[ THE "DRIFT GOT HECKED UP BY TARN" CATCH-ALL POST ]

[auramatic]

Who: Drift, Rodimus, Ratchet, Megatron and whoever else wants to chime in
What: the inevitable fallout of the fucked up shit Tarn just did to Drift
Where: Red Alert's clinic
When: starting a few days after Tarn beat the shit out of Drift
Warnings: a lot of sad. a lot of gay

jk i'm lazy, thread starters below

Comments

FOR RATCHET

[rodders]

The first night Drift didn’t come back to the place Rodimus picked out, Rodimus is unbothered. They’ve both been in and out - just because he didn’t hear Drift doesn’t mean he didn’t swing by to catch a few hours of recharge. He’s a bit put out that he didn’t even warrant a hello, but he’ll just see him later. Except the hours passed and he didn’t even get one comm; the logical response being to comm him first - from which he went through curious to annoyed that Drift wasn’t picking up.

Could be out of range, he’ll have someone from Team Rodimus look at them later. He does, however, stay up all night waiting for Drift to come back. And when the sun rises and he’s still not back, Rodimus starts to get worried. The logical thing would be to grab Magnus - his Second in Command had recommended teams what with Tarn wandering around—

And then it hits him. He needs to find Drift, just to know he’s okay. Because Drift is fine, right? There’s no way he’d let anything happen to him.

At least that’s what he thinks, but the more he searches the city and comes up with nothing the more fear sets in, digging its claws into his spark until he can’t shake it. It’s going to be fine, he tells himself, Drift’s going to pop around that corner and pick up his great sword and laugh at his uncharacteristic worry and it’s going to be fine.

His great sword. Panic rises in him as he rushes to it, and then the what else he’s seeing registers. Energon, not all that fresh, and oh Primus no. Not Drift. He just got him back, he can’t lose him again. There’s a trail leading away from the city and it takes Rodimus doesn’t think twice before locking the sword to his back before following as fast as he can. Maybe he’s not too late, maybe it’s something else and Drift is fine - just misplaced his prized possession that’s all.

Any hope he has vanishes the moment he sees the light glint off a prone form, white and red and black, covered in energon. He can’t help it, a strangled “No!” escaping him before he even knows for sure it’s Drift. No, no, nononononono—

“Drift,” he says, falling to his knees, hands hovering over Drift’s chest uselessly. “Don’t— you’re not allowed to die, Drift. You can’t.” He feels as if something’s lodged in his throat and he can’t get it out no matter how hard he tries. Helpless, he’s helpless as his friend is— dead? Maybe he’s not too late, maybe Drift will open the one optic he has left and smile at Rodimus through what remains of his jaw and… Rodimus chokes back a sob at the same time he finally realizes he’s hearing something.

Drift. He’s still alive.

Rodimus doesn’t think then, as if he was before. Getting his arms around Drift is hard enough; smearing energon on himself in the process as he tries to swing one of Drift’s arms around his shoulders. Ratchet. Ratchet will know what to do.

He’s not sure how he gets to the clinic. All he can do is focus on the sound of Drift’s systems as proof he’s not dead. Not dead. Not dead. Stumbling at the entrance, and his grip on Drift slipping, it’s all he can do to keep himself upright.

“Ratchet! Ratchet, you have to—” His voice breaks into a sob and he should be ashamed of himself but he can’t find it in himself to be. “It’s Drift.”

Please be there, please come, please save him.

KEENING WAIL

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet might not have recognized the crumpled, leaking form in Rodimus' arms without that clarification--as it is, his optics go wide and pale with shock, but he's already moving, swinging on the rough-hewn crutches he made for himself, hooking one around a slab on wheels and dragging it out from the wall.

"Put him down," he raps out, already starting to gather whatever tools they've managed to scavenge one-handed and depositing them on the berth, knowing Rodimus won't know where they are if he asks. "What the hell happ--"

Ratchet stops, actually stops with a critical patient on a slab, to stare down at the ragged, bleeding cuts gouged deep into Drift's chestplate. "Tarn," he says numbly, but he doesn't have time for anger, not now. He's moving again in a split second, heaving himself back to the edge of the stretcher and leaning hard on his crutches to free up both hands and grab Rodimus'. He doesn't ask.

