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"Drift?"
Ratchet's vents hitched.
The reality seemed far beyond his expectations, and dare he hope, he knew somehow, someway, Primus would take this moment from him, like he had taken so many others. It was terrifying. It was heartbreaking. If this was some kind of joke, it was nothing short of cruel.
But he stood there. Drift, in his roughed up armor, so new and yet so familiar, as if Ratchet had seen him not yesterday in the Dead End, who now gently turned his helm with a face of quiet surprise.
They stood there, the both of them, only a few paces apart. It must have been only a few kliks, that they were motionless, each waiting for the other to be ripped from their sight. A few kliks, turned into a millennia of words unsaid, as they stood, locked gazes refusing to look away.
Ratchet was never one to usually make his way towards the battle. Often, it was either the battle that made its way towards him, or no battle at all. Of course, there were the few exceptions where Ratchet was specifically asked to join the rest of the team, in the case of higher risk missions, but for the most part, Ratchet understood the value in having one teammate waiting for the others on the base side of the ground bridge.
So when Ratchet was called in the middle of their skirmish between a small Decepticon squadron and the rest of the team to assist in carrying the energon they initially detected back to the base while the combatants were kept busy, he wasn't exactly startled, but he would admit he was a bit peeved to have been brought on after the fact.
After confirming there were no immediate medical emergencies to prepare for, and after firmly informing the children to remain here or so help him Primus, Ratchet made his way through to find that Optimus had, in fact, greatly undersold the situation they were in.
The small squadron was anything but. It seemed the Decepticons were just as desperate for energon as the Autobots were, and were intending to take the materials by sending half of their forces to ensure no Autobot would have a servo free to so much as swipe a digit's worth of energon.
An overwhelming amount of force was nothing new, even if it did not make the situation any more easier to navigate. To add to their already miserable odds, distantly, Ratchet heard a ground bridge open up, and saw three more, organic, Jack, Miko, and Raf shaped problems make themselves known. As if following directions was a test of patience, rather than a test of faith - once again, nothing entirely out of the ordinary.
It was at their lowest point when the tide came to an abrupt turn. Slices and slashes at a dizzying pace seemingly out of nowhere took down several Decepticons at once, cutting the amount of bullets headed their way in half. Dual swords being handled with the deadly precision of a seasoned warrior offered little mercy in the face of the onslaught of fire, with a new frame barely being registered in between.
Not questioning their given opportunity, Arcee and Bumblebee quickly took advantage of the situation, sharpshooting the remainder of their perpetrators in tandem with their mysterious saving grace. Optimus used the rising dust to his advantage and took charge, with Bulkhead protectively guarding the children from any stray bullets or otherwise dangerous stunts.
Ratchet waited for the dust to settle, before daring to try reaching for whatever energon they had come for.
After a beat of silence, the sounds of huffing vents and awaiting audials, Arcee decidedly broke the quiet.
"Thanks for the save back there."
Ratchet made his move to stand from behind the boulder he took cover from, as Optimus made a few steps presumably to their unknown guest.
"We are grateful for your assistance. I see you have an Autobrand, but I will admit, I do not recall having the pleasure of being formally introduced. What is your designation? How did you find us?"
It was here, where Ratchet, upon reaching his full height and could see over the obstruction, gave himself away from pure shock at their guest.
"Drift?"
Drift turned to fully face him, and Ratchet saw so much of him, so much more than he ever thought he would get to see, it almost physically hurt. At first, Ratchet thought he was mistaken, but Drift's eyes softened, and his lips opened in a silent "Oh!", and suddenly Ratchet was not in the middle of one of Earth's deserts and instead back in the depths of Rodion, where the nights couldn't be blacker and the stench of Syk made the air unbearably heavy.
And then Drift spoke.
"Ratchet." Drift reached his servo out, and Ratchet instantly noticed their new callouses, the metal thicker in places where his sword handles imprinted after what appeared to be years of work. The new weapons hung heavy at his sides now, but wasn't it just a few vorns ago Ratchet remembered those spaces being reserved for the deadly firearms that Deadlock had --
"I've been looking for you. And I know you think I've changed for the worse." Ratchet did see the changes. He saw the changes in his optics, from yellow to red, and now to a bright blue, a colour that looked nearly instinctively comforting but strangely out of place on Drift's face. Ratchet saw the changes in how he carried himself, in the dented metal beneath his eyes. He looked tired, which Ratchet remembered was an almost constant when it came to Drift, even if the tired looked more relieved here, now that Ratchet was paying attention. And while Ratchet knew the others were staring, waiting for him to explain how he knew this wonderful and strange and new mech, he couldn't bring himself to move.
"But I did what I had to do to make it right. To make myself right, so that I could find you again, not as what I was," Drift made another step towards Ratchet, and Ratchet suddenly remembered why he was so surprised.
Deadlock was presumed dead almost 15 vorns prior. An explosion, they said, a freak accident after an overzealous kill streak. It took out a good chunk of Megatron's troops with it, his revered sniper not being spared from the carnage.
Clearly, that was not the case.
Drift kept talking.
There was fluid in his optics now, as Drift shook his head. His voice was wobbly, unsure of what to say in the face of Ratchet's outward reaction, or lack thereof.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry Ratchet, for everything I did, to you, and to every mech I've hurt. And I'm trying, so hard, to make things right, I've been working on it. And I knew I had to find you, to make sure that you were okay, and I'll leave if you want but I'm here, and I'm sorry, and I'm trying to be better now, I'm trying, and..." The words were feverish, and Ratchet motioned for Drift to look at him with a slight twitch of his hand.
Drift was alive. He was okay. And he had changed.
This forsaken war has taken so much. But it hadn't taken Drift. It hasn't taken this. Ratchet was beyond himself with the miracle that it was.
He looked at those eyes now, clouded with grief and hope. And Ratchet snapped out of his stupor with the grace of a starved mech.
He grabbed Drift's crumpled frame swiftly and pulled him into his arms with the same desperate fervour as Drift had begun his babbling with, sharply cut off by the movement. Ratchet felt Drift's frame stiff for barely a moment before grasping at Ratchet's back, afraid he would disappear from his arms. His helm tucked itself under Ratchet's, protected from anything and everything on the outside, and Ratchet's spark sang a melody of a joy he never thought he'd get to hear again.
Drift found him, and Drift was alive, and Drift found him, and there was nothing that Ratchet vowed he would not do to keep this, because finally, after all the loss and heartbreak and guilt and pain, Ratchet would get to keep this for himself.
He pressed his face into the top of Drift's helm, still mushed against Ratchet's frame.
"All these vorns you've gone through, Drifter, but this cycle, you're not alone. You've got me."
He squeezed him impossibly tighter.
"I'm home, Ratch. Thanks for waiting."