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dracoqueen22Title: War Without End – Sunstreaker Part II
Universe: Bayverse, post-DotM, canon-compliant
Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Optimus Prime, Charlotte Mearing, Dino, Will Lennox, Leadfoot
Rating: T
Warnings: mentions of character death, angst/mourning, some language, canon typical violence,
Desc: This Optimus Prime is not the same one Sunstreaker offered his blade.
“What are you brooding about?”
Sunstreaker looks up from his polishing cloth, finding that Sides has tracked him down to the edge of the base.
“I don't brood,” Sunstreaker retorts, bending back to the task at hand.
“You’re worse than a human teenager,” his brother counters, but he adds a grin and plops down. “Don't you have anything better to do?”
Sunstreaker tries and fails not to dignify that with a response.
“Don't you?”
“Touché, brother.” He nudges Sunstreaker with an elbow. “Come on. Let's talk about your feelings.”
He twists away, irritated by his twin’s blasé attitude. “Sideswipe, go away. I'm not in the mood.”
That earns him a chuckle.
“When are you ever in the mood?”
Sunstreaker doesn’t glare. But it’s a near thing.
“Is there something I can help you with?” he questions instead.
Sides just tilts his head and tries to scoot closer. “Can't I just want to commune with my little brother?”
He looks at Sideswipe. The glitch is giving him a big smile, the kind that has always hidden the mischief beneath.
“No,” Sunstreaker says and leaves it at that.
He turns his attention to his finish, which is suffering from lack of proper supplies and care. Not that there's much he can do about it. Whatever he had left was on their shuttle, burned to ashes, and the humans don't bother giving their Autobot allies anything useful.
Hound would’ve managed to scrounge something up for him though. Using whatever weird mystical powers he possessed to always find stuff when nobody else could. Then, Hound would’ve taken his merry, sweet and wonderful time helping Sunstreaker apply it. Thoroughly embarrassing Prowl in the process.
Good times.
“You've gotten meaner,” Sides interrupts and promptly shatters Sunstreaker’s more pleasant recollections.
“And you've gotten stupider,” the golden twin retorts.
But Sides only laughs. “Primus, Sunny!”
“Don't call me that.”
Despite himself, amusement curls within Sunstreaker. This at least is familiar. Pointless banter that to anyone else sounds cruel but has always been the norm for them.
“Sunbeam? Sunflower? Earth has a lot of yellow things.” Sideswipe pokes at his leg, finger winnowing between two pieces of armor in something like a caress. “Cheese?”
At this, Sunstreaker swings his gaze back to his twin. “Cheese?”
“What?” His brother shrugs in such a human way. “It's yellow.”
Sunstreaker shakes his head. “Don't you have work to do?”
“I'm on standby.” Sides waves a lazy hand. “We picked up two signals, but one was so weak that Mearing thinks it's a glitch in the system.”
Something a lot like loathing jitters through Sunstreaker's spark. “Mearing, hmm?” he comments and looks away. “Funny how it's up to her now, isn't it?”
Sideswipe shifts. “It's their planet.”
“So I'm told. And since leaving isn't an option for us, thanks to our Prime's decree, we have no choice but to obey every one of the human's whims,” Sunstreaker says, and yes, his tone is as thick with as much derision as he can fit into each syllable.
“And you think you have a better idea?” his brother returns with his own sort of mockery.
“Of course, I do.” Sunstreaker tucks away his polishing cloth, rising to his pedes and looking down at his twin. “We should have gone with Prowl.”
He expects the burst of surprise in Sideswipe's field. He is stunned by the undercurrent of anger that charges it as well.
“We can't just leave, Sunstreaker,” Sideswipe retorts, and he must be irritated, since he didn't use that stupid nickname. “We took a vow, pledged our sparks to the Autobots.”
“No, not to the Autobots,” Sunstreaker corrects, and his memory circuits fire as he tries not to think of what Hound would say to that.
Sideswipe jumps up. His field is a swirl of emotions around him.
“To Optimus Prime.” He jabs out a finger. “They're one and the same.”
“They are not!” Sunstreaker hisses, flinging out a hand in denial. Disgust rises to the core, bubbling up within him. “That mech, that empty shell, is not Optimus Prime!”
A palm slams against his shoulder, knocking him back, anger splashing across Sideswipe's faceplate.
“Shut the frag up!” he snarls, and there's something in his vocals that isn't quite anger, but something else. Something both of them had vowed to never embrace again. “You wanna get us slagged saying that?”
