Draft couldn't move when he woke up three days later. Everything hurt and nothing worked; maybe, when he was focusing all his willpower, he could twitch his fingers slightly. But he couldn't open his mouth to speak or online his optics to see, and that scared him. More than being locked in a closet or Ultra Magnus ever could.
Something touched him, patted his arm, and Draft was left wondering who or what that was for another indiscernible amount of time before he was touched again, this time someone holding his hand.
'I'm awake, I'm awake!' Draft thought, struggling to do the finger thing. He knew when the owner of the hand holding his felt the movement; it squeezed once, as if in reassurance, but then was gone.
'Come back!'
Draft was here, he was awake. Wherever here was. Why couldn't he see or hear or move? A few minutes later that person (or maybe it was someone else) was gently lifting his arm and removing the panel that he knew covered a dataport on it. He felt something snap onto it, then-
~Are you awake?~
~Yes! Help! I can't move!~
Draft mentally wailed. ~Do something!~
~It's okay, calm down, you just need to calm down. Everything's going to be- ~
~ -I can't move! I can't move I can't move I can't move I can't move I can't-~
~Stop that.~ First Aid ordered, in as stern a tone as Draft had ever heard him. Draft felt himself calming down almost against his will, the mental loop of I can'ts fading with his terror. Why was he so calm?
~I know you can't, it's okay.~ First Aid soothed. ~You're fine. Stop it. Your relays are just confused.~
First Aid felt Draft's hesitance before the mechling thought, ~They're not the only ones~, but with less of his usual sass behind it. First Aid squeezed his servo again.
~You fried your processor. Draft, I want you to be honest: did you do this on purpose?~
He had to know. Because if Draft was still in the acceptance stage of being "kidnapped", there were more serious issues than a fried processor at stake. What was to stop him from trying again?
~No? At least...I don't think so. I mean, I remember syncing with a datapad. Did that do this? Are you in my head?~
~You were downloading information?~ First Aid clarified, relieved. But there was also guilt; he should have told Draft torrenting data could hurt him. Everyone knew that.
Well, now everyone knew it; thankfully without any lasting repercussions.
~Yes. First Aid, please, I can't move.~
~I know and that's okay.~ First Aid thought, wondering how many times Draft would repeat that. Probably a lot. ~Your neural network was fried pretty badly. It will take some time, but your self-repair should manage the rest. And to answer your question, yes, I'm technically in your processor. Or speaking through it. A direct sync is the only way to communicate with you until your sensory cortex comes back online.~
~My...what? Sorry, I don't know what that is. How long until that happens?~
~It's going to be a while, Draft.~ First Aid thought.
~But how long is a while?! I can't see! I can't move! What am I supposed to do? I have another patrol tomorrow and Silverbolt thinks I'm on dru-~
~No you don't. Brightspark, you've been out for three orns. I actually didn't expect you to wake up so early.~
~Three...three days?!~ Draft mentally stumbled over the sum. No way. ~Are you sure? That can't be right. First Aid, how much longer will I be stuck like this? Crap, Did someone take my shifts?~
~Yes yes, I'm sure they got somebody to fill it. We are an army, you know. Look, I know this situation must "suck it", as the humans say but-~
~oh my god it's just "suck".~
Draft hastily interrupted.
~aaaaanyway I'm sorry this had to happen. Look, I'll come back soon, but I have to go. Okay?~
A pause.
~...Okay.~
The way he thought it, Draft definitely wasn't okay with that. Back in the real world First Aid squeezed the hand he was holding again before disconnecting, to the casual observer having remained silent and still by the comatose mech's side. He'd best get back to work; Ratchet was probably wondering where he was right now. He didn't want to draw the CMO's attention to the moron who fried himself downloading the rules.
First Aid decided to keep the fact that said moron was awake to himself. At least for now. Draft wasn't scheduled to be awake for another orn anyway, and Ratchet wasn't very forgiving of dumb self-injuries. He wished Springer had come up with a better excuse.
The face masked-medic was brought out of his thoughts by something hugging his trod. Surprised, he looked down, and resisted the urge to awww at what he found.
"Hello Bluestreak." He greeted warmly. "I see you're feeling better. What are doing back here?" Plus, where was Prowl?
As usual, the miniature Praxian said nothing. He didn't even acknowledge the inquiry, instead burying his face further into First Aid's trod. Two hurried femmes turned the corner and approached just as the medic was kneeling down to pry him off.
"You found First Aid! Yay!" The red one cheered brightly, picking him up. To First Aid her purple companion apologized, "Sorry about that, you know how he likes to wander off. Did he bother anything?"
"No no, it's perfectly alright. I was just getting some supplies." First Aid lied, walking with them back into the medbay proper. Pharma was gone, presumably still in that surgery on Sureshot, but he saw Fix-It attending to a mech sans an arm here, Triage scanning a mech there. A green femme occupied another berth, surrounded by some of Elita's squad and talking. One of the rescued prisoners, if First Aid wasn't mistaken.
