[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]What You Think You Know - [Closed]

[Bumblebee]

Bumblebee was in a bad place, and he knew it.

If he was going to have even a sliver of a chance at gaining the upper hand here, he had to move out of this corridor. If more Autobots arrived due to the sounds of chaos? There would be no way he could fight them all off – especially as they could come from either side, using this advantage to quickly overpower him. It was bad enough they were fighting in a corridor to begin with, there wasn't enough room to move or maneuver properly, no real room for error... He shouldn't have charged back down here after that rush attack at Optimus, yet here he was.

He had to escape if he had any chance of getting through this..

If he could... if he could just get past Carbine, maybe he could gain back what ground he'd lost by moving into another room. Carbine was the biggest threat here. Or so he thought. He'd all but forgotten about Optimus, Jazz, and Ratchet in the Control Room. He'd automatically assumed that they'd be tending to Jazz, fixing up Optimus' faceplate and getting them both to safety away from this chaos. Why wouldn't they be? Optimus was the priority here in all of this, they couldn't lose him... He was the Prime, he was their leader... without him they would be surely lost, scrambling to stay afloat more than they already were.

Not that Bumblebee seemed to care about any of that at this moment, his optics wide; with both blasters held out as he waited for Carbine to no doubt lunge back in with another attack.

Another attack came - but it wasn't from the ex-cop.

He heard transformation from somewhere behind him.

He probably should've been paying more attention, then he might've heard the footfalls quickly approaching. Footfalls that he would've easily recognized as Ratchet.

He saw him... at the last second? He saw him. Or at least, saw the blur of movement. He was... he was fast indeed. The grouchy old Medic had it in him when he wanted, that's for sure. Bee hadn't time to even think, barely even time to calculate his own next move should Carbine not charge at him. He'd seemingly been standing – wobbling – for not even a second when Ratchet had appeared beside him, swinging down at him with a massive blade. The Medic's words did not even register, all Bee knew was he had to act – and fast.

In an instant, Bumblebee would do what he could to try and defend himself from this new attacker, this new threat. He'd move his arm upward in a foolish attempt to block his face and helm... but it didn't do anything. Things were already in motion, Ratchet had his processor set on where to aim and how hard to strike, and Bee's faceplate was certainly not the intended target of this blow.

Not even close.

All Bee could do – all any of them could do - was watch in horror as the blade sliced down harshly at an angle, severing his arm – straight through the bottom half of the blaster – slicing through both barrels and taking off his servo in the process. Cutting down the threat that was one of the blasters that'd already inflicted so much terrible damage was probably necessary at this point. There was a heavy clatter of metal hitting concrete as the partial limb landed with a thud and lay limp on the ground. It wasn't until he heard that noise, saw sparks, and the all too familiar sight of brilliant blue Energon splattering from the wound – Energon that he could not afford to lose - did it even register that it'd happened at all. The pain came then, white hot and searing - and it would've filled his every thought if it weren't for that blinding rage that overshadowed everything else.

Time did that weird, slowing down thing again. Or at least it seemed to.

Ratchet. Ratchet the Medic who had saved Bumblebee's very life after the horrific torture at the hands of Megatron, the Medic who had re-attached both of the Scouts arms after they had been cruelly torn from their sockets... had sliced Bumblebee's arm through without hesitation.

Why?

Well it was obvious why. Bumblebee was a threat and nothing more. The little yellow Scout who was friends with everybody. Optimus' golden child they called him behind his back... They assumed he could do no wrong, he was a shining example of what an Autobot should be. He was true to the cause, he loved and gave his all for everyone. He'd give his life for any one of those here at the base without hesitation should he need to. They were more than just comrades. They were his friends – and he showed it toward everyone without judgment or doubt. Always welcoming toward everyone, and happy to help - even if it meant he'd have to go out of his way to do so. He went above and beyond, was serious and capable - yet still had that youthful innocence about him. That happy, playful side that many got to see and enjoy – a tiny distraction from far, far too many years of pain and war. War was all Bee knew and yet he managed to stay cheery, he kept looking on the bright side and made the best of things no matter what life threw at them – which as of late was a whole lot of bad.

He wouldn't hurt one of his own. Not ever.

And yet... It was this same yellow Scout that'd turned on them so quickly without warning and for seemingly no reason at all. Shooting Optimus without hesitation and without word. Shooting him again. A third time. His hero, the one he looked up to most – he'd aimed for him first and inflicted horrific damage and felt no remorse. He'd shot Jazz – another he looked up to and took inspiration from. Sideswipe, who'd only been back at the base for a short time and yet they were as close as ever like he hadn't left at all, his brother in arms... He hadn't cared, that love he had for his friends was gone, replaced by this unbridled and so very violent rage.

What'd caused him to snap like this? That was still a mystery – but the way they'd all turned on him in an instant, without trying to reason made him feel more than justified in his actions. They did not care about him. If it were any of them that'd attacked, he wouldn't have rushed in to attack first – not without at least making some attempt of talking to them. Asking what was wrong. A mistake that may have cost him his life? Maybe. But there was a reason behind everything and every action - and they had gone all out with their attacks first, quickly overpowering him and hurting him without making an attempt at reasoning.

Raf had been the only one to try and get him to stop through words. That tiny little human, quiet as a mouse and wise beyond his years – a human that Bumblebee had known for... a minuscule speck in time compared to most others, had screamed at him to stop. That'd been the only attempt at reasoning, at trying to get through to Bumblebee. He'd tried, and... for a precious, crucial moment there? It'd worked.

Of course it wasn't enough to get him to stop fully, but it'd saved Sideswipe's life.

A blur of red, a startled static-laced cry. They snapped Bumblebee from whatever that was, time catching up to him in an instant. He'd take a staggered step only...

Sideswipe had hold of him now and his step was cut short. It took him a second to realize that the frontliner had managed to get around and behind him, his arms wrapping around him - hooking up and under his left arm and the stub of his right. A rumbled growl escaped Bee, his engine whirring angrily as he fought. Despite everything, despite the fact he was outnumbered, despite the fact this was now a lost cause, and despite the fact he was so very very hurt – he still had fight in him. He wasn't about to go down so easily.

And so he'd thrash – violently. Trying to squirm and writhe out of Sideswipe's grasp, his left arm attempting to jab back and elbow him hard. He wasn't making it easy for the red mech to keep ahold of him – and yet somehow he managed. Fresh Energon oozed from his leg with every movement, every twist and squirm made more brilliant blue splatter from what remained of his right arm. Somewhere amongst this chaos, Carbine moved in quickly to assist – seeing an opportunity to finally get control of the situation that'd gone on for far too long. Static-laced, pained high pitched beeps that weren't words escaped Bee with every strained and ragged vent, and he'd kick. Oh how he'd kick, with everything he had – despite the pain that shot up through his leg that'd been shot, he kicked out in an attempt to get Carbine to back off.

It didn't work. A few kicks made contact – he felt them – but his movements were slowing, enough to the point that Carbine could finally move in and grab Bee's pedes, hoisting him from the ground entirely and holding him suspended with Sideswipe's help.

His movements had slowed, but he still fought with everything he had. Like a scared and wounded desperate animal, he would try to violently wrench himself free from their grasp. Each movement causing more Energon to leave his lines, the corridor now lashed with brilliant blue spatters on top of the boring gray concrete.

Then a boom of a yell sounded that made him pause – if only for a moment.

Optimus.

He'd never, ever heard Optimus yell like that. In all the years he'd known him, he'd not seen Optimus lose his temper or raise his voice. Not ever. Bee's optics would whir, the aperture like lenses opening and closing as he tried to focus, struggling to stay focused with everything going on. The yell unfortunately didn't bring him to his senses, that anger still there – violently rippling through his field. Wheezed out intakes could be heard, rattling hard in his chassis.

He planned to fight until the very end.

He'd lost so much Energon, and was so very exhausted from firing so many blasts – his HUD was screaming at him about error after error. So many things were wrong, and every movement hurt - but he wouldn't give up. He couldn't.

Despite the fact he was held up, suspended above the floor at an awkward angle – that left blaster was still out, and still very much a threat. The quiet, mumbled words that left Optimus a moment later were lost on Bee – he didn't hear them at all as he used whatever energy he had left to lurch suddenly with a loud growl of his engine, twisting as best he could to angle his arm to shoot at anyone – anyone within range. The one who'd hurt him the most, who was now the biggest threat – and hopefully one distracted enough by Optimus' orders and pathetic words to not notice what was happening.

Ratchet.

He aimed for Ratchet.

Not getting a chance to see if he hit his intended target or not, Bumblebee finally went limp.

