True Leadership )-Predaking x Youngling Reader-(

Sick, not Tired

     Tapper sighed. What was he supposed to tell Predaking?

         "Sorry, your youngling drank an entire bottle of defective Visco?" he spoke sarcastically, petting the poor femme as she purged her tanks again, miserable aura showing as her wings drooped lifelessly against her frame. He was glad she had decided to change to her bot form, or else this would have been harder on him. Comforting hungover or recovering bots, he knew how to do. Comforting a sick Predacon youngling with an intake that could swallow him whole? Not so much. 

     He could have sworn he had hidden every possible bottle from her sight. Unfortunately he hadn't accounted for her smell. Tapper scolded himself for hiding this particular brew in the low hanging cabinet, knowing Blurr was famous for his sweeter brews. He should have known this would earn (Y/D)'s curious attention with her love of energon sweets. He didn't often find defective batches in Blurr's concoctions, for he was particularly careful and Tapper appreciated this, but sometimes the quick mech was just a bit too quick. He lacked patience, and sweet Visco took time to brew.

         "Drunk-" (Y/D) heaved again, unblinking optics staring into the vile smelling blue-ish purple liquid.

         "Yeah," Tapper sighed. At least she understood what it felt like now, and that it could be bad when consuming too much, "Drunk. Drunk is bad."

     The youngling nodded, finally relaxing after several hours of heaving and having to consume more energon to get the dangerous liquid out of her system. Tapper was relieved she didn't pass out as he did. The mech was in stasis for three hours after testing it, but her systems were different. After taking an amateur's medical scan, he could at least tell that her systems expelled the substance instead of using its energy to process it.  He also guessed the purging of her tanks was faster in her smaller form. 

         "Feeling better tiny terror?" he stroked between her wings, and (Y/D) made a chittering sound, a pained but comfortable sound, "You won't be going and sniffing through my cupboards anymore, will you?" She shook her helm slowly.

         "Drunk- bad," she gurgled, and Tapper couldn't keep the soft smile from his derma. He felt special, because as far as he knew, she only spoke when with him. Predaking hadn't excitedly told him about any words, like he has about her first flight around his dwelling, or Skylynx and Darksteel boasting about her ability to sneak up behind them silently, stalking them. He hadn't said anything of her words since she knocked him out. If she wasn't speaking to them, she didn't want to, or somehow knew it wasn't time. Who would listen to a youngling anyway? A warning might sound like a mild annoyance to any other bot. Tapper wasn't the kind of bot to brush off urgency, and maybe that's why she spoke to him instead. The later-to-be bigger being had brought up many an alarm to the Liquor Specialist, and he listened. Each time he was thankful for listening.

         "Yup, drunk is bad."

         "Tappy?" she coughed, looking up at him with tired optics, "Sorry."

         "I forgive you, just don't do it again." He waved a digit as a mild scolding to the nodding femmeling, "From now on, no more looking through my living quarters. There's too much that could hurt you in there."

     (Y/D) nodded again before her optics dimmed to their resting crimson, just a dull shine that made her look nearly offlined, barely holding on to life. 

     Tapper knew she was due for a checkup with the Autobot medic, but Predaking was so absorbed with his kingly duties he was nearly neglecting the little Predacon, but his constant worry for her kept him from ignoring her completely. He wanted to take her while Tapper was currently watching her, but the sudden disappearance of a femme from one of the outer, unfinished cities raised a high alert between both species of Cybertronian. 

         Action had to be made-

     But Tapper still had his job to do, and his next client opened in an hour. He did his best to carry (Y/D) to his desk, flipping through a file before huffing at her weight and readjusting her on his shoulder. It was hard to carry a bot when she was three times as heavy yet not as tall as the one carrying her. He found the frequency he wanted and quickly sent a private message to the ancient medic, who responded minutes later that now wasn't a good time-

         Tapper frowned, sending a reply that it was urgent if she were to be kept a secret.

     It took a while longer than the first one for the Earth dwelling medic to respond. An anxious six minutes that seemed like precious time more than normal for the small orange bot. He grinned at reading he'd see her, quickly sending proper coordinates and soon stepped through a space bridge, the swirling colors making (Y/D) sick again as she groaned.

     They found themselves in the military base, Tapper marveling at the historical sight that was so often named and described in the final history of the war. He jumped when his optics landed on an angry looking medic.

         "Uh- h-hi. I'm Tapper, Predaking's-"

         "I know who you are," he drawled, taking the youngling from him with a miffed expression, "the only Liquor Specialist on Cybertron, and apparently the keeper of defective brews."

Tapper winced.

         "You can tell just by looking at her?"

To any normal bot she'd just look tired.

         "I'm a medic, of course I can tell. I also knew many a bot who would drink their cares away, so I recognize the aura of drunken misery. I suspect it's about time for you to start your regular rounds."

         "Unfortunately, yes- If it weren't for me being known to be punctual, I'd keep watch over her the entire time Predaking was gone. I've never hated my profession until (Y/D) wiggled into the picture..." Tapper frowned deeply, "It's much harder when you're the only one."

     Ratchet sympathized with the young mech, knowing full well the pressure of being the only one in a profession. The only difference that set them apart was Ratchet was the only Autobot medic for millennia, resulting in much stress with no assistance in or out of the battlefield.

         "I understand," he nodded, setting the resting (Y/D) on the medical berth, "How long will Predaking be out, do you suspect?"

Ratchet didn't like the answer- (Y/D) would have potentially missed her usual appointment, even after a five-month routine had been established. Apparently, relations with the Predacons were steadily deteriorating. Predaking was doing his best, but his power apparently didn't last as long as he would have hoped.

         "Has he considered they'd rather have a government like ours?" Ratchet suggested, but Tapper shook his helm.

         "That's not it. He doesn't act tyrannical or unjust, he's struggling to relate with his citizen's because they're simply- rebelling. For no reason and he doesn't understand why. No one does."

     The smaller mech had to leave before he continued any further, knowing he'd happily explain more but his profession called him, and he didn't want to be late and cause any question. Ratchet gave a simple nod before conducting his usual procedure for the sick Predacon femme.