When I'm writing a new character and really want to get to know them, I write a short bit about their backstory, hoping to find out more about their personality and their voice. This also gives stuff I can then refer back to in the story itself to make it 'richer' in time. It's a cheap trick, but hey, you're reading for free, right? :P

I'm swiping this idea of character backstories/sidestories for a fic from Starseeded.

After this I have ones for Megatron, Barricade, Ironhide and Flareup coming up. And then…who knows? I hope you keep checking in!

A bit of a spoiler for Fallout—Sideswipe's in it. Here's some backstory on him. I took the notion of Sideswipe/Sunstreaker being 'twins' and decided, just because Hasbro can't stop me, to make them a Binary—like Seeker Trines, but only two of them.

I struggle with Autobots. In a lot of fics they come across as undifferentiated, vanilla good guys. There are only so many spins you can put on 'honorable' and 'decent' and 'noble' and 'good', right? And I know Autobot fans really resent poor characterizations of their faves, so I'm a little…afraid of the Wrath of the Autobot Fans on this one. I was trying to account for two things: why, in the Bayverse, Sideswipe is there without Sunstreaker (gasp!! Blasphemy!) and his G1 character—he ignores orders, is a friendly sort of 'jock' type, so…well, we'll see if it passes muster. Let me know!

Repair Bay

Iacon

Sideswipe fidgeted with the bandages on his hands. He hated sitting still. More than that, he hated listening to the depressing, slow, rhythmic sounds, beeps and hisses, the soft hum of the freon cooling system. Sunstreaker, he thought, looking at the blobby lump of the CR pod. This isn't you. This mass of brushed steel, all these blue and yellow lights, blinking without pattern, all of these incomprehensible readouts. Sunstreaker was…alive. And vibrant and colorful and loud and oh, so fraggin' easy to read even Sideswipe understood him.

Part of his cortex felt numb, but Sideswipe couldn't tell if that was some sort of symptom (denial) of reality or some rogue sensation carried along his Binary link. He wished for the bajillionth time that they weren't the only Binary in the Autobot forces. So much unknown about them. He wished, wildly, frantically, for a Seeker to ask. They know how these links worked. They probably had ways of helping each other, communicating through this link. All he and Sunstreaker had ever gotten to was sensing each other's mood.

Part of him wanted to dash back out to the battlefield and stay there blowing stuff up until he could find a Seeker, and beat out of him what he wanted to know. Would feel good. It would get it out of his system. He'd be MOVING. DOING. Helping. Somehow. Instead of…just sitting here. Snivelling.

Thinking.

Sideswipe hated thinking. Planning, that was one thing. But just sitting here, his processor running back over the events of the last few cycles—once was enough.

Once was more than enough. And he had done it twice.

*****

Ten cycles earlier….

Mission Loading Ramp Gamma

Iacon

"Ha!" Sideswipe said, punching his Binary in the shoulder, "Think you can take me, huh?" They were waiting for their chance to load onto the air-assault vehicle for the latest attack in Parviid Sector. The Decepticons had been making noise at the border, and word had come down to push them back hard enough they thought twice about running into this wall again. When you wanted 'push back hard', the Binary was your team. Of course, Sideswipe thought, it was always good to have others around. He didn't think he could take on the ENTIRE Decepticon army all by himself. Not…yet.

"Think I can?" Sunstreaker tossed his head back, the light glittering off the gold patterns in his armor. He rubbed where Sideswipe had punched him, self-consciously. Not because it hurt, but checking to see that Sideswipe hadn't scratched his paint. "I can beat you flat out in anything you name, AND look twice as good doing it."

Sideswipe cocked his head to one side. "We'll just see about that, now, won't we?" He rolled his shoulders in their sockets, eagerly. "How shall we score this one? Most kills, most offlines, most dramatic takedown?"

"Tell you what? We'll run our battle stats together afterwards. You can pick your best and try to match mine." He grinned, knowing the condescension would make Sideswipe's mouth purse, just that way. This, Sideswipe thought, was the best. A little brotherly competition. They had always pushed each other. Always competed. And yet…were always happy whoever won. A lot of the other Autobots didn't understand that part—thought that competition was 'unhealthy' and 'bound to cause a rift'. They didn't know. Sideswipe and his brother were the only Binary they'd ever seen.

Not their fault, but they just didn't know.

"You're so on."

*****

Parviid Sector

Sideswipe skated along the rubble-strewn street, bent low over his cargo. Get it there and get back, he told himself. One of the flank teams had lost its medic, and with him, all the medical supplies, including a medevac beacon. The mission commander Red Alert had comm'd him for the job. Well, Sideswipe admitted, he was fast, and so a natural choice. And a heroic rescue was a good thing. Still, he hated to be taken out of the battle while the battle was still raging.

