Post by Deleted on Nov 19, 2017 12:21:25 GMT -5
((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.