Chapter Text
It started off as a quiet day. A little too quiet honestly. By now, he had already received a plethora of prayers and answered a good portion of them, but there was nothing today. One of the other gods would have been around by now to say something but again, nothing . Something was wrong, it had to be, right? This just wasn’t normal.
Making up his mind, Drift stood up from his throne and walked towards the weapon room. He of course chose his two favorite blades, giving them a once over and smiling before sheathing them and walking out of the shrine.
The streets of the celestial plane were eerily quiet as well. There was no one around, which really made Drift worry. The roads were usually bustling with activity. Merchants selling their goods, other gods throwing parties as mecha danced around. Food of all kinds adorning the tables…..But there was nothing.
Maybe they’ve taken the party down to the mortal realm?
That would make sense as to why he’d received no prayers. If everyone were too busy having fun, they’d have no reason to need to pray to him for safety and protection. Then again, that wasn’t all he was prayed to for and even the smaller things, he heard nothing of.
That being said, he made his way towards the bridge connecting the two worlds, just in case the feeling he had was right. If it wasn't for he’d just go back home and perhaps things would be back to normal tomorrow.
He wasn’t expecting whatever it was he had arrived at, however. Mechs were fighting, bodies lay dead, strewn across the battlefield. It was a wonder those still fighting weren’t tripping over them.
This was a war . How had he not heard about this? He should have known! He should have heard a prayer or *something* that would let him know what was going on.
He couldn’t dwell on that now though. Right now was time for action. He had to put an end to this fight and protect as many as he could.
Drawing his swords, he brandished them together, sparks flying as the heated blades caused friction along one another before he darted into the fray. He began swinging his swords, trying to block others but each time he should have connected, he found that his sword moved right through, as if the figure he was fighting was nothing more than a projection, a figment of his imagination but….that wasn't possible, was it? When the figure swung down, their sword easily pierced his frame, digging down into the protoform and severing wires as energon spewed from the newly opened wound.
There’s no way that would have injured him if it were his imagination but each time he swung his sword, the same thing happened and each time they swung, he cried out in pain as a new injury presented itself on his frame.
As he turned around to face the next opponent, or try to, he came face to face with the barrel of a gun as a loud BANG rang out and pain shot throughout his entire frame. The figure behind the gun gave a terrifying smirk as he fell to the ground, back hitting with a loud thump as everything went dark.
Drift sat up quickly, yelping as his optics shot open. Two strong arms wrapped around him almost instantly and pulled him close. It only took him a few nanoseconds to recognize the soft sound of a familiar engine humming, paired with an worried and caring EM field that wrapped around him protectively. His arms came up, moving under the other mechs arms and holding tightly against the mechs frame, clawed digits curling around whatever kibble they could find as he shoved his face in the crook of the mechs neck, nuzzling against it with a soft whimper.
His arms tightened around Drift, his field a warm blanket, almost like a safety net that slowly calmed him down.
“You’re alright, kid. It was just a nightmare.”
“It felt so real though, Ratchet.”
“I know it did. It's…going to take you a while to get rid of those damn things, but you will.”
It hadn’t been long since he’d changed for the better. He’d gone from being the god of war, of doing nothing but killing and destroying things to protecting the warriors of the battlefield, among other things. Night after night, his dreams were plagued by scenes of the wars, destruction he had likely caused himself. There was never anything he himself could do in them aside from helplessly fight until he came face to face with the barrel of his own gun and jolted awake.
He felt Ratchet shift, another whimper leaving him as his own grip tightened. However, even though he thought Ratchet was going to get up and leave, the mech did the opposite, shifting into the berth with him and pulling him down, cradling him close. The soft rumble of Ratchet's engine rolled off of his audials as his finials twitched and resumed a neutral position. It wasn't long before the purr of his own engine matched Ratchets, firm digits brushing along his plating with an undeserving gentleness and before he knew it, he found himself falling back into recharge. This time, much more pleasantly as Ratchet kept him pulled close to his own frame the entire time.