feb 2011 challenge fic: unharm

[synaltern]

Title: unharm
Universe: G1
Rating: T (for subject matter)
Pairing: Blades/Sunstreaker
Music: Undisclosed Desires by Muse, Love the Way You Lie (part 1) by Eminem (ft Rihanna). Although Part 2 wasn't on the list, it was used as well.
Notes: Possible trigger warnings for an abusive relationship, even if it ended up with a lighter treatment than was originally intended.

Maybe it was his attitude - the audacity to ask Sunstreaker to train him - that intrigued the yellow twin.



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unharm
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.....

He regained consciousness only to feel himself trapped in his own body. Anger and frustration burned through his Spark and circuits, giving his fuel pump enough of a surge of power to push the remnants of sedative out of his systems.

.....

Hot Spot was trying to fix the energon dispenser when Blades sauntered in, looking far too proud of himself. “You didn't respond to my comm, Blades. I almost worried about you.”

“Sorry. Was hanging over at after-party the twins were having.”

“Still mooning over those two, Blades?” Streetwise asked.

“Nah, never had something for those two,” the 'copter stated, placing a suspicious emphasis on two.

Groove, cruising in with perfect timing, took up the questioning as Streetwise shrugged and got comfortable on the oversized (even for them) couch. “Where've you been, man? Full week offa patrols and you go disappearing!” He perched himself on his brother's lap, ignoring Streetwise's swats. “Party yesterday. 'Aid saw you leaving with Sunny.”

Blades jokingly crumpled under the dual tell us now looks he received. “Yeah,” he stated proudly, tone challenging anyone to object.

“Oh ho! Blades got himself a sweetheart!”

“I'm happy that you've found someone to focus your energy on, Blades.” Hot Spot slapped his brother's shoulder good naturedly. “Just be careful. That mech's got a reputation for a reason.”

.....

Blades had approached Sunstreaker with the singular goal of learning to fight just like him. Maybe it was his attitude - the audacity to ask Sunstreaker to train him - that intrigued the yellow twin. The broader Blades certainly wasn't competition in the looks department. The helicopter idolized him, and as Sideswipe would continuously point out, there was little else Sunstreaker enjoyed than outright hero-worship.

He began training the Protectobot, and that Protectobot put the training to increasingly impressive use in the field.

Blades was a natural.

Sunstreaker found himself unable to keep his optics off of his mech.

.....

It was easier than expected to override the security programming holding him magnetized and cuffed to the berth. 'Easier' not meaning 'easy', he strained for every byte of patience he could maintain, finding cracks in the lines of code and prying them open with only his strength of will.

With security temporarily compromised on his makeshift prison, he gradually eased off the the cold slab to gain an upright position.

.....

There was no end to the teasing from Groove once Blades admitted to sharing Sunstreaker's berth. Hot Spot was certain it was mere lust, and persisted in cautioning his brother of Sunstreaker's known nature. First Aid just smiled.

Sideswipe called Sunstreaker lovey-dovey when he leaned on Blades in public.

It was Streetwise who first noticed when Sunstreaker's possessive streak made it's appearance, the aggressive turn of things whenever anyone besides himself got near his lover.

Blades just seemed oblivious.

.....

Any moment, the alarm would sound. A guard - or worse, Ratchet - would come pounding down the hall, ushering him back to the lab. Surely someone was alert to the change of status, from patient to escapee.

He initiated a brief systems check while making his way quietly, stiffly, to the door. A knee knocked with the quiet click of misalignment, the only thing out of place. The medics had done their job on him, at least.

.....

“Again, Blades?”

The named mech crept sheepishly into the Protectobot's new headquarters, First Aid scrambling to usher him to a bench. “Hit the wall, is all.”

“Hit the wall,” First Aid echoed doubtfully, running his sensors over the collapsed plating of his brother's left arm. “How did you even get here? There's finger dents here, Blades! You couldn't have transformed--”

“Yeah, well. Got picked up first--”

“Another training exercise?”

“Uh--”

“This'll take a while, so get comfy, brother,” First Aid sighed, digging the proper tools for un-denting out from the haphazard pile on a nearby table. “Need to get this place straightened out again; third time this...” he trailed off, pausing in both thought and motion. “Third time this week.”

“We get a little rough, Aid, y'know that.”

“You get a little rough? Blades! You don't get that rough...right. But this, Blades,” First Aid gestured to the crushed and torn wires and cables that lay under the now-removed armor. “This isn't just rough handling, or a botched training session, Blades. Damage this deep is more than any training drone can do. And this is downright minor compared to what you came through here with just two days ago!”

Blades said nothing, shrugging uncertainly, unable to hold First Aid's direct gaze.

“Blades. Blades! Look at me. Look-no, no you don't. You sit there or I will call Hot Spot-- no, I'll call Grimlock in here to hold you down!” First Aid stopped his examination of the damaged limb, gripping his brother's shoulders firmly. “Do you need...you can talk to me, Blades. Talk to me.”

“Nothin' to talk about. He got excited--”

“...Sunstreaker?” It was difficult, remaining calm. Little incidences found themselves being accounted for: twisted struts, broken fingers, crushed and cracked optics. Hints of contradicting emotions filtering through the weak brotherly bonds joining the Protectobots together: agonized elation, joyful despair, gleeful hatred.

