Right Side Up

AN: THANK YOU GIRAFFECHAN and RAP BEAR for your continued patronage! Can't wait to tackle all your suggestions!

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AN2: Been concentrating on this double posting and have slacked off on my TMNT stories so I need to get my butt in gear so I can do some posting this weekend!

AN3:

Guest: Yup, I'm notorious for cliffhangers! But here's the second half without too much of a wait :D Hope it lives up to your expectations!

Dovaquin172: I tried to answer you but your messaging feature is disabled.

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o-o

-o-

"Sides!" Sunny yelled.

Sideswipe's optics flew open to find Red Alert's ugly face hovering directly over him. He let out an undignified squawk and sputtered as he sat upright, pressing himself into the bulkhead.

"What?! Slagging, Primus! Don't do that to me! You're not a pretty face to wake up to!"

Sunstreaker didn't retort. Instead, he whimpered, sparks erupting from the side of his helm, teetering from the pain.

"Systems… overheating," Sunstreaker panted. "Call… Ratch."

Sideswipe immediately opened a comm. demanding Ratchet's presence. Usually Ratchet responded with a curt, if not downright hateful reply at being woken up so early. This time he was professional.

And prompt.

Within a moment he was opening the door to the twins' room, going to Sunstreaker and plugging into the access port along his neck.

"Easy there, Sunstreaker," he said in a soothing tone so unlike himself when dealing with the twins. "Red is prone to overheating. You need to calm your spark and not set off the glitch."

"Easy.. for you…to say," Sunstreaker gasped, wanting to purge his tank but there was nothing in it.

Sideswipe rubbed his chest plates, frowning.

"Can't you do something about his spark knocking about?" he asked, fans kicking on to dispel the build up of heat. "His crazy spark is making mine go nuts."

"Unfortunately, that's the link you two share," Ratchet explained, breezing through the protocols of Red Alert's frame and manually starting his cooling fans. "Until this is reversed, you're going to suffer phantom signals. His spark is having a difficult time adjusting to Red's spark chamber."

"Why?" Sideswipe asked.

"When we reach maturation and take our final form, the spark begins to adapt to the spark chamber and create the necessary links to bind us to that protoform." Ratchet explained, optics never leaving the readouts on his scanner. "The spark contains our memories and what the humans would describe as our soul, so it grafts itself into place, establishing its permanent home, creating a neural network that conjoins to our main processor."

"Fascinating," Sunstreaker muttered, optics shuttering from exhaustion.

"And Sunny's isn't in its normal chamber, so it's attempting to use neural pathways that Red's frame doesn't possess, like what's in Sunny's old body?" Sideswipe hazarded a guess.

"Correct," Ratchet said, finishing up the manual overrides and humming when the readouts showed reducing numbers.

"What about Red?" Sunstreaker asked, relieved when his internals reached a more manageable number. "How's his spark dealing with my chamber?"

"He hasn't contacted me," Ratchet said darkly, realizing that since Sunstreaker was in such a state to be unable to open a comm., Red Alert may be in a similar distress. "I just sent Wheeljack and Perceptor to check on him."

"Hope Wheeljack doesn't blow him up," Sunstreaker quipped, a glimpse of his former self peeking through.

"He won't," Ratchet confirmed, monitoring the comms unit for emergency calls on Red Alert's behalf.

"Has Wheeljack figured out how to switch Sunny back into his own body?" Sideswipe asked, relaxing on his berth as the pain in his spark subsided. He motioned between his disembodied twin and himself, adding, "Cause this can't keep happening. If there's a Con attack, you need both of us on the front lines. We can't do our job while Sunny's fritzing on us."

Sunstreaker curled his lip in distaste.

"Wheeljack assured me he is working on it." Ratchet put away his scanner and visually checked Sunstreaker over. "Hopefully he'll figure out what went wrong and we can get you back before your spark decides it doesn't want to play house in a stranger's chamber."

"What would happen if it decided that?" Sunstreaker asked, wincing as Ratchet popped out the cable at his neck.

"From what I recall in med school, it means if your body is nearby, your spark will leave this shell and search out your original body." Ratchet rested on the edge of the berth as he explained to his most troublesome of patients. "If your body is nearby, it will seek it out and attempt to reclaim it, thus battling the invading spark for dominance. And since it is your original body, formed with your specific neural pathways, your body will reject the foreign spark and eject it, thus destroying it."

"You mean, kill Red," Sideswipe said softly.

"Yes," Ratchet confirmed. "Which is why it's important for you to remain calm and not agitate your spark within this strange new chamber."

"Sunny? Calm?" Sideswipe snickered, breaking the tension.

"As the humans say, Asshole," Sunstreaker griped, though there was no venom in his voice.

Sideswipe sobered, processor niggling in tandem with his spark.

"Hey Ratch, if Sunny destabilizes, would it kill me as well?"

Ratchet sighed, his plates creaking with the motion.

"High probability."

"Do you think a merge would help settle his spark? You know, recognizing it's other half and stabilizing it when it gets crazy?"

Clang!

Ratchet's hand flew faster than the twins' optics could track. Sideswipe's head jerked slightly from the impact. He blinked rapidly, trying to understand exactly what had hit him.

"Absolutely not! Red's spark chamber is not designed for merges! It lacks the neural net associated with your usual systems and a merge could destabilize both of you into termination!"

Sideswipe rubbed the side of his helm.

"Okay, bad idea. Sorry I mentioned it."

