Disclaimer: Transformers and all related intellectual property belong to Hasboro/Takara and IDW. I own none of them and make nothing from this.

Warning: This story may contain graphic violence and thematic elements which some readers may find disturbing. Reader discretion is advised.

Thanks to Hearts of Eternity for letting me use her spark-bond concept (even though I've gone and mutated it).

Quick note: This takes place between chapters 20 and 21 of my other story, 'Us Against the World'. For those who know what I'm talking about, feel free to skip ahead. For everyone who's staring at the screen and going "Bwuh?" here's a summary:

Sideswipe has finally gotten his brother back from the Decepticons. During one spectacular bout of drinking, he tries to press Sunstreaker to interface. Sunstreaker refuses. The two get into a fight in the hallway in which Sunstreaker "mentally checks out" and fires a missile at his brother, pushing Sideswipe over the edge and into a frenzy. This is what happens after that.

Through Another's Eyes

1. Ratchet

Ratchet knows something is very wrong. It's not that Ironhide has had to restrain Sideswipe to keep him from further damaging himself, it's not the way Sunstreaker stands to the side with the optics of a dead mech, silent, unmoving. It's in Prowl's optics and the tense way Ironhide holds himself. It's the growing dread in the senior medic's own spark.

"First Aid, get Sunstreaker onto that berth over there and get a reading on his vitals," Ratchet says, plugging himself into Sideswipe's berth. He doesn't want to do this; part of finding a diagnosis is to observe the patient, watch him, listen to his systems and see if he can detect any irregularities, see if the patient doesn't give up some clue himself. But Sideswipe is thrashing around too much for anyone to risk plugging into him. It'd be too easy for the jack to snap off, or for the red 'bot to catch one of them with his one, free arm. And so Ratchet accesses the berth drone, activating a dampening field, cutting off the energy relays to twin's servos, in effect, paralyzing him.

"What the slag is wrong with him?" Ironhide says. He'd thrown himself over Sideswipe's torso in an effort to pin him after the twin had ripped one of the restraints clean off.

The field activates. Ratchet's audios register a low hum, barely audible over Sideswipe's keening. A few nano-kliks pass and the red twin's vocalizer cuts out as it loses power. Sideswipe slumps, limp, onto the berth. Ironhide waits for another moment to see whether the field holds before easing himself off and taking a few steps back, nursing a nasty dent in his helm.

"Primus, the kid's got some fight in him," he says.

Ratchet doesn't respond. He's too busy telling the drone to jack into Sideswipe's processor so he can try to figure out what is happening to him.

"Ratchet?" First Aid says.

"Mmm?"

Sideswipe's energy output is all over the place. His pumps are cycling too fast while his ventilation is too weak. Ratchet can find no reason for this. The 'bot is scuffed to the pit from rolling around on the floor, and there's that nasty burn on his left side, compliments of his brother, but there's no reason for his systems to be responding like this. He shouldn't be in this much pain. If it were a virus, perhaps, picked up from their last stop to one of the Hubs…

"Ratchet."

This time it's Prowl who says his name and there's something in his vocalizer, a strange undertone that Ratchet can't identify. He looks up, sees the ship's commander standing next to First Aid, who's hunched over the too-quiet Sunstreaker. The senior medic tears his optics away from the yellow twin and back to Prowl.

Something's not right.

Prowl is standing there, face blank as usual, and it takes a moment for Ratchet to realize that while the officer looks calm, his door-wings are sticking almost straight out behind him.

Oh slag.

"What?" he says.

"His spark," Prowl says. "It's fading."

For two nano-kliks, Ratchet doesn't understand him. Then Ironhide lets out a low hiss and the medic whirls just in time to watch Sideswipe's optic covers go dark.

What the slag?

"First Aid, plug into that berth and find out what's going on with Sunstreaker. Prowl, there are spark backup generators in that alcove over there. Ironhide, you help him."

He doesn't even register that he's ordering senior mechs around. He's too focused sifting through Sideswipe's data.

Spark containment field is active and undamaged. The spark chamber has not been breached. Energon and coolant pressure is abnormal, but not enough to be doing this. So why the slag is Sideswipe's spark fading? Why are they both fading? Must be something internal, something the scanners aren't picking up.

Ratchet disengages from the berth. His fingers rearrange themselves, forming a laser scalpel and some heavy pliers. He bends over Sideswipe—now as quiet as his brother and the medic doesn't know which is worse, the whimpering or this eerie silence—and begins to open his chest plating.

