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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.

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Already Broken

Co-Written by Harley Quinn hyenaholic and Red Alert

~~~

Harley: It’s Saturday. An update day, if you will. Although I think I should be more regular with my update days.

Red Alert: You also need to be more regular with your other update days.

Harley: Anyway, Kettle is complaining about Sunstreaker being anorexic. It’s not the technical parts of being anorexic that are important in this story though, it’s the mental parts. The parts that result in him becoming a nutcase. And I can tell you this baby – he’s going to get worse.

~~~

Chapter Three: Seats

Wheeljack was working in his lab again, on his latest invention. With any luck it wouldn't blow up in his face this time. Despite popular opinion, he had not built a machine that built machines that built catapults. This was more of a machine that was designed to find weapons that the Decepticons had built. And stop them. He was just tightening a panel, when he must have screwed the wrong thing too tightly, and it blew up, charring his face.

"Huh. Seems I turned up just at the right time," Sunstreaker muttered from the door. He felt semi-sorry for Wheeljack - always getting covered in dirt, grime and ash like that. How hideous must he look to have to cover up his face as he did? Sunstreaker inquired casually, “'Jack, I've got a favour to ask, once your face has finished burning."

Wheeljack smeared some of the grease and soot and looked up, "Sunstreaker? What favour are you asking?" he asked the Lamborghini, currently relieved that there hadn't been any acid in the blast. He'd been hit by much worse - explosions that hadn't just taken apart him, but his entire lab as well.

"I'm asking," Sunstreaker waltzed in without a care in the world, "for you to remove my seats. You know?" he waved an arm.

"Yeah, I can do that," Wheeljack said, "Why would you want me to do that? You won't be able to carry humans around if I do, you know."

Sunstreaker opened his mouth and stuck two fingers inside to show his disgust, "Since when have you seen me carrying humans around, of all things? I'm asking 'cause I'd like to go faster. Like, much faster. I'm sick of being slower than Mirage and the others. Inferior, if you will."

"Well... it might have something to do with your alt mode being a civilian vehicle, not a professional race-car," Wheeljack pointed out, "But okay, if you're sure about this, I can take out your seats easily enough."

Sunstreaker was whooping and celebrating on the inside, "Just make sure you don't trash the paint, otherwise I may just blow up in your face," the Lamborghini transformed quickly and flung both doors open, eager for Wheeljack to get started. Sunstreaker thought Wheeljack was smart and, admittedly, would have seen right through him. Clearly not.

"Hang on, I've gotta get some painkillers from Ratchet," Wheeljack said suddenly, "You don't want me trying to take out your interior without painkillers." He left the room quite quickly, going to Ratchet's med-lab to get some painkillers.

"...Painkillers." Sunstreaker nearly squeaked. Who knew that taking out something as minor and useless as seats could be painful? He rocked on his axles a bit, wondering just how much weight he could jettison with the removal of the seats. A couple of hundred kilograms maybe? Less...?

Wheeljack soon returned, Cybertronian painkillers in hand, and a robotic syringe, and injected them into one of Sunstreaker's intake valves, "Don't worry, I've done this before, and it went almost perfectly," he said confidently to the Lamborghini.

"Almost!?" Sunstreaker hissed, though oddly feeling rather dreamy with the onset of the drugs, "Trash me and I swear to Primus above I'll have you dismantled! I look bad enough as it is without you making things worse!"

"Nonsense, you look fine," Wheeljack insisted, "Hey, I'll tell you this though - when I was your age I thought I was hideous. That was before I wore the mask. Then there was a really ugly lab explosion one day, and I'll tell you that when I looked at the change, I knew how wrong I was..." he picked up a screwdriver and started to remove the seats in the back of Sunny.

"Really," Sunstreaker replied tiredly and sarcastically, "you think I'm going to go 'round wearing a mask? On this face? Think again."

"No, no, nobody said you should wear a mask," Wheeljack said, "I'm saying you look fine Sunstreaker." He continued to remove the seats in the back. It wasn't a simple task, since there were such a lot of bolts to remove as well, "Kids today are never happy with their looks."

"Who is?" Sunstreaker felt oddly eager somehow, as if someone was finally beginning to understand him, "There's some that do something about it and there's some who don't. The stupid ones," he added with an inward smile. He felt smart and sensible, having decided to take action instead of sit there and let what could be called a fear consume him.

Wheeljack hesitated and looked at Sunstreaker in his alt mode. He was remembering some very, very stupid things he'd done when he was younger. They were part of the reason he had to wear the mask now, "Are you sure you want these seats removed?" he asked Sunstreaker, suddenly inexplicably concerned that the young Autobot might not be being straight with him.

