Silverstorm was alerted to the status of Skydive's latest project when a concussive explosion came from his workroom in the house next door. He was up and moving before he registered that he needed to be. Tapping his comm, he connected to Pipes.

"Not Wheeljack then?" Pipes asked.

"Aerialbots' house," Silverstorm said.

"Be there in three."

Silverstorm rapped hard on the door then typed in the code and walked in. The house was filled with smoke, and Fireflight was leaning against Air Raid, who was trailing soothing patterns over his wings.

"Bolt!" Silverstorm boomed.

"Up here! He's hurt!" Silverbolt shouted, his voice laced with static.

Silverstorm ran up the stairs into the thick smoke, and he groped his way into the room. Tapping at the room's ventilation system, the smoke was siphoned out to reveal the damage. Skydive's left optic was spitting sparks through a bad crack, and his left hand was blackened. The desk had a melted crater in the middle, and there was a steady dripping of coolant.

"Is he conscious?"

"Semi," Silverbolt said.

"Can he communicate?"

"No. But I can. He's in a lot of pain, and his hand is numb. He can't see even out of the undamaged optic because of the flash of light. It needs to reset, but he's in shock and his body is trying to process what happened."

Silverstorm nodded as there was a hard knock on the door. "It's probably Pipes. I'll get him," he said, and hurried downstairs.

It was not Pipes. It was Optimus. He looked very serious. "What's going on, Storm?"

"Think Wheeljack," Silverstorm said. "Pipes should be here in a minute."

"I'm here now," Pipes said, pushing past Optimus. "Aid is prepping a berth."

"Second floor. Follow me."

They hurried upstairs and into the workroom. Skydive was more conscious now, and his vocalizer spit static as he whined. Pipes knelt down and touched his face.

"Bolt? How is he?" Silverstorm asked.

"Still in shock. His hand is starting to hurt, and he wants to get to the medbay as discreetly as possible."

"Okay then," Optimus said. "Silverstorm?"

They each supported one side of the youngling and carefully maneuvered him downstairs. They went out the back and took a side road to the medbay, the rest of the Aerialbots hurrying along behind them. As soon as they chimed the back door, Ratchet opened it and hustled them to a berth.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Think Wheeljack," Optimus replied. "What would you like to do, Pipes?"

A sulky expression crossed Ratchet's face for a moment before he relaxed. "Yes, Pipes. What are we supposed to do?"

Silverstorm was grateful that Ratchet had decided to switch to teaching mode instead of demanding to be in charge. Maybe he was finally coming around.

"Wing damage?" Pipes asked seriously.

"No. His hand is numb and his working optic is trying to reset. But no wing damage, thankfully," Silverbolt said, coughing static a couple times as he shivered and rubbed his left wrist and hand.

"The patient needs to answer," Ratchet said.

"He can't. He's in shock," Silverbolt said tightly. "But I assure you, I know what I'm talking about."

"I don't care. The patient needs to answer," Ratchet said.

"Pipes?" Silverstorm asked coolly.

"Yes?" Pipes asked nervously.

"Do you accept Silverbolt's word?"

"Well, of course I do," Pipes said.

"That's not how it works!"

"It's fine, Ratchet," Silverstorm insisted.

"No, it's not!" Ratchet snapped.

"Ratchet," Optimus warned. "Silverstorm says it's fine. Pipes says it's fine. He is not your patient, so it's fine."

The same sulky look crossed his face, and Ratchet stepped back but said nothing. Pipes began to analyze the injuries, clicking his glossa. "That optical glass needs to be replaced. We need to scan it to make sure it's fine. Can he feel his fingers?"

Silverbolt answered at once. "He sincerely wishes he couldn't."

"Then let's take care of that," Pipes said. "How far up does the pain radiate?"

Silverbolt flexed his own hand and squinted, massaging the wiring between his armor plating. "I don't think it's higher than his elbow."

"We'll start there and adjust as needed," Pipes said. He removed the armor plating and parted the wires until he found some tubing then injected a dose of painkiller. Silverbolt relaxed a little while Skydive went limp.

"All gone?" Pipes asked Skydive, stroking a gentle circle on his wing.

"Yes," Silverbolt said. "And it's much appreciated."

