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

[Deleted]

((OOC- This will be Sideswipe's last post in this thread until he is needed again, if he is at all, or until I am told he needs to return to awareness. As such, please continue the posting cycle without him.))

As much as Sideswipe hated it when medics poked at him, he was actually relieved to see Ratchet. If anyone could make the pain in his face stop, it was the cranky old medic. The fact that he didn’t so much as flinch when Ratchet plugged him into the scanner, something that normally would have had him squirming and whining, was a testament to just how tired he was. Normally, he could go for days, taking hit after hit. But, he felt drained, physically, mentally, and emotionally. His friend had tried to blast his head off. And he couldn’t figure out why. And it hurt like the pit.

When Ratchet spoke, Sideswipe’s good optic flickered up to him. The undamaged side of his mouth pulled into something that was a watered-down version of his usual cocky grin. Praise? From Ratchet of all bots? Either the doc-bot was seriously stressed and had gone into full bedside manner mode or Sideswipe was worse-off than he felt. Because didn’t you compliment those who were bad off in order to keep them calm? He wanted to laugh. The world going to pit was what it took to actually get him and Ratchet to have an interaction that didn’t involve the medic bullying him for a checkup or grouching at him in some way.

The frontliner then glanced toward Bumblebee, or, rather, what he could see of him. He could certainly hear him. The wheezing, meaningless drones and beeps were somehow worse than the irate ones. They were like proof of how…animalistic his friend had become. Just how not-right this situation was. His strange half smile disappeared, his expression, what remained of it, becoming serious again. What the hell was this? He forced himself to remain relaxed. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do anything about this issue, it was up to Ratchet now. Sideswipe wasn’t a medic, or a scientist. He was a fontliner. He punched things and shot things. A lot. And now, the punching and shooting was over.
When the doctor warned him about what numbing his circuits meant, Sideswipe’s lip components twitched again. Ah, there it was. That bit of grouchiness seemed to set the world just a little straighter. As the numbness set in, his whole frame seemed to settled onto the berth in relief, the instinctive, pain-induced tenseness draining from him. He vented softly, glad to be free of the burning at last.

With the pain dulled, the Frontliner asked a question of the medic before he left.

“The others? Raf?”

Even with the pain dulled, those few short words were all he could manage. He winced again, not because of any discomfort, but because his voice still sounded absolutely awful, like some kind of pit-spawned demon. The neck shot had definitely done some damage to that system. Still, he had to know. He’d heard Raf’s cry during the fight. Was the boy okay? And what about Jazz? And Optimus? And Ratchet himself? None of them were in good shape. He wouldn't be at ease until he knew they were at least safe. It wasn't in his nature.

Once his question was answered, and Ratchet moved on to other patients, Sideswipe would allow his helm to fall back against the berth. Then, he would power down into a sleeplike state. He needed to clear his processor, and to rest. If he couldn’t do anything to help, he may as well let his self-repair systems start doing what they could, unhindered. His optic would go dark as he let himself slip away. If they needed him, they would wake him. But, for now, he would rest.

[Carbine]

When Raf peeked his head out to check and look up at him, the bottom edges of Carbine's optics curved up a bit into a sort of smile. He was trying to be comforting, and approachable, and was genuinely pleased to see that the child had remained safe. The morbidly sad part of it though, was that his sadness for such a happenstance would have probably been geared more towards the fact he would have been tasked to give Ratchet and the others the bad news, more so than any sort of grief of loss. He did not have to do anything like that however, he didn’t need to clean up bits and pieces, and bonus points for the kid you know... being uninjured. Extra bonus points for there not seeming to be any Energon on him.

A sort of hum of thought sounded when Raf rejected his offer, announcing his intention and starting to run past into the room. Carbine thought for a brief moment about snatching the human so he didn't get into trouble, but he was wary about injuring him. True, it was a size difference equating to a large action figure, and not a tiny mouse in his palm, but that didn’t mean he may not make a mistake or be too forceful when trying to grab a moving target. But... Raf really shouldn’t be on ground level running around all the damages and Energon.

The little human started to talk again, and Carbine rotated his weight back upon the rounded wheels that created his heels. He watched for only another brief moment, before hefting gradually up to his feet, systems rumbling at a low idle as he would take a cautious step. He was keeping pace with Rafael, but not crowding him or hovering at all. The kid seemed to want to get new glasses... was rambling about eyes... all was going well, they seemed unphased by the incident on surface levels or was still in shock, but then he got a good look at Bee's hand and things changed fast.

Frag.

He should have moved that, kicked it out of the way or brought it to Ratchet before he approached Raf, something so Bee's best little buddy didn't see it. It was a bad oversight, and Carbines eyes scrunched up a bit with a bit of frustration. Looking back, he caught on just as Rafael fumbled and fell to the ground, the black and white Cybertronian deeming that an appropriate point to step in. It had practically been asked for!

"Suŕe ̛ţhing little guy..."

Carbine knelt down then, his fingertips on his left hand hooking some and pressing the backs against the ground flush, scooping forward with upmost care in order to maneuver the small human into his palm. He was treating him as if he was made of ornate glass, even if the kid was more resilient than that and would not explode if poked, not wanting to be blamed for anything this night that was already full of volatile emotions. It was once Raf was up enough, Carbine caged his fingertips, weaving one between his legs so when he lifted up, Raf would be sitting on it with limbs dangling not unlike a carnival ride. This loose grip would give him his fingers on either side to grab onto, and would make the palm of his hand a 'backrest' to lean against.

Carbine didn't do gentle normally. He was brash and bold; he was aggressive and likes to get things done fast. He was the type to bash a nail in with a rock if he couldn’t find a proper hammer, and would laugh when he'd mess up and smash a finger instead ((after some cussing of course)). He could be careful when dealing with injured individuals or victims out on the field with ease, but being delicate to something so small was a bit new and awkward. Despite this, he had managed to lift Rafael up with all the delicacy he could muster, gradually standing upright again once the child was secured and not at risk of falling.

Moving Rafael to be closer to his chest, Carbine would start to walk towards the main hallway, aiming to get the little human a good distance away from the scene of the crime. He knew however, that they couldn't go to the Rec room, considering that some spillover from the incident seemed to have started there. It is because of this, he paused momentarily at the platform where the human's things were located, an Energon sullied hand reaching out as they passed. With little care for its weight and clumsy shape, he grasped the underside of the couch that had been flipped and damaged during the scuffle. One of the cushions was missing, but... he simply didn't have enough hands to retrieve all the parts at the moment, continuing on towards the exit.

"Don't let what y-̸y͏ou ̴s͟aw worry you much yeah?"

As the 'adrenaline' of the moment subsided, he managed to get a better grasp on his voice, the glitchyness pulling back as he went.

"For organics, th͡-t̷h̢at is real bad yeah...? but, for our kind it... well, it really i̸sn't the same."

