A/N: Well, I lied about finishing this in 2-3 chapters--and I lied about this fic not being a sequel.
'Cause, you know, it is.
Oops.
This thing has sort of hijacked itself, and it's just taking me along for the ride--so I've officially decided to just sit down, shut up, and enjoy it for as long as it cares to last. XD
Thanks once again to VAWitch for being the best beta reader ever. XD
Oh, and here's a shameless plug for my twin's (ryagelle's evil twin) fic, Breaking the Rules--if you haven't read it yet, do so. You will laugh your aft off.
When the three of them reached Wheeljack's lab—Sunstreaker had followed them, confinement be damned—Ratchet was horrified, though not surprised, to see that the heavy doors that had been designed specifically for incidents such as this were lying in a twisted heap against the opposite wall in the hallway. Whatever 'Jack had been working on must have been even more volatile than usual, and it had reduced his workspace to nothing but rubble.
Ratchet and the Lamborghini twins picked their way through the wreckage, tripping over the crumpled ceiling plates and bits of equipment lying everywhere. The medic frantically searched the room for a splash of white or green and hoped that his friend was still alive, while Sunstreaker—uncharacteristically silent about potential damage to his paint job—and Sideswipe methodically began lifting up the larger pieces to look under them.
They had just lifted up a second chunk of ceiling when Ratchet cried, "Here!" They dropped the piece and hurried to their lover's side.
"Oh, 'Jack, you idiot," Ratchet muttered, vocalizer crackling with emotion as he scanned the badly damaged engineer.
Wheeljack was alive but thankfully offline, Sideswipe noted, shuddering with sympathy at the grisly injuries—the explosion had fused a lot of his armor plating to his frame, and in places had melted it away completely to expose charred wiring and internals. Ironically, the twisted lump of metal pinning the inventor to the floor had in all likelihood also saved him from being riddled with shrapnel, as well.
"Help me get this off of him," Ratchet murmured, tugging gently at the unrecognizable mass of metal lying on top of his friend, and the twin Lamborghinis complied without a word.
Just as they managed to heave it off of the injured Lancia, the cavalry came charging in, in the form of Prowl, Ironhide, Jazz—and Optimus Prime, who took one look at Sunstreaker and demanded, "What is he doing out of quarters?"
Everyone just sort of froze for a moment and you might have been able to hear a pin drop if it hadn't been for the steady tick, tick, tick of cooling metal.
Finally, Sunstreaker replied, a little belligerent, "Helping Ratchet. Sir." He added the last as an afterthought, almost insultingly, and only curled one lip in a sneer when the medic hissed, "Sunstreaker!"
Prime stared at the tense yellow Lamborghini with narrowed optics.
"I am willing to overlook your presence due to the circumstances, but the insubordinate attitude is not helping you, Sunstreaker," Optimus said grimly. "Since we are now here to assist, I advise that you get back to your quarters immediately."
Sunstreaker regarded his commanding officer contemptuously for a moment before replying in a deliberate tone, "No, I don't think I will," and turned back to begin clearing the debris from around Wheeljack's prone form.
Prime's optics fairly glowed with anger. "Then you leave me no choice," he said in a voice that managed to be both cold and sad. "Prowl, Ironhide, escort Sunstreaker to the brig. We'll see if cooling your jets in a cell will sweeten your disposition."
"Optimus, no…" Ratchet whispered, optics wide and vocalizer unsteady. He was torn between defending the yellow Lamborghini and working to stabilize his dearest friend, and the stress of having to do both at the same time was bidding fair to overwhelm his cooling system and send him into processor lock.
"Prime, please… Sunny, come on, let's go back, I'll go with you—they can take care of Wheeljack," Sideswipe said a little desperately, tugging on his brother's arm.
"Frag you, and frag Wheeljack! I'm not here for him," Sunstreaker snarled, shoving his brother away. Ironhide quickly moved into the red twin's place.
"C'mon, Sunshine, time ta go," he said gruffly, reaching out to grip the yellow shoulder. "Don't make me make ya." Sunstreaker glared at the offending hand, but the weapons specialist refused to relinquish his hold.
"He was just helping me," Ratchet interjected dully, his attention divided between Wheeljack and the drama unfolding around Sunstreaker. The yellow Lamborghini did not take long to reach the point where he looked ready to launch himself at Ironhide—except Wheeljack chose that exact moment to come to.
The inventor groaned and said weakly, "Did anyone get the license plate of that truck?"
Ratchet stared at him for nearly a minute without saying a word, his face screwed up in a strangely unreadable expression—and then hit him over the head with a resounding clang.
"YOU…! You… stupid…" He struggled for a few more moments, and when words refused to come, he settled for hitting Wheeljack again before narrowly stopping himself from babbling apologetically as the Lancia's vocalizer emitted a pitiful whine.