"You two are off active duty until this is fixed," Ratchet informed the pair, rising as the Pit Maker and glaring angrily. It was amazing to witness the shift in his bedside manner. "Try to stay out of trouble." He pointed a threatening finger at Sunstreaker. "Remain calm and try not to get overly excited." Jerking his thumb toward Sideswipe, he added, "And don't let this idiot talk you into anything stupid."

"No problem,' Sunstreaker said, venting heavily.

With a vicious growl to both, Ratchet left, the door whooshing shut behind him.

"He loves us," Sideswipe sighed happily.

"You're an idiot," Sunstreaker moaned, getting up carefully and stretching.

The room was filled with the squeaks and pops of a worn, ancient, battered body in the need of a desperate make over. Sunstreaker scowled at the dull, dingy white. His elbow creaked when he lifted his servo to scrub at his not-so-familiar face.

"This sucks Unicron's spike," Sunstreaker blurted. "I feel like I'm about to fall apart with a strong gust of wind!"

"Well, let's get you strengthened up, shall we?" Sideswipe said, knowing his brother's vanity accounted for a lot of his strength.

The better Sunstreaker looked, the stronger he felt and acted accordingly.

Sideswipe picked up a caddy loaded with Sunstreaker's favorite cleaning supplies and motioned toward the door.

"Let's hit the wash racks. Should be empty this early."

Sunstreaker reluctantly agreed, rubbing the side of his helm where an ache throbbed fitfully behind his optics. A good wash and lube would make him feel better, regardless of his borrowed body.

As expected the wash racks were empty.

"Never thought I'd say this, but strip down, Red," Sideswipe said with a giggle.

"Dick shift," Sunstreaker groused, trying to find the latches to remove the white battle armor.

Though the Lamborghinis were of similar design, there were noticeable differences in their construction. Namely their transformation seams and armor latches. It took nearly an hour for Sunstreaker to strip out of Red Alert's armor and place it on the wash rack for cleaning.

"Wow," Sideswipe quipped. "Red sure is skinny when naked. And I think I need to cauterize my optics now."

"Shut up," Sunstreaker snarled, a spark erupting from his helm. He groaned, rubbing his temple.

"Sorry," Sideswipe said sincerely. "Come on, Sunshine. Let's get you cleaned up. You'll feel better."

Sunstreaker allowed Sideswipe to steer him under the large faucet and turn on the hot water. Bracing himself against the wall, he endured Sideswipe's meticulously scrubbing every inch of his borrowed protoform, gritting his denta from the wire brush, and growling when Sideswipe raked a delicate array.

For the most part, Sideswipe worked in silence. But when a particularly nasty area was discovered, Sideswipe took it upon himself to describe his findings and detail every movement of his cleaning process. Though the descriptions of the gunk and oily residue found would churn Sunstreaker's tank, it did his mind good to hear the details of its removal, and the subsequent shine of Sideswipe's hard work.

Once finished, Sunstreaker sat on the long metal bench, resting and rubbing his throbbing helm.

"Let me check on your armor," Sideswipe said, sliding out the tray that held the white armor and finding it covered in soapy suds. "Soaking well. I'll go ahead and scrub on it a bit before putting it back in."

Picking up a handful of pieces, Sideswipe joined Sunstreaker on the bench. The two bent over their task, wire brushes whisking away what appeared to be a lifetime of filth and sloppy maintenance.

"After this, I'll go get us a cube and then you can shower again," Sideswipe said, putting away a cleaned piece of metal and picking up an oil stained piece to be scrubbed. "We'll let the degreaser soak in and clean up your joints before we give you a good lubing."

Sunstreaker, too tired to argue, but wanting to let his twin know he appreciated all his efforts, offered a small smile.

"Sounds kinky."

Sideswipe paused mid-scrub, looking up with stunned optics. Slowly, his face split into a grin that turned into laughter.

The laughter continued as the two finished up scrubbing the armor and Sideswipe replaced it on the wire rack, shoving it back into place inside the giant washer. He warned his brother to remain there, as he didn't want other bots scared by seeing a naked Red Alert, and hurried to the rec room to gather some fuel.

As he was leaving with cubes in both hands and in subspace, he almost ran into a familiar golden body.

"Afternoon, Sideswipe," the golden frame that once held his brother said.

"Hey, Red," Sideswipe managed to grind out.

It was so strange, seeing Sunstreaker's handsome face smiling and wide, lively optics. Greeting other bots with polite nods and strolling through the room as if he hadn't a care in the world.

Something burned in Sideswipe's chest.

"Don't get used to that body, Red. It won't be yours for much longer."

Sideswipe huffed and stormed away, leaving behind a saddened golden mech that was once his twin.

Not mentioning his encounter, Sideswipe handed Sunstreaker a cube and together, they drank slowly, Sunstreaker having a hard time processing the fuel. He sputtered and choked, sparks erupting along his helm, his spark thudding painfully in its chamber.

Sideswipe rubbed his own spark chamber, face creased in worry.

Sunstreaker easily drank him under the table, but right now, he could barely finish a cube of mid grade.

It was…heartbreaking.

A little more rest and Sunstreaker got up to finish his shower while Sideswipe removed the now pristine armor and began buffing it dry for reapplying. He stole quick glances to his brother, monitoring his progress as he cleaned his foreign body, nose curling up with distaste so reminiscent of Sunstreaker, it was comical.

