In a cave.
Below the snow.
Pharma would be discovered soon, if the sparklings couldn't keep quiet.
Copperglide was the most energetic and obnoxious of the bunch, his colors a memorable blend of orange and teal. Pharma watched with a tired black-eyed expression as Copperglide ran past him to trample a nearby outgrowth of crystal flowers.
It was rude, undisciplined behavior for a sparkling to break the few precious examples of beauty within their already bleek and blackened cave, but when Pharma opened his mouth to scold Copperglide for perhaps the seventeenth time that cycle – not a sound came out.
Pharma was exhausted, and all he wanted to do was to cradle the other more sensible and terrified sparklings curled up at the back of the cave.
The other sparklings were too young to run around, causing mischief like Copperglide did – all except for perhaps Fusekick, who was around the same age. He was a curious green and blue little thing, and his plating camouflaged seamlessly into the malachite and shattuckite-quartz walls of the Serph Mines.
Pharma watched wearily, as Fusekick left his side and the warmth of his smaller siblings, to no doubt investigate what Copperglide had been up to.
Fusekick had the unique combination of a battle-mask and a visor-optic for a face, so Pharma could never really tell what he was thinking – just that he was smart, quiet, and whatever couple his CNA was from – each must've been two very different mechs.
"Be careful." Pharma whispered.
"And bring me energon crystals, if you find some." To his pleasant surprise Fusekick turned around and nodded, taking Pharma's words into consideration. "Also, don't touch the green ones this time! Make sure Copperglide doesn't either!" Pharma huffed as he watched Fusekick waddle off.
He was a good kid – very well-behaved – and Pharma had to simply trust he'd come back alright.
Baby cybertronians were born as fairly nidifugous beings, meaning they were independent and fierce from birth, returning only for protection and the occasional snack.
…
…
…
"Pharma-ma-mah?" Fairlead squeaked a curious greeting, jumping up against Pharma's chest with undue haste.
She would definitely grow up to be a mini-bot.
Fairlead was best described as a runt, as she was the smallest of the bunch. She had natural hues of brown and black, with satisfying highlights of red.
A sparkling her age had the potential to change her colors into something more, "traditionally cybertronian," when she got older. As for now, Pharma had to be careful moving around the cave – as she perfectly blended into the ground – like a stoney camouflaged tow-toad.
Just as quickly as she'd come – she scurried away into the darkness on all-fours, like a rrrah-rab-bit, and she dug just as madly as one – nosing around for chips of ore and quartz.
Quartz crystal was delightfully sweet, and sparklings were notorious for easily becoming unhinged and obsessed about the mineral.
Still.
While obsessed and unhinged.
Pharma was impressed by her work-ethic.
Then the youngest and least developed were Boulderhide, Gamblejeer, and Racket. All of them had been born and promptly abandoned at Delphi by their sorry parents.
It had fallen to Pharma to care for the litter, as he used to manage a mechternity ward, long before the war…when sparklings weren't rarer than a vintage cube of high-grade…
The sudden-thought of how he adopted the sparklings, still gave Pharma a sobering-smack of whiplash when he thought about their birthday. He'd been given the signed holo-papers, and everything needed to claim they were his.
He was…
Their ma-ker – their mote-motor – their carrier…
Whatever the blasted term was, he'd signed onto the papers.
Their "mother," basically threw the brats into his lap, when he'd been distracted in the delivery room, having made the mistake of sitting down.
Each sparkling was still covered in their respective emergence-fluids, and he could only watch in shock as they crawled all over his carefully curated veneer of wax and polish.
Pharma still had nightmares about that moment.
The parents had treated the military outpost as a sort of drive-thru orphanage.
Delphi hadn't been created with housing sparklings in mind, and so Ambulon and First Aid had hastened to build a nest – an incubator box – which would protect them.
Ambulon had insisted on naming one, and predictably, the degenerate-minded Decepticon had picked the ridiculous name of Gamblejeer – a name of a long dead pre-war comedian…
First Aid had named the unfortunate looking grey sparkling after a big dumb rock, no doubt taking inspiration from one of his Wrecker-idols, like Ironhide.
Pharma couldn't help but to feel sorry for Boulderhide. If he wanted to change his name later, it would be perfectly acceptable to do so.
'Perhaps something nice, having to do with silver or mercury?' he mused.
Pharma stroked the three children reverently on their helms, wanting more than ever for them to live. They crawled over rocks Pharma had placed to give form to an obstacle-course, which exercised their developing limbs.
The poor things were not even one vorn old yet, and they lived off his spark's milky-white energy – like the meekest pack of sparkeaters, in existence.
The sparklings also fed off his energon-lines within a fibrous silicate pouch, tucked beneath Pharma's breastplate – and there they slept, like ancient "mar-screw-it-all" pups.
It was a natural carrying compartment of his armor, there since the day he was forged. It was lined with soft asbestos for the explicit purpose of housing sparklings.
For the longest time – everyone saw him as a freak for it.
But what's forged was forged.
And he'd been allowed to keep such an outlier part without much fuss.
And Pharma, reminded of his curious design, couldn't help but to reflect back – onto how his medical career had initially started…
It had blown every mech's mind when Pharma had first began work at Iacon Hospital. Instinctively, he'd wandered into the mechternity ward, kicking out a lead nurse named Firestar – and took over her position immediately.
As if he was constructed by Primus himself, for a peculiar purpose.
While it took a team of nurses the whole cycle to feed and to comfort about a dozen sparklings – it took Pharma barely a damn nanoclick to stuff the whole blasted litter into his carriage-compartment – then he'd strut around proud like a stuffed turret-turn-key bird.
And then, he was technically free to perform other tasks within the hospital.
If no one caught him.
Infamously, he'd been caught performing an emergency surgery with sparklings in tow – a little foot had kicked down from his breastplate pouch, when patching a bleed, almost contaminating the patient's tender-sterile welds.
He'd caught Ratchet's attention then, though for all the wrong reasons.
He'd almost been fired.
But when Ratchet examined the health and charts of the litter – he'd been begrudgingly impressed by his methods.
Finally, the world was looking up.
Pharma was forgiven and rumor of the scary warframe running the mechternity ward made headline news – several times in a row, actually.
It had been, apparently, just that unbelievable – to so many mechs.
And while it had been insulting at the time, with journalists shadowing his every move – it had become the perfect storm – for success.
It was the start of his glorious career then – something Pharma would never forget.
…
…
…
Eventually, Pharma was taken away from his bittersweet thoughts, when one of the sparklings wandered away from their rocks – most likely bored and tired – nor pressed to explore the area, as it was devoid of toys.
Racket, a little pinkish white runt, (which reminded him of Ratchet) was still bigger than littlest Fairlead – and he clambered against Pharma's chest, his wax-smooth claws struggled for purchase, but for Pharma to help Racket up, would've been a disservice…
Sparklings needed all the exercises they could get.
Eventually, Racket slipped into his world of comfort – a soft nest of asbestos fibers and he wiggled happily from the warmth.
Pharma expected him to rest, like a good little brat.
Only.
Pharma buckled back in surprise when Racket ravenously bit into an energon-line, and began to suckle like his tank was at one-percent.
Their darling little teeth cut deep.
Everytime they fed, it hurt.
But it'd hurt Pharma even more, if they died from something silly, like starvation…
In a cave.
On Messatine.
With nothing for him to eat.