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Chapter 23: Don't leave me

They had taken Drift again. For how long, Ratchet didn't know. His frame wouldn't respond, internal systems dying off one by one. The only sensation he could be sure of was the disturbing feeling of precious energon leaving his frame and the unbearable ache from his stumps.

It was dark. Were his optics even functional anymore? He couldn't be sure.

The ship was completely silent. Except for Drift. Ratchet could hear Drift. He didn't want to hear Drift.

The code to shut off his audials was lost somewhere in what remained of his processor. Didn't matter. Ratchet wouldn't be able to bring himself to activate them regardless. Someone had to acknowledge his pain, someone other than these sadists. Even if that pain was well and done in the past, leaving Drift to have suffered all alone, before Ratchet showed up and made everything worse.

Drift was thrown back in, metal squealing as he slid across the floor. His chestplate followed shortly after, left laying discarded beside him. Wide optics met his own. Drift was still conscious this time. Not for the better. Medic coding activated before his processor could catch up, urging him to reach out and still the now thrashing bot, but his frame had yet to respond to any command.

A garbled mess of static sparked from Drift's vocalizer. It had to be completely fried. Drift was in a panic, tossing and turning, unable to get off his back without the use of his hands, left cuffed behind him.

"Stop…" Ratchet almost didn't recognize his own voice with how frail it sounded.

"Drift… Drift, stop." He was ignored.

He had almost forgotten. It was a memory. Only a memory. It was too late to be of any real use.

Still, Drift stopped moving, almost as if he had heard him, frame heaving and trembling with vents that didn't seem to be doing him any good. His spark, open and exposed, glowed far too brightly as it fluctuated violently and spat sparks from his chest.

Ratchet had been fortunate to only have dealt with a few sparse cases of spark torture victims in his lifetime. Most didn't make it to him alive.

"Primus help me… Primus help me…" Drift muttered quietly, voice glitching and crackling. Primus didn't listen. Of course he didn't. None of that scrap was real. But Ratchet felt anger boil up despite that. Useless. It was understandable why Primus would ignore someone like Ratchet, but Drift? That slagger couldn't even take time out of his day to help someone that tried so hard to please his sorry aft?

He must've lost more energon than he thought, thinking about Primus of all things.

The minibot came to fix Drift up again. Ratchet watched her work. It's not like he was capable of anything else.

She was being too harsh, too rough. If Ratchet heard one more pained cry from Drift he might just break down completely. He tried supporting himself on his stumps, but slipped back down in the puddle of his own energon. That sudden burst of pain was enough to knock Ratchet offline briefly, coming back to find her nearly finished, although still having left Drift's chestplate where it was on the floor.

It took a moment for him to realize what she held in her hand. A scalpel- hovering right over Drift's spark. She was going to run it straight through.

"Please. Please…" Drift's voice barely carried to where Ratchet lay, but the desperation came through clearly.

He wasn't asking her to spare him.

Panic struck him. Ratchet grabbed aimlessly at the ground with his stumps. He had to get over there. She was going to kill him. Drift would die. He couldn't let Drift die. Not now. Not like this. Please. Please.

The scalpel dropped to the ground as the minibot stepped off of Drift.

"If you died, I'd hear nothing but complaining from them for weeks. Stop asking."

Drift let out a strangled cry as she walked straight through Ratchet towards the door, not forgetting to bend down and pick up the scalpel she dropped.

"…I'm sorry. Really." The door hissed shut.

Ratchet gave up trying to move and lowered his helm back into his own energon. He was delirious. Completely out of it. Of course Drift wouldn't have died. Or else Ratchet wouldn't have found him here, very much alive.

Well… not anymore.

None of this mattered. Drift suffered. He suffered horribly and alone. Ratchet showed up like a fool, made everything worse for him. And then Drift died. There was nothing else to be done now.

We'll just have to go together?

Was that what he said?

What a joke. A horrible, sick joke. They didn't go together. Drift still died alone, probably with the guilt of Ratchet's fate now sitting on his shoulders.

And now it was Ratchet's turn. Soon, he hoped. He couldn't take any more of this.

Ratchet watched Drift lay motionless, left in the same spot, spark still exposed for all to see. She didn't even have the decency to grant him that one dignity. He knew he should look away, let Drift have his privacy, what little probably remained of it. But Ratchet couldn't. He could only watch. And watch. And watch. Even through the coolant clouding his vision, he still couldn't pry his optics away.

He watched Drift sob quietly as hunger clawed at his insides. He watched Drift's uneven vents as he was painfully aware of exactly what systems were shutting down in his own frame and what that would do to him. He watched Drift turn his helm to look straight through him as he urged his frame to hurry it up and let him die already.

"Ratchet…" Dim optics seemed to cut right into his own. Tears streamed down Drift's face.

"Ratchet. I'm sorry." Drift let out a sob as more tears bubbled up. "Please be alive. Please…"

Ratchet found the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could process. "I'm right here. I'm alright. See?" He tried lifting himself up to prove his point. It didn't work.

"I wanted to see you one last time before I die. But some things just aren't meant to be, are they?"

"Drift, no. I'm right here. I'm here. I promise." Ratchet felt he was going hysterical. Why was he trying to get Drift to see him? He wasn't really there.

"Please just forget about me. I'm not worth crying over. You're so beautiful, Ratchet. Such a beautiful spark, full of so many beautiful things. You'll find someone else to share it with. I know you will."

"No!" It hurt to talk, words rasping painfully from his throat. "Don't say things like that. Don't you dare." Ratchet felt his vents grow erratic. He was talking to nothing. He needed to stop. "Don't leave me. Don't leave me…Please…"

Drift didn't say anything else.

Ratchet's processor still insisted there was someone laying across from him. Someone still alive. He knew it wasn't true. He let it believe that anyway.

