Gold and Gore

theredhellion​:

Sunstreaker hurt.

And Sideswipe laughed. Completely inappropriate, even he could tell that much, but there the sound was anyway, an amused chuckle at the expense of his twin.

At his own expense. Not like he couldn’t feel it too.

Not like he couldn’t ignore it.

But he was capable of quicksilver changes of mood and emotion, rarely one to dive deep into any single one. So while he waited on his alternate’s answer to the one little question posed, Sideswipe “tended” to Sunstreaker in silence, eyeing the red mech that had sort of… Curled up. Trying to stay of Sunstreaker’s personal space now, apparently.

He looked kinda small like this. Not that he didn’t always in comparison to them, but… Just even more so.

No.

It wasn’t voluntary.

Sideswipe bit his lip, in the impossibly gentle manner he had to do that to avoid damaging himself.

And Sideswipe wanted to ask more.

Did ask more, because he couldn’t just keep his mouth shut. “…Have you ever… You know, done it?” Curiosity burned at him, but he honestly didn’t know how willing his alternate would be to ever talk about this. For them, the larger set, this wasn’t… Anything sensitive. Had really never had the room to be. It was so obvious. Mecha demanded answers. ‘Why in the name of the Thirteen did he just nearly slaughter his own company?’

Berserker. They understood when you said that word. Knew what it meant.

Distrusted it. Treated them different knowing it.

For a good reason.

Sideswipe dispersed the empty cube, still staring at his alternate. Debating if he should go over. Try to comfort.

But he had no idea what was happening, if that would’ve even been wanted.

He answered first. “It’s not always voluntary,” he said, steady as they came, before he just wasn’t anymore. Sideswipe dropped his helm, staring at his claws instead.

He’d need to sharpen them sometime soon. “The first time really wasn’t voluntary and… After that it took… Vorns, before he came back to himself properly.”

Lonely, lonely vorns. He said it all a little hesitantly, and it shouldn’t have been too hard to see why. Look at them now. They were a literal extension of each other, but he lost that completely when Sunstreaker’s frame and spark separated.

To spend vorns like that? Feeling only Sunstreaker’s spark, the… Lack of understanding of the physical world, because he couldn’t access it anymore except through Sideswipe, and the things he felt like that were so happy. Innocent.

At complete odds with what reality was like. Trying to herd a frame that was pure aggression, that you had to walk on eggshells around because one wrong move and all of that aggression was directed at you instead.

And he hadn’t known how the pit to do it at first, hadn’t understood any of it. But he had to learn, fast. Not because they would’ve gotten rid of Sunstreaker otherwise, oh no, he became way too valuable for that the moment he glitched, but because it was his health on the line.

But he couldn’t very well just abandon Sunstreaker—or his frame, rather. Because that frame still housed his brother’s spark, the other half of his spark. A part of him.

And removing him from that frame hadn’t exactly been an option. 

“I mean… I’m pretty messed up,” Sideswipe spoke up after a pause. He said it almost carefully.

He knew it was true. He didn’t need anyone telling him that he was an erratic package of uncaring cheer and complete disregard for others, with a violent streak a mile wide. He was a straight up serial killer at this point, with everything he’d just… Let happen to him.

Bad decisions maybe, as much as he couldn’t think of them as such. Couldn’t. Physically. Just too late for that.

No room was left for second thoughts, his head too full of other stuff.

And even before that… He’d been through all the same shit Sunstreaker had been. And look how it had affected Sunstreaker.

Look how it hadn’t affected Sideswipe.

Except that was a complete lie. Had he gotten fucked to the same extent Sunstreaker had?

Was his damage lesser because he hadn’t become a berserker because of it?

Or was it just different?

And there was just that: “But I’m not a berserker. I don’t have the whole… Extra gear.” Sideswipe could go pretty far under his own power. His frame and mind were trained for violence. He could ignore pain, both his own and others’. He could hurt without a second thought. There were very few mental or emotional limits he had.

But he still couldn’t go to the extent Sunstreaker could. He couldn’t break his frame to that extent for the reward on the other side.

He couldn’t lose himself to the fight. And seeing how he fought despite that… It probably said a lot about him. About all the stuff he was missing.

Sideswipe shook his helm. Was there any stopping it?

Vorns.

“I can try to coax his spark back in touch with his frame, but there’s never a guarantee that’ll work. And… Sunny’s doing better now, so… His rages don’t last as long. You saw it yourself. It was over as soon as he’d won.”

There was a story between the lines, of all the times Sunstreaker had fallen headfirst into that particular pit and hadn’t come back out. Not anytime soon, anyway.

Leaving Sideswipe alone with his spark all over again, dancing around a senseless frame in a desperate bid to keep it from attacking every last thing in its sight.

He’d gotten pretty good at that, at drawing its attention to himself if it came down to it, because it didn’t kill him no matter no matter how thoroughly it slagged his aft.

Better him than someone who would die, right?

Because the Autobots would have gotten rid of Sunstreaker. Nearly had, several times.

If they weren’t so damn good in the field…

“It’s all cool,” Sideswipe said to the apology, realizing he never had gotten up to cross the distance to his alternate.

Hadn’t gone to comfort him.

He frowned, but got up to consider Sunstreaker, still kind of just slumped there. “Yeah, ‘course you can come. Just follow me.”

This… Was going to hurt.

Sideswipe braced himself before he reached down and slipped his arms under Sunstreaker, lifting him up into a bridal carry. Sunstreaker might have been able to walk out on his own two pedes, but that would’ve taken forever.

And he might’ve just collapsed on the way anyway.

Easier this way.

But it still hurt. All movement did.

What a lovely feeling!

Sideswipe looked back at his alternate, jerking his head in a gesture of ‘come along’ before he started to carefully pick his way through the ruins, trying his hardest not to jostle his brother too much.

And then around the nearest corner. Reality changed around them, the streets of a shining Cybertron spreading out in front of them. Sideswipe continued to lead the way along the busy walkway as if he wasn’t casually carrying an absolutely slagged frame. “It’s not far. Um… Would you prefer if I took Sunstreaker’s spark? If you wanna talk. That way you’d get the both of me right there.” Get Sunstreaker’s spark’s perspective on things too, where it could hear and listen itself instead of having to rely on the voiceless, soundless void of sensation that their spark was to transmit things across.

It was never a perfect transfer, a poor translation at worst.

Boy. That sure looked uncomfortable. But sometimes the things that were beneficial sucked in the short term. Or the long term. Watching the other Sunstreaker get manhandled, the other version of him laugh, the obvious discomfort, and subsequent grumping was weirdly- Well, comforting was a strong word. But it was an odd shot of strangely out of place lightness. Nice to see. Sometimes you needed that in the middle of the absurd. It could jar you back into the moment to find that tiny speck of bizarre, dark humor, in an otherwise cheerless situation. Even when you were sitting someone else’s fluids.  Maybe, especially if you were sitting in someone else’s fluids. Yeah. That was a lot of leakage happening. Sideswipe couldn’t bring himself to move much though. Morbid as it was, it was not the first time he had been plopped down in someone else’s gore and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Given his track record and everything. His gaze had drifted downward momentarily, focus zeroing on a single crack amidst the constellation of them for no particular reason other than it was there. Random chance helped him find it. He had followed the puddle, up the fuel stenciling down Sunstreaker’s frame, and happened to key in on one of the many bleeds. It was mildly shocking that there was anything left to even drip so…good job cube. But the answers drew his attention once more, violet focussing back up at the pair.  Well, more at the other Sideswipe. “Vorns…” He repeated, turning over the word in his head. To be separated from yourself, all of yourself, like that for that long sounded not great. It sounded terrifying. Moments ago the berserker experience was described as being disconnected, right? A severing of thought and physical limitations. But for it to be that long, that blanked state of indiscriminate ruin, and to be stuck in it? Alone with it so to speak? Sideswipe tried to think of what it would be like to have that kind of obstacle between him and his brother. To have his presence humming in his core but not being able to hear his voice, hear his thoughts, his perspective, to not have his frame in proximity. For that amount of time.  They lived so long and despite that that sounded like a small eternity. To thoroughly and completely snap and leave the other blindsided and reeling to handle it all- How had his Sunstreaker felt? Suddenly, he really wanted to hug his alternate. It was an impulse rooted in something that could have been another misguided effort of comforting something not needing or wanting comfort. It also was at least partly rooted in a selfish want for comfort himself. He didn’t go for one though not sure if that would be the right thing right now. No. Instead he remained Isle de Sideswipe, still smack in the middle of the great Sunblood sea. “So am I,” he said softly with gentle rise and fall of his shoulders. Messed up that was. It wasn’t an admission so much as a fact. An obvious one if you took a moment to peak through the cracks. Let the sugar crumble. His joy was genuine. His zest for life was real. So was every broken thing inside of him, determined as he was to keep piecing himself back together. To be more than what he was made to be. Different lives. Different circumstances. Different personalities. Different trials and tribulations. Different meat grinders they were sent through. Varying results. Across the board damage though it manifested in different ways. Broken, unbreakable, breaking. A sense of solidarity, he felt at least. Sideswipe blinked. Slowly. Left his optics shuttered for a moment before opening them again, ready to keep listening. His alternate said he couldn’t do the thing his twin could. Wasn’t a….berseker. But the way he said it… well it didn’t betray much information, how he felt about it, but it still wracked more questions in his helm. The way he described handling it. The rages don’t last as long. The more he heard the more curious he became. Although it was his turn to answer a question. Wasn’t fair to leave things so one-sided. He was being vague and cagey and bombarded them with his own onslaught of questions. And maybe it was a universal core Sideswipe trait to be a curiosity monster on some level.

Have you ever… you know. Done it? This one seemingly left a lot unsaid, but he read it loud and clear.  Have I ever lost my shit and ruined people? Well- “Yeah,” He said quietly, carefully. This was an admission. “I have.” And that was all he could confidently answer without there being more to the question. He made the effort to offer up some more unprompted information. “Not lasting for like…vorns. Not often. I have a looooooong fuse I guess?” he tried to joke, to maybe cobble together something lighter than whatever this was hanging over him. Honestly the questions and answers were in a way helping chill him out. That initial whateverthefuck ebbing at least a bit. “S’part of the hardware I guess. Can’t control it. Can’t make it happen or…not happen. I…it’s there…like everything else. Just there. I don’t think it’s exactly the same but-” But similar beats were hit. He paused in his lame explanation to watch Sunstreaker get hoisted, and winced in sympathy. Because ooooooow. Used to pain or not pain still sucked. Although this was good development. Because despite how flippant everyone was being-  -THAT WAS SO MUCH DAMAGE AND STILL DOING HIM A CONCERN. Sideswipe responded to the jerk of his alternate’s head immediately. Yeah. Medics. The go ahead to tag along. Good that was good. Leaving here was good. He unfurled from his locked up sit, and slowly slid off the bench. Pedes landed with a hollow splat in the puddle, which earned a brief apathetic, glance. He hadn’t even been in a fight, and yet here he was, energon, coolant, oil, a kaleidoscope of mess on his legs.  Slowly though, the life came back to him, and bit by bit it was like he was remembering how to move again. Tight and stilted was swapped for the fluidity that was more the norm for him.  He fell in step with his alternate, keeping pace with longer strides, orbiting just a bit closer than he had been before but still offering just enough space to not be lost. It was dizzying. The change. How one moment you were one place, rounded a corner and seemingly fell through reality into a new one. Like someone flipped a channel. Rotting and lifeless, became lively and bright in the same vent. Usually this glittery new space with all of its possibility would be an immediate draw for curiosity and wandering. A living Cybertron would have been something to be awed. Not today. Today he hovered closer, rounding out this weird merry trio leaving a trail of blood in their wake. “Uh. If that’s alright. Sure? Yeah talking to both of you would be great. Get the whole picture. Have a conversation. Back and forth. If that’s cool. I can explain a little bit why I’m being a complete- we just left the body there.”

