Saturday Night Fic - Still Waters Chapter 4
Title: Still Waters (4/?)
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, First Aid, Ratchet
Universe: Protectobot Beginnings AU
Rating: K+
Word Count: 4996
Warnings: some violence in this one, including some twin-on-twin violence in what essentially amounts to self-harm.
Summary: While on First Aid snuggle-duty, Sideswipe remembers some of the not-so-good days.
“His back feels…weird,” Sideswipe said after awhile.
“Weird?”
“It’s all…rippled or something.”
Sunstreaker reached so he could run a hand over First Aid’s back armor. “Something did a number on him. Disrupter cannon blast he was talking about, maybe?”
“And these…” Sideswipe’s hand moved a little higher.
“Electrowhip scars…” Sunstreaker’s optic ridges drew together in a frown. They knew about those. “Who the slag would…” His optics met his brother’s in mutual outrage.
"Maybe that happened, when...you know. He lost them."
First Aid stirred, a slight frown on his faceplates, and Sideswipe resumed his back rubbing. He was uncharacteristically quiet for a long time, and Sunstreaker took the opportunity to offline his optics.
“Sunny?” Sideswipe broke the silence finally.
“Yeah, wiseaft?” Sunstreaker replied with no real force.
“Don’t ever leave, ok?” Sunstreaker looked over in surprise at the slight waver in his twin’s voice. They locked optics for several sparkbeats, and then Sunstreaker wordlessly enveloped his counterpart in the reassuring equivalent of a warm bear hug through their bond. Optimus had promised not to separate them, when they had joined the Autobots. Sideswipe believed him, to the core of his spark, but...First Aid was a stark reminder. Things could happen.
//Never bro. You found me, remember? Anywhere we go it will be together. Always. Got it?//
After awhile Sideswipe nodded, letting himself lean against their bond, the bright presence that was his brother surrounding him.
//Got it//
First Aid sighed again, murmuring something they didn’t quite understand, shifting slightly to tuck both of his hands up under his chin. There were a few more moments of silence.
“I’m not going to rub your back though,” Sunstreaker said.
“Sunny?”
“Yeah?”
“Upload this.” Sideswipe paused in his back rubbing to make a “Go to Pit” sign. Sunstreaker glared at him like a ruffled turbofalcon, ready to strike, but Sideswipe indicated the now peaceful medic between them.
“Aah ah ah. No fighting.”
Sunstreaker subsided, grumbling.
“Sunny?”
“What now,” Sunstreaker groaned.
“I’m bored.”
Sunstreaker was saved a reply by Ratchet, returning from the medbay.
//Thank Primus// Sunstreaker thought. Sideswipe snickered.
“He’s still out?” Ratchet asked rhetorically as he settled on the edge of the berth and readied a syringe. “Good.”
“How long do we have to stay like this?” Sideswipe asked, trying not to sound too petulant about it.
“This really bothers you guys, doesn’t it?” Ratchet asked, as he leaned over and opened a panel on First Aid’s arm. His mouthplates held the hint of a smile, suggesting that he found their discomfort amusing.
“Makes me…I don’t know. Twitchy.” Sideswipe said. Sunstreaker nodded.
“Twitchy,” Ratchet said, injecting the syringe-full of coolant into one of Aid’s coolant lines.
“My proximity alerts keep triggering, and I have to keep shutting them down. Normally when they go off this much it means I need to kill something.”
Ratchet raised his optic ridges at this but he kept silent.
“So yeah, twitchy.” Sidewipe wondered suddenly if that was something he shouldn’t have shared. Smooth move, give them more ammunition to regard he and Sunstreaker as not quite stable. This was Ratchet, though. They could trust Ratchet. And Optimus, and Ironhide. They could.
“What about you?” Ratchet asked Sunstreaker.
Sideswipe answered for his brother. “Oh he’s twitchier than I am, but he’s better at hiding it.”
Sunstreaker growled wordlessly.
"I'm...not sure I realized what I was asking of you," Ratchet said, with a touch of contrition in his expression. Realization rather than concern, and something in Sideswipe relaxed a little.
“Nah, it's ok, we can cope," Sideswipe shrugged one shoulder and changed the subject quickly. "Do gestalts really recharge like this? All crammed together?” Sideswipe asked curiously, not quite believing it was possible.
“They do indeed.” Ratchet snorted at some memory. “Makes it a slaggin’ pain whenever one of them gets hurt. Five of them, all together in the medbay, all wanting on the same berth. The Protectobots never gave me much trouble though, other than recharging on my floor all the time.” Ratchets optics softened as he looked at his assistant.
“And the two of you have been more trouble than both gestalts put together, I’ll have you know,” Ratchet looked at them both sternly, though there was a glint in his optics that might have been humor. “You should be very proud.”
Sideswipe was proud, as a matter of fact, but didn’t have a snappy reply handy. He was too busy trying to wrap his processor around the idea of First Aid, quiet, unremarkable, fade-into-the-background medbay assistant, being part of one of the only two Autobot gestalt teams. Though that explained Ratchet and Ironhide's protectiveness. They, along with Wheeljack and several other ‘bots had helped design the Protectobots, had probably been there from the time they were onlined. Like creators. Sideswipe assumed he and Sunny must have had creators, at some point, but he didn’t remember them, and Sunstreaker was always silent on the subject.
“He was really part of Defensor,” he said aloud.
Ratchet nodded. “He was. He’s not spoken of his brothers since they were lost. I’m surprised…well, maybe not. That it was you two he…started to speak of them, at any rate. I wish I knew if this is a good thing or not.” Ratchet sighed.
“How is it he’s still alive?” Sideswipe asked. That was the one great weakness of gestalts, and of all spark-linked mechs, the same as their strength – their deep connections to one another, so great that if one died the rest were likely to follow, or so rumor said. Sideswipe couldn’t imagine going on without Sunstreaker, didn’t want to imagine it. “What happened to his brothers? The songs never say. And why the slag does he have electrowhip scars on his back? He’s still a sparkling, for Primus’ sake,” he added indignantly.
Ratchet didn’t answer at first, pulling out the other object he’d brought with him – light shield plating - and quickly reworking it into a temporary visor for Sideswipe, much more basic than First Aid’s, without its integrated medical functions and scanning capabilities, but of the same general format.
“There,” he said, as he fitted it to Sideswipe’s helm. “You match.” Sideswipe felt the difference almost immediately, faint discomfort he hadn’t even realized was there fading as his optics adjusted, only slightly darker than the already-dimmed lighting, but it would stay at that level even when the lights were back to full strength.
“You’ll need to wear it for at least the next three orns, to give your optics time to recover.” Sideswipe felt the tingle of Ratchet’s medical scans. “I think Aid caught it in time so there won’t be any permanent damage, but I want to see you next cycle in the medbay and we'll get some mag-wave treatments started.”
