[Bay] War Without End - Sideswipe Part Three
Title: War Without End Sideswipe
Universe: Bayverse, post-DotM, AU to AOE, War Without End
Characters: Ensemble with focus on Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Ratchet, Optimus Prime, Bumblebee
Rating: T
Warnings: character death, canon typical violence
Description: His brother is a stranger. His friends are ghosts. In the end, Sideswipe still has to choose, and it isn't much a choice after all.
War Without End - Sideswipe
Part Three
Life settles into a routine. Frankly, Sideswipe's glad he can call it life instead of existing.
He has energon. He has the washracks. He recharges when he needs to or when Ratchet yells at him because he's gone without. Prowl has a laundry list of tasks for him to complete. On the Ark, there's always something that needs cleaning, organizing, maintaining. There’s a lot of work and too few hands, and Sideswipe is never bored.
Bit by bit, they tell him things. Like their plans to head into the greater universe to find a new planet to call home. Or that they intend to seek out others of their kind and offer them a choice: crazy Prime or life on the Ark.
Ratchet and Drift actually are something of a partnership, which Sides totally feels he should’ve seen coming and makes a point not commenting on when he's around either of them. Mostly because Ratchet is still terrifying and Drift isn't approachable.
Prowl, at least, is friendly enough. For Prowl, at least. And when Skywarp isn't being a smart-aft, he's fun to be around. Wheeljack welcomes any visits to his lab, and Sunstorm seems fascinated by the idea of Sideswipe; someone new and yet related to one of their own. Knock Out is just as curious but down plays it, watching out of the corner of his optics and never missing anything that Sideswipe does.
Tracks… Sides makes it a point to avoid him. The mech is an aft.
Dreadwing is as unapproachable as Drift but twice as large, so he’s mostly avoided or ignored as well. It's not as though he has anything in common with the large Seeker anyway. Thundercracker, meanwhile, isn't abrasive, but he isn't overtly friendly either. He's polite and distant, and Sides assumes that's the best he's going to get.
Primus, but he misses Sunstreaker.
Every day he goes to the medbay to check on his brother. Every day, Sunny gets a little better. And every day, Ratchet chases him out, tells him to get back to work.
Sideswipe does. He sorts and organizes and lists. He gives Skywarp a second pair of hands when he does maintenance on a secondary engine and helps change out light panels in the habitat hall.
They still won't tell him how they sparked the hatchlings. Or let him see the ones they haven't sparked yet. That locked room in the medbay? All Sides knows is that's where they are resting in medical stasis. The details are a secret he isn't allowed to know, which is quite frustrating. He's used to being trusted. To having friends. Bots he can kick back with and know will have his back.
He thinks about Bee sometimes. He left a lot of mechs behind on Earth, but he'd never been particularly friendly with the Wreckers. Dino’s stand-offish at best. And Sides hadn't known the newcomers at all, save that two-thirds of them were minibots and he’s never liked minis.
Bee though. He's been there from the beginning. Sideswipe left him there. On that planet. Surrounded by squishies and Autobots and the crazy mech who was Optimus Prime. Sides can only hope that Bee knows how to keep his helm down and that Prime hadn't gone full lunar after the Ark escaped.
Sides wants to ask if they can go back eventually, but fears how the others will take it. They don't fully trust him, and Sideswipe doesn't want to make it seem like he wants to rejoin Prime.
He doesn’t. Not now. Not ever.
But he does worry about Bumblebee.
He goes about his business quietly. Or as quietly as he can manage, with the intention of keeping far away from trouble. He's more than aware that he's on some kind of probation, and though no one's trailing him, Sides knows he's being watched. It's awfully convenient that someone tends to pop up whenever he wanders off the known path.
He'd been looking for some kind of training room one orn when Drift had appeared around the corner. His expression had been casual but something tight in his energy field. His hands hadn't strayed toward his blades, but Sideswipe wasn't fooled. One twitch in the wrong direction, and he'd have a sword held to his face.
Fortunately, Drift had believed his explanation and promptly directed him toward the training room. He'd disappeared after, but Sideswipe knew that didn't mean he wasn't around.
He doesn't complain about it. Since really, Sides understands their reluctance. Besides, he's safer here than he ever was on Earth. If that doesn't tell him something, nothing will.
He sleeps in his own quarters, safe and sound. While the emptiness of Sunstreaker's berth mocks him for his own hesitation, it is still a comfort.
Another orn passes before Ratchet pings him and lets him know that he'll be releasing Sunstreaker from the CR chamber. An assortment of mixed feelings attacks Sideswipe, ranging from relief to anxiety to anticipation. His twin is going to be just fine. Ratchet’s a miracle-worker.
Things between himself and his brother, however, he can't say for sure. Their last conversation hadn’t been pleasant, and he’s keenly aware of the rift between them. Not that one hadn't been building for some time.
The war had parted them, not by choice, and when next they met, Sideswipe had faced a stranger. A stranger wearing his brother's face and bearing his brother's field but nothing else familiar. This Sunstreaker openly mourned the loss of a fellow Autobot. He yielded to Prowl. He spoke against Prime. And he was rational.
Part of Sides doesn't even want to know what could’ve happened to make Sunny less of an arrogant fragger. Oh, he's still arrogant now. And he's still a fragger. But somehow, it's a lot more tolerable.
Or it was.
He cycles a ventilation, runs a hand over his helm, and acknowledges Ratchet's ping. Whether by luck or design, he's only just gotten off shift. And while he'd intended to grab a cube of energon and sulk by his lonesome in his quarters, he changes his mind. He does swing by to grab a few items and then makes his way to the medbay. His processor is churning on any number of things to say, but all of them fall short of what he wants to get across.
He's nervous, and he doesn't know what to do about that. Thankfully, the hallway is empty, and he doesn't run into anyone who would irritate him and pluck the truth from his field. He's slag at controlling himself right now, and it shows.
He rounds the corner, one arm laden with various waxing and cleaning supplies as a sort of peace offering. He's sure Ratchet's got energon, but Sunny might appreciate the offer for someone to scrub his back.
They need to talk, Sideswipe knows. He doesn't want to put it off any longer than he must.
The medbay doors open as he approaches, his energy signature finally keyed into their security system. He scans the massive bay, optics swinging toward the corner where the CR chambers are kept. To his surprise, he finds that his twin has already emerged. Sides thought Ratchet would’ve at least waited for him to arrive.
Frustration eats at Sideswipe. His engine rumbles as he strides forward, only to pull up short. Ratchet's got his back to most of the medbay, and Sideswipe can't see what he's doing, but Sunstreaker is present and not alone.
Prowl's here, too.
For reasons he doesn't fully understand, Sideswipe backpedals and throws himself into the shadows. Not that there are many in the medbay, but there’s a rather large piece of equipment that proves useful.
He doesn't forget that millennia ago, this wouldn't have worked. Sunstreaker would’ve sensed him coming a deck away and would’ve known he’s in the room.
