CHAPTER 7: CREATIVE BLOCK
Stormsurge found herself gripped by another nightmare, one that seized her the moment she drifted off to sleep. It began in the vastness of a black void, oppressive and empty. But soon, the darkness began to shift, swirling shades of grey and white surrounding her like a rising storm. Then came the sound, the echo of her own voice, screaming in agony. It was unbearable, her cries filling the air, desperate pleas to be let out, to be saved, interspersed with sobs and gasps for breath. Her voice broke with terror, begging for release from some invisible torment. Above her, phantom tears dripped down like rain, the sound sharp against the silence.
Suddenly, she felt it: the cold, unyielding bite of a manacle around her ankle. She scrambled to pull it off, but it clamped tighter with each struggle. A heavy chain appeared, snaking out from the darkness, pulling her. With a sudden lurch, she was dragged violently across the floor. She felt herself falling, helpless, as the chain dragged her further and further into some unseen, dreaded place. Her limbs felt weak, as though all the energy had been drained from her. Her mind became hazy, fogged like a half-remembered nightmare from when she was left without enough energy for too long. The disorientation was overwhelming, she could no longer tell how long she'd been trapped here, or what planet she was on.
And then, the voice. A voice that she knew she shouldn't be hearing, one she'd thought she'd escaped long ago. It came through the haze, chilling her spark. "You aren't going anywhere. Cause down here, it's just the two of us."
Her heart raced as the words brought back a flood of memories she wished she could forget. The voice was followed by shouts, screams, and the suffocating sensation of a metal collar clamping around her neck, choking her, robbing her of breath, it's chain pulling her neck back while the one around her ankle pulled her forward. And then BANG! the sound of a door slamming shut with a deafening, concussive thud.
Stormsurge jolted awake, gasping for air, her frame cold as ice. Her vibrant colors, usually so steady, were muted, as if the nightmare had drained the life from her. She blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the lingering shadows. She was still in her room in the base in Chicago, far away from that other place. Her optics darted around the room in panic.
She clasped her neck, no collar. She touched her ankle, no manacle. She stood quickly, pacing in disoriented panic as she checked the door, trembling as she turned the handle. It was unlocked. She was free. But the nightmare still clung to her, she could still see the damp, colorless walls of that room, still hear the oppressive voice echoing in her mind. And the sensation of the chains, tight around her, felt too real to shake.
Stormsurge stumbled out of her room, desperate to shake off the lingering terror that clung to her mind. Her legs felt unsteady beneath her, barely carrying her through the dimly lit corridors of the base. Each step was a struggle, as if the nightmare still had its hold on her body, making her systems sluggish and her thoughts murky. She didn't know where she was going, she just needed to move, to escape the memories that still echoed so vividly in her mind.
Her wandering led her to the atrium, where the soft flicker of the television broke the silence. She peeked in and saw Jeopardy, nodding off on the couch, barely paying attention to the late-night show playing on the screen. The dim light reflected off his tired frame.
Jeopardy stirred, noticing her standing in the doorway. "Can't sleep?" he asked gently, his voice laced with concern as he muted the tv to better hear what she might say.
She didn't answer. She couldn't, the words got stuck in her throat.
"Storm, you alright?" he asked again, sitting up straighter now, more alert.
She shook her head, unable to meet his gaze, her thoughts still trapped in the nightmare.
Jeopardy sighed, a knowing look crossing his face. "Oh, I think I know what's going on. Nightmare?"
She nodded, her optics still distant, haunted.
"Yeah, I've got experience with those," he said empathetically, patting the spot next to him, making room for her. Slowly, Stormsurge moved toward the couch, sitting beside him without a word, her optics fixed on the television but not really seeing it.
"Want to do the yes or no thing again?" Jeopardy offered, his voice soft and understanding.
She nodded.
"Alright," he began, settling into his role of quiet support. "Is this a new development?"
She shook her head.
"Did this start before you left Cybertron?"
She nodded her head.
"Do you want to discuss the contents of the nightmare?"
Her head shook, this time more forcefully.
"Understandable," he said, his tone gentle. "Sometimes they're hard to verbalize. Are these nightmares repetitive? Is it the same thing each time?"
She nodded, her fingers curling slightly, betraying the tension that still lingered in her systems. After a pause, she finally asked in a small voice, "You said you had nightmares too?"
Jeopardy exhaled softly, his optics dimming slightly as memories flickered behind them. "Yeah, and I wish I had the kind of support I'm giving you now. But you know how Kalisian warriors are, hardly the type to offer comfort."
