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Chapter 20: And he was gone.

Drift felt so warm.

The tarp radiating heat pulled up over his shoulders. The soft, warm frame beside him. Hands on his face, cupping his vents. Thumbs gently brushing his cheeks. A soft kiss on his nasal ridge. Quiet murmurs as arms wrapped tight around him, pulling Drift in closer. Helms rested against one another. Ventilations in sync.

Drift tucked his face into the shoulder pressed against him. It smelled like Ratchet. Felt like Ratchet.

"I've got you. It's over now. You can rest, Drift." That gentle voice.

Sounded like Ratchet.

His own arms wrapped around and returned the embrace, feeling the steady thrum of the other spark against his chest. Drift finally felt content. Safe.

"I thought you were gone." Drift could barely hear his own voice, far too frail and faint for his liking.

Arms hugged him tighter. "I'm not leaving you. Don't worry."

Drift snuggled up close, desperate to quell that ache in his spark that just wouldn't seem to leave. Exhaustion pulled at his processor, threatening to take him.

"Sleep, Drift. You're safe here. I'll watch over you."

A soft vent released and Drift let his optics shutter. He could finally rest. It was over. No more horror. The only thing that mattered was the warm embrace holding him. Nothing else.

Drift shifted and felt the grip on his back loosen. Something wet and cold trailed down his frame.

Energon stained the berth.

Ratchet pulled away, looking down at his stumps, bleeding heavily.

Drift was cold.

"This is all your fault."

Disgust, revulsion, hatred. Ratchet's EM field flooded his senses, stabbing right to the spark. It throbbed.

"If you hadn't gotten yourself mixed up with a bunch of sadists, I'd still have my hands right now. Maybe I should've just left you there to rot. It's what you deserve anyway, wouldn't you agree?"

Splitting pain shook his frame. Drift couldn't vent. He curled in on himself.

"Look at me, Drift. Look at me." Energon dripped down onto Drift's helm. He wouldn't look. He didn't want to see the holes bored into Ratchet's face leering right over him.

"This is what you did to me. Are you happy?"

Drift couldn't answer.

Something grabbed his face, yanking it up to look straight into those horrible pits of hell on Ratchet's face. Hands. Unfamiliar hands.

"Look at this. Now I have to wear replacement hands, fake hands. I'm useless now, thanks to you. Thanks to them. Maybe I should just take you back. It's not like anyone here would want you, least of all me."

Finials grabbed roughly as Drift was dragged off the berth, hitting the ground hard. Pain shot all through his frame. That didn't stop Ratchet, tugging Drift right along by the helm as he tried to pry the hands off. Hands that didn't belong to Ratchet.

The closet door sat open. He was going to be tossed in. Drift fought against the hold on him, but without the use of his legs, it was all he could do to weakly grab at the hands dragging him.

The back of the closet. He remembered it well. Ratchet slammed Drift up against the wall and left him slumped up against it to rummage around for something. That awful feeling of dread and horror washed over him. Drift didn't want to go through this again. His gaze found the doorway straight ahead, clear and free of obstacles.

With hardly a second thought Drift shoved himself forward, arms pulling his frame along the floor, inching towards the exit. He didn't get far.

Cold hands on him, grabbing at his wrists. The cuffs. He saw the cuffs.

"Just hold still, will you?"

Unfamiliar voice. Unfamiliar frame.

A sharp jab in his side.

"My friend just wants a little snack on those memories of yours. Don't worry, you won't remember any of this. I'll make sure of that."

Familiar?

"Drift!"

Warm hands on his frame, shaking him.

"Drift! Come on, wake up!"

Loud voice in his audials. Obnoxiously loud.

Systems booted online, jolting Drift's frame. Through the static haze, he managed to catch sight of Rodimus, hovering over him, worry plastered on his face.

"Roddy?" Drift's voice wobbled ever so slightly. He didn't like that.

"Oh thank god. You okay, Drift?"

