Chapter Text
“I have a what?”
If it was anyone other than Prowl who stood beside Sideswipe, he’d think this was the prelude to an elaborate joke. Sideswipe was notorious around the base for his pranks, and every once in a while, one of his Security Operation co-workers would try to get back at him. None had succeeded since he always saw them coming but the others could keep trying and failing hilariously. Sideswipe could use the extra laughs, especially now with the Decepticons causing trouble.
Sideswipe liked trouble that led to excitement and action but not the kind of trouble that involved taking over the Senate and killing Sentinel Prime. He did not have the best opinion of Sentinel but a Prime was a Prime so he settled for muttering darkly about the shady mech behind closed doors. Now though, he had the sinking feeling his opinions were not going to improve any time soon.
“I said that you have a twin.” Prowl repeated. “A split-spark twin, to be precise.”
Sideswipe stared at Prowl like he’d grown two heads. That would make more sense than what his superior was trying to say. Thousands of questions whirled in his processor but he could only voice one. “How?”
Prowl appeared uncomfortable. “We do not know why some sparks split when they are forged. Some claim it’s Primus’s hand guiding new life while others believe it is due to a reaction within– Ah.” His logic-driven processor dialed back and he blinked. “You mean how did I discover this.”
Sideswipe nodded emphatically.
“There was a scuffle between some Ascenticons and a few Companions…”
It took Sideswipe a klik to remember a Companion referred to the soldiers that worked directly for Pyra Magna. The more courteous called the Companions loyal to their General. The less inclined called them fanatics as bad as the terrorist organization called the Rise. Seeing how the Decepticons now composed of that group and the former Ascenticons, Sideswipe was not inclined to agree with that last assessment.
“One of the Companions got a suspected ruptured fuel line in his chassis and was brought in for repairs. Ratchet did a scan, thought the spark signature was familiar, and…” Prowl gestured at the datapad with a displeased twitch of his hands. “Well, you can see the results.”
Sideswipe could indeed see the results, and suddenly so much made sense. He nodded and hummed calmly as if his spark was not trying to break free of his chassis to go find his twin. “The Ascenticons are calling themselves the Decepticons now. You obviously know since they declared that when they took over the Senate and killed the last Prime.”
Prowl’s stare was on the far end of unimpressed. “Sideswipe–”
“That is my designation.” Sideswipe noted. “Don’t overuse it or I’ll have to get a new one and go into hiding. Again.”
Prowl did that optic-ridge-raised-thing he always did when he was trying to decide whether Sideswipe’s pathetic excuse for a joke was worth a lecture or to not to waste his energy. He remained quiet without a hint of a lecture and Sideswipe understood his reasoning, really, because this did not look good.
Sideswipe could have been told he had a twin at any time. All it would take was one curious or attentive medic or scientist and the truth would be easy to spot. Yet it wasn’t spotted despite Sideswipe spending a part of his early life surrounded by bots of the science field. Somehow, Sideswipe had a split-spark twin but he’d emerged from the Pyramid alone.
There was a reason Prowl had not shouted the news from the rooftops. And it was not because Prowl was Prowl. In fact, Prowl was so law-abiding and logical in his Prowl-ness that Sideswipe was surprised he was even sharing the news. Uncovering conspiracies and political corruption was not something Prowl tended to indulge in. And it was a cover-up. A massive one.
Because Sideswipe had a split-spark twin. He had a split-spark twin who had been forged prior to or during the War of the Threefold Spark while he, Sideswipe, had been forged after it was long over. That simply did not happen. Split-sparks were rare, but they were always forged at the same time unless someone interfered. As in; unless someone decided half of that split spark should remain locked away.
No one had the power to give such an order except a Prime.
Sideswipe had not been forged yet, but he had been taught the history of the Threefold Spark. He knew the stigmas that emerged from it. Exarchon was one spark in three bodies. Split-spark twins were said to be one spark in two bodies, though not in the same way as Exarchon. Three guesses as to why split-sparks were mistrusted even in this age. Sideswipe recalled whispered tales of how twins were unstable menaces who’d rip a bot’s spine out and drink the Energon from their corpse. Twins were “insane”, “not a full mech”, were a “bad omen”, the older bots would say.
Sideswipe liked adventure, fights, and excitement, but he’d say he was pretty stable. He was reckless and jumped into things, sure, but he never wanted to hurt anyone or go on rampages. If anything, his only “instability” was the constant feeling that something was missing and the emptiness that would sometimes accompany it.
That emptiness was his twin’s missing presence. A twin that he now knew existed. A twin he could go find. Sideswipe looked at the other name on the screen and felt another thrill of excitement. Sunstreaker. His name was Sunstreaker. Sideswipe had a twin brother.
He squashed his excitement with a reminder not to get his hopes up. "Does Sunny know?" He jolted atop the crate he sat upon and looked around the empty storage room that Prowl had dragged him to. “Is he still here?”
