[Transformers] Fic; "No Rest for the Wicked"; Sunstreaker; R

[fuzipenguin]

Title: No Rest for the Wicked
Fandom: Transformers
Series: n/a
Author: FuziPenguin
Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe (minor), Ironhide (minor - voice only), multiple Autobot and Decepticon OCs
Pairing: n/a
Rating: R/Mature
Word Count: 6300
Summary: Stranded on a Decepticon-occupied moon, Sunstreaker is heavily injured, outnumbered, and outgunned. The only way back to his faction is via infiltration of the enemy’s base. Should be a piece of oil-cake… right?
Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Blood and Gore, Medical Inaccuracies, Traumatic Amputation, Explosions, Gunshot Wounds, Brain Damage, Unreliable Narrator, Minor Character Death, Sibling Rivalry
Notes: Self-beta'd. Written for the TF Reverse Mini Bang 2024. Art by cerebrocentric-bullet (Tumblr) / LifePersists (Twitter)! The art piece is embedded in the fic at AO3!
Disclaimer: This is a piece of fiction. No harm was intended in the creation of this work. All rights belong to the original creators.

               “Uh oh.”

               Sunstreaker leaned slightly to the right and stared intently at the back of Quark’s helm. Sitting next to Quark in the copilot’s seat, Wildrun vented heavily due to pain. At Quark’s mutter, Wildrun’s head whipped to the side.

               “What? What do you mean, ‘uh oh?’ Don’t say ‘uh oh,” Wildrun admonished.

               Silently, Sunstreaker agreed. Beneath his pedes, the plating of the tiny drop ship vibrated and then started rattling. His fingers tightened on the seat’s arms.

               “Okay. Then I won’t say anything as the ship breaks apart and we fall violently to our deaths,” Quark replied, far too calmly for Sunstreaker’s liking. The sharpshooter/pilot started hitting a series of buttons and flicking some switches. Sunstreaker really wished he had taken up piloting. Or had a jetpack, like his brother.

               “B-break apart? Why would it break apart?” Wildrun shrieked. The puddle of energon beneath his seat grew larger as his fuel pump no doubt started going double-time. Sunstreaker judged the mech would bleed out from his wounds in another twenty minutes. Based on the worsening shimmy threatening to crack Sunstreaker’s denta together, it was more likely they would plummet to the planet’s surface before Wildrun made it to help.

               “Because it’s a piece of slag that barely passed inspection. Honestly, I doubt it even passed inspection,” Quark spat.

               “But it made it down from the main ship,” Wildrun said, voice faint.

               “Gravity helps. Or hurts, in this case.”

               A horrible screech heralded the ship lurching to the side before abruptly dropping beneath their feet. Sunstreaker’s left arm shot out, desperately clutching the rail beneath the viewing window. He cursed and gazed at the puddle of energon beneath his own pede. Nowhere near as big as Wildrun’s. Still sizable enough that Sunstreaker had hoped to also visit MedBay once they docked.

               It was looking more likely that none of them would reach the cruiser. Not unless ‘the piece of slag’ held out a little longer. But just then, something broke off beneath the ship and it started to sickeningly spin. Wildrun shut his optics and moaned.

               “We got parachutes?”

               Quark briefly looked over his shoulder at Sunstreaker. “This is the parachute,” Quark said bitterly, gesturing around himself. “Sorry. Sorry, guys. We’re going down. At this height, we’re probably gonna die. I’ve got half an engine and no landing gear and… scratch that. No engines. We have no engines.”

               A loud whooshing sound filled the dropship moments before the outer door tore away. Sunstreaker stared through the opening to see red-black-red as they tumbled end over end, the ground coming up fast.

               “But I don’t want to die,” Wildrun whined. Quark’s reply was swallowed by a loud bang, the ship jolting so violently Sunstreaker thought they’d been hit by a missile. Flashes of light and excruciating pain accompanied his HUD informing him of multiple systems crashes. Then everything went black and Sunstreaker knew no more.

**

 

               Sunstreaker onlined.

               Color him surprised.

               “Ughhh… frag me with a rusted spoon,” he moaned and tried to roll over. He moved all a foot before an ominous creaking sound made him freeze. When he rebooted his optics, he stared up at an arch of metal over him in confusion. Wasn’t that…?