[Ratchet]

((Raf is currently under the console, eyes closed and hands over his ears, so he's not doing much. So, on to Ratchet!))



Ratchet was trying to think of sixteen things at once, and even for his processor, it was difficult.

When Optimus roared out, Ratchet flinched for a second. He had known Optimus for a very long time, and it was very rare that he got that angry that he had to raise his voice in such a manner. He didn’t flinch because he thought he was in trouble, he flinched from the sheer volume of such a bellow in an enclosed space.

Ratchet knew what he had done must seem horrible and unforgivable to the others. But none of them had ever been in situations he himself had been. Ratchet had been a doctor long, long before the war even started. And some people were violent long before the war gave them and outlet for that violence.

And in the war? You saw atrocities that you couldn’t turn off. You saw things patients did to each other in moments of madness or hatred, or even just confusion.
When Optimus ordered a sedative, Ratchet bit back his angry reply. He reminded himself that despite being a Prime, despite having the Matrix to guide him, Optimus wasn’t a medic. He had no medical training at all.

Everyone....everyone...thought that doctors had magic in their bottles, not medicine. That anything could be overcome or dealt with as long as the doctor was there. Nevermind the whimsies of each individual body with its own system and chemicals that always had to be considered. Never mind how each medicine had a side effect. There was no magic pill and there never would be.

And the worst.....the absolute worst thing that Ratchet encountered, was the miracle “sedative”.

People thought a sedative was a nap in a needle. That you stick it in, and the patient has a nice little nap and wakes up all happy and good again. They didn’t realize sedatives were chemicals. Each sedative interacted with a frame’s natural chemicals in various ways. Shut down a mind? The central pump might slow. Calm the body down? Now the processor is dealing with a wash of chemicals it has to work through or around.
There was no magic cure.

All Ratchet could do, was turn partway towards Optimus and pray that in the chaos, his oldest friend would understand.

“I can’t just give him a sedative without knowing what’s in hi-“

He was hit.

The blast from Bumblebee struck Ratchet’s side and left shoulder, spinning him around on his peds. He grunted in pain, optics wide, dental plates locked together to keep from screaming out. A staggered step, he hunched, one hand clamped down on his shoulder that was leaking energon and a faint, unhappy wisp of smoke. Fingertips dug into the exposed mesh and circuitry as if he could seek out the pain and tear it out.

Even as the pain tore through his system, Ratchet’s mind was working, running triage.

Optimus is fading, fast. Unsteady on his feet. He needs to be in the medibay. Facial wound – high risk of secondary infection of rust setting in. Energon loss. The pain alone could send his system into shock. Best action would be to ease him into a power down to prevent secondary shock while I tend the leaks and manage the pain to reduce stress on his system.

Sideswipe, in a similar position. How much of his resources would be needed for him? He may have taken a lesser hit than Optimus – he’s still moving steady. System probably not going to be affected by shock, but precautions must still be taken. Frontliner – he’s going to need a healthy dose.

Bumblebee. First step is find out what’s in his system. Vomit on his frame – poison? Eyes are white, there’s obvious interference to his own Spark. Showing little sign of pain – system hack? Power down – absolutely. No way I can check anything over until I know what’s rampaging through his lines.

Jazz isn't moving. Was he incapacitated?

Forcing his pain back, he turned, glowering towards Bumblebee and Sideswipe. His voice, while not as deep as Prime’s, still held an authority of a doctor in control of a medical emergency, lanced with the anger of pain.

“Sideswipe, Carbine. Get Bumblebee into the medibay, behind the curtain, now. The slab there has restraints. Use them all. Lock him down, hard.

When he’s down, both of you get back here and help me bring Optimus to the Medibay. It’s going to take all three of us. Once he’s down, Sideswipe, I want you on the other slab. No arguements.

Carbine, once Optimus is down, come back here and find Raf – get him out. There’s too much energon spilled. After that, get back and help me with Jazz. Then, to the Medibay – I’m going to have need of you.”

Having given that order, Ratchet turned, still leaking his own energon, and started towards Optimus, “Raf, stay where you are for the moment unless you’re near energon. We’re moving Optimus – stay sheltered.”

[Deleted]

Sideswipe was legitimately surprised when he managed to get ahold of Bumblebee. In all honesty, he’d expected to get another shot to the face. It looked like his plan to be stealthy for once had actually worked. Go figure.

He locked his arms tightly around the scout’s, keeping his optics trained carefully away from the leaking stub of Bumblebee’s right arm. Grunting in exertion, his arms strained against the smaller bot’s thrashing. His processor, however, was elsewhere. He’d never thought he’d see Ratchet act so quickly or brutally. As much as he disliked doctors’ visits, Ratchet was safe. And then he’d hacked Bee’s arm off. Bee, who he’d been trying to fix for so long. The shock was enough that he froze for a split second before wrenching himself back, locking his servos firmly behind Bee’s helm. This was a battle. And sometimes, they had to do unpleasant but necessary things. Sideswipe’s tank gave an unpleasant roil and he gritted his denta. Like blowing a hole through his friend’s leg. Still, was this really the only way they could have done this? Beating their comrade, their friend, to pieces? And in front of Raf…

Sideswipe's train of thought was broken when the black and white mech moved to grip Bumblebee’s pedes, lifting him so that he hung awkwardly in the air. Good, he was restrained. Now, they just had to-

The frontliner’s distressed expression only became more noticeable when Optimus’ voice boomed out. He immediately tensed, expecting orders, reprimand, something to follow up. The demand for chaos to cease was expected, and Sideswipe could not help but try to respond with an affirmative. The attempt to speak sent agony through the side of his face, where his mouth had been ruined. Any words he may have formed turned into a hiss of pain.

He’d never seen Optimus so obviously upset. The Prime had always been the epitome of collectedness in crisis. It was a testament to just how very wrong this whole situation was. Sideswipe’s internal level of distress rose infinitely with that outburst. His grip on Bumblebee tightened, whether in a display of his own sorely tried feelings or an offering of some comfort the unappreciative scout, he couldn’t say.
A sudden lurch from the bot and a blast startled him back into the present. His working optic widened, first finding the smoking gun. Then, he heard the distinct sound of staggering pedes, and his gaze snapped toward the sound. Ratchet was spun away from them, hand on his shoulder. Bee had shot him.

Shit!

Moving purely out of a reactionary need to regain control of the situation, he would twist his grip, reaching out to snatch Bumblebee’s wrist and yank it up behind the scout’s back. His other arm would slide around Bumblebee’s neck cable, putting him in a choke hold. It was a common lock he’d used numerous times in his law enforcement days, made to immobilize an opponent who’d gotten too trigger happy. He was generally aware of Ratchet’s orders, though, his focus remained on the scout, just in case he tried anything else. At least the medic was doing well enough to give orders.

When he reached the part about Sideswipe himself retiring to the medbay, and not arguing, the frontliner managed a rather dry, if not bitter, sound that, in any other circumstance, could have been interpreted as amusement. Argue? He could barely see. And the left side of his mouth was a twisted mess, if the odd draft in his oral cavity was anything to go by. The pain had dulled somewhat to a burning throb, not at all pleasant, but not as excruciating as before. As much as he hated medical visits, even he would admit that he needed fixed. Soon.

As it was, he would manage a hard nod of affirmation before beginning to move awkwardly toward the medbay, carrying Bumblebee as carefully as he could while maintaining his lock.

[Carbine]

Fear. Carbine was no stranger to it. Sometimes it translated itself into a thrill in a dangerous situation, excitement, a challenge... a form of adrenalin coursing through his system to keep him on his toes and alert. It was almost a drug that corrupted logic and made him reckless, wanting to show off his skills and talents, wanting to be able to boast and be a hero in some way or another. He ran through this fear like a battering ram, trying to go toe to toe with those that could easily bash him aside if they so chose to do so.

Other times fear manifested itself in more crippling ways. Haunted nightmares from Garrus, creating echoed pains from his darkest days. Survival. Panic. A want to defend himself from things that would rip him apart in the most brutal of ways... Rending claws that shred any nuance of security, threatening to bring him humiliation and torture instead of death... but the fear that lanced through him now did not fall into either of those categories, it was new and foreign, piercing the veil to make the ex-cop shy back and away behind his riot armor, as if he dared to make direct eye contact, he would be exiled from the Outpost.

Optimus had yelled, the Prime had yelled. Someone that was so mild mannered and calm, someone that took things with stride and always approached it at an even tone... It was wrong on many levels. Sure Carbine has seen him upset, but there was a line between that, and what lay before them now that was too far and too different. His grip on Bumblebee tightened at this, fingertips digging down into yellow armor and through gritty Energon, to try to anchor himself and find security in some way.