Ratchet settled back next to them on the berth, brushing a hand gently over First Aid’s helm. “I'm not sure where to begin,” he said, looking down at his assistant with a pensive expression. “First Aid has always been…resilient, but it’s a bit of a miracle that he is…the way he is.” Not deactivated, Ratchet meant. Not completely glitched with grief. “You don’t remember, do you.”
Sideswipe gave him a puzzled look.
“You brought him back, when his brothers were deactivated. Or he came back for you. You and your brother. You saved one another. I’m not surprised you don’t remember; you were both in pretty bad shape.”
“When was this?” Sideswipe asked, transferring his puzzled look to his brother as Sunstreaker went strangely still in the bond.
“The first time you showed up on my doorstep, with Sunstreaker here in the last stages of Cybonic Plague and you in scarcely better shape. Luckily for you both, we had a cure.” Ratchet let out a small sigh through his vents, looking down at his recharging assistant. “Thanks to Aid and his brothers. They developed an anti-virus, and just in time.”
Sunstreaker lifted his optic ridges in surprise and Sideswipe said, “Wait, First Aid cured Cybonic Plague?" He'd always assumed it was Perceptor. "Why doesn’t anyone know about this? He's a hero, he should be...famous, or something." Not hiding away, overlooked in the Ark’s medbay.
“It was the one thing he asked of us, after his brothers were lost. To be left...alone. Not that we’ve let him get away with it entirely, but...'hero' would be a heavy burden to bear, on top of everything else he carries. I’m trusting you not to abuse this knowledge.” Ratchet gave them both a stern glare, and Sideswipe nodded reluctantly.
“He was there,” Sunstreaker said slowly, optic ridges drawn sharply together in concentration. Sideswipe could feel him reaching, dredging up an image from somewhere deep in his memory banks of First Aid gripping him, visor a bright streak of blue, saying something in a raw broken voice entirely unlike his usual soft tone. “I remember, a little. Sideswipe was dying. I was dying. We were...all of us, we were dying.”
Ratchet nodded, giving Sunstreaker a considering look. “Sideswipe was critically injured defending the medbay, and I was trying to stabilize him, but his spark was failing. We’d given you both the anti-virus, but it had been almost too late for you. You were barely clinging to life, but you woke up when Sideswipe started going downhill and were going to deactivate yourself trying to get to him. First Aid...had just lost his brothers. I thought he was already gone, or nearly so.”
“He found the cure for Cybonic Plague but was too late to save them?” Sideswipe conjectured, but Ratchet was shaking his head.
“No, they didn’t die of the plague. Some of the Protectobots were indeed infected, but they’d been treated with the anti-virus were showing signs of recovery. Aid...was captured. His jailer was…very ill, experiencing severe processor malfunctions. He'd actually survived the plague, but was experiencing one of the rarer complications. Thought Aid was a traitor, went after him with an electrowhip for information.” Ratchet sighed, deeply. “His brothers…went a little crazy, understandably, and tried to break him out, were captured in turn, sent to Moonbase One prison facility. On the way there the guards relented, and let the Protectobots take a shuttle back to Cybertron, but it was destroyed by one of Shockwave's experimental constructions. There was nothing left...we...” Ratchet’s voice faltered a little.
"I was too late, we were all too late. We didn't even have time to mourn them. I brought First Aid back, but his systems were shutting down even in deep stasis. The medbay was under attack and you were both dying, and then there he was. Awake. Holding Sunstreaker to life with his bare hands. You both stabilized. Reinforcements arrived. And First Aid went around repairing the wounded like..." Ratchet shook his head. "He asked Silverbolt to take him to a high place, to be alone, and I was sure he'd...but he didn't. He came back to us. I can't explain what happened, but you two were part of it, the reason he's still with us. So thank you." Ratchet smiled at them, sad but almost...fondly?
They both squirmed uncomfortably. Although Sideswipe would have given up his auxiliary weapons systems to have Ratchet look at him like that earlier, he didn't feel like he'd earned it. "For what?" Sideswipe muttered, "almost dying?"
Ratchet chuckled. "Among other things."
The cycle had been full of surprises. Apparently their lives had been previously entwined with First Aid not once, but twice.
//Three times// Sunstreaker sent. //Without him we'd both have died from the plague. We owe him, bro//
Sideswipe was silent, watching the recharging medic. Who could ever have imagined? He’d been through so much, but there he was, every cycle, cheerful and hardworking in the medbay, taking care of them all like…like that was all he’d ever wanted. And what had Sideswipe given in return? The twinge of guilt he’d been feeling ever since he’d watched Aid leaking out on the medbay floor returned fourfold.
Ratchet was checking First Aid's vitals again, and made a pleased sound. "His systems are stabilizing nicely. In fact, this is the deepest level of recharge I’ve seen him get to in a long time. Do you think you can stand this a while longer?”
“We’ll take care of him, Ratchet,” he said, feeling a strange determination well through him. He wouldn’t let anything else bad happen to First Aid, not while he was around. “We’ll stay with until he wakes up again, if that will help.” He felt Sunstreaker’s wordless agreement and was glad of it, felt a welling of gratitude for his twin’s supportive presence. The wall at his back.
“I can trust you two miscreants with him?” Ratchet asked, almost making a joke of it, but he was honestly asking as well. This isn’t a joke to you is it?
“Our word on it, Ratchet. We’ll watch over him.” That was Sunstreaker, meeting Ratchet’s gaze directly, holding it for a long time with his own serious blue glare.
“Very well then. My thanks. Again.” Ratchet gave them a quick smile and then got up from the berth with a faint creaking of servos, giving First Aid one last gentle pat. “I’ll be in the medbay, don’t hesitate to comm. if you need anything.”
Once Ratchet exited, with a soft swish of the door behind him, Sideswipe squirmed around a little more to get comfortable. He wasn’t quite ready to recharge yet, although the idea was starting to sound attractive. It was like guard duty, he decided. Boring, but he’d learned to let his processor drift while still keeping all his senses alert and active. And this wasn’t so bad, though it was worse for Sunstreaker. Close proximity like this wasn’t his thing, but he seemed to be coping well so far.
//I’m fine, Sides. I’ll go destroy something later//
Sideswipe smirked. That was Sunstreaker humor, his own particular brand. Only Sideswipe ever got to hear it though. His processor moved into a familiar circuit, if only Sunny would open up a little more, let out some of the humor and animation Sideswipe got to see, maybe then other mechs wouldn’t be so uneasy around him. Sunstreaker firmly ignored Sideswipe’s nudging. It was an old game.