Coil. That guy. Sorta just- in the dirt. That. Yeah. Right. Whoops. Kinda just forgoooooot. GDI

Sunstreaker listened to the conversation around him silently, most often satisfied to let Sideswipe do the speaking for the both of them - and even more so now that he wasn’t feeling... The greatest. In frame, that was. His spark felt fine, as did his mind, despite the topic circling around him in ways that weren’t the very most pleasant, or lightest - heavy, going back to death and lack of control time and again. Should he have been bothered by it all? He had never been able to tell, but he knew this: he wasn’t bothered by it, and never had been. His frame was a shield for his spark even moreso than what most others’ were, filtering life through a damaged lens before allowing his spark to experience it. Things didn’t touch him anymore - he didn’t care, which was at such complete odds with what he had once been that he had become next to unrecognizable, were there anyone who had known him before their life crashed down around them.

But there was a reason they called it death. For all intents and purposes he had died in that one painful moment, and he was no phoenix rising from the ashes to live again. His spark - it remained the same, but that made no difference when the frame around it was what it was - what it had become. He was untouchable, now - locked in a cage he could only ever escape temporarily, and only because he had a second frame that didn’t carry the same damage. There were always two parts to a mech, the frame and the spark, and those could be at such complete odds with each other. They could be in tune with one another, or they could... Not be.

He’d killed countless, most of them without his spark even being aware of it, only learning about it after the fact, his frame a broken drone acting on the order of damaged processors, warped coding, things out of his spark’s control. It was pathetic, how much of himself he had left - barely anything at all, so little - but that was no reason to despair, merely a reason to construct a new image of what he was, who he was - arrogant, selfish, violent, cold, aloof, someone so perfectly accepting of everything he was and refusing to see any reason for change. Was he even capable of that? Perhaps, with effort he would have been. Coding never stopped morphing... But that didn’t account for the physical damage that was never fixed, and now, couldn’t be fixed without a nuclear approach. It limited his potential, in some ways - at least, it would have if he hadn’t long ago come to the mindset that the only thing that mattered was how well he could fight, how easily he could kill. That all the potential he needed, and by Primus, the sky was the limit in how high he could go.

But his potential for goodness... What was left of that in the ruins of his mind? What was left of the will to even try?

In that one moment, when he had been destroyed, he’d left Sideswipe alone, floundering to adapt. Not alone in spark, but that barely mattered when that spark half had had no firsthand experience of the outside world, blissfully oblivious to all the suffering their life was - only confused as to why the feelings originating from Sideswipe were full of sadness. He loved his brother, he did - and yet he didn’t feel sorry for that either, out of his control or not. He’d never apologized for it even as he acknowledged it had been some of the worst time of their life to Sideswipe, a time when he was left to shoulder it all on his own - and there was so much to shoulder.

What was wrong with him? Why didn’t he care?

How could a frame turn so apathetic in one snap?

Those were questions he’d never asked from himself - or anyone else, for that matter.

But it was curious to hear there was something similar for the smaller version of his brother. Last Stand, out of his control, causing... What, exactly? He could make guesses based on the simple comparison made. And did it apply to his brother as well? Likely, but he didn’t know. Not without asking.

Sunstreaker didn’t use this frame to ask, merely bleeding his curiosity into their spark. Had the other Sunstreaker ever succumbed to it? Oh how the questions burned at him, but he trusted Sideswipe would reach the answers if the smaller of the red ones was at all cooperative and willing to talk about it. It would only be fair to return the favor, wouldn’t it? Here they were, painting an image of what it was like for them. Wasn’t it right to hear about their alternates in turn?

But... Repairs. He did happen to be in desperate need of those, and again, swiftly, he was running out of energy, the boost provided by the singular cube bleeding out of him. He wasn’t far enough gone yet to not care about what was happening to his frame, though, and when Sideswipe picked him up... Sunstreaker grit his denta, hard, grinding them together to keep quiet through the trip it was to Cauter’s clinic. First through the ruins, Sideswipe’s step steady despite the uneven surface he had to traverse, and then to Cybertron still in its prime, something Sunstreaker barely had the state of mind to acknowledge. Pain throbbed in his frame no matter how smoothly Sideswipe’s strode ahead, and Sunstreaker only glanced up when they came to the outside of one particular tower - then into it, and to the lifts, and up a number of floors until the doors opened for them again, then through a single hallway until they came to the clearly marked entrance to the clinic itself, slightly out of the way, more peaceful than the rest of the tower.

And in they went. The mech behind the entry desk glanced up when they walked in, his optics first brightening with recognition, then with an amused kind of concern once he read the lacking concern in the both of them. “Oh my goodness. What happened this time?”

“I glitched,” Sunstreaker responded with a small wave of greeting.

theredhellion​:

What was he-?

Oh. Oh. That wasn’t good.

And then his alternate almost slipped. Sideswipe’s arm shot out to steady the smaller mech, before he continued on his merry way straight into Sunstreaker’s personal space. Sideswipe, large edition, opened his mouth to say something, to give a warning maybe, but then just closed it again. A little dumbfounded by the whole thing, honestly.

Like… His alternate had a Sunstreaker of his own. And based on the very little he knew of that Sunstreaker, he didn’t like anyone breaching his personal personal space any more than his own, considerably larger brother did. 

The littler Sideswipe had to know this, and he went ahead and approached him anyway. Went right up there next to him actually, with no heed for his safety. Sunstreaker might’ve been injured, but he wouldn’t be that way forever. 

And then he- No, seriously, he tried to fuel Sunstreaker. Which was an incredibly sweet gesture, Sideswipe had to give him that, and if his and Sunstreaker’s roles were reversed, it would’ve been even be welcomed, something to be grateful for.

But they weren’t reversed, and it was Sunstreaker that was in a terrible shape and barely in a condition to give his frame the fuel it desperately needed. Proud Sunstreaker, who didn’t much like needing help of any kind, and definitely not from mecha he didn’t even like. Sideswipe could feel his brother’s offense surging, and cackled.

Like it was funny. As if the situation wasn’t in any way serious. Which, to him, it really wasn’t. Sunstreaker wasn’t dying, and yeah, he was a veritable wreck and hurting all over, but…

He wasn’t dying. And they could handle discomfort.

Sunstreaker could handle it especially well now that his processors were sort of starting to shut down, little by little. His consciousness was beginning to evade him. Sideswipe could feel him retreating into their spark, his hold of his other frame weakening.

But Sunstreaker wasn’t weak, not in body or mind. In spark, maybe, because he wouldn’t be like this if he wasn’t, but the physical shell of him was strong in every meaning of the word.

And he just would not go under.

It would be a battle he’d lose eventually, but… “Lemme,” Sideswipe said, reaching for the cube his alternate had tried to give to his brother. “If you wanna keep him online that bad.”

And Sideswipe wasn’t careful or gentle about it. He grabbed Sunstreaker by the helm and straightened his groaning frame that protested the movement every inch of the way—all kinds of ouch—tilting his helm back to straighten the way to his tank.

Then he opened his brother’s mouth with the fact that was his frame too, that he was in perfect control over as long as his spark was still in any kind of contact with it.

And once it was open, he poured the energon into the opening without any fanfare.

His attention was half on the task, and half on his alternate, still watching and puzzling over his… Quiet. His alternate wasn’t usually this quiet. Thoughtful? 

And he wasn’t fine. He didn’t say anything to that question either, but he shook his helm.

And honestly, Sideswipe was more worried about his alternate than he was about Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker’s state was old news, something they’d seen and experienced countless of times before. It wasn’t a big deal. He wasn’t dying.

But this was the first time his alternate was seeing it, and it was affecting him. At this point curiosity was just about murdering the bigger Sideswipe, but he didn’t want to push.

Sure his alternate would talk when he was ready?

He said something.

Last Stand? “Is it voluntary?” Sideswipe asked as he finished directing the last of the cube’s contents into Sunstreaker’s mouth and tank, but his optics, behind the visor, were on his alternate. “And I mean… Ask away if you wanna know anything.” To help him understand whatever more he wanted to understand of the situation.

Of his own thoughts and feelings maybe too, although Sideswipe couldn’t really help with those directly. 

Sideswipe let his brother’s frame slump back into the position it had been in, his his elbows resting on his knees, supporting his upper frame—a testament to the fact Sunstreaker wasn’t yet fully down and out. He’d teeter completely in some direction if he was. “The compound has medics, but for anything bigger we go to Cauter,” Sideswipe answered to his alternate’s question. And this was kinda something bigger.

Just a little bit.

“He’s fine though,” Sideswipe continued, still just… Not really showing any worry over Sunstreaker. “Not dying or anything.

“If you wanna go, we can though. I mean, he needs some uh… Repairs anyway.” Fine or not.

Loooots of repairs.

“The sooner Cauter gets those underway, the faster they’ll be done.”

And then they could go back to adventuring and getting themselves slagged all over again.

They were really making Cauter rich with how often they needed his services. “Wanna go?”

