[ 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 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.