[ 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

[auramatic]

Drift tenses slightly in Rodimus' grip, if only because his entire body still aches and it hurts -- but if he's going to hurt at all, he'd rather it be for something like this. Drift relaxes against Rodimus and lets his optics shutter closed, burying his face in the other mech's shoulder. He can't speak, but he doesn't really need to -- this is enough for now, Rodimus' fingers closed around his plating, the faint whir of his spark reverberating against Drift's chest. Drift vents out softly and curls one arm slowly, weakly around Rodimus.

[rodders]

"I'm sorry," he says, this time able to get it out. "I should have gone looking for you sooner. I should have done something." Because Drift doesn't deserve this, didn't deserve, will never deserve it. "Just-- for everything." For not telling him, for exiling him, for losing the Lost Light - everything Drift doesn't know because he can't remember or it hasn't happened.

His next few intakes are shaky, grip tightening as he remembers stumbling across Drift. Of thinking he might have been too late, of knowing who did this and yet unable to make Tarn pay. He still can't, and it makes his tanks churn uncomfortably.

Rodimus almost lost Drift for a second time. He'll be damned if there's going to be a third.

[auramatic]

Drift's frame creaks slightly but he doesn't make any move to push Rodimus away, not even tap him on the shoulder to get him to loosen up his grip. Drift doesn't want him to.

He wants to tell Rodimus it's okay, that he doesn't blame him in the slightest, but he doesn't have a voice and all he can do is try to communicate that in gesture, in the way he tugs Rodimus closer, but his strength is diminished, his arms weak.

[rodders]

Ratchet warned him about Drift's loss of voice in the three seconds he had before Rodimus had rushed into the clinic; it doesn't particularly bother him this second. But voice or not, he's not shoving him away; Rodimus will take any sign of Drift's acknowledgment he can. It helps calm the frantic, panicked whirring of his spark regardless. Resting his face on the plating at the base of Drift's neck, Rodimus finally begins to relax, joints unlocking for the first time since he'd spotted Drift outside the city. It's not over; won't be over until he's punched the mask right off of Tarn's face, but it's something.

"You're going to be okay." It's as much to reassure himself as it is to comfort Drift, promise clear in his tone - he will make it okay if he has to. He just needs Drift to know.

[auramatic]

Yeah...yeah, he'll be okay. Drift knows it, just in the way Rodimus relaxes against him even as he holds on tight, even as his spark still flares and whirs in his chest. Better him than Rodimus, he thinks -- Rodimus is lucky, only losing an arm. He got it reattached straight away, anyway. Drift lets his head tip back slightly, slowly lifting his other hand to cup the back of Rodimus' helm. He can't speak, and he's certain Rodimus isn't even remotely chirolingual -- but right here, it's not like they need words. Drift thinks the warmth flooding his aura speaks for itself. He'd like to believe Rodimus can feel it. Drift curls his fingers around the back of Rodimus' helm, his other hand rubbing in slow, loose circles over the other mech's back, and he vents out slowly. Yeah, he'll be okay.