The Healing Power of Sunlight
AN: SOOOOO Sorry for the delay! Been doing a lot of volunteer work at my church (5-11 hour days.) So tired I barely have dinner then go to bed to get up and do it over again. :D But it's worth it!
This chapter is kinda… dunno…. I feel like there's a kink in the plot but maybe that's become I've written it so many times, its running together and confusing me.
Anyhoo, let me know what you think!
FEEDBACK IS LOVED!
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Cybertron: Early War
Sideswipe wove through the crowd, his optics in constant motion. The electronic pulse of music beat a steady rhythm in his audios. Bodies bounced and writhed. Overhead lights flashed in vibrant, clashing colors. But he wasn't interested in the music or socializing. Well, not the typical variety.
Sideswipe was on a mission. A mission to find an intoxicated reveler and relieve them of a few credits. It had been awhile since Sideswipe had eaten, and his tank was causing some major discomfort.
Sunstreaker was on the opposite side, engrossed in a conversation with some newly upgraded bots, all sporting shiny finishes and overly bright optics. Sunstreaker called for another round of drinks and lured them into his web of handsome charms and artistic fingers.
The mech could charm a platinum rattler into giving up its alloys.
Wanting to outdo his twin, Sideswipe remained on the prowl. He tried to find an easy target to best Sunstreaker's inevitable donations from unsuspecting bots.
All around were brilliant paint jobs, flashing colors, and a mass of moving bodies. Even the wait staff were weaving through the crowds as dancers, keeping their trays of drinks and treats in perfect balance. Which was a good thing as some of the drinks were probably laced with an unstable explosive.
Most were in sizable groups, a wise thing now that war had crept along the dark places of their home world. Finding safe places to party and enjoy life with friends and abundant beverages was becoming harder to find. Not only were the entertainment establishments feeling the duress of war, but patrols actively scoured the streets. Rough mechs and femmes searching for easy prey wandering alone. It was best to have a group of eight or more, lest you end up a victim of scavengers.
But here at Iacon, though war raged all around, there were still a few places left open to allow bots to blow off steam. To have fun. Enjoy drinks, dancing, fragging, and generally socialize with new friends or old comrades.
Sideswipe longed for the days to join in endless parties, but the war had taken a toll on the planet. Not long after the destruction of Kaon, bots fled the Decepticon stronghold for more amicable environment. Sadly, the Decepticons kept spreading out, conquering more and more territory claiming as their own, and placing Megatron's rule as absolute.
If one questioned Megatron's dominion, they were immediately terminated. He did not allow subordinates to question his authority. He demanded utter loyalty and obedience to him and his cause.
Unfortunately, his conquest spread over the planet like a disease until only a couple territories remained. Praxus and Iacon were the main hubs for the northern hemisphere. Hence why Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were now in the underbelly of Iacon. They had enough of fighting during their stint as gladiators in the underground fighting rings of Kaon. They were grateful for Megatron's campaign which freed them, but they didn't agree with the idea of utmost servitude and tyrannical rule. So they fled to Iacon, and took refuge, hiding amongst the neutrals, living day to day on scraps. It was a lousy way to live, but at last they were free.
Something caught Sideswipe's optic.
At the bar sat a large white frame. The shoulders were slumped, a posture of utter defeat.
Well, there weren't any other prospects out there, so maybe Sideswipe could talk his new target into buying him a drink? Those with a defeated posture were easy to trick into a quick drink or two.
Sideswipe sat down next to the beleaguer mech. As a seasoned actor, Sideswipe slouched on the bar, the attendant at the far end of the bar with other customers and obvious to Sideswipe's arrival.
"Ever have one of those days?" he said to the white mech.
The white mech grunted incoherently, staring into the brilliant purple grade sloshing in a tall glass cylinder.
Oh, the good stuff!
Sideswipe was intrigued... and impressed. That was usually a seeker grade, not brewed for ground frames.
"Is that any good?" He asked, pretending to be naïve in the ways of alcohol.
"Not bad," the mech grunted, swirling it to make tiny arcs of electricity cackle around the inner rim.