Was the attempt at offering fuel a bad decision? Yeah. Most definitely. A fraction of his processor knew this. Had known this even before he ever fished out the med kit. He had optics and working sensory net, and also several years of the golden mech having been on his periphery of awareness. Although, after rewinding the last thirty seconds for the highlight reel, in hindsight it wasn’t the offer so much as the tactic of delivery, right? Yeeeeeah- But also. Consider. His impulse control was nigh nonexistent more often than not, and his capacity for self preservation was spotty at best. Even in the wake of the devastation he witnessed, that wasn’t enough to cow him. That mindset of you can handle anything up until the moment you couldn’t was soaked in his core.  A rational fear of pain, and bodily harm had been summarily beaten out of him so to speak, leaving him with maybe a healthy respect for injury at best. Sometimes. When they were his own. Not that he didn’t have fears and anxieties for significantly less rational seeming things. Not that he didn’t have things that managed to get to him, eat at him. Like the mess he was now. That being said he wasn’t completely dense in the moment. Naiveté and inexperience didn’t translate to stupidity despite what some thought. It was kind of hard to miss the warning growl, or the prickly, dissonance of a hostile field. Even if he had managed to remain completely ignorant to those red flags there was still, you know, the actual threat. Spoken out loud. With words.  Sideswipe understood that. Not wanting someone to help you. Well, conceptually he got that, because he never was the sort to turn that kind of thing away. But he understood pride. Recognized that his defaulting empathy could be perceived as a slight or arrogance. Intentions or no. Irrationally his instinct was to be frustrated. Mostly with himself for being off kilter enough not to know what to do with himself or how to read the metaphorical room, but that was internally shut down and snuffed. He was worried. Maybe he shouldn’t have been because he literally seemed to be the only one who was, and that was spurring him into dangerous territory. That did register. His help was unwanted and unasked for, and after everything that happened he didn’t need to add continual missteps to the stack of whatever the hell all of this was. …Well, actually, too late for that. Yeah sure. Why not. Just tack that on with everything else. Maybe in an hour it would register more effectively but at the moment his priorities were a dumpster fire. And self preservation was quickly sliding to the bottom of the barrel. He had the mind to head the warning with a sigh though. Just as well his alternate came to the rescue by plucking the fuel from his hands to tend to his brother. Which freed him up enough to scooch back to what he was hoping was a sufficient distance although who the frack knew? Hands empty, suddenly he was left with nothing to fret with. So he sighed, scrubbed his hands down his face, then drew his knees up and stared at the pair. Took a vent, and decided to just…trust the situation. They had this. What they needed. They were in their own loop, and he could be fine sitting outside of it. He wanted to understand But-. He also really needed to stop inserting himself while he himself was so off balanced. Because of…what. The death? Being caught off guard? A partial understanding of why? What a berserker was. Recognition. A desire for a connection. Maybe someone understood. There he sat quietly again, reeled back those erratic bothered urges of his, and gave organizing his helm a second go.  It didn’t work. A for effort. There was a delay between him hearing the question, and actually trying to answer it. Brows furrowed, and he dropped his face behind his knees, optics just barely clearing visibility. Last stand. Was it voluntary? “No,” he answered airily. That. That right there was one of the things that bothered him.  A longer pause. “Is it voluntary for him?… Can you do it too?” “…can you make it stop-?” He sighed.  Dropped his forehelm against his knees, and listened. Compound. Medics. Yeah. That…that would be good. “I’m sorry,” he managed eventually. Ya know…for all of this. This was not how this day was supposed to go, and neither of them signed up for him freaking out. Which was wild, given that he was literally the one least tangibly impacted by all of this. Then not long after, nodded against knee guards, “Yeah let’s do that. Change of scenery. It’s ok if I come?”

Did he move? No. He sat there right where he was and waited for some kind of signal on what to do next. Where to go, who to follow, transport, whatever. Maybe it’d be easier to have a conversation then.

His warning was heeded, and that was all Sunstreaker cared about. The proximity still bothered him, made his field spike in nonsensical, prickly patterns, but he wasn’t touched and that was good enough for him, in the moment. Well, not touched by the smaller Sideswipe.

Sunstreaker wasn’t the type to vocalize much anything, be that pain or pleasure, but when Sideswipe, his Sideswipe, grabbed his helm and forced his back straight... It wasn’t quite a scream with how strangled the sound was, but it was a relative of that at the very least. His mouth fell open without any input from him, and then energon was already pouring down his throat, gravity doing most of the work for him - he barely needed to swallow, which was all well and good, because he didn’t particularly fancy even that level of movement.

Everything hurt, overworked components protesting the posture he was forced to keep, Sideswipe’s grip... Not rough, but unyielding all the same. There was a task he wanted to complete, and he would complete it, no matter the cost. They were no strangers to pain, were they? So what did it matter to hurt some more? His HUD was so full of warnings anyway that whatever Sideswipe’s actions added to the pile didn’t even register, just the agony arcing along his frame reminding him of the state he had driven himself into. But fueled he was, if nothing else, the energon hitting his tanks immediately diverted through filters and into his fuel pump, to be sent on its tour through is frame - powering his engines, primarily, and providing some additional, much needed charge to his processors. It was a fast process from start to finish, and before the cube was even finished, Sunstreaker could already feel his thoughts running lighter, the growling of his engine gaining slightly more power.

But it would leave his frame soon enough, leaking through the tears in his fuel lines, all over his frame - there to course through his lines only to join the puddle he was already sitting in. The relief of it wouldn’t last long. And was it even relief? As his thoughts powered back up, he became all too aware of the pain that hadn’t gone anywhere or reduced in any amount, capable of processing more of it much to his chagrin. And if that wasn’t enough, Sideswipe released him as suddenly as he’d caught him, and Sunstreaker’s frame collapsed all over again - though at least his elbows landed where they’d been before, his arms taking the weight of his chassis. He bit back another scream at the impact of damaged arms to damaged thighs, the rattled components throughout protesting vehemently. Sunstreaker vented heavily, his optics closed tight - trying to sort through the flood of pain signals assaulting his processors - so different from his earlier display of complete disregard for all of it.

There was barely any disregard now, only a mind all too aware of the state of the body it inhabited. “I hate you,” Sunstreaker muttered, opening his optics to glare at his brother - but his field only spoke of complete neutrality towards the treatment, none of the offense he had taken to the other Sideswipe’s attempt anywhere to be found. Would he have handled Sideswipe any more gently, were it Sideswipe that was a broken mess instead of Sunstreaker? Maybe, maybe not. He had done it both ways before, many times before - they didn’t keep count, the causes of their injuries and their moods playing a big part in how they treated each other in the aftermath - and there was a time and place for being caring and loving. The side of a long abandoned arena... Not quite it. Too ingrained in them was the purpose of places like these, and the cruelty they asked for.

And cruel they could be, even toward each other. Nevertheless, power was returning to his frame, not there to stay for long, but at least making him more immediately cognizant of the words exchanged around him. Cauter, their miracle worker - he was no Ratchet, but he was also not an Autobot. And had better bedside manner. They were regulars at his clinic by now. Heh.

theredhellion​:

Now, Sideswipe wasn’t the best at the whole empathy business. He was hot garbage at it, actually. 

But even without that, he could tell his alternate was a little shook by… What exactly? What he’d seen? The fight? The death?

Had he expected it all? Not like… Well, they hadn’t directly mentioned it would be a death match, had they? But shouldn’t their unwillingness to let the little mech fight his brother have been enough of a clue that the idea of fighting Sunstreaker came with more danger than just your basic injuries? Had they ever been hesitant about straight up violence before? You know… The kind that didn’t end in death.

Sideswipe had no qualms about throwing down with his alternate. So why would it have been different with Sunstreaker, right?

They’d told him he was a berserker. He hadn’t understood. Now he’d seen it for himself, and… Sideswipe didn’t know what about it all had gotten to him the most, but it was clear enough his alternate was bothered. By something. His usually cheerful demeanor was just gone, replaced by something that… Sideswipe wouldn’t have called it judgmental, exactly, but he didn’t get the sense it was anything totally positive either.

So as Sunstreaker sat down on his other side, very heavily and without much of a hint of his usual elegance, Sideswipe tilted his helm at the smaller version of him. “It was always going to end like this,” he said, almost gently. Whatever expectations his alternate had had, they probably hadn’t matched to reality.

And why did it need to be like this? “You don’t fight a berserker without betting your life, not in our ‘verse.”

It was in the name, even if his alternate hadn’t readily understood. Berserkers were killers with very few exceptions that maintained enough of their sense to not slaughter anyone and everyone that got in their way, and it was always an argument if those individuals even counted as true berserkers. 

Sunstreaker wasn’t such an exception. Sure, it wasn’t given that Sunstreaker would snap in the middle of any single fight, but the purpose of this particular one had been to showcase what he was… What he could do.

And Sunstreaker wasn’t prone to stopping before he ran out of opponents. Hell, if the Sideswipes hadn’t been sitting nice and quiet and out of the way, they would’ve been the next targets. And sure, he had completely incapacitated Coil first, which would’ve been a definitive end to the fight anyway, but… The glitch was murderous. Had been trained to be.

It didn’t leave its victims alive. It just didn’t. The butchering was too deeply ingrained.

Sideswipe didn’t touch either his alternate or his brother. For Sunstreaker contact would’ve just meant more pain, and on his alternate’s side, Sideswipe wasn’t sure if it would’ve been welcomed right now, no matter how touchy feely they usually were with each other.

‘What was that?’

“It’s a glitch,” Sideswipe shrugged. “Damage. And that, is how it manifests in Sunny when he goes at it totally. Cuts his spark from his processors, brings down his failsafes, turns off his sensors—pain sensors and some others. It’s got its symptoms even when his spark’s connected, but… Yeah.

“And he can’t always control it. That’s the dangerous bit.

“At some point they were testing warbuilds that were intentionally built as berserkers,” Sideswipe continued, trying to put the whole thing into some context. “Not exactly like Sunny ‘cause Sunny’s came around organically, but basic idea was the same. The officials decided it was unethical, though.” Just look at Sunstreaker now. A broken mess, paying the price for his unnatural performance. Pretty out of it.

To intentionally make a mech capable of that? Give them the ability to wreck themselves just so Cybertron could benefit from their performance on the field? Probably get most of them killed because they didn’t know when to stop?

“You get one guess on if the Pits cared about ethics. If they could’ve built their own berserkers, they would’ve.”

Sideswipe was quiet for a second before he added one more question. “You okay?” he asked from his alternate. He didn’t exactly need to ask that from Sunstreaker. It was kind of obvious Sunstreaker wasn’t totally alright even if you weren’t his twin.

Physically, anyway. Mentally and emotionally his brother was about as okay as he ever got, still and calm and feeling accomplished even as his frame threatened to give out on him.

Sunstreaker had long since made peace with what he’d become, what he could do because of it, all the lives he had taken because of it. Even if none of it had ever been his choice.

Sideswipe thought it was for the best, though. The whole thing. Because war was rough, and without being glitched out of his mind, Sunstreaker could’ve never withstood it.

But luckily for them, the Pits had done their number on them first and given Sunstreaker what amounted to destructive superpowers. All the damage done to him shielded his spark from the worst of what the outside world threw at them.

It was for the best. A lot of mecha they’d run across during the course of their life hadn’t agreed though. And… Yeah, Sideswipe could see why. Sunstreaker was a killer, sometimes a completely out of control one. He had been dangerous to his own side as well as the other side. They’d had to lock him in the brig more often than not, just to keep him from attacking his own comrades.

The war hadn’t really changed the fact they spent most of their time in locked rooms, brought out only to wreak some havoc.

But Sunstreaker was doing better now. He’d adapted to the wrecked state of his processors. He was more in control of himself. Pretty often he could choose to go berserk, instead of being driven into it against his will.

Sometimes it was still without him really wanting to, and that was probably never going to change.

Well… Unless they got themselves reprogrammed. Fixed all the damage done to them and started over with only their spark remembering what they’d been through.

It wasn’t the time for that while there was still a war going on, though. And it was most likely still going on in their ‘verse, even if they hadn’t gone back there in years. If they got reprogrammed now, had themselves wiped into a clean, innocent slate, they wouldn’t even know to return to their universe.

But it was something to consider. Eventually.

In the meantime Sunstreaker was what he was. “You wanted to fight him. That’s what you’d be up against at worst.”

