Fire of Youth

Chapter 40


Grimwing, to his credit, kept any excitement he was feeling suppressed and remained almost perfectly still at his trods. The stormy avian let him poke, prod, shift, and lift both the good wing and the bad wing to allow for as detailed a scan as he could possibly muster. Ribbondance similarly accommodated him. He then had them both flap one wing in slow motion so the scans could observe how they and the internal mechanisms moved.

"Are you sure you can do this, Ratchet?" Rafael asked him.

He answered without taking his optics off either avian. "Their wing anatomy may have morphological differences but from what I can see the basic layout is more or less identical. Recall as well that Grimwing still has one functioning wing for comparative reference. This is not an impossible repair. Only a difficult one. Your help will make things significantly easier."

Rafael beamed at him. "I'll help any way I can."

"Good, because I will need your help repairing his nervous system."

The boy's eyes went round. "His nervous system?"

"Yes. Your small hands can manipulate the fine nerve bundles that my hands can't."

Rafael endeavored to put up a brave face. He adjusted his glasses and nodded. "Sure. I can do that. It shouldn't be much different than re-wiring my computer."

"Anything we can do help out, Ratch?" wondered Bulkhead

He finally looked up. "Yes. I will need a second set of hands. Preferably those of a skilled mechanic. Could you retrieve Mr. Rowland for me? And have him bring something to keep the lame wing horizontal, would you? A ladder or two, a carjack – something like that."

The green warrior agreed, transformed, and drove off to accomplish his errand. He thus resumed his analysis of the scans. Repairing the Thunderbird's wing hinge would be the simplest part of the operation. It was after that point that things would get complicated; the wing hinge was hardly the only thing damaged. It would be no good to repair the hinge if the Thunderbird was unable to issue commands to the limb. And therein lied a problem: nervous system repair was ordinarily not that difficult when one was outright missing a limb. He had done so many times throughout the length of the war. Paralysis though – that was a trickier thing to mend. New nerve endings would need to be added to replace severed or unresponsive ones, alongside mending those that had been frayed or snapped from the attack. There would also be the coin toss of whether or not his nervous system accepted those new inputs as they came. To know that, something rather gruesome would be required of his patient.

"Grimwing," he said.

The Thunderbird perked his head up and cocked it to the side.

"In order to ensure Rafael, Neal, and I are successfully reconnecting and repairing what we need to," he started slowly, "I will not be able to shut off your pain receptors while we operate, nor can I put you into stasis. I need you to be conscious and able to feel."

It was difficult to read the facial expressions of Grimwing's beast form but the suddenly tucked in good wing plainly spelled out how unnerved he was.

"I know it sounds counter-intuitive, Grimwing, but if you start feeling discomfort or pain in the wing while we operate, that's actually a good sign."

Grimwing bobbed his head wordlessly at the grim reassurance.

*May I watch as you operate?*

"You wouldn't find that unsettling?"

*Not greatly. I would appreciate seeing my inner workings. Perhaps with this knowledge I could aid another Avioid in future should they be found in a similar predicament.*

He had to commend Grimwing's objective perspective. Anyone else might be excused for getting squeamish seeing a part of their body disassembled live in front of their optics. Instead, Grimwing was opting for a medical student's approach.

"We'll be as gentle as we can," he said, "but this will take some time."

*I understand.*

"Rafael?"

"I understand. I'm ready."

A quick honk alerted of Bulkhead's return. At the wheel was Neal Rowland; in the passenger seat, unexpectedly, was Mark. Both men got out, declared they were equally ready to help, and lugged a carjack out of Bulkhead's cargo hatch to prove it. The jack was then delivered over to him, which was soon set to the proper height. The wing was left not quite horizontal, with enough bend so he could access the wing hinge. He thus began to remove the outer plating to get at the interior easier. Rafael appeared fascinated (and somewhat squeamish) at seeing the inner workings of the mangled wing up close. It hadn't been a pretty sight before, and it wasn't a pretty sight now.

