A/N: Thanks again to my amazing beta, TFPKOFANGIRL, for betaing my three chapters I've been working on in my silent days! LOL

I'm glad to get three chapters out to you guys. But the next one will be a little later in coming. It's a Christmas chapter, so expect it around Christmastime! :D

Repost because something was being buggy just a heads up, no difference just testing to see if it's fixed now.

...

CHAPTER 15
Real Progress

A few weeks later, when things couldn't have gotten any more awkward, Dylan woke up vomiting. At first, he wasn't sure if it was his anxiety that he still felt over the "I love you" comment or not. But by the third time he found himself huddled over the toilet, he realized it was not that at all. The fourth time, he heard the door creek open quietly, and felt a giant metal hand over his back. He groaned, looking up at Ratchet who looked at him in concern.

"Easy, Dylan," Ratchet told him quietly. "How long have you been up like this?"

Dylan groaned, of course, the mech had to be a medic. Because now he knew he was running a million diagnostics over something as simple as... Well, there went another gag. He whimpered quietly, he hated being sick, but he hated having someone hovering over him as well. "An hour maybe," Dylan replied. "I just woke up and couldn't stop."

Ratchet nodded his head, he could tell the boy had a stomach virus. One that was probably going to give him hell for a while, but he was thankful was nothing serious. He sighed quietly, knowing that the boy was going to fight him no matter what he said, but knew he had to anyway. "I've got a drinkable medicine that should help your stomach," Ratchet told him calmly. "But you're going to HAVE to drink it."

Dylan grimaced, he didn't want to deal with that. He opened his mouth to throw a child-like fit, but instead, out came a belch. He groaned, he didn't want to be helped, he was fine. He could take care of himself, as he had many times. Especially in the attic where his father would do nothing for him, and he'd sometimes be up there for days like this. "Dylan," He felt something touch against his lips, finding a cup with some sort of substance. "Drink for me."

"No."

"That wasn't a request."

Dylan gritted his teeth a little, but still, Ratchet tipped the cup. And down came the cream colored liquid that tasted almost like paste to Dylan. He choked slightly, but Ratchet rubbed his back with his fingertips gently. "I know, it tastes like slag," The medic told him. "But it fights the stomach virus faster and harder than ANY human-made medicine."

Dylan heaved again, and the process continued for close to an hour. He hated to admit it, but the doctor's medicine had taken effect quickly. Even if he still felt sick and his body weak. He felt strong arms wrap around his waist, and hoist him up as Ratchet's holoform helped him towards his bed when he stopped hurling. "That should get you through the night. Sleep as long as you can, with your one-hundred and three fever you won't be going to school," The medic told him as he helped him into bed. "If you vomit any more, I got you this," He held up a metal bucket. "In case you can't make it."

Dylan grunted in response, as Ratchet's real form came inside to check on him first-hand. He was clearly in the middle of talking on the comm link to someone. "He's running a really high fever. Yes, First Aid can handle my appointments. Or people can reschedule," He stated. "My son is my first priority, and if they can't see that that's their issue."

"Don't!" Dylan told him with a cry of confusion. "I can take care of myself."

"You're running a high fever, and spent three hours vomiting," Ratchet told him, his voice stern and without even a hint of giving in. "There's no way in pit I'm going into work tomorrow. There's only one important patient for me to be taking care of," He explained.

"You see politicians."

"And you're my family," Ratchet replied. "I'll be slagged before I leave you alone."

And with that, Ratchet left before he could argue it any further. Dylan grimaced, the mech sure was learning how to keep him at bay. But he didn't think long about it, until he finally found himself falling asleep. When he woke up in the morning, he felt like hell, and for good reason he supposed. He was running a fever, after all, and the way the sweat dripped down his face, he could tell.

He tried to stand to his feet, but immediately nearly tripped over his own feet. Deciding quietly to lay down, he heard the door creek open, and could see that Ratchet was still there. Why? Why was he so concerned? He'd been sick like this before. Dylan quietly closed his eyes, as if he were asleep to see what he would do. To his surprise, he felt a cold, wet rag laid on his head, and a gentle stroking of his hair.

The boy tried not to blink, but he found it hard with how surprised he was. The mech wasn't making it up the day before, he really was worried, really, truly concerned. What was with that? It was just a stomach virus, he'd get over it. Yet Ratchet adjusted, and fluffed up his pillows, he carefully pulled the blankets closer to his chin, and he ran a hand gently along his hair again. He was making sure that Dylan was comfortable.

