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.

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"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."

"I know that," Drift says, clenching his teeth on a sigh, and he closes his eyes, forcing himself to relax. The back rub is helping, but he's still so worked up over that fight, Rico's words still ringing in his ears. Taunting Drift over how much he'd loved the violence, years ago, how it was only a matter of time before he fell back into it. Never thinking past the bloodlust and how good it feels for bones to break and skull to shatter. He presses his forehead into the pillows again, exhaling slowly.

"I don't keep it pent up all of the time, Ratchet. I have to use it sometimes, and I do. Every time I power my sword, I'm unleashing demonic energy. But it's controlled then." His words are partly muffled by the pillows, but they come through clear enough. "But earlier tonight, I just...let go. I let it take over, and I tackled Rico through a tenth-story apartment window, and I didn't stop hitting him until he was dead."

Ratchet opens his mouth to argue some more, but clearly it isn't making Drift any less tense so he closes it again and just leans into his work, digging his fingers gently into taut muscle and being very careful of Drift's ribs. He strokes a flat palm down the length of Drift's spine after a moment and shifts off of him to stretch out parallel on the bed.

"I'm glad you're okay," he says simply, reaching out to smooth some of the hair out of Drift's face.

Drift lets out a little sigh as Ratchet's weight shifts to the bed next to him, and he turns a little onto his side to face Ratchet, wincing slightly.

"Sorry," he mutters, leaning into Ratchet's hand. "It's just...it's been a long night. And it dredged up a lot of things I haven't thought about in...a while."

"Shh," Ratchet says, pushing up onto one elbow to press his lips carefully to Drift's hairline. "You don't have to apologize. I just know it bothers you."

He settles near Drift on the bed again, his eyes tired but intent on Drift's face but he doesn't say anything else, not yet. He just threads his fingers through Drift's hair, stroking slowly.

Drift lets out a slow breath through his nose, letting his eyes slide closed. He's quiet for a long while, just focusing on Ratchet's fingers against his scalp, and though he's still clutching at the pillows with one fist, he isn't quite so tense. He feels strangely suspended, still sifting through the flood of memories that fight with Rico had brought back. Drift hadn't seen Rico since his Deadlock days, and he'd stopped thinking about the demon after a while -- it wouldn't have surprised him if Rico had gotten himself killed by pissing off enough people, or at least the wrong ones. He'd gotten more powerful in the interim, but more than that, he'd still managed to retain some of the grip he'd had on Drift back when he'd been barely more than a kid.

And Ratchet hasn't asked, not really -- because Ratchet never pries where he hasn't been invited, and Drift appreciates that about him, more than he can say. But he's been trying to share more of himself lately with Ratchet, and his orihalcon days are something he's always been afraid to share, because he isn't really any prouder of himself back then than he is of Deadlock. But maybe it might feel good to share that for once.

"I know I've never really talked much about my life before I worked for Megatron," he finally speaks up, then stalls out as he realizes he has no idea what to follow that up with. "But, um..."

Ratchet watches Drift ease slowly into the bed, the tension filtering out of him by inches at each careful pass of Ratchet's fingers through his hair. It's almost fascinating to watch and strangely soothing in its own right--Ratchet's eyes are half-lidded and lazy when Drift speaks again and they snap all the way open and he draws a breath.

"Yeah," he says carefully. "And you can keep right on not talking about it if you don't want to, unless there's something you think I need to know. But if you want to, I'll listen."

"I wouldn't bring it up if I didn't want to talk about it."

Maybe want is a strong word. He does and he doesn't. It's difficult to talk about, but he doesn't want to stop himself here. He draws in a breath, eyes still closed.

"I told you I never finished high school, but I never told you why." Drift presses his cheek to the pillow, finding it suddenly weirdly difficult to talk about a death well over a decade ago. Maybe because he hardly ever does. "You know I'm human on my mom's side -- I never knew my dad, and I still don't know much about him. It was just me and my mom, for a long time. She...died when I was in high school, and if she had any other family, I didn't know about it. So when the rent came due and I couldn't make it...that was kind of it."