Stormsurge shifted slightly, her voice more hesitant. "What kind of nightmares?"
"It's been the same things since the last days on Cybertron. It's always the same person: First Aid. The screams from the ambush, the day he died, they echo. I see his face, and he'll call me a fraud, say I failed him, that I'm not worthy of wearing these patches." Jeopardy's gaze fell to his hands as he rubbed his shoulder, tracing the medic's patch that had become both a badge of honor and a weight of guilt.
Stormsurge looked at him, seeing the weight he carried, the pain hidden behind his calm demeanor.
"Then other times," Jeopardy continued, his voice steady but hollow, "it's memories being replayed, over and over. Battles I barely survived, sometimes I wish I hadn't. The 'Cons dropped everything on us during those final days. Tox-En, Cosmic Rust, Cybonic Plague... you name it. The Tox-En is always the worst," he said, his voice dropping. "My battalion abandoned me in the clouds after the Cons dropped a Tox-En shell on us, and even in the dream I can feel it enter my systems. I can barely see, I can barely hear, and it feels like I'm coughing up my own spark chamber."
Stormsurge shuddered, her own nightmare still fresh in her mind. "How do they usually end?" she asked quietly, almost afraid to hear the answer.
Jeopardy looked at her, a sadness in his optics that cut through the dark room. "Not very well," he admitted. The silence that followed was thick with unspoken pain, the kind that only those who had seen too much could truly understand.
"I don't think I can sleep again," Stormsurge said, her voice soft, still carrying the weight of the nightmare.
"Then you can stay here with me tonight," Jeopardy offered.
"And do what?"
"Eh, watch TV, talk. We don't even need to sleep. Just the two of us, all night."
Stormsurge echoed his words thoughtfully, "Just the two of us..." The idea, which once would have filled her with anxiety and dread, with Jeopardy now made her feel something she hadn't in ages: safe. Truly safe. Jeopardy wasn't just her medic or her protector; he was her friend, someone she could trust with the parts of herself she'd kept hidden from the others.
Jeopardy shifted the conversation, breaking the lingering silence. "So, you wanna tell me about what you saw at the Art Institute?"
Stormsurge took a deep breath, her tone lightening as she replied, "I had fun."
"See any good art? Good colors and shapes?"
"Colors and shapes?" she asked, raising a brow, his awkward phrasing almost breaking her out of her mood.
"I'm not that good with art. I'm assuming it's a lot more complicated than that," Jeopardy admitted with a chuckle. "You're the artist, so I'm relying on your judgment."
"Seeing another species' art is very… what's the word… illuminating. It's like seeing how a completely different set of optics looks at the world."
"Like what, different types of red?" Jeopardy asked, still grappling with the concept.
"More like different interpretations," Stormsurge explained, her words flowing more easily now. "When I paint, it's all geometric and coordinated. You can tell what I'm making. But they don't do that. It's all flowing and curvaceous, and they leave things up to interpretation."
"Sounds hard to understand," Jeopardy said, clearly trying to wrap his head around the idea.
"It is at first, but for me, it's all clicking."
"Maybe you could try remaking that," he suggested, his eyes lighting up with encouragement.
Stormsurge paused for a moment, considering. "Now that you mention it, it has been a while since I picked up a stylus."
"And now, here on Earth, we have a chance to indulge those talents."
"Yeah..." she said, feeling the spark of inspiration begin to glow inside her. The idea of painting again felt like reconnecting with an old friend.
Jeopardy grinned mischievously, "Wanna raid Hermit's workshop for art stuffs and such?"
"Stuffs and such?" Stormsurge repeated with a raised optic ridge, amused by his awkward phrasing, now broken from the nightmare's lethargic hold by his companionship.
"Again, following your lead on this one," he said, hands up in playful surrender.
"Maybe later, right now I just wanna sit here," Stormsurge smiled, the tension from her nightmare finally faded away as she stood up to join Jeopardy. This night might turn out better than she had imagined.
That morning, Slipstream wandered into a room connected to the atrium, her optics widening as she took in the sight. The walls were covered in paint splatters and sketches, like an explosion of creativity. Stormsurge was in the middle of explaining something to Jeopardy, her hand gesturing toward a half-finished painting.
"Ok, so if I'm hearing this right," Jeopardy said, squinting at the artwork, "you're just making the colors brighter and darker to make parts look better?"