He knelt. "Now, Rafael, any wires that connect to the wing hinge that are broken or frayed, remove them."

"Okay."

"Here. Might need these then, son," Neal grunted and passed some wire cutters up to him.

He eyed the older man. "I hope you brought a spare because I will need you to do the same underneath."

"No worries. I brought a spare," Mark said, holding the item up as proof before handing it off to Neal.

"You came prepared," Arcee noted.

"Blame Neal. He drills it into our heads from day one to think ahead," said Mark.

"Good thing I did too or you'd be running back across base for a spare, Markie," huffed the old mechanic whilst he unbolted a few plates.

"Or I could just call Katelyn as a delivery service," Mark grinned.

"You kids and your damn delivery services," grunted Neal. "God gave you legs. Use 'em."

Neal, he decided, was his sort of human.

"Do you need me for anything, Doc?" the young private wondered.

"Not at the moment, Mr. Daily. But remain on standby," he clarified. "You may wind up trading places with one of them."

Mark politely asked to be put up near Infernus in the interim. Bumblebee obliged him. Mark settled in quickly right in the crook between his shoulder and neck, popped his smartphone out, and started fiddling with it. A game or some such he supposed. He wasn't completely engrossed though; eyes darted up to check on things below.

With everyone's roles set, they began in earnest.

Neal and Rafael worked in parallel with him. As they snipped wires, he cut out old, atrophied fuel lines and circuits – arduous, delicate processes, both. It was nearly two hours before he could shift to the next stage of the operation: unbolting the wing hinge. That was thankfully much less intensive due to their prep work. Once a few heavy bolts were removed, the wing came off without so much as a squeak of protest. Grimwing took the opportunity to extend his neck up and get a close, hard look at the wing. There was a gleam in his yellow optics that he could only describe as morbid fascination. But he didn't stare at his limb for very long and quickly allowed them all to return to work on it.

His audience of Autobots dwindled away as everyone else scattered to accomplish their own tasks.

"You think Infernus will be able to see the finished result?" wondered Mark quietly after a long pause.

"He will, Mr. Daily," he replied, "but the longer he is left in stasis the quicker he will heal."

"The moment he wakes, I will see to training him," Ribbondance promised. "I will not let that brute attempt to butcher him a second time."

"I doubt you are the only one in that regard," he hinted.

*You fought well,* Grimwing complimented. *Perhaps that will force his attention to you for a while.*

Ribbondance snorted. "He would be a fool to do so. I have half a mind to request Gong Knell battle that brute as the Azure Dragon. That would be a very short battle."

"So why don't you ask him to do that?" wondered Rafael as he threaded some wires.

"My former lord, though powerful, prefers to exhaust all options before yielding to violence. Further – while this may seem like a technicality – he is Protector of the East, not the West. You may be under his guardianship, but unless that brute is on his land, Gong Knell will not issue challenge first. A good emperor never provokes a fight; he only answers."

"That's some impressive restraint," acknowledged Mark.

"But not surprising," Neal grunted. "Eastern dragons are very different from our Western ones. They're wise in their power...whereas ours have egotistical tempers the size of East Texas."

He couldn't help a brief chortle at that description. He quickly stifled it on remembering the result of such a temper was in the same room.

Neal wasn't fooled. "You're welcome for the humor," quipped the old mechanic.

"Nothing's stopping you from luring the bronze dragon out into his turf," Mark realized.

Ribbondance hemmed and put a hand to her chin. "True..." Then she waved the idea off. "No. I doubt he would be keen on someone else fighting a battle for him. But on the slim chance he agrees, then we will see if Gong Knell agrees to intercede on his behalf."

Mark conceded to her in good grace.

"Alright. I think I've got everything, Ratchet," Rafael announced.