Reassuring, his voice perking up a bit to try to lighten the mood and relate just how 'not a big deal' it really would be. While Carbine did not agree too much with Ratchet doing that to Bumblebee, he understood such actions had their place, and he could understand the logic now that emotion could be pulled back a bit. He knew the boon of shooting someones hand before they could harm an innocent, and he knew exactly where the medic was coming from... but Bee was their teammate... so it made it hard.

"A clean cut equals a clean re̛p̕air!"

They passed through the threshold then of the Control Room, entering into the hallway that had more subdued lighting compared to the main hub. Concrete walls formed on either side, lined with conduits and pipes that wove near the ground, and above their heads. Faint electrical lighting buzzed above, drowned out by Carbine's systems that were somewhat confused at the lack of action after so much chaos a moment prior.

"-But even if it isn't salvageable... which that one is I wil͡l ͟tell ya̴h͏ ̢right now... we can make new limbs just fine. I mean, heck, these aren’t my ori͘gįnal arms."

He laughed at this, trying to add humor to the situation while his eyes crooked into a happy 'smile' again.

"Anyway..."

With his point made to try to explain how such a gruesome wound is 'nothing', Carbine decided then to try to change the subject. Just because logic comes into play, doesn't mean emotion can handle it, and he didn’t need to unintentionally stress the human out more than he already was.

"I'm going to t-t-ake you back to my room, ok? The Rec Room h̢a̕s͝ ́a̕ ̢nąsty spill in it that isn't really people friendly. I can go back and get your ba̴c̀kp̴a̧ck thingy after I drop you off if you need it?"

Carbine glanced a bit nervously down at the couch in his right hand while he said this. There was Energon all over the hand, blue streaks that smeared over the roughed plating. It no longer was smooth like fluid however, raised patches formed along the streaks that created sharp pricks and points. He looked away then, choosing to ignore it for now, focusing only on the fact he was touching the underside of the couch and not sullying the sitting portion.

[Optimus Prime]

The natural noises of an injured individual were familiar to the Prime, and understood. Rattled gasps for ventilation, a gurgled noise of fans trying to plow through pooling fluid. There could be grinding growls of internal systems failing to run smoothly due to a break or obstruction, and then there may be the hissing cry of punctured hydraulics trying to re-pressurize. Medical equipment, small chirps and beeps to announce an outcome or change, monitoring progress towards better or worse, the near inaudible tapping of fluid within an IV line being fed in... all punctuated by the whimpered sounds of pain, fear, and the uncertain outcome of a particularly devastating wound... Those things were familiar, and while Optimus worried for an individual's well being, they did not BOTHER him past that level.

The sounds that were coming out of Bumblebee were different.

When a Decepticon was held captive, and they decided that violence and aggression were the only options to get out, trying to be intimidating despite their caged role, they could be animalistic. Snarled roars punctuated by bashing up against the bars of their cell, or hissing out devious lines to thread unrest and unease. They could try to be monsters. While many were by the horrors they committed and the evil that stirred in their sparks, there was still a line between it and Bumblebee.

It sounded 'off' and just... wrong on many levels. He couldn’t even compare it to the more feral noises of the animal Cassettes or beasts of Cybertron, or the experiments since the war. It probably all boiled down to the fact that all the noises were being fed through Bumblebee's modified voice box, which just made it stand out in a bad way, and Optimus couldn’t focus OFF of it easily while laying there, even when Ratchet was moving around actively working and speaking.

Perhaps, Ratchet's actions bled so well into the background and weren't focused upon, simply because Optimus was so accustomed to it. It wasn't to say he ignored the medic, far from it... he respected him beyond words and would always feel comfortable confiding in him if he felt he had to, but in a medical situation? There was simply a level of trust there that was hard to convey and he didn't feel need to monitor or overly track,allowing him to think. This showed when he did not move nor even flinch when his arm was touched and the data line was extracted from the crook of the limb.

He then tuned in on what Ratchet was saying.

The singular optic opened then, iris plates and focusing rings spinning and whirling in small flicks while they tried to compensate to the damage that was across the lens itself. The small fleck of cyan stared up at the gray ceiling a moment, before shifting to peer over at Ratchet, helm lifting a small amount, just enough to somewhat watch as Ratchet worked.

"Thank you, old friend."

He knew better than to request Ratchet focus on the others first at this point, he knew better than to assure him he was fine and to leave him alone now that he was in here. Now that he was in Ratchet's turf? He knew he should probably stay quiet and enjoy the fact the sharp pain was gone so he didn't have to stubborn muscle through it, but that didn't mean he couldn't still try to keep track of things on some level by listening since Bumblebee made it impossible to truly relax. Optimus was going to lean his helm back down to rest while he did so, when his gaze settled on a blob of white with accents of blue that was up and about.

"Jazz?"

A confused tone, a single word that not only acted as confirmation to who he was looking at but a tone that encompassed and represented many questions at once. Was he ok? Had he been injured badly? Why was he up and around? What had happened to make him unresponsive before? Really, there were many different things to ask, all wrapped up in that one small package. Optimus couldn’t focus well enough to see the shoulder injury, so to him the other mech just... appeared fine, though... he may not be for long if he was meant to stay down and Ratchet saw him.

While he was seemingly focused on this, he was trying to keep some attention on Sideswipe and Ratchet, wanting to hear what did happen with Rafael.

Sideswipes voice sounded damaged or warped in some way, but he didn't really know exactly why it was at this point.

[Bumblebee]

There was movement beside him.

That much he knew. Gaze still fixed on the ceiling in a scowl, Bumblebee was aware that Ratchet was busying himself and trying to get everyone seen to. Their already stretched resources would be stretched thinner because of this, but that was the last thing on Bumblebee's processor right now. The small yellow scout may have been laying motionless, but the anger and lack of regard for anyone else that came with that still flooded through him.

The only signs that Bumblebee was even still awake were those horrible wheezed intakes that rattled and popped, almost like whimpers at times – or as close as they could get through his voicebox at any rate. That, and those wide, white optics that were now glaring so hard that it was like he was willing a hole through the ceiling with his stare alone.

Ratchet saw to Sideswipe first. Probably for the best. He'd taken a shot to the face at almost point blank range – it was amazing he was even still functioning. Not many could take a hit like that and remain so calm and composed throughout everything.

Then the medic saw to Jazz. He wasn't entirely sure what'd happened to Jazz after he'd been hit – only that he'd gone down almost instantly. Not that it'd worked out in Bumblebee's favor having one less 'enemy' to deal with, but at least it'd given him more of a fighting chance.

The movement came his way then, and Bee sharply turned his helm to glare fiercely at Ratchet as he stood beside him. That urge to fight had come back at another being so close, and another feeble attempt was made at trying to pull himself free from the restraints. Fortunately the restraints held true, and Bumblebee could do nothing but lay there as the innocuous wire was pulled from his arm and plugged into a scanner.

