Ho-leeeee cow! I can't believe the positive response to this story. I am truly, utterly flabbergasted. And completely humbled. I actually wrote much of this story last summer and then kind of chickened out on posting it, fearing fan reaction for totally not complying with the excessively popular fanon version of the twins. And so I lost my drive to complete the story, too.

So thank you. Thank from the bottom of my heart to all of you who've read/faved/alerted this story and especially to those of you who took the time to comment on it. Comment responses are below, because I like to do that "in public," when I can, even though it usually ends up getting lengthy. But first, here's the next part of the story.

His eyes glittered at me from out of the dimness of the cell they'd put him in. Bright, innocent-looking blue eyes. They didn't suit him. They should have been red, eternally enraged red. Like theirs. He belonged with them, really, if he could ever actually belong anywhere. But I didn't belong with them, and we can't be apart. He is my burden to bear, and mine alone, and where I go, he goes. He and the tormenting memories that I carry are my eternal, never-ending penance for my crimes.

He stared at me now, his end of the connection quiet and almost contemplative. Reflective. He was sated for the moment, but only for the moment. It would rise in him again, the dark tide of need, the irresistible compulsion that pulsed hotly through him as human lifeblood flowed through human veins. But for now he lounged, casually, dreadfully casually, on the hard, narrow bunk that folded down from the wall of the cell. One long, golden leg dangled off of the edge of the bunk. His powerful arms were folded behind his flared head, pillowing it on his hands, hands and arms that he would have methodically and fastidiously cleaned until not a single physical trace of his night's handiwork remained.

We had always done that, when he and I had been one. He still did it.

But his head was turned slightly toward me, and there was a wary alertness in him, in his eyes. He'd been watching for me long before I'd arrived, knew of course that I was coming, and now his eyes were fixed on me. Staring eyes. Calm eyes. For now.

I stared back at him for a long moment. And then I asked, voice hushed and careful, "Why?"

We didn't really need to speak verbally, the two of us, two inseparable faces of the same coin. He didn't often speak to me vocally at all, not when were alone, at any rate. He only did so in public, to keep up appearances, and sometimes the words that he said to me and the words that he projected to me were two entirely different things. But I always spoke to him verbally. It was a way to distance myself from him, flimsy though it was, a way to try to forget that we were inseparably linked. The charade offered some comfort where otherwise I had little to none.

He smirked at me, amused as always at my attempt to pretend that we weren't a single person, that our thoughts weren't intertwined and intimately intermingled in such a way that, sometimes, I could not tell if a thought was his or my own. It amused him that I tried to deny that I was as responsible for the things that he did as he was.

Because I wanted to do it? came the glib, flippant, lazy, eventual answer to my question of why he had done what he had done. Because I was bored? Because it was fun? You remember the fun, don't you? You remember how it feels when they scream? You remember the betrayal they feel, the look on their face because they thought you were their friend? You remember what it's like when they beg you to stop but you don't stop, and you just keep going and going until they stop begging because they can't beg anymore? You remember, brother. You remember all of it, as I do. Lambs to the slaughter. And you miss it, too, as I do. I know you do.

It was the same old taunting, and he was smug, proud of himself for what he'd done this night. I wanted to spit at him. I wanted to tear open his chest and crush his spark with my own bare hands. He was the only person in the universe that I had any desire to kill now, and the desire amused him deeply. I felt his amusement radiating through him and then through me. He didn't need to mock me for my desire to tear him apart. The amusement was mocking enough, because I was forced to feel it in myself, about myself.

"I don't miss it," I growled at him around a clenched jaw. "And you know it, and it eats at you, eats you alive. You hate it that you need me. That you can't do what you want to do without me when you know that I will never help you. Never again."

He snorted at that, aloud, before delving back into the link between us.

I don't need you, he spat contemptuously. Why would I need a pathetic weakling like you? You are nothing. That's what you think all the time, isn't it, dear "brother?" And you're right. You're absolutely right. You're nothing. You've been stripped of everything that was ever important. I have all of that, now. And now you disgust me. He paused, and then finished pointedly, brutally, Just as you disgust yourself.

I flinched, involuntarily. Because he was right. Of course he was right. I could keep nothing from him because it's impossible to keep things from yourself. He was right, and I could offer no defense. So I didn't even try. Instead, I changed the subject. It was the only thing I could think to do.

"Why him?" I asked, genuinely, sickly curious. "Did he call you 'Buttercup' again?"