"I'm fine." Drift brought his hands up to rub at his face, but stopped to stare at the way they trembled violently.

"You had a nightmare or something. Really freaked me out for a minute there." The berth creaked as Rodimus sat down on the edge, not having taken his optics off of Drift. "Want me to call Ratchet-?"

"No!" Drift found his hand clawing into Rodimus' arm. He pulled it back sheepishly, noticing how he'd scratched his arm up in the process. Rodimus didn't seem to care.

"No… don't get Ratchet. I'm fine." The thought of seeing Ratchet made his tank turn. Drift didn't know why.

Optics squinted as Rodimus gave him a suspicious look before releasing a dramatic vent. "Alright. If you say so. But if you start venting funny or grabbing your chest again I'm calling him whether you want me to or not."

"Are you sure you're not Ratchet? You're starting to sound like him."

Drift's hand absently wandered to his chest and found that nothing obstructed its path. The spark support machine was gone. He hadn't noticed it being removed.

"Just worried about you, is all." Rodimus turned his gaze away as he scratched the back of his helm. "Uh. How-" He paused, shifting awkwardly. "How is therapy going?"

"I haven't started yet. Ratchet said someone will be seeing me soon, though."

His response was met with a puzzled look. "You started your sessions a couple days ago, didn't you? I know you did because I was chased out of the room when he came by to talk to you."

"Oh…" So he was back with the memory loss once again. Not that it was surprising. "So Rung's been down to see me, then?" Drift didn't feel comfortable having gaps in his memory drive, but he knew he was in good hands at the very least.

"Well…" Hesitation. Not a good feeling. Rodimus looked back at him. "Rung's been down here all right." His thumb jerked in the direction of the open doorway. "Been out cold. No one can get him to wake up. Ratchet thinks he's been poisoned."

"What-?"

Rodimus lowered his voice and leaned in. "I know you're technically not Command anymore, so I'm probably not supposed to tell you. Just keep a lid on it, alright? Magnus is looking into it."

"The one who's been seeing you is Rung's friend. I think he's a friend? You can never tell around here. His name was uh… Fried? Froid?" Rodimus scratched his chin in thought. "Ringing any bells?"

"…No." Uncomfortable pressure in his chest. Drift didn't know why. He kept his composure. If Rodimus picked up on any discomfort, he'd call Ratchet.

He didn't know why that thought bothered him.

Drift laid still on the berth, feeling the chill air against his plating. The only tarp on him was the one covering his lower body. He was cold.

Of course, he could always just ask for another tarp, but Drift could feel light heat bouncing off of Rodimus from where he sat on the berth and suddenly he felt the need for contact.

"Rodimus." Drift hesitated as Rodimus looked down at him expectantly. The words to describe what he wanted were lost to him. "Could you…" Drift glanced aimlessly at the berth. Usually it had been Rodimus that clung onto him and invaded his personal space, and Drift couldn't help but feel the roles had been reversed somewhat, with Rodimus having gone out of his way to avoid even touching him.

His request seemed to have gotten through when he suddenly found Rodimus fully climbing onto the berth beside him and flopping onto his back. "Alright… c'mere you." Warmth enveloped him as an arm tucked around his back, pulling Drift up close.

Drift wrapped his own arms around Rodimus, trying desperately to ignore the feeling of dread creeping up. Don't think about it. He held on tighter.

"Ow." Rodimus shifted slightly. "Should you really be doing that, Drift? With all those cables sticking out of your arm?"

"It'll be fine." Drift mumbled from where his face was currently buried in Rodimus' side. Rodimus was so warm, the excessive number of fire mods he'd had installed turning him into a living furnace. He tried to push his frame fully against Rodimus, but found the other still hesitant to make contact, his arm having gone loose around Drift's back. Frustrated, Drift reached over and grabbed at his other arm, wanting Rodimus to turn onto his side.

