#This will surely not be an icarus situation no siree

[thesaltyace]

About to spend $50 to get five pounds of chestnuts shipped directly to my door.

What a time to be alive.

🌰

[the-odd-job]

Ashes of Icarus chapter 16 - Bleed Me Dry

Warnings: Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Soundwave, Ratchet, Prowl Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Additional Tags: Dubcon, Unplanned Pregnancy, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 2772

( Previous )

“Pits, Sunstreaker.” Ratchet ran a servo down his face. Prowl was standing behind him, his doorwings tense and a very unhappy frown as his expression.

“I fix you and you break yourself all over again in two hours? I wish that was a new record for you!” Ratchet ranted, but Sunstreaker knew he was more worried than angry. They thought this was the first time in a very, very long time that he had lost it out of his control—that his willing glitching against Megatron had had more effect on him than everyone had initially thought.

Sunstreaker knew this was now the second time his frame got the better of him, though admittedly… He hadn’t fought it as hard as he could have. He was too frustrated, too angry.

Sideswipe had paid the largest price for it. They were equal when both were in control of their minds, but once Sunstreaker snapped… Sideswipe had nothing that could match him. Sideswipe wasn’t damaged in the same way.

Sideswipe never stood a chance.

Neither did Ironhide for that matter.

Or Cliffjumper.

Or Hound.

Or Brawn.

It had taken Jazz’s intervention to end his rampage. The TIC definitely had all the tricks necessary to neutralize him, berserker or not.

Everyone else was only lucky it all had been contained to the training room.

It was the… Fucking worst episode he’d had even long before he had gained near full control of himself. For the longest time they had ended after he had taken down his primary opponent. Everyone knew to just stay out of his way, to not make threats of themselves until he’d run his course.

That should have worked.

It hadn’t, this time. They had stayed out of his way, and he had still scrapped the lot of them. 

Now all five of them lay on the medical berths in the medbay proper in various stages of fragging slagged. Sideswipe was the worst of them; he’d beaten his brother straight to unconsciousness. The others weren’t much better off, but really, they were just lucky he hadn’t straight up killed them. 

Sunstreaker himself had been confined to a private room under the fear that his mental stability was on a steep decline. And… He wasn’t sure he could really disagree with that assessment. That had been pretty bad, even he could admit that much. 

Ratchet didn’t bring it up, though, but Prowl did. He had to, when the safety of the entire Ark crew was brought into question. “How do you feel?” the doorwinger asked him.

Sunstreaker frowned. “Fine.” Aside from the physical things, anyway. His frame was again broken well beyond his ability to categorize the damage, but that was nothing new.

The terse answer definitely wasn’t what Prowl wanted, and his wings twitched before he looked at Ratchet. “How is he, medically speaking?”

Ratchet pinched the bridge of his nasal ridge. It took him a few moments to answer. Prowl waited patiently, Sunstreaker, not so much. He was sort of dying to know how badly his mental health was declining. He didn’t feel terribly bad, but… Stress was his trigger.

And he had quite a few reasons to be stressed, which didn’t work out in anyone’s favor. Push him even a bit further towards the edge, add just one more stressor… Would this just repeat?

He was just going to get locked in the brig for everyone’s safety, if that was how things would go from now on. He’d been there before.

Had for most of the war, really.

“Some of the old code has activated,” Ratchet responded at length. “I was unsuccessful in turning it off or isolating it without bringing Sunstreaker into nonfunctionality as a side effect.”

Nice to know Ratchet had decided to keep him functional.

“So this is going to repeat?” Prowl asked sharply, his frown deepening. Both him and Sunstreaker were staring at Ratchet intently.

But the medic shook his helm. “Not necessarily. It does make it more likely, but he’ll still need a significant trigger to cause the final cascade of errors.”

Prowl mused on that for a moment before he shifted his attention back to Sunstreaker. “What triggered you this time?”

...Right. Wouldn’t they love to know. 

“I was thinking about the fight with Megatron while Sideswipe and I sparred,” Sunstreaker answered, and that was half true, wasn’t it? “I think remembering the glitching triggered it again. At least it felt like that.”

Prowl looked at Ratchet for confirmation. The medic shrugged. “Perfectly plausible.”

The tactician nodded sharply. “Sunstreaker, I will keep you in full duty once your repairs are completed. I would prefer if you spent the next month in the brig when you aren’t on duty or away from the Ark, but I won’t enforce that.”

Sunstreaker frowned, but that was fair enough considering the number he’d done on several of his comrades. “I can do that,” he agreed. Partial loss of freedom, then. “I assume I’ll get my supplies?”

“Of course.”

Nice. But, “What about a punishment?” There was no way Prowl would let him off the hook that easily, if only because the other crew members would start a fucking riot if he wasn’t punished for nearly offlining a bunch of them, mitigating factors be damned. 

“I will think of something suitable and inform you later,” Prowl said with an incline of his helm. Sunstreaker nodded his acceptance of that. So, hang around in the brig for the time being until he’d proven he wasn’t going to snap every few moments, and wait until Prowl came up with an actual punishment on top of that.

Pretty mild, all things considered.

“If that’s all..?” Prowl asked, glancing between him and Ratchet. Sunstreaker shook his helm.

“I’ll comm. you if something comes up,” Ratchet grunted. Prowl nodded to that before he left the room, the door closing on his heels.

And then it was just him and Ratchet, and that wasn’t how Sunstreaker would have preferred it when Ratchet immediately brought up the one thing Sunstreaker didn’t want to talk about at all. “This is about the sparkling, isn’t it?”

Sunstreaker glared, but Ratchet only frowned back at him.

For the longest time neither of them said anything, Sunstreaker refusing to confirm or deny a damn thing, and Ratchet’s field growing more frustrated by the second.

The medic eventually broke the silence. “Medical confidentiality, Sunstreaker. You can tell me, and no one else will hear about it. Why won’t you trust me?” Ratchet didn’t say it, but it still hung between them: like you have before.

They’d told many, many things to Ratchet, things they hadn’t spoken about with anyone else, because Ratchet would keep quiet. They’d trusted he would keep quiet.

Just… Not about this.

This was too big.

Sunstreaker averted his optics and said nothing. The silence stretched on, and on, and on, but this was one thing he’d never tell to any Autobot.

It would come to light eventually, anyway. It was just a matter of time.

So what did it matter if he sped up the process? Told someone?

No. He couldn’t do that. Pits, he was fragged either way, but he couldn’t do that.

Let time do it for him if it had to. 

Ratchet gave up after what felt like an eternity, sighing heavily, and Sunstreaker could feel his hurt no matter how he tried to hide it. “Okay,” the medic said quietly before he straightened himself and brushed it all aside and away. “I will put you into stasis until I’ve done your repairs.”

Sunstreaker nodded, Ratchet plugged in, and stasis it was.

Again.

-------------------------------------------------------

If he had been ostracized for his bad attitude before, now everyone did so twice as hard. It was vexing, but he wasn’t surprised the vast majority of them would react like that to his rather extreme burst of violence. The Autobots were soft, feebleminded things that didn’t speak the same language he and Sideswipe did.

The lot of them had never been to the Pits and back.

And they feared what they didn’t understand.

Megatron had said it. Where Sunstreaker could only feel apathy when it came to his case of insanity, and where Sideswipe just accepted it as it was, his comrades were afraid of it.

Megatron wasn’t. Megatron had fought him, a berserker going berserk, and once he’d won… He had shown no hard feelings. Had only acknowledged the return of his faculties, left it at that. Like it was no big deal.

Was that the overarching theme among all the Decepticons? Most of them originated from the low castes, knew what the life at the bottom was like—if they weren’t straight up gladiators themselves.

Would they understand?

He continued to be tetchy, but while he was sure everyone expected him to snap at any moment, he didn’t feel that level of stress.

At least, so long as he didn’t think too hard about the mess his fragging life had become. Ratchet’s threat hung over everything he did. Even if he’d had some hope of keeping the identity of the sparklet’s sire a secret even once it became impossible to hide he was carrying… That wouldn’t be if Ratchet found out about Megatron.

Sixteen months. That was how long he could pretend his life was fine.  

After that… Slag if he knew.

And he had no fragging clue what he expected to happen or what he even wanted Megatron to do about it, but he wanted to inform him of Ratchet’s threat. Just… Pits.

Why?

Because Megatron was the only one who was even halfway an ally in this situation? The only one who even knew? Well, him, and Soundwave. Soundwave knew too. Maybe some other Decepticons too. How could he be sure Megatron saw any reason to keep it to himself?

How sad was that, that the goddamn leader of the enemy army had become his confidant.

The worst enemy of his own leader.

He was going all over behind Optimus’ back. What was some more of that, huh?

They started to take the longer patrols again. No one really questioned it, just happy when Sunstreaker wasn’t grumping around the Ark—and Prowl approved of his supposed attempt to burn out his energy with the long ass drives.

The less he had of that, the less likely he was to bring some more pain on his fellows, right?

But for the longest time, it just didn’t work. Megatron had said they’d be in contact again, but there was absolutely no sign of him even as the days stretched to weeks, and weeks into a full month.

And then there were only fifteen months left for him. 

Two more weeks, and he was ready to fucking explode every moment he spent awake. Sideswipe did his best to keep his mood from souring any further, but there was only so much even his twin was capable of.

He didn’t glitch again, though, even if it was a damn near thing a few times. But Sideswipe dragged him from the scene every time, shoved him in their quarters—distracted him. 

Month and a half, then they finally got some results. Not in the exact way they were hoping for, but when Soundwave’s signature popped up on their scanners, some ways ahead of them… Frag, it was better than nothing.

