A/N: This was done as a prompt from livejournal inspired by chimeradark and DeathStallion. Please review!

Disclaimer: I own nothing, sadly enough.


Gather younglings, for long ago a clan of fae lived hidden deep within the distant ancient lands. Pilgrims sought them for miracles, hunters sought them for treasure, and any caught by these fae never returned again. Yet, some, those rare few who sought nothing for themselves found safety beyond their borders and long life free of ill health. However, those travelers who sought the clan for their own gain ended cursed with long life and lingering ill health.

So hearken younglings and remember well the Clan o' the Earth, the Dawn Clan should never be trifled with, and never, ever angered. For, though they show a kindly face their spirits hold a terrible wrath …

Ratchet sagged from the berth he had tended, back aching and legs trembling with exhaustion. The dock worker, the mech named Broadwater, had finally been stabilized from Wheeljack's fingers fumbling in a stripped circuit. The mech would live – Ratchet stared at the leg as his optics reset in shock at the figure before him – and the leg that had needed replacing was now whole.

Ratchet felt his neck plating freeze just over his spinal strut. That leg had been utterly destroyed, only usable as a template for replacements and yet the mech gleamed as if newly formed. "'Jack?" Ratchet croaked, his voice pinched with shock and staticky from borderline terror. "How long – how long have I been working?" He looked, with wide optics slowly fading from verdant green to cobalt blue, to his brother, pleading for an answer that would dispel this nightmare.

'Jack could only hold Ratchet's gaze and try not to be afraid of his not-older brother. "It's just now dusk. You healed him, Ratch."

"That's impossible." The healer breathed, scared optics leaving 'Jack's to look once more upon the now recharging Broadwater. "It takes a full day just to build a new assembly –"

"Your hands made his lines and plating as soft fibers unraveling and reweaving his very being into a leg hale and complete. You are very powerful, dubhan ceann chòsach, far more powerful than any have been in mortal memory." Sun Storm praised.

"I'm not a fae!" Ratchet roared hoarsely, turning on the ethereally glowing yarrow sprite posing as a mortal cleric. "I'm mortal! I was raised a mortal by my carrier and creator to be a hunter! I am not a fae!"

"Uh, Ratch," Wheeljack spoke up hesitantly, "That's not quite correct." With a mind to how much space remained between him and his brother Wheeljack edged back slightly as he quickly filled in Ratchet on Hound's scenting 'Hide and Chromia as 'Jack's creators, the truth of their creators finding Ratchet in a cave after terminating its nightwalker inhabitants a full decade after 'Jack had been stolen as a sparkling, and Ratchet's optics changing from nightwalker violet to mortal blue upon his rescue those many vorns ago.

"I'm adopted?" Ratchet asked, optics unfocused while his face fell into utmost loss. "I'm adopted. They adopted me – and they never told me a fragged thing!" Ratchet howled in rage while his optics dimmed with fear of what he could do and the lie he had lived. He was exhausted, still trembling and so overwrought he did not know how to feel.

His own brother, the nightwalker, cowered from him. Brother Sun Storm stood tall as if vindicated, radiating an orange hue as if heralding the triumphant fae Ratchet should have felt he had become. The miniature mechs, Rumble and Frenzy were nowhere in sight. Only, and strangely enough, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe looked upon him as if they understood. Their optics were stark, frank and haunted, just as he felt. And, for the first time since their awakening he was grateful as the presence of the nightwalkers he had freed made itself known within his processors. That distant presence and the beautiful brothers here, at least, had not changed.

Sideswipe finally moved as the last resounding echoes of Ratchet's cry faded and stood at the healer's side. "Come on, this place was the pits during the day. I don't want to face it at night." Ratchet could only nod dumbly, processors suddenly feeling fuzzy and unclear.

Red and yellow, the brothers led Ratchet out of the Decepticon temple, Wheeljack scrambling to follow, grateful that the sun had set enough that he no longer had to fear its damaging light. Behind them, still softly glowing like a light of hope, Sun Storm stood in the mercy ward watching the strange quartet fade into the oncoming night.

Sunstreaker led them through the city as if born to this place. His pedes never erring on which road to take and never once did they cross paths with the gangs that prowled the streets in the twilight gloaming. As they moved ever closer to Madam Arachnia's inn Ratchet fell further into his stunned melancholy. He was exhausted, which could be explained by the strange encounter with the yarrow sprite, or having his brother nearly terminate his patient – or being accused of being a – a – whatever – it was, some immortal, self sacrificing, glowing fairy of healing. He snorted softly as he trudged along the dark, snow laden streets, him a fairy? The idea was beyond laughable, it was ludicrous. He would be sick with laughter, except that he was so slagging tired.

He thought back to the last time he had been this close to collapse and could only think of Arcee, nearly ten vorns ago. Yet, that in and of itself lent credence to Sun Storm's claims. If the last time he had exhausted himself was the very time he had saved Arcee from the liquefying torture of the wood spider venom, a recovery that was not only miraculous but more so overshadowed by her perfect health ever since. Then maybe the glowing nut case had a point.

