C.M.D: Back by popular demand! This is my most recent, popular, currently running fic, inspired by the wonderful Kittycon/Autodog mythos of DA users such as Krazifreak, SallyChan and many more. Originally posted on here, I'm reposting as a censored version. For uncensored reading pleasure, please follow one of the links in my profile to another site.
Things to note, I do use an age system, to assist with the passage of time and correlation of events. Full age charts are available on my DA; also, characters do age and will be noted when it becomes important again to the story.
Younglings: 12-18 yrs
Sparklings: 2-11 yrs
Age of consent for sex and marriage with guardian consent: 16 yrs

Ratchet wasn't entirely sure why he was here.

"You really need to start accepting others," the vet growled, rubbing at the bridge of his olfactory sensors. The other 'bot before him, also an autodog, merely shook his helm; empty, calculative blue optics remaining fixed on Ratchet.

"Unnecessary," Perceptor answered in his emotionless vocalizer. As they usually did, the border collie's ears were perked up in constant attentiveness. They did not twitch or fold, even as the mech continued his explanation. "No other autodog qualified."

"Qualified?," Ratchet snorted, grabbing a steaming mug of hot oil off his desk. He took a drink from the cup, revelling in the feel of the black liquid bringing his sensors to full capacity. Feeling more active now, the labrador turned his focus back on Perceptor. "That's a fancy way for saying that you don't trust any of the other mechs in this whole slagging department."

Perceptor did not respond.

Ratchet released a weary intake, setting his cup down and picking up the datapad that Perceptor had first brought in with him. He had put it off to the side initially, intent on refusing the border collie what he wanted -after all, the autodog would have to eventually come out of his shell. All this withdrawal and lack of interaction with the others was a hazard to the scientist's already hectic life. But apparently, Perceptor was not going to back down on this, and the vet was feeling just a little too tired to bother fighting with the mech this day.

"They're younglings now, yes?," the labrador asked distractedly, pouring over the datapad's contents.

"Correct," came Perceptor's answer.

Ratchet frowned as he scrolled down the file. "They haven't had a check-up or shot since they were wee sparklings? And -wait, what, I was the last 'bot to administer both?! Perceptor!" The labrador growled at the motionless border collie, who, to his credit, remained amazingly unmoved by the vet's wrath. "Just what the slag were you thinking?!," Ratchet yelled. "Sparklings require constant scans. They can get infected, break servos and whatnot, develop viruses -a responsible parent is supposed to bring them every few months for check-ups."

Perceptor blinked.

"Why have you waited so long to get them looked at?," Ratchet continued, his growl seeping further into his shout as frustration grew. Perceptor could be so fragging apathetic sometimes. "What the slag am I to do with a medical background like this?!"

"Perform all necessary scans and administer necessary firewalls and binary coding," was the other autodog's answer.

There was an audible grinding noise as Ratchet's jaw snapped shut, denta plating screeching against one another at the vet's scandalized shock. Perceptor must of have had some serious cybertronium-steeled back struts to talk to him like that. Cycling a couple heavy intakes to calm himself down, the labrador dutifully turned his back on the smaller mech, shuffling through the rest of his datapads. "Very well, Perceptor," the 'bot acquiesced. "Bring your sons in; I'll give them the mandatory scans."

"I am grateful for your acceptance," the border collie replied. The scientist turned on his pede and left the room quietly. Releasing another exasperated intake, Ratchet gathered all necessary materials, discarding his mug of oil still sitting on his desk and exiting his office.

If he was going to do this exam, then he would need something stronger to keep his systems running fully.

xxXxXxx

Downtown of Iacon was like one giant plaza. All major facilities were positioned in a hexagonal formation around city hall -the hospital and medical research department, the science department, the communications department, the energon processing plant- with several smaller businesses and a mall thrown into the mix. Border collie tails wagging merrily, two younglings stepped out from a small ice cream parlour just beside the hospital; a cone in each of their servos. Atop of each of their helms, one set of golden and the other orange kittycon ears twitched with the passing breeze.

"Nice so, yes brother?," one asked, visor lifted to the beautiful blue sky as he licked at his energon cone.

"Mhmmm," the other answered, mouth occupied with his own ice cream. He finished his mouthful before properly replying to his brother. "Yes, Jetstorm. Nice very being today. 'Bots outside should be, indoors not."