A few things were getting to him. However, through that chaos sifting in his head a little glimmer of understanding dawned. It floated through his thoughts, and effectively silenced the disorderly roar. Hey. It whispered. They spared you this. They didn’t let him just walk into this. He hadn’t traipsed into a fight uncomprehending and out of his depths for just what he was signing himself up for. Despite his willingness to do just that. And because of that he wasn’t the one in pieces in the dirt, helm crushed. If he had, he would have been thoroughly wrecked. He would have been that one who’d of had to make that sharp, jarring course correction from playful beatdown to desperate, murderous intent.  They could have. Could have humored his impulse. But they didn’t.

Instead a point was made. He was shown by way of explanation. Everyone else here had known. Now he knew too. And still he wondered how far he could have gotten. The bigger golden mech throttled himself to show him. Put himself in this position. Taxed and victorious. Broken but not beaten. Once he got a response to his question Sideswipe wasted no time in getting over to Sunstreaker. Blood slicked ground was most definitely not accounted for in his haste, and he managed to slip. But at least he was able right himself without losing the cube or pitching himself over the edge of the arena. It was a minor speed bump, and one that didn’t deter him from clamoring up next to his brother’s alternate, bracketing him between Sideswipes. A wound. That’s what he looked like.  Sideswipe started to lift the cube. Was he fretting? Maybe. But those injuries look pretty damn bad and he was compelled to do something about it however he could. Not that he was sure what the right thing to do ™ was in this moment. Help him fuel? Don’t help? Let his alternate do it? Was he over thinking it? Probably. Fuck it, he was going to try to help. If that was the wrong move then he’d deal with it. Committing to a decision was better than struggling about it. If it was the wrong one he’d cross that bridge when he got to it. Rinse repeat. Actions had consequences. He’d live with them. All of them. He lifted up on his knees, carefully perching so there was no actual contact between them, and tipped the cube up in offering close to the gold one’s mouth. Mostly because he wasn’t sure the bigger mech’s arms worked anymore. Or his anything, despite the near serene look on pretty features. Was this even helpful?  “I’ve got more of these. Uh,” His optics flicked to his alternate for a moment. He had seen every sort of violence inflicted on the body. He had seen mecha shattered and smoldering in almost every conceivable state of broken. This level of damage was nothing new, but it was one of those things. To a degree you became numb to it. To another it was impossible. It stuck with you in strange ways even if you didn’t think it did. Sometimes those little things you were used to just hid in a sea of other horrors. What was a drop of water in an ocean after all? Could be more than what you lied to yourself it was. Sideswipe hadn’t meant for this… To be a catalyst for this destruction imploding inward or the initiation of a death match.  Whether or not everyone else was okay with it, it didn’t need to have happened. Maybe it always would have ended this way given everything he was hearing. And maybe once initiated it needed to have ended this way. Like, yeah, Coil (rest in pieces) didn’t seem to have any qualms with killing Sunstreaker back when the wind was at his back. Fuck that. But the fight itself didn’t need to have happened.  It did though.   As he was presenting the cube, despite thoughts snapping in his helm, Sideswipe listened. His alternate was talking and filling in the gaps. The answers poured in and slotted themselves into place. A glitch. Little control. A violent ace in the hole to indiscriminately annihilate whatever stood in your way. Berserker. This is what that meant.  He was stuck on that. ‘Cuts his spark from his processors-’ It sounded so… To be disconnected from yourself, from your thoughts, from your spark, and just…be. An unrelenting mass of destructive violence. He hadn’t been expecting to see that. He hadn’t expected something like that to manifest in this fight. To be used. Why was he shaken? He knew violence, intimately. He caused it. He was good at it. They also were good at it. So why-?

Are you ok? Sideswipe stilled for a moment and sank back down on his knees. Was he ok? Oh. Ha. He almost nodded but that was aborted. Because no. No he wasn’t. Something had knotted up in his core, threading a numb anxiety through his frame. And he wasn’t sure if he answered or not with his words, but at the very least he was shaking his helm. Beyond that he stayed focussed on his brother’s alternate even as he spoke to his own. He dug his fingers into his knee joint to steady them, threatening to stress the metal. No. No he wasn’t alright.  Because he finally got it. In a way. The more he reflected inward and organized each and every conflicting emotion one by one he finally found it. Identified the thing that unnerved him. Bothered him. The thing that sat on the pinnacle of all of this. But the recognition steadied him a little.  Oh. I’m an idiot.

“…For us it’s called ‘Last Stand,’” he said quietly. “It’s not exactly the same but it’s… I… I want to understand but-” He had so many questions. One thing at a time. He shook his helm again, rolled right on through whatever it was he was edging toward and for the moment buried it. One thing at a time.  “Anyway…. Hey, should we be looking for a medic now? Do you have a go-to? What does he need?” Sunstreaker’s state was doing him a big concern. 

He was looking at the smaller Sideswipe, but it still took a moment for the gears to turn and register what he was actually seeing, and in that moment the smaller version of his brother had already come next to him on his other side. Sunstreaker turned his helm in that direction instead, narrowing his optics at the little mech. Just what was he planning? Didn’t the distance his own Sideswipe put between them work well enough? Was this necessary? Wounded to the last or not, Sunstreaker still had sizable personal bubble, and the smaller Sideswipe had most certainly never gotten invited into it.

His primary engine revved, a strained sound but nevertheless speaking volumes of how much he was liking the situation. It only got louder the closer Sideswipe got, his only saving grace the care he took to not touch him him - but the cube was brought up close to his lips, which drew back in a quiet snarl that was given a voice in the next moment. “You do that and I’m going to kick your ass as soon as I’m repaired,” Sunstreaker growled. Beaten and bloodied as he was, his fight hadn’t gone anywhere, sparking now in his optics like the beginnings of a wildfire that he would never be able to fully unleash in his current state, but neither would he forget. Oh, he’d store all the reasons he needed to teach someone a lesson right there at the forefront of his processors where he wouldn’t let them slip his mind, and he’d put himself in the role of the teacher as the first order of business once he was capable of it again.

And he was not going to go through the humiliation of having the smaller Sideswipe feed him just because he wasn’t quite capable of doing it himself right then - or, at least, didn’t want to risk trying and making a fool of himself. A fool that wouldn’t accept his own injuries and tried to push on through things his frame simply couldn’t do anymore... Sunstreaker wasn’t that fool, too familiar with the limits of his frame and the ways he could wreck those limits to find new ones - but once he reached those, that was the end. He could do no more. His frame shook, his servos right along with them, and while he still judged himself to have the strength required to hold a cube, splashing its contents all over the place was an entirely different matter.

And... Fuel wasn’t a necessity. Oh, it would be very nice to feel even a temporary burst of energy in his systems, but again, it would only postpone what his frame was heading towards on straight tracks. His self-repair was working overtime, but the damage was simply too much, the tears in his fuel lines not something simple nanites could stitch back together without help. He needed a medic if he ever wanted to return his frame to a functional state, but... There was no true rush, was there? He was in a considerable amount of pain, but stasis would fix that. Running out of energon and charge entirely wasn’t about to kill him, unlike he had discovered would happen to mecha from certain other universes. He wasn’t on death’s doorstep, and he knew that very intimately from how many times he had actually knocked on that door and had it opened for him - only for him to punch the reaper right in the face before stubbornly limping back to life.

This wasn’t that. His spark chamber had suffered no damage, the rest of his frame having done its job and protected the source of his very life, shielded the most fragile part of him - the only part that, were it to suffer damage of the physical kind, would really threaten that life. Here and now the only thing he was headed towards was peace and escape, two things he wasn’t particularly opposed to right that moment - or ever, really. Both were difficult to achieve, though, but here, in the quiet after a good, successful and rewarding fight... He thought he might just grasp them, if only for a finite amount of time.

Was he a little listless? The world for certain started to feel more and more distant, only the silent landscape of his spark remaining, and he allowed his thoughts to retreat there, away from the hurt in his frame to a place that was nothing but emotion and color, ever living and ever changing as the halves of their spark rotated round after round in perfect synchronization. It was... Pleasant. Far more so than the physical reality ever could be, and he could have that, only that once his frame lost consciousness and cut his access to the outside world but through Sideswipe. He wouldn’t have a frame to remember that time, but the enjoyment of it would stay in his spark even after.

Still, he did not let go, his distant optics remaining stubbornly lit - always one to prove to himself and others that he was strong enough to withstand so much - even this, where most others would have slipped into stasis already, and despite the fact his frame was next to useless by now.

theredhellion​:

Could confirm, helm pets and pats were the best.

Sideswipe accepted the cube that was handed to him and went to instantly down it, gulping up the contents before his frame went like “nope, that’s not fresh, disgusting, out”. To his credit, he managed to mostly do that. And the thing was, Sideswipe didn’t have a gag reflex. He’d shoved too many things down his throat over the course of his life to not have gotten entirely rid of it (which wasn’t always a good thing), so usually you wouldn’t see him gagging at anything.

But now he gagged at the last remnants of the energon. Like, seriously had his frame do one very big heave that had him struggling to hold down the contents of his tank, the back of his servo pressing against his mouth. It would’ve been a pretty poor shield if his frame had decided to expel everything, but.

He managed to keep it in though! One big swallow later the feeling had mostly passed and Sideswipe chirped. “Oh hey. That’s the first time in years I’ve had anything from a cube without it coming right back up.” Did this mean he could finally go back to drinking from cubes like a normal person?

Probably not. He was quickly developing one fierce helmache, courtesy of one very thorough virus that wasn’t all too happy with his disobeying “orders”.

Good to know that would follow even if he managed to actually keep something down.

Internal struggles aside, Sideswipe dispersed the cube and shifted his focus back to the fight to distract himself from the slicing and dicing going on in his head right then. “Sunny’s a better fighter ‘an me exactly ‘cause of- Well, you’ll see.” Sideswipe mightn’t have much chances against someone of Coil’s caliber, but Sunstreaker was a different story.

Sure, he sparred with his brother and all, and when Sunstreaker kept it together Sideswipe stood pretty even chances against him. They were in theory physically entirely equal. Same frame type, near identical protoforms, and Sunstreaker’s heat resistant armor and more extensive ventilation system didn’t make much of a difference unless heat itself was involved. 

Of course that wasn’t going into the fact they were split-spark, which translated into the kind of crazy intuition that made it in practice impossible to actually defeat one another- But in theory they would’ve stood equal chances against each other anyways.

Except then there was the fact Sunstreaker was a glitched mess prone to glitching, and once he did that, all of their split-spark goodness went out of the window on top of the physical buff Sunstreaker received. 

At which point things got very crappy for Sideswipe.

So in practice, if Sunstreaker absolutely wanted to, he could always and very reliably kick Sideswipe’s butt.

For reasons the smaller him was about to witness. Sideswipe followed the fight in a little more detached fashion at first, because seeing Sunstreaker fight wasn’t something he hadn’t seen hundreds of thousands of time before, plus he got to experience it all real time anyway ‘cause you know, split-spark. So him paying attention wasn’t all that important. Sideswipe stayed kinda slouched in his seat, watching the fight, sure, but not paying full attention, and that much was obvious.

He was paying a little more attention to Sunstreaker’s sensations, though. He liked fighting, especially the kind of good fighting where you could give it your all and still not be sure you were going to come out on top. Piggybacking on Sunstreaker’s experience of it was entertaining and gave him an even better grasp of just how straight up proficient Coil was.