"Okay, okay. Slow down." The full frame hug was hesitantly returned as Rodimus shifted himself to face Drift. Only a tiny spark of playfulness in his voice. Drift clung to it. If he could take back any shred of normalcy, any at all, that would be good enough for him. Even if… his normal meant Rodimus wouldn't be here.

A knee bumped into Drift's stumps and he felt Rodimus flinch as he pulled back.

"It's okay. You won't hurt me. I lost feeling down there a while ago."

What was intended as reassurance only seemed to do the opposite, as an assortment of emotions passed through Rodimus's face. Anger. Guilt.

Sadness.

"Rodimus." Drift brought his helm up to make optic contact. "I decided to go back there. Whatever happened after that isn't on you."

Rodimus didn't look convinced. Still, he closed the distance between them as he wrapped Drift up tighter. He was too quiet. It didn't feel right.

Rodimus blamed himself. For what, Drift wasn't entirely sure. Maybe he knew at one point, but the blank spots in his memory banks only seemed to grow. It left him with a feeling of unease that only intensified by the minute.

Hands on his back, chestplate touching his own. The steady thrum of the spark inside.

A horrible feeling settling across his frame, plating crawling at the sensation. It felt so wrong. Drift held on regardless. He wanted this, needed this.

Rodimus was so warm. Drift could feel the heat radiating off his frame.

Warm. Hot. Burning. Scalding. Melting.

Melting.

Melting.

Panicked voices. Distant pain. Muted sounds. Was he meditating? Maybe he was meditating. He'd forgotten how to do that.

A voice screaming in his audials. Broken sobs. Pleading cries to stop, stop, please stop-

It took Drift a moment to recognize that voice as his own. Someone touched his face, had their hands on him, but he felt nothing. Frame unresponsive, moving on its own, without any say from Drift. It thrashed and flailed. It sobbed and screamed. Drift felt nothing.

Why was he acting like this? He didn't feel threatened. Only numb. Everything was numb.

Ratchet appeared in his optical feed. Ratchet was here.

Soothing words, muffled and muted. They didn't make any sense.

Energon dripped from Ratchet's arms. He'd hurt Ratchet again. Of course he did, what else was he capable of?

Drift hated this. He didn't want to be seen like this, heard like this. By anyone. Ever again.

And yet, he couldn't stop.

"Drift?"

Drift snapped out of whatever had a hold on his processor. Ratchet sat beside the berth. He hadn't noticed him move. Helm turned to where Ratchet sat and Drift found he had control over his frame again.

"Hey. How are you feeling?" Voice cautious, apprehensive. As if he expected Drift to start up again. The chair sat farther back than usual, Ratchet making no move to come closer. He remained at a distance, aimlessly adjusting the gauze now covering his arms. The gauze he wore because of Drift.

"This is nothing. I've dealt with far worse from a patient than a few scratches. Don't worry about it." Ratchet had caught him staring. Drift glanced away.

"Where's Rodimus?" It took far more effort to force the words out than he'd anticipated. His throat burned.

"He's alright. I had him leave. I think he's a bit spooked. You had a reaction to the heat from his frame."

"I did?" His voice croaked. Was that what happened? Drift couldn't remember.

"Try not to strain your voice too much. Just use comms again if it hurts, alright? Unfortunately there's not a treatment I can give you that doesn't involve drinking something." Ratchet touched the machine by the berth. He didn't touch Drift.

A hand wandered to his throat. Drift let it sit there. When had he begun speaking again? Last he recalled he could only use comms. The feeling of unease grew. He didn't like this. Not knowing himself. Not trusting himself.

"It might be best to reschedule your therapy session if you're not feeling up to it. You had a pretty intense reaction." Ratchet brought his chair closer. "I can let him know you-"

"No. Um." Drift brought his hands down, wringing them in his lap. "I can do it. It's important, right? I'll be fine."

He was shot a worried glance. "…Are you sure, Drift? It's no big deal if you want to wait."

