A/N: This was written for a drabble contest on LiveJournal. This prompt was "loneliness".

Curling up here. His favorite place. Right here, right here, head under the forgiving chin, chest swelling at hands caressing it.

"Missed you," whispered against him, like it'll all be okay now that he's back. It won't. They both know it. But it's a comfort to pretend it will, and a comfort to hear the words, however sad and screwed up they really are.

"Can't do this," whispered back, though it's the same game every time and each kiss tells them both loud and clear that he's giving in.

Hidden away, tucked behind his own memories, are Sunstreaker's. It's strange to be sharing this way – he's not used to sharing anything, especially not his mind – and it feels good, but it hurts too. Each prick of a scalpel as it pries away faulty armor, each tug of wires from Sunstreaker's delicate head, hanging suspended on the wall like some kind of mantelpiece.

"We're not going to make it, Hunter. We're not going to make it."

The words are anything but reassuring. Hunter is trembling here, reaching out if only telepathically, pretending to reach him and touch him, feeling metal and not-metal and something alive beneath it all.

Feeling pain and shame and a deep sorrow.

No. They aren't going to make it. And none of it is real, in the long run. The touches aren't real. Sunstreaker's hands on his chest aren't real. Sunstreaker missing him isn't real. But it feels good. Too good for being pretend. Too good for being mental.

"We're not going to make it."

"Stop saying that."

"But we're not."

"You're not helping."

"We're not."

We. Two of them, here, connected by a mental bond, this bond strengthening with each surgery, with each… change.

Two of them, a 'we', an 'us', something Hunter has wanted for so very long and can finally obtain, but only until their bond is severed. Is it wrong that he should cling now, before he is cut off forever?

"We're not going to make it."

He likes to pretend that they will.

It's dark here. No, not dark, simply very quiet. Not like the Ark used to be.

Made it. The thought it empty and hollow. Didn't make it, not really. Not all of him, still not human enough, still not human, still not enough of him here. Still some of him left behind with Sunstreaker, in that sad, lonely mind. Still some left, can't get it back, not now.

"Ratchet."

Autobot turns. Autobot, Decepticon. Clear lines. Ratchet is an Autobot. Sunstreaker… is an Autobot. But the Headmasters were human. And that's not right. They should be Decepticon, should be the 'bad guys', not his own kind. Should be labeled. Are labeled. Double-crossers.

"I'm not me anymore, Ratchet."

Not since he left part of himself there. With the Headmasters, with the 'misters', in Sunstreaker, waiting for him.

"I want to talk to Sunstreaker."

So broken. How did that happen? Being pulled apart and redone and 'fixed' to be 'perfect' like the stupid Transformers. Nothing so terrible as being perfect. As being pristine and perfect and able to change like that. Nothing so terrible as that yearning to change.

He changed.

"Please…"

Can't even hear the words as they come out of Ratchet's mouth. Just the thought of what do you mean I can't.

"I need to talk to Sunstreaker."

Empty, echoing silences and the core of him empty, left there, shattered and human and flawed like he needs to be. Never human again, not after all that. Never human. Never like he used to be.

"I need…"

Can't. Can't need. No such thing in this body.

"I need to talk…"

He is talking. Talking and taking and needing and pleading and Ratchet will simply tell him no, in this kind of condition. Sunstreaker needs rest. Be patient.

He doesn't want to be patient.

"I need… Sunstreaker."

Empty.

"I need Sunstreaker, Ratchet. I need Sunstreaker."

Only one who understands, only one who'll listen, only one who can show him what it is to love, what it is to want, what it is to feel human again. Even a little bit.

So tired. Drowsy and empty and coreless and spineless and where, where did it all go?

"I'll just wait for him… Tell him I'll wait here."

Desperate. He loves him. Foolish, not even human; no, neither of them. That makes it okay. Both of them, somewhere between something new and what they used to be.

"I'll wait here for him."

Sleep is uneasy. He misses his bed.

Thought it would be easy, no, thought he would need it.

Thought Sunstreaker wanted his company too, someone who understands, someone there. Hunter is there. Hunter… not him anymore. Hunter was the boy, from before, alien shirt, replaced with armor and wires and…

It's so lonely.

Lonely?

Empty. Unfeeling. They make sure of it. Large enemies with symbols the opposite of Sunstreaker's.

Sunstreaker… miss you.

Not pretending. Not now. Miss you. Can't take it, can't do it… not going to make it.

Keeping him alive.

Keeping him going.

Don't want to keep going. Not anymore.

"The Machination was foolish. We will use the human boy to suit our own needs."

Large and empty and… how did this happen? Stupid, so stupid… mind wandering. Useless. Hanging, unmoving, not fighting due to the morphine. Helps him not to feel a thing, when they work.

Decepticons.

Save me, Sunstreaker. Save me.

Echoes of footsteps, familiar, no.

Sound of something scraping along dirty floor.

Tile floor? Concrete?

Mother opening the kitchen door.

"I've made you a sandwich," she said, placing the plate down in front of him. The first bite is good, almost gourmet, his appetite so starved and pinched from lack of food. "If you wouldn't cry all the time, I'd make it more often."

"Oh… Oh, Primus…"

Sunstreaker.

No.

Light flooding. Pouring into the room, into him, too bright, turn it off, five more minutes…

"If you don't go to school, the police will have to come and escort you there again. This is what you get for spending so much time on the internet at night when you should be sleeping, you stupid boy."

Echoes. A silhouette… bulky, large, looks yellow in the backlight. Sunstreaker.

No.

Sunstreaker's not coming.

Please don't hit me.

"If you just shaped up, behaved like a good child, I wouldn't have to hit you! Look at these grades! You terrible, worthless child, you're supposed to be smart! I thought you inherited my brains, not your father's!"

"Hunter…"

So empty. Can't feel it. No morphine anymore, though. Just numb. Curled up here. His favorite place.

"Comic books are for losers with nothing better to do! You'll never find a decent girl, you stupid child, not like this! Can't you ever grow up?"

Favorite place. In his mind. Sunstreaker holding him, miniaturized and warm, caressing him. Imaginary.

Coming to join you soon.

Fading…

"Hunter, forgive me."

Blip. Blip. Blip.

Heartbeats. Heartbreak. Knows what's coming. Covers his face.

"I hate you, you stupid boy. You are not my son."

Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker, Sunstreaker, I love you. I love you. Coming to join you. I love you.

Don't know what that means.

I love you.

Thinks it will be painful. It's not, though.

The not-Sunstreaker Autobot only pushes a button. No pain. Nothing.

As easy as falling asleep, and warm like the feel of sun-heated metal against his tender skin.