, Bud?" He winked down at the smaller boy. Raf nodded slightly uncertain. Miguel steered him by the shoulders to the stairs. Half way out the door Rafael's brother turned and shouted back into the house. "Going out, be back in a bit!" Once safely outside he pointed to the Camaro across the street. "I'll assume that's your ride?" Raf nodded, already half way across the street. He stopped and turned, bolting back. Small hands wrapped about Miguel's larger waist. He ruffled his younger brother's hair, chuckling.
"I'll call in the morning," Raf called over his shoulder as he stepped into Bumblebee's back seat.
"Who's that?" Jack asked as he mimicked putting Bumblebee into gear.
Rafael leaned forward over the back of the seat. "Older brother. Remind me to call him in the morning or he'll worry." Jack nodded. The ride was silent, almost overwhelmingly so until they pulled into the Nevada desert. Jack leaned back in his seat, muscles tight with stress.
"Hey, Raf," He mumbled. The younger boy leaned forward to meet his gaze. "Just… just brace yourself. It's not really a pretty sight." Rafael made a questioning hum, asking for elaboration. "You can probably talk to him if you want but Ratch has been in and out for a while now. His plating's pretty grey too. Optimus says that's natural when they're this sick but it's still pretty bad looking. I just don't want you to be freaked out." Rafael nodded, small tears streaking down his cheeks.
Jack glanced back at his companion. "You know you don't have to talk to him. You don't even have to see him. If it's too much, that's okay. This is tough for someone so young. Tough for everyone. Ratch would understand." Rafael shook his head furiously, batting away tears as they came.
"I'm okay, Jack. I want to see him." Jack nodded, silently facing forward as the large disguised doors to the missile silo rumbled open.
Upon entering, the base was silent beyond the droning hum of machinery, and the rhythmic beeping of the spark monitors. Raf could already hear the difference in Ratchet's pulse from yesterday. It was slower, infrequent. With a gentle hand, Jack shuffled the younger boy into the medbay, his mouth drawn in a tight line and his steps as quiet as he could make them. Optimus greeted them with a small nod before returning to his hunched position over Ratchet's frame. He held the elder mech's hand in his, touching his fingers to his chin, while his elbows rested on the edge of the birth. From the dim glow of his optics, Raf guessed he hadn't moved to recharge or refuel for at least the last twelve hours. Bumblebee stooped next to his leader, situating himself near Ratchet's still legs. He leaned into his leader's side with a sigh.
Arcee sat at the monitors, gaze never leaving the flickering pulse of Ratchet's spark as it flashed across the screen. Bulkhead was the furthest away, sitting cross-legged with Miko in his lap, head leaned back against the wall behind him, optics turned up to stare blankly at the high ceiling. The small Japanese girl sniffled into his plating, where she had been crying periodically throughout the night. June was the most active, wandering the medbay, checking the CR Chamber readouts and gathering supplies. Jack quickly moved to help her with an armful of boxes. Raf turned to glance at the one bot he had been avoiding looking at.
As Jack said it would be, Ratchet's plating was a dull, sickly grey. Paint had flecked off in places as the dead nanites had ceased to cling to his frame. Tubes and cables snaked from his form, most of them spark support. And IV fed energon into his lines while a larger set of cables hung from his side vents, forcefully pumping air into his overheating frame. Ratchet's chest rose up and down in uneven jolts, as if his body was forgetting to breath, then suddenly remembering, spurring his vents into a shuttering gasp instead of a smooth breath. The tube down his intake surely couldn't have helped, though it did keep him from suffocating if he purged. Another cable, this one thinner and giving off a slight pulsing glow, snaked behind Ratchet's audiles to monitor his processor activity. For a moment, Rafael watched the readout pulse steadily, like ocean waves. A spike, accompanied by a soft beep, caused him to flinch in surprise.
Ratchet stayed motionless, only his optics shuttering open, dimly glowing, as he was roused from his near unconscious recharge. Optimus laid down the medic's hands and pushed himself up in his chair, smiling down warmly at his companion. "Rafael is here," He whispered. Ratchet was still for a long moment, breathing evening out as his conscious mind took control. He reached up with an unsteady hand to pull at the tube down his throat. Optimus pulled his hand away with a sigh.
"We can't remove it, Ratchet," Optimus chided, "You know that." The medic whimpered softly, displeased with the answer. Optimus shook his head before glancing up at the group's smallest human. With a slight nod of his helm, he beckoned Rafael over. The young boy climbed the rungs of the medical berth and stood uncertainly at Ratchet's side.
"His mental integrity has degraded somewhat," Optimus said by way of explanation, a sad smile still forced onto his derma. "He can understand you, but much of the area that connects his voice box to his processor is corrupted." Ratchet watched Optimus intently, studying his mouth as if it helped him to understand the Prime's words. When Optimus pointed to Rafael, the medic's gaze followed. His optics lit up in understanding when he saw the boy.
