And here is a person's theory in a story version of why they think Bluestreak's name is so, despite the lack of blue on his armor. I know that his name comes from his personality and how he tends to "talk a blue streak", an old saying describing that a person likes to talk a lot, but I still find it a bit weird how his armor color didn't match his name. I know now why he was called that, but I was thinking if some people, including me, didn't know the truth behind his name, then who's to say some of the bots don't know either.

I've seen a couple fics lately showing Prowl and Bluestreak's bond with one another as brotherly and platonically, so I decided I wanted to do one as well.

I own nothing. G1 Transformers and all its content belong to their respectful owners. I don't own the cover image either.

Warning: platonic, brotherly fluff! You have been warned.

Enjoy the story!

"Hey Bluestreak. How come you don't have any blue on you?"

What was meant to be a simple question had turned out to be way more than that. It was an innocent question, yet it sent an emotional shudder straight through the sniper's frame. What was a frank, honestly unknowingly question had sent him racing out of the rec room nearly in tears, abandoning the card game he was in and ignoring the surprised calls of his name while he zoomed down the hallway. He didn't stop once until he had reached his dorm which he shared with several other Autobots, empty as of right now.

When he had successfully made it into his room, he shut and locked the door behind him and fell down onto his chassis on the berth, covering his helm with his arms and allowing himself to cry in the dark. He shivered, sending vibrations all throughout his fame and his air intakes came out ragged with sobs. Despite it being rather warm in temperature in the dorm, he felt icy cold.

He kept shaking his head against his servos as the streams of coolant dripped down from his optics and streamed down his faceplates. His denta kept whispering out quiet, almost inaudible, words.

'C'mon Blue'. He didn't know. He didn't know. It was an honest mistake. It's been so many stellar cycles, you've grown up a lot since that. This shouldn't bother you, it really shouldn't. It's been so long since you've thought about that, since you've thought about them. You need to get over it, just try those intake practices you've been working on. Air intake, air outtake. Air intake, air outtake. Air in-'

The sniper flinched and stopped in the middle of his intake when he heard the sound of knocking just outside his door. He whimpered and drew up his legs up tp his chassis without even realizing it. He tried to calm his cooling fans, hoping that maybe, just maybe, no one would realize that he was in h-

"Bluestreak."

His wings twitched as the sound of his guardian and adoptive older brother from behind the door. He shuddered, but tried to remain silent, hoping that maybe, just maybe that he wouldn't be found here. Of course the door was locked and it could only be opened from the inside.

Then again, Prowl had a special card that bypassed any security codes in every door. And sure enough, with whoosh, the door slid opened and the white and black police car stood stoically before him. His optics hovered over the room before landing on him, huddled on his berth next to the corner. The older bot's normal stern and monotone expression quickly shifted to something close to remorse and he walked in, shutting and locking the door behind him as he made his way over to him.

He sat down as Bluestreak turned onto his other side, facing towards the wall and away from the SIC. He heard Prowl sigh and he flinched when he felt a servo touch his shoulder. His helm tipped slightly back to see a bit of the older Autobot.

"Mind telling me why you ran unexpectedly out of the rec room and into your own, Bluestreak," he asked quietly. The sniper said nothing but tried to curl himself into a ball further. He then suddenly flinched again, but then leaned in and purred when he felt a cool, almost soft servo plant itself on his helm and stroke it gently. The Praxian could not uphold his curled form no longer and stretched out more as he relaxed under the soothing touch. His eyes the widened in shock and annoyance after the servo removed himself and he realized what the older bot had caused him to do. Huffing in defeat, he turned onto his other side and made optic contact with him.

The two didn't say a word, just staring into each other's optics, waiting for the other to start first. Bluestreak soon found himself feeling uncomfortable over the hard, yet concerned stare of his adopted, older brother. Finally, after not even half a minute of silence, he blinked and shuddered, looking down in defeat.

"It's... nothing Prowl, really. Just that the question brought up...," he shuddered again, "bad memories."

