The darkness of unconsciousness had pressed in on Cyclonus. He fought against it, but the explosion in the lab had been too strong. He had hunched himself over Tailgate in an attempt to shield him from the blast, but deep down he had a slight twinge of terror, recalling with bitter clarity what had happened to Rewind. As he came to, he felt something pressing against him; and he realized in slight panic that he was on his back, not his front, which means he could not be sure how Tailgate had fared.

He truck out; blindly, lashing against whatever lay atop him. He let out a deep hiss through clenched vocals as his powerful arms seemed to not work right; whatever it was didn't budge. He struggled, attempting to get his optics to online, but they were still in the resetting phase. He moaned; and he heard Tailgate make a noise at the same moment. He pushed himself up, trying to identify where it had come from.

Finally, his optics came online; though, they seemed to be malfunctioning, as his vision seemed to be oddly hued, as if he were watching a high-definition recording. He spotted what had pinned him; he just didn't understand it. Something large and purple spanned out before his face. He could not recall off the top of his scrambled processor what even on the ship looked like that, except-

Frowning, he reached up and pushed against it- only to let out a started cry as he did. His hands were no claws; in fact, his hands were utterly minute and white? Clapping his grasp to his own plating, his vents began to roll faster as the horror began setting in. Finally, he touched his face; a mask, a visor- he craned his neck to peer at more of the obstacle above. It was him. He cried out in alarm as he looked upon his own, offline face, looking oddly serene.

But the sharp noise seemed to wake him- self? As he was soon optic-to-optic with dark crimson optics. He stared at himself for a long moment, and – himself?- stared back. Then, he watched his own red optics widen, watched his body fling backwards and heard himself scream.

Brainstorm had thought it was a brilliant idea. He knew several mechs who wouldn't mind trading processors for a little while, and the militarism uses for such a device were limitless. No, really! But he needed a test subject. He filed through the crew list until he fell upon Tailgate. Ah, yes... Such a sweet mech, Tailgate. He issued a comm to the minibot, simply expressing that he come to the lab- and bring a friend.

The scientist thought it best to warm up the machine before they arrived; after all, it took several minutes. As he turned on the shapeless mass, he placed his hand confidently on the lever that would activate it. He aimed it toward the doors, so that he wouldn't give them a chance to change their minds after he'd explained what they'd been signed up for.

What he didn't expect, was Cyclonus. When he'd told Tailgate to bring a friend, he had expected Swerve, or Rewind, or even Whirl- but not Cyclonus. The shock and terror that struck the mech made him whimper out pathetically; and he convulsed at the idea of explaining this to the Decepticon. Well, he wasn't a Decepticon, or so he claimed, but- oh, slag, they were already walking through the lab's doors. He jolted, and this motion caused him to jerk the lever of the machine. It exploded from being forced to fire before it had warmed up, sending him flying.

As he came to, he scrambled, looking for the two. They were hunched in the doorway, Cyclonus' huge form eclipsing the tiny Tailgate. Brainstorm slumped and let out a relieved sigh, only to perk again when he heard Tailgate cry out. Was he injured? Or-

Oh, no...

Tailgate's optics came online, and the first thing he saw was his own face. A mirror? He was dazed, utterly lost. He had heard a faint noise that woke him; what was it? He squinted, trying to get a better look at his reflection. He looked fine... He didn't feel fine. In fact, he felt as though he had been battered about with a club. He connected the dots far faster, as he saw his reflection move without his consent. He wailed and flung backwards, only to let out a whine as the pain in his lower back made itself known.

"M—My voice-" He rasped; it was Cyclonus' voice that came forth. He whimpered- an alien sound, but also involuntary- and began to writhe, making all manner of yelps and cries as he tried to right himself. His limbs felt huge, he was huge, everything about him. "Oh, oh slag, Cyclonus-! Cyclonus!" He shouted in horror, hearing the mech call out for himself in such a way; it was disorienting.

