Title: Blades and First Aid XIV
Rating: T
Warning: Mentions of suicide

The knock was a soft one on the door -two echoes, each more faded than the last, as if the force behind it regretted the action in the middle of making it. In the dead silence of his apartment though it was a booming thunder. Warpath slowly shuffled out of the kitchen, peeking into the little peephole. He nearly dropped his mug in shock; heavy servos fumbling for the locks.

"F-first Aid! Kablam!," he croaked, yanking the door open to find the little australian shepherd there. The nurse flinched at the sudden noise, a look of confusion on his face as he gazed up at the larger autodog. Warpath chuckled nervously, remembering that he had never formally met the white mech, had only heard stories when Onslaught came by to visit. Coughing, the boerboel quickly stepped back so that his massive girth was no longer blocking the doorway. "You... you came to see him...," the veteran started hesitantly, "Right? Choom."

First Aid stood rigid in the hall following the question, his optics dropping to the floor. After an excruciatingly long klik, the white mech nodded. "I-is he still here?," he whispered softly.

Warpath nodded. "Yes. Second door on the right. Pow!"

He waited for the australian shepherd to gather his courage, not once rushing him; shutting the door after his guest tip-toed inside, pointing through the living room to his hall. Only after First Aid had bravely headed down the dark hall did Warpath return to his kitchen, putting on a fresh pot of oil as he searched for Soundblaster's number in his cell.

xxXxXxx

Second door on the right. That's what the boerboel had said.

First Aid stared down the hall, for the umpteenth time counting the number of doorways. There was only four: one open, revealing the bathroom, a tiny one too small to be anything more than a linen closet, and two closed; one at the end of the hall and the other one that First Aid stood before now. Second door on the right, as the loud autodog had told him. This had to be where Blades was.

So why couldn't he move? The vet cycled a shallow intake, feeling his knee joints sag weakly. In the kitchen, the strange mech was busying himself with his cupboards, unaware of the australian shepherd's internal plight. Did he even care? He must have in some fashion... After all, Blades had been left here in his care and the boerboel even knew his name, despite First Aid not knowing his in return. What was the big mech's name?

First Aid flinched when a whistle sounded, realizing a moment after that the sound was coming from a stovetop kettle. Its shrieking stopped as the distant bubbling of liquid into ceramic followed after it. He was wasting time. The australian shepherd lifted his helm back up, staring at the berthroom door as his servos tightened with resolve. Streetwise had told him where to find their brother; he had to speak to Blades, alone, before anyone thought to stop him. It was his fault that Blades had tried to hurt himself.

Just remembering that night -the bite of the razor-sharp edge as he jerked forward suddenly, the tiny bubble of energon as it oozed free from his brother's neck cables- made First Aid's servos flash for the knob before he could second guess himself again; rushing into the room and nearly slamming the door shut.

Wincing again, the vet slowly turned about, shuttering his optics to adjust to the sudden dimness.

And nearly yelped in terror when he found himself being stared at by a hunched over figure on the edge of the room's single berth. "B...b-brother Blades...?," the white mech stammered, a servo clutched to his chestplates as his poor spark attempted to reset after its wild fluctuations. First Aid hesitated a step forward when the older autodog failed to reply. The motion -like his words- had garnered no reaction.

"Your o-optics...," the australian shepherd said softly, taking a couple more timid steps. His gaze was locked onto that of Blades'; swallowing down the whimper that rose at familiar grey orbs. "Br-brother Blades... I-i... It's m-me," he hiccuped weakly, "F-first Aid."

His name slipped out like a question, as if the vet was unaware of who he really was, and First Aid paused, pondering if he even did know himself at all. Or, perhaps, he was still a stranger behind someone else's face. "...I," the smaller autodog whispered firmly, "Am here. For you, Blades." He lifted his optics, staring determinedly into his brother's sightless gaze despite the tremors racking his poor frame. "I'm not leaving, o-okay?"

Still no answer.

Breathing regularly to keep the tears at bay, First Aid took notice of the washbasin on the dresser just on the side of his peripheral, glancing between it and Blades' half-huddled form. Distracted from the bull terrier's catatonic behaviour, the vet could finally trace the small smudges of building grime around the red mech's visible plating and the browning edge of his healing wound through the bandages around his neck. It seemed his brother's caretaker had meant to clean him up a bit before the australian shepherd's arrival.

