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Already Broken	By : Breech_Loader Category: Transformers > G1 > AU/AR Views: 3421 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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~~~

Already Broken

Co-Written by Harley Quinn hyenaholic and Red Alert

~~~

Harley: What else is there to say? Well, poor Sunny’s not doing too well. Anorexia Transformerosa is really hitting.

Red Alert: Don’t you worry. Other things are happening too. Also, thanks for the reviews. Only trouble is that it’s hard at the moment to tell what you think.

Harley: Kettle’s just saying lol, which isn’t very helpful at all, and ZexionXIII seems to be telling us that he or she had anorexia once. Which is relatively helpful but not especially helpful.

~~~

Chapter Two: Exercise

As Sideswipe sat in the break room, picking bright pink paint off his red and white chassis, he was aware of depressing thoughts coming through. Maybe they shouldn't be. They didn't feel right. He felt... down. Probably because of the paint. But was he absolutely sure that was what it was? He remembered feeling worried about Sunny. That wasn't right.

He shouldn't feel worried unless something was wrong. Which meant, thought the Lamborghini, that something was undoubtedly wrong. Sunny was supposed to be the cheerful one, always happy about things. He never had a problem. Maybe he just didn't know how to have a problem. He shouldn't be sulking in his room and locking his door like that.

Sideswipe continued to pick at the pink paint that had splashed over him, suddenly realising that he was scratching his red and white paint job without even thinking about it. He frowned and quit. He could always tell if Sunny was worried about something, but for some reason, right now he couldn't tell what he was worried about.

~~~

Sunstreaker, meanwhile, was not in his room, as Ratchet and Sideswipe undoubtedly thought. No, he was at the agility course. Rarely used but to train the 'bots new to the ranks, Sunstreaker was leaping and bounding and launching himself around the course for the fourteenth time that hour. Scrabbling under nets, clambering up and over walls and trenches, sprinting past fake gunfire - he was having what the humans would call a whale of a time. And, even better, it was dry - so no mud to ruin his appearance further.

Several young bots new to the ranks had entered the room and were watching Sunstreaker with something rather like jealousy in their optics. Not only was the mech skilled, he was attractive and strong and agile too. Not that he'd have believed them if they'd told him. And it was unlikely that they would have told him anyway. They would have been too embarrassed to.

For once in his life Sunstreaker was trying his best to ignore the attention he was receiving. He jogged off the course for a brief moment to gulp down a mouthful of water before leaping at the ropes and bars again, not showing any sign of tiredness at all... he just kept going, like he was on autopilot.

After a while, the younger bots left the room, deciding that there was no way they could compete with Sunstreaker. Some time passed, and ironically, the next person to walk in was Tracks. He stared at Sunstreaker, who was just running around the room, and then jogged up to keep pace with him, "So what are you training for?" he asked the yellow Lamborghini with a grin, "Hoping to be one of those Lamborghinis that the pretty human girls lie on in commercials?" he chuckled.

Sunstreaker set his jaw and put on a small burst of speed and spat out, "I'm not training," hoisting himself up and over another short wall with much more difficulty than he had done a minute ago. Tracks just had to show his ugly and not at all ugly mug now, didn't he? "And besides, I'll be the one stuck with the fat hairy commercial director. They're always desperate," he vaulted over several large piles of sandbags, trying to stay focused.

To be honest with himself, Tracks had come in here looking for the Lamborghini. If he had a problem with Sunstreaker, it was that he never did seem to be able to take a joke. Or maybe, Tracks considered briefly that his jokes sucked. He shrugged, "Desperate enough to take you? You think there's humans that desperate?"

Sunstreaker snorted, "Well duh. 'Course there are. Because as I said, he's fat and hairy and seriously needs to get laid," at this point Sunstreaker put on a massive burst of speed, managing to complete the course in record time to lap right round Tracks three times in under a minute. Sunstreaker had to admit, he was pleased with himself today. He had broken his own record, lapped Tracks, and shown said 'bot who was boss of the course. Yep, things were looking up alright. He just had to keep it up now.

"How long have you been doing this, anyway?" Tracks asked as he caught up with Sunstreaker again. That was not a question Sunny wanted to hear. And the most irritating part was that Tracks wasn't the slightest out of breath. He was just keeping level with Sunny.

Sunstreaker was trying his best to keep calm, "Three and a half hours. Not long," Sunstreaker chanced a glance at Tracks - how he wanted to wipe that sickly smile off that pitspawn's face! Optics focused on the ground just ahead of him. He would not give in! Not for the world!

Tracks raised an optic ridge, "Yeah, right. Don't you think you should take a break and let your motors cool down?" he smirked a little, "A kid like you shouldn't strain yourself." It was a lot of cheek for Tracks to call Sunny a kid - he was only a matter of decades older than him.

Sunstreaker skidded to a halt upon hearing the loathed word, "WHAT did you just call me!?" Sunstreaker panted angrily, stabbing Tracks' chest with one finger. He had been able to put up with the Corvette for a while, but the fact remained he was a bullying, self-centred mech who Sunstreaker just happened to hate at that point in time.

"Hey, take it easy!" Tracks said quickly, "I was only joking!" He knew it was kind of fun to get on the Lamborghini's wires like this but he hadn't expected his mood to swing so savagely.

"Well don't," Sunstreaker snarled and pulled his finger back. He exhaled deeply through his nose, narrowed optics fixed on Tracks - if he were to stick to this regime he had to concentrate, otherwise he'd get nowhere. With the casual wave of one hand Sunstreaker took off around the course once again, repeating that same phrase to himself over and over again as he did so; I can be beautiful, I will be beautiful.

Tracks just stood there, watching nonplussed as the Lamborghini passed him twice, muttering under his breath as he did so. Finally he just shrugged again and left the training room. It wasn't as if he needed to train. But it occurred to him, as he left, that Sunstreaker had been training for three and a half hours on his own. Was that supposed to be worrying?

However, it was a well-known fact among the Autobots that the yellow Lamborghini did not like training. He much preferred the firing ranges, where he could take out any built-up anger or stress on crude mockups of several Decepticons. When he wasn't on the front lines he was as lazy as the likes of Huffer, contrary to popular belief, and liked playing games and tricks on his fellow Autobots. So why in Primus' name was he doing something he hated when he could have been having some actual fun?

