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Chapter 19: He wanted Ratchet

Drift woke to the sound of Ratchet's voice.

Scratchy and faint. Angry. Very angry. He couldn't make out what Ratchet was saying.

Drift onlined his optics to see he was back in the shuttle, laid out on the gurney. Rodimus paced across the floor, communicator held away from him, grimace on his face. He glanced down and met optics with Drift, his own growing wide when they did.

"Drift!" Rodimus held the communicator up to his face. "Sorry, Ratch'. Gotta go, bye-"

"Hey! Don't you dare hang up on-"

The device was tossed to the side as Rodimus ran over and crouched beside him. Drift winced. His optical feed had a hard time adjusting to the quick movements.

"Hey…" Rodimus looked so concerned, his hand hovering nervously over Drift's frame before pulling back again. How he wanted to reach out and grab it, but Drift found his arms too heavy. "We're on the way back to the Lost Light. Just hang in there, buddy. Ratchet's gonna fix you up." He looked away. "Again."

Why did Rodimus look so guilty? It was Drift's idea, wasn't it?

…Where had they been again? He had a hard time focusing.

"It was stupid of me to take you back in there. I messed up." Rodimus released a vent that almost sounded like a laugh. A sad, broken laugh. "That's all I ever do, huh. Anything I touch is ruined." The words came out quiet and muffled, his face in his hands. "But somehow it's always you that gets hurt. Because of me."

Drift didn't want Rodimus to speak about himself like that. He tried to express his concern, but found a massive wall blocking his words. Pushing against it brought him back. Back to the closet.

Dark. Shut away. Alone. Scared. Helpless.

They were coming back soon. He saw their new tools. They wanted to test them out. Make him play their sick games again. No more. Please. Please let him die. Please, please-

"Drift…?" Shaking hands clasped over his.

They were coming back. He heard them. The pedesteps. They were coming back. He didn't have time.

"Oh god, what did he say to do again?" Rustling about around him. Rodimus sounded panicked.

Drift could see the outline of that door, glowing dimly in the darkness. He saw Ratchet, pained and weak, the sword lodged in his leg. Despair, thick and heavy in the air. All-consuming.

He didn't find Ratchet.

Ratchet was gone.

Drift's spark hurt. It throbbed.

Ratchet was gone.

Trembling strokes across his chestplate dragged Drift back into the shuttle, gasping and wheezing. He saw Rodimus. Terrified, angry. Barely concealed rage in his optics. A cord hooked into his spark chamber hummed quietly. Rodimus was trying to support Drift's spark with his own. That must be why he felt like his chest was splitting open.

"Is this thing even working?" Rodimus was getting frustrated. "Drift. Please. Don't die. Just a little longer. We're almost there."

Drift was fairly sure he was dying. Or something along those lines.

"Shouldn't have listened to you. Taking you in that closet. I was an idiot." The hand on his chest pulled away and Drift desperately missed the contact, but couldn't communicate it.

"I thought…" Rodimus rubbed his face with shaking hands. "…I really thought I'd lost you when you just- you stopped moving. I couldn't get you to respond. And then just now you did it again- I should've known something was up when you said it was Ratchet in there." Rodimus wouldn't meet his optics. "Ratchet was right. They did something to you. To make you so convinced of that, you'd even think to go back there."

So Rodimus didn't believe him either. That thought cut deep. It hurt.

"I'm going to kill them." Icy cold words spat out into the silence. "The ones who got away. I'm going to hunt them down. And I'm going to kill them." He met Drift's optics this time. Rodimus meant it. "I'll make them pay for what they did to you."

Those words felt so wrong coming from Rodimus. So familiar. The sort of words Drift would have spoken at one time. Maybe… not as far in the past as he would've liked. He didn't want Rodimus to turn out like him. So lost in rage, that he loses sight of himself.

"Don't…" They'll kill you. The wall blocked him.

Rodimus laid his hand back over Drift's chest. "You were right. I don't know the things they did to you. But I don't need to."

Gazing up into unnaturally cold optics, Drift realized what had been bothering him so much.

It was selfish. Drift wanted to kill them himself.

---

Ratchet hadn't chewed him out. Not yet anyway.

Rodimus was getting his. Drift could hear it. Only just barely. The noise from the machine hooked up to his spark chamber was loud. Uncomfortably loud.

Ratchet had barely spoken to him. Hands gentle, moving with expert precision, but only silence. He stood watching over him until the machines stopped blaring and Drift didn't quite feel like he was dying anymore. Had he been dying? He couldn't remember.