Once thoroughly scrubbed, and Sideswipe made absolutely sure every speck of dust and oil were removed, Sunstreaker sat heavily on the bench and allowed his brother to dry him off.

Ironhide waltzed in, whistling a little tune and when he noticed the two, he offered a partial wave.

"Hey guys, what's up?"

"Busy," Sideswipe said dismissively. He knew Sunstreaker wasn't in the mood for company. Not when he was so naked and not so handsome. "The faucets are messing up again. Try using the ones down there."

Sideswipe motioned to the cleaning stalls furthest away.

Ironhide, for his part, nodded his thanks and utilized the shower at the end, granting the twins some much needed space.

Sideswipe checked his chronometer.

"Slag! We've been in here almost all day! We better get going before bots start showing up for their evening wash."

"Naked?" Sunstreaker asked, struggling to remember how the armor latched back into place.

"Good point," Sideswipe said, helping his brother to hasten the process.

By the time the last latch closed, Ironhide was preparing to leave and four mechs were using the showers, one complaining the faucet was too cold.

When they got back to the twins' quarters, Sunstreaker sat on his berth, optics half shuttered, vents wheezing as pain began to build in his main processor again.

Sideswipe took pity and didn't joke or jostle him around. He made sure to keep a running commentary on the joint compounds and lubes he used to soak Sunstreaker's creaking plates.

When finished, Sunstreaker took a few sips of energon then lay down, falling into a fitful charge. Sparks erupted along his helm, causing him to twitch in his rest.

Realizing the full depth of the glitch Red Alert had to live with every day of his existence, Sideswipe suddenly felt very guilty for torturing the mech with the occasional prank. If Sunstreaker, who was the strongest mech Sideswipe knew, was having difficulty, he could only imagine how someone like Red Alert faired from day to day.

Sideswipe curled up next to his twin, wrapping his arms around him in solace and nodding off to the rapid whirl of cooling fans.

-o-o-o-o

The next morning Sideswipe woke to find his brother spastically jerking in his sleep.

"Sunstreaker!"

Sideswipe used his full name to break through whatever fog was clouding his addled processor. It worked. Sunstreaker bolted awake, a spark flying from his temple.

"Where am I?" he asked frantically.

"You're in our quarters," Sideswipe said, leaning over the panicking frame to fill his brother's vision with only himself. "You're sleeping on your berth. And you were snoring."

Sunstreaker wasn't, but Sideswipe liked to goad his twin with the human trait. It annoyed Sunstreaker to no end. It still did, despite the wrong body he inhabited.

"Shut up! I do not snore," he groused, shoving his twin away.

When Sunstreaker moved, there was no creaking, moans, or otherwise haunted noise from his ill kept frame. Smiling, he flexed his arms, legs, midsection, undulating and finding the joints moved with ease. Exactly as they should have!

He clenched his servos, ignoring the lack of strength he normally possessed.

"You're sounding a lot better,' Sideswipe put in, eyeing his twin. "And you haven't sparked or fritzed in several hours. I think that cleaning did you some good."

"Probably the cause of most of Red's glitches," Sunstreaker mused, getting up and performing a slow stretch to check the rest of his joints. He moved freely without a single squeak. "Honestly, how can the mech allow himself to become so filthy he can't move?"

"You know Red. Too paranoid to strip down with the possibility of a Con attack or someone seeing him naked."

"The mech has issues, and I don't mean his glitches." Sunstreaker rotated his shoulders and hips, feeling much better.

Sideswipe offered a wolf whistle, which earned him a rude gesture.

"So, we have the day off thanks to your unfortunate frame switch up, so how do you want to spend it?"

Sunstreaker paused, thinking hard. As soon as he started to engage his main processor, the telltale burn began along his neural circuitry.

He rubbed his helm and muttered, "Something relaxing. No stress or requires a lot of thought. This frame isn't built for such things."

"Yeah, that says a lot," Sideswipe snorted, picking up a polishing rag and dusting his white plated brother. "So, what do you want to do?"

Sunstreaker hummed in contentment. Even in his old frame, there was something soothing about the soft swishing of a clothe along his armor. The burning along his temple subsided, curling back into a dull thrum in base of his helm.

"I have some projects that need finishing before the gallery opening next month."

"Painting it is," Sideswipe said, but Sunstreaker's servo slamming into his chest prevented him from leaving.

"Not so fast," Sunstreaker warned. "Last time I tried to paint with you in the room, you wasted half my supplies on making aft prints all over the walls and canvases."

Sideswipe snickered. Well, he did have a cute aft. It looked great in any color he sat in.

"I'll go alone. Less stress if I don't have to worry about you putting your aft in my paint."

Sideswipe visibly deflated as his brother left him alone in their quarters. Frustrated, he set off, searching for someone to annoy, his side of the bond wide open in case Sunstreaker became distressed.

Which was wise.

Within twenty minutes, Sideswipe was bombarded with agony and a desperation that made his spark skip a beat.

Or maybe it was fear?

Either way, Sideswipe was racing to his twin. He burst through the door to find Sunstreaker kneeling beside a broken easel, the canvas askew and covered in a smeary blob.

"Sunny?" Sideswipe asked, kneeling and touching his brother's shoulder.

Sparks jumped along the abused helm, zapping Sideswipe and burning his plating. He hissed, braving the torture to clasp his twin.

"I…. I can't…" Sunny muttered.

"Can't what?" Sideswipe asked.

"Paint," Sunstreaker whimpered. His optics were watery and uneven as his systems tried, and failed, to compensate for the exertion. "I… can't hold… the brush."

