This had been going on for way too long.
Ratchet frowned, watching his bondmate wander around the medbay without any particular purpose or intention, ignoring everyone and everything around him. Drift had been secluding himself from the outer world for a while now, and Ratchet knew that something was seriously wrong.
"Drift," he called, approaching the white mech and resting a hand on his shoulder.
"Huh?" Drift turned around and looked up into his optics, a look of confusion and surprise spreading over his facial plates.
"Drift… are you okay?"
The somewhat pleasant expression slid off Drift's features like dewdrops off a leaf.
"I'm fine," he snapped irritably, and stormed out of the medbay, leaving a shocked Ratchet behind.
Face it, Drift.
You're going to have to tell him someday.
Drift paused in the middle of the corridor, leaning against the wall.
Better sooner than later, he told himself. Ratchet would help. Ratchet would care, and waiting would only make it worse.
Drift drew a shuddering intake, steadying himself and making up his mind. He would tell Ratchet about his problem, right now, and nothing would stop him from doing so. Drift was about to head back to the medbay when he caught sight of something that almost stopped his spark.
Why did he have two shadows instead of one?
And why did one of the shadows appear to have two narrow, hateful crimson optics, that seemed to be staring directly at him?
Drift trembled in fear, grabbing on to a conveniently placed rail to prevent himself from staggering and falling over.
"Fear is a powerful emotion," came a loud, echoing voice in his processor. Drift let go of the rail with one hand, and clutched at his helm, trying to eject to intruding voice from his mind.
"You're weak, Drift. You're frightened, terrified, of a mere shadow. You will never do anything useful, for anyone."
Drift clung to the rail, desperately trying to block the harsh criticism being thrown his way.
"Please… stop!" he pleaded, despite, not knowing who he was speaking to.
"I'll stop soon enough," the voice replied. "Once I kill you."
Drift's processor cleared as the voice faded away, and he onlined his optics and attempted to calm down. Spinning around, he just caught sight of a flash of white, before everything was still.
Trying not to panic, Drift choked back a scream and fled to the medbay, which had been his original destination in the first place. However, his purpose of going there was now different. Previously, he had been setting off to put things right. Now, he was running away, hiding from what he knew would get him eventually.
Ratchet looked up as the door whooshed open, just in time to see Drift dash into their room and slam the door. Deciding to take a chance, he walked in behind his bondmate.
"What's wrong?" he asked gently.
He was answered with silence, as Drift's trembling turned to shaking.
Supporting the white mech so that he wouldn't fall, Ratchet repeated his question.
"I'm… fine!"
Ratchet was relieved that Drift had responded, even though his statement clearly wasn't true.
"Then explain to me why you just rocketed into our room at 70k an hour and froze in the middle of the floor."
Drift shook his partner off and lay down on their berth.
"I'm just tired," he lied, turning away to face the wall.
Ratchet knew something was wrong with Drift, but he probably wasn't ready to share it yet. Frowning, the medic headed back out into the main medbay, closing the door quietly behind him.
He didn't see the tear streak down Drift's cheek plate.
-The next day-
Ratchet was arranging his tools after Sunstreaker and Sideswipe messed them up when he heard a faint moan from behind him.
"Drift?" he called, turning around and walking towards his younger bondmate, who was sitting in a chair, gripping the edges of the seat tightly.
"Drift."
Ratchet was taken by surprise when said mech grabbed on to him with one hand, the other still wrapped around the chair.
"What's wrong?" the medic asked, gently stroking Drift's finials, watching him tremble under his touch.
Drift simply moaned, his optics dimming as he toppled over to one side, and would've fallen off the chair had Ratchet not caught him.
"Tell me, Drift, what's wrong? What happened?" Ratchet asked, as he uncurled Drift's digits from the chair and scooped him up, placing him down on a medberth with the gentleness of a light spring breeze. He lay the white mech down, and continued his soft caressing of his helm.
Drift's intake hitched as tears found their way to his optics, and started rolling down his face.
"Drift…"
Ratchet leaned down, tenderly kissing his bondmate on his left cheek plate.
"Drift, it's okay. You can trust me."
The medic watched on in worry as Drift extended a shaking hand, reaching out. Ratchet took his hand and held it, giving it a squeeze of reassurance.
"I'm scared…" Drift finally whispered, his intake hitching again.
Ratchet pressed on, and decided to ask him what he was afraid of.
"Ratchet," whimpered Drift, almost sobbing. "Someone wants to kill me."
Ratchet sat him up and wordlessly wrapped his arm around his limp, trembling frame. In return, Drift buried his helm in his chest plate and cried, his body shuddering with his every intake.
Ratchet watched Drift break down in his arms, reflecting on just how soft the swordsmech could be, deep inside that cold, hard shell. Drift's days as a Decepticon had taught him to hide his emotions, and act tough. With the Decepticons, it was either conceal, or be beaten up.