"It's more complex than that, but that's the bare essentials of contrast," Stormsurge replied with a small nod, clearly amused by his attempt.
"Hey, what's all... this?" Slipstream asked, stepping further into the room.
Jeopardy looked over at her and grinned. "I guess Stormsurge's new studio. She had a rough night, so we started doing this to help her feel better."
"Did it work?" Slipstream asked, curious.
"Oh yeah," Stormsurge said, her voice lighter than before. "I love getting to do this again."
Slipstream picked up one of the sketches, tilting it toward the light. "Is this Impulse?" She asked, trying to recognize the figure depicted.
"Yeah," Stormsurge replied, laughing softly. "I'm shaking off the rust on my skills, and I've always found people the easiest to draw."
"It looks… it's close," Slipstream complimented, tracing her fingers along the paper. It got the basic features down, but the details were muddied. It was clear Stormsurge indeed still had some rust to shake off.
"You at least got where Slipstream shot him in the foot," Jeopardy added with a smirk, pointing at the sketch.
"That was the hardest part 'cause I was trying to remember which foot he got shot in," Stormsurge admitted.
"Did you make any of me?" Slipstream asked, her tone laced with curiosity.
"Not yet, but I could try that," Stormsurge agreed, already eyeing Slipstream as if mapping out how to sketch her. "I was also going to experiment with some human styles."
"What's human art like?" Slipstream asked, glancing at the colorful mess around the room.
"A lot more abstract and symbolic," Stormsurge explained. "Their modern style is up to interpretation. It's about the deeper meaning, not just what you see on the surface."
Jeopardy chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "The kind of deeper meaning that goes right over my head. I like to consider myself intelligent, but honestly, this whole art scene makes me feel like a lobotomite."
"I kind of get it," Slipstream said, still holding the sketch.
"I guess some people are just better at this stuff," Jeopardy mused, glancing between them.
"You probably just haven't had that much exposure to art," Slipstream suggested with a small shrug.
"That is true," Jeopardy admitted. "The most I've ever done is anatomical studies when I was training to be a medic."
"And were they any good?" Stormsurge asked, intrigued.
"Well, I don't have any of them anymore, but First Aid said they were 'passable,'" Jeopardy said, both proud and a bit embarrassed at his lack of talent.
"So, a solid 6/10?" Stormsurge teased.
"That sounds about right." Jeopardy laughed.
Impulse burst into the room with a chaotic energy, arms full of ice cream bars, "Hey guys, there's this truck driving around with this stuff called ice cream, and it tastes AWESOME! So I chased it down to get more for you guys and also more for me. I didn't know what you'd want, so I just took all of it," he announced proudly, holding up melting ice cream bars in both hands.
Slipstream raised an optic ridge, pointing at his midsection. "Impulse, you're kind of… leaking."
"Aw man, I had the Choco Tacos in there! Did you know they almost got discontinued for something called 'cultural appropriation?'" Impulse said, looking down at the stream of ice cream melting out of his abdominal storage spaces and dripping onto the floor. He wiped the sticky mess on his torso. "Oh, what do I do with this?"
Jeopardy pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Dude, go clean yourself."
"Good idea! I haven't bathed since the Exodus!" Impulse exclaimed, sprinting out of the room, leaving a trail of ice cream in his wake. As he ran out of the base, they could feel the ground tremble slightly beneath his heavy steps. A second later, a booming voice echoed from outside, "CANNONBALL!" followed by a loud splash as he jumped into the river.
Stormsurge blinked, looking at Slipstream. "Did that make sense to any of you?"
"I still don't understand what he was talking about," Jeopardy admitted.
"Something called ice cream?" Slipstream recalled, tilting her head.
Jeopardy shook his head, laughing softly. "Well, I think with that I'll excuse myself and go check on Hermit. You going to be alright, Storm?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Stormsurge replied with a smile, watching him head out.
Slipstream then turned to Stormsurge, curiosity lighting up her optics. "Can you show me how to do all this?" she asked, gesturing to the art supplies scattered around the room.
Stormsurge grinned, excited at the idea. "I love that you asked me that."
After a few hours of guiding Slipstream through the basics of painting, Stormsurge found herself grappling with her own artistic block. She'd been trying to recreate the abstract styles she'd seen at the Chicago Art Institute, yet each attempt felt frustratingly off, like she was missing some key element.
