[ 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

[asafepairofhands]

"Hey," Ratchet says, his voice low and softer than Drift has heard it in... a long time, likely. "No. There was nothing you could have done. Not much anybody could have done, really, after I deliberately pissed Tarn off. Anyway."

Ratchet watches Drift, his expression shifting unreadably.

"I know you don't remember Delphi, but this brings me back," he says, almost quietly. "The base was on Messatine, right in the middle of DJD territory. When we were first attacked, we thought it was them, and you asked me to kill you if they came around, to keep you from getting captured." An expression that's too lopsided and pained to be a grin stretches part of his mouth. "I told you to go to hell."

[auramatic]

Drift recalls Ratchet talking about this before, the incident on Delphi -- but it had been mixed in with so much else in the way of things he'd missed that he hadn't had a chance to really dwell on it. Ratchet said Drift caught the virus too, that it nearly killed him -- all of them -- and now Drift has a special appreciation for why his future self would ask Ratchet for something like that. But what strikes him more than anything else is Ratchet's tone, the way he's looking at Drift -- it's jarring, because Ratchet never talks to him like this. It must have been bad at Delphi, much worse than Drift realized.

He wasn't going to kill me. It's awkward, doing this with only one hand, but Drift gets the message across all right. Not this time.

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet looks down at Drift's face, chilled.

"Yeah. He didn't mean to, anyway--it might have, if Rodimus had taken any longer to find you and haul you back here. Your fuel reserves were nearly completely bottomed out, with all the leaks you had. But it was obvious as soon as I started putting you back together that he wanted to keep you alive. He's made a long and thrilling career out of killing people and he's quite good at it--if he wanted you dead, you would be."

He looks down at Drift, then sighs and pulls away for a moment, limping to the edge of the room to a stool so he can kick it over to Drift's bedside and ease himself down onto it, propping his crutches up against the edge of the berth. He reaches out with both hands once he's settled, lacing his fingers comfortably through Drift's and careful to keep Drift's wrists at a comfortable angle, leaning in.

"Better?"

[auramatic]

Drift is too tired and achy to move, mostly, but surprise flickers bright in his optics when Ratchet puts both his palms to Drift's, twining their fingers together. Ratchet's never really talked to him like this, not that Drift can recall right now -- Rodion, maybe, but that's different. That was another life entirely, and Ratchet didn't know him then. Not like he knows Drift now. It makes it mean something else, something more.

He nods, just a slight incline of his head, his hands settling loosely against Ratchet's, and his optics brighten slightly in a faint, tired smile, though it fades after a moment. I know. I thought he was going to, at first. But he clarified that about halfway through the fight. His mouth presses into a thin line, air hissing softly from his vents. That's about all he's willing to say on that subject, though. The rest of it he's saving for Megatron.

I'm sorry I don't remember. Everything that happened with you and me, I mean. I wish I did.

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet's optics flicker a little, surprised.

"Not your fault, kid," he says, his face softening a little. "Though... me too." He squeezes Drift's hands, brief and gentle--it doesn't mean anything, except... for all the things it does mean.

"We're friends, now. ...I called you my friend, before you left. I meant it."

[auramatic]

Drift feels a small surge of crackling warmth pass from Ratchet's hands to his when Ratchet tightens his fingers around his, but it doesn't compare to the way the bottom drops out of his tanks when Ratchet calls him a friend.

It's really the sort of thing Drift never expected to happen with Ratchet, let alone hear him say it. Drift's optics widen slightly for just a moment and he tightens his grip on Ratchet's hands as much as he can, even with his wrists still healing, his spark flaring unbidden in his chest.

That's enough for me.

[asafepairofhands]

"Well, good. Don't hurt yourself."

He pulls his hands gently free of Drift's and takes one of Drift's hands in both of his, starting to rub slowly against his plating. His expression is distant, almost absent, as he very carefully stretches each of Drift's fingers before he digs gentle thumbs into the hinge of Drift's palm. "Just tap me if you want to talk, but this'll be good for you. I can't return the favor with a new set of these, so you'll have to make do."

[auramatic]

Drift's optics are still bright and slightly wide on Ratchet's face, still letting the implications of everything he doesn't remember settling in. His hand prickles and tingles where Ratchet's fingers press into the plating, but his spark is humming warmly in his chassis, feeling it spread all the way down to his fingertips. It's jarring, the sudden jump from what Drift was so accustomed to to this, and it somehow doesn't even feel real, but Drift is just trying to lay back and let it wash over him. A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and his optics dim slightly, half-shuttering. For the first time, Drift manages to relax against the slab with a faint creak, his hand going a little heavier in Ratchet's grip. He lets his other hand rest on his chest, just watching Ratchet, knowing he doesn't need to say anything at all for Ratchet to know he's grateful.