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Chapter 18: And really, that's all he wanted

The last he saw of Drift was that look of hopeless defeat and acceptance on his face as he was carried off. Tarn and his sick games. Of course he made him choose. If Ratchet had only bothered to look into their names, maybe he wouldn't have stupidly chosen the one Drift was most terrified of. If the way he went completely still and wide eyed was anything to go off of. It was the same look Drift had when he'd seen what remained of his legs.

The sword still sat lodged in his leg. If he positioned his stumps under the hilt, he could pull it out and chase them down. The door wasn't locked. He could do it. He could stop them.

Who was he kidding? All that talk of dying together… If Ratchet so much as stepped foot out there, they'd just kill him right in front of Drift. Or worse, they'd force Drift to…

No. Ratchet couldn't do that to him.

What could he even do with no hands? The only part of him holding any real worth. Ratchet buried his face in his stumps. Useless. That's what he was. How much effort went into the most basic, surface level first aid was immediately undone by Tarn. Drift had to help him. Drift, who was laying on the ground dying.

And now Drift was gone. Ratchet probably would never see him again. Not even so much of a goodbye between them. They both knew Drift's spark couldn't handle any more.

He was going to die. Ratchet would be stupid for assuming he'd get the chance to fix him again. Drift was going to die. And he would die alone. Scared. With the one that took his legs.

Ratchet knew he couldn't make this right. None of this was right. It was horrible and cruel and awful. But there was still something Ratchet could do. He still had his promise to Drift.

He couldn't let Drift die alone. And not by their hands. He deserved to go out with what little shred of dignity he had left. So Ratchet would do it.

Stumps under the hilt of the sword. He could do this.

A deep vent and he pulled it out. And felt nothing. Ratchet could see the energon seeping out of the wound. It wasn't wise to pull that out, not without a way to stop the bleeding. He found he didn't care. His attempt to stand had Ratchet collapsing on himself. No feeling in his leg.

Diagnoses ran through his processor. Ratchet pushed them aside. It would be fine. The damage wasn't to the point where he couldn't walk again. But this leg wouldn't serve him anymore at this point. And considering he was going to die anyway, what did it matter?

And then he heard it. Distant screams. Drift. It was Drift. They were hurting him. Everything shook violently.

Ratchet tried to pick himself up from the floor. He couldn't move.

…It was too late. Drift was going to die any moment now. That thought had Ratchet's spark aching horribly in his chest. Despite all his efforts, Drift would still be alone. At least… at least he got to see Drift one last time.

Ratchet let out a sob. For the first time in his life, he found himself hoping the Afterspark was real. Let him be wrong for once. Ratchet wouldn't mind that so much. Maybe then, this loneliness wouldn't have to be forever.

The door creaked open behind his helm. Ratchet couldn't turn to face it. A flash of white had Drift tossed in, landing in a heap beside him, painfully still. So it was his turn then. Ratchet wanted it to be over. Just end this. Let him join Drift. That's really all he wanted at this point.

But they didn't come for him. The door was closed, leaving them in darkness.

He didn't know how long he'd stared at Drift. What was he hoping for? Drift was dead. At least Ratchet knew that Drift wasn't suffering anymore. He could finally rest. That was good enough for Ratchet. Maybe they'd just leave him here to slowly rot away, forgotten in the depths of their ship, but at least Drift wasn't in pain.

"I'm sorry." Ratchet could barely hear his own voice, faint and weak in the silence. "I'm sorry things turned out the way they did. You didn't deserve this." Ratchet reached his arm out.

Drift jolted awake.

Dimly lit optics peered right through him. Drift was alive?

"No…" Drift's optics went wide as he brought his hands up around his helm. "No. No no no…"

"Drift..." Ratchet pushed himself up to Drift with his good leg. It was then he noticed the object lodged in his abdomen. The crystals Drift had shown to Ratchet not too long ago. He'd seen Drift tuck them into his subspace.

Drift's hands wandered to the crystals, pulling his plating back as he wheezed in pain.

"Stop it. Let me take a look at it, alright?" Ratchet reached out again, only for his stump to pass right through Drift.

Drift curled in on himself, bringing his legs up closer to his chest. His legs. He had his legs.

