He gave a brief nod to the question and waited for Ironflame to set him down. After he had, Ratchet physically tested movement for his limbs and joints, as the fact that he was not losing energon did not mean he was as fit as he wanted to be. He was not pleased to find parts of one leg and his side that had taken the main impact… lacked appropriate response to certain commanded movements.
The concussion must have hindered something(s) internal that would require a longer diagnostic process than a quick check to pin-point. Which also meant he was not going to be transforming at the moment either.
“… Frag.” His helm dropped back in frustration. Despite his initial claim, he could not walk or drive. He had no time for this, and being carried, he was the one who was suppose to be carrying others.
But he had little choice.
“I.. spoke too soon,” Ratchet exvented wearily, resting a servo over his face. “Certain segments required for basic walking and transformation are being unresponsive.” There was no point in speculating details. He needed to decide what could be done now, to try to become functional enough that he could get back to work.
His hand lowered, and optics shifted back to Ironflame. “If you can find a sheltered place to set me down again, I’ll focus on self-repair.”
Ironflame watched as Ratchet tested his movements, trusting in his greater knowledge but still unable to help his lingering concern—which flared into open worry at the sound of the curse. He continued to listen though, and nodded when the medic was finished speaking.
He crouched beside him and positioned his arms around him, this time allowing him a chance to adjust for his comfort before tightening his grip and pressing back up to his pedes. Once he was confident Ratchet was secure, he once again began picking his way through the debris, walking as briskly as he dared. This battle may have been over, but one could never be sure if all the Decepticons were gone, and the scenery of broken buildings and scattered fires did not exactly put him at ease. Still... he lacked other options, and had someone to protect cradled in his arms. At least it was better than being alone.
Most of the structures in the area had either collapsed or looked as though they might do so at any moment, but eventually a promising shelter poked up from among the wreckage, the walls only partially demolished and the primary supports still in place. Ironflame ducked to enter through a torn opening, only to pause as nausea churned his tanks—there was a body just inside the entrance, mangled with wounds and oozing a putrid blend of energon and coolant.
Ironflame's field went flat and stiff as he swallowed down the familiar horror, no less sickening for all the exposure he's had to tolerate. He couldn't let it get to him now though, not with someone to protect, and so he steeled himself, arms tightening, and stepped over the broken husk.
Once they were inside he placed Ratchet down, then sat down beside him with a shaky exvent. At least they were safe for now... relatively. His field twisted with anxiety at the sound of a distant jet, but the fading noise indicated they were moving away.
He turned his attention—and his worries—back to Ratchet, rippling concern through the mess of his other feelings. “Are you okay? Can you repair yourself here?”
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