sunchime | [ DEMON HUNTER DRIFT AU: PART II (SFW) ]

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[ DEMON HUNTER DRIFT AU: PART II (SFW) ]

DEMON HUNTER DRIFT AU: PART II
Part I (extremely NSFW) (it's very gross) (I'm sorry about everything)
Part II (NSFW post)

IT'S BACK, BABY

Imagine, if you will, that Drift is not a robot, but a gratuitously tropey half-demon hunter roaming around Boston killing demons in order to atone for his as a, well, killer for the demons. For all intents and purposes you can just assume this takes place in the same universe as Buffy (or something like it) for the sake of using a conveniently existing lore that I already really like. Maybe with an extra side of Kabbalah. whatever

HERE ARE SOME FACTS ABOUT DEMON HUNTER AU DRIFT:

Drift is half-demon on his father's side. He never really knew his dad, idk he like fucked off or got slayed at some point when Drift was young and he was mostly raised by his mother, who died of cancer when he was a teenager. It was real sad and Drift had no money and got pretty promptly kicked out of his mom's apartment shortly after her death. This made Drift a TRAGIC TEEN ORPHAN who was homeless on the streets for a while, and given his ~UNIQUE HALF-DEMON AURA~ it wasn't really very long before he fell in with a bad crowd. A demon crowd
Tragic teen orphan Drift got into drugs, specifically orihalcon, a potent substance derived from the refined blood of certain types of demons, because regular human drugs don't quite cut it for him. He was pretty knee-deep in the local demon community, partly because he didn't fit in anywhere else, partly because some of them knew his dad.
Drift spent a while as a homeless addict, barely scraping by, until he was recruited by Megatron, a powerful demon lord who saw much more potential in Drift and his untamed demon powers. He offered Drift a place in his ranks even though he was half-human, and helped him hone his terrifyingly natural talent for violence. For a while Drift mostly did it to feed his habit, but he began to enjoy the rush of violence and of releasing his DEMON SIDE way more than the drugs and eventually got clean.
He also inherited this sweet demon sword from his dad that Megatron apparently had handy. It is powered by his DEMON SIDE
Eventually though Drift's taste for violence got a little out of control and after pissing off some of his superiors for wildly disobeying orders in favor of MORE VIOLENCE, he fucked off and went into hiding. It was at this time that he met a witch named Wing from a smug hippie witch cult based in San Francisco. Wing offered him sanctuary and to teach him to better control his demon side by being ~~more in tune with the spirits~~. Drift took the sanctuary because he had nowhere else to hide, but wound up begrudgingly coming around to Wing's way of seeing things, at least enough to grow to care about him. Unfortunately for the both of them Drift's UNIQUE HALF-DEMON AURA led Megatron's forces right to the Wing's door and he got horribly murdered. Drift managed to get away but he was so tragically torn by the untimely death of his spiritual sensei that he swore off working for Megatron and decided to USE HIS POWERS FOR GOOD
Since then he's discarded the name Megatron gave him and returned to Boston as the newly-reformed demon hunter Drift. He lives in a tiny, shitty apartment in Southie and fights demons by moonlight in order to help people out and atone for his murder-filled past. He has fully embraced his former mentor's spirituality with a level of enthusiasm that, tbh, should probably be worrying. He believes (or hopes, at least) that what Wing taught him will not only help him keep his demon side in check (he is pretty much always concerned he will LOSE CONTROL), but also lead to his eventual redemption. Unfortunately Drift is still learning how exactly to have real faith in something because he is the world's biggest faker
He is Jewish because I know what I like and oh boy does he ever dabble in Kabbalah and a lot of other magical spirituality bullshit that mostly drives other people up the wall
Being half-demon has a lot of perks, SUCH AS: super strength/reflexes/stamina, accelerated healing, and being able to jump way higher than any human. He's obviously not as powerful as a full-blooded demon, but plenty powerful enough to be able to take them head on. He's also really good at fighting shit. Drift's swordsmanship is pretty solid, having been trained in Megatron's demon army, but also he has studied very seriously from a lot of kung fu and action films
He literally owns fourteen swords

