Thank you all for the reviews!

I caught a cold XD. Still, with free time on my hands I was hit by inspiration, and so I bring you chapter two.

Disclaimer: I don't own. Never will. Plot's mine.

On with the fic.

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The first thing that Sideswipe thought when he woke up was, "The Ark needs a repaint."

The obnoxious orange colored paint on the ceiling was beginning to peal. That's probably what four million years at the weather's mercy, with no maintenance sessions, did. Perhaps they could repaint it a softer, cooler color like grey or blue.

Oh, but silly him. Generally the cool colors on the color wheel were reserved for Decepticons. That was another reason to add Decepticons to the hate list. Because of them, he got to stare at loud obnoxious orange.

Hazily, he noticed that the clanking of footsteps was nearing him. As he sorted his muddled thoughts he realized were he was and why.

'Oh, slag. Ratchet is going to throttle me,' Sideswipe internally winced as he heard something stop at his berth side. He weakly tilted his head in the direction of a large white mech and attempted a sweet, innocent smile in a vain attempt to gain some sympathy from the usually hell-bent doctor. Ratchet simply stared at him not betraying any signs of emotion on his face.

Sideswipe cringed knowing that it was the calm before the storm, and he mentally braced himself for what was coming. He could imagine it all and played the scenario out in his mind theater.

'The Wrath of the Welder Harpy, starring Ratchet! Brought to you by Seeker Slag Enterprises, and Produced by Dead-Lambo-Walking Productions!' the title flashed cheerily. The mental curtains parted, and the imaginary flick started.

Ratchet's livid face appeared, his dark optics flashing dangerously, "You fraggin glitchy idiot! No, actually, calling you an idiot would be an insult to stupid people! What did I tell you?! I said be careful, and what do you do? You get your aggravating self slagged! I would be in my right mind to rewire you into a table lamp!" the mental Ratchet screamed.

Then mental Sideswipe cowered under the explosive wrath, attempting to placate the furious white mech with ill attempts at humor. The medic cooled down enough to take careful aim and pitched a wrench at Sideswipe, hitting him square between the optics before leaving the medical bay in an angry flurry. Probably in search of high grade.

As the internal movie darkened, and the credits began to roll, Sideswipe mentally sighed and hoped Ratchet's raving wouldn't take to long this time. He wanted to go find Sunstreaker so they could finish the game of Halo they had started before the Itaipu power plant thing. Sunstreaker still had plus three kills on him, and that did not sit well with the competitive, red transformer.

Ratchet opened his mouth, Sideswipe braced himself for the imminent verbal onslaught, and… "How are you feeling?" the medic asked flatly.

That one sent Sideswipe for a loop.

"Are you feeling any types of pain? Dizziness?" he continued.

Ratchet, the mech whose bedside manner was infamous and openly feared by all (even Optimus Prime), was being…pleasant and nice? What?!

Sideswipe opened his mouth but the words were caught in his vocalizer.

"Most of your neural influx systems were damaged from, I'm guessing, being exposed to Starscream's null ray too many times. Your outer casing and armor reinforcements were decimated as was your arm. The strain of energon loss damaged some of your circulatory systems," the medic drawled on and on, speaking with a crisp proficient tone that sounded almost…bored.

There was no screaming, colorful cursing, or creative name calling. There was no throwing of his almighty tool arsenal with his legendary dead-on accuracy. There wasn't even a hint of irritation in his voice. He just continued to list through all of the horrible things that had happened to Sideswipe with a sort of detached professionalism.

That freaked Sideswipe much more then the usually apocalyptic rants the medic typically threw. At least those had a pattern to them. Those were familiar. This, indifference Ratchet was using was not in the norm, and it disturbed him. He found himself wanting Ratchet to scream at him, telling him that he was an idiot, that he shouldn't do stupid things like he had, and threatening him with all of the things he would rebuild Sideswipe as. Raging was how the medic showed he cared.

…did that mean Ratchet did not care about him anymore? Did he finally give up on the twins?

It was like he had stepped into the Twilight Zone (Sideswipe blamed the reference on Wheeljack who was responsible for getting him addicted to the Sci-Fi channel). Perhaps Sideswipe didn't wake up after all. Perhaps he was still in stasis…or dead. But this didn't seem like the Matrix. The Matrix would have high grade. Lot's and lots of high grade. And if it was the pit, there would be falcons, but that was a different story for another time.

