Just a heads up that themes of suicidal ideation/thoughts ( and cruel remarks regarding it) are looking to be a lot more prevalent through the rest of this fic than I intended, so I'll try my best to keep up with the warnings (those warnings do apply for this chapter)
(See the end of the work for more notes.)
His spark hurt.
Machinery screamed in his audials. Too loud.
Hands on his chest. He didn't like the sensation. His spark hurt.
Voices cut in through the noise, weaving in and out of focus.
In and out, in and out.
Too loud, too quiet, too much.
"I'm sorry, Drift." Someone spoke, the scratchy voice booming right up in his audial, yet still miles away. "The medicine should kick in soon. You'll be alright."
Ratchet. He wanted Ratchet here. The pain was so intense. Ratchet would make it stop.
Was he in pain? He couldn't tell.
"It hurts," Drift rasped out faintly.
"I know. Just a little longer."
Drift couldn't see. He felt around the berth, frantic. Ratchet's hands weren't there. "He's gone."
"Rodimus left. It's just me with you."
Grief overwhelmed his sensors as he gripped the covers in a panic. "Someone took him. Please. I need him. I need him." Painful buzzing rose up in his spark at that, and it spun in his chest.
"Shh." A hand pressed down on his chest, gently pushing him down. "He'll be back. It's okay."
"Ratchet. He's gone. I can't feel Ratchet. He's gone."
"Right here." Fingers brushed soft, light strokes across his brow. "Didn't go anywhere."
"Give him back. I want him back." Words slurred together as sleep inched closer. Dangerously close. He was slipping.
The hand pulled away and a moment later something cold found its way to his chest. Cold and brittle. Two of them. Drift let out a sob of relief and pulled them in close. Ratchet was back.
He intertwined his fingers with Ratchet's, scratched and stiff as they were. Ratchet was safe. He was back. He would make it all stop.
Warmth overtook him as the tarp was pulled up, hands brushing up just under his chin and patting it down on his frame. Drift felt strangely at peace. Had he been hurt? He couldn't remember.
It didn't matter. Ratchet was here. Ratchet always took such good care of him.
Drift held tight to Ratchet's hands and with a content sigh, let his consciousness slip under. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, with Ratchet here.
"You'll have him back soon, Drift. Soon."
Drift startled awake to find a strange sensation in his spark. It pulsed. It spun. It hummed. And he was far too aware of its existence in his frame. Much more than he ever had before.
His hand hit something hard and round attached to his chestplate. The source of his discomfort. He wanted it gone.
Drift turned groggily to his side to see Ratchet, slumped over beside him, unmoving. Only a moment's panic before he realized Ratchet was simply in recharge. One look at him was all Drift needed to see how badly he needed that rest. He turned his attention away from the sleeping mech. Ratchet never let down his guard like this, he wouldn't want Drift staring.
Then again, he was just making assumptions about this… stranger? Not quite a stranger. But not quite a friend. This Ratchet wasn't his, and never would be. Could he even consider Rodimus a friend, then?
His fingers were still intertwined with the hands, hidden just under his tarp. Drift brought them up to his face, holding them there, feeling the scratches on his cheek. He didn't know how long he could keep these hidden. Ratchet would find them eventually. He would have questions. And Drift would have answers Ratchet doesn't want to hear. He already thought Drift was losing it, that much was obvious.
Especially after how Ratchet found him, brain in mouth and seconds from ending this hell. His tank twisted at the thought, as vague flashes of terror came back to him. He could still taste it.
Drift gripped his helm tightly. He didn't want to die. He really didn't.
He knew what Ratchet had to think about him. How fucked up he was, that he'd put his own brain in his mouth. The pity in his eyes as he'd urge Drift to seek help for the conditioning he had to have been put through to do such a thing.
And he knew the lies he'd recite right back at Ratchet. Going along with it, letting Ratchet draw his own false conclusions. He'd let him believe that story.
Drift didn't do it. And he knew who did.
The comm link was already open with no recollection of doing it himself. Drift felt nauseous.
«Froid.»
«Ah, Drift! Have a good recharge?»
«You tried to kill me.»
«Well now, that's a bit harsh. I just gave you a little motivation to end things yourself. Clearly I didn't choose the right memory, did I? That wasn't even the worst one, but I'm sure you know that. I'll have to keep that in mind for next time.»
