Title: Blades and First Aid III
Rating: M
He had to move... had to keep going... had to...
First Aid flinched as he turned the corner too fast, his valve lining tearing a little, causing him a stinging pain. He had thought he'd been alright last night -thought at the least that he was going to be able to get over his run-in with that stranger- but he had severely underestimated how much damage his valve had really taken with the rough, impromptu interface. He should have just stayed home, he should have-
No. The autodog shook his helm. He couldn't stay home because that meant calling into work and admitting that there was a problem in his life. It meant listening to the phone ring and ring and ring, as his carrier called him in a panic, leaving hysterical messages to fill his invoice. It meant sitting around in the dark, shivering, acutely aware that if he really wanted to, Blades could come slamming through his front door or crawling through his window any klik and-
First Aid quickly swallowed back his whimper, escaping into the nearest room. He was lucky- it was an empty patient's quarters. Realizing he was really alone, he could not stop the tears that rose quickly; whirling around and closing the door in a hurry, before retreating into the farthest corner of the room and collapsing.
"B-blades...," he sobbed uncontrollably, thick, hot tears spilling down his cheekplates.
Even now, when his brother was the very cause of his pain, he was crying out for him. He wanted -needed- to be saved again. To have all his fears slashed away, the strange kittycons removed and his faith to be restored. He wanted things to be how they were before yesterorn...
Through his tortured whimpers, the australian shepherd almost didn't hear as the door was opened, but it was harder to miss the slight creak in the hinges, and the old voice that said, "Hello... do I hear a young one cr- F-first Aid?"
The assistant snapped his helm up in horror, looking through his watery vision at his superior. "R-ratchet, s-sir, I-i-i-" First Aid quickly wiped at his optics, turning his gaze away from the older autodog, scrambling to get up onto his pedes. Glancing behind him to make sure no one noticed him, Ratchet stepped into the room, closing the door and locking it behind him.
"Stop...," he ordered gently, coming up to the frantic mech. "You're going to scratch your optics that way." He pulled First Aid's servos away from his face, staring down at the other autodog with concerned, dim optics.
"First Aid... what's wrong?," Ratchet softly asked. "When you came into work today, I thought something was off... but you didn't say anything and so I had assumed... I'm sorry. I won't make that mistake again."
"N-no; i-it's nothing!," First Aid protested weakly. He tried to pull away from the labrador, but the older mech held him securely, and truthfully, the smaller autodog just couldn't work up the spark to act so viciously towards Ratchet. Not to the mech who, without asking or obligation, had supported and cared and protected him all these orns...
'W-why couldn't I h-have fallen for y-you instead?!'
Ratchet scowled now, his fingers curling in his anxiousness. "It's obviously not nothing, First Aid!," he barked shortly, "You're tucked away in a room, crying as if the whole world was collapsing around your ears! Please..." He softened his tone, regretting the fact that he had lost his patience with his assistant, even for a short while. "Tell me... I only want to help."
No, I can't tell you...
How do I possibly explain everything that's happened?!
What could you do to make the fact that I lost my virginity to some rapist better?!
I don't want you! I want Blades!
Why... Why do I h-have to love him...
First Aid didn't realize he had started sobbing again, until he felt old fingers gently wipe at his cheekplates, diverting the flow of tears for an astrosecond. "...Maybe I should just send you home for the day. I don't think this is the right place for you to be and-"
"N-no!," he gasped, clutching Ratchet's sleeves in desperation. "P-please, sir!," he begged, "D-don't send me home! I, I couldn't- I c-can't-"
The labrador looked honestly contrite as he grabbed the other autodog's wrists again, freeing himself. "I'm sorry, First Aid," he apologized heavily, "But I can not permit you to stay. You're practically hysterical... It'll do neither you nor your patients any good for you to work in this state. By law, I-"
"Please?!," the australian shepherd pressed, unable to keep it together any longer. He threw himself at Ratchet's frame, hiccuping and choking on his wails as he tried to make his plea heard. "I-i'll c-clean the o-o-office! I-i-i'll t-take ca-care of a-all your pa-paperwork! I-i'll e-even v-vaccum t-the drapes! J-just, just...p-please... d-don't s-send me ho-home... I... I-i c-can't... ca-can't s-stand to b-be a-alone..."
