"So are you gonna actually talk to him, or just clam up and pretend everything is fine again?"
"Shut up."
"I'm serious Sunstreaker. Don't do what you did when I gave you your body back, not when we've got a fully qualified-"
"I said shut-up. Do you want me to finish this or not?"
"I can do it myself you know. It's just more of a hassle."
"And nowhere near as well done, so either shut-up or change the subject, because I am not going there with you."
Sunstreaker scowled as he ran his brush painstakingly carefully down Ratchet's servo. He knew Ratchet had turned his sensory feedback right down so his ministrations wouldn't effect him, but all the same he was exceedingly careful.
Medics servos were second to none, and he'd heard First Aid talking to the CMO about his... acquisition of these new ones.
Sunstreaker was certainly not one to judge when it came to cannibalising the parts of mechs living or dead. As far as he was concerned, Ratchet had been lucky as far as timing and circumstance went. He didn't know the full Delphi story, just that those involved did not want to talk about it.
Something he understood implicitly.
"You're not even gonna ask, are you?" Ratchet grunted, silently appreciating the care Sunstreaker took to not disrupt the mechanisms in his palms.
"About what?"
"How I get my aft so slagging shiny, what do you think?" The medic tilted his helm with a wry not-quite-smirk not-quite-grin on his faceplate, trying to get a look at Sunstreaker's features to gauge his response.
There was the ghost of a half-grin of amusement before the golden mech's features returned to neutral broodiness. "Hey, it's your business, but if you want tell me, I won't stop you."
A half shrug and a few more deft but skilled strokes of the brush, turning blue to red.
"Not particularly interested in divulging the whole thing, no. I was just making an observation of YOUR lack of curiosity." Ratchet murmured gruffly.
"So what, you don't want to talk about it but you want me to ask?" Sunstreaker glanced up, cocking an orbital ridge. "You sure you aren't actually looking for an excuse to tell someone? I just assumed whatever the plague was down there, it got one of the medics and you salvaged his servos. And that now you feel guilty for it or something."
"Something like that. Except he was the head medic, a bot I trained, the creator of the plague and a traitor deliberately killing his patients to feed the leader of the DJD's transforming habit."
"...So, no guilt then?"
"It's a little more complicated than that." Ratchet answered with an edge of irritation.
Sunstreaker just shrugged lightly again. "Why don't YOU go to Rung then?"
"Professional courtesy."
Sunstreaker looked up and gave him a confused and questioning look at that, the medic giving a small 'tch' of amusement.
"I'm a medic Sunstreaker. Our morality programming is notorious for winding us up into the tightest balls of conflicted coding that exist in a functional bot. I learnt a long time ago that prodding the knot is a dangerous affair, and unwinding it requires more than a light-weight therapist. And I mean that in a literal sense. 'Do no harm' is one of the worst codes of conduct to have in a millions of vorns long war. I need physical sparring partners to tackle my problems. Preferably mechs larger than me who can take a beating."
Sunstreaker nodded in understanding. "And if he prodded your ball of fragged code clashes, I'm guessing he'd end up with a broken jaw?"
"Exactly. And he knows it. He has my old file from the psychologist who had the misfortune of finding out the hard way. I was prescribed specialised sessions for tackling the conflicts, but a psych has to evaluate suitable mechs for the job. As it is, I'm not due for another code de-tangling until the end of the vorn anyway."
"Considering the events of Delphi, I would actually be stepping that up to now, but I do not want you damaging your new servos. We may have to find another method for tackling the code conflicts in the interim." a calm voice floated across the ward.
Sunstreaker turned his helm to see Rung wandering down towards the desk they were sitting at, going back to concentrating on Ratchet's servos with a more pronounced scowl.
Rung looked unperturbed by the reaction, greeting Ratchet with a nod and a serene, if not muted smile.
"We can pause this and finish later if you wanted to see Sunstreaker now." Ratchet said politely, with an edge of apprehension as to the frontliner's reaction.
"Oh, no, that's alright, you can finish what you're doing, there's no hurry. I'd actually like to stay and watch... if that's alright with you both... I'm just interested to see you work Sunstreaker."
The golden mech's frown dropped, replaced by a puzzled look as he glanced up at Rung, considering him for a moment.