"Press here," he snaps, pushing them down to one side of Drift's chestplate to shift the crumpled mess of it off a ruined set of tubes and wires, starting to patch leaks as fast as he finds him, his face drawn and and set.

you were warned in the post warnings

[rodders]

Rodimus does as he's told for once in his life without complaint, no attempt to jerk his hands back. The lump in his throat is still there, heavy even as his spark feels so small and compact it might vanish altogether. Drift has to be okay. He has to be, there's not another acceptable option. But Rodimus nods when Ratchet mutters the name, even though he didn't see it.

"I didn't-- he was gone for two days," his voice is high and staticky. "I thought he was just meditating or something."

Because that's what Drift does. Goes off and meditates and talks about energy and auras and stupid things like that. It's not fair, he thinks, to have him back and then to lose him right after.

"Ratchet--" Rodimus finally looks up from where his hands are, from where the Decepticon symbol is carved into Drift's chest where his autobrand should be, staring at the medic's face. "I just got him back."

ALSO FOR RATCHET

[auramatic]

When Drift wakes up, the first thing he recognizes is the pain.

He comes to slowly, in fragmented gasps of consciousness, so slowly that he can't even really be sure he's awake at all. He dimly remembers his last moments, Tarn's terrifying visage, the message burned into his spark -- muddled and confused in his half-conscious mind, but there, a constant background hum. Consciousness comes to him in waves, ebbing and flowing in synaptic tides as his body and mind struggle to reconcile. And then comes the pain, not in waves but a flood, firing through every circuit at once, and Drift doesn't even notice as his pained groan only comes out as static. His optics snap wide open at the burning rush of sensation, not really seeing, not recognizing the room he's in. His spark constricts weakly in his chest and his body stiffens on the slab as he tries to move but finds he can't, every joint and limb sparking with pain and too heavy for him to lift.

HES A MIGHTY POPULAR FELLOW THESE DAYS

[asafepairofhands]

"Hell. Kid, calm down, you're all right--"

Ratchet is across the room when he hears Drift stir, earlier than anticipated--earlier than Ratchet would have really liked, honestly. He moves to Drift's bedside as quickly as he can, hand settling on Drift's chest as he leans over him, optics aching and intent.

"You're safe. Drift. Relax. ...I've got you."

APPARENTLY SO

[auramatic]

Drift doesn't know what it says that his kneejerk reaction to Ratchet's reassurance is only more dread, a sickening certainty that this is as bad as it feels and much, much worse. The pain is overwhelming to begin with but that aching look on Ratchet's face is even worse, somehow. Drift doesn't think Ratchet's ever looked at him like that, not that he can recall. His venting is shallow, and he's too tired, too beaten down to keep the raw, pained terror from showing in his optics, artifacts left behind by Tarn's punishment.

Ratchet, he tries to say, but it only comes out as static. He tries again, trying to engage his vocalizer but it only responds with a muted click before giving way to more static, and light in Drift's optics falters, nauseated frustration spreading over his face. He can't speak, can barely move -- but he still tries to lift his hand to cover Ratchet's, weak and shaking.

FOR MEGATRON

[rodders]

He's not sure when he fell asleep, only that one moment he's helping Ratchet and the next he's been shaken away by the medic who's telling him that Drift is stable but still out and that he better go clean himself up and sleep. Relief floods through him at first - Drift's going to make it. That's the important thing.

But he watches Ratchet propel himself away and rage curls through his tanks again. Tarn. Losing an arm to the psychopath wasn't a big deal, that could be reattached and his ability to curl his hands into fists is proof he's fine. But he touched his crew and that's-- Rodimus can't stand that. There is a line and Tarn didn't just cross it, he jumped over it - probably while laughing evilly. Because, you know, Tarn.

