quidamling (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
quidamling) wrote2008-06-02 12:01 am
quidamling) wrote2008-06-02 12:01 am
Lost and Found - Meetings Sequel
Title: Lost and Found
'Verse: Pre-'07 Movie (waaaaay Pre....)
Characters / Pairings: Ironhide, Ratchet, a couple generic unnamed characters.
Summary: Ratchet latched onto Ironhide from the moment he was sparked. Until he wanders off and 'Hide seeks as protective instincts take over.
Rating: PG-13? No clue on these...
Warnings: Ironhide is a klutz, Ratchet ain't feeling too hot himself.
AN: More messing around with youngling 'Hide and sparkling Ratch, follows soon after "Meeting". Includes a spin on an orphaned RP moment that was determined to be. Just my own little take on coming into being and growing up Cybertronian with some plot in there to make it interesting. 'Cause yeah, what creators would shackle their sparkling with that interesting chartreuse that Ratchet ends up choosing? The blame is mine; my lil concept, my rules.
Disclaimer: No, I am poor, don't own anything. I just push them around into situations I find amusing. They belong to Hasbro/Dreamworks/rich people.
-----------------------------------------
'Verse: Pre-'07 Movie (waaaaay Pre....)
Characters / Pairings: Ironhide, Ratchet, a couple generic unnamed characters.
Summary: Ratchet latched onto Ironhide from the moment he was sparked. Until he wanders off and 'Hide seeks as protective instincts take over.
Rating: PG-13? No clue on these...
Warnings: Ironhide is a klutz, Ratchet ain't feeling too hot himself.
AN: More messing around with youngling 'Hide and sparkling Ratch, follows soon after "Meeting". Includes a spin on an orphaned RP moment that was determined to be. Just my own little take on coming into being and growing up Cybertronian with some plot in there to make it interesting. 'Cause yeah, what creators would shackle their sparkling with that interesting chartreuse that Ratchet ends up choosing? The blame is mine; my lil concept, my rules.
Disclaimer: No, I am poor, don't own anything. I just push them around into situations I find amusing. They belong to Hasbro/Dreamworks/rich people.
-----------------------------------------
Lost sparkling. The little ones had a distress call imbedded in their core programming, a high keening warble. That distress call activated ingrained subroutines and a response from any adult within range. Distressed sparkling. Must find. Must fix. The sole weak point in the whole intermeshed system was the lack of signal boosting power inherent in such a tiny being. But sparklings usually never let themselves be separated from their guardian by anything near the distance of their own signal radius. Usually, they were still too dependant on the comforting pulse of a familiar spark nearby. Sparklings could really be described as fairly complicated spark-seeking, heat-seeking little bundles of parts.
Now the youth sector was in an uproar. A number of sparklings had been given special permission to play outside, a rare treat. But when their caretaker had made the circuit to gather up the ones wandering the outskirts of their inscribed area, she had come up one short.
As soon as she had commed back to the main facility, the general alarm had been raised. It was late in the orn, but the procedures were already in action. In the case of a lost sparkling, the eldest of the younglings would be put in charge of watching over their remaining more junior companions, while the staff would take care of locating and retrieving the lost charge. Ironhide was familiar with the drill, having experienced it a handful of times during the vorns of his youth. The last couple of times he had been placed in the ‘elder’ category to watch over the bitlings in the absence of the adults. He was not wiling to admit it out loud, but he liked the responsibility to keep the sparklings safe under tense circumstances. Watching over those that were unable to do so themselves somehow resonated with his spark. He was counting down the final orns in the youth sector until he received his transformation cog and was regarded as a full adult. Considering he would soon take up training for his specialty, he was thinking a lot about what he wanted to be the focus of his existence. It was becoming more and more apparent that somehow protection was going to feature in his choice of specialization as a mech.