Sure enough, there was a loaded brush smeared on the floor.

"Shake… to hard," Sunstreaker explained. "Can't paint."

Sunstreaker sucked air through damaged vents, unable to cool his systems properly. Sadly, such a thing also triggered his many glitches, his sparking helm, lack of equilibrium, and most worrisome of all, his sputtering spark beat.

"Try to calm down," Sideswipe said, but it was no use.

Sunstreaker's frame began to tremble, fans sputtering, unable to compensate for the tremendous heat building from the strain being caused by his glitching system and flickering lifeforce.

Sideswipe grit his denta, his own frame starting to share in the physical ailments that plagued his brother's adopted frame.

Manually he opened a couple ports, hoping to help his brother cool his systems to stabilize. Unfortunately, Sunstreaker's systems were too far gone. He clutched at Sideswipe, optics wide, terrified, fans skipping, numerous alerts coloring his HUD to red, coating his vision in blood.

Convulsing, Sunstreaker tried to remain conscious, his spark desperately crying out for his twin to rescue him from the blinding pain and flickering of his fading spark.

Sideswipe ripped away the protective plating along the white chest, destroying the latches. He had no time to do this the gentle way. His brother was dying in his arms.

'Ratchet! Sunny's studio! Now!' he sent over comms just as the last bit of armor fell away.

As if in omen, the spark chamber opened, revealing the guttering spark of Sunstreaker.

Sideswipe didn't think twice. Didn't hesitant. Didn't heed Ratchet's warning.

His chest split, revealing his strong spark and as they had done so many times throughout their lives, he merged his life force with his other half, consequences be slagged. If Sunstreaker was to terminate, then by golly, Sideswipe would happily follow him into death.

Sunstreaker's optics rolled back into his head, falling into stasis, Sideswipe soon to follow.

-o-o-o

When Sideswipe came to it was to hear the Pit Maker himself, bellowing from the very bowels of the underworld and tearing the mortal world asunder in his fury.

His vocalizer coughed and buzzed, bringing the harbinger of his doom into his fuzzy field of vision.

"Are you slagging stupid?" Ratchet bellowed, mighty fists raised high over head. "Are you trying to get yourselves slagged? Because you slagging well nearly accomplished it!"

Sideswipe let out a long buzz, his systems having a hard time recalibrating. Finally able to get his vocalizer to work, Sideswipe spoke.

"Sunny?"

"Stable… for now," Ratchet said begrudgingly. "What possessed you to try something so foolhardy? Did I not tell you it was dangerous to merge with a spark that was unstable because it was in the wrong chamber?"

"He was… dying," Sideswipe managed to say.

Ratchet's vehemence petered out. He sighed heavily, lowering his arms.

"He can't go on like this, Ratchet," Sideswipe said, carefully maneuvering himself into a sitting position. He saw his twin opposite, inert and seemingly lifeless. "He tried to paint but he couldn't. He was shaking so hard, he couldn't hold the brush."

Ratchet followed Sideswipe's gaze to find the white mech, once gold, so silent and still it was frightening. He knew how much enjoyment Sunstreaker took in his art. For him to be incapable of such a thing was difficult to imagine. It would be like Ratchet being unable to heal his comrades and forced to watch while they slowly terminated.

It was a horror and sorrow all unto itself.

"I've put him in a temporary stasis," Ratchet explained. "With his spark destabilizing, it's dangerous to keep him under for too long." He gusted air through his vents and threw Sideswipe a dirty look. "Though I'm loathe to admit it, your quick thinking did save his life. His spark was extinguishing. When I found you, he was drawing exclusively onto your life force to keep himself alive."

"It was the only thing I could think of," Sideswipe said softly.

"Well, it saved his life. I'm just glad your spark was strong enough to take the burden and sustain his until he could stabilize into a normal rhythm. I don't know if he, or you, can survive if it happens again."

"We're strong," Sideswipe said. "And mean. Gonna take a lot more than crazy sparks to terminate us."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Ratchet grumped, flipping Sideswipe on the olfactory sensor.

"Yeowwww!" Sideswipe howled, covering his nasal ridge.

Wheeljack entered the medbay, helm fins flashing a technicolor disco rave.

"Ratchet! I found my plans! I think I know what went wrong!"

"The creator?" Ratchet sighed, accepting the datapad thrust into his hands. He scanned it for a moment, brow ridge crinkled, before he addressed Wheeljack. "Seems pretty straightforward. Should be able to do the recalibrations by midday."

Wheeljack nodded emphatically, helm fins staying a solid tie dye swirl.

"I think we need to move the blast panels to the far end of the ward when we're ready to change Sunstreaker and Red Alert back. We may only get one chance and I don't want to risk having someone else to swap bodies."

"Good thinking," Ratchet said. He tucked the datapad into his subspace and pointed to the door. "It's late. Go charge. We'll need to be well rested to begin the calibrations so we get it right and not screw it up."

Wheeljack ducked his head guiltily. He knew what Ratchet meant, and it wasn't Ratchet who needed the rest before he screwed something up.

"What time do you want to start?" he asked.

"Eight," Ratchet said, "which will give us about six hours of charge. Get some rest and meet me in the rec room at eight for a refuel and we'll get to work."

"Right!" Wheeljack barked, exiting the med bay.

Ratchet sighed through his vents. Wearily, his shoulders drooped.

"How long was I out?" Sideswipe asked, checking his chronometer and realizing it was nearly two in the morning.

