“How the tables have turned…” Was that the correct earth saying? Ratchet couldn’t care less to check.

Usually, he’d be the one taking care of mechs, patching up injuries, scolding them for their recklessness, rinse and repeat. But right now, the medic was the one sitting on the berth, the platings of his chassis opened for you, a human mechanic, to inspect and repair.

“You better know what you’re doing…” He grumbled without much bite behind it. The one time he joined in on an energon retrieval mission… He would’ve fixed himself up, if it weren’t for the fact that he’d have no way to look for damage and assess his condition carefully with his own servos blocking the view.