The sparkling that had gone missing was one that Ironhide was very familiar with. That same little bit that had latched, literally, onto Ironhide in the medbay. Ratchet. The little being in question was already notoriously headstrong, irascible and impatient. Once he had started being brought to the youth sector, he had continued the habit of latching onto black plating, consistently choosing to follow the familiar spark of the burly young mech around. Ironhide got a bit of flack from the other younglings his age for his little companion, but he shrugged that off. When they turned on the sparkling, that was an entirely different matter. It only took the black youngling catching a hint of a taunt against the sparkling and it was made abundantly clear it would not be tolerated. Ratchet, for his own part, was fearless. He was above and oblivious to the odd beratement behind Ironhide’s back that he got from the older younglings for tagging along with them. All in all, Ironhide didn’t mind the sparkling, too much. And he certainly didn’t want anything happening to the little mech.
“Let me help.” Ironhide rumbled.
“Your job is to watch the remaining younglings and sparklings during times like this.”
“I’ve got the full-proto scanners even without my cog. He practically welds to my calf plating. Know his spark sig, can find him.”
The caretaker was in a hurry to get out and begin his portion of the search grid, so he yielded and gave the black young mech the controls for a vehicle. Without his transformation cog, if Ironhide wanted to travel long distance, he needed a transport. Intensely focused on the missing sparkling, he sort of ignored the grid, simply maneuvering the vehicle through towards the wastelands, trying to determine where the little Ratchet might have found something interesting. While Ironhide followed a ridge, he started moving into the rougher edges of the wastelands. The comm chatter indicated that the grid had come up empty and the search pattern was being adjusted and expanded. He was by no means a panicky mech, but as time passed, listening to more and more frantic voices on the comm channels, Ironhide started to worry for the little unpainted sparkling who had become his shadow.
His blue optics flicked over the shadows as they lengthened around him, the light shifting while breems stacked on breems. As Cybertron spun, and the light from the nearest star began dipping below the horizon, the temperature dropped quickly in the thin atmosphere. A full-sized protoform had little trouble dealing with the sudden thermal drop; simply by turning their coolant systems down, or perhaps even off, the heat generated by their internal systems was enough to keep their components within the safe operating range. There was also something to size preventing the larger mechs from losing heat too quickly. A small-framed sparkling did not have that buffer. Smaller systems do not throw off as much heat, and is dissipates faster.
Stretching his scanners to their limits, he moved the vehicle to the edge of some jutting crevices. The area seemed interesting, somewhere a too inquisitive sparkling might explore and get himself into trouble. Then the sound that he’d been straining for, the barest hint of a warble. Ironhide slammed his transport to a stop, completely ignoring the displeased sound from the mechanics around him. He climbed out of the vehicle and continued on foot, trying to pinpoint the source of the signal. After what felt like an eternity of trying to triangulate a weak signal, he pegged the sound to the edge of a ravine. The black youngling whuffed through his intakes in a mixture of relief and exasperation when he sighted a slip of silver huddled among the metal making the bottom of the crag. It took a bit of pacing the edge until he found a place to descend, but in the interim, Ratchet had noticed his presence and cycled up the distress signal.
Fraggit. I know, Ratchet, I know. Primus… he grumbled to himself. The call worked its programming, and hurried the mech along. Ironhide choose the best spot of his limited options, skidding down the wall on his heels. Metal sparked and left shards in his wake, and minus a bit of a roll at the bottom, the black hulk made it down to the sparkling. After glaring at his wrist, which now sported a new gash and an energon leak, he sat heavily next to Ratchet and scanned him over. The little silver mech was covered in scuffs over his unpainted plating, his hands were scraped and he was frighteningly low on energon. Obviously, the sparkling had been scrambling hard to get out, even if it was to no avail.
The sparkling made a soft plaintive wail and shifted towards the larger mech, unable to make much headway before a wave of shudders skittered across his frame. Ratchet was nearly chilled to his sparkcore, his systems fighting to create heat and avoid shutdown in any way that they could. It tore at Ironhide’s spark to see the tiny mech hurt and another sweep of sensors confirmed just how dangerously cold the sparkling was. Protective instincts flared, and all the older mech was aware of was a need to get Ratchet secured and safe. Ironhide reached for silver and the sparkling clung to the gray hands that were held out for him, allowing himself to be lifted when the ebony youngling pulled him close.