Sunstreaker had powered down his optics and was resting, in the way he did sometimes, thinking nothing, suspended in their mind-space like a hovering cyberhawk. Sideswipe found himself watching his brother’s face. The shape of it, like something out of an old Cybertronian ballad, the fierceness there, subdued for now, like a banked forgefire. He hadn’t always been that way, Sideswipe knew. He didn’t remember details, those memories were before the dark places in his processor, and he didn’t know where to find them, but he knew Sunstreaker had once worn other expressions, long ago.
He shifted his gaze to First Aid’s face, with an effort. He’d always thought the medic a plain, boxy bot, built for utility and not much else, but he found now, especially with his face mask retracted, that First Aid...really wasn’t all that bad. There was a neatness there, in the curve of his lips and molding of his noseplates. Nothing fancy, but…not unappealing. His expression had relaxed from the distressed frown of earlier, and now there was the faintest sweet tilt to the ends of First Aid’s lips. Smiling, mysteriously, like he had a secret. What was the secret, Sideswipe wondered, his processor beginning to slide into recharge. Why was he smiling, after all he had been through?
Sideswipe drifted, First Aid's smile becoming Defensor's, although the combiner had not been smiling when he had lifted Sideswipe from his cell. Sideswipe had been more than half-mad then, separated from Sunstreaker for who knows how many vorns, but he remembered Defensor's face...
~~~~~~~
Just like that, he was free. Chained in his cell, powered down to a bare minimum of awareness to conserve fuel, Sideswipe had heard the commotion, explosions, sounds of battle, and had not even cared. A change of overseers, a bit of new variety for the torment was all it meant, or maybe a quick deactivation. He would have hoped for the last, if he could remember how to hope any more. There was a vast creaking groan, the walls shuddered, and light flooded his optics, making him wince. It really wasn’t all that bright, just the normal glow of Cybertron in waking cycle, but in comparison to the dim gloom of the underchambers it was blinding.
Some vast shadow loomed over him, blocking the light again, making him press his back against the harsh broken wall of the back of his cell (he knew every crag, every dent in that wall, memorized, how long had he been here? how long how long). Something…something lifted the chains binding him, carefully and precisely, and with a faint crunch they were crushed, the stasis cuffs falling away as they lost power. Hand. That was a hand, as big as his head, attached to an arm and beyond…Sideswipe tilted his head back, astonished beyond alarm. All he felt was a strange sort of calm as the massive hand was joined by another, gently cupped between them he was lifted out, above (below him the roofless wall of his cell, all the others all in a row all in a row and here we go, oh Primus, here we go).
Gestalt, he thought in awe, seeing the great helm, the large deep optics. This was a gestalt being. He had never seen one, but he had felt the ground tremble, seen the damage after Menosaur had decided to throw a temper tantrum in the gladiator pits long ago. This being could crush him with a careless thought, but he was handled as carefully and reverently as a vial of fine high grade at a tasting party in the Towers.
The hand stayed near him for support as he was set on the ground. He wavered and then remembered what balance was, that he had two feet and that he could stand on them.
“Wait here a moment, please. You'll be safe, and you need medical attention,” the gestalt being said, his voice deep, but not heavy – it rumbled lightly in his audios, made gentle by kindness. "I am Defensor. What is your name?" Sideswipe didn’t answer. He was out of the cell. He could move now, no stasis cuffs. He could find…yellow. His other half. His processor gave him a face, a shape and a color, but not a name. Only a relentless aching drive to FIND him, be whole again. It had been so long. He turned, like a compass needle…there. That way. Sideswipe ran, ignoring the pain as he forced stiff joints and struts into motion. He ran until there was something solid and unyielding in his way. He flung himself over and over again at the wall, door, gate, whatever it was. It didn’t even tremble under the impact.
The massive hand was back, holding him. Sideswipe yelled in frustration, grabbing one of the fingers and alternately yanking and pushing, trying to force his way out.
“You’re hurting yourself, please stop.”
“GO! Let me…out. Now.” It was hard to remember how to talk. Like a reasoning being. He hadn’t had occasion to do more than scream, yell taunts, for so long.
“Why do you need in there?”
“HIM. He’s in there. Let…let me-” Sideswipe struggled futilely.
“Who? Who’s in there?”
“Brother. My…” Sideswipe lost words, snarled incoherently. The gestalt’s optics flared brightly with some emotion. The hand released him suddenly and he was free again. But blocked. Blocked from his goal. A giant leg as the gestalt knelt, examining the structure in front of him.
“I can’t get in there without bringing it down; the whole building is unstable. But here-” The voice, the words, Sideswipe forced himself to listen long enough to understand them. There was a groan of stressed metal and then a sharp crack. The gestalt lifted something…door…over his head and laid it on the ground.
“Be careful. I’ll wait for you.” The gestalt stood again, watching Sideswipe with an intent expression that made him shift nervously, before he darted into the now-open entry to the gladiator holding cells.
It was dim again, inside. His optics took bare kliks to readjust as he moved, following the tug on his spark unerringly. The walls were rusted, the floor littered with unspeakable debris. It had looked different, when it had been his home. It had been always been rough, but it had not been this terrible before. There should have been guards, but he met no one until he reached the holding cells. One, dangerous looking. Pulse rifle aimed. The guards used to be their friends, but not anymore. Sideswipe charged, straight into the line of fire. He tore the rifle out of the guard’s grasp, wedged it into a gap of the armor and fired and then ran. Forward. Up and Forward. There. THERE. Close close close so close. There were several mechs in the holding cell. Sideswipe got the door open, he didn’t remember how. Nothing was going to stop him now, not so close, it had been so long so long but he knew, he remembered…yellow. He was looking for a yellow mech, but none of these were…there? No. The pale blue mech, maybe-yellow in the dimness, looked away uneasily from Sideswipe’s not-quite-sane gaze. The mechs in the holding cell were hardened fighters, all of them, but they were frozen as Sideswipe stalked about with the rifle, not daring to move.
He was drawn to the corner, the tugging in his spark leading him there. The mech leaning there was gray though, not yellow. There was a space around him, a distance from the other fighters in the cell. Sideswipe paused in front of him and icy blue optics brightened, glaring, hot, or cold, perhaps. It was hard to tell. The mech grinned, baring sharpened denta.
“Kill you,” the not-yellow mech said, deep and growling.
“You,” Sideswipe answered, also growling. “You.”
He moved closer and the mech’s hands rose and locked around his throat. The sharp talons were gentle against the thin armor there, in anticipation, not tenderness.
“You. You are mine.” Sideswipe pressed forward. The talons dug deeper, he strained until their chestplates brushed together, his hands rose around the other’s throat in turn, stroking.
“Ha.” The other smiled, like death descending. “I am Weapon. You die.”