The medic rubbed Drift's back soothingly, whispering words of reassurance.
"I won't let anyone, or anything get anywhere near you, Drift."
Drift looked up, and Ratchet's spark felt an icy sear as he caught sight of those teary, frightened optics.
"Really?" the white mech quietly murmured.
And here was the uncertainty, the loneliness that hiding oneself resulted in.
Ratchet nodded and wiped away his tears.
Drift hiccupped slightly, and leant in to Ratchet's touch, burying his helm in his chest plates again, crying tears of relief, fear and what could only be described as love, all in one.
::Ratchet!::
Both bondmates jumped at the sudden comm call. Drift yelped and clung to Ratchet, who was answering his comm call.
::Ratchet, come to my office right now! There is something I would like to discuss with you, immediately!::
The comm link cut.
Ratchet looked down at Drift.
"It's Prowl," he stated. "I'm afraid I'll have to go, Drift."
The medic attempted to gently pry Drift's digits off his arm. Drift let go, lying back on the berth.
"Go…" he murmured, crying softly again.
Ratchet frowned, before turning and leaving, reassuring Drift that he'd be back in no time.
The next twenty minutes passed stressfully for Ratchet.
Prowl gestured him into his office, and proceeded to discuss medical reports from recent battles.
"The death rates are increasing," he informed Ratchet. "Under your care. And I would like to know why!"
Ratchet remained calm as much as he could, but couldn't suppress the annoyed tone to his voice.
"You think I'm not trying?!"
Prowl glared at him.
"Fine. Well, I'm telling you why. It's because we're fighting more battles. More battles means more injuries. More injuries means more deaths."
Then, deeply irritated, Ratchet added, "Thought your logistic centre would've realised that?"
Prowl snarled, threats running through his processor.
"And then there's your own decisions!" the acting commander went on. Ratchet listened, his hands clenched into fists as Prowl told, or rather scolded, him about "Careful alien contact," "Care when inspecting infected areas" and how "Your incorrect choices have terminated more lives than I care to count".
By the time he finished, it was all Ratchet could do to not scream and attack him.
::Er, Ratchet?:: came a nervous voice through a comm call.
::What is it, Sideswipe?:: replied Ratchet, glad for a distraction.
::Wheeljack's lab kinda blew up again::
Ratchet took himself out of Prowl's office without bothering to ask for permission.
-Night time-
Ratchet walked down the medbay corridor after spending quite a ridiculous amount of time sorting out the mess in the science department of the base. Wheeljack had somehow managed to blow up not just his invention, or even his lab, but the entire area.
Blew up, with pink and orange paint.
Ratchet had flung himself into the work, wanting anything to take his meeting with Prowl out of his processor. Only now, in the quiet of the night, did he remember what mattered to him the most.
Drift.
Ratchet quickened his pace, and arrived in the medbay. Finding no traces of Drift, he entered their shared room, to find Drift sitting on the berth, facing away, staring at the wall.
"Drift?" he called timidly.
The swordsmech ignored him.
Ratchet walked forwards and rested a hand on Drift's shoulder plate, only to have him shake it off. His spark shattered as he realised he'd broken a promise to Drift. It had obviously hurt more than he'd expected.
"Drift, I want you to know… I'm sorry for taking so long," apologised Ratchet, not bringing Prowl into the matter.
Drift turned around and glared at him with hurt, betrayed, lonely optics.
Ratchet shifted uncomfortably. How did he always end up in these awkward situations?
"It's bedtime," he finally said, switching the light off and lying down.
Drift followed, but stayed as far from Ratchet on their shared berth as he could.
Ratchet winced, staring off into the night.
He vowed to treat Drift more carefully in the future.
-Later that night-
Ratchet groaned, rubbing his optics and sitting up.
"Drift," he said flatly, turning to look at his bondmate, who was lying on the berth, trembling. His lips were parted, and he was panting, breathless from the scream that had escaped his vocaliser just a few seconds ago.
"Sorry," whimpered Drift, his wide optics slowly dimming.
Ratchet sighed and sat him up against the wall. He started rubbing the other mech's chest plates, soothing him wordlessly until his shivering ceased, and he was left leaning against Ratchet's shoulder plate, clinging onto his arm.
"You don't have to be sorry," Ratchet told him, patting his shoulder. "It's not your fault."
Drift buried his helm in Ratchet's arms.
"Tell me, what happened?"
"I had a nightmare," the swordsmech finally replied after a minute's hesitation.
"Go on."
Ratchet found his request for more information declined, as Drift shook his helm and leant further into the medic's touch. The white mech lay down, and his bondmate bent over him and kissed him gently on the forehead, before settling down beside him.
"Ratchet… please don't tell anyone!" Drift quietly sobbed.
Ratchet gently shushed him, and promised not to let anyone else know.
With a slight whimper, Drift snuggled up to Ratchet as close as he could, and the medic held him firmly in his loving arms as he slowly slipped off.