Something has to be done. And there's only one person he knows who can answer for this. Pulling up Megatron's comm, his message is short and terse: "Center of the city. We need to talk. Now." Because he won't let this happen again, he can't let it happen again.

He ignores the useless feeling churning in him in favor of the rage, the anger. That's something he knows what to do with; if Rodimus is responsible for his crew, then Megatron is responsible for Tarn. He knows he is. And it's time something's done about it instead of just making Tarn bow to him and letting him run off to do this again.

If Megatron beats Rodimus to the meeting point, he'll be able to get a general idea that something might be afoot. Rodimus covered in dry energon carrying Drift's great sword on his back isn't an every day occurrence. Even accounting for the madness that happens on a regular basis on the Lost Light.

[towardspeace]

It doesn't take long for Megatron to put it together, when he sees him. His expression... tightens, his optics narrowing, his mouth pulling into a frown.

"What happened," he says brusquely, looking Rodimus up and down as if he'll be able to read the answer in the dried energon streaking his armour. Underneath his curt tone is a quiet, simmering anger – if this is what he thinks it is, he's going to be furious.

FOR JUNE

[rodders]

Exhaustion is finally settling into his joints, and every step Rodimus takes feels like he's just being dragged down further. Yelling at Megatron, while cathartic, hadn't done anything to really alleviate the weight he feels. Seeing Tarn dead would go a long way, he thinks, but he doesn't know if the sense of satisfaction from that would really help until he sees Drift awake again.

It occurs to him that he doesn't even know where he's going. He could go back to the place he's staying, but without Drift it just seems pointless and empty and he doesn't want to be anywhere Drift isn't. Not right now. Clinic it is, even if Ratchet throws him out of it again. At least he'll be there.

Or that's the plan before he stumbles and almost lands flat on his face. So leaning up against a wall it is, at least until he can regain his footing and the ability to walk in a straight line again. He can't protect them, some tiny voice tells him, he can't protect anyone. Pressing the heel of his palm into his optics, Rodimus shudders. No. No, he can.

He has to.

Re: FOR JUNE

[milkruns]

Megatron had told June how to find Rodimus, and as promised, he's really not hard to spot, his paint job standing out starkly against the dull, quiet tones of the ruined city. It's a weird thing to think about, working with Megatron on anything, but...as far as she can tell, he's just trying to hold down the fort here for now, whatever his long term aims might be. June wants that too, and she knows there's no sense in trying to work against Megatron toward the same goal. At least he hadn't dismissed her intent to help entirely -- and she's still contemplating the strange candor with which he'd complimented her, said he'd rather she stayed alive here. It's weird.

But Megatron had indicated that Rodimus is something of a problem child, and June feels like this is the sort of thing she's well equipped to handle. That said, she's taking what Megatron said with a grain of salt. She'd rather see what Rodimus is like for herself.

And right now Rodimus is leaned up heavily against a wall, covered in what June is pretty sure is energon. He doesn't look so hot, either, and all plans to approach him with a reasonable and carefully thought out self introduction go flying out the window as she hurries to circle around to his front, just so he doesn't accidentally step on her.

"Oh my god -- are you okay?"

FOR MINIMAGNUS are you sick of these yet madi

[rodders]

He does, eventually, make it back to the clinic. Clean, so Rodimus supposes that's progress - and while he desperately wants to stick his head in and check up on Drift he can feel the accusatory glare from Ratchet through the door and settles for almost collapsing against the wall. Removing Drift's sword and propping it up on the wall next to him, he's about to maybe get some sleep - sprawled out, Magnus'd have something to say about that...

Oh.

He dials Magnus' comm, not even waiting for the other bot to say anything before he starts in; sounding as tired and exhausted as he feels. "Tarn attacked Drift and Ratchet." Which is enough, Rodimus thinks, to grab his attention. "Just thought you should know."

[amicuscuriae]

Minimus had answered the call immediately, but he hadn't even opened his mouth before Rodimus dropped that bombshell. It didn't take him long to change track.