"Hi First Aid." Moonracer greeted when their trio joined them. First Aid dipped his helm.
"Good orn."
"Oh, Firestar, you found him." Moonracer observed, reaching out and stroking one of the grey sparkling's winglets. "Did he get far this time?"
"Nah, First Aid stopped him."
"More like he stopped me." First Aid chuckled, but he gave Bluestreak a worried look.
The sparkling hadn't spoken once since Prowl found him in the rubble of Praxus. How he'd survived was both a miracle and a mystery; they might never know. Not if he didn't snap out of it. But so far even Rung hadn't been able to make him talk.
"Where did the other one go?" First Aid asked. He could have sworn the other sparkling was running around in here when he'd gone to check on Draft; that kid was going to drive Ratchet up a wall if Wheeljack didn't do it first.
"He went with Springer and Arcee to visit the rec room, kind of get introduced to the base. He can't stay hidden in here forever." Moonracer said.
"Haha, yeah…." First Aid agreed. Wasn't that the truth. How on Cybertron were the Wreckers getting away with this?
...
~You still there?~
~Thank God you're back! It's been a whole day, where were you? I'm so boooored! Is Ultra Magnus mad at me?~
~Why would he be angry with you?~ First Aid asked, though he was a little hung up at the 'thank-god' phrase. That was the second time Draft had referenced a/the deity in their conversations. Was it just an Earth phrase, or did he actually….-
~I dunno, I really messed up. He gets mad when I do that~
~I'll let him know you didn't realize downloading that much data could hurt you.~ First Aid reassured him. Like with Ratchet, he hadn't told Ultra Magnus about Draft waking up yet. Patient confidentiality and all. Yeah, he'd go with that. Plus he had been busy.
~Thank you. Hey, how can people be brothers?~
Draft asked, switching topics randomly.
~What?~ Where had that come from?
~Brothers. How can a Cybertronian be related to another person like humans are?~
~We can't be.~ First Aid deadpanned. Draft's thoughts were naturally in English (another reason to keep Ratchet the frag away from him), and the English translation program in First Aid's HUD allowed him to understand what he meant. Sort of. They didn't have familial relations here the way biology shaped them on Earth. What was he on?
~Nothing, why does everyone think that?~ Draft mentally groaned, catching that last part. ~Obviously not, like, blood brothers. But Sideswipe...someone said he and Sunstreaker were "brothers." What does that mean?~
~Oh. That's different. Those two are split-spark Twins.~ First Aid said.
~Woah, twins? Really? We have that on Earth too! That's weird, they don't look alike.~
~Why would they?~
~On Earth twins usually look the same because they have the same genetics, unless they're fraternal.~
First Aid got the impression that such was common knowledge. Interesting. In the real world, he shifted on his crate-turned-stool, the dataport under his wrist linked to the one on Draft's arm via a cord.
~That's definitely not the case here.~ The medic thought. ~Not exactly. A spark is unique. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker don't have to look alike. When did you meet them?~
For the first time, Draft lied, probably not realizing First Aid could tell hooked in to his processor like this. ~In the rec room. They're...nice.~
Yep. Definitely lying. ~Really?~
~Yeah. We...really hit it off. How long until I can at least see?~
~One track mind, huh.~ First Aid thought, amused. ~You should be able to process visual data within the week.~
~That's a long time.~ The Earth mech thought glumly, but with more acceptance than when he'd learned he'd been unconscious for three days. First Aid patted the still mech's leg.
~Maybe to you. Humans use much shorter time increments. To us, me, it's really not. Now moving on the other servo…~
~Don't tell me yet. One thing at a time.~ Draft said, sounding defeated. Clearly he'd been thinking it over since waking up. ~I might die from boredom before then, though.~
~Draft that's physically impossible.~
~Well is it mentally possible?~
~No.~
~Not even a little bit?~
~Nope.~
Draft let his mind wander, bored out of it. First Aid was a lier; he was certain to offline at this rate. With each day he was only getting closer.
He remembered a story he'd read on Earth about an A.I. that lived forever, even after all the people were gone. What a good book. Was this how A.I.s felt? Bodiless but out there? That was assuming you could build one that felt anything at all. He wished First Aid would come back already. Their chats alleviated the boredom if only for a little while; he was the only mech Draft had met so far that knew about him and didn't give a shit.
Okay, no, scratch that, everyone who knew about him very much gave a shit; he was, like, freaking Tarzan to them. But at least First Aid was nice about it.
He'd thought about Earth a lot since being captured, and he certainly thought about it now. The music, the culture, his culture, how everything was different. This was a world of metal, and everything seemed cold. Dead. Maybe that was just from his Earthly perspective, but he missed the feeling of grass beneath his fee-err, peds.
Even the ground was alive on Earth.