“Mine. Mine.” Sideswipe pressed forward, insistent, the siren call in his spark maddening, the pressure on his throat cables rising to agony. THERE, he was right there. Brother. Sunstreaker.
“Sunstreaker. You.” His vocalizer was glitching, but he forced the words out through static.
“Weapon. I am Weapon.” The pressure increased yet again. There was something trickling down his neck. Everything went white, then dark.
“Sunstreaker.” He pulled with his hands, wrapped around other neck, giving him leverage to pull himself closer and the talons sank deeper and that was ok, they would be one. “Sunstreaker.” His voice was failing. “Sun…”
Time had passed. He wasn’t sure how much time, he only knew that now he was on the floor when before he had been standing. His neck screamed hot fire at him when he moved. Images had been starting to form, but they fizzled out again with the pain, then slowly coalesced. Blue optics, staring at him. Sunstreaker, crouched nearby like a brooding statue, an ancient relic of Old Cybertron. His spark leapt. Sunstreaker stared, unblinking.
“Sunstreaker,” he croaked, rolling weakly to his side and struggling until his arms obeyed him, levered him up to sitting. He dragged himself closer, but paused, as something in those optics cried warning. He could feel it though, that other spark, singing to him. He almost wept at the torment, so close, just out of reach.
“I am Weapon,” the other said, voice almost as hoarse as his own.
“No. You are Sunstreaker.” Yellow. He was supposed to be yellow. There was not much that Sideswipe was certain of any more, but that he knew. The other, his brother, his armor…Sideswipe’s optics were suddenly fully focused. Score marks, slashes from talons, near misses from pulse rifles, shock weapons, electrowhips, like the surface of a pounding anvil in a forge. No color nanites left. He reached out to touch.
“Kill you,” the other warned, but it sounded almost cheerful this time. Sideswipe touched. Sunstreaker bared his teeth again in that deadly grin. “Watch it,” he warned. “Watch out, or you’re dead. Rip your spark out,” he crooned, but did not move as Sideswipe lifted his arm. “Rip it right out.”
Sideswipe slowly rotated the arm. There. On the inside, shielded from harm. Yellow.
“Sunstreaker,” he said. The other spark was pulsing now, he could feel it, fast fast fast in his own spark, making a staccato rhythm to his thoughts. You are mine and I am yours, we are together and parts of the whole, always at my side, I am always at your side, I watch your back, remember? We are one, we are two, we are together, I found you, at last…
Sunstreaker went still, watching Sideswipe’s face. //I see it//
Sideswipe shuddered, as the bond between them opened, like a cracking energon line, leaking slowly at first and then pulsing wider, harder, unstoppable now.
//I see it// Sunstreaker thought again, and though the words were cryptic Sideswipe understood, felt the meaning under the words forming in the very core of his spark. Sunstreaker saw the yellow bit of armor, small and bright, even in the dimness, hidden under his arm. Not with his optics. He could see it in Sideswipe’s mind.
//You are Sunstreaker//
//I am…//
//Sunstreaker//
//Sunstreaker//
//Brother//
//…yes// Sunstreaker’s thought was faint, almost despair, almost hope. Sideswipe gripped him tightly, arm and mind.
//Come. Come out of this place//
Sideswipe stood, staggering. Sunstreaker moved back, away, out of reach, but his mind stayed near and so Sideswipe did not protest. He moved forward and the other followed. The holding cell was empty, but Sideswipe did not pause to wonder where the rest had gone. No one else mattered.
//Sideswipe?// The thought came from behind him, tentative and triumphant all at once.
//Yes!// Joy leapt through Sideswipe, startling. It felt like pain, at first, until he realized what it was.
“You look different,” Sunstreaker said aloud, his voice like rough shards of steel. Sideswipe felt a grim sort of amusement through the bond, the emotion both familiar and changed, all at once, like so many things seemed to be now. Every emotion, every sensation, had become a paradox, he wasn’t sure when.
“I look different? You’re the one with the missing paint job,” he snorted. The grim amusement sharpened, he heard a husk of sound that might have been a chuckle from behind him.
“Not for long.” A low growl, death and promises. They stepped in time. Binary star system, their sparks in orbit – wobbly as yet, but stabilizing.
No one stopped them. They went through the hole that was once a door, into the light. The combiner was waiting, optics narrowed in concern. Ah yes, Sideswipe remembered. Defensor. He had promised to wait. Sunstreaker bristled behind him.
“You have him? Your brother?” the gestalt asked. If they ran, this creature could outpace them with one mighty step.
Sideswipe nodded. "Yes." They had no weapons other than the pulse rifle he had taken from the guard, no supplies, but they were together. Nothing would separate them again, not even a gestalt with an…Autobot logo. Oh yes, he had heard tales of the Autobots, none of them good.
“Over by that tower, we have medical aid. Let me take you there.”
Sideswipe shook his head, backing away slightly, his brother (his brother) matching him, moving in tandem. The gestalt looked around his feet carefully first (so he won’t step on anyone! One corner of Sideswipe’s mind was giggling in completely irrational hysteria. He’s worried he might step on someone, nearly three spans tall and he’s trying to be careful…for some reason this was unbelievable, hilarious. He felt Sunstreaker’s puzzlement at his response) and then crouched down in front of Sideswipe.
“We’ll not keep you, or ask anything else of you. You’ll be free to go after you’ve been treated, I promise. Your brother needs help, you need help,” the gestalt said gently, hands moving towards them ever so slightly, just enough to be an invitation, not so much Sideswipe worried about being grabbed. The genuine kindness in those optics unnerved him more than anything else so far. There was a trap here, there had to be; he just couldn’t see it.
“Hey, big guy, we need you over here!” a black-armored mech waved from the next building. “We’ve got mechs trapped.”
Sideswipe took advantage of the opportunity, running as fast as he could the other way, not a backward glance, on legs that should be wavery, but weren’t. He felt strong and swift, with his brother, whole again, he could think again. It was almost like being alive, he thought, and it all made perfect sense. Sunstreaker outpaced him, seeming to know where he was going. A mech moved in their direction, friend or foe, Sideswipe wasn’t sure, but Sunstreaker didn’t hesitate, veering suddenly with intent to kill.
//NO!// Sideswipe sent, a shout of reflex.
//Suit yourself// Sunstreaker veered back to his previous path. His mind was dark, inscrutable. It frightened Sideswipe, a little. His own mind frightened Sideswipe, quite a lot. The mech, another Autobot, blinked bemusedly at them as they went by, a touch of fear in his gaze. Sideswipe caught up, they jogged, same pace, trading feral grins. Bound to one another once again, they needed no one but themselves. They were free.