It looked to the psychiatrist for a moment as if he'd ask why, but then he just shrugged and went back to his neutral grimace.
Ratchet nodded to a chair over by a berth and Rung pulled it over to sit at the end of the desk, leaning back in a very relaxed manner and lacing his digits in his lap.
"I know it must seem odd for me to want to watch you paint servos, it's just I'm interested in your technique. I dabble in painting myself with my models, I sort of hoped I might... well, learn something."
"Doubt it, but whatever." Sunstreaker murmured, detailing the joints of the thumb with deft precision, not looking up at Rung as the mech smiled gently.
"How is your collection? It's gotten quite beat up in the short time we've been jovially hiking about the galaxy." Ratchet asked with wry humour to his tone.
"Oh, it's all in tact. Well... I put it back together, but Primus only knows how long that will last." He sighed.
Sunstreaker let the meaningless banter between the other two waft over his helm, concentrating on his task with single minded determination and patience.
He kept his processor distracted and occupied by concentrating on keeping the paint a good consistency (too little thinner and the texture streaked, too much and he'd have to apply another coat), and making sure he covered all the parts evenly, careful not to let the paint run down into joints or coat wires,. This was why servos were better painted by... well, servo. Airbrush was fast and easy, but it was hard to stop the paint from getting into joints, or drying between them and reducing flexibility.
Of course, Wheeljack had developed a paint that was supposed to be 'smart' and didn't stick joints or chip easily, but they had none on board, so old fashioned enamel was their only option.
Sunstreaker had finished Ratchet's left servo, and was just completing the palm of the right when he realised he was being addressed and looked up.
"Sorry, I didn't realise you were lost in thought... I was just wondering how your repairs were going? I meant to come and check on you in the morning when I heard what happened, but I ended up having to talk Whirl down from disgorging Xaaron." Rung asked, polite and apologetic. Sunstreaker noted he'd moved closer, elbows on the desk and fingers laced together under his chin.
Unsure if the mech was trying to subtly analyse him or genuinely just interested for the sake of being nice, he decided to indulge him. "Fine."
Well. Indulge him as much as he would anyone else. He was sure the mech would understand. That was basically his function after all. Since their lengthy interaction in his 'quarters' about an orn ago, he'd had time to over-analyse their conversation, and now was as lost about how to talk to him as he'd always been, his processor treating the mech like a hostile yet to prove he was trustworthy.
"Good, I didn't think Ratchet would take long to have you good as new." He gave another of his serene smiles, as if genuinely pleased Sunstreaker was once again physically whole.
The golden mech wasn't entirely sure what to make of that, but he wasn't about to correct him, even though Ratchet had yet to fix his valve simply because he was having Perceptor tool out a few components for it they didn't have.
And there was also the grey patch welded over where his Autobot symbol had been, but he wasn't about to talk about that either.
"What ratio are you using for the thinner?"
The question was such a sharp change of tack that Sunstreaker took a moment to answer, even though the number was etched into his processor. "One point two five six parts in three. Enough to smooth, not enough to require more than one coat." he responded deftly.
"Ah, I see. I tend to use rounded amounts, usually three in seven parts, I do need it quite thin, and I tend to do double coats. Triple for the highlights." The orange and cream mech responded sedately, making Sunstreaker faintly uneasy with how intently he watched his servos work.
He usually hated gawking spectators when he was working. Critical analysis of his technique didn't make him feel any better about having an audience, but he tolerated it since the mech didn't comment or ask too many questions.
They sat in silence for a while, and Sunstreaker felt a little awkward. He wasn't sure if Rung had mentioned paint to try and get him to start talking about art, or if he was just expecting him to keep the conversation going with something like some sort of tag team interaction, but he was not about to play ball on that front. Conversation was not his strong point. And frankly, he hated when mechs tried to fill silence with unnecessary noise when there was really nothing worth wasting words over.
He chanced a sidelong look at the psychiatrist, who's helm was slightly tilted, his gaze intent on what Sunstreaker was doing. Huh. Maybe he actually was just interested in absorbing technique. He certainly didn't look like he was expecting conversation, so the golden mech relaxed and let his focus narrow back down to his work again.
