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heliopauseentertainments · 3 years

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Okie doke, I wanna see your take on MegaRatch in IDW. I am curious.

FINALLY I FINISHED IT. It’s pre-relationship, but here we are... topping out at just under 3k words. This will be crossposted to AO3 shortly.

Warnings for non-graphic injuries, mentions of some gore. Lost Light spoilers.

The new universe was something of a refuge to the pack of misfits that called the Lost Light home, free from the grip of the likes of the Galactic Council and the ages of conflict that had nearly destroyed their species. This place, unfamiliar and full of adventure, offered them all a fresh chance, a clean slate to rewrite with new experiences, relatively unhindered by the ghosts that chained them in universe they had escaped.

However, this universe wasn’t without its own perils. They were still a lone ship flying through the alien and the unknown. As far as they knew they were the only Cybertronians, which meant no backup, limited supplies, and no technology that they didn’t develop themselves. If they needed something they didn't have the means to manufacture and couldn't deal with through the mad ingenuity and serendipity that seemed to follow them everywhere, they were slag out of luck.

It also meant that in the event of an emergency, they were short on medical staff.

Ratchet limped his way around the medical bay, quickly scanning waiting patients as they piled up, seemingly without end, for triage. Due to a malfunction in the scanners, they had managed to navigate their way right into a small asteroid. Nothing too serious but a number of crew members were injured in the resulting collision. While most injuries seemed fairly minor on the surface, care would be most efficient if they had at least an idea of what they were looking at and then prioritizing from there. Anyone that needed immediate attention was directed to whichever medic had a table open, but between Spinister, First Aid, and Velocity, there were only so many that could be helped at once. They were fortunate none of the injuries the crew sustained seemed to be immediately life-threatening.

Anyone fortunate enough to be stable was relegated to waiting. Ratchet considered himself to be part of that category as he hobbled from mech to mech with his scanner. He’d been knocked off his feet in the collision, but the pain in his leg didn’t require urgent care, at least not in his opinion. He hadn’t looked at it yet, but he was sure it was fine. He’d worked through worse. No need to worry anyone when there were others in far worse shape, like poor Tripod and his crushed hand bleeding energon onto the floor… and Ratchet’s scanner.

“Go on, Spinister has an open table for you now that Crankcase’s taken care of,” Ratchet said, nudging the hurt minibot in the direction of the appropriate medic. Crankcase hobbled off and out of the medical bay now that he was no longer missing his entire lower left leg, apparently having gotten it stuck under something in the crash. Bad luck. Fortunately, Spinister, despite his lack of formal training and grasp of certain vocabulary, was quite the skilled surgeon, something that even Ratchet had to respect. It made him an invaluable asset to the medical team.

"Ratchet." A sharp voice yanked him back from his thoughts, the medic nearly dropping the scanner in his hand. He turned around, a little surprised to see Megatron standing there by the door.

"Are you injured?" Most likely the captain was fine. There was no immediate indication of fluid leakage or new cracking in the plating. A scan would show more, but a quick visual inspection would do for now. Sure, Megatron was held together on the inside with electrical tape and obstinacy so there was a chance of some hidden, internal problem, but on the outside he was sturdily plated and should generally be able to hold up to whatever rough treatment a minor collision could have been able to throw at him. He’d be more at risk from tainted fuel. Besides the stubborn aft must have walked here from the bridge under his own power.

Honestly that was the biggest tell of all, given the not insignificant distance from the bridge to the medical bay. That trek would have given plenty of time to aggravate something, especially with the impatient pace Megatron tended to have, not that Ratchet kept track of that for anything beyond general medical purposes. Velocity was technically the captain's primary care physician, but as former Chief Medical Officer, Ratchet tried to at least keep informed, especially for potentially high-risk patients. Over the course of his stint on the Lost Light, he’d welded Megatron back together plenty.

Ratchet shook his head and waved a hand dismissively at the much larger mech before the captain could even respond.

"Captain, if you're not injured, we’re busy—"

"I'm… actually here to offer my services."

Ratchet felt a little skeptical, in spite of the genuinely concerned look on the captain's lined face. While he had seen firsthand that Megatron had developed considerable medical skills before returning to them via the Warren, he wasn't entirely sure he ought to unleash this captain-turned-autodidactic-medic on the patients. Then again, the injuries sustained by crew were generally minor and they did need all the hands they could get if they wanted to clear the medical bay in a reasonable timeframe.

He… just had reservations. Megatron had never worked alongside them before, aside from occasional first aid provided in the field. While previous results had been more than satisfactory, what with having repaired even zero points, Ratchet didn't want the giant oaf getting in the way with that "I know everything" ego of his, even if it had mellowed out somewhat in the time the former despot had been on the Lost Light.

"Shouldn't you be assisting with directing repair operations? Not resetting limbs or soldering scratched circuits or—"

Megatron shook his head.

