Title: Blades and First Aid IX
Rating: M

There was a strange ringing in his audios that took him kliks to realize was sirens. Ambulance sirens. The same kind that he worked with because he was a nurse and nurses worked at hospitals, where ambulances took injured people to get healed.

Except that person was named First Aid and he wasn't that person.

First Aid was kind, helpful, gracious, selfless. He smiled and laughed, and had a wonderful family that loved him so much. He was care-free, one would say, with hardly a trouble in the whole universe.

In comparison, he was sick, broken; he had no friends, no family, and certainly no lover. He'd been used, abused, humiliated and degraded, meant for death but somehow pardoned his gruesome, befitting end.

The fact that he even knew what the noise was ringing shrilly in his ears was wrong. He had no right knowing that. For he was not First Aid and so he could not pretend that he was privileged to that life that was so much better than his existence right then and there.

xxXxXxx

"Oh, is this where you work?," a tender vocalizer spoke, looking around the meeting room. "Wow! It's so big Vortex! A perfect place for you to help people from!"

Mechs watched as the youngling pranced around the room, stalked by a persistent shadow. Fireflight, as he had introduced himself to everyone eagerly, was a surprisingly joyful bundle of sunshine considering he had been one of their abducted, but stranger still was how familiar he was of Vortex.

"V-vortex!," he gasped as he was snatched up and restrained in the purring lynx's lap. The shih tzu blushed prettily, yet surprisingly did not resist, leaning back into Vortex's hold willingly; smiling up at the psychopath. "I knew you were going to find me," he beamed, giggling as the kittycon leaned down to nibble at his neck cables. A precise bite turned a giggle into a breathless, little moan.

"Okay, yeah, no," Onslaught huffed, pushing past the gawkers and pulling Fireflight straight from his son's grasp. The youngling seemed utterly perplexed at the change of altitude and even Vortex started to growl, before the serval shoved his helm down between his knees.

"Onslaught!," Fireflight exclaimed as he was adjusted to sit comfortably in the veteran's arm. "How are my brothers? How are Dragstrip and Motormaster? Oh!" The shih tzu shuttered his optics in horrified realization. "B-bedo?! O-oh no, B-bedo he... m-my little..."

"Breakdown is fine," the green mech said, setting the youngling down onto the conference table. "Silverbolt has been taking care of him during your absence. Everyone's been very worried about you," Onslaught added, taking a seat next to Fireflight.

"Yes," spoke a second vocalizer. The crowd parted to let Yoketron walk through, taking his place at the front of the table. Quietly, he gestured for everyone else to take a seat, before turning his attention back to the shih tzu. "Your abduction was much unfortunate but it allowed us to find a group of evil mechs doing bad things to poor 'bots like yourself. Sadly, we do not understand why they kidnapped people such as yourself and for what purpose. Would you be able to help us find out, Fireflight?"

"'Bedo'?," Bombshell whispered curiously at Onslaught.

"...yes," the serval huffed under his intakes. "Bedo. Breakdown. His son... and my grandson..."

"Wait- WHAT?!"

Fireflight looked at the kai ken uncertainly, picking at the dress he'd been given after his rescue. "Well, I...," the young mechling began softly. "I... I-i don't really know w-why. They took our clothes and our things, they left us locked up in a dark room. We got a bowl of s-soggy oatmeal to eat... sometimes water too... Then they took some of the others out of the room every once in a while." All ears listened with rapt attention as the shih tzu spoke, sympathetic optics fixed on his timid form. "Th-the... the ones they took... th-they never came back. O-only, only First Aid did. H-he stopped one of the mechs from taking me, a-and they took him instead. W-when he came back... when he c-came back he wasn't t-the same anymore... He wouldn't t-tell me why."

"He...," Fireflight looked down at the table top, optics filled with unshed tears, "He protected me, j-just like he tried to do when those bad mechs c-captured us. A-and he was hurt b-because of me..."