Rafael trembled, tears running down his cheeks. "Hey," He choked out, not knowing what else to say.
Ratchet's brow furrowed and his mouth opened and closed around the breathing tube. "Short white," was his only response. Raf glanced up at Optimus.
"His mind doesn't always send the right words," June called from where she was now sitting next to Arcee. "Just be patient with him. If it's important, he'll find the words for it." She smiled at Raf before turning back to study the monitors. Rafael nodded, gulping down a few big breaths of air. He was struggling. Struggling not to cry, struggling with what to say, struggling to keep from fleeing the room. He'd told Jack he'd be alright, but now he wasn't so sure.
Optimus, thankfully, noticed his plight. "Rafael," he began, clearing his throat, "Ratchet wanted to thank you for all your help with the base's systems. He could not have navigated them so easily without you." Ratchet nodded ever so slightly, seeming to understand and agree. Rafael wiped his eyes of his sleeve. Bumblebee whirred sadly next to Optimus, watching his charge and his mentor interact for what could easily be the last time.
"You're welcome," Raf breathed. He stood for a moment longer before launching himself at Ratchet's arm, gripping the metal. The medic jerked, startling. Rafael sobbed into his plating. "I don't want you to leave," he cried. "You're family, we need you. We need you." Bumblebee stood and rounded the berth, placing a finger to his charge's back. Gently he pulled him away, until the boy was sitting in his hand, tears pouring down his face and hugging Bumblebee's thumb. The scout chirped at him in what was meant to be a soothing manner. Even through his weeping, the young boy noticed with a twist of his stomach that Bumblebee, too, was trembling.
Ratchet watched from his place on the berth, optics wide and mouth drawn into a sad line as best it could. "Rafael."
Raf's head jerked up at his name. He whirled about to face Ratchet, pressing further into Bumblebee's palm.
"Don't be afraid," Ratchet ground out, words slurred and voice rough, "Don't be afraid. I'm not." With a small smile, he lowered his head back to berth and shuttered his optics. "Okay to be sad," he breathed, systems returning to the grinding, uneven canter of a pained recharge. On the far end of the room Miko began sobbing again. Bulkhead clicked sadly along with her, his hands wrapped about her small, shaking form.
Optimus ran a hand over Ratchet's helm. "How is he, June?" He asked, glancing up at the nurse.
June never turned her gaze from the monitors, but the small shake of her shoulders betrayed her struggle to fight back tears. "He's just recharging, Optimus. His vitals are holding steady for now. I don't think he'll fall comatose until early morning at least." The Prime nodded before he turned back to his self appointed task of keeping a strong grip on Ratchet's hands, as if holding onto the medic's very life. Bumblebee carried his charge over to lean against the wall next to Bulkhead and Miko, sensing that Rafael, in all his innocence, could withstand little more at the current moment. Miko reached across Bulkhead's knee to grasp at Rafael's hand.
Jack nudged at Arcee's elbow. "Why don't you go recharge, 'Cee." He pushed against her harder when he gained no response. "You've been staring at those monitors for almost a full day now. We'll let you know if anything changes." Arcee silently shook her head, gaze never leaving the brightly lit screens. But after a moment she sighed, nodding. With a heavy frame and even heavier spark, the two-wheeler stood, dragging her feet towards the medbay doors. On her way by she placed her forehead on Ratchet's, touching their helm crests together.
"I'll be back soon, Ratch," She whispered, "Hang in there for me." The medic's helm twitched as the coolness of her frame retreated from his overly hot plating. Bulkhead stood and followed her out, a now sleeping Miko in his hands. Ratchet groaned lightly as the medbay door squeaked shut.
The remaining members of the groups sat silently, unsure of what to say or do. June was the most familiar to being around the ill. While for the most part she would simply go about her business, checking that the CR Chamber was prepared correctly for Ratchet, she would commonly stop and crack a joke, make an off-hand comment or lean down to give her shadow of a son a hug. Jack followed her incessantly, never leaving his mother's side. He helped with whatever she happened to be doing. June assumed it was simply to keep his mind busy and thus allowed it without any comment.
Rafael and Bumblebee both quickly fell into an uneasy slumber, the young boy curled up in the scout's lap while Bee's helm rolled to the side as he dreamed. Optimus never moved from Ratchet's side, his stoic attention never flickering, even as the night wore on.
Midnight had come and gone when the proximity sensors sounded throughout the base, muffled by the walls of the medbay. It was a groggy Arcee that answered the call. Moments later the medbay doors opened, admitting a ruffled Agent Fowler. The special agent looked about the room with a sigh as Ratchet roused once again. Fowler pulled himself up to the edge of the berth.
