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Already Broken	By : Breech_Loader Category: Transformers > G1 > AU/AR Views: 3420 -:- 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

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Harley: New fanfic! Based mostly on G1, with Sunstreaker as the protagonist. Technically the main writer is Red Alert since Red Alert knows more about this sort of thing than I do...

Red Alert: Basically, Harley suggested a fanfic with self-harm and anorexia to me in boredom, and I said I’d already considered a fanfic involving an anorexic Sunstreaker. That gave Harley some good ideas. And while Harley is indeed doing a lot of characters, I’m playing Sunstreaker.

Harley: Please note – anorexia nervosa is in no way romanticised in this fanfic – even if it is a robot suffering from it. It’s a horrible mental/physical illness to have. If any of my readers have suffered from it, or are suffering from it now, then while there is very little I can do to help, I can at least say that I hope you find (or found) the friends and help you’re looking for.

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Chapter One: Worse Than Angry

A small, nervous twirl; a wipe of one finger over his spotless, handsome face; a pair of hands poking and prodding and pinching all areas of his body. Sunstreaker stood and frowned at what he saw in the glass, leaning forwards to rest his fingertips on it. He used the back of his hand to wipe off the condensation that had formed from his hot breath on the glass before taking another good look at himself. Honestly; he'd assumed he looked so much better. So, so much better.

Sunstreaker didn't like to admit it to himself, but maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe Tracks had been right - that he himself was so much more attractive than anyone else in the base. So much more sleek and smooth and slim. The Lamborghini looked away from the godforsaken mirror and took to staring at the floor instead, preferring it to his reflection, for once glad that he had neglected cleaning the floor - at least he couldn't see his reflection in it. Because then Tracks' taunts and brags would all come back and crash down on him in one enormous tidal wave... and he didn't want that.

So, without a second thought, Sunstreaker decided to try and take his mind off it. Turning away from the mirror he took to pacing around the room, fingers twitching at the thought of that damn Corvette. Sunstreaker's optics met briefly with the mirror again, and froze with a sudden sharp stab of realisation. He could do better! He could BE better!

"Sunny?" a young, familiar voice called out, even as Sideswipe pushed his way into the room without bothering to knock and grinned as soon as he saw his twin, "What, preening again? Give it up, Sunny. You're not going to get more attractive by posing in front of a mirror," the red and white Lamborghini grinned, "Besides, you look fine. Come on, I just had the best idea for a prank on old Hatchet."

Sunstreaker caught his breath in the back of his throat, still unable to tear his optics from the mirror. He opened his mouth but said nothing, resorting to just raising a finger in what could loosely be called protest. His head snapped round to gaze at his twin; so perfect! "Maybe later," his voice faltered pathetically, making the matter worse.

"No, no, NO! It has to be done NOW!" Sideswipe insisted. When his twin continued to just stand there, he started to sulk, "Fine, if you're going to be that way, I'll convince Jazz to help me." He glared at his brother, who was just standing in front of that stupid mirror, preening like that, and shrugged, "You're not a model, Sunny," he said, annoyed at his brother’s vanity, "You're a fighter, just like me."

"I know," Sunstreaker let out a shuddering sigh, his tired and weary optics flicking back to the mirror, "I was just... thinking, I guess. Reflecting," he winced with embarrassment at his own bad pun. Oh, how he would make himself better, so much better - he would have shoved Tracks' words back down his throat by the time he was finished.

Sideswipe just shrugged, "Preen all you want, but sometimes I worry about you Sunny," he told his twin shortly, before leaving the room again. Something was up with his brother, he should hope he knew him well enough to know that. He just didn't know what it was.

Sunstreaker glared after him and childishly stuck his tongue out after his brother, storming over to viciously punch the controls to close and lock the door. Now Sideswipe was getting all paranoid! The yellow Lamborghini threw himself down onto the floor to lean up against the wall, his arms curled around his legs.

So now he had to prove himself to the suddenly-annoying Sideswipe, did he? How could he be beautiful and be a vicious, merciless Autobot warrior at the same time? It was impossible, Sideswipe should have noticed that. He wasn't stupid, but he didn't understand either, as HE wasn't the one being bragged to day and night and being told he was inferior and ugly by that infuriating selfish brat Tracks. Sunstreaker rested his chin on his knees, hugging his legs close to him. What should he do?

What Sideswipe did notice as he left their shared room, was the sound of the door slamming and locking. He didn't try to get back in, but groaned slightly. Still, he remembered his prank. Jazz was usually up for such things, even if Sunny didn't want to be bothered. And some time alone would sort him out. He'd be back to normal in no time.