"Sunstreaker left before Ratchet completed the comparison."
“What’s he like?” Sideswipe blurted. His digits curled around the datapad and his left pede wiggled with suppressed energy.
“I did not get the opportunity to speak with him much myself.” Prowl stated stoically.
The optic-ridge-raised-thing he did was replaced by a tense jaw and clenched denta. If Sideswipe was not so used to working beside him, he might have missed the look that meant Prowl was debating the worth of saying something potentially upsetting. Uh oh.
“Prowl?” Sideswipe questioned. “What is it?”
Prowl hesitated. “I am uncertain…” He paused. “I do not think…” He trailed off once more and shook his helm. “You can go home early. Be careful."
Sideswipe nodded slowly and got up. "I'll be back tomorrow?"
"Give it a few solar cycles."
Sideswipe resigned himself to filling his subspace pockets with the emergency stash of supplies he kept in case he needed to leave quickly. Rumors were just rumors but apparently Sentinel's last order was for Starscream, his Head of Intelligence, to be killed. If that didn't reek of a silencing Sideswipe didn't know what did. He refused to be another dead cover up that'd get Megatron and his thugs more ammo to use against the new Prime and his reign.
Sideswipe gave a quick goodbye to Prowl and hurried out, so excited and brimming with energy that he barely had a mind to apologize to a mech who was carrying a searched crate into the precinct when he bumped into him on the way out. He was halfway home when he realized he still had the datapad. That was fine. There were plenty of others and he might need the evidence. He couldn’t just walk up to Sunstreaker and declare they were twins.
I have a brother! A twin!
His spark sang with happiness and he could not blame it. Finally, after all these kilocycles, he knew why he always felt something was missing.
Ever since Sideswipe emerged from the Pyramid, he felt alone. The dull ache in his spark was apparent from the moment he was forged and named, an empty chasm in his chassis where something was supposed to be beside him, but wasn’t.
He was not as unlucky as Cliffjumper, who had emerged to a mostly empty courtyard because no one expected him, but the ceremony was smaller than later ones he had attended. Sideswipe was not the most modest mech, but the small party that consisted of the recently-appointed Sentinel Prime, Termagax, Perceptor, Drench, and Chromedome was a bit underwhelming. Sideswipe remembered them all because they were the only ones that attended that day.
It was only now that he understood that the ceremony was private. Ceremonies like this were not supposed to be private. Forgings were meant to be celebrated, with everyone attending to catch a glimpse of the new spark that were so rare in these times. Instead Sideswipe stepped out of the Pyramid to a crowd of one politician and four scientists. Sideswipe recalled with harsh clarity how Sentinel and Termagax both had an apathetic look to their optics when he approached, as though they were saying “You exist. Congratulations. Move along now, nothing special to see here.”
Actually, with recent revelations taken into account, now it felt more like “You’re lucky we’re letting you exist. Congratulations, we decided to let you out. Don’t look deeper or else.”
Drench would become Sideswipe’s mentor that solar cycle, which was another check in hindsight’s “This is Wrong” box. Drench, like many, had fought in the War of the Threefold Spark, but once it was done he returned to his lab with Perceptor. That right there sent present-Sideswipe’s alarm-bells a-ringing, just like it would Ratchet’s if he knew. What happened to the Titansparks was appalling.
Newly forged bots were able to choose what career they fancied but most tended to follow in their mentor’s footsteps, at least in part. Sideswipe had little interest in science. He was not dumb muscle, and the lessons Drench had given him stuck in his cortex even now, but he never enjoyed that work. He could do it and would do it for solar cycles upon solar cycles but his spark was never in it. He did not want discoveries and breakthroughs, though the explosions were fun. He wanted action, excitement, the thrill of overcoming a challenge.
He did not want to be a scientist. Drench disagreed. Conflicting with one’s mentor was practically unheard of but Sideswipe was never one to fall into the mold. When subtle hints did not work, he became more direct in his desires, but Drench refused to let him pursue his own interests.
So Sideswipe remained a scientist in training. He performed experiment after experiment and test after test, and although he sometimes was allowed to indulge in more prank-orientated subjects, (Yay, explosions!) it never drew him in for long enough to make him feel like he belonged.
Sometimes it was difficult to get out of his berth in the morning. Drench had feared his exhaustion was due to strain on his spark. Even at his most rebellious, Sideswipe had thought that was reasonable. His spark had always been small. He'd assumed that was why Drench kept running tests on him and kept an optic out for “any concerning readings”.
But Sideswipe’s spark was small because he was a split-spark twin and Sunstreaker had the larger half. Something which Drench clearly knew.
I wasn’t just a scientist in training, I was also the test subject.
