Author: FuziPenguin
Pairings/Characters: Sideswipe, Jazz, Ratchet
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 4444
Summary: Sideswipe and Jazz are both feeling alone, but maybe they don't have to. Written on livejournal for tiamat1972's prompt of G1 Jazz & Sideswipe; 'Boulevard of Broken Dreams' by Green Day.
Warnings: Angst, friendship. (Fail on my part as I didn't see this request was for G1 and this fic is firmly set in Bay'verse.)
Also, shout out to sakiku's Acts series on AO3 from which I borrowed the concept of how Sideswipe and Sunstreaker recharge. I also want to say I've read another fic that mentioned Sideswipe guiding the new mechs of TF2 to Earth, but I can't find it. If anyone knows of such a fic, could you point it out to me so I can see give proper credit?
Disclaimer: This is a piece of fiction. No harm was intended in the creation of this work. All rights belong to the original creators.

After he hands Jolt, the twins, and the Arcee components into Ratchet's tender mercies, Optimus places a hand on his shoulder and gently tugs him away from the still smoking crater their orbital entry had made.

Sideswipe has to watch his feet; he's tired, and the organics are everywhere, looking up at him with a variety of expressions that are eerily similar to those of Cybertronian awe, fear, and excitement. A part of him finds the little squishy things fascinating, and he'll probably eagerly investigate his new neighbors and their culture, but just… later.

Right now, he wants to hug his limbs to himself, crumple into a ball, and break down for a few quiet moments. He and his charges are safe; there's not much that can get past Prime. And even if they did, Ratchet would be there to patch them back up.

But no matter how much his processor is telling him to relax from his hyper vigilant state, his spark is crying out with despair. Sunny's not here; he knew that, even as he herded their small group of mechs towards this planet. Sunstreaker had been in the opposite direction, but the others had looked to him for guidance, and getting them to Prime had been a better option than following Sunny's long-cold trail.

It had hurt; every part of him had ached as the distance between them grew. Even now, his spark throbs painfully, its beat arrhythmic. But Sunstreaker can take care of himself. Sideswipe is counting on that, because he hasn't seen a ship since he's landed; it's looking like Sunstreaker is going to have to come to him.

Sideswipe keeps his head up, though; no matter how much he wants to just fold in on himself, he's a frontliner and has his duty to his leader. He's still standing, so there's no reason why he can't give a report. Although, he's a little surprised that Prowl isn't hovering nearby with a datapad at the ready.

"Sideswipe…" Optimus begins and then trails off.

"Sir?" Sideswipe questions.

"It's good to see you," Prime says, reaching out to place a hand on Sideswipe's shoulder. Optimus had said it before, right after Sideswipe unfolded from his orbital entry pod. But now, it seems even more spark-felt.

Sideswipe takes a moment to truly study his leader. Optimus looks weary, something that Sideswipe emphasizes with. But his optics are welcoming and bright, as if their arrival has soothed something deep within Optimus' spark. He's relieved they're here, Sideswipe realizes, and he wonders what has happened, what he's missed.

"You too, sir," Sideswipe says, daring to reach out and touch Optimus' shoulder in return. Optimus smiles at him, and it takes a moment for Sideswipe to appreciate that he can see the expression. He doesn't think he has ever seen Optimus without his battle mask.

"As of yet, we do not have reports of any others following you through Earth's atmosphere," Optimus says, giving Sideswipe's shoulder a brief squeeze before releasing him. Sideswipe immediately misses the warmth from Prime's hand. He has to fight with himself to drop his own arm.

"Yeah, I waited for a bit on the other side of this planet's moon. Didn't know what I would be getting into when landing."

"You've done well," Optimus praises. "I've heard of Arcee, but I do not believe I have ever met Jolt or the younglings. How long have you been with them?"

"Sunny and me took them with us when we broke out of Binder's labs," Sideswipe says. "My chronometer's a little out of whack, but I think I've had them for a half dozen vorns at least."

