A/N: Thanks again as usual to my beta, SIDEKICKS-ANONYMOUS, for their work on this chapter!

...

CHAPTER 20
Father

Dylan was in for a rude awakening.

It had started out fine; great even. Bumblebee had taken him down to the skate park for a few runs. And for a while, Dylan was having a great time. He probably shouldn't have let his friends convince him to sneak off. Nor should he have done a run on the thin hand-rail of a long flight of stairs. But Dylan hated backing down from a challenge, dangerous or not. And hey, he'd only regretted the decision after the crash!

He'd been sent crashing down it like a bullet. Hitting his back, leg, and arm on the way down. And while he'd found it to be an awesome wipe out, he'd also been scraped up and bruised badly. And what's more, in need of a doctor to look it over. Needless to say, he knew he was in trouble when Bumblebee of all people lectured him. He'd given Dylan enough of a mouthful that by the time he was in the doctor's office, waiting for Ratchet to come off surgery... Well, he was certainly not looking forward to that.

"Oh yeah, and another thing Ratchet." Dylan heard a voice outside the door. "Your son's here for some medical attention too."

Dylan couldn't even see him, but he could feel Ratchet's tension from there. A fact which was only confirmed when he heard his father's voice. "Dylan? What in the name of Primus happened!? Is he okay! He's not in ICU, is he!? Why did no one inform me!? Forget the surgery! I'd be there within seconds—"

"It was just a skateboarding accident," The other voice assured Ratchet. "He got beat up pretty bad. But it didn't look like anything worth interrupting a surgery for."

He had a feeling the other mech pointed at the door, because within the next second, the door flew open. Ratchet's optics widened at the sight of Dylan. And frankly, he was a sight to see, so he didn't really blame the mech. "Dylan Elijah Logan, what on Earth happened? What is this about you being in a skateboarding accident? I knew that sport was dangerous!"

"Ratchet, calm down, I'm fi—owwwwww," Dylan moaned as he moved the wrong way.

"Oh yes, I can tell you're 'fine.' 'Fine' enough that you'll be spending at least two days in bed!" Ratchet grunted, frustration in his optics. "So do you want to tell me what happened? The longer it takes, the more likely the punishment will be bad."

So Dylan did exactly as his guardian told him to, not wanting to be grounded for long. Ratchet listened as he began to clean his wounds, and run his scans. "Dylan, that is probably the dumbest stunt you've ever pulled. And doing it under Bumblebee's nose? You could have been hurt worse!" Ratchet huffed slightly. "I'm so angry right now. I trust when you go on that board that you'll act responsibly! Instead you go and get yourself hurt!"

"People get hurt all the time on skateboards."

"What you just described doing was reckless and stupid." Ratchet explained. "Primus, Dylan. I just... Ugh. You're not going to be skateboarding for a long while. End of story."

Dylan almost expected that Ratchet was going to hit him. Or yell, scream, or even throw something. Maybe one of his infamous wrenches, if he were so unlucky. "I'm sorry, Ratch. You can hit me if you want to... Or throw a wrench. I know I made you mad."

Ratchet wished he could be surprised that he equated anger with a beating; but he wasn't. Of course that would have been pushed on him by Gene. Perhaps, if this was anyone but his child, let alone his formerly abused one, he might have broke out a wrench. But the thought of so much as raising a hand to Dylan made him sick to his spark. And the fact that Dylan thought he might made him feel even sicker.

"I would never, Dylan. I'm angry, yes. But I'm also relieved you're alright." He told him with a sigh. "You can't go and do something like that, then expect me not to get upset. I love you, and I hate to see you hurt like this. It upsets any father who's a medic to have to work on their own child. No matter how minor."

Dylan felt as Ratchet ran two fingers along his back. The way he did it seemed to be comforting; that small reminder that no matter how mad he got, he still loved him. "Really, I'll be okay. I just got a little beat up. Please don't take away my board, I love skating."

Ratchet regarded the boy for a moment frowning. He knew that the boy needed to be more careful, but he also knew banning the sport would do nothing. "Of course not. But you're not riding for a while. Not until I can trust you to do so responsibly," He told him bluntly; his optics looking him over. "And until you've recovered. Primus, I hate seeing you in so much pain. Here, lay down on the berth, stay in here. I'll be back in about an hour when my shift's done. And then I'll get you home to bed."