"No… I can't be here. Please… not here… not here…"

"Drift…?" Ratchet tried touching him again, only for him to go straight through once more.

What was this? A sick joke? Showing him Drift, but not allowing him to offer any sort of relief?

"Drift. Drift, say something to me. Please."

Drift only lay shivering. No response.

Was this supposed to be Drift's ghost? The idea was ridiculous to him, but Ratchet couldn't deny what he saw.

So Drift really was dead then. That brought a horrible emptiness in him. Drift was gone.

Ratchet found he couldn't move, he could only lay in that spot on the floor, feeling the puddle of energon below him grow ever so slowly. The burning pain in his stumps was starting to get unbearable. Maybe if he focused on that, he could ignore the hallucinations. Or whatever these horrible things he was forced to see were.

Whisps of Drift came and went. Echoes of him being dragged out. Tossed back in. The little minibot that would occasionally fix him up.

The sounds he could hear. Anguished cries. Jeering laughs. That awful music. All filtered in from around the ship, horrible sounds traveling through ventilation and pipes.

How long had he laid here, withering away in this slow agony? Ratchet was fairly sure his chronometer had broken some time ago, but then again how would he know? Maybe he was dead too. With the amount of energon he'd lost, it wouldn't be surprising in the slightest.

If he was dead, then he truly was in hell.

Ratchet watched as Drift was tossed in once again, barely conscious. He laid motionless beside Drift, listening to the quiet murmur of prayers whispered through broken sobs. Ratchet longed so badly to reach out and touch him, provide any sort of comfort. But he couldn't.

Was this what Drift went through? The visions that caused him so much distress he'd followed Ratchet to a place like Messatine? Forced to watch those he loved getting hurt over and over again?

Drift reached a hand out towards him, almost as if he were truly there. Ratchet brought his stump to meet the hand. Still nothing.

He kept it there regardless, coolant pouring down his face. Maybe for just a moment, he could pretend Drift was still with him, that he wasn't suffering through his last days completely alone.

Unconsciousness pulled him under to the sound of Drift's whispering pleas. This would have to end soon. It had to.

---

They took Drift again. The heaviness in the air felt different. Pure horror, suffocating and dark.

Screams of agony pierced Ratchet's audials. They echoed through his head, through the walls, the floor. He couldn't take this anymore. He wanted it to stop. No more of this. No more. Please.

A cruel twist of fate had Drift's voice playing back through his processor over the pained cries. Objects could hold memories if the emotions were strong enough. Drift told him that. Ratchet didn't believe him at the time. But it was clear to him now that this room held Drift's feelings of despair and hopelessness. His memories.

The next time he saw Drift, he had gone completely silent, laying in the same position he'd been dropped in. Tear tracks ran down his face as Drift stared blankly up at the ceiling. Light trails of steam still emanated from his mangled thighs.

Drift didn't pray again after that.

Everything felt numb. The pain had long left him. Ratchet couldn't feel anything, not even the energon surely still leaving his frame. He didn't check fuel levels. It was better not to know.

Ratchet wanted to feel something, anything. He couldn't move, couldn't even seem to shut his optics off. He was forced to lay here and watch Drift suffer as he slowly died.

Was this some sort of special torment just for him? Drift was dead. Why force him to see this?

Please. Please just let him die already.

Ratchet almost missed the sound as the door opened once again.

Not again. Not again. Had Drift not been through enough already? Ratchet let out one last sob. He couldn't watch any more of this.

The feeling of systems shutting down shook his frame. Maybe he wouldn't have to wait long after all.

"Ratchet?"

Someone rushed up to him. He'd be with Drift soon. It would be alright.

"No… Ratchet…" Gentle hands on his frame. The sensation was too much.

"What are you doing in a place like this?"

That voice sounded familiar, but Ratchet couldn't think. His processor must be on the way out too.

"Come on. Let's get you out of here, Ratch. You'll be alright now. I promise." Those gentle hands lifted him, frame disturbingly light. The feeling of hands on him was all too much at once, but nothing seemed to function in his body. So Ratchet let himself be carried off, hopeful that he might just get to be with Drift once more.

And really, that's all he wanted.

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