Chapter Text
"You understand the rules we have set, correct?"
"Yes," First Aid confirmed, his gaze locked firmly onto Scrapper as Hook, Scrapper and Soundwave, further in the back, hovered around First Aid.
The ambulance was seated at the main communications console of the Victory, digits poised over the display controls. His determination and belief in himself was clear to Hook, as much as he tried to find a way this would lead into First Aid revealing the Victory's to the Protectobots.
First Aid had stood firm on his dislike for the tactics of war as he had discussed the desire to contact his team with Hook and later Scrapper. It had taken some convincing from both medics for Scrapper to finally approach Soundwave with First Aid's plan. Hook had expected immediate refusal, if not Soundwave reporting the two Constructicons for being traitors. Soundwave often ignored reason for the sake of his loyalty to Megatron — case in point, Hook's arguments against creating the Stunticons the way they did. The Decepticons didn't have the best materials for producing new members of their species, but anything natural to Cybertron would have been better than the human vehicles Rumble had stolen for Megatron's plan. Soundwave had promptly reported Hook's "disloyalty" to Megatron after he'd complained openly near the third in command, and the punishment (having to deal with Starscream for five days straight in the medical bay as Hook's "assistant") had driven Hook to near insanity.
So Hook had been shocked when Soundwave returned yesterday and agreed to the plan.
Maybe the cassette carrier saw how desperately the Decepticons needed supplies, and had considered how often Rumble and Frenzy both needed repairs.
Maybe it was more than just that too.
When Hook had asked Scrapper how he'd convinced Soundwave to agree, Scrapper had merely shrugged. Said a dismissive "Soundwave has called in the repayment of a debt he's owed me for millennia", and had left it at that.
Hook didn't prod further. He knew when Scrapper needed his privacy. No matter the fact that Hook's desire to know what had prompted the ever put together Soundwave to have a debt with the crane's best friend was still gnawing at him.
He'd been watching Soundwave hover in the back of the communication hub since he, Scrapper and First Aid had arrived. Soundwave had allowed Scrapper to take charge in setting up the communication hub for First Aid with not even a tilt of his helm to express his emotions. The most Hook had noticed was Soundwave catching the fact Hook was watching him as much as Hook was watching First Aid. The third in command watched him back, visor the same dim level of lighting as it had been the entire time.
Rumble and Frenzy were docked and had been upon their arrival. Ravage was cleaning her paws with her glossa, her optics locked onto First Aid with the same suspicion as Hook felt. They were all trusting that First Aid's pacifism wasn't simply convenient to the Protectobot when he needed it most to be.
"Begin." Soundwave's voice seemed to startle First Aid, who jumped notably in his seat, but turned to nod to Soundwave before the ambulance started fiddling with the communications unit.
Hook moved closer to First Aid, watching the way his digits moved over the communication unit. He waited for First Aid to reveal his lie, his trick, but none came.
First Aid entered the comm code for the Protectobots, leaned close to the microphone, then cleared his vocalizer.
"Protectobot base, this is First Aid. I—"
Static shrieked through the air from the receiver before a cacophony of voices responded to First Aid.
Hook recognized Blades yelling a slew of profanities and threats against the Constructicons, which had the crane glance up at Scrapper, unamused. Scrapper's gaze sharpened slightly and a tiny hitch of his engine was all the hint the wheel loader would give that he did not appreciate the threat.
First Aid said a few things to his team (mostly a slew of greetings and repeated variations of "I promise I'm okay!") before he straightened up and cleared his vocalizer.
Quiet came from the Protectobots' side of the comms.
"I need my medical supplies," First Aid began. He explained his station, working under Hook, and brushed — admittedly delicately — over the supply shortage the Decepticons had, by inferring that they could not keep up with the amount of injuries with the supplies the Victory had.
Hot Spot, who was now the sole voice speaking on the Protectobot side, gave low, contemplative growls and hums as First Aid spoke. When First Aid finally finished, he cleared his vocalizer sharply.
