#they said they wouldn���t expect him to react this way to the medication if he had a normal heart

[the-odd-job]

Close Your Eyes to This Disaster Chapter 5: What Have I Done?

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Chose Not to Use, Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers G1 Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Ratchet, Prowl, Optimus, Ironhide, Jazz Additional Tags: Dubcon, Sticky, Abusive Relationships, Mind Games, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Canon-Typical Violence Words: 4118

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They didn’t contact the Ark after Soundwave lifted the jam over their communications systems. What were they supposed to say? They had no idea. Maybe they would know once things weren’t so fresh, but as things stood…

So, instead of letting a single spark know about what had happened, they sat side by side on the open field for the better part of an hour, going through their newly reacquired memory files, and Sunstreaker staring at the trickle of fluids seeping from his valve. They dried slowly.

He needed a wash. Especially after getting ‘faced on the dirty ground–

…He needed a wash.

Instead they sat in silence, trying to just make sense of this turn of events. They couldn’t change the past even if the memories made it difficult to understand why their relationship with Megatron had even been a thing–

But he was one to talk when even the present him hadn’t done what he was supposed to do, what the smart thing would’ve been.

He’d slagging… Fragged the mech. Or gotten fragged by him—technicalities when the truth was that he hadn’t… Disliked it. His spark was still abuzz with all manner of emotions that weren’t even supposed to exist, but that grew more undeniable the longer he looked at them. He wasn’t ready to call the mess love, but it wasn’t… Inconsequential. There was affection.

Why was there affection?

What was wrong with him?

They came no closer to answers no matter how long they sat there and eventually Sideswipe roused them with a quiet, “Should head back. They’ll want to… Want to know what happened.”

Back to the Ark, looking as they did—like something had happened. They had answers to some of the command’s questions now, at least, and they would need to… Report all of this. Somehow.

Though maybe without going into his personal crisis. How much detail they would give outside of that they could decide on later, once the time came.

Sunstreaker nodded and after he’d transformed his modesty panel back in place, they cleaned away the evidence of his little frag session before returning to the road. They were a little past the midway point of their patrol so they didn’t turn around, but rather continued onward after some… Extremely painful transformations. Sunstreaker especially.

At least they could still transform and drive, though, despite the damage they’d taken. Their ability to drag their own afts back meant they didn’t need to contact the Ark just yet. Or, ever. They kept their comms off the whole way back to the Autobot base, content to live in ignorance and not know if someone was trying to contact them. With the speeds they had traveled the first portion of the patrol route, they weren’t going to be late even with the… Delay, or the fact they weren’t driving their usual speeds on their way back—both because they were both in varying amounts of pain, and because they weren’t looking forward to whatever might happen upon their return.

Mostly because of the latter.

But they couldn’t dawdle forever and ever, and slowly but steadily their distance to the Ark decreased until they were driving over the desert surrounding the ship. Closer and closer, to the point they made visual contact with the mostly buried vessel—and the lone figure silhouetted against the light coming from the open entrance.

It turned out to be Prowl, his wings held stiffly behind him as they approached–

But they fanned in surprise when the Ark’s light touched the brothers and mercilessly revealed their less than stellar condition. Sunstreaker grit his denta through his transformation back to his bipedal mode as parts scraped against each other in ways they definitely weren’t meant to, torn plating screeching as it was forcefully shifted into its other configuration.

He met Prowl’s optics with challenge in his own, daring the damn mech to say something about the state of their frames.

Prowl didn’t comment on it though. “Ratchet,” was the only word he spoke. He needn’t say more than that, anyway. They needed repairs and when the SIC stepped aside to let them past him, the twins didn’t do more than head inside—without so much as an impish comment from Sideswipe.

He could just see Prowl’s frown from the corner of his optic before they’d passed him.

They were leaving drips of energon and who knew what else behind them as they walked the halls towards the medbay, but they were on their own pedes and moving under their own power. That was good enough. Luckily for them, they saw no one else before they’d reached the medbay doors that parted with a hiss. Ratchet was already waiting for them, arms across his chassis and face stern. Prowl had probably let him know he could expect visitors.