Slipping off his coat, the small autodog padded for the dresser; removing his own travel-sized emergency kit from his pocket and adding antibacterial soap to the basin's warm water. "I'm here to help, brother Blades," he informed gently, as he stepped between the mercenary's open legs; laying a couple fingers shyly upon the other's neck. "I mean you no harm."

All was silent as prior. Spark sinking in unspoken grief, First Aid made the first cut into the used bandages, beginning the bull terrier's clean up.

xxXxXxx

"You shouldn't have let him in!"

"He's family! What was I supposed to do- slam the door in his face?! Boom!"

"Whatever you had to do! He's the reason that Blades is-"

"Are you seriously blaming the pup for all the slag that happened to him?! Pow! Even Blades-"

"I don't care! You are-"

First Aid stared at the bedroom door, servos curled tightly in his lap as the shouting grew louder, each speaker lapping over the other. He didn't know exactly what was going on, other than that the argument was about him, but the australian shepherd was firm in his choice that he would not be removed by anyone's will other than his brother's... and momentarily, Blades was staring at the floor, catatonic to the world. Optics dimmed contritely, First Aid returned to his seat beside the mercenary, studying the red mech from the top of his helm to the tips of his scuffed pedes.

"Blades...?," he whispered softly, the sound of his vocalizer still shockingly loud in the absolute quiet of the berthroom. As before, not a response. First Aid felt heat build behind his optics, his neck cables squeezing tight around his vocalizer as a sob lodged itself into the knot.

"Blades, why... w-why won't you answer me?"

The bull terrier didn't even shutter his optics. Lost at what to do next, the australian shepherd cautiously leaned against's Blades' hunched frame, hesitant to apply his whole weight. He'd been like this for cycles now, and though at the start, First Aid had been able to go about his business without letting his brother's state bring him down, the longer the red mech remained detached from the world around him the more the vet began to despair himself. Could he do anything that might break the older autodog out from his own helm?

There was a loud thump outside in the hall, the surrounding walls shaking for a moment from the force. Straightening up quickly, First Aid watched the door with bated intakes, feeling a coil of fear settle around his spark.

"What are you doing?! Choom!," shouted the boerboel. It sounded like he stood nearly outside the guest room door.

"He can't stay here, Warpath!," returned the other. The second mech sounded awfully familiar though the australian shepherd could not put a name or face to the vocalizer... "He didn't even tell his family. They are panicked -they thought he ran away again, or worse, tried to kill himself just like Blades."

"He's obviously not going to do that! Bam!"

"You don't know that! And even if that wasn't his intent, he is still recovering himself and should not be near Blades at all during this time. He'll only make things worse!"

Warpath growled and there was the sound of shuffling pedes moving quickly.

"...Let me go, Warpath," the second mech commanded sternly. "You do not have authority here; I don't care if you think you have the medical clearance just because you yourself faced suicide once-"

"I have a slag more authority than you'll ever have, Soundblaster! Kablam!," the boerboel snapped, his words echoed by another shaking of walls. "This is my home, he is Blades' brother and there ain't another slagging one of ya that can relate to either of their situations! So, why don't you take your sheltered aft back to your master and tell him to frag off! Bang!"

"Warpath-," Soundblaster began exasperatedly.

"I SAID GET! POW!"

Uncomfortable silence fell then. For a long time, First Aid sat, counting the dragging astroseconds; a servo inching across the sheets towards the bull terrier's arm.

The creaking door startled the poor australian shepherd, his searching servo jerking back to his lap so suddenly it left a burning ache in his shoulder joints, his spark puttering with panic. The hall light glowing softly behind Warpath, the veteran kindly looked in, a finger tapping uncertainly against the doorframe.

"H-hey...," the older mech greeted lowly. "It's, um, it's gotten dark out... just thought you should know... Zoom! U-uh, did... did you need me to-"

"I'm not leaving," First Aid announced surely, sitting up straighter to enforce his stance. His optics tried to peer past the boerboel at the same time, looking for Soundblaster's presence.

Warpath glanced over a shoulder for a long moment as the sound of a door closing came from across the apartment, before turning back around to reply following the smaller autodog's words. "I understand. Ching! I can make the couch up so-"

"I will stay in this room," the vet interrupted snappishly, flushing immediately after and dropping his helm ashamedly. "I-i... I'm sorry," First Aid whispered in apology. "I ju-just... D-do... Do you have a spare toothbrush perhaps?"

