---

Chapter 21: Who was this again?

"Is there a reason you believe that to be true?"

"I… I don't know." Drift gripped the tarp in his lap, keeping his gaze locked on the small bump from Ratchet's hands sitting next to him, hidden away from prying optics. "I don't know why."

He hated this.

"So, you are convinced Ratchet is dead," The bot crossed his legs in his seat by the berth. "despite the fact he is clearly alive and well to everyone here, yourself included?"

"…Yes."

Being seen, being known like this, Drift despised every second of it. Deeply guarded thoughts and feelings just laid bare by someone he didn't even know or recall sharing these things with… it made him immensely uncomfortable in ways he couldn't articulate.

But he supposed… even if he had no memory of speaking about these things, clearly there must've been some level of trust here? Otherwise there was no way he'd let something like that slip. He had to power through this. For Ratchet. It was for his health. Ratchet wanted the best for him, so he'd just have to do this. Even if it hurt in the moment, this would only serve to help him.

"And you are under the impression that he hates you, despite also being dead?"

Drift felt his tank twist. This was getting too personal. "I don't want to discuss this. My relationship with Ratchet is really none of your business."

The bot held his hands up. "Right, right. I apologize. We're here to work through your trauma from recent events, not relationship problems. Of course. Not that I'm implying there is a problem. Anyway, let's see here…" He looked down as he flicked through the datapad in his lap.

Who was this again? Drift could've swore Rodimus mentioned the name not too long ago. Nothing came up in his memory banks, not even from previous sessions that he's supposedly had with this bot. Sessions that he apparently decided to spill all his darkest secrets with barely any prompting whatsoever. How else would this bot know all the things he did? The thought of him just having knowledge of things Drift had not spoken of to any living being… wasn't a good feeling.

Oh… that's right. He remembers who this is. It's _____. Of course.

"Alright. Let's move on, shall we?" _____ looked up at him.

…Who was this again?

---

"Your memory is getting worse. I'd say you kinda look worse too."

"Huh?"

Rodimus twirled the datapad on his finger, all while keeping perfect optic contact with Drift. "Have you even been getting any recharge? You don't look like you have."

Had he?

Drift shrugged. "Probably. Maybe."

"See? That's what I mean."

"I feel fine, Roddy. I promise." Drift shot him a smile that he knew wasn't convincing in the slightest. Rodimus was right. It didn't feel as though he'd gotten a wink of recharge in who knows how long. But then again, he felt pretty terrible all around anyway.

"Drift, I'm talking about how you don't even know if you have or not. You never remember that you've been having therapy sessions-"

"Therapy sessions?"

"-with that guy that kinda gives me the creeps." The datapad fell as Rodimus stuck a finger in Drift's face. "There! That's what I mean! You forget every single time. We just talked about this earlier today."

The datapad resurfaced as Rodimus bent down to pick it up, but lost his balance and grabbed Drift's shoulder. His hand left just as quickly, Rodimus yanking it back as if Drift burned him. Traces of guilt seeped from his EM field before being reigned back in sharply.

"Rodimus… it's-"

"I should go." Rodimus didn't waste any time getting himself to the exit, tripping over his own pedes in the process. Drift could only watch him leave, there was nothing he could say to get him to stay.

"Hey, Drift?" He stood, swaying in the doorway, yet refusing to look back at Drift. "…Ping me? If… if you need anything, or just- want to talk. About anything. Anytime. Just… yeah. Anytime."

Rodimus didn't wait for a reply. Drift kept his gaze where he had stood only moments before, not wanting to acknowledge how cold and empty the room felt now.

It wasn't until his chronometer went off that Drift realized he'd been staring at the same spot for nearly an hour. Drift went ahead and set the alarm again. Maybe he'd actually get something meaningful done before it went off again. Something, anything to keep his mind busy. Drift let his hand wander around the tarp, not bothering to look down. The datapad was gone he realized, Rodimus took it with him. That was fine. Drift never used it anyway. It's not like he actually wanted to do anything.

What he really wanted was long gone. No point in dwelling on it.