The mixed mech identified as Jetstorm grinned at his twin's -Jetfire- words. He could only agree with his brother -today was very nice. The weather was moderate for late spring, just touching on the summer heat, with a warm gentle breeze drifting by every once in a while to stir lazily about their helms or knees. The sun was out and there were only a few clouds in the sky; flat and fluffy, they hovered in the air above, sliding along almost sluggishly. A perfect day to be out and play, have oneself an energon goodie or two. Still, despite the distraction, Jetstorm couldn't help but to wonder...

"Brother, presence making necessary be inside?," he asked his twin, lowering his cone as he turned to Jetfire.

The other mech turned his attention to his brother. "Meaning I be, Uncle Wheeljack being insistent we stay the put," Jetstorm continued, trying to explain his slight worry to his sibling. Jetfire merely smiled at his twin's words, sidling closer and grasping the other's free servo.

"Not worry, Jetstorm," the other 'bot replied. "Not doing the bad are we; just going out. Back we be shortly."

The blue hybrid still had some doubts, but he soon agreed to his brother's train of thought. It wasn't often that they were allowed outside, especially on their own. Usually they were stuck indoors for lessons, or granted exit for small outings to the supermarket or other such necessary facilities. The twins were hardly ever given the chance to simply hang out at the mall or at the park. The constant restrictive lifestyle they led could be excruciatingly wearisome sometimes...

"Where heading next we be go- oomph!"

Jetstorm was cut off from his next inquiry as he accidentally slammed into someone, the intakes being forced from his slight form with the collision. Tripping over his pedes as he tried to back-pedal, the youngling fell to his aft; Jetfire attempting to reach out and catch his twin before that happened, but failing. The hybrid mech rubbed at the pain on his chassis, lifting his helm to apologize to the other 'bot that he had bumped into. The words stuttered and then disappeared in a streak of static in his vocalizer as he saw the hateful expression on the stranger's faceplates.

"Stupid half-breed!," the mech growled, cat ears twisted back on his helm with rage. His red optics glanced down on the energon ice cream soaking into his shirt, before snapping back up to Jetstorm. "What, can't you watch where you're walking?"

Beside the kittycon, his two friends leered down upon the twins; their sneers menacing and twisted. "That's disrespect isn't it," said the 'bot on the left. "Dirty blooded Pit-spawns like yourselves should be more respectful to your superiors, dontcha think? Making a mess like this... You've sullied his shirt now with your nasty germs, so how do you plan to pay for it?"

"P-pay?," Jetfire stuttered in shock. "I-i don't..."

"If you don't have the credits, there are certainly other ways for you to pay us back," the third kittycon smirked, optics darkening with lust. Their leader -the one with the energon stain on his shirt- grinned along with his comrade, reaching forward and pulling Jetstorm to his pedes by the neck of his sweater.

"I agree...," the mech rumbled. The sound was disgusting to hear to the two younglings, who had finally clued in to what the kittycons were talking about. "Let us go and find a nice, quiet spot and we can do our... negotiations... there."

"Not we think!," Jetstorm protested, pulling against the larger 'bot's hold. "Not be going with you any of the where."

The kittycon snarled at the protest, lifting the hybrid higher, pedes kicking through the air as Jetstorm tried to return to the ground again. "Let go him!," Jetfire shouted, running forward and swinging at the mech. In surprise at the youngling's ferocity, the kittycon complied to the command... by throwing Jetstorm into his approaching twin. The both of them fell to the ground, skinning knee and elbow joints in the process. Laughing cruelly, the kittycons watched as the twins struggled to quickly rise to their pedes again, disentangling themselves from the other.

"'Let go him'?," one of the 'bots taunted. "What, can't you speak proper cybertronian or something? What kind of malfunction do you have?"

"Listen," the leader started again, ignoring his chortling comrades, "It doesn't have to be this way. Just be good little femmes and follow us. We promise it'll be a good time... More than what you half-breeds deserve."

"No," Jetstorm and Jetfire answered simultaneously. They glared at the kittycons, feeling disgusted, enraged and confused, all at once. Disgusted because the big oafs were under the presumption that the younglings would willingly follow them anywhere, where they would more than likely be beaten and then forced into a unwilling interface after. Acting as if by doing all this, they were performing a charity to the twins. They were enraged because people always seemed to look at them strangely when they were outside -averting obvious glances or ignoring their presence altogether. Sometimes though, people were just a little mean to them, and without reason it always seemed. Today though had to be the first time anyone was so verbally insulting to them, calling them half-breeds and being quite cruel. And they were confused too, because... well...

