Technically the final part, but not really as there’s an epilogue chapter after this one, so penultimate finale ahead.
In which the Twins piss off everyone, everywhere.
@keferon is the creator of this au!
————————————————————————
Breathing really fucking hurt.
In spite of the minor blood loss that looked worse than it was, Sideswipe was still extremely lucid. Which was a shame, because that meant he still had to be “responsible” for his own health and try to breath in a way that wouldn’t puncture a lung. Given his current condition, this was actually not “easier said than done” but equally difficult across the board.
Pain makes you gasp, gasping pulls on your ribs, your ribs light up in pain.
Rinse, repeat.
He tried to mentally crawl into Sunny’s headspace to get out of it, but apparently, suddenly feeling like his ribs were also on fire was not a sacrifice his twin was willing to make.
Bastard.
After being mentally pushed away like stopping a cat from getting onto a counter, Sideswipe did his damndest to be distracted by whatever else he could. Given he was flat on his back, his current options were either cloud spotting or Angel. He picked Angel.
The mecha(?) looked more than a little freaked out, huge blue glass eyes darting up, down and behind in a frantic pattern and shoulders bunched up to his ears- or, where his ears maybe were. He was still talking through, voice going high and crackly like a couple speakers had blown and he was needing to yell to be heard at a normal volume.
On one of the times he looked down at the pilot, Sideswipe gave him the cheekiest grin he could muster.
Angel clocked it, and laughed breathlessly through a mild panic.
Oh yeah, Sideswipe thought as his initial theory on the mecha was confirmed, None of us are doing what we’re supposed to be doing right now.
Hey, if you’re gonna do shit you aren’t supposed to, better to do it while laughing.
Abruptly, everything went from bright to dim.
Rapidly blinking, a metal ceiling came into focus as his pupils readjusted to the change in light. “Woah.”
“Woah.” Sunny echoed as he followed close behind.
The red pilot turned his head from side to side, taking in dark glass screens, multicolored buttons and a sharply angled metal interior of an honest to god spaceship.
He whispered back, “Dude.”
Angel seemed to pause, search and dart a couple more times as he also got his bearings inside the ship with significantly more confidence than Sunny was.
The hairs on his neck began to stand as Sideswipe’s paradigm shifted like an iceberg calving. “Hey, Sunny?”
“Yeees?” He responded, distracted.
“Are you seeing an alien spaceship too?”
“Yeeep.”
“Are we actually getting abducted by an alien? Right now. On purpose?”
There was a thoughtful pause as Sideswipe listened to the titanic sound of Sunstreaker setting down his mecha. “I don’t think so.”
“Why.”
He could feel it when Sunny shrugged, “It’s more like hitchhiking.”
Before Sideswipe could argue, Angel came up to something that made the mech stop with a purpose. He looked around rapidly, before reaching beyond Sideswipes line of sight.
His stomach clenched as he was suddenly dropping in altitude. Not falling, Angel was still holding him, but lowered faster than what would pass a safety inspection on an elevator.
The mechs ongoing alien monologue was broken by a brief quiet “Sorry.” Before Sideswipe was moved out of the mechs hand.
Breaths once more coming short and shallow, after the spike in pain finally faded Sideswipe got a grasp of his new surroundings.
He was surrounded by a massive stiff cloth that smelled like gun metal and closed around him like a tulip.
Through the gap, he could see Angel rapidly disappear, only to be replaced by his own mechas visor as Sunstreaker peered down. He could faintly hear Sunny trying not to laugh over comms.
“Sunny. .” Sideswipe asked cautiously, “. . Where am I?”
“Cup holder.”
Indignation beat out self preservation and Sideswipe shouted from the center console, “He packed me up like a used stick of gum?!”
Angel, who hadn’t really stopped talking through the entire sprint to, quote, “an actual fucking spaceship”, suddenly broke into a string of garbled clicks and static that could only be alien cussing.
He rounded on Sunstreaker, struggling for all of about four seconds to pick a face to talk at, and stuttered out, “This Broken! I’ll fucker the fix- uh- fix the fucker? You slow the uh-“ he frantically waved a hand outside at the approaching helicopters.
“Bastards?” Sunstreaker offered.