His vocalizer started vibrating again as the strokes returned, servos moving up and down his doorwings. Prowl came closer and adjusted their positions so Bluestreak was laying his helm in his lap, purring contently like a cat. Praxians were known for having sensitive nerves in their doorwings, meaning that if one were to pet them gently it would bring bliss to the owner, while if someone say hit or even flicked at them it could cause great pain and distress, and often aggression to the offender. Almost everyone on the Ark knew that and were careful around the three Praxian Autobots that lived among them; Smokescreen, Bluestreak and Prowl.

Prowl's servo stopped petting Bluestreak's wings and went to rest on the sniper's helm when he heard a shudder escape the younger's vocalizer and felt his frame shiver. His digits curve on this brother's helm while him thumb stroked it softly. Another sob escaped Bluestreak's chassis. His servo came quickly up to his face to wipe the embarrassing coolant tears coming down from his optics, when his wrist was suddenly caught by a firm, tight hand.

Bluestreak's face turned up and his optics met with the concerned face of his adopted, older brother. Prowl was known for keeping a straight face, even in times where it seemed the world was ending or the entire universe was collapsing around him. Heck, bots had seen him not even flinch when shots were fired at him on the battlefield. But now there wasn't any battles happening right now, no Decepticons to stop right now and no collapsing world around him. It was the two of them, one sad, the other showing rarely-seen, genuine concern and worry on his faceplates.

Prowl's arms didn't hesitate to encircle and hold the Praxian tightly around his back as the younger suddenly reared up and flung his arms around Prowl's neck and shoulder and started crying into his chassis. One of Prowl's servos went up in-between his doorwings and calmly patted him soothingly up and down his back. It was just the two of them, there, all alone. No prying eyes to shield from, no strange, confused or humored looks, just the both of them, alone in the dark where they could be safe.

Eventually the number of coolant tears and sobs went down and Bluestreak sat up again, still close to Prowl though. He started to quickly wiping the streaks of blue, drying liquid on his face and taking short intakes, until Prowl provided a rag out of his subspace to aid in cleaning him up more.

"Thanks Prowl," Bluestreak said quietly as he used the soft cloth to remove the tear stains off his face. Prowl nodded in understanding and pointed out the uncomfortable areas on the sniper's face where the coolant was hardening and cracking.

"Would you like to explain it now," Prowl asked as the last parts of the shining blue liquid was removed from his face. His optics when downcast and another shudder escaped his vocalizer.

"If they were still here... if they were still here... they said I'd get my paint when I was older, when I just graduated to youngling status... then they came... they came and took everything away from me... it was so dark... I couldn't hear or see anyone." He then turned up to Prowl, a fresh set of glistening, unshed tears in his optics, ready to spill over. "Then the rubble lifted and you were there."

Prowl stared surprised at the soft, hopeful eyes of his adopted, younger brother. True he had found Bluestreak in the remains of a building in the destroyed city of Praxus and when the young bot had recovered a bit of the obvious trauma from the horrors he had seen he had recalled a bit of what he knew, but never before had he seen this much emotion directed towards him over the thankfulness he held for the older bot who had saved his spark from offlining. But here they both were now, an emotional Bluestreak silently thanking him, the so-proclaimed emotionless bot, for finding and giving him a second chance at living.

Without words, and now to Bluestreak's shock, Prowl suddenly leaned forward and wrapped his arms tightly around him again in a brotherly hug. Bluestreak's surprise hardly lasted a moment before he returned the embrace, shedding the tears of liquid pooled up in his optics, but now for an entirely different reason altogether.

My theory is that since his creators were destroyed in the destruction of Praxus when Bluestreak was just barely a youngling or a sparking, he never received a traditional blue streak of paint on his frame that is like a symbolic coming-of-age for his family/caste system. Thought if might be nice to give a reason, considering there have been times when I have asked or heard it being asked 'why doesn't Bluestreak have any blue on him if he isn't blue?'.

I think I like doing stories with brotherly fluff included because I like how they usually turn out and I like seeing platonic love between family members. Also I don't know that many sisterly platonic pairings to do. :D Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading my story. Please leave a review with some feedback and please feel free to check out some of my other stories. Sincerely, v.t.7