"What?! Are they alive? What happened? When did it happen?" His voice over the comm was concerned and flustered. He hadn't discounted the possibility of Tarn making another move but he hadn't expected it to be so soon.

"Rodimus what is going on?"

FOR DRIFT

[rodders]

There's no time wasted from the moment that Ratchet tells him Drift's awake and Rodimus jumping to his feet while belatedly remembering to grab the sword, pushing past the medic to at least see. "Drift!" It's out before he can help it, his spark lodged somewhere in his throat as he tries to at least make it to his friend's bedside in a strange twist of events from the day before.

"You're-- you're alive! And awake!"

Very reassuring, Rodimus, even as he practically collapses on the closest thing to a chair he can find. His relief is palpable; while his smile is strained the light from his eyes is brighter than it has been in days. Everything he wants to say comes falling out of his mind - but it doesn't matter. Drift's alive, and awake. He'll take the win he can have.

[auramatic]

Even as wrung out as he feels after waking up from a coma, Drift's glad to see Rodimus. Rodimus has always been spirited, bursting with energy even when he's feeling down, and Drift needs some of that right now. The encounter with Tarn has left him feeling oddly empty. Everything still seems strangely far away.

Drift's optics are dim, but the swell of relief, the sheer emotion in it, brings a little light back to them. He raises a hand in a wave, the fresh solders at his wrist pinching as he does, but it doesn't stop the ghost of a smile from tugging at Drift's lips as he opens his mouth to greet Rodimus -- and only static comes out. It slips out before Drift can catch himself, remember his vocalizer's still in disrepair, and he snaps his mouth closed with a frustrated vent of air. He reaches for Rodimus anyway, just glad his friend is near.

FOR MEGATRON

[auramatic]

As soon as he gets his voice back, Drift asks for Megatron.

His vocalizer is freshly repaired, still raw and healing in his throat. It's good to have a voice again, even if it still sounds a little out of sync, crackling faintly with static. But it's healing relatively quickly compared to the rest of him -- it's been barely two days since he woke up, still less than a week since Rodimus hauled him back here. Everything aches, the freshly soldered joints, the slow, cauterize repair of his internal systems, the edges of his plating where he's still missing chunks of it simply for lack of materials. There are still faint creases on his face and helm, remnants of the dents Ratchet fixed in malleable plating. But what Drift is most keenly aware of is the Decepticon brand carved deep into the plating on his chest where his Autobrand had used to be, deep enough that Ratchet had to seal the cuts in order to stop the bleeding.

Drift has Ratchet help him sit up on the slab -- can't do it himself, not with the fresh welds across his stomach. Ratchet clears the room without a word. Drift didn't have to ask him to. He waits, propped up heavily against the wall, his face drawn and set.

[towardspeace]

It isn't long before Megatron arrives at the clinic. He's restless, impatient to deal with Tarn before this keeps happening, and it shows when he steps over the threshold of the room where Drift is recovering, brisk and angry.

His expression, when he sees the injuries, the brand, is like thunder.

"I assure you," he says as he strides over to the slab, "Tarn will be taken care of."

Maybe it's the fact that he's no longer feeling the effects of the fool's energon, or maybe it's just how furious he is about all of this, but there's something of the old Megatron in his bright, furious optics and the taut clench of his fists that's been missing for a while – he still looks tired, though.

[Drift, Open Prompt!]

[aminerproblem]

Drift

There's a sharp clacking of metal as Megatron jostles and taps the scanner in his hand, trying to get it to back turn on. It was working just a moment ago, but decided to shut off a few seconds before he was about to use it to check Drift's vital signs. After one or two more attempts at getting it to work, he sighs irritably and sets it aside, breath seeping out of the gunshot wound in the left side of his face. Scavenged technology could be so moody.

He finds himself a little nervous, of all things, simply because Drift had needed extensive work to pull him from the brink of death, and because his own inexperience. He's had much less time than expected to let Ratchet's lesson's properly sink in. Nonetheless, he continues, resting a gray hand on Drift's wrist to feel for his energon and electrical lines to gauge the fluid pressure and strength of the current. Despite the miner's size, he was learning to acquire quite the light touch.

