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Chapter 26: Hold on to the good memories

Drift carried him back in silence. Close proximity that had brought comfort only a short while ago now felt strange and wrong. Merchant stalls rushed by as Drift walked briskly past them, weaving in and out of crowds far larger than before. Several local shopkeepers had tried stopping them in hopes of making a sale, but Drift made quick work of turning them down and continuing on, far more politely than Ratchet ever would have.

 

The empty chasm in his spark grew and grew with each step. This was it. Once they parted ways, that would be last he'd ever see of Drift. Any Drift. He was an idiot for ever entertaining the thought that he could just pick up where they'd left off. Just replacing Drift.

 

He didn't want to forget.

 

So he wouldn't. He'd hold on to those memories, those last moments the two of them shared, however horrible and stained they were.

 

But the fear crept up still. Even now, the details grew hazy, despite the horror of it all lingering in his mind. What if he did forget? What if Drift's features faded from his processor until all that remained was a faceless figure with a name? Ratchet was no stranger to the effects of information creep, and all too aware that it was only a matter of time until it stole Drift away from him, like everything else.

 

He was pulled from his thoughts by Drift moving sharply to the left of a mech quickly approaching them.

 

"Well look who it is!" The mech only got closer, their dull, gray paint now clearly visible. A bit shorter in stature than Drift. No visible alt mode. Not Cybertronian as far as he could tell.

 

Drift kept his face reserved as he tried to side step around. "I'm sorry, I don't know you. You must be mistaken."

 

"Oh, I don't think I am." The mech fully blocked their path now.

 

"We're trying to leave. Please move."

 

When the mech didn't seem to immediately budge, Drift stepped to the other side, but they were persistent, matching his strides all without breaking optic contact. As if they were studying Drift.

 

Ratchet reached for the blaster hidden away in his subspace. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that, but ignoring his intuition never did him any favors. Drift wouldn't be able to outrun this mech, not while holding Ratchet like this. Not to mention unarmed. He couldn't recall a single instance of seeing Drift without some sort of weapon on his frame. Then again, he didn't really know this Drift, did he?

 

"He asked you to move." The blaster was already out and aimed. Ratchet wasn't taking any more chances with shady mechs.

 

"Hey, hey! There's no need for that!" The mech had their hands held up in mock surrender. "I just have something for him."

 

"He doesn't want it. Now scram."

 

"I insist. It's a gift. No payment necessary." A hand extended holding something as they approached again, apparently choosing to ignore the gun pointed right at them.

 

Ratchet tightened his grip. "Hey-!"

 

"It's fine." Drift turned to nod at the mech. "I'll take it."

 

"Wonderful to hear."

 

Ratchet kept his optics locked on the mech as they brought what appeared to be a data disk to Drift. Oh absolutely not. They were disposing of that immediately.

 

"Enjoy your evening." The mech smiled and it hadn't escaped Ratchet's notice how their gaze lingered on Drift far longer than necessary. It was unnerving.

 

Drift didn't speak or move until they had left their line of sight, back to whatever stall they'd come from. And then he was off again, walking more briskly than before.

 

"You know that guy?" Ratchet muttered, glancing back to make sure they weren't being followed.

 

"No."

 

Ratchet didn't like this. They needed to check every inch of the shuttle before taking off. Unfortunately Drift didn't have the same idea.

 

"What are you doing?" Drift had lowered him back down in his seat, before returning to his own. No sense of urgency whatsoever. Ratchet bristled. "We need to inspect the outside of the shuttle. The inside too, while we're at it."

 

"It's fine. I already checked the security footage."

 

"How do you know we weren't followed?"

 

"We weren't." Drift refused to look at him.

 

Ratchet might actually be going insane. "You can't afford to be so careless with a bounty like that on your head! There might still be mechs after you. How do you know they weren't planning on snatching you up?"

 

"I've had plenty of bounties on me, Ratchet. I can handle myself."

