Protecting the Protector.
Chapter 1
The rec. room pulsed from the sheer force of the beat resonating from the speakers. Each hit of the bass sending a small cascade of dust from the corners of the crashed ships darkened passageways. The beat offset by the occasional counter thump as one of room's occupants fell or tried to dance, resonated through the ships hull. Sunstreaker huffed as the decibels increased exponentially with each step closer to the pandemonium filled area.
It was 3 in the Primus fragging morning.
The golden warrior had just returned from a double patrol, having covered Hounds so the annoyingly likeable mech could attend. The green mech probably being the only bot he would cover for, including his asinine brother. Mostly because he knew the Jeep would return the favor, no interest or threats required and he'd be happy about it.
Fragging pit spawned friendly, good slagging natured nut job.
He refused to like him, but it was difficult as times. The feeling of grime under his plates from having to run the scouts off road route instead of driving would provide him with ample amount of hate and loathing for the mech in the near future.
The cacophony paused momentarily then resumed with a bass hit that knocked leaves from his golden chassis. Were Blaster and Jazz playing music or conducting sonic warfare? Prowl typically pulled the plug on these things around 2, the mech not wanting the lingering effect of the high grade and lack of recharge to cloud those who had a shift in the morning and let those that didn't attend get some respite from the un holy noise Jazz and Blaster blared loud enough to topple any stalactites remaining in the area.
Stopping at the door to the shared wash racks the volatile twin growled at the vibrations he felt rising up through his feet. He just wanted to be clean, then get energon and some recharge, in that order. The audio destroying music would undoubtedly put a damper on the latter two. Mechs falling over each other in an overcharged stupor was never his preferred environment. Let alone with this motley crew. Tracks liked to play grab aft the more intoxicated he got until somebot took the hint and escorted him to their room. Trailbreaker loved everyone after 3 cubes, hugging any who ventured near during his proclamations of affection and Jazz liked to start slag. Whether it's drunken karaoke or pin the blame on the lambo's. Then there was the minibots, o' Primus below, the minibots.
He shuttered in remembered horror.
Palming open the door, the harsh overhead lights flared to life, revealing a huddled figure in the far corner. Stepping in, the door swished shut behind him, instantly dampening the thrum of music, but not lessening the vibrations of it, the grates under foot shivering from the continued assault. The frontliner made his way to his preferred rack and toggled the solvent on.
Mechs crawling in here to purge after a night of binge drinking wasn't uncommon. Some even ended up sleeping in here if one of their friends didn't come to drag them to their room.
He didn't care. Refused to care and didn't bother to ever register the mechs presence.
Clean, food, sleep, that's all he could muster himself to care about.
Not some drunk aft on the floor.
The warm solvent coursed over him, seeping into his armor gaps and washing away several hundred miles of road grime and several loops of on foot swamp navigation. Pulling his cleaner and a soft bristled brush from his subspace, Sunstreaker focused on getting the gunk out of his joints, and then swapped to a rag to clean his plating.
The gag and hacking of a system desperately trying to rid itself of energon over took the sound of solvent hitting his chassis. Growling at having his shower time disturbed, the yellow lambo turned just enough to the bowed mech to let a broad sweep of his field and optic glare proclaim his displeasure at the interruption.
The sounds came again, the dry hacking and little whine coupled with cooling fans franticly trying to lower the mechs temperature. An answering field sweep pinged a weak apology along with the unmistakable identifier of the field's owner.
"Prowl?"
"mmmHhhm."
The mech turned to look at him and sure enough a red chevron graced the forehead as lens cleaner pooled in the optics from the force behind the dry heaves. Doorwings laid flat against his back as the black and white heaved repeatedly. The tactician's whole body rose and fell with each effort. One arm wrapped around his middle just under his pronounced bumper, the other bracing against the vibrating grates. He sat awkwardly on his knees, pitched forward and every minuet shift caused the anti-slip grates to scratch into the contacting metal. The second in commands legs baring the testimony that he'd been at this for a while, the multitude of gouges and scrapes crisscrossed the appendages in a nonsensical pattern, some deep enough to ooze energon.
He didn't want to care.
Prowl was a big mech that could handle himself, and did, along with most of everything else concerning the Autobots and the war.
Sunstreaker knew he was glaring at the mech. He wasn't even clean yet, cleaner then before but there was still goo and leaves jammed into places he didn't want them. With a resigned huff he knelt next to his commander, making sure to not let his knee contact the floor.
"Need an assist?"
Ragged venting washed over him as Prowl shook his head, declining his offer.
Well he offered. Not that it mattered or anything.
Shrugging the whole thing off, he returned to his wash. Not stopping as the gagging returned and harsh venting echoed in the empty space. Finally clean to his level of expectations the golden mech turned the shower off. Stealing a glance at the relatively unchanged Datsun and noticing the face plates pinched in discomfort.