"No, Rodimus and Ultra Magnus can handle it. The damage to the ship is minor and they don't require my assistance to deal with it." He patted the large black surgical kit on his right arm before gesturing to the waiting patients. "I can be of more direct use to the crew down here."

"Fine," Ratchet relented, throwing his hands in the air, doing his best not to drop the scanner Tripod bled on. With a sigh, he pointed to another scanner hanging on the far wall. "Grab that and help me triage. Once we know who needs what, we'll be in better shape."

At least if Megatron was triaging, he wouldn't be getting in the way. That and maybe Ratchet could get a better sense for how helpful their captain might actually be.

—

The last of the patients had finally been shuffled out of the medical bay and the medics plus one self-taught volunteer had finished cleaning up the resulting mess. Once the immediate cases were stabilized and sent on their way, Ratchet and First Aid felt comfortable releasing Megatron to treat those who only had minor concerns. He'd been surpassingly amenable to being relegated to what basically constituted nursing work. Ratchet had been shocked that he hadn't objected. Maybe practicality had won out over ego.

First Aid, visibly exhausted from the long, hectic shift, dismissed them all and headed out, followed shortly by Velocity and Spinister, both of whom had struck up a conversation about what sorts of sounds the latter considered "goodies" and "baddies." Ratchet decided to stay behind to double-check that everything had been put away correctly. Not that he doubted anyone’s skills, but that he just… liked to be sure. Old habits from when he was CMO.

While straightening the scanners that had been hung back up, he noticed one was missing.

Strange.

A beeping sounded behind him, like the beam of a scanner being swept up and down his frame in search of an injury. The beeping intensified before it subsided again.

Ratchet cautiously turned around, slowly, hoping to not aggravate his leg. He had mostly ignored it during the rush, manually dampening the bulk of the pain pathways in his circuits since he knew the damage was minor. He could simply treat it later—

"You're injured, Ratchet.”

Right. Megatron was still there.

With the scanner.

Scanning him.

“You should have said something."

And Ratchet's processor hadn't even registered him as enough of a threat to even remember he was in the room, let alone caring that he'd turned his back to this notorious mech. Of course, deep down, Ratchet knew he was in no danger but it spoke volumes of just how much things had changed.

"Cap—"

Megatron held up a finger to stop him, still sweeping the beam of the scanner over the medic's frame.

“You were limping at least since I arrived, presumably before that since the collision.”

The beeping intensified when the beam was focused on Ratchet's left ankle.

"My best guess is that you fractured a portion of the endoskeleton of your ankle joint," Megatron said, glancing at the readout on the screen of the scanner. "Of course, I can't know for sure until I take a direct look but that will need immediate treatment or—"

"Young mech," Ratchet started, more than willing to play the seniority card. "Captain or not, I don't need you telling me what I do or don't need."

The medic wagged an admonishing finger at the larger mech.

"And what I don't need is you opening me up to poke around inside."

Ratchet received a slight frown in reply. Yet it seemed from the way the light behind the captain’s red optics dimmed like there was something else beyond a judgment of his competency as a physician bothering him.

"You probably already have fluid pooling inside your foot from walking around on it like that for the last several hours. It's a miracle you haven't sprung a leak."

How dare that bastard look so sincere.

"Or worse."

"Or worse," Ratchet quietly echoed. "Fine, but only so you'll stop bothering me."

With a huff, he turned away to limp over to the nearest examination table, grumbling under his breath the entire way.

—

"You new-builds think you know everything." Ratchet crossed his arms as he leaned back against the wall behind the exam table he'd hopped onto several minutes prior. Well, "hopped" was being generous. It was more like he had clambered up with some assistance from Megatron that would go permanently unmentioned.

Meanwhile, the captain sat on a chair that had been placed next to the table, adjacent to the medic's injured leg. A tray with an array of tools was set up on the gray mech's left side for easier reach.

"Ratchet, we both know I'm no new-build. You're just being stubborn." Calm. In some ways, it was so strange to see Megatron be calm. The medic had spent most of the war seeing this mech in either a blind berserker rage or just generally spending his time screaming, mostly at Optimus. The few moments that he had been calm had almost always been a sign of a scheme or some other less obvious danger, such as when he surrendered into their custody back on Earth.

Yet after all of this time on the Lost Light, Ratchet had seen him calm with no threat behind it, no hidden meaning beyond having found peace and purpose or simply assessing the situation. Had Megatron been like that before but only off the battlefield, a version known to basically no Autobot before the end of the war? Did he spend time looking at a tactical map with the same serene focus as he was looking at Ratchet's exposed joint?

"You have no right to call anyone 'stubborn.'" Ratchet huffed, doing his level best to ignore the fact that said "new-build" had his leg and ankle open on the exam table. It was strange. Millions of years of experience told him he should be worried, that he was at risk for being maimed or worse in this somewhat delicate position. Yet… no threat warnings popped up in his HUD. His oil pressure was normal, perhaps even slightly low. "Not after all the slag you pull on a regular basis."