He can't hear their conversation from here, not without giving himself away, but what he can see is telling enough. Sunny has never gotten along well with other mechs. He hates violations of his personal space and is more likely to respond to casual touches with violence than a warning. Sometimes, not even his own twin was exempt from that autonomic reaction.
But here he is. Prowl's hand on his shoulder. Not complaining in the slightest. His face, usually so good at hiding his emotions, is open. Revealing the spark-breaking mix of sadness and relief.
Sunstreaker would’ve followed Prowl into exile. Sides had seen the footage, had hacked it from the humans when they weren't paying attention. Had watched it over and over again if only to try and understand the stranger Prowl had left behind.
He doesn't know why his twin stayed. He never could get his brother to tell him, and the more he pushed, the further the distance between them grew.
And here he is again. Prowl's hand is on Sunstreaker's shoulder, which means their fields are in contact, and Sunny's not wincing or pushing Prowl away. He looks more like he's barely keeping from leaning on Prowl.
Ratchet's turned away, busying himself with something, giving them an ounce of privacy. Sideswipe can't hear what they are saying. All he can see is his twin’s expression, the happy glow of his optics and the gleam of his paint. He sees the fluttering of softness in Sunny’s faceplates. The way he finally lurches forward and then gives in.
He’s hugging Prowl.
Sunstreaker is hugging Prowl.
He has thrown his arms over the tactician, pulling Prowl into an embrace that makes an audible clatter of metal on metal in the medbay. Prowl's sensory panels shudder but don't stiffen, and he raises a hand to return the embrace.
Sideswipe's spark stutters. He whirls around and makes a break for the exit. He’s intruding here and knows it. He’s the interloper on something that's none of his business.
None of them even notice him leave. They didn’t even notice he was there in the first place.
Maybe he should’ve just stayed on Earth.
o0o0o
He's not entirely sure what he's doing or where he should go.
Sideswipe wanders around the Ark in a half-daze. He's off-duty, which implies he should be engaging in some sort of recreational activity or simply relaxing. But his thoughts are a whirl, and his energy field’s much the same.
He doesn't want company, so he avoids both the small training arena and the recreational room. There aren't so many of them on the Ark that it's hard to evade anyone. According to the schedule, there are only three others off-duty, and Sideswipe can guess where each of them are.
He doesn't even know why he'd left the medbay the way he had. It's not like he'd walked in on something startlingly intimate.
He feels like an idiot and a fool. Both at once.
This is all Prowl's fault.
Sideswipe's halfway across the city escorting civilians into an evacuation shuttle when the warning for an attack sweeps across his tactical net. He winces at the severity of it, and a touch of fear strikes him at the description of the weapon the ‘Cons had. Not to mention the fact that there’s nothing the Autobots can do to stop it.
Evacuate. Those are his orders. Get away from Iacon as far and as fast as he can. There's not time to regroup, to rejoin with his unit.
Sunstreaker's on the other side of the city.
He pings back a protest, shoving more civilians into the shuttle and shouting at them to hurry. The fear in their fields is enough to make his tanks lurch, but it's far less disconcerting than the sight of one shop-owner, who's dumb enough to think that welding shutters over his storefront will keep it secure. Sideswipe has to grab him, bodily throw him into the shuttle while the mech spits obscenities and bristles with indignation.
“Negative,” Prowl replies.
And wow, isn't Sides lucky? He gets a response straight from Prowl rather than relayed through minor command.
Then again, at the rate this war’s going, how much of minor command remains? How much of major command’s still holding the reins?
“Board the shuttle,” Prowl orders. “Keep the civilians safe.”
Sideswipe slams a fist into the side of the shuttle as the last frame scuttles aboard. He's a warrior not a sparkling-sitter, frag it. They need him! And he's not leaving his brother.
He tells Prowl as much. Not that the sparkless fragger is listening.
“Negative,” Prowl repeats in that same detached tone he always uses. “We'll rendezvous at the preestablished coordinates. Your duty is to keep those civilians safe. Understood?”
Sides bites out an affirmative, accentuating it with a formal protest that Prowl promptly ignores. Fragger’s good at that.
He stomps up the ramp into the shuttle, slamming the button to close the door and punches the intercom. “Fire the engines,” he tells the civvie pilot, some cheerfully painted bot named Arcee. “We need to be in the air five kliks ago.”
“Brace yourself,” comes the response, and the shuttle lurches.
He grabs the bar to steady himself, cursing subvocally. The chatter onboard is a noxious noise to his audials. But it’s only partially preferable to the rising fear and agitation in their fields, all blending together as a cacophonous assault on his senses.
The shuttle evens out, and Sideswipe makes his way to the bridge, passing huddled groups of civilians. They call themselves Neutral, and it takes all Sideswipe has not to sneer at them.
Neutrality? Pah. Megatron stomps on neutrality, and there aren't enough Autobots to go around to protect them. Slagging indecisive cowards.
Arcee’s a civilian, too. But she's useful at least. Sideswipe figures her for joining the Autobots any orn now. She's got a practical helm on her shoulders, and with a little training, she’d be a decent warrior. So long as he can keep her out of Spec Ops' clutches.
That other one, too. The one in the navigator’s chair. Jolt? He's got some potential if Sides can convince him.
Sideswipe moves to slide into the co-pilot's chair, unable to hide the frustration winnowing into his field. His comm pings on an open band, one that will probably earn him some chastisement as any ‘Con with two thoughts to rub together could hack it.
But it's Sunny, and he doesn't have access to the channels that command does.
“Don't get yourself killed,” his twin snarls over the line, sounding as frustrated as Sides feels. “Else I'll have to dive into the Well and kill you myself.”
Sideswipe smirks, though Sunny can't see it.
“Don't be ridiculous,” he replies, cables snaking out to link him to the console as Arcee gives him a sideways look. “I won't be in the Well.”
“The Pit then,” Sunny retorts, and Sides imagines that his brother’s flickering his optics. “Either way, I'll never forgive you if you let some two-bit ‘Con ruin that finish.”
“Yeah, yeah. Love ya, too, Sunshine,” Sides says and then curses as the shuttle suddenly lurches to the side.
There’s the sound of an explosion loud enough to rattle the interior. His comm crackles with static as one of the relay towers goes down.
“Sunny?”
Nothing but silence. The only reason he doesn’t commandeer the shuttle and frag all his orders is that he can still feel his twin in his spark.
Fury rises up all over again, battling with his sense of panic. Even as that wages war with his own training.
Fragging Prowl!
“Sir?” Arcee looks at him, fingers tight on the controls. Her plating is clamped against her frame in agitation.
He presses his lipplates together, calls up a status report, and keys in their flight plan.
“We're getting out of here now,” he barks as the shuttle rocks again. He doesn't know what kind of weapon the ‘Cons are using, and he doesn't fragging care.
He does know that as soon as he sees Prowl, he's going to punch the cold-sparked slagger. Right in the face. A couple times even.
He should’ve never separated them. Sides never should’ve allowed it. Sunny never should’ve listened.
