oof the combination of intense hyperfixation and having no social life is dangerous, don't recommend. Anyways completely unrelated here's another chapter (send help)ðŸ˜
Just a warning, this one's a bit heavy... Again, not too graphic, but please mind the tags. A few extra things, but I'll put them in parenthesis
( forced feeding/ vomiting, suicidal thoughts, ) Honestly just a general warning for the DJD...
(See the end of the work for more notes.)
"Thank you for informing me of this. Just stay where you're at. We're on course to reach your location in a few days. It'll be alright. We'll get Drift back, Ratchet."
Ultra Magnus, always so calm and focused. His words aimed to reassure Ratchet.
He felt anything but that.
"Ratchet." First Aid. That's right, as the new standing CMO, he would've been included in Command meetings now.
"Ratchet, you need to refuel. Don't starve yourself over this." He knew that. Ratchet didn't need to be treated like a frail sparkling that couldn't take care of himself.
How terrible did he look if First Aid could tell just by looking over this static filled reception? Slagger was getting too good at his job.
"…It'll be alright. Like you said, they probably want to keep him alive."
That didn't give Ratchet any assurances.
He had that look again. That sad look. First Aid knew how much this was tearing him up and Ratchet hated it.
Knowing that his voice would only betray him, Ratchet simply nodded and let the conversation run its course before they eventually hung up, leaving once again with comforting words that it would be 'alright'.
They knew it was a lie. It wouldn't be alright.
No one taken by the DJD ever came out 'alright', much less alive.
Fuel levels were getting dangerously low. Ratchet filled up a glass from the energon dispenser he had set up in the shuttle. He stared at the liquid inside. They had brought more than enough energon. Drift had made sure of it. Tried to be subtle about it, but Ratchet knew his concerns.
How could he drink this? Knowing they were certainly preying on Drift's past with fuel?
Were they starving him and only giving him enough to barely stay alive?
Were they forcing him to drink something awful, knowing he couldn't refuse it in the end?
Ratchet slid down to the floor, leaning his helm back on the wall.
Memories of Drift sitting in his berth, hand over his mouth, trying desperately not to purge. So torn that he couldn't even do something as simple as have a drink with someone. All because of a fake memory. One that probably was closer to reality now.
All those nights after a grueling day in the Medibay, turning around to find that chipper smile, drinks in hand, reminding Ratchet to take a break. Drift would show up, ready to listen to Ratchet complain about every little thing despite how exhausted he was after his own duties.
How many times would he have gone under-fueled if Drift hadn't bothered to care?
The glass shook in his hand.
Drift wouldn't want Ratchet to starve on his account.
He held the glass up to his mouth. Coolant poured down his faceplate, mixing in with the energon.
Good. Maybe then it would taste terrible.
Ratchet's vision blurred to the point he had to set the glass down. It didn't taste like anything.
A sob escaped his intake.
Three weeks.
Three weeks.
The DJD had Drift. For three weeks.
And who knows how many more after this point.
Ratchet saw what state Drift was in after only a day with them. A few hours, at most, in between his own periods of fixing him up.
He'd been so scared of this exact scenario happening, Drift was willing to ask Ratchet to kill him.
And now he was alone. With people that wanted him to suffer as much as possible.
That awful thought crept back up. If he'd only done what Drift asked…
It was awful. It was horrible. And there was no point in dwelling on it now.
The only thing he could do now, was get Drift back. And hope the mech could somehow bring himself to forgive Ratchet for letting this happen.
No. He didn't deserve Drift's forgiveness.
Warnings for low fuel levels popped into his HUD once again.
Come on, Ratch. You gotta stay fueled. Why don't we go grab a drink together?
Ratchet picked the glass up, hands shaking violently.
Drift would want him to finish it.
So he did, tears and all.
Fuel level alerts had been turned off. They wouldn't do him any good. Or, any alerts for that matter.
The horrible sludge they poured down his intake made his tank burn.
The taste…
Drift couldn't stop himself from purging every time it touched his mouth, expelling the little good fuel he had left.
That only encouraged them to just force it down again and again until it stayed.
It took him far too long to just disable his expulsion reflexes.
Even then, it did nothing to stop the hunger pains that felt all too familiar.
He tried refusing.
So they just put something else in his mouth instead.
If he focused on the horrible pangs in his tank, he could block out the blinding pain in his helm and the bitterness of something he was never meant to know the taste of.
Drift wondered if Ratchet was keeping himself fueled.