So they sped up until they could see the telepath standing on the side of the road, looking their way already.

Waiting for them.

“Where’s Megatron?” Sunstreaker demanded as soon as he and Sideswipe had transformed, stalking towards the blue mech that, to his credit, didn’t back down.

“Megatron: busy,” Soundwave answered. A thunderous growl rose in Sunstreaker’s engine.

“I’m carrying that bastard’s slagging sparkling and he’s too damn busy to show up?” What the fuck? 

“Megatron: leader of an army,” and how Soundwave managed to make that mechanical voice of his sound cold, Sunstreaker would never know. 

But clearly Soundwave wasn’t too impressed with his attitude. “Soundwave sent instead,” the TIC continued. Sunstreaker threw his arms up.

“So I should be grateful?”

“Yes.” 

...Well, he wasn’t expecting that level of bluntness. The brothers blinked at Soundwave before Sunstreaker shook himself off and started to pace back and forth in front of the Decepticon. Soundwave wasn’t Megatron, but Soundwave knew, and it appeared Megatron had sent him for the explicit purpose of–

Actually, come to think of it, how the pit had either Megatron or Soundwave known he had something urgent enough on his mind that it was worth it to just send Soundwave?

“Soundwave: knows all.”

Was that a fucking joke?

“You!” Sunstreaker rounded on the taller mech, jabbing a digit at his chest. “Stay the frag out of my head!”

“No.”

Oh my god.

Sideswipe laughed out loud, prompting Sunstreaker to snap at him too before he went back to pacing around, glowering at the blue mech all the while. “At least slagging wait for me to talk like a normal mech. Seriously.”

Soundwave said no more, so Sunstreaker took that as the telepath’s acquiescence. 

No doubt Soundwave knew exactly what was going on in his head already, but he did actually stay silent for the duration it took for Sunstreaker to organize his thoughts enough to put them into words. There were a few false starts, but then, “Ratchet wants to know who the slag the sparkling’s sire is,” Sunstreaker ground out. “He gave us sixteen months before he’s gonna check the spec ops records for ‘Con signatures. And that was six weeks ago.” So, fourteen and a half months anymore.

“Desired course of action?” Soundwave asked.

And if Sunstreaker had known the answer to that, he’d be one happy mech.

But he didn’t, so he stopped in his pacing and dragged both of his servos down his beautiful fragging faceplates. “I don’t slagging know, okay? The sparkling’s signature is gonna become scannable around that time too, right? So someone else might realize who the sire is too. And even if that doesn’t happen, I’ve got no faith in Ratchet being allowed to keep it a secret.”

He could see Soundwave slowly nodding from the corner of his optic. Mech probably knew more about the Autobot code than he did. Soundwave knows all, was it?

So was that confirmation that the identity of the sparkling’s sire would override medical confidentiality?

Sunstreaker’s shoulders slumped. There was no good ending to this, was there?

“Defect?” Soundwave said—asked, offered? Sunstreaker dropped his servos to properly glare at the mech.

“No,” he snarled. Frag it all but he wasn’t going to just defect because of this.

Even if his days as an Autobot were most likely numbered. If nothing else, he was sure to get dishonorably discharged once the command learned about this whole damn mess. 

And that was really the best outcome he could realistically hope for. The other options went downhill from there.

Soundwave didn’t argue like Megatron likely would have. He merely nodded again. “Soundwave: will relay information to Megatron.”

“Thanks,” Sunstreaker said and Sideswipe nodded along. At least Megatron would be in the know.

What the slag he would do with the info, Sunstreaker just didn’t know.

And all of this after he couldn’t even be bothered to show up. Leader of an army yeah yeah, but he had slagging gotten him pregnant. Wasn’t that pretty important too?

Soundwave probably heard those thoughts too, but he didn’t say anything about it. “This all?” he asked instead.

Sunstreaker gave it a few seconds of honest thought because who knew when the frag the next time he’d have any line of communication with Megatron would be, but he came up empty. “Yeah,” he responded with a small shrug. “That’s all.”

Soundwave nodded, ejected Lazerbeak, and transformed. Lazerbeak had a glance at them before he grabbed Soundwave into his claws and… Flew off.

Some way to get transported around, geez.

The twins stared after the retreating wannabe vulture for a while before Sideswipe walked over to his side. His brother was still pulsing amusement and Sunstreaker glared at him too for good measure.

But there was really nothing for them to do now, except wait and see what would happen—on any front, be it coming from Ratchet, or Megatron.

Slagging Megatron who sent his goddamn third in command in his place because he had more important things to do than give the time of day to Sunstreaker.

Who was carrying his fragging sparkling.

Oh, the damn mech would hear about that still. 

Sideswipe snickered at him before they transformed and continued on their patrol, never to report the ‘Decepticon activity’ they’d already run into. 

( Next )

[bloodredx]

Day 29: Need

Oh how it all burned. Every fiber of his being was lit ablaze and it was hard for Icarus to maintain control himself. His hands pounded against the stone walls of the cell he was being kept in, desperately looking for any weak spot, any loose rock to wiggle free and find a route out of this mess. And what a mess it was.

Fiona got him good. Not only capturing him, but was it worth the effort to strap him down and slice him up with those bastards her blood calls knives. All the precious blood that leaked from his body, pooling on the ground and going to waste. His body desperately trying to heal itself, only to be torn open again once the cells had settled. His body screamed at the thought again, and desperation was beginning to take over from rational thoughts. Which was bad, so bad the fear was forcing his hands to move faster over the rocks.

But there was nothing he could find. This room was built to hold monsters after all. Beasts like him who deserved no pity. He should have just thrown himself into the sun the first day Lady Serena let him out on his own. He’d solve all their problems at once by not being around. He wouldn’t have to feel so disgusting anymore, like such a burden, a failure for not understanding his body or mind anymore. The Lady wouldn’t have to babysit him, she clearly hated the extra task. Probably hated him too for being so pathetic. He thought finding his actual sire would explain why he is this way, and boy he found her. Not the answers he needed though.

Fiona was nothing like him, like Lady Serena either. She was wild, almost mindless, just following whims and desires blindly. There was no planning, no thoughts of results or consequences. Just the wicked eyes and sick smile as she got what she wanted. And now he was more lost than ever, because nothing could explain that behavior to him. He wasn’t like that at all, was he? His strength left him, and he curled up on the floor.

He needed blood or death. His body was screaming that at him repeatedly. Begging for some vein of mercy. His throat tightened as his fangs split his lip from biting so hard, desperate for that slight pain to offer some distraction from the rest of this nightmare. Icarus screamed, his body no longer able to hold the tension anymore. The sharp sound echoed along the stones, pounding back into his ears to remind him how absolutely helpless he was.

Footsteps approached, the sharp clacking of a heel against stone. If she was coming back for more, he wasn’t about to go down without making his mark on her. No, he would make sure she knew he was done being a play thing, done being pathetic. Done being weak. A jingle of keys sorted between fingers filled his body with anticipation. The lock turned smoothly, and the door creaked on its hinges as it pulled open, releasing his fury like a shot.

Icarus rushed from his position, hissing like a beast at the figure in the door, biting down on the available limb. A sick, putrid taste coated his mouth, but he didn’t care. He just needed to stop her from doing anything else to him. He had to win this fight, no he needed to win. To win and get out of here, to claim his freedom and right his mind again. For the monster in his veins was in control now, and began clawing away at his target.

There was surprisingly little resistance as Icarus pushed the woman back against the wall of the corridor, slamming her hard. “You’re going to die here.” He hissed, slicing open his palm to try to summon one last blood knife. His veins lit again with frenzy in response, the handle of the blade easily settling in his grip, holding it stern against her throat. “You’ll regret everything you ever did to me.”

A strand of brown hair caught his vision, alerting him to the notion something was wrong. An icy whisper confirmed that fact. “What makes you think that I already don’t?”

The fog of rage thinned slightly, not completely dispelling, but enough to know the familiar smell of the Lady’s rose perfume. He sniffed over her like a desperate dog, looking for clues on how he got here. “You’re not Fiona.”

His hands loosened for a second, enough time for Lady Serena to grab them at the wrists, but not enough to steal his blood blade away. “No, I’m not. But that shouldn’t change your response. Do what you need to me, Icarus. You have more than enough reason to spread your rage.”

A monster’s philosophy spoke through her sad eyes, knowing that on some level she hadn’t done enough for him. That she was blaming herself for the situation he had found himself in. If only she was kinder, gentler, more understanding, things that were against her very nature, then this whole mess could have been avoided. If she was a better doctor, his changing could have been avoided entirely. Every potential change in fate loomed in her eyes, spinning into the ball of tangled threads that lead to this moment in time, sealing a tragic fate for at least one of them. This woman who did her best to take him under his wing when she could have left him to rot in the lonesome snow was willing to let him take out his aggression, should he need it. No, this wasn’t right. But it felt good. He ground his teeth as the silent argument swelled in his veins, rage and confusion tightening his grip on the handle of his blade.

Icarus pressed against the handle, breaking it back into blood, pulling what little fluid it had left back into his body. A slight cooling sensation rushed through him, easing the pressure a little. But he was still thirsty. He was still pissed. He was still miserable. He collapsed into Serena’s arms, who caught him reflexively. Her eyes stared at him, a shock painting her confusion and a note of hesitancy shook her arms. Awkwardly, she pulled him into a hug, doing her best to let him know it’d be alright. It offered little comfort, but somewhere in him, Icarus appreciated the gesture. It was the first time she’d even attempting something of the sort for him. And that was a start.

