A/N: I own nothing, sadly enough. This was a prompt initially suggested by DeathStallion on DeviantArt, and suggested on the twins-x-ratch group on livejournal by chimeradark. (Thank you both for giving me this infuriatingly long winded plot bunny.)


Listen healer, and listen well for there will be times when you must choose, who live and others of whom you will loose. And, healer there will come a time when you wonder at the pain you cannot suppress if your gift was truly meant to curse or bless ...

Morning came too soon for Ratchet, pulling him from his slumber before sunrise. He leaned firmly into the warm berth beneath him – berth? He sat up with a start staring in quickly spreading horror at Sunstreaker's perfectly sculpted and utterly bare aft displayed unconsciously beside him. With trembling hands he felt over his body relaxing only after he had encountered all his clothes. He sighed, optics off lining in relief. He had not interfaced with the beautiful pair – one nude and the other mostly so. Ratchet trailed his optics over Sideswipe's exposed upper chassis, the mech, like his brother, was beautiful. Broad shoulders and perfectly designed chest highlighted the careful artistry that had gone into the red mech's making.

They looked so peaceful, ageless and perfect. They glowed in a way that made Ratchet think of a freshly grown youngling new to his full height and armor. They had saved him yesterday as well. He owed them his life, the thought was not a pleasant one. As he sat up leaning on his elbows he slowly felt the stirrings of affection for the pair in the depths of his spark and for the first time since leaving Healer's Wrath, he could not feel the nightwalkers he had loosed there.

Distantly, from outside he heard the first stirrings of the early shift workers heading off to the energon warehouses and mills that outlined the vast city. It was time for him to move. With one last lingering look that bordered on hungering after them, he slipped off the bed and out into the pre-dawn gloom.

The morning beyond the inn was still dark. Night lamps glowed through the darkness, dotting the darkened city with miniature bluish orbs of light. Early workers heading towards the energon work houses, weavers and carters all slowly shuffled in ones and twos through the empty streets. Ratchet moved with them, a recurring face as welcome as the winter after a long hot summer.

Here, in the city where thousands lived he was greeted exuberantly by many. The early folks nodded their greetings as they went on their way, all knowing that with Ratchet's arrival the doubts over surviving the winter would fade. He was the annual celebrity. Smiling as he moved through the streets, loving his work and grateful that he had earned this position he turned from the main road heading deeper into the slum district.

He would have to stay here for several days at least to tour the hospitals and care wards in the various temples and churches. He treated the poor, the destitute, and those who were proclaimed incurable by the healers in residence if he could.

"Master Healer!" He looked up to the welcoming call, smiling at the swiftly approaching priest of the High Temple of Primus. "We had heard of your belated arrival. Your tardiness has worried many greatly."

"Father Huffer," Ratchet smiled while embracing the smaller mech, "It's been a strange winter."

"Come, you can fill me in while we walk the ward." Huffer led Ratchet into the mercy ward of the high temple. "Our year has been mercifully mild. Despite our difference in beliefs the recent influx of Decepticon faithful has given us a reprieve from the annual plight against the nightwalkers. Their warrior ranks have fought off several incursions we could not have faced alone."

"Have there been many?" Suddenly nervous, Ratchet looked hard at Huffer, the fear of the nightwalkers he had awakened building within his spark.

"Of nightwalker attacks, more than usual and all rebuffed. Of the Decepticons a full six score settled within our walls, bringing word and dire warning of nightwalkers infiltrating mortal villages descending as a veritable horde of frauds. They now have their own temple by the docks with its own care ward. They're good mechs, mostly, although there are a few in their ranks that I would gladly cast out to the snow and pray they found better lives elsewhere."

Ratchet sighed, wondering how the nightwalker led Decepticons had infested the true believers of Coldsteel Garrison. As he looked over destitute mechs suffering cold related ailments and malnutrition he began to fill the priest in on his misadventures early in the season.


Sunstreaker frowned in the darkness as Ratchet left the room. The healer had been attracted to their guises, not who they were. The yellow mech looked to the door the healer had passed through and vented wearily. Beside Sunstreaker Sideswipe curled in on himself, knowing that their hopes of winning Ratchet's affections for who they were was laughably small and dwindling by the day.

"We need to find an apothecary." Sideswipe murmured from his ball of misery. Both nightwalkers could feel the wax made before their banishment into the dark isolation of their prison crumbling from their frames. There was little enough left, and what remained had decomposed since Ratchet had freed them.

