Author's Note: Agh! It's been over a week since my last upload! Sorry for the wait; I had a great but tiring vacation in Minnesota and this chapter was a bitch to write. Hopefully it turned out okay. Thank you so much to those who reviewed last time! You gave me motivation to keep going. Your feedback was helpful, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story as it progresses.

Special thanks goes to:

Bluebird202, and

Starfire201:

Thank you both! I wish I had something nice to give you, but alas, all I can offer is my written appreciation. Trust me, it's not a punishment.

Megatron: raises eyebrow.

Okay, it's not meant to be a punishment.

Thanks again, you two, and anyone else who has shown their support in the past! :)

With that concluded, on with the show!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my OCs and the plot.

Chapter Six

"Who's to say what love looks like? You think it's something fuzzy and pleasant to look at. I say it's big, yellow, and grouchy." -Sideswipe

"Normal speech."

Inner personal thoughts.

"Comm chatter."

:Bond Speech:

Astrosecond: 2 seconds

Klik: approximately five minutes

Joor: half an hour

Breem: nearing one hour

Cycle: meanings vary; most often half a solar cycle

Mega-cycle: one human day

Solar cycle: one Cybertronian day

Vorn: approximately two months

Orn: five years

Mega-vorn: nine years

Mega-orn: twenty years

Mechnometer: Approximately twenty-four feet

Somewhere ABOVE Praxus…

"What happens when you disengage the program?"

Greenish clouds streaked past them on either side; acid mist stripped the paint from their bodies and wings. The dark Cybertronian night pressed in tightly around them, and visibility was practically nonexistent. Their scanners acted as their sight through the birthing storm, guiding them past obstacles such as the shining heads of new towers and the crippled skeletons of old ones. Beneath them streaked by the remains of a city that refused to be resurrected. Vos had been rebuilt, as had Kaon and Iacon - even Tyger Pax had been renewed and revamped into a stylish New Polyhex, since the old Polyhex was nothing but a field of rust and decay tossed on hot winds. But Praxus was dead. All attempts at the city's revival met with old sorrows and dead enthusiasm. The mechs and femmes of Praxus ached with the memory of burning plazas and shattered gardens, of vocalizers screaming desperately for help, some incoherent and trampling down helpless others in their panic. They didn't want to rebuild over the bodies of their families; the corpses of their loved ones. And so Praxus remained half-rebuilt, and every vorn or so a new architect would attempt to start the rebuilding process anew, but the venture always sputtered and died along with the plucky mech's enthusiasm.

Thundercracker had been there during the bombing of Praxus. It was the first time in his life he had taken pleasure in violence. The last, as well.

He tore his scanners from the scene of clean steel that rested alongside the carnage beneath him, turning them on his companion instead. Starscream had not answered him. The other seeker was ruthlessly raking the city ruins with his own scanners, seeking to pinpoint that vague spark signal that practically screamed their lost trinemate's name. Thundercracker had been assisting him up until this point, for approximately a cycle. They had not found their trinemate's exact location. That didn't make the situation hopeless, but Thundercracker had the strange feeling - a worry, really - that if he didn't ask Starscream now, he would never get an answer.

So, naturally, he repeated himself.

"Starscream," He called out over the comm. "What will happen when you end the program?"

He got an irritated response. "What the frag are you on about?"

"The lies." Thundercracker explained. "Your act; it's a program, you told me. So, what will happen when your fabricated character is dissolved?"

Starscream's reply was far more subdued this time. "I return to my original personality."

Thundercracker felt an unpleasant jolt through his tanks. "And that personality…what is it?" If he had said the words aloud his vocalizer would have spat out nervous static. He was glad for the steadying muffle of the comm. link.

"I…" The other jet slowed until it was nearly brushing its wingtip against his own. Starscream seemed oblivious to his own movements; lost in thought and unsure of himself. It was distinctly unnerving. "I don't know."

Thundercracker's frustration flared unexpectedly, and he was surprised to find himself swallowing down a few harsh words. He tried to analyze the situation - discover what it was that had fired his temper - but was unsuccessful. All he could do was hide his anger, speaking carefully into the comm. "That seems a little…impossible."

