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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
- 4
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- 6
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Already Broken

Co-Written by Harley Quinn hyenaholic and Red Alert

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Harley: This chapter, the ACTUAL pairing gets set up. Not that it’ll be working out for a while. Sunny’s awful good at fucking things up for himself.

Red Alert: Don’t you get worrying, poor wee Sunny’s going to be alright. Eventually.

Harley: Also, this fic got vandalised too, which is why it’s all been bumped. I’m just trying to clean it all up. Don’t worry, the chapters will be sorted out. All the vandalised fics will be sorted.

~~~

Chapter Five: Sick

Sunstreaker was woken no less than ten hours later by brilliant rays of morning sunlight invading through the high windows of the room. The Lamborghini groaned and shifted in the bed, pressing his forehead up against the cold metal of the wall. His mind was all muddled... all he knew was that, for some reason, he'd gone and scored with the runt of a Minibot in front of him. Primus above.

Bumblebee muttered and rolled over, laying one arm over Sunstreaker’s chassis with a sigh, his hand wrapping around his bed-mate's. He felt cosy and comfortable, and one leg rested on top of Sunny's chassis.

Sunstreaker just emitted a nasal sigh of slight irritation, though he stroked the back of Bumblebee's hand with his thumb nonetheless. A plethora of ideas were running through his mind - he was considering legging it and pretend that what was probably a one-night-stand never happened.

Unfortunately, Bumblebee woke up around then, a sigh of irritation in his vocals. He looked at Sunny with wide optics, and smiled a little, "So, uh... how are you doing?" he asked.

"Like slag," he muttered, covering his sore optics with one hand, "As is th' usual recently." He buried his face in the pillows, grateful for the darkness once again. It was calming, pleasant.

Bumblebee frowned and trailed a finger down Sunny's back, "Relax," he tried to persuade the mech, and planted a kiss on his cheek, "I can get you something to eat, if you want..."

"I'm fine without," Sunstreaker said quickly, shuddering and tensing at the touch, "I promise."

"Well, if you're sure..." Bumblebee muttered, trailing his hand over Sunny's back, "Anyway, I've got duties to do now..."

The Lamborghini tensed further and further, "Fine." He made to get up and off the bed, though succeeded only in crashing out face-first due to his attempt at crawling out. Muttering and disentangling himself from the sheets, Sunstreaker stumbled to his feet, the world spinning. He felt awfully nauseous.

"Are you okay?" Bumblebee asked, getting up and trying to help Sunny stand again, "Here, let me help you up..." he tried to pull Sunstreaker up again.

"Fine," he slurred out, "Primus above...!" Sunstreaker pulled away from Bumblebee and stumbled out of the room, wondering vaguely where to go next. His room? The training course? The green room?

Bumblebee watched Sunstreaker leave, and eventually stood up, ready to leave and head for his own work. Sunny had left him dreadfully worried.

Said mech was moping slowly down the maze of corridors. He stopped and lazily tapped in the keycode to his and Sideswipe's room, waited for the door to hiss open, then promptly and unceremoniously stumbled in and immediately crashed to the floor.

Sideswipe whipped around and stared at Sunstreaker, lying face-down on the floor, "Sunny!" he cried out, rushing over and kneeling beside his twin, "Oh Primus, are you okay?"

"Fine." If there was ever such a thing as a sexual hangover, he had the worst one in the world... or maybe it was just lack of food? He struggled into supporting his weight with his elbows, "Room’s spinning."

"You look terrible," Sideswipe stated, "When was the last time you refuelled?"

Sunstreaker couldn't help toppling onto his side with a crash, "Yesterday. Evenin'," he lied, and rested his head on the floor, semi-content.

"Primus, you look awful," Sideswipe repeated, bending over and picking him up, "Come on, and lay yourself down. I'll get you something to eat."

"I am layin'-" Sunstreaker groaned as he was lifted up again, his head throbbing unpleasantly. He allowed himself to be set down on the bed, where he curled up and covered burning optics with both hands. Never in his life had he felt so terrible.

"You need sleep," Sideswipe told his brother. With that statement, he left the room and went to get some Energon.

"Sleep? My aft," Sunstreaker slammed a second pillow over his head, appreciative of the quiet.

About twenty minutes later, Sideswipe had returned with two cubes of Energon. One was for him, the other was for Sunny, "Okay, so how're you feeling?" he asked, offering one cube.

"Fragged," Sunstreaker reluctantly took the cube, wrinkling his nose at the overwhelming stink. He looked up at Sideswipe and cocked his head slightly, "Never been worse."

Sideswipe drank most of his cube, watching his twin as he did so, "Come on, you can do better than that," he said hopefully.

Sunstreaker shrugged and stared down at the content of the cube, feeling guilty and ill for even considering what he was about to do - but his twin wouldn't leave him alone until he downed the lot, he knew it. The yellow mech held his breath and gulped it down in one, then threw the empty cube to one side. A muffled 'ugh' was all he could manage.

"What? That's the good stuff!" Sideswipe said, looking disappointed in his twin. He shrugged and started to leave the room, then stopped, "If you've got a problem, you can tell me," he said to his brother, before leaving.

"Well, sorry!" Sunstreaker spat. He'd been calm for once - then Sideswipe had to do the inevitable and ruin his mood. Again. He stood up and stretched, eyeing the cube on the floor. He'd just broken his regime by accepting nourishment. Now he'd pile the weight back on.

He watched Sideswipe leave, then, his gaze turned to the washroom, and an idea sprung to mind. But he had to hurry or he'd absorb the food. He practically ran into the room, bent over the sink, and stuck his fingers down his throat, trying to induce vomiting.

Sunstreaker retched, doubled over and managed to bring up what looked like half of what he'd just shoved into his body. He leant against the sink, panting; then tried again, this time with a little more success. Eventually he gave up - he felt awful. Watery, stingy optics and dents from his teeth on the back of his hands couldn't be doing much for his appearance. He turned the taps onto full in an attempt to wash away any evidence of his antics.

He slumped, ungracefully, and covered his face, "Oh... this is just..." he groaned softly, "This is awful..." Sunstreaker mumbled and wiped a few tears from his optics, assuring himself the waterworks were down to the strain of the vomiting, "Man..." he rubbed the side of his face, "World sucks. Hates me. Really does..."