The kittycons stepped closer, and the twins fell into a defensive stance. They knew that as respectful citizens it would be proper for them to simply turn and leave, but with the other mechs being so persistent it was unlikely they would be allowed to walk away peacefully. As the thugs took another step forward, Jetstorm and Jetfire glanced at each other, sharing a silent message with their optics. Fists clenching, they waited for the moment when the looming 'bots would be just a little closer; enough for their servos to reach out and-

"Oww!"

The twins jumped at the head kittycon's shout, watching stunned as the mech stumbled forward a little bit, grasping his helm between his servos. His ears were flattened against his helm, and as he regained his balance, instead of turning to face the younglings, he turned and looked behind him -to the old autodog standing behind the trio, a frown on his faceplates. In one servo was a heavy medical datapad, which had obviously been the object that had caused the kittycon pain from the way that the labrador held it. In the autodog's other servo was a large cup of oil, hot and fresh from the nearby PawBucks.

"If you know what's good for you," the stranger growled, "the three of you will scatter, before I decide to perform some... necessary... medical amputations. Without morphine."

The kittycons' tails bristled at the subtle threat, but their faceplates paled considerably at the thought of what the irate vet might do to them. Gathering themselves quickly, muttering threats and possible half-sparked apologies under their intakes, the mechs quickly dashed off; soon disappearing out of sight altogether. Jetfire and Jetstorm -still stunned by the sudden intervention- could only blink at the kittycons' departure, hardly noticing the old labrador approaching them. They eventually snapped out of their trance, when the autodog waved a servo before their optics, drawing the twins' attention.

"Hmph," the labrador sniffed as the younglings looked up at him. "Well, at least you're fully functional. If I may, I suggest that both you ladies head on home now. No need to have another run-in with those overcharged mechs." His piece said, the stranger turned about on his pede, walking off and towards the hospital from whence he had first come from.

Jetfire and Jetstorm continued to remain where they were standing, fully baffled now. Slowly, their cheekplates began to heat up; sparks spinning erratically in their chassis as their fuel tanks sputtered in strange, quirky patterns. They both turned to face each other, noticing the blush evident on the other's faceplates. "B-brother, you...?," Jetfire asked.

"Y-yes," Jetstorm answered, not needing to hear the rest of his twin's question to understand what was being asked. After all, he could feel it too...

That slow-enacting emotional programming that was the prequel to a crush. Stupid really, their logistics argued, considering the chances of them ever meeting the autodog again were awfully slim. All the same, that had to be the first time that anyone -aside from their family and tutors- had looked at them, like, really looked, and treated them as if they were a person as well; without disgust, scorn or any other similar, negative emotions on their faceplates. And the mech had been so gracious as to defend the younglings as well against those thuggish kittycons... though the act was not really necessary. The twins were quite capable of handling their own in a fight. Still, such treatment... they had never received such before, and Jetstorm and Jetfire couldn't help the oncoming crush that arose from the mysterious vet's chivalrous deeds. They were quick to overlook the fact that the autodog was older than their own creator and obviously a bit of a grouch as well, focusing on his rugged, tempered good looks and fortitude.

"He... he was...," Jetstorm swooned, cupping his servos to his chassis.

"Oh, not be gotting his name though!," Jetfire bemoaned, still blushing as he thought about the labrador. Jetstorm noticed this as well and quickly became subdued as well. It was only by perchance that he glanced at the watch about his wrist, noting what time it was.

"Ah! Brother, must back we go to Uncle Wheeljack!," the blue hybrid exclaimed, waving his arm before his twin. "Late it being, late really! Worried they be will if not we hurry."

The orange 'bot managed to finally glance at the hands displayed on his brother's watch and felt his own ears perk in surprise. It really was late! They had taken much longer than either had anticipated, what with those kittycons trying to start some trouble, and now they were super late returning to their engineer babysitter. No doubt they would be getting a stern lecture for this. Moving quickly, the twins turned about and began running back to the science building, from which they had first come from.

Only when they were within sight of the building did Jetstorm turn his helm to his brother, and ask the question that had been on both of their processors since the fiasco with those brutish kittycons, "Why all 'bots femmes are the believing we be?"

xxXxXxx

"What's taking them so long?"

Sitting in the only chair in the examination room, Wheeljack attempted to speak up, but the irate labrador's pacing shut him up real quick; the bulldog shifting his gaze off to the side when Ratchet's optics landed on him. "I was under the assumption that Perceptor was a stickler for punctuality," the vet growled, turning about on his pede again and starting another revolution.