Sideswipe giggled. Not the most appropriate reaction but hey, could he be blamed for it? Besides, it wasn’t like Drench and the others pinned him to an examination table and brought out the scalpels.
Probably. With Chromedome involved, his memories might have been tampered with…
Probably not, actually. Sideswipe and Drench disagreed (a little, sometimes, a lot) but he could not picture his mentor as someone who experimented on another Cybertronian like that. His mentor just wanted what he thought was best for Sideswipe. Most of the time.
So Sideswipe stayed as long as he could bear and endured the empty feeling that never left. Drench was happy to let him… for a while. They fit together like sharpnel through an optic. That was, not at all. As Sideswipe grew older, trying to be something he wasn't became impossible. He could feel his spark suffocating in the field he did not belong in.
All the while he searched for something that would let him see action and perhaps fill the absence that lingered in his spark. He considered trying to be a bodyguard to any of Cybertron’s diplomats but knew sitting through the diplomatic parts of those encounters would drive him to boredom. Even Iacon’s comparatively benign Enforcers made him leery (he was trapped in a life he didn’t want, not sheltered from what many Enforcers got away with) and many Senate Guards had a superiority complex bigger than the Winged Moon so those were out.
Colonial Security was closest to his style, with space travel and promises of running into pirates at the very least. However, that required him to move up through the ranks of Cybertron’s Security Operations first, the organization tasked with “keeping the peace” on their homeworld. For now, Security Operations was the nearest thing he could get to what he wanted in a peaceful world. Without breaking the law, anyway.
Sideswipe tended to bend the rules a lot, disliked authority with a passion, and danced merrily on the line between legal and not legal, but he was no criminal. With his knowledge of chemicals, disarmingly enthusiastic and magnetic attitude, and perhaps some connections from gladiatorial fights he definitely never took part in, he could have been a big one when he reached majority. Oh, he could have been. He probably would have been, if he wasn’t so determined not to be. But turning to the other side of the law to find excitement would have been the easy route and Sideswipe always preferred a good, tough challenge.
And maybe he didn’t want to become a criminal like Drench so clearly expected him to be. Who knew hindsight was so depressing?
The day Sideswipe approached Drench with his idea remained the subject of many of his nightmares in the future. The first and only warning sign Sideswipe got was the complete shuttering of Drench’s expression. Only his red optics burned with something sharp and unforgiving.
“Security Operations? Colonial Security? Out of the question. You need to become a scientist.”
Drench turned his back to Sideswipe as if the conversation was already over. To him, it was. His dismissive tone rankled at Sideswipe and dug into his plating like metallic burrs, jabbing him with every movement. Drench often used that tone when Sideswipe messed up particularly bad or did something his mentor viewed as stupid. Drench would use the terms “unwise” and “foolish” but Sideswipe knew what he really meant. That was why Sideswipe did not leave it like he would more often than not. Instead he pressed, and sealed his fate.
"Why?" Sideswipe demanded. “You know I’m not the most invested in research and my contributions are average at best–”
“And because of that you have decided to give up?” Drench snapped. His battle mask, a remnant from his time during the War of the Threefold Spark, wasn’t on yet so Sideswipe took that as a good sign.
“No. I’m not happy in this field.” Sideswipe gestured at the laboratory around them at large. “We do good things here. I get that. Your Energon-converter revolutionized how we process it and has doubled their output capabilities. I like to help. I’m willing to. But I’m not like you. My spark doesn’t yearn for science. I don’t belong in a lab.”
“Sentinel Prime would disagree.”
“Well maybe he’s wrong.” Sideswipe muttered hotly. He winced and placidly clasped his hands behind his back, shoulders straight and pedes balanced. Drench’s lips twisted into a disapproving scowl and Sideswipe forced himself to relax his stance. “Imagine if you were forced to be a diplomat or something. You’d hate that.” Sideswipe spread his arms out and clung to his hope. “Just let me try. At the very least it could show me I’m wrong and I really am supposed to be a scientist.”
"You can’t.” Drench hissed. “Your career has been decided. Your path has been chosen for you. You need to become a scientist. Otherwise they're going to think you’re–" He cut himself off and put a hand to his helm. “I cannot– I cannot stand by and watch you be–”
As a youngling, Sideswipe did not see the way his mentor struggled to keep his emotions in check. He did not see his chassis heaving with every labored ventilation. He did not see Drench’s red optics flick past him and widen in alarm. He merely saw anger and disapproval back then.
Drench’s battle mask slammed down.
"If you want to become useless scrap and waste your life so badly, then get out." he snarled.
Sideswipe flinched. He knew Drench might be upset about his ideas but he didn’t think his mentor would kick him out. “W-What?”
“I said, get out!” Drench bellowed.
A beaker shattered next to Sideswipe’s helm. He turned on his heel and ran, transformed, and drove off. He was 99% sure he was the first mentee to be kicked out by their mentor since the Nominus Edict was put into effect.
