re_alignment_logs

Entry tags:

Remedy

WHO: Wing and First Aid (as Wing wakes up), then anyone who decides to come by...
WHERE: Ratchet's Medibay
WHEN: Now. After this, and this, this, this.
WHAT: Wing wakes up in medibay, mostly recovered from the accident with Soundwave.
WARNINGS: None yet. Probably lots of FEELS though?

The accident with Soundwave's nightmare had taken them all by surprise, none more than Wing himself of course. He'd been out for a few days, and though he'd woken long enough for the medics to determine there was no permanent damage, the ache in his cortex was such that returning to blissful unconsciousness during recovery was better all around.

The anomalous activity of Wing's spark had been quiet for a few days now, the readings more within normal range, and the spike in brain activity also gone now that his own set of nightmares had ceased.

When the repair status of his systems reached certain tolerances, he's coaxed back to the waking world. Wing comes online slowly, step by step, diagnostics held in temporary check thanks to treatment protocols, to be run manually later after full system boot.

Amber light flickered from behind the shuttered optics, opening slowly to take in his surroundings. A groan as he put a hand to his helm instinctively. He raised up onto an elbow, trying to push through the disorientation and get his bearings.

~~~

A short time later, he'll be sitting on the med berth, still achy, disorientated and perhaps a touch distressed, but capable enough to carry on a conversation with anyone who comes by.

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He shrugs again, this time for dramatic effect. Can't be perfect all the time.

Wing lets his fingers and then his palm slide over Drift's, taking pleasure in the simple contact.

"It's fine, not many do I think." He hadn't told many and felt it wasn't really his prerogative to say much, leaving it to Soundwave to give details in most cases. This being an exception.

"I came to visit Soundwave after I heard what happened. He was having trouble recharging, he seems...traumatized. I said I'd stay in medibay and watch over him. But he had a bad memory purge. I tried to comfort him--probably shouldn't have--and he lashed out to protect himself." Wing shakes his head, "I think he thought I was Prisim..."

Drift's hand trembles under Wing's touch: it's been a trying week, and relief and exhaustion are just draining him.

"It's not my business," he says, quietly. Wing didn't need him mithering. And besides, if he didn't pry, maybe Wing wouldn't ask why Drift was in the Medibay himself. Again.

His mouth flattens at the 'tried to comfort him'. The blandness of the words, hiding who knew what? "That was...kind of you. And he's, uh, I think he feels bad."

"But I can't think how he'd mistake you for Prism." Not with his own experiences: the hand under Wing's twitches at that memory.

"It is Drift. I want it to be."

Wing's fingers slide up the interlocking plates of Drift's arm and curl around the elbow, tugging him closer, seeking, offering solace. He edges to the side of the berth, hips shifting so the rise of his knee stabilizer wouldn't come between them.

"I'm no medic, sometimes kindness is all I have to give a friend in need." A touch of old resignation: it was one of the areas he could do so little to truly help. "He feels horribly guilty about it yes."

A subtle shake of his helm, moonlight sliding over the rise of Wing's audials. "He wasn't awake or aware. I--I don't know, it all happened so fast, he may not have even realized I was there, but Prisim was, there in his mind."

A slight shiver passes through him at the memory of the fear and pain, and the echoes that came later in his dreams that were not Soundwave at all. His fingers clutch at Drift's arm.

He let himself be drawn closer--like he'd resist it, right? What he is resisting is the desire to lean over, slide his arms around Wing's chassis, and hold him. But he's not sure how welcome that would be.

"You of all mechs should know what kindness can do," Drift chides, a small smile trying to take root on his face.

Drift can't help but frown, though. "Now that he knows this could happen, I hope he takes some precautions." Because Wing hadn't just gotten a processor ache or something out of it. He'd nearly offlined. Nice or not, Soundwave was dangerous.

It's what he wants most right now. This mech's warmth, the touch of his field, the reassuring hum of his systems alive and near. Wing pulls Drift close, his hand slipping over the curved backplate, leaning forward to press his crown into Drift's shoulder.

The edges of his mouth turn up at the chiding. A slight smile, echoing Drift's. "I do try. It's nice, when I succeed."

As much as Wing trusts Soundwave, Drift has a point. It was about control, not trust. "He wants to do better."

Drift is still not good with physical contact, always thinking it's unwanted, so his hand curls cautiously over Wing's shoulder.

"_{you succeeded with me}."