Meanwhile, Slipstream, arms smeared with paint and charcoal, had finally figured out how to draw circles. "Hey Storm, does this look right?" she asked, proudly displaying her latest creation.
Stormsurge glanced over from her canvas to check Slipstream's work. "Yeah, that looks like a good circle," she confirmed, smiling at Slipstream's enthusiasm.
With her own project still unsatisfying, Stormsurge invited Slipstream to take a look. "Now take a look at this, how does it look?" She stepped aside to let Slipstream see her latest abstract piece.
Slipstream squinted at the painting, trying to make sense of it. "Yeah... I don't know what I'm looking at."
"Me neither," Stormsurge sighed. "This is my sixth try, and I can't see anything in it."
"Well, what are you doing?" Slipstream asked, genuinely curious.
"I'm trying to match what I saw from the humans. I took some reference photos at the Art Institute, and I've been sticking close to their style."
"Are the photos good?"
"They're clear," Stormsurge confirmed, though she was beginning to doubt that clarity was the issue.
Slipstream tilted her head, studying the pictures Stormsurge had taken. "It could be you're missing something. Look, in this one, I can see a face, and in that one, a bird. But I don't see any of that in yours."
Stormsurge looked at her painting again. "So familiar but not entirely recognizable shapes and motifs are what I should aim for?"
"Yeah, that sounds about right. Your painting just looks like random lines and colors, but the human ones seem like they're almost making a face or a bird but then, like, gave up halfway through."
"Okay," Stormsurge said, her frustration easing as Slipstream's observation began to make sense. "So, more structure... but not committing to anything. I think I get it now."
After a few minutes of staring at the blank canvas, Stormsurge found herself wrestling with a familiar frustration. Now that she had a better idea of how to approach abstract art, she didn't know what to make. She glanced over at Slipstream, who was painting without a care in the world: four simple faces, floating above squiggles and lines.
"What's that?" Stormsurge asked.
"Oh, I saw it at Navy Pier in a little picture someone was selling. It was this mountain with four people's faces, and they were very big. I don't know, I just thought it looked cool," Slipstream explained, then glanced at Stormsurge's mostly untouched side of the studio. "Where'd yours go?"
Stormsurge sighed. "Well, I was thinking about what you suggested, and now I'm feeling stuck. What do you think I should make?"
Slipstream shrugged, still focused on her painting. "I don't know, you're the artist. Just do whatever you first think of."
"That's the problem," Stormsurge admitted. "I can't think of anything."
Slipstream stopped to nibble on a piece of charcoal, the black substance smearing her lips almost like lipstick, considering Stormsurge's dilemma. "Maybe you just need some new ideas."
Stormsurge pondered that for a moment. "You know what, that might be it," she realized, perking up. "I've been cooped up in here all day and night. Maybe I just need some new scenery."
"What kind of scenery?" Slipstream asked, now having eaten the whole charcoal stick while brainstorming.
Stormsurge looked again at the faces Slipstream had painted and an idea began to form. "What about those four dudes' faces carved into a mountain? Do you know where that place is?"
"Some place called Mount Rushmore," Slipstream answered, recalling the name.
"Mount Rushmore," Stormsurge repeated, her optics gleaming with interest. "That sounds inspirational. Wanna help me find it?"
Slipstream grinned. "Sounds fun, I'm in."
"Great! Let's head out," Stormsurge said, already feeling her creative block loosening as she imagined what kind of art she could make inspired by such a monumental place.
Exiting the Autobot base on Goose Island, Slipstream was buzzing with excitement. "This'll be fun, getting to go across the planet with you! See new things, find more of that black stuff," she said, referring to the charcoal still smeared on her hands, "and get to know each other."
Stormsurge smiled at her enthusiasm. "I am curious what's out there other than Chicago and Wisconsin."
"What's Wisconsin?"
"This big forested area up north."
"Is it cool?"
"It's more… therapeutic than cool."
"Oh… so do you know where we're going?" Slipstream asked, her excitement undimmed.
"Uh… no," Stormsurge admitted, realizing she didn't actually know the way. "I'll ask Jeopardy." She turned and shouted into the base, "HEY JEOPARDY, WHERE'S MOUNT RUSHMORE?!"
From inside, they heard a muffled reply. "I DON'T KNOW," Jeopardy called back, before shouting, "SIMMONS, WHERE'S MOUNT RUSHMORE?!"
There was some indistinct muttering, then Jeopardy's voice echoed out again, "AND HOW DO THEY GET THERE?"