               Right. So, he was now on the outside of the drop ship, pinned in place by a large fragment. Sunstreaker didn’t think it was the whole ship. In the far corner of his vision, he could see a ragged, leaking edge. There wasn’t time to take in much more. A sudden burst of blue sparks arched through the air, and he smelled an insidious burning odor.

               “Frag. Fragging… let go!” he snapped, pulling against what he now identified as the open door. With a grunt and a heave, he shifted his hips out from the metal, but his left arm was still pinned at the shoulder. No matter how hard he pulled, he couldn’t slide it out from under the ship. The door’s edges were deeply embedded in the black rock below him.

               A low whoosh proceeded a wash of heat over his pedes. Sunstreaker whipped his head to the side and saw the bottom of the ship now engulfed in white flames. “You have got… ugh… to be kidding me…! Come on!”

               Frantically straining hard enough to pop something deep in his chest, Sunstreaker watched the flames crawl closer. Finally, he scrambled in his one accessible subspace pocket and pulled out his backup blaster. With his right pede registering heat only millimeters away, Sunstreaker aimed the muzzle at his pinned shoulder. He pulled the trigger three times until the joint finally tore. Screaming behind clenched denta, he dove over the wall of fire.

               His roll was dizzying. The slope was steep and bits of rock and metal tore at his plating. By the time he came to a stop, several more lacerations registered in his HUD. Lying on the ground, two seconds passed before an explosion above him made him hug the hill, wrapping his arm around his head. Molten bits of metal pelted his side and back, but it was safer here than trying to outrun the debris.

               After things quieted down a bit, Sunstreaker finally lowered his arm and warily peered up the slope. A small piece of the ship remained, merrily burning a painful bright white.

               Yay, thermite bombs. He hadn’t known the drop ship had carried any, but that particular color was unmistakable. Even his thicker plating wouldn’t have stood a chance against a ground-zero explosion of a thermite bomb. The loss of an arm was worth his life.

               Rolling over onto his back, Sunstreaker glanced at his shoulder. Managed, charred, and fortunately cauterized from the blaster shots. No worry of bleeding out from there. It was painful, but everything was painful.

               Hissing, he continued his roll onto one knee and then pushed himself to his feet. For several seconds, he swayed in place as he surveyed the landscape. The single moon of Tarsus VI was rocky, dusty, and utterly uninteresting in Sunstreaker’s opinion. Both to look at and from a military viewpoint.

               The Autobots had been sent to roust the small Decepticon outpost located here. Initial reports had said it was sparsely populated but that had certainly been outdated info. Their eight mech squad had gotten their afts handed to them. Five mechs dead and one drop ship destroyed in the span of ten minutes.

               Sunstreaker checked his short-range comm line, trying to hail Wildrun and Quark. If they had survived the crash, it would have been a miracle. It was already one that Sunstreaker had, but he was made of tougher stuff than most.

               Screeching static filled his head and he cursed. His entire communication system was slagged. It would need to be replaced if he ever got off the planet. Considering he had no way to contact the orbiting ship – if it hadn’t been blown up by a surface-to-orbit missile – that might take a while.

               Heaving a dejected vent, he considered the top of the slope for a long moment before starting the trek. If there was any chance the others had survived, Sunstreaker needed to know. He didn’t particularly care about them, but one of their comm units might be working. Or maybe the ship’s comm array was intact.

               Unfortunately, once he got to the top of the ridge, he saw he was well and truly slagged.

               “Oh, frag me,” Sunstreaker muttered. The back half of the drop ship was a twisted hunk of dripping metal. He couldn’t spy his arm. The front half of the ship was in a hundred different pieces scattered over the ridge to the west. He didn’t see any sign of his comrades. “No comms then.”

               Groaning, he gingerly sat down on a nearby rock and fished out his meager first aid kit. The injury from the battle still freely dripped energon. It was only a hole two fingers wide, but the shot had nicked a peripheral fuel line. His reserves were at 30%. It was past time to plug the leak.

               Sunstreaker slid down the rock, so his back rested against the solid surface. Then he placed a mesh bandage and sealant atop his thigh. For a long moment, he stared up at the red-hued sky, contemplating his life choices. Then he took his blaster and fired it ten times in rapid succession into the black rock by his pedes. Quickly flipping the blaster around, Sunstreaker shoved the smoking barrel into his chest wound.