Starscream tried to snort derisively, but his unease transformed the sound into a breathy rasp. "There is no such thing as "a little impossible". Either it's impossible or it isn't."

Thundercracker bit back a retort, and turned his scanners to the ground once more.

And almost fell from the sky in shock.

During their conversation, Skywarp's spark energy signal had risen to the surface, clarifying into a precise location that was all too easy to locate.

Beside him, Starscream's flightpath stiffened. "What?" Came a wary inquiry across the comms. "What did you s-" And then Starscream saw it too.

They were diving. Thought processes clicked and whirred through Thundercracker's mind; calculations whirred and optics scoured the area for possible hostiles. He analyzed; carefully weighed the defensive capabilities of nearby structures and calculated strategies of retreat, should one be necessary. He was the trine's support now, since Skywarp was missing from their formation; Starscream's speed designated him the perfect candidate for swift entry and evac. Niether had to speak to the other to clarify this; each knew his position and function without communication of any kind. A consequence of years of war.

Shadows flurried by; wind hissed and screamed past their blurred bodies.

They landed. Rust and bits of scrap went flying from beneath their thrusters; their explosive impact jarred the metal beneath their feet and bent it inward, creating a small cavity in the planet surface.

The rust settled. The city around them was still; unresponsive.

Instantly, both seekers slithered from their respective landings; Starscream from down on one knee, a single servo supporting the rest of his weight, the remaining null ray already leveled toward the point of interest not twenty mechnometers ahead of them; Thundercracker had leveled himself with the ground, chassis grinding against shattered metal plates, both arms aiming into the city remnants that Starscream could not cover with his own weaponry. Both darted from their landing point in perfect stride, large pedes snapping down, thrusters beating against the ground. They threw themselves, side by side, behind the broken, battered facade of an old Praxian bar.

Steel pressed against their backs; wings quivered with the sensation that buzzed along their broad expanse. Red optics glowed as high intensity scans swept their surroundings.

They were clear. No enemies in sight or on the scanners. Not even a spark signal, aside from the one that throbbed weakly ahead of Starscream, to Thundercracker's back.

Seamlessly, the two seekers fled from their position, each taking his own path through the city debris. They crawled and sprinted alternatively toward Skywarp's signal, darting behind the bones of buildings and pressing themselves into whatever shadows they could find.

Thundercracker flung himself up into the air, activating his thrusters for a short, sharp boost. He landed on the roof of an old trinket shop, dodging around the gaping holes in the heavy plates. Below and to his right, Starscream slid on his knees beneath a bent pathway that had fallen into the street the seeker was currently using. With an agility few other bots possessed, the air commander snapped his wings back and rolled, skidding onto his knees beneath the fallen walkway and springing upward on the other side, throwing himself into a full out pelt.

Thundercracker followed his commander's example, descending into the warped streetways and dodging debris, his optics watching for any sign of movement, hostile or Skywarp alike. He raced alongside his commander, wings back, each step propelling him forward - slower than his thrusters could carry him, but fast enough for the landbound path they were forced to take to reach their lost trinemate.

Within moments, they had reached the location where Skywarp's spark resonated weakly.

It was a large building. Jagged maws ripped into the dark, smoke-stained walls, birthing aching darkness into the night. Their optics were set for such an environment, so they saw the scene quite clearly. Thundercracker almost wished he hadn't; that he had remained above the clouds and away from this place - whatever it had once been.

Before them, spread out on the ground before a large, dented door, were Skywarp's wings. Energon, bright blue and still trickling wetly between the seams, dripped from the shoulder joints onto the cold metal earth. The black paint was patchy and worn; the Decepticon symbol was a mere memory wiped out in a messy web of scratches. Gone was the gloss Skywarp so determinedly declared he didn't care about; gone were the careful swipes of expensive polish the young seeker pretended he didn't favor, and hid with great embarrassment if discovered when applying the stuff to his wings.

Thundercracker's servos shook with rage; he clenched his jaw before he could swear.