This entry was originally posted at http://playswithworms.dreamwidth.org/150531.html. Please comment wherever you wish.
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, First Aid, Ratchet
Universe: Protectobot Beginnings AU
Rating: K+
Word Count: 4996
Warnings: some violence in this one, including some twin-on-twin violence in what essentially amounts to self-harm.
Summary: While on First Aid snuggle-duty, Sideswipe remembers some of the not-so-good days.
“His back feels…weird,” Sideswipe said after awhile.
“Weird?”
“It’s all…rippled or something.”
Sunstreaker reached so he could run a hand over First Aid’s back armor. “Something did a number on him. Disrupter cannon blast he was talking about, maybe?”
“And these…” Sideswipe’s hand moved a little higher.
“Electrowhip scars…” Sunstreaker’s optic ridges drew together in a frown. They knew about those. “Who the slag would…” His optics met his brother’s in mutual outrage.
"Maybe that happened, when...you know. He lost them."
First Aid stirred, a slight frown on his faceplates, and Sideswipe resumed his back rubbing. He was uncharacteristically quiet for a long time, and Sunstreaker took the opportunity to offline his optics.
“Sunny?” Sideswipe broke the silence finally.
“Yeah, wiseaft?” Sunstreaker replied with no real force.
“Don’t ever leave, ok?” Sunstreaker looked over in surprise at the slight waver in his twin’s voice. They locked optics for several sparkbeats, and then Sunstreaker wordlessly enveloped his counterpart in the reassuring equivalent of a warm bear hug through their bond. Optimus had promised not to separate them, when they had joined the Autobots. Sideswipe believed him, to the core of his spark, but...First Aid was a stark reminder. Things could happen.
//Never bro. You found me, remember? Anywhere we go it will be together. Always. Got it?//
After awhile Sideswipe nodded, letting himself lean against their bond, the bright presence that was his brother surrounding him.
//Got it//
First Aid sighed again, murmuring something they didn’t quite understand, shifting slightly to tuck both of his hands up under his chin. There were a few more moments of silence.
“I’m not going to rub your back though,” Sunstreaker said.
“Sunny?”
“Yeah?”
“Upload this.” Sideswipe paused in his back rubbing to make a “Go to Pit” sign. Sunstreaker glared at him like a ruffled turbofalcon, ready to strike, but Sideswipe indicated the now peaceful medic between them.
“Aah ah ah. No fighting.”
Sunstreaker subsided, grumbling.
“Sunny?”
“What now,” Sunstreaker groaned.
“I’m bored.”
Sunstreaker was saved a reply by Ratchet, returning from the medbay.
//Thank Primus// Sunstreaker thought. Sideswipe snickered.
“He’s still out?” Ratchet asked rhetorically as he settled on the edge of the berth and readied a syringe. “Good.”
“How long do we have to stay like this?” Sideswipe asked, trying not to sound too petulant about it.
“This really bothers you guys, doesn’t it?” Ratchet asked, as he leaned over and opened a panel on First Aid’s arm. His mouthplates held the hint of a smile, suggesting that he found their discomfort amusing.
“Makes me…I don’t know. Twitchy.” Sideswipe said. Sunstreaker nodded.
“Twitchy,” Ratchet said, injecting the syringe-full of coolant into one of Aid’s coolant lines.
“My proximity alerts keep triggering, and I have to keep shutting them down. Normally when they go off this much it means I need to kill something.”
Ratchet raised his optic ridges at this but he kept silent.
“So yeah, twitchy.” Sidewipe wondered suddenly if that was something he shouldn’t have shared. Smooth move, give them more ammunition to regard he and Sunstreaker as not quite stable. This was Ratchet, though. They could trust Ratchet. And Optimus, and Ironhide. They could.
“What about you?” Ratchet asked Sunstreaker.
Sideswipe answered for his brother. “Oh he’s twitchier than I am, but he’s better at hiding it.”
Sunstreaker growled wordlessly.
"I'm...not sure I realized what I was asking of you," Ratchet said, with a touch of contrition in his expression. Realization rather than concern, and something in Sideswipe relaxed a little.
“Nah, it's ok, we can cope," Sideswipe shrugged one shoulder and changed the subject quickly. "Do gestalts really recharge like this? All crammed together?” Sideswipe asked curiously, not quite believing it was possible.
“They do indeed.” Ratchet snorted at some memory. “Makes it a slaggin’ pain whenever one of them gets hurt. Five of them, all together in the medbay, all wanting on the same berth. The Protectobots never gave me much trouble though, other than recharging on my floor all the time.” Ratchets optics softened as he looked at his assistant.
“And the two of you have been more trouble than both gestalts put together, I’ll have you know,” Ratchet looked at them both sternly, though there was a glint in his optics that might have been humor. “You should be very proud.”
Sideswipe was proud, as a matter of fact, but didn’t have a snappy reply handy. He was too busy trying to wrap his processor around the idea of First Aid, quiet, unremarkable, fade-into-the-background medbay assistant, being part of one of the only two Autobot gestalt teams. Though that explained Ratchet and Ironhide's protectiveness. They, along with Wheeljack and several other ‘bots had helped design the Protectobots, had probably been there from the time they were onlined. Like creators. Sideswipe assumed he and Sunny must have had creators, at some point, but he didn’t remember them, and Sunstreaker was always silent on the subject.
“He was really part of Defensor,” he said aloud.
Ratchet nodded. “He was. He’s not spoken of his brothers since they were lost. I’m surprised…well, maybe not. That it was you two he…started to speak of them, at any rate. I wish I knew if this is a good thing or not.” Ratchet sighed.
“How is it he’s still alive?” Sideswipe asked. That was the one great weakness of gestalts, and of all spark-linked mechs, the same as their strength – their deep connections to one another, so great that if one died the rest were likely to follow, or so rumor said. Sideswipe couldn’t imagine going on without Sunstreaker, didn’t want to imagine it. “What happened to his brothers? The songs never say. And why the slag does he have electrowhip scars on his back? He’s still a sparkling, for Primus’ sake,” he added indignantly.
Ratchet didn’t answer at first, pulling out the other object he’d brought with him – light shield plating - and quickly reworking it into a temporary visor for Sideswipe, much more basic than First Aid’s, without its integrated medical functions and scanning capabilities, but of the same general format.
“There,” he said, as he fitted it to Sideswipe’s helm. “You match.” Sideswipe felt the difference almost immediately, faint discomfort he hadn’t even realized was there fading as his optics adjusted, only slightly darker than the already-dimmed lighting, but it would stay at that level even when the lights were back to full strength.
“You’ll need to wear it for at least the next three orns, to give your optics time to recover.” Sideswipe felt the tingle of Ratchet’s medical scans. “I think Aid caught it in time so there won’t be any permanent damage, but I want to see you next cycle in the medbay and we'll get some mag-wave treatments started.”