As he tried moving, an unpleasant, strange, and foreign feeling ache ran through his body. 'Okay, so I am awake. But then why is…Oh hell. What happened?'

In panic, Sideswipe sat up quickly and swayed. He lifted his legs over the edge of the medical table and dropped down expecting his feet to meet the floor.

The floor was a lot farther down then he remembered it being.

He slid off the table completely and crashed onto the ground in a heap.

Sideswipe began to panic, and he scrambled to his hands and knees looking around wildly. Everything looked bigger, taller.

Regaining his senses, he stood up to his full height.

He found himself staring at Ratchet's midsection.

This was wrong. Sideswipe, one of the largest mechs in the ark, was basically optic to crotch against one of the shortest non-minibot 'Bots in the arch. Were his legs damaged? In his energon loss delirium did he imagine getting his arm blown off while it was really his legs? But when he looked down his feet were still there as were his legs.

But to his horror, while being somewhat the same, they were different.

Numbly, he looked up at the medic who, while expressionless, had an evil glint in his optics. An evil glint of satisfaction.

"What the, SLAG!" Sideswipe screeched, and then instantly slapped his hands over his mouth when a high pitch tenor erupted from his vocalizer.

Though he kept a poker face, Ratchet could not hide the delight laced in his dark aquamarine optics. "You need to calm down. You just got-"

"What did you do?" Sideswipe squeaked before hiccupping in horror. He ran past Ratchet and looked for the closest shiny surface he could find.

He stared at his reflection slack jawed.

If there was one way to describe him it was absolutely adorable.

He was shorter than half his original height roughly the size of a tall minibot at best. While he sort of resembled his former appearance, his casing was not as bulky, his build was sleeker and softer looking and he was lacking excessive armor and equipment. His face was rounder and more childish and his light blue optics seemed bigger and held the innocents of a curious child.

A highly pissed of child.

"What the hell did you do?" Sideswipes voice screeched shrilly, spiking up a few octaves with each word. Now he knew why Ratchet didn't threaten to rebuild him as something else because he got hurt.

Ratchet actually had already built him as something else.

"You got your internals fragged and needed extensive repairs. Unfortunately I did not have enough equipment to repair your body." Ratchet shrugged masterfully hiding his amusement with nonchalance.

"This is a down grade!" Sideswipe screamed in horror at his new form.

"It's only temporary," Ratchet replied calmly. "I based this form off a human child's. It's designed for energy conservation, not for combat. I'd advise not getting into any skirmishes. Building this form used up the last of the supplies we had. Besides, considering your persona I think it's quite fitting." 'A brat's body for a juvenile mind.'

"No one is going to let me live this down if they see me. You could've waited for more equipment! Why did you do this?" Sideswipe cried indignantly, "Put me back in my old body! I can survive being armless for a week!"

"It was much more complex then that. The next supply run is in a week and you weren't going to last more than a few more hours," Ratchet stated seriously. That shut Sideswipe up, "Your internals were under severe stress and you were going to die. I didn't have the supplies I needed to complete the repair your body needed. So, I made you a body out of what I did have to keep your spark in until I can get more materials to fix your old one. Since we only had a little, the temporary form also had to be little." Something about the cold indifference the medic used made Sideswipe cringe internally.

"You used all of the equipment on me but… Sunstreaker! He was hurt too. Where is he!?" Sideswipe bolted around the med bay searching for his MIA brother, calling his name frantically.

"He's fine. Shut up." Ratchet rubbed his temples suddenly thinking that giving Sideswipe a higher pitched vocalizer wasn't such a good idea (even though it completed the image oh so perfectly). It was doing a number on his audio receptors.

Not finding any traces of his sibling he ran up to Ratchet. "Where's is he?! Give me Sunstreaker you slaggin, sadistic surgeon!"

"That is no language for a child to, ow!" The small Sideswipe swiftly kicked Ratchet in the shins.

Ratchet growled and hoisted Sideswipe under his arm as if he was nothing more then a sack of flour. Sideswipe, unfamiliar with anything being able to lift him, was thrown off for several kliks before he began processing what was happening. Ratchet had marched halfway across the med bay by the time Sideswipe was able to sober up and respond to the CMO's actions with much flailing, kicking and screaming.

