A/N: Hello, my dudes! Again, I know it's been a minute since I've been on here updating a story. But I have something new for you all to enjoy! Maybe. IDK. But it's here. ANYWHO, I know that most stuff is Sideswipe as the lovable prankster, with Sunstreaker as the violent, socially inept hermit, but I really like the idea of both being fairly aggressive ('cause of being Ex-Gladiators and all) but with Sideswipe being more on that aggressiveness, with Sunstreaker kind of just...feeding off of it a bit. But is mostly just socially awkward because of their past and being uncomfortable in social situations. SO that's how I've decided to write them a little bit in this story. And maybe future stories. Who knows-I'll use this as the test dummy to see how it goes.
Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any shape or form. I only own the story and any and all OCs in said story. If there's someone you're not familiar with, it's probably an OC.
PLEASE COMMENT! I NEED CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM TO MAKE MY STORIES (PRESENT, FUTURE, OR OTHERWISE) BETTER!
The next few days pass without incident, until another gets wind of the incident, the new spreading through the base like wildfire. Delta felt the form's presence before it spoke. Charlie and Yankee quiet down at the voice.
"How the frag does a Mech your size manage to take down Grimlock without difficulty?"
He glances up, making optic contact with a scarlet red Mech. He takes in the form, not at all fooled by the lithe stature. Not fooled by the bright blue optics. Though young looking, this Mech was a fighter—Pit Fighter perhaps? His armor is definitely thick enough. There was that look in his optics, and the way he carried himself. The switch that can be flipped without hesitation, becoming a lethal killing machine.
"You know, most people introduce themselves before asking questions like that." Delta states, taking a sip of his Energon and leaning back.
The red Mech blinks, a grin appearing on his face.
"I'm not like most people. But the name's Sideswipe, new guy. Now, how'd you do it?"
Delta shrugs, "It may have been a while, but I've taken down Mechs his size before."
Sideswipe leans down.
"How about fighting someone your own size for once? Show me what you can really do."
"War or not, is fighting all you Mechs think about? Sweet primus, you guys need to find hobbies." Delta mutters, taking another sip.
"What can I say, sparring is a good way to blow off steam. And a good way to gauge a potential threat." He whispers, as if revealing a secret.
Sideswipe's grin becomes feral at the sight of the Mech in front of him pausing, considering his words. He was hooked in. He leans close to the silver audio.
"What do you say, greenie? Bring it." the whispered words are deeply rumbled, most mechs left shivering at the sound.
Delta's visor flickers, his cube being set down as he moves to get up.
"Charlie, Yankee, I'll go toss your cubes if you're done with them."
He turns, coming nose-to-nose with Sideswipe, the red Mech not moving an inch. They stare at each other, before Delta's optics narrow slightly.
"Fighting is not needed in every situation. And you would do well to remember to not threaten me—trust me when I say it wouldn't end well for anyone."
He moves to the side, brushing past the black shoulder. Sideswipe's optics narrow, flickering down to the knife strapped to the white thigh. He moves fast, gripping the thick handle and pulling it out of the sheath. He swings upward, blade sparking in the lights.
The startled shouts are drowned out by the sound of metal on metal, the empty cubes shattering against the ground. Sideswipe's chest meets the floor. He hadn't even seen the other Mech move, the knife taken out of his servo, slicing into his wrist, his arm being wrenched out of place, and chest being slammed against the hard ground.
Delta holds the wrist and twists. Sideswipe's optics widen slightly as he growls. How the hell did this Mech take him down?! He doesn't have to worry for long, the pressure leaving his back signaling that Sunstreaker had returned to reality after a week-long stint in his studio. He rolls back onto his peds, Sunstreaker perched in front of him, a warning rumble echoing through the Rec Room. Sideswipe snarls, servos flexing in preparation. Delta is on the tips of his peds, right arm behind him for balance, left arm holding the knife in front of him, a bead of Energon glistening on the razor-sharp blade. His amber visor flashes, daring them to move. The air is tense, the few Mechs in the Rec Room watching with fear in their optics. Then, a voice breaks through.
"What is going on here? You three, stand down!"
Delta's optics narrow.
"Only if they do first."
"ALL of you-"
"They attacked first!" Delta snaps, not taking his optics off of the two in front of him. "I was getting Energon with my teammates before heading to the MedBay, where your Medic wants to do virus checks on us. As instructed by him. Scarlet Wonder here cornered us, demanding I spar with him. I refused and he pulled my blade, threatening injury. I was defending myself when I was attacked again from behind!" Delta snarls, getting real tired of Mechs attacking him left and right.
He didn't ask to be here, Primus dammit!
Prowl glances around the room, seeing that the gathered Mechs were nodding in agreement to the turquoise form's words. He turns to the two volatile Ex-Gladiators. Despite popular belief, while Sunstreaker did have his moments, Sideswipe was actually the more violent of the two, having just gotten out of the brig for said violent streak. It gets to the point on occasion where Sunstreaker needs to get called to calm his other half down.
"Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, stand down. Sideswipe, return to the brig." Prowl orders, his doorwing flaring into a sharp 'V'.
The scarlet Mech makes no move, refusing to listen.