Optimus settles back on his heels a little, studying Sideswipe for a long moment. "That sounds like a long story," he finally comments.

"It is," Sideswipe replies, his processor working to organize his memory files and begin the tale properly. But before he can, Optimus blindsides him.

"Sunstreaker is not here," Optimus states.

To hear it spoken aloud… Primus. Optimus could have spitted him with his sword, and it would have hurt less.

"I know," Sideswipe says, vocalizer spitting static before he can correct it. "We got separated after we escaped. He's still out there, but I haven't had contact with him in vorns." Just the never ending spark ache of separation.

Optimus' optics are sad, their brilliant blue light dimming. "He will find you. You always find each other."

Sideswipe can't trust himself to speak. He merely nods, gaze dropping to stare at the hard substance beneath his feet. He appreciates Optimus' words and the sentiment behind them, he really does. But it's getting more and more difficult to keep his composure in the face of Prime's empathy. He's just so tired.

Optimus must sense this, because he takes a step forward, patting Sideswipe on the shoulder once more.

"Go see Ratchet; he wants to check you over. Then rest. You can give me the rest of your report later, unless there's something of importance."

Sideswipe's optics flicker in surprise. "Importance? No, not really. And, you, sir? Isn't Prowl here?" he asks, used to his debriefings with the second in command.

Optimus shakes his head. "No. Prowl has not yet made his way here. It has only been myself, Ironhide, Ratchet, Bumblebee, and Jazz on Earth for the past year."

Blinking in confusion at the new measurement of time, Sideswipe looks around.

"Where's Jazz and Bumblebee?" he asks, realizing he hadn't seen either SpecOps agent. Ironhide, Ratchet, and Optimus where the only ones who had met them.

"Bumbleebee has a human charge who he watches over. And Jazz…" Optimus trails off. "Jazz was severely injured in our last battle with Megatron. He is still recovering."

"Megs is here?" Sideswipe asks, shocked. The rocket launcher on his back reflexively whirls to life.

"He has been neutralized," Optimus replies, his battle mask sliding into place with an ominous snap. He takes a step backwards, gesturing towards the large building that Ratchet had herded the others into. "Ratchet will be able to direct you to a place where you can rest. We will speak later."

And with that, the Prime turns and begins to walk away, a sedate pace that nevertheless quickly takes him over to Ironhide and a large group of the humans . Sideswipe sways in place for a moment, a little disturbed at how quickly Optimus had become withdrawn. It sounds as if things had happened here, big and important things that Sideswipe had missed out on.

Well. Maybe Ratchet can fill him in.

As his systems sluggishly boot up, proximity sensors alert him to another mech's energy field close by. The presence is new, but familiar, and Jazz's spark leaps. His helm turns, the cables in his neck twinging painfully as they abruptly stretch.

"Prowl?" Jazz murmurs, his optics not responding to his demands to online. Not much is responding actually, and Jazz fights off the despair over such little improvement to his frame since the last time he had awoken.

There are the sounds of metal shifting, and the presence moves a little closer. Close enough for Jazz to realize that it is familiar, yes, but not the mech he had been so desperately hoping for.

"Uh, no. Sorry, Jazz," a tenor voice says, the Kaon accent helping to identify the speaker.

"Sideswipe," Jazz sighs. One of his hands twitch, the arm flopping up long enough for fingers to thread around his and squeeze.

"Yup. That's me. Wow, Jazz. You're looking a little beat up," Sideswipe comments. His voice is cheerful, but Jazz hears the worry.

Jazz's optics finally, finally, respond and they flicker to life, Sideswipe's faceplates coming into focus as he leans over Jazz's prone form. It takes a while before the information his optics are giving him reach his processor.

"Just arrived?" he asks, observing the scorched plating.

"A few klicks ago," Sideswipe responds. His optics are scanning Jazz's frame, and his frown deepens. "So what I'd miss?"

Jazz snorts. Oh, if only Sideswipe had been present a few weeks ago. Maybe Jazz wouldn't be lying here now, held together by only Primus' will and duct tape, as Ratchet had declared days ago.