Sideswipe spins on a heel-strut and stops his ceaseless wandering. He heads back to his shared room for lack of options, juggling the items he'd gathered into his subspace. At this rate, Sunstreaker will probably be in the medbay for hours yet.
Maybe he doesn't want to see Sideswipe at all. Frag, he probably doesn't even know that his twin’s on the Ark. It's not like he was conscious when Skywarp swooped out of nowhere and rescued him. And it’s not like their bond is all that strong anymore.
Sides' spark contracts, and he all but lurches in the hallway. It's a physical pain as much as it is mental, and he knows he could go to Ratchet and let the medic scan him, but Ratchet won't find anything. It's the curse of having a twin, Sideswipe knows. Of having a brother. It scares him how much he sympathizes with Prime in these moments.
Is this why Optimus went mad? Or is this the reason Megatron first abandoned his brother and turned his back on his duties? Had Prime spurned him? Had Prime been the one to change?
Sideswipe isn't particularly pleased that his processor has decided to draw parallels between himself and the former rulers of Cybertron. Especially since Prime had seen to derive great pleasure in beating Sunny to the ground.
He needs something. Peace. Recharge. A chance to sit and think in silence. He needs a refuge, and right now, the only place he can think of is his quarters. He's supposed to share them with his twin, but he doubts he'll find Sunny in there.
Sideswipe keys in his code; he never bothered changing it from the one Prowl gave him. The lock chimes at him as the door pops open. He steps inside, only to draw up short when he sees that Sunstreaker is indeed present. He cycles his optics, hovering in the doorway, and his brother looks up to see him, expression carefully guarded.
“Hey.”
Sideswipe manages a smile, strained as it is. “Hey.”
It's awkward. It shouldn't be, but it is. Even more so than before, he feels like he doesn't recognize his twin. As though Sunstreaker has been a stranger all along.
He shifts in the doorway. Wondering if he should even enter though it’s his room, too.
“We're sharing quarters,” Sideswipe says, feeling dumb for doing so but needing words and having trouble finding them. “Prowl says space’s limited, so it's just you and me.”
“I noticed.” Sunny, for his part, looks far less awkward than Sides as he sits on the edge of the unclaimed berth. “We can put up a barrier if need be.”
The door slides shut behind Sides as he steps fully inside. Unwilling to take the chance that someone might walk by and get an optic full.
“We used to share,” he murmurs. And Primus, he feels like an idiot.
“I've learned not to presume.” Sunstreaker pauses, cycling a ventilation, watching him closely. Eyeing him like he’s something unknown and unknowable.
That hurts worse than anything. More so when his twin speaks again.
“I’m not going to apologize either. I did what I had to do. What was necessary.”
The space between them feels like a chasm. Sideswipe's hands form loose fists at his side, and his spark is a churning whirl in his chassis.
“Prime would’ve killed you,” Sides manages after a klik, and he searches for a way to put this into words that his brother will understand. “And you got in his way anyway. Were you trying to die? I couldn't even help, couldn't get to you in time, couldn't--”
He breaks off, frustrated, glaring at the far wall as though it has answers.
A soft sound of movement, hydraulics hissing. Sunstreaker's the brave one who stands and closes the gap between them.
“There are few mechs I’d die to protect. Prowl is and will forever be one of them. I won’t fail him. Not like I did Hound.”
Sideswipe flinches. He wonders where on that list he falls. If he’s even on it.
Then, he immediately berates himself for daring to doubt. For daring to hope.
Sunny looks at him again, reading him as if all the vorns between them are nothing.
“And you, my idiot twin, don't even belong on that list,” he says but the hand he places on Sideswipe's shoulder belies the harshness on his words. “Because I can live without you, but that doesn't mean I choose to.”
Something like a tremble races down Sideswipe's backstrut. Sunstreaker is so close that he can feel the buzz of his twin's field. Feel the love and exasperation that mingle together, along with a dim dose of apprehension. Fear of rejection.
He and Sunny have never been ones for affection, especially the kind outwardly displayed. That was always too much of a show, too much weakness displayed. And if they wanted to survive, they couldn't afford it.
Nor had they ever needed words because Sides always knew that he loved his brother and vice versa. He hadn't needed outward reassurance. Hadn’t needed more than the pull between them, than the bond that had always been so open until the end.
He couldn’t have expected war and the millennia of distance and separation. He couldn’t have known how different Sunny would become. Or how capable of change he was himself.
So when he hitches a ventilation and steps into Sunny’s personal space and drags his twin into an embrace, it's perhaps only the third time in their long memory that Sideswipe can remember doing so, and that includes when they reunited such a short time ago. Oh, sure, they've shared berths. They've recharged back to back for protection or draped over the other's medberth.
But this? Is wholly unfamiliar territory. Not unwanted. Just unfamiliar.
Better, Sides realizes. After all, he can feel his brother’s spark through the thrum of chest armor, and his own pulses in pleased recognition. It's a matching rhythm, off-sync, but in such a way that it's a perfect harmony. It, more than anything, is like coming home, and he clutches Sunny all the harder, unwilling to let him go.
“You're such an idiot,” his twin says in a gruff tone, his embrace tightening briefly. “What did you think was gonna happen?”
“Frag if I know.” He cycles a ventilation and reluctantly steps out of his twin's arms. “It's not like you talked to me.”
“I talked. You weren't listening,” Sunny retorts, but there's more amusement than irritation in his vocals.
That, too, is something of a miracle. Sunny’s changed so much, and Sides has to grudgingly admit that it's not altogether a bad thing.
Sideswipe spreads his hands, palms up. “Well, I'm listening now.” The gesture’s an indication of how open his audials are.
“Hmph. It's a start.” Sunstreaker's tone is bothered, but his field radiates relief. He backs toward the berth, lowering himself down and looks expectantly up. “Sit down. I'm not going to look up at you like this is some kind of interrogation.”
Sideswipe rolls his optics. Even as he drags over a chair, sitting backwards and folding his arms across the back of it.
“I see your manners haven't improved.”
“Neither have yours.”
And there it is again, that tension, simmering between them. It’s been eased by their contact. By the admission on both fronts that something is wrong, different, perhaps even broken. No one can fix it for them but cooperation between them.
Words, for them, have always been hard. Which was fortunate because they'd never needed words. But now, with that connection shriveled and reduced to tethers, words are all they have.
All Sideswipe really knows is that he's seen what can happen between two brothers. And whether it was Prime’s fault or Megatron's or something beyond either of them, he doesn't know or care. He just doesn't want to end up like them.
So he looks at Sunny, and he starts to talk. Someone has to break the barrier, and if Sideswipe apologizing is the first crack in the glass, then so be it. Because this war has taken a lot of things from him, but he's not letting his twin become another casualty.
o0o0o
He's on the observation deck when Ratchet approaches, picking his way across the haphazardly reconstructed floor as carefully as Sideswipe had. He bristles a little at the unexpected company, but the irritation fades as quickly as it arrives. When it boils down to it, he's really, really happy that Ratchet’s still alive.
