Runs in Threes - Transformers
Runs in Threes
Prompts: Your chosen character makes three mistakes in a row, each of which can feel like anything from a minor irritation to a disaster at the time, but each of the mistakes benefits someone else (not the enemy) and it all works out well in the end. + "What Happened on Fangboner Rd.?"
Author's Notes: …Apparently, that is an actual road, albeit somewhere in the Midwest and not Oregon. Once upon a time, the TF Speedwriting Prompts group came up with the first prompt. I immediately thought of an idea for it, and never did it. This January, I started a Creative Writing class where the teacher came up with the second prompt because she frequently travels on it, and I thought that I should combine the two. It took way longer than two hours, plus a surprising amount of research, and therefore got its own oneshot. While I don't know when I'll post/finish the rest of my stuff from class , this one gets precedence because a.) it was completely polished, and b.) my dear friend requested more fluff in the TF fandom. Enjoy!
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Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or any familiar references.
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I didn't mean to. The words reverberated through Sunstreaker's helm as he pushed himself faster and faster on the winding dirt road, fruitlessly trying to leave his guilt behind. I didn't mean to!
The day had started off typically enough. Wake up, push his still-recharging brother off the berth to wake him up, get energon ration, tell off Sideswipe for calling him "Sunny," take a shift of boring monitor duties, and get into a tussle with the red hellion over something stupid. Only this time, they'd gone too far. One of Sideswipe's friendly jabs ("You know, if you don't smile once in a while your face is going to freeze like that, and then whatever will Bluestreak do?") had struck a little too close to home, and the golden warrior had reflexively lashed out and viciously punched his twin on the jaw. He had felt Sideswipe's shock and pain over the bond before it suddenly muted and his frame crashed unconscious to the floor. Immediately, the anger had vanished in the wake of guilt and fear, but when Ratchet magically appeared to take control, Sunstreaker had found himself barred from the medbay with no explanation other than "You've done enough, now scram so I can do my work!"
With nothing better to do, he had hidden himself away from the accusing optics of his comrades; while no one had said anything yet, it was easy enough to read the fear and disgust in their expressions. Well, in everyone's except for Bluestreak. Knowing how upset his friend would be, the Praxian had taken it upon himself to cheer up Sunstreaker by using his highly successful technique of distracting him with endless chatter (and potentially a side-order of snuggles).
It had not worked.
Instead, of being comforted as per usual, the frontliner found himself winding tighter and tighter. Abruptly, he had stood to try and leave the sniper's uncharacteristically cloying presence, but the smaller mech had made the innocent mistake of placing his hand on Sunstreaker's wrist. The gesture, which the golden twin would normally appreciate, was the straw that broke the camel's back.
Honestly, Sunstreaker did not remember what he had said. Or snarled. Or screamed. What he did remember was heaving with barely restrained emotion and staring at a wide-eyed Bluestreak. And the small hiccup in the younger mech's in-venting that preceded tears. And his own bolting from the Ark in his attempt to outrun his crushing guilt and worry over the still-silent bond - and potentially Jazz and Prowl. While Sunstreaker was not completely positive that they were following him, it was always safer for anyone who had upset Bluestreak to try and avoid them for as long as possible.
All of this lead to one of the Autobots' top warriors speeding along a backroad, designated "Fangboner Road" of all the ridiculous things, with nothing but his thoughts and the random vehicle in front of him for company. Cursing, Sunstreaker managed to turn what would have been a head-on collision for mere humans into him barely clipping the front of the car. Granted, that was still enough to make it spin and drop down a small, inconvenient incline, but the inhabitants should have survived with no major injuries. Quickly transforming, he carefully scanned the car (finding two life-signs, one unconscious, and no danger of a fire or unhealthy fumes) and called, "This is Autobot Sunstreaker. Do you require any assistance?"
"Yes!" a frightened female voice immediately answered. "Brad isn't waking up, and I need to get to the hospital right now."
That… did not sound good. "How are you injured?" he asked, preparing to contact one of the local human medical centers.
"I'm just bruised, but the more important thing is that I'm in labor," she answered, panic creeping into her voice, "and I'm only 32 weeks along!"
Sunstreaker froze. She was in the process of the disgusting, horrific, and appallingly messy final stage of bearing human young? And something was going wrong? I am not qualified for this! he thought frantically.
Surveying the dented car through his rising discomfort, he swiftly came to the conclusion that neither the vehicle nor the humans were in any condition to drive. I will need a full disinfecting, the polished Autobot mourned, before addressing the still-conscious human. "Aright, I am going to get the three of you to a medical center. What is your name?" he asked as he carefully stepped along the dirt road to be as close to the wreck as possible.
"J-Janet," she answered tremulously, pale face watching him through the window. "And you said that you're Sunstreaker?"
"Correct. Now, I am going to transform, then use my holoform to load you and Brad into my alt-mode."
