Sun's Shadow

AN: THANK YOU GIRAFFECHAN and RAP BEAR for your continued support and feedback! Looking forward to more ideas and craziness!

AN2: Yeah, I know I'm a little late. Typical for me this time of year. So much to do, so little time and energy and ability to get it done. I try to scribble out ideas throughout the day and IF I have time in the evening, write a little on them. But it's hard. My disabled mother has been approved by the doctor to have a brain tumor removed but the insurance company is refusing to pay for it. Go figure.

Word to the wise… INSURANCE COMPANIES SUCK! Especially HEALTH!

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Sunstreaker sat in the rec room nursing a cube, his optics dim from exhaustion. The day had not been amicable, then again, when did he ever have a 'good day?'

It started with light rains, which meant his freshly polished finish would attract the muck and mud. Then his art supplies were delayed in customs and were waiting to be cleared before they could be delivered.

Blaster was struck by lightning, which Sunstreaker found hilarious, until the radio started tuning into radio stations at random and living up to his name. Various forms of music blasted the hallways and comm. freqs, giving most of the mechs a processor ache. Jazz was the only one who seemed to enjoy the makeshift music festival.

After each piercing overture, Blaster would apologize profusely and hum with static. Ratchet assured everyone Blaster would have to work the excess charge out of his system on his own. Until then, they had to endure the tumulus noise that emanated from the tape deck.

Unfortunately, Blaster was walking behind Sunstreaker toward the rec room and suddenly blasted heavy metal. Sunstreaker instantly jumped into attack mode, punching the tape deck out and stuffing him in a supply closet.

Bumblebee extracted the unconscious mech from his makeshift prison. Blaster was still in med bay, sound bytes escaping like electronic hiccups, but at least he wasn't tuning into stations anymore.

Sunstreaker offered to 'remedy' the radio again, but Ratchet threatened him with iron supplements to the helm.

Late afternoon, the Cons attacked. Sunstreaker was forced to endure the rain and mud all over again, right after he finished polishing from his morning patrol. Sunstreaker was wary to engage the enemy, hoping to avoid scratches and dings.

The battle was winding down, Sunstreaker nearing a perfect record of no damage, when Ravage caught him off guard. Two fast strikes and Sunstreaker had scratches marring his beautiful finish. Since they weren't life threatening, Sunstreaker had to endure having his repair nanites deal with the damage while the more injured were allowed a berth in the medbay.

Exhausted, frustrated, and unable to buff his cosmetic imperfections, Sunstreaker retired to berth early, hoping to catch up on some rest. Sideswipe was healing from injuries incurred during the Con attack, so Sunstreaker had the peace and quiet of his quarters.

But that's when the nightmares started.

One after another, his dreams were interrupted by images of his past. Pain long since inflicted. Wounds forgotten. Faces he could no longer identify. Screams in his audios, some from his cell mates, other times from his own vocalizer. But the worst were of his victims. Soul piercing, line freezing shrieks that echoed in the back of his processor.

The first time Sunstreaker awoke to these phantom terrors, he chastised himself for dredging up things best left buried in the past, and rolled over, slipping back into charge.

The second time, Sunstreaker cursed fluently as his own screams roused him from his slumber. He had hoped to assuage the dreams by curling up on Sideswipe's berth, a part of him wishing his twin was out of med bay.

Sideswipe understood the nightmares, often sharing in the experience as it was lived in a tortuous loop. But, Sideswipe wouldn't be back until tomorrow. Or the day after, depending on his rate of healing and Ratchet's mood.

Sunstreaker was left to fend for himself against the things haunting his rest.

Unfortunately, Sideswipe's berth was no substitute for his brother's spark and soothing presence, and Sunstreaker was once again forced from his rest. Begrudgingly, he rose and headed to the rec room hoping some warm energon would calm him.

It was almost three in the morning.

The day shift wouldn't start cycling until around seven, giving Sunstreaker plenty of time to ease his worries and return to bed without the others knowing. He sighed in resentment knowing everyone else was enjoying the safety and comfort of their berth.