"There should be one in the warehouse district." Sunstreaker murmured as he turned to embrace his brother and settled to sleep again. Their exposure to the high grade and artificial sunlight the day before had taxed their systems. Now they could only rest and recover as much as they could before touching up their subpar wax and heading out into the treacherous sun once more.


The sun finally graced the eastern sky, tinting the perfect dawn a light rose hue that seamlessly bled into vaulting blue over the snow bedecked city. Ratchet took in the crisp, frigid morning air and sighed. It was time to visit the Decepticon temple. He turned from the High Temple to the southernmost section of the city, the dark seedy region he usually avoided at all costs, knowing that he would likely face violence he would rather avoid.

Ratchet mused as he paced the city streets that he was one of the few healers who had armor worthy of a warrior. His armor was light, strong and better at bending with a blow that blunting one with base thickness. His creators had never let him downgrade his armor when he decided as a half grown youngling to be a healer instead of a hunter. It was an enforcement he silently thanked them for annually.

As he approached the dark blight of the deepest slums he stood taller, making his frame look more intimidating. He was not a coward, despite how often he called himself one for his lack of action in Coldsteel Garrison. Being the creation of two powerful hunters Ratchet had been schooled in fighting since his core programming had set in. Chromia had gifted him with his first weapon while 'Hide had given him his best tools for surviving the nightwalkers as a non-hunter.

"Oh look, mechs, the noble healer has come to visit." A deep voice chuckled from the early morning shadows. Ratchet stilled, smothering the reflex to flinch in startlement, looking defiantly up at the large mech that stepped into his path. Tall, bristling with weapons and garbed in the nondescript grayed brown leather of all villains the mech slited red optics dangerously at Ratchet.

"Let me pass." Ratchet warned, tanks churning in silent anticipation as six more mechs stepped from the shadows to surround him.

"Or what?" the mech sneered behind the large silver face plate that did nothing to mask his evil.

"Or we'll make you." A dangerous voice rumbled from behind Ratchet before he could retort. The thugs filling the street shifted their gazes from Ratchet to the voice behind him.

"And what can you do, pretty bot?" A second thug asked, his purple plating and blackened denta reeking with decay even as he leered repulsively at the new mech.

Ratchet never looked behind him, only keeping focus on the four mechs in front of him, watching their dual shot crossbows and long knives warily. He did not recognize the voice, it wasn't Sunstreaker and didn't sound like Sideswipe, nor was it any of the guards he knew. Which, he admitted warily to himself meant that the speaker behind him could be a savior – or an even worse opponent.

A deep growl filled the air, stilling the thugs who all now watched Ratchet's unknown and dubious savior with wary intent. Once their attention was thoroughly on the other mech Ratchet launched himself at the shorter purple mech beside the intimidating leader, soundly slamming his fist into the other's face with the satisfying shattering crack of denta breaking. Ratchet rolled from the other, losing his cloak and satchel as he faced a second mech who charged him with magenta hands swinging perilously close to the medic's optics.

Ratchet sidestepped and backpedaled, moving as fast as he could from his opponent. This mech was a damned good fighter, and Ratchet knew with a sinking spark that if he faced more than two at a time he would surely be terminated. With a calculated effort Ratchet feinted a left hook, and reeled when the other mech's fist cracked against his chin sending him staggering backwards.

As he stumbled Ratchet turned his backwards momentum into energy for a new attack, charging his opponent and swinging with measured force his fist – passed right through where his opponent should have been. Ratchet froze at the end of his swing cycling his optics much like a cyber-owl as fear of daylight walking nightwalkers filled his processors until a strangled gasp drew his attention to the side.

The other mech dangled from Sunstreaker's grasp, the yellow hand about his neck making sensitive plating creak dangerously. With a grunt of distaste and a final squeeze that knocked the thug into stasis the yellow mech tossed his opponent to the pile where the entire group of thugs, save the one Ratchet knocked out cold, lay unconscious.

"He called me pretty." Sunstreaker snarled affronted as if such a slight were worthy of so complete a trouncing.

"Relax Sunshine, they won't make that mistake again." Sideswipe smirked at his brother from where he stood against a warehouse wall watching the show.

"Of course not," Sunstreaker agreed, "I am exquisite – And don't call me Sunshine."