This wasn't his area.
He had asked if the mech wanted help and was declined, Sideswipe was the outgoing gregarious type who handled these situations. But his aft hat of a brother was thoroughly overcharged and kept sending warm pings through their bond, sometimes in time with the beat reverberating through the Ark.
Prowl shivered and let himself lean to the side, hitting the shower wall with a muted clank and sliding down so he lay pressed against it, one servo moving up to cushion his helm against the bite of the grates. Sunstreaker ran his freshly cleaned servo over his faceplates in surrender.
He wasn't helpful by nature, but he wasn't spark-less either.
"Come on Prowl, let's get you to the medbay."
He set his hand on the mechs shoulder, noting the black and white's temperature was higher then it should be.
"I… I'm fine Sunstreaker, bad cube is all, and it's almost out of my system."
There was no slurring of words, they were horse but then the mech had just spent the last few hours purging and now that he was contacting the mech, he couldn't feel the tell tail buzz in his EM field to indicate that he'd been overcharged.
So the mech really was just sick.
Primus really didn't want him to get any recharge. It was like the planets were aligning and if anybot bothered to read their upcoming horoscope it would say; beware of the golden god, for he is grumpy and will smite for minimal offence.
Or some slag like that.
"I'm still dragging your aft to medbay and if you purge on me, I will have to terminate you."
He crouched low, intending to get the troubled mech to his feet but Prowl flinched and leaned away from his touch.
"I haven't been able to curb the purging and I'd rather not die like that."
The mech was deadpan, if it was a joke, which he rather doubted, it was the first one he'd heard coming from the ill mech. Prowl could be completely serious, probably was, and, well, he was the not-friendly yellow twin. The 2IC knew excruciatingly well how serious he was when it came to being clean. The mech having to hand out the punishments for each time someone else forgot and subsequently needed to have their energon hosed off the walls.
"Could call in the medics, it is what they're for."
A wearied blue optic onlined and looked up at him. They were dimmer then they should be and Sunstreaker grunted as Prowl moved, scraping most of his side against the vicious grates.
"I tried, Sunstreaker, I have 4 requests for a medic pending. I have not received a response yet."
He loomed over the Datsun, it was one of his several skills that never seemed to phase Prowl, but he like to do it, and so he did. It was an art really; it required practice and skill to be able to go from casually disinterested to incensed looming all while looking your best and truly not giving a damn about why you were looming in the first place. It made mechs leave him alone and unlike Cliffjumper, Brawn and Ironhide who were the only ones that came close to him in respect of the art of looming, he really would slag you.
Prowl didn't huddle or cower away from his show of aggression and idly Sunstreaker wondered if the mech's muted emotions let him feel fear. Comprehend and evaluate the situation for percent of likelihood of imminent slagging, sure, but did the mech get the strut tingles when the slag hit the fan?
A bout of dry heaves worked their way out of the compromised commander. The squeal of his side being torn to shreds on the grates as he rocked with the force of his bodies convulsions brought the golden warriors hands to the mech. Lifting the surprisingly light Prowl and holding him against his pristine chassis until the heaves stopped and the mech slumped in his arms.
"You don't have to do this, Sunstreaker."
"I Know."
Repositioning the black and white so the mech was facing him, the frontliner stood and let the mech cling to him as his optics cycled and door wings gave little pathetic twitches. He pulled a clean rag from his sub space and toggled the nearest shower on. Standing under the heated spray he washed the gross fluid from Prowls hands and face, the regurgitated energon staining the rag teal instead of the normal blue of processed or pink of fresh energon.
Bad cube indeed.
He kept a supporting hand wrapped around Prowl as the mechs knees wobbled and threatened to give out. Satisfied, Sunstreaker turned the shower off and ran a dry rag down the side of Prowls impassive face plates, quickly brushing off any lingering solvent from the tactician's helm.
He rearranged his hold on the officer, putting Prowls arm around his shoulder and wrapping his around the black and white's waist. They slowly worked their way to the door as Prowl kept ghosting his back with a doorwing that twitched and fluttered with each step. The contact not enough to scratch his freshly cleaned self, so Sunstreaker let it slide.
The door slid open and Prowl recoiled from the sonic attack. Doorwings flailing, the mechs field flared out in distress as Prowl's knee joints buckled. The yellow warrior swiftly pinned his commander to the door frame to prevent the mech from falling as the black and white adjusted his audios and dampened vibration sensors to handle the sounds.
"Let me know when to drop you, if you're going to purge."
The red chevron bobbed as the arm around his shoulders regained its hold.
"Let's go."