He glanced up to see a pitying, but empathetic, gaze staring back at him; Warpath nodding as he took a step back from the doorway. "Yeah. C'mon. I made some food; best have a bite before you call it a day. Pow!"

Hesitantly, the white mech rose to his pedes, staring at his still-unresponsive brother for half a klik before following after the older autodog. He barely made it past the threshold when the questions would not be held back any longer and the words tumbled off his glossa. "...He said you almost committed... A-and you said no one could relate like you...?," First Aid hurried, unable to look up when Warpath paused in his lead.

"I-i'm sorry," he apologized, his vocalizer fluctuating harder as anxiety grabbed him, dropping his helm further. "I d-didn't mean- It's no-not my place an-and-"

"First Aid...," the larger autodog said softly, "Look at me? Kazowy."

The vet did so, flinching when he noticed the boerboel kneeling to be level with him; the other's gaze still so understanding and edged with pain. "I... I know you don't really know me," Warpath began, "And I bet you were questioning why Blades was left with me instead of being taken to a hospital or a psychiatrist. And the reasons are... Bang! Well, I worked with your brother a long time ago, back when you were but a sparkling and the war raged on, bringing a bunch of misfits and soldiers and revenge-fuelled pups like your brother together. He did alot... and he suffered alot... to find your family again and save you all. As I'm sure you've already heard by now. Kazam!"

First Aid slowly nodded.

A sad smile crinkling the edges of Warpath's mask, the older mech looked down at his servos. "Well, not all, I suppose... Streetwise was lost," he continued, his tone growing stiffer. "We empathized with the kid, and your family, and I wondered how I would ever handle the loss of someone close to me... until I didn't have to wonder anymore. Blam!"

"...W-who...?," the australian shepherd pressed uncertainly when the boerboel fell quiet.

"All of them." A sheen appeared across Warpath's optics; his servo clenching tightly into a fist. "My dad, my mom, my grandma... The only family I had. Gone. Before my very optics... Choom."

"A-and... And t-the, u-um...?," the smaller mech whispered wonderingly.

"The sounds?," the boerboel asked, looking back up at the white autodog. First Aid nodded in confirmation. "Yeah, a tick that formed after the event. A consistent reminder forcing me to remember every orn... Cha!"

"I... went into dark places following," he added slowly. "Almost didn't make it out. But even when I did, I wasn't... I couldn't come back. Bading! Everyone else -my closest friends and allies- have remained in the thick of it, fighting battles the rest of the world is unaware of daily, but I am here and I am doing better because of them. Blades is... I can't speak for him fully on what he is feeling, but I've been on that edge. The war already left its marks on us; to almost lose you on top of the things that took place in the past... First Aid, I may not have come back to the frontlines, but I know the importance Blades put on you and Ignis. You are the world to him. Kow."

"Others... are going to say some really ignorant things," Warpath stated, reaching a servo up and wiping away the tears that were falling down First Aid's cheekplates. The australian shepherd jumped a little, unaware of their presence until that very moment. Yet, he did not pull away from the other mech's touch. "They're going to insist that they know best. Some might even imply that you are bad for Blades. I think that's all rot. But... All that matters is what you think. Blam."

He was on the spot now. Servos clenched, the vet found his gaze roaming as he mulled over the boerboel's words. There was a lot that had just been shared and even more to process. Soundblaster, one of his rescuers, didn't trust Blades would be well in the white mech's care. His family wouldn't tell him the location of the bull terrier, hinting at their own uncertainties about the effect First Aid's presence would have on the other. Ratchet might even say he was too close to the matter to properly be of any assistance... When First Aid finally settled on an answer, so too did his optics settle back on the older autodog. "I-i... want to help my brother. I know I can help him," he replied strongly.

The veteran winked brightly at the smaller autodog, First Aid noticing just then how his shoulders relaxed as he rose to his pedes. "I bet you can too. Now, I believe I promised some chow. Lemme dish you up a plate. Yowza!"

There was a sense of relief within the vet as this stranger vocalized his faith in him. So many others had tiptoed around the australian shepherd, or swaddled him for safety, or just would not let him try in something as dire as this... Having someone stand by him, someone who understood on some level all that First Aid and his brother was going through... It validated his convictions all that much more. The vet could do this; together, him and the boerboel could bring Blades back.