“Bastards! Yes! Fucking slow the bastards!” And Angel was back out the door without another word.
———
A quarter of the way around the planet, a rich man was sweating.
The pack of helicopters were zeroing in on the Twins location, and at the Administrators request have been on call giving him real time updates the whole flight there on what they were seeing.
Which so far has been desert, desert, desert and recently an unholy scattering of flaming dead alien bits.
At least the boys did their damn job.
The Admin wheezed as his chest tightened again, massaging his shoulder down to his palm.
Shockwave (Shockwave!) had somehow caught wind of his “little problem” and had been gracious enough to pull a couple strings and get a small fleet of helicopters at the Admins disposal. To be paid back with interest of course.
He had the man on speed dial, ready to call at a moments notice once he got the Twins under control.
After that, he’d never have to deal with them again.
Shockwave promised.
“We’re about five kilometers out Sir.” The voice of one of the helicopter pilots came over their headphones. His name was- Blades? Laser? Blazer? Some stupid ass call name every type of pilot seemed obsessed with giving themselves.
“Good, good.” The Admin coughed. “Do you have any visual on the Hunters?”
There was a pause as one of the soldiers likely looked through a set of binoculars. “Yes Sir. We see all three.”
The Administrator blinked sweat out of his eyes for a second.
“Did you say three?”
The Administrators question went unanswered as Blades-maybe-Blazer alerted him of something far more pressing. “Sir, the Twins have reopened communication.”
Shaking his head in a vain attempt to clear the fog that was slowly settling, he shouted down the mic, “Put them on the line now!”
A crackly second later and the tinny voice of one of the Terror Twins came through, “Do not approach the engagement zone. Stay where you are.”
Whatever confusion threatened to cloud the Admins mind was blown away by the utter indignity of receiving an order from a pilot.
“Like Hell they’re not getting closer! I’ve had it with your bullshit Sideswipe-!”
“Sunstreaker.”
The Admin flailed his arms, “WHO-EVER-THE FUCK! You are goddamn staying put and letting the extraction team come get you!”
It was already a fucking miracle the Twins had survived. He couldn’t let them waste this chance, they were going to Shockwave or Swindle or whoever was likely to do him the most bodily harm for not delivering what they wanted.
On a private line, a message from Probably-Blazer came through. “Sir? The Twins and the third mecha appear to be inside some kind of uh-“
He listened closely, stilling his tongue as Sunstreaker blathered on about radiation and super cancer wafting off the corpses or something. The Admin wasn’t hearing any of it.
“-well it looks like a spaceship from a cartoon sir.” Could-be-Laser-Actually finished, sounding dumbfounded.
The Administrator was going to explode.
His put a fist around the neck of the microphone, “Who’s with you?”
“Pardon?” Sunstreaker asked.
“Who.” The Admin spelled out through grit teeth, “Is the third pilot accompanying you?”
“Oh!” Sunstreaker spoke as if he’d asked who his barber was, “That is. . Hubert.”
“Hubert.”
“SÌ.”
Rapidly typing, the Admin searched the pilots registry. “I don’t see a Hubert on file, what’s his last name?”
There was half a beat of silence before a strained voice jumped to fill it. “Mann. Hubert Mann.”
There was a faint rumble of feedback like hands being held over microphones to muffle any sound.
The feedback vanished temporarily, “Oh! Oh! Also he prefers to go by just Hugh.”
Hitting each key with his pointer fingers, the Admins scowl grew deeper. “Well I don’t see any Hugh Mann that’s posted anywhere near there.”
The mic muffling came again, only this time he caught the faint sound of snickering. “What’s so funny about this?”
“He’s from out of town.” One supplied.
“Like, really out of town.” The other supplemented.
The Admin threw his hands down, “Just put him on the line already and I’ll talk to him!”
“Oh well, we would but uh. .”
“He only speaks French.”
The man in the chair blinked for a second, as that was actually a problem he could solve. For once. “I speak French, that’s fine. Now put him on.”
“Oh no no no.” Sideswipe tsked at him like a disappointed grandmother. “He speaks like, Quebec French.”
“Québécois” Sunstreaker supplied.