He noticed Rung and Ratchet starting up another conversation between them at some point, but
didn't pay any attention as to the subject matter, carefully detailing the rest of the servo as he had the first. It came as something of a surprise to him when he realised he was done.
"I'm glad I took you up on this Sunstreaker. Hopefully I won't have to be touching them up as often as I figured. Guess I should stick them under the curing lamp for a while and let you two go. You're not cleared completely from the medbay though, so when you're done, you'll have to come back. Extra parts should be ready by then, but repairs will have to wait till tomorrow, since I don't want to wreck your work here." Ratchet rose with a soft grunt and a grateful smile at the frontliner, who looked up at him a bit dumbly, as if he was not quite understanding the instructions.
He snapped back to himself and nodded, scowling slightly as he realised his time was up and he was cornered now by the psychiatrist. He packed away the tools and slowly, carefully cleaned his brushes.
Rung waited patiently, watching Ratchet wander off after he'd told him he'd be looking into a session with him and someone who could possibly assist with his coding clashes.
Sunstreaker stood resignedly when he had no more excuses to stall, forcing down the flinch from the twinge in his valve and joints. Ratchet would have turned the interfacial unit's pain receptors off at least, but old, deep damage to his charge generator prevented that. The sensations were dulled, but all his ruined equipment was still online, patch welds and staples the only thing making it so he could walk around. Well, that and his joints had been pieced back together with the help of a short soak in the re-gen tank.
Movement was slow and awkward. He gave Rung a resigned, expectant look. "Where are we doing this?"
The smaller mech had been looking Sunstreaker over a little critically, eyebrows knitted in concern at the way the larger mech moved. Sunstreaker, he had observed, normally moved with a fluidity that belied his ability to excel in hand-to-hand.
The stark change due to his injuries spoke volumes to Rung in terms of what the mech had been through.
"I think Ratchet was expecting me to drag you off to my office, but I thought before I came that it might be a bit far to walk considering your recent repairs. So I popped in to see First Aid before I came in and he gave me this." He went through the medbay doors and retrieved what he'd left outside, which turned out to be a wheelchair.
Sunstreaker just gave him a look, as if unsure how serious the mech was. If he was trying to be funny in a really wrong way, he was... well, sort of doing it right.
Rung seemed to notice his less than willing reaction and offered an apologetic look.
"I'm sorry, I know you pretty much just got out of one of these, and this one is not even as high tech, but it is the most practical means of getting to a more comfortable place to talk. It doesn't have to be my office, we can go to your quarters if you'd prefer?"
"Honestly, I'm good to walk y'kn-"
"Get in the damn chair or I'll magnalock you to a berth before you can open up any of the microfractures or welds still healing in your joints." Ratchet called from his office.
Sunstreaker scowled and threw a dirty look at the office door before shuffling over and lowering himself gingerly into the chair, Rung looking like he was both trying to look apologetic and not laugh.
Wearing his best 'I will kill you if you speak to me' scowl, he let Rung wheel him out into the corridors. "So, any preference of location?" the mild voice floated over him, at odds with his mood.
"Whatever is closer."
Sunstreaker kept his optics fixed ahead as they turned a corner and passed Hoist and Grapple, both of whom stopped abruptly in their conversation when they saw him. Rung diffused their shock with a pleasant smile and greeting, and both had the decency to respond in kind and not comment on the golden mech's state, or try to engage him.
The story was similar with whoever else they passed, and the frontliner's expression only softened to confusion when he realised they were not headed directly for Rung's office. "Hey, where are we going?"
"Mmm? Ah, just swinging by the hab suites, won't be long, we just have someone to pick up." Rung answered in the same serene tone as usual.
"Pick someone up? I thought this was supposed to be a session, you don't bring other mech in on-"
Sunstreaker was cut off mid sentence by a load whirring and clicking as they turned another corner.
Bob came bounding down the corridor, dragging Chromedome behind him, the mnemosurgeon apparently having given up trying to control him and letting him drag him around while he sat back on his pede wheels. He gave them both a wave, coming to a neat stop when Bob reached Sunstreaker and leapt up to paw at him with a high pitched keening sound.