He looked over Rafael's efforts and nodded. All the bad wires had been removed from the wing, as had the connecting ones from Grimwing's body. Neal was also essentially finished with his part of the operation. Now would come the possibly unpleasant part for their patient: threading in the new ones alongside new fuel lines, circuits and cables. Grimwing hardly seemed bothered though. If anything, uneasiness had been replaced by eagerness. He nearly hopped while he re-positioned the carjack and the wing.

"Ep, ep, ep. You have to remain absolutely still for this, Grimwing," he scolded.

Grimwing, per orders, became a metal statue. He couldn't help craning his neck around to watch him work though.

He did notice that Rafael was looking somewhat strained as he began to work.

"Mark?" he prompted. "Would you mind taking Rafael's place for this half?"

"Sure!"

He helped the private down but Rafael insisted he still wanted to help. He assured him he could guide Mark in the process.

"See, Markie? Told you all that wire-work on cars'd pay off," Neal smiled.

"Yeah, I just didn't think I'd be using those skills on, y'know, living beings," the man admitted a little nervously.

"It's okay," Rafael told him. "I'll help you through it."

Mark took a deep breath; Rafael then took charge, and they began to re-attach the wing one piece at a time.

After a time though, worry began to creep up on him. One third of the way into the re-attachment, Grimwing remained completely still. There was no indication he could feel anything. Had his hope been in vain? Had his diagnosis about the state of his nervous system been incorrect? Were their efforts going to be for nothing? Was Grimwing truly doomed to never fly again?

He almost believed those nagging doubts. But then, two-thirds of the way through, when he attached a cable wired up with nerve bundles and gave a slight electrical impulse to stimulate them –

Grimwing flinched.

His patient flinched. A sudden, involuntary jolt of his body intense enough to see and to startle all three of his human helpers.

*I moved. I'm sorrwait. I felt that,* the Thunderbird realized. He looked up at him. *Doctor, I felt that.*

"It's working," he gasped, nearly letting an astonished bark of laughter escape. "Your nervous system is accepting the new input!"

Rafael cheered, "We're doing it! You're gonna fly again, Grim!"

"Ep, ep. Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Rafael. This limb has been atrophied for a very long time. Just because the wing will be re-attached doesn't mean Grimwing will be able to instantly fly. Recovery time post-surgery and physical therapy must be taken into account."

The boy adjusted his glasses. "Oh, right."

But the hope in the hangar was infectious. Grimwing's field positively trembled against his own as Mark, Neal, and Rafael though up creative means of therapy for the wing. If not for his sheer willpower and respect towards his orders, the Thunderbird would probably be wiggling all that excitement out in his own unique bee-inspired waggle dance. Ribbondance herself even cracked a genuine, happy grin – something Grimwing was evidently abashed by.

He found himself, for once, smiling while he operated.


"Infernus."

He groaned.

Someone gently shook his harm. "Infernus," the voice repeated.

His optics fritzed a little as they came back online. He really wasn't surprised to see Ratchet's faceplates. What he was surprised to see was a smile. That was different.

"What...?"

"I have a surprise for you," the medic smiled.

"Please don't..." he groaned. "Surprises from you always end badly for me."

For once, Ratchet wasn't upset by his assumptive backtalk. The normally grouchy old medic's smile refused to go away.

"I know I should have waited a while longer before bringing you out of stasis, but I assumed you'd want to see this."

"See what?"

Ratchet stepped aside. Grimwing stood in bird form in the middle of the hangar, with everyone else surrounding him. He didn't understand the medic's grin at first, nor did he understand the weird low buzz of excitement everyone else had. Nothing much looked different about the Thunderbird. His bad wing still hung to the side the same as it always had. But the more he looked at it, the more he realized it was not the same. The wing itself was the same, but there were no more exposed, ravaged cables or wires. The wing honestly looked just like a lame, clean copy of his good one. Then he spotted Rafael on the bird's back. Ratchet nodded, and the boy gently tapped some weird sparking device directly into the wing hinge. To his shock, the previously lame, totally unresponsive wing twitched.