"Ooohh, Primus," Wheeljack moaned, and Sunstreaker sprang into action, shrugging off Ironhide's hand and saying "C'mon Sides," as he reached down to grip the inventor under the arms. "Get his feet," he added crossly, when no one moved.
Sideswipe scrambled to obey his brother, obviously unnerved by the yellow twin's behavior. "Easy," the red Lamborghini muttered, gently helping his brother lift Wheeljack off of the floor as the inventor made little pained noises.
Everyone except Sunstreaker jumped when someone made a nervous sound—much like a human clearing his throat—and they looked around to the door when Bumblebee stuck his head in and asked, apparently amazed at the extent of the damage, "Is he… gonna be alright?"
"If we ever get him back to the medbay," Ratchet replied irritably, glaring equally at everyone and to all appearances having regained his equilibrium.
This comment seemed to kick-start everyone else, and they all began clearing a path so that neither of the twins would trip over anything on their way out with their injured burden.
Just as they began to pass Prime, though, the Autobot leader held out a hand to Sunstreaker and stopped him. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, catching and holding the yellow warrior's optics. Sunstreaker nodded slowly in confused acceptance, and Optimus pulled back and gathered his resolve. "You're still confined to quarters, though—and I expect you back there when you're finished helping with him." A gesture indicated Wheeljack. Sunstreaker nodded again, and the twins carried the once-again unconscious inventor to the medbay.
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Ratchet rubbed a hand across his face wearily; Wheeljack was in far worse shape than Gears had been. At least Sunstreaker had deliberately avoided damaging any vital areas so as not to kill the little 'Bot—the explosion the inventor had inadvertently set off had caused dangerous fluctuations in several of his essential systems.
He kept drifting in and out of consciousness, and was rarely as lucid as he had been when he first woke up back in his lab. Several times Ratchet had had to have Swoop or the twins hold his friend down while he and First Aid painstakingly removed the scorched and melted components, and it ripped at his spark to hear the engineer scream—but his pain receptors had been mostly fused to his chassis by the heat and could not be disabled except by scraping them off, which was an excruciating process.
The medic drew a deep draught of air into his intakes to steel himself for another round; it was a mistake, since all it did was flood his olfactory sensors with the scent of burning electronics and overheated metal. He coughed a little, and First Aid patted his back sympathetically. He glanced up at the Protectobot just in time to see the pained expression leave his face as he schooled his features into impassivity, and was abruptly reminded that seeing his creator so badly damaged had to be taking its toll on the young 'Bot.
"Him Wheeljack will be alright," Swoop commented in what he probably hoped was a soothing tone—except his own worry shone through like a beacon. The Dinobot had just as much cause to be concerned as First Aid, after all.
Sideswipe decided to put his two cents in. "Yeah, Ratchet can fix anything," he said, the light of conviction shining in his optics.
"You have a great deal of faith in me," Ratchet replied unsteadily, reaching down to begin prying at another cluster of fused relays while Wheeljack was still offline.
"Why shouldn't we?" Sunstreaker asked, lifting his optics from studying the floor. "You've put us back together when we were so slagged everyone thought we were deactivated for sure."
Sideswipe nodded in agreement. "Sunny's right—we'd be very dead if it weren't for you. You wouldn't have even been chosen for this outfit's chief medical officer if you weren't 'the cream of the crop' as the humans say. You're the best Cybertron has to offer, and you've proven it again and again—that's why we have faith in you." He eased around the repair table and slid his arms around Ratchet's waist without disturbing the work the medic was doing and whispered softly, "It'll be alright—we're here, we love you." Ratchet just stood and trembled in his arms for a moment, then Sideswipe let go of him, and he forced himself to finish pulling the clump of relays free and dump them on the floor with the rest of the ruined parts.
"Primus, please let them be right—please let him pull through," the medic breathed softly, so no one would hear him. He picked up a new relay cluster and carefully soldered it into place, and nearly jumped when Wheeljack hissed in pain. He was awake again.
Ratchet looked up into the fitfully flickering optics of his oldest friend. "That bad, huh?" Wheeljack wheezed—at least he had stabilized to the point that he was coherent again.
The medic looked away, no longer able to meet his friend's gaze. "You'll be fine," he muttered, going back to his work just as First Aid began again on the inventor's other side.
"Liar," Wheeljack accused weakly. "If I were fine, you'd be yelling at the top of your vocalizer." He grunted as First Aid, as gently as he could, scraped a melted wire off of his frame. "Easy, 'Aid," he said irritably.
"I am being easy," the Protectobot retorted under his breath.