Drift tucked a hand under the tarp, feeling around for Ratchet's hands, still hidden away from view. He wrapped his fingers around one as he found it, absently wondering if Ratchet's spirit would be able to feel his grasp. Ratchet had looked so terrified the last time he'd seen him. Wide optics, horrified and stricken with grief flashed through his processor. Drift gave a reassuring squeeze. "It's alright, Ratch. It's alright. I promise." The hand lay limp, cold and lifeless in his own. Drift's whispers were met with only silence. He stared blankly up at the ceiling, still holding on tight.

Maybe… maybe he could ping Rodimus. Would Rodimus want to talk to him right now?

…Probably not. It was too soon. He'd only be a bother.

Then again, maybe not. Maybe another hour had passed by already without him noticing. That had been happening more often than he'd like.

"Drift?" A light touch on his arm. He tried to hold back the flinch. Only Ratchet. Only Ratchet.

Drift looked up at him, doing his best to offer up an encouraging smile and radiate what he hoped came across as positive feelings through his EM field. "Hey."

Ratchet, to his credit, returned the smile for a few brief moments before settling into a more cautious expression. Apprehensive. "How are you feeling?"

He'd been getting that question pretty often lately. Which made sense, considering he felt pretty terrible. "I'm alright."

Ratchet didn't look convinced, but strangely didn't push it any further than a skeptical glance. A sharp invent and he pulled out the datapad he had in hand. "I wanted to talk to you, if now's a good time."

"Sure." Drift adjusted himself to sit up straighter in the berth, reluctantly releasing Ratchet's hand from under the tarp to place both of his own in his lap. The thought hit him that he probably looked silly doing all this, as if he hadn't just been staring at nothing for who knows how many hours before this.

Ratchet took a seat beside him. "About what we discussed yesterday," Another invent. "The parts for your new legs are in. It shouldn't take too long to construct them. Perceptor wanted to get your approval on the designs one last time before going any further."

It took a moment for him to realize he had no recollection of when yesterday even was, much less anything that took place during that time. And yet Drift found himself staring right at a diagram of his legs, nearly identical to how he remembered them, which he had apparently discussed with Ratchet. Yesterday.

"Perceptor made it a point to mention several times that yes, Brainstorm will be assisting with the assembly, but apparently has swore on several vital organs that he will not add anything weird to your legs. I don't know how much I trust that, personally."

The datapad sat loosely in his hold. Drift let his vision drop out of focus, lines growing blurry. There were little notes scattered about the page. He wondered if any of them mentioned whether the legs would actually be usable, or just a nice decoration to balance out the rest of his battered frame. He was too scared to check.

"What do you think, up to your standards?" Ratchet met his optics, awaiting his response. Drift looked back down at the diagram before handing it over to him and giving a curt nod.

"Are you sure? It's no problem if you want any adjustments done.

"It's fine. Looks good."

The datapad was retrieved from his outstretched hand as Ratchet took it back. "Oh, and I meant to mention- we have a donor for your transformation cog transplant. It shouldn't be a strenuous surgery, we can arrange for that in a few-"

"My… transformation cog?"

"Yes…" Ratchet paused, concern growing on his face. "We talked about it yesterday. You do remember, don't you?" When he didn't give an answer, Ratchet tried again. "Do you… remember anything we discussed yesterday?"

Drift looked down at his lap, the question burning inside him, growing more and more unbearable by the second. But he couldn't handle knowing the answer.

"…No."

Drift met Ratchet's gaze once more to find something resembling pity spreading across his features. He hated this.

"Did you want to…" The sentence trailed off. Ratchet left it open for Drift to decide.

"Do I want to know if I have any chance of standing up and moving anywhere on my own ever again, or if I'll be stuck sitting immobile for the rest of my functioning?" That came out far more snarky than he had intended.

"Sorry, I..." Drift buried his face in his hands. "…I can't."

A hand rested on his shoulder, stroking softly. Ratchet stood by him, silent, trying to offer comfort. Maybe he'd done the same thing the day before after he told Drift he'd be stuck with the reminder of what they did to him every single remaining day of his life. To think a version of him already went through the agony of receiving and processing that information just to have the reset switch flipped so he'd get to experience the anticipation all over again.

It wouldn't matter much in the end. He'd have to hear the truth at some point. But if Drift could put it off even just a little longer, then that's just what he intended to do.

---

"You seem to freeze up when presented with too many questions at once. Have you always struggled with decision paralysis? Or is this a result of your treatment at the hands of the DJD?"