"One hundred and ten percent sure." Sunstreaker replied with no hint of hesitation, "You think I'm toying around? About my LOOKS of all things?" he laughed, "I thought you knew me well!"

"Yeah, I guess..." Wheeljack replied, returning to removing the seats, "I just thought this was about going faster, not about your looks, Sunstreaker."

"It is about going faster, I just don't want you scratching my paintjob or denting anything," Sunstreaker sunk down a little on his axles, "and if you won't finish the job, I'll get Ratchet to do it. Or do it myself."

Wheeljack stopped, “Sorry, Sunstreaker,” he said, “I don’t think you know what you’re on about. I’m all for going faster but I don’t think you’re doing this for the right reasons.” He tightened the bolts holding Sunstreaker’s seats down and stepped back.

"I repeat," Sunstreaker growled, "if you don't do it then I'll do it myself, no matter how fragging painful you tell me it is!"

"I really advise you not to," said Wheeljack firmly, refusing to believe that Sunstreaker would ever do something so stupid, "It will hurt. And apart from that, I will tell Ratchet."

"Oh? And what will he do?" Sunstreaker hissed his question, angrily revving his engine, "Throw a spanner at my head? I'd like to see him try!"

"Just... leave," Wheeljack glared, an unusual expression for his face, "And I will report this to Prime or Ratchet if I suspect you're damaging yourself - for ANY reason!"

"Not until you remove the fragging seats. They're getting in the way and slowing me down! Are you stupid or something?" Sunstreaker snapped, adamant that those damn seats wouldn't be bothering him for much longer. If he was forced to rip them out himself then fine, a little pain was nothing compared to the long-term rewards he'd reap.

"I won't be blackmailed into helping you damage yourself," Wheeljack returned, "Not unless you can convince me that you know what you're doing!"

"Then how DO I convince you?” Sunstreaker asked him, “What do I need to do to get my slaggin' point across, Wheeljack?"

"How should I know?" snapped the crackpot inventor, "You could try not lying to me, kiddo!" He turned his back on Sunstreaker's alt mode and returned to working on the small invention he'd been trying to perfect. This turned out to be a bad idea, as about ten seconds later there was another explosion, slightly larger than before, and this one knocked him right off his feet and into the transforming Sunny.

Sunstreaker was slammed backwards into the opposite wall by the force of Wheeljack's momentum. Sunstreaker snarled and shoved the engineer off him before taking a good look at himself and shrieking, "Wheeljack!! My paintjob! My polish! My tyres! My poor body!" he scrambled to his feet, hoisting Wheeljack up, "I demand you fix this! You've just made things worse!!"

"Ow..." Wheeljack scraped some soot off his own paintjob, "Stop complaining, Sunstreaker, I took the full force of it. And seriously... there's just a few dents. I can get those out with a good toffee mallet. Fine, I'll fix it. Although I wouldn't trust me with my own paint job..."

Sunstreaker sat himself back down on the floor with his arms folded, sulking as only Sunstreaker could, "Whatever. Just hurry up. I haven't got all day."

"Fine, get back into alt mode," Wheeljack told him, taking out his screwdriver again. As Sunstreaker transformed again, he started to remove the seats again, this time with a sigh, not entirely certain that he was doing the right thing.

But, hey, he had no way of finding out what Sunstreaker was really thinking and hoping. He had no proof that he had just asked Wheeljack to remove the seats to make himself lighter. Everyone knew that the yellow Lamborghini was a complete egotist; if he could drive faster, he could show off. That sounded like something Sunstreaker would do, Wheeljack was sure.

It was just that he was now unsure that was the real reason for Sunny wanting his seats removed. Sure, removing his seats wouldn't cause him any damage, but if there was another reason, that was something to worry about.

Wheeljack continued his work - loosening nuts and bolts, hoisting seats out one by one and depositing them in the corner of the room in a sorrowful pile. He felt plagued with guilt; he should have consulted Prime or Ratchet first, he knew that, but there had been something in Sunstreaker's tone of voice that had warned him that something was up, and that said something was major. Wheeljack didn't know what, but he knew one thing - Prime would know about this as soon as he was done with removing the seats.

Finally he had completed the task of removing the seats - well, all except the driver's seat. They were all carefully piled in the corner, with their component parts, "If you ever feel that you need them putting back in, Sunstreaker," he told the younger mech, "Just come straight back to me and I'll sort it out. Now, Transform - I need to see how removing your seats has changed your robot form."

Sunstreaker hesitated at this point, "Why?" he asked almost fearfully, reversing a little and away from Wheeljack, closer to the door. He would bolt if Wheeljack even dared touch him, "Why does it matter?"

"Well, you don't want to look a mess with some of your parts removed," Wheeljack responded, "I might need to alter where some of your armour ends up so that you're still protected."