Serena brushed back his disheveled hair. “You need blood and you need to get out of here.”

He nodded weakly, allowing her to hang one of his arms over her shoulder. She pulled her platinum flask from her inner coat pocket, and handed it to him. “That’s all I have on me, but it should do for now.”

He took a sip of the cold crimson, desperately wishing for something warm and full of life, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He drained it, handed it back to her, and pulled himself up enough to walk out of there with minimal help from the Lady. All thoughts on his sire and what happened could wait. Right now, he just needed to go home.

(OC-tober prompt list by @oc-growth-and-development can be found here)

[the-odd-job]

Ashes of Icarus chapter 13 - Falling to Pieces

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Ratchet Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Additional Tags: Dubcon, Unplanned Pregnancy, Mechpreg, Sticky, Talk of Abortion Words: 2803

( Previous )

The biggest hurdle would be Ratchet—or really, the whole medical team. When they did a thorough inspection of your frame to make sure they would catch all damage you’d sustained… Sunstreaker wasn’t all too hopeful that they wouldn’t notice there was something extra he was lugging around. 

The sparkling… It was so easy to ignore. He couldn’t feel it in any way, not even when he focused. He wasn’t sure if that was how it was supposed to be at this stage of things, but it almost made everything feel like just one particularly bad dream.

It wasn’t a bad dream, though, because every time the disbelief got the better of him, all Sideswipe needed to do was a visual inspection, and there it was every time. Repeat that enough times and he couldn’t deny it anymore even without physical reminders of its existence. 

But if even he, its carrier, couldn’t tell it was there without going out of his way to confirm that much… At least he could feel comforted that there was really no one else who would be able to tell either. Its signature was so small that it was impossible to detect it unless his chestplates were parted and his spark chamber open, and you really focused on it. They’d tested that out, several times.

So… Unless he needed to go through large repairs… It was likely to remain a secret.

For now.

Unfortunately there was this little thing called war going on, and him and Sideswipe were at the frontlines of it. He couldn’t suddenly stop fighting with their usual recklessness just to avoid sustaining the kind of injuries that would lead to the uncovering of the sparklet. That’d only make everyone suspicious, and then what? They’d want to know the reason for the change in his behavior.

At that point it wouldn’t just be limited to the medical team anymore.

He had to fight and risk the injuries. 

And hope the fact he was even more irritable on the Ark than what he usually was would go unnoticed, or at least ignored. He had a bad temper to begin with, right? So it wasn’t that unusual for him to be in a bad mood, right? Even if this was extended… He hit those spells sometimes too, even without sparklings. He’d be perpetually annoyed and angry and treated everyone accordingly.

It did have the positive side effect that everyone but Sideswipe started to avoid him and his constant snapping and physical threats. All the better to keep enough distance to lower the already next to nonexistent chances that just anyone would take notice of the little one. 

Sideswipe compensated by being even more friendly than usual, as he always did. That was the good part about Sunstreaker’s moods: it had his other half turning into even better company than he usually was, all in the name of maintaining their balance. Sideswipe acted agreeable with everyone, but the real target of it was Sunstreaker—everything to prevent his brother from setting him off.

It wasn’t that Sideswipe feared his retaliation, but it wasn’t them to just ignore the other’s moods and not respond to them. Sideswipe was the more stable of them as far as his emotional life went, a surface breezer whose emotions never lasted long and that he never felt too strongly. It was Sunstreaker that dipped deep in everything he did and felt with explosive intensity. 

Sideswipe didn’t need his balancing near as often, was the end result. 

But as much as Sideswipe responded to him… It only worked between them. It didn’t save anyone around them, but they had been with this crew long enough that mecha had learned a thing or two about Sunstreaker and his temperament.

Get out of the way, stay out of the way. Don’t engage lest you wanted to risk a thorough slagging.

Really only Cliffjumper never did the smart thing, and he was the one who got sent to the medbay by Sunstreaker this time too.

He enjoyed himself, ripping into the minibot. Sure, it landed him in the brig, but fuck, it was worth it.

There was sparring too, but… He tried to hold back there, at least enough to keep it as sparring instead of something real bloody. He didn’t want to end up with anything worth a proper medbay visit if he could avoid it, sue him.

And for a time he could avoid it. There were two battles, weeks apart from each other, but Sunstreaker managed to make it through both of them mostly unscathed. They weren’t particularly big battles anyway, but rather small and quick clashes to thwart the Decepticons’ plans of the day.

Megatron was present in them, too, but this time there was no one to give him a chance for some alone time with the warlord. Megatron was distracted and busy, both fights, first with directing his troops, then with fighting Optimus, because the motherfucking Prime just couldn’t keep his servos off of him. 

Those battles did nothing to burn the frustrated energy in him, and he was fuming by the end of them. Did Megatron even notice the vicious glares sent his way? Sunstreaker wasn’t sure, but fraggit, he would still get a chance to tear the mech a new one. It was only a matter of time until Megtron found a way to arrange another meeting with him, wasn’t it? He’d want to ‘face again because he had given no indication he was interested in ending their affair.

Oh, he’d be in for one motherfucking surprise. And there’d be no fragging. Sunstreaker was in no mood for any fragging with the goddamn mech who had landed him in this predicament.

Or with anyone else, for that matter. Fuck the lot of them.

With his attitude, he didn’t exactly get any offers either, which worked for him just fine. 

But for as long as they managed to keep things hidden… It was never going to last.

Getting in the way of Devastator? Not his best show ever. In his defense the slagging Constructicons combined right next to him, and then there was no time to get out of the way anymore.

Sunstreaker was good, but he wasn’t ‘takes down combiners on their own’ good. It was really only thanks to Sideswipe that the brain deficient giant didn’t straight up kill him before Superion formed and drew his attention.

The joys of having a twin.

Unfortunately… He ended up scrapped. Thoroughly scrapped. Sideswipe used the mobility afforded to him by his limited flight ability to get him the fuck away from the main fight and behind the Autobot gunners where Ratchet could safely see to him, before his brother zipped back into the fight.

Ratchet was cursing, although that registered pretty distantly through the utter pain that throbbed in his frame. It had really been a while since he’d gotten slagged this badly.

The clouds were pretty, though.

“I’ll put you into stasis, alright? Sunstreaker?”

It took some effort to focus on Ratchet. The medic was looking down at him with a frown.

Right. Stasis. “Ugh, whatever,” was all Sunstreaker had to say to that, letting his gaze slip back to the clouds far above. It’d be nice to not hurt, so that’d be the upside–

Ratchet forced medical stasis on his systems, and everything went dark.

------------------------------------------------------

“–I need to know who the sire is!”

Those were the words his systems onlined to. 

“What does it matter?” Sideswipe, growling.

Sideswipe rarely growled.

Sunstreaker’s optics fluttered open and he proceeded to do just what he’d done before he’d fallen into stasis, which was stare straight up. This time there were no clouds though, only the bright orange ceiling of the Ark’s medical bay. 

And he was fucked. Oh, physically he was in excellent condition. Ratchet had patched him right up. It was like he was never even injured, as was the norm with a medic of Ratchet’s caliber.

But he was fucked.

He was so, so fucked.

“The sire has the right to– Good, Sunstreaker, you’re online.” Ratchet didn’t sound the least bit happy. He stepped into Sunstreaker’s field of view. Sideswipe was standing on the berth’s other side, a deep frown etched on his features.

Ratchet wore a similar expression. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re carrying, Sunstreaker?”

What was he expecting? He’d already asked that from Sideswipe.

The answer Sideswipe had given was the same Sunstreaker gave. He glared at the medic, a growl rising in his engine. “Because it’s no one’s fragging business, alright?”

Ratchet’s frown deepened. “As your physician, it is my fragging business!” the medic said back at him. Primus, he was pissed off. “Have you let the sire know about this? They have a right to the sparkling as well!”

Sunstreaker brought an arm up and dragged his servo down his face. Unicron smite him. “No, I haven’t told the sire.” Wow, he didn’t even need to lie about that.

Their favorite medic growled at him. “Who is the sire? Do you know?”

...It was an option to not know? That was convenient. “No, I don’t even slagging know.”

Unfortunately, Ratchet didn’t buy that, which wasn’t too much of a surprise. “You’re lying,” he said, stated, and Sunstreaker snarled a little harder. His glare was a savage thing, but Ratchet wasn’t any more cowed than he ever was. “Sunstreaker. Who is the sire?” Ratchet demanded, leaning on the berth he was laying on and staring intently down at him, as if he could will Sunstreaker into telling.

Well, that wasn’t going to happen.

Sunstreaker scowled. “None. Of. Your. Business.”  

Ratchet threw his arms up, frustration written all over his expression, body language, and field. “Why won’t you even tell me? Even if you’re so bent on not letting the sire know, I am bound by medical confidentiality, you know that.”

They did know. Sunstreaker huffed and turned his gaze to the side, crossing his arms over his chassis and glaring at nothing in particular. Sideswipe was standing, but otherwise his pose and expression were identical.

Yeah, they weren’t particularly happy to be in this situation right now. 

Ratchet waited a moment, but when neither of them broke the silence, the medic eventually repeated Sunstreaker’s gesture and scrubbed a hand down his face. A deep sigh ran from his vents, but it seemed he was finally ready to give up. He and Sideswipe had had the time to argue for a lengthy amount of time before Sunstreaker even onlined, anyway, with no success on Ratchet’s part.