There was no vocal response to Ratchet's words, but the low rumbled growl of his engine was probably indication enough that he'd at least heard him.

As Ratchet turned to focus on Optimus, and Jazz pulled himself up? Bee would flex and curl the fingers of his one remaining servo – helm turning to watch what was going on. He may have been exhausted, but he wanted to keep an optic on those in the room now that they were moving around. He met Jazz's gaze, staring at him silently.

Not that he could really do much but stare, which was quickly broken as he turned his gaze and attention to Ratchet as he made his way back over to check on the readout from the scanner. His own HUD was warning him of error after error, flashing red about the injuries he'd sustained, the loss of energon, as well as those weird errors that he didn't really understand. The scanner would relay all this, of course, but a lot of it wouldn't make much sense at all.

Ratchet had seen so much, and it meant that a lot of things probably didn't phase him - but that look of horror? Something was obviously wrong – although that was evident even without the aid of the scanner to tell them this. If it were a normal day, the look on Ratchet's face would've terrified Bumblebee, prompting him to ask what was wrong. But he remained silent, save for the odd sounding intakes.

There was more movement. Something had spurred Ratchet on all of a sudden, and the old medic sure could move fast when he wanted! Moments later, the open lines in Bee's leg and arm were pinched shut. Ratchet would notice the energon around them had fully crystallized into brilliant blue shards.

He didn't put up a fight about the lines being closed, but the moment Ratchet loomed over him with the tubing? Bee would squirm as best he could against the restraints, trying to angle his helm to make it as difficult as possible for Ratchet to do what he needed. Of course, there was only so much he could do while restrained and it didn't long for Ratchet to do what he set out to do.

Bee's frame went limp as he relaxed – the scowl softening some as the energon began to cycle through his systems. It was much needed, he was so very dangerously low. The effects wouldn't be immediate, but after a moment at least a couple of the angry red lines of text were downgraded so they weren't quite as urgent.

With the energon, came fresh pain – and it slammed him all at once, making him squeak out. His systems had been dulled for the most part – drowned out by rage and the urge to hurt those nearby. Everywhere hurt, he knew that much – but he'd been so focused on simply staying with it and his blind rage that the pain had become nothing but annoying background noise. More whimpered beeps escaped him, and he'd curl his fist tightly as if fighting through it.

--Ra.. Rat̶c̨h͠et͠.̡.?--

His beeps chittered and popped as he spoke, they were strained and weak; it hurt to talk. His white optics whirred loudly as he struggled to focus. He hurt. He hurt everywhere. He'd never been one for complaining about pain though, and so wouldn't even begin to whine about it. He had no right to.

It wasn't just the pain of his own frame that hit him like a ton of bricks, no... His gaze still outward at the medical bay, watching Optimus, Sideswipe, Jazz... They were all in here because of him. Was Raf okay? Ugh his processor was spinning... He couldn't think.

Ratchet's earlier words, asking if Bumblebee was in here... Well, he was. He had been the whole time of course. But for now it was more like the Bumblebee that they all knew. At least for now at any rate. He was still fully awake, and seemingly aware of everything that'd gone on – everything that he'd done. The pain was a harsh reminder of that, the fact he couldn't move – the fact his friends had to restrain him... how they'd not used lethal force even though he was probably so rightfully deserving of it.

It hit him all at once.

And for this moment of clarity as the energon cycled through him and his systems had a moment of relief? He felt absolutely devastated.

--I'm ̀sor͜r̷y-- He squeaked this out, trying once more to try and pull himself from the restraints – not with intent to harm anyone, he just... didn't want them to see him like this. He wasn't just apologizing to Ratchet, not that it mattered – an apology wouldn't be enough to right the wrongs of what he'd done. He wasn't sure he could ever forgive anyone who did something like this, so why would they forgive him?

His attempts to pull himself free were getting nowhere and he'd resign himself to his fate once more – settling back against the berth; his one good servo still clenched tightly as if it was trying to help him focus on the pain.

--I'm ͏re-́r̡eal̵ly sorry--

His beeps tapered off, and he went silent once more – the only noises the occasional whir of his optics and the soft hums of his intakes.

[Miko Nakadai]

Loud music was the best music.

Well, no... Loud music was the best music when paired with destruction!!

Somewhere in the lower levels of the Omega Base, Miko and Bulkhead were hard at work. Well out of audial range of the goings on of upstairs, although not that it mattered if they were – Miko was listening to metal music the only way she knew how.

Loud!

More arrivals at the base meant the already dodgy old systems were strained even more – and things needed to be repaired and maintained more often. Today's job was a generator that'd totally given up on life, and no amount of pouting or pleading with it would make it switch back on. So that's where Miko and Bulkhead came in.

Normally she would snub and scoff at things like this, her host dad had asked her once to help him out with some DIY stuff around the house - but it was so boring that she'd made up excuses and got the heck out of dodge – but Bulk made it fun, he let her listen to her music as loud as she wanted! Plus it was always fun to watch him smash stuff with those wrecking balls of his!

Not that they were really smashing a whole lot of stuff today. The work was quite fiddly, all things considered – and yet Bulkhead was doing great! Miko was mostly just here for morale support and to provide a badass soundtrack as Bulk tried to get the generator working again.

Ooooonly... Her phone could only play so much awesome music at full ear-splitting volume before it began to cause serious drain on the battery, and midway through a song – an epic guitar solo at that – it went horribly and suddenly quiet.

“Uh oh!” Bulk laughed, breaking the silence as he glanced up and over the generator to the bright pink flip-phone that lay open on a table in the middle of the room. “Someone forgot to plug her phone in!”

“Ack! I thought the battery would last longer than that! It was fully charged when we came down here. Guess it can't handle all the awesome!” Miko grinned, throwing up a metal salute as she stopped her air-guitaring to catch her breath.

“I left my charger upstairs, I'll go grab it okay? Don't get that thing working without me!!” She'd huff, blowing a pink strand of hair from her face as she began to walk backwards toward the door.

“Yeah, yeah – Just be quick, and be careful!” Came the reply from Bulk, he sounded like he was concentrating on the task at hand and yet would give the gentle reminder to her regardless – it was second nature to him now!

Miko gave a thumbs up in reply and then would turn and run upstairs. She was pretty certain she'd left her charger in the Control Room somewhere, as that's where she used it last! If it wasn't there? It'd be in Bulkhead's room for sure. If not? Well she was sure Raf had something she could use!

She stuck to the side of the corridor as she walked, for some Autobots the sight of the humans was still weird and new to them, and she didn't want to become a smushed up afterthought on the bottom of a pede because they forgot that they shared the base!

Turning the corridor she'd instantly freeze in her steps and gasped at what was laying before her.

“Whoa...”