From there, he left Iacon for Kaon and entered one of the most dangerous cities on Cybertron before he reached his majority. The locals there were too hardened to treat another stray youngling with much compassion but Sideswipe did not want it. He wanted to live. He wanted freedom. He got it, at the price of nearly starving and almost being roped into a few gangs.
Living on the streets was difficult. One truly did not appreciate the minor things they had until they lived without them. Nights became dreadfully cold without walls around. Energon became such a precious commodity that he dare not let others know he had. Offers of help were never to be taken at face value because there was always something wanted in return. Sideswipe had taken that lesson to spark when someone tried to relieve him of his transformation cog on his first night on the streets but hunger made him desperate.
And to think that before Sideswipe was nearly caught by a gang that sold Cybertronian body parts in the black market, he had believed those types of bots were simply stories meant to scare the young into obedience. It was actually a booming underground business since many thought it was annoying to go through official channels to get a new arm or leg. Sideswipe warned any naive newcomers he met to avoid that part of the city.
Sideswipe learned a lot about Cybertron in Kaon. He also learned a lot about himself and what he would do to survive. He learned that a fake designation (Moonstrike) and a simple switch from a red to a black paint job, complete with new battle mask, made him unrecognizable to the few who might look for him. It was strange how many other mechs shared his frame type, a type which was common enough that it was amazingly cheap to have his naturally intrinsic pile-drivers activated. He never knew he had them until then. What else had Drench lied to him about?
He learned to apply previously theoretical methods to extend Energon rations (and thought wistfully or bitterly of Drench every time). He learned to fake accents from all over Cybertron and even a few from several of her colonies. He learned how to swindle a mech into giving up his own transformation cog, not that he ever needed to go that far.
He learned to fight dirty. No, that wasn't right. He was always inclined to because honor went below survival in priorities, so he finally let himself fight dirty, pile drivers and all. The stagnant, utopian society of Cybertron would never approve. Drench certainly wouldn't. He lost the right to judge Sideswipe long ago.
Few would call the illegal gladiator pits a lifesaver but it became just that. The Pits gave him Energon, a place to recharge, and a way to avoid gangs looking for desperate recruits and Enforcers who were a bit too happy to arrest those left out on the street. It was more than others had and death matches were so rare he'd only witnessed two in his time there. The Pits didn't want any unwanted attention from too many deaths. Then the Enforcers might actually do something about their establishment.
Sideswipe kept his helm down and ensured he won enough matches to have some savings to fall back on but not enough matches for him to become well-known or coveted by fans. The crowds that surrounded and cheered for him (the crowds that weren’t there when he was forged) were tempting but the Pit was a means to an end, not the end goal. He would not be trapped there like Kick-Off and so many others. Not by the fights, not by the infamy, not even by close friendships.
Sideswipe survived alone and stayed out of life-threatening trouble until he was old enough to enter the Academy for careers such as Security Operations. He had no one at the Pits that he was painfully close to so he only left a note saying he’d left so the others would not think he had gotten stabbed in a back alley somewhere. His berth would be filled by another tired, desperate bot by sunset. He wondered if they would use his notes on how to extend rations, which he’d carved into the wall next to it.
Sideswipe returned to his old paint job of red chassis and black helm, got his pile-drivers mostly disabled by a medic who left their existence off any paperwork, used his real designation once more, and went to the Academy. He was an outcast there. He could be as charming and friendly as he wanted but some still looked down on him.
The students’ mentors were mostly Enforcers, Security Operations, or Senate Guards. They knew what their chosen life goal would be and they took pride in their legacy. They did not need to endure a grueling test that made it nearly impossible for outsiders to get into their field. Sideswipe only made it in because in order to bend the rules and poke the line, he had to know the law first. Many saw him as a prank-inclined idiot who was more pretty than intelligent but he could and would do his research.
Sideswipe was the only one in his class who got in on his own merits, without a mentor sponsoring them. He was not the only one in the entire Academy, thank Primus, but the other outsiders were in different classes than he and his only interactions with them were knowing looks in the mess hall. They were too busy to try to become friends with each other and settled for acknowledging each other when spotted instead.
The more well-mannered mentor-sponsored students merely gave Sideswipe suspicious looks. The less-mannered muttered that they could “smell the Kaon on him” and glared like they expected him to try to steal the limbs from their bodies while they weren’t looking. Of course he must be from Kaon because who else would leave their designated life and butt in where they weren’t wanted?
Their attitudes just confirmed what he already suspected. Sideswipe would rather go back to the Pits than become an Enforcer and becoming a Senate Guard was as appealing as taking a dip in a smelting pool. Thankfully, few were interested in Security Operations because they saw it as the “weakest and least glorious” group and none were from Sideswipe’s class.