Alive, Draft mused. He liked being alive. He wanted to stay that way too, which would probably be harder the longer he stayed here. It was a freaking war zone! Ultra Magnus claimed it was better for him to be among his own kind, but how could it be when those "kind" were at war? He wasn't even a citizen yet (hence his forged public profile), yet he'd basically been drafted. So not fair.
Something poked his shoulder a few minutes later, before fiddling with his dataport. Draft didn't even wait for the medic to greet him before thought blasting, ~FINALLY! I thought you'd never come back!~
~Good to hear you didn't offline from boredom.~ First Aid sent back. ~How are you holding up?~
~Offlining of boredom. You said you'd come back in an hour.~
~I said I'd come back in a joor, that's about five of your "hours".~
~Oh yeah. Still feels slow as Christmas.~
~Slow as what now?~ First Aid thought, confused. That word didn't have a Standard translation.
~You know, Christmas? The holidays? Ring any silver bells?~
~So like...a human tradition?~ First Aid guessed, still confused.
~Yeah. People give each other gifts and say 'merry Christmas' a lot, it's basically just a season to celebrate winter and the upcoming new year with your family. It was getting close to that time when Ultra Magnus...when they took me.~ Draft thought sadly. Then he asked, ~Hey, do Cybertronians have holidays?~
First Aid winced at the sadness he felt through the uplink, even though he was specifically trying not to be too invasive in these conversations. That Draft had to be taken from everything he'd ever known was truly unfortunate, even if it was better for him in the long run. A Cybertronian wasn't meant to be raised by organics. Case in point - he didn't know anything about any of their traditions.
~Of course we do.~
~What about New Year's?~
~We don't celebrate the passage of time like that. Well, sometimes people in Ibex do, but that place has always been weird.~ First Aid thought.
~What...Where's Ibex?~
~It use to be in the Southern Hemisphere. It was its own city state and had a lot of natural resources due to its proximity to the Uraya region.~
Draft twitched his finger. ~First Aid, I literally have no idea what you just said.~
~You really need some geography lessons.~
~There's a lot of things I need right now, and geography's not exactly the most important.~
Draft complained.
"First Aid, why is that patient not in the main 'bay?"
First Aid jumped, and his sudden worry had Draft demanding to know, ~What? What is it?~ through the uplink. Ratchet eyed his apprentice as he set down the crate of tools he was holding, having come back here to store them. Hastily disconnecting from the comatose flyer's frame, First Aid stood up.
"Sir."
"That glitch awake yet? About time." Ratchet said, gesturing to the mech. "Move him back to the main area."
"Yes Sir."
Draft didn't know what was happening, but he felt someone pick him up and carry him a short distance before setting him down again and rearranging him on a new berth. Was that First Aid? What was happening? Why were they moving him? Where was he going?
Meanwhile, First Aid was (figuratively) sweating bullets. Not only was Draft essentially trapped in the medbay for now, but he had to avoid processor linking with Ratchet. If Ratchet saw that his thoughts were in an alien language….
Well, First Aid didn't know what he'd think. But it wouldn't be good.
He finished hooking Draft up to the monitors and equipment of his new berth, also as far away from the currently occupied ones as possible. He'd just have to make sure the other medics stayed away from him. If that meant pulling extra shifts with his already overworked schedule, then so be it.
...
End of the week:
~ -just checking some things. Your self-repair protocols have been working right on schedule, I can bring your sensory cortex back online now if you like.~
~Wait...it's already been a week?~ Draft thought incredulously. ~Yes! Yes! That would be...anything would be better than this. Thank you! I didn't think it'd be so soon!~
In the real world First Aid's visor brightened in the equivalent of a smile. Draft's eagerness was kind of adorable, even if anyone in the same boat would also want their sensors back online as soon as possible. ~Well, you were in stasis for half of it. Okay, we'll do these one at a time. Let me know when you can hear me.~
Draft waited excitedly, straining to hear even the slightest sound. Eventually: "...-aft? Draft? Can you hear me? Draft? Let me know if you can hear me. Can-"
~Yes! I can hear you!~
Draft thought excitedly. The background sound of the medbay - bots talking and shit beeping - was a welcome balm to the boring absence it replaced. He wanted to jump for joy, but settled for the finger twitch for now.
~Good, good. Bringing your optical feeds online, tell me how many fingers I'm holding up.~
Draft waited. And waited. And waited. Eventually he got impatient and grumbled, ~First Aid, did you do it yet?~
~You still can't see?~ First Aid sent back.
~No?~
Draft felt First Aid's sudden stab of worry through the uplink, and thought, ~First Aid? What's wrong?~
~Nothing, nothing.~ He was quickly reassured. ~Here, it has to work now.~
His vision suddenly filled with static, but instead of resolving itself, the static became a wall of white. Nothing else, just pure white; Draft felt himself begin to panic.
~First Aid!~ He silently screamed. ~I CAN'T SEE!~
Boom, that just happened.