[[ Ratchet, ]] First Aid comms over their private channels, [[ I can't figure this out. I don't know what's causing this. ]]

[[ Just open him up and hook up that backup, ]] Ratchet says. [[ Try to stabilize him first. ]]

Sideswipe's armor splits down the middle, folding down and to the side. Ratchet reaches in and disconnects a few minor energon lines to push them out of the way so he can get to the red 'bot's inner armor, his basic proto-shell. Here, he has to dampen the scalpel's power so he doesn't cut through that shell and into Sideswipe's spark cavity itself. Behind him, he hears a low, grinding hiss as First Aid gets Sunstreaker's outer armor to slide away.

Then Ratchet is through. He pulls the two sections apart with a rough squeal, exposing the red twin's spark chamber.

There's nothing in there but the silver spark container itself. Ratchet leans in, hovering a hand's width from Sideswipe's cavity, optics at their highest magnification. The container is untouched, undamaged, still covered in a fine mesh of neuron wires and tiny energon lines. He can find no reason for it to be… for Sideswipe to be…

"Doc."

He glances away to find Ironhide next to him, the power clamps in his hands. The senior medic takes them and nods, then reaches in and hooks one to each of the support struts on either side of the container, careful to avoid the delicate casing itself. He checks First Aid, notes Prowl helping him attach the second generator to Sunstreaker, and turns to Ironhide.

"Stand over there. Yes, right there. I need you to operate the controls, starting at fifteen percent power."

Ratchet doesn't want to fry the 'bot's spark, just coax some power into it. He plugs back into the berth with one hand. The drone is still hooked into Sideswipe. The medic sorts through the access codes again and, a nano-klik later, he's connected to the twin's processor.

"Alright, Ironhide. Go."

The machine starts up with a soft whir. Ratchet is monitoring the reactions, both through the offline mech and with his own scanners.

No response.

"Up it to twenty-five percent."

The whirring gets louder. Still, no response from Sideswipe. Ratchet can tell that he's receiving it, his frame is registering the contact. But either it's not strong enough or his spark itself is… rejecting…

Time stops.

Ironhide had said that the twins had been fighting, that they'd had some sort of confrontation in the rec. room just before that. By the time the Security Officer had gotten there, he'd found Sideswipe pinning Sunstreaker to the wall in a smoking, blasted hallway, clawing at him, clawing at his chest plates.

I'm an idiot.

The medic looks up, through the data scrolling across his optic covers, over to where the yellow twin lays. First Aid is bent over him, mirroring Ratchet as Prowl operates the generator. The junior medic is clearly getting flustered. He keeps looking to Prowl and then to Sunstreaker and back again and Ratchet doubts that he's really seeing them at all.

Twins. They're twins. How could I have not seen this?

"First Aid, stop," he says.

It takes a few moments for the younger 'bot to register Ratchet's words and he looks up in confusion. "What?"

Ratchet is already turning to address Prowl. "I need you out of the med bay."

To the commander's credit, he only stares for a small moment before nodding and saying, "Please keep me informed."

He starts towards the door and Ironhide moves to follow him but Ratchet reaches out, grabbing his arm. When Ironhide looks to him, he shakes his head.

"First Aid, get Sunstreaker over here," he says. To Ironhide, "Go lock the doors." He starts to pull the clamps out of Sideswipe. When the red officer doesn't move, he snaps, "Now."

Ironhide gives him a strange, sidelong glance but does what he's told. Ratchet turns his attention to First Aid as the smaller 'bot, pushing Sunstreaker, comes to a stop near Sideswipe.

"Line them up, parallel, and merge the berths," he says.

The twins' sparks are fading faster now. Already, it's getting hard to sense them. In a few breems, Sunstreaker will crash and as weakened as he is, Sideswipe will quickly follow. The yellow twin is still hooked up to the generator, so Ratchet leans over to disconnect him and then kicks the machine out of the way.

"You wanna tell me what's going on?" Ironhide says, vocalizer low.

Ratchet pretends not to notice the not-so-subtle way First Aid is trying to eavesdrop in on them. He turns off the dampening field and releases the restraints and starts to push the red twin across the berth.

"I have an idea," he says.

"Uh huh. What kind of idea?"

"The kind that requires no interruptions. Now are you going to help me or not?"

The officer watches him for a nano-klik and then says, "What do you need?"

"They need to be as close as possible. Get Sideswipe's legs and help me slide him over."

The twins' frames start to go quiet as all non-vital systems shut down, their sparks too weak to power them.