Ratchet gaped at the pair torn between admiration for Sunstreaker's skill, self preserving fear for that same skill and utter dismay. "You did all this," he gestured to the pile of mechs, "Because that foul get called you pretty?"

"No," Sideswipe replied as he walked up to Ratchet worriedly tracing the fine crack that slowly oozed along the medic's cheek, "Stinky paid for maligning my brother, the rest for threatening you."

Ratchet looked from the gleaming pair dressed in obviously new clothes bedecked with the newest in masculine ruffles along the chest and wrists, to the dark alley he still had to pass through. Swallowing his pride with bitter resentment Ratchet looked back up to the pair with grim resignation. There were more like those piled nearby and despite his heritage and training; he was no match for the brothers. "Can I get an escort?" The request cost him a blow to his pride. He was hunter created and hunter trained up to the day he took on his full crosses. Only the drain on his time and resources had prevented from keeping those skills up to par.

"Why are you here anyways?" Sunstreaker asked in his almost bored voice, "These exhaust residues thrive in this filth."

"There's a new mercy ward on the dock that sees to the workers there. I have to ensure any treated there are healed properly."

"Why?" Sunstreaker asked bluntly, coldly challenging Ratchet's movements, unstable pale blue optics piercing through Ratchet's soul, seeming to claim what he saw for his own.

Ratchet huffed, "Because as the Imperial Healer to his Majesty Emperor Prime of the Steele sector it is my duty to inspect each care ward and healer in each city and village and to offer my services to all those in need within and nearby that district."

"Wow, so you're someone important?" Sideswipe chirruped brightly, turning Ratchet and scooping the healer's cloak and satchel into his arms. "You need to get that cleaned up."

Ratchet felt his cheek, winching when his fingers touched the painful, and previously unnoticed crack. Scowling and muttering darkly Ratchet reached into his satchel, pulling his emergency kit to clean and seal his wound. Once a light sealant had dried over it he looked back up to the silent pair, "It's nothing, can we go now?"

"Why are you not provided an escort?" Sunstreaker asked, suddenly filling Ratchet's vision as the larger mech carefully inspected the healer's face while pulling the thick cloak over the slightly shivering healer.

"I can handle myself against nightwalkers and darklings, all of which have weaknesses that I am fully prepared and trained to exploit, but mortals are another story." Ratchet huffed turning from Sunstreaker's gaze to the deeper portions of the warehouse district. "And, I'm out of practice." He looked one last time at the mounded pile of unconscious thugs. The morning patrol would find a strange gift when they passed here today.

Sideswipe chuckled, "You mean the night demons all have physical weaknesses, ones that few mortals share."

"That sums it up nicely," the healer sighed darkly. His creators would be weeping for his lack of fighting prowess – and then tanning his metal hide to get him back in shape.

"Your armor is adequate for a healer on standard fighting lines." Sunstreaker murmured, "Your gear is not the issue, your lack of hand to hand combat is."

"And that," Sideswipe spoke up matching Ratchet's pace, "Is our specialty."

The trio fell silent as they moved past the mid sector warehouses with their large draft-bot entrances to a thick strip of slum housing that was little more than single mech hovels with enough room to slide one's frame in, recharge and slide back out. The mechs desperate enough to dwell here found other locations for all other activities, including the base interfacing that ran rampant through this sector resulting in the half feral younglings that roamed the streets in packs.

There was no talking here, where every mech scurried and hunched, bringing no attention to themselves lest it be the wrong kind. Femmes and mechs looked similar enough in design that telling them apart was difficult. Some rare guards prowled around the outer perimeter of this benighted place, but none would enter save for a string of murders and even then they would come in force.

Ratchet, however traveled with his very brightly colored companions, all three standing proud and tall much like offerings for the take. He could feel the optics of every hidden mech and wild youngling measuring their strength against their worth. Despite Sunstreaker's skill in incapacitating the gang Ratchet had faced, he had no surety that those skills would save them here.

"Healer, pray thee, come this way. This district is not for the likes of you and yours." A humble voice spoke out of a side street, revealing itself to be a pair of small mechs bearing the Decepticon crest on their tabards. They walked tall and proud in this desperate place much as the taller trio did, only here the Decepticons were not looked upon as marks.

They followed in silence, following the small pair to a bright patch along the frozen river were ice barges traveled up and down bearing the trade the normal ships would bring once the ice melted. Here, where more warehouses and businesses seemed to spring up in a jarring separation of dangerous slum to prosperous shipping district.