"Since the scanner here doesn't like to cooperate, I'm going to need check your vitals without it."

He looks at Drift to make sure he wasn't uncomfortable with that.


Open!

To say the week had been busy would be a gross understatement. An explosion of misfortune and violence may have been a more apt description, and it was starting to wear down on Megatron's patience. Nautica, Drift, and Ratchet were all gravely injured. To top it all off, their stockrooms had been raided and he'd gotten his own facial souveneir from the whole encounter.

Ratchet seemed well enough to onlookers, but Megatron was there when he collapsed from exhaustion. The doctor seemed keen on ignoring all of his own advice despite the energon he'd lost and the healing he had yet to do. At times he wished he could just strap Ratchet down for a day and make him rest, even if he was entirely aware of the earful he'd get for doing so.

It was all a lot of stress and no physical outlet to work it off. The clinic wasn't like the mines or Kaon's underworld - he had to be careful here. He couldn't work out some of his frustration by digging into bedrock for a few hours, thinking to himself, and getting some exercise into his actuators. Not that he'd ever miss that form of labor, but he was yearning for something to to work off his own building coil of tension.

In between helping any of the other medics or checking up on Nautica and Drift, Megatron would find himself standing by the entrance, arms crossed, vaguely wondering if he could take a chance and leave for an hour or two.

Open!

[warcorrespondent]

What Aftermath wouldn't give for some kind of working shower. Travelling so much around the city and digging through the rubble for clues didn't really leave a mech clean. He's been through much worse, but Primus, a mech was allowed to long for a shower, wasn't he?

He arrives at the clinic, scraping gunk out of his elbow joint with stiff bristle brush. Red Alert would smelt him alive for messing the clinic up and she was already not terribly fond of him. But he needed to visit Megatron and the clinic was the most reliable place to find the fellow.

The moment he sees Megatron leaning against the entrance however, he stops and does a double take and nearly trips over his own feet.

"Primus," he gasps, dropping the brush and rushing over, reaching out to touch the lightest of hands to the uninjured side of the young mech's face. "What happened?"

[milkruns]

It seems like there's a lot going on lately, and stumbling across Rodimus covered in energon was only one of the tip-offs. She heard there's a clinic around here, aimed at Cybertronians no doubt, but there's still a professional curiosity there. Besides, if there's medical equipment for Cybertronians, maybe she can find a way to construct some basic tools for human first aid, too.

Of course, the scale of the clinic is huge. June's sort of getting used to feeling the Thumbelina routine around here, but she knows she needs to stay in sight of any Cybertronians roaming about the clinic. She doesn't know much about who's staffing it, exactly, but she's surprised to see the younger, pre-war Megatron here -- on top of the terrifying facial trauma he's recently sustained.

"Oh my god -- Megatron? What happened to you?"

[auramatic]

Drift hasn't quite managed to say anything to Megatron yet, just watching in a kind of numb, wide-eyed shock as Megatron -- Megatron, although definitely not the one Drift talked to just recently. He looks younger, unburdened with the same ancient weight Drift's contemporary is. Drift doesn't move the entire time Megatron's checking him over, looking alarmed and deeply bewildered. It doesn't help that it looks like half of Megatron's has been melted off.

Megatron lays his massive hand over Drift's wrist and asks a totally innocuous question that nonetheless makes Drift question whether or not he's hallucinating. He stares for a long moment before he cranes his neck to look around Megatron toward the door, raising his voice even though it strains his freshly repaired vocalizer.

"Ratchet!"

[rodders]

Getting Ratchet to rest is a near impossible task, one that Rodimus knows well. It's one of those things he's just come to accept about the Chief Medical Officer - he's not even sure an order from him would get the other bot to stand down. Rodimus himself hasn't kept still, he's tried, sure, but no matter what he's always moving. It could be him just standing up and pacing around the clinic or fingers tracing a design into Drift's berth when the other isn't awake.

It keeps him occupied until something's going to be done, and that's all that matters.