Slowly they retreated from the wash racks and made their way to the MedBay. The noise blaring through the speakers following them and even across the ship to where the bays were located, the crescendo's were still audible. The orange sound proof doors opened in blessed silence to reveal a darkened space. Muted light eked out from the curtained office but didn't do much to the vast space beyond the door. Waving his hand in an attempt to trigger the motion activated lighting the pair stepped in. Silence slapping them abruptly as the doors closed. The vibrations could still be felt but the assault on the audios ceased. Waving his hand again and still not activating the lights, Sunstreaker activated his infrared and growled lowly as he glared at the dimly lit office.
Forms moved against each other, the heat radiating off them making it hard to distinguish between the individual mechs. His audios picking up the heavy venting and harsh whispers now that they had recovered enough to pick up sounds at lower decibels. Prowl tensed and lurched away from him as his systems started to convulse with his gagging.
"Drop me."
Sunstreaker let the mech fall, Prowl clattering to the deck plates in an undignified heap. Liquid gushed out from between lips to splatter onto the floor only to dim out to nothing as it lost its heat signature and no longer registered with infrared. In the darkness, the golden warrior stood guard over the purging mech. Glaring at the huddled mess of his commander then at the office and the mechs inside. First Aide was the duty medic and Sunstreaker could make out the mechs field as it surged in overload.
Growling as Hotspot and Grooves fields surged immediately after.
Prowl vented wildly as his body arched to purge again. Sunstreaker clenched his hands into tight fists as he accessed the command communication grid. Noting that Ironhide, Ratchet, Wheeljack and several other science bots had "Do not disturb" next to their com frequencies, the frontliner recalled the heckling earlier about a poker game Ironhide was sure he was going to win at.
Sunstreaker ex-vented heavily and forced his fists to relax one finger at a time as he logged out. Nothing short of a Decepticon attack would brake up that poker game and calling up Optimus at 3:27 in the morning was never a good idea. Jazz would be overcharged and Red Alert was just… no.
Fluid stopped leaving the officers lips and the mech started to dry heave.
He wasn't responsible enough for this.
He couldn't keep Sideswipes pet rock alive for crying out loud.
But as Prowl slumped to the side, he didn't think he had much of a choice at the moment.
Sunstreaker strode over to a supply closet and deftly hacked the lock. The lights coming on to momentarily blind him until he dropped infrared. The supply room was the same from the last time Sideswipe had shanghaied him into helping him raid it. Shelves lined the walls, each broken into bins set at measured intervals that were labeled with their contents. The good stuff, the heavy duty pain killers and neural buffers were locked up in Ratchet's office but the regular stuff was here. After scanning the shelves he found the stash of tank calmer and another of a mild pain reducer/ sedative.
He grabbed a preparation unit and drew in half of each vial then loaded the prepared cartage into an injector. All of those times he was spent stuck in medbay after a battle gave him ample time to watch the master medic do this and learn a thing or two.
Not that he would admit to it.
He used the light from the supply closet to make his way back to Prowl and ran a finger down the black and white's heaving side. Stopping at the medical port and tapping an access code that wasn't his to get the plate to slide out of the way. The officer grabbed his hand before he could administer the concoction but the force of the heaves made Prowl let go so he could balance himself above his puddle of yuck.
The store rooms light cut out, plunging them once again into darkness as Sunstreaker pressed the injector in to the fuel access valve and pressed the switch to deliver the fluids. Prowl groaned and the yellow warrior offered a clean rag to the mech. Waiting for him to clean himself up before assisting him to his feet and turning away from the dark bays.
"Where… are you… taking me?"
Words came between harsh venting and Sunstreaker palmed open the doors and braced against the rush of music.
"Somewhere to sleep it off."
The officer weakly nodded and stumbled against the study form holding him, then guiding him out to the hall. Sunstreaker huffed, the meds shouldn't have taken effect already, unless Prowl was seriously low on energon.
Which was a distinct possibility.
With an agitated huff the yellow lambo let his commander slowly sink to the floor, optics growing dimmer by the moment and returned to the medbay to grab a few cubes of medical grade from the supply closet. Shoving them into his subspace, he pulled the nearly incapacitated Prowl back to his feet and continued on.
At least the mech wasn't tensing up every few moments like he was about to purge.
The vibrations from the continuing party batted at them and Prowl stumbled again and again. The harsh venting evening out and the ice blue optics cycled to a near recharge state. Practically carrying the mech Sunstreaker stopped at the door to his shared quarters and vented harshly.
He hadn't intended to bring Prowl here, but the commander wasn't going to make it the three levels to his own quarters. Shifting the mech in his hold, the golden Autobot opened his door and dragged the near slumbering officer to the recharge room. Setting him on Sideswipes bunk, and then sitting across from him on his own.
Hauling a mostly asleep officer around was surprisingly taxing.
Flexing his arms and hearing the pop of joints working themselves loose, Sunstreaker pulled out the energon and drank one. Bland as medical grade always was, it still felt good to have something in his tank.