"Ratchet." He placed a hand on Ratchet's arm as if her were made of glass. "Hey, Ratchet."
The medic stared at him a long moment, vents working in short gasps while his processor booted as much as it was able. He muttered several clicks in Protihexian. Optimus chuckled and responded in an Iaconian dialect. Fowler's brow furrowed.
"What'd he say," He asked. The Prime smiled lightly.
"Nothing of value, I assure you," He responded, "Though I believe he was attempting a greeting."
"Ah," Fowler breathed, nodding. His own grandmother had done the same thing after she'd had a stroke. Words had been disconnected from their meanings and she frequently switched between English and what high-school-level French she knew. Despite the fact that she had passed away not but a year later, it had made for some humorous stories later on. "He can understand me though, right?"
Ratchet grunted an acknowledgement, very much aware that what he was speaking was nonsense.
"Good," Fowler mumbled, his voice gaining confidence as he spoke. "I need you to listen to me for a moment, Ratchet. This is important." He patted Ratchet's arm when the medic began to drift off, jerking him back awake. He waited for an acknowledgement before continuing. "Everyone here loves you, and everyone here would easily die for you. None of us want to see you go. But if Primus," He glanced up to Optimus for a conformation on the deity's name. "But if Primus comes for you, you go with him, understood soldier? You fight to stay with us, but if it's your time, you go."
"Hand too won't be," Ratchet mumbled, his optics scrunched and growing dimmer by the moment.
Optimus stroked the medic's chevron. "While I believe he understands your sentiments, Agent Fowler," Prime began, "Ratchet is a staunch atheist, despite the fact that I have personally conversed with Primus and he was the one to aid me in reaching the Maker's spark."
Fowler chuckled. "Leave it to Ratch. If he can't test it, examine it, and explain it, it doesn't exist."
"Indeed," Optimus agreed. He glanced up at his crew's only femme, who was now positioned back at the monitors, back facing her Prime. Her wing struts drooped slightly. "Arcee," He called, "could you fetch a cold compress. I'm afraid Ratchet's processor is overheating." She stood silently to gather the requested supplies. The cloth draped over Ratchet's chevron, clinging to its points. He sighed in relief as the compress did the job that his frame no longer could, feeling his thoughts clear somewhat of the hazy fog that had clouded them.
"Agent staying?" He asked, yet again reaching up to attempt to remove the tube down his throat. Optimus grabbed his hands and gently pinned them to the berth.
"No, Ratchet. You can't touch that," Optimus chided, frowning when Ratchet struggled weakly. Bulkhead entered just at the Prime placed his arm over Ratchet's hands, leaning into the berth to keep the medic still. The wrecker chuckled.
"Hey, Jackie," He called over his shoulder, "We could probably use your expertise in here." Wheeljack bolted in, his pedes skidding on the concrete before he realized there was no true emergency.
"Don't do that, Bulk," he nearly snapped, taking Ratchet's hands from Optimus' hold. The Prime smile gratefully. He was afraid he would inadvertently harm the medic. Wheeljack leaned over Ratchet, a stern look to his face. "Ratchet, stop," he demanded, tone quiet yet harsh. The medic attempted to pull his hands from Wheeljack's grasp. "Ratchet." The medic turned his helm about. "Ratchet, look at me. Stop this, behave. I know you understand me, and I know you want that tube out, but I also know that you understand that's not possible." The white bot's struggling ceased and Wheeljack eased his grip off slightly. Ratchet's face, however, remained a picture of anger, and annoyance.
"Agent stay?" He asked again, this time with more force. Agent Fowler shook his head sadly.
"As long as I can, Ratch. I've convinced the higher ups that this is to further my cultural understanding of you guys, but I still can be called back at any time." Wheeljack relinquished Ratchet's hands when the medic gave another tug and turned to sit next to Bumblebee, who was just now coming out of a light recharge. The scout snuggled into the wrecker's side, chirring. Wheeljack simply held him, an arm around his shoulder, and helm on Bumblebee's.
"It's going to be okay, kiddo," he whispered.
Ratchet mumbled in Protihexian to Optimus. The Prime leaned down to hear him better, canting his head to the side.
"No, Ratchet," he responded in English, trying to encourage the bot to use a language the humans could understand, "Perhaps later."
"What'd he say?" Jack asked, glancing up from the tools he was helping his mother clean.
"Wants to go for a drive," Bulkhead answered, helm turned to the floor and optics shuttered.
"Ratch actually leaves base? Ever?" Miko snickered. Her attempt at humor went unanswered.
Ratchet returned to recharge not long after, systems flickering in and out of unconsciousness. The time between each stuttering breath increased steadily as the night wore on. Each of the room's occupants waited with bated breath for the moment when his ventilation stopped altogether. However unlikely, the possibility that Ratchet's spark would fade before he entered stasis lock loomed over everyone's heads. With every breath the medic took, the others' shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.