«How the hell did you get up here without being seen?»
«Wouldn't you like to know.»
Drift took in a deep vent, an attempt to quell the panic rising up. Froid couldn't do anything to him right now. He could take charge of this situation. He was in control.
«What is it you want, Froid? If it's me you're after- »
«Do you know how long it took me to wheedle myself into this position? How long it took to get Rung out of my way? And now that I finally have access to his notes, you show up. The only thing I want right now is you out of the picture. Dead, preferably. But I have other means at my disposal.»
«Then take me and leave. You want me gone, so I don't ruin your little business? Problem solved.»
Every circuit in his frame screamed at him to stop, stop now, but Drift pushed his own trepidation down somewhere deep. He had to do this.
«It's cute that you think you have a choice in this. Thanks to your little outburst, I have everything I need to have you removed from this ship, with or without your consent. Although… having your cooperation would make this much easier.»
«Leave the crew of this ship alone and I'll… I'll go with you. I won't fight. But don't hurt anyone else.»
«Hmm. I could use a test subject to hone my mnemosurgery skills. A willing subject. I suppose that could be worth the loss of my catch on this ship. Getting these rejects to attend therapy willingly is looking to be more trouble than it's worth anyway. I'm assuming, of course, you'll make this worth the sacrifice?»
«…Yes.»
«Wonderful. I'll gather up the documents you need to sign. And I do hope you haven't forgotten our little arrangement? The threat still stands.»
«…Of course.»
«Well then, I'm looking forward to our time together.»
Drift held Ratchet's hands up to his chest and shut his optics. This was the only way. It was the only way. No one else had to be hurt. No one else had to go through this hell. He'd lead Froid and his monster far away from here. Even if he… even if he-
«Oh, and Drift? Maybe put those hands away. How do you think Ratchet would feel if he saw those? You wouldn't want him more disgusted with you than he already is.»
His hands shot underneath the tarp as Drift looked around wildly, his spark racing. Of course Froid had planted a device to watch him. He had to be listening, too.
«And get some recharge, Drift. You look terrible.»
Drift grabbed at his helm, vents rattling. His spark screamed, the reality of what he'd offered himself up for just about ripping his chest apart. What the hell was he thinking?
A life of being strapped down to some lab table, needles shoved up his brain as he's forced to relive hell over and over until the stress kills him?
And for what? As if he could seriously trust Froid to keep his word.
There had to have been more to his plan than just giving up his life in the most painful way possible. He knew there was more to it, there had to be- some kind of advantage, a catch. But the pain blooming from his chest clouded his thoughts, leaving a jumbled mess of regrets.
His hand hit the device attached to his chestplate and he tugged at it frantically.
His spark throbbed. Drift kept pulling.
"Drift, stop-!"
Wrists grabbed and yanked away, he could only stare up at Ratchet, leaning over him and venting ragged. Ratchet's weary optics met his and widened before stepping back and releasing him.
"I'm-" Ratchet rubbed at his optics and sat beside the berth. "I should have been awake. Are you in any pain?"
"No." The lie came easily. Drift let his hand wander back to the device attached to his chest, tracing the edge with his finger. The spark support was gone.
"We need to discuss some things, Drift." A hand came to rest on his arm, carefully pushing it away from his chest. "First things first. That device is keeping you alive. Please be careful with it."
It hummed softly in the quiet, vibrations felt all the way through his spark. Ah of course. It figured he'd try to rip it off straight after waking up and kill himself. In front of Ratchet.
The thought made him lightheaded. Ratchet was running himself ragged to keep him alive and here Drift was immediately weighing the risks of ripping it out and how quickly it could kill him before someone intervened. Before Froid could haul him off to who knows where.
The idea came on suddenly and lingered in his mind for far too long. He felt nauseous. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to think about anything at all, ever again.
"I'm sorry. Usually this would be discussed beforehand. You weren't responding well to the spark support. This basically functions in the same way, but less invasive. Portable spark support. Brainstorm's invention."
Drift wrenched his attention away from the horror now building up in his chest and forced a smile. "Portable spark support? Sounds a bit tame for Brainstorm."