And while Sunstreaker was still fighting.

He'd better not be jacking his battle stats, Sideswipe muttered, as he curved his path around a gutted personnel carrier. He checked the coordinates. Almost there. Almost on top of them.

He skidded to a halt, looking around. Nothing but blasted buildings, broken plasglass, the feathery chips of building siding floating in the air, muffling the sounds of battle, which seemed further away than they really were.

He whirled, hearing a sound. A metallic hand poked from a blown out store-window, beckoning him. Could be a trap. He bared his energon blades. If they were friendlies, they'd forgive his bad manners. If they weren't friendlies, well, they wouldn't live long enough to form much of an opinion at all. He wheeled closer.

Autobots. He breathed a sigh of relief at spotting the insignias. He'd been warned before that 'cons had magnetic 'cheat' insignias they'd throw on over their own, but these weren't magnets. Battle damage and smoke-score half obscured some of them.

He grinned, ducking into the building. "Here you go!" he handed them the pack. "Where's the action, anyway?" Seemed weird he'd made it all the way here only ducking a few random wingshots.

"Up ahead. He's too injured to move," the patrol leader gestured to a bot prone on the floor, his eyes flickering dimly. A bad rainbow of fluids pooled under him. One of the other bots got to work immediately, digging in the pack Sideswipe had brought, yanking out hose clamps, emergency fluid canisters and the like.

"Awright, but what about the rest of you?" Sideswipe looked around at the six or seven bots around the walls of the room. "Look fight-ready to me."

"Look," the patrol leader said, "They've been through a lot. They're resting."

"What? You rest when it's OVER, mechs. Not in the middle. You rest too long you're going to rest yourself offline when the 'cons overrun this place." That shot a bit of fear into them. What was wrong with this new crop of Autobots? Didn't seem to have the proper spirit at all. He'd heard Ironhide remonstrating with Prime about the so-called New Army recruits—that their hearts weren't in it, that they worried too much about themselves and not enough about anything large than themselves, that they were soft. He'd just thought it was Ironhide being..well, Ironhide. Maybe not. That mech knew a thing or three about war.

"Phuh," Sideswipe said. "I'm going. Any of you mechs think you actually deserve that insignia you wear, you can follow me." He rolled outside and waited.

Three of the mechs clambered out, slowly, shooting more than one wistful or worried look back at the relative safety of the blasted-out shop. But they came. There was hope for them. Sideswipe grinned. "Gonna teach you how to be real fighters, mechs," he said, happily. He listened for the sound of firing. "This way!"

*****

The three who had come with him were able enough when he set them loose on the front line. They worked decently as a team, moving smoothly under fire, and made good weapons choices for each target. Sideswipe grunted in satisfaction. Since their arrival, the 'con assault had lost momentum. All that had to happen now was to push them back. Unrealistic to imagine all the way back to Kaon, but…a mech can dream, can't he?

Around him the battle raged for sectors. Above the usual pops of small arms fire, and the larger whoomps of mortars, and the soft hiss of energon weapons and pulse rifles, one loud crack, far off to his left, seemed to shatter the sky. The whole battle seemed to stagger at the sound, weapons falling off rhythm.

Sideswipe got a sick feeling. A sick feeling that swelled, moments later, when Red Alert hit his comm. "Sideswipe, location," Red Alert said, brusquely.

"Sector you sent me, helping out. Why?"

"Orders were to come back immediately."

Orders. Huh. Stupid things. Old and slow and completely unaware of how useless they are. Battle changed too fast, too much, for orders to be precise beyond—win. "They needed my help!"

"We need you here. There's been an…accident."

"Sunstreaker!?"

"Just get back here."

Sideswipe cursed. He turned to his mechs. "Keep this up. I've got to get back." They looked at each other worriedly. Without his leadership, he too worried about them. Better they stay and fight than go scurrying back to that coward's hole. He had no time for that now: Sunstreaker. He nodded, trying to look hard and stern and give them the message that he'd kick their afts if he heard of any cowardice, and dashed off.

*****

Sideswipe was furious. "You dragged me all the way back here, from where I was doing some fraggin' GOOD, and he's okay?!" Okay, it was really a mix of fury and relief. Thank Primus Sunstreaker was okay. The dark thoughts that had been filling his mind as he raced his way back from the right flank, too preoccupied to even shoot back at the random and ineffective snipers, were bad enough. It felt like a weight lifted from his cortex.

"He's not 'okay'," First Aid said. "He's awake and responsive. The battle is over for him." He glared down at Sunstreaker to reinforce the point.

That also wasn't exactly bad news. Ha! I'll win this one, Sideswipe thought. All that 'twice as good and twice as pretty' stuff? See where it got him? And then, again, thank Primus he's okay. "You can fix him, right?"

