Achilles Side
AN: Typos are common in writing and sometimes, whether its keyboard malfunction or author error, there's always a chance at something comical appearing on screen. Such a thing happened for this story.
The original read;
"Sunstreaker was trying to rip the jets wig off."
I couldn't stop laughing when I found that particular typo! It was a shame to fix it, but alas, I wanted to tell a story and not distract the reader with mistyped quips.
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Sideswipe thought he was cute. Well, he was cute, but he was also full of himself. The mech had ego in spades. And a few spades hidden in his subspace pockets, ready for the next time he played poker with Smokescreen.
This particular time of cuteness was a great understatement.
As always, Sideswipe had to find the biggest, baddest, and meanest mech on the battlefield to pick a fight with. In this case, it was Devastator.
The combiner unit formed and now Sideswipe was rethinking his adorableness as he dodged heavy pede-falls that used to be Mix Master.
"Hey, devastatingly stupid?" Sideswipe shouted, giving the massive mech what was commonly referred to as 'the bird.'
"Autobot pest!" Devastator grumbled, causing the air to vibrate with his tone.
"You mom doesn't think I'm a pest," Sideswipe crowed, evading the gasping purple servo that tried to catch him. "Wanna know how she likes it up the tailpipe?"
Sideswipe goaded, dancing out of the way of Devastators enraged bellow.
Sideswipe didn't know which one took offense to the statement, but all six mechs were united to be one, so maybe Devastator had a hidden past Sideswipe elucidated too? It was hard to tell. Sideswipe would later contemplate on it when he was inevitably stuck in medbay. He loved picking fights, but he always ended up getting slagged. Well, not entirely. He laid into his enemies with as much vehemence they showed, slagging them up worse. In fact, his running mental tally for battles won far outnumbered his losses.
And he was adding to his total every time.
The leg that was Scrapper came down, shaking the Earth and causing Sideswipe to falter. But that was his intention. He was learning all kinds of diversionary and sabotage tactics from his teammates. Sometimes head on/full force didn't win the battle. It was a strategically planned attack that crippled the enemy and won the day.
Hence why Sideswipe targeted the leader of the combiner. They worked as a unit but only when they could agree. More often than not, they merely smashed everything in sight, the six personalities conflicting and giving the giant robot very little direction and a whole lot of destructive tendencies.
Sideswipe made a mental note to send a message to Megatron about having team building exercises and psychotherapy for some of his team members. Starscream alone was a psychologists wet dream. The jet had issues on top of issues, and issues buried under that!
But Starscream was being entertained by Sunstreaker who was attempting to rip the jets wings off. Sunstreaker could be cruel at times. Well, all the time. He just had varying degrees.
Today was a bad day for Sunstreaker. His mood was sour. He didn't like the early morning rains and subsequent mud.
Sideswipe backpedaled from Devastator, a thin white control box in his hand.
"Fire up your hole," he grinned, thumbing the switch.
The small cluster of explosives (courtesy of Wheeljack,) exploded along Devastator's ankle. Scrapper screamed as his neural lines were fried by the blast, throwing him into stasis. Without their leader, Devastator fell apart. The six mechs dropped to the ground, one unconscious and smoking from his cab, while the other five clutched their helms and pathetically cursed.
Sideswipe thought about mentioning Ratchet giving lessons, but his lessons were always punctuated by iron supplements, and Sideswipe kinda enjoyed the best doses for himself. Ratchet didn't employ his Wrench of Love unless he was good and truly pissed, which meant he cared and you scared the spark out of him, and he was ranting to cover his feelings.
The sentimental old sap.
Knowing he'd have very little time to even the odds, Sideswipe struck, sending as series of punches to Hook. The crane deflected half the blows, but Sideswipe was trained in the Pits. He had speed, accuracy, and meanness on his side. Within a dozen punches, the crane was unconscious. Being the team medic, it was a good idea to get him out of commission before tackling the others.
Sideswipe rolled, popping up in front of Mix Master and landing a strike to his midsection, doubling him over. Fingering wires, Sideswipe yanked, causing a cascade of sparks to go flying as the mixer stumbled away, trying to gain distance to attend his wound.