That was totally Bumblebee's hand! Well, part of his arm if you were being specific. But.. Why was that there? Dude, had they been attacked by Decepticons? Where was everybody else? There was energon everywhere only it was weird and looked like crystals? Or at least some of it did. Some of it looked like normal.

Whhhoa this wasn't cool. Okay, new plan – get the charger, then go back down and tell Bulkhead what happened. Ahh she wished she had her phone, taking a picture of this would be awesome! Morbid, but awesome!

She moved carefully past the puddles of blue, sidestepping and hop-skipping over parts of it – trying to hug the wall as best she could without actually touching anything. She moved past it all easily, and a quick glance down at herself revealed she was okay – she hadn't stepped in anything or gotten any energon on her, and so she would continue on into the Control Room.

Ooooonly to find that trashed too.

One of the monitors was broken and hanging at a weird angle, the railing that led to the area where the kids hung out had been crumpled – and the couch was gone. There was a cushion from it flung across the room but the couch itself was gone. There were blast marks, energon splattered around in parts, and it was so totally obvious a fight had broken out in here.

Uuuh.

Realistically this would be where she'd backtrack and go tell Bulkhead that something awful had happened, only she heard a voice from one of the other hallways. Maybe they had answers as to what had gone on? Then she could call Bulk for backup if needed!

She'd push off into a run so she could catch up to whoever it was – recognizing them as Carbine, her gaze moving to the couch in his hand... So that's where that went. At least she recognized who he was. He was the dude with the dog from the other day. Autobot. He was an Autobot, good. She hadn't planned ahead to what she'd do if she ran into a Decepticon, it wasn't like she had another guitar on her to attack them with.

“Hey!! Yo, wait up!” She called out, totally unaware that Raf was with him.

[Raf Esquivel]

Both the heart and the head rule the body.

They are equally powerful, but one tends to have that much more power over most individuals, and that’s the heart. Even when your brain is telling you something, your heart can be telling you something else entirely, and after a short time, your head listens. Even if it’s something bad.

But often, it’s something good. A sixth sense, or instincts.

As intelligent as Rafael was, he was still a child, and a human child. No matter how far humans liked to think they had progressed, deep in the darkest parts of their psyche, they were animals, and animals could become frightened. When faced with sudden, shocking danger, a human will almost always resort back to that small frightened animal that once depended on fire to keep themselves safe. When running and hiding was the chance for survival.

When Rafael was picked up by Carbine, at first he felt utterly terrified. It was as if any second now the sides of the Autobot’s hand were going to slam together and crush him. Even though he had asked for help, he had stiffened badly when Carbine picked him up.

Ironically, it was Carbine’s awkwardness, his lack of being emotionally attached to Raf, maybe even his rough attitude, that helped Rafael back out of the shock he was starting to slide into.

Raf was a smart child, but still a child. Still only 12. He still lived in a world where adults Took Care of Things, where they Looked After things and made sure everything was working the way it should. Raf still looked towards the adults in his life to make sure things were running smoothly.

With the terrifying experiences he had had, being thrust into the middle of a violent, loud and shocking battle, his safe world had been upset, but had it been any other Autobot that came for him, had it been even Bumblebee, things might have been different. They would have tried extremely hard to calm him, reassure him, even coddled him. That wasn’t normal adult behaviour, and that told kids that things were not ok. Things were not fine. When the adults in your life seemed upset and scared, things were Bad.

Carbine’s easy-going, “Ahhh, it’s nothing,” attitude gave Rafael the feeling of safety. An adult wasn’t too worried. Therefore, maybe there really wasn’t anything to be all that upset over. Yes, things were bad, but....if this adult felt ok....maybe it was ok.

His heart slowing down, finally, Rafael felt the creeping, lurking cloak of panic and shock start to ebb, start to leech back away from him. He was still upset, and still very, very exhausted, but the spider of panic had stopped scrabbling in his chest, and that was good.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, his body relaxing. Carbine wouldn’t crush him, that was silly! “Yeah, that’s right. You guys are a lot tougher than we are, right? I mean, Megatron pulled off Bee’s arms and Ratchet put them back on again, right? Bee will be ok. Optimus and everyone else...they’ll be ok. Right?”

A headache started to form, and Raf wearily rubbed his forehead. It didn’t help that part of his vision was obliterated, but taking them off completely would just give him a headache anyway. Raf countered this by closing the eye behind the shattered lens. His vision was still a little weird, but at least everything was in focus.

“What...what happened to Bumblebee?” he asked quietly, “He was...he looked sick. I know he hasn’t been eating much. Do you think that made him sick?"

He heard Carbine tell him about taking him to his room, and he nodded. Then realizing Carbine might not have seen it, he spoke, “Yeah. Ok. I...I just need a nap. I’m so tired. I don’t know why but I’m really tired. Once I have a nap I’ll be ok. And my backpack would be good but no hurry. I’ll just...I’ll just curl up somewhere an-“

Raf stopped when Miko’s voice cut through his, and he stiffened again for a second. It was purely a reaction to being startled – adrenalin still coursing through his body.
He tried to turn to look back at her, realizing of course he couldn’t, Carbine was in the way. He was instantly worried. There was a lot of energon on the floor! Miko might step in it! She didn’t know what had happened, and...and...

“Be careful!” Raf called out, “There’s energon everywhere!”

[Ratchet]

Ratchet stood beside Bumblebee, still cursing in his mind. Fate, Earth, and a particularly obstinate yellow scout in particular.

He watched one of the overhead monitors as the energon started to flow into Bumblebee’s lines, watching as the screaming red glyphs eased back into an angry orange as the pressure within the yellow scout raised to a level closer to normal. It didn’t explain just what the Pit had happened, but at least Bee was no longer hovering at death’s door.

His eyes flickered over the medibay again, going back to Optimus for a second. When he had asked after Jazz, Ratchet hadn’t been sure just what to tell him, at first. He didn’t know himself, and few things made Ratchet as cranky as not knowing something.
His answer had been brief, “I’m tending to everyone as best as I can. Jazz is-“

Ratchet’s answer had been cut off as he had looked over towards the area where Jazz had been laying, to find him now sitting up. That transition had been quick!

“ – apparently doing well enough to sit up. You and Sideswipe seem to have gotten the worse of it.”

It was after this that Ratchet had moved to Bumblebee’s side, and discovered the horrific levels of energon.

As the energon still flowed, Ratchet read the monitor again, putting aside the mystery right now of whatever had happened to the scout, and instead read the symptoms as best as possible. Once he had gathered a few of them in his own processor, he made a decision. A choice on a sedative. Certain systems weren’t affected (except for low energon levels), and others were. These symptoms were road signs for what wasn’t in Bee’s system. Ruling out what wasn’t in there was as close to a diagnosis as he could get at this time, and he was finally able to decide on a sedative.

He moved quickly back to the bench, taking down vials and tubing, and prepared a shot of something that would chemically ease Bee’s processor back.