_____ stared back coldly at him. Drift couldn't answer.

"How about this? Why don't we do a little exercise? I want you to tell me what you're afraid will happen if you don't answer. Or if you do answer. Whichever is causing you to freeze up. Just throw it out there."

Drift couldn't answer.

A sigh. _____ leaned forward suddenly with the datapad, causing Drift to flinch.

"How about you just write it down? Anything they did to you for not answering, write it down."

A deep unease settled over him, a feeling he couldn't quite place. Drift pushed the datapad away, trying to ignore the urge to shield himself at every movement from the other bot. It was safe here, there was no reason to think _____ would hurt him for refusing something.

"I… don't want to discuss this."

"That's fine. We'll do something else then. But we're off to a great start! You actually managed an answer that time. But this is definitely something we need to work on, hmm?"

Drift held back his scowl, keeping his expression neutral. Maybe if he'd stop asking so many damn questions at once while knowing Drift struggled with that. He took a deep vent. All part of the healing process. This would help him. It would help him.

A face hovering over him nearly made Drift's systems fail. An odd face, strangely familiar, yet absent in his memory banks. The image shifted slightly every time he saw it, as if the data was stuck in a never ending cycle of corruption, never staying in his processor long enough to form recognition.

…His helm ached. Who was this again?

"Sorry! Didn't mean to startle you." _____ backed up, sitting back in his chair, now moved up beside the head of the berth. "I'd like for you to shutter your optics now, if you'd please."

Drift didn't like the thought of cutting off his vision, but complied anyway, far too quickly, far too obedient. It made him feel sick.

Cold hands on his finials and the nausea only grew. The urge to grab those spindly arms and yank them off him was strong, but Drift pushed it away. This was necessary. He had to trust this bot, even if every circuit in his frame screamed otherwise. This was for Ratchet. He could do it.

Drift just wanted to feel normal again.

Fingers brushed against his finials, caressing with gentle strokes. In the same way Tarn always would, as he whispered poison and strangled his spark until Drift couldn't take it anymore.

"Just relax. We're going to try another exercise." A cold, airy voice, full of poison itself.

How could he be sure this wasn't Tarn? Drift gripped the sides of the berth. He had to check.

"Leave your optics shuttered."

Drift complied. He didn't want to.

"I want you to think about that question from earlier. The DJD. They asked you a question, and you didn't answer. What would they do now?"

That sickly smooth voice, calm and collected, as if he hadn't just asked something so heinous.

"…I really don't want to talk about this."

"And you don't have to. I just want you to think about it. Picture it in your mind."

Claws scraping along his helm, gentle touches, soft, mocking. Drift found himself frozen, locked in place. Terrified.

"You're back on their ship. They have you. What are they going to do to you? I want you to picture it right now."

Vents became quick and shallow, painful, sharp. They cut into his chest as it heaved, systems not getting the air they needed to cycle through. Drift tried to ground himself. He was on the Lost Light. Not there. Not there.

Darkness filled his vision. Just like closet.

"You're back on the Peaceful Tyranny. Can you remember?"

"Don't- Don't want to talk about it." The words rasped from his vocalizer.

"No talking. Just think. Visualize it. Feel it."

The hands moved to rest on the back of his helm, tapping lightly as they went. The panel snapped open on its own.

Drift could feel their hands on him, rough and cruel. Wisps of sharp instruments tugged at seams across his frame, only moments from cutting in and wrenching another agonizing scream out of him. Jeering whispers punctuated each scrape of metal, echoing through his audials, growing louder and louder now with the loss of his vision.

Drift found it increasingly more difficult to force the words out as it went on, voice quiet and strained, almost pleading. "No more of this. I really can't do this-"

"No can do, I'm afraid. Doctor's orders. Don't you want to get better?"

Boiling liquid, thick and heavy dripped onto Drift's thighs, slowly, agonizingly slowly- Panic truly started to set in now. He couldn't do this anymore.

"No. No, I'm done. I can't- I'm not doing this." Drift moved to sit up before a hand planted itself firmly on his chest, pushing him down hard.

"Tsk. Great." Sharp, stabbing pain as something punctured his helm. Unfamiliar optics gazed down at him. "Mhm. Let's just try this again. You're my patient right now, so how about trying to be just a little more agreeable, hmm? Just long enough for me to get what I need from my dear old friend." Drift's vents hitched as the sensation in his helm grew more uncomfortable, an awful pressure. He couldn't find the will to move, to think.