Don't look up at him. Don't draw attention to yourself.

Thankfully, Carbine's tight grip kept Bee secure enough, that when the scout did shake out of the shock of the loud yell, that he didn't pop free with his new squirm. It however did cause another shot to fire out, the noise making the ex-cop reel back and tuck behind his throat guard to protect his face as best he could. Weirdly enough, he wasn't the target, which confused him. He would have expected to have been hit, but instead when he looked back, he saw Ratchet wrenching back in pain, and the smoldering trail of smoke that trickled free.

Carbine almost reacted. He was going to let his arms hang loose from their sockets to lower Bee's legs so he could wrench a leg up between the scout's limbs in order to kick him in the helm to disorient, but Sideswipe acted first. A hold, a police hold, a sight that caused wicked amusement and a sense of comradely to surge through the layers of stress and fear he felt before. It was familiar, and he knew he was safe and didn't have to act out or threaten his grip to defend himself. Trust the other mech, trust a partner in combat.

"1̢0͡-́4̢!"

The black and white mech barked out the statement sharply in reply to Ratchet, not planning to disobey or step out of line when things had devolved so far. Don't ask questions, don’t try to figure it out, it wasn't his place and people were hurt. With that, Carbine would move backwards with Sideswipe and Bee, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they were headed in the correct direction and he didn't guide them into a wall. It was a bit awkward at points, given Carbine didn't maneuver backwards very well without a literal heel to work off of, but he made it work, and soon the doors to the room slid aside so they could enter.

Ahh, the familiar biting stench of a medical bay, oh how he hates it.

As long as nothing else stood in their way, Carbine would aim to move Bee back behind the curtain into the secluded room where Air Raid once lay, intending to strap him down with the other mech's help just in case the scout revived and got a second wind somehow.

[Optimus Prime]

After years of suppressing frustrations and forcing himself to keep a level mind over all else, the release of tension in his yell felt surreal as it ripped and tore through the tattered remains. It was venomous, and dangerous, leaving a corrupted streak that slashed through everything with a black stain that would always remain. He had done so well; he had always explained things away. Logic would tighten its grip on his emotions and strangle yells into calm words and careful consideration. It kept their team whole; it had taken them so far in the war. Sure he would get frustrated in the past, and would snarl warnings and order punishments for those that stepped so far out of line they threaten their goals, but he hadn't let his voice rise like this in such a way before.

Unease.

Anger.

The thin pinprick of blue flicked dangerously in Ratchet's direction when he started to contradict his order, the look fierce with a fire that blazed behind it uncontrolled and wild. He didn't care that such a sedating compound could cause other reactions; because he knew Ratchet was capable enough to effectively counter any complications that could arise in the safety of the Medical Bay. If left unchecked, Bumblebee could still fight back and would injure more people, possibly getting free and making even more damage. This was a fact that was instantly proven to be part true when Ratchet's argument was cut short by another blast of gunfire.

The medic spun from the impact, obviously hurt in some way, one of the vile shadows within Optimus' processor wanting to say 'I told you so' though he choked it down. Now was not a time to be petty, he had to think logically, had to think with care. His oldest friend had just been hurt now, and more injuries could be dished out very soon if they didn't act... yet his mind spun. He knew it was all just because of the Energon loss, it wasn't the injury that was crippling him, and it couldn’t be the pain.

The Prime in the past had faced wounds that baulked compared to this petty gunshot; making it seem pathetic he was so unstable from it. He has had limbs almost severed, has had struts fractured from a compressing blow, and has had cables snap under hydraulic strain. He had been ripped into by the Warlord's talons and narrowly limped away from death's door more times than he cared to count. This injury was so minor, and yet, it caused just enough Energon loss and disorientation to bring him down so far. It spoke volumes on just how little of his rations he had been taking, snitching the fact he was stretching himself dangerously thin for others. There were plans to down a larger ration if they were called to battle, to be able to fuel him in combat, but he never got the opportunity here in this confrontation and it showed.

While the situation swarmed and low fuel warnings pinged and buzzed at his processor, he did however pick up the fact Bee seemed to be restrained properly then, and the fact they were going to try to move him. Through this all though, pride was something that was amorphic and weirdly defined in the Prime and made a sharp appearance. He was not above getting his hands dirty, and not above admitting a fault. He would go out of his way to help others, even if some things were 'beneath' his title. Yet, on the other hand, with injuries he pushed away immediate help, playing stronger, playing more secure, so that those that looked up to him for guidance did not see him as weak at all. It was a one point of pride he held strongly, perhaps even stubbornly.Because of this, the idea that Ratchet was going to try to help him before others, put a new fire of determination behind him.

Optimus patience felt like it was shrinking back as he mentally fell, allowing others that were not present to speak louder, allowing shadows to step forward in his moment of weakness and mental exhaustion. They were free to express anger, an emotion they brandished far more liberally than the wielder, gnashing teeth and slashing talons, chasing an opening that would grant freedom. Hyena's biting at the leg of stumbled prey, seeing opportunity to do things how THEY would want, instead of filtered through a crystalline web of reflective prisms.

The medic overshadowed your demands.

The medic took charge!

Ratchet is only doing what he can to help...

He is trying to push you aside, and you are letting him order your troops.

"I can move myself."

Bitterness was in his voice, spoken sharp and biting as if personally insulted by the offer instead of his normal gratitude. Typically, he would brush the offer aside meekly, assure Ratchet he was doing well enough, but this was far more pointed and dangerous. Optimus' hand slid forward after these words to grab onto the edge of the platform for stability, crushing some of the downed railing into a mangled mess under his weight. Without further prompting, he would push away from this point, his engine growling through minimal fuel reserves. The angry grinding sound chimed out as he forced himself into motion, hefting up completely to his feet.

"Assist Jazz and tend to your injury. That is an order."

The Prime would not accept being ignored with this, and his tone reflected as such, almost challenging the medic to go against his words again. Jazz needed help; he shouldn’t just be left on the ground suffering whatever injury he had, simply because Optimus was of 'higher value' or other nonsense. His soldiers were NOT to be forgotten just because he was hurt, and that was something he would not tolerate. So many times, even on the battlefield, would he insist on being the last one to leave, making sure his soldiers were tended to first. In addition, Ratchet needed to make sure his own injury was stable, before he thought about helping others too much. Get stable, so you don't fall.

Optimus wasn't going to die from his wound anytime soon. At most? He believed he would pass out from loss of Energon, or simply lose control and hit the ground if there wasn’t enough fuel pressure to give power to his long limbs. If he did hit the ground, he would still be fine there for a good while before he bled out enough for real complications to start. It is this assurance and his personal stubbornness, that allowed him to start walking forward at a lumbered pace towards the Medical Bay.

Unsteady, a hitch in his steps, every few paces would be clipped short as a ped would need to swing forward to catch his balance. He would ordinarily help with Jazz, but he was having enough difficulties without dragging someone else with him. The last thing he needed was to trip over the other mech and hurt them both further. This bitter pride, made it so that he could actually reach the far wall without falling, left hand rising to place against the stone while he tried to orient himself in the proper direction again.

[Bumblebee]

There was something so satisfying about hearing the impact of a blaster shot hitting metal instead of concrete wall.

Even despite both Sideswipe and Carbine instinctively tightening their hold on the small yellow Scout in response to the yell from Optimus, he'd managed to angle and twist himself just enough to fire yet another shot. And it'd hit its mark. Not that he was aiming for anywhere in particular, but Ratchet had been shot – he'd been hurt - and that was satisfying enough.

Of course, it was nowhere near the same kind of damage that Ratchet had inflicted upon Bumblebee, but eh, he'd call it a win regardless. Payback was payback.

It was worth the exertion that'd sapped him of some of his last remaining strength. If he had use of his other blaster he would've gifted Carbine with a shot or two so he'd fit in with everyone else, but alas... For now, Carbine was safe from Bee's rage that'd boiled over and made him hurt so many others.

Bumblebee wouldn't fight back against the swift and decisive movement from Sideswipe in response to this shot; his wrist easily yanked up with his arm twisted harshly behind his back with no resistance at all. Before he could really fully focus on what else was happening - his processor and vision still spinning from the kick to the helm plus the dangerous Energon loss he'd suffered throughout all of this - he felt an arm wrap around him in a choke hold.