"We would need to agree upon a meeting point that is neutral to both parties," Hot Spot said, in a cool way that almost made Hook visualize the giant fire engine seated, with one leg kicked up, tapping a stylus against his faceguard. He sounded a lot like Scrapper in one of the wheel loader's contemplative moods.
"I have already thought of that," First Aid said, his gaze snapping to the three Decepticons watching him before he returned his focus to the comms. "We should meet someone far from human eyes. Southern Idaho is a fair distance of a drive for both Autobots and Decepticons from their point of base. Its further for us specifically, yes, but it's safe for both parties."
Hook watched as First Aid input some coordinates (not the Victory's he was reassured to see) to be transmitted to the Protectobots. A hum from Hot Spot came moments later, then a firm, "Craters of the Moon? I believe that could work. Who will run the supply pick up for you?"
"Scavenger," Scrapper spoke before First Aid could even form the idea to speak.
A growl of surprise escaped from Hot Spot. "Hello, Scrapper. Scavenger sounds suitable. You will send no one else but Scavenger, I presume?"
"Correct."
"Very well. Groove has volunteered to run supply for us in return."
Scrapper looked at Hook.
Hook gave a tight nod.
Groove had been the one to help prevent Blades from damaging Scavenger further, after all. He was a pacifist, and the least likely to decide to shoot Scavenger.
"That is acceptable," Scrapper said, before he stepped back from the comms unit, allowing First Aid it alone.
Who looked at Scrapper before he tapped the comms unit. "I think you should ask if Beachcomber will help as well. He can assist with transportation and I trust he will not speak of our dealings with the Decepticons."
Hook crossed his arms as silence met First Aid's suggestion. First Aid had discussed his choices for transport (Groove and Beachcomber, but no one else) with Scrapper and Hook beforehand, so Hook knew of the addition. It wasn't one he could disagree with either. Two pacifists weren't likely to attack Scavenger. Not that Scavenger wasn't capable of defending himself, but the Constructicons loathed going anywhere alone, especially with the Autobots around. He and his best friend were trusting First Aid on his word that neither Autobot would damage or attack Scavenger.
"I will ask him if he'd be open to a private discussion," this time a different voice spoke up, not Hot Spot.
He saw First Aid brighten and heard him whisper an affectionate "hey there, Groove" at the response.
Hook heard Groove respond back with a nonchalant response while the crane downloaded the voice print of Groove into his recognition matrix. He allowed First Aid to catch up with Groove for a bit before he cleared his vocalizer.
First Aid jumped. He looked up at Hook, hurt in his visor, then turned to the comms. "I need you to stop attacking the Constructicons. They haven't hurt me. They're being very fair and gentle with me, all things considered. I don't want to repair them again because of my own brothers. Please."
Silence.
But for some muffled growling that sounded like Blades, before Hot Spot's voice returned. "Understood. We hope you can return to us soon."
"I do too," First Aid whispered, just loud enough for Hook to hear him.
He glanced away, spark tightening in his chest plate. None of them wanted First Aid where he was. But returning him to the Protectobots without Megatron's approval would result in the Constructicons being punished.
So First Aid would stay, until Megatron decided he wasn't needed.
"When do you need the first shipment?" Hot Spot's voice barely registered in Hook's audial receptors with the torrent of thoughts racing through his helm.
"As soon as possible, please?" First Aid's voice trembled, though Hook couldn't reason why.
"Hey…" Groove's voice again. "We love you, alright? I know we can't feel you in the bond, but we're just glad to hear from you."
A tiny chuckle escaped from First Aid. "I know. I miss you."
A chorus of comments from the Protectobots flooded the comms, before Soundwave made a very clear sound from his tape deck.
"I need to go," First Aid promptly stated, the sorrow in his tone even clear to Hook.
"We will send Groove, and Beachcomber if he agrees, to the meeting site in two days," Hot Spot's deep, warm rumble softened, the sound of his engine purring clear even through the comms receiver. "Stay safe, little brother. Please."
First Aid glanced up at Hook before he turned back to the comms, and said, very warmly, "I will be fine. I've got it handled."
Something else was whispered from the Protectobots' side of the comms, before First Aid ended the call and stood up. He turned to Hook, gaze hard to read with how utterly rigid his entire frame was, then dipped his helm.