For the few kliks while he ate, First Aid did not have to count the astroseconds until he could return to his brother's side.

xxXxXxx

His optics onlined slowly, taking in the ceiling with its little circle of faint lamplight in an otherwise dark room. A few hazy moments of recollection and First Aid remembered why he was laying on the floor. But why had he woken? Sluggishly, the vet pushed himself up to a sitting position. He'd heard something like a thud, he thought, or maybe it had been a dream? He'd never been a big dreamer...

Yawning, still puzzling over his odd awakening, First Aid peeked over the edge of the berth to check on Blades. It took several, long astroseconds before it registered that the space his brother had occupied was now empty. "B-blades...," squeaked First Aid, his whisper quickly climbing to a shout, "Blades? BLADES?!"

The australian shepherd scrambled to his pedes at once, nearly colliding with Warpath as he raced from the berthroom. "Woah, hey! Zoinks! What's wr-"

"Br-brother Blades," First Aid wheezed in a panic, "He's gone!"

The boerboel glanced over the vet's helm into the berthroom, his wide optics narrowing with worry. "Let's go. Bam!," he said, gently setting the white mech to the side and hurrying past. Wringing his servos anxiously, First Aid followed after Warpath; a weak gasp escaping as he noticed the front door wedged ajar. The boerboel zoned in on the source of the smaller autodog's distraught right away, reaching the door in three, easy steps and yanking each of their coats from the wall hook.

"I'll take left; you head right. Pow," he directed sharply, not bothering with the doorlock as they hurried out. Confused in his panic, First Aid opened his mouth to ask what Warpath meant by that, when the veteran immediately took off down the hall, jogging for the stairwell.

Of course! The australian shepherd bolted to the opposite side in a spark pulse, slamming through the heavy door and nearly tripping down the closest flight of steps in his hurry. Righting himself, First Aid started the long jog down the winding staircase, hoping against hope that Blades was still in the building. The bull terrier had always been so quick... If he'd already reached the bottom, he could be anywhere on the street! In any crowd, in any street... How could First Aid hope to find his brother then?

A whimper building up in his vocalizer, the vet stumbled to a stop, his servo on the handrail as a sudden thought shifted his panic momentarily. Maybe...? Blue optics lifted, staring up the open space between the flights of stairs; all the way to the shadowy ceiling far above. Just maybe... First Aid spun on his heel, hurrying back up the staircase with renewed desperation.

xxXxXxx

It took a mighty shove to ram the door open, and when he did, the boerboel was met with a pounding spray of rain water to the face. "Slag!," Warpath cursed, throwing an arm up over his brow, while the other tried to keep the wind from ripping the door free as he shuffled quickly out onto the rooftop. His pitiful attempt actually did very little to keep the rainfall from splashing into his optics, made all the harder by the wind whipping it about in several hundred directions. "When the frag did this storm start?! Cha!"

The last thing the Warpath needed right now was a nasty downpour while he searched for Blades. If Blades was even up here, it made the situation all the more challenging, granted that the boerboel wasn't blown off the roof first. Shuffling forward, servos still lifted to provide some kind of reprieve, the autodog slowly made his way across the drenched rooftop, squinting to see between the sheets of rain and flashes of lightning.

"Blades!," he shouted over the howling wind, "Blades! Are you here? Bang!"

Warpath paused, halfway across the tarmac, unable to see any sign that the bull terrier was, or had, been there. Had he guessed wrong as to what the distraught mech might do? Swearing at himself viciously, Warpath started to turn on his pede when a particularly nasty gust barrelled over the apartment building; almost knocking the veteran to the edge and shaking the posted billboard so violently as to tear it straight from its anchors. Wiping water from his optics, Warpath gave a joyful shout, the passing wind having revealed Blades position on the thin edge in front of the billboard's face.

"Blades! Blades, wait! Kazam!," the boerboel called out, running messily over the rooftop and yanking himself onto the same ledge via the billboard's maintenance ladder. Panting, the older autodog shimmied slowly towards his comrade, trying to find a servohold against the dangerously slick poster.

"Blades," he shouted. The bull terrier hadn't even acknowledged his presence; optics staring down the dark, stormy side of the building only several inches away. "Blades, c'mon. Step back from the edge. This isn't the way and you know it! Zowie!"