He needed to remind Ratchet. It was important.
Drift didn't want him to ever feel like this.
Rough hands held his mouth open. Cruel grins as he struggled.
The sobs came against his will.
That only made them hurt him more.
This was their entertainment. Gathering around like so many mechs would at Swerve's.
Watching. Joking. Laughing.
That awful laugh.
His cries only egged them on. Screams filled them with glee. So he tried to stop. It didn't work.
Drift was tired of screaming.
They always tossed him in a closet when they were done with him. Discarded. Like a piece of garbage they grew bored of. It's no fun for them when their toy can't stop fainting.
That's the only solace he had left. Can't torture someone that's unconscious, Tarn.
So Tarn just waits for Drift to wake instead.
He was tired of waking back up. Each time he prayed he wouldn't. It didn't work.
The floor was cold. The air was cold. The expression of the minibot who always came in to patch him up was cold. Indifferent. She hadn't bothered to mention her name. This was the closest thing resembling any sort of comfort in this place. The only one who didn't directly hurt him.
Drift had long given up begging her to kill him.
The last time he attempted, he was dragged out, left with Helex until he was a sobbing mess, apologizing over and over again. He hasn't spoken since.
It was easy for her to move him with his legs long gone.
Didn't even hurt anymore.
She hovered over him, tools digging into his side. Fixing him up? Or taking more organs? They already had his transformation cog. What more could he afford to lose without dying? Maybe this meant they would be finished with him soon.
Probably not.
A sob caught in his intake.
If he shuttered his optics, maybe he could see Ratchet instead.
Maybe he could feel Ratchet's hands, always so gentle and caring regardless of his outward demeanor.
Drift had done something stupid with Rodimus again. Gotten injured in some ridiculous way. Ratchet would lecture him. Tell him exactly how stupid it was. All while being so careful, so soft. Ratchet always cared. Even if he tried to hide it.
…
He missed Ratchet.
He missed Ratchet so much.
The tears came despite himself.
Drift wanted to die.
But he wanted to see Ratchet again.
Even though he knew he couldn't.
He would never see Ratchet again.
Ratchet sat, helm in his hands, shaking. Trying not to have the worst possible scenarios running through his processor. Somehow they were even worse than that.
How long had he sat here? It had to have been days by now. The Lost Light should be nearby. He checked his chronometer.
Twenty minutes.
He couldn't do this anymore. No more waiting.
Every second he spent sitting on his aft, the further away the Peaceful Tyranny got. The further away Drift got.
He would hunt them down himself.
Ratchet sent a message to the Lost Light, letting them know he was going on ahead. It still wouldn't hurt to have that back-up coming. He wasn't delusional enough to think he could ever hope to take on the DJD.
But he also couldn't sit here and do nothing.
Setting the shuttle to take off, Ratchet scoured through every mention he could find of the DJD. Their ship was hardly subtle. The DJD wasn't too concerned about leaving a trail. Anyone unfortunate enough to be in their general vicinity tended to run the other way, not closer. They also tended to warn as many as possible of their last seen location. And that's precisely what he was hoping for.
Ratchet found his answer pretty quickly.
They had stopped at a planet a few solar systems away for fuel and supplies. A planet known for their production of weaponry. Been there for a while supposedly. Ratchet tried not to think too hard about that.
It would take about a week to get there, possibly a few days if he pushed the shuttle to its limits.
With hardly a second thought, the coordinates were already punched in and the speed set as high as he could manage.
Unable to sit down with his thoughts, Ratchet sought to keep his hands busy. They'd brought more than enough medical supplies. He should… get them ready. Would probably need them out and prepared when he brought Drift back.
That's right. He needed to frame his thoughts as when, not if.
He knew this went against everything he believed.
But if he surrendered to the thought that Drift was truly lost to him, Ratchet might just break.
"Come on, you gotta stop with the crying already. You know that only encourages them, right?"
Drift didn't respond. Dull pain pulsing through his frame killed any words in his intake.
The minibot flipped him onto his side, pulling his arms behind him. She was going to cuff him again. Not like there was any point. He wasn't going anywhere.
"Look, I'm sorry about leaving you with Helex. But you shouldn't be trying to take the easy way out. Just accept your fate, that'll make it so much easier."
Metal clasped around his wrists.
"Eh, then again. Maybe not."
She hopped over him, landing and crouching by his helm. Tiny hands took his face.