"Ratchet. I'm alright, really. I feel fine. You worry too much."

Ratchet placed his hands on his hips. "Well, excuse me. It's not my fault you keep giving me reasons to worry."

A familiar feeling. It still made his spark flutter. The banter between them was the same.

But it also wasn't. It wasn't the same. This was Ratchet, but it wasn't Ratchet. Drift knew Ratchet. Ratchet knew him. This was a friend. He knew that. But Drift couldn't escape the feeling that he didn't know this Ratchet.

Ratchet cared for him, that was clear. But the connection, the bond wasn't the same. And Drift felt that absence to the point it made his spark ache. This wasn't a stranger, but something between them was lost and Drift had to hold onto this knowledge in painful silence, all while knowing what he could've had.

Unless of course, Ratchet was right all along, and this was just an elaborate hallucination his processor imagined. If their relationship, their bond was all in his head, what did that even leave him with? Maybe he should just be grateful he had Ratchet at all. Even if they stayed painfully distant, Drift could hold onto that picture in his mind. That wonderful feeling, wonderful memories he had with Ratchet. Even if he was the only one treasuring them. Even if it tore him apart.

"Unfortunately, your recovery is going a bit slow, so you're going to be stuck in here a while longer. Want me to bring you something to do? A datapad, if you wanted to read anything? Or anyone you'd like to visit you?"

Ratchet stood by the door, looking back at him. Drift couldn't move, couldn't think. What did he want? He didn't know. Ratchet wouldn't be upset about that, would he? Ratchet wouldn't mind.

…Would he?

It's been too long. Ratchet was waiting for answer. He had to give an answer.

The words got stopped up in his intake. Just say it. Just tell him. It'll be fine.

"Drift…? Is something wrong?"

Just answer the question. Answer it.

I don't want to have to repeat myself again, Deadlock. What will it be?

He's waited too long. No, no no no.

Are you ready to answer the question, then?

He's waited too long.

Answer the question. Answer the question. Answer the question.

Well if you won't, then I suppose your friend will have to answer for you.

An arm extended out towards him. "Drift? It's alright if you-"

Drift flinched.

Ratchet pulled back.

Why did he do that? This was Ratchet. Not them. He was safe here.

"…I can bring you a datapad for now. If you want anything else just call for me, alright?"

Drift still couldn't answer as he watched Ratchet walk out. He couldn't answer as the datapad was placed in his lap, or when Ratchet gave him one last pitying look before leaving for good.

What was wrong with him?

Drift stared at the datapad. He didn't really want this. There was nothing he wanted to do.

Well, he did want to get up, go for a walk, stretch his legs. But that's the one thing he couldn't do. So instead Drift opted to just stare at the wall. That's how he'd spent all his alone time lately anyway. He found he didn't have much energy to do anything else.

Familiar thoughts wandered to the front of his processor. Thoughts he would've preferred had died back on that ship along with the other parts of him that didn't make it out. He just wanted it to be quiet. No unpleasant thoughts. Just silence. Let him meditate like he used to.

It didn't listen.

"Drift. You okay?"

Drift pried his optics away from the wall. Ratchet. His hand hovered over Drift's frame.

"I'm okay. You're back. Did you forget something?"

"Drift… it's been three hours. You kept calling for me, I couldn't get you to respond."

The button sat in his hand, metal slightly crushed, warped from how hard he gripped it. "Oh… I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize." Ratchet offered up a reassuring smile. It didn't quite reach his optics. "I'm assuming you wanted me. I can stay with you again, if that's what you want."

Here he was again, being a burden to Ratchet. He shouldn't have to be at Drift's beck and call like this. Ratchet was going to get sick of him at some point.

Still, he had to give Ratchet an answer for why he called him so many times. Drift didn't want to think of how much work Ratchet fell behind on because he was busy checking up on the bot who was too occupied with staring at the wall to realize he'd been a nuisance.

"Actually, Ratchet… could I have that tarp back? I'm a bit cold."