Another glance to Sideswipe, a mental promise to be with him as soon as possible, once Bee was no longer in danger of death. Another glance to Optimus, then to Jazz.

“Don’t even think about leaving,” the medic’s voice was harsh with stress and worry, “Jazz, I swear to Primus, if I have to leave this medibay to drag your carcass back here I will, and I will not be happy. Stay put until I can take a second look before you leave.”

Moving back to the scout’s side, Ratchet was getting ready to inject the sedative into the line feeding Bumblebee energon, when the yellow scout managed a whimpering series of beeps.

He watched, as Bumblebee’s body seemed to tense slightly, evidence of pain. Taking the small scanner in hand again, the medic entered his code, and forced a way through all the warnings and alarms, to start shutting down some of the screaming circuits that lay in the area of his worst injuries. Ratchet knew there wasn’t a lot he could do for Bumblebee just yet, he couldn’t take away all of his pain, but he could take some.

Ratchet injected the sedative into the line, watching as it slid into the young scout’s form, waiting for it to work.

“Quiet now,” Ratchet’s voice, while steady and firm, was almost shockingly soft. It wasn’t a tone heard very often at all, gentler even than when he had spoken to Sideswipe. Ratchet, having known Bumblebee for a long time, having repaired him more than once, having been in some very tense situations with him, was more than aware of what the scout had gone through in his life. His very young life.

“You need to rest. The more you rest, the stronger you’ll be.”

Ratchet paused to lay a large hand on the top of Bumblebee’s helm, gently, “And don’t worry. ‘Bumblebee’ didn’t do this. We all know that.”

While Ratchet didn’t believe in lying, he understood, as a doctor, stress could kill a patient as surely as a gun.

So he lied.

“You didn’t wound anyone too badly. It looks bad, yes, but nothing I can’t fix. And Rafael is fine. He’s being taken someplace safe right now. So the important thing right now, is for you to stay still and quiet.”

Ratchet feverently hoped that the young child was, in fact, fine and safe. The last he had heard of the child he had been talking quickly to Optimus. Where he had been, where he was, what had happened to him, Ratchet had no idea.

The tubing still taped in place, Ratchet left Bee’s side for a moment, checking on Sideswipe, who was powered down. Good. Ratchet would give him a sedative as well, soon, to keep him down and pain free until he could start surgery.
Over to Jazz.

“Are you alright?” Ratchet kept his voice low so the others, Optimus and Bumblebee, couldn’t hear, “Are you in much pain?”

[Jazz]

      Though he usually wouldn't have been one to even bother listening to what a medic had to say about departing their facilities, he did hesitate and stall in his movements in mid stride when he heard the warning issued by Ratchet. There was some serious thought put into weighing out the pros and cons of his decision just to ignore the order and keep as he was while he was engrossed with other matters, but he did know of the rumors from the white and red mech and the threats he gave were more like firm promises. He wouldn't be able to just leave without being hunted down by the medic in a strange game of 'cat and mouse'- one of which wouldn't end well once he was, finally, caught. 

     So he vented loudly and shook his helm, frustrated, but opted to stay for the time being. He didn't wait sitting down, however, and instead stood and paced impatiently. This area made him anxious and being forced to remain when he had somewhere else he would rather be only made it worse. It was such a strange transition from night to day with how patiently Jazz could wait in the shadows without a sound for lengthy periods of time but he couldn't sit still for something as simple as a check-up... or a meeting. 

     Jazz busied his mind with other things, like how easy it would be to hack into all the patient privacy protocols Ratchet no doubt had set up in his fancy little system and completely switch records around. No doubt he would know exactly who had done it and would come after him, but it would be one of those 'worth it' situations just to see the expressions and hear the trademark stream of curses that the acclaimed medic would come up with.

     Idle hands being the devil's playground was certainly not a myth, and Jazz's creative mind ranked right up there. He was coming up with some very imaginative things to fill in the blanks when his visor indicated movement behind him. He side-stepped slightly so that his shoulder faced Ratchet and the saboteur turned his helm to watch the medic's approach. Most would have floundered and skuttled back to their medical berths at the sight he was presented with, but Jazz didn't even bat an optic... or he wouldn't have had he any in which to do so.

     "Why the quiet voice? Afraid that I may reveal some medical issue that you don't want the others to hear? I ain't gonna reveal any deep, dark secrets that will have me rockin' back and forth in the corner as I spill it admissions from my lips like a fountain." He didn't bother to keep himself quiet, since Jazz lacked the ability to properly 'inside voice', as Orion had learned way back when. "Sorry, Ratchet, I ain't got anything you need to concern yourself with. Should have done all the invasive stuff while I was still off in la-la-land."

     Jazz turned his helm away from him, standing unusually rigid for a mech who was otherwise relaxed in the worse situations. His field had been completely shut down, which isolated himself from everyone around him and kept any emotion or hint of discomfort tightly locked away. He especially needed to keep everything in check around Ratchet, because medics had a disgusting expertise about them where they could read even the slightest thing off about body language. It was a small part of what made Jazz so uneasy around them.


     As open and friendly as Jazz was to many mechs he met, he was never one who gave away what he was really feeling. Having it backfire on him once was one time too many. At least that part of how he stood before the medic was normal.

     "Tend to your patients, they need you. Those three are your priority." Jazz turned to look at Ratchet again, though there was a slight forward tilt of his helm that caused a shadow to cast over his visor from the panel that hung over it from the crest of his helm. "I can certainly do without the great Hatchet rootin'round in my systems and violatin' my privacy. I may take it personally." There was a threat in the way he spoke, tone hinting for the other mech to back off without having to come right out and say it. Maybe it was him being bitter about Optimus and Sideswipe being injured and not being able to do anything about it or perhaps the fact that he didn't know what the scrap was up with Bee, but for once the saboteur had no jokes to give. No doubt Ratchet would understand what 'taking it personally' would mean, and Jazz just hoped the medic would fold and return to his duties of handling the others who were pressed for medical assistance.
 

[Carbine]

Carbine walked at a gradual pace, oblivious to Miko.

"Yeah, I d-don’t doubt they ͟w͏il̛l be ̛o̸k̛. Some new marks here or thęr̶e, co̵ol҉ b͝a̴ttle̴ w̨ounds, but hey, it just makes conversation pieces."

Amusement, it was still in his tone of voice. He seemed to smile at these last words, the bottom of his optic projections hooking up a bit to convey as much. The idea was true however, injuries simply could make some good stories to share, and means to break the ice with newcomers you are forced to get along with. Carbine would have been content to continue with such topics, but... Rafael had to change the subject to a question that the ex-cop simply did not know an answer to.

"You know? I g͟ot̡ no̢ clu̵e."

