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bl4ckj4ck · 6 months ago

Text

always

Drift x Ratchet, Phaser (Oc)

Angst, hurt-comfort, alternative universe

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62063335

“Pha-Pha, stay still, or I won’t be able to finish!” Drift playfully growled, his servos gently holding the face of his squirming bitlet. Phaser giggled uncontrollably, showing off the little denta gap that never failed to melt his sire’s spark.

“But it tickles, Daddy!” Phaser chirped, scrunching up his nose ridge as Drift resumed painting his face. The soft strokes of the brush made the sparkling’s still-developing plating bristle, and giggles erupted anew.

Drift could only laugh along, his grip steady as he remained determined to finish the face-paint. The design was red, much like his own markings, but with a touch of Phaser’s unique essence in the pattern. After a while, the bitlet finally closed his optics and allowed him to work without further fuss. But Drift knew better. He noticed the way his little digits fidgeted with his plating and how his legs swung restlessly. Setting the brush down to soak in the solvent, he cleaned his servos with a rag, his sharp optics never leaving his son. Every micro-expression was noted with practiced ease.

“Pha-Pha…” he began softly, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. His tone was gentle, but there was an edge of concern behind it. Phaser hummed in acknowledgment, keeping his optics offline.

“Why are you so nervous, baby?”

“Me not—”

“I’m,” Drift corrected gently.

“I’m not!” Phaser huffed, his bottom lip curling into a pout. His little head-fins drooped ever so slightly, earning an affectionate chuckle from Drift.

“You sure?” he asked again, his voice teasing yet tender as he knelt in front of the sparkling. Phaser didn’t reply, the silence speaking volumes. Drift leaned closer, his expression softening further. “Pha-Pha, my love. You know it’s okay to be nervous, right?”

Phaser onlined his optics, aquamarine pools meeting Drift’s gaze briefly before shifting downward in shy submission. His small servos fidgeted in his lap as he crossed his legs, still swinging them idly. Drift’s spark ached at the familiar sight.

Because it reminded him of someone else.

“It’s just…” Phaser began, his voice faltering as he tried to find the right words. Formulating complex phrases was still new to him, and after a long pause, frustration crept in. Drift reached out, rubbing his back patiently in silent encouragement.

“I don’t know…” the sparkling finally admitted, his tone defeated.

Drift sighed, not out of disappointment, but with the weight of understanding. He gently cupped Phaser’s faceplate in his servos and placed a tender kiss on his chevron. Then, pressing their chevrons together, he held them there for a few moments, letting his digits brush soothingly under Phaser’s optics. Gradually, the bitlet’s erratic vents began to align with his own steady rhythm. Drift’s meditation lessons had not been for nothing; every practice had a purpose.

“It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to say anything now,” he murmured, his voice warm and steady, like a summer breeze calming a storm. Phaser’s spark seemed to ease, and his optics fluttered offline once more. “I hear you, always.”

Phaser nodded faintly, not fully grasping the depth of Drift’s words, but feeling their meaning resonate within him. Slowly, he nuzzled into his father’s plating, much like a turbofox pup seeking comfort. Drift chuckled at the adorable gesture before launching a playful attack, peppering his son’s cheeks with smooches.

“Daddy, no! Pha-Pha tickles!” Phaser squeaked, squirming as giggles poured out of him. Drift growled playfully and scooped him up in a fierce hug, squeezing him tightly in a sudden fit of affectionate “aggression.”

“You’re just too cute to handle,” Drift declared, planting one last exaggerated smooch on Phaser’s cheek—one that nearly turned into a playful chomp.

“Okay, enough. We need to go visit Papa,” Drift finally relented, setting Phaser back on the ground while trying to fix the sparkling’s mussed plating.

“Yes! Me wanna see Papa!” Phaser exclaimed, bouncing with excitement.

Drift sighed dramatically, shaking his head with a small smile. “It’s I want to see Papa, Phaser. I.”

Phaser giggled, unapologetic, as Drift took his hand. Together, they headed off, Phaser’s laughter still ringing like music in Drift’s audials.

Phaser had been quiet. Oddly quiet. But Drift was getting used to it—Phaser always grew nervous when they visited Ratchet. The bitlet would be so excited to tell his Papa about all the adventures he’d been having, yet the weight of the visit always hung heavy in the air.

That’s why it broke Drift’s spark to bring him here. Because, just like him, Phaser missed Ratchet every day and every night. Always.

“Gently, like that. Exactly,” Drift instructed softly as he helped Phaser lower the bucket of glowing energon flowers at the base of Ratchet’s memorial. The bitlet beamed with pride as he carefully arranged the flowers among the flickering lights, his wide smile lighting up his face.

