[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Hey, have you seen updog? [Skywarp, Thundercracker]

[Deleted]

After his initial bout of shuddering? Skywarp went still. His fans whirred and clicked desperately, trying to cycle air through his overheated systems as fast as they could. As before- the effort yielded near-nothing beyond the further laxing of the mech’s plating as he drifted ever-closer to full-system emergency stasis.

Even though Skywarp absolutely hated the weird, phantom feeling of the Doc’s digits under his armour- he didn’t have the energy to fight it. His voicebox buzzed and spat static as he let out a distressed keening noise- but he couldn’t even muster the energy to wince or shrink away. Had he said something? Skywarp strained, but the mech’s words sounded alien and …warped. Heh-heh.
heh…

eh..

He clicked back online as the medic brought out another syringe, which generally wasn’t the most ideal thing for anyone to come back online just in time to see. He tried to move, and couldn’t quite tell if he’d managed it? Mm. His vision was blurry as his optics refused to focus, his helm felt like he’d warped to the bottom of the ocean again- wait had he?
… No he was cycling air. Right? Yeah-
Pain- that’s what he felt most clearly. He’d been burned. It stung-

“C-cra-cker. Hurtss–SS-s like a- like a-” Another rush of static cut him off, and he gave up his attempt to talk.

Was he not going to get that fuel? He couldn’t even see his trinemate, couldn’t even recall if he’d been in the room- no wait, he’d brought him here, no? So he was in the room. Right. Yeah.

_{Unless Thundercracker left again. But- no, he wouldn’t? He said he was staying…}

He hated how jumbled his thoughts were. They felt just about as heavy as his limbs… he needed a good recharge. Yep. That’s just what the doc would say, too-

[Flatline]

While Skywarp had tried to move in response to seeing the resin gun, it didn't result in anything of note. Flatline's weight was still pressed into his left hand that grasped his, keeping the limb steady from any sort of resistance that could be brought on by discomfort, fear, or simply being so mentally out of it that he would try to lift it up. With the arm panel laying beside him as it was, to pull it in any way would cause it to drag behind it from the connecting conduits. It was while this was all steady, that Flatline would begin to use the resin gun.

It was a neutral compound, one that did not heat up a great deal with curing. While it did get warm as the chemicals reacted with one another and solidified, it would not add to the overt burning that had been in play, especially with the mech numbed. It would safely cap over the exposed metal wires that’s rubber sheath was melted away, while caging over the thinned bumps in liquid lines so they were braced and wouldn’t expand further and pop. Given the injury was rather simple all things considered, this task was quickly completed, save for the larger fuel line that was left alone. With this, he placed the tool back onto the tray.

"Is it discomfort or pain?"

A very important question that was said promptly.

Flatline had no intention of letting the mech suffer, but he also knew that some individuals, despite being in the middle of a WAR and likely fought actively, could have a lower pain tolerance and pitch fits for minimal issues. Flatline himself was one of those who suffered easily, yet he seldom experienced such problems to begin with. Sheltered, locked away... he was a medic, and not one well suited to work out on the front lines. Whatever the case, he didn't want Skywarp to be hurting, though he also didn't want to overly saturate his system with a chemical when it may not have been truly needed to begin with. While he could use code to absolutely negate everything, he was always wary of directly editing such fields while a liquid alternative could be drained out in full.

"Be honest with me."

No theatrics, no crybaby mode... He knew Skywarp wasn't entirely lucid however, so he reiterated to make sure he heard.

"Is it discomfort or pain?"

While asking this, Flatline picked up a larger forcep, placing it on one side of the bubbled fuel line, before crimping it and locking it in place. It would instantly halt the flow off Energon from the lower arm, however it would also have a boon of letting said fuel redirect and circulate higher up in his frame instead, no longer needing to 'fill' his entire lower arm, acting almost like a transfusion. Once this line was blocked off, keeping pressure from pushing against the thinned rubber, Flatline would lift his free hand, pointing over at one of the cabinets that were hastily installed when the room was put together.

"Thundercracker, could you please retrieve the blue container from there? There is also a similar gray box beside it that I will need."

A polite request. In older days Flatline would have already been there and back should everything have been normal, only, his injury meant things were not as they should be. Given who he was speaking to, he felt better about being open with his new disability, trusting he would not be looked down upon due to it.