"Lots. Where's your better half?" he asks, hearing more than the usual amount of voices in the surrounding MedBay.

It sounds as if Sideswipe had brought friends; the more the merrier, but the timing certainly could have been better. And Prowl wasn't among them; Jazz knew that without looking. If Prowl had had arrived, it would have been him and not Sideswipe sitting by Jazz's side.

Still. It's nice to see a friendly face. The entire Ark crew had adopted Bumblebee when he had first joined them, but the Twins had always held a special place in many of the command crew's sparks.

The hand holding his spasms slightly before Sideswipe carefully places Jazz's arm back on to the berth.

"Not here," Sideswipe replies, his expression blank.

"Alive?" Jazz guesses. It's often said that with twins, one won't live if the other dies. Sideswipe looks bent, but not broken, so Jazz suspects that Sunstreaker is still functioning.

Sideswipe nods, hand absently creeping up to rub at the plating covering his spark.

"Yeah," he says, vocalizer rebooting before continuing on. "Left me to watch the sparklings and is off seeing the sights." His gaze turns to the other side of the room where the voices are coming from. Now Jazz is intrigued. What could have happened to separate the notoriously inseparable? Who are the other mechs with him? But a more pressing question comes to Jazz's processor first.

"Have you seen Prowl?" The words pour out of Jazz before he can stop them, the tone so close to begging that Jazz is momentarily ashamed. That fades quickly though; if anyone can understand, it's the mech sitting beside him.

Sideswipe's gaze returns to him, apology written in his optics. "No. I haven't. The last I heard, he was wreaking havoc on the 'cons' supply runs."

"Sounds like Prowler," Jazz replies, trying to manage the disappointment. He misses his mate something fierce, especially now when he's stir crazy from inaction. Times like these, he wishes they had bonded. At least he would know if Prowl were still alive.

But they hadn't bonded, too worried about the consequences to the rest of the Autobots if one of them were to be killed. So he doesn't know. He just has to have faith in Prowl's abilities and wait for Prowl to come to him. Because right now, he certainly isn't going anywhere.

"Well, my mech," Jazz says, as cheerfully as he can muster. "Sounds like you got a story for me. And I ain't got much but time for the moment."

It's almost a relief to have new frames to touch, to scan, to focus on. Their injuries are treatable with the supplies he has, and it feels good to be able to actually do something. Jazz's injuries, on the other hand, are much more severe, requiring components that are galaxies away at their closest.

Ratchet has hit a frustrating plateau with Jazz's repairs. The mech's spark is still strong, but his frame is a mangled mass, and his self-repair is agonizingly slow. He keeps Jazz in medical stasis most of the time, pain blocks in dwindling supply.

But Sideswipe and Jazz had been thick as thieves once, taking it upon themselves to serve as moral officers for the rest of the crew. Ratchet took a chance and woke Jazz from medical stasis, hoping that seeing a friend would perk him up.

Jazz has been different since the battle with Megatron. Somber, quiet and withdrawn. Ratchet attributes much of it to Jazz's injuries, but he's got the feeling that there's something else going on as well. Ratchet worries about their third in command, but there's not much else he can do but what he already is.

The two of them are over in Jazz's corner, Sideswipe's arms waving around erratically as he weaves some tale. There's a smile on Jazz's lips; it's small, but it's there, and Ratchet will take what he can get.

"All right. That's the big stuff; just a few dings and scraps that your self-repair should handle," Ratchet announces. "As with the others, we'll do a more thorough exam after you've had a chance to rest and soak up that energon."

"Thank you, sir," Jolt replies, his optics subserviently lowered.

The other new arrivals are huddled together in a nearby quiet corner, watching Ratchet with wary optics. They had all donned similar expressions of dismay when Sideswipe had told them to go with Ratchet, and had given Sideswipe longing glances as he stayed behind on the tarmac with Optimus. They obviously trusted the frontliner, and Ratchet was amazed that Sideswipe had gotten them this far. They were young and twitchy, too inexperienced to be good fighters, and exhibiting every indication of suffering from deep-seated trauma.

