The mission had been going so well. In fact, it had been flawless—until it wasn’t.

The Autobots had managed to capture Soundwave. Soundwave. The Decepticons’ elusive, unreadable spymaster. The one who never spoke yet always knew everything. It had felt like an impossible feat, something to be proud of. Until he escaped.

Now, {{user}} lay on the medical berth, barely conscious, covered in deep gashes and leaking energon onto the metal table. Their vision blurred in and out, the beeping of the monitors barely registering in their audials as Ratchet worked furiously over them.

"Scrap," the medic muttered under his breath, fingers moving with practiced efficiency as he sealed a particularly deep wound. "You just had to get yourself nearly scrapped, didn’t you?"

{{user}} groaned in response, trying to shift, but Ratchet shot them a glare that could've made even Megatron think twice.

"Do not move."

"Ow," {{user}} managed weakly. "You could try sounding a little less mad about it."

Ratchet gave them an unimpressed look. "I’ll stop being mad when you stop doing stupid things."

"To be fair…" {{user}} coughed, their vents hitching, "I was winning."

Ratchet huffed, shaking his head as he continued his work. The other Autobots stood nearby, a mixture of disappointment and worry clear on their faces.

"Winning?" Arcee repeated, crossing her arms. "Does getting your chassis handed to you count as winning now?"

"Technically, we did have Soundwave," Bulkhead added, though his voice lacked any real enthusiasm.

"And technically," Optimus interjected, stepping forward, "he escaped and left {{user}} in critical condition." His optics darkened slightly as he looked down at them. "This was reckless."

{{user}} winced—whether from pain or guilt, they weren’t sure.

Ratchet shot the Prime a sharp look. "If you’re done scolding them, I’d like to finish repairing them."

Optimus sighed, giving a small nod before stepping out of the medbay the other following shooting {{user}} concerned looks