look at me even if it were a dream
transformers ;; hotlock ;; wc: 695 ;; hot rod gets injured. fluffy but also not?
back to writing! 
read it on tumblr!
“Stay.”
Hot Rod squirmed in his seat as Deadlock wrapped the wound. Cloth would only do so much– it would stop the energon from getting everywhere, sure, and it might help keep the wound from getting infected, but Hot Rod needed a medic as soon as possible. Were any medics even on this planet, with Hot Rod? Deadlock hadn’t seen any other Autobots, now that he thought about it. Just Hot Rod. Had he come out here alone? Why would he do that? Was he trying to get killed? He almost did get killed, what was he thinking–
“I said stay,” Deadlock hissed, planting his arms on Hot Rod’s shoulders and pushing him down, in an attempt to get him to stop squirming. “Just sit still for a fucking second. Is there a single medic on this planet with you?”
Hot Rod coughed. “No.” Of course not, why would there be. Deadlock clicked his glossa, trying to think. He couldn’t take Rod back to the Decepticons– they would kill him, and then probably kill Deadlock for trying to help an Autobot at all. But then, there were no Autobots with Rod– who knows how close the nearest medic is? Would he survive getting in a ship and flying to find one? Why was Deadlock even helping him anyway? He’s an Autobot. You ought to just let him bleed out, or speed it up yourself. Just ‘cause you’re an idiot and you got attached, that doesn’t mean you should risk your life for the enemy–
“Hey,” Hot Rod started, clearing his throat and dragging Deadlock out of his thoughts. “‘m gonna be alright. I’ll comm someone, and they’ll get here in no time.” He attempted a smile, but the energon in his dentae was not reassuring. “You don’t gotta get all worried about me.”
At that, Deadlock straightened. “I do,” he insisted, hissing, “‘cause clearly if I don’t, you’re gonna get yourself killed.”
Hot Rod actually chuckled at that. “You’re worked up over nothin’.” He paused. “‘Sides, don’t you have like, 'con bullshit you gotta get back to?”
Deadlock stared down at the bot. “Are you fucking serious?” He let out, before even realizing it. “No, I do not have 'con bullshit I need to get back to. Did you think–” he paused. “Did you think I was gonna fucking leave you here? Bleeding out?”
The Autobot’s optics widened, and he glanced back and forth between the Decepticon and the ground. “Were you… not going to?” He finally asked, and Deadlock practically lunged at him.
“No, I wasn’t gonna fucking leave you here!” He shouted, getting down on Hot Rod’s level to look directly at the mech. “I probably should, but I wasn’t! Do you know how monumentally fucked I would be if literally any other Decepticon found out about this– about us? Do you have the slightest idea how much I risk just by talking to you?!” Now, Hot Rod was looking back, right at him. Deadlock was risking everything, being here. Everything he’d built up, everything he’d worked for, all of his goals, his entire life, would be gone. “I don’t fucking do that for just anyone! I don’t risk my life for other 'cons half the time!”
Hot Rod, again, looked down at the ground. His exvents were laboured, his entire body heaving. Belatedly, it caught up to Deadlock that he was screaming at a mech who really did not need it right now. “Oh,” the Autobot let out, and Deadlock sighed, reeling himself in.
“I was not going to leave you here.” He repeats it, softer– as soft as he can manage, anyway. “I would not do that to you.”
Hot Rod did not raise his eyes, instead still staring at the ground. The two sat like that for a few moments, in silence, before the red mech spoke up again. “A medic is on their way.”
Deadlock flinched a bit. “Autobot medic?”
Hot Rod nodded. “Shouldn’t be too long,” he clarified, coughing again. “Like I said, ‘m gonna be fine.”
“I’m sure you are,” Deadlock hissed. “And I’m gonna stay right here until that medic shows up just to make sure.”