The golden mech flinched, but made no move to push Bob away, instead he embraced the insecticon and scritched behind his audials eagerly, rumbling a few words of greeting and praise to the giant bug-bot as it clicked and whirred and nuzzled his chin furiously.
Sunstreaker didn't even notice he was smiling until he looked up and Chromedome was giving him a slightly surprised look.
"Hey... thanks for looking after him."
"No problem. But he uh... sorry if he's still a little hyper, he uses those optics on Rewind, and Rewind can't help giving him treats, and he sort-of threw up once today already but he seems ok?"
"Yeah, he does that. He'll be fine, his tank's just not used to too much rich fuel."
"Ah, OK. Well, we're happy to bug-sit any time, but Rewind may or may not attempt to train him to be his 'steed.'"
Sunstreaker snorted at that and gave him a wry grin. "That I'd like to see. You guys can take him for walks whenever you want y'know. Seriously, thank you."
Chromedome seemed even more surprised by Sunstreaker's thanks than he was by the fact he'd smiled. The broad shouldered bot waved him, Rung and Bob off cheerfully before wandering away to whatever duties he had.
Run steered Sunstreaker towards his office, Bob trotting along beside them happily, making content little chirrs and snuffling at the wheelchair curiously.
When he was wheeled into Rung's office, Sunstreaker was reminded by the very atmosphere of the place just what they were there to do, and his buoyed mood dissipated quickly. Bob picked up on the change of mood almost instantly, having become very tuned in to his master's field in their time together.
He whined softly and pawed at a pede as if to ask what was wrong, Sunstreaker simply scritching him on the helm in reassurance.
"You can remain in the chair or move to the berth, if you'd prefer? Whatever is more comfortable, but no standing since I'm fairly sure Ratchet would be cross with me for letting you strain your repairs." Rung was polite as ever, positioning him in the middle of the room or thereabouts so he could wheel himself easily to wherever it was he wanted to go.
Sunstreaker nodded in way of response and made his way over to the berth, standing from the chair to carefully lay himself on it with an ex-vent of relief.
The Psychiatrist cleared a few things from his desk into drawers, picking up one to take with him, as well as his model of Ark-1. He then moved to sit in the chair beside the berth, glancing at Sunstreaker to see if he was comfortable or if he'd wound himself up against the prospect of what they were going to talk about.
He seemed a little apprehensive... probably more dreading than anything else, but physically he was not tense. He seemed exhausted. Something about the defeated sort of way he let his limbs rest, like he didn't have the strength to place them comfortably and let them fall however they would.
"Are you fuelling regularly?" He asked curiously, receiving an upside-down look of slight confusion.
"I collect every drop of ration I get. Gotta feed Bob too."
"Wait... you feed him his own ration, or you take it out of yours?"
The confused look only deepened. "Only get one ration between us."
Rung frowned, consulting the pad in his servo and poking at it a few times. "Well that can't be right... how much do you give him?"
"Half. He needs it or he starts chewing cables and generators, and I don't want them to throw him off the ship, gotta keep him fed up enough that he doesn't do that."
Bob, as if sensing he was the subject, put his front legs up on the berth and tilted his helm at Sunstreaker, who petted him. The insecticon purred and plopped his helm on the berth.
"I'm fine though, I used to run on less and worse quality when I was fighting sometimes."
Rung's frown merely deepened as he sent a few quick enquiries to Rodimus and Red Alert, Rodimus shifting his enquiries to Magnus. Sunstreaker was indeed listed as being on a single ration lot, yet Red had made a notation that he was to keep Bob from interfering with the ship on threat of his banishment from the ship. This condition was signed off by Magnus.
But surely they realised that with a single ration?...
Rung made a note to investigate and rectify the problem after the session, turning his attention back to Sunstreaker, who's field had relaxed noticably since Bob had popped up for pets.
He'd been counting on the insecticon working his calming magic on the frontliner.
"Now, how have you been feeling since we talked? Did you feel any relief from being able to get a few things off your chestplates?"
The golden mech shifted slightly on the berth. "Not... really."
Rung was sincerely disappointed to hear that, putting down his pad and picking up his model as he sat back and mulled over that limited response and Sunstreaker's body language.
