Chapter Text
When they finally made their way across the party, Krok and Drift found Ratchet serving as the reluctant center of attention to a band of raucous Scavengers. Chaos whirled around them. So... just another day in the life. Krok groaned and rolled his optics.
“Drift! It’s about fragging time!” Ratchet huffed. “What the hell is all this scrap?!”
Ratchet used one hand to futilely push Misfire’s face away while Spinister held the other for an impromptu medical exam, carefully flexing each finger. Crankcase grabbed Misfire by the waist and threw all his weight into trying to pry the jet off the irate medic. Grimlock spit out a confused Fulcrum at Ratchet’s feet. When the revived k-class soldier realized where he was, he flushed fiercely and buried his face in his hands. Grimlock rumbled with laughter.
“Your hands are very impressive!” Spin gushed, clearly intrigued. “Did you do the transplant yourself?”
“Yeah...” Ratchet answered distractedly, still struggling with Misfire.
“Woooow!” Spin uttered in awe.
“Primus save me!” Krok muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Why doesn’t anyone know how to act civilized?
“All this, or rather, all these,” Drift grinned, showing the tips of his fangs as he threw is arms wide, “Are the Scavengers!”
“The Scavengers?” Ratchet whispered, bright blue optics flaring. His limbs went limp, allowing Misfire to glom onto his side unhindered. The jet nuzzled Ratchet’s windshield. Crankcase’s grip slipped and he crashed backwards, landing hard on his aft. Spinister continued his medical exam unhindered, manipulating Ratchet’s wrist and humming in approval.
“Yep!” Drift proudly puffed out his chest.
Krok quirked a brow. Drift told his conjunx about them?
“The ones who saved your life? When Star Saber cut you into several pieces with his plasma sword and left you for dead?” Ratchet gaped at the ragtag group surrounding him. He absent-mindedly laid a hand on Misfire’s helm and the jet purred so loudly it rattled his frame.
“Ooooh! Plasma sword...” Spinister paused his fascination with Ratchet’s hands. “That explains why the wounds were so clean.”
“Exactly!” Ratchet turned to face the helicopter surgeon. “The intense heat instantly cauterizes the wounds.”
“That explains why all Pointy’s severed arms and legs were in such good shape too. They were all neatly cut off with no blunt force trauma damage at all.” Spin nodded.
“Makes sense. How did you deal with all the internal circuit damage?” Ratchet asked, easily slipping into a professional conversation with the Scavengers’ unconventional surgeon.
“No one has ever asked me a real doctor question before!” Spin exclaimed, finally releasing Ratchet to gesture with his hands. “All of the relays were scorched shut so I had to reopen each one individually. We didn’t have enough spare parts to replace them all. It took a ton of time, but I didn’t have anything else to do. I took my torch and-”
“Whoa!! Hit the brakes doc-bots!” Crankcase groaned. “I really don’t want to hear all the gory details of reattaching Pointy’s limbs. There’s a reason I never watch you operate.”
“Spoiler alert: It’s because he’s secretly squeamish!” Misfire giggled.
“Shut it, Misfire!”
“Pointy?” A sly smile curled across Ratchet’s face. “I don’t recall that detail from when you told me this story.”
“Pointy! You told your conjunx about us?! That’s so sweet!!” Misfire cooed.
Drift grinned sheepishly, cheeks barely glowing the softest pink.
“It’s his Scavengers’ name.” Fulcrum piped up. “Only other Scavengers can call him by it.”
“Ratchet can use it if he wants.” Spin shrugged. “He’s a Scavenger too. Obviously.”
“What?!” Fulcrum yelped. “How?!”
“He’s conjunx with one. That makes him a Scavenger. It’s simple math.” Spin twitched his rotors like he was explaining the most obvious detail ever invented. “Right, Krok?”
Krok stared at them. Since when are there all these rules about who is or isn’t a Scavenger?
“Sounds right to me.” Crankcase folded his arms. Once again, sticking up for Pointy.
“Well then,” Ratchet leaned towards Drift with a fond teasing smile. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends? Pointy!” He purred the nickname in a smooth sonorous rumble.
Drift’s soft blush brightened significantly, the intense pink glow highlighting his crimson facial markings. His vent fans whirled to life. Fulcrum nearly fainted again.
“Ooo! Introductions!” Oblivious to Ratchet’s raw magnetism that had even Krok struggling to not melt on the spot, Misfire leapt up and begged Krok. “Please let me do them! Please! Please! Please!”