His jaw dropped. He stared at the old medic in disbelief. "You no way. You repaired his wing?!" he gasped.

Ratchet's smile became a grin. "It will take time and therapy for him to regain full functionality, but yes. We did."

Mark and Neal appeared from beneath the lame wing, grinning. Rafael grinned and waved, too.

"Not too shabby for three assistants with no alien biology knowledge, eh?" Neal declared proudly.

"Well, I wouldn't say none, Mr. Rowland," corrected Rafael shyly. "It was really just working backwards from the good wing."

His dropped jaw became a wide grin. "How do you feel, Grim?"

The Thunderbird gingerly shifted back to biped. His smile was that of a happy child. "That I can feel the wing at all! Therapy cannot come soon enough, Prime! I can almost feel the wind beneath me again!"

"Ep!" Ratchet snapped. "You need to wait at least seventy-two hours before we begin. No undue stress on that wing until then."

"I know. I know. I just " he could not even vocalize the happiness he felt. He laughed a good, hearty laugh a sound, he realized, he hadn't ever actually heard from him before.

"Per Ratchet's recommendations, I will be assisting with therapy when that time comes," announced Ribbondance. "I hope that is permissible, Prime, considering your current state prevents your own involvement."

"I'd help regardless if I didn't know for a fact that Ratchet would cuff me, sedate me, and have Ultra Magnus and Bulkhead sit on me if I tried."

"You're learning. Good," grunted Ratchet.

He made a face at the old medic. "I swear, you were never this mean to Optimus."

"Because he learned much faster than you not to test me. If I told him to stay off his feet for a day, he'd listen," Ratchet grunted back. "You seem to make it a point of pride to backtalk me whenever you can."

"Okay, 'backtalk' might be stretching it a little. I prefer to think of it as playful ba"

Ratchet gave him a look that warned if he didn't shut his yap, he'd plaster it shut.

"Okay. Yup. Backtalk. Shutting up," he chirped.

Ratchet eventually smirked in a way that both proclaimed victory and hinted he was (maybe) only messing with him. Maybe. He wasn't willing to hedge his bets.


The Grey Flier was upset. He'd been upset for the past two days straight. Ravage had taken a fraction of the blame for it, but even explaining why hadn't done much to quell Starscream's agitation. Apparently, going off to battle without authorization was considered a breach of protocol that bordered on insubordination and insubordination was something Starscream and Lord Megatron were very huffy about.

It was ironic to be on the receiving end of insubordination for once. He accepted most of the anger. It was warranted.

He did not, however, have to accept Starscream's prolonged temper-tantrum. Megatron had let it go the same day. Starscream was treating it like a personal slight. Then again, he treated most anything he did as a personal slight.

In light of that, he almost didn't even care at this point whether Starscream was mad at him or not. Something less trivial was bothering him: the fight with his rival specifically, the very end of it. He had been fighting a white Draconian. The next time he been able to look where he was, the Draconian had vanished. The Autobots had dragged a white biped into their portal. The color had matched and he had been badly wounded. It had to have been his opponent. But...that was impossible. The Builder had never told him or any of the others that they could take on this biped shape. Surely Ravage would have told him had he known about it.

A growl forced his attention away. Moonhowler was growling at a pair of optics peering at him from an upper vent. Not the black she-devil; she was one of his allies.

"Vigordrainer," he warned. "Wrong side."

The optics glared back at him, almost taunting him. "And what are you going to do about it?"

"Don't test me, rat," he snarled.

"I'd enjoy a test..."

Rather than give her what she wanted, he whirled and strode for the door. He would keep his threat: any goading was to be reported directly to the Builder.

"No! Don't you dare!" she chittered.

He ignored her. He didn't even look back as he left the aerie. Moments later he heard the doors hiss open a second time and the little pitter-patter of tiny feet chased after him.

"Don't! Don't! It was just a friendly taunt! I wasn't trying to do anything to him, I swear!"

"No excuses," he snapped, and then snapped her in his jaws.