The medic had one look at them, his expression tightening all the more from what he saw. “Megatron?” he asked even as he ushered the brothers to medical berths, ready to triage their injuries.

“Yeah,” Sideswipe confirmed. They laid down and… Said nothing more.

Ratchet filled the silence, anyway. “Didn’t I slagging tell you to not come back to my bay because of him?” he growled at them, thoroughly scanning them both before he focused on Sunstreaker, likely because his injuries were slightly more severe. Megatron knew how to hurt.

And yet, it could’ve been so much worse, damage wise. He could’ve been dead.

“You were kept from longer patrols for a reason,” Ratchet continued, removing and transforming pieces of Sunstreaker’s plating away to take a look underneath with surprising caution. The fact he wasn’t even half as rough as he usually was said a lot.

Indeed, everyone knew he could’ve died. That he, frankly, should be dead after something like that.

“No one wanted to risk Megatron succeeding in whatever he wanted to do with you, for your own damn good—but no, you cannot possibly listen. Did you even think? You knew he was gunning for you, but off you were anyway! Oh, and Cliffjumper and Brawn are in hot water too because of you, not that I expect you to care.”

Sunstreaker stared at the ceiling and let Ratchet do his thing and say his piece. The medic quieted suspiciously once he started on the damage on his chest, transforming his armor aside, then his protoform too when the damage ran deeper than he expected. He didn’t really react, but Sunstreaker still knew the exact moment Ratchet came by the damage to his spark chamber. He made sure it wasn’t about to off him—it wasn’t—then… Placed his servos on the berth next to Sunstreaker’s frame and leaning onto them—looking at him, searching his face.

Sunstreaker reluctantly met his optics. “Twins,” Ratchet said, too quietly to go well with his usual demeanor.

But then, this wasn’t his usual demeanor. “What happened?”

The big question.

Sunstreaker’s gaze shifted back to the ceiling. They tried to think of what to say, how to start—because there was the what, but more important felt the why. Besides, he wasn’t too eager to talk about the fragging. It wasn’t necessarily damning depending on his own response to it, but… That was the problem. Why it wouldn’t be damning.

Yeah, he didn’t really want to go there. He still had his pride.

But that was only what he wouldn’t say. What would he say?

He reset his vocalizer several times in indecision—almost said one thing, then decided against it. Almost said another thing, but on the last second decided against that too. Ratchet didn’t rush him, surprisingly.

They gave up on finding the perfect words, eventually, and just spoke. “Did you know I was Megatron’s lover?”

That didn’t look to be what Ratchet had been expecting, if the way his optical ridges shot up and he leaned back was anything to go by. Sunstreaker couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t what they had been expecting, either.

“What? When?” the medic asked after he’d recovered some, leaning back in. Sunstreaker didn’t meet his optics this time, just stared at the bright orange ceiling, counting the scratches he already knew by spark.

But he answered. “In the Pits.” It wasn’t a secret they had been Pit fighters. It was part of their reputation even if… Even if they hadn’t actually remembered it. Weird as that detail was, it had always been undeniable that their fighting style screamed gladiator. The war had further refined their skills, but anyone who knew their shit couldn’t claim it wasn’t clear as day that they had gotten their education in the Pits. What had claimed their conscious memories hadn’t done so to the subconscious, background ones. Something had been left behind in that near total wipe.

A wipe that wasn’t as permanent as they had always thought. “Ratchet?” Sideswipe spoke up, prompting the medic to glance over his shoulder at him. “Did you know part of my memories were locked away?”

Again Ratchet looked surprised, but then nodded, carefully. “Yes. It’s in your restricted medical files and I’ve looked at them myself.”

The twins frowned. “Why did you never tell me they weren’t completely gone?” Sideswipe asked.

Ratchet frowned too. “You had already spent most of the war without them and didn’t seem to be adversely affected by their absence. Depending on what they contained… You could have had an adverse reaction—that could have distracted you to the point you wouldn’t function at your best anymore.”

And were possibly killed as a result, they could conclude that much without Ratchet stating it directly. Their best had kept them alive. If they didn’t have that anymore?