First Aid trembled as he felt a warm servo gently cup the back of his helm; slowly petting down the crest as he was pulled closer into the other's embrace. "Hush, First Aid...," he could hear Ratchet softly whisper near his helm.
Ratchet never spoke so calmly; Ratchet was terrible at sympathy.
Fresh tears pooled in the smaller autodog's optics.
"You're fine now... I'll be here. You don't have to go home."
Unable to resist the much needed comfort, First Aid turned his face into the labrador's shirt, crying harder as he clung to the older mech.
xxXxXxx
He spent the entire orn in Ratchet's office. He had tried -really had- to work like he promised, but his spark just wasn't in it. Eventually, he gave up entirely and sat, staring blankly out the window. He wasn't sure what to think any more or what to feel. He just knew he wanted it to stop...
The orn passed fairly quickly and even though his superior had been so supporting all the passing cycles, he had pressed that the australian shepherd go home and get some real rest. "I can't stay here any longer," the labrador had said softly, "Nor can you. It's already past midnight... You need sleep just as much as anyone else. And you'll find none of it staying here."
First Aid hadn't bothered protesting.
What was the point?
He gathered his things and left the hospital, not even being cautious like he used to as he wandered down the empty, dark streets back to his apartment. The autodog moved as if he was in a daze, going up, up, up the stairs of his building and opening his door. He shuttered his optics as he entered the apartment, only for the first time realizing where he was; forgetting that he had even made the journey to begin with.
The small, rational part of him that still spoke with all of its medical wisdom, commented that this was not a good sign.
He ignored it.
Walking forward slowly, First Aid beckoned to the silent call of a little, lonely red light that flashed incessantly on his phone. He stood over it, helm canted to the side, wondering in his thoughtless thoughts what it could possibly mean.
He slowly raised a finger, pressing the play button on the machine.
"First Aid!," a shrill voice cried out from the speaker. He cringed, a small part of him withering in fear. Mom.
"H-how... how could you w-worry us like this?! We thought something had happened! We thought you were DEAD! H-how, how c-can you be s-so callous to us! Y-you know y-your father and I-i still s-suffer from n-nightmares! A-are you so insensitive?! A-and your siblings – you h-had S-streetwise and your s-sister I-ignis struck w-with worry! I-ignis is STILL crying! I-it took us calling t-the hospital t-to find out t-that you w-were alright, a-and even then, you never thought to call us back and tell us yourself! Y-you... you... WHO ARE YOU?! Why w-would you do t-this to us First Aid?! W-why a-are you being so cruel? Y-your brother, Blades... h-he's gone now, First Aid. H-he had to leave for another mission. He's hardly around as it is, a-and we never know when we m-might see him last! A-all we c-can try to do is make him f-feel at home a-and loved, a-and then you had to b-be so ho-horrible a-and i-ignore us, a-and now Blades-"
The rest of the message broke in a vicious squeal of static as the australian shepherd lunged forward, ripping the phone off the jack. He screamed, throwing the machine at the wall, servos clawing at his face as it cracked the plaster before falling to the floor. Even then, he couldn't erase the sound of his own carrier -screaming, crying, accusing him- from his helm, and First Aid fell on the damaged phone; shaking fist pounding the machine, harder and harder, plastic snapping and breaking, cutting into his servo but he would not stop until the pain in his spark did.
…..a broken, frail whimper escaped the mech...
It didn't stop.
xxXxXxx
Ratchet tidied the last of his things away, pausing as he circled around his desk, his optics falling to the small scratch in the wood. The mark had not been there previously, but after he had come to release First Aid for the orn, the labrador noticed its presence. He had already analysed it, deducing that it was indeed made with a finger... a small one. Slowly, persistently, absent-mindedly...