               His helm slammed back against the rock with a stifled cry. The five-second timer on his HUD finally went off and he yanked the gun out, dropping it into the dirt. Fingers shaking, he slapped the mesh bandage over the wound. It stuck in the congealing energon around the edges. Thumbing open the sealant cap, he smeared the clear substance over the bandage. It hardened moments later and he slumped against the rock, venting hard.

               The energon loss had stopped. He was lucky the shot hadn’t penetrated deeper into his chest. There was an important motor relay two inches beyond the fuel line. If that had been damaged, he wouldn’t be walking.

               A medic would chastise him for what he had just done, but an actual cauterization unit was too heavy to lug around. The line was sealed for sealed for now and that was all that mattered. It was tempting to rest for longer, or to take a pain patch. Instead, Sunstreaker began packing up the first aid kit. The Decepticons might investigate the crash site to search for survivors and supplies. He needed a clear head and to keep moving. Sunstreaker always preferred entering a Decepticon base on his own terms.

               “Up and at ‘em,” Sunstreaker muttered as he gained his footing. “No rest for the wicked.”

 

**

 

               The trek to the Decepticon base took half a Cybertronian day.

               Or Sunstreaker thought. His chronometer had been damaged too and the moon experienced constant light. The red light had inexplicably annoyed him as soon as he had stepped pede on the surface. Now that he wasn’t getting shot at, Sunstreaker had time to ponder his irritation. He thought it was because the red was a shade lighter than Sideswipe’s. It felt off, just like this whole mission.

               Not that it made him miss his twin. If Sideswipe was here, he’d be chattering away. Either crowing over his kills or whining about his injuries. Or both. Generally being unhelpful and a pain in Sunstreaker’s aft. Especially since Sunstreaker usually had a higher kill count and saying it would just prompt yet another argument.

               Sunstreaker paused to sit on a rocky outcropping that allowed clear sightlines down into the valley where the base was located. He was still far enough away that he should be undetectable, especially with his spark dampener.

               Wait.

               … was that working?

               As he checked it, his CPU brought up a warning.

               Yes, his spark dampener was working. But his CPU was running at half speed due to several fried circuits. No wonder his mind felt like it was moving slow. It was. So far, he had been reacting mostly on instinct. Despite what a lot of people thought, Sunstreaker wasn’t an unintelligent brute. Yeah, it looked like it on the battlefield, but that was a tactic. If he appeared unhinged, mechs oiled themselves in fear and made mistakes. Sunstreaker could dial it back when needed. He could be stealthy and plan ahead.

               When his processor was intact.

               He rested the back of his helm against the rock and winced. Yeah. Yeah, that hurt. Maybe his helm had gotten some knocks he hadn’t known about.

               His optics unfocused a little as his audials sharpened. Two… no, three distinct voices. He listened for a few more minutes but didn’t hear any others.

               There was probably more than three ‘cons left. The eight Autobots had clashed with roughly twenty-five Decepticons. Sunstreaker had definitively offlined five. He’d also caused two fliers to crash, but one had limped away. The other had been twitching on the ground, hopefully in death throes. On the mad dash back to the drop ship, Sunstreaker had seen four other greyed out frames.

               Ten assumed dead. Three functioning. He guessed twelve of unknown status.

               Optics refocusing, Sunstreaker carefully palpated the edges of his sealed wound. Still holding. Much of his frame ached, and Sunstreaker catalogued the hurts one by one. Here, relatively safe, he allowed himself a moment to feel them while he could. Then he mentally walled up the pain and shunted it aside.  

               Sunstreaker absently tapped the metal over his spark a few times in a quiet staccato beat. A gust of wind blew rust-colored dirt across his pede in reply, and he grunted in irritation. He stood, shaking the dirt off as he stared down at the base.

               This was gonna suck exhaust. Big time.

**

               The first mech Sunstreaker encountered was dragging a leg. He looked barely cognizant. It was almost too easy to shove an energon knife through the guard’s back, piercing his spark from behind. Moving silently, Sunstreaker lowered the mech’s body to the ground out of sight behind a boulder. Crouching slightly, Sunstreaker crept along the outer wall until he found another guard.