Still, he wouldn't resist, nor even struggle. There was no point in putting up a fight; what little energy he had left he wanted to save for an opportune moment. A lapse in this calm where things seemed to be under control. If control was what they called this... Ratchet ordering the others, Optimus... fighting those orders... clearly Bumblebee had inflicted more than just physical damage this day, and if he were in a normal frame of mind, this realization would've crushed him even more than his actions.

But he wasn't thinking about any of that now. Just his next move. Field still full of anger, full of that blind hatred that'd caused so much damage and no doubt broken so much trust and security they had - not only in each other, but the Omega Base as well. They had been so very unequipped and unprepared for an attack. Those that'd rushed to help were here because of dumb luck from overhearing the commotion... the safeguards that'd been put in place for a real strike against them...? Had not been put into effect.

If Bumblebee alone could do all this? What could the Decepticons or MECH do if they found out about the location of the Omega Base?

Hopefully the day for finding out that answer would never come.

It was kind of eerie in a way, just how still Bumblebee was now as he was moved. Dead weight, limp, and not fighting back at all. White optics wide, one still slightly dulled from the impact to his face, a thousand yard stare at nothing as he let them move him. The Energon that'd fallen from the shot to his leg had begun to crystallize on the concrete below, and if Carbine looked at the wound itself? He'd notice those same crystals around it. Similar crystals to those that littered the front of Bee's frame, and the same ones from the rec room where he'd expelled his tanks.

Bee's processor was spinning with thought even despite his stillness and apparent defeat. That violent anger hadn't subsided even slightly, and he made gasped and strained wheezing noises as he vented in – trying to cool his badly damaged and over-strained systems. The Energon loss and the injuries he'd suffered meant he'd lost so much of his fight, and yet he wanted to keep fighting - even if it defied all rational logic and thought at this point. It was a losing battle... yet? All he wanted to do was lash out at those around him.

Still, he would let them carry him away from the corridor without issue.

A slight wiggle. A gentle squirm. A subtle tensing of his frame. He didn't move much, but it would be enough to keep them on their toes. He was testing the waters, testing the grip and hold the other two mechs had on him. The temptation to fire his blaster was still very much there; maybe the shock from him firing it – even if at this angle he'd probably hurt himself - would make Sideswipe release him just enough to make Carbine fumble and lose his grip as well. But... firing another shot would take more energy than he felt he had at present. Especially as it would be wasted. It wasn't worth it.

Fortunately, Bee was a fast thinker. Able to think on his feet and react quickly to situations, changing the outcome in his favor. It was part of being a Scout! While he wasn't an expert of smooth talking his way out of things, he was tricky enough to outsmart his opponents sometimes – usually just enough to distract and gain the upper hand. Little white lies and dirty tactics to outplay and outsmart.

Just as the door to the Medical Bay slid open, Bee would wriggle as best he could once more in protest – trying desperately to kick out at Carbine even though every movement from his injured leg sent pain shooting through him. Another squirm and he tried to lift his helm just enough to lessen the choke hold so he could communicate.

--RAF! H-Help...!-- He loudly yelped out suddenly; the first actual words spoken by the yellow Scout in this entire ordeal. Although... the normally happy, trilled out sing-song beeps were panic and pain filled, strained and tapering off at the end into a droned hiss of static as he vented inwards sharply from pain.

While he... wouldn't hurt Raf - or at least, he didn't think he would in this state – he knew that the others wanted to keep the humans as far away from this mess as possible. He knew Raf had been around. He'd heard him. If his yelp of a plea managed to make them think that Raf was nearby, close enough to rush to his aid? Nearby enough to cause them to drop their guard on Bee to look for him to ensure he wasn't in harms way - even for a SECOND? That would be all he needed. Of course, the last thing he'd want was for Raf to actually rush in to try and help, but in this rage fueled state of mind, a distraction was a distraction no matter the cost.

If it wasn't already so painfully obvious that something was so very wrong, the fact he'd even attempted this trick – risking Raf and using him as a last ditch attempt at some sort of decoy? Well, that was surely evidence enough that whatever this was? Was not Bee.

[Raf Esquivel]

Rafael remained where he was. After Optimus had told him to stay safe, and Ratchet told him to stay hidden, he had scooted back as far as he could, back into the very corner the console was pushed up against. If they were going to try and move Optimus, he certainly didn’t want to be out in the way.

He had heard Optimus reply, and start to walk.

It was more scary watching the Prime trying to walk. While Raf could only see Optimus’ feet, they were moving in such a way it was apparent he was having a lot of trouble walking. It almost looked to Raf, from what little he could see, that Optimus was walking like someone drunk, sort of staggering slightly.

That was frightening.

He listened to Carbine and Sideswipe grapple with Bumblebee, heard another impact. Now Ratchet was hurt? Bee had hurt Ratchet, too?

He wanted to go home.

Right.

Now.

Although being almost a teenager, a title Raf yearned towards like a plant turning towards the sun overhead, Raf suddenly wanted to hear his mother’s voice. To just have her there, to hug him. She always made him feel safe and when he was sick she always knew exactly what to do.

The young adult part of Raf knew he didn’t want his mother anywhere near the base.

Not only would she outright refuse to allow him to ever come back, but he didn’t want her where it was so dangerous. But the child in him wanted to just get up and walk out of the base, walk right back to Jasper, right back to his house, climb into his bed and pull the covers over his head and go to sleep. Maybe this would turn out to have just been a really horrible nightmare.

Raf had seen the Autobots fight the Decepticons before. Blasters blazing and yells and hollars. But that had always been at a distance. The few times he had been present when actual combat broke out, he had always been hiding behind a rock or something a good distance away, where the actual violence of combat had been a little more filtered.

And he had never seen Autobot against Autobot. And the amount of damage Optimus and Sideswipe had taken. His heart was still pounding painfully.

From the sounds, Raf knew that they were dragging Bumblebee to the medibay, and a part of him felt relief. Once there, everything would be taken care of, right? Everyone would be fixed and Bee would be fixed and everything would be right again.

Starting to sink down into a faint form of shock, Raf clapped his hands over his ears again, shutting his eyes. If he did that, he could just pretend all this wasn’t happening.

This was what saved him from hearing Bumblebee calling for his help.

Raf sat in the dark corner, under the console, rocking faintly back and forth.

[Ratchet]

Ratchet was fighting his own battle.

He didn’t show any sign of surprise when Optimus replied he could walk, but inwardly he gave an exasperated grunt.

Of all times for Optimus to be surly? Now?

He kept an eye on Carbine and Sideswipe as they carried Bumblebee into the Medibay towards the curtained off area, moving towards Jazz, expecting at any moment to hear Optimus go crashing to the ground. He was also trying to keep an eye out for Rafael, flinching when Bumblebee called out to the child for help.

That was not Bumblebee. Whoever or whatever it was, it wasn’t Bumblebee. Bee would no more shoot Optimus or call Rafael into a dangerous situation as he would suddenly fly away. Megatron must be behind it.

Kneeling down to start checking Jazz for vital signs, the medic tried to ignore the sounds of Optimus moving towards the medibay with difficulty. It was all he could do to stop himself from yelling at the Prime to stop being obstinate and just accept help, it would be faster, easier for the medic to look after everyone!

Had Ratchet known what was going through the Prime’s mind, he would have been shocked. Disobeying an order? The medic had fully expected Optimus to go down like a gutted airship when he had been hit! Staggering back against the console? That kind of damage to the face should have dropped Optimus. It was amazing he was still standing.

Ratchet’s job as CMO was to keep the Autobots up and running, and although it might have annoyed Optimus, he was special. He was important, and as CMO it was Ratchet’s first priority to make sure the Prime was ok. That he could keep on being the Prime. If Optimus was feeling surly because of that, insisting he was fine and could move on his own? It was only taking precious time from the medic that he could be using for other things. He could have Optimus already hooked up by now, running diagnostics on both him and possibly Sideswipe.

Deciding it was safe to move Jazz, Ratchet slid his arms under Jazz’s, and locking his hands over Jazz’s chest, started dragging him back towards the Medibay.

His mind was still running diagnostics. First thing he would have to do is enter the commands to both Optimus and Sideswipe’s processors to shut down some of the sensor circuits to the damaged areas. That would, at least, remove some of the pain they must be experiencing. And the wounds needed to be cleaned so badly. This planet was literally flaking with rust, and it was so easy to get it into the system.

Ratchet’s mind halved itself, and he found a part of himself thinking about Optimus again. It was so odd for him to be behaving this way. Perhaps it was his injury. Pain could make anyone angry. Or maybe he already had processor damage. And everyone was irritated and hungry...

Although....there were times through the years, he had noticed that Optimus didn’t really seem himself. Usually when extremely stressed, it was like he was torn.