Sunstreaker's optics cycle wide. This damn planet! Since when did his twin become that kind of coward?
“That's the mech we serve?” Sunstreaker demands, his vocals dropping in volume but not intensity. “That's the mech you want to continue serving? The one who’d sooner slag us for a war that's supposed to be over?”
Sides lets out a sound like a cry.
“He's our Prime!”
“Since when has that ever mattered to you and me?” he grabs Sideswipe's arm, jerking his twin closer. “We chose Prime of our own free will. Which means we can walk away if we want.”
Sideswipe vibrates beneath his arm. His field is a discordant mishmash of emotions; his frame is tense as though preparing for battle.
“If it was that easy, don't you think I’d have left sooner?”
“Ratchet did,” Sunstreaker whispers, and he softens his tone, if only because their argument is probably drawing attention. “Prowl did. And we can, too.”
“You mean, you can. You've just been waiting for the moment to leave,” his twin snarls, spitting the words at him. “What I can't understand is why you're still here, you slagger.”
Sunstreaker snaps. He isn’t Prowl, so self-contained. He isn’t Hound, calm and bright even in the darkness. He’s only Sunstreaker. Flawed. Weak. Grieving.
His fist slams against his brother's face. Harder than they’ve hit each other in a long, long time. Since they were alone save for the other. Since they were desperate for anything to survive.
He drives Sideswipe backward. Pain explodes in his spark with tangible force, though no attack accompanies it. Words rise up and crackle in his vocalizer, crowding in on themselves.
Sideswipe gives him a look. Surprise colliding with betrayal as he swipes energon from his lip. Sunstreaker's punch has even dented his cheek plating.
“I'm not going to explain,” Sunstreaker hisses, his vocals a soft rustle between them. “It's pointless to try. Not when I shouldn't have to!”
Silence stretches then, too heavy and expectant. His brother’s frame heaves with the force of his ventilations, field stretched taut.
“I don't know who you are anymore,” Sideswipe says, and he backs up a pace, hands forming fists at his side. “And I'm not sure I want to.”
His twin whirls on a pede, the clamped armor of his back as unfamiliar to Sunstreaker as their animosity. He watches Sideswipe leave and has no words to say.
He wonders if is this how it began. So long ago, the rift between Optimus and his brother? The disagreement that spawned a war?
Is he Optimus, or is he Megatron? Is he the unreasonable or the uncaring?
When it comes down to it, will he have to leave his brother behind? Is he even capable of doing so?
“Is everything all right?”
Sunstreaker startles, and his sensors scream at him. He jerks around to find Prime standing there, staring at him. And how the frag hadn't he noticed him there? How had he missed that vile field?
“Sunstreaker?”
Odd, that's almost concern he hears in Prime's vocals.
“Fine,” Sunstreaker grits out, resisting the urge to roll backward, put much needed space between them. “We just… Brothers quarrel. You know how it is.”
“Mm. So I do.” Prime’s lipplates curl up, like a half-afted attempt at a smile that loses steam partway through. “Nothing serious, I hope?”
Sunstreaker's plating rattles.
“No. Just… sorting a few things out with our fists.”
Not quite a lie. Not the truth either. Prowl would see it for what it was. Hound, too. Prime could’ve once upon a time. But no longer.
Sunstreaker rolls his shoulder at the weight of realization, and he stares at Prime, wondering why he’s even here.
“I'm certain Sideswipe is happy you've returned,” Prime says, and he almost sounds sincere, halfway to reassuring. “He has lost so much that it must be difficult to accept what he has gained.”
“We didn't lose Ratchet,” Sunstreaker retorts before he can stop himself. “He left, and so did Prowl.”
No expression. No reaction. No twitch. Not even a flare of that glitched energy field. Sunstreaker has no words for the blankness in his Prime except to highlight all over again how fragging creepy it is.
“It is unfortunate,” Prime comments, and his gaze is distant. “I do not understand how they could be led astray. Perhaps they’ve only been strangers all along.”
Sunstreaker slides a pace backward; Prime doesn't notice.
“We're all strangers here.”
“For now, yes.” Prime scratches at his chestplate, and his optics slide back toward Sunstreaker again. “But perhaps with time, we can know each other again.”
Fear slithers into Sunstreaker's spark, whether he approves of it or not. He stops backtracking, frame tense, fighting down every rise of his defensive protocols.