“Well,” the medic says, huffing as he finally makes it to stable ground. “That's a relief.”
Sides arches an orbital ridge. “What? Didn't think you'd manage to cross the floor without falling through it?”
Ratchet does, after all, weigh about three times more than either twin.
“Hah, funny.” Ratchet crosses his arms, optics flicking from the view port to Sideswipe and back again. “I was referring to the fact that you and Sunstreaker have reconciled.”
Is it that obvious?
“What makes you say that?” Sides questions idly.
Ratchet tilts his helm. The fingers of one hand drum against his upper arm.
“I'm neither blind nor senseless. That vile trill to your field was evidence enough. That it's mostly dissipated is all the proof I need.”
Sides makes a noncommittal sound and stares out the view port at the distant stars and the uninhabited planet they’re lazily orbiting. They're still a stone’s throw away from Earth's solar system, but he assumes that’s going to change sooner or later.
“We've talked. It's a start.”
“It has to begin somehow. I'm just glad that it has.” Ratchet's arms unfold, and he turns toward Sideswipe completely. “You’re both pains in my aft, and it makes my life easier if you're getting along.”
Sides laughd. “Well, you know how it is. Anything for our favorite medic.” He tosses Ratchet a sideways grin.
Ratchet, however, is still giving him that incisive look. His optics are almost cautious.
“You almost stayed,” he murmurs. “Why?”
This.
This is a topic that Sides doesn’t want to discuss. He’s answered it before, but then, he'd had Drift staring at him. And even then, even as angry and disjointed and off-kilter as everything had made him, Sideswipe hadn't given the whole truth. Ratchet probably knows that. And it’s tied up in unpleasant feelings that he'd rather to keep to himself. But he suspects that trust and an extension of freedom hinges on his answer.
Sideswipe looks away and cycles a ventilation.
He thinks of Prime. Of betrayal. Of loss and emptiness and longing for a brother who is now a stranger.
But before that, before Prime had tried to kill his twin. Pit… before Sunny had even come back. Before… when he’d been with Ratchet right before the medic had left.
There’s a truth here. One he still can’t really face. But if there’s anyone on this ship who he truly respects. Who he would abandon all sense and reason for. Who has been with him and seen the very worse of him. Who still managed to look him in the optics afterward, swat at his helm, and look after him like a caretaker would a sparkling.
That’s Ratchet.
Sunny had said that he had a list. That there were bots he’d die for. And do it gladly.
Well, Sides has a list, too. And the mech standing next to him tops it.
“I don't know how to be a civilian,” he admits finally, even as he pulls his field in close to his frame so that Ratchet can't sense his emotions. “I've been a warrior all my life. Been fighting in one form or another, accustomed to obeying orders. It's not in my programming to decide.” His hands flex, in and out of fists. “Frag, I don't even know how Sunny did it. He shouldn't have been able to. He should've, I dunno, locked up or something.”
And it's easier, he thinks, so much easier for someone else to take that weight. To bear the burden of choice. If someone is issuing the order, Sideswipe doesn’t have to think about it or rationalize it or deal with the guilt of it. He's not ready or brave enough to bear the weight of his own actions.
Yeah, he's a coward. He's always known this. He's never had to face it before because there's always been the mission, the order, the task. And the last time he'd had to choose for himself, well, it hadn't worked out for anyone. Not that shuttle of civilians. Not the handful he'd convinced to become Autobot soldiers.
Not Arcee. And certainly not Jolt.
Better that Sideswipe obeys. Since clearly, he's no good at thinking for himself.
“And Sunstreaker?”
“I thought he was dead,” Sideswipe snaps before he can stop himself. “Oh, sure, there was some distant sensation that he was alive. But for all I knew, it was a false echo. I certainly didn't believe I'd see him again.” His hands fist tighter. “And then, he shows up, but he's not Sunny. Not my brother. He's something else.”
Ratchet is quiet beside him. The sound of his ventilations are the only other noise in the otherwise silent viewing deck.
“He'd learned how to choose.”
Sides hangs his helm, offlining his optics. The talk between himself and Sunstreaker had done worlds of good, but there’s still an ache in his spark. They’ll never be what they were, and Sideswipe misses that. Misses having a confidante. Missed having someone who truly gets him. Misses having someone who knows him.
Misses a lot of things.
“Optimus is sick, Ratchet. There’s something… broken inside of him. Something so damaged that it’ll never come back together.” He offlines his optics. “And I was dangerously close to becoming just like him,” Sideswipe admits, his vocals barely above a whisper.
“But you didn't.”
Ratchet's hand now rests on his shoulder. His field is familiar and comfortable in a way that Sunny's isn’t anymore. The soft pulse of energy makes Sideswipe long for all those things he never had. A real home. A caretaker of his very own.
“Prime clings to the war because it’s the last thing that makes sense to him,” Ratchet says, and his tone is sparkbreakingly soft. “You managed to turn your back on him. And as for the rest… well, there are plenty of us on board who know exactly what you're going through. You're not alone.”
Tension eases out of Sideswipe's armor, allowing the plates to lift from his frame. “I don't want to go back,” he says and onlines his optics, meeting Ratchet's to prove his honesty. “I don't want to become like Prime.”
“I know,” the medic replies, and his gentle tone is a little off-putting but not in a bad way. Different, not bad. “I believe you.”
Relief escapes him in an rush.
“But we do have to go back. I promised Bee I wouldn't forget him. That we wouldn't leave him there.”
“We’ll do the best we can.” Ratchet's hand slides from his shoulder though his field remains, still offering that comfort and calm. “As it is, we’re fleeing now, but there may come a time when leaving Prime to fester isn’t an option.”
Sides isn’t sure what he thinks about that. His coding is still pinging at him for his betrayal, for daring to ignore the vow he made.
“For now though, enjoy what peace we have.” Ratchet offers him a smile, sincerely happy. “We’ve a chance now. A future. And we'd all die to defend it.”
He can’t help but return Ratchet's smile with one of his own. It’s slightly shaky around the edges, but it’s real.
“Yeah,” he offers and then manages his usual smirk. “Though I'd rather live if it's all the same to you.”
Ratchet laughs. It’s surprised but warm and rich. It’s something Sides hasn’t heard for ages, but he remembers it. Sounds like Ratchet’s starting to remember it, too.
This isn’t the future any of them expected, but it’s the one they are carving out for themselves. Sideswipe supposes that he can't ask for anything more.
****
a/n: And that's the end of Sideswipe's part. Coming up next is the Epilogue where we go full circle with Ratchet's POV. I'm actually adding a bit more to it so it'll be posted later in the month.
Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated.
Post-Ratchet's Epilogue, I was thinking of putting together a FAQ. A kind of "ask the author" type thing where I answer the most frequently asked questions that I didn't answer in the course of the fic and any new questions readers might have. Would you all be interested in that sort of thing? I'm also putting together a few Character Soundtrack lists for this series. Would that be of interest, too?