 

Well that was just rich. "Last I recall you didn't quite handle yourself very well, or else we wouldn't have met to begin with."

 

Drift's resulting glare was intense, but Ratchet still didn't look away. Of course he had to go and piss him off again. "You're alive right now and I can't say that would be the case if I hadn't been brought to the Peaceful Tyranny that day. I was there for a reason. And I regret nothing."

 

"Don't you dare talk to me about fate. Do you even know what they did to him? You didn't see him. You didn't see how they butchered him. I don't even know all of what they did. Change even one small circumstance, one different choice, just one. And that would've been you instead."

 

"With no one to save you."

 

He was back there again, in that stuffy closet, dark and hopeless and so, so awful. The feeling of his arms around Drift, holding him close, as Drift's sobs rang out in the dead quiet, so convinced he would die there.

 

I felt so alone.

 

This Drift would've had no one. He would die alone, slipping conveniently from the minds of those who'd known him once. And even if someone had tried to find him, it would be too late, he'd likely be gone without a trace, no one to even bear witness to his suffering.

 

"…It's late. You should get some rest, Ratchet."

 

Oh no, he was not changing the subject. Drift thought he was slick, as if Ratchet couldn't see the data disk poorly hidden in his hand. As if he just went and forgot about the massive malware risk Drift brought back with them.

 

"You're trying to get me out of the way so you can inject that disk like an idiot, aren't you?"

 

Drift didn't answer.

 

"Don't even think about it." Ratchet hissed. "Do you even know what kinds of nasty viruses are probably on that? Not the sort that'll give you a mild processor ache, that's for sure."

 

"I have good firewalls up, Ratchet."

 

"No. No you don't. I don't care how protected you think you are, there's always- always someone out there concocting a virus that'll get around it. What exactly do you plan on doing if it incapacitates you? If it kills you?" He was fuming. Of all the bots he would expect to have at least a shred of common sense on these things, it was Drift. Then again, what did he know? Maybe this Drift didn't have any.

 

"Ratchet. This isn't some elaborate plan to nab me. It's most likely just an advertisement for their storefront. I've seen merchants handing out similar things here. They can just be a bit pushy about it at times. That's all."

 

"Don't lie to me. You wouldn't fight this hard over a goddamn advertisement." Ratchet reached out for the disk. "Let me examine it at the very least, before you stick that anywhere in yourself or the shuttle."

 

The disk disappeared from his line of sight as Drift tucked it behind his back, expression indignant. Was he seriously going to sit here acting like a newspark over this?

 

"Fine. Get yourself sick if it really suits you." Pushing himself out of the seat was more difficult than he'd anticipated, but Ratchet managed to steady himself after a few moments. "I'll be recharging. Call me if you need me to come out here and resuscitate you."

 

Ratchet trudged toward the room in the back, his bad leg twinging each time pressure was put on it. From the corner of his visual feed, he could see Drift stand as if to help him. "Nope." He stuck out his hand. "I'm fine. I don't need your help."

 

The door hissed shut behind him and Ratchet all but collapsed onto the berth. Exhaustion finally set in, weighing down on him, but he couldn't afford to sleep. Ratchet dialed up his audials all the way, in hopes to catch any sound of distress from outside and tried not to think about the last few times he'd been in this room.

 

Maybe he was overreacting. Drift was probably right. After all, he was the one most familiar with the planet, not Ratchet. Maybe it really was common and Ratchet was just on edge from everything the past few days.

 

Maybe… maybe he could rest his optics for just a moment.

 

---

 

Ratchet laid his free hand on the helm currently nestled on his chestplate, stroking the long, white finial gently. Sleepy optics looked over at him and Drift smiled as he clasped Ratchet's other hand that he'd claimed in his own. Drift turned it over in his hands as he lay half draped over Ratchet, handling it with such care and attention that it certainly didn't deserve.

 

"It's not mine. They're long gone."