"Primus, First Aid... What is going on?," he mumbled to himself. The older mech vented softly, walking towards the filing cabinets, dumping his files inside the locked drawers. He heard something hiss behind him and quickly the autodog whirled around, optics narrowed suspiciously. He saw no one, and even filled with shadows, Ratchet doubted that anyone could hide in the thin corners.
"Hello?," he gruffed, all the same. Better to play the side of caution than run into a... situation.
No answer greeted him. Keeping on-guard, Ratchet slowly paced around his office, optics snapping to the piece of paper that wafted across the bottom of the floor; attempting to blow itself under his desk. Fists clenched, the vet quickly ducked, scooping it up and standing upright once more. No words could describe the relief he felt as nothing tried to attack him from the hollow space beneath his desk, but it was a feeling that quickly faded as he smoothed out the crumpled paper, staring at the message scrawled out quickly.
'Mr. Helper,
I remember you. Your scent, your colours.
I doubt you remember me.
Good. We can play surprise later, should you ever be unwise and hurt First Aid. Remember that only the memory of you is what keeps you alive, as it is.
Don't make me regret that I let you live, merely because he chose you.'
"Remember...," Ratchet mumbled to himself, brow furrowing in confusion and trepidation. Someone had snuck this into his office as he was working; someone was deliberately threatening him. And it all tied into First Aid... how?
"This situation is bigger than first thought..." The labrador folded the note, slipping into his coat pocket. He glanced at his clock. It was too late to bother First Aid now, even despite his incessant worries.
He'd just have to wait until morning to call the other autodog.
Shoulders tense, Ratchet quickly finished putting away the last of his things for the night, before grabbing his keys and leaving his office.
xxXxXxx
"First Aid, I was trying to-" Ratchet paused as he looked away from his datapad, trying to hide the grimace spreading across his lip components, but failing. "First Aid... you look horrible..."
The australian shepherd knew. He had woken up on the floor -probably passed out from crying the night before- his pager beeping incessantly, and his bloody servo numb and scabbing. He had wrapped it quickly, holding it now in his coat pocket, ignoring the stabbing ache that pulsed up his arm intermittently.
Ratchet rose from his chair, circling around the desk slowly, approaching the younger mech as if he was a small animal and he feared any sudden movements would frighten the other away. "What... happened last night?," the vet asked warily. "I tried to call you this morning, but the phone said-"
"I know," First Aid interrupted quietly. He shuttered his optics up at the labrador as he gaped in shock. "I'm sorry; there seems to be a problem with my phone. I'm having it fixed."
Ratchet frowned, suspiciously. "I... see..."
"...you paged me?," his assistant continued after a moment, still staring up at the other autodog blankly. Ratchet tried not to squirm too much under the flat, lifeless optics; haunted by the sight of them. He'd seen more than a few cases of optics like that when he'd been working the late-night, emergency ward...
Folding his arms over his chestplates uneasily, the labrador sat on the edge of his desk, his intense gaze scrutinizing the smaller mech. "Yes... About yesterday- I thought about it, and I think we need to talk. You don't have to tell me any details, or names, but I'm concerned First Aid. Even... even if you just want to tell me things I could do to help you, that'll be enough. I can see that something happened and I really want to help you through this rough patch, kid," he sighed, "You've got so much potential, and a really kind spark, I don't-"
The rest of his words tumbled out of his mouth silently as First Aid physically turned away from him, glancing at the clock. Momentary rage flared through the older mech, before it died and his fuel tanks roiled uneasily. First Aid had never been disrespectful like this. "First Aid, listen, I-"
"...sir," the australian shepherd cut in again. He glanced quickly at the other autodog. "You said beforehand that there was some vacation time I was able to take, if I so wished it."
Slowly, Ratchet nodded.
"I want to take it now."
Flat, blue optics turned to him, waiting expectantly. Ratchet could not help it that he scowled at their sight. Forcing himself to take a weary intake, the older mech slumped his shoulders, letting his servos drop down by his sides. "If that's what you really want, First Aid," he replied wearily, "Then I'll go write up the forms giving you a month's vacation." He stood for a moment, expecting maybe some sort of response from his assistant... but First Aid never replied.