"I had really hoped giving you a verbal outlet would help in some way. What's made it have the opposite effect?"
Sunstreaker clenched and unclenched the servo not patting Bob as he mulled over his answer. He was not used to opening up, and whenever he thought of his impromptu session with the psychiatrist, his tank churned in shame at how... how easily he'd been cracked open to spill his dark and distasteful contents to a mech he barely knew... how desperately he'd clung to a bot simply because they'd listened. He felt like he'd betrayed his own confidence. He was disgusted with himself.
"It just... it made me think about everything again, and once I start, I can't stop."
"Oh, I see. You tend to dwell then... that is normal you know. It can take a long time to work through things that weigh heavily on your mind. I take it the dwelling has not helped your ability to recharge much?"
The golden mech made an affirmative noise but didn't say anything about the visions that woke him, or the ones that kept him awake, the ones that would not leave him alone until he exorcised them through paint, where they stared at him, never letting him forget...
He shook his helm slightly, shuttering his optics.
"Between half rations and limited recharge, I'm supposing the high-grade is one of the only things keeping you functional."
Rung did not sound at all judgemental or admonishing. And Sunstreaker supposed he either knew about the frequent drinking through ship talk, or because it was common for bots like him to turn to high-grade when the rest of their life had turned to a miasma of slag.
"And I suppose that makes a neat segway into you getting me to tell you about the assault." Sunstreaker sighed blandly, a bitter edge to his voice, though it came across as more defensive than threatening.
"There is not much about the assault I would need you to tell me about, Trailbreaker's sobered remorse provided me with all the details I would ever need. What I wanted to ask you was are you really as over the whole 'rape thing' as you have told Ratchet you are?"
Sunstreaker's hackles were up when Rung's voice took on a slightly less than neutral edge. He sat up to half turn and glare at the Psychiatrist, who's gaze bored into his with a piercing calm that belied his frighteningly acute observational skills.
"Don't you come at me from that psycho-shrink angle. Don't you try and tell me no mech can just accept their body can be used like a tool without emotional backlash because I lived it enough times to know different. I don't need you or anyone else trying to tell me how to feel about it, because I DON'T feel anything about it. End of story."
Rung held Sunstreaker's hard, challenging gaze as he slowly ran a thumb back and forth over the roof of the Ark model, assessing and carefully thinking through his response.
"I wish to understand how you've managed that, because- an don't bite my head off... because it is not a common thing, no, but I am not about to tell you it is not a valid coping mechanism. Not until I understand how you came to feel that way... or more to the point, not feel that way."
Sunstreaker deflated like a popped balloon, sagging and sinking back down to the berth to lie there looking distinctly awkward.
"...You're the first mech who's actually asked me that."
"I thought as much." Rung replied softly, with a tone that encouraged Sunstreaker to take his time answering.
It took the golden mech at least four kliks to even start. "You couldn't let that kind of thing bother you in the pits. It did... of course it did, I hadn't interfaced with more than two mechs outside of Sideswipe before we got dragged into that sorry hell hole. The first time it happened, I fought, and they nearly killed me for it. I learnt pretty quickly that forcing interface was as much a coping mechanism for some bots as it was a means of humiliation by others. It was just another obstacle in the survival race. Fighting and staying alive was important. What happened to my interface equipment wasn't. My equipment was no different to any other part of me, anyone could attack me with any part of themselves. Interface usually didn't mean death when you lost a fight against the rapist. It just... became meaningless."
The golden mech's tone was matter of fact, but Rung could feel a ripple in his field, underlying emotion he'd either buried viciously or had ignored for so long it had weakened to a shadow of it's former self.
"So you adjusted to the abuse as part of the whole experience of violence? Did you ever feel the need to mourn the loss of your right to own yourself, and your body and intimacy?"
The question was put simply, not emotionally, but rather curiously in an unobtrusive way.
Sunstreaker still wasn't sure how Rung did it, but he had already popped him open twice now by catching him off guard with his reactions, so he figured in for a credit, in for a chit.