So, here Sunstreaker sat in the dark, staring morosely into the dull blue of his energon.

Normally, he liked the quiet solitude but right now, he found it to be thunderous and consuming. It made the screams seem louder. Even the warmth of the room seemed to be zapped out, leaving behind nothing but a hollow chill, mocking the one staring into the swirls of his drink.

Scuffing drew Sunstreaker's attention, his body tensing, preparing for attack, but the frame style was familiar in the shadowed hallway.

Bluestreak came slouching into the rec room, shoulders and doorwings drooping. His optics dull. The grey playing appeared dusty and unkempt.

He looked as exhausted as Sunstreaker felt.

Sunstreaker's optics tracked the gunner to the dispenser, where Bluestreak filled a cube. As the cube started to glow, Bluestreak leaned against the dispenser, scrubbing a hand over his face in an effort to wipe away the exhaustion. Cube filled he turned, heading to a corner he liked to inhabit when the occasion warranted solitude.

Unfortunately, it was close by to where Sunstreaker was sitting in the dark.

Bluestreak saw the blue optics and softly glowing cube highlighting the golden frame in a blue reflection, shimmering off the golden plating to give Sunstreaker a poisonous effect.

Bluestreak gasped, doorwings hiking straight up, energon sloshing in its cube. A strange sound escaped his vocalizer, a mixture between an electronic shriek and a mouse being trod upon.

"Sunstreaker!" He gasped, regaining his senses, though his doorwings were still pressed high to form a 'V.' "Didn't see you sitting there."

"That was the point," Sunstreaker quipped, though his voice lacked it usual venom. His timbre was low, gruff, obviously very tired.

"Couldn't sleep either?" Bluestreak asked, placing his cube at Sunstreaker's table and pulling out a chair without invitation.

Normally, such actions would garner instant riling on Sunstreaker's part, but he was rather curious as to what weighed so heavily on Bluestreak. His doorwings sagged down his back again as he took a seat.

"Not really," Sunstreaker said, not wanting to get into the reason why his rest was so troubled.

Bluestreak took a small sip of warm fuel before leaning his elbows on the table, cradling his helm. He scrubbed his servos over his face several times as if to ward off whatever was affecting him. After a minute of companionable silence, Bluestreak remaining poised with his face propped upon his palms and spoke in a voice so unlike his usual chipper mood.

"Ever have nights were the worst things in your life plague your thoughts?"

Sunstreaker's brow shot up, making him look like Prowl when he was suspicious.

Bluestreak's doorwings lay flush on his back. He alternated between rubbing his temples and optics, not bothering to glance to his counterpart as he spoke.

"Most of the time, they're forgotten. But then something triggers them to come to the forefront, and next thing you know, you're reliving every worst moment in vivid detail."

Sunstreaker looked sadly into his cube.

Yes, that was exactly what was happening to him.

"I'm sorry. Don't mean to unburden on you," Bluestreak said, hands cradling his face in a contorted hold as he realized who he was talking to. "Know you don't like talking about feelings and bad stuff."

Sunstreaker stared hard at Bluestreak. Was it just him, or did Bluestreak seem so much younger? Far too young to know about the things that plague dreams. Far too young to have something to haunt his rest.

"Sometimes it's good to talk about what's bothering you," Sunstreaker said, then scowled. "But shouldn't you be talking to Smokescreen?"

"Smokescreen gets mad when I wake him up. He tells me, 'They're just dreams. Face them and move on. They can't hurt you.'" Bluestreak looked up, young optics grayed by his past. "But it's hard. He doesn't seem to understand, there's some things you can't forget. Can't easily get over. They linger. And no matter how much time has passed, the pain still lingers. The fear is still fresh."

Sunstreaker offered a nod. He wasn't very good at offering condolences, but when someone experienced the same things, he could be genuinely sympathetic.

"What about Prowl?" Sunstreaker asked. He knew the Praxians were a close knit group.

"Tells me there's no logic into being plagued by dreams," Bluestreak sighed heavily, nestling his optics into his palm.

"Yeah, sounds like him," Sunstreaker snorted softly.

