One bright day in the middle of the night

The planet’s sun had long ago set and still the battle raged on. Mechs on both sides crowded one another in hastily dug foxholes and behind the crests of hills, elbowing each other for room to shoot though none of them could see the end of their guns in the tempest raging around them. Wind and rain whipped in their faces and it was impossible to tell which bangs were from the battle and which ones belonged to the storm.

“You know,” Bluestreak shouted over the wind when the shooting let up, “at first I was really glad the wind and the lightening grounded the ‘Cons, but now I’m not so sure it’s such a good thing!” Ironhide grunted, ducking behind the cover of the hill to check the charge on his weapon.

‘Just be glad it keeps them Seekers outta our circuits,’ he retorted, electing to use his comm. instead of shouting over the storm. No sooner had the words passed between them, however, then both mechs froze at the sound of too familiar thrusters overhead. Bluestreak stopped firing and met the older mech’s gaze.

‘Nah…can’t be,’ Ironhide muttered over his still-opened comm. link with Bluestreak, straightening and squinting through the sleeting rain. He raised one hand to try and shield his optics but still couldn’t make anything out. ‘They ain’t dumb enough ta try an’ fly in this. They’d get fried fer sure.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure, because you know—’ Whatever Bluestreak was going to reply was cut off as Prowl’s voice crackled through with a priority bulletin across all lines.

‘Be advised: Seekers spotted flying low and incoming form the west. Repeat: Starscream and his trine are airborne and headed our way.’ Both Ironhide and Bluestreak turned to the west, struggling to make out anything through the rain and the dark clouds. It was understandable that Thundercracker and Skywarp might blend into the dark background, but Bluestreak thought that Starscream at least should have stood out. Before he could voice this opinion, however, private comm. channels were again overridden by the official frequency.

‘Sunstreaker! Sideswipe!’ Prowl’s voice again. ‘Return to your posts at once. This weather is far too adverse to even attempt Jet Judo.’

Alarmed, Bluestreak cupped both hands over his optics and strained to see through the steady downpour. He could just make out a misshapen something rising into the air. Lighting set his systems buzzing and made him jump. It also illuminated the shape and for a brief instant he could see Sideswipe, holding his brother tight around the middle as he propelled them both into the air with his jetpack.

‘Sideswipe!’ Prowl’s voice was broadcasting on an emergency frequency now, accompanied by an underlying tone that buzzed annoyingly inside Bluestreak’s helm. ‘Come ba--!’ The signal popped as another flash of lightening blinded Bluestreak, the sonic boom in produced so loud that he had to reset his audio sensors to stop the ringing they registered. Once his sensors were finally reset he slowly straightened from where he’d instinctively crouched on the ground, visibly shaken.

He craned his neck to see what had happened and gasped to see Prowl on the ground offline, sparks jumping from his still frame. Jazz knelt beside him, checking the 2IC’s vitals.

‘Wha--?’ the gunner asked over the line he still had opened with Ironhide.

‘Lightnin’ got him,’ the red warrior replied gravely. ‘Musta been attracted by his doors.’ Bluestreak gasped at that and immediately lowered his door panels as far as they would go, ignoring how the hinges protested the unnatural movement.

His gaze lingered on Prowl for a moment before seeking out Sideswipe and his brother again, but they had disappeared.

‘Sideswipe, Sunstreaker,’ this time it was Prime’s voice on the emergency line, ‘these conditions are far too dangerous and the Decepticons are retreating. Return at once. We need to pull back to the safety of the Ark.’

‘Give us a tick,’ Sideswipe’s unconcerned voice replied. The line remained active and Bluestreak was sure Prime was about to reply with an order when he heard the unmistakable sound of Seeker engines overhead, much closer than before. The gunner tilted his head back and finally saw the jets, flying much lower than normal. He could just make out Sideswipe perched on top of Skywarp, who was nearly invisible against the black sky, while Sunstreaker clung to Starscream’s back. Bluestreak wondered how they managed to keep their grips in this rain, especially when the jets did rolls to try and throw them off, but the stubborn front-liners refused to be thrown.