Ratchet worried about his oldest friend.

Back to the crystals again.

Why had Bumblebee vomited? And why had he attacked? What was interfering with his own processor-spark link?

He needed answers. They all needed answers, now, and the wait was driving him insane.
Ratchet dragged Jazz slowly into the medibay, his shoulder screaming angrily at him, but Ratchet ignored it. His shoulder hurt, but it wasn’t life threatening. Everyone else’s injuries were.

Being short on medical bunks, (the largest would have to go to Optimus, and Sideswipe would need the other until repaired), Ratchet made a make-shift one by laying Jazz carefully on a lift that was normally used to raise heavy items to higher shelves, a table-like structure on a single post, set on a wide base with wheels. It was originally set into the floor. Laying Jazz on it, he raised it until it was on a level with the others.

Moving swiftly to a bench, Ratchet, while still waiting for the others to get Bumblebee to the private berth, and for Optimus to make his way to the larger one, grabbed a portable scanner. Returning to Jazz, Ratchet teased out the thin sensor wire from Jazz’s elbow, and plugged it in. Laying the scanner on Jazz’s chest and leaving it to perform a full scan, Ratchet then moved back to the bench to pick up the other scanner, waiting to see who would be ready next – Bee, or Optimus.

[Deleted]

If someone asked Sideswipe how he felt at the moment, he would quite honestly say “like I went toe-to-toe with Megatron”. Or maybe Overlord. Whatever the case, he’d gotten the living slag beaten out of him. By their scout. He wanted to blame it on the lack of continued fighting recently, but, he knew very well that the real reason had been his inability to truly fight Bumblebee. Not the way he would a real enemy. A Decepticon. Even now, he was still wincing about that shot to the leg. He was trying to keep his optic away from it, but, the small ring of blue beneath the outer shield shifted again to the injury. The energon flow seemed to have slowed, which was odd. Was Bee almost bled completely out? If that was the case, he’d be offline, at least temporarily. Not…weirdly still. Sideswipe squinted, having trouble seeing clearly. Was the energon…crystalizing? He couldn’t tell. The pain was returning and the weariness of getting the slag beat out of him was messing with him.

He could feel where the impact of having Bee literally thrown into him had done minimal damage to his chest, where he had taken the full impact of the scout’s weight. He was sure he would have a processor-ache if not for the way his face still felt like it was on fire. With the hype that had come with being in battle wearing off, he was all the more aware of the pain. He was flagging, holding Bee while walking down the hall taking all of his focus. It was up to Carbine to guide them, as, at the moment, Sideswipe was steadily on the downswing.

It was partially the anger that he sensed in Bumblebee’s field that kept him going. That, and his need to help his friend. What the hell was this? He shot Optimus. And Ratchet. And Jazz. And him. And it hurt like the Pit. This angry little gremlin thing wasn’t the Bee they all knew and loved. The way he hung limply in Sideswipe’s grasp, optics still wide open as his intakes made horrible gasping sounds, told him that much.

They were nearly to the medibay when Bee squirmed, just slightly. It was enough that Sideswipe’s enforcer programming kicked in, overriding his fuzzy processor and causing him to tighten his grip. The arm around Bee’s head clenched a bit more while his digits dug into the scout’s arm, holding it firm. Primus, he wished Sunny was here to be his partner in this. Still, the black and white mech seemed to know what he was doing. There was one good thing.

 
The doors slid open and Sideswipe felt relief course through him. Honest-to-Primus relief. He was never telling Ratchet. Ever. He adjusted his grip just slightly, and then, Bumblebee started to fight in earnest. Immediately, Sideswipe’s grip tightened further, digits squeezing with enough force to dent, arm threatening to pinch vital tubing. Like hell was he letting this little monster that Bee had become loose again. A snarl of warning and effort rumbled from his vocal processor. It didn't seem to have done much, since, then, Bee shouted for Raf.

The frontliner stiffened for just a moment, keeping his hold while the momentary fear of the tiny human being nearby sang through his processor and down his spinal strut. He couldn’t see. Not well enough to pick out such a small blur as Raf would be to him at the moment. The exhaustion and pain was enough that his good optic was struggling. He couldn’t focus enough to be that careful. And he was still leaking, the stream of energon from the hole in his neck cable having grown. It ran down, under his outer armor plating, and dripped off the bottom edge, just over his abdomen. Bee was bleeding too. It was enough energon that Raf could be harmed if he came into contact with it. Another part of his processor, one detached enough to ponder the proceedings, flared in outrage that Bumblebee would call the child into this mess. Then, it reminded itself that whatever he was at the moment, he wasn’t himself. A chill ran down Sideswipe’s spine, right after the bolt of fear. Was Bumblebee functioning with enough mental capacity to go for a distraction tactic? After all that seemingly blind, violent rage?

As he allowed Carbine to lead them into the medibay, he let his optic sweep the area, just in case. The child was smart. He’d stayed out of the way of the fight. He’d stay out of this too. At least, Sideswipe hoped so. But, just to be sure, he turned his helm just slightly, raising his voice.

“Raf, no.”

The movement of his mouth in its current state caused more ash to fall from his face, his denta moving visibly through the hole in his cheek. His voice was a horrible sound, and two words was all he could manage. The damage to his neck must have touched his vocal processor, because he certainly didn’t sound like the laid-back, fun loving bot he usually was. His voice grated in a growl, and the damage to the side of his mouth distorted them. This, combined with the already mechanical sound that accompanied Cybertronian speech, produced something he was certain would be nightmarish to a human. Still, the tone was firm. Another out-of-character thing. A firm Sideswipe was a serious Sideswipe, and he honestly had trouble remembering when that had happened.
The pain of speaking was enough to make the uninjured side of his face contort in a grimace. He wouldn’t be trying that again anytime soon.

Together with Carbine, Sideswipe would wrestle Bee onto the table in the medibay, his focus going fully into getting the scout strapped down. He would allow Carbine to handle that part while he held Bee in the headlock, keeping him from attacking during the process. When it came time to strap down the scout’s undamaged arm, he would move quickly, releasing Bumblebee’s neck in favor of moving to press his arm down to the table, never taking his servo off it. When that was successfully completed, he would then follow Ratchet’s order and heave himself onto the smaller of the empty berths.

Normally, he would be checking around, offering to help, maybe going back to get Raf out of the base and away from the carnage. As it was, though, all he wanted to do was recharge. And for his face to stop hurting. He laid on his back, exhaustion apparent, and kept his optic focused on the ceiling. As soon as his body stilled, his processor went to work. Sluggishly moving past the pain in his face, he tried to puzzle out what had happened. But, Sideswipe was a frontliner, not a scientist or medic. He doubted he would get far in solving this mystery.

[Carbine]

Carbine didn’t know the tiny organic creature well; he didn’t really interact with Raf at all. The only time they did cross paths was the incident with Bumblebee and Bolo not very long ago. But, while he did not KNOW him, what he did know was the fact that the small individual was very special to the scout, and meant the world to him. He has heard Bee talk about him, he has walked past the room while they were playing games together. The mere fact Bee would go and pick the kid up from school so often meant a lot too, not passing that job off to anyone ever willingly! The idea that the Bee before them would call for him for help, trying to pull him in to danger... it was disgusting, and Carbine's own anger seemed to bubble up at this in response.

The growl that formed from the black and white mech, was low, a rumbling sound of repulsion and anger that sounded more feral and animalistic than any kind of noise a mech should be able to make. It blurred the lines between Carrier and Cassette, it not apparent if it was sourced from the Mech's own damaged voice, or if it was Bolo himself reacting to the emotions the yelled cry for help enacted in him.

The idea... the concept he was trying to injure an innocent soul, someone that was a victim here... it bothered Carbine. Without a beat, the moment the growl formed, the black and white mech slammed his rounded knee guard up hard to ram into Bumblebee's lower back, to try to jostle him and hurt enough to distract him from the deception and interrupt any further pleas he may make to bait Rafael. The strike wouldn’t be damaging, it shouldn’t leave any notable wound other than a scuff, but it would be smarts, just a sharp wallop before Carbine continued back into the Medical Bay.

Hooking Bumblebee down once in the back room was a bit of a chore. Sideswipe had himself busy with the headlock, which left Carbine alone to deal with Bee's legs and getting his other arm down and secure. Each medical bed, each set of restraints, they would all be different depending on who manufactured it, but in the end they were all very similar. Because of this, it didn't take him too long to figure out the particulars, using his body weight to pin down a limb enough to ratchet the stasis bands across, before moving to the next limb. As much as Bee may struggle, in the end, he was locked down, and Carbine took a cautious step back before looking to Sideswipe.

