After years of not having written anything at all, this came about. A conversation with a newly-made university friend re-triggered my childhood love for Transformers, and he and I gushed our geekiness together. And that broke the dam.
This started off as a small drabble, an attempt with half-remembered characters that quickly ate my soul and evolved into this monster of a one-shot. Every bot wanted in on the action and the narrative got away from me; I was not even in control half the time.
I am sure there are mistakes here, so I'll be glad for some constructive feedback. This is also my first Transformers fanfic.
There had been a Decepticon raid on a human power plant and Autobots had responded and engaged them, driving the them off. The confrontation had been fierce and half of the power plant had been destroyed in the battle. In the aftermath of the fight, after the Decepticons had retreated, Ratchet received multiple pings from Sunstreaker, demanding medical assistance.
Ratchet locked onto the twin's coordinates and rushed to the clearing only to have his fuel pump stutter in trepidation. Sunstreaker was crouched beside the still form of Sideswipe, and he was still sending out pings to Ratchet, one after another.
Sunstreaker's gaze snapped out when he sensed the other's approach, optics blazing white hot and an energon sword in each servo. The guttural growling of Sunstreaker's battle-primed systems was intimidating and Ratchet forced himself to hold still and forced his own battle protocols – which had activated in response to the perceived threat – to shut down. Ratchet was still being inundated by the pings for medical assistance from the golden mech; clearly, under the haze of protective protocols and battle-rage, Sunstreaker did not recognise him.
Motionlessly – because any movement will be considered as offensive to the bristling mech right now – Ratchet pinged back with his medic identification and security identity codes. When there was no response, Ratchet pinged twice again, in quick succession.
Finally, the energon swords were lowered slightly and Ratchet had known Sunstreaker long enough to know that it was sufficient permission to approach the downed twin. With Sunstreaker, the offensive protocols were never fully deactivated until his twin was no longer in danger of permanent offlining. Even other Autobots were perceived as possible threats to his twin, but the rest of the crew had learnt not to take it personally.
There was a saying back on Cybertron: twins were twins; half a spark each but twice the intensity of their personalities and all core programming.
To be fair, twins only ran instinctively on core programming when the other half of their spark was threatened. Scientists have theorised it was somewhat of a self-preservation module. Such was the nature of split-spark twins was that if one deactivated, so would the other.
Ratchet swung himself over a half-demolished part of a wall and sent out scans over Sideswipe. He knew that Sideswipe was still functioning, if only by the fact that Sunstreaker was. Even so, something inside Ratchet that was coiled released its tension when his scans reported that Sideswipe spark was undamaged.
That was about the only thing left that was undamaged.
The mech was slagged. He was missing three of his limbs and a large hole was punched through his abdominal plating. The cables and wires inside were torn and were sparking. Four main energon lines had been severed and he was very quickly bleeding out.
Ratchet transformed his hands and started working, far too afraid to even start cursing the idiotic slagger who went and got himself hurt so badly. Because cursing would require a small amount of processing speed for that creative language sub-routine, and Ratchet couldn't afford that right now. Not with Sideswipe's alarmingly critical condition.
Maybe later, when the slagger was in a stable condition. And then Ratchet can curse and swear and rave to his spark's content and violently end the red slagger with his wrench. Just...not right now.
Right now, Ratchet had to concentrate on the immediate injuries that could offline the red front-liner. He had to ignore that Sideswipe had a large gaping hole in his head, courtesy of a point blank blaster shot to the helm. His scans told him that the processor core had been damaged and some of the mech's chips had been destroyed. But he could deal with that later.
As Ratchet worked, clamping off the energon lines and performing field patches, Sunstreaker stood sentry over them both, his attention divided between watching out for other threats and scrutinising every move that Ratchet made. The golden twin would tense and his armour plates would rattle ominously every time Ratchet's hand transformed into the medical circular saw, and every time, Ratchet would have to send another identity ping, reminding the mech that he was a medic and was helping his twin. In fact, Ratchet had wrote a program specifically for that and it ran in the background, so he wouldn't be distracted by sending the pings or find himself suddenly wrenched off his patient in an overly aggressive protective fit by the twin.
Medical evac would have been another obstacle, but millennia of working and fighting together had the rest of the crew savvy to such things. Only medical personnel were allowed to be involved and that was only if they remembered to keep pinging the hovering twin with their medic codes. Depending on which twin was the one doing the hovering and which one was doing the bleeding, different sets of bots were allowed close, provided all weapons were kept in subspace.