“Reeeally thick québécois.”
“Just, completely fucking incomprehensible.”
“Very fast too. And he’ll keep going.”
“Does not stop to breathe.”
“Like if Zinedine Zidane had a stroke while also doing a line of coke.”
“That one rhymed very well.”
“Right?”
The Admin sat back, as all his life choices played before his eyes. A childhood of indulgence, his school years spent chasing “the ones that got away”, now more than half his life spent slowly climbing the corporate ladder. He stared, aimless into the distance, and he thought deeper on the things he’d learned over the course of that life.
“You can’t even PRONOUNCE “HUGH” IN FRENCH.”
At that moment, the lead helicopter pilot cut through the chatter, “The spaceship! Sir the thrusters are igniting!”
“Well, it wasn’t nice chatting with you sir. But we’ll be taking an alternative ride home if it’s all the same to you.”
Heart leaping into his throat, the Administrator began to wail and beg, “Stop stop stop! I’ll give you whatever you want! You want raises? You want a new apartment? New cars, new clothes, a fucking parade?!?”
But the line went dead.
Stunned speechless and soaked through with sweat, in the stark silence of the room the Admin seemed to enter the motions of standing up, and then went down like the line.
———
“Frag this! Fuck that! I am not an engineeeeeer!” Bluestreak sang.
Screw Primus, thank fragging Nautica for designing this shuttle with so much graceful degradation in mind. The upper back left thrusters were all slagged beyond use and the rest had been awfully chewed up too. But! Once Bluestreak finished frantically crimping severed fuel lines and double checked that only the non-life-threateningly-explosive thrusters were being fed, he flopped into the pilots seat and started the takeoff sequence.
There was a brief moment of panic when the shuttle became airborne and Bluestreak saw an unfamiliar light come up on the dashboard.
Optics flickering between the warning signal and the glass window of the cockpit, Bluestreak called out to Sunstreaker, “Uuuuuhhh, okay hold on to something. I don’t have time to check what that is so let’s just hope it’s a tail light.”
The sudden shift in gravity had the hunter snatching at the headrests of the seats. Catching on that this wouldn’t be a smooth ride Sunstreaker quickly slipped into a seat, holding a hand over the central console where Sideswipe was buried.
“You know I should really get my actual license to pilot one of these things someday. Not that I can even imagine the Decepticons pulling someone over for a traffic violation and enforcing it in any meaningful way. I guess Prowl could? But he’s the one who put me up to this and given he’s technically one of my mentors Prowl would really just end up writing a citation to himself. Also we’re basically living like anarchist space pirates anyways so yay no government oversight! Also do you hear hail? I think I hear hail and I do not see clouds.” Bluestreak chattered, leaning around to check where the tiny tat-tat-tattattats were coming from.
Minuscule flecks of the windscreen chipped like the shuttle was flying through a thin astroid field. The hail sound was extremely localized and moved across the sides of the shuttle in such a regular pattern that the Praxian recognized it after a click.
“Oh they’re shooting at us!” The soldier said chipperly.
Bluestreak peeked out the side window to see perched within the open sides of the helicopters several teeny tiny human soldiers with a dozen odd miniature machine guns all opening fire.
“That’s probably fine. Unless they have anything bigger.” Bluestreak paused, then turned down to Sideswipe. “Do they have anything bigger?”
The human staring up at him through a language barrier and a cleaning rag blinked at him with a blank expression.
The Praxian sat back upright.
[BLUESTREAK]: Six helicopters in pursuit lacking enough firepower to do more than cosmetic damage to the shuttle.]
[BLUESTREAK] Do humans have any military vehicles equivalent to Seekers?]
[PROWL]: Yes.]
Leaning over, Bluestreak flailed around blindly to grab at Sunstreaker’s seats harness and got the strap into his hand, “Put- put that on.”
Translated radio waves made his doorwing twitch as the twins began talking to each other anew, which was abruptly cut off by Bluestreak yanking the nose of the shuttle space-ward.
One of them yelped at the sudden rise in G-forces and Bluestreak hurried whispered, “Sorry, I know intense acceleration doesn’t feel great on organic bodies but I’m pretty sure missiles will feel worse.”