"Well, he is," Wheeljack replied. "But, I mean... the twins, well they've got... this, ummm, habit you know, of, well... sneaking... off."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?," Ratchet grumbled to the air, pacing back and forth. His optics fell on the meek engineer, frown pulling at old lip components. "And you had trouble keeping an optic out on two full-grown boys?"

"C'mon, Ratchet! Give a mech a break," Wheeljack groaned. "They're wily, those two. They've got all of Perceptor's genius pretty much; none of his introversion. Bad, bad, bad combo..."

The labrador rolled his optics at the excuse, increasing the speed of his pacing. "I worry about him...," the vet began. Wheeljack's ears perked at the soft-spoken words, the bulldog's attention fixing entirely on the other autodog.

"You know how Percy is, Ratchet," the engineer mumbled back. "He's fine as long as he's got his projects and his sons. Doesn't need much else..."

"That's not true, Wheeljack, and you know it," Ratchet replied, coming to a pause once again. "I know I've let many things slide over the years, but I just can't let this continue. I may not have known the both of you before the night of the twins' birth, but even I can tell when a 'bot has self-mutilated themselves."

"S-self mutilation...?!," Wheeljack gasped, staring at Ratchet in shock. The labrador turned to the sitting bulldog, lip components pursed seriously.

"Mutilation doesn't just represent itself in physical harm, Wheeljack. Any damage done to the processor or inner circuitry as a direct will of a 'bot, going against one's natural coding, is considered mutilation. Can you really sit there and tell met that Perceptor was always so detached and withdrawn from everything around him?"

Wheeljack dropped his gaze to the floor, staring at the space between his pedes. Ratchet's explanation had been clear and precise, and even the engineer was hard-pressed not to admit that Perceptor's personality was incorrect coding; but to confess that out loud... "There's just some things I can't say, Ratchet. You know that."

Ratchet sighed at the evasive response, shoulders slumping with defeat. "I do, Wheeljack. I do. I just want to be able to help you both better," the vet said softly. "I can't do anything if I don't understand the whole picture. And you... don't tell me that this self-destructive behaviour of Perceptor's isn't affecting you either."

The bulldog didn't respond this time.

Frowning again, Ratchet began his pacing for a third time. He was pulled out of his rhythm when the door to the examination room finally opened; turning to it in time to see Perceptor walk in. "Took you long enough," Ratchet growled. "I'm off-duty, Perceptor, the least you can do is keep appointments you feel the need to harass me f-"

The labrador cut himself off as two other 'bots followed the scientist into the room, optics widening slightly in surprise at the two 'femmes' he had run into earlier. "...these are your sons?," the vet asked, keeping his voice neutral, crossing his arms across his chassis.

"Yes. We apologize for our lateness," Perceptor said. "There were come complications during our arrival here."

"Fine," Ratchet replied, dutifully keeping his optics off of the twins standing behind their creator still. "You can sit in my office until the examination is over then. Feel free to ask the front desk for some oil and the like."

At the dismissal, the border collie inclined his head slightly, turning to both of his sons. Ratchet peered out of the corner of his optic as he turned around and shuffled through the datapads sitting on the counter; watching as Perceptor patted each of his younglings' helms before kissing them each on the forehead. It was almost humorous to watch -the two mechs, nearly as tall as their creator, received the awkward affection with welcome; while the scientist seemed utterly perplexed and uncomfortable with his actions, in that apathetic manner that Perceptor did everything with. Ratchet quickly looked away when Perceptor made to draw back, listening as both border collie and bulldog exited the room, door closing behind them as they left.

Waiting a few astroseconds longer, Ratchet finally turned around and faced the younglings standing almost uncertainly at the doorway, feeling a frown pull at his lip components. "I must apologize," the vet started. "For earlier...," he elaborated, when the twins blinked in confusion. "I meant no insult, calling you femmes. I wasn't aware that you were Perceptor's sons."

"Oh," both younglings said. Ratchet blinked, frown growing a little more as he waited for them to say something more. The younger 'bots seemed to realize this because they glanced at each other, towards the vet, and then to the floor. "W-we confused are for mistake... but the sorries we be accepting from you."