Since the hovering twin was Sunstreaker, that narrowed down the list considerably.
Currently, the only ones allowed to be in close proximity to Sideswipe was Prime and Bluestreak.
Finally, finally, after careful manoeuvring and constant identity pings to keep Sunstreaker from becoming even more unhinged, they got the twins back to base and Ratchet sealed himself and the twins in the special little room in the corner of the medbay that was kept just for them.
The human contingent had thought all this to be extreme, but the Autobots had shrugged and simply said, 'Twins are twins, after all,' as if that would explain everything. And the humans in turned just chalked it up to a cultural alien thing they would never understand.
In the controlled isolated environment of the twins' treatment room, Sunstreaker's protocols finally settled down. Ratchet noticed of course, and merely handed the other mech a cube of energon before getting back to repairing his patient.
The other mechs would have been stunned to find out that Sunstreaker made an excellent medical assistant. As Ratchet worked wordlessly, the golden mech would anticipate his needs and would hand him the appropriate tools. Sunstreaker would be by his side, energon ejector in hand ready to siphon off any energon that leaked from ruptured lines. He would have collected replacement components and would have them neatly laid out on trays. Whenever Ratchet handed him a greasy gear that was bent out of shape (but still salvageable), Sunstreaker would take it silently and without any complaint of the dirt. And Sunstreaker would meticulously clean the part and would just as carefully reshape it back to form.
It was as if in this little room in the medbay, they existed in a place where the normal rules of engagement did not apply. They never spoke in The Room unless it was utterly necessary. And they never spoke of what happened in The Room to others. In The Room, the only thing that was important was The Patient.
Sunstreaker had been even more solemn than usual when Ratchet had installed a new processor and chips into Sideswipe's helm. He had more than enough anatomical knowledge (courtesy of his many vorns in the Gladiatorial Arena) to know that Sideswipe's memory core had also been damaged.
And then finally Ratchet had finished the repairs and all that remained was to have Sideswipe's outer plating be sanded, painted and polished. But that was a ritual between the twins themselves, so Ratchet did not intrude. He retreated to his office to finally grab a cube of energon and to review the medical reports of the others. No one had been seriously injured at all, apart from some scratched paint and some shallow dents. He shook his helm tiredly.
Leave it up to one of the twins to get damaged enough for all of them combined.
But that thought wasn't very fair. They were front liners and their position had the higher risk of getting damaged.
Collating all the medical reports and transmitting them to Prowl, he headed to the back of his office where there was a small berth and unceremoniously collapsed onto it.
When he came out of recharge the next morning, he had messages from Prowl and Prime cluttering up his inbox. He deleted them all without even looking at their subject titles.
He flung open his office doors and strode into his medbay.
Sunstreaker had finished detailing his brother in the night. Painting and polishing done, he had transferred Sideswipe onto a berth in the general medbay area. This too, was part of the ritual.
They were out of The Room, The Patient is recovering and everything is back to normal.
Sunstreaker was slumped in a chair next to his twin, deep in recharge.
A wrench slid into Ratchet's hand and he tested its weight even as he eyed the slumbering twin consideringly.
They were out of The Room and the normal rules applied now. Even so, Ratchet didn't hit as hard as he should.
Sunstreaker glared from his position on the floor, a hand already inspecting the dent in his helm.
'Get out of my medbay and get some rest, you pit spawned-fragger.' And Ratchet meant that with all the affection he didn't show.
The other mech snarled incoherently as he picked himself up. His gaze flickered to his twin and back to the medic. Ratchet understood the unasked question and nodded almost imperceptibly: yes, I'll watch over him.
And then Ratchet raised his wrench threateningly and Sunstreaker understood the message: get out, get some energon, and get some rest.
Sunstreaker exited just as Jazz walked in. The silver mech had called out to the other but was ignored. Shrugging easily, Jazz approached Ratchet with a grin.
'Hey ya, Ratch. How is Sides doing?'
Ratchet glowered down at the smaller mech. 'You did not read the medical reports that Prowl had no doubt disseminated to the rest of the crew.'
Jazz grinned unrepentantly. 'Nope. Just as ya, no doubt, had not read any of th' messages from Prime an' Prowler.'
Ratchet's glare intensified and the two stared at each other for a breem before the medic huffed in annoyance.