-The next evening-
"Prowl?"
"Enter."
Ratchet walked into the acting commander's office, and sat down in the chair opposite him.
"What is it?" asked Prowl impatiently.
"It's about Drift," Ratchet began. Before Prowl could cut in with another snappy comment, he continued talking.
"He's been acting all, well, unusual for weeks now. Detached, absent-minded, sick, even. Just yesterday-"
"Will you get to the point?" scowled Prowl, quick-tempered as always since he'd had the weight of commanding an unit dumped on his shoulders.
"Alright, alright. So anyways, someone wants him dead, and Drift's suffering because of it. He can't sleep without having a nightmare, and his self-confidence is barely there anymore."
"I do not believe this nonsense is any of my business."
Ratchet felt his own temper flare, but worry for his bondmate restrained it. Arguing with Prowl wouldn't help matters one little bit.
"You know I hate to see Drift scared like this, Prowl. Could you at least do something?"
Prowl sighed, clearly frustrated and annoyed.
"Fine. I'll see what I can do."
The faintest trace of a smile ghosted over Ratchet's face. It was the best he could get out of Prowl.
"Thanks, Prowl."
Ratchet stood up, and left the tactician's office. Drift would be waiting back in their quarters.
Either that, or he'll be in recharge, the medic thought to himself, glancing at his internal timekeeping device.
His theory proved true as he walked into their room, to find Drift curled up on their berth, deep in recharge. Ratchet smiled slightly, and lay down beside him, quickly slipping into recharge.
Drift's light footsteps echoed around the dimly lit corridor around him. He could barely see a few centimetres ahead, and it was almost like he was walking by instinct. Somehow, he knew just where to go, and yet had no idea where he was or what he would find once he reached his destination.
Suddenly, a wave of light engulfed him and he turned a corner into a secluded space, and he continued into the shine. He could picture it in his mind, the golden light reflecting off the walls and his armour, taking everything and anything into its glow.
Then, suddenly, the light vanished, leaving him frozen in the darkness.
Drift jumped as a loud clang sounded behind him, and he spun around to the sight of a gate- a gate that said everything about death and torment, from dark mist hovering around to energon splashed over the iron bars. A click cut through the air as the gate locked.
"You can try to hide, Drift," hissed a voice.
Drift, terrified, turned around again to see the same red optics that had haunted him for what seemed like eternity, closer than ever before.
"But you'll fail. I know exactly where you are."
Drift gasped, feeling tears flow out of his optics like raindrops through the sky.
"And I will kill you."
"Drift! Drift!"
Said mech was screaming at the top of his vocaliser, tears pouring down his facial plates. His frame was tense and trembling, and Ratchet winced at the sight of his bondmate, reduced to this frightened, sobbing mess.
"Drift, listen to me!"
The white mech continued shrieking, not paying a bit of attention to the medic shaking him in an effort to get him to listen.
"DRIIIIIIIIIIIIIFT!"
Drift screamed one last time and hiccupped weakly, panting to catch his breath.
"Now calm down, it was only a dream," soothed Ratchet, helping his bondmate into a sitting position on their berth. "You're safe here, I'm not going to let anything happen to you… oh no, Drift, please, please don't cry…"
The medic found his call unanswered as Drift buried his helm in his shoulder, his every sob weak and spark-wrenching to listen to. Ratchet held him tight, attempting vainly to comfort his distressed partner.
"There, there, it's okay, Drift. Nobody is going to hurt you, nobody at all. Prowl's put in extra security for this place, and you know we're all doing our best to keep you safe. You'll never be alone, you don't have to cry anymore, everything will be okay… this just isn't working, is it?"
Ratchet, out of ideas, simply held Drift in his arms as the other mech uncontrollably cried, the sounds echoing through the cold night air.
-The next day-
"Drift?"
Said mech looked up at the mention of his name.
"Ratchet," he replied mildly, turning around on their berth.
"Drift, let's go for a walk. You've been just lying there all day."
"I don't really want to see anyone right now."
Ratchet sat down on the berth beside him and started rubbing his side.
"It's okay, Drift. The corridors will be empty."
Drift sighed and reluctantly sat up, and allowed Ratchet to guide him out the medbay door. Upon reaching the corridor outside, he confirmed that Ratchet's claim that nobody would be there was true.
"See? It's fine," stated Ratchet. "Now, where do you want to go?"
Drift shrugged, although his mood was already improving, and the pair found themselves wandering around until they reached the rec room.
"Ratchet! Drift!" someone called as they passed the door.
"Oh, hey, Jazz," replied Drift, turning around and looking up.
Jazz took Ratchet's sigh as a greeting, and gestured for both of them to enter the rec room. Drift looked around, and found that the room was empty, except for Sunstreaker, his excited little Insecticon Bob and themselves.
"I made energon cookies! Want some?"
Ratchet and Drift thanked Jazz and took a cookie each, politely taking a bite despite that neither of them were feeling hungry.