Dylan looked up at Ratchet. He could do that. He laid back, feeling pained, but trying to relax. Ratchet nodded and left, but he could hear him cursing outside. He never knew anyone could be so angry, or frustrated and not throw a punch like that. Yet Ratchet was yet again proving to him how strange things like that could happen.

...

"Dad?"

Ratchet stopped in his tracks when he heard Dylan's voice. He prepared for Dylan to be having a nightmare while sleeping off his bruises. But when he backed up and looked in the doorway, Dylan was only sitting up. "Dylan? What's wrong? Was it a nightmare? You know that your "dad" can't come in here. I put all the security systems online and-."

"No, uh, I was just calling for you."

Ratchet looked at Dylan for a long moment, his optics twisting a bit. Dylan had just said "Dad"? That he couldn't exactly believe. But he must have heard it wrong, right? The word was probably Ratchet, or maybe Ratch. "Oh, sorry, I must have not been hearing right. I thought you'd called out 'dad.'" He explained. "What did you need, Dylan?"

"Uhhh... I kinda did."

Ratchet stood there for an even longer moment. This time, coolant did leave his optics. He tried to push the tears back, but Dylan could see them nonetheless. Dylan had expected the emotional response but in his mind, Ratchet had earned it. He'd been earning it more and more the last few days. Gene had never earned it, and he'd referred to him as "dad" too long. But now, now, he had someone who deserved the title and he hadn't used the word? That just wasn't right.

Ratchet calmed himself after a moment, and asked his next question. "You sure you're ready for that? No one's rushing you."

Dylan looked at Ratchet, chewing his lips. But he didn't hesitate, not even for a second. Instead, he finally smiled, and nodded his head. "Well, I can't think of anyone else in my life who can fit the name "dad"." Dylan told him with a chuckle, moving a bit and groaning in pain. "Is that OK?"

Ratchet nodded; he didn't hesitate either. "More than OK. Now what's going on? The ice pack on your back melt? Here, let me see if I can get that worked out."

Dylan noticed the tears almost instantly. He smirked a little, he had never seen Ratchet cry. So it was really something quite interesting to see. "Dad, are you crying?" He asked cheekily.

Ratchet looked at his coolant, and wiped it away. Oh Primus, had he just gotten emotional in front of Dylan? Better yet, that emotional? A few tears had been shed at "I love you". But feeling major coolant tears, really ones he couldn't control. He pushed them back. "No of course not... I just have uh... Something in my optics." Ratchet tried, pausing a moment to see the look of disbelief in his son's eyes. "Alright, yeah, I'm crying... I just, I never thought I'd hear that. I kept hoping you'd find the courage to say it. And it was just... It came without warning."

Dylan smiled, he knew that feeling. That was how he had felt when Ratchet had asked to adopt him and become his dad. And now, to think he could return the favor, that Ratchet could now feel happy knowing he was "dad", well that made him just as happy. "You think Uncle Aid would be okay with him calling him uncle too? I mean I'd been thinking about it for a while, but..."

"I think he'd jump for joy." Ratchet smirked. "Now I'll ask again, what did you need?"

Dylan nodded, leaning forward, as Ratchet smiled. He'd known better and had sent his holoform, and before long returned with a new ice pack. "Man, this bites. I'm sorry again, seriously. I just... They were older and I wanted to impress them. They'd just kinda started to accept me in that circle. Since I used to use the skate park downtown. They said it'd be fun."

Ratchet frowned a bit; of course Dylan was peer pressured. It made sense, he'd been pressured into enough things after all. "Yeah, well, you need to stop listening to bad influences. You terrified Bumblebee and I after all." Ratchet explained, his voice even. "I'm letting you skateboard again because I feel you've learned your lesson. But if you even begin to do something reckless again. You'll definitely be spending less time on that board."

Dylan nodded, letting Ratchet stroke his hair. He could tell that the mech was being honest and serious. Something that made him relax, and nervous all at once. "Yes sir, you got it. But uh, thanks for not making me give up skating. It's kinda part of who I am. And I promised to show Scarlet how to skate soon too." He explained.

"You won't be showing anyone anything until you're recovered."