Onslaught did not bother to try and stop Vortex from skulking over to his left, and slipping the hiccuping shih tzu off the table, as he'd been growling under his intakes as Fireflight had shared his experience with the Wreckers. The youngling obviously needed the other's attention anyhow, as shown by how quickly he wrapped his little arms around the kittycon's thick neck; tiny frame curling up into his chestplates.

"No, Fireflight," Yoketron soothed softly from his spot, his optics dimmed in regret. "No, you are not to blame for First Aid being hurt. He was valiant in protecting you, just as you are valiant for remaining so strong until we could come and rescue you. Don't ever blame yourself. Now, Vortex..."

But the kai ken didn't even have to speak. Vortex was already getting to his pedes, cupping the autodog closer as he headed for the door; one servo playing with the tiny shih tzu tail while a curled mouth whispered actively into a flattened ear. Blast Off and Brawl rose to follow them.

"...I will keep an eye on all three," the siamese informed his ex-associates, just before he left as well.

Silence followed for a klik while Yoketron turned to speak privately to Soundblaster.

"...soooooo," Bombshell drawled, appearing vaguely disinterested, "Breakdown is apparently that pup's son, and also your grandson. How old is that shih tzu again?"

Onslaught covered his face with a servo. Primus, just let the slagging insectipuma drop the subject.

"Well," Brainstorm interjected, "The file says he's fourteen and that he has a two year old son."

"S-so young?!," Ironfist gasped. "B-but he's not e-even a mech! H-how would he h-have a sparkling so y-young?"

Razorclaw sat quietly in his seat, arms crossed over his chestplates as he looked at nothing in particular. "...Let me guess," he spoke up, "He's Vortex's favourite." Onslaught's groan only confirmed what he said. "I'm surprised he can even have favourites."

"I'm surprised an evil cult terrifies Fireflight but Vortex doesn't!"

"...honestly, I'm more surprised Vortex has even stuck around considering he made a kid. Actually, scratch that. That Vortex has a kid and it lives is more shocking."

"Primus, wwwhhhyy...," the serval groaned again, sliding lower in his seat.

xxXxXxx

Cycles later, when the rest of the Wreckers had retired for the night, returning to their homes after a long and successful orn; only Yoketron and Soundblaster remained, tidying up the last bits of their long debriefing in the meeting room.

"Should we question First Aid for his side of the story?," the persian asked, filing away everyone's individual reports into a folder. "I mean, if he can give us any insight into the reasoning behind this madness maybe-?"

"No," the kai ken replied with a hint of weariness in his tone. He gently sat himself into his designated chair, cane rested neatly across his knees as he stared at the frozen image of several remains on the projector screen. "What that younger pup has suffered is far beyond anything we can truly grasp beyond theory. His identity of self is suffering great question and I believe even his trust may be shattered after what happened today with his brother Blades."

"...How does Blades fare, Soundblaster?," Yoketron asked, turning his helm to the kittycon.

Soundblaster vented slowly, stowing the fat file folder under one arm. "Not so well, I'm afraid. I tracked him down to the individual training rooms before the meeting, just sitting in one of the corners, not looking at anything in particular," he informed. "I tried to get him to come, but he wouldn't budge. I checked up on him just before he wrapped things up -he still hasn't moved or said a word, Master Yoketron. I'm actually concerned."

The Special Ops officer nodded sadly. "As am I. His brother First Aid meant a lot to him, Soundblaster, and he was lucky that the young autodog was much untainted by the events that befell their family during the war. But after today..." The kai ken looked down again, servo gripping the head of his cane tight. "In many ways, today is very much like all those years ago, Soundblaster, when Blades lost his eldest brother, Streetwise. Even for someone of his temperament, I do not think our dear friend Blades can recover from such a devastation twice."

The larger mech was silent at that, ears low on his helm. "...Shall I schedule an appointment with our best psychiatrists?," Soundblaster asked.