~~~

It was coming to early morning, and Sunstreaker's internal alarm went off. Internal, so that Sideswipe wouldn't be woken up by it, and start asking why he was up this early - Sunstreaker wasn't exactly renowned for waking up early. But if he got up early, he could spend that time working off the Energon. Admittedly, he hadn't taken in that much Energon since last night, but still...

Energon was Energon, and if he'd consumed it then he needed to get rid of it. His plan was to head back down to the training room, his new favourite room in the base. A couple of hours of - rigorous - training would work the Energon off, and then some. He had a CPU-full of premade excuses, ready to be pulled out at a split second's notice. This time things would go smoothly.

Quietly, Sunstreaker climbed out of his bunk and headed to the Training Room. Almost nobody else was up at this time - which was the point, really. The few mechs who were up at this time were unlikely to be training. Sunstreaker started to do laps around the room, each lap pulling him into jumping over a small hurdle... And several walls. And netting. And bars and ropes and ladders and then some more hurdles. He started to speed up a little, feeling more confident as he went along. For a being of his size he was almost graceful as he went, even when scrabbling up some of the climbing walls. It was something that came naturally.

He barely even noticed the hours passing. But after two hours passed, it hit eight-o'clock. Sunstreaker didn't notice Tracks coming into the room, but it was difficult for Tracks not to notice Sunstreaker. He was reminded of the last time he'd seen the yellow mech in here, but right now, it didn't seem that important. He just stood in the doorway, watching for a few moments at first.

The frown grew on Tracks' face, however, as he watched. The Lamborghini was showing no signs of slowing down - but he looked absolutely shattered, his features drawn and posture tired. Why he was training when he was clearly not in a fit state to do so was beyond Tracks, but damn he would find out why.

The blue mech stretched a few times, and then started to jog beside Sunstreaker, catching his attention, "Still training?" he asked, "How long've you been training for?"

Sunstreaker exhaled slowly, trying to stay calm, "Just the hour."

Tracks wasn't so sure that he believed Sunny about this anymore, "You look worn out," he stated, managing to climb over a wall at about the same moment as Sunny, "Are you sure that's all you've been training for?"

"I'm fine," Sunstreaker hissed over at the Corvette. He dropped down on the other side of the wall, pausing to lean against it. His chassis was heaving so that it made it hard to speak, "Just... squeezing in some training... before patrol."

Tracks stood in front of him, trying to think of something to say that didn't involve the word 'Liar', "Why are you doing this?" he asked finally, "You look fine, your skills are fine, you don't need to spend hours training so hard that you come close to damaging yourself."

"I'm not 'damaging myself'," Sunstreaker faked the quote-marks with his fingers as he spoke, a look of disgust on his face, "Or even coming close. I just want to get better." It was the truth, but not all of the truth.

Tracks looked down briefly, then looked up again, "Listen, it's obvious - to me, anyway - that you're pushing yourself for some reason. You don't enjoy training like this, and you're worn out from doing it, so why are you doing it?"

"I just told you," Sunstreaker snapped, still leaning up against the wall - almost as if he couldn't stand without its support, "I want to get better. The Decepticons have been quiet recently. All this training is to keep my skills up to scratch. Is that unreasonable?"

