Hi. so... diving headfirst back into the pain
CW: medical trauma, self mutilation, dissociation
(See the end of the work for more notes.)
There was a hand in his mouth.
"Drift. Just relax your jaw for me, alright? I'm going to get this out. Do not bite down."
Ratchet?
Drift looked up to see Ratchet over him, barely concealed horror plastered across his face as he held Drift's jaw open.
His brain was still in his mouth.
"Drift- Drift." A hand left Drift's mouth to stop his panicked thrashing, holding his shoulder down firmly. "I need you to stay calm. Just loosen your jaw. I'll get this out. It's alright."
Drift's jaw stayed locked in place as his mind went numb. The taste settled in his mouth. He was going to be sick.
"Drift. Just relax. I need you to open your jaw, alright?" Ratchet tried to keep his voice gentle, but the urgency came through clearly.
Drift felt a hand touch his brain module. The wrongness of it all had him squirming even more.
"Please. I can't hold your mouth open and remove it at the same time. It's only me. I won't hurt you. I'm just going to put it back where it belongs. Nothing else. I promise." Ratchet placed a hand on the back of Drift's helm and he felt his frame suddenly go limp, completely unresponsive.
You know what will happen if you don't open it, don't you Deadlock?
The panel for his brain module slid open. Optics locked on the ceiling, he couldn't move. Couldn't vent. Just let them take it out. It'll be over soon.
Something brushed along the back of his helm. Something sharp. There was something sharp. Please, no. Please.
Ratchet was saying something, faintly.
Drift saw his brain. Pinched between two fingers. Helex brought it up to his face.
My turn.
"Shh. Easy." A hand on his back, hesitant to touch. Drift gripped the bin in his lap tighter as another violent purge shook his frame. Nausea rolled in his fuel tank and his vision swam. What was he doing again?
Someone was speaking quietly with Ratchet. Someone unfamiliar. A stack of towels and a bucket of solvent were set down beside his berth.
Of course. He'd gotten sick all over himself. And the berth.
Another wave of sick passed through his frame as Drift purged into the bin once more. He could still taste it. If he thought too hard he could still feel it, too.
His spark ached. It pulsed. He hated it.
Drip.
Drift grabbed at his chest in a panic, the clattering of the bucket on the floor as he gasped painfully.
"Drift?!"
Hands on him. He didn't like it.
Hushed voices, worried. Frantic.
Whispers. Soft. Quiet. Poison in his audials, poison in his spark, ripping it to shreds. It hurt. Primus, it hurt.
Drift tried to tune it out, retreating somewhere deep in his processor. He stared at his mess, spilled all over the floor, all over himself. He felt disgusting.
He was disgusting.
Drip.
Hands wrapped around his wrists, tight- too tight- and Drift struggled, desperate for it all to stop. He just wanted it to stop.
Another drip wretched a cry from his throat.
Acid in his spark.
Acid in his spark.
Acid in his spark.
Redoubling his efforts, Drift wrapped his fingers around the edge of his breastplate, wheezing through every pulse of his spark. If he could just get his hands over his spark chamber- if he could just block it-
Ratchet's voice- he could hear it, warped and distorted into something horrifying.
Drip.
Drift screamed. He thrashed against the hands holding him. Commands to open his chest compartment repeatedly failed. The lack of control over his own body fueled the terror consuming him.
Fingers dug in, metal buckled and squealed as his chestplate came apart. It hurt. It hurt, but he couldn't take it anymore.
Drip.
The ache in his spark exploded into an unbearable throbbing agony and Drift couldn't stop the stream of noises leaving his intake.
Alarms screeched. More hands on him, his wrists pulled away and pinned to the berth. Drift fought harder, panic surging through his lines.
Something was wrapped around his wrists, holding them down, trapping him- a familiar dread washed over him.
Light gleamed off of the needle, now held up to his medical port and Drift thrashed frantically, acid burning, searing in his spark. His own voice was distant, broken sobs and pleads spilling from somewhere far away.
The needle slipped in with surgical precision, a sudden burst of cold flooding his lines.
Drift went horribly still as it traveled through his frame, frozen in place and shaking, staring numbly up at the ceiling. He could see it. That sick, twisted grin. Those horrible blue optics, ripping through every thought he's ever had, leaving him laid bare. Exposed.
Awful, isn't it?
Booming whirs of machinery assaulted his audials as he was hooked up to spark support once again. Drift sobbed quietly. He didn't want this. Not again.
Voices mixed with the horrible screeches of the machine, uncomfortably loud.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, hang in there, just a little longer, you're going to be alright.
Ratchet. He saw Ratchet. Ratchet would make it stop.
Weakly, Drift extended his EM field, a plea for help.
Ratchet pulled his in tight.
It hurt.
He didn't know how long he'd laid there, immobile. He didn't know who was hurting him. Was someone hurting him?
It hurt.
The pain had dimmed to a dull ache. He hadn't noticed.
He wanted to wake up. He wanted it to stop.
Exhaustion pulled at his processor. Terror- gripping, horrible. He didn't want to go back to sleep.
"-spark stabilizing-"
The machine was loud. Too loud.
"-going to pull through."
Hands on his frame. Familiar hands, a light tremor spreading through them. They brushed against his wrist, and the strap was pulled away.
"I'm sorry, Drift." Muttered words, almost too soft to hear. "I'm sorry. I can't lose you again."
🧍Every time I touch this fic somehow things just keep getting worse good gravy (they WILL get better. sometime this century, even)
Thank you for reading and all your comments! :^)
I've been on a short chapter streak for a while, but hopefully I will be back with more pain soon! And Rodimus POV is coming up next (I think I said at one point it's only duplicate drift and ratchet pov, but I'm rescinding that)