His spark still hurt.

The sound of voices outside the closed door made his tank turn. It was only Ratchet. Only Ratchet. It sounded like someone else.

Cold air brushed against his spark, now exposed to the room and Drift felt a sudden burst of panic. The thought of being alone terrified him. Ratchet. He wanted Ratchet.

Drift's hand trembled over the button beside him before pressing it, causing the angry voice outside to come to a sudden stop. The air went still, unmoving. It was too quiet. Painful silence.

Sharp taps as fingers scraped along the door. Soft hums of that horrible tune just outside, waiting. Always waiting, leaving him in horrible anticipation. Making him guess.

Drift was so cold.

Loud machinery in his audials. Deafening. Awful.

Hissing from the door. Heavy pedesteps. Taunting voices. That laugh. Rough hands. Pulling. Yanking. Clawing. Biting. Kicking. Screaming. Sobbing. Begging. Pleading.

Figures approaching. The sludge. He had the sludge.

"Drift! Drift, stop!" Someone pinned him down. Drift thrashed harder, frantic, desperate. "Rodimus, hold him down- Gently!"

It was all too much. Too much.

More hands on him, touching him, grabbing him. Drift snarled as he struggled. They wouldn't make him drink it again. Not this time.

"Drift, please! If you keep this up, you'll die!"

As if that mattered to him. That was his only way out of this hell.

Hands cupped the sides of his helm and Drift froze as he locked optics with Ratchet, face upside down above him. "Easy. Easy. Just focus on my voice, alright?" Ratchet's hands on his face, damp with coolant, he now realized. A shuddering gasp had Drift's chest aching horribly. It hurt.

"Shh. Deep vents. Nice and slow. Like this." Ratchet took in a deep vent and released it slowly. Another painful wheeze from Drift as he tried to follow. Ratchet did it again, continuing over and over until Drift began to match his pace. "Good. That's it, just like that." Gentle strokes across his brow lulled Drift into a deep exhaustion, barely managing to keep his optics open.

"It's only me in here with you. And Rodimus. No one else. You're safe." There were deep gashes in Ratchet's arms. Did he do that?

"Is he-?"

A hard glare from Ratchet halted Rodimus. "He'll live. No thanks to the idiotic stunt you pulled. When I said his spark can't handle any sort of stress right now, I meant it. Considering taking him back in there was actively killing him, I'll take it you didn't listen. Out. I'll finish lecturing you later."

Rodimus flinched, frame deflating as he turned to leave. Drift barely caught a concerned glance cast back at him from the corner of his optical feed before Rodimus slunk back out silently.

"And you can look forward to yours as soon as you're in stable condition." Ratchet grumbled quietly as he sat down beside the head of the berth, resuming his strokes on Drift's helm. "Which has been set back considerably, so I suppose you're off the hook for a while."

A weak smile snuck onto his face. Lucky.

Drift felt it fade. He still couldn't break past that wall.

"You better wipe that smirk right off. That is not a good thing." The scanner on Ratchet's arm chirped as he held it over Drift's frame and sighed. "You'll need to stay on spark support for a good bit longer under close observation."

« Worried I'll get up and wander off? » Well, it seemed his comms worked, at least.

Ratchet's expression only wobbled for a brief moment before he caught himself. "I'm worried your spark will fizzle out without direct support because someone decided it was a good idea to subject it to extreme amounts of stress."

« I had to go back. »

"Why? So you could gamble with your life over a hallucination? Do you know how close I was to losing you? Multiple times now. I know why you went back in there. Your lie was not convincing."

Drift bristled furiously. He didn't get it. He didn't get it.

Ratchet wasn't a hallucination. He wasn't.

« I had to. »

"And what exactly did that accomplish? Other than nearly getting yourself killed for no reason?"

« It wasn't no reason. » Drift's chest ached so horribly.

« Ratchet- Ratchet was there. He was there. And now he's gone. » Drift gripped his helm. Everything hurt. He couldn't think.

Hands softly covered his own, pulling them off, careful but firm. Ratchet let out a small vent. "Drift. I'm right here. I promise you. I'm safe. I was never on their ship." His face had softened, expression sad. He still thought Drift was losing it. "We need to drop this, it's causing you too much stress right now. Your spark can't handle it."

« Ratchet's gone. He's gone. I'll never see him again. » Tears streamed down as Drift struggled to vent once again. He couldn't stop them. He missed Ratchet.