~~~

By the time Sunstreaker's time on the course had crept up to six hours, however, he was well and truly exhausted. His cooling fans and intakes were working furiously in an attempt to cool his overworked body down and he had warnings of imminent overheating flashing at him nonstop; but beauty was worth a couple of blinking lights and sirens, wasn't it? Yes, yes it was.

A couple of young mechs had seen him running his laps, but nobody of consequence. Most of the Autobots had other tasks to do. But Tracks' concern had been enough to pull him back to the training room after a little while. He looked in and saw Sunstreaker leaning against a wall and trying to cool his systems, "Still training for that commercial?" he asked Sunny, a note of concern in his vocals. Not that Sunny would ever have noticed it.

"There is no slagging commercial," Sunstreaker panted angrily, his chest heaving, "Are you stupid or something?" He retched as if he were about to be sick, before abandoning all pride and sinking down onto the floor in what could loosely be called pain, "Just go away."

"Oh for crying out..." Tracks slapped his forehead, "Have you been training all this time?" he didn't wait for an answer, "What's the point of trying to be nice with you when you just pull that stupid jerk attitude and throw it back in my face? It's like you want me to start punching you or something, and sometimes I could swear you deserve it. In fact most of the time I could swear you deserve it," he added, walking up to Sunstreaker, "And I told you not to strain yourself."

"You have NO idea," Sunstreaker snarled up at the Corvette, "and since when do I listen to anyone, let alone you?" he leant forwards to wrap his arms around his aching stomach, "I've told you to leave me alone and you ignore me, so don't go ordering me about!!"

"Come on, if you've been training all that time you'll need to refuel," Tracks offered a hand to Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker stared up at Tracks and shot a sarcastic smile his way, "No."

"That wasn't an option, Sunny," Tracks glared, starting to lose his temper.

"I didn't hear you order me," Sunstreaker said, "and besides, I took a break a few hours ago. Downed three cubes of Energon, then came back here," he lied smoothly, not feeling even the slightest twinge of guilt.

Tracks looked at him, but seeing no particular reason to disbelieve the yellow mech, he just shrugged. He certainly couldn't see all of the alerts that were coming up on Sunstreaker's internal screens."I don't know what you hope to achieve with all this, anyway," he said, "It's not as if it will make any difference. You'll still be an over-egotistical jerk."

"And you will always be a stick-up-your-aft bully, so leave me alone," Sunstreaker's vision had started to become dotted... little white lights floating around in the middle of nowhere. He glared up at Tracks, "I notice you're not gone yet."