He wasn’t going to lie even though he could. He wasn’t going to play make believe and concoct some elaborate story on why Bumblebee was acting the way he was. There was no point. Carbine could put together any number of concepts, but... it was all just ideas... as what Carbine had seen, was more than just hunger pains, or someone that lost their mind. This wasn’t like an individual denied of food for a long time and becoming savage out of desperation, nor was it someone that cracked under a strain of torture over a long period of time. This wasn’t even the sort of thing that reminded him of someone that was forgotten in isolation a bit too long in Garrus and was left unhinged. What he saw out of Bee just then, was more akin to an animal, like... there wasn’t anything left of the core of who Bee was previously.

"I don't th-think it is hun͏gèr ̵t̀ho̴ug͞h, or we would all be like that. But hey, Ratchȩt̴ i̢s͏ ̸a̛ c̢lever cranky old dude; he's been around the block more th-than a few times. He will figur̸è ou͞t̶ w̛h͟at͞ever it may be so we can fix it."

Carbine was about to say more, making a sort of sound from his throat, before Miko yelled out, startling him and cutting off his words. The large Cybertronian in turn, rocked to a rather clunky halt, unintentionally jostling Raf a small bit. There was no chance he would drop the small human however, fingers curling slightly to act like a harness and hold him securely in place, but it wasn’t the most graceful of movements he could have done, not accustomed to handling humans.

He recognized the female's voice; he knew it was one of the humans. That in itself wasn’t a big deal, but what WAS a big deal was the fact that this wasn’t a human friendly environment right now, and he didn’t know exactly where she was right away. He knew he didn’t step on her, but it still made him a bit uncomfortable before he turned his waist around enough to see the black and pink haired girl scampering up.

Oh no, it was the troublemaker.

"Hey, uh, th-things are getti͝ng ͢a͡ ͜b̛it w̷eird around here... and my hands are full. Pull a mo̶nkey͠ and͞ tree rabbit on up."

He couldn’t really hold both her and Raf at the same time with his one hand ((without crushing their waists together and holding them like a toddler clutches toys)) and his other hand was corrupted with 'badness', but he had seen Miko climbing up on Bulkhead before when he passed a room. It was apparent that she could balance well enough to ride on a shoulder or stand on a palm without any issues, and that was the reason he chose to offer such a thing, kneeling down some as she approached.

Hydraulics snarled and hissed as he eased down, putting his weight mostly upon his right leg so that he could dip low enough to the ground that Rafael's sneakers almost touched the concrete. It gave enough clearance for Miko to be able to clutch onto his wrist and climb up. While he had hoped she would stay and straddle his wrist to go along for the ride, she seemed to continue up his arm, scrabbling against the smooth plates to get up to the gap between smooth shoulder armor and his throat, gripping the flare of armor that created a high mounted collar out of Bolo's body,

A low grumble hissed out at this, a bit of unease in play. He didn’t really WANT her there, but he didn’t have much of an option at the moment. Bolo was docked however, so that added a bit of security, so that he hoped she wouldn’t stuff her foot too close to his back, or get grabby there if she started to lose her balance. With a low roll of his weight, Carbine would ease upright, and head down the hall and away.

((Cutting Carbine, Rafael, and Miko out to a separate thread.))

[Optimus Prime]

Optimus wanted to know what had happened with Jazz.

The mech was a skilled soldier, he was a talented individual. He has been through much in this war, and a simple gunshot should not have been able to down him that soundly when it had not seemed to hit anything vital. If it had been that bad of an impact however, than chances are he wouldn’t be standing and moving as fluidly as he appeared to be. There were no struggled ventilations or a wobbled gait, and while the more subtle of details were lost to Optimus, the other mech truly did appear alright and unaffected... or he was profoundly stubborn and ignoring the injury like Optimus had done to his own.

That last theory however was probably not very accurate all things considered. While Ratchet had ordered Jazz to stay in the room, there had been no mention of sitting back down, or waiting on a medical berth or wherever the medic had sat Jazz on previously. It was an order to simply wait and stay put; a demand that could be done at a stand as long as he didn’t leave the room. This told him that there really wasn’t much of a wound, which... revealed more questions.

It was awkward trying to piece together things like this without his sight, but Optimus was managing well, feeling like he was getting a reasonable grasp on the environment around him. He even went so far as to lean back down to lie flush with the medical berth once again... that is... before Bumblebee actually spoke.

The two squeaked words were so quiet, so faint, that Optimus was uncertain he had even heard them to begin with, his frame going still. The words caused a sharp tear to rip through his chest however, ventilations halting a moment while he tried to listen to what was happening, to know if he had imagined the apology or if it was legitimate. In his frozen state, his remaining optic stared blankly at the ceiling above, the lens contracted small due to the lights that lined the area.

He was willing to bet he imagined it, Energon loss playing games with his processor... that was until Ratchet had moved over and responded, quietly trying to sooth Bee and keep him from panic. The confirmation that Bumblebee had found some sort of mental stability enough to apologize, a repeat apology occurring a moment later, really hurt the Prime. Whatever was wrong, whatever had gone astray, it really messed Bee up, and it truly seemed out of his control. There was no need for such apologies, Ratchet's response encapsulating his own thoughts well.

Holding his tongue, Optimus took in a slow vent again, trying to regulate and allow his frame to relax despite new concerns buzzing through his processor. He was barely done with this attempt, when Ratchet had moved somewhere else, muttering something too faint for him to pick up on, only for Jazz to react in a... less than quiet manor, a new stress now flowing over him once again. While Bee's voice had enacted panic and concern, Jazz's sarcastic and jagged approach with complete disrespect re-kindled the fire that had been lit moments previously in the Control Room.

Irritation. Frustration. Why did half of his Autobots believe that the rules didn’t apply to them, and they could simply argue and do what they wanted? Did Jazz truly feel in his spark that he could order Ratchet to back down like that simply because others were hurt? There was some sympathy there though, Optimus KNEW Jazz well enough to know that there had to be some damages to enact this kind of reaction. This was not normal, it was not in any way typical, but yet... they were traversing a crisis at the moment, and sometimes they all had to swallow deep dark fears and traumas to not put the rest of the team at risk.

"Jazz, please. We do not know what has happened, we cannot leave here until we know more."

Despite a want to yell once again, he throttled his words down, trying a polite approach one last time so he didn’t throw his systems into more strain. Already the datapad connected to him would betray an elevated spark rate, and other signs of increasing stress. It wasn’t anything that could hurt him at the moment really, other than a higher pressure put behind his Energon lines that were low due to overall loss, making them seem slightly normal.

"Can you get me a patch so Ratchet can focus on Sideswipe and Bumblebee?"

This was a request that would help them on multiple levels. It would keep Jazz in the room so Ratchet could monitor him from a distance, while also helping him to not bleed anymore so others could get the help they needed first. Already there was a small puddle of fuel forming under his helm, draining out to trail over his audial and down. It looked almost like paint, vibrant shades of blue across a blackened charcoal canvas, twined with thin streaks of green coolant that curled almost invisibly to make teal.