"You're almost more trouble than you're worth." A sharp flick on his nasal ridge. "Almost."

Something slid out of his helm, leaving Drift feeling numb and cold. "There. That should do for now."

Someone sat down beside him. Unfamiliar.

Who was that? Drift wracked his processor, but only came up blank. This must be the therapy session Rodimus had told him about. The ones he kept forgetting about. He hoped it wouldn't come across as too rude if he asked this bot who he was, although Drift doubted it would've been the first time.

"Who-"

"Drift!" The bot clasped his hands together. "Glad to see you're alright. You spaced out on me for a bit there. Ready to get back to the session? Or we can take a break if you'd like?"

"Oh. No… we can continue. I feel fine." That wasn't true. His helm ached something truly horrible. His whole frame, really. But it was fine. He'd manage.

"Excellent! Let's pick up where we left off, then." The bot crossed his legs as he scooted closer. No. That's right. _____. His name was _____.

Drift did recognize him. From where, he wasn't sure.

"You were telling me about the DJD. About the time you were punished?"

Drift felt his energon lines run cold. "…Punished?" He could barely feel the berth underneath him.

"Yes. Please, go ahead. Continue."

"I… I don't remember."

"Really? You were just telling me about it. Try to remember."

"…I'd really rather not."

_____ was getting annoyed. He didn't do a very good job of hiding it. What did he expect? As if there was a singular time he was 'punished', and not a constant occurrence.

"I want you to try."

This was all happening too fast. Drift placed a hand on his helm, throbbing out of control now. The pain was oddly intense. Maybe he should call Ratchet. "I don't-"

"Drift. We're doing all this to help you. Do you know how many people on board this ship have abandoned duties and taken time out of their lives for you? I may have only been here a couple weeks, but even I can see the toll it's taking on them. On Ratchet. Poor mech has barely recharged since you've arrived. He was the one who asked me to help you. And I can't do that if you keep refusing to talk about what happened to you. Do you want to get better or not? Because I could just leave now and let you spiral worse and worse until you hurt everyone around you and isolate yourself. Is that what you want? Is that what Ratchet would want?"

"No!" Drift gripped the tarp in his lap tightly. "No… I don't want that. Don't leave."

"So are we ready to continue, then?"

A tightness in his chest. Drift couldn't answer.

"Are we ready to continue?"

"Yes." The word was out before Drift even had time to process it. He didn't want to continue. He didn't want to do any of this.

"Maybe I can help refresh your memory. What was it, again? Oh, yes it was just after they informed you of your coming meal, right? The one you didn't like. The sludge, was it? You'd decided you couldn't take it anymore, that you'd rather starve than have to drink it again."

"Stop..." Nausea slammed his systems as the horrid taste resurfaced in his processor, causing Drift to clamp a hand over his mouth, desperately hoping not to get sick here.

"So then you asked the minibot to kill you in response to that. More like begged, really."

"Stop." The word came out muffled through his fingers, trembling now. Drift couldn't stop the tremors throughout his frame. He didn't want to hear this.

"If you're able to remember now, feel free to jump in and take over at any time." _____ looked at him expectantly, ignoring the state of distress he was in. The casual demeanor nearly made Drift purge right then. He pushed it back down and shook his helm fervently. Please stop.

"Alright, no worries. I'll keep going. I'm sure it'll come back to you soon." The bot checked over his datapad, tapping a pen on the side as he murmured to himself. "Right, you asked her to kill you since the last time you refused, they pried open your spark chamber-"

"Stop, stop please-" Drift let a sob slip out, but couldn't find it in himself to care.

"Really now, Drift. We've only barely started and you're already a mess. No, we're not going to stop. And this is exactly why. If you can't handle hearing someone else recount your own memories, how can you expect to move on from them? Unless you're trying to say you remember, and would like to recount it yourself?"

Drift kept his hand tightly fixed over his mouth, even as he felt tears drip down on it. He couldn't answer.

"Are you really that afraid to hear about something that's done and in the past? They can't get you anymore. This behavior is really unbecoming of you, if I'm being honest."

"…I don't want to do this anymore, please leave."