When Thundercracker had met Skywarp, he was already being declared a prodigy for his unique skill; his ability to teleport at will (as long as his power levels held out, of course). The youngling had presented himself as a full grown mech, ready to enter Lord Megatron's forces, desperate for praise and success. It wasn't long before he was taken advantage of. That was when Thundercracker had come upon him.

He remembered the moment clearly: the shivering, sobbing form of a small adult seeker pressing himself as far into the corner of the washrooms as he could. Scars and scratches littering black, dingy plating. Dents in well-shaped thighs. Thundercracker remembered the sound of his own pedes as he stepped closer, and the rattling shudder as the mech before him shrank back in fear. Little black digits raised in a weak show of defense against him.

The wings on the ground seemed to weep in the same way, reproving him for his weakness; his inefficiency and his failures as Skywarp's friend.

Beside him, Starscream was already moving, swiping up a wing to put in subspace - clearly expecting Thundercracker to do the same. The blue seeker did. He carefully slid the wide strip of bent metal into his servos, transferring it into his subspace in a way that would ensure its continued preservation.

Their entrance into the building had an almost dreamlike quality to it. Shadows shifted and danced away as they approached. Rust plumed into the air with every step Thundercracker took, dusting his plating with a soft, fine red coating. His optics were having trouble with the change from dark to lightless, leaving him blind to everything but touch, smell, and sound. The chamber stank of energon. Freshly spilled, swiftly souring energon. The rust particles tickled his forearms and thighs, washing up his chassis and plinking almost inaudibly against the glass of his cockpit. He heard a soft inhalation from somewhere further in the darkness; weary vents sputtering, desperately attempting to cool heated systems.

Then Skywarp's voice rasped out at them from the shadows, surprisingly near. "W-what are you doing?" Each syllable was slurred with pain, frantic, spat into the air as though every sound were taking a terrible toll on the purple seeker. Thundercracker crouched silently, creeping forward, left servo outstretched toward the voice. His other servo snagged Starscream's digits, pulling the other seeker along.

"Y-you idiots!" There was fear in Skywarp's voice, and the sounds of a mech frantically shifting away from them rang out loudly in the darkness. Utter terror, choking his vocalizer and fizzling out static. "You h-have to g-get aw-!" The words were coughed out of existence; choked into silence by a weak, gasping vocalizer.

Skywarp's digits brushed accidentally against his, and Thundercracker immediately snatched them into his grasp, hauling Starscream into contact as well. Together, their servos roamed down the other seeker's arm, all over the teleporter's plating, brushing against jagged wounds and sliding wetly over a battered cockpit; searching his wounds for fatal blows and lacerations. Skywarp's sharp hiss as they touched his cockpit made them hesitate, and the purple seeker's digits caught theirs in that moment, halting their inspection.

"He's c-coming! He w-wants Rumble and F-Frenzy!" The young mech sobbed, forcing his words past obvious terror.

"Shut up." Starscream's voice cut him off. Thundercracker agreed, but didn't say so aloud. No need to use more words than they had to; there might be listeners. "We're taking you back."

"No! I can't!" Skywarp began to thrash, but he was so weak that it was little more than a writhe. It did little to stop them from hauling him to his pedes. "He's coming for them! I can't let it happen! Tell Starscream - tell Starscream I can't come back alive! He'll understand…!" Skywarp was delirious now. His words were so slurred it was all but impossible to understand him, and hot, wet tears were splashing over Thundercracker's digits, each one like a stinging reprimand against the blue seeker's plating.

You should have been here sooner. You could have spared him. You should have known.

Thundercracker's servos shook with rage.

They were staggering back towards the bright exit when they heard it.

A childlike, but oddly deep, rolling laugh.

…Memory file 000.32: Accessed…

"How can you pretend to know him when you never listen to what he's saying or ask why he does things?!" Warm, angry, familiar - His.

"Speak for yourself, Sunstreaker." Soft, condescending, feminine, wrong.

"He is!" Truth, lie, but honest.

"Sideswipe." Metallic click of joints on joints, polished metal shifting as the helm turned. "Shut up and let your brother speak." Irritation, bitterness, dislike, suspicion; she thought she knew what was going on. She never listened.

"You never listen! You're a bully and a coward and he doesn't like you!" His other half; warmth, protectiveness, love.