"Yeah. Just a second." Ratchet gave a quick nod before rummaging through the cabinet and pulling out a large tarp. The perfect size for a bot with legs.

Finally, he seemed to get some physical contact from Ratchet as the tarp was pulled over Drift's frame. Hands brushing up against his sides as it was tucked in, but pulling away far too quickly.

"A bit big… but should keep you nice and warm." Ratchet stepped back and Drift realized this wasn't the same tarp as before. Just a normal, standard tarp. Not nearly as warm as he'd like for it to be, with as horribly cold as he was.

"Sorry. It's best you stay away from anything generating heat for now."

Right. Of course. Because he couldn't handle something as harmless as a little heat. All because of a whim. Just a whim. Torturing him every waking moment wasn't enough was it? No, no of course not. They just had to see how he'd scream when he's stuck in a vat of molten lava. It's not like he'd live to suffer the consequences of that. But then, they wouldn't care, would they? No, they'd drag out his suffering as long as possible just because. Oh they're bored? Good thing the toy is conveniently available. Why not see how he'd react to having acid poured on him? Even better, why not make him drink it? Why not just drip it straight into his spark until he's an incoherent screeching mess?

"Drift?"

Why? What was the point of all this? Why did he have to go through all of that? Why did he have to continue living through it now?

"Drift? Drift, hey… it's alright." Ratchet sat beside him again, concern on his face, cautiously reaching out as if dealing with a wounded mechanimal. Maybe that was accurate.

A sob rang loud in the room. An ugly, deep sob. From him. His chest heaved and ached, as if this had been going on for some time. Drift found his hands were soaked in coolant. He brought them up to his face just as a glob of tears fell from his optics.

"…I'm not okay, Ratchet." Drift buried his face in his hands once again as the sobs picked up in intensity. "I'm not okay. I'm not… I'm not…"

A hesitant touch to his shoulder before Ratchet's hand fully rested on it. "I know, Drift." He rubbed the shoulder gently. "I know…"

An uncomfortable crawling sensation spread across his shoulder. Drift ignored it. He wanted this.

---

The tears continued long after Ratchet left him. The tarp had been pulled up over his helm, hopefully muffling the embarrassing sounds that came with them. Drift intended to stay like this. He didn't want to see anything. He didn't want to hear anything. He didn't want to think. He just wanted to sleep and feel nothing. But of course, he couldn't sleep without vivid horrors being dragged up from his processor, so he'd just have to make do with this.

Drift stared at his hands from underneath the tarp. Maybe he should be glad he could still use them. He could still hold things. He could still write. Draw? He'd never really tried.

Maybe he should grab the datapad. Ratchet told him it was important to keep his processor stimulated. Drift could feel where it laid next to him on top of the tarp.

He didn't want to grab it. So he didn't.

Someone approached. Heavy pedes trying to be as soft as it was possible for them to be.

Drift froze. He couldn't vent.

It wasn't them.

It wasn't them. These sounded different. But he couldn't control his frame.

"Drift? Are you online? I apologize if I'm disturbing you."

Megatron. Drift stayed where he was.

"Go away." The way his voice was muffled from his hiding place only made him sound more immature. He didn't care.

"Alright, I'll leave you be. I just wanted to leave you with something." The pedesteps got closer. Drift tried to ignore his frame's reaction.

Something was placed on the berth beside him. "I found these on their ship. I believe they may have belonged to your friend, although I regret to say I wasn't able to locate the rest of him. I deeply apologize."

Megatron left him with hardly another word. Drift stayed still. He didn't know if he wanted to see what was placed beside him.

A hand snaked out from underneath the tarp and dragged the object under. Objects?

Drift stared back at a pair of hands, stained in energon. Ratchet's hands.

He cradled them in his own.

Ratchet's hands.

The tears started up again. Drift intertwined his fingers with Ratchet's. So he wasn't a hallucination.

Then he was real. And he was gone.

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