“He was right,” Blades grunted in response to his brother's shaken tone. “No one else would understand.”

.....

He did not consult his chronometer to time the journey from awakening to traversing empty corridors towards the medbay. He knew the cameras were recording his journey; overriding those took skill he did not possess.

Still, no alarm sounded that he could detect. No guards came around the corners to apprehend him. Was there a timely distraction outside of the base?

.....

First Aid talked with Ratchet, who spoke to Smokescreen, who approached Sunstreaker and Blades during a rather tame training bout.

“We can work this out,” he started.

“Work what out, exactly?” Sunstreaker growled. “There's nothing going on here.”

Smokescreen picked his words carefully, quickly. “Your brothers have expressed some concern.”

“They're our brothers. Of course they have," Blades interjected.

“You've been getting injured a lot outside of battle, Blades. Your brothers just wanted me to talk to you.”

“I told you there's nothing going on here!” Sunstreaker's suddenly aggressive stance didn't cause Smokescreen to back down; rather, he straightened his posture even more, doorwings flaring.

“That's what I'm here to find out. I'm going to set aside some time later for the three of us to talk together, and then individually.”

Sunstreaker's scowl was dwarfed considerably by Blades'.

.....

Smokescreen was leaning too close to Blades. Talking too much.

Sideswipe immediately noted the sour turn in the overcharged Sunstreaker's mood, separating himself from his conversation with Jazz with a hurried apology. He charged across the room toward the tangle of mechs, just in time to hear the first slam and shriek of metal against metal, Sunstreaker's growls and Blade's shouts rising above the din.

Just in time to see Blades give a final punch to his brother's nearly destroyed faceplate before turning to stalk out of rec room unchallenged.

.....

Sunstreaker was in the medbay for two days and Blades was in the brig for three when Ratchet reported Sunstreaker's multitude of home-tended injuries, all of which were fairly recent.

Sideswipe stepped forward, admitting to treating the simpler, almost daily dents and gouges. “Sunny's always run high after battles, and that just gets Blades excited...”

Blades and Sunstreaker vehemently defended each other under questioning.

Medical and psychological recommendations led to them being ordered to remain apart.

.....

Ironhide was there to supervise as Blades collected the accumulated belongings from Sunstreaker's shared quarters.

“You'll be back,” the yellow mech told his former lover.

Ironhide prided himself on his restraint as he did not smack Sunstreaker on the back of the head. “No he won't! You two're staying far, far apart. Ain't even gonna be near each other when the 'Cons show their skidplates.”

Blades glanced back once before he left. “I have your back.”

.....

The medbay doors were thick, nearly as secure as the command center; a secondary bastion. They were also secured, though identifying himself to Teletraan allowed his entrance. His target was a berth towards the back of the large room that made up the bulk of the bay, a single figure lying comatose, either heavily sedated or simply unconscious.

The lights were off. He did not turn them on.

.....

They remained apart for one battle. They buried themselves in their patrols after the second, and the third, and the fourth.

They tried. They tried.

They tried for months before they began to disappear. Their hiding spots changed every time. Even when cornered separately after returning to base, evidence of their disobedience of direct orders remained only circumstantial.

Smokescreen compared their relationship to a black hole, with the participants now tipped over the event horizon.

.....

His optics were designed to capture motion regardless of the light levels, so it was the monitors and their dynamic displays that first caught his attention. Though he could understand only half of the readouts, the information was sufficient to get the point across: while the Spark was not in danger of extinguishing, the mech before him lay in extremely critical condition.

.....

They sat across from each other in separate cells, one without an arm, one without rotors. The injuries were serious but not life-threatening, and Ratchet was insistent that they would not be treated until the brawlers were under control. They stared at each other, unsettled silence engulfing them for hours before one of them gathered the courage to speak.

“What is this?”

“What is what?”

“This-this thing that we have. I don't know anymore. I hate you. I-it's your fault we're even in here!”

“You threw the first punch!”

“Not at you! I had your back--”

“You always have my back,” Blades sighed.

“I hate you,” Sunstreaker seethed.

“Kicked 'Con aft today. Smokescreen'll say it was a good use of our energy.”

“Idiot's coming back down here, isn't he.”

Blades let out a barking, unsteady laugh at that. “I think I actually took down Cliffjumper.”

Sunstreaker's grin could be nothing but proud.

“Sorry I threw the table at you, Blot-spawn.”

“I still hate you,” the yellow mech muttered. “But I'm sorry, too.”

.....

He focused the entirety of his attention on the mech. He did not reach out to touch, no matter that he desired to.

All of the limbs were there, at least. There were so many tubes and wires connecting to the monitors that he couldn't even see the lights of optical sensors - not that they were on. Not that there were any lights besides the noiseless monitoring equipment.

The lack of light in the visual spectrum was disconcerting. It made the mech on that table gray.

The image of his lover dead hurt more than he would ever admit.

.....

Battles against the Decepticons were nearly always tough. Victory seemed inevitable for the Autobots, the majority of the time.

They were a terror on the battlefield. Inseparable.

It didn't matter who threw the first punch.

Only who threw the last.

.....

“I'm sorry,” he whispered.

Maybe - this time - he meant it.

.....
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