Sidearms for Dummies

AN: THANK YOU TO MY AWESOME SUPPORTERS, ALEXLUKE, GIRAFFECHAN, and RAP BEAR! Because of their continued support and feedback, I will be having another DominateLeo fic to upload soon. Sneak peeks and chapter revisions and suggestions are available only to my patrons. :D

AN2: Well, I planned on doing something more dramatic this time, maybe another glimpse into their past, pre-war, but the muse did NOT want to go that way. Apparently my muse is in a comedy frame of mind, so naturally, silliness ensues!

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Wheeljack hummed peacefully to himself as he worked. His gnarled and scarred servos moved with ease despite the numerous injuries they had incurred over the millennia.

Hands that had saved every single spark within their ranks, and countless lives that, hopefully, still survived on other planets.

Hands of a scientist. Inventor. Makeshift doctor.

Hands of a free thinker. A mechanic. A curious mind with an insatiable appetite for facts, function, and knowledge.

Also, the hands of a complete lunatic.

As was the diagnosis when Ratchet viewed Wheeljack's delicate work with a skeptic optic.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Ratchet asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Wheeljack rarely knew what he was doing. He was a hit-or-miss bot all the way.

"Hmmm?" Wheeljack asked absently, soldering a small wire into place.

Ratchet knew better than to repeat the question. He simply observed, his frame tense for the inevitable.

Why Ratchet allowed Wheeljack to use his most delicate instruments for his alternative explosive devices, Ratchet would never know. Primus knew if Wheeljack blew them up, Ratchet would be incensed beyond reasoning.

Most of Ratchet's tools were irreplaceable, being rare for Earthen standards, and specifically calibrated to Ratchet's own unique diagnostic style.

But here he was allowing Wheeljack to use a surgical solder to work on his latest project.

Ratchet briefly entertained the idea of having a full diagnostic run on himself, as he MUST be crazy to indulge Wheeljack with such precious and intricate tools.

In Wheeljack's defense, he had always shown proper respect in regard for other people's equipment. His own tools had seen countless blasts and even a few had to be reforged, but nonetheless, he took great care with Ratchet or Perceptor's instruments.

Once finished, Wheeljack carefully replaced the tool into its casement to allow it to cool, and stood back to admire his work.

To Ratchet, it appeared as any other weapon. Handle. Barrel. Knobbly part to probably hold various ammunition. A lever thingy. A button. Trigger. Discolored metal, fused together into a conglomeration of scientific genius and dangerous ineptitude.

Ratchet was particularly worried about the metal spatula that made up the main foundational structure of the weapon's frame.

"Dare I even ask?" Ratchet quipped.

Wheeljack beamed happily, arms stretched wide to showcase his newest development.

"It's a new gun!"

"That I figured out on my own," Ratchet deadpanned. "So what makes it different than any other weapon in our arsenals?"

"This beauty right here zeros in on a heat signature to a fraction of a millimeter!" Wheeljack pointed to various parts as he explained. "This is a thermal sensor, and it's linked to this thermal sensor, and this one, to give a 3-D visual of the target. Then this sensor here," he stabbed at a strange protuberance, "is the targeting system that enables the specially designed projectiles to be launched with pinpoint accuracy. And this augmented barrel," Wheeljack pointed to the prominent barrel that resembled a muffler usually found on race cars, "adds an electromagnetic charge, thus ensuring the projectile will adhere to any metal target, or any alloy thereof."

"Any?" Ratchet asked, studying the strange new weapon closely.

"Any," Wheeljack promised, his audial fins flashing merrily.

Wheeljack's engine chose that moment to offer an empty rumble, signaling the inventor had once again ignored his need to refuel. At least he had the good grace to wince when Ratchet's glare became a laser as sharp as his wit.

"Sorry," Wheeljack muttered, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Got distracted."

Ratchet didn't say a word. He let his expression do all the talking for him. He pointed to the med bay doors.

As a guilty turbo-puppy, Wheeljack lowered his gaze and followed orders. Ratchet joining him on the way to the rec room to ensure the wayward inventor found his way to the fuel dispenser and ingested some much needed fuel before returning to his inventive outlets.

When Wheeljack and Ratchet filled cubes with a glowing, pale purple energon, they searched for a table and spotted Sunstreaker, as usual, sitting alone in the corner.

Sunstreaker made eye contact with Ratchet, sending the medic a rude gesture, which was happily returned with a flourish. Sunstreaker smirked good-naturedly.

Ratchet was probably the only mech in the universe that could be so brazen to Sunstreaker and still remain functioning. The medic had massive ball bearings.