Without bothering to wait for her agreement, he smoothly transitioned back into his sleek Lamborghini mode. Activating his holoform, he picked his way down the small embankment, appreciating the flexibility and steadiness that the lithe form could exhibit. When he reached the car, Janet had opened the door and was staring at him. "That's one heck of a holoform," she remarked, "but you sounded male before. Why are you a woman now?"
Bemused, Sunstreaker took a moment to examine his form's toned musculature, ideal proportions, perfect symmetry, and practical, figure hugging outfit in the same black-and-gold as his paintjob. After willing his silky blonde hair into a neat crown braid, he simply shrugged. "I will take your word for it. I chose this appearance because of its aesthetic appeal, and it suits me."
Forestalling any more comments or questions, he reached in, gently grabbed the woman, and helped her up the incline and into his passenger seat. He went back down for Brad, managed to wrestle him out of the seatbelt without too much difficulty, and deposited the hopefully-soon-to-wake human into the back seat. After a quick third trip for Janet's supply bag, he deactivated the holoform, turned his front bumper towards the closest med-center, and floored it.
::Attention, Providence Portland Medical Center, this is Autobot Sunstreaker, incoming with an unconscious adult male and a female in premature labor…::
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Loitering in the parking lot, Sunstreaker found himself at a loss for what to do next. Janet had been hustled inside by waiting staff as soon as his doors had opened, and a revived Brad had gone with her. He could not return to the Ark without risking running into Prowl and Jazz, and besides, Sideswipe had not woken up yet.
Activity through the twin-bond made him have to revise that assumption, and he narrowed his focus to sending joy-relief-love toward his other half.
::Hey, bro,:: The muzzy greeting completely drained away any lingering concerns.
::How long will you have to stay in the medbay this time?:: Sunstreaker sent back; after all, it was pointless (and entirely too sentimental) to ask inanities like how Sideswipe was feeling.
::I'm good now, but probably for a few more days,:: the red hellion replied. ::Oh, and Ratchet says that I have to thank you.::
::Thank me!:: Sunstreaker sent incredulously. ::What the frag could you have to thank me about for sending you to the Hatchet?::
The answer was as solemn as the still-foggy Sideswipe could make it. ::Because it turns out that I had a virtually undetectable build-up of fluid somewhere in my helm. If you hadn't knocked everything out of place just enough for Ratchet to realize that something was really wrong, then we wouldn't have known until something important burst. Depending on where I was, that could have been "extremely difficult to fix" to "easy pickings for the Decepticons." In any case, it would have been bad.::
The answer chilled Sunstreaker to the core, but before he could muster a response, his twin continued. ::Also, I've been told to inform you that you single-handedly saved the lives of Prowl, Jazz, and maybe others. Apparently, the Decepticons figured out their schedules way too well and planted bombs in their offices and quarters, then set them off simultaneously at a time when our favorite monochromes are almost always in one. But today, they spent the afternoon comforting Bluestreak - and you will be telling me what happened - so they were with him in his quarters and all three rooms were empty when the bombs went off. I don't think that makes you a hero, but everyone is very grateful.::
Mentally reeling from the information, Sunstreaker managed to ask his most pressing question: ::Does this mean I don't have to worry anymore about Prowl and Jazz hunting me down and making me wish that I had never been created?::
Affection-laughter filtered through the bond. ::Yeah, Sunny, you can come home::
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Two weeks later, a letter and photograph arrived in the communal Autobot mail addressed to Sunstreaker.
"So~, what does it say, Sunshine?" a now mostly recovered Sideswipe asked curiously.
"Don't call me that," his brother snapped automatically. "It's from that couple I helped the day I…"
"The day you saved the lives of no less than three Autobots, helped a few squishies, and gained Bluestreak's undying gratitude?" the red frontliner filled in easily. "Seriously, I thought it was bad luck that runs in threes, but yours seems to be good luck in disguise!"
The golden artist glared with no heat. "You may be on to something," he admitted. "Janet says in this that the umbilical cord had wrapped around the baby. If I had not taken them at full speed, or even if they had driven the whole way in their vehicle, then she probably would have suffered significant damage on the off-chance she had survived." Sunstreaker angled the photograph so that his brother could see the red, squidgy blob adorned with a giant pink bow.
"They named her Sunny."
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Author's Notes 2: They totally underutilize holoforms in most of the TF franchises. As a Next Generation fan, I have a problem with that. Naturally, Sunstreaker is a bombshell blonde. After all, it simply wouldn't do for him to be less than a heart-stoppingly beautiful head-turner (think Barbara Eden and Megan Fox with Scarlett O'Hara's resting bitch face). Yes, I checked; some Lamborghinis can have backseats. There actually was a case where some kid got clobbered during football and the scans picked up a brain issue that would have killed him in a few months; he profusely thanked the guy who injured him. I have to admit that I rarely find babies cute in their first couple of months, and that picture description is most of the newborns that show up on my Facebook. Providence Portland Medical Center is a RL hospital, and yes, Brad and Janet are named after the "Rocky Horror Picture Show" couple because part of this story was written while "Time Warp" was on repeat. Oh, and belated thanks to my mom for her helpful opinions on delivery emergencies.