This was one thing where they couldn’t budge. Medical confidentiality or not… He doubted Ratchet could keep the identity of the sire confidential if he became privy to it, just because of who the sire was. Sure Ratchet would need to let someone know one of their soldiers was dallying with Megatron, of all mecha.

If it just wasn’t Megatron… If it was almost anyone else, then this wouldn’t be such a problem. He’d still get in trouble for sleeping with the enemy, no fragging doubt about that, but with someone else it’d still be a lesser offense. 

At least, he thought so.

He wasn’t really willing to test how right or wrong he was about that.

No, not Ratchet, not anyone could learn who the sire was. Not on this side of the war. 

“Well,” Ratchet broke the silence after what felt like a small eternity, “the sparkling is healthy and developing as it should.”

That was… A relief to hear, at the very least. “I would prefer it if you came for regular checkups to follow the progress of its… Growth.”

Right, because what he wanted to do was spend even more time around Ratchet on the topic of the little surprise he had. But… It would be nice to know the sparkling was developing as it should. Primus knew he himself had no idea what ‘how it should’ entailed. 

Sunstreaker grunted, not saying yay or nay to that. If Ratchet could keep his questions to himself, then sure, why the fuck not, but he wasn’t too willing to get bombarded with more demands to disclose who the slag had ignited him. 

“Unless you want to abort it.”

His optics snapped to Ratchet at that, surprise written all over both twins’ faces—something that quickly morphed back into frowns.

He should have expected that would come up again. It was an option, wasn’t it?

But one they had already discarded. “No,” Sunstreaker responded, averting his gaze again and refusing to fidget. “I don’t want to abort it.”

He probably should’ve done that. It would make all of this go away. It would be the smart thing to do, really, assuming he wanted to not get court martialed at some point—assuming he wanted to keep his life as it had been up to this point. Things didn’t need to change and go so far South there’d be no traveling back North from there. 

But no. He didn’t want to… Harm it. Kill it.

It was slagging his, wasn’t it?

“Very well.” Ratchet didn’t try to convince him in any direction on that front, just threw the option out there. Sunstreaker was grateful for that much, but… Would Ratchet have pressed the issue if he knew who the frag the sire was? How much would that knowledge have changed things?

There was no getting over or around the fucking fact that the sire was the worst possible mech there was.

Yeah, he was fucked. So fucking fucked.

“Can we still merge?” Sideswipe asked. “Without hurting it?”

Sunstreaker glanced back to Ratchet at the inquiry. The medic nodded. “Since you can’t overload each other, it won’t affect the sparkling in any way.”

“‘Kay, cool.”

That was nice, at least. It would’ve sucked to be denied merging for the years the sparkling was going to take to… Frag, was he already thinking about it reaching maturity and separating?

Maybe he should worry about the near future first.

“Are we free to go?” Sunstreaker asked. Ratchet stared at him for a moment longer before the medic reluctantly nodded.

“You’re fully repaired and fit for duty. But I can pull you from active duty if you’d rather stay out of battles for the… Safety of the sparkling.”

And announce it to the whole world that something was up? “No thanks,” Sunstreaker said, and Sideswipe nodded along.

Ratchet sighed, but nodded his acquiescence to that. “Then you’re free to go.”

That was all the prompting they needed. Sunstreaker swung his legs over the edge of the berth and dropped down, and without a backwards glance the brothers hurried out of the medbay.

They needed fuel, so the rec room became their destination despite Sunstreaker’s yearning to just go to their goddamn quarters, out of sight, and… Then what? He had no idea. Enjoy the silence, probably.

The fact he was carrying was turning more and more real by the moment, as were the… Realizations of how much it was bound to change his life. And not really for the better, as far as he could see. 

What a mess they were stuck in.

And now someone knew. Now Ratchet fucking knew, and while the medic would need to keep quiet about it… That was still one mech too many aware of what was happening in his frame.

At least the sparklet was healthy. That was a more comforting thought than he had expected it to be.

They made their way to the corner table they frequented, and Sunstreaker’s scowling kept everyone else at a fair distance despite the fact Sideswipe, the social magnet, was sitting right next to him. They didn’t talk as they sipped their ratios.

Just… Thought.

Was there any chance in hell they could tell Ratchet the truth? They trusted Ratchet more than they trusted any other mech out there, but this… Frag, this was a little too big for even that level of trust. 

He couldn’t believe Ratchet could keep it a secret with them. Just couldn’t. There had to be some sort of protocol he’d have to follow—inform Optimus, or Jazz, or someone, medical confidentiality be damned. How the pit could he be allowed to keep this level of treachery a secret without becoming an accomplice himself? Would Ratchet do that for them?

He wasn’t about to test that out. It was too risky.

This was all… Slag. There was no way to keep it a secret forever. No fucking way.

What would they do when that became impossible?

Would they worry about it later? They had no clue what to do about it now. Maybe… Maybe they should just let things roll under their own weight and see where that took them, under the lack of any better ideas.

And tell Megatron. 

( Next )

[the-odd-job]

Ashes of Icarus chapter 12 - Am I Strong to Do What I Must?

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Additional Tags: Dubcon, Unplanned Pregnancy, Mechpreg, Sticky, Talk of Abortion Words: 1726

( Previous )

Fuck.

It didn’t matter how many more times Sideswipe scanned it. Sunstreaker had spent enough time familiarizing himself with Megatron to recognize the remnants of his spark signature in the… Sparklet.

Because there it was, orbiting his own spark, a tiny, tiny little sparkling, small enough to barely even be visible from the glow of his larger spark.

But Sideswipe knew exactly what his spark was supposed to look like. Small as it was, the little oddity jumped right into his face with how not there it was supposed to be. 

“You can’t feel it yet.” It wasn’t a question. Sideswipe didn’t need to ask things like that. It was just a statement.

They couldn’t feel it yet. Pits, wouldn’t he have fragging noticed it otherwise? That, combined with its size… They didn’t exactly know much about carrying, but common sense said it meant it was still very, very young. 

He wished they would’ve known a bit more about how these things worked, right then. What did it mean if it was so young its emotions weren’t even leaking into him yet? Was it alright despite that?

What the pit were they going to do with it?

If it had been another Autobot’s… The question would have still remained how, but at least… It would have been another Autobot’s. Completely unplanned and unexpected, but slag, they could’ve worked with that.

How the hell were they supposed to work with this?

And how? How the pit had it even come to be when he’d had his inhibitor on the whole–

Sideswipe’s optics flicked up to meet his with a wave of horrid realization when he went to check on his inhibitor. It didn’t report as online.

It didn’t report as offline, either.

It was as if it didn’t even exist.

But that couldn’t be it. He’d had it his whole life like every damn mech out there, and he’d never turned it off. Becoming a parent had never exactly been something he was planning to do. Maybe one day, if the circumstances changed that drastically, but not in the foreseeable future.

The damn thing couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air.

“Let me have a look,” Sideswipe murmured quietly, and Sunstreaker let his spark chamber cycle closed. Sideswipe’s servo dipped into his chest cavity and cautiously pushed aside his internals until he could see the little device nestled to the side of his spark chamber.

Then he grimaced at what they saw.

Charred, black. It had gotten burned so spectacularly that it hadn’t even given a damage report or any manner of errors. 

Well. That explained that. What had burned it would’ve also been very nice to know, but for that they would’ve likely needed a medic’s opinion, and–

What? Could they just waltz into the medbay, ‘hey, I just noticed I’m carrying, how does this whole thing work?’ If the sire was an Autobot, then… Sure, what the fuck else could they have done.

But the sire was Megatron. Their whole… Relationship would have come to light if they did that—or else they would have needed to claim Megatron had forced him.

Two problems with that: one, he had too much pride to feel comfortable claiming he’d gotten fragging raped, even if it was by someone who everyone would believe had enough strength to do it, and even if he knew Ratchet would keep that information to as few mecha as possible.

And two, the greater reason… His memory files didn’t support that. He could lie, but if they wanted to have a look in his head to confirm how things had gone… It’d become damn obvious he was full of shit and had all but jumped at the opportunity to frag Megatron. He hadn’t exactly resisted. Hell, he’d very explicitly told Megatron to ‘face him, even if that was in the heat of the moment.

It was all very damning evidence against him. What would the command do if they found out about that dalliance? What would they do to him?

What would they do to the sparklet?

What would they do to the sparklet, him and Sideswipe?

“I could… Snuff it, right?” Sideswipe whispered quietly, barely audible. “It’s so small and so young. Is it even aware enough to notice?”

Kill it and pretend none of this had happened.

Sunstreaker bared his spark again and Sideswipe gently turned it until he could see the sparkling. He brushed his digit against the minuscule ball of light, infinitely gentle with the motion.

The sparklet bobbed slightly in its orbit, but remained unresponsive otherwise. 

It would be so easy. Take a hold of it, squeeze.

Crush it.

Everything would go back to normal. Or… As normal as it got after you’d repeatedly had illicit relations with the leader of the enemy faction.

Why did he… Not want that? Oh, undoing all of this, securing the relative normalcy of his life, that he wanted. 

But not at the cost of the sparkling.

Why?

Sunstreaker brought his servos to his face and groaned into them. It was his, wasn’t it? 

Why did that matter? 

He didn’t want to get rid of it. Sideswipe pulsed understanding and acceptance at him for that, even if they didn’t understand.

Didn’t understand why he didn’t want to get rid of it. Doing that, just one small act, it would have solved all of the problems the sparklet brought about. 

But no.

He wanted no harm to come to it… From any direction. Not from himself.

Not from the other Autobots.

Would they try to force him to get rid of it? Or would they try to do something to Sunstreaker that would also endanger it? 