'Physically, Sideswipe is fine. However, I have had to replace his processor and some of his chips. His memory core had taken some damage in the battle so he is going to have some trouble remembering some things – can't tell what files have been corrupted yet but there are sure to be broken file paths... and that's going to cause him problems because his memories are there but he just won't be able to reach them. At least, not until he settles in his new hardware and his processors start a system restore to mend the broken links.'
Jazz frowned in concern and approached the berth.
'H'long would tha' take?'
The medic grunted. 'I didn't upgrade his processors you know, and he has always been a bit slow in the processing regions. If it had been Prowl, he probably would get everything sorted out within a breem. But Sideswipe... if there was any possibility for me to manually sort them out, it would probably be faster than his laggy half-bit system restore.'
Jazz guffawed loudly. 'Ha! Good one, Ratch!'
Ratchet rumbled before continuing sombrely, 'But in all seriousness, it will probably take a few orns - a decaorn at the most – for his systems to sort through all of the files and link them properly.'
Jazz nodded. He turned to Ratchet and pulled a datapad out of subspace and held it out to the other mech.
'Here. Prime needs ya ta take a look at these weapons upgrade proposals and give your recommendations.'
Ratchet sighed and accepted the datapad.
The medical consoles connected to Sideswipe kept him medically offline until his systems had integrated the new hardware to a satisfactorily stable level. Sunstreaker had kept close to his twin, sitting by his berthside and leaving only when he had patrol duty. And when Sunstreaker recharged, it was in a chair next to his twin.
When Sideswipe came online, Sunstreaker was on patrol at the time. Fortunately, Hound and Sunstreaker had just finished their patrol and was just about to return to base because otherwise, Prowl might have to reprimand the twin for "abandonment of duty."
Mechs and humans alike had dove out of the way as Sunstreaker strode through the hallways of the base, optics flickering white. Through his spark bond, he could feel Sides's feelings of momentary confusion that morphed into mischievousness. No doubt the slagger was already driving the medic up the walls.
Sunstreaker could hear voices coming from inside the medbay as he approached.
'You're going to have some memory glitches and-'
'Yeah yeahhh... Just let me up already, Hatchet!'
There was a resounding clang! and a pained yelp.
Sunstreaker all but kicked the doors of the medbay open and stormed in. Because now that his twin was awake and alive and alright... Sunstreaker was going to kill him himself and Ratchet can just get the frag in line.
The red twin was frozen on the berth, staring at Sunstreaker.
Growling, Ratchet hit Sideswipe again on the side of his helm to get his attention.
'What the frag! Be careful, mech. No need to damage my delicate memory core any more than it already is!'
Sunstreaker all but shoved the medic aside. His engines are snarling menacingly as he glared silently at his twin.
Sideswipe's optics flicked nervously between the medic and the growling gold mech.
'Oh...heh heh heh... hi...'
He tried to subtly ease away from but to his dismay, found himself strapped quite firmly down to the berth.
Sunstreaker was still silent, running scans over his brother. His battle protocols that were on half-alert started to wind down... only to snap up again when Sideswipe nervously asked, 'Er... Who are you again?'
Pinning the mech with a harsh glare, Sunstreaker snarled and ripped into their spark bond, suspecting the other of playing a stupid prank only to stop short suddenly.
Their gazes locked and through their bond, Sunstreaker examined the genuineness of Sideswipe's inquiry and saw the shocked expression on the other's face and feels that shock thrumming through their bond - Sideswipe was surprised and more than a little wary of having a bond with this seemingly crazy feral mech.
Oh yes, Sunstreaker could sense those sentiments perfectly.
Sideswipe flinched from the emotions that assaulted him from the other side of the bond in quick succession: confusion, anger, fear, hurt - and Primus - sheer rage and... and then Sunstreaker pulled back from the bond and blocked it off.
The golden mech and the medic stared down at him and all he could do was to shutter his optics back at them uncertainly.
Sunstreaker turned to snarl at the medic. 'Fix him!' he commanded, never mind that the two of them had spent orns doing the repairing together in The Room. Ratchet loudly reminded him of the damage incurred and that Sideswipe was physically fine, but even the medic had cast Sideswipe a worried look when he said this.
'But how can he not even recognise his own twin!' roared Sunstreaker.
Sideswipe's optic widened at this proclamation. 'Twin?' he mouthed to himself incredulously.