“Time, yes,” Sunstreaker agrees, and his ventilations are stuttering. “That's probably what Sideswipe needs. Which is fortunate since I'm due for a patrol now.”
“Of course.” Prime offers something that might’ve been a smile. Once. “We all know how Director Mearing feels about tardiness.”
Since really, Director Mearing's opinion is the one that matters most to Sunstreaker? Maybe they should start calling her Prime?
Sunstreaker dips his helm in something that could be construed as a polite bow and excuses himself. It probably looks like he's escaping from a distance, but Sunstreaker can't be bothered to care anymore.
He looks back once, to see Prime standing where Sunstreaker left him, gazing into the distance and once more scratching at his chestplate. His fingers are digging into the minute gaps in his armor plating, as though trying to get at some obnoxious pest beneath. But his face betrays nothing of discomfort. It's blank.
Sunstreaker shudders.
Prowl better figure out how to get them off this planet soon. If he doesn't, none of them will live long enough to figure out why their Prime has gone completely bonkers.
“Tell me about Hound.”
The words float to Sunstreaker through the thin walls of his prison. He frowns, stirring from his lassitude.
“Sideswipe?”
He honestly hasn't spoken to his twin since their last argument and had since then fragged off Mearing somehow. In a way, he's gotten used to the time he spends in solitary. It's fractionally better than what he spends outside of it, being watched by unknown forces and fearing for his safety.
“Yeah, it's me, you fragger.” Sides raps against the side of the shipping container, and the sound echoes in Sunstreaker's audials. “Tell me about Hound.”
Sunstreaker tilts his helm back and off-lines his optics. “What the frag? You've been ignoring me for weeks, and now, you come out with this slag? Why in the Pit do you wanna know?”
“Because I asked.” Sides sounds frustrated, and there's a dull thunk and vibration behind Sunstreaker. As though his twin has sat down against the crate, his back to Sunstreaker's. “The humans aren't here. I dismissed them.”
Sunstreaker frowns.
“Weird, isn't it?” Sides continues, his tone quieting until only Sunstreaker can hear it but only just. “Mearing trusts me to follow her rules. But not you. And yet, we're kind of the same mech. Or at least we used to be.”
“She's trusts you because you obey her,” Sunstreaker shoots back. And yes, there's a great deal of disgust in his tone.
Sideswipe's fingers rap against the side of the crate again, an annoying cadence. “Yeah, well, I kind of like my limbs intact. Same as my spark.” There’s a shuffling sound. “So. Tell me about Hound.”
Sunstreaker lets out a gust of air. “What's the point?”
“I want to understand, Sunny. I want to know why you're more loyal to Prowl than your own twin.”
Sunstreaker cycles another ventilation.
“Sunny?”
“Don't call me that.”
It's dark in here. Dark and too hot and too small, and strange, how it's the closest thing to feeling like home that Sunstreaker has right now. To being back on their ship. He can almost imagine Hound curled next to him as they lie on a single berth. Can almost feel the hum of Prowl’s field that’s always so close by in such a small place.
“Tell me about Prowl, Sunny.”
That fragging glitch. A thousand vorns and he never changes. For all the differences, he's still the same annoying little glitch.
“Why don't you tell me where you were before you landed here?” Sunstreaker counters because Sides hasn't talked about that either. “Where've you been in the vorns since we abandoned Cybertron?”
There’s a thunk then. Like a head against the container.
“It's not a happy story.”
Understatement.
“Yeah, well, neither is mine.”
Sideswipe's elbow knocks against the shipping container.
“Don't give me that slag. At least you still have Prowl. At least he's still alive.”
Sunstreaker feels his fingers curl.
“Until your precious Prime hunts him down and kills him.”
“Primus, Sunstreaker! Will you shut up with that kind of talk already?”
No. No, he won't. There's a point, Sunstreaker realizes, when he's made his decision and he must have passed it. He doesn't care anymore. He hates this place. He hates Optimus Prime, and since he can't have Hound back, he at least wants Prowl. He at least wants his world to make sense.
And if he's lost his brother in the great expanse that is the war and their separation, Sunstreaker supposes he'll have to deal with that when the time comes.
“It's the truth,” Sunstreaker replies. “It's what I really think.”
Sideswipe's sigh is just loud enough for Sunstreaker to hear it. “Are you trying to get us killed?”