"Put me down! Where are you taking me! Primus, Damnit! I'll bite your ankles if I have to! Where is Sunstreaker? Sunstreaker!" Sideswipe tried pounding on the medic's side with his small fists, but the softer metal barely made even scratches on the malevolent Medic's paintjob.

"Quiet, you." Ratchet jerked the small mech under his arm in an attempt to acquire a better grip. "I'm putting you in timeout."

Sideswipe stopped hitting him long enough to utter, "Time what?" before Ratchet unceremoniously dumped him into the utility closet. The CMO slammed the door shut, locking Sideswipe inside.

Banging ensued and rather derogatory phrases and muffled curses began filtering through the metal door.

"Don't get your processors in twist you brat. I'm going to get Sunstreaker. He's at Sparkplug's mechanic shop. Since I used all of the Cybertronian equipment on you since it was your internals damaged, I had to get something else to replace Sunstreaker's externals."

The pounding on the metal door stopped as Sideswipe thought about it.

If Ratchet did what he did to him, who knows what he did to Sunstreaker.

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When Sunstreaker's optics came online, he was greeted by a blinding light, "Just wonderful. I died," He groaned and threw an arm over his optics. Did his limb feel a little heavier?

"Not quite, but the Deceptijunk sure did a number on you." Sunstreaker lifted his arm and turned his head over to see the small, rotund human called Sparkplug. He was wiping soot and oil off of his hands with a worn, greasy, pink rag.

"Why is it so bright?" Sunstreaker groaned sitting up. His feet touched the floor with a clank. Ratchet must've repaired his legs.

"Florescent light bulbs. They're the only things that can light this place decently. By the way, you're in my auto garage." Sparkplug waved his hand, emphasizing their location.

Sunstreaker looked around, saw he was indeed in a mechanic garage, and scowled. It was a narcissistic 'Bot's worst nightmare. The concrete floor was covered with greasy stains and puddles of shimmering oil. Greasy car parts and rusted vehicle shells littered the place, dirt and dust were smeared on the walls, and the large garage smelt strongly of exhaust.

"What the slag am I doing here? How come I'm not at the Ark?" Sunstreaker drew his legs up onto the metal platform he was sitting on, and tried scooting farther back on the table to get away from all of the dirty substances that potentially threatened his casing.

Sparkplug began walking closer to the giant Autobot. "Well it's kind of a long story and Ratchet told me to wait…"

"Oi, grease monkey! Stop right there, back away, and get your griminess away from me!"

Sparkplug halted and let out a nervous laugh, "Eheh. Trust me Sunstreaker. A little dirt's probably the least of your worries right now."

Sunstreaker looked at him quizzically for a moment then turned his head as the hollow sound of metal rattling resonated behind him. Ratchet lifted the metal garage door up and entered.

For some reason Sunstreaker began to imagine the Imperial March playing as the medic strode closer to him. Those thoughts snowballed, and a weird scene entered his head.

He imagined Ratchet in a black paint scheme, wearing a long, tacky, billowing, black cloak. Mental Ratchet lifted a shiny black hand and clenched it tightly in front of him, '(Kwwshee) Sunstreaker (Kwwshee) I am your father!'

'No! No, it's not possible!' Sunstreaker thought horrified. Suddenly, he realized the absurdity of his thoughts and blamed it on Skywarp for kneeing him so hard in the back of the head in their earlier battle, 'That's the last time I watch a Star Wars marathon with Wheeljack.' He vowed.

"Sunstreaker?"

The aforementioned mech quickly snapped out of his thoughts as he realized Ratchet was standing directly behind him with an unreadable expression across his face, 'Great. My audios are screwed.' He prepared himself for the verbal assault, and prayed to Primus that Ratchet would be gentle on his chassis when he would finally unleash his tool arsenal.

"How are you feeling?" the medic asked professionally.

That was new. Sunstreaker stared.

…and stared.

…and stared some more.

Ratchet simply gazed at him with a patient, expecting look on his face. Sunstreaker did not like it and shifted uncomfortably in the silence. Finally he said flatly, "You're not yelling."

Ratchet chuckled softly causing Sunstreaker to flinch. For some reason, happy Ratchet was scarier then angry Ratchet.