Cyclonus- Tailgate? - lifted himself up, his tiny form shifting solidly. He stood, his joints tight and unwavering. "Tailgate." He hissed. "Silence." Even in his own light, delicate tones, the words made Tailgate shrink back. "Primus- stop!"

"I'm not doing anything!" Tailgate shrieked back, only to cower back as Cyclonus stalked forward, his gate sharp, calculated, intent.

"Yes, you are. You're whimpering and simpering like a pitiful little- STOP!" Tailgate sobbed and raised his arms as Cyclonus struck out at him, but it only made his blubbering worse. Cyclonus raised an arm to back-hand him again, but he knew that his body's plating was too thick for it to make any difference, and it was only causing Tailgate to become more distressed.

He froze, his arm still in the air, before his visor went dark and he let out a tense sigh. He moved back, lowering his limb. "I'm sorry. Please stop- making noises." He tried, but his anger was still clear. Knowing that it was just going to cause more Spark-ache, he rounded on Brainstorm, who had been watching with rapt attention.

"You."

The scientist's scrambling only seemed to increase Cyclonus' ire. He stalked forward, somehow even in his tiny, innocent form he looked utterly terrifying. He struggled to stand and raised both hands in front of himself with a tense whine. "Wait, Tail- Cyclonus, I know you're angry, but-"

"Explain yourself. Or so help me I will make it so they will never find your remains."

Tailgate twisted his form to watch, optics going wide and he felt himself feel as though he was about to weep. Crawling forward, he wrapped both arms tightly around the furious Cyclonus, letting out a tense sob into his shoulder.

"Cy-Cy-clon-us," The mech whimpered, accidentally picking him up as he sat on his knees. "I—It's not his fault, don't yell at him."

Cyclonus' legs wriggled as he lost grasp of the floor, twisting for a moment before falling limp and dangling in the grasp. He glared hatefully toward the scientist, daring him to laugh. Luckily for them, Brainstorm was too terrified on what the two would do to him to find it even slightly funny.

"I-it was an accident, I, uhm... I mean, that was the intended effect, but-"

"WHAT?!" Cyclonus bellowed, his tiny engine letting out a rather startling, if small, roar. Tailgate clenched his arms tighter, tilting his helm and hiding his mouth against Cyclonus' shoulder. He blubbered again, tears welling up in the corner of his dark optics. Cyclonus was too focused on Brainstorm to notice.

"I didn't know you would be coming! I thought Tailgate was bringing someone else! I was going to offer to pay a couple of mechs to test out my invention! When I saw you, I- I panicked!"

"Oh, you do not know the meaning of panic, you insolent little-"

"Cyclonus." Tailgate whispered it against him, and he began to tremble. Cyclonus let out a bellowing snarl and began bucking and wriggling in the larger grasp, only to fall limp again when it wrung out another tense bawl.

"Alright. Alright." Cyclonus rasped, visor growing dark with anger that he forced to subside. "You are going to switch us back. Now." Even Cyclonus realized how ridiculous this demand was.

Brainstorm sputtered, gesturing wildly with his hands. "How!? The machines totaled! I'll have to build another!" He babbled.

"Then do so," Cyclonus ordered, letting out a grunt when those arms became a little tighter. Brainstorm said nothing more, only scrambled to get to work. Cyclonus and Tailgate were silent for a long while, watching him.

"Cyclonus?" Tailgate whispered.

"What." Cyclonus snarled. He let out a long, lamented sigh when he felt the mech against his back flinch.

"I- you're- tall.."

"I'm aware."

"R-right. I just... I... you-"

"Get on with it, Tailgate."

"You're injured. I h-hurt."

Cyclonus whipped his helm around to stare, nearly lashing out again at the expression he saw on his own face. Brows quirked upward, lips trembling, tears dribbling down his cheeks, dripping off the gaps and onto his lower jaw. He prayed to Primus for strength. "Can you stand?"