PREVIOUSLY ON DEMON HUNTER DRIFT AU:

Rodimus is this AU's equivalent of the Slayer, and Ultra Magnus is her Watcher. She and Drift are best buds who also make out a lot. Ultra Magnus STRONGLY DISAPPROVES of Rodimus spending time with someone with Drift's substantial murder past but Rodimus believes wholeheartedly in Drift's turning a new leaf.
Perceptor (Percy) is a talented witch and physicist who also serves as Drift's go-to for information about demon lore and magic. They go back a long, long ways, and is one of a handful of people Drift trusts implicitly.
Dealer was, predictably, Drift's orihalcon dealer when he was living on the streets. There were some bad (good) (bad) times that Drift would really love to never talk about, and Dealer loves to hold over his head.
Ratchet is a trauma surgeon whose family was killed by demons around the time Deadlock was active. After patching up Drift a couple of times, they fell into an undefined sort-of relationship that nearly came to an end when Ratchet found out just who Drift used to be. After taking some time and talking to just about everyone else Drift knows, Ratchet decided he still wanted to know Drift as he is now, though things between them are still uncertain.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"One minute," Ratchet says before he pushes out of the bathroom dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, both washed soft and pale. He pulls the towel down and opens his mouth to say something else before he actually registers that Drift is injured and holding a severed arm and he starts moving without real conscious thought, going to the cabinet with the nearest first aid kit.

"Sit," he snaps, his voice taut as he pops the kit open on the table and points at the arm Drift is holding. "Put that down, I'll deal with it later. Anything too serious?" His hands are already on Drift before he answers, checking for broken bones or internal damage. He feels those ribs, but the cuts and scrapes and bruises are painful, not life-threatening, and he begins to relax immediately, exhaling on a shaky sigh.

"Here, let me bandage your neck and then I can start cleaning out that mess on your shoulder. How are you otherwise?"

Drift feels enough off his balance that he flinches when Ratchet snaps at him -- there's no malice behind it, but it seems to trigger a twitch of a reaction from Drift anyway. He abruptly does as he's told, dropping the arm on the spot and directly into a chair. This, at least, is familiar in a good way.

"Ow," he says plaintively when Ratchet does the same thing he was doing literally thirty seconds ago, except more professionally. He rubs at the unscathed side of his face, looking tired. Well, it is kind of late, and he did just get done fighting an irritatingly tenacious demon. He slumps a little in the chair, blowing out a breath.

"Fine," he says, which almost always means the opposite. He turns his face so that Ratchet can better treat the cut, which looks worse than it is. "Just had a nasty fight with an equally nasty demon. That, uh. That's his arm."

Ratchet catches that flinch and his hands gentle, more relaxed now anyway that he knows Drift isn't in any immediate danger.

"Well, I guess I'm glad it's his and not somebody else's. I think. What the hell happened, did he shove gravel in your arm on purpose?" He doesn't bother with stitches, but he carefully tapes the gash in Drift's cheek closed and secures a bandage over it, then starts wrapping his neck. One hand settles against Drift's jaw to stabilize his head, which is necessary, but his thumb strokes absently along Drift's cheekbone over an over in a soothing rhythm, which is not strictly required to treat someone who nearly got their throat slashed open. He tucks the end of the bandage in and looks at Drift's arm, the corners of his mouth pinching.

"This is going to suck," he tells Drift, pulling out the peroxide and a pair of tweezers as he drags a chair over and settles next to Drift, pressing one hand flat to his chest as he starts to pick rocks out of his arm, his palm warm over Drift's heartbeat.

"No," Drift says, gritting his teeth a little as Ratchet patches up the cut running down his neck. It could be worse, and it'll be better now that it's properly secured, but now that he's stopped moving and the adrenaline's wearing off, he's more keenly aware of how much everything hurts. He has a high tolerance for pain, he always has, but that doesn't mean he doesn't feel it. The gentle touch does help relax him, if only a little. "I fell."