“What took you so long?” Ratchet snipped. Blue optics flashed indignation up at the larger mech, despite their owner clinging against the warm chassis above his friend’s sparkchamber.
Ironhide blinked, not sure what reaction he was expecting, but that certainly wasn’t it. He revved his engine to kick out a bit more heat, working to get Ratchet’s systems back in the safe zone. “No one knew where to look,” he growled in retort. “What were you doing so far out here?”
The sparkling huffed, and pressed his head to the juncture at Ironhide’s neck, just near his shoulder. “I… was watching a turbofox stalk some petrorabbits. Kept following until I lost track and fell here.”
“All this over a few-” the youngling was interrupted by a grind of mechanics from Ratchet’s fuel tanks. As the sparkling had warmed, systems shut down by the chill came back online and made their demands known; the tiny form tried to bite back a whine of his discomfort. Ironhide soothingly rubbed Ratchet’s shoulders, calming the smaller being while he cursed his own lack of preparation. He didn’t have any energon reserves in his subspace or the vehicle to offer to the sparkling. Fast becoming invisible as his black plating blended in the gathering darkness, the mech’s optics were drawn to the glowing energon at his wrist. It was an inane thought, but he simply acted before his processors convinced him otherwise. The gray hand was pulled back, exposing the cabling and secondary fuel lines that ran through his wrist. Ironhide’s specifications weren’t meant for it, he lacked the redundant systems that a medic would possess, but redundancies or not, it was fuel and it was warm. He sunk dental plating into the underside of his wrist and wrenched hard, ripping the already leaking fuel line he had damaged in the fall from its connection. When the black mech pulled his hand away, energon pulsed from his wrist in time with his fuel pump.
Ratchet, for his own little part, looked faintly horrified.
“Don’t even,” Ironhide groused. “It’s processed, sparkling systems or not, doesn’t get much gentler than that. Now, either it leaks on the ground or you can refuel.” Holding the sparkling to his chest with the other hand, he let the liquid drip down into his cupped palm. Then he held his hand out near tiny lip components. A moment of hesitation, but Ratchet was convinced by another protest from his fuel tanks. Silver hands gripped at gray and Ironhide let the younger mech sip the glowing fuel from his palm.
Ratchet registered that it was odd, but the feeling of fuel, and warm fuel at that, running through his systems soothed him and he felt safe against Ironhide’s chassis. His friend was here, he would not let anything happen. Once his fuel tanks were full, he felt better, but utterly worn out. Putting his head back against the mech’s shoulder, Ratchet shuttered his optics. Ironhide held his wrist against the plating at his hip while self-repair sealed off the fuel line. He was going to get an audio-full from the medic that was unfortunate enough to get him when he returned. It was a fairly stupid little stunt, but he felt it needed to be done, whether his frame was built for it or not. After letting the tiny chassis settle against his own, the dark mech glanced around for a moment; having found the missing sparkling, now he needed to get him back to the youth sector. First things first, he needed to get them both out of the crag.
Ironhide got to his feet and looked up and down the metallic walls. Getting out was not going to be impossible, but it was not going to be fun either. He growled deep in his chest. The vibration disturbed Ratchet, who was slipping into recharge, and he made his displeasure known with a surprisingly furious glare.
“Easy Ratch,” black grumbled. “I need two hands to get out. Would have had you boot back up anyway.”
“I… hey, ‘Ratchet’!” Little blue daggers for optics.
He chuckled in spite of himself and his little companion. “Yeah, but you’re little. Ratchet is a big name.”
“And you’re an idiot… Ir.. ‘Hide!” So much smug from such a small frame.
“Fine. Whatever. Just hold my shoulders tight.”