Needless to say, Sideswipe’s loneliness remained through his schooling. He had many acquaintances but few friends because even after kilocycles, only those few wanted to associate with him. The friends he had were enough for him, but they weren’t. The emptiness in his spark did not fade.
Sideswipe dismissed it as his own insecurities. He would be what he dreamed of being. He would do good despite Drench and Sentinel and who else everyone expecting him to be trouble. He would be useful. They’d see. They’d all see. He’d see it, too.
Sideswipe graduated near the top of his class. He slacked off a little to ensure he did not make it into the top five but it was worth it to avoid unwanted attention. He was here for himself, not to be paraded around as an accomplishment for others to see. His decision proved to be a wise one as one of his fellow outsiders made it at fourth place in the rankings. Just like Sideswipe predicted, the mech, who was initially assigned to a transport mentor, was used by the Academy and twisted as “proof” that “See? See this here? You can chose what to do with your life! Isn’t it great?” The poor mech looked like he would rather be in a smelting pool than on that stage as the Academy Headmaster exhibited him like a new art piece.
Kaon had taught Sideswipe a lot about the world, but the Academy taught him more than he ever wanted to know about politics. Mostly that all politicians had a layer of scum under their shiny plating and that there were more Enforcers and officers in Senators’ pockets than even he expected. It made him feel unclean just thinking about it. Sideswipe was almost tempted to walk out when his optics were opened to all the dirty dealings but he didn’t. He was never the most law-abiding but he’d never accept bribes to look the other way. Plus it would be fun to make officers that did regret coming to work. And the dirty were not the only ones who could get some blackmail.
Security Operations was better than he could have hoped. The bots there did not care about what field his mentor was in. At least, Prowl didn’t, and his opinion was one of the few that mattered. He lectured when Sideswipe was reckless but he did not go out of his way to try to get him kicked out like a few at the Academy. He also tolerated Sideswipe’s pranks. The first time Sideswipe saw him crack a smile at Kup’s unnaturally neon-green armor, he knew he had a place for a few kilocycles at least.
It was also nice that Prowl didn’t expect him to return to Kaon. Everyone at least suspected he was from there but Prowl never commanded Sideswipe to pull up his list of contacts or air his past for a case. He could have, more than once, and Sideswipe was not sure he could say no. But Prowl was a good mech despite his stuffiness so Sideswipe never had to find out if no was an option.
It wasn’t all sunshine, however. The veterans did not see him as an outsider but they did see him as a post-War forged. They huffed at his desire for action. They grumbled about him not understanding the real world and how bad it could get. They muttered about him not appreciating peace or stability. They did this behind his back or to his face.
Sideswipe wanted to say he knew the scent of spilled energon and not just because he had fought in the Pits. That he could disarm any one of them, take down bots four times his size, and tackle Seekers out of the air. That he had done exactly that, just not in a war like theirs. That he knew what it was like to be so desperate for Energon that he considered selling parts of his body. That their “perfect” Cybertron could not remain stable forever and they should know better. That he had nightmares of a war he never fought in.
Except they’re not nightmares. They’re memories. Sunstreaker’s memories, maybe? Or appropriations of them, at least…
Sideswipe did not say those things to the veterans because he wanted to move forward and not look back, even if the empty echo in his spark remained. His coworkers never found out about his past. They knew the relationship between Sideswipe and his mentor was tense but that was about it. Ratchet probably knew the most out of all of them and that was only because he asked about his forging. Sideswipe should have recognized the suspicious frown Ratchet gained when he replied for what it was.
Ratchet probably suspected the truth. No wonder he’s so overprotective. If a wrench to the helm can be called overprotective… Yeah, it can. It’s Ratchet.
If Sideswipe was feeling particularly sentimental, he felt Prowl or Ratchet would have been better mentors for him. Even Kick-Off felt like more of a mentor, and he was a random gladiator (albeit, one with a kind spark) who decided to take Sideswipe under his proverbial wing when he crawled into the Pits half-starved. Not because their temperaments or career choices melded seamlessly but because, despite those differences, they'd support him.
The plan from there was to get enough time and clout to get into Colonial Security. Sideswipe had been pretty good at following that plan, even with the Rise and Ascenticons becoming the Decepticons and causing trouble. He got to see more action than he expected with Security Operations but he still desired more. The empty feeling in his spark was always there, no matter what he did. He was still missing something.
Now, he finally knew why. He’d been missing his twin this whole time.
Sideswipe pulled up to his apartment and headed into the building. It was not the most run-down place, but it was less shiny than many of its fellows and sometimes the utilities broke. Sideswipe could afford another place but he wanted to keep enough resources to fall back on in case he lost everything. Besides, the landlord was a sweet, elderly femme named Fastbreak who always apologized for any mishaps, muttering that the allotted energy she was granted wasn’t enough. If she cursed the Nominus Edict a few times during her muttering, no one said anything about it.