Sunstreaker appraised the road they now traveled in, tall buildings towered over the street, most of them multistoried warehouses, some businesses and no few upper story living units for shopkeepers or tenants. Part of his processors thought back to the last time he and his brother had passed through this town, only back then it had been little more than a country village.

Neither knew how long they had been imprisoned. The passage of time beyond the stones that bounded their captivity had changed the world entirely. The passing of warehouses and mechs calling greeting passed Sunstreaker's notice. Instead, he thought back to when this had been a small village of several scant cottages and their prison a lone chapel lost in to woods to be forever forgotten.

"This is a fine temple," Ratchet's voice pulled Sunstreaker's attention to the low building squatting between two of the tallest and grandest shipyard warehouses. A tall spire graced with the clear sphere that represented the spark of Primus reached towards the heavens while the building below, comprised of local metals squatted pail and humble with open doors to the faithful, poor, hungry and injured. Sunstreaker glared at the building, optics sighting on the hated Decepticon symbol that was unknown before his and Sideswipe's awakening.

"Come on, Brother Sun Storm is attending the injured today," one of their small guides spoke up, "He'll take care of ya."

Sunstreaker looked from the diminutive mech to Ratchet and suppressed a venting of exasperation as the healer marched forward without a proper inspection around the perimeter for threats, assailants, or shadow hugging nightwalkers. :: Trusting, isn't he? ::

:: He's too easy! Sure go in, don't suspect danger around every corner. If he did that back in our time he'd be dead several times over by now. :: Sideswipe replied, although his slight smirk gave none of away none of his frustration or worry for the healer.

Despite their concerns the pair followed Ratchet, pacing silently through the open chapel where prayers were conducted and through a small corridor that branched off to presumably quarters for the clergy to live in, and a second hall that led to a rather quiet infirmary.

"Ah, my favorite disciples, Rumble, Frenzy, who have you brought me?" A slender mech asked with his back turned to the trio.

"Brother Sun Storm, he got hurt in the dark slum." Rumble replied easily. "They took out Sixshot's gang. He got Oil Slick in one hit, he's pretty good for a healer."

"Ah, so the great Master Healer is more than a mere mech of tending the sick and injured. I am impressed." Brother Sun Storm finally stood from his patient, looking from the stasis bound mech with a crushed leg to Ratchet, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.

Flanking Ratchet Sunstreaker and Sideswipe stiffened once the golden palated priest turned to face them. He was tall, very lean and upon his back, hidden beneath his robes as ungainly lumps along his back, were wings. Orange optics only heard of in legend looked out from a pale gray face with a narrow nasal structure and thin, nearly lifeless lips. "Lus na Fala" Sideswipe whispered, the ancient words breathed almost as a ward of evil.

Sun Storm smiled at the red mech, optics gleaming knowingly. "Ah, so you know of my kind. How unusual. Normally we are whispered of as mountain spirits or faeries of the mists."

Ratchet froze, optics wide and bright as the words sunk in and long ago lessons on the darklings of old resurfased. "Primus, you're a glenn fae, one of the yarrow sprites." His fingers wove an ancient sign of warding, a sign long known by hunters.

"Well taught, and hunter trained, more impressive yet, young healer." Sun Storm smiled approvingly. "if my nature is not too daunting for you, would you aid me in tending this mech's leg. Unfortunately mortal healing is not my specialty."

"Uh," Ratchet swallowed nervously looking from the sprite priest Sun Storm to the miniature disciples Rumble and Frenzy to his only salvation in this macabre collection of mechs to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. "Sure." He stood taller and strode to the patient, 'Just don't steal my soul or sing my spirit into eternal slumber,' Ratchet thought as he knelt beside the patient.

"This is less of a crush and more of a clean cut. The leg will need to be replaced – slag." Ratchet curshed finally remembering that his best replacement limb fabricator was once more safely ensconced in Goldstone Sanctuary far from this city and the unforgiving sun. "Well, it would be easy if my brother were here. He'd have a new leg assembly ready within the day."

"Master Healer, despite the reputation my kind have earned, we care deeply for the lives of others. If your brother would enable Broadwater to regain his full functioning I would gladly fetch him." Sun Storm looked Ratchet deep in the optics, sincereity rolling of of him in near tangible waves.

Ratchet huffed, "Prowl's going to kill me."