"Wow, it's yummy!" exclaimed Ratchet, his optics lighting up, and choked slightly at his own use of such a silly, childish word.
"Eh. You younglings must be rubbing off on me."
Jazz seemed to share in his amusement, and glanced quickly at Drift's expression for a second, before looking back to avoid looking suspicious.
"Glad you liked it," he grinned. "Just saying though, I may have added some paper by accident-"
The silver mech was interrupted by Ratchet's spluttering.
"WHAT!-"
"Calm down," laughed Jazz. "And just in case you're going to kill someone, let me tell you that it was Prowl who tripped over a spoon and made his pile of paperwork explode and fly around the room!"
Ratchet put on his 'grumpy medic' expression.
"And who dropped that spoon in the first place?" he asked, narrowing his optics.
Jazz lifted both his hands in surrender.
"Uh… me? But it's not completely my fault, it's Prowl who collects spoons!"
"And here I am, bombarded with yet another fact I didn't know about everyone's favourite law enforcer slash bounty hunter of kitchenware."
Drift, meanwhile, had been listening to their conversation, mildly interested. Jazz and Ratchet were putting on a rather amusing show. The former's quick glances in his direction passed unnoticed, and Drift barely noticed that they were bantering in an effort to cheer him up.
"Speaking of Prowl's spoon collection," Jazz was saying. "The other day, I just happened to bump the wall at just the wrong moment in just the wrong spot, and caused the whole thing to fall over. We were picking up spoons for, like, an entire half hour after that, and let me tell you, it's not easy when every ten seconds a spoon comes flying in your direction! And Prowl's got crazy good aim when he's ticked off."
"You think Prowl's bad?" scowled Sunstreaker, speaking up for the first time. "You haven't seen Ratchet's wrench collection."
The yellow twin looked back down at his data pad.
"And you haven't seen Sideswipe's ratchet collection," he added.
By now, Jazz was laughing, Ratchet was fuming and even Drift wore a slight smile.
"But that statue of you 'Streaker made with your wrenches really was impressive, Ratch," chuckled Jazz. "I've still got a photo."
The silver mech proceeded to produce a photo album out of nowhere and flipped to a page, showing a statue, so carefully crafted and with such finesse that it could only be described as a masterpiece, completely made of wrenches, standing tall in the middle of the medbay. Ratchet's statue was positioned in a way similar to the Statue of Liberty. His left hand held a small book, once again constructed out of wrenches. In his right hand, which was held high above his helm, the statue held the biggest wrench Ratchet had in his collection. Sunstreaker reluctantly stood next to the statue, while his twin Sideswipe pulled faces and made bunny ears.
"Jazz, why do you keep a photo album in your subspace?" asked Drift, amused at the hilarious picture. "Also, what's that stripy thing on the other page?"
Jazz's gaze swept to the page adjacent to the page Ratchet's statue occupied.
"Oh yeah, that one! That's when Bumblebee, in his infinite wisdom, decided to help Wheeljack in his lab. And, naturally, he got turned into a bumblebee. Also, to answer your other question, I don't really know. I guess I'm just rather attached to my pictures."
Jazz twanged a wire sticking out of the album, and Drift followed it to find out that the other end was welded to a wall of Jazz's subspace.
"Literally," he offered, and gave a smile.
Jazz quickly swiped out his camera and snapped a picture.
"Perfect," he grinned, and showed the picture to Drift and Ratchet.
Drift would've looked, had he not decided to investigate what was poking his lower leg in such a clumsy, somewhat wet manner.
"Bob!" he yelled, leaning back and bumping into Ratchet as the Insecticon leapt into his lap and started licking his face. Drift smiled, patting Bob's head as the latter snuggled up to him and purred.
Sunstreaker, after glancing over to see what his pet was up to, gave a small smile of his own and started sketching on his data pad.
"Ratchet, I know something's wrong," said Jazz in a hushed voice, looking up at the medic, who turned from watching Drift to face him.
"Well, yes," he replied, a little awkwardly.
Jazz placed a hand on Ratchet's shoulder.
"If there's any way I can help, I will. Just ask."
Ignoring Ratchet's surprised expression, he continued, "Taking him out for a walk was an excellent idea. He should be distracted from his problem, whatever it is, as much as possible. He'll be better off that way."
Ratchet nodded, turning away again.
"Thank you, Jazz."
"You're welcome," replied Jazz, taking the last energon cookie on the plate, breaking it in half and offering half to Ratchet. The two Autobots turned to watch Drift, who was feeding energon cookies to Bob.
"No more," shrugged Drift, holding out his empty hands and letting the Insecticon lick them clean. "Eww… that tickles! Oh, nevermind."
Bob finished licking Drift's hands and snuggled up to his frame, and the white mech hugged him back, enjoying the warmth of the relatively little ball of Insecticon in his arms.
"Prrrrrrrrr…."
Drift smiled, burying his helm in Bob's shoulder.