"Good. We'll start with a scan then do the minor surgery on your optic.

"Excellent," Ratchet said crisply. "Now if you're not a medic, get out."

"Thanks, Prime," Silverbolt said as he padded over to lay down on a berth.

"Oh no, you're going, too," Ratchet said.

Silverbolt scoffed. "No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are," Ratchet replied.

"No, he's not," Silverstorm said from the door.

Ratchet looked at Silverstorm critically. "Give me a good reason."

"Because I said so," Silverstorm replied. "His reason for being allowed with his Aerialbots is none of your concern. He is staying."

"But—" Ratchet began.

"That's enough, Ratchet," Optimus said sharply. Then he quickly added, "Silverstorm has given you his orders."

Ratchet gave Optimus a look that made the older Prime falter, but Silverstorm relaxed at the backup. Ratchet stared at Optimus in disbelief.

"Fine. But you stay out of my way!" Ratchet cried, and he flung the datapad he was holding onto the desk and stomped off. "Now everybody else, OUT!"

They scrambled to obey, and Slingshot shivered as they headed back home. "Is he always that scary?"

"On his bad days," Silverstorm replied. "But he's a good medic and a good friend, even if he is grouchy."

"I hope so," Air Raid said crisply. "I don't like the way he treats Fireflight."

"Fireflight?" Silverstorm asked. "How does he treat him?"

"Like he's incompetent," Slingshot said, and he embraced Fireflight with one arm.

Fireflight sighed and leaned close. "I can't help it, Sling."

"We know," Slingshot assured him.

"But he doesn't," Air Raid said. "And it's eating him alive."

"You're not wrong," Optimus said. "He's used to knowing everything and being able to get whatever information he wants. And I suppose that's my fault."There was a pause as Silverstorm tried to figure out how to reply. Then Optimus sighed. "He's just going to have to unlearn it."

Silverstorm relaxed, and he walked a little lighter. Optimus was still backing him up. He hadn't fragged up yet. "Want to do some target practice?" he asked Optimus.

"Sure," Optimus said.

"We need to head back. Fireflight needs rest," Slingshot said.

Fireflight was trailing along behind them, and Silverstorm stopped and waited. Optimus turned to watch. Silverstorm gently took Fireflight's hand, and the youngling turned and shuttered his optics at the younger Prime. Then he focused and smiled.

"Yes, Prime?" he asked pleasantly.

"You need to go rest. Go with Raid and Sling, okay? Bolt needs to stay with Sky until he's feeling better."

Fireflight looked down at his left hand and flexed it. "It doesn't hurt him anymore, at least," he said. He paused and reached up to stroke his chest. "Sky says he wants to talk with you after the surgery, Silverstorm."

"Tell him to send Bolt to get me as soon as he's ready, no matter what's going on," Silverstorm said. "Now go and rest."

Air Raid and Slingshot each took one of Fireflight's hands and he docilely went with them toward their house. Silverstorm watched them go then sighed and turned to Optimus.

"Let's go practice," he said.

Optimus studied him for a moment then glanced toward the three Aerialbots. "Are they okay?"

"I'll say yes, but things are complicated," Silverstorm said cautiously.

"Fair enough. Now, target practice."

After several cycles, Silverstorm was pinged, and he made his way to the medbay. When he walked in, it was dark. Ratchet was nowhere in sight, but First Aid was chatting with Pipes across the room as they cleaned their tools. Silverstorm walked right over to Skydive, smiling.

"Hey, Sky. How are you?"

Skydive onlined his optics and looked miserable. "I can't feel my glossa," he slurred unhappily.

Silverstorm bit down on a laugh. "Oh, that's not good."

"No." He paused. "Do they know yet?"

"Who knows what?" Silverstorm asked.

Skydive made a face. "What?"

"Who are you talking about and what information are they supposed to know?"

"That inventor and the scientist," Skydive said, sounding pouty.

"Wheeljack and Perceptor?" Silverstorm asked.

"Yeah. Them. Do they know?"

"Know what?"

Skydive scoffed and held up his newly repaired hand, which was limp from the anesthetic. "About my accident."

"I'm not sure. Why?"

"Just wondering how long I'll have to hide away from them before they'll forget about this humiliation."