"I'm not repeating the name he gave it." Ratchet sighed and shook his helm. "Second thing. You're a shit liar." Slight tremors ran through the finger now pointed between his optics. Ratchet's harsh glare came into focus just behind it.
"Spark pain is not something you can afford to lie about right now, Drift. It's not something you can just grit and bear through. Expressing your pain doesn't make you weak, it lets me do my damn job and keep you from dying. The first I hear about your spark hurting shouldn't be as you're hooked up on emergency spark support and too out of it to bother with hiding it."
"Thought you said… my spark was strong."
"I said that because had anyone else showed up in my Medibay in that condition, they would more than likely be dead right now. You do have a strong spark. But it can only take so much. I'm willing to bet it's been hurting this whole time and you've kept it to yourself, haven't you?"
"…" Drift glanced away.
"Don't be an idiot. If it hurts- if anything hurts, I want to hear about it. Even if you think it's stupid. Even if you think you're being a bother. Because guess what? It's not stupid. And it's not a bother. It's my job. But what is stupid, is hiding your symptoms until they just about kill you."
"Drift. Please. I'm asking as a friend. I've lost too many over stupid slag that could've been prevented. I can't lose another. I can't lose you. Even if you're not-"
Ratchet turned away, scratched hands rubbing at his face. "Just… please, Drift."
"How long will I have to wear this?"
Drift let his hand rest over the humming menace on his chest. Ratchet was pointedly avoiding the topic of what caused him to wear this in the first place. That was fine, Drift could also play the game of avoidance. A bit too well, probably.
"There's no way to know right now." Ratchet tapped at the edge of the datapad in his hands and Drift looked away as it angled towards him. He didn't want to see. "I need to run some more tests."
"So forever, then."
"I didn't say that, Drift."
"Your optics did." Drift grabbed at the infernal contraption. "Forever. That's how long I'm stuck like this. Just like my legs." He hadn't missed the matching white limbs propped up against the wall. "Forever."
He looked back up to see Ratchet shift uncomfortably. Ratchet didn't refute him.
"Drift…"
"No more coddling. Just tell me straight. I can handle it."
"Considering stress is quite literally killing you, I don't-"
"Tell me." Sharp, stabbing pulses shot through his spark, and Drift winced.
"I'm not going to hide anything from you. But we need to take this slow. One step at a time."
"…Drift, simply put, your spark has suffered more damage than I originally thought. And that damage is much more physical than I thought. Scans can only tell me so much. You don't have to tell me what happened, but I need to examine your spark."
A sinking pit in his tank. "Didn't… didn't you already do that?"
"The casing, yes. But not inside the chamber."
The datapad found it's way to Drift's berth as Ratchet laid it down. Drift snapped his helm away, the sinking feeling only spreading.
"I'm sorry, Drift. We can't afford to put this off. A few seconds, that's all I need. I'm only going to look and take a few images. No touching, I promise."
"So the giant piece cut out of my casing isn't a good enough look, then."
He could still hear Tarn's voice echo through his audials. Monologue upon monologue, some blathering about the symbolism of Megatron carving it out himself, only for it to become a source of agony as Tarn dripped that infernal liquid straight through it until Drift would eventually cave and open his chamber. It was his favorite part of Drift evidently, second only to his finials, which Tarn insisted remain unbroken.
Drift suddenly felt ill at the thought of opening anything.
"Afraid not. I'll need you to open it. Only for a few-"
"Acid."
"What?"
"Acid." Drift croaked. "It was acid. They put acid-"
Ratchet's optics widened only for a moment, before settling back into an unreadable expression.
The words were just falling out now, he couldn't stop. "Acid in my spark, Ratchet. They put- it was acid."
"Okay. It's alright, Drift. You don't have to say any more. I'm just going to look at it. A few seconds and it'll be over." The urgency now in Ratchet's voice was hard to miss.
Scrap, he really fucked up.
"It was only- you don't need to look. There's nothing to see. I have this, right? I'm fine now."
"Drift. I don't have time to argue with you. I need to examine your spark. It can't wait any longer. Please."
His spark chamber compartment slid open against his will. Of course his useless frame couldn't even respect his own autonomy. Drift's vents quickened. He wasn't ready. But he couldn't close it now. Taking in a shaky vent, Drift shuttered his optics. He could get through this. It was only Ratchet. Only Ratchet.