Yellow optics fiercely stared out at the damage to the other mech's face from the edge of his black visor, warily observing now that they weren't wrestling Bumblebee. The charred ash, the exposed dental plates, the broken damage and burns that stretched back, it wasn’t a pretty sight, and would take some serious fiddly work to try to repair. Morbid curiosity kept his attention locked down for longer than was polite, but he wasn't able to dwell on this too long however, before Sideswipe moved on to lie down, and Carbine moved to the next thing on his checklist he was assigned... only to realize two things were already altered and removed from his care.

Ratchet was helping Jazz out on his behalf, and Carbine had heard Optimus' denial of help. As much as Carbine wanted to follow the orders given, he kind of knew when he was outmatched and he wasn’t going to want to mess with that bucket of trouble. Because of that, he stepped back and out of the way, to give both Optimus and the Medic a wide pass so that he didn’t obstruct either of them. With those two dealt with ((kind of)), the ex-cop continued into the room, drawing in a slow ventilation while he shifted gears from the excitement and aggression that had formed awhile ago.

Bio-lights flicked subtly on Carbine's frame, a color shift transitioning the red that they typically were, to a blue color that streaked and lined around circular panels and the half orbs on his shoulder plating and joints. Yellow optics that were once fierce and wide, were forced to relax, his frame loosening some to a point the rotors draped down a bit from their mountings. The shift went so far that he retracted his riot armor, panels of metal sliding back into their housings, to free up his joints and make him look more normal and less like a knight in armor from a front view. After this brief moment to collect himself and force a mood shift, he then lowered down to a kneel where he knew Rafael was hiding, trying to be cautious and careful to not slam his weight down or move too quickly.

"It is cle̢ar n̢ow̨ ́l̨i͢t͠tle man... Bumblebee and t-the others are in the Medi̸c̨al̵ B̧ay getting help they need."

He spoke slowly, trying to corral his glitching voice to not jitter and pop as much as he typically would. This controlled approach made him a bit more legible, but it was slower, though that may not be a problem since he was trying to disengage Raf from a stressful situation. The more eased words could make it seem like the panic was gone.

"I know it is scary right now,́ a̢n̴d a lot happened... but do͢ ýo̡u͏ ̵thin͜k you can come out so I can t-take you somew̵he̢re͢ else?"

After he said this, he reached his left hand down, the hand that didn't have Energon on it, so that it placed palm up on the ground, quietly inviting Raf over.

[Optimus Prime]

Optimus knew what he had to do; he knew that he needed to go to the Medical Bay to get treatment for his injuries and get some fuel into his systems through a direct line. It was a very simple concept to grasp, and it was frankly the logical thing that anyone in his position should do, but despite this? There was a fleeting moment where he considered a full retreat to move back within the base towards the Rec Room and eventually his own personal quarters. Wanting to put distance between him and the situation and give Ratchet space to deal with Sideswipe, Bumblebee, Jazz, as well as his own injuries.

It would not be a challenge to argue for such an idea if put on the spot. If he went to the Rec Room, it would give him opportunity to get fuel to top up his strained systems, something he desperately needed even if it wasn’t through IV. With this Energon dropped into his tank, he would hopefully stabilize enough that the world would stop spinning, and he could think a bit more clearly. He could even start to do some preliminary patching and use a metal mesh to temporarily bandage the area before Ratchet could come and deal with it properly. But... that would be an excuse.

Actually verbalizing the true reasoning for this thought was somewhat difficult for him to explain, since it did not make full sense logically. In a way he just wanted to be away from it all, to put true space between him and the situation, so that he could have actual silence to let his processor recover from its shock and recollect and consider what the next options may be. He wanted to be far away, to be somewhere quiet where he could pretend everything was normal, just enough to find inner peace once again... This want to be alone, almost pulled him in that direction, a direction he knew would only put further strain on Ratchet, since it would probably end with the medic trying to forcibly move him back, pulling his time away from the more important individuals.

Reaching the wall, leaning his left hand upon it, the Prime's gaze lifted to peer down the opening that wove to the rest of the base. His thoughts, what he WANTED to do, were not exactly difficult to discern with the way he longingly peered in that direction, even despite his damage. He didn't even need to see the hallway beyond a dark void to know that what he craved lay just beyond.

A moment. A pause in time. A quiet minute to breathe so to speak... he wanted just a second where he could gasp for fresh air and actually think over what happened, his personal quarters the most isolated place he could even be... other than...

Optimus' gaze broke from the far wall, turning to look then at the exit that would lead to the outside world. Logic fluttered away, his processor toying over the second option. The cold stone, the echoed drops of water... isolation, solitude.... a gift. It was something shown to him as sanctuary, a place to seek a moment to recover. As illogical as it was, and improbable he would even get anywhere close to that area, his mind shifted over that thought, his weight rolling back momentarily as if he was seriously considering trying to turn around and head back...

But that was foolish.

His mind was addled, his stress levels had boiled over, and Energon loss made him a fool. He could recognize as much, his mind latching down to reality again, realizing the others were already in the Medical Bay. Swallowing the bitterness and want to just be alone, he knew he couldn’t, he knew he was going to be trapped in a room, listening to medical tools churning away, Bumblebee growling, or Sideswipes sounds of pain. Ratchet working and trying to figure out what went wrong...

Resigned, Optimus moved forward after his momentary pause, passing into the Medical Bay after a cursory glance back in Rafael's direction. Once in the room, he easily found the large berth, and planted his hands down upon it. Refusing any assistance, the Prime would move with a hefted growl up onto its surface, lying down onto his back to take his place among the mess Ratchet was sadly going to have to face on his own it seemed.

Once Optimus was truly downed and at rest, his expression softened, it feeling like his body was weighted down.

He went inert.

[Bumblebee]

Bumblebee felt Sideswipe tighten his grip the moment he started to move, and if anything? It spurred him on into fighting against him more. It hurt in doing so – Sideswipe had been in law enforcement just as Carbine had, and was well trained – he wasn't about to let go of Bee no matter what, it seemed. They'd both no doubt had to deal with unruly criminals back in the day, and knew just how to hold and maneuver them so the least amount of damage could be inflicted to others and their surroundings – hence the unfaltering hold from both of them on Bumblebee even despite his struggles. In terms of Bots who had responded to this entire ordeal, Bumblebee had been so very unlucky. 

Fighting through the pain from the almost vice like grip of the frontliner on his arm, Bee managed to squirm just enough to beepily cry out for Raf – the tiny human who Bee adored more than anything else - to come to his aid. 

What he'd expected – stupidly – was for it to be a distraction. It really was a last ditch attempt and he knew he had to make it count. A second of them relaxing their hold just enough to wrench his arm free to fire another shot would be all he needed. All it would take was for Raf to come running and cause the other Autobots to turn their attention to him for Bee to make his next move. Deep down, somewhere in what tiny slither of rational thought remained – the part that had possibly listened to Raf yell earlier - he knew that Raf was smarter than that. Raf knew that this wasn't Bumblebee, and this awful, almost monstrous attempt to lure him into danger was something that Bee would never, ever do.

Not ever. 

Thankfully, or rather – unthankfully in Bee's current frame of mind, Carbine did know this. The low, angry growl told him as much. Not that it was much of a warning for what was about to happen, and nor could he react even if it was. Suddenly, pain shot through his lower back and up his spinal strut as he was kneed harshly, causing him to squeak out loudly in surprise and pain. He'd kick out in an attempt to get Carbine to drop his hold but it did nothing; the yell had caused both mechs to tighten their grip on him.

Somehow, they managed to get him up and onto the medical berth and restrained without much issue. It wasn't like he could fight back in protest at this point. His wheezed intakes rattled loudly in his chassis as his systems tried desperately to cool themselves, and what squirms he did do in an attempt to lash out were quickly overpowered. He'd lost a dangerous amount of Energon – going into the fight basically empty to begin with. His optics would whir audibly as he tried to focus, his processor flooding his HUD with error after error after error – and yet, weak attempts were still made at trying to pull himself up once he was secured. The restraints themselves were standard metal, clamping down over his limbs and rendering the scout immobile once Carbine fastened them. As they were pinning him down, they would notice that the Energon that'd spilled from the cut in his arm from Ratchet had also begun to crystallize, matching the brilliant blue crystals that covered his chassis and lower leg.

Eventually, he gave up on struggling and would lay still.

Whined out drones of beeps would escape him between wheezed in breaths; they were static filled and made no sense. They weren't words, more like whimpers. He was in a world of pain, and laying here still like this made everything catch up to him all at once - and for probably the first time since he'd started his rampage, the pain was finally starting to drown out the rage.