Silverstorm snickered. "Oh, I don't think they'll see it as something to laugh at. Especially Wheeljack."

"You talking about me, Silverstreak?" Wheeljack asked as he came in with Perceptor.

"As the humans say, speak of the devil," Silverstorm said. "And it's Silverstorm, Jack."

"Right, sorry," Wheeljack said. "What's the story? Good or bad?"

"No story. Skydive was just asking about you," Silverstorm said.

"No I wasn't," Skydive said quickly.

Perceptor raised his optical ridges. "You protest too quickly, my dear Skydive."

Skydive shrugged and looked away. Wheeljack strolled over and pressed a small cube of blue energon into Skydive's good hand. "Here. You like blue, right?"

Skydive's expression went slack with surprise. "I do. But what is this for?"

"I treat myself every time I cause an accident," Wheeljack said. "Makes the failure sting a little less."

Skydive glanced at him and his wings relaxed. "That's not a bad idea."

"What were you trying to do?" Wheeljack asked.

"I was repairing our old energon converter for the thousandth time. And it finally gave out." Skydive looked down and sighed.

"It's always rough when something goes wrong," Wheeljack said.

"Do things go wrong for you often?" Skydive asked.

Perceptor made a strangled staticky noise as his optics flashed blue. Wheeljack smacked him, his optics turning pink then turned to Skydive. "All the time. It's a hazard of the job. Believe it or not, even Percy frags things up. His are more theoretical, but that doesn't mean that coming to a dead end hurts any less than something blowing up in your face."

Perceptor smiled. "Very true. Failure of any kind hurts."

"Yeah? Well one of those leads to fewer visits to the medic," Silverstorm teased.

Wheeljack laughed. "True. Ratchet and I are pretty good friends now, even if he wants to scream every time something else blows up."

There was a bang, and the door opened. Ratchet had a wrench in his fist, and his optics were blazing. His gaze landed on Silverstorm and he stopped and glared.

"Can I help you, Ratchet?" Silverstorm asked.

"You can tell those Aerialbots that I can't help them if they don't tell me what's going on!"

Silverstorm tilted his head and studied the medic as Pipes and First Aid stopped talking and looked over. "They haven't asked for your help, though," he said. "They've asked for Pipes to help. But it's good to know that you're willing to help him take care of them."

Ratchet gazed at him in astonishment then let out a cry of rage and flung the wrench toward Silverstorm. Silverstorm threw out his hands and a shield appeared just in time for the wrench to ricochet off the sparking surface. It knocked over the self it landed on, sending tools everywhere. Silverstorm relaxed his shield and the silence that followed was deafening. Pipes's mouth was open with horror, and First Aid stood there and gazed at Ratchet in disbelief. Wheeljack and Perceptor stood stock still, trying to process the fact that Ratchet had just thrown a wrench at the younger Prime.

Silverstorm took in all their reactions then turned his attention to Skydive. The flier's optics were white with terror, and Silverstorm knew the Aerialbots would be there any minute. Ratchet stood there, frightened but angry.

"Get out," Silverstorm said softly.

Ratchet shuttered his optics. "What?"

"Get out and don't come back until you can apologize to my face."

Ratchet couldn't process this. "This is my medbay!"

"Wrong," Silverstorm said. "This is Pipes's medbay. You want your own? Figure it out. But you're going to leave and not come back until you apologize to me."

There was a long silence as Silverstorm gazed at Ratchet, his expression serious. Ratchet shook his head over and over, defiance glittering in his optics. Silverstorm raised his optical ridges.

"Unless you're trying to figure out how to apologize right now?"

Ratchet stood straight and spun on his heel. The door opened and the other four Aerialbots scattered as Ratchet barreled through them. Before he was out of sight, Ratchet turned and glared at Silverstorm.

"You'll regret this, Silverstreak."

"It's Silverstorm Prime."

Ratchet sneered. "Oh is it? Sorry, I couldn't tell the difference."

With that devastating blow that left Silverstorm reeling, Ratchet left. First Aid, Wheeljack, and Perceptor gazed at Silverstorm with new optics. Even Optimus didn't dare to stand up to Ratchet in his medbay. As Silverstorm stood rooted to the spot, his optics white with pain, the three of them knew that this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.