Ratchet settled back next to them on the berth, brushing a hand gently over First Aid’s helm. “I'm not sure where to begin,” he said, looking down at his assistant with a pensive expression. “First Aid has always been…resilient, but it’s a bit of a miracle that he is…the way he is.” Not deactivated, Ratchet meant. Not completely glitched with grief. “You don’t remember, do you.”
Sideswipe gave him a puzzled look.
“You brought him back, when his brothers were deactivated. Or he came back for you. You and your brother. You saved one another. I’m not surprised you don’t remember; you were both in pretty bad shape.”
“When was this?” Sideswipe asked, transferring his puzzled look to his brother as Sunstreaker went strangely still in the bond.
“The first time you showed up on my doorstep, with Sunstreaker here in the last stages of Cybonic Plague and you in scarcely better shape. Luckily for you both, we had a cure.” Ratchet let out a small sigh through his vents, looking down at his recharging assistant. “Thanks to Aid and his brothers. They developed an anti-virus, and just in time.”
Sunstreaker lifted his optic ridges in surprise and Sideswipe said, “Wait, First Aid cured Cybonic Plague?" He'd always assumed it was Perceptor. "Why doesn’t anyone know about this? He's a hero, he should be...famous, or something." Not hiding away, overlooked in the Ark’s medbay.
“It was the one thing he asked of us, after his brothers were lost. To be left...alone. Not that we’ve let him get away with it entirely, but...'hero' would be a heavy burden to bear, on top of everything else he carries. I’m trusting you not to abuse this knowledge.” Ratchet gave them both a stern glare, and Sideswipe nodded reluctantly.
“He was there,” Sunstreaker said slowly, optic ridges drawn sharply together in concentration. Sideswipe could feel him reaching, dredging up an image from somewhere deep in his memory banks of First Aid gripping him, visor a bright streak of blue, saying something in a raw broken voice entirely unlike his usual soft tone. “I remember, a little. Sideswipe was dying. I was dying. We were...all of us, we were dying.”
Ratchet nodded, giving Sunstreaker a considering look. “Sideswipe was critically injured defending the medbay, and I was trying to stabilize him, but his spark was failing. We’d given you both the anti-virus, but it had been almost too late for you. You were barely clinging to life, but you woke up when Sideswipe started going downhill and were going to deactivate yourself trying to get to him. First Aid...had just lost his brothers. I thought he was already gone, or nearly so.”
“He found the cure for Cybonic Plague but was too late to save them?” Sideswipe conjectured, but Ratchet was shaking his head.
“No, they didn’t die of the plague. Some of the Protectobots were indeed infected, but they’d been treated with the anti-virus were showing signs of recovery. Aid...was captured. His jailer was…very ill, experiencing severe processor malfunctions. He'd actually survived the plague, but was experiencing one of the rarer complications. Thought Aid was a traitor, went after him with an electrowhip for information.” Ratchet sighed, deeply. “His brothers…went a little crazy, understandably, and tried to break him out, were captured in turn, sent to Moonbase One prison facility. On the way there the guards relented, and let the Protectobots take a shuttle back to Cybertron, but it was destroyed by one of Shockwave's experimental constructions. There was nothing left...we...” Ratchet’s voice faltered a little.
"I was too late, we were all too late. We didn't even have time to mourn them. I brought First Aid back, but his systems were shutting down even in deep stasis. The medbay was under attack and you were both dying, and then there he was. Awake. Holding Sunstreaker to life with his bare hands. You both stabilized. Reinforcements arrived. And First Aid went around repairing the wounded like..." Ratchet shook his head. "He asked Silverbolt to take him to a high place, to be alone, and I was sure he'd...but he didn't. He came back to us. I can't explain what happened, but you two were part of it, the reason he's still with us. So thank you." Ratchet smiled at them, sad but almost...fondly?
They both squirmed uncomfortably. Although Sideswipe would have given up his auxiliary weapons systems to have Ratchet look at him like that earlier, he didn't feel like he'd earned it. "For what?" Sideswipe muttered, "almost dying?"
Ratchet chuckled. "Among other things."
The cycle had been full of surprises. Apparently their lives had been previously entwined with First Aid not once, but twice.
//Three times// Sunstreaker sent. //Without him we'd both have died from the plague. We owe him, bro//
Sideswipe was silent, watching the recharging medic. Who could ever have imagined? He’d been through so much, but there he was, every cycle, cheerful and hardworking in the medbay, taking care of them all like…like that was all he’d ever wanted. And what had Sideswipe given in return? The twinge of guilt he’d been feeling ever since he’d watched Aid leaking out on the medbay floor returned fourfold.
Ratchet was checking First Aid's vitals again, and made a pleased sound. "His systems are stabilizing nicely. In fact, this is the deepest level of recharge I’ve seen him get to in a long time. Do you think you can stand this a while longer?”
“We’ll take care of him, Ratchet,” he said, feeling a strange determination well through him. He wouldn’t let anything else bad happen to First Aid, not while he was around. “We’ll stay with until he wakes up again, if that will help.” He felt Sunstreaker’s wordless agreement and was glad of it, felt a welling of gratitude for his twin’s supportive presence. The wall at his back.
“I can trust you two miscreants with him?” Ratchet asked, almost making a joke of it, but he was honestly asking as well. This isn’t a joke to you is it?
“Our word on it, Ratchet. We’ll watch over him.” That was Sunstreaker, meeting Ratchet’s gaze directly, holding it for a long time with his own serious blue glare.
“Very well then. My thanks. Again.” Ratchet gave them a quick smile and then got up from the berth with a faint creaking of servos, giving First Aid one last gentle pat. “I’ll be in the medbay, don’t hesitate to comm. if you need anything.”
Once Ratchet exited, with a soft swish of the door behind him, Sideswipe squirmed around a little more to get comfortable. He wasn’t quite ready to recharge yet, although the idea was starting to sound attractive. It was like guard duty, he decided. Boring, but he’d learned to let his processor drift while still keeping all his senses alert and active. And this wasn’t so bad, though it was worse for Sunstreaker. Close proximity like this wasn’t his thing, but he seemed to be coping well so far.
//I’m fine, Sides. I’ll go destroy something later//
Sideswipe smirked. That was Sunstreaker humor, his own particular brand. Only Sideswipe ever got to hear it though. His processor moved into a familiar circuit, if only Sunny would open up a little more, let out some of the humor and animation Sideswipe got to see, maybe then other mechs wouldn’t be so uneasy around him. Sunstreaker firmly ignored Sideswipe’s nudging. It was an old game.