"Thank you for allowing me to contact my team."
"It was not for your benefit," Hook sneered.
First Aid stared at him. Then he shook his helm and his shoulders sank. "I'm ready to return to the medical bay."
Hook grumbled to himself, gave Scrapper and Soundwave both curt nods, then headed back towards the medical bay. First Aid followed behind him quietly.
At least verbally, he was silent.
His field, on the other servo, was turbulent.
Clashing energy struck Hook, flashes of hurt, of mourning loss, of fear and of anticipation. The crane turned his helm just enough to look down at the ambulance. His shoulders were still slumped and his pedes drug slightly as he walked behind Hook.
Hook had never been separated from his gestalt for long. The most time he was separated usually was a worksite project where at least one of his team was around. He wondered what it was like to be separated for multiple weeks from one's gestalt.
First Aid looked unwell, worse than he had before contacting his team.
"I don't need your help in the medical bay," Hook growled, "take a break until we get that shipment."
A sound of static, and confusion from First Aid's field, was the ambulance's response. But then he felt First Aid's servo brush his arm and heard him whisper a tiny, "Thank you, Hook."
Scavenger's excited voice droned on inside the gestalt bond as Hook, alongside First Aid, sorted through the first box of medical supplies the Protectobots had given them. The excavator was endlessly intrigued by the two Autobots, Groove and Beachcomber, who had met him for the supply drop.
::. Enough, Scavenger, .:: Scrapper finally said, cutting through another long winded Scavenger ramble about how Beachcomber and he had "seen a neat bit of lava rock and had examined it together" sharply.
An embarrassed apology came from Scavenger before quiet reigned once more in the gestalt bond.
A light laugh from his side pulled Hook to where First Aid was hiding his laugh behind a large stack of medical mesh. Catching Hook's gaze on him, the ambulance relented and met Hook's gaze, where the crane was met by warmth from First Aid's visor. Even with First Aid's faceguard up, Hook could tell he was smiling.
"You looked like you caught a whiff of rusted, rotting plating right then. What's going on?"
Hook rolled his optics behind his visor, but felt his mouth twitch with a smile involuntarily. "Scavenger cannot stop singing the praises of Groove and Beachcomber. Apparently they were distracted by lava rocks, and that is why they were so late to return the supply shipment. Unbelievable."
"Is that bad?" There was still that hint of humor in First Aid's tone as he questioned Hook, enough so that Hook stopped his work — sorting out different medical threadings that were used to stitch damaged plating together — temporarily to look at First Aid.
"Not exactly, no," Hook admitted grudgingly.
Scavenger was rarely happy. (Much like how Hook was rarely happy, or Scrapper was rarely happy. Alright, no Constructicon was happy). To hear and feel his brother's excitement and genuine joy meant more to Hook than he liked to express, especially to Scavenger himself. Hook's brothers teased him about his ego, but let Scavenger know you liked something of his and he'd never shut up.
A servo touched his arm.
Hook's gaze fell onto First Aid, where the ambulance was leaning into him, his right servo wrapped around Hook's wrist, visor hauntingly clear in its focus. Hook looked away, a strange warmth cycling through his frame as he returned to organizing the medical thread.
"Let him have this," First Aid whispered.
Hook vented, his shoulders slumping momentarily, but he nodded nonetheless. "If it keeps him out of the medical bay, then I will accept his blathering."
No need to let First Aid see that Hook was happy for Scavenger.
That would be as baseless an accusation as when First Aid had suggested he cared about every single one of his obnoxious, irritating, processor breaking patients. First Aid was thinking too Autobot for the crane.
(Though he was right. Of course Hook cared. How could he not?)
"Get back to work. I do not condone gossip hour," Hook growled when he felt First Aid's field softly brush over his plating. It was too comforting and soft for his tastes. They had work to do.
Blasted ambulance.
The words on the datapad blurred into each other the longer Hook stared at it.
The supply roster had become a blur after eight straight boxes of supplies. Even First Aid was flagging, as he continued to store supplies into the once empty cabinets. Hook hadn't expected to see how much the Protectobots had given them. Scavenger had made note of how hard it was transporting eight boxes, but Hook hadn't thought all eight boxes would be packed full.