By three in the morning, Optimus began to drift in and out of recharge, helm on the berth near Ratchet's chest. Jack and Arcee had left for a short while, returning with an assortment of junk food that the children where now picking at. Few scraps of the food ever made it to their mouths. Miko had built a tower of French fries and Raf was crunching the ice from his drink, watching her intently as she began to play a version of Janga with her creation. She'd pulled the forth fry from the pile, popping it into her mouth, when the monitors beeped.
June studied them for a moment before glancing over to Optimus, who was rubbing at his optics, yawning. "He's entering stasis lock," she announced.
Optimus nodded. "When will he be placed in the CR Chamber."
"Not for a while," June responded, "We need to be careful about this. He needs to be completely stasis locked before we remove the spark support, or his systems will crash. Too late and he won't survive the transfer." The Prime beckoned Bumblebee over with the others when the scout hesitated.
"It's alright, Bee," Arcee mumbled, a hand on his shoulder, "June knows what she is doing." Bee nodded, whimpering lightly, his anxiety getting the better of him.
Bulkhead was the first to place a hand to the seam of Ratchet's spark chamber, a symbolic and traditional gesture. Wheeljack's hand soon followed, coming to sit atop Bulkhead's. He squeezed his friend's hand as they both drew away. Bulkhead muttered a small prayer in Iaconian.
Optimus' tenor followed, voice remaining steady and regal as he rumbled a traditional phrase, one meant to guide the sick and broken back to those they loved. As he spoke, Arcee and Bumblebee took their turns at touching their hands to where Ratchet's spark resided. Miko tugged at Bulkhead's pede, prompting him to lift her to the berth so she could do the same. The heat of Ratchet's plating nearly singed her fingers but she held her hand there none the less. Raf and Jack soon followed with the gestured as Optimus brought his passage to a close.
The Prime placed a hand over his own spark while the other rested over Ratchet's. The energy of the matrix flaring beneath his closed chassis was almost tangible. Every human in the room felt the hair on the back of their necks prickle.
Agent Fowler held June's hand for a moment before moving off to a corner, out of the way. The nurse turned when the monitors beeped again.
"Okay, Optimus. He's ready. We need to disconnect him. Start with that one." She pointed to the tube down Ratchet's throat. Unlike when they had placed the tube there, as Ratchet gagged and squirmed, the medic didn't even twitch when the Prime slid it from his intakes. "Good, now the IV. Then unhook the processor monitor." The system alarms blared to life before June could catch them as the cable ceased receiving information on Ratchet's mental state. June flicked the system off as she typed in the commands to activate the CR Chamber. The machine whirred nosily for a moment before settling in to a quiet hum. Those around the chamber or blocking the way moved back against the walls.
Prime glanced up at June with an unfamiliar look of worry and a lack of confidence.
"You're doing fine, Optimus," she assured. "Now, one by one starting the furthest from his spark, disconnect the support lines. If he starts to fluctuate, I'll let you know, and you'll just need to reattach them. We'll move him into the chamber and then disconnect the lines if that happens." Optimus nodded, biting his lip as he concentrated on his task. Arcee placed a reassuring hand at his back.
The monitors beeped. Optimus instantly grabbed the cable he had just dropped at the medics side, preparing to reattach it. "Wait," June commanded, hands up in a calming motion, "Give his spark a chance to stabilize." Sure enough, within moments, the medic's spark pulse returned to its shallow rhythm. Optimus remained tense as he eased the remaining cables from Ratchet's form, not relaxing in the slightest until the final one was disconnected. With a nod from June, he eased the medic into his arms, unbelievably careful with his limp frame.
Ratchet slid easily into the CR chamber. Air clung to his frame in minute bubbles as the gel like fluid surrounded him. He hung suspended in the cylindrical glass chamber once Optimus relinquished his grip on the medic. Within moments his ventilation stopped as his frame cooled beyond needing the air. In one last gasping sigh, his frame pushed the air from his vents and filled with the nanite rich solution that surrounded him. The few biolights hidden beneath his remaining armor dimmed.
There was a long, tense moment following. June's fingers skimmed the keyboard, eyes never leaving the monitor. The remaining optics and eyes glanced between Ratchet's limp frame and the back of June's head as she worked. Finally she let out a breath she was unaware of holding.
"He's stable," she breathed, "His systems have accepted the modified nanites." A collective sigh followed her.
"Now what?" Miko asked from her place on Bulkhead's shoulder. The wrecker cupped a hand around her back.
Optimus smiled, shoulders sagging in exhaustion and relief. "Now," He spoke, a great deal of confidence returning to his voice, "We wait."