Sideswipe waved to her as he passed the front desk but avoided meeting her optics. He knew he’d see her concern if he looked at her and he was not ready to explain why he was back from work early. He headed to his room and locked the door behind him before he sat on his berth with the datapad in his hands. The screen had gone black in the time it took him to get here in order to conserve energy but he used Prowl’s code to unlock it again. He spent several kliks earnestly studying the matching spark signatures. Now what?
Duh, go meet him.
Thank you for stating the obvious.
Sideswipe considered the datapad and the information on it. Prowl hadn’t exactly said he could use it to find his brother, but he hadn’t said Sideswipe couldn’t. Even if the information wasn’t available to him, he knew both Prowl and Ratchet’s passcodes. And Chromia’s. And Orion Pax– That was, Optimus Prime’s old one from before he became Prime. And a few other superiors from Security Operations. And maybe a few from the Senate Guard, including Ironhide. He’d deny it if accused of such, of course.
Sideswipe was about to log in and use a myriad of fake servers to falsify his location when he remembered an aspect of split-sparks that he had not considered yet. Well, he had considered it but not enough to do something about it.
Twins can sense each other. Sunny should be able to feel my presence or something.
Sideswipe withheld a ventilation as he cautiously reached for the emptiness and prodded it with a mental digit, first hesitantly, then more insistently when nothing happened. There was no reply. Nothing filled the emptiness with acknowledgment and life. Sideswipe didn’t get it. Weren’t twins supposed to be able to feel each other no matter where they were? They definitely were. It was one of the most well-known and well-documented aspects of split-sparks. Sideswipe should have been able to feel Sunstreaker this whole time…
…unless Sunstreaker was blocking their bond and had been since before Sideswipe was finally forged.
Did he not want me either?
A jolt of pain lanced through Sideswipe’s spark but he disregarded that thought. Sunstreaker had spent megacycles on his own, experiencing that emptiness that haunted Sideswipe. He probably found a way to block it out and ignore it because he didn’t know what it meant, just like Sideswipe didn’t.
That unfortunately left him to dig into the datapad and figure out where Sunstreaker lived. He could ask Ratchet or Prowl but that involved hackable frequencies and was much less fun. Sideswipe stayed away from any information other than a location because he wanted to get to know his twin face to face and not through data and…
Oh. Oh wow.
Sunstreaker was not only a Companion of the General Pyra Magna, he was a successful artist as well. A really successful artist. He lived in the Tower of all places. That was the home of the elite of the elite. Sideswipe snorted at the fantasy that the fountains were filled with vintage Energon but he knew the bots that lived there were rich. Sideswipe tried to picture the solemn mech from the picture at a social event and failed miserably.
He was back out the door before he fully realized what he was doing. He heard Fastbreak’s bemused chuckle as he rushed past her but he did not stop to say goodbye. Sideswipe drove right to the sprawling complex that was the Tower with what barely counted as a plan in his processor.
In hindsight, Sideswipe could have called. As in with comms, like a normal Cybertronian would. They could be hacked, sure, but he did not need to rush off to try to meet his twin without even knowing if he was home first. They were on the brink of war, Autobots versus Decepticons, and if Pyra Magna truly was going to be released from prison and considering a side, Sunstreaker could go with her and it could be megacycles before Sideswipe found him again.
Some said the Crystal City was the most beautiful city on Cybertron. Sideswipe was inclined to agree but he could tell those at the Tower tried their hardest to beat it. Elegant, shining skyscrapers towered over the surrounding area, reaching up into the atmosphere. Swooping bridges and pathways surrounded each tower, giving residents ample room to view the acres of untainted land around the city. Sideswipe had never been inside but he knew there was plenty of room within the tall golden walls for parties, hunting, sports, and other recreational activities. A part of him analyzed the walls and noted that while they were good enough to keep most casual trespassers out, they would fall easily to an enemy army. The materials weren’t that blast resistant and this seemed like one of the first places the Decepticons would attack to prove a point.
We’re not at war yet.
We’re going to be, the pragmatic part of his processor acknowledged.
Sideswipe drove up to the barred gate that led into the golden city and transformed as a guard approached. His paint job was a shiny silver, just like the thermal lance in his hands. So Security Operations had to jump through ten thousand hoops to get permission to carry weapons while these guards were just handed them, huh? Typical.
“What is your business here?” the guard demanded.
There was the look Sideswipe was expecting. The “Why is someone like you here and what are you trying to steal?” glare. Sideswipe knew he wasn’t as waxed and shiny as a Tower mech but really? Couldn’t these bots tell the difference between a mischievous prankster from Security Operations and a thief? Or did they simply see everyone else as beneath them? Sideswipe spotted a tired-looking cargo shuttle being heckled by another guard and guessed it was the latter.