"Yeah. I guess. Maybe? There wasn't much room for... for thinking or feeling. The decision to stop caring was a quick one. And it was... it was mutual. Me and Sides had to do that together. We had to stop feeling about it, because if we held onto emotions and shock and grief and all that, we would falter. We'd show weakness, and be vulnerable, and we'd be DEAD. We chose to survive. Besides... we didn't actually own our bodies until we joined the Autobots. We... we knew it was probably wrong, to decide to not care, but it... it was pretty easy, after a while. To just not care who or what happened to our interface equipment. We just... we did regret not being able to be angry. We regretted how we were forced to consider it no big deal, because it was, and we knew that, but when you have to choose between letting someone frag you like a pleasure drone and letting yourself get brutally killed, we just did what we had to."
Rung watched Sunstreaker's upside-down faceplate as he spoke, and was genuinely surprised by the lack of... of emotional trauma when he spoke. He genuinely had removed his emotional attachment from his interface equipment.
"I have to say, I'm... surprised. Not a lot of mechs can actually reconcile rape as just another form of physical abuse... emotional subroutines are written into the triggers that drive interfacial equipment. I suppose the sort of duress you and your brother were under is the sort necessary to re-write them."
"Don't get me wrong... when I have the ability to chose, I don't just give it away like a handshake." Sunstreaker corrected him with a slightly annoyed look, as if Rung had implied he was a berth-hopper.
"That is actually very reassuring to hear. It means you can control the programming and you have not developed a glitch from the circumstantial re-write. However, am I right in assuming you have not found or sought any interfaces for a substantial amount of time?"
"Is that really relevant to anything?" Sunstreaker mumbled, looking up at him, slightly defensive.
"Well, to a degree. You don't have to discuss your preferences, or feel pressured to seek out a partner any time soon, but I would like to know if you actually have the urge to be active in that sense or not. Or the last time you felt the need to be active in that way. Interface drive is much more heavily linked to mental than physical health, after all, though the two do go together. Not to mention interface is great for stress release of course."
Sunstreaker gave him a look halfway between irritated and amused, a difficult set of emotions to pull off together. "And here I'd pinned you for a prude, turns out you're a slagging sex therapist."
Rung made a motion as if rolling his optics. "I wouldn't go as far as to say that. But no, any psychiatrist, or psychologist worth their mettle should not be shy or evasive when it comes to discussing interface. It's a healthy and normal function for any cybertronian, and drives to engage in it differ vastly from mech to me-"
"Yeah yeah you can save me the 'everyone is different and different is normal' speech, I know. I have a drive. It's just... been dormant. More... important stuff to deal with than shooting of a charge." He grumbled.
"I see. Well, when was the last time you felt any need to shoot of a charge?" Rung countered with a hint of playful amusement in his tone.
Sunstreaker lapsed into serious thought for a moment before grunting out his answer. "Before I got nabbed."
"By the humans?" Rung prompted gently, the ark which he had been turning over in his servos stilling in his lap.
Sunstreaker gave a nod in way of reply and looked pointedly out a window rather than engage with his surroundings or Rung.
The psychiatrist felt Sunstreaker's field pull against him worryingly tightly. A reaction he both expected and had hoped not to feel.
"That is rather a long time for it to have shut down. What was it like before then?"
"Normal I guess. Maybe a little high before I got stationed on the mudball. Back when I was head of that campaign to keep the cons off the string of border planets to the main supply route. We did so WELL. We were WINNING. That team... they were great, we were fighting hard and living hard, and it made us all a bit, y'know... close quarters, gotta keep pumped, gotta stay on good form, interfacing was normal, we all just... boosted each other, y'know? And then it just... they stuck me on fragging EARTH and I STILL don't know why."
Sunstreaker's tone was bitter again, and he stared resolutely out the porthole at the stars slowly streaking by.
"So, Earth took you away from the mechs who you liked to interface with. You didn't end up forming any relationships on earth? Friendships or interface partners just to help unwind?"
Sunstreaker snorted at that. "Mechs already there had either made their cliques or stagnated so long they were too uptight to even go there with. Getting assigned there was self-service territory, and only then to try and distract myself because it was so damn boring and pointless half he time."
Rung nodded and sighed softly. "Unfortunately not an uncommon story across the army. You were actually very lucky with your former garrison."
"You don't say." Sunstreaker drawled bitterly.