"Fine," Sunstreaker grumbled in compliance. As much as he wanted to look beautiful, he certainly didn't want to be vulnerable and weak. He transformed slowly and reluctantly, not hesitating to glare daggers at Wheeljack as a warning; the 'touch me once, just once, and you're scrap' kind of look.

Wheeljack looked Sunstreaker up and down a few times, "Okay, you just need a few armour plates altered slightly," he said, brandishing his screwdriver, "Just stand there and I'll sort it-"

"Don't touch me," Sunstreaker took a quick step back, face furrowing into a frown, "On second thoughts it doesn't matter. I'll be going now, cheers," Sunstreaker took the chance to grin at the puzzled look on Wheeljack's faceplates before bolting out of the room, supremely pleased with himself.

Fists on his hips, Wheeljack frowned as Sunny left his lab, shaking his head. What was all of that about? With a sigh, he turned away and returned to working on his latest invention, still hoping he had done the right thing.

~~~

Sunstreaker was happily bounding down the corridor, indeed feeling lighter, slimmer and much more fleet-footed. Step one was complete now that he was rid of those Primus-damned seats; now he just had to keep up the exercise routine and the diet, and before he knew it he'd be just as good as Tracks and everyone else who bragged about how great they were. Heck, in mere months he'd be right up there!

He reached his room, and stared into the mirror at his reflection. Almost on reflex, he began prodding and pinching at his frame again. It was disappointing. He didn’t look as sleek as he’d hoped. And now of course there were sooty marks and dents on him, making him look even worse than ever.

With a grumble, Sunstreaker dragged himself into the washracks he and Sideswipe usually shared. He flicked the switch to turn the water on, moving to stand irritably underneath the showerhead. Sunstreaker hissed in slight pain as hot water spattered over delicate overworked circuits, causing steam to hiss from gaps in his joints and armour. He folded his arms and stood sulking under the water as only Sunstreaker could sulk.

Several seconds passed, and he turned the heat of the shower up until it was all but burning him. Cybertronians couldn't be genuinely burnt by anything short of acid, but the mild pain of the hot water was, in a small and strange way, satisfying.

Sunstreaker tilted his head up, exposing the delicate, sensitive cabling and wiring of his neck to the heat of the water. The pain was sharper this time - it would have hurt in the first place, but when said cables and wires were stressed and overworked, the pain grew in strength several times over. Sunstreaker felt compelled to feel said pain. For some odd reason he felt pleased and calmed by the feeling. Why, he didn't know, but he wasn't about to complain about feeling slightly happier.

After almost twenty minutes under water that was scalding his circuits though, he had to get out. He could hear Sideswipe entering the room, and the questions his twin would ask were simply too difficult to answer right now.

"Sunny?" Sideswipe called out in the next room, "Sunny, are you in here?"

"No," Sunstreaker snapped sarcastically, shutting the water off and stepping out, "I'm busy shooting the living slag out of dummies at the firing range." The yellow Lamborghini simply stood there, the water trickling to drip off his armour.

Sideswipe heard him and shrugged, entering the washracks, checking up on his brother, "Are you doing okay on your own?" he asked the yellow Lamborghini, still a certain amount of concern on his features.

"I'm fine," Sunstreaker pulled a towel, his beloved bottle of polish and a clean cloth off the shelf, "As ever." he pushed past Sideswipe to settle himself down on his bunk, making a lazy job of drying himself. He shook the bottle of polish more vigorously than was needed, his optics fixing on anything and everything but his brother. How Sunstreaker wished he'd just go away for a while, "But obviously busy."

Sideswipe sighed and gave up again, "I was only asking because I hadn't seen you all day," he said simply, before leaving their room.

Sunstreaker shrugged and proceeded to polish himself from head to foot so that he was positively shining. Wondering if he looked any better, he got up and studied himself in the mirror yet again, only to be disappointed; he looked fat and bulky ('well-built' was not a phrase that existed in Sunstreaker's vocabulary) despite the fact he no longer had seats.

Still, on the upside, he wasn't getting hunger cramps anymore. They seemed to have come to an end. Sunny considered that if he maybe removed a few more non-vital systems, he might look better. But it wasn't very likely that Wheeljack was going to help him again - the inventor had been suspicious enough this time just about the seats.

So what could he do? He couldn't go to Ratchet and use the 'I want to be faster' excuse - the medic wasn't stupid or frivolous. His only real option was to remove the redundant, worthless systems himself... but Sunstreaker didn't know how he'd do that without being found out. The Lamborghini groaned and rubbed his tired optics with his fingers, unsure of what to do next.

~~~

Harley: You read it, now review it or I’ll pull your legs off. Just commenting.
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