"My leg was badly damaged and I can't maneuver like I used to..."

Somber honestly.

[Thundercracker]

Thundercracker had contented himself to stand out of the way, seeing as combat medicine was not his area of expertise. But even though he had willed himself to stand out of the way, he watched intensely as Flatline had gone to work on Skywarp. If Thundercracker was religious, this was the point that he would have begun uttering prayers to Primus for his trinemates’ life, making all sorts of promises that in all likelihood he wasn’t really going to keep.

So when Flatline asked for his help, he was a bit surprised, taken aback even. But he quickly got over his shock and threw himself back onto his feet, moving in the direction that Flatline indicated despite the ache and pain that moving caused him.

As he reached the cabinet and began looking, Thundercracker couldn’t help but frown as he thought about the old days, only for the frown to deepen as Flatline explained that he was injured and unable to move like he was used to.

“And here I thought you had just gotten lazy in your old age...”

Despite the attempted humor in his statement, Thundercracker couldn’t laugh. So much for Megatron’s grand vision, here they were in the worst place possible, barely able to take care of their own.

Soon enough, Thundercracker found the two containers and grabbed both of them, then moved over to Flatline’s side holding out the boxes.

“Here, these the ones doc?” he asked.

[Deleted]

Skywarp stared at the medic for a moment. At least- he assumed it was the medic- the... figure loomed over him some, dark and reddish and doing things he couldn't quite see or compute. The world beyond his own helm was swimming in and out of focus, and the state within honestly wasn't that much better. He was pretty sure he'd blacked out again? But-

Oh. He was being asked something.

His optics shuttered slowly, the apertures within deciding they'd rather not bend to his demands, actually. The resulting dimness in his vision only added to his confusion, and considering he couldn't move either- well, his entire focus was on trying to parse out where he was, who he was with, and what was going on.

Discomfort?

I mean....

Pain. Mmm. Possibly pain- he'd been feeling pain before at least, but now everything was dulled around him. Hazy. He couldn't feel much of anything at all, really. Like he was trying to fly all stealthy-like through a chilly fog bank, too close to an ocean for any sane, normal flyer.

Heh. Not that I'm either...

"Dis... disc-om-fort." He managed to croak, finally deciding to give up trying to make sense of anything he was seeing.

That meant not-comfort. Right? He was very not-comfortable now... but things were getting cozier, it was true. The background hum of warnings popping up on his HUD was familiar enough to be comforting, and he could've sworn TC was there- so. Yeah, things were definitely gettin' there.

Even the growing dimness in his vision was becoming a bit more comforting, as overtaxed and overheated, Skywarp's systems finally forced him into stasis once and for all, frame going lax and fans giving one last, quiet whirr of relief.



_{(Skywarp is now passed out, skip turn as needed until further developments <3)}

[Flatline]

"And here I thought you had just gotten lazy in your old age..."

"If only."

Dryly spoken.

Flatline's knee may have hurt lately, and he may have been in real pain at times, however, his request wasn't simply for his own convenience.

Sharp red eyes would watch the way Thundercracker moved, looking for snags that were not typical to his frame, hesitations due to pain, or any other sort of discrepancy from the normal standard that Flatline was well aware of. So many years working for the blue mech meant he was rather familiar with his mechanics, and he wanted to get a bead on just how bad his wounds may be, and how much pain could be masked beneath worry. This cold calculation lingered until Skywarp started to mutter again, his gaze drifting back to watch the mech fight against the last threads of consciousness while he replied to Thundercracker.

"Yes, they are, thank you."

Flatline watched intently as Skywarp's frame seemed to finally give out, which could appear scary to some, though he did not seem phased in the slightest, and may have been relieved in some ways. There were painkillers in play so he knew that he would not be suffering at all, and while the loss of Energon was low enough that he had indeed passed out, it wasn’t enough that his vital systems could be injured from what his scan had said, especially as the amount of fuel that would have been pushed to his forearm was forced elsewhere from the crimped off primary line. Knowing this was one thing. Making certain Thundercracker knew as well was another.

"He is going to be fine, this actually works out well as I was worried I would need to shut him down anyway if he continued to fuss and move."