Would they just let him keep it, even though it was of the enemy?

He had no idea. He had no fucking idea how things like this would be handled by the command, or what the damn Autobot code said to do in situations like these—and would it even be followed in this instance. This wasn’t any small infraction easily paid for with a few punishments, and not just any Decepticon involved in this mess.

The other party was Megatron.

Was there anything worse an Autobot even could do? Straight up defect, maybe.

Ratchet… Medical confidentiality was a thing, but he doubted it would cover everything. Somehow he got the feeling it wouldn’t cover this, if the identity of the sparkling’s sire became known. And it would eventually, wouldn’t it? Even if Ratchet kept it a secret at first… He couldn’t exactly forever pretend he wasn’t carrying. It would become painfully obvious even before he’d need to deliver the sparkling. 

And everyone would want to know who the fuck had sired it. What could he answer to that? Refuse to answer until the end of time?

Wouldn’t they find out eventually, one way or another? And then they’d be back at it: what would they do to him, and it.

“We can’t tell anyone,” Sunstreaker muttered into his servos, but it didn’t matter if the words were even audible or understandable when the only one meant to hear them was Sideswipe. “Can we?”

“Even if we don’t…” Sideswipe didn’t need to finish it.

Even if they didn’t, it would announce itself eventually.  

But just… Pushing that date even a bit further into the future. Maybe they’d have a better idea of what to do then. Think on it, consider their crappy options…

“What about–” Sideswipe didn’t need to finish that either.

It was Megatron’s sparkling too.

Sunstreaker growled. “He’s the damn reason for this.” Who the fuck had initiated their affair? Wasn’t Sunstreaker! He hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to prevent all of it from happening, but if it wasn’t for Megatron starting it all, he would not have fragged the damn despot.

If it wasn’t for Megatron, this very much would not have had a chance to happen.

“Should we tell him?” his brother asked next, gently brushing the sparkling again. Sunstreaker shivered at the feeling, but his face twisted into a snarl—that wasn’t aimed at Sideswipe, or the little thing.

Tell Megatron? Wouldn’t have to worry about the secrecy of their fucking on that front. Was there any reason not to do that? What would they gain by trying to keep it a secret from the tyrant too?

Oh no, “That fragger will hear a fucking load of this,” Sunstreaker growled. Hear all about how he was at fault and what Sunstreaker thought about this whole thing, get all of the fucking blame he justly deserved dumped on him. 

He had no idea where that would get him, but at least it would be satisfying.

“What if he says to get rid of it?” Sideswipe asked carefully. They’d already established they didn’t want that, so…

“He can go slagging frag himself.” Not like it burdened Megatron at all. He wasn’t the one committing treason and desperately trying to keep it a secret. Megatron set the rules for his side. He could do what he wanted, and was there even anyone who could have tried to tell him otherwise? So what if he knocked up one low ranking Autobot. Was there anyone who could have brought him to justice?

“What if he tries to force the matter?” the red twin continued. Megatron was strong enough to do that, for sure.

But really, Sunstreaker had had it up to here by this point. “Then he can fragging well kill me,” he snarled. Sure, maybe he wouldn’t be able to stop Megatron if the mech really set his mind to something. He might even pay for it with his life.

That didn’t mean he’d go down without one goddamned good fight.  

How would Megatron react to these news? He had no slagging clue, but it was Sunstreaker’s frame and Sunstreaker’s life, and as little as he expected Megatron to respect that unless he wanted to… 

Oh, that bastard would get a fucking earful before he got a chance to send Sunstreaker back to the Well.

So was that it? Tell no Autobot but tell Megatron, and see where that took them?

Sunstreaker let his servos slip from his face and met Sideswipe’s optics. His brother nodded minutely—in for it, come hell or high water. 

Their chestplates closed, hiding their newest little secret behind layers of heavy armor.

( Next )

[the-odd-job]

Ashes of Icarus chapter 19 - All the Things He Said

Warnings: Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Optimus, Cliffjumper Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Additional Tags: Dubcon, Unplanned Pregnancy, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 1937

( Previous )

Every day grew more tense as the sand in the hourglass slipped away. His time was running out. Sooner and sooner Ratchet would access the spec ops records, and then it would be all over him, wouldn’t it? Jazz, Optimus, Prowl, Ironhide, Red Alert would have questions that Ratchet would have to answer.

They would all find out, and then what?

Then what?

No doubt Red Alert would demand the greatest punishment, although Sunstreaker wasn’t at all sure what that might be. Was it possible they’d straight up execute him? He wouldn’t have put that past them.

Exiling him would’ve been well preferable to that. Incarcerate him?

What would they do to the sparkling? While it was still in his frame, and after it had separated?

Did he want to stay to find answers to those questions, or should he leave before they could make him face the consequences of his actions?

Where would he go? To Megatron? Or somewhere else?

Where else?

Where could he go? And would Megatron even let him go, after he had made it clear he wanted his hands on the sparkling? 

Or would he simply be hunted down and dragged to the Decepticons?

He was likely safe from that fate if he stayed with the Autobots, but was what the Autobots would do to him any better?

Megatron, at least, had stopped harassing him after their one mid-battle conversation. Apparently he’d gotten to discuss what he had wanted to discuss—probably mainly the reminder of what he had promised to do if Sunstreaker didn’t.

Tell the Autobots.

But so far, there had been no word from the tyrant.

It was quiet on all fronts, for now, but he could sense Ratchet’s mounting concern. Sunstreaker, personally, thought that Ratchet didn’t want to find out answers in a way that would break his precious medical confidentiality, but what was he doing except forcing the medic’s hand with his refusal to tell who the sire was?

With his refusal to admit it was Megatron?

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“Sunstreaker, Sideswipe,” Optimus greeted them in the rec room. They were sitting in their corner table as usual, and if Sunstreaker’s presence didn’t just create a lovely bubble around them that no one dared to cross the threshold of. 

No one except the Prime.

Optimus spoke quietly enough that snooping ears couldn’t hear him, which was enough to make Sunstreaker tense from helm to pede. Now what?

He glared.

“Wazzup?” Sideswipe asked with an easy smile, leaning back in his seat.

“Could I speak with you two in private?” the Prime asked. Sideswipe cocked an optical ridge at him.

Sunstreaker growled. “If it’s not something we can talk about in public, then we’re not talking about it.”

Optimus gave him a look, but that was nothing new. Happened practically every time they talked, really. Sunstreaker didn’t lose his glare any more than Sideswipe lost his smile even as he sipped from his cube.

If Optimus wasn’t as kind and forgiving as he was… Well, Sunstreaker wasn’t sure he’d even be an Autobot at this point, after everything he’d done and all the disrespect he’d shown. 

And soon enough he might just use up all of Optimus’ goodwill, and then what? The million dollar question. He highly doubted even the Prime could forgive relations with Megatron.

“Very well,” Optimus said, surprisingly, and took a seat opposite from them. Even Sideswipe frowned at this point, setting his cube down.

“Seriously, Prime, what’s this about?” his brother asked, and wasn’t that what they were both curious over. 

“Ratchet has been very concerned over you,” Optimus rumbled, glancing between them. His voice was low and quiet, just enough to travel across the table to them, and no further.

Sunstreaker’s optics narrowed. “What’s he said?”

“Just that he’s worried. You know Ratchet would never speak of anything confidential.” Everyone knew that. As bad as Ratchet’s bedside manner was, as grouchy as he could be, one thing he was, was reliable. Optimus may have been his leader, and if Sunstreaker hazarded, his friend too, but that wouldn’t be enough for Ratchet to speak of things that were between him and his patients.

Beyond saying he was worried about them it looked like, anyway.

“Did he ask you to talk with us?” Sideswipe asked, a little disbelieving. Optimus for sure tried to be everyone’s buddy despite being the leader of the whole damn faction, but it couldn’t exactly be said he and the brothers had ever been too close. They had too many issues with authority figures, especially as maddeningly soft ones like Optimus, to really appreciate the Prime to any measure.

Not a great foundation for anything more than barely passable relations, as much as Optimus never held it against them. He still tried.

As he tried now too. “No, he didn’t ask me to. I wanted to ask you myself. Is everything alright?”

What the frag made him think they’d tell him even if something wasn’t? Sunstreaker frowned harder, and next to him, Sideswipe mirrored the expression.

“Yeeeaaahhh?” his brother almost asked, because you know, why wouldn’t everything be just dandy? “Everything’s fine? I’m not sure what Ratchet’s worried over.”

Sideswipe paused for a thoughtful effect before he continued. “Well, unless it’s about Sunny’s glitch. That’s been acting up.”

“I remember,” Optimus sighed, his optics resting on Sunstreaker. “But you have had quite a bit of luck keeping it under control since, have you not?”

“Thanks to Sides,” Sunstreaker grunted.

The Prime frowned at the suggestion behind those words. “What has caused it to act up like this?” Damn, wasn’t he just so concerned. For who, though? For Sunstreaker and his mental health on a downward spiral, or for the rest of the Autobots he’d become an instant threat to if he lost control of himself?

Probably a bit of both. Optimus was just so… Altruistic.

“Haven’t you noticed Megatron’s given me an uncomfortable amount of attention lately?” Sunstreaker asked, raising one of his optical ridges for good measure. “If that’s not stressful, I don’t know what is.”

Look, he wasn’t even lying.

“I have noticed,” Optimus said carefully, like the whole situation was a powder keg ready to explode.

With Sunstreaker on the scene, that may as well be true. “Do you know why he’s given you that amount of attention?” Optimus continued, looking at him with concern.