A pause, followed by, "OKAY, THANK YOU." Jeopardy finally shouted, "SOUTH DAKOTA! FOLLOW THE I-90 TO MADISON, THEN TURN LEFT! IT'S FOUR BIG FACES CARVED INTO A MOUNTAIN, CAN'T MISS IT!"
"ALRIGHT, THANK YOU!" Stormsurge replied, giving Slipstream a confident nod.
"CALL ME IF YOU GET LOST!" Jeopardy shouted out as a final send off.
"Sounds simple enough," Slipstream said, transforming into her jet alt-mode and soaring into the sky, with Stormsurge right behind her in her helicopter alt-mode, both excited for the journey ahead.
After a full day of travel, Slipstream and Stormsurge touched down in the Black Hills of South Dakota, landing behind the observation platform near Mount Rushmore.
"How is this planet so big?" Slipstream marveled. "What was that, a whole day of flying?"
"We did get a bit sidetracked, and don't forget we stopped for the night," Stormsurge reminded her.
"Yeah, but it was so worth it. You were right, Wisconsin is very... what was the word?"
"Therapeutic," Stormsurge answered as they began walking toward the monument. As they came into full view of Mount Rushmore, both paused to take it in.
"Wow, it's a lot bigger than I imagined," Stormsurge remarked, her gaze fixed on the stone faces.
"Who do you think those are supposed to be?" Slipstream asked, squinting at the massive carvings.
"They've gotta be pretty important to get their faces carved into a mountain." Stormsurge suggested.
"I want my face carved into a mountain," Slipstream added with a grin.
Stormsurge chuckled, then found a spot to sit by the observation deck. She let her optics take in the scene as the sun cast warm hues on the stone. "You were right, this is awe-inspiring."
"And it just looks really cool," Slipstream added, her gaze scanning the monument in awe.
Stormsurge was lost in the view, but Slipstream had another idea. "I bet there's a great view on top of the mountain."
"I don't think they want us up there," Stormsurge said, hesitant.
"Oh, come on, Storm. You like nature and landscapes, right?"
"Yeah…"
"Then imagine all the stuff you'll be able to see up there. Think about all the inspiration you could get for your art."
Stormsurge hesitated for a moment. "It has been a while since I've worked on landscapes."
"Exactly! Race you to the top!" Slipstream said, transforming into her jet mode and flying toward the summit.
Before she could even stand up, Slipstream was already at the top, calling out, "Woah, this planet is huge!"
Stormsurge transformed and flew up after her, quietly smiling at her friend's excitement. This spontaneous trip was just what she needed.
Arriving at the top and standing by Slipstream, Stormsurge took in the endless expanse from the top of Mount Rushmore. "Wow, you were right," she said, her gaze sweeping over the vast landscape. "It looks so much bigger up here."
"Feels inspirational, right?" Slipstream grinned, her own optics reflecting the sun's orange glow.
"Oh, yes. I'm feeling it," Stormsurge agreed, pulling out a stylus and drawing board. She let her hand move freely, capturing the view with quick, practiced strokes. After a few minutes, she tilted the board for Slipstream to see. "How does it look?"
Slipstream's eyes widened in amazement as she glanced between the drawing and the real landscape. "Wow… that's, like, almost the same thing exactly."
"Guess all I needed to shake off the last of the rust was a new view," Stormsurge replied, a rare, genuine smile lighting up her face.
"Yeah, that sketch is awesome," Slipstream said, looking out at the horizon as the sky deepened to shades of pink and violet. She watched the sun inch lower, then had an idea. "Hey, you wanna try spending the night up here?"
Stormsurge looked at her, surprised, then back out at the view. She'd felt a rare peace being up here with Slipstream, a quiet moment that was all their own. "I wouldn't be against it," she agreed, settling in for a night under the stars.
As night settled over Mount Rushmore, Slipstream arranged a small stack of sticks she'd gathered, attempting to recreate something she'd seen humans do on TV. "I saw them put sticks together like this... but I don't know how they got the orange stuff to come out."
"You mean fire?" Stormsurge asked, amused.
"Yeah, fire," Slipstream clarified.
"I think I still remember how to do this." Stormsurge leaned in, expertly sparking a small flame to life. It caught on the dry sticks, soon growing into a warm, flickering campfire between them.
Slipstream's optics lit up in admiration. "Wow, where'd you learn that?"
"I've been camping before," Stormsurge said with a shrug.