"Your fever is still pretty high," Ratchet informed him, confirming he knew he was awake. "How are you feeling?"

Dylan, his eyes now opening proceeded to reply by vomiting into the bucket he'd left him. Ratchet frowned, rubbing the boy's back as he seated himself behind him in holoform. The mech sighed, quietly watching as the boy purged, he was certainly going to have one heck of a time getting better. "Primus, whatever got you, got you good," He commented. "Let me go get more of that medicine."

Dylan only groaned, it was going to be a long few days.

...

Ratchet didn't go back to work the next day, or the next one. Instead he was dutifully there, working to help Dylan get a little better each day. The third day, he had to go into work, but First Aid was there since it was his day off. After that, Ratchet came back on the fourth day, the first day he'd been doing much better, despite the fact he was still gagging. He had a blanket around his shoulders, sitting in front of the TV in the den with a cup of hot chicken broth.

He hated to say it, but Ratchet was doing a good job of taking care of him, as had First Aid. That day, they were both there, actually, given First Aid had made a habit of coming over every Saturday since their little talk. He sighed quietly, he also hated to say it, but he was starting to not mind having someone taking care of him for once. Dylan tried to take that feeling in quietly, slightly disbelieving, but also knowing it was the good, honest truth.

"Finished?" Ratchet questioned as Dylan nodded. "Good."

Dylan looked at Ratchet quietly, then took a deep intake of breath. He wasn't sure how to say he was wrong, or that he was sorry. But either way, he finally opened his mouth and began to speak. "Ratchet, thank you. You know, for this," He told him. "I know I fought you, but I actually feel a lot better. Especially better than I would have on my own."

Ratchet smirked triumphantly, clearly having wanted to hear that from the beginning. He stared at the boy quietly for a moment, then shook his head. "No one should be alone when they're this young, or this sick," He told him calmly. "I don't know what you went through with that man when you were sick. But I'm your father now, and I care about seeing you get better."

Dylan tried again not to think about it, especially the nights he'd spent in an attic that wreaked of vomit. He closed his eyes, pushing his tears as far back as he could. He continued to hate thinking about it, because honestly, the more he thought about it these days, the more upset he became. "If I told you what I went through," Dylan began honestly. "I don't think I could keep you... Or most anyone, from killing him."

"What makes you say that?"

Dylan was silent for a long moment, unsure of what to say in response. The moment where he betrayed his trust, and looked under his shirt, ran through his mind again. Yet, the more Ratchet did for him, the more Dylan wanted to believe he could be trusted. "I don't know," Dylan muttered. "Just things."

Dylan avoided eye contact with his foster father, hoping he wouldn't pry any further. To his surprise, Ratchet didn't, he simply went back to what he was doing. Dylan looked at him for a long moment, maybe he had learned his lesson. Not for the whole story, but at least some details at least. "I didn't... Have a bedroom," Dylan explained. "So I used to sleep on the floor... In my dad's attic," He explained. "He didn't come up much unless he wanted something from me... So if I got sick like this I was kind of, covered in it sometimes..."

Ratchet felt physically sick at the revelation, his optics looking at Dylan. Imagining what it would be like to be confined to an attic, let alone left in your own waste like that. He tried to calm himself down, though looking down, he could see a small dent forming in the island he was gripping. Venting out quietly, he looked over at Dylan, stepped over, and carefully placed three fingers on his shoulder. "You're right, if I could get my hands on him, I would let him have it," Ratchet told him quietly. "Because that is the most vile thing I have ever heard."

"I went through worse," Dylan replied with an equal level of quietness.

"I don't doubt it," Ratchet told him. "I won't pry though. Whenever you're ready to tell me the rest of the reasons I would kill him... I'll listen," He explained.

Dylan nodded his head, sipping the broth again. He knew he wasn't going to spill anything more, he'd already said more than he wanted to. But he knew, somewhere deep down, that he was going to tell Ratchet the rest eventually. But today wasn't that day, and if it ever came, it was going to be on his own terms, he told himself. "So, I've got plenty of choices for a solid movie night," First Aid chimed in as he entered the den. "A couple of horror movies, those old Star Wars epics... Oh, sorry have I walked in on something?" He asked, noting the looks on their faces.

Dylan and Ratchet gave each other a look, was there anything more to say on the matter? Dylan shook his head after a few more seconds, looking up at his "uncle" quietly. "Nah, it's okay, we were just talking," Dylan told him. "Can we watch Star Wars? I still haven't seen those, but Shawn says I just "have to"," He told him with an eye roll.