A whine of stressed engines brought Bluestreak’s attention back to Sideswipe. The red twin had gripped the flaps of Skywarp’s wings and forced him into a dive, aiming for Thundercracker. The jet struggled—or perhaps that wobbling was more due to the wind—but Sideswipe held him on his course until a mere moment before impact. Just before they hit, Sideswipe finally let go and jumped clear, activating his parachute, but that proved to be a bad idea in this wind.

The red twin was buffeted and blown higher into the air, nearly disappearing from sight in an instant. There was a scramble of activity over the comms and in a moment Powerglide was risking the storm to streak after him and attempt to bring him down before either of them met the same fate as Prowl. Bluestreak found himself stilling his ventilators as he watched, doors twitching anxiously as both red forms disappeared into the background of bleak clouds overhead. For several too long moments all the young gunner could see was the rain in his optics. Finally Powerglide reappeared, wobbling back towards the ground with the daredevil Lamborghini clinging to his back and Bluestreak visibly relaxed.

The relief was short-lived, however, as an angry snarl of engines overhead announced that Sunstreaker was still grappling midair with Starscream. The red jet had begun to circle, climbing in altitude as he continued to try and dislodge Sunstreaker from his frame, but the golden warrior refused to budge.

Bluestreaks’ doors tingled and the air around him felt suddenly too heavy. He ducked down instinctively even as he accessed the emergency frequency.

‘Sunstre--!’ His warning was too late. Lightning shot through Starscream’s frame, igniting one of his thrusters which smoked for a few seconds before exploding. Sunstreaker finally lost his grip, though only because both mechs had most likely been forced offline instantly by the surge, and Bluestreak’s tanks churned sickeningly as he watched both warrior and Seeker drop out of the sky.

***

Ratchet checked his tools for the umpteenth time, making sure that everything would be within easy reach when the casualties arrived. His comm. buzzed to life and he straightened before answering it.

‘We got three level threes and some walking wounded, Boss’ First Aid’s voice came over the link. Ratchet was already moving to get three berths ready by the door.

‘Give me names and status reports, ‘Aid,’ he requested.

‘All three are unconscious. Optimus Prime is transporting them in his trailer. Prowl got struck by lightning and needs a processor overhaul.’ Ratchet swore. He hated having to use processor parts. That, more than anything else, felt downright barbaric.

‘And the other two?’ he asked. There was a pause on the other end and Ratchet frowned. ‘Aid?’

‘Sunstreaker and Starscream were hit by lightening as well during a Jet Judo attempt,’ the medic-in-training finally said quietly. ‘They fell from a incredible height well behind our line of fire and were both badly damaged—so Prime decided to bring them both back.’ The last part was said very fast in a clear plea for Ratchet to direct any and all anger at the commanding officer. The medic seethed but there was no time to argue it now. He’d give Prime a piece of his processor later.

‘Slagging perfect,’ he muttered darkly. ‘When will you be here?’

‘ETA: 20 minutes in this weather.’

‘Fine. Send a damage report in the meantime. I’ll be ready. Ratchet, out.’

He cut the comm. link before First Aid could reply and glowered down at his reflection in one of the medbay berths for a moment. He banged his fist against the surface before venting harshly and pushing away from the table to head towards the storage closet in the back of the medbay. Even though he was alone he glanced over his shoulder out of sheer habit before entering the code for this particular door. It slid opened and he quickly stepped inside before locking it, again out of habit. He waited until the door had completely shut before tapping a panel to activate the lights.

Ratchet was one of only three mechs that ever set foot in this room, the other two being Wheeljack and First Aid. No one else had the security codes, not even Prime. This was by Optimus’s choice and Ratchet couldn’t blame him. He wouldn’t come in this room if he had any choice either. Once had been more than enough for Prime.