Yoketron shook his helm. "No... No," he replied, rising to his pedes finally, "Put him on medical leave; send him back to his family. He will heal better and quicker with them than anyone else."

"But what about First Aid?," the persian gaped incredulously. "Will he not want to go to his family as well? Won't the two of them together be catastrophic at this point and time?"

"Yes, but First Aid is unlikely to return home any time soon," the autodog said cryptically. Soundblaster followed on Yoketron's heels as he headed for the door, the lights flickering off as they left.

"And why is that Master Yoketron?"

"Because, Soundblaster, First Aid could never accept his family when he can not even accept who he is this very moment. He is traumatized and troubled and under the strong belief that he was never, and will never be deserving to be, 'First Aid'. Until we can convince him otherwise, he must remain here with us and be treated by the best counsellors we have on staff. I'm afraid that any contact with his family right now might further push him into this twisted perception and he will never truly recover."

Such heavy words weighed more than a decades-worth of haunted memories and spilled energon on seasoned servos. So much that Soundblaster didn't have an appropriate response beyond the empty "Oh..." that escaped his vents with the cycling of air. Silence hung between them after that, as neither said anything; Yoketron walking forward with a well-practiced stride and Soundblaster on his right, shooting worried glances to his superior.

As they neared the door to Yoketron's office, the Special Ops officer slowed to a stop, giving a soft sigh. "...It has been a long day, Soundblaster. Though we were successful, there is still many more questions to ponder and answers greatly absent. In this regard I would say that you are relieved of your duties for the night and I will see you in the morning..."

Soundblaster patiently waited as the kai ken cycled another slow, thoughtful intake.

"But, I am weary as well and the idea of processing the rest of this paperwork this evening annoys me. I'd gladly appreciate some company and perhaps some distracting conversation over, say, a cup of tea?" Soft blue optics didn't even need to look up at him in hopeful curiosity, for the kittycon would have jumped on any chance to spend quietly with Yoketron, outside of a professional manner.

"Yes sir!," he replied quickly, but, hopefully, not too quickly to seem eager and henceforth inconsiderate to what burden the kai ken himself might be carrying. It didn't seem to matter though, for Yoketron smiled (small, for sure, but a smile all the same) and unlocked his office door; gesturing for his companion to enter first.

xxXxXxx

Ratchet stood waiting alongside several other vets as the large ambulance drew closer to the hospital's back entrance. It was a dark orn indeed, with heavy clouds hanging low in the sky, despite the report they had received from local Enforcement that some of the suspected kidnapees were being transported home and into their medical care. Would First Aid be among them? And if so, what state would he be in?

The labrador knew these types of cases like the back of his servo and they never were any good- especially in the aftermath. Only the strong ones ever fully recovered, and informing the families of even a fraction of what had transpired to their loved ones did not always lead to a decent understanding and support while they struggled through their own demons. Then again, Hotspot and Groove had survived a war that had not only split their family into segments but had almost destroyed it entirely with its own variety of horrors. If anyone was to be empathetic to First Aid's ordeal, it would be the very family of his that sat upstairs in Ratchet's office; waiting for any real indication that their beloved australian shepherd was coming home.

The vet severely hoped that all their prayers had not been in vain.

Ratchet had no time to ponder on his own worries any further as the ambulance drew to a stop at the hospital's platform, one of the EMTs climbing out of the passenger side and heading around back of the vehicle. "...What are we looking at?," one of the nurses on standby asked of the mech.

The EMT vented, slowly undoing the lock at the back of van. "Not good," he replied, glancing quickly at the crowd gathered, "You've got your servos full. Excuse me when I say I don't envy you." With that, the mech opened the door, revealing a small gathering of femmes and mechs that jumped and shuffled away from the entrance like frightened petro-rabbits.