Back inside the now-stuffy quarters the twins shared, Sunstreaker had been unable to resist jumping up and staring almost hypnotically into that same old mirror once again. It was becoming an almost obsessive-compulsive habit. Finish duty, look in mirror; run from Ratchet, look in mirror; have spare time, look in mirror, the mirror that was causing so much trouble and aggravation nowadays. For a brief moment Sunstreaker wondered whether it was worth it; then, with a bitter laugh, was suddenly amused at himself for thinking of such a thing.

~~~

After the passage of several hours, Sunstreaker snapped to attention as somebody knocked on his door. It wasn't Sideswipe, because Sides never knocked. Neither did Tracks or Jazz. After a few seconds, Ratchet's voice rang out, "Sunstreaker? Are you in there?"

Sunstreaker chose to remain silent and perfectly still, his head raised slightly at the sound of the CMO's voice. Never in his life had the Lamborghini considered anyone to be so annoying. Why should he open up to the likes of Ratchet, anyway? Whose business was it, other than his own?

"I know you're in there, Sunstreaker," Ratchet said after a moment, "Your door is locked and Sideswipe is currently lamenting over a prank that rebounded rather badly and the pink paint that now stains his armour."

"Go away," Sunstreaker leant over to growl through the gap between door and wall, "And while you're at it, how about you tell that slagger to stop snitching on people. Especially me!"

"Now Sunstreaker, there's no need to hole yourself up in your room," Ratchet pointed out, "And nobody has been snitching on you. Come on, there's too much to do today for you to lock yourself up all the time."

"Oh? Mr Stick-Up-The-Aft would have come to lecture me by now if I had patrol or duty," Sunstreaker hissed out to Ratchet, fury boiling up inside him and threatening to break loose, "go AWAY!"

Irritated by the Lamborghini's silence, followed by his refusal to comply, Ratchet tapped in the password for the room - he was high up enough in the base that he could get into any room even if it wasn't his. The door slid open, and he looked in.

Sunstreaker could be seen sulking in the corner of the room - incidentally the darkest area. Sharp blue optics snapped up in a cold, icy glare that was all hatred and no mercy - but there was something else about them that just wasn't right, "I said get out! I didn't ask for you to be here!"

"I know," Ratchet sighed, "But you can't spend all day in this room sulking. You have other duties, and you know that." He frowned as he looked at Sunstreaker's face. Apart from looking very angry and sulky, there was something else that seemed off about Sunny's expression, something he couldn't quite define.

"Go away," Sunstreaker repeated, sweaty hands balling up into uncomfortable-tight fists. He shifted backwards as far as he could into even more darkness, as if he were trying to avoid the light streaming in through the window, until he could go no further into the corner. He broke optic contact with Ratchet, not wishing to engage in further conversation.

Ratchet entered the room, approaching Sunstreaker carefully, "Is something the matter, Sunstreaker?" he asked the yellow Lamborghini. The younger mech had often shown signs of being emotionally difficult, and he wouldn't be all that surprised if there was something wrong... but he couldn't fix it if he didn't know what it was.

"One thing," Sunstreaker smiled and looked up at the CMO, "You're in my face and you're bothering me," came the backstabbing sarcasm. Said fake smile vanished completely and was swiftly replaced by a snarl of utmost disgust as Sunstreaker scooted round so he had his back to Ratchet, resting his forehead on the cool metal of the wall.

Ratchet rolled his optics, "I was only trying to help," he pointed out, "You know slagging well if you don't turn up for duty Ironhide will be right on your back. And he won't take your sulking with any better humour than I have."

"Who cares? I quote myself: 'the only future he's got is as spare parts', and that will be when I dismantle him personally!!" Sunstreaker jumped up and onto his feet, slicing on arm angrily through the air. With his upper lip pulled back and into a snarl he did seem to resemble some form of dangerous caged animal.

Ratchet stepped back quickly, concerned by Sunstreaker's reaction. After a few seconds he left the room, muttering to himself in annoyance, "Punk kids... can't live with 'em... can't melt 'em down for spare parts..."

Sunstreaker promptly relocked the door and dropped onto his berth with his head in one hand, mustering the courage to look back into the mirror on the other side of the room. Sideswipe was lucky... he had a handsome face, a semi-decent figure and, contrary to popular belief, Sunstreaker did indeed think his brother's alt mode was pretty damn flashy. What had he done to make himself so beautiful...?

It occurred to the dismal Lamborghini that he had almost no control over his life. Sides walked into the room without knocking, and whether he was wanted or not Ratchet came in anyway. The thought made him feel even worse.

Sunstreaker massaged his temples with his fingertips, optics clamped shut in mental agony. There had to be something he had control over! His duties... no. His brother... no. The stupid war... no. Anything...?

All of it seemed to go on whether he wanted it to or not. He shuddered, and by chance once again glanced into the mirror. Primus but he hated his own reflection. There had to be something he could do about that!

A new paintjob was out of the question; he wasn't called Sunstreaker for nothing. Much as he hated his name, he had grown fond of the daisy-yellow his chassis had always been. Taking a look at his general figure, he wondered whether slimming down would be worth it, if it was even possible for robots. Or maybe building up some form of bulk, in regards to muscle? Yes, that would work; then he would be more beautiful and would show Tracks who was boss-bot!

Slimming was a simple matter of not eating for organics. But he was a Cybertronian, and as well as cutting back on Energon, he'd have to get rid of some of that dead weight hanging around his electronics. Ratchet would never agree to do it, especially after the way he'd just exploded at the medic, so he'd have to do it himself.

Sunstreaker stood up with an air of confidence about him. Hands on his hips and chin high, he had everything sorted. Yes! He would start right away! He would make sure that not even the tiniest shred of Energon made it into his personal quarters, let alone any other form of nourishment. He would kick Sideswipe out and tell him to go live with Bluestreak if he had to - he was not going to fail. Not this time.

No High-Grade, and none of that wretched pipe-clogging oil either. Tracks was going to be eating his words. More exercise too. Planning the whole thing somehow made Sunstreaker feel slightly better than before.

Snatching up the nearest clean data-pad he had, Sunstreaker scribbled down his new way of life. It would be no High-Grade, no oil, and no Low-Grade for that matter. He'd have water or something. Yes, and he would exercise a lot; all day if need be. Even if he had to resort to prancing around the base like a deranged moron, it would all be worth it in the long run.

And with that thought set firmly in his mind Sunstreaker stood up, unlocked the door and walked out feeling more satisfied than he was sure any other mech had ever been.

~~~

Harley: Yep, Sunny’s gonna destroy himself with robotic anorexia. That’s about the basics of it. Well, if robots can have Robotic AIDS, they can have anorexia. It’ll make more sense in the future.

Red Alert: Just you watch! Not all the content codes have been chosen, but hey...
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