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.”
FOR RATCHET
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.