Sunstreaker's in a fine mess, and he's not fine.
Title: A Fine Mess
Warning: Creepy Megatron, rape intentions, victim grooming.
Rating: PG-13
Continuity: G1
Characters: Sunstreaker, Megatron, Optimus Prime, Trailbreaker, Soundwave.
Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.
Motivation (Prompt): People kept requesting Megatron/Sunstreaker. It kept getting worse.
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Part One
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The Autobots chalked it up to shock from survival, then exhaustion from an all-out fight for his life. It wasn't often that anyone other than Optimus Prime went one-on-one against Megatron and came out intact. Everyone assumed that nobody could be more surprised than Sunstreaker himself to have come out the other side still alive. Even his notorious bad mood could take a holiday during a survivor's high. His lack of reaction to the congratulations from everyone and sundry had to be part of that.
Of course, he didn't react to much of anything anyone said. "What were you thinking?" was said in multiple variations by the Ark in general. The rank and file laughed it. The officers asked it in incredulity and indignation. Sunstreaker sat there staring through them all.
Finally, Ratchet got the Prime to bring the poor shellshocked frontliner in for a personal interview, hoping to break through. Something clearly had to be done, after all. If Sunstreaker didn't snap out of it, he'd likely just…snap.
"Here. This might take the edge off," Optimus said as he set a small glass of highproof in front of Sunstreaker. The golden mech looked through it. Optimus sat opposite him and eyed him, considering his options. Extreme times caused for extreme measures. He dropped his voice into a wheedling tone. "Can you drink this for me, please?"
Worked like a charm. Sunstreaker was reaching for the shotglass before he even registered who was giving him the sad, pathetic little optics. Once he knocked it back, the stuff stripped the first layer of shock and paint off in one caustic burn.
"Gahhhh!"
"For the record, that's Prowl's preferred grade," Optimus noted, twirling his half-full shotglass in resignation. He'd poured it, so he'd drink it, but he wasn't looking forward to it. Prowl forced the awful stuff on people who needed the dents banged out, in his opinion. The only other person who drank it for pleasure was Ironhide. Optimus knew for a fact that Ratchet used it when the medbay ran out of acetone, however, so at least there was always some on hand. It did work, one way or another.
Sunstreaker gasped, head level with the desk and free hand curling in tiny spasms against the surface. It was the most life he'd shown since stumbling back to base after the battle. Chalk another point up for Prowl's methods.
"Refill?"
The glass clattered against the desk as a shaking hand tried to push it toward the commander of the Autobots. "Puh…please."
It was either rank or shock pulling the manners out of Sunstreaker. Optimus Prime withheld judgment and just refilled the glass. It disappeared under the shelter of the desk, and Sunstreaker's shoulders hitched like he'd been shot as he swallowed it down. The pain was probably similar.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Optimus asked after it'd had time to reach Sunstreaker's tank.
A bleary blue optic peered up at him. It blinked slowly. The shotglass was pushed at him again. Optimus nodded in sympathy as he refilled it. It wasn't easy talking about one of those kind of fights, the kind of one-on-one against Megatron where damage was expected and instead gentleness left armor clamping close in surprised, unnerved defense. He'd seen the look on Megatron's face. He had seen it turned on a few others in his long experience, but never Sunstreaker. This had to be a brand new terror on the battlefield for the poor frontliner.
He'd wait until Sunstreaker was ready to talk. There wasn't much Optimus could tell him, almost nothing at all that would help, but he could be here for his soldier at the very least. It wasn't much, but it was something.
What a fine mess they were in.
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