"Get him out of here!" Hate. Hate. Hate. Bring him back, bastards.

Soft hiss of moving metal parts. A light touch on his plating. "It's okay now, Sunstreaker. You can speak for yourself; Sideswipe can't control you any more." Hopeful, tentative, kindly. "Do you…have anything you'd like to say?"

Blue optics, soft and simpering. Gentle runes and lettering around silver cheeks, over plump lips. " I know it's hard; Sideswipe has always be dominant, and now that he's gone, freedom tastes strange. But it doesn't have to be that way, Sunstreaker. Just…be yourself." A touch on his faceplates, over his jawline. "Do you…have anything to say?"

Suddenness. A pained gasp. Warmth trickling between his digits.

:Bring him back. Bring him back. Bring him back, you bastards…!:

A spark throbbing between his hands, guttering and spitting. "Sun-Sunnstrreeak-?" Vocalizers sputtering. Digits clawing against dingy yellow plating.

Sideswipe by his side, in his spark. Gone. Thanks to her.

Hate - Hate - Hate - Fury - Loss - Hate - Want - Hate-!

Audial against his lips. Heat in his systems. Plating rattling. Hate in his spark, agony in hers - of he could manage it, of course.

What had she asked?…"Do you have anything to say?"…?

:Yes.: Yes…he did.

"I…" A twist with his digits. A gasp from her lips. "…Hate…" Servos gripping, pulling, tearing, killing. "You."

Death on silver faceplates. Shadows in an empty chassis. Sideswipe by his side. Screams. Speed. Gone. Freedom.

Sideswipe woke with a gasp, flailing. Restraints bit harshly into his wrists at the sudden movement, steel rings grinding into his plating, buzzing with threatening energy. Another move like that and he would be fiercely electrocuted.

His new cell was more formidable than the last had been. Every wall was surging with energy; each one a clear, slightly purplish window through which he could be watched from every angle. There was enough space for a large mech to lie down comfortably, so he had plenty of room.

Systems racing, engine sputtering, Sideswipe fell back against the floor. It wasn't often he relived his own memories, let alone his brother's. Sunstreaker must have been deep in recharge; unable to stop his flow of thoughts and fragmented memory files from reaching out to his twin.

Sideswipe checked along the bond, his suspicions confirmed when he felt the dormant, floating consciousness that was his brother's mind. Sunstreaker was comfortable and relaxed in recharge; something he never was while awake. His systems didn't whine under the pressure of his tense limbs and carefully controlled movements; they were a deep, base rumble that purred and whispered strength and power into the air. Or maybe that was just Sideswipe's interpretation. He was a bit biased, truth be told.

It seemed a little narcissistic to love his other half in the way he did, but the very fact that Sunstreaker did not return the same sort of affection (to all appearances that was. Sideswipe held out a feeble hope that his twin was simply very good at hiding them) solidified his belief that he was not in any way loving himself. Sunstreaker was different; the golden twin had urges Sideswipe couldn't imagine experiencing, and had a sort of creepy admiration for detail in anything he found beautiful. Sunstreaker had once confided, in a moment of sheepish trust followed by extreme embarrassment, that he wanted to be an artist. Sideswipe, while showing his support in every way he could (so that he didn't have to worry about his brother's delicate psyche taking a blow from his criticism), thought such an occupation was a waste of Sunstreaker's time and his own. Artist? Sideswipe had yet to see a piece of art that was so good it was worth the time and effort its maker took to create it. But all of these differences assured Sideswipe that there was nothing wrong with loving Sunstreaker; that he wasn't being narcissistic in the least, since they were so dissimilar.

Absentmindedly, Sideswipe rubbed a thumb against his own arm, transmitting the feeling to his slumbering twin. Sunstreaker's engine gave a deeper (if that was even possible) thrum in the next room, purring contentedly.

Sideswipe smiled to himself, and continued rubbing his own arm.

He couldn't remember how they had gotten into their new accommodations; he in his own cell, Sunstreaker separated from him, contained in a chamber on the left of his own. As far as he could recall, they had been trading information with their interrogators, and after that…he couldn't recall.