Now that he wasn't having to brace Skywarp's arm to keep the limb steady, Flatline snaked his left hand up and away, long fingers flaring a second before moving over to grab the side of the box that had been delivered to relocate it in front of himself. He was quite mindful of the pulled off plating that had been draped beside the other mech's limb, giving plenty of space so that it wasn't bumped in any way. With this done, he flicked the latches on the box, pulling it open to reveal multiple sets of neatly coiled tubing that were packaged up in labeled and sealed bags to keep each size protected from outer elements and clean. Flatline would flick through the options before finding the diameter and wall thickness he needed, retrieving it and setting it down before moving the box to the opposite side out of the way, but still in range.

"Everything honestly looks worse than it is."

Flatline wasn't one to hold his tongue and sugarcoat things when a patient wasn’t conscious to hear it. He had his bedside manner, and would do well to support whoever was hurt when in real duress, though with Skywarp down and out? It meant that what he was saying wasn't throttled in any way, making his assurances that much more meaningful than they may otherwise seem. This was added to the fact that he really didn't pull punches around Thundercracker anyway.

"The primary channel blistered which is what the majority of fuel was from."

He tapped the crimped off line gently with his pointer finger to directly indicate where he meant should Thundercracker be looking. Now that it was pinched off and Energon was no longer draining out of it, the thinned rubbers and tear on its empty side was more apparent, its surface uneven and discolored greatly from heat damage. It didn't look as though the pipe could be salvaged in any way, which was precisely why Flatline had the boxes delivered, to begin with.

With confidence held only by those who had been a medic for their entire function, Flatline sheared the bladed edge of his thumb and pointer finger along the line just below the forceps, cleanly slicing through the material in one swoop with no hesitation or worry about being careful. It could have appeared garish in some form or another with the seeming carelessness of it, though it was done for a reason, one that was repeated again after Flatline snaked out enough of the opposite end to do the same, being mindful to avoid the main sensors even if they were numbed.

The removed section of tubing was sat up and off to the side, before Flatline picked up the replacement loop, cutting off an appropriate length.

"I see what has gone wrong with Skywarp, but what of you?"

While speaking, Flatline did not look over at Thundercracker, quickly retrieving a small bracket piece of the appropriate size from the secondary box that had been delivered. The chunk of metal was a cylindrical tube in shape, with a seam running down its middle lengthwise. Said seam was easily split apart once in hand on its thin hinge, showing that the inner edges were lined in short barb-like spikes with some sort of chemical liner in the centermost portion. Nestling the new pipe's edge halfway into the component, Flatline then reached down to place it flush with the fuel line just beneath the crimp, making certain old and new bio-silicones were flush with one another. The second this was lined up, the other half of the cylinder would hook over, a sharp snap made as Flatline pushed hard to lock it down.

The internal barbs would make it impossible for the rubbers to peel away from one another even when pulled, and the medical liner would assist the self-repair process by fusing the ends to one another. Its shape would look ugly, but it would serve its purpose until a few weeks have passed, in which it could be unlocked and removed. Even if left it would not impair things, though it was best to retrieve at some point or another rather than let some soldier's internals be littered with the things.

With the same level of calm speed brought by repetition and experience, Flatline would pop open a second connector and start to line up the other half to bridge the gap, there not even a pause between his motions while he worked.

"Please be honest."

[Thundercracker]

Skywarp was going to be fine...

Thundercracker let out an intake that he had been holding as he surrendered the box that Flatline had made him retrieve, then limped over towards an end of the medbay where he would be out of the way and able to let the doc work his magic. Talk about a sense of deja vu...felt like he was reliving a scene that had played out all too often back on Cybertron. Only this time...this time it hit closer to his spark. Not that he didn’t care about those others from before...but they weren’t Skywarp.

They weren’t his brother.

“It usually is, isn’t it?” he asked as he settled down on an empty bed, letting out another intake.

“Any idea what could have caused it?” he asked, looking where Flatline indicated. Skywarp hadn’t been too heavy on the details when he called, but if Thundercracker had to guess Warp had gotten into a fight with someone who was able to hit back quite hard. The question was though...was it another Decepticon or an Autobot?

Because that would determine Thundercracker’s response.

He looked over at Flatline when asked about his own injuries before shrugging.

“Eh just some holes in the wing, nothing too major. Scrapped with an Autobot flier earlier today...she was pretty good.”