Bluestreak offered a derisive growl. "Like there's any logic in having your world come crashing down around you and you're powerless to stop it. Watching your friends, your family, terminated before your optics and screaming for help." Bluestreak released his hold on his head and grabbed his cube with shaking hands. "Tell me, what's the logic in witnessing your life torn from your grip and suffering the loss of your family?"

"There is no logic," Sunstreaker admitted.

"Pain and suffering. And for what?" Bluestreak snarled before downing his cube in angry gulps. His voice lost its vehemence as he stared at the tiny shimmering droplets clinging to the inside of his cube. "So we realize exactly how alone we are? That there isn't anything to stop the pain and violence from coming to get us?"

Sunstreaker didn't know what possessed him. Perhaps it was the fact it was Bluestreak. Innocent. Young. Naive. Gentle. But Sunstreaker riled, optics flashing in a hue that usually meant termination.

"Anything tries to hurtyou, and it will have me to deal with!" Sunstreaker snarled, startling Bluestreak.

Bluestreak was momentarily taken aback, but recovered quickly, gracing the Lambo with a wistful look.

"You can't stop the inevitable, Sunstreaker. One of these days, I'm going to run out of luck."

It was Sunstreaker's turn to be taken aback. And suddenly very angry, but not with Bluestreak.

He didn't like the idea of Bluestreak falling victim to a Con attack. The young sniper had suffered spark shattering grief already. He deserved to live a carefree, war-free life. He didn't deserve to be tossed into the middle of a war. He had suffered the loss of his Praxian brethren, his home, his family. Paid his dues. Many times over. He deserved peace.

Peace Sunstreaker was determined to see him enjoy.

Bluestreak interrupted Sunstreaker's inner turmoil.

"Sorry to be such a downer," Bluestreak muttered, doorwings barely flicking in open defeat. He gave a partial smile that didn't reach his optics. He looked younger than his years, though there was a haunted aspect to his optics. "Know you don't like this kind of talk. Sorry to dump on you like this."

Sunstreaker downed his cube, holding back the bite that stung his analyzers from the sudden explosion of liquid energy.

"We all need someone to talk to," Sunstreaker said wisely.

"Tell that to Smokey and Prowl," Blue muttered morosely, glaring at his own empty cube.

Dark and foreboding didn't suit Bluestreak's normally jovial attitude. The shroud of war weighed heavily on his spirit.

Far too heavy in Sunstreaker's opinion. He had Sideswipe to talk to. To understand. To seek assurance and even to some degree, absolution.

Bluestreak only had an emotionless automaton and a less-than-qualified field psychologist to share his darkness and fear. Sure he could confide in other bots, but though they shared the same regiment, none of the others had the same kind of understanding of what Bluestreak was going through. Their limited view allowed them to pity the victim of war, but not fully understand the depth in which Bluestreak suffered.

Some things went beyond a pat on the back and a 'there-there' to chase away the ghosts.

Sunstreaker understood that. All too well.

"You're not alone, Blue," he said, hoping to convey his full meaning. He was terrible with emotions and words, but muddled through such things to let the gunner know he wasn't as isolated as he thought.

The irony wasn't lost on Sunstreaker.

"Thanks," Bluestreak said softly, lifting his tired gaze to meet Sunstreaker's own. "It's nice, knowing there's someone to talk to."

Sunstreaker bit back the retort about Bluestreak always talking. Kid rarely shut up. But now that Sunstreaker had time to think, maybe Bluestreak's babbling was a way of trying to connect with someone. To let them know the extent of his pain. To find someone who could understand what he was really saying. Something deeper than words.

"Better to share the pain than bear it alone," Sunstreaker muttered. His brother may irritate him, but at least Sideswipe was a friendly audio.

And apparently, Bluestreak understood the terrors that haunted dreams.

Bluestreak nodded. "Yes, something like that. Doesn't make you feel so alone."

They sat in companionable silence for several minutes. Bluestreak stared at his cube, no doubt wanting to overcharge in order to fall into a dreamless rest, but his duty prevented it. He had patrol this afternoon.

