Sunny Disposition

Chapter 2: Constant Failures

Sunstreaker sat there, staring at the collection of solar-guns hanging on the wall, his hand unknowingly gripping his injured leg. It had been over about three days since he had last seen his brother, or slept in a berth. Prowl, surprisingly, had allowed him everything he asked … but also said it would take a few days for him to get him a new room. The front-liner knew the tactician was probably thinking it was just one of his brother and his spats and in a few days they’d both be over it.

He was wrong, and Sunny was more than thrilled that he was getting his new room today. At this point, he didn’t care if he had to room with Huffer … anything was better than sleeping wherever he could find a seclude place in the Ark. He had slept in closets, weapon’s rooms, training rooms, the rec. room’s couch; you name it. His leg couldn’t take much more of his terrible sleeping habits and someone always seemed to interrupt him during his recharge cycles; not wanting to gain any unwanted attention during these times or be personally walked to his brother’s quarters, Sunstreaker would merely stated  that he had fallen into sleep mode and would limp off. He ignored embarrassing moments like that for the most part though. That was because the best place seemed to be the armory. No one went in there in the middle of the night, and if an alarm went off Sunny would already be wake up and made it look like he was gun-ho.

That theory wasn’t completely perfect, though. It seemed that there was someone who did go into the weapons room in the middle of the night. Sunny, being in so much pain with his leg and so tired, didn’t even hear the swish of the door nor the red mech that stepped inside.

Ironhide stood there a moment, gun in hand and ready to be put back on the shelf after his late night practice. For a minute, he had thought it was a corpse that had been stuck in the room as some enemy wandered the halls. But he heard a soft sigh of vents and couldn’t help but state, “Now what the slag are you doing in here, Sunstreaker?”

And that was how Sunny came to be on one of the med-bay berths, he supposed as he stared at the nearly blinding florescent lights above his head. He didn’t remember much except Ironhide poking him and asking if he was okay. He must have seemed injured last night, not that he wasn’t in that much pain. True, his leg was killing him … which Ratchet seemed to know and had been waiting for like some kind of haggard crow. Sometimes Sunstreaker secretly wondered if the medic could read minds like Soundwave.

“You slaggen idiot. No wonder you are in pain! Sleeping upright!” gripped the medic as he wandered back and forth across the medical bay, putting tools away.

“I never said I was in pain,” grumbled the twin dryly as he continued to look up at the ceiling tiles.

“Slag you aren’t! I heard those dry little whimpers last night when Ironhide dragged you in here,” growled the medic as he started to walk to the other side of the medical bay, not stalling in his work.

“Did not. Weren’t you asleep, anyway?” grumbled the twin as he tried to offline his optics and get some more rest. 

Ratchet just continued to ramble though, and the twin placed his hand over his optics. His head was starting to pound. He couldn’t take much more of this. In fact, he wouldn’t. His engine whining, Sunstreaker sat up on his berth and glared at the ranting medic. Well, it was morning he supposed. Why not just get up? He wasn’t going to get anymore recharge anyway.

There was a soft clang as his feet hit the floor, the ranting went silent as Sunstreaker stood up straight and started to walk towards the exit.

“Where do you think you’re going?” came the voice of the medic. “I haven’t cleared you yet.”

“Bite me, Ratchet. The only reason I was even in here was because I thought I was going to get some rest. Since I’m not, I just as wells get ready for my next shift,” grumble the yellow hellion, not even bothering to look backwards at the being he was talking too.

Strangely, Ratchet was silent during the limping mech’s slow journey to the door, yet just before the Lamborghini was about to open to door, a soft voice carried over the echoing room, “You know … you can’t ignore Sideswipe forever. Hurting your health isn’t going to hold that off.”

Sunstreaker stalled his movements long enough to throw a cold, knowing, glare back at the old mech. Nonetheless, he said nothing. If it was up to him he’d never see his brother again, having the slagger transferred somewhere with his precious lover sounded like a good plan to him.

It would seem that fate did not share Sunstreaker’s opinion of never confronting his brother, being the cruel cackling mistress that she was. But at least the golden warrior had been able to hold off the confrontation for a few more hours. He had even managed to ignore his brother by hiding in a closet momentarily, but now with a cube of high grade in his hand … the twin forgot his shame and only remembered pain.