Each had come to his exam table as if they were being forced into the Pits. Ratchet hadn't the spark to be anything but soft-spoken and gentle-handed. Even then, they had flinched when he moved too fast, shrunk back when his voice rose but a little in volume.

He had done only the most superficial of exams and repairs, knowing the more in depth processor scans and anti-viral programs would require a level of trust that was obviously lacking. It would have to be enough to replenish their low tanks and give them the opportunity for a good long defrag.

Ratchet shakes his head as he sends Jolt off to join the others. He'll have to get the story from Sideswipe before he asks any delicate questions. He already has a sinking suspicion of what Sideswipe will tell him. It is easy to see the common denominator; Ratchet has heard horror stories of Decepticon scientists performing experiments on mechs bonded from creation in an attempt to create better soldier drones.

Ex-venting a heavy sigh, Ratchet watches Jolt curl himself between Skids and the blue Arcee triplet. They all make room for him as if they had done this before, and when they finally settle in an oddly shaped circle of multi-colored limbs, Ratchet realizes that four of the individuals face outward, covering each compass direction. Ratchet blinks confused optics at the pile for several moments before remembering seeing Sideswipe and Sunstreaker recharge in much the same manner, each guarding the other's back. Ratchet wonders what else the twins taught the younglings.

Shaking his head, Ratchet leaves his farce of an exam room and approaches his final patient. Jazz and Sideswipe are now talking quietly, the smile gone from Jazz's face. Sideswipe hears Ratchet coming and looks over his shoulder, faceplates concerned.

"How they doing?" Sideswipe asks immediately.

"Tanks were a little low, but I gave them enough energon and coolant to bring them up to 75%. Our energon converters are in working condition, but just barely, and we don't have much stockpiled. It'll be enough to last them through the night at least. There were plenty of dents and scrapes from atmo entry, but nothing serious. I'll do a reevaluation after they get a nice, long recharge," Ratchet replies.

It's as if a tension wire is suddenly cut; Sideswipe abruptly sags in place, swaying on his makeshift chair. Ratchet leaps forward, spark flaring in terror. Out of all of them, Sideswipe had seemed in the best shape, despite the heavy blackening of his frame upon re-entry. He hadn't been drooping with fatigue as the others had, but had stayed to give Optimus a brief report after shepherding his charges into Ratchet's care. Now Ratchet is kicking himself for not dragging the warrior in with the others.

"Sideswipe!" Ratchet exclaims and steadies the warrior, performing a quick scan. The results shock him to his struts: Sideswipe's energy levels read only 3%, barely enough to sustain being online much less walking around and carrying on conversations. His arrhythmic spark readings are enough to send Ratchet's racing, and his hands shake as he fumbles transfusion supplies out of his subspace.

"You're practically in stasis, you idiotic glitch!" Ratchet shouts, propping the limp frontliner against Jazz's berth. "Why didn't you tell me you were this low? What were you thinking?!"

"They needed it more," Sideswipe murmurs, optics dimming alarmingly. "Sunny and I were used to rations; they weren't."

"Your systems require nearly twice as much energon as theirs do," Ratchet snarls, jabbing one of the transfusion needles into his own cephalic port. The other needle he inserts much more gently into Sideswipe's jugular line, his starved systems immediately initiating the transfusion.

"Ratch… don't…" Sideswipe says, trying to pull the needle out of his neck. Ratchet slaps Sideswipe's hand away, tempted to also smack the frontliner's hard helm.

"Quit it. I have more than enough to spare. Self-sacrificing aft! What in the Pits happened to you out there?!" Ratchet exclaims. He doesn't really expect an answer, but Sideswipe gives him one anyway.

"I didn't think I'd get them here, Ratch," Sideswipe mumbles. "I lost Fast Track and Pinch within the first orn. Breaker was right after. Their sparks just… faded. When we woke out of recharge… they were gone. I was so worried about Jolt. Is he gonna be ok?"