               This one paced back and forth, fingers tightly clutching his blaster. His crimson optics were fixed into the distance, dark green paintjob charred from several near misses. He had the jitteriness of a rookie, jumping at every little shadow. Sunstreaker waited in those shadows for several minutes, watching. When he was sure he had the mech’s pattern down, he darted forward. A quick slice disabled the guard’s voicebox, his lips already parted in a shout. Optics wide, the light in them died as Sunstreaker’s knife plunged deep, snuffing the spark beneath the thin plating.

               Sunstreaker hefted the mech over his shoulder, grimacing at the pull in his chest. There was a convenient natural alcove in the wall a little way back. The guard would fit nicely there.

               There weren’t any functioning cameras, and he didn’t see any more guards. That made him both hopeful and wary. He didn’t like that the owner of the third voice was missing but at least they’d managed to knock out the outer perimeter electronics. And maybe they had offlined more ‘cons than Sunstreaker had thought.

               The outpost wasn’t huge, so he traveled the entire wall before carefully entering the north entrance. It had the least traffic in the dust covering the rocky ground outside it. He quickly realized why as he picked his way through a storage unit containing broken machinery and old parts.

                Irritatingly, there wasn’t anything of use. He paused just inside the door, listening. In the distance he heard voices. Sunstreaker thought there were only two mechs speaking. It would be nice if there were only two Decepticons left, but he doubted it. It was no surprise that they’d shoved the dying mech and rookie outside as lookouts. If any Autobots were to return… so what if those two bit the dust? No big loss.

                The heavy hitters, the science mechs, the big wigs… they’d all be somewhere deeper inside the compound. Probably in the control center. Well, no time like the present to track the fraggers down.

                He paused just before stepping into the hallway.

                Wait.

                There was something he should do first.

                Something…

                Sunstreaker experienced a sudden memory of his brother chortling. “Alright—done! Camera’s disabled! Let’s plant the glitter bomb!” Phantom Sideswipe exclaimed.

                Right. Disable the cameras.

                Frag his stupid head.

                Sunstreaker stepped backward and looked at the ceiling. Just above the doorway, an innocuous little black dome blinked red. He grabbed a sturdy-looking piece of metal and dragged it over. Then he hopped onto it, pulling a data stick out of subspace. His fingers felt the dome’s edges until he found a catch. The cover popped off, clattering to the ground. He ignored it in favor of plugging the stick into the camera’s tiny port. A moment later, the camera’s red light flickered wildly before resuming its regular pattern. Now, the entire security camera network would play a minute-long loop. Hopefully the ‘cons were spread too thin for someone to be specifically devoted to the cameras or they might catch on. But until then, it would mask Sunstreaker’s travels through the base.

                “Huh,” he muttered, pulling the stick back out. “Guess you’re useful for something after all, Sides.”

                Ignoring the imaginary crowing, Sunstreaker stepped down and ventured into the hallway. He had three choices: left, right, and straight ahead. The voices were to the right. Might as well tick those boxes off his list.

 

**

 

                 Sunstreaker collapsed to the floor of what appeared to be a janitor’s closet and nearly drowned when a bottle of cleaning fluid dropped on his head.

                 Wouldn’t that be perfect? Survive storming a Decepticon outpost on his own and get taken out by cleaning fluids in his vents?

                 Coughing and sputtering, he wrenched himself to the side, hand firmly over the gushing wound just above his hip. Drowning was unlikely. The shot in his abdomen would probably be what killed him.

                 He sharpened his audials while scanning the shelves. Sunstreaker didn’t hear any stomp of pedes, so he had a few seconds. Retrieving his first aid kit, he yanked down the pile of polishing cloths. They tumbled into his lap, and he stuffed several into the hole in his side. His denta ground together as the material snagged on the jagged plating. There was a good pile of the cloths so he kept pushing them in until the energon flow turned to a trickle. Then he slapped a mesh bandage across the opening and sealed it into place.

                 Hands shaking, he let his head drop as he vented hard. “Frag. Frag my life,” he whispered. “This mission is the worst.”

                 The voices had belonged to two scientists. The first he had easily dispatched. The second had sounded the alarm before Sunstreaker had killed him. The good news was out of the twelve unknown there were now four down. Unfortunately, the remaining four functioning Decepticons were experienced fighters. If Sunstreaker had to guess, at least two were ex-gladiators. They were big; big bruisers with fast fists and a lot of guns. The other two were fliers. Out of their element on the ground in a building, but they could still shoot.