“Hey, Sunny,” came a cry through the rec. room, hurried feet coming over to him. The yellow soldier merely continued to down his high grade, barely noting that his brother had sat down across from him and had tried to curl his hand around Sunstreaker’s hand. Sunny made it look like he was merely downing another swig of his high grade as he moved his hand, ignoring his sibling’s touch.

“I’ve been looking all over for you all morning,” continued Sideswipe, his vents catching as his fingers curled into his palm like rejected branches.

Sunstreaker wasn’t surprised that Sideswipe hadn’t started looking for him until this morning. After all, sometimes Sunny would sometimes stay in the medical bay days longer than originally said due to his obnoxious attitude: Ratchet continually knocking him unconscious. Then there was the fact that their new schedules meant that they wouldn’t be running into each other for at least a week.  Either way, it confirmed his theory that his brother no longer needed him. Even if Ratchet had been continually knocking him out for the past few days, Sideswipe would still check on him … that is, he would have before Bluestreak came into the picture. The picture he was quickly being cut out of.

Sideswipe hadn’t thought anything of his brother’s disappearance. In truth, he was a bit relieved to have some time with Bluestreak. He had popped the younger mech’s cherry – as the humans would say – and Bluestreak was insatiable since then. That wasn’t the only thing Side’s wanted with some extra time either; it was nice to cuddle with Bluestreak, the smaller gunner seeming to fit into the grooves of his form perfectly. But this morning, when he woke up with Bluestreak beside him, something felt wrong … something had been missing. Sideswipe had panicked at first when he realized he couldn’t feel his brother. He had thought Sunstreaker was hurt … or worse … and had practically knocked the med bay door down looking for his brother. It took a few minutes for Ratchet to calm him down and state that his twin wasn’t dead and had gotten out of his surgery just fine … three days ago. It didn’t take Sideswipe a sparse second to conclude that his brother wasn’t dead somewhere, but in fact, couldn’t be felt through the bond because Sunstreaker was pissed. Frag.

“Where have you been,” continued Sideswipe, feeling a bit hurt that he couldn’t touch his brother, but knew better than to try and force it; he didn’t need Sunny getting violent right now.

“When I woke up this morning I could barely feel you through the bond and when I went to Ratchet, he said you were in this morning … but you got out three days ago. Where have you been? A-are you mad at me?” added Sideswipe nervously. Three days ago … he had been with Bluestreak that night. Hopefully, his brother hadn’t noticed anything since their schedules were opposing, but he doubted that. Sunny would have wanted to share or thrown a full-out fit.

Yes, Sunstreaker was mad. He was madder than the pit, and he could just feel the glass of the cube in his hand shiver as it started to crack under his angry grasp. He wanted to start a brawl, strike out in rage, but for some reason another emotion was devouring that rage before it could consume him … loneliness and its companion, sorrow. In truth … he wanted to scream and cry, yelling out the question ‘why’. Instead, he could only whisper in a bitter tone, “Do I have something to be mad about, Sideswipe? It’s not like you’re hiding anything, are you?”

Sideswipe seemed to physically wilt … this was not about forgetting a simple bonding session. H-he knew about Bluestreak. Swallowing, Sideswipe tried to push into the bond with comforting and regretful emotions … only to slam into a brick wall. Drawing back with a slight hiss, the red mech knew he was in deep slag. He quickly looked around nervously hoping no one had noticed the rising tension. He might be in slag with Sunny, didn’t mean he had to drag Bluestreak down with him.

Leaning forward and wanting to discuss this in more controlled conditions, Sideswipe stated, “Come on, Sunny. Let’s talk about this someplace more … private.”

“Private,” whispered Sunstreaker, his rage finally winning over his sorrow as he recalled how Sideswipe mentioned to Bluestreak as to why their relationship had to remain under cover … it was because of him. Time to end this charade, let there be rage!

“Private!” growled the yellow mech as he rose to his feet, the bench slamming against the floor from his sudden movement, the cube smashing to pieces in his fist. “No! I think everyone deserves to know. After all, I’d hate for me or anyone else to get in the way of your new relationship!”