“You should have still given me the choice,” Sideswipe said with half a growl. Primus, why was everyone, anyone, every time, anytime, always so eager to take their choice from them? They could’ve gone without that being the repeating theme in their damned life.

Ratchet was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I’m sorry I didn’t. I should have given you the option to remember, despite the potential cost.”

His field flared, confirming the apology was genuine, that the words were sincere.

But Ratchet was only one in a long line of medics they had had poking around in their systems. Any one of them could have offered them their memories back.

No one had. And despite this one matter… Ratchet was still the best they’d had.

Their number one medic cleared his vocalizer, glancing between them. “Did something happen to those memories? Can you access them now, somehow?”

Both twins nodded. “It’s what Megatron wanted,” Sunstreaker was the one to answer out loud. “For me to… To remember him. Soundwave restored them.”

“You put up a fight, first,” Ratchet said the most obvious observation in the world, looking back at Sunstreaker’s frame. His optical ridges drew down very low. “He didn’t offer, did he?”

They snorted. “One guess,” Sideswipe said, and just that was enough to turn Ratchet’s mouth into a thin line. By the common estimate it wasn’t really Megatron’s style to ask before he did what he wanted to do. As much as they now knew about some other sides the warlord also had… The basics were still the same.

But there was also… “Ratch, did you know what was in those memories?”

Ratchet shook his helm. “No. They were inaccessible even with a cipher without the patch I assume you got. If I had known…”

He trailed off, but they could assume there were several ways that could’ve potentially gone down. Maybe it would’ve been reason to give them the memories, or it could’ve been a reason to intentionally withhold them; maybe it would’ve made them suspect or seen as risk factors for the nature of the relations they’d had.

Maybe it could’ve been something else.

“Do you remember all of it, now?” Ratchet asked.

They nodded. “Far as I can tell, yeah. At least it’s all on a timeline that actually makes sense. What… Why did we even lose those memories? Did it have something to do with the slave coding?”

Ratchet straightened, displeasure written on his face and in his field likely due to the mention of the coding—but he didn’t look surprised. That was really answer enough. “Yes. Your record says that the removal of the slave coding from your systems corrupted the memory of the entire time you had the coding. The medic that performed the operation didn’t even try to restore them.”

And no one after that had done so either, not even Ratchet, but that was where it had all begun. They frowned. “Why not?”

“According to his written explanation, he ‘didn’t see it necessary’,” Ratchet said with air quotes, “and that ‘the memories could be traumatic’, so ‘patients are likely better off without them’. Mind you, he had no immediate way to restore them, anyway, so I expect getting you in fighting condition and on the field as soon as possible also played a role. The fix was only discovered later.”

Ah, priorities. Sunstreaker growled to himself. “Waste of time to make sure some gladiators have their memories, huh?”

“Apparently. And I fell into the same hole without thinking—again, I apologize for that. Megatron shouldn’t have needed to step in for you to get them back.”

It was probably too late to slag that original medic. Most of their species was straight up dead and chances were he was among those numbers, rather than in the ranks of the few hundred still living.

But oh how satisfying it would have been to give him a painful piece of their mind. True, their lack of memories hadn’t bothered them or come with any unfortunate side effects that they knew of, but those were their fragging memories. They had a right to them!

“I agree.”

It was only after Ratchet spoke that they realized Sideswipe had ranted out loud. His mouth snapped shut on that stroke of self-awareness, but at least they hadn’t divulged anything important in their distraction.

Their medic sighed and scanned Sunstreaker’s frame again, as if he didn’t already have all the readings. “If you’ll let me, I’ll have a look that the memory patch is working as it should, and after you’re repaired, the command would like to have a meeting with you to sort this mess out. Are you alright with that?”

About what they expected. The twins nodded their agreement and Ratchet got to work.

——————————————————

Soundwave had done a perfectly good job with the restoration of their memories, it turned out. The physical damage to their frames took some hours to repair, but by the end of it they were good as new. Sunstreaker’s spark chamber was back to having no torn holes left by a former love’s claws, his chest armor back on the task of protecting it, cut energon lines put together—so on and so forth to all of the injuries they had acquired. They’d need to do some repainting as soon as possible, but first… The command wanted to hear what had happened.