"No, but I don't want to see you hurting yourself when you're doing it," Tracks pointed out. Then he realised what he's just said, and started to blush, turning away from Sunstreaker and putting one hand to his own face.

Sunstreaker shook his head in frustration, not appearing to notice the blush, "That's what everyone says. Funny how they don't care when I'm in the med bay after being shelled. They only care once they see me outdoing, being better than, them. I find that rather amusing." An almost sadistic grin had appeared on the yellow warrior's face. It wasn't far from disturbing.

Tracks managed to control his own blush and turned back to Sunstreaker, "Well, maybe people would care more about you if you weren't so much of a jerk?" he suggested, before grabbing Sunstreaker’s wrist, "People do care about you. The way you talk, I could almost think you don't think anybody at all could care less if you lived or died. That's just... dumb," he said finally, "And you're wrong, too."

The Lamborghini snatched his wrist back, "Say what you like. I haven't, don't, and won't believe you. Never will."

"What?" Tracks smirked a little, despite himself, "You WANT to believe that people hate you?" he frowned, "You sure there's nothing wrong with your processor circuits?"

"How many times do I have to say it?" Sunstreaker flung his arms up into the air, "I'm fine! And now, if you'll excuse me, I have things to attend to!" He pushed past Tracks and stormed his way off the main floor, making his way into the washracks. He was nervous. What if he hadn't done enough training to get rid of the Energon?

Tracks groaned and slapped his face again, leaning against the climbing wall. There really was something... really off about the way Sunstreaker was behaving. Sure, Tracks hadn't admitted how he felt about the yellow Lamborghini - he was far too embarrassed to do so - but the whole thing just made him worry more about Sunny. It was like the mech hated himself or something.

Sunstreaker was unhappy, that much was obvious. Tracks just didn't know why. Sunstreaker was slim, he was skilled, he was the one of the best fighters the Autobots had - and could actually be friendly when he wanted to. He couldn't see anything that needed changing.

Finally, the blue Corvette took a deep breath, and followed Sunny into the washracks. He didn't know what he was going to see in there, but he figured, maybe if he could get up the guts enough for it, he could at least start telling Sunstreaker that he cared. He wasn't sure if he could tell him how much, but saying 'I care' was a start, right?

What Tracks saw, however, was not what he wanted to see. He couldn't see everything, but he didn’t need to. Sunstreaker was crouched down on the floor of the communal part of the washracks, balanced on his heels. He was making strange noises - odd chokes and retches and wet coughing sounds. They didn't sound pleasant and certainly weren't healthy. Part of him wanted to run up and see what was going on right now. Another part, however, approached more quietly from behind, moving up behind Sunstreaker in an effort to see what the Lamborghini was doing.

Tracks was shocked right down to the spark at what he saw. Granted, he couldn't see everything, but the little pool of what was so obviously undigested Energon pooling around Sunstreaker's knees and feet was enough. Sidling round a little he caught a glimpse of red ringed optics and a mixture of sweat and tears on the Lamborghini's face, his fingers stained a sickly pink. Tracks, put simply, was horrified.

"Oh, Primus!" This time, Tracks rushed forward, bending over Sunstreaker, "Sunny? Are you making yourself throw up?!" he asked, shocked. He reached for the Lamborghini, trying to reach around him and pull him into a position where he at least wasn't leaning over, "What the pit are you doing to yourself?!"

Tracks faced retaliation this time. Shocking red optics flashed and glared up at him - the yellow body jerked away and fell across the floor. He scrabbled backwards, pink splodges from his hands covering the floor, "What are you-" another retch, unintentional this time, interrupted this sentence. That one small movement had no effect; for there was nothing left to expel, "-Doing?"

"How about showing you that I give a slag?!" Tracks suggested, "The question is, what are you doing? Are you trying to offline yourself or something?" Again he reached for Sunstreaker, trying to get a hold of the other mech.

Sunstreaker slapped Tracks' hands away, optics wide with anger - or was that fear? "Get lost! I never asked you to be here!"

"I'm trying to help!" Tracks insisted, "You shouldn't be doing this to yourself! You could seriously damage your circuits!"

"Primus frag the circuits!!" Sunstreaker shrieked, utterly wild now, "This is all in the name of beauty, not health!!"

"Beauty?!" Tracks shouted back, "You look just fine, Sunstreaker! There's nothing wrong with the way you look!" he insisted. In fact, he had always secretly thought that Sunstreaker was the best looking Autobot in the base, "For Primus' sake, calm down!"

"I am- have always- aren't-" he yelped and scrambled to his feet on unsteady legs, took one frightened look at Tracks - then bolted, tearing out of the room as fast as he could. All things considered, he was fast.

"The pit?!" Tracks practically snarled as Sunstreaker dodged past him - then he started chasing after the mech. After seeing him making himself throw up in the washracks, he had no intention of allowing Sunstreaker to be alone.