Sideswipe’s optics nearly went white and he quickly rose as well, his hand out, “Now, calm down Sunstreaker. Let’s take this to our room so we can talk about this.”

“Our room? No, you mean your room and that … that slaggen sparkling you’re fucking!” growled Sunny as he took a step forward, hands pulled into fists, and engine hissing.

A small whine escaped the red Lamborghini’s engine at the insult and before he could stop himself, Sideswipe found himself rising in defense of his new lover like a tide ready to drown a fire on the beach. “Bluestreak is not a sparkling! How dare you say that about him!”

The whole break room was silent now, every pair of optics on the two feuding brothers.

“Please! He’s almost the same age as Bumblebee! He’s probably only been in his adult proto-form for a vorn. What? Did you abandon your brother so you could pop the virgin’s cherry!” yelled the yellow hellion, his voice seeming to echo the word ‘virgin’ throughout the room and into the hall.

Sideswipe was silent for a moment as if calculating the coldest, harshest, thing he could, “Tuh, look who’s talking? You’re still more a virgin than Bluestreak was. You’ve never even had a berth mate without me giving him to you … still scared of new experiences … still scared of life like the rejected half of the spark you are!”

Sunstreaker’s optics got wide and he took a step back, his gaze immediately falling on the mechs around them as if noticing them for the first time. The whole rec. room was looking at him, not Sideswipe. They were looking at him; mouths open in shock, judging him. Sunstreaker shook his head, his anger being replaced by shame and disgust … in himself. Before he knew it, he took a step away from his brother with his mouth hung open. Sideswipe had just … he had just … h-he just had to get out.

Before Sideswipe could properly realize what he had just done, he felt it through the bond: pain, hurt, shame, and regret. Things Sunny rarely felt … but always looked to Sideswipe to wash away when he did feel such things. Sideswipe was meant to banish such feelings from his brother, not to create those emotions.

Feeling his tank churn, Sideswipe shook his head and slowly reached for his brother, his words soft, “S-sunny … I didn’t mean to say that … I-it was an accident.”

Sunstreaker shook his head, his words angry and pained at the same time, “There … you said it. You’re relationship is no longer a secret … so now you can get out of my life … and me out of yours. Don’t let the defect get between you and your precious lover.”

The words were so soft, so pained, that the tone was more shocking that the words itself. He hadn’t heard Sunstreaker use that tone since they had been very young … long before the war. It was the tone used when Sunny would still cling to him … when Sunstreaker could still cry.

Swallowing the sick feeling, Sideswipe took a step forward, ready to spring forward and pull his brother into an embrace. He hadn’t meant it like that. But, before his fingers could even grace his brother’s golden paint, Sunstreaker was pulling back his arm. A short cry and the crinkle of glass filled the silent room, and then there was a disturbing echo, a body falling to the floor and griping its face. Sunstreaker just stood there, watching his brother as the anger boiled with so many other emotions like a witch’s brew. Then, before anyone could interfere, the golden warrior was transforming. The frontliner’s tires drowned out his brother’s dry sob as Sideswipe sat up, removing his hands, energon running down his face from his cracked optic.

Sideswipe quickly got to his shaky feet and was about to race after the escaping blur of yellow when Ironhide stepped in front of him, grabbing him by the elbow. The elder mech steadied him before he fell straight on his face.

“Woh, there kid. You’re not going anywhere but to Ratchet. And I think you should let Sunshine cool off,” said the red mech, his grip tight.

“B-but … I can’t leave him like that!” cried Sideswipe, an arm coming up to rest over his dripping optic.

“Don’t worry, man,” said Jazz as he rose from his seat, running for the exit. “I’ll go talk to him.”

Sideswipe just continued to look longingly at the exit as Ironhide detoured him towards the medical bay, “Come on, Kid. I think we need to talk.”

…

“See, mighty Megatron. The whole idea was preposterous anyway. I know fleshlings are dumb, but even they wouldn’t put a field of solar panels out in this Primus forsaken place.”

Megatron bit back a wave of rage as Starscream’s voice echoed over the desert plain, adding to his already growing irritation, but he continued to look outwards at the rolling sands of the American desert. The truth was … things were not going well on Earth lately. It was something he had tried to ignore and push aside, his thirst for battle and destruction driving him onward. But, in the quiet of his quarters, his logic centers caught up with him.