“Ask Drift. Ratchet’s his conjunx. Maybe he wants to do it.”
“Can I? Pointy? Pleeeeeease!!” Misfire rounded on Drift
“S-sure...” Drift stammered, still dreamily staring at Ratchet with a lopsided grin plastered on his face. The medic wagged his brow and winked.
“But do the abbreviated ones!” Crankcase chided. “Pointy still owes us a decent drink. One that’s not ten million years old and turned into discarded rocket fuel.”
“Yeah, yeah!” Misfire waved him off. He clapped his hands together and pointed at Crankcase. “You just volunteered to go first!”
“Whatever.” Crankcase huffed.
“The grumpy triggercon with deep blue paintwork the color of a bruised spark is Crankcase. If he seems miserable, it’s because he IS miserable. Don’t let the disagreeable attitude fool you though. He’s a secret softy and got totally lucky by finding the best boyfriend, Cons4eva, our favorite dire wraith.”
Crankcase folded his arms and glared at Misfire.
“You’ve already had a professional conversation with our resident surgeon/accidental philosopher.” Misfire pointed to Spinister. “No one sees the world quite like Spinister.”
“How could they?” Spin cocked his head to one side. “No one else has my optics.”
“Right!” Misfire snickered. “Moving on! Krok here is the stoic yet sensitive strategist that rescued the lot of us and kept us marginally safe throughout most of the war. Hell! We even fought the DJD together and survived with only one casualty! Honestly, I don’t know where we’d be without him. Actually... I do know. And the answer is: probably dead.”
“Misfire... Thank you...” Krok’s optics teared up.
“That’s right! I am Misfire!” He pointed both thumbs at his own chest. “Which, as the name implies, means it’s best for everyone’s health and safety if I don’t interact with high powered firearms!”
Fulcrum shrank down, clinging to the futile hope that Misfire might forget his introduction.
“The jittery K-class soldier with a crush on you as big as his chin is Fulcrum! Unfortunately, he joined after Pointy left us to rejoin the war.”
“Misfire!” Fulcrum hissed, shrinking behind Grimlock. “Shut up!”
“Since he’s an Autobot, you might already know Grimlock.” Misfire pointed up to the gigantic t-rex towering over them. Misfire paused, rubbing his chin as he pondered to himself, “Is it offensive to assume all Autobots know each other??”
“Hi-ya, Ratch!” The dinobot rumbled. He curled his huge head close to his chest so he could reach it with his tiny arms to flash an awkward salute. “It’s good to see you again!”
“Likewise!” Ratchet returned the salute with a smile.
Satisfied that Grimlock and Ratchet did indeed know each other, Misfire shrugged and enthusiastically continued with his abbreviated introductions.
“Other there, canoodling with tall, dark, and handsome, is Doctor DJD herself.” Misfire gestured over his shoulder to the diminutive green bot snuggled in Roller’s lap. “HEY NICKEL!” He yelled. “Say ‘HI’ to Pointy’s conjunx!”
Nickel looked up with a wicked grin. She flipped off Misfire again, using both hands this time. Then she smiled sweetly at Ratchet and cheerfully waved.
“I like her!” Ratchet laughed and waved back.
“Last, but not least, is our newest member: Rodimus!” Misfire pointed to the flashy red speedster movin’ and groovin’ on the dance floor. “Again, he’s an Autobot, so you probably know him.”
Somehow sensing someone talking about him, Rodimus froze and turned their way. Drift laughed and waved him off. Seeing Drift smile satisfied his concern. He winked and resumed dancing with Thunderclash.
“Wait one fragging astrosecond... Rodimus?!” Ratchet narrowed his optics. “How did Rodimus become a Scavenger?!”
“It’s kind of a long story.” Drift rubbed the back of his helm.
“It’s really not.” Spin shrugged. “He asked to join and Krok said ‘yes’.”
“Sounds like Rodimus.” Ratchet rolled his optics.
“If Misfire’s done with his introductions, now it’s my turn.” Drift stood behind Ratchet, still seated on the floor, and placed his hands on his shoulders. “Everyone! I want you all to meet my conjunx, Ratchet!” He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around the medic. His face curled into a mischievous grin, showing the tips of his fangs. He nuzzled Ratchet’s helm. “Someone I love very much despite his many, many obvious flaws.”
“What a glowing introduction.” Ratchet grumbled and rolled his optics but a soft blush lit his cheeks. He reached up and flicked Drift’s finial.
“I thought it was nice.” Spin chimed in.