Twins were weird creatures, even by Cybertronian standards. Wasn't there a saying? Twins were twins; with a half-sparked programming between them all personally... or some slag.
And here he was, strapped to a berth and finding out he had a twin... He frowned. Or more accurately, finding out he had a twin for ages, but then had forgotten him and then finding out about him now... or some slag.
Slaggit, his processors hurt.
And what was that whining noise? Somemech please shut it up because his processors feel like they're melting and it's throwing up errors and he swears he was suffering from cascading errors – that noise! - and this is what Prowl must feel like when he has a logic glitch and he crashes and –
Clang!
Sideswipe gazed up at the wrench-wielding medic, a mournful expression on his faceplates. 'That hurts you know.'
'It was the only way to stop you from making that horrible whiney noise,' the medic huffed, subspacing his wrench again.
'Oh...That was me?'
The medic flicked some scans over his form and Sideswipe fidgeted.
'Yes. Don't push your processors too hard; they're still calibrating. And don't strain your memory cores! With time, your systems would restore them naturally.' Ratchet placed emphasis on the last sentence, glaring meaningfully between the other two bots.
The fasteners on the straps holding Sideswipe captive disengaged and he sat up.
'Berth rest for the remainder of the orn and you are confined to light duties on base until you have your processor together right... Now get out of my medbay.'
The red mech hopped off the berth grinning cheekily, 'But Ratchet, you always said that my processors were permanently damaged from all that Jet Judo-ing.'
He ducked the thrown wrench.
'You,' Ratchet intoned, turning to the other twin. 'Get him back to your quarters.'
Sunstreaker remained silent and expressionless as he turned and left the medbay. Sideswipe stared uncertainly after the retreating back before scurrying after the other mech.
They walked slowly side by side, their gazes forward and they avoided looking at each other. Tentatively, Sideswipe tested their bond and after a moment, Sunstreaker just as hesitantly open his side of the bond. Sideswipe could sense a swirling mess of anxiety and confusion and... a dark cold anger just simmering under the surface. Sideswipe recoiled slightly at feeling the engulfing wave of that anger and felt that it wasn't directed at him – thank Primus – but at...Decepticons... for what they did to him (Sideswipe). And he (Sunstreaker) was going to go on a rampage and tear them (Decepticons) all to pieces. And then after that, they (Sunstreaker and Sideswipe) would hopefully be able to pick up being proper twins again because God! (Primus) communicating with his brother (Sideswipe) was hard enough before, but now it was the Pits.
...It was strange and a little terrifying that Sideswipe could grasp all that from the bond, but of course, it was a twin bond and not a regular bond-bond.
...which made him (Sideswipe) think suddenly of the human dessert bon-bon and wondered if it was the equivalent of the Cybertronian energon goodies, and he (Sideswipe) was in disbelief at this train of thought and that it must be processor damage after all...
...wait, wait! That was Sunstreaker's thought. Primus, it was getting confusing in here!
...But he (Sideswipe) would be fine in a couple of orns. And then... And then, we (Sunstreaker and Sideswipe) would go force feed some Cons their own afts.
And again Sideswipe could feel that roiling fury in the bond and he flinched. He grimaced when he perceived Sunstreaker turned his attention to the source of Sideswipe's agitation, sensing that he (Sideswipe) was pretty anxious about sharing quarters with a mech who was harbouring homicidal thoughts whom he (Sideswipe) hoped was above twinicide.
Sunstreaker froze and Sideswipe winced.
Slowly Sunstreaker turn to glare at his twin. Sideswipe was helpless to stop his thought process as it continued and was broadcasted through the still open bond.
Oh slag. He (Sunstreaker) is really gonna murder me (Sideswipe) now, twin or not. But... that would also mean that he (Sunstreaker) would commit twinicide and suicide. Because one twin goes, so does the other and-
Sunstreaker blocked the bond abruptly.
'And,' the golden twin hissed, advancing one step per word towards him, 'You. Are. An. Idiot.'
Sideswipe backpedalled until he hit the wall. Sunstreaker growled and raised a pointed finger to his faceplates.
'As usual!' Sunstreaker added, before jabbing at the security console next to his twin's head, typing in the code. The door that Sideswipe was leaning against opened abruptly and he went sprawling onto the floor. Sunstreaker strode over his brother and took a seat on the edge of one of the two berths in the room.