Sunstreaker stared out into the darkness of the rec room, which in a few short hours, will be filled with bots milling about, ready to start their day. By afternoon, there would be a hub of activity and by evening, there would be a gathering of comrades to talk about their day, listen to assorted music, have contests of stamina and test each other's strategic abilities. Brothers in arms recounting various battles and embellishing their roles in the victories.

Sunstreaker frowned, realizing that despite all the noise and constant interaction, there were some, like himself and Bluestreak, who were still apart from the others. Isolated by their experiences and searching for another soul who could understand and ease the torment of wounds inflicted long ago.

Bluestreak must have sensed Sunstreaker's shifting mood.

"If you ever need to talk…" Bluestreak offered, expression apprehensive. He was genuinely offering his companionship and audio, but was unsure how his offer would be taken. Sunstreaker was notorious for beating a bot up for the slightest provocation.

But Sunstreaker gave a faint smile.

"I'd like that. Thank you, Bluestreak."

The simple affirmation was all Bluestreak needed. His smile broadened, and once again, Sunstreaker was reminded of how young he was.

"I'm always available to lend an audio."

Sunstreaker mirrored Bluestreak's expression.

"And know that my door is open to you as well. If you need to talk, or if you need to feel safe to charge, you can always come to me."

Bluestreak's expression faltered, like he was struck dumb.

"Thank you, Sunstreaker."

His voice was timid, barely audible. It meant a lot to be given a safe harbor from the nightmares. And Sunstreaker could understand.

Though Sunstreaker normally didn't see eye to eye with Bluestreak, often finding the gunner's chatter to be annoying and threatening bodily harm if he didn't shut the slag up, they had found a common ground. Something to which both could understand, and not pass harsh judgment.

They could be themselves, vulnerable, needing the consolation of another spark being near. They weren't alone. They didn't need to suffer in silence.

Sunstreaker's internal reflection was disturbed by a fluttering of his spark. Absently, he rubbed his chest plates, a frown creasing.

"Are you okay?" Bluestreak asked, noting Sunstreaker's darkening expression.

"Yeah," Sunstreaker said automatically. "My brother is awake and by the feel of it, he's already planning a stupid idea that's going to get him slagged by Ratchet."

Bluestreak suppressed a grin.

"Going to attempt to talk him out of it?"

Sunstreaker snorted, downing the last of his drink.

"Slag no! Let Ratchet slag him! I need the peace and quiet in our quarters."

Bluestreak chuckled. His doorwings bobbed happily as his mood was lifted.

"Better get myself comfortable for the inevitable pangs Sideswipe is going to be broadcasting when he tangles with the Demon of Med Bay," Sunstreaker said, stretching his tired joints and getting up from the table.

"You would think he'd learn by now," Bluestreak quipped.

"That idiot? Doubtful," Sunstreaker snorted, heading toward the dispensary to dispose of his cube before heading to his quarters.

He was barely on the threshold when Bluestreak's voice called timidly from the dark corner.

"Sunstreaker?"

"Yeah?" Sunstreaker asked, looking over his shoulder to see the soft blue optics glowing.

"Thanks."

Sunstreaker offered a single dip of his helm then disappeared out the door, going to his quarters to lay down for the inevitable spark ache coming from the idiocy of his twin. He knew Bluestreak's simple expression of gratitude held many layers. Someone who's own past was clouded in horrors and suffering. Someone who could understand.

Sunstreaker had Sideswipe (for all his faults), but Blue didn't have anyone other than Prowl and Smokescreen. Neither were the best options for comfort and confidence, at least in Sunstreaker's option. Smokey liked to over analyze things and Prowl was distinctly unemotional when feelings were involved.

Sunstreaker's last thought before charge claimed he was he had just inadvertently gained a little brother.

And he was perfectly fine with that.

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Well, 9 pages so not really a 'short' chapter, but definitely shorter than the LONG novel from last week!

As always, I LOVE reviews so don't forget to click that button right there and drop me a line. *no F-bombs please* ;)

PS: I'm in the process of revamping my pat re on page to offer more exclusive content, so be on the lookout for the updates! Hope to see you there!

PJ