"Did my nephew just eye roll at Star Wars?" First Aid asked Ratchet with a look of pure horror. "Oh child, you are going to regret that by the time we're done."

Dylan laughed a little, looking at his uncle with a lopsided smirk. The mech sure could be a nerd when he wanted to be, as he was starting to learn. But really, Dylan could be too so it was okay. "So if I dislike it, what are you going to do?" Dylan asked. "Make me watch it over and over again until I do?"

"It took Ratchet about three watches to admit he liked it," First Aid replied jokingly.

The look on Ratchet's face said that wasn't true at all. And for his part, Dylan was pretty sure Ratchet was the last person who would fully enjoy a movie like that. "I said that they were watchable," Ratchet corrected his brother as he took a seat beside Dylan in his holoform. "Honestly, I don't see the appeal of any movies. They're all the same, and play out on the same formula."

Dylan looked at Ratchet with surprise at that one. Who didn't like movies? Sure, he understood not liking certain types, but any? "But they're just like books. You get to escape to different... Different," Dylan felt himself gagging, but Ratchet had already prepared his bucket, holding it up to him. "Worlds," He stated before purging some more.

Ratchet shook his head, rubbing the child's back gingerly. "TV and movies just rot the processor if you ask me," He replied as he tapped the side of his holoform's head. "That's why I try to keep you from watching too much of it. When you're sick and stuck to the couch it's one thing. But..."

"Wow, Ratchet, you restrict his TV time?"

"I keep him occupied with other things," Ratchet explained to First Aid.

Dylan knew that was true, and he didn't mind that much. Considering, in all reality, he never watched much TV to begin with. He sighed quietly, leaning back as he tilted his head towards Ratchet. "TV doesn't rot the brain really. There's just usually nothing that great on to begin with," He admitted, blowing a bang of his hair away. "And it's by my own choice, seriously."

Ratchet smirked, that made him thankful, given his obvious concern for the child's health and well-being. Now if only he could get him to have that same attitude with junk food. "Speaking of health, though, any more coming?" Ratchet asked, Dylan shook his head. "Good, lay down, relax your body."

Dylan shifted a bit, laying against the arm rest, crossing his arms. He looked over as First Aid put on the movie on the holoscreen calmly. "You two are really going to be an interesting pair to have a movie marathon with," He laughed lightly. "Do you restrict his movies too big bro because a few of these are R-rated?"

Ratchet gave the mech a look that said "What do you think?", and Dylan chuckled a little himself. The two of them were fun to be around when they were together, with their opposing views and all. "Oh come on Ratch, loosen the leash," First Aid told him. "I've got The Evil Dead, Night of the Living Dead, Psycho..."

"On what planet would I ever let my son watch that much nudity and gore? And for that matter, since when do you watch it?"

"I don't," First Aid replied. "But I hear human teenager's like this stuff!"

"Well in my house, the age restriction on the movie applies."

"Fine," First Aid threw his hands up. "Sorry bud, I'm outvoted."

"My life used to be enough of a horror movie anyway," Dylan told him. "Can we just put on Star Wars?"

First Aid laughed, nodding his head a bit, and putting the movie on. Several minutes later, when neither left, Dylan felt a warmth inside him he never had before. Sure, they'd had dinner, and hung out before, at least since First Aid's conversation, but this was even more intimate. This, well, it felt more like what he had expected that family was supposed to feel like.

They were mid-way through the second movie when Dylan felt a blanket fall over him. He hadn't even noticed that he was cold, but Ratchet was upon him within seconds. Dylan stared at Ratchet for a long moment, and began to slowly, carefully scoot over to him. The mech looked surprised but gently moved him enough that the boy could rest his head on his lap, and to his surprise, Dylan didn't fight it. He simply pulled his legs closer to his chest, and watched the movie.

The medic watched for a long moment, expecting Dylan to move, but he didn't. Instead, he was doing something that Ratchet hadn't expected out of him. For the first time in months, Dylan was seeking his comfort, seeking him out for affection, and for the closeness of his holoform... Dylan, he realized, was putting his trust, and faith in him. And for that matter, letting him know that it was okay if he wanted to return it, whether it was because he was sick or not.