                 Sunstreaker killed the first brawler when he showed up, although not without earning a cracked nasal ridge. But then the other three arrived en masse, and Sunstreaker knew he couldn’t take them on all at once. Not while injured. While retreating, he’d zigged instead of zagged and picked up the new blaster wound. After a lot of shooting, running, and ducking around corners, he had managed to lose his pursuers.

                 For now.

                 He no longer had the element of surprise. He had a new gunshot wound, the original one had begun leaking again, there were several blown circuits slowing down his CPU, and he was missing an arm. Plus, he was alone against three Decepticons who seemed largely intact. At least three. Maybe even more.

                 Sunstreaker wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, his fuel tank cramping. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Get in line.”

                 He’d yet to see any Energon dispensers. If he did and he had a moment, he would have to—

                 The door to the closet jerked open, and Sunstreaker’s head rose with a resigned sigh. The orange flier peered in, looking surprised for a moment. Then a triumphant grin broke out on his face. “Ha! I found you!” he crowed.

                  “Congratulations!” Sunstreaker deadpanned. “You’re the thousandth customer. You win.”

                  Sometimes he hated the reminder that he was Sideswipe’s twin. But on occasion, the stupid repertoire was good for something.

                  Proving Sunstreaker’s theory correct that most fliers were airheads, the mech blinked, his mouth forming an ‘O’ of joy. “I did? What did I win?” His wingtips bounced as he rocked on his heel thrusters. Sunstreaker might have found it cute if war hadn’t shriveled his soul.

                  “This.” Sunstreaker grabbed his blaster, whipped his arm up and fired in one smooth motion. His aim was true, and the flier fell back against the opposite wall, a smoking hole in his chest. The happy expression remained, and Sunstreaker shook his head with a grunt of disgust. Idiot.

                  Pushing himself to his pedes, he stepped over the flier’s legs and looked up and down the hallway. Sunstreaker had come from the left. Might as well go right. He needed to keep moving and gather some intel. Hopefully, the other flier was as dumb as this one.

 

**

 

                  The other flier was not dumb. He was the unit’s commander. Sunstreaker overheard him use the (intact!) comm unit in the control room to update the Tarsus VI Decepticon base. There were no other Decepticons left, just the commander and the ex-gladiator. That was one more bit of good news. But Sunstreaker didn’t hear mention of the orbiting Autobot ship. It could be destroyed, or maybe it had left, the commander thinking them all dead. Regardless, Sunstreake first had to take out these two Decepticons. Then he had to either signal for help or find some way off this moon.

                  He pondered his choices as he lay in the vent. It was a tight fit; he had scraped off a good portion of his paint to fit through the opening. He was too big to be a sneaky SpecOp mech. Still. He could make do if it was for valuable info. Besides, once he was in the vents themselves, he had a bit more room. It was dangerous, though. He was dripping energon, and he might be leaving a trail. Actually… that was a good idea for an ambush, if he could pick up a little more firepower.

                  Hm. Maybe he should pay his fallen enemies a visit.

                  Squirming forward, he clenched his denta to bite back grunts of pain. It took him a good half hour to find an opening he could squeeze through. Once he did, he made his way back to the idiotic flier. Sunstreaker pocketed another blaster and some stasis cuffs from the mech’s subspaces. He tossed aside several games with disgust. Irritation growing, he crept his way back to the scientists.

                  Neither of them had anything useful, but the security officer—Sunstreaker saw the decals now that he wasn’t fighting for his life—was the jackpot. The mech carried a half dozen grenades, a rifle, and an elegant vibrosword which Sunstreaker took a moment to admire. As he pocketed the weapons, Sunstreaker pondered where he could lay the ambush.

                  The commander was still in the control room. Or at least he had been when Sunstreaker had wiggled away like an angry worm. The ex-gladiator had been instructed to track down Sunstreaker. Which suited Sunstreaker just fine. Closer examination had shown the bruiser to be a tankformer. He was arguably the more dangerous opponent.

                  Sunstreaker decided to set up the ambush in the lab’s antechamber where the scientists had gathered. In the hallway, he carefully made a trail of energon by ripping off the security officer’s arm and letting it drip. Closer to the room, he dragged his pede through the drips, smearing them as if he had an injured leg. He continued the trail into the room to the connecting laboratory.  

