Tf G1: To protect

Ratchet ran through the battlefield as fast as his pedes could, his spark hammering in its casing. He jumped over a dead greying frame as if it wasn’t there, and it spoke of how much twist this fragging war was if he didn’t even care about hurt Cybertronians. But it was not that he did not, for he did care. Too much sometimes - as he was often told by some of the most hardhelm Autobots. They just couldn’t understand; so what if he would stop to help even a nameless Decepticon? It was still a patient. A life! He couldn’t, in all of his spark, abandoned someone and let him suffer. No, he prefers letting this mindset to the others.

This was why he was running amid the explosions and dead frames, hopping to Primus to arrive in time before he ended up with more works than he should have. Or worse.

So when he saw a crowd and a frantic Wheeljack looking out for him, he accelerated.

Upon seeing him approaching his friend’s shoulder sagged, his helm-fins going from tension green to relief orange-pink. Ratchet waited till he was near enough to ask what happened; the called he had received having only been long enough to tell him about ‘hurt twins’, ‘being unable to come near’, and ‘to hurry’.

“I don’t know!” The scientist almost yelled in order to be heard above the sounds of gunfire and explosions ragging around them. Seeing that their Medic had arrived several of the mechs present decided to return to their posts, confident that he would know what to do. If they seemed almost happy to go away, he didn’t comment. “He won’t let anyone come near. I’m just glad his blaster was render nonfunctional ...”  

This did not reassure Ratchet, on the contrary. Looking past the now blabbering scientist he made his way to the two wounded mechs with cautious slow steps, throwing a glance and a nod at Blaster as the CO frowned worryingly at him, weapon ready and engaged just in case. A growl made him redirect his attention to the mechs on the ground, or rather on the dark narrow optics following each of his moves, frame blocking the second one from view.

Well, here goes nothing, he thought, steeling himself. He came to a stop a few feet from the yellow young one and crouched so he was smaller than him. He silently took in the numerous scratches, dents and bleeding wounds in the other, and the ones he could see on the one hidden by him. The steadily growing puddle of energon on the ground did nothing to reassure him. He tried approaching, only to barely avoid a wipe made by a clawed servo.

The dark gaze suddenly shift to somewhere behind him and he hastily told the other to stand down. “He has gone berserk. Do not move.”

“But, Rachet - !”

“Do. Not. Move.” Ratchet repeat without turning. The whine of the weapon slowly disappeared, and he waited patiently for the youngling to refocus on him. “Sunstreaker, you need to let me see Sideswipe.” The mech – because even if he was still young he couldn’t be considered a youngling anymore – snarled at him and tensed up, a deep growl growing in his chassis.

“It’s me, Ratchet.” He tried again, his tone calming and soft, but then an explosion happening a little too close for comfort made the other jerk and hiss, backing more toward his twin in a move to protect him. Fragging - ! Ratchet cursed in his processor, gritting his dentas so his own temperament wouldn’t explode too. Of all the times - ! “Blaster, I need you to tell the others to keep the fight as far from here as possible.”

The communication officer hesitated, his optics going from the twins to the Medic, “Are you sure it’s clever?”

“Yes.” Ratchet hissed, his fiery temper showing a little as he glared back at the orange mech. “He is already stressed enough, I don’t need some low processored fraggers incapable of firing right playing turbofox and glitchmouses around here!”
Blaster gulped and saluted before running toward the heat of the battle (and away from The Hatchet), relaying the CMO orders to everyone in the vicinity.

Satisfied for now, Ratchet returned his attention to his patients, finding Sunstreaker looking curiously at him. Maybe I triggered some sense of remembrance. Primus knows I always must threaten them to sit still so I can heal them.  He started crawling on his knees, slowly, his optics never leaving the golden twins’ ones and making sure that no brusque movements were made. A snarl escaped the other’s mouth, but otherwise he didn’t try to hit him, nor did he move. If anything he seemed perplex, his optics flickering from dark blue to his usual sky blue. This was good; it meant that he was not totally lost to him. “Everything will be alright. I will repair Sideswipe, but for that I need to be next to him.” He said, now only a few feet from the frontliner.

A growl resounded, weaker than before but still a treat, and Ratchet stopped. Then the frame in front of him tensed violently, and for a brief moment Ratchet’s inner energon almost froze in fear, thinking that the other would attack, but then Sunstreaker turned sharply toward his twins, disregarding him completely, and his energon did froze when he heard the normally proud mech whine in distress.

Fragging pit spawned slag! He curse internally, forcefully stomping on all his fear and the lessons he had received so long ago about the treatment of twins and dashed to the fallen red frame’s side, servo already turning into tools to clamp the leaking energon lines.  

He should have remembered that this was not any set of twins.

Rough servos took hold of his, clenching hard and turning him so he was facing an angry, no, deadly Sunstreaker. For a moment he was too stunned to do anything, not having expect that - a little voice telling him that he would normally be dead by now - but soon shook it off. “Sunstreaker please, he will offline if I don’t treat him!” He pleaded, glancing down at the battered form. So much wounds. So much energon. “Surely you can understand that!” If he didn’t do something now, he wasn’t sure of what would happen to the red twins.

Thankfully Sunstreaker released him after a moment, albeit reluctantly, and even as he started again on the most serious wounds the dark gaze never left him. Like a predator assessing a potential prey. Rapidly clamping the lines and doing what repairs he could with the equipment at hand, Ratchet pursed his lips as Sideswipe entered stasis lock. “We will need to transport him.” He announced, his blue optics meeting the others, “I can’t do much here.” And without preamble he stood back a little and transformed, opening his backdoors. “Get him in there.”

The trip back to the Ark after informing the Prime of the situation took more time than he would have like, but they did manage to get back there in record time. Sunstreaker not leaving his side he made his way with his charge to the Medbay, barking at anyone they met to get the pit out of his way.

Now he just had to keep one twins alive, and keep the other from completely snapping.
Joy.

.................................

“… Ratchet?” Ratchet turned his helm from where he was tending to Sunstreaker last wounds, tired optics glaring at the Prime. Mere bot’s would have shrunk back at the look, but having often been of the receiving end of it he stood his ground. “How are they?”

“They will be alright. Sideswipe will be back terrorizing us in a few days. He is still in stasis lock for now.” Ratchet answered before returning to wielding a rather deep cut on the side of the yellow twins’ helm.

“… And you?” Optimus dared ask, more than a little put out by what he was seeing. This time a growl answered him.

“I would advise you and the others to keep away until Sideswipe leave stasis.” Came the short reply, and Optimus simply blinked, nodded, and left. It was enough of an answer for him.

A moment passed in silence before Ratchet’s voice drifted in his relatively empty Medbay, “You can’t do everything like a normal bot, can’t you?”

Sunstreaker merely scoffed, his arm tightening around the Medic sitting on his leg. He trusted this mech, his voice somehow soothing him. It was the others he didn’t trust. He will just make sure no one will approach them.

Ratchet merely sighed and wondered what he had done to Primus to merit this …