This was a losing battle for Earth’s energy. Not that he considered his soldiers’ weaklings or himself a coward. The truth was, as he watched the sharks fight outside the Nemesis from his chamber throne; he was expending more resources than he was collecting. Every mission to collect energon for the restoration of Cybertron was a battle, and by the time they collected the energy they could his warriors had nearly burned more energy than they had collected.

The Decepticons were slowly losing the war. It was as if the restoration of Cybertron was now more a burden than a want. His men were tired, hungry, and being slowly worn down due to energon rationing. The Decepticons were slowly starving because there were too many sharks fighting for the same resources: the Autobots, the humans, Cybertron’s resurrection, and finally them.

“This planet is waste of time. We are falling behind here more than succeeding because you can’t kill Optimus Prime. In the past, when I would pick the planet, we never had to fight the Autobots during every single collection for energon!” said Starscream, following behind his master.

Megatron continued to try and ignore the griping mech. He had decided to try a new tactic in collecting the vital resource. He had been attacking large energy stations with a large number of soldiers, but why not small have a small number of soldiers steal from a small energy source more often? If it worked the war might turn back into his favor … if it did not … he didn’t want to think about it. It seems that Starscream was thinking it for him though … and he’d taken all he was going to take of that flier’s mouth.

“The Decepticon’s are going to perish due to your bad leadership-sckeeek!”

Starscream was only allowed a pathetic squeak as his leader turned his rage on him, a hand around the Seeker’ neck as he rose into the air, feet hanging.

“Starscream, if you value your ability to speak,” sneered the tyrant in a cold tone as his grip tightened, making the metal squeak. “You will shut off your vocals and go do something useful: such as finding that solar energy farm.”

The flier merely choked, gripping at the hand around his neck. Starscream knew that thrashing would be a useless endeavor. Such action would gain him a harsher punishment … one that probably involved his wings. It was not a terribly well kept secret, but the loss of a flying mechs’ wings could cause something simply dubbed Sky-Madness. Megatron had done it to him once, just to watch him squirm. He had ripped off the SIC’s wings, patch him up like some kind of groundling, and kept him on-duty in the command center. The first day or so had been … bearable. The Seeker had twitched from time to time, but managed to do his job. That did not last. Soon he was all out shaking like a drug addict going through detox. Megatron didn’t even make a snide comment or mocking remark at the flier’s flying condition … he just sat in his thrown and watched like some kind of stone guard dog. Starscream then degraded from that point. It started with little things, touching another flier’s wings almost longingly as he passed them in the halls, staring at fliers in the lunchroom with almost a stalker’s intent, daydreams of ripping off another wings and welding them on as if they were his own. The only thing that dissuaded such impulses was when he’d also stare out at the sky in his spare time, longingly.

That was just foreplay, full blown madness followed after. He soon found himself on his knees before the tyrant, arms wrapped around one of the lord’s legs as he begged, pleaded and cried out in agony for his wings. He was denied time and time again. It didn’t take him long to become delusional, small voices in the back of his head telling him he could indeed fly … without wings or that it would be easy to murder another flier and take their wings. In the end, to everyone but Starscream, it looked like he jumped off the tower to commit suicide. Starscream had been positive that he could fly. So, after the flier was repaired and strapped to a table, Megatron decided that that was enough and had the Seeker’s wings replaced ... those days after Starscream remember the most. His spark was screaming to the sky … but he was strapped to the berth, his wings healing, and Megatron sneering with a warning look.

Starscream never forgot that punishment … nor how effective it was. He was a prime example of a SIC for a long time after that … for a while at least, but he was in no mood to relive such a horrific experience. So it was with a shivering voice he choked, “Yes, Megatron.”

The silver tyrant smiled, letting go of Starscream. The flier could only cough as he was dropped into the sands, the dust rising up around him like a cloud.

“That’s a good Seeker. Now keep a low profile and if you see an Autobot, especially a lone one, take him out as quickly and quietly as possible. We don’t need them catching on to my newest plan so soon,” said the silver mech.

“Of course … my lord. If I see any Auto-scum alone, he’ll be dead before he can even activate his com. link.”