Ratchet got the sense that Wheeljack was grinning beneath his facemask. "You're rubbing off on him, Ratch," he said with a chuckle that turned into a hiss of pain when First Aid deliberately tugged a little too hard on his wiring. "Yup, definitely rubbing off on him," he finished ruefully. If his headfins hadn't been just as blasted as the rest of him, they would probably have been flashing in amusement.
"Hot Spot thinks so, too," the Protectobot murmured, sounding amused himself—he was no longer as distraught now that his creator was coherent and talking to them.
The inventor uttered a choked cry when Ratchet removed another pain receptor, followed by a sigh of relief as the sensation in the area was deadened.
"Sorry," Ratchet muttered, seemingly embarrassed by his inability to keep Wheeljack out of pain.
"'S alright," the engineer mumbled. "Hey, I thought Sunny was confined to quarters?" His optics had lit on the twins, standing a little apart from the medics clustered around the repair table. Swoop took it on himself to explain, abruptly leaning into Wheeljack's field of vision and startling the Lancia.
"Him Prime said it OK that him Sunstreaker stay here," the Dinobot chirped, overtly ecstatic that Wheeljack was awake and aware again.
"Hello, Swoop," Wheeljack said faintly, staring with wide optics at the pterosaur.
"Hello, Wheeljack!" Swoop replied happily before going back to what he'd been doing—digging through the supplies for the parts and pieces Ratchet and First Aid would need to put the inventor back together. Sideswipe snickered at the Dinobot's childlike behavior, and Ratchet could not completely repress a smile.
It quickly withered in the face of Wheeljack's injuries, however, and his focus sharpened when the engineer whispered unsteadily, "Well that's not good," at the same time that the monitors displaying the status of all of his vital systems began flashing warnings.
"Frag!" Ratchet snarled—a primary energon pump had ceased functioning.
"Ratchet, what—" Sideswipe began, taking a step toward the medic in alarm.
"Everyone but First Aid, out!" the CMO snapped. "His primary energon pump has failed," he told the junior medic, using a laser scalpel to cut into the protective layers that had partially melted into the pump. He looked up for a moment to see the twins and Swoop still standing where they had been as though transfixed by the scene. "OUT!" he roared, flinging the scalpel in their general direction, and they scattered like a covey of quail, darting out of the door. They knew better than to test the ambulance when a patient's life was on the line.
First Aid wordlessly retrieved the tool and held it out to him along with a new pump. Face grim, Ratchet accepted both, and wrenched open the panel hiding the failed component. He winced at what he saw, then got to work.
"Don't you dare die on me, you slagger," he muttered despairingly.
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"Hey, what's going on?" a voice cried as they escaped the medbay, and they looked around to see Jazz rising from where he had sat against the wall beside the door, waiting for news. Prowl, Ironhide, Bluestreak, and Bumblebee stood nearby, presumably for the same reason.
Sunstreaker just shook his head forebodingly, and stalked into the quarters the twins shared with Ratchet, shutting the door behind himself.
All optics turned to Sideswipe expectantly.
"So how's 'e doin', Sides?" Ironhide drawled, expression worried.
Sideswipe gave the weapons specialist a weary look. "We were chased out of the medbay, if that gives you any clue," he replied. "I'm no medic, but I don't think it's looking too good," he added, unhappily. Sunstreaker's concern may have been solely for Ratchet's well-being, but the red Lamborghini genuinely liked Wheeljack, and it bothered him to think that the easy-going mech might be dying in there.
Swoop made a mournful, keening noise deep in his throat and fled, no doubt seeking the comfort of his brothers. The others stared after him in undisguised sorrow.
"Poor kid," Ironhide said gruffly. Everyone nodded and murmured agreement. By unspoken consensus, they all picked a place along the wall to settle back down and wait.
No one spoke as the time stretched into hours; even Bluestreak was silent. Eventually Prime came and joined them as well, and was disappointed to hear that no more news had been forthcoming since everyone had been ejected from the medbay.
It was beginning to make Sideswipe antsy. He reached out along the reassuring thread of the bond with his brother, feeling Sunstreaker's presence reach out to him in return and enfold him for mutual comfort. He allowed himself to be swept up in his twin's consciousness, relaxing in the feeling of wholeness it gave him and knowing that Sunstreaker felt the same no matter how much they got on each others' nerves.
It was unnerving to them that they couldn't reach out to Ratchet in the same way that they reached out to each other; they came close during interfacing, but it felt somehow incomplete—and they suddenly realized that they wanted it to be, that they needed to be able to touch their lover's mind and know that he was alright, that he loved them.
::Do you think he would bond with us?:: one part of the entity that was Sideswipe-and-Sunstreaker asked the other.
::I don't know,:: the other replied. ::It's not something that's really done anymore.::
::I wish he would,:: the first said wistfully.
