Title: Immolation (part 14/100)
Prompt: "Days"
Verse: G1 (AU)
Rating: R
Words: 1543

Pairings: Inferno/Red Alert, implied ?/Inferno
Other Characters: Ratchet

Warnings: Sticky. Non-graphic allusions to castration/de-sexing. Allusions and mentions of rape. Faint suggestion of something that could be interpreted as suicide. One particularly graphic and disturbing image.
Summary: A few days after their arrival back home Inferno returns to consciousness, and Ratchet explains the restrictions he will be under until he is healed.
Notes: A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from slash_100.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Orn: 13 days

Days

He didn't hurt, that was the first thought that crossed his processor. The raw, burning, tearing ache between his legs was gone, replaced by a numbness so welcome that he couldn't bring himself to care even if it had been achieved by excising the damaged parts completely. For a moment he even went so far as to entertain the possibility with some relish, until he realized that it wouldn't save him from a repeat of the assault; the Decepticons, rather than be thwarted by his lack of receptive openings, would just cut themselves a new hole to violate.

His vocalizer emitted a keen of anguish and he onlined his optics, panicking as hands pressed down upon his chest, holding him in place. They were calling his name, taunting him, they were going to do it all over again!

"Inferno!" A familiar sounding voice began to penetrate his haze, a familiar face appearing in his field of vision. "Inferno, calm down, you're safe now, you're home!"

"Red?" a rough, weak voice croaked in a feeble parody of his own.

"I'm here, you're safe now," Red repeated, an anxious expression on his faceplates as he grasped one of Inferno's hands, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"How long have I been out?"

"Three orbital cycles."

"How are you feeling?" Ratchet asked, moving into view as well.

Inferno savoured the sensation of being pain-free for a few moments before replying. "I... I don't hurt no more. I can't feel nothin' down there. Did ya take everythin' out?" He found himself strangely calm as he asked the question since he had already resigned himself to the fact that his interface equipment had been damaged beyond repair. It was just as well, really, since he didn't think he could bring himself to ever use those parts again, even if they were in perfect working order.

"Primus no!" the CMO exclaimed. "We just stopped the energon leaks and repaired your muscle cables, and fixed the alignment of your spike. The rest will take a while, but you will eventually be back to full functionality in that regard."

"Oh," was all Inferno said, while inside his emotions were in turmoil. There was a faint twinge of relief that surprised him, but overall he felt a sense of injustice. It didn't feel right that after he had been through so much his body could be reset to what it had been before, that the indelible, crippling damage to his spark would not also have a physical counterpart.

Ratchet didn't seem surprised by his less than enthusiastic attitude, but Red Alert regarded him anxiously. "That's good news, isn't it? Some day, when you're ready..."

"Why don't we all go over your recovery plan?" Ratchet interrupted smoothly, sounding artificially cheerful.

Inferno shot the medic a grateful look.

"Alright," Red agreed.

"You'll need to be on complete bedrest for at least a month, and on partial bedrest for even longer. No bending, no squatting, no heavy lifting, definitely no transforming, in fact no exertion of any kind - including intercourse, despite the fact that you would still be able to participate as the penetrative partner since your spike is - "

The only intimacy he wanted now involved his hands buried in a Decepticon's internals. "What about fightin'?" he interrupted.

"Last time I checked that qualifies as exertion," Ratchet replied dryly.

"But Ratchet," Inferno pleaded, "I need ta fight!" As the words escaped his vocalizer he realized it was true, that the idea of expunging his rage and shame in the heat of battle made his spark leap with its first glimpse of hope since the day of their capture.

"What you need is to focus on your recovery!" Red Alert exclaimed, looking agitated, and Inferno could have sworn he saw a faint glimmer of blue over his lover's helmet sensors.

"Ain't nothin' gonna help my 'recovery' more than reachin' into a 'Con's chest an' rippin' out his spark with my bare hands!" Inferno growled.