"You know Prowl?" Sun Storm asked in surprise, "How do you know of a nightwalker that is yet living?"

"Because he has sworn off feeding on the living, and my brother trusts him." Ratchet sighed, "My brother is the nightwalker Wheeljack."

"Hey, Stormy, Father Huffer said you might have work for me." An all to familiar voice called from the rear of the healing ward. "You in here – Oh, hey Ratchet."

"'Jack." Ratchet nodded, "How do you know this yarrow sprite?"

"Uh – he's a friend of a friend?" Jack replied, voice nervous.

"Get over here," Ratchet barked with a huff, drawing 'Jack to the patient while explaining the assembly he needed and tended to the more grevious of hurts. "How are you not par broiled?"

"Pax Crystalia was built over several ancient cities. Prowl discovered the tunnels that remain of the old cities long ago and now we patrol them." Audio fins flashed merrily as he worked, slowly disassembling the ruined leg to obtain the exact measurement for the replacement. "This entire area once was a massive city called Minthril. About ten thousand years ago a demon known only as 'the beast' brought elementals to take over the city. Instead, they destroyed it."

Ratchet blinked as he worked, "Was that demon related to the beast of Kanon?"

"They're one and the same." Sun Storm spoke up finally, "And he was never a demon, only a very powerful and now very old nightwalker. He was also a very dangerous one from the beginning. Most nightwalkers were too proud to breed with non nightwalker or mortal partners, but he would. He sired young with those of the Primus veil, lycans, werewolves, darklings and fae. His worst were an unstable pair known as Runamuck and Runabout. His best, and unfortunately his most misunderstood were Spin-out and Skid-Out. Both pairs were colored crimson and gold, so, when the foolish priest Alpha Trion sought to make himself the next Pope he captured the wrong pair. Spin-Out and his brother were sealed for all eternity while Runamuch and his insane brother roamed free."

"What do you mean, most misunderstood?" Sideswipe asked from where he and Sunstreaker leaned against the infirmary wall.

"I met them once, long ago, they were still small. They had been raised in cages, split spark twins sealed in small isolation boxes when they were not tearing apart mechs and beasts of all types in gladiator rings. The pair, born of a Primus veil lycan and their nightwalker sire, held a great resistance to high grade. They could drink it with minimal burns, could ingest energon laced with cold iron and silver. Their only weakness was sunlight. As lycans are kept from transforming by daylight, so they had no immunity to its rays. If they were ever caught outside they would become ash.

"However, despite their trained cruelty, and cold upbringing they had sparks. They were good younglings, and hopefully grew up into good mechs. Yes, once they grew older they followed their master's will and killed, turned innocents into ghouls and even bit one of the noble Iacon family. However, they never raped, they never killed for fun. And, since they were heavily controlled by their master their sins could easily be layed at the feet of the beast with them as little more than weapons."

Sun Storm sighed, "I wish they could be freed, others of my kind, normally slaughtered by nightwalkers as we can counter their curse were left alone by the pair. They never hurt any Lus na Fala," he looked to Ratchet with a kind smile, "Or any of your 'Dubhan ceann chòsach'."

"Any of my what?" Ratchet asked blankly, processors spinning furiously as he tried to recall such a name.

"Children of the Earth, known as the dawn fae." Sunstreaker replied looking straight at Ratchet, "They have optics as green as new grass, they live forever, care only for others and can heal any wound."

"Dawn fae?" Wheeljack scoffed, "Primus that's a good one, that was a myth in the time of the first Primes."

"No, not a myth." Sun Storm replied gently, "They are few, yes, but they exist. I was friends with an entire clan until one of their young was stolen by nightwalkers twenty-eight years ago."

The yarrow sprite's words stunned 'Jack. Dawn fae were the only natural enemy the nightwalkers had. Dawn fae were life incarnate, capable of reverting the long changed nightwalkers back into mortals. Capable of overcoming the nightwalker's kiss – those words brought back words he had not thought on in the month since he had last seen his brother.

"Yup, definitely your son." Hound spoke, nodding to 'Hide and Chromia. "He smells like you, regardless of the change."

'Jack stared at the green mech, audio indicators flashing in an uncomfortable strobing effect, "That's impossible. I'm adopted."

Those words from the green infiltrator on their swift ride to the former Steeldale still haunted him, only the story his creators had told him after Ratchet had left disturbed him more, and now with great reason.

