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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

Edited 2015-02-10 05:29 (UTC)

FOR RATCHET

ALSO FOR RATCHET

FOR MEGATRON

FOR JUNE

FOR MINIMAGNUS are you sick of these yet madi

FOR DRIFT

FOR MEGATRON

[Drift, Open Prompt!]