Only, Ratchet fumed as he distractedly stumbled over his own pedes, ignoring the murmured warning to watch his pedes, the soft offer of assistance and the following snarl to stay away. He didn't care right now what his brother and companions did. He was just tired and he did not want to be any type of fairy. Especially not some glowing fairy with strange green optics that went flitting about the countryside, free as a lark and offering its assistance to the weak and infirm with the wave of some fairy wand. That was just unnatural – and dumb.

"You're gonna blow a main processor there Ratch, and our creators won't like hearing that you thought yourself into a death spiral." Jack ribbed Ratchet, finally getting over his own insecurity at the changes in his brother – after all he hadn't changed, only the history their parents had created for him.

"Shut it 'Jack." Ratchet huffed tiredly, wondering absently why everything was so dim when usually this time of night the lamps were so bright …

"Ratchet!" Jack cried as Ratchet suddenly shut down as if switched off by some greater force.

"Took the slagger long enough." Sunstreaker rumbled as he gathered Ratchet into his arms.

"You knew he would do that?" 'Jack asked suspiciously as they turned the final bend to the inn.

Both taller mechs looked down at 'Jack with incredulous, baleful gazes. "He performed miracle that took from sun's rising to dusk, he never fueled up and held his own in a street fight." Sideswipe spoke slowly as if to an utterly dim youngling.

"He should have gone into stasis lock hours ago." Sunstreaker filled in.

"But, he's a fae!" 'Jack protested, astonished and somewhat disappointed that Ratchet did not radiate the same spectral aura that Sun Storm had, and that his optics had looked mortal once more. He could not fathom why his – darkling sparked – brother couldn't do all he had and still take on a nightwalker horde, perform miracles throughout the night and come dawn merely proclaim he had just 'worked up an appetite.'

"He was raised to believe he was mortal, you aft!" Sunstreaker snarled at 'Jack.

"He's a fae and was found less than thirty vorns ago as a sparkling he's young. He won't grow into his gift until he's older and that's if he can at all!" Sideswipe paused, one hand warningly on 'Jack's shoulder, "It's hard being something, knowing that one thing all your existence, then suddenly finding yourself crashing down and realizing you're something you're not supposed to be. You can't hero worship him, he's still just your brother."

Jack made to protest the taller pair's words, but found he was strangely mute from the harrowed darkness that shone from their optics. Realization hit him like a thunderbolt from heaven. "You were not raised as merchants, were you?"

Sunstreaker snorted harshly, "No."

"Primus!" Suddenly Arachnia was in front of them in the cold snow, her velvet dress contrasting starkly against the heavily bundled mechs. "He performed another miracle?"

Jack followed the slight femme's gaze to Ratchet's exhausted face plates, and mutely nodded, suddenly feeling like a heel. Ratchet had always clung to his mortality, shoved every feat he could accomplish in Jack's face when they were younger. Forcing the nightwalker to do everything better than Ratchet could despite the younger's whining at not being able to. "Brother, I can run creator's obstacle course and I'm mortal! There is nothing you cannot do if you just slagging do it and quit whining!" The tough affection Ratchet had showered him with in their younger days had made the ticking time bomb of a teenage angst nightwalker into a decent mech.

"He wove a mech's leg back together after a dock accident." Jack replied somberly, voice filled with awed guilt.

Arachnia only shook her head as she escorted the mechs inside. "'Jack, get into the common room, warm up and get something to drink. You two, get him to his quarters. I'll have Arcee stop by shortly."

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe moved immediately once they were able to rid themselves of Wheeljack, taking Ratchet into their shared room and lying him on the berth with gentle hands.

"Wait," Sideswipe's head suddenly popped up, "If nightwalkers are kept out of the city then how did Arachnia know Wheeljack?"

"Slag if I know." Sunstreaker dismissed his brother's concern as he gently undressed Ratchet to his small clothes. Now with only a light pair of knee breeches between Ratchet's plating and their optics the pair studied the healer's frame, both delighting at the dark red plating that showed through the thin material at Ratchet's hips.

"He's not beautiful." Sideswipe finally spoke, it was Sunstreaker's assessment, and it was true. For one who had lived his entire life looking at Sunstreaker's perfectly sculpted frame and gorgeous face Sideswipe knew true beauty. Ratchet, however, was enchanting in his unique way. Even when unconscious his smaller frame with its blocky build and sharp chevron on his brow was if not attractive then at least appealing. The off white face, sculpted so carefully would seem frail and delicate on any other, but with his other features made him attractive and imposing.

"Heh, I don't have words to describe him." Sunstreaker finally admitted, and from Sunstreaker, Sideswipe mused, that was the highest compliment. With their optics sated of admiring Ratchet's frame the pair covered the healer tenderly and curled around him over the blankets letting their meager radiant warmth cocoon their beloved healer.


"Slaggit 'Jack!" Arachnia swore as she collapsed into a chair opposite of the nightwalker in the common room, "I don't know how you made your optics blue, but if your guise flickers for even an astrosecond Springer will know and then you'll be terminated." Her words were barely a whisper, a mere murmur of breath that was completely devoured by the inn's common room noise. Yet, Wheeljack's hearing could pick up each word clearly as if they were alone in the large room.