"Hey! Put me down! I don't appreciate man-handling!"

He ignored her. Onyx, he needed that title so this nonsense would stop.

"Uh, fella? What're you doing?" a nervous Killzone's voice called from behind. "You really aren't supposed to be wandering around."

He turned to face the friendly soldier. Now was as good as any time to show off his short-band skills to someone he knew would listen.

*This one is causing trouble. I am taking her for discipline,* he told him curtly.

"You you can talk? Huh," he scratched his helm. "I guess I shouldn't be that surprised; the others all can. You want me to tag along?"

*I would appreciate that very much, Killzone, so long as you are not needed elsewhere.*

Killzone matched him stride for stride on those strange, skinny things he called "legs". They passed a few other soldiers in the hall and while some were clearly uneasy seeming him roam, Killzone's presence seemed to settle that unease. He was actually surprised that they made all the way to Shockwave's lab without incident. He wasn't surprised when that peace ended once the door opened. Shockwave was not alone in the lab; he had company and that company was not happy to see him with Vigordrainer in his mouth. Knockout, behind one of the tables, shrank back.

"Drop that!" Starscream barked, swinging the rod at him.

"No! Starscream! Don't!" urged Killzone.

The rod struck anyway. He stayed still for a moment, glaring at him, then put Vigordrainer on the ground. He stepped forward and the rod struck again.

That was the last straw. He could see in his mind the shrieking Seeker's neck caught in his grasp.

Grasp?

Yes. Yes. If the white dragon could assume the two-legged stance of his allies, perhaps the same held true for him.

He lunged, but it was not wholly forward. He felt his body shift higher in stature before a hand a hand! shot out to grab Starscream's neck.

"I have had it with you!" he roared, shaking Starscream's smaller form slightly. "I will not tolerate this abuse any longer!"

Starscream could do little more than stare. Angrily, he threw him to the ground.

"Now do you believe me?!" Starscream wailed as he hastily scrambled backwards.

"Strike me again!" he growled, tossing the rod at him. "Do it, and I will bury that rod in your spark!"

"Lord Megatron. We have a situation in the lab..." he heard Knockout whisper.

He stomped after him slowly. "Well?! Are you suddenly too cowardly to do as you have always done?!"

"Woah! Calm down!" pleaded Killzone.

Starscream kicked the rod away and scrambled to hide beneath one of the tables. He ingloriously dragged him back out. It would be so easy to solve his problem, he mused. The Seeker's neck was so thin, so fragile in his grasp...But no. He was above that.

"Tell me, Starscream! How am I supposed to know what is right if nothing I do ever is?!"

"What is going on in here?!" thundered Megatron.

He felt a gun barrel placed to the back of his helm. "Drop him!"

He glanced backwards. The look on Lord Megatron's face was stunned upon realizing who he was holding at gunpoint.

"With all due respect, I will not do so until I receive an apology," he told him frankly.

Lord Megatron gave no response other than more startled staring. Then his gaze shifted to Starscream and became angry.

"Well?" the great grey mech snarled.

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" gasped Starscream. "It won't happen again!"

"Put him down now," urged Killzone. "He gave what you wanted."

Starscream was gently placed back on solid ground. He immediately backed off towards Shockwave.

Lord Megatron eyed Killzone curiously. "No," the great grey mech mused, "it will not happen again because I am reassigning Killzone to your position, Starscream."

"What?!" shrieked the Seeker. "You would put a mere soldier in charge of handling such a dangerous !"

"He appears to be having better results than you by far," answered Megatron coldly.

"Fine," the Seeker huffed. "Being a beast-handler is beneath a Second-in-Command."

He glared at him. Starscream jumped back. What a jittery little coward. How had such a squirming little yellow-belly ever risen up the ranks?

Killzone, though startled, agreed to the command transfer. Personally, he could not have been happier about it. Taking orders from Killzone would be a much pleasanter experience.