The door hissed pneumatically shut and Sideswipe cautiously picked himself off the floor. He sat on the other berth opposite the golden mech. His twin (Twin! His processor repeated in disbelief, trying to be helpful) was staring at him unmoving, optics an icy shade of blue and simmering with rage. Sideswipe fidgeted and broke optic contact, feeling uncomfortable.
He cast his gaze around the room, looking at everything except his twin (Twin!) in front of him. The room was clearly and evenly divided into two zones: Neat and Utter Chaos. Sideswipe's half was cluttered with junk and a venerable tower of half-dismantled thingamabobs. The other side of the room was clean and fastidiously tidy, bottles and tubs of polishing products arranged in categories on shelves. Casting his gaze about and avoiding the uncomfortable stare of the other mech, Sideswipe selected a random doohickey from the Thingamabob Tower.
Sunstreaker stood abruptly, startling Sideswipe who flinched and dropped his doohickey. Sideswipe sat frozen on the berth as Sunstreaker stared at him for the longest time. Finally, the golden mech turned and left without saying a word.
Once he was gone, Sideswipe's frame uncoiled and relaxed from a tension he didn't know he had. Venting deeply, Sideswipe took another glance around and carefully lay down on the berth. He wasn't going to recharge just yet. He just wanted to be comfortable as he tried to come to terms with the disturbing orn he had and figure out how he had a twin (Twin!) that he just didn't remember.
Sunstreaker was not an idiot. (Unlike his brother.)
He could see Sideswipe's discomfort in every line of his frame and the way the mech would subconsciously lean away from him. And the fact that Sides's had kept most of his weight on the tip of his pedes, ready to bolt at the slightest hint of danger.
Sunstreaker's spark clenched painfully in his chest.
His own fragging twin was afraid of him. And what the frag was all that about twinicide...?
His engines revved angrily in frustration and pent up anger. He was going to cut those Cons into halves, and then cut those halves into smaller halves. And he was going to keep halving those fragging halves until they couldn't be halved anymore and then he was going to obliterate those bits by blowing them up or melting them down. He couldn't decide yet but he'll figure that out later.
He strode jerkily to the target practice area and glared at the targets and imagined they were Cons. And then Sunstreaker went into batshit berserker mode and destroyed the whole place.
The rest of the crew didn't know what to do; the twin dynamics were gone. Where they had been inseparable before, now it seemed like the two were polarised to repel the other. They seemed to purposely refuel at the rec room at different times.
Sideswipe didn't kick up too much of a fuss to being confined to base, even when he got stuck with monitor duty. As for Sunstreaker, he turned up at Prowl's office requesting for more patrol shifts and the Second in Command very nearly suffered from a processor crash when Sunstreaker had merely brushed aside Prowl's comment that the patrols were in muddy, dirty areas.
Concerned, Prowl requested Sunstreaker report himself to Ratchet for a medical evaluation. Ratchet's report came back that Sunstreaker was functioning fine, even if his spark was a bit strained but that was to be expected from the current situation.
Orns passed and Sideswipe was not remembering this twin any better.
Not the most social of mechs under normal circumstances even with his twin there to balance him out emotionally, Sunstreaker was now downright hostile. While not on patrols or on missions, Sunstreaker could be found in the practice range, mowing down targets with more viciousness than efficiency. Or he would be in the washracks, buffing and waxing himself more obsessively than normal. Tracks noticed this but didn't dare to comment on the fact because Sunstreaker's nature was just getting more and more unpredictable these orns.
Where Sunstreaker had excluded himself from any and all company, Sideswipe was hanging out with other bots, trying to get a "feel" of this volatile mech that was his twin.
The minibots were delighted about the opportunity of potentially turning one twin against the other and told him just what a fragger his twin was. Sadly, they didn't even have to embellish their horror stories.
Bluestreak had said that Sunstreaker might not have talked much and when he did, all he did was to mostly snarl and to curse and swear a lot. But he was also quite protective of Bluestreak and had saved his aft plenty of times before in battle and wasn't it said that actions speak louder than words anyway? Because Sunstreaker was really a mech of action, even if his actions were usually quite violent but he really means well and he mostly beats up Decepticons anyway.
Blades proclaimed that Sunstreaker is an arrogant self-absorbed fragger. But then again, Blades just had a confrontation with the mech a few breems ago and was liable to be slightly biased, even if his helm was dented from where Sunstreaker had hit him.