Sideswipe paused, gauging the mech's level of intoxication. His optics were bright, but not overly so in the typical overcharged manner. Also, now that Sideswipe was close and could detect details, the mech was an outer colony design, Axion build, he'd guess. They were notorious for their big boxy frames and chevrons like their Praxian kinsmen. The white bore red highlights, some of which were on his shoulders and had hastily been scratched off.
A medic?
How strange.
From Sideswipe's understanding, once one became a medic, they were sworn until deactivation to heal the sick and wounded. This mech must have done something truly awful to warrant losing his sigils of healing.
The bartender arrived, beeping at Sideswipe to take his order.
Not wanting the former medic to know he was without credits, Sideswipe eyed the purple energy drink, his voice hesitant, "That looks good, but not sure if I'll like it. Only have credits for one drink and don't want to waste them."
"Allow me," the former medic said, handing over a datachip encoded with his credits. The attendant scanned the card and beeped, scurrying away to get Sideswipe highly energized (and expensive) drink.
Got him, Sideswipe thought. He hid his eagerness well, pretending to be relieved, yet downtrodden.
"Thanks, mech. With the war going on, it's hard to make ends meet," he laid it on thick.
The medic remained silent, staring intently at his drink
Sideswipe meant it to give the mech a chance to show his generosity and help a waif, but there was something about the medic's posture that tugged at Sideswipe's spark.
The mech was in legitimate pain.
He wasn't in hiding like the twins, or out celebrating like so many neutrals around them. He was attempting to forget his troubles and spend a cycle of numb mindlessness.
To cope.
Sideswipe sent an EM pulse, checking the medic's field for the usual frenzied buzz of laughter and excitement and happiness, but the medic's field was dull. The pulse barely registered on Sideswipe's senses.
Slag. Something had really upset the medic.
"So, what brings you to Iacons lowest dump?" Sideswipe asked, sipping his fuel and instantly feeling his relays come alive. Oh, this was GOOD. He hoped to add a little levity to the situation and maybe get the mech to open up. "Hiding from a bondmate?"
"I wish," the white mech said, taking a full drink of the electric liquid.
Sideswipe was suitably impressed. The medic had a cast iron tank. Sideswipe respected that. Even envied it a little.
"I'm hiding from mine," Sideswipe lied as a true actor. "Always pestering me about the war. How we need to pick a side. Go to the colonies."
The medic grunted, taking another drink. He paused, pressing his lip components together, circuits buzzing. Once the initial buzz wore off, he continued to stare at the purple glowing fuel.
Sideswipe became disgusted with himself for not getting the information he needed to play this mech into giving up some credits. Usually Sideswipe was much better interrogator. This medic rankled him. He huffed and took another sip, spark leaping in its casing from the added charge.
Slag, this was GOOD! If rationed properly, it could last a couple dozen cycles.
Hoping to pry at the mechs plating and get some background for possible blackmail use later, or at least get another drink or two out of the conversation, he tried another tactic.
"So, you're a medic?"
The medic glanced to his left shoulder were the red cross was still distinguishable. Gruffly he clawed at it, scratching more paint off. His fingers trembled. Either from emotion or high grade, Sideswipe couldn't tell.
"Not anymore," the mech spat angrily, rubbing madly at the emblem.
"Hey hey hey," Sideswipe said, clasping the medics servo to still its action. "You're not a medic anymore, got it. Stop scratching your paint. You might damage something."
The medic groused, angrily glaring into his drink a moment before taking an even bigger drink. There was only one mouthful left.
Sideswipe was doubly impressed. Normal ground frames would be on the floor by now.
The mech's optics shone a gossamer blue. He was getting really charged. Which meant he was also susceptible to subtle, outside influence.
Hoping for some privacy for a little credit siphoning, Sideswipe spotted one of the isolation booths available. He motioned for the bar tender to bring another purple electric grade and when he sat it down on the counter, the medic downed the last swallow from the first glass and reached for the second, just as Sideswipe knew he would.
"Hey, let's go talk," Sideswipe said as a couple loud chattering patrons arrived, jockeying for drinks.