Sunstreaker had powered down his optics and was resting, in the way he did sometimes, thinking nothing, suspended in their mind-space like a hovering cyberhawk. Sideswipe found himself watching his brother’s face. The shape of it, like something out of an old Cybertronian ballad, the fierceness there, subdued for now, like a banked forgefire. He hadn’t always been that way, Sideswipe knew. He didn’t remember details, those memories were before the dark places in his processor, and he didn’t know where to find them, but he knew Sunstreaker had once worn other expressions, long ago.
He shifted his gaze to First Aid’s face, with an effort. He’d always thought the medic a plain, boxy bot, built for utility and not much else, but he found now, especially with his face mask retracted, that First Aid...really wasn’t all that bad. There was a neatness there, in the curve of his lips and molding of his noseplates. Nothing fancy, but…not unappealing. His expression had relaxed from the distressed frown of earlier, and now there was the faintest sweet tilt to the ends of First Aid’s lips. Smiling, mysteriously, like he had a secret. What was the secret, Sideswipe wondered, his processor beginning to slide into recharge. Why was he smiling, after all he had been through?
Sideswipe drifted, First Aid's smile becoming Defensor's, although the combiner had not been smiling when he had lifted Sideswipe from his cell. Sideswipe had been more than half-mad then, separated from Sunstreaker for who knows how many vorns, but he remembered Defensor's face...
Just like that, he was free. Chained in his cell, powered down to a bare minimum of awareness to conserve fuel, Sideswipe had heard the commotion, explosions, sounds of battle, and had not even cared. A change of overseers, a bit of new variety for the torment was all it meant, or maybe a quick deactivation. He would have hoped for the last, if he could remember how to hope any more. There was a vast creaking groan, the walls shuddered, and light flooded his optics, making him wince. It really wasn’t all that bright, just the normal glow of Cybertron in waking cycle, but in comparison to the dim gloom of the underchambers it was blinding.
Some vast shadow loomed over him, blocking the light again, making him press his back against the harsh broken wall of the back of his cell (he knew every crag, every dent in that wall, memorized, how long had he been here? how long how long). Something…something lifted the chains binding him, carefully and precisely, and with a faint crunch they were crushed, the stasis cuffs falling away as they lost power. Hand. That was a hand, as big as his head, attached to an arm and beyond…Sideswipe tilted his head back, astonished beyond alarm. All he felt was a strange sort of calm as the massive hand was joined by another, gently cupped between them he was lifted out, above (below him the roofless wall of his cell, all the others all in a row all in a row and here we go, oh Primus, here we go).
Gestalt, he thought in awe, seeing the great helm, the large deep optics. This was a gestalt being. He had never seen one, but he had felt the ground tremble, seen the damage after Menosaur had decided to throw a temper tantrum in the gladiator pits long ago. This being could crush him with a careless thought, but he was handled as carefully and reverently as a vial of fine high grade at a tasting party in the Towers.
The hand stayed near him for support as he was set on the ground. He wavered and then remembered what balance was, that he had two feet and that he could stand on them.
“Wait here a moment, please. You'll be safe, and you need medical attention,” the gestalt being said, his voice deep, but not heavy – it rumbled lightly in his audios, made gentle by kindness. "I am Defensor. What is your name?" Sideswipe didn’t answer. He was out of the cell. He could move now, no stasis cuffs. He could find…yellow. His other half. His processor gave him a face, a shape and a color, but not a name. Only a relentless aching drive to FIND him, be whole again. It had been so long. He turned, like a compass needle…there. That way. Sideswipe ran, ignoring the pain as he forced stiff joints and struts into motion. He ran until there was something solid and unyielding in his way. He flung himself over and over again at the wall, door, gate, whatever it was. It didn’t even tremble under the impact.
The massive hand was back, holding him. Sideswipe yelled in frustration, grabbing one of the fingers and alternately yanking and pushing, trying to force his way out.
“You’re hurting yourself, please stop.”
“GO! Let me…out. Now.” It was hard to remember how to talk. Like a reasoning being. He hadn’t had occasion to do more than scream, yell taunts, for so long.
“Why do you need in there?”
“HIM. He’s in there. Let…let me-” Sideswipe struggled futilely.
“Who? Who’s in there?”
“Brother. My…” Sideswipe lost words, snarled incoherently. The gestalt’s optics flared brightly with some emotion. The hand released him suddenly and he was free again. But blocked. Blocked from his goal. A giant leg as the gestalt knelt, examining the structure in front of him.
“I can’t get in there without bringing it down; the whole building is unstable. But here-” The voice, the words, Sideswipe forced himself to listen long enough to understand them. There was a groan of stressed metal and then a sharp crack. The gestalt lifted something…door…over his head and laid it on the ground.
“Be careful. I’ll wait for you.” The gestalt stood again, watching Sideswipe with an intent expression that made him shift nervously, before he darted into the now-open entry to the gladiator holding cells.
It was dim again, inside. His optics took bare kliks to readjust as he moved, following the tug on his spark unerringly. The walls were rusted, the floor littered with unspeakable debris. It had looked different, when it had been his home. It had been always been rough, but it had not been this terrible before. There should have been guards, but he met no one until he reached the holding cells. One, dangerous looking. Pulse rifle aimed. The guards used to be their friends, but not anymore. Sideswipe charged, straight into the line of fire. He tore the rifle out of the guard’s grasp, wedged it into a gap of the armor and fired and then ran. Forward. Up and Forward. There. THERE. Close close close so close. There were several mechs in the holding cell. Sideswipe got the door open, he didn’t remember how. Nothing was going to stop him now, not so close, it had been so long so long but he knew, he remembered…yellow. He was looking for a yellow mech, but none of these were…there? No. The pale blue mech, maybe-yellow in the dimness, looked away uneasily from Sideswipe’s not-quite-sane gaze. The mechs in the holding cell were hardened fighters, all of them, but they were frozen as Sideswipe stalked about with the rifle, not daring to move.
He was drawn to the corner, the tugging in his spark leading him there. The mech leaning there was gray though, not yellow. There was a space around him, a distance from the other fighters in the cell. Sideswipe paused in front of him and icy blue optics brightened, glaring, hot, or cold, perhaps. It was hard to tell. The mech grinned, baring sharpened denta.
“Kill you,” the not-yellow mech said, deep and growling.
“You,” Sideswipe answered, also growling. “You.”
He moved closer and the mech’s hands rose and locked around his throat. The sharp talons were gentle against the thin armor there, in anticipation, not tenderness.
“You. You are mine.” Sideswipe pressed forward. The talons dug deeper, he strained until their chestplates brushed together, his hands rose around the other’s throat in turn, stroking.
“Ha.” The other smiled, like death descending. “I am Weapon. You die.”