He moved the sparkling against his back, where Ratchet clung to plating edges near the back of Ironhide’s neck. Then the mech scaled up the wall, searching for handholds after switching the settings on his optics to cope with the low light. Actually, the climbing was not absolutely terrible; trying to minimize the sparkling noticing the occasional slip or skid back down the wall was more difficult. Once Ironhide made the top, he took Ratchet’s hand and lowered him to the ground.
“Don’t leave…” The silver form mewled and clamped onto the larger hand, refusing to let go. The danger was hitting now that he could lean over the edge and see just how far down he had been.
“No, Ratch.” Ironhide whuffed and picked his friend back up, Ratchet latched back on to his chassis with a vice grip, shoulders quivering with tension now. “Came to get you. Not leaving you here.”
With a quick comm back to the youth sector, Ironhide informed them that he had Ratchet, safe and whole. Then he climbed back into the vehicle. It took a few moments to program it to return to civilization and set it in motion, then he settled back in his seat. While his young friend had calmed a bit, he was still tense and making discontent sounds. The older mech let his engine rumble and rubbed along shoulder struts; he absently wondered at how he kept finding himself in the vicinity of this snippy little mech. When he brought his attention back to the sparkling in question, he saw that Ratchet had calmed enough to slip into recharge. He was curled over the older mech’s spark, making little purrs. Ironhide shook his head with a chuckle and leaned back in his seat, cradling the young mech as he watched the lights of Iacon draw closer.
Now the youth sector was in an uproar. A number of sparklings had been given special permission to play outside, a rare treat. But when their caretaker had made the circuit to gather up the ones wandering the outskirts of their inscribed area, she had come up one short.
As soon as she had commed back to the main facility, the general alarm had been raised. It was late in the orn, but the procedures were already in action. In the case of a lost sparkling, the eldest of the younglings would be put in charge of watching over their remaining more junior companions, while the staff would take care of locating and retrieving the lost charge. Ironhide was familiar with the drill, having experienced it a handful of times during the vorns of his youth. The last couple of times he had been placed in the ‘elder’ category to watch over the bitlings in the absence of the adults. He was not wiling to admit it out loud, but he liked the responsibility to keep the sparklings safe under tense circumstances. Watching over those that were unable to do so themselves somehow resonated with his spark. He was counting down the final orns in the youth sector until he received his transformation cog and was regarded as a full adult. Considering he would soon take up training for his specialty, he was thinking a lot about what he wanted to be the focus of his existence. It was becoming more and more apparent that somehow protection was going to feature in his choice of specialization as a mech.
The sparkling that had gone missing was one that Ironhide was very familiar with. That same little bit that had latched, literally, onto Ironhide in the medbay. Ratchet. The little being in question was already notoriously headstrong, irascible and impatient. Once he had started being brought to the youth sector, he had continued the habit of latching onto black plating, consistently choosing to follow the familiar spark of the burly young mech around. Ironhide got a bit of flack from the other younglings his age for his little companion, but he shrugged that off. When they turned on the sparkling, that was an entirely different matter. It only took the black youngling catching a hint of a taunt against the sparkling and it was made abundantly clear it would not be tolerated. Ratchet, for his own part, was fearless. He was above and oblivious to the odd beratement behind Ironhide’s back that he got from the older younglings for tagging along with them. All in all, Ironhide didn’t mind the sparkling, too much. And he certainly didn’t want anything happening to the little mech.
“Let me help.” Ironhide rumbled.
“Your job is to watch the remaining younglings and sparklings during times like this.”
“I’ve got the full-proto scanners even without my cog. He practically welds to my calf plating. Know his spark sig, can find him.”
The caretaker was in a hurry to get out and begin his portion of the search grid, so he yielded and gave the black young mech the controls for a vehicle. Without his transformation cog, if Ironhide wanted to travel long distance, he needed a transport. Intensely focused on the missing sparkling, he sort of ignored the grid, simply maneuvering the vehicle through towards the wastelands, trying to determine where the little Ratchet might have found something interesting. While Ironhide followed a ridge, he started moving into the rougher edges of the wastelands. The comm chatter indicated that the grid had come up empty and the search pattern was being adjusted and expanded. He was by no means a panicky mech, but as time passed, listening to more and more frantic voices on the comm channels, Ironhide started to worry for the little unpainted sparkling who had become his shadow.