Sunstreaker is tired then. So very tired. Aching. Bleeding out.
“With the way you're behaving, I'm the only one in danger,” he mutters.
“You honestly think I'd stand by and watch if they tried to kill you?”
Sunstreaker lets his silence speak for itself. He isn't sure what to think when it comes to Sideswipe. Not anymore.
“Sunny...”
He dips his helm, drags his legs up as much as he can manage, draping his arms over them.
“I'm not going to apologize,” Sunstreaker replies. “And I can't give you the answers you want. You'll have to figure them out for yourself.”
There's a dull thunk. As though Sideswipe's knocked his helm back against the wall of the shipping crate again.
“You're my brother,” Sides says, as if that's all that is supposed to matter anymore, and maybe it is. “I'll see if I can convince Mearing to let you out sooner.”
Sunstreaker hears the scrabble of Sideswipe climbing to his pedes, metal clanging against metal as he fruitlessly brushes grit from his armor.
From Sideswipe, that's as close to an apology as Sunstreaker is going to get.
The sirens split the afternoon at the same instant Sunstreaker's personal comm blares an alert at him. He exchanges a glance with his brother before they turn in tandem for central command. That sound can only mean one thing: new arrivals.
The last three had been Decepticons, shot out of the sky before they could hope to touch land. At least, Sunstreaker hopes they were 'Con. There's never been enough wreckage to verify, and Mearing is unwilling to take chances. That Prime doesn't argue otherwise leaves Sunstreaker's tanks rolling.
“I'm betting Autobot this time,” Sideswipe says, scrubbing a hand down his faceplate. “We could use the reinforcements.”
Reinforcements? For what?
Sunstreaker shakes his head. Sideswipe's clinging to a war that's supposed to be over, if only to provide justification for all the truths he's ignoring. And everyone says that Sunstreaker's the crazy one. Slag. At least, he's not delusional.
“Is there a ‘Con horde on Earth that no one's told me about?” Sunstreaker asks, falling in line beside his brother.
Sideswipe tosses him a confused look. “What do you mean?”
“What do you think we need reinforcements for?” Sunstreaker tosses back and makes a broad gesture to what is beyond their base. “Last time I checked, there were less than two dozen ‘Cons in hiding on Earth. And they aren't what I'd call a challenge.”
“There are other Decepticons out there. They could find a way through our defenses, just like that rotary last week,” Sideswipe points out, and he swings his gaze forward, focusing on the modified warehouse ahead of them. “And Megatron's come back from the dead once. I don't trust that slagger not to stay dead.”
There is a yearning in Sideswipe's vocals. One Sunstreaker recognizes because it used to infect his own. Though Sides yearns for something different. He wants battle, true battle, a battle that makes sense. Not these half-afted, clean-up, human-given tasks.
Meanwhile, Sunstreaker longs for something else. He longs for peace. He wishes for Hound. He wishes for Prowl to have stayed.
No. He wishes he’d gone with Prowl and forced Sideswipe to come with him if necessary.
How had it come to this, he wonders? Sides has become the one who thirsts for energon, and Sunstreaker wants to sink into peace and quiet?
It has to be this planet. Something he thinks with a disgusted look at the dirt that streaks his pedes and creeps under his armor. Something here is infecting them, turning Prime mad and his brother stupid. Has to be.
“Or maybe,” Sideswipe says, and suddenly, his tone is carefully neutral. “They found Ratchet and the others.”
Sunstreaker's spark spins cold. “As careful as they've been, I doubt it,” he counters. “Especially now that Prowl's with them. He's too smart to be caught.”
Sideswipe huffs. “You put too much faith in him. I can't believe how quickly you forgot how much of an aft he is.” His brother puts on a burst of speed, preceding him into the warehouse.
Something like a sigh ticks through Sunstreaker's ventilation system. Yeah, Prowl has always been an aft. An even worse one all those centuries ago. But mechs change. Sides just hadn't been there to see it. Just like Sunstreaker can't understand the difference in his twin either.
Dino slides into the command center ahead of him, making Sunstreaker the last to arrive. Now, he stands at the back of a crowd, all gazing at the massive monitor.
“Autobots, incoming arrivals have been detected.” Prime gestures toward the screen.
“The question remains, Prime,” Mearing states, her voice grating on Sunstreaker's audials. “Friend or foe?”
Leadfoot shuffles his pedes with a grunt. “We're waiting on the readings to ping back. Ten seconds at the most. Plenty of time for you to prep your defenses.”