Ratchet tore his optics away from the happy, uplifting scene before him to check what Sunstreaker was doing. The yellow mech peered over the top of his data pad for a second, seemed to take in a few details, sketched a few lines before repeating the process.
Somehow, Ratchet knew exactly what he was drawing.
-Two days later-
It had been three days since Drift had woken up screaming in the middle of the night. And every night since then, it had been the same. Drift would experience a nightmare, wake up and cry until he was too tired to cry anymore. And Ratchet would stay with him, spending long hours holding his close, whispering useless words of reassurance.
After reluctantly leaving his bondmate's side to sort out an incident in the rec room, Ratchet was walking back to the medbay in a hurry, anxious to check on Drift again. Unwanted memories of what had happened last time he left a patient unattended for too long washed across his processor.
Ratchet opened the medbay door, entered their room and was greeted with the sight of Drift kneeling on the floor, purging his tanks.
"Drift?" he called, worried.
The white mech looked up with pained, miserable optics as he approached.
"Drift, do you want me to take you to the wash racks?" Ratchet asked, concern lacing his voice.
Drift just shrugged in response, another wave of energon gushing out his mouth.
"I'll take that as a yes," stated Ratchet, snaking an arm around his bondmate's shoulder and half supporting, half carrying him to the wash racks.
Drift collapsed to the ground and leant over the toilet, purging his tanks into the bowl as Ratchet fumbled around behind him with the bathtub and taps.
"Come on," the medic whispered, lifting him up again. Drift found himself deposited somewhat awkwardly into a tub full of warm water.
"Stay here and rest," instructed Ratchet, leaving the wash racks to clean up the mess in their room.
Drift leant over the rim of the bathtub and emptied his tank one final time onto the bathroom floor before lying back in the water, coughing and retching. He was feeling downright miserable- his frame was aching, his processor was overheating and, most of all, his tank wouldn't stop churning despite the fact that there was nothing left to purge.
The white mech rested his hand over his abdominal plates, attempting to help himself feel better. To his relief, he finally managed to calm his sore tank a few minutes later. With a sigh, Drift offlined his optics, willing the darkness to provide sanctuary.
It served the opposite effect, as he soon found.
A pair of cruel, red optics chose to show themselves in Drift's burning processor, giving the poor mech such a shock that he almost leapt out of the bathtub. His optics snapped online, but not before a voice whispered something that terrified him more than anything else had ever done in his life.
"Soon, Drift."
"Drift? You okay?"
Ratchet stood over him, a cloth lightly held in one hand.
Drift trembled.
"I… I'm fine," he lied.
Ratchet sent him a disbelieving look, plunging the cloth into the water and gently scrubbing the energon-covered parts of Drift's armour. There was something comforting about his presence, as Drift found the warm water combined with Ratchet's gentle strokes quite lulling.
But he couldn't.
He couldn't fall asleep, or his nightmare would return.
The voice.
The crimson optics.
He would have to stay online, or his sanity would be shattered by the power of sheer terror.
"Drift! Wake up. I'm taking you back to our room."
Drift couldn't have felt more trapped, lying in Ratchet's arms as the other mech carried him into their shared room, and sat him down on the berth.
Ratchet rummaged around in a nearby cupboard until he came across a tiny vial of a yellow chemical, and retrieved a small cube of energon from the energon stores. As Drift listlessly watched on, he mixed the fluid into the energon, turning it a shimmering gold, with swirls of deep purple.
"It's made to be especially easy on the tank," he explained, lifting the cube to Drift's lips.
The white mech winced, turning away and retching at the sight of energon.
"Ratchet," he murmured, pushing away the offered energon. "I can't hold anything down."
"Have a rest first," Ratchet told him, placing the cube of energon on a bedside table. He sat down on the berth, and started slowly rubbing Drift's tank plating.
"Feeling better?" he asked five minutes later, and waited for Drift to nod a little before picking up the cube of energon again.
"Open up," he instructed.
"No, don't," protested Drift, attempting to push away the cube again. "I don't want it!"
"Drift, you've been purging a lot. Your tank's probably empty right now, and you'll starve sooner or later. Just drink it, please?"
Drift finally sighed, and let Ratchet feed him the energon. Swallowing the last mouthful, he coughed, his tank churning.
"Are you okay?" asked Ratchet, quickly fetching a bucket.
His bondmate nodded, just managing to keep everything down. Drift lay down again, his processor spinning, and Ratchet continued rubbing his tank.
And all that time, a pair of crimson optics had been watching.
-Later at night-
Drift lay on the berth, crying softly into his arm. Beside him, Ratchet stirred and rolled over to face him.
"How long have you been awake?" the medic groaned, propping himself up on one elbow.
Drift looked up, tears still rolling down his cheeks.
"All night," he shakily replied, coughing a little.
Ratchet sighed, wiped away his bondmate's tears with his thumb and started caressing the younger mech's helm.