"Almost 19 hours," Ratchet said tiredly.

He shut down most of the lights, keeping the ones above Sunstreaker's bed on minimal setting and with an annoyed glance to Sideswipe, Ratchet lay down on the berth beside Sunstreaker. The light by his berth went out.

"If you sense anything, call out to me," Ratchet said, closing his optics. "If you disturb my charge for something stupid, I'll beat your aft mostly to termination and won't lift a finger to help you heal. Got it?"

"Got it," Sideswipe said, lying down on the berth opposite his brother. "Oh, and Ratchet?"

"Yeah?" Ratchet asked, dread filling his tank.

"Thanks," Sideswipe said, powering down for some much needed charge.

Ratchet's ghost of a smile followed him into stasis.

o-o-o-o

Ratchet had kept the unruly twin in stasis until it was time to use the device to switch bodies. Throughout the morning, Ratchet checked on Sunstreaker's vitals, frowning when they showed slow, even numbers.

"Bad?" Sideswipe asked, perched on the berth next to his twin.

"No, not bad. Merely…unexpected." Ratchet fussed with a stabilizing agent into the unconscious white mech. "Even in charge, Red's systems run high. His systems are volatile, which is why I yell at you so much for slagging him off. His system can't take the strain of you. Literally."

Sideswipe swung his pedes, more than ever feeling incredibly guilty. He thought Ratchet was only trying to play up Red's glitches, but from what he had been able to see and sense his brother going through; Red's life was not an easy one. The poor mech lived with a broken and torturous body.

Sideswipe vowed then and there to cut the mech a break.

Once Ratchet and Wheeljack, with the help of Perceptor, finished the calibrations, Ratchet woke Sunstreaker up. It took a little longer than normal. Long enough that Ratchet was worried Sunstreaker couldn't wake up.

But after nearly an hour of slowly rising vitals, Sunstreaker's optics fluttered and he blinked owlishly, sneering at the orange ceiling.

"Primus, what a horrid color," he muttered thickly.

Another hour and Sunstreaker was able to sit up. Groggily, he answered Ratchet's questions, mind slow to formulate answers. His head no longer hurt, nor did error messages blot out his vision. His vision was still blurry, but as he explained to Ratchet, at length, it wasn't from system backlogs or overheating.

More like… exhaustion.

Hence why he tried to go back into recharge only to have Ratchet frown and nudge him back into awareness.

Sunstreaker's spark kept a normal, steady taboo. It was slightly out of sync to Sideswipe's, but it appeared to be its normal rhythm.

Ratchet frowned at the scans, his scientific mind churning as he logged Sunstreaker's vitals. Once he was sure the spastic frame was stable, he sent a comm to Red Alert, ordering him to get his golden aft to the med bay to perform the frame swap.

Red Alert confirmed, but when half an hour passed and the borrowed golden frame didn't appear, Ratchet sent thunder through the comms, demanding to know the security chief's whereabouts.

Prowl escorted the gold mech into med bay a moment later, Prowl's doorwings hiked in agitation. Ratchet pointed to the medical berth in which Red was to occupy for the procedure. Blast shields had been placed around two of the beds with a table sitting between them, the devious device resting on its surface, ready to be activated.

Unfortunately, Red Alert didn't want to return to his glitched and substandard frame. He scowled, a perfect imitation of Sunstreaker, and snapped.

"Now what? I have work to do!"

Ratchet raised a brow ridge at Red's attitude. Apparently, it came with the frame.

"Wheeljack fixed the device." Ratchet pointed again to the medical berth, his expression stern.

Red Alert crossed his arms and gave Ratchet an impassive stare. Sideswipe gaped, thinking his twin had returned to normal until he realized there was no venom in the golden frame, nor hatred glistening in blue optics. If anything, the golden mech appeared… bored?

"This base requires a full assessment and retrofit," Red Alert started, "And in this current body, I can perform my job more efficiently than if I returned to my old frame."

"If?" Sunstreaker yelled, optics brightening a little. "You're not keeping my body!"

Red Alert, once always so spazzy and glitchy and highly paranoid, graced his old frame with a sardonic look.

"Our forces would be better served if I was able to maintain a more defensive stronghold," Red added. "My old frame prevents me from functioning to my full potential."

Ratchet, born of the Pit Maker and destroyer of worlds, thundered in his domain.

"The Pit's wrong with you? You're going to allow Sunstreaker to destabilize and terminate, taking his little skid-wipe brother with him, simply because you think you deserve Sunstreaker's frame because it's better than your own body?"

Red Alert opened his mouth to formulate an argument but once Ratchet's words sunk in, he began to feel a burn along his spark that had nothing to do with a glitch. It was shame.

"Red, our sparks are adapted to our unique chambers," Sunstreaker said, strangely so calm and rational. Usually he was raging, threatening, or utterly destroying everything in his path. "Our bio-circuitry generates neural pathways using our spark energy and though you aren't noticing the effects now, you will. And if I terminate, it will destroy your spark chamber, making it impossible for you to reclaim your original frame."

Ratchet placed his hand on Sunstreaker's back to steady him as he wavered.

"Easy, Sunstreaker," Ratchet muttered. He threw a dirty glare to Red Alert. "It doesn't matter if you want to keep that body or not. The fact is, I won't allow you to keep it! You may like Sunstreaker's body, but you're not allowed to take it from him. Now, you have two choices. The easy way in which you get your aft over here and willingly lay down. Or, you deal with me, in which case, when you wake up, you'll have more glitches than what you remember!"

