Wavering

*Transformers: Tarn and Pharma

Ratchet, First Aid, Ambulon

Warning for like, Pharma sadness and kinda twisted cute Tarn

Errors and alerts flashed over Pharma's HUD one after the other, each more dire than the last. Having been roused from recharge slowed his response time but he was alert enough to know just how massive his problems were about to be. Systems were failing and the doctor scrambled to sort through the errors as quickly as possible. He initiated diagnostics on his frame and tried to understand the cause. Pain did not register until he had unwound and rebooted one crashed system.

Wailing and whimpering became his own personal sound module as he struggled to focus on his tasks. He could curl up in pain and let his systems crash until he was no more or he could grit his dental plates and fight; he had always been a fighter. The pain, core deep fire stemming in his processor and licking outward, did hinder him though. While he fought to stay online his system was fighting for something else, searching for something at all cost, and the longer it did not find it the more it shut down.

He clawed madly at anything and everything, searching for something to help him, ground him, just anything. At this point he did not know what would help but he knew he needed something. He could not even find his way to accessing his optics to online them but it hardly mattered. His body was already beginning to spasm and he distantly understood it was shock.

Everything was shutting down, gearing off, and it hurt! Something sharp and blazing hot was jammed into his back strut, or at least it felt that way. Moving was so difficult! So lost to his private battle was he that he barely felt the servos on him, did not register that he was physically battling outside forces until he heard them shouting.

"Pharma, stop! You must hold still!" First Aid actually sounded close to frantic.

"You were right down the hall!" Ambulon shouted with some actual venom, "How did you not notice this!"

"I checked on him five kliks ago and he was fine!" First Aid grumbled back, and Pharma noticed he was being lifted, "He was not supposed to be able to disconnect himself from the machine! You should have strapped him down!"

The jetformer bit back a cry of pain as blades ran up and down his backstrut without mercy. The motion was pure torture and he was unsure why. Perhaps he injured himself during a flight. A turbine malfunction? A crash might make some sense but there had to be more to it than that. If there was an injury, he should remember the event. All he remembered was resting on the table and waiting with dread to be forced back onto a shift.

The cold table was under his back again and he realized he must have been on the ground. What made him fall in the first place? Had he been dreaming? Maybe First Aid came to wake him only to find something was wrong. Perhaps it was a virus that had eaten through his firewall somehow. He was sure he updated not long ago but that was the only logical answer for this.

"If you thought so, why didn't you do it!" Ambulon was rough as he rammed a needle into Pharma.

The needle was of little concern to Pharma when First Aid slammed a connection home inside his open spark chamber. Had it been open all along? Primus! What had these two idiots done to him? Why had he been connected to a spark supporting system, because of course he knew what that cable was!

A bit of struggling got his optics online because he simply had to see! Mobility was limited and he could hardly make his helm move, but at least he could see. The roof was still in one piece.

Had they been attacked? Had the hospital be hit in some battle? Was he injured? He must have been! The two nurses looked well enough; Ambulon did have a bit less paint and some dents; First Aid might have been a little scuffed; but where was Ratchet? Who attacked his hospital? Pharma would not stand for this! No one attacked his hospital!

"Pharma, stop! I need you to relax, everything is fine!" Ambulon was coiled around one of Pharma's arms, a leg thrown up over his midsection to restrain him; there were times Pharma forgot how strong Ambulon was.

Fine was not at all how this situation should be described, actually. Ambulon was a dirty liar!

"Nooo!" Pharma moaned; he hurt and he just wanted out, to go back to his office and be in misery in peace. "L'me go!"

When he tried to force his way into a sitting position he yelped at the lightning bolt of pain that burst through his CPU. A rod had been driven in one temple and out the other, he could feel it! It hurt! He hurt! Everything was pain.

Each pump of his energon was felt as a forceful pounding in his body, concentrating in his helm. It pounded and pounded and drove him mad in the most excruciating way. His own energon burned too hot in over sensitive systems. Every joint ached and no position lessened it though he kept trying, desperate for relief. All he needed was to feel marginally better but that was too much to ask.

"Come now, Pharma," Tarn's deep voice cooed with surprising gentleness, "you are only hurting yourself more this way. You should stay still and relax."

The jet's body was stiff upon the berth, jerking one way and then the next as the waves of pain spiraled through him without relenting. The whine through gritted dental plates must have said as much as speaking a litany. A large purple servo splayed over his cracked cockpit as if he was trying to prevent Pharma's wild motion from cracking it further. The doctor was a wreck and he could do nothing to fix himself, which drove his processor to disparagement. He cursed himself for making that virus; Ratchet for ruining everything; Ratchet for infecting him; Drift and Ratchet for making him fall; himself for picking a place so far from the ground that it would crush his perfect frame so; the cure; and Tarn for picking him up. Would that he had simply gone offline! He would have been spared this! The virus may not have taken hold as it could, but it had still run through his bodyshell and that hurt on its own; like corrosive in his wires! It was acid rushing through him with every pump of contaminated energon.