Optimus hoped his interjection was helpful, and not a hindrance.

[Bumblebee]

Ratchet was talking, only... it sounded like he was underwater.

The tone itself was soft, though. And full of concern. He could tell that at least, despite the fact it sounded muffled and far away.

He wasn't deserving of any concern nor pity. Not from Ratchet, and certainly not anyone else. The whimpered apologies had ceased, replaced with the wheezed rasps once more. He didn't feel like talking – it hurt to, and even if he did talk? No amount of apologies could even begin to fix what he'd done. He struggled again, trying to pull himself from the restraints but still he couldn't move.

Ratchet must've sensed his unease, and the servo moving to rest on his helm made him pause in his movements and seemingly relax – if only for a moment. Why were they being so nice to him? He'd just shot four of his teammates. Four of his friends. He'd shot Optimus! For no reason at all other than he was angry!

That still didn't make a whole lot of sense to him now he had a moment to think about it. He'd been angry before, but never like this. Normally if he was mad he'd take it out on something harmless, like shooting a rock, or going downstairs to shadowbox and release some steam. He was frustrated at things around the base as of late, but that was no reason to hurt others because of it...

White optics wide, whirring as he struggled to focus on anything he could to try and distract himself, and yet he found it difficult. His processor replaying things over and over. The excruciating pain that he was struggling to keep quiet about was almost overwhelming. He thought about the things he'd done. The things that'd happened. He couldn't... work out why he'd done what he had. This moment of clarity was so very unwanted, as it smacked him harshly - and now he couldn't stop thinking that he'd ruined everything and made it all a hundred times worse.

Ratchet's words were still slurred and muffled – he hadn't noticed the sedative injected into his systems, which was probably for the best. He could make sense of some of it, though. Raf was okay... That was the main thing. Raf was okay. He repeated it to himself again, clinging to that part of the sentence. Raf was okay... although who even knew if he could ever show his face to Raf again after this. How much had he seen? He distinctly remembered Raf calling out for him to stop... A tremble shuddered through him and he clenched and unclenched his good servo.

He had to see him, to apologize. His apologies and trembled, devastated beeps may not mean much, but he had to begin making things right. At least with Raf! He couldn't just lay here like this with Ratchet acting like it was all okay! It wasn't!

His vision was spinning, that much he knew. His systems were trying desperately to relax, to sleep with the aid of the sedative. He needed to rest. But he didn't want to.

There was more talking then. Jazz – and he didn't sound happy about whatever it was that was going on. Understandable, given he'd been shot in the shoulder back there. Weakly, he'd turn his helm to watch and try to focus on that – giving him something to pay attention to in this desperate attempt at fighting off the sudden urge to slip into recharge.

Another shudder, another weak attempt at trying to pull himself up was made – attempting to strain himself against the restraints in a hope they'd snap or loosen just slightly, but it was to no avail.

[Ratchet]

Ratchet raised one of the smaller scanners he carried with him, turning it on and aiming the soft green light over Jazz’s injured shoulder. The tiny screen gave back some basic information, if there was any concern about it. With a practiced eye, Ratchet scanned the info, looking for anything to be worried about.

He lightly arched an optic ridge at Jazz’s words. What was the matter with him? It was a strange reaction to concern. When he spoke, his voice was sarcastic, laced with incredulity. Injuries always seemed to bring out the worse in some people, and Jazz’s surly behaviour was just another obstacle. It was odd....Ratchet seemed to have no memory of anything he had done to Jazz to warrant this.

“I lowered my voice to give you privacy if you wanted it. Seeing you clearly don’t, we can talk normally.

If I was interested in deep, dark secrets, I am certain I could find more interesting ones to go looking for. You hardly need invasive surgery, I was more concerned with rust setting in.

Accusing me of trying to “violate your privacy” is beneath you, Jazz. I’d expect that from one of the younger bots, not you. You’re better than this behavior.”

With a click, the small scanner was turned off, and Ratchet turned back towards Bumblebee, his scowl getting deeper. He turned back towards Jazz, giving his lower frame a quick glance. Seeing nothing, he turned to move back towards Sideswipe and Bumblebee, his voice turning distracted as he spoke, talking as much aloud to himself as to anyone else who may be listening.

“Try to avoid the energon spill out there. There’s something seriously wrong with it, and I haven’t the time yet to study it.”

His mind whirled, Why would Bumblebee vomit up the energon? Was it poisoned? That made the most sense, and yet who would poison it?

He was interrupted by Optimus’ voice, and he turned, looking towards the Prime for a second, then shook his head, “Jazz’s systems are fine. He does need repair, but it’s not life threatening.”

Ratchet looked towards Bumblebee, then Sideswipe, trying to decide who needed attention first. Sideswipe’s injuries were severe, but he was at least powered down for the moment. Bumblebee, on the other hand....

Ratchet moved towards the yellow scout again. If he could ease back more on Bee’s pain, settle him enough that the scout could relax some, he could start questioning him.

He desperately needed answers.

Moving towards Sideswipe, Ratchet checked him over again, making sure the frontliner was, indeed, powered down for now. Good. Let him sleep until he could operate.
Moving again towards Bumblebee, Ratchet checked the level of the energon “keg”. It was almost empty, but at least the monitor was no longer screaming warnings about Bee’s levels.

Right. First things first. Reseal the gaping holes. The arm could be reattached at a later date, but the lines needed more stability than just being pinched off.

Another trip to the benches, and another canister of a pale green liquid was opened. Ratchet began to carefully measure out the amount needed to ease Bumblebee down closer to a full power down. This, and another command entered into Bee’s processor via the scanner, and hopefully, Ratchet would be able to start getting some answers.

Moving back to Bumblebee, Ratchet removed the line going into Bee's neck, resealing it.

"Keep still, Bumblebee. This will help more. The pain is going to lessen, and you're going to want to power down. I need to ask you a few questions - try to answer, but don't fight to stay alert if you can't."

The new liquid was carefully injected into another line, and new commands entered into the scanner, literally shutting down as many circuits not needed for life support for the yellow scout as possible. If the commands were accepted by Bee's processor, parts of his frame would start to go numb, shutting down entirely.

[Jazz]

     The fact that Ratchet was bothering to run a scanner in spite of Jazz pretty much saying no to it only made him bristle more and his fists clenched. He didn't care that Ratchet could and probably would hit back ( with probably whatever he could get his servos on ), just as long as he got the satisfaction of at least one good swing. The only thing that kept a prickly situation from becoming a full on throttling of the medic standing within striking range was the voice in the back of Jazz's processor telling him that it would probably end with him strapped down to one of the medical berths. Heck, he didn't even care that Optimus was in the room and would be disappointed in the behavior... just the subconscious reminding him that guides to warfare always warned that a trip to the medical bay usually resulted in being strapped to a gurney with an IV, especially when you pissed off the medic.