“Yeah, I guess.” Ratchet huffed while Drift giggled. “What’s really nice is meeting all of you. I owe you all a great debt of gratitude.”
“Debt?” Spin cocked his head to one side. “What for? Did you lose a bet or something?”
“No. It means ‘thank you’.” Ratchet smiled with patient kindness. “Thank you for looking after someone I love very much. Especially because I know what a tremendous pain in the aft he can be.”
“Hey!!” Drift nudged him. “That’s not true!”
“Sorry, Pointy...” Crankcase rubbed a few old scars on his neck cables. “I think I have to agree with Ratchet on this one.”
“Oops.” Drift canted his finials back and winced. “Sorry about that.”
Misfire burst into laughter.
“You don’t have to thank us, but you are more than welcome.” Krok held out his hand to Ratchet. When the medic shook it, grip firm and warm, Krok smiled. “I think I speak for everyone when I say, we are all very happy to meet you.”
“AWW YEAH!!” Misfire whooped. “Today is the best!! We found one old member, Pointy, that’s you! And gained two new members, Pointy’s amica and his conjunx!”
“Sounds like a real cause for celebration.” Crankcase tapped his chin. “If only someone owed us a proper drink... like something that was actually good and not old garbage scraped off a battlefield...”
“What exactly have you been drinking?” Ratchet narrowed his optics.
“N- nothing!” Fulcrum stammered.
“Nothing good.” Crankcase grumbled.
“Alright, alright already!” Drift laughed. “I’ll work my way through the crowd to the bar and get the best concoctions that Swerve has to offer!”
“Hold on, Pointy!” Misfire grabbed Drift’s arm. “Crowds are no problem for a dinobot! Hey, Grim! Do you mind?”
“Not at all!” The T-rex flashed a jagged saurian grin. He lowered his massive neck. “All aboard!”
Misfire clumsily clamored up onto the dinobot’s back. Once he was situated, he reached out to Drift.
“Come on! Let’s make a run to the bar in style!”
“Really?! I get to ride a dinosaur?!” Drift’s crystal blue optics sparkled.
“You bet!” Grimlock rumbled. “But then you’ll owe me a drink too. I want something ridiculously sweet and fruity! I’ll have you know that I’m a bit of sangria connoisseur and I have expensive taste!”
“Damn, Grim!” Misfire exclaimed.
“Not a problem! I’ll get you whatever you want!” Drift grinned, gracefully vaulting up onto Grimlock’s back behind Misfire. He brandished one of his many swords. “Onward! To drinks and glory!”
Krok shook his head as the dinobot stomped off with two giggling idiots on his back. What could possibly go wrong??
Apparently pleased he was finally getting the drink that Drift owed him, Crankcase righted the table that they knocked over and gathered a few chairs.
A chorus of alarmed yelps rose from the general direction of the bar. Krok busied himself helping Crankcase so he didn’t have to look. Ratchet grabbed a few more chairs and set them around the table, leaving a large open space for Grimlock. Krok appreciated his calm assistance.
CRASH! BANG! ROOOOAR!!!
Krok drew his palm down his face. Ratchet laughed.
“Relax!” He laid a warm hand on Krok’s shoulder. “If a few dinobot dents is all I have to deal with after this party, I’d consider it a raging success.”
“Things really get that ridiculous around here?” Krok tentatively looked up.
“Ridiculous doesn’t begin to cover it.” Ratchet smiled and gave his shoulder a squeeze. Krok’s tension bled away. No wonder Pointy fell for the medic all those years ago.
“No?” Krok asked more hopefully than he intended.
“Pfft! You have no idea.” Ratchet chuckled. “Absurd, bizarre, bonkers, ludicrous. Minimus probably has an alphabetized list of words to describe the Lost Light, entirely made up of synonyms for crazy. But as long as Drift is here, the only words I can think of is: Home.”
Home
The word resounded in Krok’s brain. Even louder than the ruckus that Drift, Misfire, and Grimlock were causing across the room. Louder than the upbeat music and happy laughter. Louder than all his doubts, worries, and fears.
Home
He thought about something that Drift told him. The Lost Light belonged to him. All of this is possible because they saved a wounded solider from certain death. One small act of kindness yielded a better future for so many people. They took in Pointy, repaired his damage, and sent him on his way. Krok should have known that one day, he would return the favor with exceeding extravagance, taking them all in and giving them the one thing that Krok desperately wanted. Pointy always did have a flair for the dramatic.
Krok smiled. “Home... sounds good to me.”