Redwing hadn’t left his medbay in three cycles.

Not since Wheezingarrow’s vitals fell flat.

Not since they took his frame from his trembling servos.

The medberth, the same one that once held Wheezingarrow’s dying figure, was still drenched with energon. By now it had dried, begun to flake, and it stank of battery acid as it began to oxidize. Redwing couldn’t bring himself to clean it.

Not when he can still see Wheezingarrow’s dumb smiling face, clear as day as if he wasn’t spewing up his own energon. As if his ventilations weren’t actively shutting down. As if he wasn’t dying right in front of him. To Wheezingarrow it seemed like… like just another harmless joke.

“You really need to find a better assistant, Red…” The seeker had taken his namesake, voice box choked with energon causing his words to sound wheezy and garbled. “One who doesn’t bleed all over your floor.”

But…

But despite his situation.

Wheezingarrow was laughing.

Like Redwing had just told him turbofoxes lay eggs. And he laughed even when his optics dimmed, flickering on and offline until they just didn’t come back online. Until his vox could no longer generate sound. Until his systems slowly began to shut down.

Until his spark slowly flickered out.

Redwing doesn’t remember crying. He doesn’t remember dropping to his knees, shaky servos weakly gripping Wheezingarrow’s limp one. He doesn’t remember pressing his helm against the cooling palm, forcing his vox offline to keep himself from begging nonsense.

He doesn’t remember when they finally took his frame from the medbay… he just remembers it becoming empty, cold.

That’s all he knew now, the cold. The only warmth exuded from his frame, cradled against himself in his stool. He hadn’t yet brought his servos from his face and he doesn’t remember putting them there. Everything feels so unreal and as he finally pulls his servos down he half expects Wheezingarrow to come barging in, a tray of energon cubes in one servo as he wrestles his two brats from his side, a bright smile and a laugh in his voice box. The medbay door doesn’t open though, there's no obnoxious cackling and no mischievous snickers… no stupid jokes, no servos against the broad of his wings to ground him.

He’s greeted by the darkness of the medbay, lights dim, barely luminescent. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t lift his helm, optics faintly focused on the glare of the lights against his stained floor.

—————————————————————————

“Have you ever thought about what you're going to do?”

Wheezingarrow paused, optics cycling at the question. “What do you mean, doc?”

Redwing paused, wings flicking downwards as his expression shifted, as though he hadn’t meant to ask the question in such a broad manner. “I mean, I know you didn’t really want to be a medical assistant. You’re only doing this because of Knocks and I, I just thought that maybe you had… I don’t know, an aspiration of some sort?”

The conehead paused, brought his servo to his face and bit down on his digit in thought. “Hmm, well, I suppose I always wanted to see if the Cosmic Carnival was hiring.”

Redwing paused again, cycled his optics, and then he laughed. “No, this is a serious question! Did you ever want to be something other than a medical assistant? That can’t have been your goal from the beginning.”

“I wanted to be with you.” Wheezingarrow answered quickly, perhaps a bit too quick because he hacked and cycled his vox. “You and Knockout, you’re my aspiration. I’m happy being a medical assistant so long as you’re happy being a medic, Red.”

—————————————————————————

Redwing brings his servo back up to his derma, inventing deeply as his optics go unfocused. It makes the glare of the lights look like nebulas against the backdrop of the inky blackness that is space. For a moment it distracts him from the acidic smell wafting its way through the medbay.

—————————————————————————

“Arrow! What in the pits do you think you’re doing?! Running out into..” Redwing didn’t have time to finish scolding him. His optics which were once trained on the conehead’s bent wing and dented leg were now entirely trained on the youngling in Wheezingarrow’s arms.

The poor femme was trembling, helm hidden against the cabling of his neck. Primus, she was terrified and Redwing certainly didn’t blame her.

“You…”

Wheezingarrow choked, his vents rattling with strain, “I went out Dirge and Sandstorm to look for Thrust, I found these two under some rubble near the central spire”

“Wait wait— two?” Redwing questioned immediately before he lurched forward, servo pressing against the glass of Wheezingarrow’s cockpit. One little peak was all it took and Primus above Redwing wanted to cry. “That’s..”

“She can’t be older than a few vorns, and this one can barely read yet, it ain’t right Red. I wouldn’t… I couldn’t just leave them.” Oh, how Redwing wanted to call him a hero and an idiot at the same time.

“Get them on the berth over there, I’ll get some nanite gel.”

Wheezingarrow gave him a smile, one like Redwing had just promised all his dreams would come true.

—————————————————————————

Redwing finally shifts to his pedes, optics still unfocused as he reaches for one of the half empty cubes. He makes a wrong move, accidentally knocking the cube to the floor and it splatters against his pedes with a loud clatter that barely sounds above the ringing in his audials.

He can’t bring himself to move.

—————————————————————————

“I’m telling you Red, you grip that scalpel any harder and it’ll snap in two.” Wheezingarrow teased behind him, his voice gentle, soft, not mocking despite the tease. “Invent a bit, loosen up. You’re starting to steam.”

“I am in active surgery, Arrow.” Redwing exvents harshly, attention focused on properly addressing a burst fuel line. “Meditation can wait.”

“Not mediation, oh Great Scalpel One, just invent a little, you know, breathe. You keep locking up and you’ll be out alongside your patient.” The assistant slides closer, servos carefully petting along the broad of his wing.

Redwing flinched. Not from pain.

Just from startle.

“You are touching me during a procedure.”

“And you’re seething, Red. I’m not gonna let you seize a strut mid-suture again.”

“That happened once.” Redwing argues, refusing to look up from his patient’s open chassis.

“And that’s one too many,” Wheezingarrow chuckled, drawing gentle patterns along the edge of the other’s wing. “Ease up a little bit, or you’ll end up boiling your coolant.”

Redwing finally looked up at him, only briefly. “You’re a terrible assistant.”

“You love me for it.”

Redwing didn’t answer.

—————————————————————————

Redwing doesn’t know how long it took for sound to come back to him. When it does he’s greeted by the hum of lights and the quiet noises of machinery, quietly accompanied by the soft beeps of the medbay console. It takes him longer to realize that the beeps are an incoming call.

He doesn’t answer it. Can’t bring himself to when he sees Avia’s name appear on the center console.

Instead he exvents shakily, optics cycling as they make an attempt to finally focus.