"Can't sleep?" he asked sympathetically.
Drift nodded and cuddled up as close as he could get to him.
"It's okay, Drift," Ratchet soothed. "Really. Nothing can hurt you, Prowl has made sure of that."
"Ratchet! Urgh, I just want to be sick!"
"Bit late for that, you just did."
"Nnngh- Sorry, I'm so sorry-"
"Don't try to talk. It won't help."
Ratchet sighed, quickly sitting Drift up as the latter brought up all the energon he'd drank earlier. He winced as the swordsmech shuddered in pain, another wave of purging sending his frame lurching forwards.
"Sorry," Drift finally choked, slumped over on the energon-splashed berth.
"Don't be," reassured his partner, getting a cloth and wiping purged energon off Drift's parted lips. He moved the cloth up, gliding it under Drift's optics and brushing away his tears.
"I'll clean up in full in the morning," Ratchet told Drift, once he'd wiped the berth and his bondmate down the best he could. "Now, just rest, and recharge."
"I…"
Drift slumped over across Ratchet's chest, unable to prevent himself from crying.
Ratchet patted his back and soothed him, hoping he would be able to calm down and get to recharge. He found his wish ungranted as Drift's tears slipped on throughtout the night, keeping the young mech awake for hours. Ratchet stayed with him, holding his hand the entire time.
He knew he would have to do something soon, before Drift's trust and sanity were shattered.
-Three days later-
Ratchet walked into Prowl's office, forgetting to knock in his exhaustion.
"Prowl, the situation's getting worse."
Prowl looked up from his data pad, and was about to snap at Ratchet for entering before knocking, but held back upon seeing the other's serious expression. He'd never seen Ratchet look so tired and stressed before, and even his logistic centre told him to remain calm.
"Continue," he instructed.
Ratchet sighed, almost collapsing into the chair.
"He's getting worse. He hasn't gotten a bit of recharge for days, and he's probably going to drop from exhaustion any moment."
"You don't look so good either," Prowl pointed out.
Ratchet frowned.
"I know. But this isn't about me, it's about Drift."
Prowl acknowledged his statement with a brief nod.
"Anything else?"
Ratchet didn't need to think.
"And he's been refusing his energon," he added. "I've had to force feed it to him, and then he'd just bring it all back up later. Honestly, Prowl, I just don't know what to do."
Prowl found himself stuck in a situation that was quite out of his depth. He was a tactician, not a counsellor!
"How can I help?" he asked, hoping it was the right move.
Ratchet paused. How could Prowl help?
"Just do what you can," he finally decided. "Please."
Prowl winced internally, starting to feel sorry for Ratchet and Drift.
"I'm not sure if I can do anything," Prowl told the medic. "I've already put in everything I can. I'm sorry, Ratchet."
Ratchet sighed tiredly, starting to get up to leave.
"Prime would know," added Prowl. "Even I wish he was here. But with all the other crises in the universe…"
Ratchet nodded.
"Thank you, Prowl."
He walked out of Prowl's office, letting the doors whoosh close behind him.
Then, he realised that someone who actually could help was within reach.
-Later that day-
"You wanna chat?" asked Jazz, watching Ratchet recharge nearby.
Drift shrugged listlessly, slumped against the wall on the berth.
Jazz patted his shoulder sympathetically, and pulled out a small parcel, addressed 'To Drift from Sunstreaker.' Sunstreaker, out of all mechs.
"Anyways, 'Streaker's made you a present. He told me to deliver it to you."
Jazz smiled, handing the parcel to Drift, who peeled off the packaging and stared at the picture in a frame he now held in his hand.
"Oh," he finally said after a while.
Jazz laughed internally, knowing Drift's mood had just improved slightly. Portraits of adorable bouncy Insecticons tended to have that effect on anyone.
"I've brought you some cookies too," Jazz informed him after a while. "Not sure if you'll like them, but at least I hope they'll help."
The cookies turned out to have cause the opposite effect, as Drift winced and nearly purged his tank at the sight. Jazz quickly removed them from the swordsmech's direct line of vision, placing them on a nearby table for later. Taking some pre-prepared energon from a nearby cupboard, he gave Drift that instead.
Drift didn't struggle against Jazz. The music-loving mech deserved better than a whiny, disobedient patient. Of course, Ratchet did too, but sometimes he just couldn't help it.
"Wanna play a board game?" asked Jazz, taking the cube away after Drift had finished. Drift nodded slightly. He was, admittedly, getting slightly bored. Before, the anxiety had kept it at bay, but now that Jazz was here, relieving him of some of the worry, he realised that he hadn't done anything amusing or productive for quite a while.
Jazz returned a minute later with a game of Uno. After quickly explaining the instructions, he drew the starter card, and placed his card down.
Drift counteracted with a yellow card of his own, only to have Jazz change the colour to blue.
"I like blue," Jazz stated.
Drift glanced at him and changed the colour to green.