But that was probably fair enough when your worst enemy was gunning for one of your soldiers.

Sideswipe cracked his knuckles mentally. Time to fabricate some falsehoods.

“You remember that one time Megatron and Soundwave ran into me and Sides?” Sunstreaker asked, and continued after Optimus had nodded at him. “He said something about remembering me, that time. We have some… Unfinished business, that he didn’t manage to finish that time either.

“I think he’s trying to finish it now.”

Optimus frowned and considered his words for a moment—and the implications behind them. “What kind of ‘unfinished business’, if that isn’t too much prying?”

Aw, wasn’t he just so polite.

Sunstreaker stayed quiet just long enough to make it look like he was considering how much and how he would tell about this—for reasons that should become obvious when he finally spoke up. “There was a deathmatch,” he said, a bit cautiously. See, their past was a bit of a sore topic, wasn’t it? So violent and filled with death even before the war that most Autobots were just uncomfortable when it came up. 

They didn’t want to hear about everything they had been through. It was just too disturbing for their fragile little sensibilities. “It ended before either of us died, which is… Not supposed to happen. Ever.” He gave Optimus a meaningful look, the kind that said ‘you wouldn’t understand, but just take my word for it’.

Optimus nodded again, more slowly this time as he started to catch onto what Sunstreaker was getting to.

Sunstreaker said it out loud anyway, just so there was no confusion. “I think he’s trying to grudge kill me now, now that he remembers me.”

“Don’t worry, we’re not about to let that happen,” Sideswipe piped in with a fierce grin. The Prime frowned at him in disapproval, to which Sideswipe merely shrugged. So they were a little bloodthirsty, and too fearless for their own good. Sue them.

“Is there anything you would like me to do about that?” Optimus asked kindly.

Sunstreaker snorted. “Kill him, maybe? Would solve a lot of problems.”

The Prime had a pause before he sighed. “Yes, that is the goal, isn’t it?” he said quietly enough that Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if it was even aimed at them at all.

They said nothing. Optimus eventually cycled another ventilation, and nodded at them. “Thank you for your candor, twins.”

Candor. Right. 

Sunstreaker nodded back, as did Sideswipe. 

Optimus took his leave, and alone they were again—but not for long, because someone whose intelligence was as lacking as their height decided to come their way after the Prime had left the room.

‘Cause you know, Optimus wouldn’t have particularly approved of Cliffjumper antagonizing them, but that was all Cliffjumper knew how to do. 

What did they ever do to him? Were activated in the wrong city? Had the wrong frame type? A past he didn’t approve of? A little too shaky loyalties?

“Everyone’s starting to notice something’s up,” Cliffjumper said as he came closer, stopping outside of grabbing distance and placing his hands on his hips.

“And what is up, exactly?” Sunstreaker asked, narrowing his optics at the minibot.

Cliffjumper leaned towards them. “You and Megatron are what’s up. You’ve been eyeing each other for months. So what’s going on there, huh?“

Was it just Cliffjumper looking for any excuses to blame them for unbecoming behavior?

Or had their comrades actually noticed the change?

Sunstreaker snorted. “He wants to kill me is what’s going on there?”

Sideswipe laughed. “You’re reaching even harder than usual, CJ!”

The minibot wasn’t discouraged. “Am I really? What’s with him not trying to fragging ‘kill you’ this hard before, tell me that.”

Easy. “Because he didn’t remember me before,” Sunstreaker said with a good, big roll of his optics. “Now he does and wants to finish what he started way back when.”

“That’s what we figure, anyway,” Sideswipe shrugged, “Not a hell of a lot of other potential explanations.”

Cliffjumper growled at them, but he had no solid proof, did he? So he’d noticed their looks, the lowkey drama between them—noticed something was going on.

But he had no way to prove it was anything more than what the twins suggested it was. He didn’t know about the sparklet steadily growing next to his spark.

But he would soon. Everyone would know soon, once its signature strengthened enough to become noticeable on top of that of its carrier. 

And then… He could only imagine what Cliffjumper would accuse him of then. 

He might even hit home.

“Say what you say,” Cliffjumper huffed at them, his arms coming up to cross across his slagging mini chassis. “You won’t be able to hide the fragging truth forever. Did you jump on that spike already? ‘Cause I think you did.”

This time Sunstreaker laughed and Sideswipe snorted. “Riiiight, he fragged Megatron,” Sideswipe said in full mockery. “And lived to tell the tale?

“Frag off, Cliff, seriously.”

“Why don’t you do what your name suggests and go jump off a real high cliff?” Sunstreaker smirked, hiding his expression behind his cube.

Cliffjumper growled at them again, but turned to leave. “We’ll see who laughs last, fraggers.”

Yeah—and it probably wouldn’t be him and his brother.

( Next )

[the-odd-job]

Ashes of Icarus chapter 18 - Coming Undone

Warnings: Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Megatron, Ratchet Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Additional Tags: Dubcon, Unplanned Pregnancy, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 2359

( Previous )

Tick tock, the time traveled on—too fast for comfort. 

Sunstreaker didn’t make a move in any direction though. He didn’t announce his pregnancy to the Autobots any more than he told Ratchet about Megatron. And even when the months rolled onward… Megatron didn’t make good on his threat.

But it was anxious waiting, knowing that any single moment the tyrant could. He had no way of knowing, and he doubted he would get any warnings.

He only had to wonder what method Megatron would use to decisively destroy Sunstreaker’s life (further than he already had, anyway). Megatron did everything decisively. There was no reason to think Sunstreaker would be any exception, once Megatron set his mind on him.

Or on the sparkling, rather. Sunstreaker doubted it mattered one bit who the carrier happened to be, just that the sparklet was Megatron’s. What had been the tyrant’s options? Give no fucks and let Sunstreaker do whatever he wanted with it, demand that it be terminated, or… As he had seemingly chosen, enforce his claim and rights to it.

Regardless of what Sunstreaker thought about that.

Was any of this more than a ploy to get Sunstreaker to his side, because that would, by extension, bring the sparkling to him? There had never been any emotions involved in their liaisons, had there? At least there had been none on Sunstreaker’s part—other than lust and thrill, anyway. Physical things, the enjoyment of each other’s frames…

But nothing about emotions.

He highly doubted it was any different for Megatron.

Of course, then that whole thing had led to the creation of new life, and didn’t that complicate things fast and hard. Now Sunstreaker by all appearances mattered, if only because he was the carrier. Still, that was probably the depth Megatron’s caring went, and he’d turn back into nothing but a pretty fling once he’d delivered the sparkling.

That didn’t particularly motivate him to take Megatron’s offer and defect. He had very little hopes of a future among the Autobots… But did he have any more of a future among the Decepticons, once the sparkling had separated?

Weeks went on.

Months.

Megatron never stopped trying to pressure him into some alone time with the tyrant, as much as battles were his only opportunities to even do so, these days. They still didn’t take the longest, riskiest patrols, nor did they stray far from the Ark or populated areas on their time off.

But Primus, the battles. He could hardly focus on the actual battle from the miniature one he had with the Decepticons no doubt ordered to get him within Megatron’s reach. Half the time it didn’t even look like Megatron was interested in being secretive about it—which made sense, considering he’d already threatened to make everything public.

He didn’t know if he was getting paranoid, or if the other Autobots—on top of Ratchet—started to suspect something was up. Was he getting more looks than usual? Did Prowl look a bit more calculating than he always did? Was Jazz frowning behind his visor?

Pits, was he imagining it all or not?

He knew he wasn’t helping matters himself, though. He had barely let up on his bad attitude since they had discovered the sparkling, and for even him to continue with the bad blood for this long… It wasn’t usual. His moods were supposed to fluctuate. 

Now it was always one word away from tearing into everyone.

Primus bless Sideswipe. His brother was the only one that kept him from glitching slagging weekly, always removing him from situations that were threatening to turn too stress inducing, playing the buffer between him and the rest of the world.

No one needed to know how close to snapping he now came on the regular. Ratchet though… He was pretty sure Ratchet suspected.

He got slagged practically every battle, all thanks to the ‘Cons paying way too much attention to him. That naturally landed him into Ratchet’s care.

And whenever he was brought online, Ratchet gave him a look. It could be just about the sparkling… But it could also be about the fact more strings of old, long dormant code were starting to online as the fucking stress in his life kept continuing.  

He wasn’t particularly stable anymore, was he?

It could also be that Ratchet was among those who supposedly noticed the ‘Cons treating him a bit different nowadays. That they for sure slagged him while trying to get him to do as they—Megatron—wanted of him, but never to the point where his life would’ve been at risk. Megatron’s doing too, no doubt. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to his precious sparkling.  

More than once he could feel Ratchet desperate to ask him things, no doubt wanting to know the identity of the sparkling’s sire that he still had absolutely no plans of disclosing.

But Ratchet didn’t outright ask, just talked about other medical things and—when there was no one else around to overhear—updated him on the sparkling’s health and progress.

Everything was going as it was supposed to, on that front. It was doing fine and growing stronger by the day.

One thing he didn’t have to worry about.

Everything else was plenty enough.

--------------------------------------------------------

“You’re avoiding me.”

He started and spun around on his heel as soon as the voice sounded behind him—that voice, his voice. 

Just in time to block the sword that would’ve generously cut into his chassis otherwise.

Sunstreaker swapped his gun for his own sword.

“Damn straight I am,” he hissed back, jumping back from Megatron’s next attack only to strafe to the side and cut into the goddamn mech’s arm when it moved to block the strike of his sword.

Then he was jumping back again. Megatron was relentless.

