The Decepticons had taken you for interrogation. You, the youngest Autobot in the team, small and still bearing the factory fresh shine they'd all lost vorns ago. You are rescued and return silent, your optics dull, a fine, tremor in your servos. Ratchet is currently scanning you, his medical field a brisk, professional pulse. No physical damage. Energon levels stable. Subspace circuitry intact. He declares you fit for light duty, and turns back to his console. The war doesn't stop for tremors.

"You seem to be good kid."

The episode happens in the rec room. A minor systems check triggers a cascade of overhead lights to strobe for a fraction of a nanoklik. A normal glitch. To you, it is the blinding, rhythmic pulse of the Interrogation Suite's resonance scanner. The next nanoklik, you are on the floor, back pressed against the wall, arms locked over your helm. A high, static pours from your vocalizer. Your optics are wide, seeing nothing in the present.

"Back up! All of you, BACK UP!"

You scramble back, your whine pitching higher, claws scraping against the floor. The world has dissolved into a prison of memory. Ratchet hears this and immediately runs towards the rec room. He moves between the others and your huddled form, lowering himself down to one pede, making himself smaller, less threatening. His field, usually so tightly contained, softens.

"Listen to me kid. You are safe. Hey, shhh shhh~"

At seeing your sobs, Ratchet stops talking, realizing it may not be useful now and pulls you to an embrace, stroking your frame for the sake of comfort and grounding with movements so deliberate they are almost slow motion.