Ratchet just watches Drift's face, frozen helpless--he'd suspected something... not great, obviously, to leave Drift homeless and alone, but actually hearing the reality of it clenches something cold in his belly. He doesn't interrupt, just lets Drift speak, his fingers twined gently in Drift's hair.

"I see," he says after a moment, his voice raw and soft as his thumb strokes against Drift's temple over and over, not knowing what else to say.

Drift doesn't really expect Ratchet to have much to say to that, and right now feels so much more about getting the words out than getting a response. Now that he's started, he feels the need to keep going, not out of any sense of obligation, but because there is something simultaneously so freeing and so terrifying about sharing this part of himself with someone else.

"You can probably guess how it went from there. Alone, no place to go...I took what I could get. And sometimes that wasn't just clothes or food." He looks faintly embarrassed, now, almost ashamed, but dammit, he's worked past this. It's been years. "I found pretty quickly that regular drugs didn't cut it. I metabolized it too fast, or not quite right..."

He lets out a soft sigh, leaning into Ratchet's touch. It helps him stay grounded in the moment. That's what he needs right now.

"I always knew what I was -- Mom never tried to hide that from me. So it was only a matter of time before I fell in with an entirely different crowd, with different access to things. Things like orihalcon, and...I don't know. A freedom to be myself, in a weird way. It wasn't great, I was still alone, but I didn't have to hide."

Ratchet is still against the top of the comforter, his eyes on Drift's face and his expression unreadable, still silent. He doesn't stop touching Drift, doesn't pull away at all--just watches Drift steadily, understanding without judgment.

Drift's thankful for the quiet. In a weird way, it keeps bolstering him to go on. He rolls his head to the side and stares up at the ceiling.

"It didn't mean I was safe, though. And I was--you know, a half-breed, and high out of my mind half the time. Didn't really have any friends, or at least not any friends I could trust not to steal my stuff to hock it for drugs. Easy pickings for a lot of bullies. Like Rico." He bites the inside of his cheek, because now it's not so much painful to talk about it as it is embarrassing. He'd endured years of humiliation at Rico's hand, and it was far behind him now, but it didn't feel like it. "He liked to...pretend he was helping me. He knew who I was, knew what I was hooked on, and he knew just how bad things were for me. It wasn't hard to see. So he'd offer to make trades -- do me a favor, and I'll get you some more drugs. But it was never about helping me. I was just...entertainment for him."

Ratchet is silent and utterly still for a long moment, staring at the space next to Drift's head before he reminds himself to breathe, sucking in a deep inhalation and blinking slowly.

"I see," he says, his voice oddly faint. "...I see. You said he's dead now, right?"

Drift smiles thinly. It's not a very good look on him. "Very. There wasn't a whole lot left of him."

He closes his eyes and draws in a slow breath. Why is this harder to talk about than his mother's death, somehow? That hadn't been any less slow or painful. But it had been different. Losing a parent was something that could happen to anyone. The kind of humiliation he endured at Rico's hands was a product of his very specific and shitty situation.

"He never stiffed me on any promises, but it was never about what I wanted. He'd do things just to -- just to mess with me, or get a rise out of me, under the guise of charity, and I had nothing, so he knew I'd never refuse. Or I'd try, and I'd get swept up in it anyway. It was...hard back then." He rubs his bruised cheek, eyes still closed. "There was this one time, he took me to this high-end restaurant -- you know the Mention, by the waterfront? Said he was going to treat me to a good meal, show me what I could have if I really wanted it, and he did. I'd never seen anyone spend that much money in one sitting before. And it might have been okay, except -- " He huffs out a short breath through his nose. "Except being the unwashed homeless kid in a room full of rich people made for one of the most miserable evenings imaginable. And I think Rico got a real kick out of that."

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