Oh, they were confused? Ratchet lifted an optic ridge, looking the twins over. The clothes they were wearing, though sweaters and capris, were obviously of femme style and accentuated their frames' curves. Were they really not aware of how they appeared? Shaking his helm, the labrador decided to push that train of thought aside and get back to the task at hand. "It's been a long time since your last check-up, so there's a lot of scans and coding that needs to be done," Ratchet began, switching over into professional mode. "We'll start with the easy stuff first. Hop onto the berth please."

Pulling standard medical devices out of the drawer, Ratchet picked up the otoscope, turning to watch as the twins hurriedly climbed onto the examination table; settling servos in their laps and sitting up straight with attentiveness. "Jetfire and Jetstorm, right?," Ratchet asked, glancing at the younglings' medical datapad before approaching the berth himself.

"Yes," they answered together. "I Jetfire," the orange 'bot said. "And being Jetstorm I," the blue one added. The labrador nodded his head in acknowledgement, not bothering to question the oddity of their speech patterns. If that was the only strange thing they had developed under Perceptor's rearing, then there was nothing really for him to be concerned about.

"Name's Ratchet, kids. Though I'm sure Percpetor's already informed you of that. You're hybrids, aren't ya?," the vet said, gently grasping Jetstorm's ear and putting the otoscope into the furry appendage. The youngling squirmed a little, but otherwise did not protest to the action. "I can recognize the border collie tails, but your ears are distinctly not of the same type associated with that breed. The possibility of other autodog genetics are slim... the shape and fur are much too unalike. I would assume Kittycon CNA in that case."

Ratchet, satisfied, pulled away and went to check Jetfire's ears. He paused, when he noticed how tense the twins had gotten. "Don't be like that now...," the autodog began. "I'm not gonna judge you. These days it's not uncommon to find interspecies bondmates, and I've never made it a habit to form opinions about 'bots I hardly even know. I'm a vet... there's no room for such silly prejudice in the work I do. I'm just making an observation. I suppose that's why your creator finds it necessary to keep a constant optic on you. Not many others have adjusted to this modern change... and I know a lot more are outright hateful to a 'bot bearing mixed heritage. Like those punks earlier today."

"Making sense... that what you saying," Jetstorm mumbled softly. "Y-you not minding really?," his brother asked, jolting against the otoscope as he tried to look at Ratchet. The vet frowned, putting the medical instrument aside.

"No, I don't. Now would you just sit still and let me conduct your scans? The sooner we're done, the sooner your creator can have you back." Appeased with the younglings' obedience, the labrador turned to the rest of his tools; mentally listing the number of things he had to do before they were finished. Honestly, what had Wheeljack been talking about? The twins were very well-mannered and behaved for their age.

Jetfire and Jetstorm could feel their cheekplates heating up, and tried their very best to hide the rising blush.

This had to be Fate.

Primus, the chances of meeting the mech that they had fallen for again were slim to none. And yet, who else should be the vet to give them check-ups than the very autodog that had valiantly saved them earlier that joor! It had been near impossible to cover their surprise when they entered the room; harder still to hide their excitement and nervousness, now that they were alone with the labrador. Ratchet, they had to remind themselves, the autodog's name was Ratchet. And he didn't care that they were hybrids either! Such information made their sparks pulse in large, happy swells.

Not knowing what else to say, and quite content to simply bask in the vet's presence, Jetfire and Jetstorm remained silent as Ratchet went about his tasks; obediently following through each of the autodog's requests willingly. Through their bond -a typical development between twins- they chattered gaily.

'So handsome, he not is, brother?,' Jetstorm sent over, visor fixated on Ratchet dreamily as he attended to Jetfire. The orange youngling had his sweater off, baring his chassis to the vet, who was at the moment intently studying the catches and seams precedent to the hybrid's spark casing.

'Yes... And servos gentle much,' Jetfire practically purred back as Ratchet's servos lighted on his chassis, fingers stroking into the seams. Jetstorm felt a little envious of his twin, but quickly squashed such negative feelings when he felt phantasmal touches brushing along his own still covered chassis.

'He check spark, brother?'

They had not really been listening as Ratchet explained all the medical procedures he'd be running them through. 'Suppose yes, brother,' the orange mech replied. Jetfire couldn't suppress the giggles that rose as the vet attached a series of tiny cables around the outside of his spark chamber. 'T-tickles does...'

'D-does!,' Jetstorm laughed back, as Ratchet approached him and put him through the same procedure. He could feel his spark swell exceptionally as those skilled servos brushed along his metal flesh, lost in simulations of being swept into those arms; having his ears and tails stroked by talented fingers, while Ratchet placed kisses on his lip components. He was almost startled to hear the labrador speak up again, interrupting his day-dreaming.