A very long way. He's a little embarrassed to admit to Ratchet just how far, but embarrassment doesn't usually make him this short-worded. He draws in a hissing breath as Ratchet starts plucking gravel out of the wound in his arm, shutting his eyes.

"Yeah, I know." It always sucks, Ratchet. "I'll be fine. I've had worse."

Ratchet makes a sound in his throat indicating understanding but otherwise doesn't speak for a few moments, his hands quick and firm as he plucks the last of the debris from the injury and starts carefully disinfecting it, his hands gentler than usual.

"Yeah, you'll live. I'll probably tape those ribs just to be safe, though." He's quiet for another long minute, his eyes intent on his work.

"Did something else happen, Drift?"

"Thanks," Drift says on an exhale, trying not to tense at the peroxide sting, but man, somehow that always hurts more than anything else. Moving will probably be hard with the tape, but...moving is hard with broken ribs, too, and at least they'll heal quickly enough.

He just rubs his face and makes an indistinct noise at Ratchet's question at first, but then he lets out a long breath and tilts his head back, looking up at the ceiling.

"It's just -- it was this demon named Rico. We've met before. I've known him for...a while." Before this, before Deadlock -- when it was so, so easy to get a handle on Drift, when he had nothing and needed so much. "Your garden variety clawed-his-way-here-from-a-hell-dimension kind of demon. He wasn't all that powerful, but he was always a good manipulator, and he preferred to prey on the weak. He preyed on -- feelings, I guess, but he had a much bigger appetite. He wouldn't hesitate to eat his own kind, either. You can imagine how that might have made him unpopular. It didn't help that he was also a huge asshole."

Considering Drift doesn't cuss other people out often these days, he clearly means it. Drift tries not to give into hate, it's bad for the soul, but God did he ever hate Rico. That resentment never completely faded, even after he discarded the name Deadlock.

"He also had this thing about gold -- I never really got what was up with that. He was pretty small fish in the demon underworld sea back then, most of what he got, he got by preying on humans, but I guess he got stronger since we last met. I underestimated him a little." To the tune of a few bad injuries and a lot of property damage, not to mention damages in whatever therapy that poor tenant is going to need. Drift grimaces slightly. "He's dead now."

Edited 2017-12-04 21:41 (UTC)

Ratchet finishes wrapping a bandage up Drift's arm and collects some more, his hands sliding carefully up Drift's sides and rolling his shirt up as he goes, fingertips light against Drift's bruised, scraped skin.

"He sounds like an asshole." Ratchet curses people out all the time, he's perfectly comfortable with it. He leans in close to wind the bandage around Drift's midsection, not pulling it too tight, just enough to stabilize the ribs and let Drift's natural healing ability do its work. His breath is warm on Drift's shoulder. "...he really got to you, it seems like."

Drift shuts his eyes again and shivers slightly. He's still a little shaken after that fight, and he knows he's not doing a great job at covering it up. If he hadn't been so banged up, he'd have gone straight home and slept it off -- then he'd be fine by the next time he saw Ratchet, or close enough to it, anyway.

"He's known me since -- like I said, a while. Back when I was easier to provoke, and he always did like to take people apart and see what makes them tick." His voice is unusually tight. "It's been years. I didn't think he'd be able to get under my skin again. It wasn't just his physical power I underestimated."

And he'd let his control over himself slip because of it. It makes him uneasy, like he can't trust himself. He can't just let that happen.

"I see," Ratchet says, his eyes on Drift's face as he ties off the bandage and smooths Drift's shirt back down, and it sounds like he actually does. He's quiet for another long moment before he touches light fingers to Drift's good shoulder.

"Was anyone else hurt?"

