“Shh, shh, Haly, you’re alright.” Cool firm hand on his helm, soothing over his finials. Hurts, but so much less than the rest of it that he whimpers with relief. “I know, baby, I know. You’re alright.”
He—there was something— “D’Drift…?” Drift!
“This isn’t working. Hit him harder.”
No, no nononono, is all Halcyon can think. No, not Drift, not now, not after they’ve come all this way. Not on some stupid mission for Rodimus fucking Prime. Not like this.
“Hey,” he manages through the haze of pain and energon loss warnings covering his HUD. “Hey, it’s me you want. I’m the one with the information.”
“Yeah, and what are we gonna do with you? Could drop you a thousand meters and you’d bounce back up on your feet. This one, though. You care for him.”
“No!”
Is Drift alright? Halcyon struggles against his bonds and the voice pitches up. “No, no, I—”
Energon spurts hot from the gash on Halcyon’s side. Drift’s trying to cover it, but there’s no point, they’ll just come back and then--
“Shh, shh, shh,” the voice says again. “Don’t, Haly, baby, please don’t struggle. I’m right here, I’m okay.”
Halcyon manages something that might be Drift’s designation but is more likely an incomprehensible burst of static. The hand is back on his helm, stroking so gently as he relaxes. Why is he relaxing? He should be— “Drift!”
“Dose him again,” Drift says, voice hard and cold, and Halcyon slips under.
By the time Ratchet’s finished cleaning up from the surgery, Drift is in Halcyon’s berth, curled up under one massive, bandaged wing with his own braced leg stretched over Halcyon’s thigh. Tired blue optics meet Ratchet’s and Drift cycles them slowly, turning their intensity down another notch. Ratchet settles himself in the chair next to their berth.
“I thought I gave you your own berth.”
Drift’s hand finds his. “He kept waking up crying for me.”
Ratchet heaves a sigh. “Yeah, figured. You alright?”
“No,” Drift says honestly. Ratchet can see it in his optics, the way he’s clinging to Haly. He hasn’t pressed for information yet, but from the look on Rodimus and Megatron’s faces and the injuries he’d had to treat on both of them, he has a pretty good idea of what happened. Both of them have been tortured before, he reminds himself. Pit, both of them have tortured before. It doesn’t help.
Ratchet squeezes his hand. “We’ll figure this out.”
“He doesn’t think we’ll stay with him.”
“Well, he can be a bit of an idiot, can’t he?” Ratchet runs a hand over Haly’s wing, repeating the motion when Haly presses it into his hand. “I’m going to try to get both of you back in our quarters before tonight, but Halcyon may have to stay overnight.”
“I’ll stay with him.”
“I know.”
Drift wakes up to the dim lights of the night cycle and Ratchet’s soft, rough voice.
“...Think you can make it back to our quarters?”
Halcyon’s response is immediate and desperate. “Yes.”
“Alright. Let me bring the hoverchair over--”
“Don’ need it.” Featherlike plating shuffles.
Ratchet sighs. “Yes, you do. You’re half awake and I just replaced three quarters of the struts in your legs.”
“But--”
“Halcyon.” Ratchet’s voice drops into that commanding tone that makes Drift’s charge ramp up. “Get in the Primus-damned chair.”
“Wha’bout Drift?”
“What about him? He’s awake.”
“Oh.”
Oh. Caught. Drift brings his optics online to half-power and looks up from where he’s buried his face in Haly’s collar faring. He presses a kiss to the sensitive cabling there and murmurs, “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself. Scootch, will you?” Ratchet shoos Drift off to the side of the berth, giving Haly room to sit up and carefully swing his legs over the edge. Without his mask, there’s nothing to disguise the minute expressions of pain on his face as Ratchet helps him into the hoverchair. “There you go,” Ratchet encourages him. This part of the medbay is empty, and when Ratchet says, “Good boy,” Haly flushes pink to the edges of his faceplates.
By the time Haly’s settled in his chair and Drift has made sure his leg is fit for the short journey back to their quarters, Haly’s practically in recharge already.