::So do I,:: his brother answered. Whatever else might have been said was lost, however, when an exhausted-looking Ratchet emerged from the medbay. Sideswipe disengaged himself from the bond and rushed to envelop the tired CMO in a comforting embrace. Sunstreaker was suddenly there as well, wrapping his arms around both of them, and the medic allowed them to support him for a moment.
"Are you ok?" one of them asked quietly, and he nodded wordlessly before pulling free of them to look at Prime.
"Wheeljack is stable," he announced, and there were suddenly relieved grins all around. Bluestreak began babbling excitedly to Ironhide, Prowl clutched Jazz's hand tightly while the saboteur's smile threatened to engulf his face, and Prime's tension visibly faded. Bumblebee said something to the effect of telling everyone else the good news, and took off toward the common room.
Ratchet held up a hand to forestall any further celebration. "He's not completely out of the woods yet," he said warningly. "Considering the extent of the damage, it will be a while before he's fully functional again—he melted most of his outer plating to his frame, and that's not easy to fix—but all of his core systems are online. He'll live."
Prime nodded. "Keep me informed," he said. His optics flicked over to Sunstreaker, and he visibly made the decision to say nothing about the yellow twin's apparent inability to obey orders and stay in his room. Sunstreaker, not an unobservant mech, noticed this and, with a surprisingly gentle kiss for Ratchet, disappeared back into his quarters without having to be told.
"I do believe that's the first time I've ever seen him do something like that without a fight," Prowl remarked, staring after the yellow Lamborghini thoughtfully.
"Hmm," Jazz said. He tugged at the hand still tangled with his own. "C'mon, Prowler, we gotta get in some recharge before our shifts start." The tactician followed the Porsche without protest, and the others left as well.
Ratchet let himself sink back into Sideswipe's arms once everyone was out of sight.
"Is First Aid staying with him?" the red Lamborghini asked, pressing a kiss to the top of the white head.
"Yeah, he wanted to," Ratchet murmured, burying his face in Sideswipe's shoulder.
Sideswipe put his fingers under Ratchet's chin and tilted his head back up so he could look into the medic's optics. "Are you sure you're alright?"
Ratchet shuddered. "No," he whispered. "Primus, I need a drink." Sideswipe hmm-ed noncommittally and tightened his hold on the medic. "Scratch that, I need to get drunk," he corrected himself, causing Sideswipe to arch an optic ridge.
"I know this is gonna sound stupid coming from me, but I don't think you ought to overcharge tonight," the red twin said reproachfully. "I will gladly help you get plastered off your aft any other time you want, but not tonight, ok?"
"Why not?" Ratchet demanded, pulling back a little.
"Because you'll regret it tomorrow. Let me and Sunny take care of you tonight, alright?" When the medic looked like he might stub up and tell him to frag off, he added, softly, "Please?"
All the fight drained out of Ratchet at that. "Alright," he muttered dejectedly, letting Sideswipe guide him into their quarters.
"You shut me out, you fragger," Sunstreaker said when they walked in, favoring his brother with a dark glare.
::Don't fight with me now, Sunny,:: Sideswipe sent beseechingly. ::He needs us to stay calm.:: Sunstreaker glowered at him for a moment longer, then relented when he saw Ratchet's careworn expression. Together, they pulled the medic over to their berth and wrapped him up in a warm embrace. They were surprised when their lover's hands began roaming almost feverishly over their frames—seduction had not been how they'd planned to comfort the white 'Bot.
Apparently Ratchet had other ideas.
Years as their Chief Medical Officer had let Ratchet become nearly as familiar with the two warriors' bodies as he was with his own, and the past few weeks as their lover had taught him exactly how to touch them if he wanted to drive them wild. He put the knowledge to good use now, feeling his own desperate desire rising as his Lamborghini lovers responded.
They quickly went on the offensive, fingers caressing every sensitive circuit and sensor they could reach. Sideswipe kissed him fiercely; Sunstreaker nipped and bit along his neck and the underside of his jaw. Using only their hands and mouths, they shoved him gasping over the edge of overload—and he couldn't help but cry out when they connected themselves to him right in the middle of it.
This new tactic broke the last barriers in his mind—and Ratchet suddenly knew what it was like to be one with another being. Their consciousnesses mingled with his; it became impossible to tell where one left off and another began. There was a sense of surprise from the part of them that was the twins, followed by a deep joy at being able to share with the medic what they had always shared with each other.
They soothed away the grief and fear that the-part-that-was-Ratchet had been feeling for his friend, until all that was left was their love and the knowledge that none of them ever need be alone again for as long as they functioned.
Through it all, the pleasure of their joining rose like a tide, until at last their overload broke over them like a cresting wave, and they fell into welcoming darkness.