Their mentor had said it was a glitch. That two bots connected by spark and mind couldn't handle the strain of extreme circumstances for extended periods of time, or so he had put it. After too much stress, they would glitch. Sideswipe didn't know what happened then; only that his and Sunstreaker's emotions played off of one another during the duration of the glitch, whether those emotions be anguish, happiness, or anger. Their control was compromised; their minds attempting to meld into a single entity composed of very different character traits. When their very different personalities failed to unite, they… He didn't know what they did, but he knew it was destructive. Spark split twins were supposed to be able to become one mind. The failure of this natural and coveted ability was painful; further evidence that, as they were, the twins were crippled. Had been, from birth.

Sunstreaker's mind shifted, wakening, and Sideswipe shoved his somber thoughts to the back of his processor, caking his surface consciousness in pleasure and welcome. His twin's mind brushed against his own, testing and acknowledging his greetings. There was a flicker of interest as Sunstreaker caught the faint end of a thought. Sideswipe cursed his brother's attention to detail, and shoved his worries further back into the recesses of his processor in an attempt to lessen the damage.

:You're hiding something.: Sunstreaker muttered sleepily.

:Private.: Sideswipe replied apologetically, but warily kept his defenses up. Sunstreaker rarely cared about his privacy, even though the golden twin demanded a respectful distance to be maintained from his own secrets.

:Where are they?:

:The interrogators? Dead, if we're unlucky.:

:Can't remember?:

:No. It's not getting any better.: Sideswipe sighed out loud, the sound echoing in the large metal chamber. He felt a ghost of sensation as Sunstreaker shifted to a languid sprawl on his side, pedes crossed, resting heavily on his elbow. :We need to stop this.:

:We don't know how.:

:And there are no other sets of twins that might help us, even if we could get out of here.: It was a conundrum, to be sure. On the one hand, they were fugitives running for their lives. On the other, they were considered invaders of a heavily armored base, and had probably attacked - if not killed - two high-ranking mechs. On a third hand, they needed to get out and find a stable environment in which they could comfortably accustom themselves with their new lives and take control of their situation. On a fourth, that wasn't likely to happen if they couldn't control themselves enough to explain their situation to their captors.

:Four hands…:

Sideswipe cut his brother off harshly. :He's NOT going to find us.:

:He found…the others.:

It was a slight pause; a tip of the helm to the agreement they had made. They wouldn't say her name, until they avenged her.

:We were made for this.:

:No.: Sunstreaker said. :We were made for war.:

There was a pause. Sideswipe grinned, knowing Sunstreaker would feel it.

:…Call the interrogators back?:

:Agreed. But I'm not saying 'sorry'.:

:Never, bro. Not your fault.:

:Not our fault.:

In the Decepticon medbay…

The medbay was in disarray. Hook had never finished his cleaning or reorganization, and the tables, as a result, had never been replaced. This made things difficult when Lord Megatron was brought in, glitched and offline, dragged along in minuscule increments by Scalpel's many tiny appendages. The scientist claimed that Starscream had essentially dumped the warlord into his arms (i.e. onto him, since Scalpel was approximately the size of one of Megatron's elbows). Why, not even Scalpel knew - but it wasn't the sort of scientific secret the little bot was interested in finding out.

Hook wondered why Scalpel hadn't simply left Megatron in the hall and gone on with his dogged pursuit of truth, but on further reflection he realized that it was more than likely because somewhere, in his convoluted processors, the spidery nuisance realized that it was Megatron who paid his bills. For the sake of the further financing of science, Scalpel could afford to put off his experiments for a few astroseconds.

The trip from the floor to a medical berth took quite a bit longer, in reality, and Hook highly doubted the trek from the outer halls into the medbay had taken anything less than a joor. Megatron was limp and hard to maneuver, and Scalpel was instantly uninterested in helping once he realized he could return to his studies without fear of repercussions. Hook had been forced to call Shockwave for help, eventually, since most of the other Decepticons were occupied with their daily tasks. Scientists had it so easy…

Shockwave had been surprisingly willing to assist in Megatron's conveyance from floor to berth. In fact, the large scientist's enthusiasm was a bit creepy. Something about Megatron's limp form had Shockwave in a titter - it was the only way Hook could even begin to describe it.

