It took all of Ratchet's persuasive power to keep Bumblebee from running to Sari for "help," sure that her Allspark-infused Key could somehow remove the gallons of paint from Bulkhead's delicate joints. Ratchet refused to allow the experiment. He'd spent enough time on the sidelines lately while his hard-earned medical skills were made obsolete by an eight-year-old. No, this was his job, frag it, even if it was only a clean up. He grimaced. Maybe he should just recharge in the broom closet with the vacuum-bot.
Now thoroughly miserable, he stomped into the main room to look for the only bot who didn't annoy the slag out of him. Exasperatingly altruistic as sometimes he was, Prime was a good listener. Their stay on Earth had changed him, forced him to stop hiding from his troubled past behind long-winded speeches and old war vids and become the leader Ratchet had always known he could be. He was proud of the kid. Trusted him. He reminded him of another bot he'd known all those years ago, during the War.
Unfortunately, Prime didn't appear to be in a listening mood. He had his own problem to deal with—and it didn't particularly like machines.
"I don't care how it got there!" A gravelly, Detroit accent boomed from the monitor phone. Across the room, the radio suddenly stopped playing the country music Optimus was so fond of and died with a pathetic fizzle. "It's trashing my city!"
"We'll take care of it, Captain," Finally noticing the medic, Optimus shot him a harried look. Ratchet knew that look, and he didn't like it.
"Ratchet, I need you to take Prowl and head for the park. The Dinobots are on a rampage," Optimus rubbed his earfins wearily. Yep, definitely Prime's I-have-no-idea-how-to-deal-with-this-so-I'm-dumping-it-in-your-lap-Ratchet look.
Well two could play at that game. "And just what are Twinkle-Pedes and I supposed to do against an entire herd of Dinobots?" He demanded, turning his fiercest glare on the Prime. He threw in a generous helping of scorn and a light dash of fatherly disappointment for good measure.
Optimus wasn't fazed in the slightest. Frag. "The Dinobots trust Prowl," he replied reasonably. "They'll listen to him,"
"And if they DON'T listen to him? Is he supposed to hum them into submission?"
"Then you'll be there as backup with your EMP generator," The Prime was ready with an answer.
Prowl materialized beside them, and Optimus and Ratchet jumped. Ratchet was going to run out of glares at this rate. This was his eleventh since breakfast.
"Prime's plan is sound, Ratchet," The ninja-bot didn't bother to make eye contact. Instead, he padded silently over to the monitor and typed swiftly. An image of downtown Detroit appeared on the screen, looking somewhat worse for the wear. "You and I should be able to handle the situation,"
Ratchet stared at him. Kid hadn't even been in the room, how did he even know what they were- Prowl glanced back at him, eyebrow lifting. Because he was Prowl, that's how.
"This isn't up for debate, Ratchet," Prime was annoyed now.
Ratchet glanced at the monitor. On the screen, an out-of-control Grimlock tore apart a freshly painted swing set, chunks of spit-coated metal flying.
"Guess not," Ratchet said gruffly. Transforming, he followed Prowl out onto the streets.