Ratchet held tight to his hands, not letting go. That pitying look. Drift hated it. Ratchet thought he was too frail to handle a little argument. He didn't need to be coddled. Drift knew he was right.

« I don't know what to do. What do I do? Where is he? » Splitting pain in his chest as Drift's frame trembled violently. The machine was too loud. Too loud.

"You need to stop, Drift. This is hurting you."

« It's a bit late for that. I need him, Ratchet. I want Ratchet. » Nothing made sense. Everything hurt. He wanted it to stop.

A reassuring squeeze on his hands. "Right here, Drift. I'm right here." Ratchet offered him a weak smile. Ratchet didn't get it.

Emptiness set in like a dark void. This was his reality now. His Ratchet was gone. No one understood. And why would they? After all, they only saw the poor bot who'd been tortured out of his sanity. Maybe that's all he really was. Maybe he'd been living in his own elaborate fantasy, where he had something special with Ratchet, something special all to himself. Selfish, that's what he was.

Rustling sounds as Ratchet adjusted the machine screaming in his audials. He smoothed out the tarp covering Drift's thighs.

Drift was still so cold.

"Are you warm enough? I'm sorry, I can't put the tarp over you with the spark support hooked in."

Drift gave a weak nod.

"Alright, then." Ratchet stood up with a sharp vent. He gave Drift a sad look briefly, before tucking the pad with the button closer to his hand, now resting on the berth. "You know what to do if you need me. Anything hurts- you press that button. I'm serious, Drift. I'll be back soon to check on you, alright?"

Ratchet stopped by the foot of the berth and turned back. "We're arranging to have someone visit you sooner. Doctor's orders. This is directly affecting your health." He looked away. "And I'm not going to risk losing you again." He spoke so softly, Drift nearly missed it.

The door hissed open as Ratchet hit the controls. He paused. "Do you want me to leave it open?"

The unspoken question. He remembered his reaction to the door opening.

God, he felt so pathetic.

Drift simply nodded. Ratchet left without another word.

The room felt different now, with the door left open. Less suffocating. Drift felt the tension leave his frame.

Optics locked on the ceiling. Nothing to look at. Nothing to do. Nothing to hear but the machine humming away, the only thing keeping him on this plane. Nothing to feel but his spark weakly thrumming in his chest and the dull ache settling around his frame.

It reminded him too much of the closet.

The last time he saw Ratchet.

Drift took in a deep vent. He released it slowly. Just like Ratchet instructed. It didn't make him feel better.

He wanted Ratchet. Drift let his finger wander to the button. And pulled it back.

He wanted Ratchet.

Focus on something else.

Drift turned his senses to the Medibay outside, hoping to hear the bustle of busy mechs.

Nothing.

He wanted Ratchet.

He couldn't have Ratchet. Stop thinking about it.

Attention wandered back to the ceiling. Drift had to convince himself that this was better than where he came from. It was safe here.

Then why did he still feel so alone? So hopeless?

Soft pedesteps filled the silence. The door hissed shut.

Drift didn't like having the door shut.

Cold fingers on his arm. "Well, hello again."

Drift felt he should know who this was, but his processor only came up blank.

"It's not quite time for our sessions just yet. I just need to make sure no inconvenient memories pop up at a bad time, you know?" The ice cold hands moved to his helm, tapping for access to his brain module. It slid open seemingly against his will.

You know what will happen if you don't open it.

"It's strange. I don't have to do this to your friend. He doesn't seem to remember. Maybe I poisoned him a little too much. I honestly didn't expect to see either of you again, least of all you. No offense- but I assumed you'd be dead by now. How unfortunate for you."

Uncomfortable sensation in his helm. Drift didn't like it.

"Gotta keep up with business. You know how it is. Unfortunately for you, business seems to be drawn to you. No hard feelings, I'm sure? I hope you weren't too excited to meet with Rung. Can't seem to take on any new patients right now. Tragic. Good thing his old pal is available. And with raving reviews! I work very hard to keep up appearances."

The needles slid out of his helm. "Which is why you're going to forget all about this little conversation. It's just too bad my skills are so bare bones. Having to do this repeatedly is going to get very annoying. Oh well. My friend does a much more thorough job. I'm sure you'd remember. If I hadn't intervened, anyway."

The figure slunk out the door. "I'm very much looking forward to our sessions, Drift."

The ceiling stared back down at him, white and blank. Drift didn't know why his helm hurt. Did his helm hurt? He didn't know.

Drift's spark throbbed. The button lay underneath his hand.

He wanted Ratchet.

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