Sighing, Ratchet pushed away from his desk. "I'll just be a few kliks," he informed as he passed the australian shepherd, patting his shoulder to offer comfort to the smaller mech and himself. First Aid did not even turn around as the labrador left the room. Slowly, after a couple kliks, he glanced at the closed door, before walking quickly to the computer.
His fingers ran fluidly and methodically over the keys as he logged in under Ratchet's account; delving head-first into the hospital's medical files. His optics lit -only for an astrosecond- as he found what he had been looking for; saving and copying the file to a USB he had slipped away in his pocket. He had just disconnected and was walking back to the spot he had vacated when the door opened again.
Ratchet paused, surprised to see that the white mech had actually moved, but did not take much meaning in it. "You're free to go," he said, handing First Aid a thin folder. "But please, if you feel you want to come in, even just to visit or the like, do. I'd also like to hear from you from time to time, if that's okay. Just... just to make sure you're doing alright."
First Aid shuttered his optics slowly up at his superior. "...Of course, sir," he replied. He politely stepped pass the other mech and walked for the door. "Good day, sir."
The vet turned to watch the smaller autodog go, fists clenching at his sides in unease and worry. "Yeah... bye..."
xxXxXxx
He'd turn on the computer, the moment he had returned home.
Lies... It was all lies...
Something had been niggling at the back of his processor, memories that he could barely remember but did not make sense. He remembered the terror of that evil place; the war that had stripped him from his family, made him fearful of kittycons for a time...
All of them... they'd all been in on it...
He remembered death and blank optics staring up at him, devoid of all life and feeling... The same optics that smiled at him now and glittered with warmth.
Lies!
First Aid started to chuckle as he leaned away from the terminal, a servo rising to his mouth as his giggles slowly bled into mad laughter; tears pooling around his optics and spilling as he kept laughing. Good, old medical reports- they could always be trusted. They never were chalked full of lies.
Not like his family...
Oh, they were good. Hiding the fact that Ignis wasn't his sister all these stellar cycles, that Streetwise had died back then in the war, that Blades had relations with their older brother since before then... creating the small femme that he would be taught to recognize and see as 'sister'...
"W-why...," he chuckled, expression twisting in pain as he stared at the screen, "W-why di-did they do t-this to me...? W-why? I-i thought... t-thought they c-cared..." The australian shepherd laughed again, jumping to his pedes suddenly and kicking his chair away. His servos curled around his ears as he started pacing back and forth quickly, intakes coming in faster and faster with every loop.
"L-liars... a-all lies... I-i..."
He hadn't... This... This was the last thing he would have expected to find. He had just wanted to confirm his brothers' status, maybe find out the name of the Institution that Blades had the majority of his wounds treated at... First Aid stopped, barking with laughter, before he crumbled to the floor, slamming his injured servo on the floorboards over and over again -hard. Energon started seeping out of the bandaging again, smearing across the floor, but even then he didn't stop.
"Lies..."
Smack.
"Lies..."
Smack.
"L-lies..."
Smack.
"LIARS!," he screamed, punching the ground, hearing his knuckles crunch wetly at the impact. Pain shot through his arm and straight into his helm, right behind his optics, but even that wasn't enough to stop the agony raging through his spark. Sobbing, First Aid collapsed to the floor, curling up into a ball.
He had thought... Primus, he had thought so many things. But this revelation proved how little he actually knew. Whimpering, the autodog felt one servo slid up and start to claw through his shirt, at his spark withering just beneath his chestplates. He knew nothing.
He never knew how little faith his family actually had in him. He never knew that his two brothers had been carrying a relationship since before the war, leaving his feelings stupid and unwanted. He never knew that the femme he treasured and loved as a sister was the by-product of his brothers' affections for each other. He never knew that he meant so little to the family. He never knew that his opinion, his knowledge of their terse family situation, was insignificant to the others.
That he was so unworthy to know the truth...
Worthless...
Rolling over, the trembling australian shepherd buried his choking tears and sobs into his knees, sinking beneath the black waters of his despair.