Sunstreaker's internals clench. He stares at the screen, where the new arrival’s vector shows itself in a glowing streak that beeps as it passes certain sensors. There are three of them, protoform shells by the look of it. How had these mechs traveled? By ship?
In front, Sideswipe and the Wreckers are exchanging high grade chips as they bet on the outcome of the scans. Sides and Roadbuster claim Autobot, Leadfoot says Decepticon, and Topspin thinks they are a mix. After all, he says, isn't Ratchet with ‘Cons now?
That comment gets a hushed silence, a stolen glance at an oblivious Prime, and a slap upside the helm from Leadfoot. The designation Ratchet is all but forbidden around here. At least, when not spoken as an enemy. Prowl soon will bear that stigma.
Dino is silent, arms folded across his chestplate, the armor on his back twitching. He is the one Sunstreaker understands the least. He had known Hound, even before the war, and Sunstreaker had yet to see him display a single trickle of regret for Hound's fate. Anger, yes. But not at the right people.
This planet is cursed. Truly, that can be the only explanation. Which means he needs to get his aft off as soon as possible before it infects him, too.
Three tones echo in rapid succession. Scans are complete.
“Autobot!” the human technician announces. “We've got Autobots incoming, Director Mearing.”
Roadbuster and Sides slap their palms together in congratulations, demanding their payment from the others.
Prime inclines his helm. “Understood. Expected landing coordinates?”
“They must’ve detected our signal prior to entering the atmosphere. They should hit the river,” the technician answers.
“Do we have any indication of identity?” Mearing asks, and her high heel is digging into the metal grating.
“No, Director.”
They could be anyone. Autobot and Decepticon alike had scattered across the universe once Prime ejected the Allspark. It’s impossible to guess identities, which is why Mearing has been taking no chances.
How many have they lost already?
Sunstreaker turns and wheels out the door, knowing the others will follow to greet the new arrivals.
How many Autobots have they shot down, Autobots who may have been broadcasting Decepticon for any number of reasons? How many peaceful ‘Cons have they destroyed? Ones who answered Prime’s call thinking they’d have mercy and salvation?
This too is probably the reason Ratchet left.
Sunstreaker skates toward the river, optics lifted to the sky where he can barely make out the falling fire of the Autobots’ arrival. There are three of them, one bigger than the others. It’s impossible to identify them at this distance, even less likely to discern frame-type.
“Anyone you know?” Sides inquires from his side.
Sunstreaker ignores him. The others are crowding around the bank of the river, too. The cheer in the mingled energy fields is a distinct uptick in the general atmosphere around base as of late. New arrivals are cause to celebrate. They are so few, so scattered. And yet, Sunstreaker can't help but wonder.
How many more will the humans allow? How many is too many? When will they draw the line? And what will Prime do when that line is set in stone?
Sunstreaker doesn't know that he can believe Prime will act in the best interest of them. He's not even sure that Prime knows what the best interest is anymore.
The minutes tick by at a crawling pace, and though the mid-afternoon sun feels good on his plating, Sunstreaker itches to go back indoors. He feels exposed out here, like waiting for an enemy to strike. Or maybe that's because the humans are gathering in droves, curious and contemptuous and not bothering to hide the way they point and stare.
Primus, he hates them. The only decent one among them is Will Lennox. Well, maybe Bumblebee's Sam, but Sunstreaker hasn't met that human yet so he'll withhold judgment.
Lennox though, he's a worthy warrior. A true definition of a brother-in-arms. Even if the current Autobots don't give him the acknowledgment he deserves.
It’s because of Lennox and only Lennox that Sunstreaker hasn't done something stupid and gotten himself and Sideswipe killed. And thanks to Lennox, Sunstreaker has already helped out Prowl and the others as much as he can.
“Why didn't you leave with him?”
Sunstreaker reboots his audials at the unexpected voice. He casts a glance all around him before looking down, not expecting a human to address him. But this human is the one who is the most at ease around them. Lennox, he remembers, had actually offered sympathy when Hound passed.
“Prowl,” Lennox clarifies when Sunstreaker doesn't say anything, not that he needs the clarification. “Even I could see you two were close. Why didn't you go with him?”
Casting a glance around, Sunstreaker confirms they’re alone. He crouches, putting himself on more even ground with the human. He balances his arms on his knees, tilting his helm as he regards Lennox. Just what is the man after?