"It seems you've confused me with Rodimus."

The lines that had been trickling fuel and oil were methodically clamped off and temporarily rerouted while work was done on the joint itself. It was hard to see fluids staining the black-painted hands as they worked due to color, but Ratchet knew that this operation would not be without mess.

"No, no, don't start." The medic tutted and wagged a finger again, something he felt the need to do regularly on this blasted ship of buffoons. "I know exactly who I'm talking to, Mr. Let's-Hide-A-Space-Bridge-In-My-Frame."

The medic scoffed.

"Idiot." Technically that counted as insubordination but, somewhat amusingly, Megatron never seemed to care unless it was blatant disregard for an order or if it otherwise endangered the crew. Then again, out here in this new universe there was no real chain of command beyond their little boat. What a contrast to how he’d seen this mech react to insubordination during the war. Walking away from the punishment under one’s own power had seemed to be the lucky outcome. Ratchet kept an optic on his oil pressure reading in his HUD. Still a little low, decidedly low if his processor had perceived some sort of danger and simply forgotten to warn him. Either he needed a recalibration or Megatron no longer registered as a threat.

"This 'idiot' is elbow deep inside your leg with a soldering iron." There was sharp pinch in his ankle at the same time as he heard the fizzle of the soldering iron. It didn't hurt, but it was a firm reminder that he was in the middle of treatment. Squirming and fussing would only make it take longer, at best.

"Point taken." He sighed. Ratchet ought to know better than to antagonize a medic, even unlicensed ones. It was a threat he often used himself on unruly patients. Perhaps he ought to be a little more accommodating, especially given that Megatron didn't have to come to the medical bay to help and definitely had no obligation to patch a grumpy ambulance's wounds. It wasn't part of a captain's usual expected duties.

"Your help was appreciated today. Sometimes I forget that you're not the same blockhead who walked onto this ship and told the first bleeding mech you found to just rub some dirt in it."

"In my defense, that does staunch bleeding."

Ratchet barked a laugh.

"By clogging the lines!"

"It works in the field if better supplies and time are not available." Megatron frowned, but didn't look away from the joint being soldered back together by strong, steady hands.

The field was always a haven of slapdash medical decisions made in the heat of the moment, often while under fire. Ratchet was honestly glad to say that the days of constant fieldwork were behind them. He imagined that Megatron must have worked under similar circumstances before returning to them, but this "dirt" patch idea must have predated that. It maybe even predated the war given how miners were prone to injuries in the "line of duty." He surely would have seen a great many of his brethren fall victim to accidents or worse.

None of that "understanding" stopped Ratchet from having a complaint to share.

"And then the foreign material will break off, float further down the line and give someone an embolism."

The grey mech calmly shrugged, as though they were merely disagreeing over the weather while refueling as opposed to getting oil and energon on his hands.

"Better that than dying in the field of exsanguination. Alone and forgotten." Spoken like someone who had experienced a lot of that kind of loss, not like someone who had caused it. Sometimes Ratchet wanted to ask Megatron about those centuries he experienced separated from their timeline, what he'd done while heading up the Anti-Vocationist League or the years spent breaking stone beneath the ground. It wasn't his place to ask. They weren't friends, never really had been. Crew members, former enemies, maybe even acquaintances now, but…. The captain continued, "Sometimes you have to take a risk to buy a patient more time."

And sometimes, Ratchet knew all too well, that was all that could be asked for. A chance to die elsewhere, perhaps at least with company. A sentiment they unfortunately had in common.

It would be better to just be out with it and put his concerns in the open. The medic had always been at his best when he was at his bluntest. Well, not always, but often. He could curb it when needed.

"Look," he began, "you disappear for three weeks, not knowing how to apply a patch to a superficial microfracture and then you come back suddenly able to fix zero points as easily as taking someone's temperature."

Ratchet could only wonder why he bothered trying to make sense of the shredded fabric of spacetime that followed this stupid ship and its crew around like a lost turbopuppy.

"It's… difficult to remember that you do know what you're doing."

There was an unexpectedly soft laugh from by Ratchet's ankle while clamps were removed and set back into the tray, oil and fuel smearing the metal.

"Maybe I should get Rodimus to make me a license." Not that a more legitimate license could have been obtained in the first place, not out here. "He'll probably put his face on it though."

"Well, how about, instead of that, I'll put in a good word with First Aid and next time there's an emergency," the medic started, watching carefully as Megatron started closing up the plating of Ratchet's leg. Perhaps there was room for friendship here. "We'll see about upping your responsibilities from just patching and kissing booboos."

#fic #megatron #ratchet #megaratch #ask #tarklesbehindthescenes #maccadam #sneaselmoon #one shot #idw1

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