"Alright, well your sparks seem to be in good shape. A little erratic... but nerves have a tendency of doing that," Ratchet said, removing the sensors from Jetstorm's chassis. "We're almost done. If you'd be so kind to remove your pants and bend over the side of the berth please -I'll take a look at your interface equipment."

Jetfire himself slid off the examination table without a second thought at the instruction, fingers already pulling at the belt buckle of his capris. It took him a nanoklik to notice the heavy-like nauseous feeling in the pit of his fuel tanks, before he was turning to his focus to his brother; noticing the pale, frightened look on his twin's faceplates. "Brother?," the orange youngling asked, stepping closer to Jetstorm.

Jetstorm flinched at his approach, before pulling Jetfire close and burying his helm in the other's neck cables. Ratchet, having turned away for a moment to put away the rest of his tools, turned back towards the hybrids to find both of them still fully clothed. "What's the problem now? C'mon, the faster your do this, the faster we can get out of here."

"No!," Jetstorm cried from Jetfire's shoulder plating. Jetfire tried to calm his distraught twin, but he could feel the blue mech's own fear and anxiety seeping into his own spark, making him suddenly just as jittery. His servos tightened around his brother's form, the both of them shrinking away from Ratchet.

"W-we not wanting that do," Jetfire stammered, hiding his faceplates from the suddenly silent vet. "P-please m-making us do not."

Ratchet sighed, trading the instruments in his servos for the needle on the counter. He understood when the twins flinched as he approached again, but it did not lessen the frown he wore all the same. "Don't worry, this is just a shot," he explained, pushing back Jetfire's sleeve and injecting the needle. "Basic nanobots to increase your system's defense coding. I won't force you to show me your interface equipment -considering it's been so long since your last check-up, it's not all that surprising that you're scared. Next time though, I hope you'll be just a little more braver and can trust me."

He finished by giving the same shot to Jetstorm, before retreating from the younglings' side. "Alright, I'm just going to collect your creator. Feel free to join us when you're ready." Scooping up the twins' recently adjusted medical datapad, the labrador exited the room, leaving Jetfire and Jetstorm still sitting curled up inside.

"Brother?," Jetfire prompted again, once they were alone.

Jetstorm shifted, but did not emerge from his spot. For a while, the orange mech simply stroked his brother's ears; waiting for the moment when his twin would have calmed down enough to respond to him. Jetstorm eventually lifted his helm, wiping away the coolant that had started to pool about his visor. He kissed Jetfire on the mouth, trying to assure his brother, though the other hybrid could still feel his fear over their bond. The blue mech could tell that Jetfire was waiting for him to answer, and he sighed, preparing to reply to his brother's silent probing.

"I-i... Not handling see him t-that," Jetstorm whispered in explanation. "H-he of the disgust being me think seeing of o-our broken seals."

"J-jetstorm?," Jetfire asked. He was slightly puzzled. As twins, born from the same spark, it was not uncommon that they participated in everything together. Even when their first heat cycle had come, they had partaken in interfacing with each other; not concerned about the seals of their interface equipment, having not fully understood the suggestive importance placed upon them by the rest of society. There had never been any shyness or uncertainty when it came to being bare before others, especially between themselves, so the orange mech was having a difficult time understanding his brother's evasiveness to Ratchet's inspection.

Wouldn't baring the innermost important parts of their circuitry to the mech of their sparks be a good thing?

Words obviously could not describe what Jetstorm was feeling, so he shoved all his thoughts and emotions across their bond, and watched as Jetfire's face became pale and withdrawn as well. The other hybrid lowered his optics, cheekplates burning with shame. It all made sense now... As younglings, they were meant to be untouched, and as contained as they were, that would be the popular assumption. Even though Ratchet had been accepting of their mixed heritage, no doubt he would be disgusted and as well as repulsed by the sight of their broken seals. No mech would want a half-breed as ruined as they were.

"...n-not give still up the hope," Jetfire murmured, lifting his optics resolutely and catching his twin's gaze. Jetstorm stared back, stunned. Slowly though, a small smile tugged at his lip components.

"Saying so, brother," the blue youngling said, "Then hope keeping I do. Not wish the giving up of Ratchet sir yet just." Happier now, he nuzzled the other mech, purring when his twin returned the affection. "Let now go us find mommy."