"You don't really have a say in this, unfortunately. The Chief Medical Officer was very insistent on these sessions, due to your mental state tying so closely to your physical health. You aren't to be excused from these until I feel satisfied with your progress. Your friend cares very deeply for you, maybe you should respect that."

Ratchet wanted him to do this. He'd mentioned it would be hard, would hurt even, but would only help him in the end. Drift took in a deep vent. He trusted Ratchet. This was for the best.

Still, he didn't see why they couldn't take a break, at the very least.

"So," _____ folded his fingers together as he looked over at Drift. "Will you be continuing, or will I have to?"

"Actually… I think I need to take a break for while." Just a short while, that's all he needed. If he could only have some time to fully compose himself, maybe it wouldn't be so-

Drift was promptly ignored.

"I'm a bit surprised, honestly. I wouldn't have taken you for a screamer. It's a shock your voice in still intact. I guess you couldn't help it, though. I mean, this is the DJD we're talking about here. Even the most war-hardened Decepticon is scared of them. Most don't live long enough to get to point you were at, I suppose. Really, one would assume you couldn't have shrieked any harder than when they poured acid in your spark-"

"Shut up-" Drift could barely hear himself anymore over the way his spark throbbed in his audials.

"-but yikes. When they dragged you out, kicking and screaming with… who was it? The smelter? Helex, right?

Barely another word made it out of his mouth before Drift was gripping his helm and venting so hard it felt as though his chest would split in half. "Shut up. Stop talking-"

"And the crying? The apologizing? Hard to believe you were once one of the most feared warriors on Cybertron. Just a sad, pitiful, sobbing mess. Not your best moment, was it?"

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Drift found himself openly sobbing now. He didn't care. Any last shreds of dignity he had clung to had already been stomped to death back on that ship. What did he even have left now? "Who told you all that? Who?"

"You did, who else?"

"Shut up. No I didn't-"

"Oh, but you did. And you know what else you told me? The way you cried and begged for Ratchet to help you? I guess you got what you wanted in the end, didn't you?"

_____ stood over him now, leaning into Drift's space, staring, leering-

"Was it worth it? Ratchet came to save you. You wanted to see him again, to hold his hand. Very sweet. You liked that didn't you, Drift? Even when Tarn hurt him, when he screamed in pain. At least you got to hold his hands. Or, I guess his stumps. He lost those thanks to you. In fact, you liked them so much, you had them brought back with you to keep holding them, didn't you?"

Everything froze. Drift looked down in horror at where _____ ran his hand over the tarp. Over Ratchet's hands. The tarp was pulled back. He was going to take Ratchet.

Drift did the only thing he could think to do. He bit him.

_____ yelped and pulled back, but Drift held on, claws digging into his arms now. He bit down harder, causing ______ to shriek. Energon filled Drift's mouth. It didn't taste like energon. One pause was all it took for Drift to be smacked off, crashing back into the berth. Hand flying to his mouth right as he was on the verge of purging everything in his tank.

"What are you, a mechanimal?" _____ brushed himself off, gingerly touching his arms and flinching at the deep gashes trailing down. Serves him right. He couldn't handle a little pain? How sad. Drift coughed and sputtered, trying desperately to rid the horrid taste from his mouth.

"Still, I'm surprised it took that long to provoke you. But I have what I need now, so I guess I should thank you." He approached the berth again. Drift's hands shot to the tarp, pulling it back harshly to cover up Ratchet's hands.

"Calm down, will you? I'm not going to take your pair of severed hands. A bit morbid of you to have those in the first place. I'm sure there's plenty to unpack about that," Drift's wrist was roughly yanked to the side as metal snapped around it. "But all in good time."

"What-" The adrenaline rush from before had long worn off, leaving Drift sapped of energy, only able to watch numbly as his other wrist was snapped into a pair of cuffs.

"Well for starters, you attacked me, and I'm very much within my rights to restrain you if there is a present danger to myself. Look, I'm stuck doing this hack, half-aft memory job while I decide what to do with you. I had my sights set on a couple other rejects on board this dump, but honestly? You might just be the easiest target. Considering I can't just sell you to the DJD again, I might just have to take you on as a permanent patient."

Drift's optics grew wide. He remembered who this was.

"You. You." Drift spat the words out venomously, desperate in his attempt to free his hands. "I'll kill you. I'll kill you-!"