Slaggit, slaggit, slaggit.

"First Aid, start cutting through Sunstreaker's spark container."

At this, both the junior medic and the security officer freeze. Ratchet, midway through shifting Sideswipe, almost loses his grip, managing to catch the twin before he can hit the berth.

"Fragging—What are you doing?" the medic says.

"You want me to what?" First Aid says. "But, but what about the wiring and… it's going to take a while to move them around enough to—"

"We can patch them up later. Cut through them."

The junior medic stands there, staring at him as Ratchet's internal alarms start to go off. The twins' energon pumps have stopped.

"Primus frag it, you useless scrap-heap!" he says. "Do you know how to follow orders? We don't have time for this!"

"Ratchet, what are you doing?" Ironhide says.

The senior medic whirls on him but Ironhide doesn't even flinch, staring Ratchet in the optics, unmoving.

"I'm going to join their sparks together," he says.

"What?!" First Aid says.

Ratchet ignores him. "Please, Ironhide. If I don't they're going to die."

"You're sure?" the officer says. "This is the only way?"

"Yes."

"This is glitched!" First Aid says. "You touch their sparks together and they blow up and they die!"

"They're twins, Ironhide," Ratchet says. "They have the same spark. They've been apart for too long. It's too much strain. If we don't do this right now they will die."

"And what if 'Aid's right? I'm no medic, but even I know that sparks aren't supposed to join like that."

"In a normal mech, no. But these two aren't normal mechs."

Ironhide looks down to Sideswipe. Ratchet follows his gaze and sees patches around the red twin's feet starting dull.

"Please Ironhide. We don't have much time."

"This is glitched. You're both glitched. I'm not, I can't, there's no way—"

"First Aid, you are a medic," Ratchet says. "Your function is to save lives. If you don't act right now these two 'bot's will die and it will be your fault. Do you really want that to happen?"

It's a low blow and he knows it—Ironhide is glaring at him—but it shuts the junior medic up.

"Now get Sunstreaker's spark container open," he says.

"You're sure this'll work?" Ironhide says, too low for First Aid to hear.

Ratchet hesitates for only a moment. "Yes."

"Alright then."

As soon as they have the twins lying side by side, Ratchet sets Sideswipe down and reaches back into the mech's spark cavity. First Aid is hovering over Sunstreaker and the senior medic can see the glow of his laser scalpel. He looks away, focusing on cutting through the last barricade between Sideswipe's spark and the outside world.

He has to work quickly. He can literally feel the 'bot's frame starting to cool beneath him. Sideswipe is still alive—he'll stay that way as long as his spark doesn't stutter out—but his body itself is shutting down. Without the pump to cycle energon, his systems turn off. All of them. Even his epidural layer. The nanites that generate his coloring fall into stasis and the result is a mass of spreading splotches of gray.

Slag. There's no time. No time!

It's a rough job. Under any other circumstances, Ratchet would be ashamed of himself. He doesn't clamp off the larger supply lines to the tiny energon veins webbing the container. He doesn't really need to. Without a pump, they don't bleed so much as ooze for a few nano-kliks before running out. His laser scalpel slices right through the neuron wires, too. Had Sideswipe been online for this, it would have been excruciating. But Ratchet doesn't dwell on that. That is all for later, after he can patch them up, fix all this damage. Right now, he has to make sure there will even be a later.

Then he's through the last of it, having halved the container almost in two. The laser scalpel slides back up and the medic reaches in with his own fingers to crack the silver shell open.

"Wow," Ironhide says. Ratchet can hear the awe in his vocalizer.

Seeing a spark laid bare like this is a rarity for most mechs. The only time it ever happens is upon a mech's creation, or, sometimes if it's a violent one, again at his death. Sideswipe's is a perfect sphere of soft light, a pale, pink color. It pulses gently, with each pulse growing a little bit dimmer.

Ah, Sideswipe, Ratchet thinks. Why didn't you say anything? Why did you let it get like this?

Sparks are not supposed to be this dull. Twin or no, "half of a spark" or no, it should be enough to light the room, as bright and hot as a sun. This dim thing speaks of more hurt than any physical damage ever could.

"Ratchet?" First Aid says.

Ratchet looks up. The junior medic has completed his work and now stands next to the yellow twin looking a little lost. "This doesn't look… he's…"

"I know."

"What?" Ironhide says.

"Nothing," Ratchet says. "It's not important right now. Come on. We need to lay them together."

"Right. And how're we doing that?"