Being careful, Ratchet reached his arm to the boy's back. He knew that was the safest area that Dylan would not shy away from, and thus carefully began to run a hand along it. Dylan shifted a little under him, but didn't move the rest of the night, and eventually, after the movies were over. Ratchet noticed he had fallen asleep like that, intentionally, without any sign of fear or fidgeting.

It was the smallest action that held the largest of proofs he was finally getting somewhere with Dylan.

...

It turned out that after First Aid left for the night, Ratchet had been too nervous to move. So when Dylan woke up the next morning, he found himself on the couch, his head still rested on his guardian's lap. If he were to tell the truth, he was surprised at himself for trusting Ratchet enough to do what he did, but at the same time he wasn't. Ratchet had earned his trust the last few days, perhaps not all of it, but enough. Enough that he felt a certain level of safety and security in the presence of the older mech.

He pushed the blanket away silently, pulling himself up. He knew that Ratchet was a heavy recharger by now, so he didn't worry that he'd wake him as he stepped into the kitchen. His mind took in what he'd just accepted to himself. It was scary, thinking that he could put his trust in anyone but himself. Yet, his mind had been fighting him about this ever since Ratchet had told him that he loved him. In a way, he worried that he was honestly growing weak, and that he could be taken advantage of.

The other part remembered how he'd taken care of him the last few days. The way he had stroked his back the night before, and never once tried anything on him while he slept. The more time he spent in his house, he realized, the more that side of him seemed to be winning over his mind and heart. He made his breakfast as he thought, trying to keep his stomach under control. He supposed the fact that he hadn't thrown up much lately absolutely helped.

It was another twenty minutes when he heard Ratchet come into the kitchen. The mech looked at him quietly, a smile on his face. "Sleep well, youngling?" He asked. "Sorry I left you on the couch. But you seemed to be so at peace. It would have been a shame to wake you up."

Dylan shook his head a bit. "It's okay, sorry for falling asleep on you."

"I didn't mind," Ratchet told him honestly. "I'm your guardian, you were feeling sick... And you wanted comfort. That's normal for youngling's of any age, Dylan," He explained, to which the boy nodded slowly, pursing his lips. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again, you can trust me."

Dylan didn't say anything to give away the fact that he was beginning to learn that. He wanted to, but he knew that doing it now could doom the whole thing. For all he knew, things could still fall apart, they could still go wrong. He had to ride it out until he knew for sure he was okay. "Is it your day off today? Because if not I'm feeling a lot better," Dylan replied. "I can take it from here."

Ratchet looked at Dylan, noticing that the boy was definitely carrying himself better. Shaking his head, he took a few steps forward. "It's my day off, which is good. Because like it or not, you still need time to recover," Ratchet explained. "I think that by tomorrow though, you'll be alright. Given your bio signs seem to point in that direction."

"Then you'll go back to work?" Dylan asked.

Ratchet paused for a moment, taking out a cube of energon. He took a slow sip of it, looking down at him, and giving a look in his optics. "Only if you are, in fact, feeling well enough," Ratchet explained. "If your fever is completely gone, I'll let you stay home. So long as you keep yourself resting for school on Monday," He explained. "If not, I'll keep taking care of you."

Dylan opened his mouth to argue again, but slowly closed it. He was starting to see the fact that it was useless arguing with Ratchet on this. He leaned back slightly, hearing as his stomach gurgled a little, and looking up at Ratchet. Maybe, just maybe, it was time for him to stop worrying about being so tough all the time. If he could trust Ratchet well enough to do what he did last night... Maybe, he needed to stop worrying about looking tough. Maybe, he needed to start accepting that he had someone to take care of him now.

"Ratchet? You have any more of that medicine? You know, that you've been giving me?"

Ratchet smiled slightly, having his holoform go into a cabinet, and grab it. He slowly brought it towards Dylan, who took it silently. He knew that it tasted awful, but he also knew that it was helping. And frankly, he really didn't want to continue feeling sick like he did. So instead of arguing, he took a sip of Ratchet's medicine, he sat himself down at a chair, and let himself relax a little.

Of course, there were still things he wasn't sure he could trust Ratchet with. Things that he thought he might never be able to trust Ratchet with, honestly. But now, well, Dylan was going to start putting his trust in Ratchet, just a little more. Because if he meant what he said those weeks ago, that he "loved" him, maybe this was someone he could trust to take care of him more than he had the others. Ratchet seemed to put more and more effort than anyone else had, after all.

And though Ratchet may not have realized it, the more he did. The more he started to look at the mech as a father. Whether Dylan admitted it to himself, or not.