Not that he was—
Heavy pedes stomped into the medical bay, accompanied by growling he well knew by now.
"Onslaught, what brings you here?" Hook vented, without even looking over his shoulder at Onslaught as he saved the progress he'd made on the supply list, then looked up at the leader of the Combaticons.
Onslaught was looming over Hook, red visor blazing, cannons smoking ever so slightly, and his shoulders were so rigid, Hook could have balanced a tray of full energon cubes on them without fear of them spilling.
It was clear he wasn't injured, so Hook could not fathom why Onslaught was bothering him.
Didn't he get enough Constructicon time with Scrapper?
"I need to speak to you."
Hook blinked, then turned back to his work. Even if the words on the datapad screen still were blurring over each other. "You already are, aren't you?"
Hook felt Onslaught's rage in the heat that radiated off the other's plating, seconds before he felt Onslaught's servo land heavily on his shoulder.
Unamused, Hook paused his work and looked up to Onslaught, optic ridge raised behind his visor. "What."
Onslaught's gaze turned frostily towards First Aid before he turned back to Hook. "As I said, I have cause to speak to you. You and Scrapper. Alone."
Hook raised an optic ridge archly. He said nothing for a time, gaze inscrutable the longer he made Onslaught wait. Perhaps part of him enjoyed seeing the ever in control Onslaught lose his patience. Perhaps part of him was annoyed at Onslaught wanting, always, to speak with Scrapper.
"Very well."
Onslaught let out a sigh of relief.
"Finish the reports," Hook said as he turned his helm to First Aid, who perked up at the focus on himself, "and then restock the battlefield medical kits."
A nod was First Aid's sole response as Hook stood up languidly.
He could take his time.
Push Onslaught's patience ever so closer to the edge.
The crane stretched, exaggerating it as he felt his hips pop from sitting for so long. He worked the knots out of his shoulders, swiveled his crane mount and boom, then finally looked to Onslaught.
"Lead the way," Hook drawled with a gesture towards the door out of the medical bay.
Onslaught stared Hook down, clearly meaning to intimidate him, but Hook simply met Onslaught's gaze coolly. The Combaticon eventually relented, turning his helm away with a frustrated sound before he stalked out of the medical bay.
"I will be back, message me if you need assistance with anyone or anything," Hook said with a dismissive wave to First Aid.
He heard a small engine rev in answer, and the continued sound of busy work. At least First Aid wasn't one for gossip, and seemed to enjoy busy servos.
Much like Hook.
Hook's engine let out an involuntary purr at that thought.
It was loud enough to have Onslaught gawk at him.
Mortified, Hook looked at Onslaught with a bored expression, challenging him to say anything.
Onslaught didn't, until they reached a door that Hook well knew led to Onslaught's private office. There, Onslaught knocked on the door, said a quiet "coming in," and then held the door open for Hook.
Hook bowed his helm in Onslaught's direction as he stepped inside — and saw Scrapper, pacing back and forth in front of Onslaught's desk.
::. You came! .:: Scrapper sounded relieved as he hurried up to Hook, large servos patting him on the shoulders and over his arm tires affectionately as Onslaught closed the door behind them.
Hook didn't respond to Scrapper but for a raised look that had Scrapper shake his helm, before he released his hold on Hook and stepped back. Onslaught took that chance to walk between the two and to his side of the desk, where Hook spotted two chairs seated close together, while two more sat on the opposite side of the desk. A fifth was scattered in the back of the room, broken and splintered as if a very large tank had crushed it.
"Brawl," Onslaught confirmed as he sat down in one of the two chairs on his side of the desk, then he gestured to the chair across the desk from Onslaught. "Sit. Please."
It was the please that had Hook double take. He glanced to Scrapper as the wheel loader continued to stand near him, and it was then that he saw Scrapper was upset.
No.
Not upset.
Scared.
Now deeply uncertain, Hook swallowed, then sat down across from Onslaught.