The medic’s optics swept the numerous gray bodies stacked around the room, though not nearly as numerous as when they had first awoken. Originally they had only been left here awaiting burial. Prime, having awoken first, removed those mechs—Autobot and Decepticon alike—that were beyond even Teletraan’s help and brought them here. The plan had been to see to their proper burial rites after Megatron had been dealt with. However, that plan had quickly changed. When it became clear they would be staying on Earth indefinitely, Ratchet and Wheeljack began researching the integrity of Earth metals. Upon discovering that they were much weaker than their Cybertronian counterparts, Ratchet knew that they were going to need another option if they were to hold out against sustained fighting.

Barely a few hours after Prime had first shown him the room, Ratchet had been called upon to treat the first casualties of the continued battle on Earth. At a loss for what else to do, Ratchet had forced himself to go back into the room and scavenge for parts. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t resorted to taking from the dead before. It was an all too common practice at crude field hospitals across Cybertron when supplies ran low. Still, that first time had been the hardest. After that it became an easier and easier part of medbay routine, and though Ratchet hoped every time that he’d come up with a better solution before he had to return to that room once more, so far he hadn’t found one.

First Aid’s damage report arrived as a blip in his inbox and he opened the document, scanning what parts would be necessary before making his way through the stacks. At least his kind didn’t decay like organics did, not that the dead of his kind didn’t have its own problems. Pools of oil, lubricant, coolant and processed energon slicked the floor, leaking from the bodies that no longer had any use for them. The stench the mixture of fluids created was nothing like the putrid stench of organic fluids, but it still set the extra-fine sensors in his faceplates and hands tingling with the awareness of death.

Starscream’s parts were easiest. They had several generic Seeker models in the back that had only ever been touched for wing parts when he and Wheeljack had constructed Swoop and the Aerialbots. Prowl was a little harder. Between him, Smokescreen, and Bluestreak they’d nearly exhausted all the parts available from their model. Finding processor parts was even more of a challenge given Prowl’s highly customized processor. Luckily, however, it seemed only the more generic parts of Prowl’s processor had been short circuited, leaving his battle computer undamaged. That was easy enough then.

But Sunstreaker…

“Frag,” Ratchet hissed. He knew without looking that the separate stack he’d made of mechs compatible with the twins’ model was completely gone by now. Those two had gotten slagged so badly and so often, he’d gone through all the congruent parts and then some. Sideswipe was still griping about how his left shoulder didn’t work quite right and Ratchet didn’t have the spark to tell him it was because he’d had to talk a rotator cuff off a mech of more Ironhide’s build the last time he’d been repaired.

He swore under his breath again as he took another look at the extent of Sunstreaker’s damage. He practically needed a total overhaul. He looked around the room, running a quick scan for anything he’d missed and stopped at an eerily familiar helm in the corner. Frowning in surprise he drew closer and nearly gasped.

The mech was of a slightly different model from the twins, less streamline and more rounded but—Primus! That helm…It was a near identical match to Sunstreaker’s. The same raised helm vents framed the dark face. He shivered at the uncanny resemblance. There were slight differences…the face was more angular, the chin more square, and surely the mech had been a different color, though it was impossible to tell in the gray pallor of death, but overall the mech could have been Sunstreaker’s double.

He stepped closer to examine the body and was surprised to find it largely undamaged. Cause of death had been a shot clean through the neck at close range, killing the mech but leaving him mostly intact. Yes, this would do nicely. In fact, it was so perfect that, had Ratchet been a mech that believed in providence, he would have wondered why it had taken him until now, when Sunstreaker would surely die without this mech’s parts, to find this body hidden away amongst the others.

However, Ratchet was not a mech who believed in providence or fate, and therefore he didn’t give it a second thought beyond it being a lucky find before he took out his laser scalpel.