Migraine
A Humanformers!Dratchet drabble brought to life from @breakdownsbuttlights AU. I like their thoughts on Drift with migraines and thought the angst/hurt/comfort potential was too much not to do anything about it.
Also: I have five of these planned. They'll all be on my A03 when I'm done.
Also also: migraines with aura significantly increase your chances of a stroke.
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“What’s going on with you?” It was Ratchet who broke the silence that’d been festering all evening, punctuated only by the sound of his fork scraping the plate clean, and Drift’s fork clanking the plate as he nudged his food around, not eating. He’d have liked Drift to tell him himself what was wrong– of course he’d noticed something was off the moment he stepped in the door, he was a doctor, goddamnit, and a pale, shaky, quiet Drift meant something was off– but Drift remained a stubborn ass, refusing to speak up.
Ratchet had finally had enough. He set his fork down and stood from his chair, noting Drift’s wince when the chair legs grated across the linoleum floor, and reached out to lay the back of his hand on Drift’s forehead, only to scowl when Drift stubbornly ducked his head away. “‘M fine,” he muttered. “It’s just a little headache.”
“‘Little headache,’ my ass.” Ratchet spat. “You can barely open your eyes, and I’d bet a considerable amount of money you have a fever. You’re taking some medicine, and then you’re going to bed. Ah-” He said, as Drift started to protest- “think twice.”
Drift shut his mouth, and was quiet as Ratchet bustled into the kitchen. Rummaged through drawers. Came back and plunked a glass of water and three Advil tablets on the table in front of him and said, “Drink. If you keep that down you get Tylenol in two hours.”
He did. But the subsequent attempt to help him out of the chair nearly ended up with them both on the floor as Drift’s knees buckled beneath him and he sagged with a pained noise.
“You’re lucky I love you,” Ratchet told him as he bundled him into his arms, though he was secretly pleased as Drift immediately sank into his touch, curling his head into the crook of his shoulder. Drift’s forehead was damp and clammy where it pressed to his skin, and limp strands of black hair tickled his neck. But Ratchet’s hands were too full to brush them aside. He carried Drift into the bedroom and carefully deposited him onto the duvet without turning on the light. Even the slightest glimmer could be painful during one of his migraines.
“I’m going to undress you, now.” He said, before stripping Drift down to his underthings, bundling his clothes together, and dropping them into the hamper. Drift didn’t say a word throughout this process, merely tracked his movements will dull gold eyes gone glassy with pain.
He did seem more relaxed after Ratchet was done, having tucked him under the covers with the promise of being back after he cleared the table, but just as the doctor was turning to go he snagged his wrist.
“I didn’t want to worry you.” He murmured, shutting his eyes with a grimace.
Ratchet sighed. “You worry me more when you don’t tell me these things, you idiot,” he said, and leaned over to press a kiss to his lips. “What color is my aura today?”
Those pretty gold eyes opened, then squinted. “Green-orange.”
Another sigh. Another kiss. “You’re damn lucky you haven’t had a stroke.”