That landed the twins at the table of the meeting room usually only the command used, instead of their quarters doing far more important things. Sunstreaker was frowning down at the bare grey piece on his thigh, sour in mood for several reasons by now. That was one of them, and fraggit, it was one he could’ve done something about if it wasn’t for the impatience of others.

But no. Couldn’t have that.

“Twins. Could you start from the beginning?” Optimus requested. “We would like to understand Megatron’s interest in you.”

Sideswipe, at least, was looking at the members of the command that had gathered just to listen to them—Optimus, Prowl, Jazz, Ironhide, Ratchet, Wheeljack. Red Alert wasn’t invited for some obvious reasons. He’d probably glitch just at reading the report of this… Pits, they weren’t looking forward to dealing with the accusations that would follow.

“Beginning beginning?” Sideswipe asked to make sure, but they didn’t wait for an answer before Sunstreaker had already begun to speak.

They wanted from the beginning, they would get from the beginning.

Sans all the detail. He was not going to go too deep into his private life for them. “I met Megatronus in the Pits and we became… Lovers. We stayed that way for several vorns, until the start of the war. However, I was a slave and my frames slave coded, and on removing the coding when joining the Autobots, all of the memories of the duration of having the slave coding got messed up and out of my reach. That’s what Ratchet says, anyway. I’m not a medic.”

Sunstreaker didn’t lift his gaze, but Sideswipe saw Ratchet nod at the questioning looks he got. That confirmed, Sunstreaker continued, “So, I didn’t remember any of that—my time in the Pits, what Megatron was to me—for the entirety of the war. I also never ran into him during the war, up until the Exodus and ending up on Earth. Looks like he hadn’t really let go of me, though.”

“He was trying to make contact with you?” Prowl frowned. Sunstreaker shrugged. That seemed like the sensible answer, didn’t it?

“And you didn’t remember him so you had no idea he might even want to do that,” Jazz surmised. “Looks like buckethead decided to just corner you when you wouldn’t talk to him willingly.”

“Looks like it,” Sideswipe sighed.

“What did Megatron do, exactly?” Optimus asked, all gentle and careful as if these might be some unpleasant memories for the twins and he didn’t want to upset them. Sunstreaker looked up enough to direct his frown at him. The Prime, of course, looked as earnest as ever.

“Soundwave occupied Sideswipe,” Sunstreaker nevertheless started, as much as there wasn’t much to tell—not much he wanted to tell. “Megatron fought me into a standstill, and when I didn’t recognize him, he had Soundwave restore our missing memories.”

And that was all he wanted to say about that, so that was all he said.

It didn’t satisfy the command, though.

“That was all?” Prowl asked, sounding a little skeptical. “He didn’t want anything else? He didn’t say anything?”

Sunstreaker revved a tune of annoyance and let his helm fall back to stare at the ceiling instead of anyone else. Sideswipe dropped his gaze onto the table, but everyone would be able to tell they were lying if they said that was all. Megatron coming along, returning their memories to them, and buggering off right after just didn’t make much sense, did it? He had to tell them something.

Primus damn it all, but Sunstreaker bit the bullet in the most vague way he could. “He talked about how he’s missed me; apparently he thinks there’s still something between us. Told me not to forget him again, then left.”

There was quiet as everyone digested those news. Jazz was the first one to speak. “That’s how he feels about you, if he was speakin’ the truth. How do you feel about him?”

Right. Did Sunstreaker still love Megatron? Was he going to run right back to his former lover’s arms to continue where they left off?

He lifted an arm to run a servo down his face. What a fragging mess… No, he wasn’t about to run back to anyone, but his feelings? He wasn’t as sure about his feelings. They weren’t listening to sense very much.

“He was never the easiest mech to be with,” he eventually landed on saying, dropping his arm and tipping his helm back forward to stare at the opposite wall past everyone looking at him. “What I remember makes a damn big part of me wonder why the pit I was with him in the first place. ‘Sides, he made a piss poor reintroduction.”

