Making Myself Emotional In The Afternoon - Tumblr Posts
Truce AU/ceasefire AU (or just an AU where the Cons have to be civil with Team Prime to survive some obscure writer’s block threat) and Blitzwing gets a crack in his under wing that stretches too far for it to be safely used.
He’s out of commission, until Ratchet can get to his location. When he does, he barks orders at the other Cons and anyone in his way to give him space and secure the area.
It feels like a lot of fuss to Blitzwing, but he bites his glossa about saying so.
Ratchet has him lay on his stomach, using his arms to pillow his face so he can watch Ratchet work on his extended wing. Watching the medicbot lift it in his careful servos from underneath its shadow.
Ratchet’s gentle- he stops working anytime he feels Blitzwing tense. Tentative scarlet optics betraying nothing.... but Ratchet knows better.
It’s throwing Blitzwing for a loop, all this worrying....
Decepticon medics wouldn’t tolerate anything more than a few twitches and pained shudders from an injured bot- having to provide resources to the masses of war frames without proper conditions to treat them, and especially without proper resources. Taking their time, looking for signs of discomfort, slowing down or stopping if their patient isn’t at least to the point of passing out.... all unheard of.
Ratchet stops again to pat his side, making Blitzwing flinch.
“Ok, kid. This parts gonna hurt, so feel free to tell me allll about it, as loud as you want.”
Ratchet checks his work over first, granting him those few precious kliks before the misery to come. Glancing at Blitzwing’s confused face one final time, then retrieving his welder.
Blitzwing doesn’t lash out, despite the obvious burn in his chassis.
“You’re doing great, by the way.” Ratchet hums, physically feeling the need to ease the ache *somehow*. The Con’s doing amazing, even, considering the rawness and lack of sensor blockers Ratchet’s having to work with.
Blitzwing stays absolutely still, so as not to bother Ratchet any further beyond all the effort he’s expended on him. But damn the pits and back again, it *hurts*. It hurts...
He buries his helm into his arms and waits there for it to be over. Vaguely aware of the bug bot’s EM field prickling and surging from where he watches on jittery pedes with his teammates.
Finally, the welder pulls away, followed by a warm servo offering another reassuring pat. This one lingers.
He receives Ratchet and Megatron’s approval that he’ll recover after a solar cycle of proper rest. As if any of them can afford that right now.
It isn’t until Ratchet checks up on him later, poking around his wing and lifting it to test whether his hinges are taking the weight of the injury well enough to fly so soon that Blitzwing thanks him for.... his kindness. His civility. His respect and care. Confusing as it all is.
“Bah. Don’t bother thanking me, you’ll get yourself in medbay before my work will’a paid off anyway. Reckless bunch a brutes.”
Which wasn’t true, as thus far, the Cons had been substantially more suited for keeping themselves out of stupid mishaps compared to the bug bot and Bulkhead. And Prowl, by seemingly continuous bad cosmic luck.
Then Ratchet smooths a servo down his good wing, wearing a somber look as he turns tired optics on Blitzwing’s wide ones at the contact.
“Just don’t do anything to yourself I can’t fix. I’m your medic now, but I’m not a miracle worker.”
He doesn’t say how it’d be beyond him to fix Bee’s processor, if something fatal ever happened to the Lieutenant. Or that he’s already put his much work into showing a ‘brutish’ war frame the care he honestly deserves for looking out for Ratchet and his own. This is all very new and all very sensitive for everybot right now, and Ratchet’s not ready to give any of those troubling thoughts life just yet, much less voice them.
“My...medic?”
Ratchet blinks for a moment, trying to connect the importance of that bit in particular to Blitzwing. He hadn’t gotten wise with age by hiding his helm in his servos all this time. It makes sense all the sudden that’s be the thing the war frame focuses on (Unfortunately, as Ratchet really, *really* hates having to be obvious about his concerns for others).
“Yeah, kid.” He snaps, hands on his hips and glaring accusingly.
“You’re one of ours now, however long this peace slag lasts for, so I’m in charge of your bonkers aft. Don’t make me use restraints on you in the future.”
Blitzwing understands defensive language much, much better than soft touches and careful words, and something shifts and fills and *burns* deep in his chassis.
He understands, then, that he’s going to learn to speak through tenderness, too, because he’s one of *their’s* now. One of Rathcet’s.
—- ——
✨anytime after when Blitzwing gets a minor scratch, he dutifully sits very still for Ratchet to buff it out and just basks in all the affection.
Also when anyone he cares about gets hurt, he goes full frantic getting them to the angry, tender medic man, Ratchet, because he knows Ratchet will dote on them in his rude, brackish way just for being Blitzwing’s comrade. Because he CARES ABOUT HIS TRIPLE CHANGER FOOL FRIEND, AND HE’S BLITZ’S ADOPTED DEN MOTHER
(watch me coddle a poor baby war machine)