His blue optics flicked over the shadows as they lengthened around him, the light shifting while breems stacked on breems. As Cybertron spun, and the light from the nearest star began dipping below the horizon, the temperature dropped quickly in the thin atmosphere. A full-sized protoform had little trouble dealing with the sudden thermal drop; simply by turning their coolant systems down, or perhaps even off, the heat generated by their internal systems was enough to keep their components within the safe operating range. There was also something to size preventing the larger mechs from losing heat too quickly. A small-framed sparkling did not have that buffer. Smaller systems do not throw off as much heat, and is dissipates faster.
Stretching his scanners to their limits, he moved the vehicle to the edge of some jutting crevices. The area seemed interesting, somewhere a too inquisitive sparkling might explore and get himself into trouble. Then the sound that he’d been straining for, the barest hint of a warble. Ironhide slammed his transport to a stop, completely ignoring the displeased sound from the mechanics around him. He climbed out of the vehicle and continued on foot, trying to pinpoint the source of the signal. After what felt like an eternity of trying to triangulate a weak signal, he pegged the sound to the edge of a ravine. The black youngling whuffed through his intakes in a mixture of relief and exasperation when he sighted a slip of silver huddled among the metal making the bottom of the crag. It took a bit of pacing the edge until he found a place to descend, but in the interim, Ratchet had noticed his presence and cycled up the distress signal.
Fraggit. I know, Ratchet, I know. Primus… he grumbled to himself. The call worked its programming, and hurried the mech along. Ironhide choose the best spot of his limited options, skidding down the wall on his heels. Metal sparked and left shards in his wake, and minus a bit of a roll at the bottom, the black hulk made it down to the sparkling. After glaring at his wrist, which now sported a new gash and an energon leak, he sat heavily next to Ratchet and scanned him over. The little silver mech was covered in scuffs over his unpainted plating, his hands were scraped and he was frighteningly low on energon. Obviously, the sparkling had been scrambling hard to get out, even if it was to no avail.
The sparkling made a soft plaintive wail and shifted towards the larger mech, unable to make much headway before a wave of shudders skittered across his frame. Ratchet was nearly chilled to his sparkcore, his systems fighting to create heat and avoid shutdown in any way that they could. It tore at Ironhide’s spark to see the tiny mech hurt and another sweep of sensors confirmed just how dangerously cold the sparkling was. Protective instincts flared, and all the older mech was aware of was a need to get Ratchet secured and safe. Ironhide reached for silver and the sparkling clung to the gray hands that were held out for him, allowing himself to be lifted when the ebony youngling pulled him close.
“What took you so long?” Ratchet snipped. Blue optics flashed indignation up at the larger mech, despite their owner clinging against the warm chassis above his friend’s sparkchamber.
Ironhide blinked, not sure what reaction he was expecting, but that certainly wasn’t it. He revved his engine to kick out a bit more heat, working to get Ratchet’s systems back in the safe zone. “No one knew where to look,” he growled in retort. “What were you doing so far out here?”
The sparkling huffed, and pressed his head to the juncture at Ironhide’s neck, just near his shoulder. “I… was watching a turbofox stalk some petrorabbits. Kept following until I lost track and fell here.”