"I like green too," his opponent added.
The pair continued playing Uno, until Drift suddenly looked away, wincing.
"You okay?" asked Jazz, quickly packing up the game.
"Jazz," he murmured, his hand finding its way to his tank area. "I feel- I need a bucket. Now."
Jazz stood up and looked around for a container of some sort, finally discovering a bucket beside the cupboard. He placed it in Drift's lap, and began rubbing soothing circles on his back as the other mech brought up a wave of energon.
"Better out than in," Jazz told him, noticing Drift's tank area visibly tensing in his effort not to purge again. Finally, he slapped him on the back, breaking his concentration and forcing him to expel the remaining energon from his tank.
Drift groaned, the taste of half-absorbed energon in his mouth.
"Done?" asked Jazz.
Drift shuddered.
"I- I think so," he replied, his voice faint and shaky from the purging.
Jazz took the bucket, leaving it by the foot of the bed so he could easily reach it if it was needed again. Wiping Drift's mouth with a cloth, he suggested the possibility of watching a movie.
Drift shrugged, despite his teary optics. Jazz smiled reassuringly and switched on a screen, placing a disc in the machine.
"Breakbeat Race," Jazz mused, waiting for the disc to load. "Ever heard of it?"
Drift shook his helm.
Jazz joined him beside his berth and the movie started.
"It's great. You'll love it."
It turned out that Drift did. Breakbeat Race was a lively action movie that has just the right tinge of humour and fun, but also a calming and distracting side. By the end of the movie, he had almost forgotten about his death threat, and allowed a small smile to creep across his face.
"Thanks, Jazz. That was great."
Jazz grinned, sitting back in his chair.
"Anytime, Drift. What was your favourite moment?"
Drift thought for a moment. The movie had been so full of excellent jokes, action and bantering that he couldn't pinpoint his exact favourite.
"I can't decide," he finally said.
Jazz chuckled.
"I had that same problem. But if I absolutely had to choose… I reckon my favourite would be the bit where Aston accidentally called himself stupid. Or that bit where Splotch crashed right through the monster's foot. Or…"
Jazz and Drift spent a while chatting about the movie and its greatest moments, and Drift was slowly starting to forget about his nightmares again. His tiredness caught up with him, and he slumped against the wall, sighing.
Jazz watched him. He was improving, as he was no longer trembling, and was actually smiling slightly.
"Why don't you try recharging again?" the saboteur suggested, meeting Drift's optics.
Drift shrugged, and lay down. It was worth a try, and he was so tired he almost didn't care anymore. He offlined his optics, and was soon deep in recharge.
"I've missed you, Drift," came an all too familiar voice, as a pair of red optics appeared. "Are you enjoying your last days alive, Drift?"
Drift desperately tried to back away from the optics, but found himself completely bound in iron chains, inable to move a centimetre.
"Clearly not. Well, I am. And I just want you to remember that I'm always watching you.
"And I will kill you soon enough. You just wait and see."
Drift gasped, sitting up in his berth. Onlining his optics quickly, he couldn't help the tears that slid down his face.
Jazz winced, understanding why he didn't want to recharge. He wrapped his arms around Drift's shaking shoulders, and felt the other mech lean in to his touch, sobbing into his chest plate.
"I'm sorry…" Drift wailed, pulling away from Jazz slightly.
The saboteur rubbed his back soothingly.
"It's alright, Drift. You don't have to be sorry."
"I'm so sorry!"
Jazz pulled Drift closer.
"Hey, Drift. Listen. We all need to cry sometimes. It doesn't mean you're weak or anything."
"I cry more than everyone else."
Jazz bit his lip, finally at a loss for words. Drift, however, seemed full of them, as he told Jazz everything.
He went through all the details of his nightmares, from the dark chambers and dungeons to the brightly lit rooms, and gates that represented death.
"And there's something else," Drift said quietly, so that Jazz had to tune out all the other background noises to hear him.
"Go on," he encouraged. In this situation, knowledge was power. He had to know to have the power to help Drift.
"There's a pair of red optics. Inside my mind. And they're always watching me."
Drift shuddered, relieved at finally confiding everything to someone else.
Jazz let him come closer, and embraced Drift again, wiping his tears away with a cloth.
"Thanks for letting me tell you that," whispered Drift.
Jazz slowly let go.
"Anytime, Drift," he smiled. "I'll always be here, just like Ratchet."
Drift offered a slight smile, and his optics found a trace of their former happiness.
"Could you visit again sometime?" he asked timidly, his voice so shy and quiet Jazz had a hard time hearing him. This entire murder business had certainly done no good to Drift's self-esteem.
Jazz placed an arm around his frame.
"Sure I can. Also, Drift- remember, you can contact me anytime you want, about whatever you want. I'll listen."
Jazz met Drift's gaze, his visor kind and gentle.
"You can trust me with anything at all."
-The next day-
An emergency siren rang through the Autobot base.