It was enjoyable, as a challenge.

It also hurt.

Part of the deal though, and Sideswipe just ignored the aches he could feel in his other frame.

Of course, then things continued to speed up and get more serious, and suddenly his alternate was… Worried? Sideswipe’s attention was drawn from the fight to his namesake some, tilting his head at his alternate.

He didn’t ask though, because that would’ve been distracting, and he didn’t want to distract the other. But he was curious, because… You know, this was what they were here for, right? And things really weren’t going in any unusual direction or anything. It was just a fight. A very deadly one, but just a fight regardless.

And his brother and Coil were going at it hard, just like Sideswipe had expected they would. They weren’t equal in skill and experience and physical ability, and that much became obvious as the fight went on and Sunstreaker started to fall behind. But that was also expected. If Coil hadn’t been able to push Sunstreaker to his limit, there wouldn’t have even been a point to this. They had needed a fighter Sunstreaker couldn’t just straight up win against.

And Coil was that. Sunstreaker went down spectacularly and even Sideswipe winced at the resulting blossom of pain in his helmet, and straightened up when Sunstreaker didn’t manage to dodge out of the way before Coil was already upon him and trapped him against the ground.

And the blade came down.

That could’ve been it, but of course it wasn’t, because Sunstreaker wasn’t that bad of a fighter. He managed to stop it in time, but then… Stalemate.

That was going to end in Sunstreaker’s loss, if not…

“Now watch,” Sideswipe said steadily, reaching over and grabbing his alternate by the helm in a decently tight grip, rooting him in pace so he wouldn’t have any chance but to witness what was about to go down.

Sunstreaker didn’t snap like he sometimes did, as much as he just leapt off the ledge voluntarily. His connection to Sunstreaker’s frame was severed without a warning, which was all the indication he needed to know that Sunstreaker had glitched himself, physical signs be damned. And now Sideswipe needed to watch to know what was happening, because all he could feel from Sunstreaker was… Sunstreaker.

The real Sunstreaker, all soft and fuzzy and without a care in the world, floating in the dark without a physical body to connect to.

That physical body was acting under its own rule now. Faster, stronger, feeling no pain… Sideswipe knew exactly what it was like to go against him like this, when you were left feeling like your opponent had no weakness.

It wasn’t true that Sunstreaker had no weakness, it was just that that weakness took a while to take root, and while you were waiting for it, you were absolutely screwed unless you were really damn good. Sunstreaker was breaking his frame by the second, but they were built to take damage. They could shrug off insane amounts of it and just keep going, especially if you removed all pain sensation from the equation.

He’d seen Sunstreaker fight for hours while his frame fell apart around him. You couldn’t rely on just time.

You just had to be that good.

And Coil, as good as he was, wasn’t that good. 

Poor Coil. Sideswipe really did like him. Here he was now though, getting absolutely beat up by Sunstreaker when he’d probably already had the time to think he’d won. They had kind of failed to mention Sunstreaker was a berserker and all that. It wasn’t common knowledge in Coil’s universe yet, because they hadn’t earned to fight at their actual level yet. Sunstreaker had never needed to stretch all the way to win a match.

This still wouldn’t be all the way, but it was a good distance anyway. 

Good for his alternate to see. And hear. Primus, the sounds Sunstreaker’s frame made… It was just wrong. You could hear it grinding past its breaking point, and then keep grinding, and breaking, and still keep grinding. It had been insane the first time it had happened, and it still was.

Sideswipe doubted there was any getting used to watching someone absolutely obliterate themselves while completely oblivious to the damage they were causing on themselves.

But Sunstreaker would feel it still. It was just a matter of time.

And he had to give it to Coil, he held on for a pretty long time despite the onslaught Sunstreaker unleashed on him. As he and Sunstreaker had both judged though… Coil wasn’t good enough. He couldn’t avoid enough of the damage to withstand it, and he wasn’t able to deliver it fast enough. Sunstreaker kept evading him just enough, kept hurting him just enough.

Not like Megatron. Sunstreaker had given even Megatron a run for his money, but Megatron had been just better. He had been able to take the damage and return so much of it that Sunstreaker had gone down.

That wasn’t happening here.

Coil was lagging, Sunstreaker wasn’t. Sunstreaker kept pushing, until finally, Coil fell too far behind. There was an uptick at the corner of Sideswipe’s mouth when Sunstreaker went and slammed Coil into the dust with enough force to crack his whole helm like an egg.

And that was that. The killing blow was just an afterthought at that point. Necessary and inevitable, but it wasn’t what determined the winner.

The crushed helm did.

Coil’s face wasn’t even recognizable anymore. And was that a detached optic rolling over there? Could be.

Then came the aftermath. Sideswipe let go of his alternate’s helm as Sunstreaker returned to his frame, and fuuuuck but it hurt. Sideswipe cycled a sharp ventilation at the pain that assaulted his other frame, before physically shaking himself off and reminding himself that this frame was still in perfect repair.

His smile was still a little strained when he grinned at the little him. “That, my friend, is a berserker. Any questions?”

It was obvious that Sunstreaker was in a hell of a lot of pain. It would also be easily guessed that both twins had some insane pain tolerance, and Sunstreaker was still struggling, just sitting there with that out of it look in his optics that didn’t come from being glitched out of your processor right then.

No matter how Sunstreaker might’ve wished he could go back under to escape the little side effects of what he could do.

But Sideswipe didn’t make a single move to go help him, and neither did he let his alternate make a move to go help him. Sunstreaker would walk out of there under his own power. He knew his brother could. Sunstreaker was strong.

And true to that, Sunstreaker staggered to his pedes after a lot of delay, and even went as far as to get his own sword despite the miles of pain it was for him to move at all.

See, Sunstreaker was strong.

Sideswipe waved cheerfully at his twin as Sunstreaker finally joined them. “Good match.” And hey, there was a souvenir in it too! Sideswipe laughed, leaning back in his seat now that all the excitement was over.

Sunstreaker would still need repairs, but… Eh, that could wait a sec. He wasn’t dying right that moment. “How’d you like it, ‘ternate? I thought it was a pretty good fight~”

Well. Sideswipe tried. Not that he could see his alternate suffering through his attempt at improvised snacks. Which was awfully nice on his part because he very well could have just said no. Not that anything he said would have truly registered once the fighting got underway. The surface under his fingers cracked in his grip. Alarm rose in his throat as he struggled to understand all of it. He was playing catch up on hard mode with nothing to key him in. Sideswipe had barely attempted to glance at his alternate to glean anything when the motion was nipped. Fingers closed around his helm like a vice, realigning his line of sight back to the destruction ahead of them. Not enough to stress the metal or hurt, but enough to keep him fixed. Even if the firm words hadn’t been spoken the intent of the gesture was clear. Watch. So watch he did. And what he saw was another shift. A second wind.  The big gold mech had been on the ground, injured, seconds from being pierced if something didn’t give. If something didn’t relent because Coil was intent on ending him. That much was clear.

On the defense.

Optics paled.

And then suddenly he wasn’t.

Sideswipe was blindsided. Again. The projection of this “friendly bout” had long since taken a turn from whatever he had been expecting, leaving him scrambling to follow along. The tide didn’t just turn. It sucked back inward toward this Sunstreaker’s favor, and crested into a wave of something that would prove to be inevitable. Inescapable. Sideswipe barely had a moments reprieve to wrap his helm around the sudden change in odds. It didn’t matter though.  The sobering approach of calamity, and bracing against it was a familiar thing. He recognized it. He lived it. The exact moment when you knew the odds were against you. That the impossible was stacked against you. And you railed against it anyways. Because that’s all you could do. That’s all Coil could do, whether or not he recognized that. Maybe he had. He had to have. Sideswipe had and while he had a front row seat, he didn’t have a front row seat. Numbly Sideswipe watched as the big mech was erratically brutalized. Whatever edge he had seemingly evaporated in the blink of an eye- his opponent no longer simply a match, but relentless, singularly-focused, physical wrath.  Every advantage was pressed, a heaving onslaught of pure, unadulterated, self-destructive force, and there was no reprieve. No quarter given. It was the other combatant’s turn to be on the defense. His turn to be pressed while Sunstreaker seemed to be riding on the onset of a new devastating momentum. And it built and built and built.

Slowly Sideswipe sank down bit by bit until his chin was resting atop the fractured row. Even if the hand resting on his helm slipped away it wouldn’t have registered at this point. He wouldn’t have strayed from that earlier instruction. He was sucked in by the sensory data before him. The violence. It was- Familiar. This volatile beatdown and the way his speed and power ratcheted was… Familiar to him. Familiar in a way that made his fingers tremble against rusted seating. Even if his face was clear of emotion save for wide optics. Hurt. This Sunstreaker looked so hurt and it didn’t seem to mean a damn thing. There was gritting and bearing in a battle, pushing yourself past a threshold to survive. Taking it. Enduring it. Even using it to remember you existed. That you were alive. There was pushing through it so you could grasp desperately for the next second. Because each was precious in a bid to live, and faltering meant potentially fatal errors. This was not that. Nothing. There was nothing. Nothing perceptible that hinted at the existence of a limitation to overcome. Not pain. Not suffering. Not desperation. Before there had been signs of wear. Of the collection of injuries taking some kind of a toll. But that may as well have been have different battle a lifetime ago because now? Sideswipe couldn’t identify any sort of restraint. Nothing curbing this relentless march to annihilation.  Nothing shackling him.  And Sideswipe had no idea what was going on. Where this came from. What this was. He couldn’t look to his alternate for cues, stuck looking only forward. Left to numbly puzzle. Left to struggle with an echo of something that resembled this enough to give him pause, outside of the disbelief. It was there. The wear. The bleeding…There was so much bleeding. The drip on his cheek registered briefly again, and as if on autopilot he wiped at it with his thumb smearing it. Sideswipe was shocked neither of them had simply slipped on the fluids. Or collapsed. Armor was broken, and the wrenching sound was telling.  Brought back memories. It rang clear, even above the pealing of armor being wailed on. The protest of components being dominated, and spurred to perform feats that should have been hindered. A disintegrating form, and still that speed and power. Despite the damage wracked this fight was now a rout.  And it finally ended in one final blow, a helm cracking against the dirt as if it were an eggshell. And it was over. No fanfare. No final words. Boom. Down. Gone. That was it. It was over. From start to finish the match hadn’t been that long. And now it was just…done. Sideswipe blinked. He had just watched someone die. Granted, he had watched a lot of people die. On the periphery. In the distance. Near him, on him, because of him. He was no stranger to ending people. Quietly. Quickly. Violently. All because he made a calculation in his head and decided he wanted to live. He wanted his brother to live. If someone wanted to take that from him, decided to make the gamble that they wanted it more than him, that was their choice. They could roll those dice and reap the consequences. That was war though. This wasn’t supposed to be. He thought at least. He hadn’t been in the headspace for this. He had stitched together this vision of what this would be. He liked combat and fighting; the sport of it and the challenge. To learn and grow and see what others could do. Getting a chance to see what an alternate of his brother could do, and maybe testing it? How could he not jump at the chance? So he did. In fact he had initially wanted to throw himself at the mech as a participant. Sideswipe hadn’t been deterred by the warning, instead armed with the confidence that he could handle whatever it was that got thrown his way. Even if he was banged up at the end. So when this alternative was suggested, he jumped at that too. Getting to see a match sounded just as exciting. From there he blindly filled in the blanks with his own assumptions. It would be a friendly sparring match. Nothing more. I asked for this. To see this. To see what he could do. He wanted to see a fight. He wanted to be in a fight.  Not to the death. He hadn’t been ready for that bit. No one needed to die. But they had. And now it was still. The humor was sucked right out of him, and replaced with quiet.  He asked for this. He didn’t ask all of the right questions. They delivered. He stared at the grey lump, and wondered if he had been the one in the ring, how would he have faired?