"Now, Sideswipe." Prowl commands sharply, his optics flashing.
Finally, finally, the red Mech moves, taking a step back, his plating lowering back into its normal setting. Sunstreaker follows suit, backing away from the defensive Mech in front of him. Delta begins to slowly relax, watching the two Mechs with wary optics. Once they leave the Rec Room, Prowl steps forward, gently placing a servo on his wrist, lowering the blade.
"It is alright, they will not bother you anymore. You have my word."
Delta vents, looking into the bright navy optics.
"You can't promise that. We both know it."
"Regardless. I will speak to Optimus about this situation and how to remedy it. I feel you are becoming increasingly annoyed at the Mechs constantly acting as a threat to you and your comrades."
Delta smirks. "That obvious, huh?"
Prowl lets a small smile slip through, his doorwings flickering.
"Indeed. I will be the first to admit many of these Mechs can be brutish. But even then…"
His voice drops, "Us Praxians must stick together. There's so few of us left."
Delta blinks in surprise. Not many knew of his heritage outside of his team, and closest friends. And not many were able to figure it out without issue. He watches the black-and-white Mech stride out of the Rec Room, no doubt to make sure Sideswipe and Sunstreaker followed orders and made it to the brig. The door closes and he vents again, his spark pumping hard in his audios. Charlie and Yankee are in front of him, worry in their visors. He shakes his helm, instead leaving the Rec Room.
"C'mon, Mechs. Let's head to the MedBay before they send out a search party."
Sunstreaker pulls into the base, transforming. His violet optics are dark, exhaustion pressing down on his frame. After what happened the other day in the Rec Room, Optimus had conversed with Prowl to think of a suitable punishment. He's explained that he did what he had to keep Sideswipe from killing the turquoise Mech. But he still took the punishment of extra patrols, the hot summer air feeling like torture. He could not wait to get the dust off his frame with a cool shower.
He makes it to the Washracks, audios perking at the sound of voices on the other side of the door. He sighs, not wanting to deal with other Mechs this late. But apparently the universe had other plans, the door sliding open as he comes to it. He steps into the room, freezing in his tracks.
He'd avoided the Mech and his team the past few days with a vengeance. After what happened, he didn't want to get on the turquoise Mech's bad side again. Frontline Warrior or not, there was something unnerving about Delta, even for him. But now…
The troopers are all standing under the shower heads, scrubbing their plating and helping each other. They were joking and arguing and just acting like siblings. One of them is kneeling down, roughly scrubbing the turquoise plating of a panther Mech, the large form purring at the harsh servos, swatting the servos every once in a while, the Mech pulling back and scolding him each time, no harshness to the voice.
Not wanting to be a part of…that, the golden Mech turns, preparing to move around the group to the other end of the Washracks. Hopefully as quietly as possible.
He blinks.
Delta is sitting slumped on a bench. His legs are on either side of the metal plank, his peds planted on the floor. His forearms are resting on his knees, his helm lowered. His armor is scattered around his peds, showing his scarred torso and chest. He shifts slightly, Sunstreaker's optics being drawn to the multitude of scars on his back. There were small, shallow marks all over his body, the small cuts from daily wear. There were burn scars and blaster scars, no doubt from battles he had been a part of. But two sets of scarring stood out from the rest, his optics pulled to them. A warped patch near the base of his spine, the edges puckered and tight. And the most prominent, three deep, jagged marks crossing his back, from his right shoulder to his left hip. They were ugly marks, dark coloring marring the protoform they had been dug into.
His optics widen slightly at the sight. What the frag could've made scars like that? And how did the Mech in front of him survive? He was obviously not a gladiator. Armor is too thin. Maybe…enforcer or bodyguard? Armor was definitely thick enough for that, his body type working for one of those, or at least an occupation similar, with the stocky build, and broad shoulders and chest. He hums quietly.
His artistic spirit could definitely appreciate the sight of the younger Mech, all of the scars being their own kind of art, much like his own, each one having a story. The Ex-Gladiator is brought out of his musings by someone letting out a sound of disapproval.
Dreadwing is sitting behind the form, his servos curled into loose fists and pressing against the turquoise Mech's back.
"You should have come to me sooner, Kistestvér. These knots in your back cannot be comfortable. Especially with all of the scar tissue." Dreadwing admonishes, his fists gently kneading the soft protoform.
Delta nods, relaxing under the gentle massage.
"I know. Just didn't know the right time with all that's been going on."
Sunstreaker backs out of the Washracks. He knew he was intruding on a private—and vulnerable—moment of the Mechs. He could wait for a little more for when they're done.
He doesn't notice the glance in his direction at the door closes, nor does he see the gentle and grateful smile.
Dreadwing presses his servos into the sensitive protoform in front of him. He'd been the only one to notice the golden Mech step into the Wash Racks, freezing at the sight o them all occupying it. It was late enough that majority of Mechs were already asleep, or up late in the Rec Room from night shifts. So they'd all commandeered the Wash Racks, wanting to clean up after Ratchet finally gave them all a clean bill of health.
Having heard from his charge what happened in the Rec Room, Dreadwing had been worried about Delta. But the younger Mech…
He just seemed…tired.