"Is that what we're doing now?" Slipstream asked, intrigued.
"I'd say so." Stormsurge gave a faint smile, her expression softened by the firelight as she let herself sink into the memory. "Once, when I was working on a commission on Eukaris, I met this Maximal named Nightshade—"
"What's a Maximal?" Slipstream interrupted.
"They're like us, only instead of vehicles, they transform into creatures."
"Whoa... what did Nightshade turn into?"
Stormsurge stared thoughtfully, as if visualizing the familiar Maximal. "An owl, I think. Anyway, Nightshade had been watching me work on this enormous mural, and somehow we struck up a conversation. Next thing I knew, they invited me to join them for a night in the canopies."
"Really? What was that like?"
Stormsurge glanced out at the landscape, now blanketed under the moonlight. The way the trees cast long shadows over the hills brought her back to the dense, vibrant jungles of Eukaris. "A lot like this, actually. Quiet, beautiful, and with a whole world spread out before us."
Slipstream tilted her head thoughtfully, watching Stormsurge. "And this was... before the War?"
"Oh, this was WAY before the War," Stormsurge confirmed, a wistful tone in her voice as she stared into the flickering flames, letting herself remember what it was like to feel free.
"What were you doing during the War?" Slipstream asked, her curiosity innocent but piercing.
Stormsurge visibly tightened, her posture stiffening as if the very question stirred something deep and painful. "I'd rather not discuss it," she said, her voice quieter, more strained.
"Why?" Slipstream pressed, still innocent but unaware of the weight of her question.
"It's… it's not a topic I'm comfortable with."
"Why?"
Stormsurge paused, struggling to find the right words. But the more she tried to explain, the more the memories began to flood back, uninvited and suffocating. Her breathing grew heavier, her optics fixed on the fire as if it held her there, trapping her in those terrible recollections. The crackle of the flames blurred with the distant sounds of anguish from her past, pulling her deeper into the horror she wanted so desperately to forget.
Suddenly, a soft voice cut through. "Storm, you alright?" Slipstream's voice was small but genuine, snapping Stormsurge out of her spiraling thoughts.
Stormsurge blinked and turned her gaze back to Slipstream, realizing how far she'd slipped. "Can we please change the subject?" she asked, her voice betraying a vulnerability she rarely let show.
Slipstream was taken aback. Until now, Stormsurge had always seemed like the calm, collected one, the experienced femme who had everything under control. But now, she looked shaken, not by something outside, but by something inside her own mind, something that haunted her deeply.
"Yeah, we can do that," Slipstream agreed gently, trying to shift the mood. "How did you get into art?"
Grateful for the change in topic, Stormsurge took a deep breath, allowing herself to relax again. "I was just kind of… born into it. It's always felt natural to me."
"Do you think I'm good at it?"
Stormsurge hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right balance between honesty and encouragement. "You're good… for a beginner. But I'm not sure why you think eating the charcoal is a good idea," she added with a light chuckle.
"Impulse eats stuff all the time. Plus, I like it, it's… smoky."
"You're not supposed to eat it."
"I know, but sometimes I don't know what to do with it, and chewing on it helps me think."
Stormsurge raised an optic ridge, but she smiled slightly. "I guess that makes sense, I think… just don't make a habit out of eating everything you can hold."
Slipstream grinned. "Got it. Just the charcoal."
Stormsurge let out a long, slow yawn, the lure of sleep settling over her. "I think it's time to call it a night," she said, gently putting out the campfire. The flames dimmed, but not all light was lost. Slipstream looked up and froze, her optics wide as she took in the sky above them.
"WOAH, what's that?!" Slipstream gasped, stunned by the vast tapestry of shimmering lights spread across the sky.
Stormsurge looked up and smiled, amused by Slipstream's reaction. "Oh, that's just the Milky Way."
"Has it always been there?"
"Yeah, it's just that the lights in the city block it out," Stormsurge explained.
Slipstream continued to stare, her voice quieter but filled with awe. "What is it?"
"That's the rest of the galaxy," Stormsurge replied, her own voice growing softer. "All those lights you see… they're stars."
"And one of those is Cybertron?" Slipstream asked, her optics still fixed on the countless specks of light.
Stormsurge shook her head. "I don't know," she admitted, feeling a faint pull of nostalgia. "Tell you what, you can spend the night trying to figure that out. I'm gonna try and catch up on some sleep."
"Alright," Slipstream whispered, unable to look away from the endless stars as Stormsurge lay back and began to drift off, the quiet of the night wrapping around them both.