Whatever had shunted Sunstreaker’s injuries aside to seeming nonexistence seemed to disappear, just as his alternate seemingly sucked in a breath. That snapped something in Sideswipe… Broke him out of his stunned, stupefied confusion so he could creak back to life. Slowly his grip relented, he straightened again, and carefully took a step back. Then another, flopped down next to his alternate, and stared as he watched the living fighter struggle to pick himself out of the dirt.

There was an urge to do something. Vault the barrier and check on him but he stayed put. The weight of some unspoken thing kept him rooted. Rebellious as he was, for once he obeyed it. No, he sat conflicted. Like he had before. Doing nothing. No one needed to die. Not for this. That didn’t have to happen. But it did. …But Coil had actively tried to kill Sunstreaker. Of course you’d rail against dying. He couldn’t fault survival when things turned like that. Although… …had that always been the intent? Had Sideswipe been wearing blinders? Had everyone but him expected this to end like this? One limping out on their own two legs, while the other was left to rust in pieces? And that display…how this Sunstreaker fought- His helm was stuck on that too. For a lot of reasons. Obvious and not so obvious. Primus, he really was a bleeding spark. Uncertainty. Regret. Apathy. Shock. Curiosity. Guilt for his curiosity. So many questions…. His helm was a cocktail of contradiction.

Want what?

Wait. Oooooh, the bigger gold mech was speaking to him, presenting the sword his way. Almost casually. Wow. How had he missed that. He shouldn’t have since he had been staring blankly in his direction the entire time. You’d think he’d hear the approach, the grind of metal, the scent of fluids burning. Especially since he had been looking his way. ….Looking rough was a way to put it.  Sideswipe blinked. “Uh.” and after a beat of not being sure what to do, still mostly floating through his own head and reconciling everything to fit with his complicated everything, he reached out and took the sword. Heavy. Sharp. Impressive. About as tall as him which was ridiculous as fuck but had the potential to be fun. Slightly used. Previous owner didn’t need it anymore. Lost his head. Ha ha. ……. Morbid thoughts aside, compartmentalizing as he was somewhat, he couldn’t help but think that the gesture was weirdly thoughtful. So still somewhat airy, he murmured a gentle, “Thanks.”

There’s something wrong with me. His alternate laughed. Was talking. Sideswipe was still on a bit of delay, so to understand he had to rewind and figure out what was said to make sense of it. Took a second but he got there. A question. Oh. “Liked? It…uh. I wasn’t expecting…” He glanced at the grey shape in the distance. He looked down at the sword, and caught his reflection. The smear of energon on his cheek was purple. A few shades off from his own optic’s colors. Probably from his brother’s alternate then, right? Sideswipe set the sword down on the bench next to him where it thunked heavily. One thing at a time. He was still processing. Picking apart what was happening. Picking apart his tangle of thoughts. One thing at a time.

He tipped his helm toward his alternate. The look on his face wasn’t harrowed, but sharpened in a way. Appraising, as he looked between the two of them for a moment trying to understand something with knitted brows.  Stranger to violence he was not. Front row seat to a murder he wasn’t exactly ok with. That display ate at him- -but not for the most obvious reasons. Berserker. That’s what they called it. He knew something similar, but it was….well…. One thing at a time. Free hands dipped into subspace, a box was held up from the ripple in the air, and he blurted a completely absurd, “I have a medkit!” before lamely tacking on, “With energon. If you want it. Ya know. Cause you kinda dropped some of yours.” Here. And there.  And over there. A Jackson Pollock of fluids left in the dirt. Also he was still leaking. A lot. A lot a lot. “And that fight was…uh,” he ducked his head, and peaked up at the victor from under the brim of his helm as he, in a rare show, struggled for his words. “You  won. So yaaaaay. You… you both were good but you were… Hey, so. What was that? Berserker-?” That word was sticky in his head.

The sword was accepted and Sunstreaker was glad to be rid of that extra weight bearing down on his already damaged frame - the pistons that were rushing towards full nonfunctionality, the cables that were strained and torn, his overheated engines sore and slow to cool back down despite his flared vents. Could he have done the same again, right now? Yes, but his time would have bee finite before his frame simply ceased its operations. He had reached that point before too, when his frame had been pushed to its absolute limit and could not, physically, keep going any longer, when it simply crashed, even if he couldn’t feel it. That was the one danger of doing what he had just done - the gamble of could his frame stand long enough for him to obliterate his opposition. It was one thing in the ring too, and entirely different during war, the large battles that waged for extended periods of time.

If it wasn’t for Sideswipe always having his back... Well, things would have ended quite badly for Sunstreaker many a time already. And while this had been by his choice - necessity, too, but only because they had framed it as a death match from the beginning - it wasn’t always. Sometimes it had him whether he liked it or not, knocking him out of his own frame and sending him on a bloody rampage that ended with so many casualties, and often nearly landing him among them.

Risk, reward. The stakes were always there in pit fights and battles, and you always had to make those calculations, those decisions, but for him, the price and payoff were oft greater than what the common mech could even achieve. Such had become his lot in life, for better or for worse - which one it was depended on who you asked. Sunstreaker had never quite made his own decision on what he considered it to be, merely acknowledging both the good and the bad it came with... As well as the fact he likely wouldn’t have survived the war if he wasn’t already irreparably damaged to the pits and back by the time they joined it.

Every coin had its flipside.

And he was, frankly, done standing. Sword deposited to its new owner, he stepped to his twin’s other side and quite ungracefully collapsed onto the seat next to him, leaning his elbows onto his knees and... Things hurt. And they wouldn’t stop hurting before he had had repairs from helm to pede. He knew the story - most of his systems would need to be extensively repaired or entirely replaced if he wanted to return to full functionality, the damage he’d inflicted on himself almost greater than what Coil had caused on him. More insidious. If it wasn’t for the fact he was forming a puddle of mixed fluids underneath himself, if there wasn’t the stench of damaged components, it could have been easy to believe there no was no damage beyond the immediately obvious - and there was a lot of the obvious too.

But underneath the layer of physical suffering, there was... Satisfaction. The pleasure that came from defeating an opponent and earning himself the right to live onto the next day, no matter the cost. His spark felt light and airy even as his processors weighed heavy and tired - riding on the high of a good fight. Relaxed.

Perhaps a little too much so. It took Sunstreaker an embarrassing amount of time to register someone had spoken to him, the words rewinding through his processors several times before they were actually heard and understood. He glanced up with more effort than should have been necessary, at his brother’s alternate, at the medkit he had pulled from his subspace - heard the offer made. “That would be appreciated,” Sunstreaker murmured, a little too tired to go on to say it was also unnecessary, that both him and his brother also carried energon with them. Not to mention the fact he was still bleeding and refueling right now would have gone to waste soon enough.

Of course, if he didn’t even try to replenish his energon reserves, his frame would eventually run out of energy entirely. But saying any of that was... Too much effort. His exhaustion was deepening by every passing second, energon loss piling on damaged batteries that couldn’t keep their charge anymore. Soon he wouldn’t be able to do a repeat performance, his frame coming to the end of its road and forcing him into stasis whether he liked it or not. Out of the ring, though, in his brother’s presence, that was quite alright. Sideswipe would take care of it even if he succumbed to his injuries.

The smaller red mech continued speaking, and Sunstreaker nodded at him. He had indeed won, hadn’t he? It looked like he had some questions too, but, well... Sideswipe could answer those. There was no reason why Sideswipe couldn’t answer those, why Sunstreaker couldn’t return to the comfortable haze and focus on the throbbing in his frame to ground himself into a quiet reality and remind himself he was still alive, while waiting on stasis to claim him. His HUD was already informing him that if something didn’t change, stasis would be inevitable soon enough, but he still had some time before that. He was built sturdy, to withstand damage, to continue long past what most frames could have taken - built for exactly this, what he had just done, built to win with obsessive single-mindedness, every system designed for unending combat, modifications both legal and illegal putting him on par with true warbuilds.

 theredhellion‌:

Why wouldn’t he trust him? Admittedly the only answer to that would be “because he lies to everyone else”, and… Well, yeah. His alternate had no personal experience with his cheating ways, so maybe it made sense he had no caution whatsoever.

The absurdity of believing a liar who told they weren’t lying still made Sideswipe, large edition, laugh. A little disbelievingly, though honestly he should’ve probably expected this.

Anyway. It was established the little him was too trusting but that that didn’t matter right now. 

“First row seats then! Excellent choice. Maybe they’ll even come close enough that we’ll have some blood spray on us.” That had been a hard feat to achieve in the arena they’d grown up in, but boy it was so worth the trouble if you could make it happen. He wouldn’t really bet on it happening here and now though. For everyone’s safety it was best if Sunstreaker kept his distance from them.

Sideswipe took the invitation and sat his pretty aft down next to his alternate, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning back against the next row of ruins to get all comfortable. He expected they’d be here for a while. Fights between two good gladiators were never quick. 

Then he fished around his own subspace until he found and pulled out a container, handing it to his alternate. “Crunchy stuff~” See, he was prepared for this. You could buy edibles at the… Alive arenas, and in the name of bringing this experience as close as they could to a real deal without the real deal, there had to be a selection of edibles.

Edibles for his alternate, anyway. The larger Sideswipe’s specialized cuisine was harder to cater to.

He should’ve probably brought a turbofox or something.

His alternate’s next actions were a little more curious, and Sideswipe tilted his helm at the activities. It didn’t take him too long to catch up on what the other was doing. Then he laughed, a friendly sound. “Better hurry with that, my interest doesn’t last long after it’s left your frame.” He’d lick wounds and the like gladly, but… Yeah.

Yeah.

“Appreciate the thought, though,” he grinned, lifting a servo to ruffle the top of his alternate’s helm mostly gently. ‘Course, he’d appreciate it more if his alternate just let him bite him, but now wasn’t necessarily the time for that kind of activities. Might distract his alternate too much. Would definitely distract him too much, but he wasn’t the one this was all for. 

“They’ll start when we’re ready,” he shrugged afterwards, glancing back at the arena just when Sunstreaker dropped his servo. “Oh, there they go. Whee. Probably gonna take a while to get interesting, though. They’ve got similar fighting styles,” including slow starts when given the chance, “which was part of why we picked Coil. See Sunny fight someone who more or less matches him.” Better for illustrating why Sunstreaker was superior even when pitted against fighters really similar to him. If it was up to them, by the end of this his alternate would have a pretty good idea of what a berserker was.