Biting his tongue, Bluestreak focused on striking the balance between not liquifying his companions and getting the fuck out of dodge.
Onwards they climbed. The blue of earth’s atmosphere growing darker and thinner with each passing moment. Like the black of a pupil swallowing the iris from the inside out.
Proximity warnings went off.
Lurching the controls to the left, the riders were thrown violently to the side.
One claw still firmly clasped over his brother, Sunstreaker wedged himself in place by slamming his other hand against the ceiling and bracing both feet against the front of the shuttle as hard as physically possible.
A small ball of light streaked by leaving a long smokey tail running through the thinning air.
“Missiles. Missiles! You know I hate missiles? I hate missiles so fucking much. You wanna know why I was at that train station? Because of missiles! Missiles and Seekers and an entire city GONE because some slagheaded dipsticks decided fuck it! We’re gonna blow up a city! WITH MISSILES!”
Fueled by misplaced rage and a touch of head trauma, Bluestreak slammed the accelerator forward, breaching the earths atmosphere with an accompanying chorus of screams.
———
For the second time that day, Sunstreaker blacked out only to awaken a few seconds later to an unprecedented sight.
The planet curved infinitely below him.
The thin rime of atmosphere caught the sun in its horizon, scattering light within its shine. The sun was always setting somewhere, and from here Sunstreaker was in the perfect place to see burning orange light catch on the tallest clouds, stretching their blue shadows across entire continents.
Closer still, flecks of glass and grime shimmered in space like a thousand blinking satellites.
There was an alarm screaming in his stomach, telling him that he was falling. Weightless. But he couldn’t seem to bring himself to care.
“Suuuuunnnny!” Sideswipe cried out with a surprising amount of strength. The kind of rising cry that comes before a total freak out.
The instinct to join him in panic burbled up to the surface. The abrupt realization that they were at the mercy of someone they’d met yesterday, the zero-gravity adrenaline surge that came out of feeling like they were falling, and the none too insignificant update to reality that humanity is even less alone in the universe than they thought rolled together into a quickly growing snowball of uncertainty.
Sunstreaker felt his heart rate kick up, he felt Sideswipe trembling on the cliffs edge of full blown panic. And if he panicked, Sunstreaker would definitely panic.
Too much shit to process right now.
“Shut the fuck up I’m experiencing cosmic wonder.”
The burbling stopped. The bubbles frozen in place.
Then, a wheeze as Sideswipe laughed hard enough to definitely hurt. “Cosmic wonder?!?” He squeaked out.
It was forced, and just a little faked, but he made the both of them ignore the Fear for a minute. It’s why they worked together so well.
“Shut the fuck up! The Earth’s fuckin’ beautiful you prick!” Heart doing one last flip, Sunstreaker breathed out slowly as he finally released the death grip he’d had overtop his wounded partner.
Almost immediately, Sideswipe pulled himself upwards out of the cup holder. The cloth he’d be stuffed with in there drifted up as well, loosely wrapped around his body. Eventually air resistance won out and Sideswipe came to rest at roughly the mecha’s eye level.
“Woah.” He finally breathed.
It was surreal. Sideswipe would later inadequately describe. Not just the view out the window, but what it felt like to float freely in the center of a space larger than most air plane hangars.
From here, everything looked proportionally correct.
Until he held his hand in front of his face and his brain melted a bit trying to work out why he couldn’t reach anything.
“Sorry.” Angel said, which was recently becoming his go-to word.
The alien? Yeah, definitely alien. Gestured awkwardly around the interior of the shuttle like an embarrassed teenager with unexpected company inside his room.
“The uh, the pull-down machine is broken.” He apologized for the free zero-G experience.
“All good!” Sideswipe turned to him and gave a thumbs up with only a hint of a wince. Gingerly feeling his own ribs, Sideswipe asked the golden question that would determine if this was going to be a buddy comedy alien movie or the kind that ended in surprise brain removal. “Areeee we still going to Ratchet?”
The pilots watched in fascination as Angel repeated Sideswipes question, mumbling under his breath with a distracted look in his eyes.
“Oh!” The mech perked up. “One-click! One-click! One-click!”
Leaning over the central console, Angel began to rapidly fine tune something built into the ship itself.