“All this over a few-” the youngling was interrupted by a grind of mechanics from Ratchet’s fuel tanks. As the sparkling had warmed, systems shut down by the chill came back online and made their demands known; the tiny form tried to bite back a whine of his discomfort. Ironhide soothingly rubbed Ratchet’s shoulders, calming the smaller being while he cursed his own lack of preparation. He didn’t have any energon reserves in his subspace or the vehicle to offer to the sparkling. Fast becoming invisible as his black plating blended in the gathering darkness, the mech’s optics were drawn to the glowing energon at his wrist. It was an inane thought, but he simply acted before his processors convinced him otherwise. The gray hand was pulled back, exposing the cabling and secondary fuel lines that ran through his wrist. Ironhide’s specifications weren’t meant for it, he lacked the redundant systems that a medic would possess, but redundancies or not, it was fuel and it was warm. He sunk dental plating into the underside of his wrist and wrenched hard, ripping the already leaking fuel line he had damaged in the fall from its connection. When the black mech pulled his hand away, energon pulsed from his wrist in time with his fuel pump.
Ratchet, for his own little part, looked faintly horrified.
“Don’t even,” Ironhide groused. “It’s processed, sparkling systems or not, doesn’t get much gentler than that. Now, either it leaks on the ground or you can refuel.” Holding the sparkling to his chest with the other hand, he let the liquid drip down into his cupped palm. Then he held his hand out near tiny lip components. A moment of hesitation, but Ratchet was convinced by another protest from his fuel tanks. Silver hands gripped at gray and Ironhide let the younger mech sip the glowing fuel from his palm.
Ratchet registered that it was odd, but the feeling of fuel, and warm fuel at that, running through his systems soothed him and he felt safe against Ironhide’s chassis. His friend was here, he would not let anything happen. Once his fuel tanks were full, he felt better, but utterly worn out. Putting his head back against the mech’s shoulder, Ratchet shuttered his optics. Ironhide held his wrist against the plating at his hip while self-repair sealed off the fuel line. He was going to get an audio-full from the medic that was unfortunate enough to get him when he returned. It was a fairly stupid little stunt, but he felt it needed to be done, whether his frame was built for it or not. After letting the tiny chassis settle against his own, the dark mech glanced around for a moment; having found the missing sparkling, now he needed to get him back to the youth sector. First things first, he needed to get them both out of the crag.
Ironhide got to his feet and looked up and down the metallic walls. Getting out was not going to be impossible, but it was not going to be fun either. He growled deep in his chest. The vibration disturbed Ratchet, who was slipping into recharge, and he made his displeasure known with a surprisingly furious glare.
“Easy Ratch,” black grumbled. “I need two hands to get out. Would have had you boot back up anyway.”
“I… hey, ‘Ratchet’!” Little blue daggers for optics.
He chuckled in spite of himself and his little companion. “Yeah, but you’re little. Ratchet is a big name.”
“And you’re an idiot… Ir.. ‘Hide!” So much smug from such a small frame.
“Fine. Whatever. Just hold my shoulders tight.”
He moved the sparkling against his back, where Ratchet clung to plating edges near the back of Ironhide’s neck. Then the mech scaled up the wall, searching for handholds after switching the settings on his optics to cope with the low light. Actually, the climbing was not absolutely terrible; trying to minimize the sparkling noticing the occasional slip or skid back down the wall was more difficult. Once Ironhide made the top, he took Ratchet’s hand and lowered him to the ground.
“Don’t leave…” The silver form mewled and clamped onto the larger hand, refusing to let go. The danger was hitting now that he could lean over the edge and see just how far down he had been.
“No, Ratch.” Ironhide whuffed and picked his friend back up, Ratchet latched back on to his chassis with a vice grip, shoulders quivering with tension now. “Came to get you. Not leaving you here.”
With a quick comm back to the youth sector, Ironhide informed them that he had Ratchet, safe and whole. Then he climbed back into the vehicle. It took a few moments to program it to return to civilization and set it in motion, then he settled back in his seat. While his young friend had calmed a bit, he was still tense and making discontent sounds. The older mech let his engine rumble and rubbed along shoulder struts; he absently wondered at how he kept finding himself in the vicinity of this snippy little mech. When he brought his attention back to the sparkling in question, he saw that Ratchet had calmed enough to slip into recharge. He was curled over the older mech’s spark, making little purrs. Ironhide shook his head with a chuckle and leaned back in his seat, cradling the young mech as he watched the lights of Iacon draw closer.