Vos stopped him from being drained of energon and did a good number of repairs, but many were not fixed so easily or would need time. He had also replaced much of Pharma's energon with a clean supply, and there was still a line connected to finish the process. No one touched him until much of the toxin was purged. They had done a majority of that where they found him, draining his life force until he was nearly extinguished. That was a far worse ordeal but he had been online for only a few kliks of that. The memories he had made him grateful for it to have passed but it did not help the pain now.

Pharma opened his oral vent to scream out his hatred and rage but all he produced were ugly sobs that fell utterly short in portraying anything but how miserable he was. He was angry, slagging angry, and hurt, and…afraid. He did not fight or struggle when the tank lowered himself onto his side and pulled Pharma to him until they were chest plate to chest plate. There was gentleness that shocked the doctor, especially considering being pressed against the tank should have hurt his cockpit, but there was no pain.

Tarn held him in massive arms to still the trashing, and Primus help him, Pharma relaxed into the comforting hums sung to his spark.

He sobbed again but he was beginning to forget why as he let the warmth of another engine thaw his chilled frame. The jetformer was shivering cold, unnaturally, and the tank was so warm. Pharma's spark slowed its thrashing and began to relinquish itself to the softness engulfing it. Pain was still a pressure against his neural net but it was progressively being brought to a dulled edge.

"Tarn…" Pharma whimpered into throat cables, imploring, for what he did not know.

"You will be alright, Doctor."

Wiring relaxed at the assurance even though this 'bot was the last one he should believe, "Why d-do you care? Why help me? I-I'm…" His processor was railed against itself and he found words spilling out that were very unwise to remind his companion of, "I'm not useful anymore. I can't get you more T-cogs. I lost Delphi, they know everything and they will never let me near a hospital again… I'm not a doctor anymore, there is nothing-"

"Doctor, please, be calm. Suffering is only amusing to behold if it is intentional. While I may enjoy reducing the wicked to blubbering, I do not enjoy seeing the same from an ally I have no reason to punish."

Ally? No reason to punish? Did Tarn realize why he had originally begun work on a virus that activated from transformation? Surely he realized who the original target had been before the world began to crumble and Pharma was simply so desperate to escape that he would destroy his hospital to be free. Perhaps the Decepticon did not know. Though, really, why had he decided not to even try using his virus against the DJD? He could have tried but he didn't.

That was beside the point now. The point was more that everything was in devastation; every single thing he worked so hard for was figuratively and literally in ruins. There was nothing left for him to go back to. Every piece of his past security had been stripped from him. Everything he found identity in was a wreckage of rust. The marvelous story of a medical prodigy looked a lot like a tragedy or perhaps a horror story at this point. Now he had nothing and he would never be himself again! He was as good as dead!

"B-but I'm…u-usl-ess! I'm not a doctor anymore. I was only ever a doctor…" Pharma did not know why he continued to push his luck and remind his rescuer that there was no reason to help him.

"You will always be a doctor, Pharma." Tarn did not even sound annoyed, just factual and relaxed. "But the title of 'medic' is not all that you are, even so. No one is ever only a singular piece of identity."

There was a high pitched whine from his engine that covered the sob from his vents but it was hard to tell if that was enough or not. Pharma did not want to be seen as weak but he was hard pressed to make things better. Tarn held him closer, like he sensed that Pharma was crumbling and intended to manually hold him together. Comfort was such a strange thing for the Decepticon to offer but it was taken gladly and sucked up greedily.

It was true. They could take his reputation, his hospital, his status… they could take all of that, but they could not take away his talent as a Doctor. Try as they might, they could not steal his innate skill and his knowledge. He was the best medic anyone would ever find no matter what Ratchet wanted to say! He could run circles around anyone!

Tarn was actually rather good at soothing, Pharma realized regretfully. Who would believe a torture expert could sooth just as skillfully. Shocking as it might be, he was gentle and warm…and knew the right things to say. Then again, it also made some sense. If one knew how to cause misery, they must first know what caused contentment. Half of torture was dangling just enough hope in front of the victim to keep them fighting; offer just enough mercy to make them hope more would come. Comfort was a torture all its own when it prolonged the inevitable.