 

"Doesn't matter to me. It's a part of you. And I like you. Problem solved."

 

Drift was massaging his hand now. Gentle. So gentle. The terrible need for Drift to understand rose up in his spark. He didn't get it.

 

"These are fake. Not real. There's no memories with these."

 

"Don't be silly." Drift took one hand away to tap at his helm. "Plenty of memories up here."

 

"But-" Ratchet was cut off by a finger placed over his mouth.

 

"Changing what's on the outside doesn't change what's inside." The hand moved to rest over Ratchet's spark. "I would know."

 

"Your hands always heal, regardless of what they look like. You could have hooks for hands and still find a way to save a life. I know it." Ratchet's hand was brought up to Drift's face as he gave it a chaste kiss.

 

"Don't cry, Ratchet. Please. Don't cry over me." Drift cupped the side of his helm and Ratchet only then noticed the stream of tears running down his face.

 

His attention was drawn to a noise just outside the door behind Drift. Through Drift.

 

He was disappearing.

 

Ratchet grabbed at him in a panic, but his hands went straight through.

 

"No! No no- Don't leave. Don't leave me again- Please-!"

 

Drift was already gone.

 

Ratchet stumbled out of the berth, dazed and distraught when he heard that same noise again. The disk. Drift.

 

Pushing his legs as hard as he could, Ratchet made for the door, thoughts of Froid and empty shuttles flashed through his mind. He couldn't lose this Drift too.

 

Ratchet, was it? Maybe trust your instincts next time.

 

He was such a goddamn idiot.

 

Ratchet burst out of the room, leg screaming in blinding pain. Optics darting around frantically for any sign of Drift. They stopped in the center of the shuttle to find Drift kneeling on the ground, his face in his hands. He was still here. But Ratchet didn't have time to feel relieved. He was already on the ground beside him, fumbling with his diagnostics cable and pulling Drift's arm back to see the damage.

 

His hand was swatted away.

 

"Idiot- Let me help you!"

 

Drift pulled his arm back in on himself. "No. I'm fine, Ratchet."

 

"You're obviously not-"

 

"I'm fine. There's nothing wrong with me. There wasn't a virus."

 

"I'll be the judge of that. Now-" Ratchet was pushed away again. Drift looked up at him, face soaked in tears.

 

"I'm fine." His voice trembled that time.

 

"Drift." His attempt to grab Drift failed again as he quickly stood and backed out of Ratchet's reach. "What was on that disk?"

 

No answer.

 

"Drift. Tell me what was on it." A tight knot formed in his chest. Something wasn't right.

 

"Drift."

 

"Nothing, Ratchet. It was nothing." Drift turned his face away, but tears still dribbled down his chin.

 

"Right, I'm sure you curl up on the floor and cry over nothing often, then?"

 

"Ratchet. Just stop."

 

"I'll go over there and take that disk from you if I have to-"

 

"You were right!" He'd spun around, tears running down his face and fists tightly clenched. "Okay? You were right, Ratchet."

 

Ratchet stopped for a moment, stunned as he ran through their past conversations, unsure of what exactly he was right about.

 

"I didn't know what they'd done to him. I didn't know. And now-"

 

"Drift-"

 

"I shouldn't have watched it. I knew what it would be- I should've known-" Drift had his face in his hands again.

 

"What are you talking about?" For some reason he felt the need to ask despite the burning pit in his chest that already told him who this was about.

 

"I have to go back right now."

 

"Go where?" He grabbed tight to Drift's leg before he could walk away. "Tell me what was on the disk."

 

Drift lifted his helm, but refused to look at him. "…It's a snuff film, Ratchet."

 

"…What?"

 

"I'm saying the DJD recorded what they did to him. Some of them must've survived. Great."

 

Hands fell to his sides as Ratchet sunk down further on the floor, completely numb.