                  There were only machine parts and inert ingredients in the lab. Sunstreaker was no scientist, but he could identify basic chemicals. Many of Wheeljack’s inventions had saved Sunstreaker’s aft on more than one occasion. Because of that, he had sort of befriended the scientist. Basically, Sunstreaker had said ‘Hi. Thanks,’ and the rest was history. But in doing so, Sunstreaker had picked up some tidbits. Everything in the room was safe. And there was a sturdy blast wall he could fling himself behind once the tankformer took the bait.

                  Sunstreaker laid down in the doorway of the lab, arm outstretched. He thought he might have to paint himself in fluids to convincingly appear half-dead. However, once he took a good look at himself, he realized there was no need. As it was, his plating crawled the longer he laid on the floor. It was easier to forget his appearance when he was actively fighting. In the stiller moments, it nagged at his processor.

                   He fortunately didn’t have to wait long. He heard the scuff of a pede and slanted his optic in the direction of the hall, keeping his vents slow and shallow. The remaining fighter was suitably wary; Sunstreaker had taken out six of his teammates.

                   It was a full minute before the ex-gladiator crept into the room, blaster at the ready. The muzzle was trained on Sunstreaker, and he had to fight not to grab for his own. But this wasn’t an airhead flier or a rookie. This was a battle-hardened mech. If Sunstreaker so much as twitched, he’d get his head blown off.

                   Fortunately, the mech was so focused on Sunstreaker, he didn’t see the tripwire. It wasn’t much. Just the stasis cuffs jangling together on the opposite side of the room where Sunstreaker had hung them. As predicted, the mech whipped around, gun already firing. And while he was distracted, Sunstreaker leapt backward and pulled the rigged remote pin on the grenades.

                   The mech registered the motion in the corner of his vision. His head turned in time to see Sunstreaker ducking behind the blast wall. His resigned expression was the last thing Sunstreaker saw before he hunkered down. Then the lights flickered, and the room filled with dust and debris as the explosion rocked the base. Sunstreaker wobbled on his pedes as the plating beneath him buckled alarmingly.

                   “Damn it,” Sunstreaker muttered, huddling closer to the wall as his audials continued to ring. “Maybe I didn’t need to use all the grenades.”

                   It took over a minute before things settled. When he finally ventured his helm around the corner of the doorway his orbital ridges rose. “Holy slag.”

                   The antechamber’s floor had disappeared, exposing the rock of the moon. He could also see sky in places. Bits of wire and metal were strewn everywhere. Sunstreaker thought he saw a finger in the hallway.  

                   Ha. So there, Prowl. Sunstreaker could plan things if he wanted. Now it was time to track down the commander.

 

**

 

 

                    There was one area of the base he hadn’t been to yet, so Sunstreaker detoured there first. Still cautious, he entered the vehicle bay wary of traps. He didn’t see any obvious ones. But there were three small drop ships in the bay. Each appeared functional on the outside, but when he entered them, all their control panels had been destroyed.

                    “What the ever lovin’ Pit?” Sunstreaker snarled, storming out of the last ship. He wasn’t a pilot, but dropships were easy. You could punch in coordinates and hit ‘auto dock’. Now he didn’t have that option or even the ability to call anyone. From here anyway. Sunstreaker would have to head to the control room.

                    He paused, damaged CPU slowly whirling.

                    Still one Decepticon left. A commander. Someone with some thinking capacity. A flier. Maybe space-capable. If he were, he would have no need for a ship. And he could be herding Sunstreaker toward the one working communication unit in the base.

                    … ambush.

                    “I fragging hate this mission!”

 

**

 

               What choice did he have? If he wanted off this rock before another contingent of Decepticons potentially showed up—or at least to contact his faction before they did—he had to get to that control room. So, Sunstreaker spent the better part of two hours working his way toward it. He cleared the five hallways leading up to the room one by one, every sense on alert.

               By the time he entered the damn room, he was vibrating. Or at least that’s what he called it. Honestly, he was shaking. His energon reserves were down to fourteen percent. The abdominal wound had started leaking again and his right optic kept fritzing. He wasn’t made for this SpecOps slag. There was something to be said for charging in and obliterating everything he saw. Waiting for the axe to fall around the next corner was… irritating.

               Even more irritating was seeing the control room’s communication array utterly destroyed. “You have got to be fragging kidding me!” Sunstreaker shouted, throwing up his arm. “This guy is a slagging sadist!”