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/284804.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Universe: Bayverse, post-DotM, AU to AOE, War Without End
Characters: Ensemble with focus on Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Ratchet, Optimus Prime, Bumblebee
Rating: T
Warnings: character death, canon typical violence
Description: His brother is a stranger. His friends are ghosts. In the end, Sideswipe still has to choose, and it isn't much a choice after all.
War Without End - Sideswipe
Part Three
Life settles into a routine. Frankly, Sideswipe's glad he can call it life instead of existing.
He has energon. He has the washracks. He recharges when he needs to or when Ratchet yells at him because he's gone without. Prowl has a laundry list of tasks for him to complete. On the Ark, there's always something that needs cleaning, organizing, maintaining. There’s a lot of work and too few hands, and Sideswipe is never bored.
Bit by bit, they tell him things. Like their plans to head into the greater universe to find a new planet to call home. Or that they intend to seek out others of their kind and offer them a choice: crazy Prime or life on the Ark.
Ratchet and Drift actually are something of a partnership, which Sides totally feels he should’ve seen coming and makes a point not commenting on when he's around either of them. Mostly because Ratchet is still terrifying and Drift isn't approachable.
Prowl, at least, is friendly enough. For Prowl, at least. And when Skywarp isn't being a smart-aft, he's fun to be around. Wheeljack welcomes any visits to his lab, and Sunstorm seems fascinated by the idea of Sideswipe; someone new and yet related to one of their own. Knock Out is just as curious but down plays it, watching out of the corner of his optics and never missing anything that Sideswipe does.
Tracks… Sides makes it a point to avoid him. The mech is an aft.
Dreadwing is as unapproachable as Drift but twice as large, so he’s mostly avoided or ignored as well. It's not as though he has anything in common with the large Seeker anyway. Thundercracker, meanwhile, isn't abrasive, but he isn't overtly friendly either. He's polite and distant, and Sides assumes that's the best he's going to get.
Primus, but he misses Sunstreaker.
Every day he goes to the medbay to check on his brother. Every day, Sunny gets a little better. And every day, Ratchet chases him out, tells him to get back to work.
Sideswipe does. He sorts and organizes and lists. He gives Skywarp a second pair of hands when he does maintenance on a secondary engine and helps change out light panels in the habitat hall.
They still won't tell him how they sparked the hatchlings. Or let him see the ones they haven't sparked yet. That locked room in the medbay? All Sides knows is that's where they are resting in medical stasis. The details are a secret he isn't allowed to know, which is quite frustrating. He's used to being trusted. To having friends. Bots he can kick back with and know will have his back.
He thinks about Bee sometimes. He left a lot of mechs behind on Earth, but he'd never been particularly friendly with the Wreckers. Dino’s stand-offish at best. And Sides hadn't known the newcomers at all, save that two-thirds of them were minibots and he’s never liked minis.
Bee though. He's been there from the beginning. Sideswipe left him there. On that planet. Surrounded by squishies and Autobots and the crazy mech who was Optimus Prime. Sides can only hope that Bee knows how to keep his helm down and that Prime hadn't gone full lunar after the Ark escaped.
Sides wants to ask if they can go back eventually, but fears how the others will take it. They don't fully trust him, and Sideswipe doesn't want to make it seem like he wants to rejoin Prime.
He doesn’t. Not now. Not ever.
But he does worry about Bumblebee.
He goes about his business quietly. Or as quietly as he can manage, with the intention of keeping far away from trouble. He's more than aware that he's on some kind of probation, and though no one's trailing him, Sides knows he's being watched. It's awfully convenient that someone tends to pop up whenever he wanders off the known path.
He'd been looking for some kind of training room one orn when Drift had appeared around the corner. His expression had been casual but something tight in his energy field. His hands hadn't strayed toward his blades, but Sideswipe wasn't fooled. One twitch in the wrong direction, and he'd have a sword held to his face.
Fortunately, Drift had believed his explanation and promptly directed him toward the training room. He'd disappeared after, but Sideswipe knew that didn't mean he wasn't around.
He doesn't complain about it. Since really, Sides understands their reluctance. Besides, he's safer here than he ever was on Earth. If that doesn't tell him something, nothing will.
He sleeps in his own quarters, safe and sound. While the emptiness of Sunstreaker's berth mocks him for his own hesitation, it is still a comfort.
Another orn passes before Ratchet pings him and lets him know that he'll be releasing Sunstreaker from the CR chamber. An assortment of mixed feelings attacks Sideswipe, ranging from relief to anxiety to anticipation. His twin is going to be just fine. Ratchet’s a miracle-worker.
Things between himself and his brother, however, he can't say for sure. Their last conversation hadn’t been pleasant, and he’s keenly aware of the rift between them. Not that one hadn't been building for some time.
The war had parted them, not by choice, and when next they met, Sideswipe had faced a stranger. A stranger wearing his brother's face and bearing his brother's field but nothing else familiar. This Sunstreaker openly mourned the loss of a fellow Autobot. He yielded to Prowl. He spoke against Prime. And he was rational.
Part of Sides doesn't even want to know what could’ve happened to make Sunny less of an arrogant fragger. Oh, he's still arrogant now. And he's still a fragger. But somehow, it's a lot more tolerable.
Or it was.
He cycles a ventilation, runs a hand over his helm, and acknowledges Ratchet's ping. Whether by luck or design, he's only just gotten off shift. And while he'd intended to grab a cube of energon and sulk by his lonesome in his quarters, he changes his mind. He does swing by to grab a few items and then makes his way to the medbay. His processor is churning on any number of things to say, but all of them fall short of what he wants to get across.
He's nervous, and he doesn't know what to do about that. Thankfully, the hallway is empty, and he doesn't run into anyone who would irritate him and pluck the truth from his field. He's slag at controlling himself right now, and it shows.
He rounds the corner, one arm laden with various waxing and cleaning supplies as a sort of peace offering. He's sure Ratchet's got energon, but Sunny might appreciate the offer for someone to scrub his back.
They need to talk, Sideswipe knows. He doesn't want to put it off any longer than he must.
The medbay doors open as he approaches, his energy signature finally keyed into their security system. He scans the massive bay, optics swinging toward the corner where the CR chambers are kept. To his surprise, he finds that his twin has already emerged. Sides thought Ratchet would’ve at least waited for him to arrive.
Frustration eats at Sideswipe. His engine rumbles as he strides forward, only to pull up short. Ratchet's got his back to most of the medbay, and Sideswipe can't see what he's doing, but Sunstreaker is present and not alone.
Prowl's here, too.
For reasons he doesn't fully understand, Sideswipe backpedals and throws himself into the shadows. Not that there are many in the medbay, but there’s a rather large piece of equipment that proves useful.
He doesn't forget that millennia ago, this wouldn't have worked. Sunstreaker would’ve sensed him coming a deck away and would’ve known he’s in the room.