 

"Primus, there's probably a whole underground network distributing it by now-"

 

"They made a snuff-" Realization hit him hard and fast. "Did you see… how did he…" Ratchet stared at his shaking hands. Did he really want to know?

 

"Drift. How did he d-"

 

Hands cupped his face as Drift knelt down beside him again. "Ratchet. Stop."

 

"I need to know-"

 

"No. You don't." Tears still glimmered in the corners of Drift's optics, clashing with the stone expression now on his features. "I didn't watch to the end, I… couldn't get through it. But considering that mech definitely recognized me from the videos and wasn't shocked to see me alive, it might not be in there."

 

"What if he didn't get to the end either? It could still be- Just let me see it. I need to see it-"

 

Drift shook his helm as he released Ratchet's face. "No. I'm destroying this. And then I'm tracking down the one distributing it and putting a stop to it, here at least. There's no way to say just how far it's gotten. I doubt this was the first-"

 

"No-!" Ratchet felt his grip on reality slipping. "Don't destroy it!"

 

"Ratchet-"

 

The disc was out in the open now and Ratchet took his chance to lunge for it. Drift caught his wrists easily, holding them firmly in place. "Ratchet, please-"

 

"Don't… don't destroy it…" The disk had fallen, discarded on the floor, right beside Ratchet's knee. He stared at it, the horrid thing, his bitter tears dripping down onto it. The horrid, disgusting thing that held the last moments of the one Ratchet desperately wanted to see. Needed to see. He had nothing else of Drift. No pictures. No videos. Drift was the one who took the time to make those. Not Ratchet.

 

"I can't let you watch this. It's… Primus, it's bad. It's horrible, Ratchet."

 

"I need to see him. I can't let him die alone. Please…" What was he even saying anymore?

 

"He's already gone, Ratchet. Watching this won't change anything. It will only upset you more."

 

Ratchet studied the blank, unlabeled disk. They couldn't even bother to give his suffering a name.

 

"Remember him how he was." Drift's hands abandoned his wrists, taking to Ratchet's face again. His helm was tipped upward, and he saw those eyes full of hurt once more. Eyes that had watched himself suffer. He hadn't considered the effect it would have on Drift.

 

"He wouldn't want you to remember him like this. Hold on to the good memories. Treasure them. Don't torture yourself like this."

 

The horrid thing left his field of vision as Drift stood and collected himself. A hand extended towards him, probably to help him stand, but Ratchet couldn't bring himself to move. Arms wrapped around his frame, scooping him up and into a seat. Drift shot him one last concerned glance before turning away. He made his way to the swords, propped up neatly against the control panel, hovering over the them as if hesitant, before kneeling down and muttering quietly as he placed a hand on the largest one. Drift was praying over them. He was going to use them, and for a moment Ratchet considered the possibility of Drift killing someone. He found he didn't care.

 

"Stay here, Ratchet. I'll be back. I promise."

 

And just like that, Drift left. Both of them. One of them to never come back. The one he couldn't live without.

 

Well, he wasn't going to.

 

Ratchet stood up, slowly, painfully. He'd been thoughtless with his leg. There was no way he could catch up to Drift. Ratchet grabbed the cane. Not the time to be stubborn.

 

It was dark out, nighttime. Most shops were closed, the nightlife of the city coming out now. Still busy, but less so. A different kind of crowd. More up to Ratchet's speed. If he'd been a few centuries younger, he might've joined them.

Ratchet wandered aimlessly, slow on his pedes. The dim lighting and uneven ground didn't help, causing him to nearly trip several times.

 

Drift had most certainly caught up with their mystery mech and scared them off, or killed them, or whatever it was he had set out to do. What exactly it was Ratchet truly intended to do at this point was beyond him. All he knew was he had a gun. And he was itching to use it.

 

Ratchet stumbled again, and he realized the ground wasn't the culprit this time. The mech who'd thoughtlessly ran into him was on the ground, scrambling for the boxes they'd dropped everywhere. Without so much as an apology. Their optics met and Ratchet had the gun out before a thought went through his head.