“Mine. Mine.” Sideswipe pressed forward, insistent, the siren call in his spark maddening, the pressure on his throat cables rising to agony. THERE, he was right there. Brother. Sunstreaker.
“Sunstreaker. You.” His vocalizer was glitching, but he forced the words out through static.
“Weapon. I am Weapon.” The pressure increased yet again. There was something trickling down his neck. Everything went white, then dark.
“Sunstreaker.” He pulled with his hands, wrapped around other neck, giving him leverage to pull himself closer and the talons sank deeper and that was ok, they would be one. “Sunstreaker.” His voice was failing. “Sun…”
Time had passed. He wasn’t sure how much time, he only knew that now he was on the floor when before he had been standing. His neck screamed hot fire at him when he moved. Images had been starting to form, but they fizzled out again with the pain, then slowly coalesced. Blue optics, staring at him. Sunstreaker, crouched nearby like a brooding statue, an ancient relic of Old Cybertron. His spark leapt. Sunstreaker stared, unblinking.
“Sunstreaker,” he croaked, rolling weakly to his side and struggling until his arms obeyed him, levered him up to sitting. He dragged himself closer, but paused, as something in those optics cried warning. He could feel it though, that other spark, singing to him. He almost wept at the torment, so close, just out of reach.
“I am Weapon,” the other said, voice almost as hoarse as his own.
“No. You are Sunstreaker.” Yellow. He was supposed to be yellow. There was not much that Sideswipe was certain of any more, but that he knew. The other, his brother, his armor…Sideswipe’s optics were suddenly fully focused. Score marks, slashes from talons, near misses from pulse rifles, shock weapons, electrowhips, like the surface of a pounding anvil in a forge. No color nanites left. He reached out to touch.
“Kill you,” the other warned, but it sounded almost cheerful this time. Sideswipe touched. Sunstreaker bared his teeth again in that deadly grin. “Watch it,” he warned. “Watch out, or you’re dead. Rip your spark out,” he crooned, but did not move as Sideswipe lifted his arm. “Rip it right out.”
Sideswipe slowly rotated the arm. There. On the inside, shielded from harm. Yellow.
“Sunstreaker,” he said. The other spark was pulsing now, he could feel it, fast fast fast in his own spark, making a staccato rhythm to his thoughts. You are mine and I am yours, we are together and parts of the whole, always at my side, I am always at your side, I watch your back, remember? We are one, we are two, we are together, I found you, at last…
Sunstreaker went still, watching Sideswipe’s face. //I see it//
Sideswipe shuddered, as the bond between them opened, like a cracking energon line, leaking slowly at first and then pulsing wider, harder, unstoppable now.
//I see it// Sunstreaker thought again, and though the words were cryptic Sideswipe understood, felt the meaning under the words forming in the very core of his spark. Sunstreaker saw the yellow bit of armor, small and bright, even in the dimness, hidden under his arm. Not with his optics. He could see it in Sideswipe’s mind.
//You are Sunstreaker//
//I am…//
//Sunstreaker//
//Sunstreaker//
//Brother//
//…yes// Sunstreaker’s thought was faint, almost despair, almost hope. Sideswipe gripped him tightly, arm and mind.
//Come. Come out of this place//
Sideswipe stood, staggering. Sunstreaker moved back, away, out of reach, but his mind stayed near and so Sideswipe did not protest. He moved forward and the other followed. The holding cell was empty, but Sideswipe did not pause to wonder where the rest had gone. No one else mattered.
//Sideswipe?// The thought came from behind him, tentative and triumphant all at once.
//Yes!// Joy leapt through Sideswipe, startling. It felt like pain, at first, until he realized what it was.
“You look different,” Sunstreaker said aloud, his voice like rough shards of steel. Sideswipe felt a grim sort of amusement through the bond, the emotion both familiar and changed, all at once, like so many things seemed to be now. Every emotion, every sensation, had become a paradox, he wasn’t sure when.
“I look different? You’re the one with the missing paint job,” he snorted. The grim amusement sharpened, he heard a husk of sound that might have been a chuckle from behind him.
“Not for long.” A low growl, death and promises. They stepped in time. Binary star system, their sparks in orbit – wobbly as yet, but stabilizing.
No one stopped them. They went through the hole that was once a door, into the light. The combiner was waiting, optics narrowed in concern. Ah yes, Sideswipe remembered. Defensor. He had promised to wait. Sunstreaker bristled behind him.
“You have him? Your brother?” the gestalt asked. If they ran, this creature could outpace them with one mighty step.
Sideswipe nodded. "Yes." They had no weapons other than the pulse rifle he had taken from the guard, no supplies, but they were together. Nothing would separate them again, not even a gestalt with an…Autobot logo. Oh yes, he had heard tales of the Autobots, none of them good.
“Over by that tower, we have medical aid. Let me take you there.”
Sideswipe shook his head, backing away slightly, his brother (his brother) matching him, moving in tandem. The gestalt looked around his feet carefully first (so he won’t step on anyone! One corner of Sideswipe’s mind was giggling in completely irrational hysteria. He’s worried he might step on someone, nearly three spans tall and he’s trying to be careful…for some reason this was unbelievable, hilarious. He felt Sunstreaker’s puzzlement at his response) and then crouched down in front of Sideswipe.
“We’ll not keep you, or ask anything else of you. You’ll be free to go after you’ve been treated, I promise. Your brother needs help, you need help,” the gestalt said gently, hands moving towards them ever so slightly, just enough to be an invitation, not so much Sideswipe worried about being grabbed. The genuine kindness in those optics unnerved him more than anything else so far. There was a trap here, there had to be; he just couldn’t see it.
“Hey, big guy, we need you over here!” a black-armored mech waved from the next building. “We’ve got mechs trapped.”
Sideswipe took advantage of the opportunity, running as fast as he could the other way, not a backward glance, on legs that should be wavery, but weren’t. He felt strong and swift, with his brother, whole again, he could think again. It was almost like being alive, he thought, and it all made perfect sense. Sunstreaker outpaced him, seeming to know where he was going. A mech moved in their direction, friend or foe, Sideswipe wasn’t sure, but Sunstreaker didn’t hesitate, veering suddenly with intent to kill.
//NO!// Sideswipe sent, a shout of reflex.
//Suit yourself// Sunstreaker veered back to his previous path. His mind was dark, inscrutable. It frightened Sideswipe, a little. His own mind frightened Sideswipe, quite a lot. The mech, another Autobot, blinked bemusedly at them as they went by, a touch of fear in his gaze. Sideswipe caught up, they jogged, same pace, trading feral grins. Bound to one another once again, they needed no one but themselves. They were free.
This entry was originally posted at http://playswithworms.dreamwidth.org/150531.html. Please comment wherever you wish.