Some things were certain, like a ruined career and a bleak future that could never be redeemed. If he changed his name and moved far away, maybe he could start over but he would be starting at the very bottom. His reputation was hard won, but he was forged a cut above. Born as he was, Pharma had never dealt with low status and had no idea how; he might have to learn.

That would be assuming he survived the DJD. There must be a reason the leader came for him when his own faction left him to die – there had to be a reason the team went along with the idea of bringing the Autobot along. What would be expected in exchange for his life this time? The first time involved T-cogs, compromise of his oath and ethics, his peace of mind, and how could he forget his patients...

Blue optics cut offline and flickered. He did not want to think about any of that. He was cold and sick and that was all he should have to focus on at a time. For now he could hope for comfort and his companion seemed willing to oblige for the time.

"Everything hurts." Pharma confided weakly, as if imparting a secret. "And by everything, I mean it in the most literal sense, down to each and every diode."

"I know." Tarn rubbed gently at the cables leading to his helm.

"I'm cold. Is it cold here?" Pharma asked.

"Your core temperature is quite hot but it has difficulty spreading through your system due to the damage. You feel cold because heat is not being distributed and it tricks your sensors into believing you are freezing."

That made perfect sense, of course. As a doctor, he knew everything about those symptoms. Knowing it did not make him feel warmer in the least. His HUD was even sending him messages about cold temperatures. His outer temperature sensors had been broken so his CPU had nothing to go by beside conflicting signals from within. His frame was trying to heal and it did not have time to distribute heat properly.

"It was always cold at Delphi." Pharma mused reflectively. "It was horrible."

"Autobots are too busy fighting to make their own comfortable. The price of being on the 'good' side." Tarn imparted that untimely wisdom.

"You were always warm." Pharma punctuated that by cuddling closer.

The tank did not seem to mind, "The perks of being right."

"Warm or cold has nothing to do with factions." Pharma groused, un-amused by being taunted.

"It can if it buys better ships, heating systems, and equipment." Tarn was being terribly unabashed.

"It doesn't count if you steal it all. Spark manipulation adds up to forcing a donation."

That brought a deep laugh from the tank, "Perhaps so, but it is effective, is it not?"

Pharma hummed, not up for a debate in his state, "Does it buy things to make you forget how sick you are?"

"Sometimes it does. Other times you rely on others to help you forget. That, as they say, is what friends are fore." The wordless song commenced again and the doctor began to feel a beautiful numbness.

Pharma did not have any friends; he knew that only too well. If he had any of those they could have held his back when he so desperately needed it, which was the reason his life was a shambles. Being the director meant that he was in charge of others and friendship would hinder that even if he desired it. A good leader did not have friends, they had associates. Safety was to be had for most situations in solitude but there was also vulnerability in other aspects. There was a time he counted a peer or two as friends but that was over as well.

The singular commodity Pharma had was enemies and he had those in spades. In fact, at this point, he was an enemy to the entire Autobot faction. He was a criminal and disgrace in the medical community. That being the case, he knew well that no friends were to be had among any of those numbers. The doctor had no friends but he did have a Decepticon tankformer.

Tarn was warm and sensory networks sent fewer errors the longer the altered vocalizer cooed. It was wonderful! The song allowed him to believe it was alright to forget and lulled him into disregarding how much he cared anything more. His spark felt lighter than it had in some time, nearly floating up and out of his frame, free as it was from any sort of troubles. The insistence of his processor that he really ought to be concerned, should be struggling, or that he was in pressing danger was drowned out by the fuzzy sensations.

Pharma slid his arms up to coil around Tarn and drag him closer. It was at that moment that a wrongness caught his attention; there was a lack of something fundamentally normal. He tried to catch hold of the tank's skidplate or get a hold of one of the treads, but his arms just…

Pain flared in his wrists and he jerked them to his own chest plates reflexively. His optics had little choice but to look at his servos then, or more aptly, what remained of his perfect blue instruments of surgical mastery. A high pitched jolt of static left his vocalizer.

They were… Primus, Primus, Primus! Oh, they were… dear Primus, they were gone! There was nothing! They were stubs, nothing but a blunted bit of metal and a ball joint where his servos had been. Stubs! Not one, but both of them were simply gone! He…he had known that somewhere deep in his processor, really he had, but he lacked the ability to endure the cruelty of such a reality.

That was frankly a blow too many. Such a truth was too much on its own, but mounted atop all the other horrors and it became the final blow, tipping him into unbearable. Pharma screamed, thrashing anew in the huge arms. Tarn continued to sing but no amount of soothing could make him forget this.

Pharma jerked his frame in an attempt to sit up and escape because that was all he could think about. If he could run away then somehow it would all be undone and he could escape a reality he had no desire to face. If he struggled hard enough he could make everything reveres and things would go back to the way they should be. There was nothing he knew to do besides flee. He needed to fly away, flee into the clouds and atmosphere, up and away from anything that could ever hurt him.