He can't hear their conversation from here, not without giving himself away, but what he can see is telling enough. Sunny has never gotten along well with other mechs. He hates violations of his personal space and is more likely to respond to casual touches with violence than a warning. Sometimes, not even his own twin was exempt from that autonomic reaction.
But here he is. Prowl's hand on his shoulder. Not complaining in the slightest. His face, usually so good at hiding his emotions, is open. Revealing the spark-breaking mix of sadness and relief.
Sunstreaker would’ve followed Prowl into exile. Sides had seen the footage, had hacked it from the humans when they weren't paying attention. Had watched it over and over again if only to try and understand the stranger Prowl had left behind.
He doesn't know why his twin stayed. He never could get his brother to tell him, and the more he pushed, the further the distance between them grew.
And here he is again. Prowl's hand is on Sunstreaker's shoulder, which means their fields are in contact, and Sunny's not wincing or pushing Prowl away. He looks more like he's barely keeping from leaning on Prowl.
Ratchet's turned away, busying himself with something, giving them an ounce of privacy. Sideswipe can't hear what they are saying. All he can see is his twin’s expression, the happy glow of his optics and the gleam of his paint. He sees the fluttering of softness in Sunny’s faceplates. The way he finally lurches forward and then gives in.
He’s hugging Prowl.
Sunstreaker is hugging Prowl.
He has thrown his arms over the tactician, pulling Prowl into an embrace that makes an audible clatter of metal on metal in the medbay. Prowl's sensory panels shudder but don't stiffen, and he raises a hand to return the embrace.
Sideswipe's spark stutters. He whirls around and makes a break for the exit. He’s intruding here and knows it. He’s the interloper on something that's none of his business.
None of them even notice him leave. They didn’t even notice he was there in the first place.
Maybe he should’ve just stayed on Earth.
o0o0o
He's not entirely sure what he's doing or where he should go.
Sideswipe wanders around the Ark in a half-daze. He's off-duty, which implies he should be engaging in some sort of recreational activity or simply relaxing. But his thoughts are a whirl, and his energy field’s much the same.
He doesn't want company, so he avoids both the small training arena and the recreational room. There aren't so many of them on the Ark that it's hard to evade anyone. According to the schedule, there are only three others off-duty, and Sideswipe can guess where each of them are.
He doesn't even know why he'd left the medbay the way he had. It's not like he'd walked in on something startlingly intimate.
He feels like an idiot and a fool. Both at once.
This is all Prowl's fault.
Sideswipe's halfway across the city escorting civilians into an evacuation shuttle when the warning for an attack sweeps across his tactical net. He winces at the severity of it, and a touch of fear strikes him at the description of the weapon the ‘Cons had. Not to mention the fact that there’s nothing the Autobots can do to stop it.
Evacuate. Those are his orders. Get away from Iacon as far and as fast as he can. There's not time to regroup, to rejoin with his unit.
Sunstreaker's on the other side of the city.
He pings back a protest, shoving more civilians into the shuttle and shouting at them to hurry. The fear in their fields is enough to make his tanks lurch, but it's far less disconcerting than the sight of one shop-owner, who's dumb enough to think that welding shutters over his storefront will keep it secure. Sideswipe has to grab him, bodily throw him into the shuttle while the mech spits obscenities and bristles with indignation.
“Negative,” Prowl replies.
And wow, isn't Sides lucky? He gets a response straight from Prowl rather than relayed through minor command.
Then again, at the rate this war’s going, how much of minor command remains? How much of major command’s still holding the reins?
“Board the shuttle,” Prowl orders. “Keep the civilians safe.”
Sideswipe slams a fist into the side of the shuttle as the last frame scuttles aboard. He's a warrior not a sparkling-sitter, frag it. They need him! And he's not leaving his brother.
He tells Prowl as much. Not that the sparkless fragger is listening.
“Negative,” Prowl repeats in that same detached tone he always uses. “We'll rendezvous at the preestablished coordinates. Your duty is to keep those civilians safe. Understood?”
Sides bites out an affirmative, accentuating it with a formal protest that Prowl promptly ignores. Fragger’s good at that.
He stomps up the ramp into the shuttle, slamming the button to close the door and punches the intercom. “Fire the engines,” he tells the civvie pilot, some cheerfully painted bot named Arcee. “We need to be in the air five kliks ago.”
“Brace yourself,” comes the response, and the shuttle lurches.
He grabs the bar to steady himself, cursing subvocally. The chatter onboard is a noxious noise to his audials. But it’s only partially preferable to the rising fear and agitation in their fields, all blending together as a cacophonous assault on his senses.
The shuttle evens out, and Sideswipe makes his way to the bridge, passing huddled groups of civilians. They call themselves Neutral, and it takes all Sideswipe has not to sneer at them.
Neutrality? Pah. Megatron stomps on neutrality, and there aren't enough Autobots to go around to protect them. Slagging indecisive cowards.
Arcee’s a civilian, too. But she's useful at least. Sideswipe figures her for joining the Autobots any orn now. She's got a practical helm on her shoulders, and with a little training, she’d be a decent warrior. So long as he can keep her out of Spec Ops' clutches.
That other one, too. The one in the navigator’s chair. Jolt? He's got some potential if Sides can convince him.
Sideswipe moves to slide into the co-pilot's chair, unable to hide the frustration winnowing into his field. His comm pings on an open band, one that will probably earn him some chastisement as any ‘Con with two thoughts to rub together could hack it.
But it's Sunny, and he doesn't have access to the channels that command does.
“Don't get yourself killed,” his twin snarls over the line, sounding as frustrated as Sides feels. “Else I'll have to dive into the Well and kill you myself.”
Sideswipe smirks, though Sunny can't see it.
“Don't be ridiculous,” he replies, cables snaking out to link him to the console as Arcee gives him a sideways look. “I won't be in the Well.”
“The Pit then,” Sunny retorts, and Sides imagines that his brother’s flickering his optics. “Either way, I'll never forgive you if you let some two-bit ‘Con ruin that finish.”
“Yeah, yeah. Love ya, too, Sunshine,” Sides says and then curses as the shuttle suddenly lurches to the side.
There’s the sound of an explosion loud enough to rattle the interior. His comm crackles with static as one of the relay towers goes down.
“Sunny?”
Nothing but silence. The only reason he doesn’t commandeer the shuttle and frag all his orders is that he can still feel his twin in his spark.
Fury rises up all over again, battling with his sense of panic. Even as that wages war with his own training.
Fragging Prowl!
“Sir?” Arcee looks at him, fingers tight on the controls. Her plating is clamped against her frame in agitation.
He presses his lipplates together, calls up a status report, and keys in their flight plan.
“We're getting out of here now,” he barks as the shuttle rocks again. He doesn't know what kind of weapon the ‘Cons are using, and he doesn't fragging care.
He does know that as soon as he sees Prowl, he's going to punch the cold-sparked slagger. Right in the face. A couple times even.
He should’ve never separated them. Sides never should’ve allowed it. Sunny never should’ve listened.