               He whirled around and stomped out of the room, no longer caring if he triggered any traps. Now he was angry. Now he was fragging livid. Sunstreaker was going to track down the commander and rip him limb from limb.

               … slowly.

 

**

 

               Based on the dead flier’s ravaged body, Sunstreaker figured the perimeter guards’ communication arrays had also been ripped out of their frames. Not that they would do him much good. He could confidently rewire a ship’s or base’s array to send an Autobot signal, but a personal Decepticon array? Sunstreaker wasn’t that good of a programmer.

               If he could capture the commander alive, however…

               “Where are you, you little slagger?” Sunstreaker muttered, ducking his head into what appeared to be a rec room. The energon dispensers along the wall were still smoking and Sunstreaker’s tanks cramped. “Oh, you’re going straight to the Pit when I catch you, I swear to Primus.”

               He didn’t know if the commander had orders to leave and destroy anything that could be used first, or he really was just a sadist. Sunstreaker was betting on the latter considering there had to be a self-destruct button. There was always a self-destruct button. He just didn’t know why it hadn’t been pushed yet… maybe the flier was injured, and he was waiting for pickup. Sunstreaker hadn’t noticed any injuries, but it could have been something internal sustained in a fall. Maybe his T-cog was busted.

               Sunstreaker grinned to himself. He imagined a downed flier bemoaning their inability to fly, looking forlornly at the sky. The image was a little too satisfactory. When he turned the corner of the next hallway, he walked five steps down it before he realized the flier was standing at the other end. Sunstreaker came to a halt, rebooting his optics in shock.

               “Finally found me, hm?” The flier smirked, the blaster in his hand unwavering. The muzzle was pointed directly at Sunstreaker’s spark. “Took you long enough.”

               Sunstreaker shrugged, trying to nonchalantly tilt his gun closer to the commander. “Eh. You know… wanted to see the sights.”

               “Hope you enjoyed them. This place will be your tomb. I’m snuffing you and then leaving. Hitting the remote self-destruct on the way out,” the flier informed Sunstreaker.

               Ah. See? There was always a self-destruct button.

               Sunstreaker’s orbital ridge rose. “And destroying everything in the process? Why bother if it’s all going to go boom?”

               “Worth it to see you annoyed. You killed half of my comrades.” A slim red shoulder lifted in a half-shrug. “I can’t say they were my friends, but I served with some for a long time. Besides, I knew your ships were destroyed and you were looking for a way off the planet. Keeping you going in circles after you fought everyone would help wear you down. You’re formidable.” Red optics narrowed and scanned Sunstreaker’s frame. “I’m half-tempted to try and recruit you.”

               “Better mechs have tried,” Sunstreaker snarled and jerked his blaster forward, firing as he ducked to the side. Just as his finger squeezed, he felt everything on his right go numb. The blaster fell from his suddenly limp fingers, and he slumped against the wall, vision going staticky. The bastard had shot him with a null ray!

               His audials were a bit muffled, but he heard pedesteps approach. Right leg no longer supporting him, Sunstreaker slid down the wall to his knees. He willed his hand to move, to twitch—anything. The new vibrosword was strapped to his back and he had a knife magnetized to the side of his shin. If his stupid fingers would just work… if the flier got close enough…

               Sunstreaker looked up, his neck feeling creaky. The flier paused a few steps away. His arm was wrapped around his abdomen, a steady flow of energon seeping down his closest leg. It was a wound similar to Sunstreaker’s, he absently noted. Somehow, he bet the commander had better first aid supplies.

               “Dangerous. You’re too dangerous,” the flier rasped. He raised the gun, shaking his head with a regretful expression.

               A second later, the commander’s head exploded. His frame remained standing until another blaster shot cratered his chest. Sunstreaker stared blankly as the body teetered for a second and then fell over backward.

               “Yeah, he’s dangerous, but have you met me?”

               No. Oh, no. Sunstreaker’s optics slipped closed, and he rested his head against the wall.

               “Hey, Sunny! Guess I got here just in time. Your arm not working or something?”

               A familiar presence paused just behind him and nudged his shoulder. Heaving a sigh, Sunstreaker opened his optics and craned his head up. His gaze met an identical one, the mouth beneath it quirked in a small, lopsided grin.