Saying “I’m here to find my twin who doesn’t know me yet.” wouldn’t go over well so Sideswipe took a different route. He sent the guard his credentials and badge. “I’m with Security Operations. One of your tenants was in a fight earlier and ran off before our medic released him. I’m here for a follow up to make sure he’s–”
“Fine.” the guard interrupted irritably. He ordered the gate open and gestured Sideswipe through. “Don’t cause trouble.”
Ah yes, I’m definitely going to run right in and set off a paint bomb, dance in the fountain, and draw graffiti on the expensive walls, Sideswipe thought sarcastically. Don’t tempt me, prick.
It initially surprised him that the guard merely gave him directions rather than stalking him the whole way to his destination but such measures proved to be unnecessary. There were guards everywhere, bullying bots that did not look like they belonged. Okay, that was a little mean of Sideswipe to think but there were far too many suspicious glares and intimidating scowls being directed at outsiders. It could be the threat of the Decepticons that made the guard bulk up their numbers but Sideswipe had a feeling the shiny bots of the Tower always had such protection. They could afford it.
Sideswipe made his way to Sunstreaker’s accommodations, which were near the top of this complex. Unfortunately, that involved going into an elevator that already had a guard and a few other bots in it. Based on the gear the bronze, blue and silver, and orange ones carried, he guessed those three had just returned from a turbofox hunt. He considered waiting for the lift to empty before entering himself but decided against it.
Five pairs of optics locked onto him as he stepped inside and he forced his battle subroutines to shut down before they could affect his processor. He moved to the side of the elevator and leaned against it. It was easier to ignore the guard in the corner, the three rich turbofox hunters, and– Wait, was that Windcharger?
Sideswipe refrained from looking at the red and gray mech near the corner. He already had a clear image of him in his mind. It was enough for him to identify that he was indeed the Windcharger. Windcharger was another one of the Companions. Was he here to visit Sunstreaker? The turbofox hunters were not glaring at him like they glared at Sideswipe so they must recognize him.
Sideswipe wondered if he and Sunstreaker were friends outside of work. Did Sunstreaker have a lot of friends? An Amica? A Conjunx? If Windcharger was here to visit his fellow Companion things might just be a bit more awkward because Sideswipe did not want an audience to witness the twins’ reunion, especially if Sunstreaker decided he wanted nothing to do with him.
Stop thinking like that. This is your twin you’re talking about.
To Sideswipe’s disappointment and relief, Windcharger got off on a different floor. That left him alone with the guard and the three turbofox hunters. It was like any sense of politeness left with the Companion. The abruptly unwelcoming air made Sideswipe tempted to scream, or glare back at the very least. He refrained because getting arrested would be annoying.
Primus, why did Sunstreaker live here? It felt like the walls were boxing him in.
One of the turbofox hunters leaned over to the his fellow and muttered something he probably thought Sideswipe couldn’t hear. Sideswipe’s audios were completely functional, thanks, and heard enough to make his frame heat up in rage.
“Why is he in here? I thought escorts entered through the cargo bay.”
The blue and silver mech shot his fellow elite a sharp, annoyed look. Sideswipe chose to give the bronze mech the benefit of the doubt and think he had implied Sideswipe was a hired guard working with security on a protection detail rather than using the word how organics tended to define it. Cybertron was far from a crucible of cultures but it did take some influences from the organic worlds it interacted with, mostly out of the curiosity or a desire to try something new like many sentient species had. It wouldn’t be the first time someone called Sideswipe something similar, including a couple instances where some had tried to proposition him despite him not being in that line of work or interested. However, he was still emitting his Security Operations credentials as a precaution so the other should know his job. Not that his profession was their business anyway. Besides, even if he was any kind of escort, he could go where he damn well pleased.
The bronze Tower mech glanced at him and Sideswipe realized that he did indeed know that Sideswipe worked for Security Operations; He only worded it like that because he wanted a reaction. Did he blame the organization for not squashing the Decepticons like some other bots did? Sideswipe pulled a page from Prowl’s book and decided not to respond in any way. He had plenty of practice ignoring entitled pricks from when he was in the Academy. Besides, he had better things to do and, again, being arrested for punching a rich snob was counterproductive to his goals. See, Prowl? Sideswipe was capable of restraint.
That did not stop him from plotting some petty prank revenge that involved a lot of paint. Maybe Sunstreaker would help.
The bronze Tower mech scowled when he realized Sideswipe wasn’t reacting. “Hey, are your audios working or are you deaf? Or perhaps glitched?”
Sideswipe was sorely tempted to turn his audios off out of annoyance but decided it was not worth the risk. It would be his luck that something exploded in the distance or an alarm would go off and he wouldn’t hear it. As much as the Tower would like to pretend otherwise, there was a radical organization plotting war out there.
The silver and blue mech grasped the rude one’s shoulder and shook his helm. “Leave him be, Riddle.”