Sideswipe spins on a heel-strut and stops his ceaseless wandering. He heads back to his shared room for lack of options, juggling the items he'd gathered into his subspace. At this rate, Sunstreaker will probably be in the medbay for hours yet.
Maybe he doesn't want to see Sideswipe at all. Frag, he probably doesn't even know that his twin’s on the Ark. It's not like he was conscious when Skywarp swooped out of nowhere and rescued him. And it’s not like their bond is all that strong anymore.
Sides' spark contracts, and he all but lurches in the hallway. It's a physical pain as much as it is mental, and he knows he could go to Ratchet and let the medic scan him, but Ratchet won't find anything. It's the curse of having a twin, Sideswipe knows. Of having a brother. It scares him how much he sympathizes with Prime in these moments.
Is this why Optimus went mad? Or is this the reason Megatron first abandoned his brother and turned his back on his duties? Had Prime spurned him? Had Prime been the one to change?
Sideswipe isn't particularly pleased that his processor has decided to draw parallels between himself and the former rulers of Cybertron. Especially since Prime had seen to derive great pleasure in beating Sunny to the ground.
He needs something. Peace. Recharge. A chance to sit and think in silence. He needs a refuge, and right now, the only place he can think of is his quarters. He's supposed to share them with his twin, but he doubts he'll find Sunny in there.
Sideswipe keys in his code; he never bothered changing it from the one Prowl gave him. The lock chimes at him as the door pops open. He steps inside, only to draw up short when he sees that Sunstreaker is indeed present. He cycles his optics, hovering in the doorway, and his brother looks up to see him, expression carefully guarded.
“Hey.”
Sideswipe manages a smile, strained as it is. “Hey.”
It's awkward. It shouldn't be, but it is. Even more so than before, he feels like he doesn't recognize his twin. As though Sunstreaker has been a stranger all along.
He shifts in the doorway. Wondering if he should even enter though it’s his room, too.
“We're sharing quarters,” Sideswipe says, feeling dumb for doing so but needing words and having trouble finding them. “Prowl says space’s limited, so it's just you and me.”
“I noticed.” Sunny, for his part, looks far less awkward than Sides as he sits on the edge of the unclaimed berth. “We can put up a barrier if need be.”
The door slides shut behind Sides as he steps fully inside. Unwilling to take the chance that someone might walk by and get an optic full.
“We used to share,” he murmurs. And Primus, he feels like an idiot.
“I've learned not to presume.” Sunstreaker pauses, cycling a ventilation, watching him closely. Eyeing him like he’s something unknown and unknowable.
That hurts worse than anything. More so when his twin speaks again.
“I’m not going to apologize either. I did what I had to do. What was necessary.”
The space between them feels like a chasm. Sideswipe's hands form loose fists at his side, and his spark is a churning whirl in his chassis.
“Prime would’ve killed you,” Sides manages after a klik, and he searches for a way to put this into words that his brother will understand. “And you got in his way anyway. Were you trying to die? I couldn't even help, couldn't get to you in time, couldn't--”
He breaks off, frustrated, glaring at the far wall as though it has answers.
A soft sound of movement, hydraulics hissing. Sunstreaker's the brave one who stands and closes the gap between them.
“There are few mechs I’d die to protect. Prowl is and will forever be one of them. I won’t fail him. Not like I did Hound.”
Sideswipe flinches. He wonders where on that list he falls. If he’s even on it.
Then, he immediately berates himself for daring to doubt. For daring to hope.
Sunny looks at him again, reading him as if all the vorns between them are nothing.
“And you, my idiot twin, don't even belong on that list,” he says but the hand he places on Sideswipe's shoulder belies the harshness on his words. “Because I can live without you, but that doesn't mean I choose to.”
Something like a tremble races down Sideswipe's backstrut. Sunstreaker is so close that he can feel the buzz of his twin's field. Feel the love and exasperation that mingle together, along with a dim dose of apprehension. Fear of rejection.
He and Sunny have never been ones for affection, especially the kind outwardly displayed. That was always too much of a show, too much weakness displayed. And if they wanted to survive, they couldn't afford it.
Nor had they ever needed words because Sides always knew that he loved his brother and vice versa. He hadn't needed outward reassurance. Hadn’t needed more than the pull between them, than the bond that had always been so open until the end.
He couldn’t have expected war and the millennia of distance and separation. He couldn’t have known how different Sunny would become. Or how capable of change he was himself.
So when he hitches a ventilation and steps into Sunny’s personal space and drags his twin into an embrace, it's perhaps only the third time in their long memory that Sideswipe can remember doing so, and that includes when they reunited such a short time ago. Oh, sure, they've shared berths. They've recharged back to back for protection or draped over the other's medberth.
But this? Is wholly unfamiliar territory. Not unwanted. Just unfamiliar.
Better, Sides realizes. After all, he can feel his brother’s spark through the thrum of chest armor, and his own pulses in pleased recognition. It's a matching rhythm, off-sync, but in such a way that it's a perfect harmony. It, more than anything, is like coming home, and he clutches Sunny all the harder, unwilling to let him go.
“You're such an idiot,” his twin says in a gruff tone, his embrace tightening briefly. “What did you think was gonna happen?”
“Frag if I know.” He cycles a ventilation and reluctantly steps out of his twin's arms. “It's not like you talked to me.”
“I talked. You weren't listening,” Sunny retorts, but there's more amusement than irritation in his vocals.
That, too, is something of a miracle. Sunny’s changed so much, and Sides has to grudgingly admit that it's not altogether a bad thing.
Sideswipe spreads his hands, palms up. “Well, I'm listening now.” The gesture’s an indication of how open his audials are.
“Hmph. It's a start.” Sunstreaker's tone is bothered, but his field radiates relief. He backs toward the berth, lowering himself down and looks expectantly up. “Sit down. I'm not going to look up at you like this is some kind of interrogation.”
Sideswipe rolls his optics. Even as he drags over a chair, sitting backwards and folding his arms across the back of it.
“I see your manners haven't improved.”
“Neither have yours.”
And there it is again, that tension, simmering between them. It’s been eased by their contact. By the admission on both fronts that something is wrong, different, perhaps even broken. No one can fix it for them but cooperation between them.
Words, for them, have always been hard. Which was fortunate because they'd never needed words. But now, with that connection shriveled and reduced to tethers, words are all they have.
All Sideswipe really knows is that he's seen what can happen between two brothers. And whether it was Prime’s fault or Megatron's or something beyond either of them, he doesn't know or care. He just doesn't want to end up like them.
So he looks at Sunny, and he starts to talk. Someone has to break the barrier, and if Sideswipe apologizing is the first crack in the glass, then so be it. Because this war has taken a lot of things from him, but he's not letting his twin become another casualty.
o0o0o
He's on the observation deck when Ratchet approaches, picking his way across the haphazardly reconstructed floor as carefully as Sideswipe had. He bristles a little at the unexpected company, but the irritation fades as quickly as it arrives. When it boils down to it, he's really, really happy that Ratchet’s still alive.