"Hmm. You look pretty miserable."
Drift could only stare blankly back at her.
"Hey, if it makes any difference, I do feel bad. They don't usually have the habit of bringing people back alive, if you know what I mean. I hope you're able to die soon, really. But don't be asking me to do it."
She left him again. Alone and cold in the dark.
Drift wanted to flip onto his back, but that would only hurt his wrists. So he stayed where he was.
There was nowhere to look but forward, at the vague outline of the closet door just a few feet from his face. Drift refused to look down at himself. He didn't want to see. If he didn't acknowledge the horrible numbness below his waist, he could pretend there was still something there.
Stuttering vents from his intake were all he could hear in the dead quiet.
Thoughts wandered far from here.
Places that were warm. Happy.
The Lost Light.
He wondered how Swerve's was. What the latest prank that little guy had pulled was. If Whirl had caused any more property damage. Of course he had. Drift huffed a laugh. Or, tried to. It hurt.
Thoughts of Brainstorm and that eerily familiar microscope replica he was showing Drift last. Percy, telling him about his latest findings with that barely contained enthusiasm he tried so hard to cover up now. Drift missed that side of him.
Pipes, bless him… had he ever found that big chested bot he yearned for? All the times the minibot had invited Drift to movie night at Rewind's, but he had never had the time to go. Or, that's what he'd told Pipes at least.
He should've gone. At least once.
Now he'd never get to.
Drift's vents became uneven. The tears came so easily to him lately. Didn't do him any favors, only made things worse. Still, he couldn't stop them.
How is it that here, where his life is so close to its end, that he's having so many regrets? So many things he still wants to do. To experience.
And yet, he still wants to die.
Didn't really matter in the end. It's not like he'd get a say in the matter either way.
Through the silence, his audials picked up the distinct sound of heavy pedesteps approaching. Vents quickened. Not so soon. Not again.
Please. Just keep going. Leave me alone. Don't come in. The words died in his processor. He knew it was pointless.
Drift shuttered his optics tight.
They came in.
He could see it.
Ratchet stumbled out of the shuttle in a frenzy. He knew he was being erratic. Reckless. Probably extremely stupid.
But those slaggers took Drift, and now he could see them. And like hell was he going to let them get away.
No word back from the Lost Light yet. Ratchet couldn't afford to wait.
Med kit in his subspace. Two blasters. A hidden third one just in case. Multiple knives.
He didn't stand a chance.
He was going in anyway.
Ratchet snuck in through a shaft on the side of the ship.
It was quiet. Unsettling.
He passed by a room stained in energon.
... And tried not to think about who it likely belonged to.
The ship gave off a weird air. Strangely quiet. Abandoned.
The thought occurred to him that perhaps he'd gotten lucky and they were all out at the moment.
But then Ratchet remembered.
He didn't believe in luck.
He didn't stand a chance.
They took all of his weapons. Even the Med kit. He lamented that bit, at least let him keep that.
Tarn was somehow under the impression that a lousy blindfold would keep Ratchet from internally mapping out the layout of their ship as he was pushed through the halls. It probably didn't matter regardless. There was a good chance he wasn't making it out of here.
He hadn't thought this through.
But he wasn't dead yet, so Ratchet considered this a success.
The thought that they might use him to torment Drift should've been more prevalent in his processor, but right now Ratchet just needed to see him. He needed to know that Drift was alive. At this point nothing else mattered. Even though it should've. And this was so uncharacteristically him, Ratchet nearly laughed, if it wasn't so tragic.
Love made him reckless. It made him do stupid things. And it took far too long for him to realize.
So naturally when his stubborn aft comes to accept this… is when he's most likely moments from dying horribly.
But the thought of Drift dying alone… he couldn't let that happen. Even if that means Ratchet has to join him.
The arms behind him shoved Ratchet forward, making him stumble into a small, cramped space. He took this opportunity to yank the blindfold off. Why they didn't think to cuff him, was beyond Ratchet.
Or they were just that confident he wasn't getting out.
Something hard on the floor tripped him up, and Ratchet tumbled down as the door closed, leaving him in darkness.
Optics cycled on and off as dark shapes adjusted in his visual feed.
…It was Drift.
This one hurt me... ow
I may be throwing bricks at you but theyre hitting me too so we can suffer together
Thank you for readingðŸ˜ðŸ˜
(realizing now maybe Ratchet found them a little too fast but I suck balls at mysteries I'm here for the emotions 😔)