"Now why would I yell?" Ratchet asked coolly. He moved around the table, Sunstreaker watching him like a hawk all the while, and stopped in front of the warrior mech. "Lucky for you your inner systems weren't to badly fragged. That was good since I had to use the little equipment we had in 'repairing' Sideswipe's internal damage." Sunstreaker gripped the side of the table so hard; Ratchet thought that the metal would snap.

"Sideswipe?" he asked worriedly suddenly realizing that he hadn't seen his twin since he awoke.

"Oh, he's fine. I fixed him," Ratchet stated. Sunstreaker detected a smirk in the medic's voice, "You, on the other hand, had a different kind of problem. You had a lot of superficial damage, and your casing had to be completely replaced."

Sunstreaker slowly looked into the medic's optics. "You just said you used everything fixing Swipes."

"I did," Ratchet responded, "I had to be a bit… creative in repairing you. That's sort of why you're here."

Warning flags went up in Sunstreaker's mind.

He pointed an accusing finger at the CMO, "What did you-" he choked on his words and froze as he caught sight of his arm.

So, once again, he stared.

…and stared.

His arm was no longer sleek, glossy and gold. It was slightly bulkier, dull, and brown. He shakily let it drop to his side and stared blankly ahead. With out a word he stood from the table he had been sitting on and walked across the dirty floor he had tried so fervently to avoid only a few moments before.

Sparkplug watched him nervously, and Ratchet watched him amused.

Sunstreaker reached the entrance that Ratchet had entered through and pulled down the rattling steel door to the floor. Gracefully, he stood up and looked at his reflection in the metal.

He still had his same shape for the most part, and his head was the same. However, every part of his armor that had been gold was instead an ugly, dull brown that was scratched, scuffed and dented. His legs and arms had strange bulky panels attached to the sides that looked like faux wood, and door panels were attached awkwardly to his form. To add the cherry on top, his famous glossy finish was nonexistent and dull.

Ratchet watched the 'Bot in fascination as he scrutinized his reflection. This wasn't the reaction he was expecting from the vain mech.

Truth be told, Sunstreaker was speechless with horror.

The once-yellow warrior numbly decided to transform.

The whirring of metal plates twisting, and the clicks of metal parts rearranging them selves filled the dead silence of the mechanic workshop. With a few more snaps and clinks the transformation sequence stopped.

Where Sunstreaker had stood, a brown, Buick Roadmaster Stationwagon, complete with faux wood side panels, suddenly occupied his place.

Sunstreaker transformed back to his bipedal mode and began to quietly stare at his reflection again.

"You know. He's actually taking this a lot better then I thought he would," Sparkplug commented. Ratchet did not look at the human in acknowledgment, and continued to stare at the younger mech.

Suddenly Sunstreaker's head tilted upward slightly, he began leaning back on his heals, and the rest of him pitched backwards landing sprawled on the grimy floor with a heavy thud. He was out like a light before he ever hit the ground.

Sparkplug groaned, and slapped a calloused hand over his eyes. "If he wakes up and squishes me for my involvement in this, I'm going to haunt you for eternity."

"Don't worry. Sunstreaker won't hurt you," Ratchet assured.

"Out of all of the cars you wanted to use to repair him with, why that one?"

"I didn't want to inconvenience you by having you worry about getting this glitch something better. That was the only complete vehicle you had that didn't belong to somebody, and it was convenient," the medic replied with masked delight, "And these two brats have been proverbial thorns in my side for millenniums. I'm so slagging tired of lecturing them on the same things over and over again only for it to fall on deaf audios."

"I'm all for disciplinary actions. Trust me, as a father I know. Still, doesn't this seem a bit harsh?"

"They both brought this upon themselves." Ratchet crossed his arms and frowned. "I told them I didn't have the means to do extensive repairs right now and told to be careful. Neither of them listened to me and both of them got hurt badly. I just did what I had so they both would survive, and if they actually get something out of it great. Either way, they're just going to have to live with these forms until I can repair them properly." He stared at Sunstreaker's unconscious form.

Oh yes. He was going to enjoy this week very, very much.

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Whoot! Chapter two is done. Still don't know where this story is headed but I'm getting some ideas.

So, yup. I wanted to turn Sideswipe and Sunstreaker into different things. Since their personalities are different I figured they would react differently to different things.

Any who, reviews are loved, ideas are welcomed, CC is appreciated, and flames are used to toast marshmallows.