               “Got shot with a null ray. Otherwise, don’t you think I would have killed him?” Sunstreaker replied, voice filled with irritation. His right fingers finally deigned to twitch. “It’s starting to wear off.”

               Could it have been anyone else but Sideswipe?

               “You find ‘im, Sides?”

               A loud voice boomed in the next hallway over and Sunstreaker’s spark shrank in on itself. Ironhide too? Great. Just great.

               “Yeah, I found him!” Sideswipe called back, leaning over. He slipped an arm around Sunstreaker’s waist and heaved. Sideswipe’s voice lowered. “Any others?”

               “No, that was the last one.”

               “All clear!” Sideswipe shouted, nearly deafening Sunstreaker.

               He glared at his twin. “Seriously?”

               “What?” Sideswipe adopted an innocent expression. “His audials still aren’t recovered from that last battle.”

               “Uh huh.” Sunstreaker swayed alarmingly but remained on his pedes. Sideswipe kept a hand on Sunstreaker’s lower back, but he steadfastly ignored it.

               “Grab ‘im and meet me at the ship!”

               “Roger that,” Sideswipe hollered before resorting to a normal tone again. “I take it there was bad intel?”

               “Incredibly bad intel,” Sunstreaker grumbled. He started to limp forward, trusting his brother would direct him in a different direction if needed. “We got our afts beat. Only three of us survived the attack. The other two died when our drop ship went down as we tried to escape.”

               “So, what did you do?” Sideswipe glanced sidelong at Sunstreaker, optics a little wide. “Take out the base entirely on your own?”

               “Didn’t have much choice. All our rides were destroyed. Needed to at least get a message out. Did the orbiting ship make it?”

               “Barely. They sent out an SOS. We heard it just in time. Glad I got here when I did.”

               Sunstreaker gritted his denta. Some big hero. Sure, it was easy to waltz in after Sunstreaker had struggled and bled to clear the way. “You didn’t need to come. I was fine.”

               Sideswipe gripped Sunstreaker’s nape, halting him. “’You were fine’? What were you planning on doing to that last guy, Sunny? Kick him to death with your one good leg?”

               “Frag you!”

               Sunstreaker jerked backward out of his brother’s grip. He landed against the wall, venting heavily. Sideswipe held his hands up in surrender. They stared at one another for a long moment before Sideswipe spoke. “You’ve been officially MIA for four days, Sunstreaker. I only knew you were alive because you stopped blocking our bond for the past day. I can feel you hurting. If you have more than fumes in your tank, I’d be surprised. Just say ‘Thank you for coming to get me’ so I can say ‘Damn, you kicked aft here; I wanna be just like you when I grow up.”

               Sideswipe could be so fragging irritating. But he was also giving Sunstreaker a peace offering.

               “… you first.”

               Snorting, Sideswipe shook his head. “You kicked aft today,” he said, helm tilting to the side. His voice was quiet, and his optics were soft. “I wanna be just like you when I grow up.”

               Sunstreaker’s chest felt tight. He never knew how to handle his brother when they weren’t arguing. He considered Sideswipe for several seconds before jerking his chin to the side. “Well, keep watching, because it’s going to take another millennia for you to grow up. At least. Get over here and help me.”

               Chuckling, Sideswipe slid his arm around Sunstreaker’s waist. He leaned against his twin, letting him support some of his weight. After a few steps, Sunstreaker spoke, barely audible. “Thanks for coming to pick me up.”

               “’course. Wouldn’t want to miss Ironhide chewing you out because it took you more than a day to capture this base. You’re getting slow, bro.”

               Sunstreaker rolled his optics and leaned more against Sideswipe. No doubt there would be words from Ironhide and Prowl. As the only survivor, there would be much debriefing from the Intelligence officer. But Sunstreaker was alive to be debriefed.

               All it took was a lot of skill, and a little bit of luck.

               And a stupid brother who had the timing of Primus.

               “By the way, what happened to your paint? It looks like someone scraped it all off.”

               Sunstreaker sighed miserably. “… I don’t wanna talk about it. Wait—it’s been four days?” He sighed harder. “My CPU is a little messed up; I might need to see MedBay.”

               “You’re missing an arm, Sunny. Once you’re on the main ship, you’re going straight to the first medic I can find.” Sideswipe paused. "I'll have them look at your CPU too, of course. Can't have your head any more messed up than it already is."

               Fragging brothers. 





~ End