A/N: Takes place post-movie 'verse. I have never, currently do not, and most likely never will have any right to Transformers.

I'm Sorry

We told each other that we would be twins, no matter what. We held that pledge, we kept it-and now, look, do you see what you've done? You've killed me. Shattered me into tiny pieces (Remember? Remember holding me close and vowing that no one would ever break me, because you were there?) and strewn them to the wind. Don't you feel regret? Can't you hear my screams?

Sunstreaker, why?

I read the data pad, but I don't really read it. The words pass straight through my processor, like the wind over a seeker's wings. Because I don't want to understand. I don't want to be standing by his empty shell, reading these accusations. They bite, cutting deeper than Prime's energon swords. I want to put the datapad down, but I can't. I just can't.

I remember, Sideswipe. I remember that day.

You were the one they always loved, back when we were younger. The charismatic one, always trying to coax a smile or a laugh out of those around us. Creator and Sire always like you more than me. You were the right sparkling, the one that always should have existed.

I was the bad one, always glaring and snarling at people, blowing up over the silliest things. You were the only one who could calm me down, who could convince me that it wasn't worth it to go crazy.

Our creators never trusted me. You were the one that they always wanted, their miracle sparkling. I was bad luck, a sign of poverty and loss. Sire truly hated me, sometimes. When he'd had too much hi-grade, or work had gone badly, or our mother had argued with him. He'd push me around, blaming me for the bad things that were happening to us. Remember, when he locked me in the closet, and I couldn't handle the closed space and started to scream? I could hear you begging him to let me out, to stop treating me like I was fragging trash. I heard him hit you. I think that was the first time either of our creators hit you.

But we made it through it all, Siders. We managed to survive long enough to get out of there, to get our own apartment. It was on the rougher side of Kaon, and we had to work every klick of the jour just to get by, but it was ours.

I started painting back then, buying art supplies with whatever tips and spare credits I could scrounge up. You'd hawk them at markets and street shows, earning us a little extra. It was perhaps the best time of our lives.

And then you met him.

He was pretty, and smooth talking, and you fell helm over pedes. I remember that first day, when you came in, and were practically floating. I was jealous, of course, but you were my brother. I was happy that you were happy.

But it went down hill from there. The first time I met him, he just sneered at me and brushed me off. I was taller than him by at least a helm, but he made me feel like a sparkling again, all awkward words and temper tantrums. We started fighting, too. It was never about him, but it might as well have been. You were growing distant, and I was getting angry. My world was crumbling before my optics, and it made me frantic that I couldn't do anything. I didn't want to loose the only thing I really had.

It lasted for another few orns. Then you came back, one day, with a couple dents in your chassis. I blew it off at first, but more dents kept appearing. We couldn't pay for them to be taken out, not with the rent and my art and whatever else. So they built up, until you looked like you'd been thrown off a cliff. There were scratches, too, and cuts in your armor. I started noticing, and I'd ask you. You'd blow me off, saying that you fell, or that you'd gotten into a scuffle with some stranger. If I pressed you, you'd get angry. I'd get angry back, of course. I was too stupid to notice the fear in you spark, the fear that I'd find out, the fear of what he'd do to me if I confronted him, of what he would do to you.

Then you came back with cuts down your arms, and an oozing gash in your shoulder. That was it for me. I think all of Kaon remembers it. I took you to a friend of Ratchet's, then hunted for him. I found him with a couple of buddies at a bar, talking about the "little whore" that he'd done in earlier. I lost it.

I never told you everything that happened. I just said that he'd never bother you again. But you knew. Ratchet and Prime are the only others who found out, though I think that Prowl knows.

That's when I made you promise. That we'd always be family, twins, sharing something that was more intimate than anything else in this universe. We'd always be there for each other, and come to each other's rescue no matter what. You promised with me, and then we left. Because there was nothing else for us there.

I'm so sorry, Sideswipe. I heard you calling, on the battleship. It drove me crazy, hearing you reach out for my strength, my help. But I couldn't give it to you, not now. I'm broken, after seeing all of this. I've lost what strength I had, that I used to hold the both of us up when you fell down. I couldn't do anything but listen to the constant stabs of fear, and pain, and grief.

I know who's gone. They're lying around me, covered by sheets or tarps. Those of us who aren't being kept under are numb, trying not to deal with all this carnage.

I couldn't reach you in time. Couldn't help you. Couldn't save you.

And I lost you.

I love you, Siders. I'll love you for my lifetime, and I'm going to miss you for every klick that I have left.

I'm so sorry.

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