Slipstream stayed there, transfixed, letting her thoughts drift along the quiet hum of the night. The stars felt almost alive, as though they held secrets waiting to be told. She stretched her hands out as if she could catch a bit of their light, feel the warmth of worlds she could only dream of visiting. In that moment, the galaxy didn't feel like the cold, unknown vastness she would have feared when she'd first woken up in this strange world. Now, it felt almost like an invitation, a vast open canvas where anything seemed possible.
"Wow…" she whispered to herself, her mind spinning with questions she didn't even know she had. Each star felt like a mystery, some distant home or a place she'd never seen, and yet they were all out there, quietly burning through the vastness of space. Slipstream tried to imagine which of those tiny pinpricks of light might be Cybertron, a place she once called home, though it was all but a blur in her mind.
"You still awake?" she whispered, glancing at Stormsurge, who had already slipped into a peaceful rest, her breathing slow and steady.
With a small, contented sigh, Slipstream settled in beside her friend, letting the comforting sounds of Stormsurge's quiet breathing and the gentle night breeze lull her as she watched the stars wheel slowly above.
As Slipstream lay watching the stars, she soon noticed Stormsurge stirring beside her. She glanced over, curious to see if her friend had woken up. Instead, she saw Stormsurge shifting restlessly in her sleep, her movements turning from soft, unconscious adjustments to tense, sudden jolts. Slipstream's curiosity shifted to concern as she noticed Stormsurge's face contorting, her brows furrowed and her mouth twitching in discomfort. Then came the faint murmurs, low and distressed, almost lost in the night air.
"No… no," Stormsurge muttered, her voice barely a whisper. "Stop… get off me."
Slipstream's optics widened as she realized Stormsurge was having some kind of nightmare, but she didn't fully understand what was happening. Her instincts told her to wake Stormsurge, so she reached over, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder, and gently shook her.
"Storm?" she whispered. When there was no response, Slipstream tried again, shaking a little harder.
This time, Stormsurge jolted awake with a sharp gasp, her optics snapping open as if yanked from the depths of her nightmare. In an instant, she grabbed one of her rotor blades, her hand trembling as she held it like a weapon, her face filled with raw, defensive fear.
"Woah, woah! Storm, it's me, Slipstream!" Slipstream stammered, raising her hands in a cautious surrender as she scrambled back. "I'm sorry, I… I thought you were in pain. I just wanted to help."
For a moment, Stormsurge's gaze was unfocused, lost in the lingering shadows of her nightmare. But then her expression softened, the blade clattering from her hand as exhaustion swept over her. Her shoulders slumped, and before Slipstream could say anything more, Stormsurge collapsed to her knees, overcome with silent, wracking sobs, her breaths coming fast and shallow.
Slipstream hesitated, unsure of what to do, but instinct pushed her forward. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around Stormsurge, pulling her friend into a gentle embrace, hoping that somehow, just by being there, she could help ease whatever unseen burden was crushing her. It felt like the right thing to do.
Stormsurge's breathing gradually slowed, the hyperventilating giving way to deep, ragged breaths. Her sobs, once loud and heart-wrenching, softened to quiet whimpers and then faded entirely.
"Are… you alright?" Slipstream asked hesitantly, unsure if her friend had fully calmed down.
"…No," Stormsurge finally whispered.
"Why?" Slipstream asked, her voice soft but filled with concern.
"I don't know." Stormsurge's voice cracked as she sat up, rubbing her face with the back of her hand. "I thought when we came here, all of it would go away, but it came back."
"What came back?" Slipstream asked gently.
Stormsurge's optics remained fixed on the ground as she spoke, her words trembling with pain. "This… this horrible thing. Night after night, reliving the worst stellar cycles of my life. But no matter what I do, they don't stop."
Before Slipstream could respond, Stormsurge's voice grew louder, more strained. "I thought once I got out of that hole in the ground, I'd never have to think about it again. I thought it was over! But then the nightmares started, and I couldn't escape them. And when we left Cybertron, it felt like maybe they'd finally go away. I felt… hope. But now? Now they're back, and I don't know what to do!"