Sunstreaker's optics shuttered slowly. "Ratch…."

Ratchet glanced to his worst patient, noting his obvious exhaustion. It was all the white Lambo could do to hold his optics open.

"Tired," Sunstreaker muttered, leaning heavily on Ratchet as he was losing the ability to remain conscious.

Ratchet looked to the vital readouts on the medbay and frowned, realizing Sunstreaker's spark was still pulsing at a steady, even rate. There were no skips. No double beats. No broken lines that signaled glitches. No whirling cooling fans. Not even a flicker along his helm to indicate a fritz.

Strange.

Why weren't his vitals showing their normal distress?

"Sunny?" Sideswipe asked timidly.

"Need …. Charge," Sunstreaker muttered before his optics went offline. He slumped on Ratchet, who maneuvered him onto the berth before spinning on Red Alert.

But his ire died quickly upon finding Red Alert already taking the indicated berth, his expression one of sorrow and pain.

Red stared longingly along his borrowed golden frame, then to his own glitch riddled body on the next berth, so lustrous and new looking. Why, he couldn't remember when his frame looked so dazzling! Sunstreaker had obliviously performed some painstaking maintenance. Maintenance Red Alert had always been unable to perform due to his constant state of paranoia and spastic glitches. Not to mention, he never knew when his glitch would flare up and it was unwise to be in water when such a thing occurred.

"I'm sorry, Sunstreaker," Red said to the inert form lying prone on the next berth. "You can have your body back."

"Glad you see reason," Ratchet said, shoving the golden mech onto the berth none too gently.

Despite being mech-handled, Red smiled up at Ratchet.

"It was nice though," he said, waiting for Ratchet to set up the diagnostics as Wheeljack checked the troublemaking device between the two mechs. "Being able to function without glitches and being in constant pain." He tuned his head to face Sunstreaker's immobile form. "Sunstreaker doesn't deserve to live like that. In spite of his attitude, he's still an asset to the team."

"Don't let him hear you say that," Sideswipe said good-naturedly.

"You're both an asset," Red amended, offering a nod to the other Lamborghini. "My personal suffering aside, it is best things return to normal, for the consequences of losing the two top fighters in our ranks is far more dangerous for the Autobot cause than losing one glitching, paranoid mech."

"Hey, don't sell yourself short, Red," Sideswipe said, leaning over and placing his hand on the golden shoulder. "You may not fight on the front lines, but you keep our afts protected. Our home protected. You're the tip top safety bot!"

Red offered a tiny smile that faded quickly.

"Well, it was great while it lasted," he sighed wistfully.

"I won't be pranking you anymore," Sideswipe said, to the amazement of all. "I didn't realize how bad your glitches were until I experienced them with Sunny."

Ratchet opened the monitoring ports along Red's helm, preparing for the inevitable worst when it came to his most damaged patient. Sunstreaker was already unconscious so he didn't notice Ratchet's heartbroken expression.

"Thanks, Sideswipe," Red Alert said, gusting a deep breath through his vents. "Sorry you had to suffer, too."

Sideswipe offered a one sided shrug. "Nothing new to us."

Ratchet elbowed Sideswipe out of his way and opened up the monitoring port along Sunstreaker's helm.

Red Alert looked up him, so innocent and full of life. Trusting and sincere. There was no trace of his spastic glitch or crazed paranoia.

"It will be okay, Red," Ratchet said, patting the golden shoulder.

Red smiled.

"I trust you, Ratchet. Always have." He glanced over to his glitch riddled white body, soon to be his prison once again. "I'm ready."

Ratchet felt his spark breaking but didn't let it show. He grabbed Sideswipe by his scruff bar and marched him behind a partition that would protect them from the device in case it decided to repeat its function and swap consciousnesses. Wheeljack was already waiting behind the shield.

The machine hummed, then electricity arced, zapping both gold and white and filling the room with a highly pressurized static. Plating crawled and itched. Neural lines twitched. Vents drew in a thick ionization that caused the three observers to cough fitfully.

With a final pyrotechnical display, the machine guttered and died, throwing the room into silence.

Ratchet was first to the bedside of his two patients. His diagnostic machines showed regular rhythms and stable vitals. Physically they were fine. He had to wait until they woke up to find out if the device worked.

Sideswipe leaned over his brother's gold frame, noting the single tear that lingered on his handsome cheek.

"Sunny?" he whispered fearfully.

"His systems are within optimal levels," Ratchet informed the worried brother. "But we'll have to wait until they wake up to see if it worked."

They only had to wait six hours before blue optics shuttered open and Sunstreaker's voice boomed from his golden body.

"We really need to repaint the medbay! This is just hideous!"

"Sunny!" Sidewipe yelled, latching onto his brother's frame like an attention starved sparkling.

Sunstreaker slapped his twin in annoyance, but his face was creased in amusement. "Knock it off, numb nuts. I'm alright. Act like such a baby sparkling."

Sideswipe offered a chirp in answer before disengaging, giving Ratchet room to run his scanners.

"Feeling better? Any head ache? Spark ache? Nausea? Dizziness?"

"I'm fine, just tired," Sunstreaker confided. "Like I lapped Cybertron a million times. Even my tires ache."

"Systems appear normal," Ratchet informed the two. "And though I know you hate the color scheme, I'd like to keep you here at least a day for observation."