If he didn't, then he'd have to acknowledge he was dying all alone, abandoned and forgotten. Just a useless old piece of junk nobody had any use for anymore.

---

Someone held tight to his hand. Or… held tight to the hand attached to him. They uttered prayers just barely heard over the distinct clamoring of a Medibay. It annoyed him.

"Stop that." Ratchet groused. Or tried to. It came out much more feeble than he'd like.

The hold on his hand loosened as he heard something shift beside him. "Oh, thank Primus." A sigh of relief.

Ratchet turned blearily to see it was Drift who sat by him.

Drift.

Ratchet lurched forward and grabbed him, trembling with a horrible sense of urgency he couldn't quite place.

"Ratchet-?" Drift only sat frozen, surprise on his face. Did he not understand?

"Your spark- your spark, Drift-" The panic only grew. He had to act fast. If his spark was left in that condition-

Hands desperately grabbed at Drift's arms. "I have to-" Ratchet couldn't finish, vents completely out of control. Hyperventilating, that's what was happening to him. He knew how to handle that. Right?

"Ratchet. It's alright-" Drift was cut off by Ratchet's grip tightening enough to dent metal. This couldn't wait. All that filled his vision was the sight of that spark, violently pulsing, tearing him apart from the inside.

"I need to see your spark. I need- I need to see it." Ratchet's voice shook and he knew he sounded so completely unlike himself. He didn't care. If Drift died from this, he wouldn't know what to do anymore. How could none of the medical staff here have noticed Drift's condition?

Drift simply looked at him, his expression softening as he gently removed Ratchet's hands from his frame. Plates shifted as his spark chamber opened up, bathing Ratchet in its soft glow. His optics darted across it, desperate to analyze the damage and start treatment.

A healthy spark greeted him. Ratchet stared at it, numb. No blemishes. Not a single irregular pulse. Shaking hands fumbled around to find his diagnostics cord. He needed to run a full scan. This couldn't be right.

Drift already had his port open and held out for him. Their optics met briefly and Drift offered up a small smile. Ratchet hastily broke the contact and ported in.

Minimal damage. Needs minor maintenance. Sparse neglected systems, but nothing even remotely life threatening. That couldn't be right.

And then he remembered. Of course. How could he be so foolish? Each time he forgot, it only made the reality hurt that much more.

Ratchet stared at the white hands now attached to him, trembling to the point they'd be of no use to him. These hands that he received after Drift was dead. They held no memories. These hands never healed. They never held the hands of old friends, dying on his medical slab. They never held Drift.

He watched as tears dripped down onto those hands. Ratchet hadn't ever told Drift he loved him- not in words at least. Actions spoke louder than words, and so Ratchet spoke with his hands. The hands that held tight to Drift's. The hands that had cupped his face tenderly. The hands that saved Drift's life, many, many times.

Now he was stuck with fake hands. And a fake Drift. No memories… no love… just an empty feeling taking over his spark, a chasm growing and swallowing up any remaining hope he held to.

He should've said it. He should've. At least once.

A sob slipped out. Ratchet clamped a hand over his mouth as the tears streamed down over it. Not again. He needed to stop this before he made a fool of himself. Before he had the chance to react further though, Ratchet found himself pulled into an embrace and the sound of a second escaped sob was muffled by Drift's shoulder. Ratchet gave up and let the tension leave his frame as he was effectively smothered. Drift, upon seeing that Ratchet didn't shove him off, only held on tighter from where he now sat on the edge of the berth, holding Ratchet in a position that couldn't have been very comfortable for him. Still, Ratchet took advantage of what he had and let himself be held by what felt like Drift.

Real or not, it was nice. To be held so carefully by Drift. Something he thought he'd never get to experience again. So might as well take what he could get.

Hands rubbed his back softly as Ratchet wept into Drift's shoulder. He couldn't hold it in, the tears flowed, the sobs shook his whole frame until his spark ached. Drift didn't speak, simply humming quietly as he held Ratchet, which only brought him more pain at hearing Drift's voice. Something he'd never truly hear again.

What if Drift had died not knowing just how much he cared? He'd never spoken it. And what if that wasn't enough?

"He knew, Ratchet. I'm sure he did." Of course he'd say that. He wasn't even real.

Ratchet wrapped his own arms around Drift. He felt real, though. Maybe… maybe he could be selfish for just a little while. Maybe he could stay in this Drift's arms for a bit longer.

"As long as you want." Drift murmured quietly, a note of sadness carrying in his voice. "As long as you want, Ratchet."

So he was just a figment of his imagination, reading Ratchet's thoughts like this.

There was a light tug at Ratchet's arm and to his horror he realized the diagnostic cable still connected the two of them. Ratchet had been sending torrents of thoughts and emotions straight over to Drift.

Drift startled and began pulling away. "I'm sorry. I thought you meant to- sorry."

Ratchet held on tighter, stopping him from leaving. It was fine. He would feel much better having Drift's vitals in sight anyway. Just in case. Drift relaxed once again, shifting them to lean against the headboard of the berth. His hand stroked the back of Ratchet's helm. The same way he always would. Coolant bubbled up in Ratchet's optics again. He hated being like this.

The sound of Drift, the smell, the feel of Drift. It was all too much all at once. Ratchet was fully enveloped in something he should have lost and the line between real and fake in his processor only grew fuzzier by the minute.

"You really loved him, didn't you? I'm a bit jealous. You had something special." Drift leaned his helm against Ratchet's as he released a vent. "… I shouldn't be doing this."

Don't leave me. Don't leave me…Please…

"I can't replace him, Ratchet."

"…I know." Ratchet shuttered his optics.

Just let him have this a while longer. Only a short while longer.

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