Ratchet takes everything in at a glance. Sideswipe is in the center of the joined berths with Ironhide still next to his feet. Sunstreaker is on Ratchet's left, on the edge. First Aid hasn't moved away from him.

"Ironhide, go help First Aid lift Sunstreaker. You take his shoulders, 'Aid takes his feet," he says.

"How do we turn him?" First Aid says. "We can't just flip him onto Sideswipe."

He's right. With their sparks exposed, the twins are completely vulnerable. The slightest disturbance, a jolt, even, could dislodge one of them and that would be the end of it.

Ratchet starts climbing onto the berth. It's awkward, shuffling around on his knees—he's not designed to move this way—but he does it anyway, settling over the red twin's torso. He can see straight down into the mech's chest, straight at his darkening spark.

Don't you dare die on me, he thinks. Don't you dare.

"Okay. Go," he says.

The two 'bots lift Sunstreaker and start to shuffle towards him. Ratchet reaches out and pulls the 'bot closer, mindful to keep his arms from dragging, cradling him to his chest when he's close enough. Sunstreaker's spark is even worse off than his brother's.

I should have caught this. I should have stopped it.

The twins should have taken care of this themselves. Being around each other would have been enough to support them, allow them to reconnect their strained bond. But something has prevented that and now, because Ratchet hadn't though to check, because he hadn't thought that maybe they weren't reconnecting, because he hadn't even slagging asked, this had happened. They are dying because he had failed them.

Stupid. Stupid!

First Aid and Ironhide are turning the yellow 'bot over now and the senior medic has to make sure Sunstreaker's hand doesn't brush over his brother's exposed spark. A moment later and they've got him turned. The twins' sparks face each other.

As if planned, they all look up at the same time.

"Lower him," Ratchet says.

If this all goes well, the two sparks will merge into one, stabilizing each other. If it doesn't, if even one of them rejects the other—as sparks would normally do—the energy backwash will result in an explosion that will kill the twins and Ratchet and everyone in the room.

Ratchet's gaze darts over to Ironhide. The older mech is too focused on what he's doing, though, and he doesn't notice.

Primus, please let this work, he thinks. It must work. It will work. They won't reject each other. They won't.

He thinks he hears First Aid muttering a prayer.

Four centa-metras.

Three.

Two.

"Come on you two," Ratchet says. "Don't disappoint me."

And then their chest plating scrapes and the dim pink glow disappears out of sight. For one nano-klik, no one moves.

First Aid opens his mouth and says, "So… what—"

The world explodes. Ratchet's vision goes white as a wave of energy slams into him. His gyros tilt. He can feel himself flying. And then he hits something hard and everything goes out.

Some time later—not even a breem, according to his chronometer—Ratchet's consciousness flickers on. At first, he's confused. Everything is dark even though he's reading that his optics are online. The back of his head and his left shoulder hurt. Nothing's broken. He reaches up and fingers a new dent on the side of his helm. For some reason, he's lying on the floor…

"Ugh," he says.

From somewhere nearby, he hears an answering groan.

"Ratch'?" Ironhide says. "The slag just happened?"

"I don't…"

The twins!

He looks up. The room isn't totally dark; there's a faint light coming from somewhere up off the floor. He can make out the bottom of the joined berth drones and a large form on the ground, a metra or two to his right. The form moves and he realizes it's Ironhide.

"Are you okay?" the medic says.

"Yeah. Banged up some. Nothing serious. You?"

"I'm fine. Where's First Aid?"

He already spots a smaller form lying crumpled to his left, behind the berth. The junior medic isn't moving. A scanner sweep shows that he's roughed up and offline, but even as the scanner readings come back, Ratchet can see that he's coming around.

He picks himself up, wincing as several servos creak in protest, and hobbles towards the twins, towards the light source. He can hear Ironhide lumbering to his own feet.

"Is that…" the security officer says.

Ratchet is almost too afraid to look. He has to bend down to see through the thin crack between their frames and when he does, he feels himself sag. Floating in the hollow space of their joined cavities, the twins' sparks float together, edges melded, circling each other like a binary star.

Ironhide's hand clamps onto Ratchet's shoulder and he rumbles, "It worked!"

Ratchet finds himself suddenly hitting the ground again as his legs give out beneath him. He sits there, in the dark, on the floor, and grins.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah it did."

Here's the 100 Review Special. Updates are going to be irregular. I might have a new chapter up in a week or two, depending on my school/work schedule. If you see something wrong or something you think can be revised, please tell me. I can't fix a mistake I can't see.

Whoo! I gots a second story!