"No -- no. Not seriously, anyway." Drift shakes his head quickly, reaching up to curl his fingers over Ratchet's. "Rico tried to take some poor guy hostage -- his idea of entertainment -- I got Rico away from him before he was too hurt. He was a little roughed up, and, uh, his apartment's not in great shape, but he'll be alright. I told him to call a doctor anyway. And that his landlord probably has insurance."

Ratchet's hand closes on Drift's shoulder and squeezes, brief and reassuring.

"Sounds like it turned out all right, then," he says evenly. "Property damage aside. Actually, it sounds like you did pretty great, under the circumstances."

He cups Drift's face now, his palm sliding against Drift's uninjured cheek and tilting up to look at him, his own expression calm.

"But you're still upset. What did he say to you to shake you up this much?"

"You file this under 'pretty great'?"

There's a skeptical note to his voice, not quite a scoff, but some of the tension drains out of him when Ratchet touches his face. He does look at Ratchet then, but only for a moment, his gaze shifting away as his lips thin.

"It got a little desperate, for a while. He knew he had the upper hand with a hostage, and he got me away from my sword -- and it was kind of close quarters..." Excuses. That's all those are. Drift sighs out a thin breath through his nose. "I lost control, Ratchet. Only for a little while, but -- I let it slip. I let him get to me too much. I mean, I was trying to kill him, but -- there's a difference."

Ratchet watches Drift not watch him for a moment before his hand shifts, his thumb brushing gently at the corner of Drift's mouth.

"And yet here you are," he says, "with only about a square foot of parking lot's worth of gravel, a severed arm, and some property damage to show for it." Ratchet cups Drift's chin briefly, then lets him go.

"I think I'd call that a win."

"It's not the kind of win I want."

Drift doesn't look all that assuaged, still looking haggard, a little haunted. He rubs his chin briefly, as though trying to capture the last phantom traces of that touch, but instead of reaching for Ratchet he just curls his fingers in his hand.

"That's all I did when I was Deadlock. I just -- let go. I had training, sure, and I had focus, but to use all that raw power? It's...it's like a current, Ratchet. You have to surrender yourself to it. And that's exactly what I try not to do anymore."

"It sounds like you did what you needed to do, and no more."

Ratchet leans down and presses his lips briefly to Drift's hairline, the touch warm and soft before he draws back.

"You need to rest, and I should finish taking care of that shoulder. Come on." He tugs lightly at Drift's sleeve, then looks back at him curiously. "Just how far did you fall on it, exactly?"

Drift wants to respond with an argument -- he doesn't understand, he doesn't know what it really means if Drift loses control entirely, because for all he's heard about Deadlock, Ratchet never saw him. But he's tired, and even though he still feels a little sick with himself he's glad for Ratchet's touch. He gets up with only a small noise of effort with a side of pain, but it could be a lot worse. It'll all heal soon enough.

"Oh, uh..." Drift winces, and this time not because of the pain. "Ten...stories? Well, not all at once. I did manage to grab a fire escape on the way down, but it didn't really hold."

Ratchet pauses briefly to devote his full attention for the utterly exasperated look he shoots back at Drift before he nudges him into the bedroom and carefully helps Drift peel his shirt off before pushing him flat on his front. He sits down carefully at the edge of the bed and runs slow fingers along the shoulder Drift fell on, pressing very carefully to avoid pain, though the minor soft tissue damage is on its way to healing.

"Mmf." Drift makes a muffled sound into the pillows and then lifts his head to look at Ratchet, cheek pressed to the pillow. His face still looks drawn, tired, but at least he's horizontal now. "The ribs hurt more. I mean, that hurts, but it'll heal faster."

"Yeah, well, I can't do anything else about the ribs just now. Hold still."

Ratchet climbs carefully onto the bed next to Drift and there's a brief, wet sound as he rubs lotion into his palms before he slides them along Drift's back, pressing carefully up the length of his spine before his thumb digs slow, shallow circles around Drift's shoulder blade.

"Tell me if it hurts--it's not supposed to," he says, sounding distracted as he finds a knot in Drift's other shoulder with his free hand and pushes steadily, his fingers firm and slow.