There was no point firing his blaster even despite it still being out; the berth was pointed at a wall, and Carbine had been careful - moving well out of harms way before Bee had even realized there was a window of opportunity there. He wasn't even sure at this point if he could fire it again due to the energy he'd already exerted, and even if he could? The angle of the shot fired wouldn't achieve much of anything but make yet another hole in yet another wall.

Somehow, despite everything that'd happened to him, he remained defiantly awake. He paid no attention to those who were now in the room with him, those that he had hurt. His gaze transfixed on the ceiling in an angry scowl.

[Raf Esquivel]

Raf was in his classroom, learning.

It was interesting to note that Rafael’s Happy Place was a place where many people had to find their own Happy Place. But for Raf, the comfortable chair in his classroom, the warm sun coming in through the window, the sound of his teacher’s voice as she taught the class, the quiet, peaceful ticking of the clock....all these were places he often thought about when he was stressed or unhappy.

He had been doing fine there, until his eyes, behind the lids, noticed the light suddenly seemed to drop off. It seemed darker than it should, and that was enough to pull him out of his Happy Place, and open his eyes.

He was still under the Console, back against a strut that helped support the weight of the monitor.

Two large feet had approached, and stopped, blocking the light coming in under the console.

Rafael lowered his hands, squinting slightly through his broken glasses at the feet. He knew those feet.

Oh. Right. Carbine. That was his name.

Rafael listened as Carbine spoke, his words slow and careful, still laced with the strange way of talking that he had. Rafael idly wondered if it was an injury, or just the way he talked, the way some people had accents. It was hard to understand him a little, but his words were pretty clear when Raf stopped fidgeting and listened.

Come out?

Cautiously, Raf rolled forward onto his hands and knees, and he crawled over to the edge. He peered out and up into Carbine’s face.

Everything Raf looked at was slightly warped – his right eye seeing things ok, his left seeing things through a spiderweb-like series of cracks.

He didn’t really know Carbine that much, but the Autobot had been nice to him the one time they really met. He had talked gently to Raf then, too, and had picked him up and put him back on the catwalk so he’d be safe. He had the big dog, too. Bolo.

Raf turned and regarded the hand resting on the floor next to him.

The child had known the Autobots for a while now, and they had always been people to him. Metal people, yes, but people. Optimus had picked him up on a few occasions, as had Bulkhead and Arcee. And Bee had picked him lots of times. He had sat on Bumblebee more than once, on his shoulder or leg while they had played video games. Sometimes he had sat on Bee’s back and read from his school books to him, the yellow scout always fascinated with what Raf was learning. The fact his friends were metal was no more different to him than that some people’s skin were darker than others, some had different hair or accents.

But now, right now, Carbine’s hand wasn’t a hand.

It was a machine.

It was no longer a palm, with fingers. Raf had always been able to see the small gears and cogs that lined the knuckles, the thin cables under tension that lay around the wrist. The way the flat plates would move together to allow the hands to bend and fold in ways similar to a human’s. Large or small, the hands were still hands.

Except right now....Raf couldn’t see the hand. Just the gears. Gears and sharp edges, wires and cables. Flat plates with scarring and scuff marks. Like carnival rides. Rides that hissed and groaned when they moved, loud and sometimes frightening.

A memory suddenly came to him, when he was in kindergarten. He had been playing outside with the other children –his differences hadn’t really been that apparent yet - and upon running around on some grass, his eyes had fallen on a butterfly.

It was a brilliant red and blue, and Raf had been mesmerized by it. It had been so pretty. So bright, like a jewel.

Deciding he was going to take it to his teacher to show her, Rafael gently made a little cage with his fingers, and carefully pulled it off the flower. Feeling the soft, feather light touch on his palm, he started over towards his teacher.

Moving towards his teacher, he had felt the soft fluttering against his palm. As he walked, Raf had opened his hand a tiny bit, to look at it again. Only, when he bent back his fingers a little...

One wing had come off.

The brightly colored wing was stuck to his thumb, and he stared, shocked. He hadn’t felt it come off at all. He hadn’t meant it to.

The butterfly was squirming in his hand, and shocked, opening it, shaking it, the butterfly fell to the ground, where it jumped, beating one wing against the ground in an attempt to fly.

A 5 year old Rafael had stared at the butterfly, thinking, I broke it. I didn’t mean to, but I broke it!

Horrified, panicked, Rafael had slammed his small sneaker down on it, to stop it jumping, flapping. Drawing back his foot, he saw nothing remaining of the beautiful insect, just a multicoloured smear.

He had burst into tears.

Now, looking at the massive metal hand, Raf was reminded at just how easily the wing had come off the butterfly. Yes, he hadn’t meant to hurt it....but it was still hurt. The wing was still gone. The butterfly was still badly broken.

What if...what if when he was being carried...a part of him ... came off? Just....by accident. They would never hurt him intentionally, like he had never meant to hurt the butterfly, but....what if an arm...or a leg just....came off? What if they broke him?

For a second, Raf thought he might throw up.

Pushing himself out, refusing to give into the panic, he brushed the dust and dirt off his pants, and looked up at Carbine. His face was pale, but his cheeks were flushed, and his eyes seemed very bright behind his glasses.

“I’m ok!” he said, cheerily, “I can walk, see? I’m good! I’ll walk! You’re probably busy and I don’t want to be a bother so I’ll just walk.”

So announcing his intention, Raf turned, setting off as if on a grand adventure, moving towards where the fight had taken place, planning on heading out to where the sofa used to be.

“I broke my glasses though,” he continued, babbling, “But it’s ok, I have another pair in my schoolbag. Momma always buys me two, in case something happens to one set. She gets them at this place where it’s two for one. They’re really nice there, too. The eye doctor lets me pick out my own style and color, although he doesn’t really have a lot of kid’s sizes, but it’s ok. Momma says I’ll grow into them. She says that a lot. About a lot of other things, I mean.”

Evidence of the fight was more apparent here, gouges in the floor, a swatch of torn up floor and soot and ash where a weapon had gone off. There were spatters of energon everywhere.

Seeing a large splotch of energon on the floor, Raf kept walking, giving it a wide berth, knowing better than to get too close to it, “I guess you guys don’t wear glasses, huh? You can probably just have your eyes changed if you need it, right? That’s a lot better than glasses. You can’t lose your own eyes. You just-“

Rafael stopped in his path, falling silent.

There was something on the floor ahead of him. It was round and...a familiar yellow.

That’s...Bee’s. Bee. That’s Bee. That’s his...his blaster. His hand. Bee’s hand is on the floor. Why is Bee’s hand sitting on the floor? He needs that. Bee needs his hand.

Everything started to get grey.

“I’m sorry. I don’t feel very good. I think I’m going to sit down,” Raf said faintly. His legs suddenly felt weak.

He faltered back onto his butt with a plop, and just sat there, silently staring at the abandoned blaster on the floor, in a puddle of strange, crystallized energon. He stared in silence for a second.

Raf took off his glasses, and rubbed absently at his eyes.

He was so tired all of a sudden.

When he spoke again, his voice was very low, “I’m sorry. Maybe...maybe you’d better help me afterall.”

[Ratchet]

The minute Sideswipe was down, Ratchet was moving.

The medic moved to the frontliner, raising the second scanner he had. After teasing the wire out from Sideswipe’s elbow and plugging it into the portable scanner, Ratchet met the red Autobot’s optics while the scanner did it’s work, experience enabling him to see past the gruesome damage.

“Well done on getting Bumblebee to the berth,” Ratchet’s voice was steady and strong, the tone of a doctor in an emergency. Show you were in control. Show you weren’t panicked. Patients looked to the medical people to show confidence and give them reason to calm down, and panic less.

“I’m going to tone down your circuits around your damaged areas, so it will hurt less. That doesn’t mean you can get up and start walking around, though, understand? Just stay where you are, and let me work.”

Ratchet glanced back towards Bumblebee where he was locked down upon a berth, and glanced quickly towards the main console room, where hopefully Carbine was getting Rafael out of danger. Another glance assured Ratchet that Optimus was finally down on a berth.

Thank the Sacred Spires.