The medic was so inebriated, he allowed himself to be steered into one of the isolation booths typically used for private sessions as patrons got drunk and subsequently, less inhibited. Sideswipe's own drink was barely touched and secreted away into his subspace pocket. The medic barely sat down when he took another swallow. His optics shimmered near white. He appeared haunted, and not just from fumes.
"So, what could have possibly happened to a medic to make them lose their rank?" Sideswipe asked, every bit the sympathetic audio and understanding friend. Even though he didn't know the mech. He found when someone was lonely or lost, they had a habit of pouring our their sparks to the person to show interest, and such information could be valuable later.
The medic's optics clouded. Ghosts appeared. Devastation was written upon every feature. His voice was barely over a whisper.
"It's…fallen."
Sideswipe's spark instantly seized, fearing the worst.
It would take a lot to make a medic go against their programming and abandon their station. And with the way the medic's scratched and dented shoulders shook, wracked with grief, and his presence at the club instead of attending to the sick and injured, all kinds of horrible imaginations filtered through Sideswipe's meta.
He put aside his earlier intentions and focused on the broken mech.
"What has fallen?"
"Praxus," the medic blurted the name with sorrow and rust. He gasped an electronic cry before throwing caution to the wind and downing the remainder of the high grade.
There was an ultrasonic buzzing as his analyzers tried to filter the strength of the grade, but were overtaxed. A spastic twitch, a pop, and the medic face planted on the table, his ground frame humming with the highly dangerous charge reserved for seekers.
Sideswipe checked him over quickly, just in case the medic overcharged his arrays and fried out his neural lines, but miraculously, he was merely unconscious and not thrown into emergency hibernation to preserve his spark. It wasn't uncommon for ground frames to ingest seeker grade not realizing the powerful punch it packed, and indulge to the point of their frames shut down out of self preservation. If one wasn't careful, the sudden charge could destabilize a spark and terminate a bot.
It was going to take his analyzers a long time to throw off the charge.
Sideswipe stared into the rough, rugged face of the medic, cheeks wet with shed grief over the lives he was unable to save. It bothered Sideswipe to see someone so utterly broken and defeated. He had known such living as a gladiator but now he had freedom, it weighed a million times heavier.
Sunstreaker appeared in the doorway, optics dangerously pale. He had been called to his twin via their bond. From Sideswipe's sudden panic, Sunstreaker feared the worst. He wasn't expecting to find his twin leaning over an unconscious medic with a bruised paint job.
"What's going on?" Sunstreaker asked, entering the private booth and closing the door.
Gauging the medic unconscious and not terminated, Sideswipe dropped into the seat, his face going lack. He shuttered his optics several times in bewildered disbelief. It took him a moment to speak.
"Praxus… has fallen," Sideswipe said slowly, gaze drifting upward to lock onto his twin's.
"What?" Sunstreaker gaped.
Sideswipe nodded toward the buzzing white mech.
"He's a medic. Was a medic. He resigned and came here to overcharge."
"And Praxus has…fallen?" Sunstreaker tried to wrap his mind around the concept.
Praxus was the Autobot stronghold for the eastern hemisphere. If it fell, that meant the only safe place was… Iacon.
Their entire world, save for a single major city, now lay at the feet of a tyrannical warlord. Millions, if not billions, now answering to a self appointed 'leader' who would torture and kill all who oppose him. To even speak out against Megatron's campaign, or his ultimate rule, meant certain pain, suffering, and an agonizing death.
"You know what this means," Sideswipe said, gaze becoming as sharp as a blade.
Sunstreaker offered a long suffering sigh. "We have to come out of retirement."
"We should have never run from the fight," Sideswipe said solemnly. "We were fools to believe we could remain neutral."
"Tried to tell you," Sunstreaker chided, folding arms across his chassis. "Megatron is ruthless. He'll invade and subjugate every bot he can find, crushing their will as easily as their spark chambers. He's power hungry, has no qualms about destroying innocent lives, and wants to keep everyone under his rule."