Sunny stretched, hearing his joints pop and his left knee grind. Apparently, Red had failed to perform Sunstreaker's daily three hour grooming.

"Whatever," he groused, then rolled his head to see Red Alert's inert frame. "How's Red doing?"

"Still unconscious," Ratchet muttered, closing Sunstreaker's access port. "His vitals remain stable….for the moment."

"He'll pull through," Sunstreaker said, situating himself on the berth to get more comfortable. "He's stronger than you realize."

With that strange declaration, Sunstreaker powered down to get some much needed rest.

O-o-o-o-o

It took three days for Red Alert to wake up. Ratchet hovered near the white Lambo after the first 24 hours, fearing the longer he remained under, the less chance for him to wake up.

But near noon, Red Alert gave a languid stretch, groaning and flexing his weary frame.

Ratchet was by his side in an instant, hovering as an angel of mercy.

"Easy does it, Red," the medic said, checking over the scanner and frowning slightly. "Try not to move too quickly."

Red gusted air through his vents in a slow pattern he learned when he was young to assist his damaged body into booting up properly. Much to his surprise, his systems came online without the painful stab along his meta, or the scrolling text along his HUD that turned his vision to red.

Strange.

His spark pulsed a steady beat. No error messages blotted his vision. He had a dull throb along his frontal cortex, but it was probably just his glitch preparing to send his helm sparking. His energy was low, probably due to lack of fueling since he had been unconscious.

"How long was I out?" he asked as Ratchet popped ports and plugged in various diagnostic tools.

"Three days," came Sunstreaker's voice before he appeared in Red Alert's vision, hovering on the opposite side of the berth.

"No wonder I'm hungry," Red Alert said, his tanks choosing that moment to rumble.

"I'll grab you a cube," Sunstreaker said, disappearing from Red's field of vision.

"Something light," Ratchet called to the retreating Lamborghini. "His systems are still powering up so nothing higher than low grade."

"Whatever," Sunstreaker snapped before the door whooshed shut behind him.

"Odd," Red muttered. "Since when has Sunstreaker been so helpful?"

"He hasn't left your side," Ratchet confided now that the two were alone in medbay. "I gave him medical clearance two days ago but he said he needed to be close by in case your systems failed." Ratchet snorted. "Not like he has medical training to be of any actual assistance, but I think since he spent some time in your frame, he knows the torture you endure on a daily basis and doesn't want to add to it."

"How unusually considerate of him," Red quipped. He noticed Ratchet wasn't his normal frenzied self when dealing with Red's faulty systems. Frowning he asked, "Something's…off. What's wrong, Ratchet?"

Knowing he couldn't lie to Red, no matter how much damage the truth could cause, Ratchet explained.

"You're systems are normal, as in what is standard for ordinary mechs. I'm not detecting elevated vitals, misfiring cortex, or erratic spark rate that usually plagues your frame."

"What?" Red asked, eyes drawn in worry. "That's not right! What's going on, Ratchet?"

Though Red's voice had risen in alarm, his vitals remained steady.

Which terrified Ratchet.

It was unnatural to have Red Alert being 'normal.' What in the world could have alleviated Red Alert's broken and damaged systems? There was nothing different about him other than the fact he had temporarily inhabited another frame, but surely that wasn't responsible for the stabilized systems.

So, what was different?

Well, his frame was absolutely stunning. As in, meticulously cleaned, well oiled, and polished to an immaculate finish.

But that was merely structural. That couldn't have fixed Red's fritzing helm or his erratic spark.

Unless….

"Red, let me check your spark chamber," Ratchet said, wanting to test a theory. Usually Red Alert was too paranoid to allow such a thing and required a manual shut down in order for Ratchet to work on such an intimate part.

But Red's chest split and revealed his spark chamber.

No protest. No argument. No doubt. No need for threats or being overpowered.

Simply bared his soul for inspection.

Ratchet quickly ran a diagnostic, his optics widening as he read and reread the scanner's findings.

"Neural spark density has increased by… 60%," he muttered, astounded.

"What?" Red asked, not sure if he should be worried or thrilled. "What are you talking about, Ratchet?"

Ratchet recorded the scans and added them to Red Alert's biological file, muttering technical jargon to himself. He tapped Red's chest plates, signaling it was okay to close and hide his spark chamber.

"Ratchet….?" Red said worriedly after a minute of the medic's continued whispered soliloquy.

Ratchet wasn't paying attention. He looked up to Red and asked, "How's your spark feeling?"

"Fine," Red said, rubbing the plating. It was strange to not have it knocking about in chaos.

"Headache?" Ratchet prompted.

"Slight, but not remotely as bad as normal."

"Error messages?"

"Random. Mostly related to fuel and power distribution."

"Dizziness?"

"No, but then again, I'm lying down." Red reported, brow creasing as he cottoned on to what had Ratchet so concerned.

"Paranoia?" Ratchet asked.

Red self evaluated, realizing his spark wasn't frantically skipping a beat and with it, the inevitable fear of constant attack and death.

"No, no paranoia," Red confirmed, narrowing his optics at Ratchet. "Wait a minute… I feel… great. Like I'm still in Sunstreaker's body." He lifted his arm, examining the white armor. "What's happened, Ratchet? What's going on?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Ratchet admitted, logging his findings and flipping the screen to show Red the medical jargon. "But this scan here on the left was your regular spark neural density."

Red stared at the thin spiderweb design highlighted on the screen. It looked so small and insignificant.