Better a demonstration than just trying to explain it. “Coil’s good though. Like, really good. I wouldn’t win against him.”

Sideswipe ducked his helm sheepishly at the hand smoothing between audial horns, a soft delighted noise leaving him. “Heee~” He was a sucker for contact in all its forms, and helm pets were particularly appreciated. He choked off the tube in his arm quickly enough, and passed the cube over. The fuel was still electric with his charge, and bright with life. He thought, at least. It looked that way. He was a bit of an amateur connoisseur of fuels. But did that mean he was as discerning as his bigger alternate when it came to this kind of grading scale? Probably not. He could make ballpark judgements on how quickly a mix would ratchet a charge, but freshness of this sort? No idea. It was completely alien to him. Still, he was a young, energetic individual with a zest for life, so maybe that would reflect in his flavor. Which even he could acknowledge was a buck-wild thought to have. Nevertheless the trade was made. He hoped his offering was fresh by whatever parameter his alternate had. Without further fanfare his own cube was swapped for crunchier delectables. And just like that his attention was pealed away back to the main event. Crunchy stuff was pretty dang good. He chewed thoughtfully as he considered the two combatants. “I can’t believe I’ve never seen him fight.

“It makes sense though. Not that I haven’t seen him fight. The-” He waved a hand vaguely in their direction. “The slow build.” At least for the first couple of seconds. So many fights were number games after all. Less with the goal of trying to draw things out, and more trying to mow through as many as you could as quickly as you could. In a way this made more sense. At least in the context of an arena he thought? A fight over in a few seconds wouldn’t be very entertaining. Maybe once or twice an overwhelming show of power to dust your opponent could be interesting for the shock, but if that was it every single time…no stakes.  But more than that for Sideswipe the slow build was more… It was almost…well not coy. But appraising in a way. When you spared seconds to get a sense of what you were up against, especially when it was something unknown to you. It was not a luxury always afforded. Quick, messy and lucky were sometimes the only options, but for something like this? A sparring match? Why not take the time to appreciate the measure of your opponent? Take the time to assess how things might go. Really take the opportunity to be experimental.  Maybe even chat a bit. It seemed like words were exchanged but he couldn’t hear them.   And the chosen opponent for the hour was an interesting one. Strong, tall and the sort that dripped an easy charisma. Someone who’d be fun to fight, he thought. Win or lose, maybe he could go up for a round depending on the results. Even if- “You’d lose?” His alternate’s words snapped him out of his nerding over combat. Sideswipe blinked at him fleetingly, before his attention was drawn back to the ring trying to gauge the two with that new context. “He looks like he’d be a mean one to throw down with, but he’s really that tough? I mean you have to be really good, right? That’s basically a given. And you’re telling me that-?”

Further efforts to speculate were severed. The fight had begun.  Words were forgotten. Attention was thoroughly glued. Sideswipe leaned his elbows against the rows in front of him,  slowly sank, dropped his chin in his hands, and made a low impressed noise. Wow. Big, but quick. Coil was relentless. Armor rattling blow after armor rattling blow. He was good. Really good. Anyone with optics could see that, and filtered through his history of combat experience? That made it even more impressive. Both of them were, actually, and those threads of excitement rushed through Sideswipe now that he was finally getting to witness an iota of what his brother’s alternate could do. See. This? This was the fun kind of fight. The not so clear cut sort. The no holds barred, raw, savage brawls. The kind of tussle that left your armor crumpled, your energon singing, and that bizarre deeply rooted satisfaction that you gave it your all. Even better when your all was actually enough. Leagues more interesting and effective than going against someone who didn’t know how to take a hit. And boy, they both were good. Experience and a brutal grace was full on display which maybeee was an odd way to describe the seemingly not graceful onslaught. But you could see it. Practiced, efficient movements even as they tore into each other. And man…. Sparks off of clipped armor. Flecks of energon misting the air. Stressed metal….  …the pressure was actually looking to be more on Sunstreaker. Huh that was- …Wow. They were really going at it. ….they were really going at. … Going at like they were actually trying to kill each other or something. Hahaha- The small, dopey smile that had bloomed at this jokey little musing quickly withered and died. Sideswipe’s hands found the edge of the row, and he sat up a little straighter. The loose lines of his frame tensing slowly as he rose incrementally. The pressure that Coil was putting on this Sunstreaker was…. Now, was Sideswipe a stranger to fighting like this? No. Him and his own Sunny literally did it all the time. When they practiced against each other it was an ugly free-for-all and they threw themselves against each other with murderous intent. Because it was the best way to practice effectively, but also because they could do that. And they could do that specifically because they trusted each other and knew it wouldn’t end in accidental fratricide. It wasn’t that Sideswipe trusted Sunny would hold back or vice versa. Pfffft. Hell no. It was that Sideswipe trusted that Sunny wouldn’t let himself die. They knew each other well enough to know those intimate limits.  Did these two know each other that well? He didn’t think so. Maybe he was just being a bleeding spark, but, ha… it looked like they were actually trying to kill each other. He had been in enough fights to recognize the difference between the desperate wrath of survival and getting in a fight with the intent to break something. But nooooo this was just casual sparring. Maybe it had been too long since he had been around other people doing a more serious kind of practice bout. There weren’t many in his crew he’d unleash a beating like this against. So he was probably just misreading. They were probably just, ya know, pressing each other best they could probably- A fleck of energon splat just under his optic Hey his alternate had been right about the splash zone thing. He felt it more than saw it, so the source was a mystery but it could have been from either of them. He sat up even straighter, practically perched over the edge. Fair thee well ignorant casual delight. Because- -Oh. No. Yeah, that was definitely a sword being pressed against the other Sunstreaker’s neck. And that Coil dude was definitely putting all of his considerable strength into driving it home. The look on his face wasn’t a snarl or rage, but Sideswipe had seen that look on the faces of mech’s trying to end him. The one that read ‘Just doing business. Nothing personal.’ as they tried to tear him apart. Hooooooly shit, no, they were most definitely actively trying to kill each other in this moment. Even this far away (which granted wasn’t that far) Sideswipe could recognize how close that point was to slicing tubing and important lines. And while that wasn’t a death sentence for sturdy folks like them, if you angled a blade just so, slipped it past collar faring and inward into the chest cavity, cracked the crystal there like a walnut shell…. Yeah, so that easy breezy excited puppy demeanor was replaced by one of confusion and hackles. He was a line of alarm, fingers digging into the row in front of him, perching forward trying to math out when the fight changed. When it went from friendly bout to death match because no one was yielding.  And no one was going to yield which left little options but one way for this to end. Changed. Did it actually change? …He didn’t ask did he? He assumed this was a “friendly” match, but he didn’t ask. Sideswipe stole fleeting, bemused glances at his alternate, but never too long, because he was very much invested in what was happening down below. Not intervening but also stupefied by the direction this went. Stranger to violence he was not but he had not been in the headspace for this. “Uh,” he tried stupidly, attempting to gauge the reaction there on his friend’s face. Gauge the reaction to the seeming peril playing out. Which was wrong. Felt wrong even if the Sunstreaker was not his own. Maybe it was projecting. Maybe he was being a bleeding heart Autobot and his sudden shift to concern was unfounded. Maybe he was extrapolating. He wasn’t trying to underestimate anyone especially not the golden mech because that was also an inherently Wrong Thing because there was no goddamn way he was about to let himself die. That was a surety that stuck to his helm despite the buzz there too. But something shifted in his perception. And it was still shifting. And things were still unfolding in unexpected ways. Maybe he was assuming and was wrong. Maybe this wasn’t what he was starting to think it was. But he didn’t give a care about that. He was too busy piecing together what this was.  He hadn’t asked. He assumed.

For many it may have been a dead end. Pinned to the ground by an opponent skilled and strong enough to keep you there, whose physical strength was simply greater than yours, who was very intent on driving their sword straight through your neck using that exact greater strength that you couldn’t fully combat... Quite the hopeless situation, wasn’t it?

But many were not Sunstreaker. Where others would have reached the end of their rope, he had, for the longest time, had one more card up his sleeve - even before the number multiverse had done on him, but that would have been cheating, and he was no cheater. Using something that was entirely inborn, that he’d had long before the multiverse, though? Not cheating. The Pits had revered the likes of him for their combat prowess, but they had been a rare breed, borne from experiences they hadn’t been able to withstand with all of them intact. It took weakness to become one of his kind, weakness to be exalted above those who were once stronger than you, only to now be left in your dust.

And it was never a matter of could he do it - flip that switch, use the second wind he possessed, provide a second challenge to whoever he was facing after they’d already defeated him once - demoralize them by forcing them to do the whole thing all over again. It wasn’t a could, and it never was. The only could there ever had been was could he hold back - it was an exercise in self-control he hadn’t always possessed to keep himself in check, to hang onto the frayed threads of his sanity - to keep his humanity, as it were.

And now was the time to let go.

The blade was touching the armor covering his neck and protecting the more feeble components underneath, the energy coursing through it steadily nullifying his frame’s defenses as Coil kept pressing down against the resistance Sunstreaker provided. That was one moment - the next Sunstreaker had released the tenuous hold his spark ever had of his frame, personality, consciousness, sentience fleeing into the void and crashing his frame into a cascade of fatal errors. Yet warnings didn’t flood his HUD; his frame didn’t cease operation; there wasn’t even a split second where things hadn’t continued to run their trainwreck course of destruction of the self, systems falling into disarray as surely as domino pieces knocked each other down.

The signs were there on the outside as well. Color bleached from his optics until they were flaming white. The roar of his engines redlined and ratcheted higher as failsafes fell apart, the sick whining that followed making Coil’s optics brighten in alarm - but there was no one on Sunstreaker’s end to appreciate the change in his opponent.

No one was home.

Within the span of seconds the tables were violently turned as Sunstreaker’s frame overcame its artificial safety limitations and drove his capabilities to an all new, destructive height - destructive to others, destructive to him. Where Coil’s strength had trumped his, there, in the tick of one moment and the next, Sunstreaker’s engines roared, feeding raw power into his systems at a rate that Coil couldn’t keep up with despite his greater size - a heave, and Sunstreaker shoved up, forcing the sword away from his neck. Coil, unprepared for what should have been physically impossible from the smaller frame, lost his balance for one precious second that Sunstreaker took full advantage of, knocking the sword fully away from him and striking Coil straight in the chin. His helm snapped back with a crunch, lengthening what should have been a mere moment’s mistake into something that had the potential to be a fatal error. Coil didn’t recover before Sunstreaker had already struck again, this time all but throwing the larger frame off of him and to the side, where Coil crashed to the ground, dazed and reeling - but he was experienced, and as little time as Sunstreaker required to pick himself off the ground, it was enough for Coil to gather his bearings and be ready for him, scrambling out of his way and back on his pedes - never letting go of his sword. Sunstreaker followed, unarmed and entirely uncaring of the fact and the supposed imbalance it landed them in.

Gone was the effortless grace from his motions as the fight resumed upright again, even more feverish than it had been before. Where Sunstreaker had been fast before, his speed had nearly tripled, and Coil struggled to make up for the difference, struggled to make sense of the situation, the loss of all fluidity in Sunstreaker’s attacks - like a puppet on strings, his movement was jagged, jerky, unpredictable, changing direction in ways that shouldn’t have been possible - and wouldn’t have been, was his frame functioning as it should.