Apparently they both had some frustrations to air.

“The slag you’d expect after that stunt with Ravage?” Sunstreaker continued, keeping his volume low enough that no one would overhear them. The din of the battle around them at least worked to drown out their voices.

“I wouldn’t have needed to send Ravage if you hadn’t avoided me even before that,” Megatron growled at him. Sunstreaker barely got out of the way of another vicious attack.

Huh. It was almost like Megatron was trying to kill him.

“You sent Soundwave in your place because you were busy,” Sunstreaker snarled right back, returning each and every one of Megatron’s attacks with equal force.

There was no way he was going to let Megatron slag him without slagging him right back. 

“I have a war to win,” came Megatron’s argument.

Not valid enough. “And I’m carrying your fragging sparkling!” Sunstreaker growled out as quietly as he could. That was one thing he wanted no one else to hear. “I think that affords me some additional importance, you fragger.”

“I sent Soundwave because I trust him.” Megatron narrowed his optics at him. “I could have sent anyone else, too.”

“So that’s supposed to make me feel important?” Sunstreaker went back to hissing. Was it clear enough he wasn’t impressed?

Megatron growled at him and his next attack came with such speed and ferocity that Sunstreaker couldn’t avoid the deep cut across his chestplates. He grunted, then glared.

The tyrant already had a topic in mind to discuss next, though. “You haven’t told the Autobots yet.”

“Nor will I,” the twin promised.

“You want me to do it?”

Slagger. “Frag no,” Sunstreaker snarled. “They have no slagging business knowing.”

“They will find out eventually,” Megatron reminded him. “At the very least when your dear medic informs them. Is that what you want?”

“No!” Fraggit…

“It’s you, me, or the medic, Sunstreaker. You can’t hide it forever,” the warlord rumbled at him. Listing his options. Three, now? Wow, wasn’t that a lot.

Three flavors of fucked. 

“Go fucking frag yourself!” This time he didn’t say it quietly, in the way of something that was meant to stay just between them. Oh no, everyone could hear how much he hated the damn mech, as far as he was concerned. Let that become public knowledge.

“It is mine, too,” Megatron reminded him of that fact for good measure, although he had the decency to continue to keep his volume low.

Aside from the angry revving of his engine. 

Neither of them was enjoying this conversation very much, were they?

“Leave me the slag alone, you fragging bastard,” Sunstreaker growled, successful in cutting a deep gash on Megatron’s abdomen.

Denial—wasn’t that a lovely thing. How long could he deny that he couldn’t hide the sparkling forever?

How long could he deny Megatron’s right to it? 

How fragging long would Megatron let him get away with that?

“Megatron!”

...That was probably the first time in his life Sunstreaker was glad for Optimus’ interruption. He disengaged from the warlord when the Prime came barreling to the scene, ending their conversation right there and then.

Well, at least unless Megatron decided now would be a good moment to inform Optimus of what Sunstreaker had been up to behind his back. 

But the tyrant merely snarled at his nemesis and let Sunstreaker retreat from the scene. He slipped back into the rest of the battle, taking out his mounting frustrations on the tyrant’s troops.

---------------------------------------------

He landed in Ratchet’s care after the battle, of course he did. Ratchet was… Surprisingly quiet as he worked on him.

He had also suspiciously left Sunstreaker as the last one to be repaired, even though he wasn’t convinced he was the worst injured. The medbay was now empty aside from him, Ratchet, and Sideswipe.

It had both him and Sideswipe edgy, his brother standing next to the wall with a frown on his face and arms tightly crossed across his chassis. Sunstreaker wished he could have copied the posture, but Ratchet was welding his chestplates back together, undoing the slash Megatron had left on him—that had, coincidentally, cut straight through his insignia.

Or had that been Megatron’s intent? A bit of a hint for him?

Either way, he’d need to repaint it once all of his pieces were put back together. His chestplates were the last thing, so that would be very soon. 

It turned out, though, that he and Sideswipe were right to feel a bit apprehensive. Ratchet cleaned up the weld mark after he was done and made sure his chassis’ transformations still worked–

–And then he leaned on the berth next to Sunstreaker, staring not at Sunstreaker, but at the space between his braced arms.

All was quiet for a tense moment that was only filled by the sounds of their three frames… Then Ratchet spoke up. “It’s Megatron, isn’t it?” he asked. Both twins started, although really… Shouldn’t they have seen this coming?

Everything that had been happening, the Decepticons’, Megatron’s increased interest in him during the battles… And the latest battle where the warlord actually managed to corner him. If it was suspicious to everyone, how much greater indicators would they be to someone who already knew he was carrying? For a Decepticon?

But Ratchet continued with, “Was he the one to force you?”

...That probably shouldn’t have surprised them either. It would be so unlike Ratchet to think the worst of them, and if he thought it was Megatron… Well, would anyone deny Megatron had all the strength required to force even a warrior of Sunstreaker’s caliber? And that he was cruel enough to do so, too?

It didn’t matter what Ratchet thought, though. The truth was what it was, and the truth was that Sunstreaker had been a willing party the whole way.

He couldn’t blame this on just Megatron. He shared equal fault, and he could lie… But just as easily could that lie be proven wrong.

So what was he going to lie about? About who the sire was, or about the method of the sparkling’s conception?

Or would he tell the truth?

“Megatron?” Sideswipe asked incredulously, drawing the attention of both Sunstreaker and Ratchet. His brother blinked at the medic. “Why would you think it’s slagging Megatron of all mecha?”

Ratchet frowned. “Do you want me to list all the reasons for why I think it’s him?”

Sunstreaker growled. “Thanks but no thanks. It’s not Megatron, alright? Primus, Ratch.” 

So. How about he lied about both the sire and the circumstances of his ignition? That was going to work out great for him, right?

Ratchet’s frown deepened, though Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if it was because they told him he was wrong about the sire, or because they didn’t deny that Sunstreaker hadn’t been a willing party in the whole damn affair.

“Sunstreaker–”

“I’m fragging done discussing this, alright?” Sunstreaker snapped, throwing his legs off the berth and getting up. He was repaired already, wasn’t he?

Now all there was to do was repaint the insignia of the faction he had shown thorough disloyalty to.

How much longer would he even be allowed to wear the Autobrand?

How much longer did he want to wear it?

“This whole deal? Doesn’t concern anyone but me,” he continued in a growl. “So mind your own fucking business. Please.” 

Ratchet stared at him for a moment longer, and Sunstreaker glared back. Sideswipe took a step away from the wall, but–

Things didn’t explode, because Ratchet’s shoulders slumped. “Three months, Sunstreaker,” he said, quietly, and Sunstreaker knew exactly what he was counting down to.

Three months until Ratchet would check the spec ops’ records, compare the sparkling’s signature to known Decepticon signatures, and find a match in Megatron.

After they had just said it wasn’t him.  

Sunstreaker clenched his jaw, felt Sideswipe’s question of what to do–

And doubled down. “Whatever, Ratchet. Whatever.”  

Ratchet sighed, heavily, but Sunstreaker ignored that and instead headed for the door. He hadn’t been given permission to leave, but slaggit, he wasn’t staying either.

Not if this was what they’d be talking about.

But Sideswipe glanced back at the door… And Ratchet was still leaning against the empty berth, but now with his optics tightly closed and his face twisted in an expression they rarely ever saw the stalwart medic wear.

Pain.

The doors slammed shut behind them.

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[the-odd-job]

Ashes of Icarus chapter 17 - One Finger and a Fist

Warnings: Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Ratchet, Prowl, Ravage Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Additional Tags: Dubcon, Unplanned Pregnancy, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 2294

( Previous )

Sunstreaker flipped things the other way around. Instead of the longest patrols, he had Sideswipe switch all of those out in favor of the short or medium ones, ones that went through more densely populated areas—providing Megatron no chances to see him even if the damn warlord had wanted to do that.

And based on the looks he got during battles… Oh, he wanted to. They were long, meaningful glances his way, though as the battles multiplied and he refused to entertain the fragging sire of his little secret, the looks he got turned into outright glares.

Megatron was growing frustrated, there was little mistaking that, and yet Sunstreaker refused him any and all chances to have some private time with him. If the slagger couldn’t make the time for him, he fragging well couldn’t expect Sunstreaker to do so either. 

Bastard.

It didn’t matter that sometimes it felt all of the Decepticons ganged up to drive him straight into Megatron’s waiting arms, no doubt so they could have a little talk, but their efforts were in vain when both him and Sideswipe fought their hardest to keep that from happening. They offered none of their cooperation, and it worked. There was little the ‘Cons could force them into when they banded together with the level of stubbornness they were displaying right then—and used their fellow Autobots to their advantage, too.

If it drove Megatron fucking crazy, all the better. He deserved it.

That continued for weeks that slowly turned into months, and still Megatron was allowed no success in cornering Sunstreaker. Mech might’ve been the sire of his sparkling, which afforded him full rights to said sparkling, but damn him if Sunstreaker was willing to let go of his grudge so easily. 

He was probably breaking some pre-war laws with his behavior, but it wasn’t pre-war anymore, was it? And he wasn’t exactly sure if either the Autobot or the Decepticon code said anything about what to do when you got knocked up by the opposite side and then proceeded to refuse the sire access to the resulting sparklet. If anything, that was probably the preferable course of action.

Even if it was a little too late to pretend you were a loyal little ‘Bot or ‘Con at that point. Unless you got raped, anyway.

Sunstreaker—somewhat unfortunately seeing his current dilemma—had not gotten raped. He had no excuses.

And time kept ticking on towards Ratchet’s deadline. 