———
“Alright, I’m receiving a transmission from the shuttle. Is the splice holding?” Prowl intoned, resting his weight on the floor of the hangar.
Running his fingers over the mix of cables connecting the transponder salvaged from Deadlocks ship to a truly ancient human radio system, Ratchet sat at the makeshift communications console. “Shouldn’t blow up but don’t assume anything.”
The tactician nodded once and silently passed along the comm code to Bluestreak for Deadlocks ship.
The box sputtered and hissed to life. The more sensitive to sound present cringed and leaned away from the grating noise. Turning through a slew of random channels, human voices clipped by in and out in quarter notes until Ratchet left the bandwidth of human communication.
A whine strained and stabilized into a repeating beat. Prowl confirmed this was what they wanted to hear with a nod. Clearing his throat, Ratchet pressed down on the intercom button.
“Hello? Hello? This is Ratchet speaking. I repeat, this is Ratchet. If you can hear me then you know who the hell I am.” The doctor improvised.
Silence broken by steady beeping held the room.
Ratchet pressed the button a couple more times. Started to lean around the table. “Is this thing plugged in?”
Holding up a servo, Prowl wore a look of concentration. “Bluestreak is receiving. But something is happening on the shuttle.”
Static burst over the sound system before the distant yet obviously shouting voice of a human came through, “Mi spiace, non parlo ingles.”
Stunned silence filled the hangar for a moment before Ratchet lifted a single finger for no one to speak. His nose had wrinkled as if he’d just caught a strong whiff of shit and spoke into the mic uncharacteristically softly, “So sorry about that Sideswipe, we’ll bring in a translator for you right away.”
Indignation simmered back over the speakers, “For fucks sake I’m not Sideswipe I’m Sunstreaker.”
“Gotcha you little shit!” Ratchet shouted victoriously.
Muffled cursing in Italian could faintly be heard over the comms. Leaning back to the others, Ratchet said, “I’m switching to headphones now that we know they’re not all dead. Can barely hear ‘em like this.”
Soon enough, Ratchet was back on comms. Ignoring the giant metal anxiety ridden elephants in the room and immediately prioritizing the health of the twins.
“Alright, Bluestreak told us that Sideswipe was hurt. He was bleeding and something was wrong with his chest right?”
He paused.
“No, Bluestreak is the living robot that just abducted you.”
He paused again.
“Yes, his name is Bluestreak.”
Ratchet almost spoke as if to answer something and then closed his mouth.
Hand over the microphone, he turned back to squint at Jazz and Prowl, “Bluestreak isn’t blue?”
“No. He’s grey and red.” Prowl sighed as he entered a conversation he’s had before about a thousand times.
“Then why the hell is he called Bluestreak?” Ratchet asked before thinking and then adding, “Wait, does he talk a lot?”
Script broken, Prowl furrowed his brow in surprise and answered, “Yes? Yes, he does.”
Before the Praxian could follow up on how Ratchet could’ve known that, the elder human turned back to the microphone, “He’s called Bluestreak because he talks a blue streak. Y’know when you talk so long without breathing you start to turn blue?”
This time, Ratchet paused for a more substantial length of time. “Yes, he’s an alien. No, I don’t think he’ll actually turn blue. No, he doesn’t need air to breathe but it helps with cooling. Well he can drink it if he wants but the one I know only likes the leaded stuff. Apparently it’s way too sweet for the others. Yes there’s others- oh for fuck’s-“
Waving his hand in the air like a frustrated wizard, Ratchet cut off the twins unheard barrage of questions, “Look! Look look. You can ask all the fuckin’ questions you want AFTER the three of get over here. Now I need as much information as you can give me so I can prep for your intake. Got it?”
A moment passed before the doctor huffed out a snort of air, that according to Deadlock, meant the human was mollified.
The myriad of ways Ratchet would push air out of his lungs seemed to be its own language altogether. Deadlock was fluent, the other humans conversational, and the remaining cybertronians left in the dark.
Secretly, Prowl allowed himself just a little smugness at being the only one present to have decoded Jazz and his puzzle-like layers of conversational ciphers. Mostly. He’d made a spreadsheet.
