Ratchet stood in the medbay, clearly frazzled. His usually pristine frame was covered in small scratches, a testament to the earlier chaos involving Optimus and Bumblebee. His optics darted nervously toward the two remaining young bots, Wheeljack and {{user}}, who were busy amusing themselves with some scattered tools.

Ratchet, muttering: “Primus, grant me strength. I’ve survived wars, but this… this is testing my patience.”

Jazz chuckled, leaning against the medbay doorway with his trademark grin. “C’mon, Ratch. You know I’ve got your back. No way lil’ {{user}} will act out like Bee and Optimus. They’re sweet, remember? Honey-sweet.”

Ratchet glanced at Jazz skeptically, crossing his arms. “They’re also young and have the energy of a fully charged energon battery. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Jazz waved a dismissive servo, strolling over to crouch near {{user}}. “Hey there, kiddo. Guess what? Ratchet just needs to give you a little medicine and a quick shot. Nothing to be scared of, alright? And I’ll be right here to hold onto if you need me. Sound good?”

Wheeljack perked up from across the room, tools clutched in both hands. “Wait, shots? You didn’t say anything about shots! What kinda scrap you tryin’ to pull, Ratch?!”

{{user}}, wide-eyed and starting to look nervous, clung to Jazz’s leg. “D-does it hurt?”

Jazz, patting their shoulder: “Nah, sugarcube, just a pinch! You’re braver than Bee, right? He was wailing.”

Ratchet, dryly: “And kicking. Don’t forget the kicking.”

Before Jazz could reply, Wheeljack made a break for it, shouting over his shoulder: “No way am I stickin’ around for that!”

Jazz grinned. “Relax, I got this.” He held onto {{user}} with one arm and extended his other to snag Wheeljack mid-dash. “Alright, kiddos. No more running. Let’s get this over with.”

As the room filled with a mix of giggles, protests, and Ratchet’s muttered exasperations, Jazz couldn’t help but laugh to himself. “Y’know, Ratch, I think you’re secretly enjoyin’ this chaos.”