Ratchet placed his hand briefly on Red Alert's shoulder to calm him, shooting Inferno a look of concern, almost, but not quite, masked by disapproval."The fact that you believe spelunking in Decepticon innards without a medical licence to be instrumental to your recovery would be enough reason to put you on indefinite medical leave," he stated in an irritated tone, "had I not already done so."

"Ya can't do that!" Inferno wasn't a panicky type by nature, which was part of the reason he and Red did so well together, but he was definitely panicking now! The unfamiliar sensation made his muscle cables tense and his spark flicker wildly like a candle about to go out.

Logically he knew that if he would need to heal before launching himself back into life as it had been before, but healing seemed like such an impossibility that he thought it would be better to just to use the last of his strength to find peace for his spark any way that he could. He felt an uncomfortable twinge at the idea of abandoning Red, but Inferno knew that he was useless to his lover now, nothing but a burden to someone who was already burdened enough.

"I can and I have," Ratchet said simply, resuming his lecture as if nothing had happened. "I want to keep you here under observation for at least a few more orbital cycles. Then you can move back to yours and Red's quarters. I'll check to see how your internal repairs are integrating once an orn, and when they have been properly assimilated into your structure and there's no longer a risk of prolapse – that is to say, things falling out of place," he explained delicately, "we can talk about letting you be more active."

"Then I can fight?" Inferno asked, hopefully, even though he already knew what the answer would be.

"Then you can do things like leave your quarters and spend time in the rec room," Ratchet countered.

"I'm on leave as well," Red Alert told him. "I'll keep you company. It won't be so bad."

Inferno would have liked to stay on the subject of getting back onto active combat duty, but the words he had just heard were so shocking that thought he would have a cpu lock up that would rival one of Prowl's. He stared at his lover in disbelief. "Yer on leave?"

Red Alert simply nodded.

The last time Red Alert had been on leave for any significant period had been after the whole Starscream debacle, and it had not been easy to keep him from his work. Now, however, Red didn't look at all upset, and Inferno didn't know whether to be touched or insulted by the fact that the other mech was concerned enough about him that leaving his precious security work to others was not really bothering him. He opted for the less confrontational choice. "Aww, Red, ya didn't have ta do that..."

"Yes he did," Ratchet replied brusquely, "especially since I'm the one who put him on extended medical leave. Listening to a friend and comrade, let alone a partner, being... tormented like that doesn't exactly give someone a clear processor."

Sharp, icy fingers of alarm clawed at Inferno's spark, and he regarded Red Alert with horrified optics before shuttering them in despair. "Ya heard..." He remembered how he had begged, whimpered, screamed and cried out in pain, and the knowledge that Red had been party to all of that weakness made him feel violated all over again.

"I'm sorry," Red Alert whispered in a stricken-sounding voice.

"Ya couldn't help it..." Inferno replied, forcing himself to sound neutral, even though inside he wanted to lash out, grab Red and forcibly delete the memory files from his processor. Ya fraggin' well coulda helped it! Wasn't enough that I let 'em use me that way ta save ya, without ya havin' ta listen ta it too? Ya coulda at least had the decency ta turn down the sensitivity on yer receptors, an' let a mech get raped in peace... His hands, including the one that Red Alert still held, clenched unconsciously into fists.

It wasn't until Ratchet started carefully peeling his fingers off those of his lover that Inferno realized that he had been squeezing too hard, that they had been trying to talk to him for the last few astroseconds without a response.

"...hurting me..." Red's voice, as it finally cut through the crimson of his rage and pain, was small and frightened.

Instantly Inferno released Red's hand as if it had suddenly become molten. "Primus, Red! I'm sorry, I... I just..."

"You should probably get some more rest, Inferno," Ratchet said practically, and before Inferno could stop him he had injected a syringe full of something into the energon drip.

He tried to speak, but the fast acting drug swept through him like a paralytic fog.

"Come on, Red," Inferno heard Ratchet say just before he drifted off again. "Let's take a look at that hand."