“I wasn’t given the choice,” Sunstreaker says, choosing his words carefully. He is aware that Mearing doesn't trust him. It wouldn’t be beyond her to send someone to suss out the truth.
Can he trust Lennox?
“Bullshit.” The human snorts and folds his arms over his chest. “You stayed for a reason. I'm guessing because you wouldn't leave your brother, but you know, that's just a guess.” His face contorts, and he looks away. “There's a lot we endure for the sake of protecting others.”
Sunstreaker cycles a ventilation. His optics narrow.
“Why do you ask?”
Lennox lifts his shoulders.
“Curiosity.”
“Pitslag,” Sunstreaker retorts.
The corner of Lennox's mouth curls into a smile, and he turns his gaze back to Sunstreaker.
“You don't like being here. You don't like us. Seems to me you would’ve left when you had the chance. And you did. Have the chance, I mean.” Lennox lowers his head, giving Sunstreaker a knowing look. “Mearing got a hold of the video, but it's strange how the audio malfunctioned. Isn't it?”
Sunstreaker feels his own mouthplates twitch. Something in Lennox's tone reminds him a lot of a certain, sneaky saboteur. Or Ironhide when he was feeling particularly vindictive.
“Yes. Strange,” he agrees and tilts his head. “Is there something I can help you with, Colonel?”
“Actually, I was thinking I can help you.”
Sunstreaker turns his helm left and right, scans rising and falling around him. If only to confirm they are alone, that Lennox is not bugged, and there doesn't appear to be any electronic surveillance nearby.
“Help me,” he repeats.
“I owe a debt,” says Lennox, his tone dropping in volume, though Sunstreaker's audials and sensors pick it up just fine. “I made a promise. And even if I'm the last human on Earth who gives a damn, I'm going to keep that promise.”
It takes a tic, but Sunstreaker understands. Fully and completely
He flickers his optics in and out, relaxes his plating, and sinks a bit lower. “I'm listening.”
And Lennox looks up at him and smirks.
“Incoming!” someone shouts.
Sunstreaker's gaze snaps up, bracing himself as the three Autobots plunge through the atmosphere. They shriek through the air and plummet into the river with an earth-shaking rumble. Some of the humans aren't so quick and tumble to the ground, grumbling to themselves. Sunstreaker ignores them, shifting closer to the river with the rest of the Autobots, curious about the new arrivals. Not that it matters to him, he supposes. The only Autobots he ever liked are either dead or on this planet. There's no one else he misses. Not anymore.
They emerge from the river, streaming water down their protoforms, bare of all but the basest colors. Two of them are smaller than Sunstreaker expected, and he fights back a sneer.
Ugh, minibots. The only two of them he ever liked are Jazz and Bee. And Jazz didn't even call himself a minibot.
The third, however, is taller than Sunstreaker but far less armored and built. He's whippet thin, all long, gangly limbs and protrusions from his backplate suggest an aerial build of some kind.
There aren't many aerials in the Autobots. Sunstreaker frowns. Decepticon defector, perhaps? Like Drift?
“Welcome, Autobots,” Prime intones, stepping forward with his optics sweeping across the new arrivals. “I am Optimus Prime. Identify yourselves.”
“Autobot Cliffjumper, reporting for duty, sir!” The one in front with a rusty-red as his base color salutes. “And happy to be here.”
Sunstreaker's sneer deepens, and he sinks back, trying to stay at the back of the pack. Of all the Autobots that had to find their way here, Cliffjumper had to be one of them. Of course the little slagger would survive. He's like an Earth cockroach.
Prime chuckles. “We are happy to have you, Cliffjumper. Welcome to Earth. It is always a pleasure to greet new allies.”
“Is it true that the war is over?” the other minibot asks in a tone that's just a shade off insubordinate.
Sunstreaker zones out. Listening to them recount the entirety of the war and the explanation of why they are on Earth, blah blah blah. He’s ceased being interesting after the first retelling. Any details he needs are in the data packet anyway. Besides, he needs to make himself scarce before Cliffjumper figures out who he is and starts trouble.
After all, he can't keep in contact with the others if Mearing has him in solitary.
“And who’s at the second base?”
Second base?
Sunstreaker's gaze whips back toward the minibot before his entire frame freezes.
Cliffjumper's words attract everyone's attention. Prime, too, stills.