"As you know, the spark is our soul. It's what carries our memories and sense of self. Our ego and consciousness. When our spark is placed in our permanent spark chambers for our adult frames, it generates a neural webbing, not unlike the ones of a human brain. Spark chambers are lined with this neural net, which imprints on the frame to accept neural transmissions, allowing us to store our memories in a cortex for easier retrieval."

Red nodded, keeping up with Ratchet's ever increasing babble. Apparently, the medic was getting more and more excited. And when he pointed to the scans on the right, Red Alert understood why.

"This is your current reading," Ratchet said, showing the new neural density. "You're showing an increase of 60%."

"How?" Red asked breathlessly, staring at the impossible scan. "I've been told my glitches were permanent. That my systems were incompatible and my spark was broken. Even you, the best medic to walk Cybertron, have been unable to stabilize my faulty systems. How is it that my spark chamber increasing in neural density can eliminate my symptoms?"

Ratchet thought a moment, ignoring the praise just given to him about his skills, and focused on what had changed. Yes, Red switched bodies, but that wouldn't account for Red's systems supercharging their neural conductivity.

"I'm not entirely sure," Ratchet said, deep in thought.

Just then, Sunstreaker appeared carrying a pale pink cube of low grade.

The answer struck Ratchet harder than Unicron's fist.

"That's it!" Ratchet blurted, startling both Lamborghini's. The gold one growled in warning. "Red, I know what cured your broken spark."

Two sets of optics bore holes into the insane medic.

"Your spark wasn't strong enough to build the necessary neural fibers inside your spark chamber," Ratchet started, helping the white Lambo into a sitting position so he could ingest fuel. "That caused your cascade failures and glitched your systems. It wasn't a physical deformity in your frame or errant coding!"

Sunstreaker glanced between the two white mechs wondering what the slag was going on.

"That's why when you transferred to Sunstreaker's frame, you didn't experience the same side effects," Ratchet continued to babble. "It's because his spark chamber is considerably more dense than yours!"

"The frag you talking about?" Sunstreaker barked, not sure if he was being insulted or praised.

"Your spark experienced the proper density for neural conduits, hence why you didn't experience a glitch while inhabiting his frame!"

Sunstreaker's jaw dropped as he cottoned on.

"So, why am I not glitching now?" Red asked, accepting the cube from Sunstreaker and taking a sip. He took several long draughts before pausing, staring into the glimmering pink liquid. He wasn't getting sick, overheating, nor suddenly imaging it being poisoned by Decepticons.

"The merge," Ratchet breathed, staring at Sunstreaker. "When your spark threatened to terminate and Sideswipe merged with you, the joining of your two life forces was strong enough to allow new neural fibers to form. That's why your spark was so weak. It had been trying to build the necessary neural pathways but needed the extra energy. When you merged, the power of both your sparks allowed the pathways to grow and stabilize, developing the necessary network to mostly cure Red Alert's glitches."

"What?" Sunstreaker deadpanned.

"His systems have stabilized," Ratchet showed the golden mech the scans, comparing the before and after. The difference was staggering. "His symptoms where caused by malformed neurological pathways developed within his spark chamber. His spark was unable to generate and stabilize the neural net when he upgraded. But, when you and your brother merged, the energy allowed the chamber to develop new pathways, increasing its density and removing the glitches that had plagued his frame since his upgrade."

Sunstreaker shuttered his optics, trying to take it all in.

"So, what does that mean… now?" Sunstreaker asked slowly.

"With the density increase, it means his spark won't falter as often and set his systems into overheating," Ratchet explained happily. "He may have the occasional glitch, considering he's endured massive system replacements and upgrades since his maturation, so it might take awhile for his systems to fully adapt. But for the most part, his broken spark, or more correctly, his damaged spark chamber, is now functioning at a more normal level."

"So, he's basically…cured?" Sunstreaker put in.

"It will take some time to adapt, but on the whole, yes," Ratchet proclaimed.

Sunstreaker's grin turned feral, causing the other two mechs to cringe.

"Good," he breathed, openly glaring at Red Alert. "Now he can stop being such an annoying little glitch."

Whirling, Sunstreaker stalked to the door, back to being his usual homicidal self.

Ratchet, ever the one to goad his favorite menace, catcalled, "What are you going to do? Go sulk now that he's going to be okay?"

Sunstreaker paused, turning in slow motion, a wickedly sexy grin on his handsome face.

"I'm going to inform my brother that we have the distinct recognition of being able to fix your patient, and you were totally clueless all these eons."

With a sycophant smile that made plating crawl, Sunstreaker disappeared to goad his twin into a gloating, parading, joyously annoying pest, undoubtedly making the entire crew miserable, despite the good news.

Ratchet's face darkened in a scowl.

"That slagger!"

"You sure he isn't a Decepticon?" Red asked, grinning at the insinuation of his past paranoia.

Ratchet sputtered, then burst out laughing.

Red Alert laughed, too. A true, spark felt, happy sound. His spark was performing flips in its casing but this time, it wasn't from pain and suffering and a broken body ill equipped to sustain his life.

His spark leapt in gladness and of finally being free of its once glitched prison.

-o-o

o-o

o-o

Awww… see, I gave Red a happy ending! Not that kind! Sheesh! You perverts!

And can you imagine Sideswipe when he learns the truth? Slagger is going to be uncontrollable!

Okay, author still wants reader feedback and interaction. Come on folks! SHARE SHARE SHARE!

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Here's to another year of the twins!