"'Jack," Chromia called softly in the early dawn after Ratchet's frame had vanished down the road, "We need to tell you something." His femme creator shifted nervously, uncertainty radiating from the normally calm features.

"Son, what Hound said, 'bout you bein' our son by spark, he was tellin' the truth." Ironhide moved his gaze from the distant trees that masked Ratchet's path and finally met Wheeljack's optics, "You were stolen from us soon after you were sparked. One of our last hunts had come back ta haunt us. A 'walker had slipped us an' sole ye."

"What your creator isn't sayin' is that when I found out I was with spark we gave up hunting. We wanted our younglin' ta be safe and free from the fear of our prey. That one stole you and for nearly a decade we searched, looking for a husk of a frame.

"Then we found another den, one with a turned younglin' lavender optics and a pearlescent white frame. We thought it was you." Chromia cupped the masked face gruffly, the closest to coddling either of her sons she ever offered. "We fought them and saved the youngling, only when he saw us his optics turned blue."

Wheeljack looked at Chromia stunned. It was impossible for a nightwalker to become mortal, and only those freshly turned could revert if their makers were slain within the week of changing. "That was Ratchet?"

"Yes, he came with us and as he grew had no memories of the nightwalkers or being stolen by them. By the time we found you, still the same tiny youngling you had been when you were taken from us, he had become our son. We wanted to slay you. For being a nightwalker, but Ratchet wouldn't let us. He wanted a brother and you were so tiny he felt he could teach you to stop hunting.

"Ratchet is why you still live. And, he assumed we were adopting you. The story worked for everyone who knew us, that we had adopted a nightwalker youngling to try to train it from huntin'." Chromia smiled sadly.

"But when we moved to the city no one would trust a nightwalker and that was when Ratchet started going to the medical academy." Wheeljack remembered, thinking back with a small smile on how he had begun biting his brother to make him change. He had wanted nothing else than to keep his brother with him forever. That was when they had discovered Ratchet was immune.

Sighing, Wheeljack lowered his face mask revealing his perfect face plating that made him a very hansome nightwalker. "You didn't tell either of us to keep us safe. I can't say I understand, but I'll try." With that Jack smiled at his parents, his soft grin revealing the gaps in his denta where Ratchet had pulled his fangs out after being bitten once too many.

"They never grew back?" Ironhide asked with a chuckle.

"Nope, number one rule with Ratchet, don't bite the healer."

Chromia laughed, "I thought that was 'never frag the healer off."

'Jack nodded, "Biting frags him off, same difference."

"Primus 'Jack! Watch what you're doing!" Ratchet snarled, shoving 'Jack from the patient they were working on. Refocusing his optics on what he had been doing Wheeljack stared in horror at the stripped wires he had crossed that now arced electricity violently across the unintended join that shorted vital circuits leading the mech's spinal struts.

Ratchet moved like lightning, disconnecting the power source to the lower extremities and immediately shunting past the damaged plating, rerouting vital power lines around the damaged area to prevent necrosis to the remaining leg. Finger moving with deft certainty Ratchet's maneuvers had even Brother Sun Storm's optics widening in surprise. No mortal should be able to move that fast.

'Jack clung to that thought even as he moved the yarrow sprite to give Ratchet more room. 'No mortal should be able to move as fast as Ratchet does with a patient, yet he does. No mortal should be immune to the nightwalker's kiss, yet he is.' The nightwalker shifted nervously watching his brother move with nervous optics.

:: His optics :: Sunstreaker nudged his brother across the bond, both training their gazes on Ratchet's slowly changing optics – cobalt blue that shifted into the rarest of optic colors, becoming green. The rich pale green of new grass, darkened with the deep verdant hue of long lived evergreen. Those optics held the intense gaze Ratchet always trained on the twins, one they would do anything to keep on them.

:: Dubhan ceann chòsach, Dawn fae, Children of the Earth, Eternal Healers :: Sideswipe's mental voice was barely a whisper, ::He's one, he's immortal. :: The glee that came with his words infected Sunstreaker's half of their shared spark making the pair grin madly despite Ratchet's frantic fight to save a life, he's immortal.


A/N: The weird names for the dawn fae and yarrow sprites are real Scottish Galic plant name for Yarrow and Self-Heal AKA Heart o' the Earth. Any strange mech names come straight from , so there are no OC's here.

... Oh what tortures to put upon our favorite trio next ...