Hands carefully curling beneath a shoulder joint on which an enormous silver armed lolled unpleasantly, Shockwave levered the Decepticon Leader onto the widest berth; one created specifically for weighty patients. Hook watched, feeling a bit queasy when he noticed the dark purple claws lingering for more time than was strictly necessary on pale, gleaming plating. Yes, yes; true love and all that, but Shockwave?

Eugh…

"Doctor."

Hook jumped violently, squashing a vagrant tool that had been knocked onto the floor by his failed attempts to move Megatron earlier. Shockwave was eyeing him with a strange look, as though it was Hook who was behaving oddly.

"The operation is complete. You may commence repairs."

Hook nodded silently at Megatron's still body, unable to hold the cyclops' stare.

Shockwaved lingered as Hook worked, watching with concern (creepy), and a bit of…fondness (downright terrifying). Under normal circumstances, Hook would be wondering why the scientist hadn't returned directly to his research, as Scalpel had. But these were far from normal circumstances.

Somewhere between managing the neural net and recalibrating the processing files, Shockwave addressed him again. "How long will the repairs take, doctor?"

Long time. You'll be in recharge by the time I'm through; trust me. Better to just leave now and come back later. Much later. "A few kilks." He said honestly, and immediately after gave himself a mental kick in the head.

Shockwave's neck joints ground together as he gave a small, despondent nod. "I have findings to report to him when he awakes. Examination of the prisoners was successful and…highly intriguing."

The last time Shockwave had said something was "Highly Intriguing", the Nemesis had sprouted extra armor plating over its hull; plating that had begun to eat the old armor, with many sounds of ravenous delight. It had been disturbing for the mechs inside, to say the least.

"Oh?" His vocals had jumped an octave and adopted a panicked tone. He steadied them. "Oh?" He repeated levelly.

"Yes. I will continue my research until Lord Megatron is available for debriefing."

"I'll let you know when he wakes."

Memory Files: Intact. Reviewal of Memory Files? Yes/No

Yes.

Memory Files: Opened. Selection of Memory File?

5528.3

Accepted. Memory File 5528.3 playing now…

Cold impact splashing over his backplates. Liquid passing through joints and plating, seeping into systems and choking his engines. No grip for twitching digits - fear. Cold. Panic. Gently wash of organic water past his lips, into his ventilation systems and over sensitive sensors. Gagging on the alien taste. Falling - no, sinking. Darkness shattered by flitting spears of sunlight. Energon threading through clear blue water, licked from his side by the alien push and pull of waves.

Spark fading, hissing against droplets that stung like acid against the tongues of his life-force. Digits reaching up toward sunlight. A shadow, wings against the sun. Beautiful. Hope. A hand slicing through waves, grabbing hold; clawing and pulling on sore plating. Heaved up from death and dark, alien waters, into wonderfully warm, oxygen saturated air.

Arms around his limp body. Metal straining. Thrusters whining beneath both mechs' weight. Gasping, choking, alive. Gratitude. Unidentifiable warmth. Scarlet optics sparking with irritation, rage, and…fear.

Starscream…

Scarlet optics fizzled to life. Silver lips pressed tightly together from a loosely open gasp, and the silver frame grew tense beneath the warlord's control.

The medbay was dark. Shadows clung to clean white walls, as though afraid of the mech. The silence was deafening.

Then, still immobile on the med berth, Megatron spoke.

"Ah, Starscream." He murmured, and his optics sparked with a pain few mechs could claim to have seen - even less, since many had been killed directly after. The red gaze slowly slitted to a close, and the same pain flickered over silvery faceplates. "Was that too a lie?"

Author's Note: Well, there it is. A bit of a filler chapter, for which I apologize, but a few clarifications and developments you didn't get to see before.

Skywarp's ALIVE! *does rediculously happy but extremely undignified dance* I love that shmuck.

Anyway, please please please review! It brightens my day and gives me motivation, which in turn expedites the posting of chapters, so...it's all around awesome. Even a simple "It's good" or "Story sucks" is welcome on my review page.

Until next time!