A/N: Written for Savcat. I couldn't live without you. Happy birthday.
Here in the darkness of the Ark, while Earth has finally made its complete rotation back into nighttime and the moonlight is the only thing easing the black shadows around them, Sideswipe envies the dreams of humans.
Cybertronians, unlike other forms of life, unlike biologicals, don't dream. They don't "sleep" either, favoring instead a recharge cycle that allows them to run on energy for longer than humans could imagine. Sideswipe wishes sometimes that he possessed the ability to dream, if only because he found no sense of comfort in the blank recharge that took him in when his energy was low.
That same wish is visiting him tonight.
He tips his head so that it rests against the window, the window that Sunstreaker had always complained about, claiming that the glare of sunlight would bleach the sleek golden paint. It's suffocatingly dark tonight but for the soft blue light that emanates from Sideswipe's open optics. There is one other mech present as well, but out cold, optics dim and mechanics humming with the help of the recharge booth, but Sideswipe has no time for the physical comfort that the other offers.
The time for grieving had come and gone long ago. According to Hunter, that poor abused human who still shakes with any mention of metal, who still can't bear to touch any of the Autobots for that sickeningly familiar sensation of hot metal against human skin - yes, according to Hunter, the mourning period is long over. Sideswipe can't bring himself to even think about stopping, however, insisting that Hunter O'Nion simply doesn't understand how it feels to lose an entire half of oneself.
A whir of gears and the other presence sits up behind up, murmuring his name in a soft slur that soon clears itself as recharge fades. Sideswipe turns to barely glance at him in the darkness, the optics coming to life, black and white armor still chipped at the shoulders from their battles.
"I'm fine," Sideswipe insists, though Prowl is anything but forgiving when it comes to self-abuse.
"You're not," Prowl replies. "You need recharge. I don't expect you to cease your grieving anytime soon; however, you must come to terms with what happened. It wasn't your fault."
Which is nonsense and Sideswipe knows it. If he had only paid more attention to his twin, if he had perhaps seen the signs that Sunstreaker had been flaking away, if he'd known about the betrayal before it had become out-of-hand... then perhaps it would be Sunstreaker with him tonight instead of Prowl.
Prowl is an excellent source of comfort and the natural choice when it comes to needing someone to babble logic at him until the fear dissipates, but he is not Sunstreaker, and that face repeats itself to him over and over whenever he and Prowl are touching each other and his fingers trace over the chevron on Prowl's helm.
He wonders who Prowl imagines being with when they are alone together. Perhaps Bluestreak with his bold inquisitiveness and gentle manner in interpersonal relationships. Perhaps Ratchet with his tired nature and firm stance on the war.
Or perhaps he, too, imagines Sunstreaker. Sideswipe wouldn't know - he stopped paying attention to his brother long ago. The first mistake.
Sideswipe merely comes closer and curls up next to Prowl in the recharge booth, plugging himself into it while his kisses along Prowl's mouth are experimental yet comforting. Prowl reciprocates the kiss and pulls him closer so that they rest flush against one another, and Sideswipe imagines that it is Sunstreaker kissing him, and Sunstreaker's hands at the small of his back.
They drift back into recharge together. Another dreamless night spent in blank, black shadows.
And Sideswipe wishes, more than anything, that he could at least visit his twin by dreaming.