"What guise? I never developed that gift." Jack blinked at Arachina and suddenly both felt their plating prickle along their necks. "Then who gave it to me?"

She shook her head and made a swift warding motion with her hands, "When you first stumbled out of those tunnels five vorns ago I barely kept you alive long enough for Sentinel to come for you. Do not get yourself killed now. Primus, why do you insist each and every vorn on following your brother?"

"He kept me from becoming the bloodthirsty monster I should have been, and someday I hope to repay that favor. Someday he'll find a new childe and I'll keep that youngling from becoming a monster as well." 'Jack shrugged, "Besides, someone's got to keep an optic on him with the way he overworks himself. The first vorn he had this route he came home so exhausted we all thought he would terminate in recharge. I hadn't ever seen our creators so frantic before." 'Jack trailed off and Arachnia could only shake her helm slightly with a sigh.

"We couldn't find Ratchet earlier, but a mech came into the city today looking for him, a healer named First aid."

"Did anyone come with him?" 'Jack tensed at the thought of the naive healer traveling this area alone in the dangerous winter weather.

"No, a green mech was with him up to the gates then continued on, even with the afternoon's storm coming in fast on his heels."

"There was a storm?" Jack asked blankly, optics cycling as he thought back to the thick drifts of snow they had trudged through.

"You four were lucky you had some sort of shelter, the crafters sector to the east got hit hard. We're lucky Springer's guard was available for rescue. They almost could have used Ratchet out there, would have if young First Aid had not stepped forward to help." The inn keep sighed and leaned back into her chair. "News traveled fast on his miracle, kept folks calm." Arachnia looked over her common room with a proud sigh, "Well, business doesn't run itself."

"Where's Aid staying?" Jack asked, fairly certain the youngster would appreciate a familiar face.

"End of the hall."


"Awake at last?" Ratchet looked up at the familiar voice, starting to see First Aid sitting at his bedside. The younger healer's pale healer's smock framed starkly by the night dark window behind him.

"I told you –"

"'To stay in Healer's Wrath, until the villagers were confident in surviving the winter without a healer.'" First Aid filled in dutifully, ignoring the harsh rasp of Ratchet's voice. "They have the remaining healers from Coldsteel Garrison who had hidden with the femmes and younglings from the nightwalkers. Several survivors from Greensteel were found including a weather witch and a hedge wizard, both capable of basic treatments.

"Master, they kicked me out. They were ready to stand on their own." 'And they weren't too fond of a mere journeyman trying to tell them what to do.' Aid kept his thoughts to himself, not wishing that poor village to suffer Ratchet's wrath.

Ratchet huffed softly. He had left Aid behind, hoping to lead the nightwalkers away from his apprentice. Now, however he was back to training First Aid on the road. "Then you can make yourself useful." The master healer ground out, silently grateful that Aid had not come to harm and prayed that the nightwalkers he had unleashed would leave the journeyman healer alone.

"Hand me my journal." Ratchet signaled to the travel bag near the bed, gratefully accepting a tattered, messy leather tome from within its cluttered depths. "Here, the crimson feather marks all my notes on Pax Crystalia." He opened the massive book to the indicated page before handing it to Aid and pulled out a collapsing file for himself. "I've attended the mercy ward of Primus High Temple and a new mercy ward beyond the docks for the Decepticon Temple. Read through that section and get to work. We still have to get to Crystal Spire in two weeks."

Aid nodded, ignoring Ratchet's efficient scribbling on loose leaf sheets as he began flipping through the many pages of precise script that filled the feather light parchment of the master healer's tome. Each page was impossibly thin, yet not even the thickest ink bled through. Both sides of every page were filled with Ratchet's precise handwriting and sketches. What Aid had intended to be just a quick glance to determine the gist of what he was facing instantly altered into fascinated reading.

The history of Ratchet's route over the last five vorns lay before him, each town was defined by a distinct place marker – dried flowers, bits of colored fabric, a tuft of moss, stray feathers and twigs filled the book, all indicating a different location on the route. For each town and village his assessment of each and every healer, herbalist, midwife, surgeon, dentist and base mechanic were listed, with follow up notes from each successive visit.

The pair worked as the morning slowly brightened until the window behind Aid shone with morning's coneflower hue. "Time's up," Ratchet growled into the silence, pulling Aid from his entranced reading. "Get, you know what to do."

Aid nodded, this tome was historical record and guide book in one, allowing him to step into his master's role with ease as each major location was memorized along with its roster of healers and nurses. The journeyman healer stood resolutely from his seat beside Ratchet, donned his winter cloak of drab black fur, slipped his own healer's bag across his chest and left the room with soft, purposeful steps.

Once his apprentice left the room Ratchet let himself sag. He was too tired to even think of putting his papers back into his satchel. Yet, he was proud of his trainee. The younger mech was doing well on his own. Maybe, Ratchet mused as unconsciousness once more claimed him, leaving First Aid alone in Healer's Wrath had done the young one some good.


A/N: … until next time.