Wait, that probably sounds stupid. Everything he says sounds stupid when he talks to Wing. He frowns glad the darkness is hiding the disappointment with himself written on his face.

"I'm not blaming him. I just...I guess I...you got hurt, and I couldn't even do anything." The hand tightens over Wing's shoulder, squeezing one of the pinions, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to carry his emotion.

Not being turned away is encouragement enough for Wing. He reaches with the other hand, letting it settle over Drift's chassis as he relaxes a little, a soft chirr as he rubs his cheek over the plating just to feel the contact.

The words themselves don't matter to Wing, only the meaning and how heartfelt it is. His smile stretches a little wider. "Still succeeding I hope."

And Wing understands what it means to feel helpless. He's about to reassure Drift when the hand wandering over the swordmech's chestplate finds the roughness of the damaged plating. He goes still and tense, clinging to Drift in the dark.

Like Drift could turn Wing away. Ever. It's frightening the power Wing has over him: he'd do anything Wing said, without hesitation.

He lets his hand slide over the top of the folded wingpanels, feeling the satin sheen of the metal, reassuring himself that Wing is here and all right.

Drift feels the hands on his chestplate, wincing. "It...I'm fine, Wing." That's all that matters, right?

And if Wing knew it, he'd be thankful, flattered and entirely humbled all in one sentiment.

The soothing touches to his wings calm him slightly, some of the tension easing from his frame.

"I--I'm glad." He can't put enough emphasis on that word. Wing looks up at Drift a moment, just to see the light in his eyes, as if the other indicators weren't enough in that moment. Then he let's his head fall back to Drift's chest, tucking into his shoulder. "I just... I knew. Somehow I knew you were in danger. In pain. But I couldn't do anything, I couldn't wake up. I...You needed me and I..." Chill air catches in his vents. "I--I'm sorry."

Drift shifts, torn between wrapping his arms around the jet's shoulders and the chill over his spark at the words.

"Wing. I was...," What? Going to lie? He cycles a breath, listening again. "I didn't....how?"

Wing shivers with the memory; it sits too close to his spark to shake. He can feel the outside edge of the wound on Drift's chestplate, the nearby metal warm under his fingers from active autorepair. It's an odd comfort, but he takes it regardless.

"I-I don't know. How. It..." He sighs, because it's a frustrating thing to both understand and articulate.

"It wasn't what happened with Soundwave, that felt like brute force, intrusive, and I knew it was him. This was different, it just came to me as if from far away. I thought I was just having strange memory purges, but there was not much imagery, just thought, sensation."

Drift pulls away, disturbed, hands covering Wing's to lift them from the scarred armor.

"....of what?" He doesn't want to know the answer. He's afraid to find out that he's contributed to Wing's distress. But he has to know.

Wing collects himself, a bit ashamed of his affected state. He really dislikes burdening others, Drift especially, but he's having trouble working through this on his own. Not understanding it was just as disconcerting as the implications themselves, if not moreso.

He passes one hand over his face, trying to focus. "Shock. Alarm, trapped, escape. Fight or flight. Fear. Pain. Mostly in the chest..." He stops there and vents. It's a little too unreal to grasp. He's wondering if it really was just strange memory purges.

"I'm sorry, I just... Not sure what it means."

Drift steps back, away, as though the contact was somehow spreading. Because he had a feeling what Wing was talking about. It couldn't be a coincidence. As much as he wanted to believe it was, he couldn't. Somehow...somehow, he'd contaminated Wing. The very thing he'd geen so irate at Soundwave for doing, he'd done himself.

Somehow.

The how didn't matter, not right now. Only the knowledge it had happened, and he had no idea how to stop it.

He looks vaguely ill, one hand rubbing the white chestplate, like a barrier between he and Wing. "I'm...I'm sorry."

A plaintive noise escapes him as his hands empty and Drift moves away, the chill of night stealing over Wing where the other's warmth had been.

"Drift, no--It's not your fault, we don't even know what's causing this yet. But it's not hurting me, it's just...perception."

"Look, the medics have scanner data and logs, we have our own experiences, there must be other pieces of the puzzle. Maybe...maybe this is a task I must do, a challenge, a test even..."

He reaches again for Drift, this time sliding off the edge of the berth, wavering as poorly recalibrated gyros try to correct his balance.

"...but if it means I'm linked to you somehow, I don't take that as a bad thing."

"It has to be my fault. You...what you felt...it's connected to me." And it is a bad thing, to Drift.