"I—I think so." Tailgate replied, slowly pulling himself to stand- and taking Cyclonus with him. He refused to let the mech go, still sniffling and letting out little whines as he moved, his joints creaking.

By then, other crew had made it to the lab, to investigate. Ratchet headed the group, instantly stalking near. Cyclonus whimpered, backing up into a wall and pulling Cyclonus tighter against himself, hiding his face against his neck.

Ratchet came to a sharp halt, staring. "...Cyclonus?" He asked.

"Because of that moron," Cyclonus snarled, making Ratchet jump. "We've swapped bodies. Isn't that grand?" He spoke bitterly and it only made Tailgate pull his tiny body upwards more to hide his face. At least he did something right. Ratchet looked utterly flabbergasted. Cyclonus tried to frown, but found himself unable to.

Instead, he narrowed his visor. "Speak of this to no one, medic. I may be unarmed, but I will kill you if this becomes a common topic of conversation."

Ratchet nodded sharply, though he didn't seem bothered by the threat. He turned and began rushing the others out, who thankfully had yet to notice Cyclonus and Tailgate's strange behavior. "Let's get out to the back of the lab; there's a mini sick bay back there, where you two can stay undetected until this is fixed." Cyclonus could've reached out and pat the mech's face with how thankful he was. He didn't need to.

Tailgate rushed the medic, wrapping his arms around him as well, pressing Cyclonus and Ratchet together; chest-to-chest. Tailgate sobbed and picked them both up, again most likely unintentionally. Cyclonus snarled and wriggled, while Ratchet merely reached an arm upwards to pet the top of Tailgate's helm.

"How dare you," Cyclonus rasped, indignant and horrifically humiliated. Ratchet ignored him.

"It's alight, Tailgate," Ratchet soothed. "Let's get back into the med lab, alright? Then I'll treat your wounds." Tailgate nodded weakly, letting out a hiccup from his vocalizer, and his powerful jet-engine bellowed from the emotion, rattling the two frames in his grasp. He whimpered an apology and turned to rush where Ratchet directed him, carrying them both still.

Ratchet was finally able to pry himself from the mech's grasp, and Cyclonus along with him, when they were alone in the lab. "Lay down, Tailgate." He said, watching the mech nod and roll onto his front on the berth. His back was bleeding and battered from the explosion; Cyclonus stared on, visor becoming pale.

"You... Must be in a lot of pain." He murmured.

"Uh—uh-huh." Tailgate mumbled back, scraping the heel of his palm under his optics. "I tried not to make you look bad, Cyclonus, I really did..." He mewled right after. Cyclonus couldn't even bring himself to snarl indignantly at the piteous tone his visage was producing; the guilt ravaged him too much.

"I know. I- apologize for shouting. An- and striking you." He stated. Tailgate smiled, an alien expression for such a face, but somehow it still came out sincere. He extended his massive, clawed hand toward Cyclonus, who took it in his own tiny, pale servos. "It's alright. We'll be okay... Just... We won't leave this room. No one needs to know."

It helped, a grand deal, that Tailgate seemed just as worried about ruining Cyclonus' reputation and honor as he was. Cyclonus appreciated that more than he would admit, but he hoped some of it was translated in the way he squeezed the shaking servo in his grasp.

Ratchet got to work repairing the wounds on the mech's back, and Cyclonus was there to aid in the pain. "Now, now, none of that. You're a warrior now," Cyclonus murmured when Tailgate tensed and whined. "A warrior doesn't let the pain bother him. You did a good job before, but I know you can do better." He tried to sound soothing, but he just came off as harsh. Still, much to his and Ratchet's surprise, it seemed to have the desired effect.

Cyclonus sat and spoke with Tailgate while he was being repaired, praising him when he didn't cry out through some of the more painful parts of removing shrapnel form his shoulders. An occasional, almost Cyclonus-esque grunt would leave him, and he beamed with pride when he did.

No, this was not ideal by any means; but there would've been worse aftermaths to an explosion.

...Maybe.