The Combaticon's haughtiness seemed to have left him the very second he sat down, for Hook could now see his entire frame slumped. His field seemed weak, tired, to a degree. Anger bristled off him still, in boiling waves of heat Hook could see from Onslaught's vents. And his visor…
It was dark with exhaustion. With what seemed to be a clear distance.
"Onslaught?" Hook quiered slowly as he watched Scrapper approach the desk and—
Scrapper settled into the chair beside Onslaught. Not next to Hook.
Frustration and jealousy shot through Hook as he looked at Scrapper. His best friend paid little mind to Hook as he moved a servo to Onslaught's plating.
The Combaticon let out a deep exhale of air through his vents at Scrapper's touch. Then Hook watched, horrified, as Scrapper's servo moved down beneath the table. Likely to rest over Onslaught's ample thigh, judging by the wheel loader's position and the way Onslaught's anger seemed to dissipate somewhat at the touch.
"How long have you two been seeing each other?" Hook asked, tone barbed in a way that only Scrapper could catch.
A shocked, saddened look from Scrapper was shot Hook's way, but it was one he ignored completely.
"Since Megatron assigned us both to work on the repair and reorganization of the brig," Scrapper answered, his gaze searching — for understanding, Hook believed.
Hook gaped.
That had been five months ago. Only a month or so after the Combaticons had been brought back online by Starscream.
Horrified, Hook glared between them both, then let out a disbelieving growl. "Does Megatron know?"
"No," Onslaught finally answered, his expression hard to read even with his faceguard lowered.
Hook let out a disbelieving snort.
Not yet, more like!
Angry, and aware that his anger was protective, Hook looked around the private office of Onslaught's for any potential bugs or spying cassettes. Finding none, Hook glared at both gestalt leaders.
"You both know the laws of fraternizing within the faction! Especially two as highly ranked as you both are!"
Hook hated the stress in his voice. It was too vulnerable. Too weak, especially for Onslaught to hear.
They were fools! Hook worked at his jaw, before he stood, anger overtaking his thoughts. He jabbed a digit at Onslaught, denta bared in a venomous snarl.
"If you get my brother in trouble because of your infatuation with him, I will kill you. Is this why you asked me to speak to you?" Hook spat, crane hook and cable whirring as his anger bristled out from his protoform and spark and into his entire outer plating. "I have more important matters to tend to than two love struck idiots—"
"Hook." Scrapper's glare and snarl shattered Hook's anger like a drill going through ice.
Scrapper's expression made it worse. It wasn't simply one of Scrapper's frustrated glares, no, this one was a protective, furious glare that smoldered all the way into his plating. It made him feel sick to have Scrapper angry at him.
He lowered his helm and sat back down, unable to even look at Scrapper after his reprimand. Hook restrained the urge to fidget with his servos as he heard Onslaught's vents cycle, and felt the air in the room turn cold and damp.
"I have a favor to ask of you," Onslaught began, his prideful tone entirely absent. Hook looked up, helm tilted as he recognized the strain in Onslaught's tone as desperation. "I need you to examine my team and I for—" Onslaught winced, servo flying to the bridge of his nose, while he took in slow, methodical breaths of air through his vents.
Scrapper leaned close to Onslaught, hushed voice whispering something to him Hook couldn't catch. But he did catch the way Scrapper's servo moved to brush under Onslaught's chin as he spoke.
It made Hook reel back.
Onslaught's digits dug into his faceplate as Scrapper stroked his faceplate, the gentleness in his touch the same but different from what Scrapper would give to Hook and the other Constructicons. It was caring. Vulnerable.
He truly liked Onslaught, didn't he…
Hook didn't know what to think of that.
He knew he should be happy for Scrapper, to want to see his brother finding trusted company in someone else, but it was Scrapper. Hook's best friend. The only person who tried to understand and listen to Hook. Scrapper already had enough responsibilities as the leader of the Constructicons. They needed him.
Scrapper seemed to pick up on Hook's distress as he turned his helm to look towards the crane. "What Onslaught is trying to explain is that he thinks he and his team have some kind of coding bug wrong with them. He gets like this whenever he has attempted to discuss it with me. I believe it is something like the Dominator Discs—"
Hook flinched.