From the corner of his vision he could see Jazz’s visor flashing just a bit. The TIC could probably read between the lines that he wasn’t just referring to the fight, but blessedly, he didn’t say anything. The others didn’t look surprised in the slightest. Wasn’t it so easy to imagine it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows with a mech like Megatron? Because it wasn’t. It really wasn’t.

And yet…

But they didn’t need to know about the and yet. He was going to sort himself out without bringing his loyalties into further question, thank you.

“How do you go from being that bastard’s lovers to becoming Autobots?” Ironhide wanted to know. Sunstreaker glanced at him, offering the weapons specialist a shrug.

 “We were slaves. That doesn’t always leave you with an overabundance of options.”

“Twins,” the Prime said almost immediately, sounding damn concerned all of a sudden—not that he hadn’t been concerned for this whole duration, being the caring sort— “Did you join the Autobots willingly?”

Oh boy, Optimus wasn’t going to like the answer. Sunstreaker met his optics head on and said it as it was: “Not everyone had the privilege of choice.”

Their grand leader looked downright distraught at that, but Prowl took the turn to speak. “If Megatron still has an interest in you, we can expect he’ll try to get you to his side–“ an assessment Sunstreaker didn’t exactly disagree with, “–but the real question is your response to such attempts.”

Sunstreaker nodded his understanding, and the SIC continued by asking, “What would you like to do about this?”

Everyone’s attention was squarely on him. Sunstreaker gushed a heavy round of air from his vents. “I’d prefer things didn’t change,” he said to even partially alleviate the obvious concerns of where his loyalties would go from here—and he wasn’t lying, either. “I’ve gone the entire war fighting for the Autobots and felt perfectly content that way. This isn’t swaying my thoughts on that.”

“Kid,” Ironhide said, a little carefully, “If you’d gotten the choice in the whole thing… Would you have joined the Autobots?”

Sunstreaker huffed–

But couldn’t pretend to find that funny for more than a handful of seconds before he sighed. “I wasn’t in the… Mindset. Something drastic would have needed to happen for me to make that choice for myself.”

Again there was silence as the command considered that answer. Then Optimus’ attention turned to Sunstreaker’s twin instead. “Sideswipe, what is your take on all of this?”

The brothers frowned, but Sideswipe didn’t waste much time jerking his thumb at Sunstreaker. “What Sunny says.”

It didn’t seem to be the answer the Prime was looking for based on his own frown, but it was all the answer he was going to get. He didn’t push further, either, though that may have just been because he didn’t have the time before Ironhide was voicing another question. “How’d the slagger even know how to set yer memories right?”

Sunstreaker shrugged, but Ratchet answered, “It’s in their restricted medical files. If someone got their hands on those, they’d know the cause, the state, and the fix.”

Prowl joined in on all those already frowning. “So we may have had a security breach.”

“Seems likely,” Ratchet agreed.

“Gotta give to ‘im, he was determined to have you remember again,” Jazz commented. “Figuring out you’d lost your memories, gettin’ the reason and the remedy, cornerin’ you to rectify the situation… This can’t be all he wants.”

“Agreed,” Prowl said, looking between the brothers. “No doubt he will have further intent for you—and he may not ask for you agreement for any of it.”

“I’m aware,” Sunstreaker growled. “Doesn’t mean I’m just going to slagging roll over and let him have his way.”

Except hadn’t he already done that? Hadn’t Megatron only needed to speak select words and touch him right for him to let the fragger get what he wanted?

But ‘facing was one thing. Whatever else Megatron was after… That was another. He would be more prepared next time, too.

It wouldn’t happen again.

He earned several nods for his words. “We will work around this,” Optimus promised. “Megatron will not be given a chance to do what he wills with you.”

“Does that mean I’ll still be kept from going far from the Ark?” Sideswipe asked, reflecting the twins’ unhappiness with the idea.

“Do you not agree it’s for the best?” Prowl asked in return, one of his optical ridges rising. “Or would you rather this event repeat itself?”

“…Point taken,” Sideswipe muttered to that, far from thrilled with that, but… Did they really want to run into Megatron again?

“Let us know if something happens despite our precautions,” Optimus said. They nodded their understanding and the Prime continued, “Dismissed. Go get some rest.”

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