“Second base?” Prime repeats. “We are only located here in Chicago. What do you mean?”
Cliffjumper rolls his shoulders with a clatter of armor against armor and gestures vaguely westward. “We picked up signals further north as we came in, but they weren't your beacon, which is why we chose to land here.”
Murmuring ripples through the gathered Autobots. The soldiers also exchange knowing glances.
“The traitors,” Mearing says with a note of triumph. “We've found them.”
“They were Autobot? You are sure?” Prime questions, and there's a low growl in his engine, one that makes Sunstreaker's spark go cold.
He skates back a pace and then another, slowly backing out of the crowd and hoping no one notices.
“Translated more neutral… but Autobot in origin, yeah,” says the rotary who still hasn't identified himself, but the fact that he's only got one optic makes Sunstreaker shudder. That had been Shockwave's trademark.
“Traitors,” Cliffjumper says, his optics zeroing in on Mearing. “What do you mean by that?”
Prime gestures Cliffjumper to follow him. “You would be able to locate these signals again?”
“Of course, sir.” But the minibot suddenly looks a twinge uncertain. A first for him. “Are they actually the enemy?”
“Of a sort,” Leadfoot inserts, and there's a grating rumble of disdain from his internals. “Traitors. The worst kind of enemy. Decepticons and Autobots turned 'Con.”
Sunstreaker sneers, turning away from all of them, hands balling into fists. Prowl is not a ‘Con! And he'll sooner rust than believe that of Ratchet either. Those fools!
“Prepare your men,” Mearing is saying to Lennox, her voice obnoxiously clear above the noise and clatter of excitement. “I want all units ready to deploy as soon as possible. I want those coordinates.”
“Yes, Director.”
Sunstreaker catches the look Lennox tosses him when everyone else has started moving off. He idly wonders if anyone else notices or if the Autobots really don't bother paying Lennox any attention anymore. Maybe Bee sees, but all he cares about is Sam, and he's not talking. Sides maybe, but only because he's watching Sunstreaker so closely.
“What was that about?” he demands… or hisses rather as distance forms between Sunstreaker and the rest of the Autobots. Most of whom are following Prime and the new arrivals back to the command center.
“What?” Sunstreaker feigns ignorance.
Sideswipe skates in front of him. His wheels skid to a dead stop, forcing Sunstreaker to halt as well.
“What are you thinking?”
That he has to ask… well, it speaks volumes of the time that lays between them. Sunstreaker fears they may never bridge that gap. At least, not so long as they are here, steeped in Prime’s poison.
“I'm thinking that we've got twenty-four, maybe thirty-six hours, and one last choice to make. That's what I'm thinking,” Sunstreaker shakes his head, slipping past his brother. “Not that I need the time to decide. You're the one straddling the fence.”
“Are you trying to get us killed?” Sideswipe asks, chasing after him and reverting to Cybertronian now that he gets the picture.
The humans won't understand them, but any passing Autobot might.
Sunstreaker shrugs, spark thumping an odd rhythm in his chassis. “No, I'm trying to keep us alive.” He pauses, half-turning to look at his twin. “Are you with me or not?”
Sideswipe rocks back and forth on his wheeled pedes. His field is a mixture of bewilderment and dismay.
“You're my twin,” he says like it makes perfect sense.
It both does and doesn’t.
It’s also not an answer, Sunstreaker notices. He barely conceals his frown as he whirls back around. The base has become a flurry of activity, news spreading fast amongst the humans. Most of the Autobots have dispersed with only Leadfoot joining Prime and the new arrivals in the command center. There's a feeling in the air, an excitement mingled with dread.
It isn’t unlike the potential before battle, before war. A shiver undulates down Sunstreaker’s plating. It slithers into disgust that settles internally.
He's getting off this Primus-forsaken planet. He'll warn Prowl and the others as best he can and do his best to delay the Autobots' attack. Somewhere, in there, he can only hope that there will be an opportunity to slip away, to make his own escape.
Sideswipe's coming if Sunstreaker has to knock him out and drag him. Because he’s not staying on this planet, and he's not leaving without his brother. One way or another.
a/n: So yes. A teensy, tiny cliffhanger. Just a smidge. But worry not, I actually just typed the final words on Sideswipe's part last night so now all I have to do is the revisions before I send it to beta. Which means, for all intents and purposes, War Without End is finished on my end. Huzzah! Course I still have a bunch of sideshots to write but that's another story.
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated!