“Papa will love this! Aunty Nautica helped Pha-Pha choose them!” Phaser chirped, craning his neck to look up at the towering hologram of his Papa. The faint, eerie glow of the projection reflected in his bright optics. He leaned in conspiratorially, covering one side of his mouth to whisper—though not very quietly. “Don’t tell Daddy, but Phaser dropped them and cried. But Tica said, ‘No crying!’ and bought new ones!”

“You dropped the ones I bought?” Drift asked, raising an optic ridge.

“Hey! I’m talking to Papa! Don’t listen!” Phaser squeaked indignantly, shoving Drift with all the might his little frame could muster. Naturally, Drift didn’t budge an inch, but he raised his servos in mock surrender and took a step back.

“Alright, alright! I’ll leave, yeesh!” Drift exaggerated his retreat with a dramatic huff, though he didn’t stray too far.

Phaser glared at him for a moment before plopping back down on his aft in front of the memorial.

“Daddy is always listening when me tell him not to,” he muttered, tracing little shapes in the ground with a digit. Then, turning back to the hologram, he began speaking to Ratchet. “He makes Pha-Pha mad sometimes. But then he makes Pha-Pha happy, so he’s not bad.”

Phaser continued, his small voice bubbling with chatter as he told Ratchet about his day-to-day life. “Pha-Pha takes his rations three times a day and brushes his denta like Papa taught me—up and down! I already lost a denta! I’ve been listening to First Aid’s lessons, and Aunt Tica brought me a bunch of datapads the other day—even though Pha-Pha can’t read yet. But Daddy reads them to me before recharge.”

Drift stood nearby, letting Phaser speak without interruption. For a solid ten minutes, the bitlet chattered away, pouring out his thoughts until he finally ran out of things to say. Drift’s mask slipped as he watched his son. His fins drooped, and his optics dimmed. The grief was still so raw, so fresh. Seeing the little treasure Ratchet had left behind mourning in his own innocent way made Drift’s spark ache.

Phaser’s tone softened as he picked a flower from the bucket, twirling it in his small digits. His optics fixed on the memorial, and his voice grew quiet. “You know, I heard Daddy crying the other night. He really misses Papa. I do too. A lot.”

Phaser’s gaze dropped to the flower in his hands, his voice trembling. “When will you come back, Papa? I miss you. I want you to come home so we can hide from the monsters under my berth and tell stories…”

The words broke as coolant tears started streaming down Phaser’s little faceplate. His vents hitched, and he desperately tried to wipe the tears away, but his sobs overtook him.

Drift was there in an instant, scooping him up and holding him close. “Oh, oh, oh, Pha-Pha. Baby, it’s okay,” he murmured, rocking him gently and rubbing circles on his back. Phaser clung to his neck cables, his tiny frame trembling with sobs that rattled Drift’s own spark. Drift’s optics moistened, his grief spilling over with his son’s.

“I want Papa! I want to go with Papa!” Phaser cried, his voice breaking.

“No, baby. Papa is in a place we can’t go yet—especially not you,” Drift replied, his voice tender even as tears streaked his own faceplate.

“Why?!”

“Because he wants you to stay here and live a happy life before joining him,” Drift explained, settling on the ground with Phaser still in his arms. He cupped the bitlet’s face in his servos, wiping away the tears with gentle strokes. “It’s okay, baby. Vent with me, like we practiced. In—out. Follow me. In—and out.”

Shaking, Phaser tried to match his father’s rhythm, though hiccups interrupted him. He clung to Drift’s wrists, his tiny claws digging in as the overwhelming pain in his spark slowly began to ebb.

“That’s it, my love. Just like that. You’re doing so well. So, so well,” Drift praised softly, coaxing him through the process.

Minutes passed, and finally, Phaser’s sobs quieted, leaving him drained and snuggled into Drift’s embrace. His sniffles punctuated the silence as Drift gently scratched behind his head fins, soothing him.

“Me miss him,” Phaser whispered hoarsely, his small voice filled with sorrow.

“I know, baby. I miss him too,” Drift murmured, pressing a kiss to his chevron. “But you know what comforts me?”

“What?” Phaser asked, his voice barely audible.

“That he’s always with us,” Drift said, tapping a claw against Phaser’s spark chamber. “As long as we carry him here, Papa will always be with us.”

Phaser looked down at his chest, pressing his tiny servos over the plating to feel the thrum of his own spark. He sniffled again, his optics lifting to meet Drift’s with a glimmer of hope.

“Papa’s here,” he whispered, his tone tinged with wonder.

“That’s right. And as long as you keep him there, he’ll always be with you, little star,” Drift reassured, brushing away the last of his tears. “Now, what do you say we head back? Nautica told me she made your favorite energon treats, and everyone is waiting for you.”

A small smile broke across Phaser’s lips as he nodded, earning another affectionate smooch from Drift before he stood, still cradling the bitlet close.

As they walked back home, Phaser swore he felt a warm touch on his helm—and a soft whisper in his audials.

Always.

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