"Emergency! Emergency! Decepticon attack! Emergency! Emergency! Decepticon attack!"
Then Prowl's voice rose above the repetitive chant, with commands for everyone. This was his forte.
"All Autobot warriors on the field! Medics on standby!"
Ratchet turned around from reading a data pad and almost walked right into Drift, who stood, somehow suddenly up and ready.
"Dr-Drift!?"
Drift nodded, drawing his swords.
"Are you sure?" blurted Ratchet, pausing in preparing his basic first aid tools. "I mean, with-"
"Ratchet, I'm sure."
With that, Drift smiled faintly at his bondmate, and disappeared through the medbay door.
Ratchet watched him go, and continued packing his tools.
That smile…
Shaking his helm, the medic pushed the nagging thoughts away. It was normal to be worried. He worried about his comrades every time they went off into battle.
But Drift, and that smile he'd sent him as he left…
Ratchet frowned, and dashed off to the battlefield. Ducking a shot, he ran behind a building, and squinted to see the battle, desperately searching for Drift.
Remaining hidden from his vantage point, Ratchet watched for a few minutes, every inch of him tense and nervous. Finally, he spotted Drift…
Right in the middle of the crossfire.
Starscream hovered in mid-air, wielding Megatron's hand gun mode in both hands. The other Seekers zoomed around in jet mode, blasting at the Autobots, along with Devastator and the Insecticons.
Drift cut Astrotrain's left leg, sending the triple-changer crashing down to the ground. Ducking out the way, the swordsmech then sliced his side, before plunging his sword through his spark chamber, and stood, almost transfixed, as he watched Astrotrain's optics dim.
Ratchet could tell that Drift was in mixed opinions about his situation. Of course, he didn't enjoy terminating others as much as he used to. But his bondmate's past personalities did tend to emerge occasionally, and during battles was one of the most common times for this.
Starscream smirked, blasting Sideswipe off a shrieking Skywarp's back, before spotting someone the Megatron would be very pleased at him for killing.
The Air Commander pointed his living weapon at Drift, and pulled the trigger.
Without even thinking, Ratchet ran out onto the battlefield, and threw himself in front of Drift.
Drift gasped as he was knocked backwards, thudding to the ground in a heap. Quickly leaping back onto his peds, the swordsmech glanced around, and screamed.
"RATCHET!"
Drift raced over to his bondmate, and let the tears flow down his face, crying over Ratchet's still-warm, yet lifeless, frame.
Up in the air, Starscream laughed, watching the scene of heartbreak, and aimed his cannon at Drift again.
Only for the Autobot to vanish.
Drift landed on all fours on the cold, hard ground, tears of grief and fear still flooding down his cheeks. Why did it have to be Ratchet?
As Drift looked up into the darkness as if he hoped someone would answer, or even end it all for him, a scream was torn from his weary, sore vocaliser. The same pair of glowing red optics glared straight at him, seeming to drill into his mind, causing everything to burn, to hurt, more than it already did.
Drift felt his frame tense, fear locking his joints in place. His vents were drawing shallow, hitched intakes of air. Shrieks of pain and terror filled the darkness, tormenting and haunting.
Then, the lights flickered on, and Drift rebooted his optics to see clearly, to see if the mech towering over him was really who he seemed to be.
"W-what… it's you?"
Wing smirked evilly, dark humour sparkling in his cold, crimson optics and he stepped towards his cowering ex-apprentice and reached for the Great Sword strapped to his back, taking hold of it and twirling it around in his hand.
"Who else, Autobot?"
He spat out the last word as if it was a mouthful of mud.
Drift cried out, scrambling backwards, trying to get away from the Decepticon warrior who now held a remnant of his past self in his cruel, energon stained hands.
"Why?" he sobbed, tears sliding down his cheeks. "You- the Decepticons…"
Wing shrugged, walking closer and resting a foot on Drift's chest, effectively pinning him to the ground with barely any force.
"Drift, you have to understand," the snowy white mech cooed, his tone soft, with a tone of gentleness the restrained Autobot beneath his foot knew to be fake. "You betrayed me."
Drift let out another choked sob, the iciness of Wing's words slicing through his soul, tearing him up.
"You betrayed me, once too many times."
"But…"
Wing smiled.
"No buts."
Drift lay with his lips parted, his optics losing their shine as he struggled to breathe.
"No! You can… You can still join the Autobots…"
Wing's face was still twisted into a smile, but it was now a humourless, bitter expression.
"Drift, you will never understand. I have enjoyed the Decepticon way of life too long now. I cannot turn back; I believe that any attempt to do so will kill me."
"No, there's no point of no return!" cried the downed mech sprawled on the floor. "Wing…"
"Actually, Drift, I now prefer the name… Deadlock."
Deadlock drew his Great Sword from its sheath and laughed maniacally as he drove its blade home, watching as Drift's cerulean optics flickered once, and offlined forever.