"Just- just get it over with."
He could hear Ratchet shift, probably getting closer. He tried focusing on his vents. Slow, in and out, in and out. If he did that, he wouldn't think about how exposed his spark was. He wouldn't think about the various interconnected tubes hanging over his frame. He wouldn't think about the drip of agony that was surely coming any moment.
He wouldn't think about it. He wouldn't think about it.
"You're doing great, Drift. I'm almost done." Ratchet's hand came to rest on his arm, which he now realized was shaking.
He wasn't thinking about it, he really wasn't. But the more he didn't think about it, the more certain he was that the drip would come. It was going to come. Oh, Primus. He wasn't ready for it. He wasn't ready.
Ratchet would see him writhe and scream. A sorry state, shameful and humiliating. Memories meant to be buried down deep, so no one would ever see him in such a way.
He'd open his optics and prove to himself there was nothing there. Only Ratchet. Nothing to drip searing pain into his spark.
Drift looked up to a camera pointed right at him.
"Smile for the camera, Deadlock."
Drift laid on the floor of his poor excuse of a cell, staring numbly at the camera pointed his way. He'd long given up caring. Long given up fighting back. Any attempt at salvaging his dignity had been stomped to death over more times than he cared to think about. They wanted screams? Cries? Pleads? They got what they wanted eventually. And so did their audience.
"That was quite the performance you gave back there, hmm? It's sure to be a big hit, I can tell you that. Maybe we'll even let you watch the finished product. Assuming you're still around for it. I hope so. Might even get a new pet out of it, once this is all over. Won't that be fun? Switch out your brain for a turbo-fox's. Something for you to look forward to. Your mind will be so full of mush, the pain won't even register right anymore."
Kaon strolled up to him, the camera never leaving its target. There was a sharp kick at his freshly mangled thigh and Drift bit back the mewl of pain creeping up his intake.
"Can't run away anymore, now can you? That's too bad. We'll have to come up with a new game, won't we?"
The camera was set down just a short distance from his face. Drift kept his gaze locked on the glowing red dot, desperate to distract himself from the horrid contraption being dragged closer to his frame, just out of sight. He half considered clamping his mouth shut, holding back his reactions. Let Kaon grow bored, perhaps even leave him be for once. But the panic was already rising, more and more with each passing second. He knew it was pointless.
They were never going to let this end.
Even once his mind was eventually so far gone, his body just an empty shell mindlessly reacting to stimuli. When he was no longer himself anymore. His suffering would go on, endlessly. As his pain is consumed by those sick enough to enjoy it, watching as he's broken apart, piece by piece. His pain would never truly end.
Drift shuttered his optics and prayed that Ratchet would never come across those recordings.
The camera was already discarded on the floor.
Drift kept his optics on it, terrified to look away, terrified to see what sick game he'd be forced into. A hand touched his shoulder and his plating crawled.
"Drift? Drift, what's wrong? Does it-?"
"I'm fine." A jerk of his shoulder forced the hand off. He couldn't keep the tremble from his voice. "I'm… I'm leaving now."
From the corner of his visual feed, he could see Ratchet reach for him. Drift pushed himself into a seating position, his hands shaking on the berth.
"Drift…"
"I'm going for a walk."
He didn't move. Ratchet didn't move.
He waited, desperate for Ratchet to berate him, call him an idiot for suggesting he'd get up despite having no legs. Desperate for reassurance that he would walk again, don't push it-
Instead he got silence. Silence full of pity. Silence that gave him the answer he already knew. And still, Ratchet just stood there, as if waiting for a response.
"…I'm going for a walk. Alone."
It wasn't until he looked up to see Ratchet already gone that the tears started to fall.
I'm back!!! Apologies if this chapter seems all over the place, I wrote it out of order over like a month (and I'm allergic to editing lol) There was more I wanted to get to, but I decided this was a good spot to end off this time. unfortunately (for drift) it's going to get a bit intense in the coming chapters... (i am owning the reality that it's probably gonna hit 100K words before there's a break in angst and suffering...😭)
also!! Newanius drew some art for this fic!! I love it so much, thank you!! :D
thank you for reading!! >:D