Sideswipe's arm flies up, catching Ratchet's wrist with a grip that probably would have dented armor if the warrior had been at full strength. As it is, it still makes Ratchet wince, and he carefully pries Sideswipe's fingers off, patting them gently. Before he can speak, Sideswipe rambles on, optics fixated on Ratchet's faceplates.

"He's got no one left. He lost half of his gestalt before ever getting captured, and the rest were in suspension when we escaped. Sunny and I merged with him a few times, and that seemed to help. Then we lost Sunny and I tried on my own, but we just didn't work anymore. Skids and Mudflap barely know how to merge with each other, and Arcee is just too fragged up. Primus, Ratch, the things they did to her," Sideswipe says, shuddering.

"They're all messed up, but Jolt's hurting the worst."

"And you're just fine and dandy," Ratchet mutters sarcastically.

"It's ok," Sideswipe says faintly, head lolling back onto Jazz's berth. The saboteur cranes his head to watch, unable to do anything but frown in concern.

"Sunny's alive; we're already doing better than the others. We've been apart before. It sucks slag, but we'll be ok. You know him; always making an entrance. He'll be fashionably late, probably hooking up with Prowl right now and causing him grief," Sideswipe says, rolling his head to the side to smile reassuringly at Jazz.

"I'm sure he is, bitlet," Jazz replies, shooting a worried glance at Ratchet as Sideswipe's optic shutters finally close.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to fall apart on ya," Sideswipe says, low enough that Ratchet's audials have to strain to catch the words.

Ratchet abruptly steps forward, sliding arms around Sideswipe's shoulders in a tight embrace. He drops a kiss on top of the frontliner's helm, holding him close.

"Fall apart as much as you want," Ratchet gruffly replies. "I'll put you back together. Just don't deactivate on me."

Not the twins. Dear Primus, not the twins. Over the many years he'd worked on Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, he'd come to view them as his own creations. His joy at seeing Sideswipe unfold from his pod had been tempered by fear when Sunstreaker didn't immediately follow.

"Can't get rid of me that easily," Sideswipe says, slurring the words.

"Thank Primus for that," Ratchet murmurs. "Get some recharge, Sideswipe. You're safe now."

"'k", he says, barely audible. Ratchet listens to the hum of Sideswipe's systems shutting down, scanning him once more to see that his levels are now at a much more tolerable 42%.

Ratchet stands back, transfusion lines still strung between them. His optics observe Sideswipe's awkwardly slumped form and his precarious position atop the stool with disapproval.

"Put him up here," Jazz offers.

One of Ratchet's orbital ridges shoots up. "With you?"

"More than enough room. And he'll probably recharge better next to another mech, especially a familiar one," Jazz explains. The saboteur is right about the space; he is lying on an old semi-truck bed and because of his small frame, there is ample room for another mech, even one of Sideswipe's size.

Nodding, Ratchet carefully unhooks the transfusion set and making sure Sideswipe is stable, he gently slides Jazz to one edge of the makeshift berth. Grunting with effort, he heaves Sideswipe into his arms and places him next to Jazz. Sideswipe makes no sound while being moved, but as soon as he is prone, he rolls over, wriggling until his back is flush against Jazz's side.

Ratchet's surprised optics meet Jazz's amused smile. "Told ya."

"Hmmph. I don't want him rolling over on top of you," Ratchet cautioned.

"He'll be fine, Ratch. I doubt he'll move for at least a day." Jazz's visor dims to a soft blue as he surveys Sideswipe's limp frame. "Leave me online, will ya?"

Ratchet frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. "If what you say is true, he'll be pretty boring company."

"Maybe I'll recharge better next to a familiar frame," Jazz replies, his lips quirking in a lopsided grin.

"Alright. Just let me know if he suddenly starts using you as a teddy bear."

Shaking his head, Ratchet walks back across the warehouse with the now rare sound of Jazz's chuckles chiming softly in Ratchet's audials.

~ end