And Bumblebee had said that Sunstreaker regularly helped him with his detailing.
The differing opinions and different reflections of Sunstreaker's character only served to confuse Sideswipe even more.
'I don't know, Jazz!'
'Whaddaya mean, Sides?'
'I don't know who Sunstreaker is!'
Jazz stared at him for a moment. 'He is your twin.'
'Yeah, I know that,' scowled Sideswipe. 'It's just that everyone is saying different stuff about him, and most of them hate him, but at least they know him enough to have opinions on him. I'm supposed to be his twin and I don't even know him...
'I don't know, Jazz. Ratchet said my system restore should have worked out all the broken file paths by now, but nothing is happening and I still don't remember Sunstreaker.'
'Just hang in there, mech. This is hard for Sunny too. Maybe you should go talk to him... or hang out with him.'
Sideswipe didn't reply and merely curled into the table, holding his cube of energon tighter.
Jazz frowned and left the rec room. He strolled through the hallways and ended up in front of Prowl's office. He knocked and entered the space even before he received permission. He settled himself into the chair in front of the desk and vented loudly. The black and white mech peered at him from behind a datapad.
'Good evening, Jazz. To what do I owe this pleasure?'
'It's 'bout Sunny an' Sides...' Jazz started.
Prowl frowned and placed the datapad down. He folded his servos together on top of his desk and tilted his helm inquiringly. 'What about Sunstreaker and Sideswipe?'
Jazz vented again and then told him his concerns. Things were not looking good for the twins; the rift between them was growing and they each had no idea how to approach the other. Sunstreaker's temper was becoming shorter and shorter and he was more likely to respond with violence. Already, he had accumulated more than a week's stay in the brig due to his destructive behaviour, surly disposition and disregard for orders. Even now, Sunstreaker was in the brig for attacking Ironhide (outside of a training capacity) when they were in the practice rings. Conversely, Sideswipe was now quiet and withdrawn, voluntarily staying overtime on his duties. He had also taken to recharging in Bluestreak's quarters.
It was Prowl's turn to vent and he pushed the datapad he was perusing over to Jazz. Jazz scanned its contents and stared at his friend in dismay.
'Illegal street races?'
'I am afraid so. Apart from breaking a myriad of human traffic laws, Sunstreaker is also endangering human lives and he is threatening the secrecy that we are held to. The local law enforcement is already becoming suspicious.'
The silver mech cursed. 'D'ya remember when th' twins first came ta us? The only mech that could get through to him was Sides. Now he's showing all those old signs again but this time, Sides don't even remember him.'
Prowl could hear what the other mech wasn't saying; maybe Sideswipe was the only thing all this time that was keeping Sunstreaker acting relatively like an Autobot... and now Sunstreaker did not even have Sideswipe. It was not a comforting revelation, even less so when Prowl ran the statistics for that probability.
Sunstreaker had taken off again, leaving the base without permission. Presumably, he was taking part in another illegal street race. As usual, Sunstreaker had blocked his commlines and wasn't responding to any pings. Even Optimus's hails – coded with directives from the Prime - were blatantly ignored.
With his twin off-base, Sideswipe had taken a break from comm. duty to head to the rec room. He had grabbed himself a cube of energon and had just sat down with Jazz when he suddenly went rigid, his optics blazing white hot. His systems whined when battle protocols suddenly flipped on.
Jazz froze, staring at the scene before him which would be familiar if the twins' strange dynamics were in any resemblance of a working order.
'Sides?'
Sideswipe didn't reply. Instead, he transformed into his alt form and shot out of base, tires squealing.
Jazz went after him, transforming and following the red front liner. He transmitted to Prime and Prowl, who were immediately on the commlines putting together a contingent of Autobots to act as backup. No doubt Sunstreaker was in trouble.
Jazz was one of the fastest mechs in the Autobot army, but even then he was unable to keep up Sideswipe. The other mech had left him in the dust, literally. Fortunately, the dirt road also gave Jazz tire tracks to follow and he kept up a constant feedback of coordinates with the rest of the Autobots.
On the command commlines, Optimus questioned Blaster if there had been a distress signal from the golden twin and received a negative for a reply.
Dread churning his tanks, Jazz settled himself lower on his axles and pushed himself to go faster.
Jazz kept his sensors on tracking the front liner, even as he sent out pings that the other mech ignored. Jazz's engine was running hot and his systems were starting to whine in protest. Still, he kept up the speed he was going, the dirt roads heading through a wooded area.