He laughed at that, amused at the question and amused at my feeble attempt to redirect the conversation. His was a warm, rich, mellow laugh, pitched at a perfect, beautiful tenor that was just deep enough to carry easily across a crowded, noisy room. It was a laugh that made people look at him in admiration, in desire. It was part of his whole perfectly attractive package, part of the carefully-designed web in which he – we – ensnared our victims. But it was the worst sound in the universe now, as far as I was concerned. And then he sneered at me, deeply contemptuous as always, as he felt my disgust, felt my deep and utter disapproval of him. He felt that I had no right to judge him. And really, I didn't. He was what he was, and he was me. Sitting in judgment of him was sitting in judgment of myself.

He rolled fluidly, gracefully to a sitting position then, turning as he did so, so that he could lean back against the wall that was then behind him, but his eyes never left mine as he moved. His gaze knifed through me like a sword.

If you weren't so afraid of me, he said simply, you'd know why. You'd know exactly why.

And he was right again. I was afraid of him, in a sense, afraid to delve too deeply into him, for fear of what I would see, what I would come to know. What I might become under his influence.

And then you would acknowledge my brilliance. Just as he will, in time.

I narrowed my eyes at him, suspiciously.

"Just as who will?" I asked.

He smiled at me, at the question. His smile might have been beatific, if not for the malice dripping from him. He rose from the bunk, graceful as a cat, and slowly approached the bars that separated us, stopping only when he was so close to them that their energy crackled against him threateningly. He paid it no mind, the entirety of his attention focused solely on me.

"Prowl," he said simply. Quietly. He said it aloud, but he whispered the name reverently, like some sort of macabre prayer.

I jerked away from him and then stumbled backward, farther away from him, my mind reeling. How had I missed this? He didn't want to kill Prowl, didn't want to make of him that sort of victim but rather a victim of an entirely different – and worse – kind. He wanted Prowl as some sort of sick ally or at least as a stripped-down toy whose abilities he could use as we had once used the abilities that I now possess. All this time I'd thought…and I'd been wrong. I backed myself against the wall across from his cell, and I leaned against it as I fought to digest his intentions, as my mind spun crazily, trying to comprehend how I hadn't known of this plan of his long ago.

He laughed again, snickering at my confusion.

Because although you can't hide your pathetic self and your pathetic thoughts from me, he snidely informed me, I've learned how to hide from you perfectly well. Because I don't need you, "brother." I need him. Only him. I know this now, and I only had to wait for you to drug yourself into oblivion again so that I could start down the road. And now I just have to make him see reason and he will because that's what he does. He's logical and he sees reason and he'll see that he needs me. Certain influences need to be removed first, but –

"So that's it, then," I interrupted weakly, my mind still flailing around trying to find some sense of balance. "Bluestreak was an 'influence.'"

Oh yes, he answered casually, nodding his head enthusiastically, proudly. He was careless as always, heedless of what he did. There was no guilt in him, for he did not possess the ability to feel such a thing. There was no remorse, either, because that was an utterly foreign concept to him as well. For him, the end justified any means whatsoever, no matter how gruesome.

I had to nip that one in the bud first thing, he was happily, cheerfully telling me. Fragger's practically like a son to him. Blue idolizes him, and I know he'd listen to his whiny babbling instead of listening to me. You understand. I know you do.

And I did, in a sick, twisted way that I remembered all too well and greatly abhorred.

Stupid stubborn fragger wouldn't die, though, he continued with rather revolting airiness. Like he didn't die when a whole fragging city fell on him. You know the type, I know, because those were always our favorite kind, the ones who lasted for a long, long time. He gave me a most enjoyable fight, too. I know you felt that, and I know you enjoyed it, too, don't try to deny it. And he might as well be dead now, so that will have to be good enough. For now, at least. And then there are just a few others that I will have to deal with, and then…oh, then… It will be glorious, you'll see. Far better than we ever were. He's the best, you know, and I won't settle for less than the best.

I was just staring at him as he babbled blithely away. A jumble of emotions flowed through me as the words, the terrible words, fell from him. His emotions. Mine. Ours. All intermingled. Mostly, though, there was horror. My horror. There was horror at the thought of him slowly and patiently working at Prowl like a cat toying with a mouse, separating him from everything familiar, everything sane, and then eating away at him for as long as it took, until there was nothing left but a twisted psyche helpless in the face of a manipulative master like him. And it wouldn't take long; Prowl's defenses were fragile, indeed. And there was horror at the thought that, because I had in a moment of weakness needed a respite from his draining and ever-looming presence, all of this was going to happen. It had already happened to poor Bluestreak, probably the most innocent and undeserving Autobot of them all, and that was my fault. It would happen to whatever others he had plans for, and that would be my fault, too. And it would happen to Prowl, despite my efforts over the years, and the guilt for that would be mine to bear as well.

