RIN PIN

mllemusketeer:

rinpin:

I drew– another thing. 

Sick Optimus is sick, in bed, and with Megatron catering to his every whim but also being the stern Decepticon nurse cause he cares and Optimus just take the damn medicine cause it’s good for you. 

I regret nothing. 

Ratchet was fraggin’ disgusted with Decepticons in general right now. And maybe Megatron in particular, but that was going to wait on whether Hook, Scalpel, and the rest of the Decepticon medical team had been right to hide under the operating table when Megatron came in, inquiring about Optimus’ health. 

Ratchet really couldn’t believe that Megatron would throw such a fit over his partner’s minor cold that it would justify hiding under the fragging operating table and throwing the Autobot medic under the proverbial bus.

Granted, said minor cold had progressed to something more impressive, since Optimus had ignored it completely, and wound up collapsing in the middle of the bridge as a result, due to his vents clogging and the rest of him overheating. It had been scary, but more ‘my friend is an idiot’ than ‘my friend is actually in danger of life and limb’.

Still, he could hear Megatron coming the moment the mech stepped off the lift at the end of the corridor. The Decepticon warlord was, as humans would say, not “a happy camper”. 

“He’s fine,” Ratchet said, before Megatron could get a word in edgewise. “Doesn’t even need the medbay for much longer. You can take him home when he wakes up.”

“He collapsed in the middle of the bridge!” said Megatron. 

“Yup. Happens when you have a minor infection that you ignore. He needed more coolant and a vent cleaning.” Ratchet fixed Megatron with a stern glare. “Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary about him?”

Which wasn’t really fair, because Megatron had just returned after several days absence, but it shifted the blame. Megatron’s expression had gone from one of righteous wrath and concern to furtive and guilty. Ratchet felt a small glow of pride. 

“No?” he said. “Well, he said he was tired when I returned last night.” And then, rallying heroically, “I leave for two days and my mate has worked himself to exhaustion? How could you let him–”

“I don’t ‘let’ Optimus do anything,” said Ratchet. “Surely you’ve met him? The  short of it is he caught something, ignored it, and got sicker than he would have otherwise. The long of it is that he’ll need your help.”

Megatron perked up at that. 

“Here’s what you’ll need to do,” said Ratchet, and didn’t grin. Very, very carefully didn’t grin. He was well aware of the optics of the Decepticon medical team on his back, and he was pretty sure that Hook was never going to try and sass him again.

~~~

“Do I have to take that?” Optimus eyed the offending spoonful of medication. Even through his clogged vents, he could smell it, sickly sweet, and medicinal, and bitter. It made his tank flop. 

“You will if you want to get better, my dear,” said Megatron, looking altogether too smug, and sounding far too seductive. Optimus eyeballed him, and came to the conclusion that if he didn’t want Megatron to try and hold his nasal ridge to pop the spoon into his intake (as if he were some kind of protoform), he had better cooperate.

He opened his intake, glaring. Megatron looked even smugger, but fortunately didn’t laugh as Optimus coughed and sputtered at the foul taste of the medication. 

A little later, shivering, he curled up against the heat of Megatron’s frame. “Just remember,” he said, a little more snidely than usual, “if I do get you sick, I’m going to take great pleasure in making you take that foul stuff.”

“If you get me sick?” snorted Megatron. “As if puny Autobot illnesses could fell me.”

It turned out he was quite wrong about that.

AHHHHHHHHHH ITS SO CUUUUUUUUUUTTTEEEEEE!!!!!