Wisely, Ratchet and Wheeljack took a table opposite side of the room, where Sunstreaker occasionally sent a hostile glare that was matched by Ratchet's own.

"Don't rub his chassis the wrong way," Wheeljack warned, retracting his mask and taking a sip of the warm energon. It hit his analyzers with a tingly sensation and caused him to hum in appreciation.

"Slagger can kiss my aft," Ratchet groused, unperturbed by the golden tsunami surveying the rec room as if it was his personal domain.

Wheeljack sputtered, casting Ratchet with an accusatory glare. Wheeljack often berated the medic for his tone and language, but it fell on deaf audios. Like now.

Ratchet downed half his cube before sending Sunstreaker a sneer that made the yellow Lamborghini grin and salute with his cube.

"Don't push your luck," Wheeljack muttered. "Sunny can turn violent in the blink of an optic. Don't get on his bad side."

"Funny, I've given him the exact same warning about myself," Ratchet grinned to his friend.

It was true. Ratchet was only able to hold his own against the twins because he held no fear. At least when it came to their tirades. Of losing them on the battlefield? The thought made his struts freeze and his spark falter. He couldn't imagine what his medbay would be without the twin terrors. They were almost a permanent fixture as himself.

Speaking of which…. Sunstreaker was rubbing his chest, frowning.

Immediately, Ratchet scanned the room in search of the troublemaker, and to his disgust, the carmine version was no where to be found. Which meant Sunstreaker was sensing his twin's mischief and it was making his spark do that funny little dance that irritated Sunstreaker which made him even more volatile.

Sunstreaker locked gazes with Ratchet.

Ratchet curled his hand into a fist and easily lifted it and banged it onto the tabletop once, his optics reflecting the shimmer of the energon, silently telling Sunstreaker it was okay to go beat up his twin.

Not that Sunstreaker needed the confirmation, but a feral grin spread across his handsome face. He inclined his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement before bounding from the table, gliding from the room like golden death.

Wheeljack, as ever, was totally oblivious to what had transpired.

"Wonder what got into Sunny?" Wheeljack asked, still keeping his voice low in case Sunstreaker was near and overheard the dreaded nickname that had gotten many mechs slagged into the pit.

"I'll give you three guesses," Ratchet said, taking a long drink, grinning to himself.

Sure he would have to patch up the twins after their inevitable tangle, but then again, what else was new? It wouldn't be a day at the Ark unless one of the twins needed repair from friendly fire. So to speak.

Wheeljack let out a chuckle knowing Sunstreaker was taking the wrath of Primus with him.

"Think we need to go prep medbay?" Wheeljack asked after a long moment.

Ratchet gave a long suffering sigh. "If we must. Course, no promises on getting to their injuries within this solar cycle."

Wheeljack snorted and together the two left the rec room.

As soon as they stepped over the threshold of Wheeljack's lab, they both knew something was off. It took a moment to realize what it was.

"Umm, where's my new prototype?" Wheeljack asked, noticing the table on which he worked on the new weapon was devoid of said device.

"Sideswipe!" Ratchet thundered, but it was already too late.

The resident prankster was searching for the best target on which to try the new weapon. He thanked his lucky struts he had the foresight to plant listening devices throughout the base.

By happenstance, he had noticed Wheeljack carrying his new toy toward the med bay, and being a natural pain in the aft, Sideswipe immediately searched the frequencies to listen in on what he viewed as a potential boredom buster.

And boy was he right!

The gun felt natural in his hands. Well balanced. Not too complicated. After quick scrutiny, Sideswipe absconded his new toy and was now actively seeking to wreck some much needed mischief.

And his luck… he found a target!

A black and white target.

And unknown, totally oblivious, about to get the oil scared out of him, target. One who was intent upon overseeing the fortification of the base by adding extra security measures designed by Red Alert.

Sideswipe struggled not to snicker, which would give away his position and intent. Biting his lip plating, he hefted the cumbersome new weapon in his arms. It took a moment to figure out how the targeting mechanism worked, but once he was sure he was ready, he stepped away from the shelter of the surrounding rock and took aim.

Glossa pressed between denta, he lined Prowl up with mental crosshairs, intending on nailing the SIC between the doorwings and giving him the electric dance of his life.

Unfortunately, at the precise moment Sideswipe was preparing to fire, Sunstreaker emerged from the base and began to scan for his twin. He could sense Sideswipe nearby, but was having a difficult time pinpointing the slagger's location, as he was preparing for a massive prank and learned to shield himself from his twin as to not get caught prematurely.