"Yeah, don't know why you didn't terminate him when you had the chance," Sideswipe goaded good naturedly.
"Not from lack of trying," Sunstreaker groused. It still rankled him Megatron had been able to best him in the gladiatorial arena. It was by a miracle Sunstreaker survived the encounter.
"I believe Megatron has had enough time to recuperate," Sideswipe said, offering a suggestive waggle of his brow ridge. "I think it's time to go ream the warlord a new back chute."
Sunstreaker's smirk was deadly. Had Sideswipe not known him, the look would have made him run away in terror.
"Yes, I think it's time to join the fight," Sunstreaker said, then nodded to the unconscious white lump at the table. "What about him?"
Sideswipe observed the slumbering mech a long moment. "We'll take him with us."
"Say again?" Sunstreaker asked, surprised. "Why?"
Sideswipe's face cracked a mischievous, yet wistful grin. "Because, he's needed in the war, too. We'll need someone to put us back together, and something tells me, he's the best mech for the job."
"Are your lugnuts too tight?" Sunstreaker barked. He had a strict rule about bringing strangers home.
"Help me with him," Sideswipe said, trying to get the medic's arm hoisted over his shoulder. "I can't leave him here. Alone. Not with the scavengers. They'll pick him clean."
"Kind of like what you were planning on doing?" Sunstreaker jibed, trying to wrest the much heavier mech up. "Primus! This guy weighs a ton! What's in his trunk? Cybertonium?"
"Hey, I was only looking for a few credits to feed us," Sideswipe said, having a hard time anchoring the unconscious mech's weight. Sunstreaker was right. The mech was heavy! Definitely made of heavier alloys. No wonder he could hold down seeker grade energon. Such attributes always endeared Sideswipe. "But if we leave him here, he'll be robbed and possibly scavenged for parts."
Sunstreaker grunted, taking on the mech's dead weight. "Primus, I bet he's a heavy transport model."
Together the two grumbled and fussed, hauling their unconscious charge out the door and into the night.
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Sideswipe opened his optics to find the medic lying in front of him, wide awake and staring with dark, navy blue optics.
"Who are you?" the medic asked without preamble.
"Sideswipe," he said. "My brother, Sunstreaker, is behind you."
"Yes, I know," the mech said, "He has a knife pressed into my back."
"Precaution," came Sunstreaker's voice.
"What's your designation?" Sideswipe asked.
"Ratchet," the white mech answered. He made no sudden movements. The tip of the blade remained poised on the transformation seam along his spinal strut. If the knife was buried, he would be effectively immobilized, including disabling his comms to prevent him from calling for help.
Very smart.
These two mechs were deadly. Definitely not ones to trifle with. Then again, neither was Ratchet. Only, his berth mates didn't know that.
"So, what? Did you get me overenergized and bring me back here for a half sparked frag?"
"Hardly," Sunstreaker scoffed, his ex-vents near blistering Ratchet's neck.
"Partially right," Sideswipe said, ignoring his brother. "You got overenergized and we didn't think it was wise leaving you unattended at a club where scavengers could pick you clean."
Ratchet paused, mulling over the red mech's words. He did feel totally exhausted, as if his energy levels had spiked too high then bottomed out. His tank certainly felt infused with sludge. What did he drink last night? His thoughts were interrupted by Sideswipe's voice, which cut sharper than the knife at his back.
"Were you telling the truth? Did Praxus really fall?"
Ratchet's expression was all the confirmation Sideswipe needed.
"Slag," he swore softly, sending a thrum of sadness over the bond to his twin. His sentiments were echoed, coupled with a great deal of anger.
Both twins favored a Praxian frame. They loved the doorwings and chevron. It was hysterical to read Praxians through their body language. They made lousy gamblers.
Ratchet scrubbed a servo over his face. He spoke into his hand, not daring to look anyone in the optic while he voiced his failures.
"I tried to save as many as I could, but the damage was too extensive. The Decepticons decimated the city. Nothing was left. Praxus burned. We found nothing but corpses. I couldn't handle it any more. I resigned my post. I've had enough. The death. The destruction. We're always losing ground. Losing lives. Megatron won't be stopped. He'll cover this world like a plague, putting everyone under his rule. This is the end of freedom. The end of the Autobots."