     Damn medics. 
 
     "Perfectly capable of my own repairs," Jazz muttered to himself and scoffed some at the suggestion. Any repair that he was in need of he could do either on his own or let his systems do what they did best. Anyway, as it was stated, it wasn't anything severe so he could be back in the field as soon as he got out of here.

     .... or at least as soon as he got out of here AFTER retrieving a patch for Optimus.

     Creak creak creak. Went that stupid knee again the moment Jazz began to walk. No matter, he'd deal with it when he got back to his quarters.

     Jazz looked around, trying to find what he needed to get for the Autobot leader. Medics had their way of organizing things that Jazz didn't get, as he usually preferred the 'organized chaos' when it came to his storage. He wandered about, checking here and there but being careful not to disturb or break anything, trying to be mindful not to send Ratchet into a fit unless it was on purpose. Now, Jazz could have just pushed one of his tools off the bench and called it a day, but they were already sort on supplies and he didn't know what would be needed one day to save a comrades life. He didn't know what half this junk was anyway, as he had only spent MAYBE a handful of times in the medbay through his lifetime. The lifetime that counted, at least.

     Finally locating what he was looking for, he snatched up a couple patches and made his way over to Optimus. Instead of providing any assistance with applying it, he stood just within reach and held them in his palm towards the larger mech.

[Optimus Prime]

Jazz was far from the individual he remembered, and Optimus did not know what to think of it. Was this a bad situation he was reacting poorly to? Or was it simply who Jazz was now, and the individual he remembered was gone so very long ago? They had all changed a lot in the war. You could not find a single individual that had not been affected by the chaos their battles have brought. The only ones who could have gotten around it, are those that may still lie in stasis, unaware of the changes and unaware of the turmoil. Free from it all, to lay trapped in blissful ignorance. But that fraction was negligible... leaving behind a vast majority of damaged individuals that are simply trying to continue living, despite what wounds lie beneath the surface.

Letting out a frustrated ex-vent, Optimus' right arm pulled up and gripped down onto the edge of the medical berth he was laying upon, getting a good enough grip so that he could start to bear his weight down onto it. The push from laying to sitting upright, caused a low whirl to form in his chassis, systems booting partly back up from the rested state, so that he could orient himself around and function with a bit better articulation.

Optimus could not readily see Jazz very well, but he had heard the rummaging and the effort made to find what was asked for him. When it had stopped, and he sensed the others presence at his side, he had assume that the other mech was simply offering them. It seemed the assumption had been correct, as he could see the hazy outline of the palm. Without a word, the Prime took the patches, using memory to properly start to open the wrapper that kept them clean.

"Thank you Jazz. You may go."

The words were softer, more subdued, and defeated, not meant to travel and be heard by all, though such a goal was futile. The Prime's voice even when intentionally pitched quiet, could simply travel well, the low baritone rumbling out clearly in the enclosed space. There was an exhaustion laced within what he had to say though, his tired eye trying to focus on the other Cybertronian that would rather be anywhere but here, trying to help during a crisis.

"We will speak after everything is concluded."

Not a request, but a statement of law.

After Optimus said what he had to say, he finished opening the first of the mesh patches, and gingerly lifted it to place against where the damage lay on his temple. It was then he got his first real idea of just WHAT the damage must look like to the others, his fingertips gently pressing the mesh down to fall within the deep gored groove that raked through the metal. The absence of the familiar bowed shape that framed out his faceplate was striking in a way, somewhat interesting while he tried to visualize what just had happened.

The touch did not hurt, but there was a soft buzzing feeling, a reminder that it likely would have been quite sharp feeling if he were not already assisted by Ratchet. It didn't deter him however, getting out the adhesive strap which he crossed over the patch to hold it in place. It was not a graceful job all things considered, he was no medic, but it would plug up the gap enough so that he wouldn't make more of a mess.

With the first one in place, he would open up the second, though this time he did not keep the adhesive portions. Instead, he pulled and tugged the mesh like material apart into a sort of 'ball' to fluff it out from its flat shape, before he reached up and pressed it firmly between the gap between helm and faceplate. This bundle of fiber would seal up the hole where the facemask had been mounted previously.

While he worked, he tried to listen in to what Ratchet was saying.

[Bumblebee]

There wasn't much that Bumblebee could do now except lay here and listen to what was going on around him, trying to pick apart muffled words with the occasional futile attempt of pushing himself against the restraints.

There was tension in the air, that much he knew even despite the muffled voices... it didn't take a genius to work that out though, and he was pretty sure that if he had a knife he could cut through the air with how tense things were right now. Jazz wasn't handling things well, Ratchet was trying to help as best he could - but it seemed Jazz was having none of it.

He wasn't sure why Jazz was acting the way he was. Not toward Ratchet and Optimus at least... They had done nothing wrong, and were only trying to help. They were no doubt just as scared and confused as everyone else over what'd happened and were yet remaining strong and composed. They had to be. It was strange to see Jazz like this, though – he was so fun-loving and easygoing, and could've done much to quell some of the unrest in others - but now he was angry and abrupt. At the wrong people, too.

There had to be more to it, not that Bee could really help with anything considering he had been the one who caused this.

Another squirm. Another vented sigh of disappointment when it did nothing to the restraints.

He honestly felt okay now – tired, and beyond guilty but... He felt alright and wanted nothing more than to crawl back to his quarters and hide for the next thousand years or so. Of course that was no doubt due to the sedative and the fresh Energon that'd been injected into his lines, but still... He'd wasted enough resources, he didn't want them to use more on him. If he could just go... They'd be better off. Right? He was going to be sent away after this anyway, he figured, why not just leave now and get it over with.

He'd spaced out for a second there in his thoughts, and turned his helm to see Ratchet beside him once more. Another low, rumbled growl of his engine sounded as he tried to push harder against the restraints – but just like the other hundred times he'd tried? It did nothing.

As the liquid entered his systems, and the confirmation was given into the scanner? Bee would relax further and would lay still once more. More of the HUD errors would downgrade as parts of his frame went numb, the pain lessening. Despite Ratchet telling him not to fight it, he did – and he would continue to. At least for now.

He took a moment to replay Ratchet's words again, and he'd frown at the middle part. Questions. Then again that was to be expected, given he was the one who'd exploded into rage and attacked his friends. He'd been laying here mulling it over for a while now himself, and... he wasn't sure he had any answers. At least, he couldn't work it out. He'd just been so angry, lashing out and trying to hurt those he cared about. He didn't know why. Just that for a moment there, it was the right thing to do. Not that it'd gotten him far...

--O͡͞k̵̨a͏y̵̵.-- Static laced his beeps, a single, quiet, word spoken. He'd try to answer what he could, but he had a feeling it wouldn't be much help.