“Well,” the medic says, huffing as he finally makes it to stable ground. “That's a relief.”
Sides arches an orbital ridge. “What? Didn't think you'd manage to cross the floor without falling through it?”
Ratchet does, after all, weigh about three times more than either twin.
“Hah, funny.” Ratchet crosses his arms, optics flicking from the view port to Sideswipe and back again. “I was referring to the fact that you and Sunstreaker have reconciled.”
Is it that obvious?
“What makes you say that?” Sides questions idly.
Ratchet tilts his helm. The fingers of one hand drum against his upper arm.
“I'm neither blind nor senseless. That vile trill to your field was evidence enough. That it's mostly dissipated is all the proof I need.”
Sides makes a noncommittal sound and stares out the view port at the distant stars and the uninhabited planet they’re lazily orbiting. They're still a stone’s throw away from Earth's solar system, but he assumes that’s going to change sooner or later.
“We've talked. It's a start.”
“It has to begin somehow. I'm just glad that it has.” Ratchet's arms unfold, and he turns toward Sideswipe completely. “You’re both pains in my aft, and it makes my life easier if you're getting along.”
Sides laughd. “Well, you know how it is. Anything for our favorite medic.” He tosses Ratchet a sideways grin.
Ratchet, however, is still giving him that incisive look. His optics are almost cautious.
“You almost stayed,” he murmurs. “Why?”
This.
This is a topic that Sides doesn’t want to discuss. He’s answered it before, but then, he'd had Drift staring at him. And even then, even as angry and disjointed and off-kilter as everything had made him, Sideswipe hadn't given the whole truth. Ratchet probably knows that. And it’s tied up in unpleasant feelings that he'd rather to keep to himself. But he suspects that trust and an extension of freedom hinges on his answer.
Sideswipe looks away and cycles a ventilation.
He thinks of Prime. Of betrayal. Of loss and emptiness and longing for a brother who is now a stranger.
But before that, before Prime had tried to kill his twin. Pit… before Sunny had even come back. Before… when he’d been with Ratchet right before the medic had left.
There’s a truth here. One he still can’t really face. But if there’s anyone on this ship who he truly respects. Who he would abandon all sense and reason for. Who has been with him and seen the very worse of him. Who still managed to look him in the optics afterward, swat at his helm, and look after him like a caretaker would a sparkling.
That’s Ratchet.
Sunny had said that he had a list. That there were bots he’d die for. And do it gladly.
Well, Sides has a list, too. And the mech standing next to him tops it.
“I don't know how to be a civilian,” he admits finally, even as he pulls his field in close to his frame so that Ratchet can't sense his emotions. “I've been a warrior all my life. Been fighting in one form or another, accustomed to obeying orders. It's not in my programming to decide.” His hands flex, in and out of fists. “Frag, I don't even know how Sunny did it. He shouldn't have been able to. He should've, I dunno, locked up or something.”
And it's easier, he thinks, so much easier for someone else to take that weight. To bear the burden of choice. If someone is issuing the order, Sideswipe doesn’t have to think about it or rationalize it or deal with the guilt of it. He's not ready or brave enough to bear the weight of his own actions.
Yeah, he's a coward. He's always known this. He's never had to face it before because there's always been the mission, the order, the task. And the last time he'd had to choose for himself, well, it hadn't worked out for anyone. Not that shuttle of civilians. Not the handful he'd convinced to become Autobot soldiers.
Not Arcee. And certainly not Jolt.
Better that Sideswipe obeys. Since clearly, he's no good at thinking for himself.
“And Sunstreaker?”
“I thought he was dead,” Sideswipe snaps before he can stop himself. “Oh, sure, there was some distant sensation that he was alive. But for all I knew, it was a false echo. I certainly didn't believe I'd see him again.” His hands fist tighter. “And then, he shows up, but he's not Sunny. Not my brother. He's something else.”
Ratchet is quiet beside him. The sound of his ventilations are the only other noise in the otherwise silent viewing deck.
“He'd learned how to choose.”
Sides hangs his helm, offlining his optics. The talk between himself and Sunstreaker had done worlds of good, but there’s still an ache in his spark. They’ll never be what they were, and Sideswipe misses that. Misses having a confidante. Missed having someone who truly gets him. Misses having someone who knows him.
Misses a lot of things.
“Optimus is sick, Ratchet. There’s something… broken inside of him. Something so damaged that it’ll never come back together.” He offlines his optics. “And I was dangerously close to becoming just like him,” Sideswipe admits, his vocals barely above a whisper.
“But you didn't.”
Ratchet's hand now rests on his shoulder. His field is familiar and comfortable in a way that Sunny's isn’t anymore. The soft pulse of energy makes Sideswipe long for all those things he never had. A real home. A caretaker of his very own.
“Prime clings to the war because it’s the last thing that makes sense to him,” Ratchet says, and his tone is sparkbreakingly soft. “You managed to turn your back on him. And as for the rest… well, there are plenty of us on board who know exactly what you're going through. You're not alone.”
Tension eases out of Sideswipe's armor, allowing the plates to lift from his frame. “I don't want to go back,” he says and onlines his optics, meeting Ratchet's to prove his honesty. “I don't want to become like Prime.”
“I know,” the medic replies, and his gentle tone is a little off-putting but not in a bad way. Different, not bad. “I believe you.”
Relief escapes him in an rush.
“But we do have to go back. I promised Bee I wouldn't forget him. That we wouldn't leave him there.”
“We’ll do the best we can.” Ratchet's hand slides from his shoulder though his field remains, still offering that comfort and calm. “As it is, we’re fleeing now, but there may come a time when leaving Prime to fester isn’t an option.”
Sides isn’t sure what he thinks about that. His coding is still pinging at him for his betrayal, for daring to ignore the vow he made.
“For now though, enjoy what peace we have.” Ratchet offers him a smile, sincerely happy. “We’ve a chance now. A future. And we'd all die to defend it.”
He can’t help but return Ratchet's smile with one of his own. It’s slightly shaky around the edges, but it’s real.
“Yeah,” he offers and then manages his usual smirk. “Though I'd rather live if it's all the same to you.”
Ratchet laughs. It’s surprised but warm and rich. It’s something Sides hasn’t heard for ages, but he remembers it. Sounds like Ratchet’s starting to remember it, too.
This isn’t the future any of them expected, but it’s the one they are carving out for themselves. Sideswipe supposes that he can't ask for anything more.
****
a/n: And that's the end of Sideswipe's part. Coming up next is the Epilogue where we go full circle with Ratchet's POV. I'm actually adding a bit more to it so it'll be posted later in the month.
Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated.
Post-Ratchet's Epilogue, I was thinking of putting together a FAQ. A kind of "ask the author" type thing where I answer the most frequently asked questions that I didn't answer in the course of the fic and any new questions readers might have. Would you all be interested in that sort of thing? I'm also putting together a few Character Soundtrack lists for this series. Would that be of interest, too?
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