Sunstreaker had picked up his pace a little - he'd dashed past Sideswipe without a second thought, bumped headlong into Smokescreen, had sent Bluestreak flying - but he was showing no intention of stopping, nor did he display any sign of actually knowing where he was going. He was just running, his body on autopilot.

Fortunately, he was running, and making no attempt to hide. It was a simple matter for Tracks to follow him. Still chasing, he passed the mechs Sunstreaker had collided with, and finally tracked him to his own room. He didn't bother to knock, too concerned with what Sunstreaker might be doing to himself to wait for an invitation in, and pushed his way into the room. He caught the Lamborghini halfway to his washracks, undoubtedly to continue what he'd been doing before he was so rudely interrupted.

Sunstreaker stopped in his tracks, wide optics staring fearfully at Tracks, then to the washracks, then back again, "What the Pit do you want!?"

"I know that I don't want to see you deliberately vomiting up Energon!" Tracks replied, "Surely you know you could kill yourself if you do it too often? Why are you doing this?" he asked, stepping forward.

"I already said!" Sunstreaker shrieked, "In the name of beauty!!"

Tracks grabbed at both of Sunstreaker's wrists, "You. Look. Fine," he insisted again, and swallowed, letting go of one wrist and raising his hand to the Lamborghini's cheek, "I'm serious, Sunstreaker," he told the yellow mech, "And... and I don't want to see you hurting yourself."

"Get off!" A split second was all it took for Sunstreaker to sink his teeth deep into the offending hand that had dared touched him. He batted Tracks away with his arms, backing out back towards the door with every intention of running again, once he'd distracted Tracks sufficiently.

Tracks yelped, pulling away from Sunstreaker, rubbing the marks in one hand, "What the slag was that for?!" he shouted, "I was only trying to get you to calm down!"

"You- you DON'T touch me!!" Sunstreaker spat. He looked downright vicious now, what with the red optics and pink-stained teeth, "Just get lost! Frag off! You're like Sideswipe - go away!"

"Right! So does Sideswipe know you're making yourself throw up?" Tracks shouted back, "Maybe I should tell him?!" He looked angry for a moment, before he pushed his way past Sunstreaker violently - almost enough to knock him down - and stomped his way out of the room.

"He doesn't!" Sunstreaker howled and gave chase once he'd regained his balance, quite literally running up to and flinging himself onto the Corvette's back, "No! I won't let you!! It- he- you- doesn't- no! Just no!!"

"Somehow, that's even more of a good reason to tell Sides," Tracks replied, turning back to face Sunstreaker again, "You're damaging yourself, and I'm not supposed to tell anybody?"

"Hit the nail on the head!" Sunstreaker was sobbing into his hands now - all very odd and uncharacteristic, "You can't, Tracks! You can't!!"

Tracks' hands tightened into fists, "So what, I'm supposed to be insensitive as well as ignorant?" he asked, "Why the slag shouldn't I tell somebody? Like Ratchet, or better than that, Optimus Prime?"

This time all he got in response was a pained, choked scream of anguish, "NO!! You can't! You wouldn't!"

"Sunstreaker, you're damaging yourself!" Tracks tried to make the yellow mech get the point, "And what, I'm supposed to just... ignore that?"

“Then that’s tough!” Sunstreaker howled.

"How about it being tough on you?!" Tracks shouted back, "There’s something wrong with your processor, can't you see that?!"

"My processor," Sunstreaker snapped, "Is fine! There's nothing wrong with it!" he spat a mouthful of pink gunk onto the floor before continuing, "Never has been!"

Tracks paused, but his conscience wasn't allowing him to just sit back and do nothing, even if it was what Sunstreaker wanted, "You could kill yourself this way," he said, "And slag it, I care! Whether you believe me or not!"

Sunstreaker stepped forward to give Tracks a good shove, "Just go away, butt out, slag off! This has nothing to do with you! How many times do I have to say it to drill it through that thick head of yours!?"

"Good question!" Tracks replied, "Why do I have to keep telling you that it's dangerous for you to deliberately vomit up Energon?"

"'Cause it's not!” Sunstreaker wailed, “I've been... I'm fine, look at me!"

"You think that's going to hold up?!" Tracks snapped. He gave Sunstreaker a return shove, and stomped out of the room loudly.

Sunstreaker watched him leave, then crumpled to his knees, sobbing, “I’m... fine...” he whispered, “I’m fine, I’m fine...”

~~~

Harley: Okay, so it’s not Anorexia. It’s actually Bulimia. The main difference is the vomiting. But they’re pretty close – they both result from a lousy self-image, and you don’t want to have either.

Red Alert: Can robots have Bulimia? Just go with it for now. Also, READ and REVIEW!!!
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