 

"You."

 

The mech already had their hands in the air, backing away slowly as they shook. In fear, most likely. "You Cybertronians are freaks, you know that? Always with the violence and killing. You already got what you wanted from me, just leave me alone-!"

 

So Drift had already gotten to them. Shame they were still alive.

 

"It's funny you seem to be so averse to violence and killing, considering what you've got in your inventory. Make a lot of money off it, did you? I bet the DJD gave you a juicy deal, huh?"

 

"Not anymore! He took it all, there's none left! I swear it!" Fear-filled optics darted between the strewn boxes and Ratchet's gun. As if they couldn't be more obvious.

 

"I'm not going to sit here and pretend you'll actually give me the names of all your clients, so here's what's going to happen." Ratchet brought the gun closer to the trembling mech. "Hand over the tapes you have left and maybe I'll consider not shooting you."

 

"I already told you, I don't-!"

 

"Hand them over."

 

Shaking hands lowered as the mech crouched down to pick through the boxes, occasionally glancing back up at Ratchet. One single, scratched up disk was held out.

 

That's what he thought.

 

Ratchet snatched it from their hand.

 

"That's all I have left. I swear. There's no more." The mech's voice trembled. They were probably telling the truth.

 

The disk had signs of use. Heavy use.

 

"What's this, your personal copy?" Ratchet shook with rage. He was going to kill this mech.

 

"You got what you wanted. Please. Just leave me be-"

 

Ratchet shot the mech square in the leg joint. They fell to the ground, howling and clutching the torn leg.

 

"You get off on the pain and suffering of others. Not so nice when you're the one experiencing it, is it?"

 

"Don't- don't kill me-!"

 

"I'm not." Ratchet lowered the gun and turned around. "I should. But I'm not. I took an oath."

 

The sound of pained laughter came from behind him as Ratchet started walking away.

 

"Coward."

 

Just keep walking, Ratchet. Ignore them.

 

"Well, I hope you enjoy the show as much as I did, Ratchet."

 

---

 

Ratchet didn't stop until he'd passed through the threshold of the shuttle, completely spent, hands trembling around the disk just about burning a hole through them. The words from that mech played through his head. He didn't want to think about why they knew his name.

 

Drift wasn't back. Or maybe he had been, but went back out to search for Ratchet. He didn't care to think about it, choosing instead to lock himself in the back room. Lights shut off, Ratchet sat on the edge of the berth, staring at the horrid thing in his possession with only the dim lighting from his biolights.

 

He wouldn't watch it.

 

Why did he even get this? Drift wouldn't have wanted him to see it. Ratchet had enough nightmares about the horrors he heard.

 

He wouldn't watch it.

 

Holding it tight in his hands, Ratchet tried to send some sort of feeling through it. Something to tell Drift he wasn't alone now.

 

God, what was he thinking? It sounded just like the sort of thing Drift would do.

 

Maybe he didn't mind so much.

 

Fingers ran over the deep scratches along the outside. The thought of that creep getting any sort of satisfaction from Drift's pain sickened him. The thought of anyone having this sickened him.

 

How much of Drift's last moments were only witnessed by people who enjoyed it? This was a business after all. The likelyhood of it falling into the hands of someone by mistake wasn't high. Unless the DJD were using this as profit and a scare tactic.

 

He didn't want to think about the DJD anymore.

 

He wouldn't watch it.

 

The tears started up again. Drift was so terrified the last time he saw him.

 

How long did he live after that? Did he die right away? Was it quick and gruesome, or did they draw it out for hours before he was put out of his misery?

 

What if Drift's final words to Ratchet were on that tape? What if he never found out?

 

The disk nearly fell from his hands and how they shook. The port in his arm seemed to open on its own, beckoning him.

 

He didn't want to watch it. He really didn't. But he had to.

 

Ratchet stuck the disk in.

 

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