But then, incongruously and very unexpectedly, the horror gave birth to sudden determination, to strength that I didn't possess, so it must have come from Primus Himself.

"No," I murmured, pushing away from the wall. "No, you're insane."

He laughed again at that. Uproariously. Delightedly.

That's a fine accusation, coming from you, he burbled. Pot, meet kettle.

"I won't let you do this," I informed him.

Thick waves of deep amusement assaulted me once the words had slipped from my mouth, more cutting than any sword could be.

And how will you stop me? he asked, smirking at me, eyes glittering anew. I can be out of this cell in less than a minute, if I want to be. You know that. And then I will disappear. And then I will return. And what can you do about any of that?

"I can tell them," I said firmly, chin rising defiantly, arms crossing over chest.

Tell them whatever you like, pathetic scrap, he growled, equally defiantly. They won't believe you. And even if they do believe you, what will they do? Hmm? Tell me, what will they do? Before I could answer, he babbled on, loving as always the sound of his own "voice." Optimus Prime is far nobler than you will ever be, but he is every bit as weak as you are. No wonder he likes you so much. But he won't like you at all once you tell him what you really are, will he, once you tell him what you've done and that you've been lying to him all this time? No one will like you anymore. They'll all be afraid of you, even Prowl, who you've tried so very hard to protect from me that one might think that you were in love with him or something. But he'll be afraid of you now, if you say anything. They'll all be afraid of you. And you can't even enjoy that anymore. You can't even feed on fear the way you used to be able to. You have fallen so very, very far, dear "brother" of mine. And I'm rising. Infuriating, isn't it?

"Shut up," I said, trying to keep desperation from my voice.

Why should I? he taunted relentlessly back. I can do this all day, every day, for the rest of your pathetic little life. Won't that be fun?

"No," I protested, and the desperation was obvious now. I couldn't stop it, couldn't hold it back, certainly couldn't hide it from him. "No no no no no. You won't do this. I will stop you."

I began to sidle away from the cell, away from him. Optimus Prime was likely still in the medbay, still keeping vigil with the others. It was his way. Or he might be in his office. Or in the Control Room. Wherever he was, I would find him. I would find him and tell him. Tell Prowl, too. Apologize to Prowl for what I had allowed him to do to Bluestreak. I would tell them everything, every sordid detail, if that was what it took. I would tell them whatever I had to tell them to make them listen to me, believe me, do something. It was all that was left to me, and if it would damn me as he thought it would, as it probably would, at least it might save Prowl and whomever else he had plans for.

My life in exchange for theirs. It was fitting. Very fitting. It was perhaps the only penance of which I was capable now, since I had ultimately and utterly failed in containing him. It was all that I could offer, now, the only thing I had left to give.

How very noble of you, he snidely called after me as I began to stagger down the corridor, away from him although I could never escape him. Self sacrifice from the likes of you. What a concept!

And he laughed, laughed and laughed, aloud as well as in my head. His mocking laughter rang and rang in my head, long after I couldn't hear his out-loud laughing. It chased me as I stumbled blindly down corridor after corridor toward I knew not what. But whatever it was, I could only fervently pray that it would succeed.

Review replies, in no particular order:

Tiamat: Yes, yes, I finally posted it. I'm such a freakin' coward. :) It helped that Sideswipe, after a looooooooooooong absence, decided to pop into my head while I was lightly napping yesterday evening so that I could finally, finally, finish this second chapter. I guess maybe he likes Anne Rice, since reading one of her novels that I managed to miss when it was published is what gave me the kick to poke at this story again. Anyway, I'm glad that you enjoyed the opening, and I hope that you will like the rest as well.

Lokimademedoit: Yep, only three chapters all together for this story, although the third one is very long, long enough that it should probably be two chapters, and I might make it so. It could be longer, sure, but since this Sunstreaker scares the piss out of me I can't imagine allowing him to roam around in my head for any really long stretch of time. But that doesn't mean that I won't write another story about him/them at some point, after my head has had a chance to recover, if an idea occurs to me. And I'm glad that you got a clear sense of the characters; this piece is mostly meant to be a character piece, and if I hadn't succeeded at that...Well, that would make it a very sucky character piece, indeed. :) I hope that you continue to enjoy the story.