"Shockwave, were you going to tell me that Predacons could transform? Or did you have your creation actively hide that from me?" wondered Lord Megatron, eyeing the Builder sideways.

"I " Shockwave started. He did not let the scientist finish.

"I do not think he knew, Lord Megatron. I did not know," he told him frankly. "I was as equally ill-informed as anyone in this room. I acted on a logical deduction. I had no idea it would turn out to be an accurate one."

The great grey mech eyed him in a way he could read. It might've been respect, it might've been intrigue, it might've been any number of things.

"If you can speak, do you have a name?" Knockout questioned, sounding genuinely curious.

"No, doctor. Not officially," he admitted. "Ravage granted me the temporary designation 'Predaking' but it is a title. Until I earn it, it is merely a name to be addressed by."

"Earn it?" Shockwave droned.

"Yes. I hope that earning it in a kingsbrawl will allow for greater control over the other Predacons. To keep the peace."

Shockwave admitted his argument was logical. He was pleased he thought so.

Lord Megatron dismissed them both rather abruptly, ordering Killzone to take "Predaking" back to the aerie. It was a little delightful to hear him use his name. Killzone gestured for him to follow, but he paused just long enough to search for Vigordrainer. She was not where he had left her; she had vanished at some point in the chaos.

"I'll bribe Catscratch to track her down," assured Killzone quietly as he ushered him towards the door. "Let's just go. I think the ups want to talk."

He let Killzone lead him out.

Walking on two legs was a very strange thing, he realized; he wasn't sure he liked it. He felt too tall. He eyed Killzone sideways and mimicked the way he was walking; medium-length strides, with his arms swaying forward and back just slightly. It felt a little less ungainly then, but it was no less strange. Killzone didn't seem that bothered by it, but his fellows were more than happy to unemotionally glare at him as he passed them by. He rather wished he could see their faces; he could not tell if they were shocked, scared, angry, or suspicious. He was quite happy to be returned to their aerie where things could be read more easily.

"Well, would ye look at that. The oversized babe figured out the trick," Tag-Along teased.

"Took him long enough," Ramhorn snorted.

"One cube of filched high grade says he doesn't know how to turn back," squawked Screech mockingly.

Ravage, on the other hand, was of a different opinion: "You would debase yourself so?" he growled softly.

"Oh, stop it with the hoity toity attitude, mutt," hissed Catscratch. "We got enough of that from him already."

Killzone didn't understand why they were all growling or hissing but he did detect it wasn't being directed at him personally.

The friendly soldier butted into the conversation, unintentionally diverting the subject (and their focus) away from the the true target. "Hey, kitty cat. Can I bribe you to do a little rat-catching?"

Catscratch instantly perked up. She mewled happily before assuming a biped form of her own. She was rather...cute looking, in truth. Small and a touch dainty, but her clawed hands looked every bit as deadly as the ones on her beast form's paws. She even had a cute little row of wicked sharp denta in her mouth.

"Bribe?" she purred. "You're asking me to obey my own coding! There's no need for a bribe!"

"Alive, kitty," Killzone reminded her playfully. "Catch her alive. I'll throw in a fresh crystal from the next mine batch if you don't hurt her."

Catscratch rolled her optics. "Fiiine. Sourpuss." Her smile said she was quite happy with the proposed compensation, however.

Catscratch folded back down into her feline form, crawled into the lower floor vent, and slunk off.

"...I do not appreciate how much attitude she has," he admitted stiffly to Killzone. "It makes commanding her a gamble."

Killzone shrugged. "She's a cat. That's kind of their thing."

"She obeyed you, though," he noted inquisitively. "Rather eagerly, at that."

"You don't 'train' cats, Predaking. They're way too willful for that approach. You just learn to cooperate with them," said the friendly soldier; somehow he could see the amiable smile in his tone.

What wisdom, he mused; a wisdom Starscream had never possessed.


Author's note: I know, I know, it's a shorter one, but it's an intermediary chapter. They're always a little shorter.