"So, I think it's safe to assume events thereafter were the cause of the complete decline of any interface drive. What about since the end of the war?" Rung prompted in what he hoped was a diffusingly calm way without sounding too clinical.
"Are you kidding?... You're serious? How the slag could I have an interface drive after what I did? How could I even THINK of feeling good when most of what's left of the Autobots still hate my guts. When there are bots like Trailbreaker who think I still need to be taught a lesson, who think I don't know torture, who think I feel nothing. I'm a traitor, I don't deserve to-"
He cut himself off as his voice crackled with static, helm turned so that Rung couldn't see his faceplate. He could read in his body and fluctuating field that he had pulled right in again, the mech was still stuck in a loop of self loathing that didn't seem about to break any time soon.
"Sunstreaker, you may not believe me when I say this, but I will say it anyway, because it seems to me you need to hear it. You did not deserve what Trailbreaker did to you. You are not in purgatory, and you should not think that you need to be. You do not deserve to be made to feel more pain than you already have. Than you clearly already do."
"You weren't there." Sunstreaker spoke so quietly it was barely above a whisper, staring at the porthole without really seeing it.
Rung was not entirely sure where 'there' was, but Sunstreaker continued without prompting.
"You didn't see their faces... you didn't live alongside them knowing everything that happened, everything they suffered was your fault. I have tried to tell myself so many times, believe me I have... I've tried to reason away what I did it, and absolve myself, but not even taking out that bridge and living in the hell of my own mind in a mound of dead bugs absolves me of what I did... of the chain of events I started, it went EVERYWHERE. Autobots everywhere have ME to thank for their friends dying, their bases falling, their confidence being shattered. How can I know that and think I don't deserve what Trailbreaker did? How can I know that and shoot off a charge? What kind of filth would I be to believe that was ok?"
"You know it was not all your fault though, don't you? You know what Megatron did, what he had created for the soul purpose of getting the information he needed to carry out the whole plan? I do not want to put you down by saying this, but you were only a pawn in his plan... Hunter was part of that same plan when they learnt about him. What you did not give Starscream willingly, they took from Hunters mind, and that was not your fault-"
"Oh, wasn't it? I should have killed him in the first place. I should have killed us both when he bonded with me. Primus only knows I wanted to... I should have tried harder, I didn't want to live. He was being driven by that stupid instinct of his and I KNEW he was better off dead than living with what he'd been made into... what we'd BOTH been made into..." Sunstreaker rolled off the berth and onto his pedes, flinching and ignoring his own pain as he paced stiffly, aggravated.
Bob whined from under the berth where he'd settled.
"I'm not even ME any more. The real me was destroyed! I'm a copy! A backup drive with a reconstructed spark from the tiny kernel that was left, the weak little pinprick Ratchet should have snuffed out... it would have been better for everyone, EVERYONE, if I had just died. If it had ended there."
His vocaliser was hoarse, wavering as he tried to control it, and he grunted in pain, one knee buckling as he turned sharply away from Rung, who stood automatically when he fell to his knees.
Sunstreaker shrugged him off as his plating shook from the strain of trying to contain the sudden emotional torrent.
It had snuck up on him and exploded in yet another disgusting display of the slagpit inside him. The black hole he wished would implode quietly and take him with it, so that no one saw, and no one noticed what a wretched creature he'd become in the end. So he'd have some dignity left.
Clearly he didn't deserve that either. Not when this little old mech could pop him open with minimal effort.
He took the fact that he was a wreck internally and now externally as yet another sign he should just cease existing.
He felt Rung's servo on his shoulder again, and again he shrugged it off. He never liked being touched, but now it was because he felt as If he were infectious... that the black inside of his mind and the filth of his deeds would rub off onto good mechs if they came into contact with him of their own volition for too long.
And he'd done enough damage as it was.
Rung did not give up though, and Sunstreaker lost the will to fight when the psychiatrist moved to face him, kneeling in front of him, and wrapped his thin, flimsy arms around his shoulders.
He was being hugged. He didn't understand why, and his first thought was to push Rung away because mass murderers and traitors did not deserve such physical comforts... such outreaches... but he could not bring himself to do it.
He just remained on his knees, stooped and shaking, and let Rung embrace him.