Hands clamped down on both his shoulders, stubbornly, though carefully pushing him down. Pharma struggled, swaying his shoulders in hopes of shaking free the hands that would dare keep him tied down to a planet with things that would hurt him so very horrendously. He knew that he absolutely did not wish to remain because everything on in this reality was simply ghastly; he wanted none of it! He had not signed up for any of this!

"Pharma, enough! Stay put! I have enough trouble keeping you together without you fighting me." Ratchet grumbled at him from the head of the berth where he hovered mostly out of sight.

The old doctor did not seem to have much desire to get closer. He clearly had no intention of sitting on the edge of the table and having a chat. He would not even come around the side to look at the younger 'bot to address him properly. Ratchet always did find it easier to ignore etiquette.

Fingers flexed into the blanket around his frame and he relaxed instantly. Oh, oh thank Primus! He could feel his fingers flexing, still there, still working! It was a lie, his servos, his perfect hands were safe. That was nothing but a malicious trick of a night terror.

Ratchet cupped Pharma's helm and forced him to place it back down on the pad. The action somehow struck him wrong and he could not understand why. The touch made something in his wiring cringe. It was probably just his CPU revolting in rebellion against the fact that Ratchet had forced him to do something.

Even as those servos pulled away, the wrongness remained.

The jetformer struggled once more, this time to dislodge the tarp covering his frame. He was vastly limited in his range of motion; being strapped to the table was the cause, he realized. Even so, the tarp began to slide away.

A blue hand snatched the cover to prevent it from falling and the other slid over Pharma's optics. "Don't, Pharma. Just recharge. It's best…you need all you can get."

"Ratchet?" Pharma's voice was just slightly recognizable.

"It's alright to relax. You're safe now." There was a soothing edge to the old doctor's vocalizer as he drew back his servo.

Something was wrong; he knew it more than ever now. Ratchet only used that tone with critical cases; he only soothed the ones that were in desperate need of it. The general populace got his gruffer tones and strict instructions heaped upon their helm like Primus himself ordered each one.

Pity the amount of energy Pharma had was not devoted to caring. If he cared enough to analyze his situation he would have answers to the nagging sense that he should know more. There were drugs in his wiring because he could feel them sucking out his will to fight even if his own nature screamed that he was not the compliant sort of mech that would just allow Ratchet to order him to do anything. Under ordinary terms he would fight even an order he agreed with or had a desire to do. The fog made him just not care enough to try.

Recharge sounded just good enough to ignore everything else around him. His optics were too hard to keep online. They nearly blinked off of their own accord. Pharma followed their example and ignored the badgering voices inquiring about how familiar the shade of blue Ratchet switched those servos to was; he also ignored his wonderings over why he was being drugged and why Ratchet thought he would be better off not looking upon his own frame. Questions could wait for another cycle.

AN: This would basically have been the pivotal point between Tarn and Pharma, when their relationship changed. I had no section breaks because Pharma did not even realize he was slipping from one reality to the other, so I put none in to show that.

Much of my ideas for the story hinged on this, the rescue and obvious reconstruction of a damaged Pharma. It was hinted at in the chapter that Tarn took on the responsibility of keeping the doctor alive. (None of the others would have unless ordered and I don't think Tarn would trust anyone to do this right but himself, possessive and in control as he is) I think that would add a new dynamic to the relationship as far as emotions go, a totally new and big can of worms. Taking care of someone and being taken care of changes things, so basically that is where a lot of the very strange dynamic I have written comes from, the idea of what level of possessiveness something like that would bring Tarn to. And, do not forget, Pharma's spiral into insanity.

Tarn's mental system of checks and balances going out against Pharma's in regards to what was owed and just all these twisted ideas clashing to create a very unhealthy mindset. I mean, a 'Con deigning to save an Autobot would be quite the mental swirl of reasoning and tangled up emotion. After all, I do not think Tarn is heartless (sadistic and screwed up, oh yeah) and I think he is capable of getting himself attached, but couple that with his values, addictive personality, possession issues, loyalty issues, and conflicting reasoning and you have a big mess. I never could stop wondering what really made the jetformer snap and become so utterly insane… being Tyrest's test subject might have, not sure. When I thought of starting this though, no reveal had been made so I thought it had been Tarn, which made me think of all the potential for just how mad Pharma became. Because, come on, he did not start out a raving lunatic, even Ratchet tried to persuade him based off of the mech he once was. But this is AU, so I answer my questions how my head makes it up. If you read my babbling, you are of a strong will and future jedi material.