Ratchet quickly glanced over the scanner’s screen as the information came in. As he suspected, the damage, while heavy, wasn’t life-threatening. Painful, yes, and serious. Facial damage, denta exposed, one optic out, although it looked like it could easily be saved. The shoulder on the same side was damaged, where the shot intended for his face was diverted. From what he read, the lines in his neck cables had been practically cauterized by that same shot, so bleeding was minimal there, but it was ongoing throughout other places. His audial on that same side was heavily damaged, however, and Ratchet hoped the damage was limited to the exterior. Otherwise, Sideswipe might have hearing problems later. The readout was also telling him his frame had taken other, minimal damage when Optimus literally threw Bumblebee at him.
Ratchet flipped the scanner over, and punching a personal code, set the device to accessing Sideswipe’s dermal circuits. It didn’t take long for the handshake to pass back, and with a few deft flicks of screens and tapping in of commands, Ratchet was able to calm down the screaming circuits in the area of the heaviest damage. This caused the most affected circuits to carry less information. Outraged circuits settled, calming, and any intense pain sweeping through the frontliner’s head would be eased back some, more into a dull, throbbing ache.

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

For his size, Ratchet could move quickly, and after unplugging the scanner from Sideswipe and sliding the thin wire back into the elbow, he turned, leaving Sideswipe on the berth for now, and closed in back on Jazz. Picking up the scanner he gave it a quick glance.

Damaged shoulder. Mostly blaster damage, not too severe. Ratchet was more worried about the fact that Jazz didn’t seem to be responding. But according to the scanner, there was no reason for that. No damage bad enough to have knocked Jazz out, no serious damage to the helm. Nothing.

Lifesigns strong and stable, save for a notice his energon levels were down, Jazz was fine.

Unplugging the scanner from Jazz, Ratchet moved towards Bumblebee.

Ratchet prepared himself for anything the scout might throw at him. Reminding himself this wasn’t actually Bumblebee, but was still his frame, Ratchet moved swiftly and strongly.

With a quick, practiced flip, Ratchet had pulled the wire from the elbow of Bumblebee’s good arm, and plugged it into the scanner.

“I’m not sure if you’re in there, Bumblebee, or not. If you are, I’m going to do everything I can for you, I promise you that.”

Knowing Bee’s diagnostics would probably take longer, due to the massive injury his arm had taken, if nothing else, Ratchet left the scanner on Bumblebee to start downloading, and moved towards Optimus.

Oh if only he had a full medical team here...

Approaching Optimus, Ratchet took the same action he had with all the others, sliding out the wire from the elbow joint and plugging it into the scanner. Waiting for the handshake to occur, the medic looked over his oldest friend.

“Easy Optimus. I’ll shut down the circuits around the damaged areas in just a second, try to stay still.”

Looking down at the screen of the scanner, he silently read the damage report.

The damage appeared to be deep, but was only mesh and some framework, thank the Matrix. His processor seemed untouched, although there was potential concussion. The optic on that side of his face was either just badly blown, or....completely destroyed. He would have to get into it to see how deep the damage went. His other optic was cracked, and Ratchet could see it was dirty from the ash from the damage. It would need a full repair. Audial dome badly damaged, but appeared to be exterior damage. Some other frame damage, and light mesh damage on his shoulder.

Flipping over the scanner again, Ratchet repeated his actions with Optimus, using his codes as a medic to access the Prime’s mesh circuits and ease back on the signals being sent through. The pain would lessen to a manageable degree, although it would still be there, and present.

“Give me a few minutes, Optimus. I need to get Bumblebee’s readout, and then I can start working on all of you. I know it’s difficult, but try to rest. It will be easier on both of us.”

Turning yet again, Ratchet now approached Bumblebee.

The readout was not what he was expecting.

Confused, thinking his scanner was somehow glitching, Ratchet transferred the readout to one of the larger console screens in the medibay. But even there, the information made no sense.

There were actual error messages and half words, as if the scanner was trying to correct itself and just got bogged down. All the usual, expected messages were there – severe damage to his arm and leg, mesh damage, circuit damage. But overlaid with all that were red flashing errors and glitches. In places, the red messages were literally jumping on the screen, as if the monitor couldn’t even make sense of what it was trying to display – flash for warning or not. Cybertronian sigils were half completed. In essence, the monitor was showing utter bunk mixed in with the usual terminology.

One red line of text caught Ratchet’s eye right away, and he was forced to push away his confusion as to the error messages.

Bumblebee was almost completely empty of energon.

That makes no sense! There isn’t enough energon spilled on the floor for him to be that empty! We’d be slipping as we tried to move! That can’t be right. It has to be another error message.

Yet, it was there. Not jumping, but flashing a brilliant red, screaming a visual warning.

Ratchet looked over at the yellow scout, at the strange, crystallized energon on his chest. You couldn’t possibly vomit up the energon in the lines. It couldn’t be –

He stopped, and looked at Bumblebee in horror.

Oh you little fool!

Ratchet turned on a ped, and rushed to the back of the medibay, cursing under his breath. He opened two sliding doors, and hefted a large silver cylinder out. Half carrying it, half dragging it due to his injured shoulder, Ratchet dragged it over to Bumblebee’s berth.

Why do people have to be stupidly heroic and honourable? Yes, by all means! Starve yourself even more to save a few drops for someone else! Meanwhile you’re just putting your own system into jeopardy when someone has to do something like removing an arm!

Had Ratchet known...had he had the slightest inkling that Bumblebee had been forgoing his rations, he would never have taken the drastic action of removing a blaster in that manner. He would have thrown himself at the scout in the hopes Carbine, Sideswipe and himself would be enough to bring him down.

Ratchet hurriedly gathered up the equipment he needed, tubing and a long, sharp needle, and a large roll of something the humans called “duct tape”. Rushing back to the scout, Ratchet set to work.

The first thing he did was use simple clamps to pinch shut the open lines in Bee’s leg and arm, to prevent any more possible leaking.

Attaching the clear tubing to the silver cylinder’s spout, Ratchet attached the needle to the other end. With a practiced slip of his hand, praying Bumblebee didn’t squirm too much, Ratchet slid the long needle into the line down inside the scout’s neck, and secured it with the duct tape. A quick flip of a switch, and energon started to move through the clear line, and into the scout.

This energon had been pretreated with necessary additives to enable it to be injected directly into lines. It was indigestible, and sadly, there wasn’t a lot. Ratchet had put this away shortly after arrival on Earth, assuming the war with the Decepticons would cause severe injuries a lot more often than it actually did.

Monitoring the energon starting to flow into the scout, Ratchet glanced towards the entrance of the medibay. Hopefully Carbine wouldn’t be gone too long.

[Jazz]

     Low fuel levels were probably the worse thing going on from the medical standpoint to the naked eye, but it was not at a level which would have made him unable to function. Jazz may have been a model created back when there weren't actual designations given outside of letters and numbers, but he had been created to be very fuel efficient. Jazz could have been running at minimal levels and still been fully functional, only perhaps with taking a few more sporadic recharges to keep his main systems going.

     The damage to the shoulder wasn't as bad as maybe it should have been, though it did act to shed light on what had been a previous, much more extensive injury. Beneath the surface of what had originally been a shallow depression in the frame ( which now had a smoldering hole in it thanks to SOMEONE ) it was clear that there had been some serious sloppy field repair done. It was decent enough to keep it functional but the fact that it wasn't causing pain would have been more of a head scratcher... only maybe not. Jazz had been through much worse things and over the course of how long this injury had been, he'd just about gotten used to it. His line of work didn't permit for things to slow him down and any sign of weakness would have given someone an open shot.

     Lucky for him, Bee just happened to hit that spot. Also lucky for him? It tripped his memory core and locked him in a nightmare he had pretty much attempted to bury. Thanks to Bee, he was reminded of the previous situation that had originally given him the injury and now he was just signed out and recalling those details.

     Friendly fire, or what was supposed to be friendly. Backstabbing. Betrayal. Death. It was traumatic enough going through it the first time, but now a second time? It was old, and Jazz was over it.

     Finally his visor came online, the light flickering at first as though threatening to go out again, but held steady. His system began to run its own diagnostics, alerting him to the damage of his shoulder and some other things he wasn't really paying attention to. Once everything came back online he started up at the ceiling and...

     Nope. Medbay. That was definitely a nope.

     He sat up and swung his pedes around so he could climb back to them and walk his way right on out of there... at least as soon as the spinning had stopped. His core systems were still doing some backup scans and having sat up so fast after coming back from being locked up rooting through old files in his memory core was not such a great idea. Still he forced himself to stand and take a look around.

     There were several who had ended up here with him. Optimus seemed to have gotten the worse of it, which made him flinch some. He jumped from there to the others and finally paused to just stare at Bee.

     .... Bumblebee.

     A sting ran through his sensors and his visor flickered off for a split klik. Once it was back he straightened himself up and waited for everyone to be fully functional before trying to stroll around, less he end up faceplanted in the floor in the most embarrassing of ways.