Tracks frowned, "I was only trying to help," he muttered, and headed for the door, "That's the problem with you. You're never happy. You smile, but you're never happy. And it shows, you know."

"Oh, you have no idea, Tracks," Sunstreaker rubbed his tired optics with two fingers, "Good riddance." he growled, not bothering to keep his voice down.

Tracks didn't bother to return to the training room this time. Not even when he heard the parting insult. He just headed for his room. If Sunstreaker felt down about a few things, then Tracks was absolutely certain that he couldn't feel any better. Just what the hell was the point of trying to get his attention? He'd tried both being nice and being mean. Neither seemed to work and he was ready to give up.

Sunstreaker didn't care - in fact he had achieved his goal of getting Tracks back for what he'd done. Sunstreaker always had been stubborn and always would be; it was the way he was. He and Sideswipe were, in terms of personality, complete polar opposites. Now he just had to work on his physical beauty, and he'd be perfect, better than everyone else.

Ironically, the next person to enter the training room was somebody Sunstreaker didn't want to see - Sideswipe himself. The jock was quite fond of the training room, and found that filling up his timetable with various training exercises was an excellent method of escaping other duties.

Sunstreaker quickly looked away, pretending he hadn't seen the red Lamborghini come into the room. He wouldn't make eye contact or communicate unless absolutely necessary. Sunstreaker watched as his brother paused for a moment, as if contemplating what to do; confront him or train.

Sideswipe stared at his brother for a few seconds, taking in the huddled-over appearance. Then he started to train, jogging around the room a few times.

Sunstreaker mentally thanked Primus above for not making Sideswipe interrogate him; he had enough trouble as it was, what with Tracks and all, without that pesky brother of his coming to stick his nose where it didn't belong.

Even though he was worried about his twin, Sideswipe knew from experience that interrogating him would do no good. If anything it would only result in more complaints. To see him just sitting there though was more than slightly disturbing.

Sunstreaker hissed and clutched at his stomach as another stab of dull pain shot through his torso. His systems were still blaring at him to eat something and just get some rest. The yellow Lamborghini knew that if he gave in to a mere flashing light, he'd never live it down and, worse, his regime would fail. So he remained silent, optics fixed firmly on his brother, for lack of anything else to concentrate on.

But Sideswipe only trained for about an hour, maybe two, before he stopped to rest. And it was far less intensive than Sunstreaker's efforts had been. Sensing Sunstreaker's stifled unhappiness, Sideswipe couldn't keep quiet anymore, "Is something wrong, Sunny?" he asked his brother, "You can tell me if something's up, you know."

"Not this time," Sunstreaker snapped, "It's none of your business." He made as if to stand up but was forced back down to the floor again as another stab, this time not as dull and forgiving, lashed down his stomach. "Just shut up and train or whatever,"

Sideswipe had to admit; Sunstreaker was making a valiant effort at pretending he was fine. Sideswipe rubbed his head, "I'm your twin, Sunny," he told his brother, "I can tell something's up." Indeed, the only reason he couldn't tell exactly what was wrong with Sunny was because the yellow Lambo was deliberately hiding it from him.

"Something that doesn't concern you," Sunstreaker spat at him, "Why is everyone being so stupid?! I tell them to leave me alone and what do they do? Pester me!"

"That's because they care, Sunny!" Sideswipe retorted crossly, "But fine, if you don't want me to care about you, I won't!" He turned his back on Sunstreaker and started jogging around the room again.

Satisfied, Sunstreaker folded his arms and took to pouting like a 'bot half his age, as it was all he really could do in his current state. He didn't appreciate people caring; how ironic it was that people only showed sympathy when he didn't want it, instead of when he wound up in the med bay in several pieces after being shelled by a Decepticon.

Frowning, Sunstreaker flopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling, hands resting on his still-painful stomach. He didn't know how long he'd have to keep the exhausting routine up for but if he had to do it forever, then so be it.

Sideswipe stopped running around the room, and left, a frown on his face. He had no idea of how long Sunstreaker had been in the Training room, and he would have been horrified had he found out. It wasn't really safe for a Transformer to train for more than a couple of hours at a time.

Of course, Sunstreaker wouldn't care. It just wasn't like him to follow rules unless they were from Optimus Prime himself. He doubted his brother would listen to what he had to say, let alone take his advice to stop being moody and just lighten up a bit for a change.

~~~

Harley: Well, write your reviews and enjoy yourself. Tell me whether you enjoyed the story, or whether you hate me.

Red Alert: And have fun!
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