A/N: In the last chapter, the 10,000 hits mark for this story was reached. I'd like to thank all reviewers for the comments that help me improve and spur me onwards and also for the rest of you readers, who can appreciate the time and dedication I put into these stories.
Look at this as slash if you want to, but it could also be an example of brotherly/comradely love.
Cuddling.
He could not understand it – this feeling that he had. The sun had risen no more than fifteen times since he had trained with the twins. Bluestreak had worked so hard to improve and yet whenever there was a large battle he would just… freeze up. The triple-changers and the officers scared him the most when, like today, he caught their attention. Close-combat warriors were not the only ones that could suffer.
The Decepticons had left with another stalemate to mark the history of their eternal war. Torn limbs and fluids marked the ground, but no other 'bots were to be seen. Where was Ratchet? Perhaps he was close, perhaps he was far away. Bluestreak could hear nothing; his audios were too badly damaged. Every square millimetre of his frame burnt and itched beyond physical levels. Lying on his back beneath the tall field flowers, he knew that there was nothing he could do to ease it away and so he watched the sun touch the world and turn it gold one last time: soon the colour would be gone.
Bluestreak hated sunsets – he feared them. There was no logical reason for this – nothing bad had ever occurred to him at sunset, yet… there must have been something symbolic to the moment. After every troubling event he could not stand to see dusk – it was too traumatic. Bluestreak would hide himself from the world, alone and distracted, remain in recharge until nightfall or seek out company if the anxiety was too much to bear. Yet once the night had fully fallen there was a final peace – like the struggle to clasp onto life had finally come to an acceptance of its end.
Bluestreak's isolation became too pronounced. Panic set his limbs to movement and despite the corporal distress he searched for the nearest Autobot. He pulled himself along through the field grasses, tearing wild barley and earth from the ground with every handful. He mounted the steep slope in the hopes that he would see someone, or would be found. Someone else had fallen nearby – he knew that, but not where.
There was forest up here – old, musty and calm. The canopy of evergreens blocked out most light. A black and yellow foot stuck out from under a clump of ferns and Bluestreak kicked weakly to propel himself towards it. His fingertips touched the sole but no reaction came. He grabbed hold of the ankle-joint and pulled – the whole leg up to the knee came straight out of the undergrowth and into his hand.
"Dismembered," Bluestreak said to himself, his voice lost but the vibrations noticeable. Ferns rustled – the movement caught Bluestreak's optics. The Datsun pulled himself further under and came upon Sunstreaker, lying on his back and looking upward at the sky, just as he had been. Branches obscured the sky, but light seeped through the thick atmosphere and gave windows to the colour of time.
A sense of relief was tangible on the cusp of Bluestreak's consciousness. The strong sense of fear kept him moving – satiation only possible when he had the acknowledgement, acceptance and comfort he was after. The Lamborghini briefly looked his way and said something; once more the meaning was lost on his damaged audios. Bluestreak tentatively crawled closer, his engine becoming more and more unsettled as the distance between the two closed. Sunstreaker watched him with inexpressive countenance, his motives unclear as to whether he would welcome or damage the arrival. Bluestreak collapsed between Sunstreaker's chassis and his arm, his fingers clawing desperately to hold onto the life and damaging his paintwork in the practice. He could not see Sunstreaker's expression. He could not gauge what the yellow warrior made of his mental weakness, but he felt his other arm – Sunstreaker's gun arm – lift and hover over his head. Bluestreak stiffened. The arm came down with force and weight upon his back and nodes flared. He captured a sob and stared at the soil in front of him, his mind repeating over and over that he was okay: Sunstreaker had given him the acceptance he had been searching for. Bluestreak kept still, kept silent, happy for the company and trying his hardest not to disturb the other warrior. He waited in silence in a silent world, an arm over his back as his only comfort until the others found them. Both watched the colour of reality drain away with the sun.
End.