Riddle said something insulting in Old Cybertronian. Oh, now they were pulling out the fancy language. Cute. Sideswipe could not understand a word but he knew it was an insult based on the blue and silver mech’s increasingly incensed expression. He said something sharply in Old Cybertronian and Riddle replied. The only word Sideswipe recognized was “Mirage”. That must be the blue and silver mech’s name.
The two mechs spent the rest of the ride on opposite sides of the elevator, with Mirage taking up a position on Sideswipe’s wall. Riddle’s glare shifted between Mirage and Sideswipe like the latter was somehow responsible for everything wrong on Cybertron. Sideswipe kept a purposely blank expression as he pictured how Riddle’s paint job would clash with a horrible mixture of brown and green paint.
Thank Primus, the turbofox hunters got off on the next floor. Only Mirage lingered after and turned to Sideswipe. To his surprise, Mirage bowed slightly.
“I apologize for my friend’s appalling behavior, security officer.”
“It’s not on you that your friend is an aft.” Sideswipe said before his processor caught up to his mouth. “I mean, apology accepted. Thanks.”
Mirage grimaced slightly and opened his mouth. He closed it without saying anything and shook his helm. He turned to the guard by the elevator door.
“I request that you ignore any orders Riddle gave you to heckle this mech.”
“Wasn’t planning on listening anyway.” the guard said with a careless shrug.
Mirage inclined his helm and stepped out. The elevator doors shut and the lift continued upward. The claustrophobia that prodded at Sideswipe’s sensors soon faded with the other mechs’ departure. He finally made it to the floor he needed and, with a goodbye wave to the guard, he headed down the brightly lit hall. Though it was less like a hall and more like a glass bridge. Any who were afraid of heights must have a Pit of a hard time walking through here.
The uncomfortable atmosphere returned as Sideswipe passed through shiny, elegantly decorated archways but he pushed those feelings down. He glanced out the window and paused a moment to admire the gorgeous view. They were so high up that he could see for miles. He studied how the light reflected off the terrain around him and the constriction in his chassis loosened as an idea struck him. Sunstreaker was an artist, and this landscape was more than worth what came with it.
Emboldened by his reasoning, Sideswipe took the final steps to Sunstreaker’s door. It did not look much different than the other shiny, gold doors in this particular hall, but it stood out to him like a shining beacon in the dark. Sideswipe muffled a laugh at his overly flowery thoughts. He checked the number no less than five times. Then, with a final, steady exhale, he raised his fist and gently knocked on the door.
For a few astroseconds, there was no reply. Sideswipe’s nerves increased with each passing moment as he considered that Sunstreaker might not be home. He glanced at the slot beside the door that was used for deliveries and was considering leaving the datapad there when he heard movement from the other side.
The door opened and icy violet-blue optics locked onto Sideswipe’s face. Sideswipe recognized the color above all else because he knew that exact shade from whenever he saw his reflection. Usually his optics were warmer and more welcoming, however. A lot more welcoming.
Sideswipe forced his attention to expand and took in his twin’s features. The helm shape was radically different but Sunstreaker’s face looked just like his own. Except harder. Colder. Unwelcoming.
“What do you want?”
Sunstreaker’s voice was a bit deeper and gruffer than Sideswipe’s own. He was so caught up in his excitement to finally have a voice to match a face that he almost did not react to Sunstreaker’s question. It took him an embarrassing astrosecond to realize Sunstreaker was waiting for a reply and Sideswipe was simply gaping at him like an idiot. He stopped staring and waved nervously.
"H-Hi! I'm Sideswipe. I'm your twin."
The cold look in Sunstreaker’s violet-blue optics did not change.
Sideswipe kept speaking, voice becoming quiet with nerves. “I just found out today–”
The door slammed shut in Sideswipe’s face.
Sideswipe stood awkwardly for several kliks before he hesitantly knocked again. There was no response, just like when he prodded at the twin bond earlier.
“I, uh. I know this is out of nowhere but I have the scan with me.” he told the closed door. “If you, um, need proof…”
There was still no response. He heard no movement from behind the door.
Sideswipe chuckled and smiled too widely. "Why did I expect anything different?"
He ignored the familiar ache in his spark as he placed the datapad, which now held only the results of Ratchet’s test and Sideswipe’s comm number, in the slot by the door. He spent several kliks debating with himself before deciding to leave it there.
“Don’t let yourself hope.” he whispered to himself. “You know when you’re not wanted.”
With one last glance at the closed door, Sideswipe left. He’d pay Prowl back for the datapad.
On the other side of the door, Sunstreaker listened to heavy, slow footsteps walk away. Only when he could no longer hear them did he slide open the door and retrieve the data pad.
After staring at its contents, the mighty, dreaded, and infamous Sunstreaker let the datapad fall to the floor and put his face in his hands.
“My twin’s alive.”