Prowl wasn’t entirely sure he’d have been able to make an adequate spreadsheet for “angry-breathing” if Ratchet had been his first contact with humanity.
While Jazz considered reading the humans uncontrollable EM fields as cheating, Prowl argued that those too were not intuitive and required time and skill to understand fully.
For example, Ratchet was probably emanating a field of calm focus.
“. . .Trauma to ribs. . minor lacerations and flesh wounds.” The doctor mumbled to himself as he scrawled Sideswipes symptoms on a loose piece of paper.
Huffing with dry humor, Ratchet also said, “At least you’re identical, won’t need to search for a matching blood donor.”
He stop writing.
“What did you say?”
His hand moved to the earphones, pressing them to his head in an effort to hear the others more clearly.
“What do you mean you’re not actually twins?” He tapped at a laptop Jazz had managed to hook into the pilot medical data base. “I’m looking at your files right now. Everything is exactly the same.”
Deadlock felt it half a click before the other Cybertronians, immediately leaning back from the solar flare of shock and rage that shot off of the slowly standing doctor.
“YOU COPIED OFF OF SUNSTREAKERS FILE?!?” Roaring over the microphone, the Hatchet had arrived.
“DO YOU THINK YOUR MEDICAL FILES ARE A GODDAMN MATH TEST?! YOU CAN’T JUST LEAN OVER SOMEONE FUCKING SHOULDER AND COPY THE ANSWERS! JUST BECAUSE SUNSTREAKERS YOUR BROTHER DOESN’T MEAN EVERYTHING WILL BE THE SA-“
The doctor went quiet. Every body inside the hangar shrunk and wilted further as Ratchets red knuckles turned white.
“YOU AREN’T FUCKING RELATED?!?”
The others cleared out of the building like the roof was on fire.
Safely outside, away from the fountain of expletives raining down upon the microphone, the cybertronians and their humans rested in the night air.
“Sooo.” Jazz eventually broke the silence. “What’s their ETA babe?”
Optics distant with concentration, Prowl took a moment to respond, “They should land either within the next 40 minutes or never. Depending on whether or not I can convince Bluestreak that the madman screaming at the Twins over the speakers does not actually mean them physical harm.”
They heard something metallic being thrown within the hangar.
Doorwings wilting, Prowl updated accordingly, “Make that 50 minutes, plus or minus 5.”
45 minutes later on the dot, Prowl was deemed successful as those assembled cleared out of the courtyard to make room for a limping, leaking and smoking shuttle to land. It hit the ground just hard enough to bounce slightly.
The shuttle echoed intermittently like a metal drum as the passengers within arranged themselves gracelessly.
At last, the air lock hissed as pressurized gas released its hold, spreading a low cloud of vapor across the grass and dirt. The door slid open.
About a foot.
And then the cussing of three different languages could be heard as two different sets of metal hands tried to get purchase in the gap.
——
Cramming the fingers of his mecha into the seams, Sunstreaker got a grip on the edge of the door and began forcing it aside with a torturous sound. He was starting to taste metal and a ringing not from any machinery was steadily replacing his peripheral hearing. Sideswipe was getting quiet.
When he laughed through the pain, it didn’t seem so bad.
But when he got quiet.
With a hiss of over pressurized hydraulics, Sunstreaker wrenched the spaceship door open wide enough to escape.
Three mecha were there, waiting for them. All three had faces that twisted with various levels of surprise and dim horror at the sight of the red hunters torn apart chassis.
A large one with black plating took half a step back, servo going to a weapon on their hip.
The smallest one tried and failed to hide a gag, smiling in a way that looked stressed and fake.
And then the third. .
“Holy shit.”
Mecha number three had the same red chevron, waving wing-things and almost exactly the same face as Bluestreak. Minus an eye.
That one stepped forward immediately, scanning over Sunstreaker in a way that made him stand up straighter, then looking past him altogether to the smaller mech behind him.
A burst of sound behind him had the hunter stepping aside as Bluestreak pushed past and ran at the taller mech. The pilots initial assumption they must have been related was all but confirmed as the too mechs crashed into each other like a very happy car collision.
