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When his Ratchet and his Drift had died (a crash, an explosion, fire burning hot enough to melt off even his own plating, his lovers hadn’t had a chance,) Rodimus had snuck into the science wing after his recovery and stolen the Cross-Dimension Teleporter: Pocket Sized off of Brainstorm’s desk. In his grief, he couldn’t epxlain why, but after the second jump he started to understand.
The first jump was the hardest. Drift and Ratchet were there, healthy and whole and beautiful, but their third was a white and gold jet and Rodimus was nowhere to be seen. They looked happy, but he wasn’t a contributing factor.
So he’d jumped again and again and again, and seen dozens of different scenarios play out. Sometimes all three of them were together, the way he and his partners ahd been. Sometimes it was just Ratchet and Drift, but Rodimus would be paired up with someone else. Sometimes it was Drift and Rodimus, with Ratchet alone and drinking his life away in Swerve’s. On and on it went, though nearly a hundred different universes, that were the same but different.
Until this one.
He landed and Ratchet and Drift were turning away from a memorial. Both of them were painted with the Spectralist colors for grief, and Ratchet was clutching something that looked uncomfortably like a piece of Rodimus’ own plating. (He refused to let the memory of their deaths play back as these two living mechs were in front of him and looking as shocked as he felt, but the flames licked at the edges of his consciousness anyway.)
“Roddy?” Ratchet asked, voice cracking (”Roddy, go!” Ratchet’s voice cracking in pain as his paint crisped and plating melted away) with grief.
He realized with a jolt that they could see him as well as he could see them. “Hi, Ratch. Hi, Drift.”
“Roddy!” The medic rushed forward and engulfed him in a hug and it felt like coming home. His paint smelled a little different, but the arms were right. “How?!”
“Long, long story.” Rodimus let himself hug the other mech, and shoved away the memories of the last time his Ratchet had hugged him like this.
“But I held you as you died.” Drift came closer, but didn’t join the embrace.
“I’m Rodimus,” He replied, looking up from where he had let his head rest against Ratchet’s shoulder. “But not the Rodimus from this universe.”
“Oh, what’s Brainstorm done now?” Drift frowned.
“He built this,” Rodimus held up the Cross-Dimension Teleporter, though not enought to make him let go of Ratchet. “And I stole it, so I could… so I could find a reason to keep going, I guess. In my universe, it was the two of you who died.”
“How?” Ratchet asked, then he immediately shook his head. “No, I don’t want to know. I want to enjoy this, even if you can’t stay.”
“Me too,” Rodimus admitted softly.
When he met Drift’s optics, they were filling with tears. “I don’t know if I can let you go again.”
Rodimus cycled his vents, pushed away the memory of his Drift’s optics cracking in the heat and going dark, and made a decision. The Cross-Dimension Teleporter fell to the ground with a crunch as he let go of it and reached for Drift. “Then don’t.”
Drift’s hand was shaking, when he laid it in Rodimus’ a moment later.