Dylan knew that was true; and even when he did recover he knew it'd be hard to get on a board after that spill. He sighed, looking down at Ratchet. "Yeah, I screwed up pretty bad huh? The not-so-perks of growing up without a role model." He laughed. "I think I'm gonna try and take a nap again. Seeing as I don't have television."

"Yeah, you still screwed up. And no amount of 'dad' will fix that." Ratchet snickered. "Get a nap, Dylan. Your body needs it."

Dylan smirked, laying his head on his pillow silently. He watched as Ratchet left, and then smiled a bit. "Love you, dad."

Ratchet looked back, a smile crossing his face. "I love you" and "dad" in the same sentence? That was something that Ratchet could more than get used to. "I love you too, son. I'll come wake you up when I have dinner ordered."

Dylan couldn't keep the smile off his face.

...

The next few days moved by faster, as Dylan napped and recovered. But by the time he was back on his feet, things seemed to have changed. Word spread like wildfire to his friends about his injury; some even heard about him calling Ratchet dad. Scarlet and Shawn had been proud of him for getting to that point; and to say the least, he was feeling the same way. Even if he now was still restricted from anything after school, or skating for a while.

Ratchet kept to him being grounded, despite being happy with the stride. A fact which surprised Dylan, but he had also seen it coming. But now that Ratchet was "dad" something profound was happening to Dylan. Something even he couldn't totally comprehend. Not only did he safe and loved, but he also, for the first time, felt like a true member of the Autobot family. Perhaps it was all it had taken: that transition from "Ratchet" to "dad". Or perhaps it had been there all along, waiting for him to take a grasp of it.

One night, he woke up from a nap on the couch to hear the sound of mech's talking. Of course, after a moment, he found Ratchet was looking over a data pad. But rather than the typical data pad, this one had a video. Of Ratchet, younger, and another mech. The other mech had solid red paint and blue optics, and looked to be a little older. Dylan didn't even need to watch the video of him and Ratchet messing around long to know it was Siren.

Which meant, at least to him, that he was watching and reminiscing. "So that was grandpa, huh?" Ratchet turned his head from his seat at his desk in surprise. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I heard you from the den and I just came in to see what was going on."

Ratchet smiled, and lowered a hand to the ground. Once Dylan had climbed up, he gently placed his son onto his shoulder. With a quiet nod, he gave a small sigh, and looked at him. "Yep, that's your grandsire, Siren. This was my graduation from the Iacon Academy. Top of my medical class as well!" He chuckled. "I suppose everything the last few days got me thinking of him more. About what he did for me, about how much he would have loved you..."

Dylan smiled, looking at the mech with a nod. He could tell just by the look of the mech they would have gotten along. The friendly, gentle way he treated Ratchet said it all. "I wish I could have met him. I bet he was a cool guy. But I guess he's been gone a long time, huh?" He asked.

Ratchet smiled sadly; indeed, he had been dead a very long time. It hadn't been in the war, but rather a spark attack in his old age. "Yes, a very long time, along with your grandcarrier."

"Did they ever actually adopt you?"

Ratchet smiled, looking over at the boy with a nod. "Yes they did. When I was twenty vorns old, they told me they wanted me to be a permanent addition to the family. They made me their adoptive creation officially... It was the best day of my life." Ratchet explained. "They didn't have any creations. So they gave me exactly what I needed and I gave them the same."

"I think I know that story." Dylan smiled.

Ratchet ran a finger along his hair, and tossed it a bit. Indeed, history was repeating itself, though earlier in Dylan's case. Some days, he wondered what Siren, and his mate, Leresta, would think of him now. What they'd think about what Dylan and him had. But then he remembered that they would have been happy; and likely proud of him for passing on his luck to another young boy.

Let alone the young boy that he now called his son.

"So, now that you're awake." Ratchet replied, turning off the data pad. "I'm thinking that you've been punished enough. Why don't we go for a movie? Or out to dinner. I'm even getting a little bored being stuck in this house all day myself."

Dylan smiled, nodding his head as Ratchet stood up to head out of the room. Ratchet would swear he felt a pair of gentle hands on his shoulder. Making him stop for just a single moment. He knew the gentle touch anywhere, and knew that it was his own adoptive creators' way of saying: "We are proud of you, Ratchet."

A sentiment that, if it were the case, he was more than thankful for.