The sight disturbed all medical staff, especially for those with sharper optics who could pinpoint very obvious and chilling signs of abuse over the victims' frames. "Alright, people," Ratchet started firmly, "We need to get these poor 'bots out and into the psychiatric ward. Once inside, we give the patients a full look-over, prepare for sedatives and put them to bed rest. We can move forward with psychological assessments and contacting family afterwards. Remember: tread carefully and with utmost patience."

The other vets and nurses nodded, one by one, stepping forward and taking one victim at a time from the ambulance's hold. It was slow; each needed subtle cajoling and soothing encouragement as they were lead fearfully from the vehicle, but none so far had tried to make a break for it and that was both uplifting and a good start to a long road of progress. Ratchet stood by and watched as patients were dispersed among the other vets, feeling his tanks churn harder and harder as he still could not see a familiar helm among the sea of frightened faces. The ambulance was almost completely cleared out when one final 'bot climbed down... shocking Ratchet with his mere presence.

"How...," the old mech stuttered, "How... How come you are here and not First Aid?!"

Blades flinched at the subtle accusation, turning dim blue optics to the labrador and looking away again. Ratchet wasn't entirely sure if the mech knew who he was, but the vet himself had spent enough time thoroughly researching all of First Aid's family in light of this tragedy. If what that strange kai ken had said was true as well, Blades should have been on the rescue team sent out to save First Aid and the other victims. So why was he here and his younger brother not?

Ratchet paused as a thought slowly occurred to him. "...he... he's not dea-"

A short, quick shake of the mercenary's helm confirmed that the labrador was wrong in his assumption. The relief that the vet felt following this clarification left him weak in the knees- he had not known how such a dreadful thought had almost crushed him. Walking quickly after the red mech's more weary pedes, he was stunned when the strangely somber autodog paused suddenly and turned, handing a datapad to Ratchet.

"What is this?," Ratchet asked, switching the device on and quickly scanning its contents.

"...report," Blades answered with a deadened vocalizer. "He won't come home..."

And with that, the mercenary continued forward, heading directly for the hospital's nearest exit and to whatever refuge he sought. Glancing at Blades' backstruts momentarily, the old mech returned to the mission report he had been handed, torn. On the one hand, this was government-filed proof that First Aid had survived the ordeal numerous victims before him had not... on the other, this offered little condolences to the family who waited painstakingly to reclaim their lost member, or for the superior who wondered what horrific state his protege was in to not return home.

Ratchet would have no choice but to share this with Hotspot and Groove and hope more answers would be forthcoming soon.

"...First Aid...," he mumbled worriedly under his intakes, "...What happened to you?"

xxXxXxx

Week One

xxXxXxx

Week Two

xxXxXxx

Decacycle One

They say I should keep a journal. Apparently, I don't talk enough. Supposedly, talking will make things all better. I don't see the point.

xxXxXxx

Decacycle One and two weeks

The mech with glasses keeps calling me First Aid. I don't know why. That's not my name; that's not who I am.

xxXxXxx

Decacycle Two

Today they brought in this new mech. He was tall and old and he walked with a slight limp. He calls me First Aid and says things like everybody misses me, and they're really worried about me, and when am I coming home again. I don't like listening to him; he didn't go away for a long time though.

He fought when they tried to escort him out.

They say that he was my sire. That's wrong. They're all wrong.

He's First Aid's sire and I am not First Aid.

xxXxXxx

Decacycle Three

They're all insisting that I need to remember. That I must accept that I am First Aid. That's a lie! I hate it! I hate them, I hate it here, I hate everything!

If you're reading this, just leave me alone! Stop forcing me to be him!

xxXxXxx

Decacycle Five

I want them to shut up. Need them to.

Please...

I can't- I just...

Why should I remember? How will that help? I'll... I'll only be worse than I am now. I...

xxXxXxx

Decacycle Five and one week

I am...

I want to go home.

Where... where is it?

xxXxXxx

Decacycle Seven

...b...b-brother Bla-blades...