[Flatline]

An Autobot flier?

"I trust you disposed of the threat."

The top edge of Flatline's lip flicked up slightly while he spoke, a sort of half-smirk in play that also had a touch of an apprehensive edge. While he was a doctor that tried to do the best for others, finding an innate desire to mend and repair, the idea of an enemy fighter being wiped off this world was beneficial despite the fate of the femme. One way to write it off in his mind was the fact that the fewer the Autobots had to attack with, the fewer chances that more harm could come to their people in turn. This said he would flick his gaze over again for a second, looking at the wing damage momentarily.

"I can take a look once I am further along here. If you want in the meantime there are some patches that can protect the areas."

There was a sort of gesture made with his helm since his hands were occupied, Flatline trying to indicate where the far more basic medical supplies were located. While he would want to look at them legitimately since any sort of gunshot, even small ones, could be a problem, getting them sealed off with a primitive cover in the meantime would be beneficial.

"As for your question, it looks like a defensive wound from heat damage that ran quite hot, though its centralized range narrows things."

A low hum followed these words, red optics coasting across other portions of Skywarp's frame.

"The lack of severe burns elsewhere on the surrounding plating removes a construct fire or flamethrower."

Flatline gestured to the mech overall, knowing that if it were a broad spraying assault that a single forearm would be unable to take it all and keep the rest of him comparatively untouched. In addition, this wrote off a larger building or shuttle fire, as approaching something grandiose such as that would also incur more notable injuries that could mirror the one that was being worked on. The other smaller marks were minuscule versus what he was working on now, red optics drifting back down to the splattered blue.

"The lack of shrapnel or punch holes writes off an explosion."

If it were a missile or grenade, even one generated by fuel, he believed that there would be more of a punching effect in play where pieces were concave inward, or even hold some holes or pieces coring in like a shotgun blast. This wasn't there, however, begging questions on what exactly was going on.

"There is no slicing, so it can't be an Energon blade."

A soft 'tsk' was made as he thought.

"I'd say he was pressing his arm against something that was obscenely heated."

What that was Flatline did not know, though he didn’t truly need to. He had enough that he could deduce that he could reverse the damage with ease, the main Energon conduit to the forearm already spliced back together. The forceps that kept the line pinched off were left however, both to keep fuel up in the rest of his frame instead, while also starving the smaller lines that were still seared open to keep it all from simply leaking right back out as a slow draw. It was after Flatline spoke that he went back to work, gently tapping his fingertip onto the metals to listen to if they sounded dull or not, trying to judge how deep the warping may have penetrated towards the central foundational struts.

After he heard what he needed he continued.

"Hopefully he can answer things once he is conscious again, as beyond that I cannot say at this time."

Setting down the tools he had been holding, Flatline would grasp his cane and turn about-face, moving with his disjointed gait that toggled from the typical click of his peds, to the tap of his cane. He would get to a container towards his work table, looking through some of the pieces of sorted Cybertronian metals. After only a couple of flicked motions, he pulled out a shard of scrap that was roughly triangular in shape, its surface polished on one side and rough on the other. He turned it slowly in his grasp, looking at the chalk note on it before he moved towards some tooling machinery.

[Thundercracker]

Disposed of the threat...

Such a clinical way of asking if he had killed someone. Someone with a name, a spark, and probably had friends that cared about her.

“Yeah.”

That’s all Thundercracker would say on the matter for the time being. She hadn’t been the first one to fall at his hand, and if he ventured a guess she wouldn’t be the last one to die. He didn’t blame Flatline for his clinical approach, it was just how the old bot approached nearly everything. They all needed their ways to detach themselves from this war and what they had done, as well as having ways to cope with those they lost.

“I’m fine...just hurts is all...”

In more ways than one.

Thundercracker would listen quietly as Flatline explained what could have injured Skywarp, and the more he listened the more his optic ridges would furrow in consternation and concern. Not a flamethrower, not a flammable grenade, not an explosion, not a blade...

Just...something hot?

“Look doc, as much as we both know Skywarp is clumsy at times, there’s no way that the rest of his injuries came from touching something hot right?”

Already Thundercracker’s mind was racing. Was this a new Autobot weapon? Would he have to tell Starscream?