But he was nowhere near Wing when it had happened. He'd been thinking about him, with the agonized desperation of a mech who fears he might be dying, who wants the last thoughts he has not to be of pain and loss but of the brightest light that ever shone on him.

"It can't be like that. Not some task or test or challenge." He clutched one of his wrists with the other hand. "You've given enough to me already."

Wing wobbles, and as much as Drift wants to stay away, he can't help but move forward, one hand stretched to steady the jet.

"Yes it's connected to you, but assumptions don't help us much Drift. And you're not allowed to take blame before we know it's due." The soft timbre of Wing's voice hardens a touch at that last, a stubborn core wrapped in warm caring. If he could reach it, he'd give Drift's chassis a fierce poke.

"Well, intentionally wrought or not it's still a challenge, one I intend to met with as much grace as I can. I would...appreciate your help, if you're willing."

Wing's flight surfaces flick and shift as he lurches, his hand sweeping out and finding purchase on Drift's outstretched arm as he pulls up short. He looks up at Drift again, Wing 's eyes keen with ceaseless affection.

"But Drift... what if I choose to give more...?"

"You need to concentrate on getting better," Drift said, brows knitting under his helm. "And we need to do something to make sure it doesn't happen again."

He keeps Wing upright, arms holding him perhaps a trifle longer than necessary. "Wing. No, you can't. Not again." You've already done that. And died.

"I will. I'm okay, really. Just, still a few kinks to work out." He shifts his feet, rotating an ankle experimentally. "We will. Soundwave is going to look for help. To get control of it."

Wing is thankful for Drift's support and reluctant to give it up, drawing more from the touch, the nearness, than the physical aid.

He laughs softly, his tone a bit chiding. "Not like that. I have far more pleasant things to offer you know."

"And until then?" Drift really wants to wrap you in bubblewrap and keep Soundwave about a half mile away from you right now. No offense to Soundwave. Well. Not much. He'll apologize later.

Drift's in no rush to move away, not when Wing could get any use from him.

"I...." Really am not good with words. His voice quavers. "Whatever you want to give me."

"I'll...minimize contact with him if you want." Though it would prevent him from directly helping Soundwave with his problem, Wing's not certain what else he can offer that would bring true piece of mind. "No nap-sitting that's for certain."

And Wing can't help but lean into Drift's space, as if drawn there naturally, his eyes and voice softening.

"Wonderful things Drift." One hand floats up, fingers hovering beside Drift's face. _{"Things I've offered to no one else."}

Drift frowns. In his mind he wants Soundwave in one temple and Wing in another and about fifty steel walls between them. But he knows he'll lose if he argues. Wing is, in his own way, headstrong. The only thing he does allow himself to say is a quiet, "...please."

He ventilates sharply, less startled by Wing's lean than wanting to take him all in, sight and sound and smell. "A-are you sure?" Because this can't be happening. He must be the one dreaming here but instead of a nightmare it's the opposite: everything he's always wanted but thought he'd never have.

Wing gives a slow, sincere nod. "I don't want to worry you, Drift. I'll take care."

Though Wing lacks most all of the luxuries of his Crystal City home, he still manages to keep his frame well maintained. Junk Pile forays meant frequent washings, leaving the jet smelling of wind and new rain.

Wing's hand alights on Drift's face, cupping the jaw in his dark palm, thumb attempting to smooth out the lingering lines of that frown. "Yes Drift, I am more than certain." A hopeful smile. _{"If you'll have me?"}

"It's not about worrying me. It's about....I can't lose you again." He twitches back, because that was too much. "I-I mean. I don't own you and you can do what makes you happy. I just don't want you hurt."

He lets his head be tipped up, trying to smile into the brush on his cheek. His optics flicker with emotion, blue and liquid, at Wing's words. "I'll do my best to be worthy of you."

"Drift, you don't own me...but if you wanted to lay some claim...I wouldn't be opposed." Wing meets Drift's eyes as he speaks, so Drift can see the truth in them, but then they flicker briefly away, paired with a modest smile. Maybe it was bit early for such talk, or maybe it wasn't. Either way, the last thing Wing wants is to scare Drift off, so it's an open offer made with no demand for response.

That flicker, even moreso than Drift's words, touches Wing's spark which answers with a flutter. "Drift, you already are." Wing's head tilts as he leans in, lips parted, brushing against Drift's in a gentle offering.

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