He screeched to a halt when he saw the damage to the surroundings and the energon and bits of twisted armour plating littering the area. Most of the torn armour plating glinting in the sunlight was a familiar shade of gold.
Jazz revved his engine and transformed into a crouch. He sent off a fresh round of coordinates to the rest of the command team and took off again, this time following the trail of destroyed forestry. A hint of unease crept into his spark as he brought up his own battle protocols and his systems switched to run silent. There was evidence all around – the trees were torn up and burning, rocks melted to slag – that there had been an ambush and a fierce fight. The ground was wet with spilt energon and Jazz's sensors indicated two spark readings behind the rock formation ahead of him. Quietly, with a blaster in hand, Jazz peeked over the top of the rocks.
And almost got his helm blown off.
There was a rumble of snarling engines and the high pitch whine of cannons powering up. Jazz dove to the side as the rock formation was reduced to powder. The silver mech subspaced his blaster and beat a hasty tactical retreat, withdrawing and making his way back to the road to wait for Prime and the rest of the crew.
When they had finally showed up, they were apprised to the situation. Ratchet immediately transformed and headed into the woods wordlessly. He sent a flurry of pings ahead of him, sending his medic identification codes as he made his way to the location coordinates Jazz had provided him. He stopped to stand perfectly still, servos at his sides when he was within visual range of the area.
As he waited for a response from the battle-charged mech, he scanned the area and made a note of the crumpled plating and the several severed limbs scattered on the forest floor.
Sideswipe suddenly appeared, crouched on top of the remaining rock formations, optics blazing white and a snarl on his faceplates. His mounted canons were whirling and he was also clutching his vibroblades, which were coated in energon. He looked ready to personally deliver mechs to Primus. In pieces, preferably.
Ratchet kept pinging the other mech. Sideswipe's gaze narrowed into a white hot glare. His was tense and his plating was rattling aggressively. Still, he did not power down his weapons and the mech was bristling for battle.
Ratchet tensed and locked his servos in place, clamping down on his defensive protocols when the whine of Sideswipe's canon rose to an even higher pitch. The medic did not relent on his identity pings, even as he internally swore he was going to dismantle the twin and reassemble him into a fragging dishwasher.
The whine of the cannons suddenly cut off, but the mech did not subspace his weapons.
That was permission enough. Ratchet approached, scrambling up the rock surface.
Sunstreaker was lying crumpled on the ground, most of his plating torn off, exposing delicate internal circuitry and cabling. Both of his optics were smashed and one leg had been twisted out of his hip joint.
Ratchet set to work, immediately applying a field patch on Sunstreaker's chest where plating had been torn away to expose the spark. The medic worked efficiently, sealing up lines and reconnecting wires and Sideswipe was hovering above him the whole time and growling. Despite the inconvenience and distraction, Ratchet knew Sideswipe was running with all the intensity of a split-sparked twin protecting the other.
When Sunstreaker was stable enough, it was another dance to placate the protective twin enough to transport Sunstreaker back to base. The other Autobots were familiar with their roles and this time, Prowl and Bluestreak were the ones to help load the golden twin onto the flatbed of Optimus's alt form.
The twins and Ratchet were holed up in The Room again. And if Sunstreaker proved to be an apt assistant, Sideswipe proved to be nothing more than a nuisance that kept getting underpede. When his battle-charged systems had calmed down, it seemed that Sideswipe had lost all depth perception and motor control of his various limbs. He bumped into medical trays, scattering parts and tripped over wires.
But in this other dimension that was The Room, Ratchet miraculously obtained patience and gave Sideswipe small jobs to do that even he could not screw up... much, anyway. But they weren't anything Ratchet could not fix.
And then when The Patient was finally repaired, Ratchet left the twins to their ritual of sanding, repainting and polishing. Despite Sideswipe lack of coordination whilst helping to repair his brother, he had the steadiest servos when it came to detailing his twin. Every sweep of the airbrush was meticulously careful, the paint applied at a perfectly even thickness. It was only in The Room could Sideswipe perform with such single-minded intensity. Ratchet had seen the product of his detailing attempts outside of The Room (on other mechs and on Sunstreaker) and they had not been pretty.
Sideswipe wheeled his brother into the general medbay area when he was done, joors later. Sunstreaker's frame had been polished and waxed until the plating fairly gleamed.