Loudly.
His hook snapped so tightly against the spool that a sharp metallic clang rang through the otherwise silent office. His digits curled into fists. His vents opened and drew in large gusts of cool air.
"No."
How.
Hook shook his helm.
Megatron had destroyed the Dominator Discs.
Had promised the Constructicons they would never have anything similar touch them again. That the Autobots would never control the will of any of his faction again. The Autobots had hardly even encountered the Combaticons closely enough to use anything like the Dominator Discs on them, had they?
"Not—" Onslaught interjected, his voice oddly pained as he held his helm with both servos and took shallow, rapid vents, "—the Autobots. Meg—"
Onslaught's visor shorted out and he slumped face first onto his desk.
Hook scrambled to his pedes as Scrapper grabbed Onslaught's shoulder and one cannon and shook him, desperate worry in his voice as he called Onslaught's name. Hook pulled out his medscanner, though its feedback came back negative.
The scanner couldn't pick up on anything wrong with Onslaught. Even multiple scans read out the same negative.
But the Combaticon's frame was seizing, and energon bubbled out from his mouth in foamy, pink smears.
Scrapper looked up at Hook, the fear in his visor poignant.
"First Aid!" Hook barked over their comms as he signaled for Scrapper to help him pick up the large Combaticon. "Get a berth ready."
"Understood."
It took Scrapper and Hook not much time to transport Onslaught to the medical bay, but the decline in Onslaught's state was rapid. Where only small trickles of energon had been foaming from his mouth when he'd first collapsed, now energon was boiling out of his mouth and he was thrashing and screaming, all the while Onslaught's servos did not move from his helm.
Scrapper and First Aid helped Hook get Onslaught hooked up to energon lines and monitors as quickly as they could. Hook found tools handed to him by First Aid before he even asked for him, and a stack of supplies at his side as Hook rapidly cleansed his servos.
Then turned to Scrapper.
Who looked positively shaken as he stared at Onslaught's convulsing frame.
"Scrapper."
Hook's brother looked up at him, gaze distant, expression darkly pained.
"Don't let anyone in here," Hook ordered.
Scrapper's visor glinted, then he straightened. Purpose filled the wheel loader as he turned his back, still shakily, on Onslaught and stalked to the medical bay entrance.
Hook looked to First Aid, all trace of exhaustion gone from both of them.
First Aid's determined gaze met his, bright blue fire in his visor.
Hook didn't hesitate a second longer.
Hours passed as Hook and First Aid opened Onslaught up, searching for the source of the sudden energon bleed, while staunching the rapid energon loss he was suffering from multiple burst lines. Hook knew none of them were the source, but merely a byproduct of the source of the initial bleed. It was First Aid who was the one who spotted the source, though his horrified whisper of Hook's name made the crane — currently patching up multiple bursting energon lines — move from his work to where First Aid was staring at Onslaught's exposed processor.
The hardware around his processor's cerebellum was blackened, as if something had short circuited within it and burst the processor's many fuel lines.
"What could have done this?" First Aid asked Hook, his fear palpable as Hook slowly examined Onslaught's cerebellum with two digits.
Static leaped from the damaged cerebellum to Hook's digits, shocking him with more force than he expected. It was…
"See what you can do to repair his cerebellum," Hook demanded, "I need to look into his coding. He was mentioning that there may have been tampering in his coding before he collapsed."
First Aid nodded and went right to work, his touch expert and gentle.
Hook watched First Aid temporarily before he pulled open Onslaught's medical cable and port, removed his own from Hook's medical panel, then plugged into Onslaught.
He was met by a rush of dead noise.
Static, and faint synapses danced against Hook as he pieced together Onslaught's coding.
It was a maelstrom of incomprehensible mesh. Hook found parts that made sense — connections for the combiner coding and gestalt bond — but everything was jumbled. As if he'd been put together haphazardly and destructively.
But he had, hadn't he?