His optics flick up once, meet Megatron's gaze, and narrow suspiciously. Not saying anything, because Drift's on the mend for all he can tell and maybe some of that is because of Megatron. But that doesn't stop his arms from crossing and giving Megatron a full on glare. So maybe he's a bit protective of Drift. Who wouldn't be after their best friend got mauled by someone who modeled his actions after the writings and beliefs of the person he's staring at?

Say something to him, Megatron. He dares you.

FOR NAUTICA

[rodders]

All things for what they are, watching Megatron beat the shit out of Tarn was intensely satisfying. And it's with the news that the likelihood of Tarn touching any of his crew has been brought down to zero that Rodimus intends to return to the clinic. Except then he steps inside it, ready to make his way towards Drift's side when he remembers.

Drift hadn't wanted to speak to him when he'd gotten his voice back. No, he'd been shoved out by Ratchet so that Megatron could. Because-- because Megatron could protect the crew and he couldn't. With one long look at Drift's form (sleeping, he thinks), he looks at anything and everything else, optics coming to focus on another bot he hadn't seen in all his time spent in the clinic.

But one he knows all the same.

"Nautica?"

When the hell did Tarn find the time to do this?

[quantumechanic]

While Nautica's injuries hadn't been outright life-threatening, that other universe's Megatron had done enough damage to her slight frame that she'd needed surgery to preserve her ability to transform (into a submarine. On nearly waterless Cybertron) and was trapped in the clinic while her self-repair finished what the medics had started.

She was lying on her side, head pillowed on the arm that didn't have an IV line going into it, not really thinking about anything and idly flicking one optic on and off to watch her fingers jump around from the parallax effect.

"Rodimus? Hi, Captain!" Cheerful though Nautica generally was, that was the greeting of someone high as a communications satellite on painkillers.

FOR DRIFT goddamn it madi how many of these must i make

[rodders]

Instead of feeling even remotely better after his chat with Nautica he feels uneasy and off balance and greatly, greatly dislikes it. He needs to do something - just being witness to Tarn's beatdown wasn't enough because he didn't do it. Megatron did. Who took his ship and his crew because Optimus thought he could his job better, didn't give him the chance to prove otherwise. And now he can't do anything.

He guesses Drift felt the same, and something unpleasant churns in his tanks when he glances at his best friend - still sleeping - on the berth. Maybe if he just leaves before Drift wakes up he won't know he's been there at all. Ratchet's busy patching up Megatron so he won't be able to rat him out. This is the time he can make his escape.

Of course avoiding Drift after he's discharged is going to be a hassle since they live in the same building, but Rodimus is sure he can work something out. When has he ever not? Now, he thinks belatedly, might not have been the best time for that thought - a list of failures running through his head and preventing him from taking those final few steps towards the door.

do u mean starters or edits ZINGGGG

[auramatic]

Drift has been in and out of consciousness since he awoke from the coma, a little more alert each day, but the damage he sustained was considerable and the self-repair alone is taking a toll on his energy. But that hasn't kept him from noticing Rodimus' avoidant behavior. Drift would like to pretend he doesn't have a clue why, but he's pretty sure he does. Rodimus didn't look pleased when Ratchet ushered him out of the medibay so Drift could speak to Megatron, and it's not like that's a surprise.

The truth is that Drift hasn't really been himself since the fight with Tarn, and he still doesn't feel like himself -- the inscribed badge on his chest bears heavily down on his spark, a leaden weight that he can't seem to shed, and talking to Megatron didn't make him feel any better. Not that he really expected it to. None of this changes the fact that Tarn tried to take something away from Drift that no one should be able to take away from him, no one, and he'd very nearly succeeded. There's really no word for how uneasy it makes Drift, the way it bores right through every layer of him.

But none of that means he doesn't want to talk to Rodimus. Drift tries to shift onto his side, managing only halfway, and his optics are dim but lit, settling on Rodimus' form as he wavers on his way toward the door.

"Rodimus?" Drift's voice is still wrought with static, still raw from the recent surgery, but it's enough to carry.