Prowl mumbled something and the lambo helped the mech sit up then pressed the remaining cube to his lips, pulling it away when the pink fluid started to dribble down the black and white's chin. Optics fading out, signaling the start of a recharge cycle, Sunstreaker grabbed the trash bin from the other room and positioned it on the floor near Prowls helm. Crawling into his own bunk, he felt the thrum of music being played several levels away. Sideswipe kept sending muzzy happy drunk pings across their bond and the lull of recharge claimed him.
The press of a body against him pulled him out of recharge just enough to feel the closeness of his brother and the gleefully dunk feeling that oozed through the bond. He sent a wave of displeasure in return but shifted to accommodate the red hellion that was his twin. It wasn't uncommon for the idiot to get a serious case of drunk cuddles and as long as the information that he indulged his brother in them, stayed in this room, he was ok with it. Still the fragger could have 'charged on the couch or floor, but as the warm form pressed against him he gave a soft vent as recharge swelled up the reclaim him once again.
The sharp report of fists hitting the door to his quarters roused the yellow warrior enough to hear the hollering out side.
"Wake up you devious red rat, Yer late fer your own unmaking!"
Sideswipes problem, NOT his, not even going to online optics for this.
His brother still vented rhythmically pressed to his side and sometime during the night his helm had set itself on the golden chest with an arm draped over.
Sunstreaker grunted as he tried to shift away, the two of them sharing a bed made some mechs… uneasy. Not that he cared about status quo and that sort of slag, it was just he had to pound those that made incorrect assumptions about it.
The pounding drew closer as the mech stalked down the hall beating on the wall outside their quarters. Their quarters really being two adjacent rooms that they had cut a hole in the wall to connect.
"Ah know it was you, Sideswipe!"
Ironhide was now pounding on the second outer door, the one they kept closed as it led to the room they had designated as recharge quarters. He didn't want to deal with this, his chrono told him it had only been 3.45 hours since he had started recharge and he had already been interrupted once by his twin.
He needed to 'charge frag it and Ironhide was one of the mechs that didn't like the whole snuggle brothers thing.
"You got til I count to five, ta come out, or ah'm going in an draggin yer sorry hide out."
Damn it, Sides still hadn't moved. He was going to pitch the red aft across the room.
Wait. Prowl's there.
Frag it.
OH, Slag, what if Ironhide saw Prowl?
Sunstreaker onlined his optics the same time the door slid open, the warm light from the hall washing over the twin as he took in the sight of Prowl curled against his chassis and Sideswipe rumble snoring at the tractions back, drooling on the light bar that served as his pillow. The red chevron had scratched a line into his chest and their legs were a tangle of yellow, red, black and white. There was no way this didn't look like what he thought it looked like, and Primus damn it, he knew he didn't frag Prowl last night.
Throwing his helm back, he caught the strange expression on the old mechs face as the door slid shut. Thuds of retreating foot falls slowly died out and Sunstreaker let his helm fall back to the berth with a thud.
"I will kill you, Sideswipe."
"Naw, you know you love me."
He growled at the semi-lucid response. Sides had been awake, so he had wanted the old aft to come in and see. So he had probably set Prowl on him and thought this was a fine joke. Sunstreaker growled low and menacing, the tactician shifting and gouging even more of his armor with his chevron.
He could go back to sleep or he could get up and deal with this.
Prowl whimpered as he shuddered against him and both lambos EM fields picked up on the quiver of fear in the black and whites. Sunstreaker heard Sides move, running a servo down their commanders side in a soothing gesture. Prowl whimpered again and clung tightly to him, a softly whispered 'no' coming from the sleeping officers vocalizer.
With a huff the yellow twin sat up and started to untangle himself from Prowl.
His reputation was comprised of him being a sociopath with a standing dislike of authority and minibots. And here he was in the berth with the embodiment of authority. It took a few moments to unwrap Prowl and a few more to shimmy over the mech, kneeing the red aft that would chock this up as a drunken good idea.
Sideswipe grunted as he was passed over, then shifting to get a better position on the suddenly not as crowded berth. He glared at the duo before stepping through the rough hewn doorway to the lounge part of their quarters. The motion activated lights picking up his movement and turning on. The full body mirror in the opposite wall caught his optic as an energon colored mar showed on his otherwise perfect yellow hip. Running his servo over the area he pulled his hand back when it encountered the sticky still warm energon. He wasn't injured, and Sides wasn't broadcasting pain over the bond. Turning, the frontliner peaked back in to the recharge room. Prowl was covered in cuts and scrapes from his time in the wash racks. But that didn't explain the damning puddle under his pelvic plates.
Looking closer at the tactician he noticed the servo shaped dents in his doorwings and the dents on the hips…and wrists.
He growled long and low. The thought of recharge fully cleared from his processors as the tactician shuttered again in his recharge, softly whispering 'no' yet again.