Chapter 9

"This was a spectacularly bad idea, Sunny," Sideswipe grunted, wedging himself a bit deeper into their little hidey-hole—a little mountainside cave not really all that far from the Ark.

"Shut it, Laser Breath," Sunstreaker gasped back, spitting out a mouthful of the energon beginning to pool in his intakes. Sideswipe listened about as well as he always did—which is to say, not at all.

"My leg is fragging gone, you're leaking energon all over the place, and our communications are shot all because someone decided we could take on a Seeker trine all by ourselves," he rattled on, dodging the half-hearted kick his brother aimed in his direction. "Now we have to wait until they figure out that we're not checking in from patrol and hope that they actually come looking for us—not to mention hoping that our benevolent CMO who just loves us to pieces feels like putting us back together." Despite his flippant tone, he felt a little stab of pain as he finished his diatribe—it had been nearly an Earth month since Ratchet had spoken to or even looked at them. During that time, Sunstreaker had become even more withdrawn and moody than usual—the minibots took to hiding from him, and everyone else learned to be wary of what they said to him—and Sideswipe hadn't had the spark to pull even one prank.

Hence, their current situation.

After all, what better stress relief than beating up on some Decepticreeps? (It was much better than being thrown in the brig for beating up on Autobots. Prime was so touchy about stuff like that.)

It had actually been pretty fun at first—until Skywarp had managed to throw Sunstreaker off. It had all gone downhill from there.

The Seekers were gone now, spewing insults and no doubt cursing their inability to find the badly damaged twins, but it left the pair stranded, with no real way to mark their position. The presence of the three jets would have at least given the Autobots something to investigate—their absence meant that the brothers would have to trust to dumb luck, since there was no way Sideswipe was going anywhere with his legs so badly damaged, and there was no way that Sunstreaker was going anywhere without Sideswipe.

Sideswipe scooted himself over so that he leaned against his brother's back, and it was an indication of how hurt they both were that Sunstreaker didn't protest. "He's gonna blow a fragging gasket over this, you know," he commented, laying his head against a yellow shoulder.

"Yeah," Sunstreaker murmured tiredly, not having to ask which he his brother was talking about.

The red twin sighed, then, violently, "Primus! I hope he does! I hope he yells, and throws things, and… and…" He choked, emotion causing his vocalizer to short. "He wouldn't even look at me, Sunny," he finished brokenly.

"You love him," Sunstreaker replied quietly, causing his brother to slew his head around and look at him. Before Sides could formulate a response, however, he added "So do I."

Sideswipe turned back around, staring blindly at the cave wall. "I—you're right," he whispered. "Primus," he laughed bitterly. "We're so messed up. In love with the one 'Bot who'd love nothing more than to see our smoldering wrecks. And it's our own fragging fault."

Sunstreaker nodded. "It's not likely to matter. Our chances of being found before one or both of us bleeds out are slim to none."

"Yeah, we won't have to worry about it after that," Sides added softly. "I won't have to see the fragger's face every day and wish he didn't hate us. Though—I kinda wish we could have told him."

Silence fell after that; there was nothing more that needed to be said. They waited, together, without hope.

"They're what?"

Prime repeated himself patiently. "Sunstreaker and Sideswipe have not reported back from patrol; they are missing and assumed damaged. We need you to go along in case they need emergency field repairs."

Ratchet nodded with a kind of numb disbelief, and followed the big Autobot leader to where the others slated for this search-and-rescue mission had gathered. There were not many there; Ironhide was checking and rechecking his cannons, Prowl stood looking calm as ever, faithful little Bumblebee talked quietly with Bluestreak, and Jazz fidgeted off to the side, looking a little guilty. They all looked up at him with varying degrees of concern and sympathy when he walked in to silently stand beside the weapons specialist.

"Are ya alright, Ratchet?" Ironhide asked softly, but the medic only stared resolutely ahead and didn't answer.

Prowl wasted no time in briefing them all on the situation, advising them of the patrol route taken by the twins and the locations of possible hiding spots that they may have made use of, as well as who they would be paired with if they had to split up. He found himself matched with Ironhide.

"I want everyone to exercise extreme caution out there. Do not engage the enemy unless absolutely necessary, and stay with your search partner no matter what. If you get into trouble, call for backup," Optimus warned them, looking hard at his CMO. "Understood?" A chorus of "yessirs" answered him. "Good," he said grimly, and sent them on their way.

Ratchet was stopped on his way out the door with a hand on his arm.

"Be careful, old friend," Prime said quietly, catching and holding Ratchet's optics with his own. The medic nodded, and Optimus released him without another word. Ratchet hurried to catch up with the others, trying not to think too hard; the understanding that had been in their leader's optics had nearly undone him after a month of trying to forget everything that had happened between himself and the twins.

He had discovered that, angry as he was at them, he couldn't help but feel a little lost at not having to chase them out of his medbay on a regular basis. He missed Sideswipe's snarky responses and Sunstreaker's unrepentant glares when he lectured them; he had noticed that Sideswipe's desire to find 'things that make Sideswipe giggle' had diminished, while his brother's tendency toward moodiness and aggression had increased.

Wheeljack had harped at him about it, reiterating that he needed to talk to them, but Ratchet—still so very hurt and angry—had paid him no mind and continued to ignore the Lamborghinis' attempts to garner his forgiveness.

Now he wished that he'd taken his friend's advice.

They might be dead, a little voice in the back of his mind taunted. Shut up, he snarled back, furiously. They're not dead! I won't let them be!

But you hate them, don't you? his mind sniped smugly. No! I lo— He shook his head, wonderingly, then finished the thought tentatively. I love them, the stupid slaggers…

"Oh, frag," he whispered to himself.

"You ok?" Ironhide asked, pausing in his search to look at his companion.

Ratchet blinked at him for a moment. "Yeah… I'll be alright," he said gruffly.

Except, he was not—would not be until they found his lovers and brought them home.

Primus, let them be alive.