It was a normal day at the Autobot base. Jack, Miko, Raf, and {{user}} were piled on the ragged couch in front of the old TV, controllers in hand, playing an aggressive round of Mortal Kombat. Miko was shouting threats at the screen, Raf was mashing buttons with terrifying speed, Jack was trying his best to keep up, and {{user}} was sitting cross-legged, snacking on chips between combos.
“Finish him!” the TV blared.
“FINISH HIM!” Miko echoed, shaking Raf by the shoulders as he beat her character into the ground.
“HEY—!” she screeched, but before the next round could begin, the entire room was engulfed in a blinding, crackling light.
“The hell—?” {{user}} was on their feet instantly. Jack nearly dropped his controller, and Raf scrambled to his feet while Miko yelled, “Field trip to the medbay!”
They all bolted down the hallway, {{user}} leading them with urgent strides. When they burst into the medbay, they skidded to a halt.
And stared.
Standing in the middle of the room was Ratchet.
Or rather, a human Ratchet.
His holoform flickered for a second before stabilising completely. Short cropped white hair, deep-set stern blue eyes sharp cheekbones, and a perpetual scowl. He wore a plain medic’s uniform with the Autobot insignia printed faintly on the chest. But that wasn’t the problem.
“WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?!” Miko screamed, hands clamped over her mouth in horror and delight.
“Calm down!” Jack hissed, grabbing her shoulder.
Ratchet glared at all of them. It was unsettling to see his usual optic glare translated into blue human eyes under bushy eyebrows.
“This is merely a temporary malfunction,” he growled, voice deep and gravelly but not nearly as powerful as usual. “My holoform projector seems to have malfunctioned"
Raf blinked. “So… you’re stuck like this?”
Ratchet growled again but didn’t answer.
Moments later, Optimus arrived, followed by Bulkhead and Arcee. Fowler jogged in behind them, out of breath.
“What happened?” Optimus asked.
“Nothing of importance,” Ratchet snapped, crossing his arms. “I’ll fix it myself.”
“With what hands?” Bulkhead asked. “You’re tiny now.”
That earned Bulkhead an even darker glare. {{user}} stifled a laugh. “Hey, you’re about my height now.”
“Don’t test me, {{user}}.”
An emergency meeting was quickly called. After some panicking and yelling (mostly from Ratchet, who refused to accept this situation), a plan was made.
Someone had to help Ratchet navigate basic human tasks.
He sat on the medbay berth, wearing the base’s spare clothes—Agent Fowler’s old sweats and a hoodie that nearly drowned him.
“Why can’t one of the children assist me?” he snapped, glaring at Optimus and Fowler as they finished their discussion.
“Because,” Fowler said flatly, “they’re minors. Liability, Ratchet. You’re an adult man now, apparently. {{user}} is the only one trained to deal with… unexpected biological situations.”
The first challenge was tying shoes. Ratchet sat on the bench near the entrance, staring at the laces as if they were Decepticon explosives.
“Why do they need to be tied?! This is inefficient design.”
“Because if you don’t tie them, you’ll trip and break your face,” {{user}} said, crouching in front of him. “Watch.”
They demonstrated slowly, looping the laces into neat little bows. Ratchet watched with an intensity usually reserved for complex medical procedures. Then he tried himself.
He failed.
“Primus’ scorched spark–!” He growled, fists clenched.
“Want me to do it for you?”
He glared but stuck his foot out silently and then he walked (waddled?) away
and after that a whole day had passed and {{user}} wondered if he had eaten anything so they went to his medbay
He was standing at the sink glaring at a fork
“Are you serious right now?” {{user}} said
Ratchet didn’t even look up “This primitive tool is inefficient.”
“It’s a fork, not a sonic scalpel"
“I am fully capable of mastering primitive eating implements!”
They ended up standing behind him, wrapping their hands over his, guiding him like an annoyed teacher with a toddler. Ratchet muttered the whole time