Coil was armed, giving him reach and deadliness unlike what he could have managed without his sword, but Sunstreaker was all but heedless to that fact as he attacked, pressing onward through the defense Coil tried to put up. It wasn’t as if Coil had suddenly lost any of his fighting ability. He regained his composure as quickly as any successful fighter had to - otherwise he would have never made it as high in the ranks of the pits as he had.

But the situation had degraded into a mess of impossibilities, one piling atop the next as Sunstreaker attacked. He was injured, that fact hadn’t changed - he was bleeding, sparks were flying from the cracks in his plating, from the gashes and cracks Coil had ripped into his plating, but it was as if he didn’t even feel that anymore. It simply ceased to be a factor, nothing in the way he moved his frame taking his injuries into account - aggravating them, but sidestepping the limitations they should have been, simply ramming through it all - damaged armor grinding against damaged armor, bloody sprays signaling wounds that reopened all over again and spilled his lifeblood on the ground, streaming down his plating, gushing out. And what of all those things that weren’t visible on the outside? All the wiring that was simply torn through from already being compromised, the areas where shredded armor tore into the underlying components and added damage to what was a frame that had once already been driven to such a state of disrepair that it had nearly cost him his life?

It all simply stopped mattering, and Coil couldn’t adjust to the change quickly enough. Coil was still just as injured as he had been, and more importantly, he was still feeling his injuries, prompted into working around them lest he hurt himself more - whereas Sunstreaker hurt himself more, tearing his own frame apart with his action, and yet entirely senseless to it. Coil, oh how he tried, using his armed advantage to damage areas already damaged when Sunstreaker couldn’t or didn’t dodge or block, but there it was, the utter disregard for what should have been excruciating pain, and Coil quickly abandoned the old tactic of trying to drive him into submission through sheer pain. Instead it became a race to simply land enough damage to force Sunstreaker's frame into physical inoperation, to drive him past the point where pain was ever a factor. Dismember, if that was what it took - couldn't move your arm if you didn't have an arm.

If it had only been that easy, but Sunstreaker hadn't lost his intelligence along the way, for all he had lost. There was still reason to the way he moved, jagged as it all was - Coil's attacks judged before they landed, considered and calculated, and dodged, parried, or taken accordingly, the more severe ones nullified into something that either didn't land or landed but would have only hurt, were Sunstreaker still capable of sensation. His sheer speed became an even greater issue, where he would simply jerk out of the way or meet Coil's motion no matter how quick he tried to be. How effortless Sunstreaker made it look, his frame moving on a deadly autopilot, rewinding movement in ways that strained cables and pistons past capacity until they tore and bled, yet ignoring that very same damage as it continued to mount to levels that would have brought to their knees anyone else from the ever building agony of a frame falling apart on the inside.

Coil couldn't match his speed, Coil couldn't slow him down, and barely could Coil match the strength Sunstreaker's frame had began to output. It was no fluke, the one heave that had ended Coil's superiority. It became the new norm, Sunstreaker now, although smaller, delivering crushing blows as he danced around Coil's sword like a possessed rag doll. Armor crumpled under his impacts and grabs, tore cleanly through at the forceful drag of his claws, and all of a sudden, the sword was not enough. It only evened the odds, but pitted against an opponent that had overcome their natural limitations, it no longer provided an upper hand.

Coil did his best; Sunstreaker, who knew what Sunstreaker did anymore. Just as Sunstreaker’s best hadn’t been enough, Coil’s best became not enough. The fight he still put up was fierce, but next to Sunstreaker’s second wind, the glitched beast that only ever lurked beneath a shallow veneer of civility... It was Coil’s turn to face odds he couldn’t overcome - speed, brutality, strength, unpredictability, reflexes and pain tolerance rolled into package few could say they had faced and yet overpowered. Coil, as good as he was, was not Megatron - Megatron whose different versions had defeated Sunstreaker twice now despite his best play, and likely would continue to do so should Sunstreaker find himself fighting them again.

Coil... Coil began to crumble under the devastation Sunstreaker unleashed on him, limping, stumbling - refusing to give up, but falling behind as his injuries continued to build just as they built on Sunstreaker - but unable to ignore them as Sunstreaker did.

Sunstreaker was bleeding far more than simply energon, rivulets of blood, lubricants, coolant and oils staining his plating inside and out. His frame was whining, kept at a constant overdrive for so long, components overheating, hot air wafting from his vents in ragged ventilations - the strain on his body was both visible and audible, and yet he showed no signs of slowing down or stopping.

But Coil had signed up for this - had signed up for a fight to the death, even if he hadn’t entirely understood what he was facing. Despite his expectations, any gladiator worth their value knew there was never a guarantee. Death lurked behind every corner in their line of work, sometimes even in opponents you should have been able to defeat.

Later Sunstreaker would look at the memories his frame recorded and see the moment of acceptance that fell on Coil. Not once did he falter in his fight for survival, but there came a time where he had to acknowledge his chances of victory were a dying breed killed off one by one by the unrelenting machine Sunstreaker had become - recognize his opponent for what he was, but what he hadn’t realized he was until it was already too late to back out of it. Perhaps, if he’d seen Sunstreaker fight for real before, he would have thought twice about accepting Sideswipe’s offer despite the monetary price his brother had hung as the carrot.

Tired, in pain, Coil stumbled, nearly fell, and Sunstreaker, unfaltering, attacked. In the moment Coil couldn’t block him or strike at him in return, Sunstreaker had lunged, jumping up and pressing his palm against Coil’s face, letting his momentum steal the rest of his opponent’s balance and forcing him to come crashing down, his frame rattling as it fell onto the arena floor. And Sunstreaker, he never let himself lose that momentum, only adding to it his own strength - the engine in his arm thundered as he funneled more power into it and drove his arm down on Coil’s face as his helm hit the dust of the ring, and between the unyielding ground and the equally unyielding force of Sunstreaker’s servo, his helmet cracked, then broke, crushed all the way through as Sunstreaker kept up the pressure, his weight, momentum, and strength too much for even a thick, battlegrade helmet to take.

Fluids sprayed, pieces of armor and internal components scattered about - Coil’s sword fell from a lax hand, only for Sunstreaker to grab it and deliver the final blow on a helpless opponent by taking the sword’s handle into both hands and with impeccable aim drive the sword past the useless helm, down through the neck and into the chassis, sinking it in until it reached the spark chamber and struck through it - through and through. A burst of energy along the sword’s length was all the sign there was before Coil’s frame turned grey.

Sunstreaker’s frame growled as sound ceased in his opponent, the frame beneath him falling quiescent, deathly still. He straightened, waiting for any further reason to keep going, fighting...

And when none came, the house of cards came crashing down. His spark surged back into contact with his frame, and with it, his optics regained their color, sense returned - thought, emotion.

Physical feeling.

There would have been no preparing for the wall of pain that hit him once pain signals were finally able to reach his processors again, no matter how many times he performed this particular song and dance. It knocked him onto his knees and he barely caught his weight with one arm before faceplanting into the dirt, reeling from the agony that hit him from all directions at once. It made his frame hot and cold at once, turned it into one throbbing wound that pulsed his lively fluids out through every imaginable crevice.

He needed a moment, one long ass moment to compartmentalize everything, to gather it up and push it aside with steely resolve created from having done this same thing so many times before - destroying himself to destroy another, and living with the consequences afterwards. Although he wasn’t tearing his frame apart anymore, the damage was already done and it was falling apart nevertheless, warnings flashing at him and informing him of damage throughout, barely a system unaffected by his descent into near invincibility. He was shaking like a leaf in the wind, yellow optics sightless from the hurt rocking his world, but he had been here before. It wasn’t the end of the world and it wouldn’t be the end of him, and slowly but surely Sunstreaker set aside the physical in order to save himself - because those that didn’t walk out of the ring, didn’t make it out of the ring.

It still took him several tries to push himself to standing, and even when he did, he stumbled and nearly fell back down, his frame screaming at him to please stop. But that wasn’t an option, and all Sunstreaker did was grit his denta, bite back his groan, and straighten his back.

He glanced down at the sword still in his hand, sparing a brief look at his frame too - barely a spot left that wasn’t damaged, his gold and black distorted by fluids pink, purple, brown, oily black and water clear alike. Every inch of him looked as if he had just fought for his life - every inch of him felt as if he had just fought for his life. His legs barely carried his weight, exhaustion squabbling with pain for the right to be the first to down him all over again. He was losing energon and everything else at an alarming pace, leaking energy left and right.

But none of this was anything new. Sunstreaker grasped the sword tighter before he turned, slowly and painfully, and set to walk back to the Sideswipes after detouring to fetch his own sword, on shaking legs and knees that threatened to buckle with every step - but he didn’t fall. Too long he had been through the torture that had been their Pits to show the kind of weakness that would have allowed him to fail the victory march out of the ring. He didn’t fall, he didn’t give, he didn’t yield, not even when he climbed to the stands to join their two spectators as the unquestioned victor of the match, his opponent nothing but a grey remnant of the charismatic pit fighter he had once been. “Want it? Souvenir,” Sunstreaker asked from the smaller Sideswipe with a cocked optical ridge, offering Coil’s sword to him - practically a greatsword next to the little red one.

Who needs to chew when you can have the weird throat teeth do the job for you? Time to just rip chunks off his hand as fast as possible and swallow them whole.

She’s only forty percent sure she’s gonna be able to eat her way out of this but hell if she isn’t gonna go down trying; she reaches up to dig claws in for leverage as she sinks dentae in and tears off another chunk.

She is- She is seriously eating his hand.

He’s not even surprised at this point, but plentifully vexed nevertheless. He lets go with a hiss, and debates for a moment about just digging his claws into her throat instead - but she has teeth there. That would likely only cost him his claws, and he rather likes his claws, thank you very much.

So he rakes them down her face instead, a moment before yanking his arm back to inspect the damage done to his servo.

Her big mouth being good for something other than getting her in and out of trouble is probably the only reason she’s still alive, honestly. Remember the time she just started eating you to keep from dying? Good times?

It’s time to re-experience that!

Crunch.

Aaaaand the wings are still going.

... You have got to be kidding him.

As the only bird in this relationship, and therefore only certified expert, she can say with a lot of certainty that that is not in fact the correct next step.

The tighter he goes, the faster the wings flap. In case he hasn’t gotten the correlation. It’s possible she’s less concerned than she should be.

She knows nothing.

Well then, how fast can he make those wings flap? Enough to get her airborne?

thegiltdoom replied to your post “Look at them go!”

He blames you for this.

How the heck is it his fault all of a sudden? D:

That isn’t the correct next step, Sunsun. There’s a muffled mutter as wings beat doubletime, just to be more obnoxious.

It’s your own fault the palm is wet, you know.

The correct next step is whatever the hell he wants it to be.

He is aware of the latter fact, though. Unfortunately.

Well, now she has to lick his hand. It’s the rules, Sunny.

The wings are still fluttering obnoxiously at him.

Escalation! More fluttering and a lean.

Fluuuuttter.

Okay now I’m definitely insulted.