Starscream had thrown the Combaticons into rusted hulking shells of human machines. Megatron and Shockwave had… done something to the Combaticons after the fight on Cybertron. What had they done? Hook had never been given clearance to use Onslaught's, or the other Combaticons' medical ports, to see into the very base of their being.
Was that for a reason?
Determined now to find out what Megatron was hiding from him, Hook dug.
And dug.
He could hear First Aid working away at Onslaught, could hear the buzz of repair tools and could sense Onslaught's coding slowly stabilizing from First Aid's repair work and Hook's rearrangement of the missile launcher's coding. Fitting synapses where they were supposed to go, replacing burnt out codes with new ones that Hook always had installed into his systems for situations like this.
It was when he had dug through everything that Hook found what he was looking for.
It was foreign.
Unnatural.
Surging and sparking viciously even as Hook used his medical overrides to access the coding.
To—
Loyalty.
Hook felt himself collapse forward onto the berth, his subconscious catching him as he heard Megatron's voice barking commands of loyalty, of punishment, of fear and obedience and an inability to refuse into Onslaught's coding. His shoulders shook as the crane's energy depleted swiftly as he tried to override the coding and snare it out of Onslaught's frame.
He heard two concerned voices calling his name, then felt a large pair of servos grab him by the shoulder and by the boom. Grounding himself to Scrapper's touch, Hook steeled himself, then grabbed the entire strand of coding that did not belong and ripped it out of Onslaught.
The second he did, Onslaught's coding slammed into Hook, throwing him and his medical override out—
Hook staggered, throwing Scrapper off him as he slammed backwards into the wheel loader unintentionally, then stumbled to the nearest disposal receptacle and purged his tank. His servos shook as Hook clung to the side of the berth nearest him.
Loyalty coding.
Loyalty coding.
"Hook?" Scrapper's servos brushed his shoulder, the comforting strength of Scrapper something Hook openly sank into, First Aid's presence not even a thought as Hook let himself collapse into Scrapper.
"It's loyalty coding, Scraps," Hook explained, his voice high and strained, the baritone rumble broken as he looked towards Onslaught.
First Aid was staring at Hook, then back to Onslaught, who was—
They needed to finish repairs.
"Let me go," Hook whispered to Scrapper.
Scrapper hesitated but released him, though he hovered by Hook as he returned to Onslaught's side. The Combaticon leader was still pulled apart, with First Aid still working to repair the cerebellum damage from…
It had to have been a short out that had surged from the loyalty coding.
The loyalty coding was obliterated, at least.
Hook squeezed Scrapper's arm, a comforting gesture for both of them, then moved to stand directly beside First Aid. "I found loyalty coding imprinted into his coding matrices. I presume the coding flared up and caused a short circuit, judging from the burn damage along his cerebellum."
"That would explain why I found a foreign object in his cerebellum," First Aid said, a hint of venom in his voice that Hook would have noted more closely any other time, then gestured to one tray where a tiny black disc sat.
Hook stared at it for a moment, then looked at First Aid. The ambulance didn't even notice as he continued to work on Onslaught's cerebellum. A flash of respect creeped up onto Hook as he helped First Aid, the two exchanging tools, supplies and hardly a word between them until the repairs were finally complete.
Scrapper hovered nearby as Hook and First Aid placed Onslaught's armor back over his protoform, patching him up with methodical servos until there was not a trace of their work left on Onslaught's frame. Hook turned to his brother, noting the fear in his gaze and the way Scrapper's legs shook where he stood.
"Stay with him," Hook whispered, "he will need company when he wakes."
Gratefulness shot through the bond before Scrapper climbed up onto the berth beside Onslaught, minding the monitor leads and the energon fuel lines he was still attached to, and nestled up against the Combaticon's side.
A trembling sigh from First Aid drew Hook's gaze down to the ambulance.
He was shaking.
His visor was dull—
First Aid collapsed.
Hook caught him without thinking, the ambulance's weight insignificant to the crane as he slowly picked First Aid up and carried him, one arm under First Aid's back and the other under his knees. The crane carried First Aid to his office and gently set him down on Hook's private office berth.
"You did well," Hook whispered to First Aid as he slumped to the ground, leaned his back against the berth and let his optics slip closed.