Prowl regarded the golden death stalking in his direction, as ever, his poise and stoicism in perfect display.

"Have you seen my brother?" Sunstreaker asked without preamble.

Prowl's optic ridge rose.

"No, but given your agitated state, the miscreant is up to no good."

Said miscreant had finally figured out the safety on the new gun and re-aimed, putting Prowl's bumper in the crosshairs. Though the target was indeed directed toward Prowl's chest plates, Wheeljack had not progressed to the point of sighting in the new weapon.

Sideswipe pulled the trigger and a large black, flattened bullet went whizzing through the air, slamming into metal. Sadly, the target was not Prowl.

It was Sunstreaker

More precisely, Sunstreaker's left aft plate.

The magnetic pellet landed with an innocuous clink, but Sunstreaker didn't get the chance to wonder about the sensation. In half a second from impact, the device did it was supposed to do.

Thousands of volts raced along plating, wiring, and sent Sunstreaker yowling into the air like a scalded cat, his limbs stiffened from the electricity. Lurching, arms and legs stuck straight out as if a frozen voodoo doll, he catapulted forward into Prowl, knocking the unknowing SIC flat on his back.

The electricity happily jumped to the other metal body, giving Prowl a taste of the volts immobilizing Sunstreaker.

The entire escapade lasted a few short seconds, but to the two victims, it was an eternity.

With a fizzing sizzle, the black disc burnt itself out, issuing a curl of smoke and falling harmless off Sunstreaker's aft plate.

As Sideswipe laughed at his brother, face down on top of a flattened Prowl, his limbs performing a perfect 'X', he didn't notice his newfound toy had also suffered a structural defect. As in, the spatula reinforcing the frame was melting, burning Sideswipe's hands.

He yelped, dropping the overheating device which was not finished wrecking destruction. The impact with the ground caused the final cascade failure and with a sonic BOOM, the weapon atomized itself. The blast sent Sideswipe flying from his hiding place and landing in an unconscious heap.

Ratchet and Wheeljack raced out of the Ark, Ratchet having been alerted to an emergency by Prowl over the comm..

"What the slag?" Ratchet barked, ignoring Sideswipe and rushing to the golden mech covering Prowl like a blanket.

Prowl juddered from the residual current. He helped Ratchet get Sunstreaker off of him, but his circuits were so scrambled, he couldn't risk sitting up. Ratchet wouldn't appreciate being purged on and Prowl had a reputation to maintain.

"Sunstreaker, can you hear me?" Ratchet asked, searching the frontliner for signs of trauma. The only blemish he found was the blackened spot upon Sunstreaker's aft.

Sunstreaker growled in answer, limbs falling lax but twitching from the electricity that still coursed through him.

Ratchet ran his scanner over the golden frame.

"Two of your grounding wires are fragged," he informed the still growling warrior. "I'll have to totally replace them."

Wheeljack approached, holding a handful of gears.

It was all that remained from his latest catastrophe.

"Wish I could have seen the results," he mused, audio fins flashing bright, happy colors.

Prime exited, not really expecting a Decepticon attack. It was rare the Con's forces made a direct assault. More often than not, any explosion or minor disturbance around base was caused by his own troops and not the enemy.

They were quirky that way.

"Should I even ask?" Prime said, joining his crew.

Prowl sat up, rubbing the side of his helm, his door wings lying lax on his back instead of their usual haughty 'V' formation. They ached too much from being flattened and having Sunstreaker's added weight on top of them while being electrocuted to move them.

"Sideswipe," Prowl answered his leader. He focused his bleary optics on Wheeljack and added, "Wheeljack, kindly drag Sideswipe's carcass to the brig. And while you are there, pick a cell for yourself to occupy for the next week."

Wheeljack's shoulders drooped as he grabbed a still unconscious red Lamborghini by his scruff bar. The brig wasn't much of a punishment for Wheeljack, though the inactivity did dampen his spirits. His subspace pockets still held a vast collection of junk that kept him occupied while confined. Though the brig was meant for punishment, Wheeljack saw it as an opportunity to work on other projects and stay more focused, not being distracted by other things in his lab. He was a notorious multi-tasker. Confining him only gave him focus and allowed his mind to work, thinking up new (and disastrous) ways to create his own kind of mayhem.

"I'm going to have to put you in stasis until I can get this excess charge out of you," Ratchet said, wincing as tiny little blue arcs erupted from the golden Lamborghini and bit the medic's fingers.

Sunstreaker continued to growl, plotting his brother's destruction upon release. His growl faded as Ratchet finally got through his electric defense and sent him into unconsciousness, his face still curled into a snarl even in slumber.

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