The twins absorbed the medic's words, their sparks breaking. In Sunstreaker's case, thrumming with a near super sonic anger. Sideswipe reached out, clasping the medic's arm as his words faded into ghosts. Haunted optics opened to stare at the red hellion from the Pit.
"We'll join," Sideswipe said, now resolute.
The time of playing neutral was over. He and his brother had sat on the sidelines long enough. Their world was nearly lost. The Praxian frames were vastly diminished, if not eliminated all together. That was a tragedy they couldn't allow to go unpunished.
"You?" Ratchet actually laughed. He didn't notice the blade removed from his back as Sunstreaker no longer considered him a threat. "What in the name of Primus' spike makes the two of you think you can turn the tide of a war when our own Prime has been unsuccessful?"
Sideswipe offered a nonchalant shrug, making his shoulder grind into the berth.
"We know about a hundred freed gladiators who would love to give Megatron a piece of their processors," he explained "I'm sure we can get at least half to sign on with the Autobots. You fight for freedom. The right to chose to live a life of peace and equality, right?"
Ratchet nodded, disbelieving his audios.
"I would rather fight to return our world to peace than live under the tyrannical rule of a pit fighting spike sucker."
"There's one stipulation," Sunstreaker said, rising to stare down into the shocked visage of the former medic. "You have to return. Our cause will need more medics, and if we're going to place our sparks on the line, I want to know there's some one with steady servos, cast iron tank, and titanium spinal strut who will be there to put me back together every time I get slagged."
"Such a poet," Sideswipe sighed as a simpering femme, causing his brother to throw a punch that sent him flying off the berth and landing on the floor with a laughing yell.
Unfazed, Sunstreaker kept his gaze locked on the white mech with damaged sigils and broken spark. He could see the resolution forming in Ratchet's before the medic voiced his answer.
"Okay. One more chance to win the war."
"Not the war," Sunstreaker corrected, smiling so handsomely it was a shame he was going to join a vicious campaign. "We win the smaller battles, advancing and reclaiming our territory. When we have Megatron cornered, 'I' will end his existence, once and for all."
Ratchet simply shuttered his optics, his spark nearly singing in its casing. His meta may be muddled from residual charge, but his spark knew danger when he heard it. Here was a mech who didn't joke around. Who made statements and followed through on them.
A mech who could inspire hope, lead by example, and turn the tide of war.
Prime may wield the Matrix, but in essence, he was no fighter. Sure he was as brave and noble as any other in the ranks, but one could automatically tell the battlefield was not his domain. He was a gentle, timid soul, relying on peaceful negotiations and fairness.
But wars weren't always won by the calmest voice and gentle spark. Sometimes, the battle was won by the edge of a sword. In this case, a double edged sword, one gold, one ruby. Angels of death and destruction, and fierce in their resolve, causing the enemy to shudder and fear their wrath. Such beings deserved support as they placed their sparks on the line.
"I guess I could go back. See this through," Ratchet said slowly. If these two trusted him with their sparks, the least he could do was give them the best medical care possible.
"You don't really have a choice," Sideswipe said, peeking over the edge of the berth, grinning like a handsome maniac. "Because you're the only one we want putting us back together when we get slagged. And believe me, we're going to get totally slagged up!"
"Yup," came Sunstreaker's voice as he rose, getting up and heading to the washing station. "Better get used to us, because you'll be seeing a lot of us."
Sideswipe bounded onto the berth, pulling the medic into a strut crushing hug when he sat up.
"You'll be our new best friend!"
Ratchet teetered, trying to keep his balance as Sideswipe nearly crushed him in his exuberance.
"Primus, what did I get myself into?" Ratchet muttered, spark filling with hope.
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So… new or has this already been done before?
Next week I'll be working on "Vengeance" and hope to have a chapter ready to be uploaded before weekend. :D
All my love and be sure to click that button there and drop me a line!