The red mech had stood there motionless and merely stared at his brother.
Jolt, who had been avoiding optic contact and had been studiously reorganising the medical tools, finally flicked a scan over the red twin.
In spite of the gruesome image Sideswipe cut, coated in a thick layer of dried energon that were starting to flake off, none of the energon was his.
Jolt hesitated for a long moment before gathering up some rags, a bottle of solvent and a cube of energon. He slowly approached the mech and handed him the items quietly.
Never lifting his gaze off his twin, Sideswipe drained the energon and handed Jolt back the empty cube. Sideswipe sat himself in a chair beside his brother and then started cleaning himself. Jolt left him to it.
The command team was in a meeting discussing recent events. Based on the post battle analysis of the scene, they had been able to ascertain that Sunstreaker had been ambush by half a dozen mechs. They had little difficultly identifying the Decepticons; the severed limbs made identification easier. Judging from the evidence of torn plating, they had been tormenting Sunstreaker, no doubt wanting to draw out his deactivation. The front liner had put up a fierce fight, but was ultimately outnumbered and would likely have been deactivated if not for his twin showing up in a berserker rampage and beating the slag out of every mech and deactivating Barricade.
When Sunstreaker's life was endangered, Sideswipe's spark had reacted and flooded his programming with directives to protect the other half of his spark. It was also the catalyst needed for his processor to mend the broken file paths. Ironically, Ratchet stated dryly, based on processor scans he had managed to get of the mech, the corrupted file paths were restored in less than a breem.
Joors later, when the meeting finally finished, Ratchet made his way back to his medbay. He paused at the scene so reminiscent of orns ago, only this time the roles of the twins were reversed. Sideswipe was in a chair by his brother's berth, clutching an energon soiled rag in one servo. He was wiping the plating on his other arm, his movements slow and running on an automated sub-routine. His expression was preoccupied, even as he stared at his twin's faceplates with dim optics.
Ratchet had thought that Sideswipe had not sensed his approach until the mech spoke, vocaliser soft. 'How could I have forgotten him, Ratchet?'
'Your spark did not forget,' said Ratchet simply.
And it was true.
Sideswipe shuttered his optics and turned to look at him. Ratchet gazed back. Feeling sentimental, he unsubspaced his wrench.
Clang!
'Ratchet!' screeched the front liner, dropping his rag and clutching at his dented helm.
'Get some rest, slagger.'
Ratchet ignored the mumbled curses and entered his office. He settled in behind his desk and started compiling a requisition list for medical supplies even as he contemplated the nature of twins; half a spark each and thrice the trouble... and yet somehow, those glitches grew on you and corrupted your programming.
..And you'll get all sorts of data execution errors because of conflicting thought processes because one half of you wants to make sure they're safe and whole, and the other half wants to maim and dismantle them.
...And this is how Prowl must feel when he encounters a paradox.
An alert pings in his processor, informing Ratchet of Sunstreaker's systems preparing to come online. Ratchets heaved himself away from the desk and opened his office door quietly. He leaned against the doorway. The support systems and medical consoles are feeding him data of Sunstreaker and he reviewed them. His patient's medical status is satisfactory.
He watched as Sunstreaker's optics powered up and flared briefly white. The golden frame tensed up for a fraction of an astrosecond as his processors recalled the Decepticon ambush in the forest... but his servos are clutching the familiar grip of his brother, so everything must be alright after all...
His fingers spasm and he gripped even tighter because he remembered he had sort of lost Sides, lost his twin... but now the bond between them was thrumming powerfully and comfortingly, and achingly familiar.
He finally looked up at his brother and their gazes locked.
'Hey, bro,' Sides whispers softly. 'Welcome back.'
Sunny stares at him for a brief moment before a look of relief flooded his features and he smiled back faintly.
...And Sides distantly wonders how he had ever thought this other half of him was ever frightening, because this was Sunny, his twin.
...And he feels his twin's relief that he is fine and so is he, and we are going to be proper twins again and later, after everything has settled down a bit, we are going to go wreck some appropriate havoc and get thrown into the brig together... which we would summarily break out of and create inappropriate chaos until they get Prime to step in and we'll get slag but whatever, because we'll get slagged together.
Twins were twins, after all. And twins did stupid slag together.
Sunny's features softened for the first time since the orn Sides had gotten hurt and had went and forgotten him.
'You too, bro.'
finis.