As Sideswipe spun toward Long Haul, he took a heavy punch to the face. He didn't need a diagnostics (or a mirror) to know his olfactory sensor was smashed, his right cheek dented, but he didn't let the injury slow him down. He had sustained worse in the Pits.
Long Haul threw a haymaker. Sideswipe braced himself, crossing his wrists above his head and catching the much larger mech midstrike, preventing him from causing damage to Sideswipe's helm. As soon as Long Haul's arm was cradled between Sideswipe's wrists, he kicked, landing his heel on the mech's inner knee joint, snapping it in half. He didn't get to gloat over his victory because a stabbing pain erupted along his back, next to his spinal strut. The hum of the blade made his internals rattle for a second before being removed.
"Retreat," came the broken voice of Hook. Long Haul didn't bother engaging Sideswipe, which was good, as Sideswipe's vision as totally clouded by red. Two important lines had been severed and were preparing for immediate stasis.
"Oh slag," Sideswipe muttered, swaying dangerously.
His frame as still poised for an attack but the cons didn't realize how compromised he was, for they fled instead of overcoming him with sheer numbers and brute strength. In his compromised state, there was no way Sideswipe could fight them off.
Sideswipe broadcasted pain over the bond with his brother, while also comming Ratchet for field repair as he sank to his knees, watching the treating backs of the Constructicons, Scrapper held amongst them, head lulling in unconsciousness.
It was Sunny who arrived first.
"Sideswipe! Speak to me, bro," he said, clasping Sideswipe's shoulders as he teetered, his spinal strut threatening to give out. "What happened?"
"One of those punk bitches shanked me!" Sideswipe managed to say, glaring after the distant green backs. "Mother Trucker came up behind and shanked me in the back."
Ratchet arrived, welder glowing red, preparing to engage his favorite patient.
Sunstreaker left the medic it. He had a brother to avenge. Cons to take out. A whole lot of retribution boiling through his lines.
In alt mode or on foot, Sunstreaker was a force to recon with. He caught up to the last Constructicon, Long Haul, who was limping after his comrades, and shot the combiner, sending him reeling forward, smoke curling from the hole in his back. His teammates barely had time to turn when Sunstreaker was upon them, fists flying and curses raining down on them.
Sunstreaker's aim was to terminate, but Blitzwing, out of some strange sentiment toward his comrades, took aim and sent Sunstreaker flying, half his knee blown out by a lucky shot. But Sunstreaker wasn't rendered useless. He rolled and sprung up, grasping a sputtering Long Haul in a cross maneuver, and using his momentum to keep rolling, effectively tossed the much heavier mech, who landed on two of his fellow Constructicons.
Not one to remain idle, Sunstreaker kept moving, twisting and rolling, popping up to latch onto an opponent before tumbling him to the ground, sparks erupting and energon spilling.
"Sunstreaker, get your slagging aft back here," Ratchet snapped over comms.
Sunstreaker growled, crouched low, his bad leg extended, hanging uselessly. Before Blitzwing could lower a shot, Sunstreaker moved, jinking away, putting distance between himself and his foes. Once Sunstreaker was no longer a threat, the cons regrouped, dragging and carrying each other to the safety of their own side.
Sunstreaker ripped up a tree and used it as a crutch to speed toward Sideswipe, who Ratchet had put into stasis.
"How bad?" he asked.
"Not as bad you're going to be when I'm done with you!" Ratchet promised darkly, glaring at Sunstreaker's useless leg.
If Ratchet hadn't stopped him, Sunstreaker would have continued to attack until he did more damage to himself than his numerous opponents. Slagged off at the stupidity and tenacity of his worst patient, Ratchet employed a dose of medicinal love, sending Sunstreaker into unconsciousness while fluently cursing his workload.
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Short and sweet. :D
Trying to lure the muse into talking to me again, but haven't had much luck. Don't worry. I won't abandon any of my work. I'm just at the mercy of a bitchy muse who only wanders around when she feels like it and never with any consistency. If anyone knows of a good muse on the market, let me know. I could use one more reliable! *glares in open hostility at lazy muse*