Her words came out in a rush, escalating into a scream of frustration. "It's like my body is fighting my mind, constantly asking if I'm really safe or if I'm still trapped in that damn bunker. I'm trapped! Every night, I'm stuck in that hell all over again, and every time I wake up, I just want to rip my processor out of my head and tell it to make it stop. I just want to sleep! Is that too much to ask?" Her voice broke as she slumped back into Slipstream's arms, exhausted and defeated. "Honestly, Slipstream… I'm jealous of you. I wish I could wake up tomorrow and not remember anything. At least then I wouldn't have to replay these horrible memories every time I close my optics."
Slipstream held her a little tighter. "But… then you wouldn't remember me, or Jeopardy, or Impulse, or Hermit Crab."
Stormsurge's voice was barely audible as she whispered, "I know. I'm just so tired… but I'm scared to close my optics again."
Slipstream bit her lip, trying to think of something, anything, that could help. She wasn't a medic like Jeopardy; she didn't know how to fix this. But then, an idea, strange as it was, popped into her head.
"What if this time, when you go to sleep… you sleep next to me? Instead of across the campfire? We could just lie down, hugging, so that when you dream, I'm there, hugging you. Maybe… maybe it'll help?" Slipstream suggested, feeling slightly awkward but hopeful.
Stormsurge looked at her, considering the idea. "I-I'd be open to that," she said, her voice quieter now, her exhaustion palpable. It was a level of physical connection she'd not had with anyone else, but at this point she was willing to try anything if it meant she'd get a good night's sleep.
They lay down together, Slipstream wrapping her arms around Stormsurge in a protective embrace. Stormsurge clung to her, as if holding onto Slipstream could keep the nightmares at bay. For the first time in a long while, Stormsurge let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she might find peace in her sleep.
That morning, Stormsurge woke up, still holding onto Slipstream, who was fast asleep beside her. Slowly, carefully, she disentangled herself and sat up, gazing out at the horizon where the sun was just beginning its rise. The soft, golden light bathed the mountaintop, painting the sky in gentle hues of pink and orange. It felt almost surreal, the way everything had shifted so quickly from the terror of the previous night to the calm, blank slate of this morning. It didn't feel like an eternity had gone by, it was like she'd closed her optics for only a few moments before the dawn broke through. For once, there were no vivid memories of nightmares, no lingering dread. It was as though the fear had evaporated with the dawn.
She took a deep breath, allowing herself a small smile. Somehow, Slipstream's idea had worked.
Behind her, she heard a loud yawn. Turning, she saw Slipstream stretching as she woke up. "Oh hey, you're looking better," Slipstream remarked, her face brightening at the sight of Stormsurge.
"I feel… better," Stormsurge admitted softly, almost unable to believe herself.
"No nightmare this time?"
"No." Stormsurge paused, then smiled a little wider, the relief starting to settle in. "How did you know that would work?"
"I didn't," Slipstream replied with a shrug, grinning sheepishly. "But it seemed like a good idea."
"So far, I like your good ideas," Stormsurge said, her voice lighter than it had been in a long time.
"You ready to start heading back home?" Slipstream asked, standing up and dusting herself off.
"Not yet," Stormsurge replied, turning her gaze back to the horizon, watching as the sun continued its slow climb. "I wanna finish looking at the sunrise."
Slipstream nodded, sitting back down beside her, the two of them enjoying the peaceful moment as the new day began.
Returning to Chicago, Stormsurge and Slipstream touched down in the atrium, where they found Jeopardy deep in conversation with Agent Simmons. Spotting them, Jeopardy greeted them with a warm smile. "Oh, you're back! How was Mount Rushmore?"
Slipstream, still buzzing with excitement, practically burst out with, "We got to spend the night on the top! Those faces are HUGE! This planet is so much bigger than I thought!"
Jeopardy chuckled. "Sounds like you had fun."
"It was a nice change of pace," Stormsurge added, a bit more reserved but clearly content.
Slipstream, eager to share more of her adventure, darted off to find Impulse, leaving Jeopardy to focus on Stormsurge. He approached her, his tone softening. "How's your sleep?" he asked.
Stormsurge hesitated for a moment, then answered, "…It's getting better."
"Any more nightmares?"
"...Yeah," she admitted, "but Slipstream figured out a fix. It's temporary, but it helps."
Jeopardy nodded, relieved to hear that she had some relief. "Good to hear. I've been looking through my old training notes, and if I find something that could be a more long-term solution, I'll let you know."
"That'd be nice," Stormsurge replied, her gratitude clear in her voice.
"And hey," Jeopardy added with a gentle smile, "if it happens again, you know where to find me."
Stormsurge met his eyes and gave him a small but sincere smile. "Thank you."