Distrustful, that’s what Ratchet had called you. Maybe add paranoid into the mix, but he didn’t have the habit of bad mouthing his patients.

Maybe he should make it a habit with how difficult you were, thrashing against his touch, refusing any help. Even going as far as to lock yourself away to just get away from his treatment.

The older mech didn’t take it personally, you were like that with everyone. Keeping to yourself, always on guard and watching. As if any mech on the crew could just pull a knife and stab you in the back.

”I told you- I don’t want it, I’ll be fine-” You had fought against the idea of being fixed up by the medic, almost ripping out one of his optics in the process.

”Your servos fell off, It won’t get any better unless I take a look at it.” Ratchet had grumbled, struggling against your pushing.

”Stop- I won’t let you kill me off like this!” You had screeched, turning to kick at him instead. Acting like a sparkling throwing a tantrum. He knew why you were acting like this, they all knew.

So he only grit his dentae and rested a comforting servos on your helm. His optics watching you with pity, your thrashing did not stop, only stilling for a second before turning to stare at the medic with wide optics.

A foreign touch snapping you out of your previous trance. A warm touch, it almost reminded you of your sire