Froid's hand clamped down over his mouth, cutting off the slew of insults pouring out of him. "Ah. I don't think that would be very Autobot-like of you, would it? Killing a fellow Autobot? I thought you wanted to be accepted? Although… I guess we can't really call you that anymore, can we?" A sharp knock on Drift's empty chestplate.

"I do need to thank you, though. The DJD really delivered. I'm set for life thanks to you, and part of me feels I should just let you be as thanks. Unfortunately, you know things you shouldn't, and while normally I'd just hand you over to my friend to have those memories conveniently replaced… he'd be far too tempted to snack on those new memories of yours, and I really don't think you'd survive the encounter."

Froid leaned in close. "I quite frankly, don't have time to hack your memory again before someone comes in here to check on you. So here's what's going to happen." The hand over his mouth tightened. "You make one little peep about me, about any of this, about my business, and I'll have your head wiped clean of your friend. I had a look-see at your memories, and while I can't say I have a damn clue what's going on with your imaginary friend in there, I can tell he's very important to you. Don't believe me? Even if they come for me, all I have to do is let my friend loose and he'll go straight for you. Every memory of Ratchet? Gone. Got it?"

Drift couldn't move, couldn't think. Froid pressed into his face harder. Ratchet. He needed Ratchet. But he couldn't reach the button beside him with his wrists pinned together.

"Well, not that it really matters in the end. They all think you've lost it, anyway. It's not like they'd believe you. Poor Drift, he's hallucinating again, isn't he? And we all know there's hardly anything more dangerous than a violent bot such as yourself, who can't even be sure what's real and what's not. I saw what you did to poor old Ratchet. To Rodimus. Attacking the captain? I'm not sure I can in good faith clear you to be around others, think of how that would tarnish my reputation. It would be a shame if you were deemed unfit to continue being on this ship. This Autobot ship, mind you. Your current lack of allegiance coupled with your history? Not many laws in place right now to protect you, are there?"

Drift tried to make a noise, still muffled under the hand, when Froid suddenly shot backwards, wiping his hand on his side.

"Drift? Just stopping by to check in-"

Someone had rushed up to him, hands on his arm. "Why is he restrained?!"

"Look what he did to me! He bit me!" Froid played up the hysterics, as if he'd had a damn limb ripped off. Drift could help with that.

"So? That doesn't mean you get to cuff him-!"

Froid started to say something else before getting immediately cut off. "Get out of my Medibay. Now."

Oh, it was Ratchet. Ratchet was here. Warm hands cupped his face.

"Drift? I'm going to get these off of you now, alright? Just hang on." There was a twinge of disappointment as the hands left his face, leaving him feeling cold. Ratchet remained focused on the cuffs as he worked, not noticing Drift's gaze transfixed on him.

He glanced up as the cuffs were removed, optics darting around Drift's face, searching his features. Ratchet's hand made as if to touch his face again, but pulled away before it could make contact. It was snatched up before it could retreat, Drift bringing it back up to cup his face. Ratchet gave him a sad smile, brushing his thumb along the tear tracks. "…You alright, Drift?"

"Yeah… I'm fine." Raspy voice. He already knew that wasn't going to fly.

"You wanna tell me what happened? For the record, I don't mind that you bit him."

"…Nasty memory purge. That's all, Ratchet. Just… a really bad one. That's all." The tears started up again. He couldn't say anything else. It wasn't worth what he'd lose.

Ratchet continued stroking his cheek, wiping up the tears as they came. "No more sessions for a while. We'll figure something else out. Just try to get some rest now, alright?"

Drift tried to give Ratchet a smile as he left, but found he couldn't muster up the strength. So he didn't.

A hand reached under the tarp, feeling around for Ratchet. Drift brought the hands up to his spark, laying them flat on his chest. Nothing was worth losing those memories. Nothing.

Even if he was dead. Even if he was a figment of Drift's imagination. He couldn't lose Ratchet. He couldn't.

Drift lay awake in the berth. Exhaustion pulled at him. He was so tired, but terrified to sleep. Terrified he may wake up to find his most precious memories stolen away, not even aware of what had been lost.

So he forced himself to stay awake, the horrors of that day playing through his processor over and over on loop until his systems crashed against his will, plunging Drift deep into recharge.

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