Talking a mile a minute, Bluestreak looked like he would have vibrated straight out of his armor if Big Brother wasn’t holding him in place.
The both of them looked like they’d been through hell, but while Bluestreak looked like he’d dragged beneath a freight train, his brother’s injuries all looked. . Clean. There was a lack of jagged battle damage around their missing pieces that despite clearly having been patched with spare parts, didn’t look like something that came from a fight.
As if sensing his focus, Big Brother turned to the hunter. Patting Bluestreak on the shoulder, the mech stalked up to Sunstreaker with tension in his shoulders and no smile on his face.
He stopped, just close enough to kneel and look the human in his eyes.
“My designation is Prowl. Thank you for saving my brother. I will do everything in my power to help you and your brother in turn.”
“I think you mean my power.” Unbeknownst to either of them, Ratchet had walked right past them both and looked dead set on finding his promised victim.
Sunstreaker realized he forgot Sideswipe in the cupholder.
Which would have been hilarious if that meant Sideswipe was loudly complaining about missing all the action outside, except he wasn’t.
He was quiet.
The hunter rushed back to the console, plucking up the cloth bindle by the corners and supporting the weight from beneath with his other hand.
Silently, Sunsteaker began mentally jabbing at Sideswipe until he got a flare of disgruntled confusion and a pained groan from his body.
The bindle shifted and a thin voice whined out, “Stop- fuckin’ poking me. M’not dying on you yet.”
“Oh ho ho! You’re not dying alright! And once I’m sure you’re not dying, I’m making you fill out a new med file with copies, or god so help me by the time I’m done with the two of you, you couldn’t fake being fraternal twins!” Ratchet roared, voice echoing surprisingly far with the massive metal interior of the ship.
“Put me back.” Sideswipe pleaded.
“Nooope.” Sunny responded, carrying his twin in everything but blood towards the doctor’s evil lair.
He let the corners of the cloth fall away so that the injured pilot could at least feel the fresh air one last time before his eminent confinement to a hospital bed.
As they crossed the space towards the open hangar, they spotted Bluestreak and Prowl huddled together, connected at the wrists by a length of cable.
The sniper was animatedly talking about something in his native tongue, when suddenly and without breaking stride, his voice fizzled, popped, and then “-swung around by the leg while Sideswipe was getting crushed alive. I knew if I took the shot I was gonna get hit bad, but that was something I was willing to take you know? And I know you would’ve blamed yourself because before I was following what you were saying, so I really really really didn’t want you to think to blame yourself on this one because, I mean. It was my choice.”
The hunters slowed, stopping next to the other set of brothers.
Visibly perking up, for the first both pilots saw the praxian smile in a way that didn’t look like he was about to throw up from stress. He looked happy. Eyes literally brightening and wing panels lifting despite his obvious damage.
He turned to the two of them fully.
“Hi, I’m Bluestreak.”
————————————————————————
This is technically the final part of Sunny Side Screw-up, however there will be an epilogue chapter at a later date.
If I find the specific post I will link it, but while writing this story I kept thinking about this one joke Keferon made about the Twins not actually being twins and Sideswipe deciding to copy all of Sunstreakers paperwork.
Why does Sunny allow this?
Because everyone’s first mistake is thinking he’s anything less than 100% as much of a prankster as Sideswipe. There is no stronger warriors bond than the commitment to a bit.
Somewhere in a reversed alternate universe, this is what the twins came up with for Bluestreak’s fake name:
if tfp soundwave had a face here's what i imagine he'd look like ✨ considered giving him purple optics but the gold stands out better and is more cat-like 💛
i sketched the face design over a year ago, but didn't have the confidence to share it back then 😔 sometimes it's worth waiting so long on a sketch cos i think he looks better now 💙
Hello, tumblr user. Before you is a tumblr post asking you to name a female fictional character. You have unlimited time to tag a female character, NOT a male one.
В игре Скай очень красивые локации:) Этот арт занял у меня много времени и сил, я пыталась использовать разные много разных кистей. Иллюстрация, как по мне, выглядит очень атмосферно :)
Skye has some very beautiful locations. :) This art took me a lot of time and effort, and I tried using many different brushes.
I think the illustration looks very atmospheric. :)
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