His clothes were drenched now, yet all the same, the wind grabbed at the corners and hems, yanking on them in an attempt to get the boerboel to fall. Finger digging into the billboard's planks deeper, Warpath inched further across the rickety platform; optics glued to Blades warily, afraid of any sudden movement. "I know you're hurting, Blades," he called out over a roll of thunder, "But it ain't over yet. You've got your daughter, you've got your friends and, most importantly, you've still got your brother. Choom. First Aid has been with us for two days already; ain't left your side once! Whatever happened between you two, Blades, that pup cares for you so much. He wouldn't want you to do this! Now, please, come back down with me. Put poor First Aid's worries to rest. Pow!"

He was almost elbow to elbow with the bull terrier. Bracing himself for the moment when he grabbed the younger autodog, Warpath felt his spark seize when he heard a vocalizer shriek over the storm. "B-blades!"

"No, First Aid," Warpath shouted, his spark whirling dreadfully fast as he watched the little australian shepherd clamber quickly up the billboard ladder, "First Aid, get down! It's not safe! Bam!"

"B-brother Blades," the white mech sobbed, ignoring the veteran as he dragged himself onto the platform. "Bl-blades, p-please, d-don't do this! D-don't jump! Please, I-i-"

Another wild vortex started up, angrily shaking the billboard and everything on its surface. Grabbing Blades unconsciously, Warpath slammed his frame as tight as possible to the display board; snapping his helm around in time to see First Aid's pede slip on the rain-slick platform, the wind dragging the shocked vet over the edge. The white mech's scream cut short as his wrist was snatched, his shoulder burning at the sudden halt in his drop.

"It's okay, First Aid," Warpath yelled over the gust, "I got you! I gotcha; you're okay! Ching!"

First Aid looked up to the boerboel, shrieking as he slid a couple centimeters free from the other's grip. "Help! Pl-pluh-please," he wailed in terror, "D-don't let m-me go! PLEASE!"

Warpath grunted, shifting his weight awkwardly. The platform's edge bit painfully into his abdomen from where he had thrown himself against it in his haste, his servos much too damp. He couldn't get a tighter grip on the smaller autodog and his other servo kept them both from toppling over the side. "Grab my servo! Grab my servo, I'm gonna pull you up! Kachow!"

"I-i can't," First Aid cried, his terrified trembling causing him to slip another centimeter. "Aaaaahhh! Help me! Help me, please! B-brother Blades!"

Warpath squeezed First Aid's fingers in a death-like grip, making a fleeting prayer to Primus, as he yanked his arm up with all the strength he could muster; successfully, the australian shepherd swinging upwards, rising just over the other's helm... before his small fingers slipped out of the boerboel's crushing grip completely.

Time slowed.

Warpath watched, as inch by agonizing inch, First Aid's weeping face morphed to a wide-opticed stare of horror similar to his own; the younger autodog descending slowly past his reach as the veteran silently screamed at his frozen limbs to move.

There was a clang and something slamming into his back before a shadow fell before his optics. His frame jolting forward finally, Warpath grabbed Blades' legs before the bull terrier could fall any further, hearing as First Aid's screams ended abruptly as he too was caught. "Hang on! Hang on! Blam!," the veteran shouted, grunting as he pushed against the platform, ignoring its threatening creaks to buckle as he dragged himself back from the edge.

Once his knees were back on the platform, Blades added in his own wriggling, until his elbows were locked on the edge; using both his legs and arms to launch himself and First Aid the rest of the way up to safety, rocking back against the billboard with a heavy thud.

"That's it," Warpath wheezed, clambering slowly to his pedes, a servo pressing against an ache in his side, "I'm done for the night. Clang."

He glanced up to check on the other two, his optics dimming sympathetically at First Aid clinging to his brother like a second skin. His panicked sobs and hiccups could still be heard over the rain and thunder. As for Blades... He loosely held the traumatized mech, as if uncertain if he could, but his optics were bright with fear and profound relief.

The bull terrier had finally woken up.

Reflections of red and blue sparkled between the buildings; magnified by the rain-slicked brick and mortar. Hazarding a peek off the billboard, Warpath noted that several emergency vehicles, Enforcers included, had congregated on the busy street below. Their little scare must have drawn someone's attention despite the storm. "C'mon," the veteran urged gently, grasping Blades' shoulder and helping to lift the still-clutching First Aid, "Let's get out of here. Bang."