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Exactly twenty-one weeks later something finally gave. He was walking with Sideswipe to their quarters after a visit to the washracks, looking forward to polishing up both himself and his brother—provided he’d manage to keep Sideswipe still long enough.

But he had his ways to get his twin’s cooperation for this most important of tasks.

Sideswipe was chatting away about some heavy metal concert him, Jazz and Blaster were going to attend, gesturing excitedly about all the bands that would be performing. Sunstreaker grunted something here and there to keep the ‘conversation’ going… But the both of them were silenced the moment they stepped into their quarters.

Ravage was laying on the bottom bunk of their berth like he had not one concern in the world. The panther stared at them almost lazily as they entered, and suddenly they were both in a hurry to have the door close—and lock—on their heels.

“What the pit are you doing here?” Sunstreaker hissed as soon as they had their privacy, stalking towards the cat that didn’t look any concerned over his approach and his potential for violence. 

That only made him angrier.

“You have refused Lord Megatron’s efforts to contact you, carrier,” Ravage answered smoothly. “I was sent with a message.”

Sunstreaker snarled and Sideswipe joined him by his side, both of the brothers glaring at the cassette that just would not lose that look of aloofness.

It was driving him mad, and he wasn’t too hopeful things were about to get any better. “Really?” he growled, glowering at the cat. “And what might that message be?”

“Quite simply, Lord Megatron has an ultimatum,” Ravage said, sounding almost bored. “Either you tell the Autobots about the sparkling and its sire… Or he will.”

Red. That was all he saw as Ravage’s words sunk in.

Megatron was fragging extorting them. It wasn’t enough that Ratchet was promising to uncover the identity of the sparkling’s sire to Sunstreaker’s grief, oh no. Now Megatron was threatening to do the same.

“When?” Sunstreaker ground out, his servos flexing with the desire to rip the cassette to fucking shreds. 

“When it suits him,” was the answer he got, spoken so flippantly.

Sunstreaker growled hard enough that it vibrated his frame from helm to pede. What then, would he just need to wait and see when Megatron saw fit to make his whole life crash and burn around him? 

“Get the frag out of here,” he hissed through clenched denta. He wasn’t going to play these fragging games, that much he was sure of. Announcing himself that he was carrying, and carrying Megatron’s offspring?

To hell with that! If Megatron wanted the Autobots to know, he could fragging well tell the lot of them himself.

Just as he was promising to do if Sunstreaker didn’t take action within some unknown frame of time. 

“‘Screw you’, then? Should I pass along anything else?” Ravage asked like he wasn’t in the presence of one volatile mech about fragging ready to lose it. The slagging… Arrogance the cat was displaying.

Maybe he should snuff the damn cassette, just to make a statement.  

Sideswipe moved before he could though, closing in on the berth in two long strides and grabbing Ravage by the back of his neck in a hold tight enough to dent before Ravage had the time to get out of the way. The panther yowled in offense that his brother paid no mind to, just dragged him to the door before bodily throwing him out of their room. 

True to his feline reflexes, Ravage landed on his pedes, but unfortunately for him, Bumblebee was turning the corner right then. The minibot exclaimed in surprise, and the alarms sounded a second later.

To his credit Ravage only stood frozen for that second before he bolted down the hall. The twins didn’t bother to go after him, knowing the rest of the Ark would.  

Sunstreaker distantly wondered if the cat would even make it out, or if he’d get captured.

Would serve him right.

But an hour later there was a knock on their door. Sideswipe was still standing, his arms crossed across his chest and an unusually serious look on his faceplates. But this was kind of serious. If Megatron told everyone… Slag, what would they do then? What would the Autobots do?

And what the fuck was Megatron’s endgame? Why would he want to tell the Autobots? To lay a proper claim on the sparkling?

Or to force Sunstreaker out of his faction?

He figured it was probably a combination of both.

Sunstreaker had sat down on his berth a long time ago, but looked up when Sideswipe triggered the door to open. Prowl stood on the other side. “May I come in?” he asked.

Sideswipe nodded at him and the doorwinger stepped into the room. “I was informed Ravage appeared from your quarters,” Prowl went on to say. Straight to the point, no pleasantries.

Sunstreaker scowled, but Sideswipe answered. “Yeah, he was here.”

No point in trying to deny that when there was a goddamn witness to the whole fiasco.

“Do you have any idea what he was doing here?”

The tactician was frowning, and… Yeah, this looked pretty bad, didn’t it? Why would one of Soundwave’s intel collecting cassettes be in the twins’ quarters? They were nothing but low ranking grunts and there was verifiably nothing worth knowing to learn from their room, or from them.

But Ravage hadn’t been here to learn things, this time around.

“Lost, would be my guess,” Sideswipe said. “He crawled from under the berth a while after we’d come in. Didn’t even notice him before that.”

Lies, lies, lies. And not necessarily very believable ones either, but frag, there was little about this situation that would make any sense without the context.

And they weren’t going to tell the context to damn anyone, no matter Megatron’s fragging threats.  

“I see.” Prowl only frowned harder, glancing between them. They both stared back, refusing to back down in any shape or form. They’d fragging well die with their lies and secrets if that’s what it took.

“I would like your full reports at earliest convenience,” the SIC continued, and they both nodded at him.

“Sure. We’ll write ‘em up and bring them to your office,” Sideswipe said. It was Prowl’s turn to nod, after which he bid them goodbye and took his leave.

Slag fragging everything. The door closed once Prowl was through, leaving them alone. Again.

Somehow he felt like they were going to hear about this again though, one way or another. Damn Ravage.

Damn Megatron for sending him. Which was worse, Megatron informing everyone, or Ratchet finding out and letting the command know?

He was pretty sure Ratchet was the lesser evil at this point.

Sunstreaker let his helm drop into his servos. So… What? Should they just tell him before Megatron would make good on this threat? Or would that even be enough for the tyrant? Tell the Autobots. Would it be enough that the command knew and treated him accordingly, maybe giving the reason for whatever consequences he’d face to the rest of the crew? That was a big maybe.

Or did Megatron really expect him to tell everyone, just so there was no confusion as to what he’d done?

There was a knock on their door again. Sideswipe frowned at the door; Sunstreaker felt a bit too tired to even react.

His brother triggered the door to open, again. This time it was Ratchet that walked in. “Are you two alright?” he asked, scanning them both as soon as he was in. The door closed after him.

“We would’ve come to the medbay if we weren’t,” Sideswipe replied honestly.

But Sunstreaker could feel Ratchet’s optics on him. That was enough to make him lift his helm and glare at the medic. “I’m fine,” he stated, very firmly. 

Ratchet didn’t look like he at all believed him. Sunstreaker couldn’t blame him.

“Do you know why Ravage was here?” Ratchet asked as Prowl had asked.

And as with Prowl, Sideswipe answered with a simple, “Lost, methinks. Why else would he have been in our quarters?”

But Ratchet didn’t even glance at his brother, his gaze locked on Sunstreaker.

Ratchet wasn’t dumb. They knew he wasn’t, and with everything else that had already happened… Ratchet had to be so suspicious over what was going on, and could likely put two and two together when it came to this situation too.

The sire was a Decepticon, hadn’t he already figured out that much just by virtue of crossing out other options? And now there had been one particularly sneaky Decepticon in their quarters.

Yeah, that looked bad.

“Twins,” Ratchet sighed, looking for a moment like he was trying to find the best words before he continued, “I understand your reservations seeing how the situation is,” he said, cautiously, “but I can’t emphasize it enough. Your medical information will remain confidential no matter what.”  

Ratchet put a lot of weight behind those words. Sideswipe glanced at Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker scowled, but still.

After everything.

Every assurance.

All the trust they’d ever had.

He

Said

Nothing.

Sideswipe huffed a round of air from his vents. “I think you should leave, Ratch.” No one said it, but there it was, in the air all around them.

You’ve kept a lot of things secret for us, but not this.

“Sunstreaker–” Ratchet started, but said twin didn’t let him finish.

“Out. We have nothing to talk about,” Sunstreaker said, forcing his voice to be even and calm.

The opposite from what he was feeling. 

If Ratchet had known… He would have hoped, so ardently, that Ratchet could be an ally to them in this situation—that they wouldn’t need to rely on just Megatron, who had already turned against them with the threats he’d made.

But especially after their encounter with Soundwave, Sunstreaker couldn’t believe, on any level, that Ratchet could keep this confidential.

No matter how he wished, and… Maybe no matter what Ratchet himself wanted.

There was only so badly you could betray your own side before it would need to be brought to light by anyone who came privy to it, though.

“Sunny–” Ratchet tried again, but Sunstreaker cut him off with a growl, rising onto his pedes.

“Out, Ratchet. Now.”

His frame was shaking just so and Sideswipe straightened. Ratchet had to see the danger too.

He still wouldn’t leave. “I–”

“OUT!” Sunstreaker roared.

And… Pits but he could practically feel his processors misfiring. Sunstreaker pressed one of his servos to his forehelm, grinding his denta together. Not right now.

Finally Ratchet took the motherfucking hint, though, and left without another word. Sunstreaker collapsed back onto the bottom bunk, grabbing his goddamned helm with both servos. His vents ran fast and hard, but… Frag, he was still himself, wasn’t he? What a fragging success.

Sideswipe moved after a minute and sat down next to him. His brother was what he always was—steadily there, not providing a single judgmental thought, not thinking any less or any more of him for what he was, what he did, what he said… 

Just there, no matter what.

At least that wasn’t going to change even if everything else in his life was quickly falling apart.

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