Mrs. Sunstreaker: Yep, I can certainly understand preferring a less-dark Sunstreaker! *laughs* 'Cuz this one is scaaaaaary when he lets all his scary hang out, like he sort of did here. But that's kind of the point. I'm a writer who tends to like doing different things, and the bit about "sociopathic tendencies" in Sunstreaker's original official profile has been gnawing away at the back of my brain for years now.

katiesparks: Well, no one is purely evil. Even this Sunstreaker has good qualities; they're just sort of twisted and drowned out by psychosis at the moment. But yes, I like reading and creating different interpretations of the characters and really have no idea why some people are so inflexible about that. The fanon twins are fun, but in my opinion they usually lack depth because they're most often played for comedy, and comedy isn't usually about creating character depth. My "twins" are weird and totally not-fun, but at least they have depth! I think. I hope...

Starfire: *nods* When I ripped apart the opening the other day, I wanted it to be able to stand alone, in case I chickened out on posting the rest of the story, whether or not people wanted to see it. So yes, ambiguous yet complete. :) It gladdens me that you appreciate my different take on the "twins." It gladdens me that anyone appreciates it. :)

Carmilla DeWinter: Sideswipe's in a very tough position, yes, much tougher, actually, than Sunstreaker's position. And sometimes death can seem the only way to resolve/escape from such a situation. But in his case, that isn't an option, either. Poor guy. I totally want to hug him…so of course I heap more crap on him instead. *laughs* And…well, as you can see, I've decided to post the rest here, since enough people were interested in it. But the first part's also up on my fic LJ now, too.

shadowwriter01: It's been said that this fandom can crush originality/creativity, what with some people's insistence on writers adhering to fanon, of all things, because they've confused fanon with canon. So, posting this was something of an experiment, to see how it would go down, since the fanon twins seem to be so entrenched in the fandom's collective conscious. So far, so good...but then perhaps my warning scared away all those who can't deal with non-fanon twins. I'm glad that you appreciate original ideas...although I can't say that the idea is entirely original. Star Trek did the splitting-one-person-into-two-bodies thing first. :)

Bluebird Soaring: Me Nightwind like brilliant part! :D Thank you. :) And yes, there is darkness in all of us...except, oddly enough, in this Sideswipe, now. Darkness has been stripped from him. The thing of it is that, sometimes, it's the darkness that makes us strong, and this is what Sideswipe has discovered…and what he has to overcome.

reaper mendez: Your wish is apparently my command, for the rest of it you shall have, for better or worse. I'm glad that you're enjoying it so far.

aisling13: I think the problem is that most people have no idea what a sociopath is. Unfortunately, I do, having been involved with someone who was at least a borderline sociopath for a few years in my Stupid 20s. This, of course, is informing my Sunstreaker here. So yeah, it's kind of fun in a weird, twisted way to write a truly sociopathic Sunstreaker. I'm glad others are appreciating my attempt.

Koyako: Sideswipe is described in his original profile as a "daredevil." No mention is made of pranking, specifically, and although I'm not going to write him as a prankster because I'm deliberately separating "my" twins from their fanon selves as much as possible, I can see pranking as an aspect of daredevil-ness, especially risky pranking that could incur serious punishment if he was found out. (I can see Sideswipe, especially "my" Sideswipe here, being very desirous of punishment, actually.) I truly can't see Sunstreaker pranking, though. And I rather like his profile's description of him being contemptuous of Sideswipe in particular. That works well for my purposes here! :)

Jalaperilo: Now that's a very, VERY interesting idea that certainly goes against the grain! Sideswipe-as-sociopath. Someone should write that, because everything you said is true and makes all kinds of sense, and it would be such an awesome twist/tweak of what we normally see. I'M not going to write it, though. I like Sideswipe too much to make him a sociopath, whereas I'm not at all fond of Sunstreaker, so twisting and evil-ing him up is totally not a problem for me. *laughs* So I say that you should write it. :) But yes. Although I haven't seen many people who've tried to write a sociopath Sunstreaker, those that I have seen seem to fail at least somewhat because it seems they don't know what a sociopath is. I'm attempting to be somewhat authentic, drawing on personal experience with someone who at least flirted with sociopathy (so perhaps that's why this feels "real"), combined with *thunder crash* research.