Drift buries his face in the pillows and lets out a little groan. He's still tense, knotted up from stress, but he does manage to relax by a fraction, curling a hand around a fistful of the duvet. It's sore, but it doesn't hurt, not in a bad way. He's quiet for a long while, just letting Ratchet work at his shoulder.

"Ratchet," he finally says, his voice quiet and a little tired, "I know you don't think it's a big deal, me losing control, but -- it is. I need you to understand that. Nothing good ever comes of it."

"Of course it's a big deal," Ratchet says, moving out a little to the rest of Drift's back, his fingers finding knots and pressing firmly to loosen them. "I know how tight a lid you keep on that kind of stuff, and I know it's for a reason."

He finds a particularly persistent spot in the middle of Drift's back and leans into it, putting his weight on the heel of his hand as he pushes up.

"I get that it's led to bad things in the past." His voice is very quiet now, though his hands don't stop moving. "And I understand why you seem so ashamed whenever it happens, I do. But it's still part of you and it's not going away. Being ashamed of it forever isn't going to help anyone, least of all you, and I think you could stand to learn to trust yourself a little more. That's all."

He's silent for a long moment before he pauses, his palm spread flat against the center of Drift's back, a warm weight.

"I trust you," he says, as though it's just occurred to him that Drift might not know something so obvious he hasn't bothered to mention it. "I've seen you like that under worse circumstances and I have a lot of good reasons to feel otherwise but I trust you. I just wish you'd give yourself the same courtesy, sometime."

Hearing that Ratchet trusts him almost comes like a blow, only in that it stuns him so completely he goes still for just a second. He's glad he can just bury his face in the pillows while Ratchet works on his back, feeling emotion rise in his chest. He wants to trust himself, but he doesn't know how he possibly can when nights like

"Thank you," he says into the pillows, a little small but entirely grateful. He doesn't really know what else to say to that. But he does relax by fractions as Ratchet's warm hands work out the knots in his back, letting out a small groan.

"The circumstances are different," he says, turning his head to the side so that his voice isn't entirely muffled. "I wasn't impaired or under some other influence this time. This time...this time I was just angry."

Drift doesn't like being angry. It crawls under the skin and infects the heart. He curls his fingers loosely around fistfuls of the duvet, his voice quieting.

"It was personal -- and that's when I most need to be in control. Rico...knew me for over a decade. Before I worked for Megatron -- when I was at my lowest. I underestimated the kind of hold he still had on me."

"Huh. You have a right to be angry when someone deliberately pisses you off, kid," Ratchet says, shifting his grip to push his thumbs slowly up the length of Drift's spine, working in short little circles to press muscle away from the center of his back. "And it sounds like you handled yourself just fine, property damage aside."

Ratchet's hands settle on Drift's shoulders and squeeze slowly, his thumbs working into muscle but his grip heavy and warm, almost a reassurance.

"He sounds like he knows how to get under your skin. I don't think anybody can blame you for reacting to someone like that, especially since there was no serious harm done. Well, except to him, but it sounds like he was pretty thoroughly asking for it."

"Ratchet -- " He sounds frustrated. "This time, maybe, but what about next time? It's not about whether or not I get angry. Being reminded of all the things he did -- I don't know if I'll ever stop being angry about that. It's about how I react. Just because he was asking for it doesn't mean that the next person will be."

Collateral damage, hurting innocent people -- those were never concerns for Deadlock. That was part of what had made him so dangerous. Drift winces.

"And the property damage was...kind of extensive."

"You being angry isn't what worries me, it's you keeping this pent up one hundred percent of the time except in situations like that, and then hating yourself afterwards."

Ratchet's hands work lower again before he stops and sighs, bracing himself just over Drift's shoulders and leaning in to press his lips very gently to the nape of Drift's neck, warm against warm skin.

"It's part of you. Letting it loose the way you did before isn't good for you, but keeping it shoved down so far you can pretend it's not there probably isn't great either."

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