"Of course," First Aid looked mildly offended. "It will just take time. He needs to take it easy now, though. That blast caught him in the head. We've had to remove some of his back helm-plating to relieve pressure on his cortex. It's…not pretty to look at, but it's a temporary fix until we can get him back to some good machining."

Yeah yeah. All Sideswipe really heard, all he wanted to hear, was that Sunstreaker would be fine. Message received. And a bunch of other medical gobbledygook. "Right," he said. "You better take care of him." First Aid rolled his eyes. "I've got a battle to win." Sideswipe patted his Bine's arm as he lay on the repair frame. "We'll win it for you, Sunstreaker."

"Heh," Sunstreaker muttered, the words coming muzzily through the sensor block he was under. "Just be finishing what I started." The two grinned at each other.

*****

Winning the battle was going to be a little more difficult than Sideswipe had anticipated. Damn 'cons were everywhere. And that big explosion had been a controlled neutrino burst—the center of the line of battle now had a giant hole both sides were eager to claim blown in it. The only problem is…fighting in a damn hole. Not as easy as it looked. Though Sideswipe made, he thought, everything look easy.

He ducked behind a pile of slagged rubble. He couldn't even tell what it had originally been before the 'con's latest weapon had rearranged its chemistry. Shots zinged over his head, one or two thumping against his cover. He had a standard pulse rifle, but he hated those. Much more a close-in guy. Let them really see it coming. All this 'round with your name on it and no return address' stuff was just not Sideswipe's style.

He reached for one of his own grenades and lobbed it over, grinning at the satisfying explosion and the sudden cut-off of the shots aiming at him. Either got him or gave him some serious second-thoughts. Knowing 'cons, though, they weren't much for first thoughts so….

Sideswipe rose up and dashed across the lines toward the enemy, ducking into smaller craters pocking the large neutrino-hole for cover. He'd almost made it when it seemed the entire damn 'con army opened up on his position. He dove into the nearest crater, his wheels slipping in a ghastly mix of spilled fluids, bumping against the bodies of the fallen. This was…not good. He crouched, determined. He'd figure a way out of this. He wasn't under any illusion of himself as a genius, but there was one thing he knew, and that was fighting. His brains and his luck: he'd be fine. Just had to have patience. Till an idea came. Till the situation changed and he could take advantage of it.

Nearly half a cycle later, the fire slackened. He risked a peek—he'd gotten so turned around he'd forgotten which way was forward. And for his curiosity, he got a sniper round, caustic, through the shoulder. He flopped back, landing headfirst toward the bottom of the crater, his head floating in the mixed goop of the dead.

Slag, he swore, feeling his own fluids join the pool and the caustic chemicals of the round eating into his wiring.

Red Alert hit his comm again. Primus DAMMIT! Couldn't call at a more incon-fraggin'-venient time, could he?

"WHAT?" Sideswipe struggled upward. His top heavy frame, and the slipperiness of the goop, made this more of a challenge than he wanted at the moment.

"Where are you?"

"In a fraggin' hole in the ground." Did Red Alert really have nothing better to do than constantly call his warriors and ask where they were? Answer was pretty fraggin' self-evident, wasn't it? Where am I? Fighting your fraggin' battle.

"We need you at this location," he rattled a string of digits.

"I can't right now. Kind of pinned down."

"If you're where you should be according to the OPLAN…."

Oh don't start with me. Don't start with fraggin' orders. Sideswipe simply growled into his comm. The pain from his wound was really starting to eat away at his patience. Not that he had any great supply of that to begin with.

Red Alert paused. Then, "We'll have a talk about this later." He cut comm.

Damn right we'll talk about this later, Sideswipe snapped. Soon as I get out of here. Soon as I get the frag UP.

*****

A half-cycle later, Sideswipe was still pinned down. But he was feeling cheerful. He finally had a plan. And the means to carry it out. He'd sorted through the equipment of the offlined mechs. Some of their weaponry had been altered by the neutrino burst, but some of it was still functional. He'd scored a few dozen concussion grenades, a handful of high explosive, and, best of all, an EMP rifle. The thing that had pulled his plan together was the discovery of some detonation cord in one of the mechs' storage compartments. Sure, it felt a little…ooky to be pawing through a dead mech's pockets, and he didn't like some of the stuff he found there—little trinkets and mementos and good luck charms that obviously hadn't worked—but, well, they were dead and he was not. He was pretty sure they'd forgive him. Well, the Autobots would. And who cared about the dead 'cons and their feelings anyway?

He'd petal-chained the concussion grenades together into three long bola-like bombs, and then strung the HE's along yards and yards of det cord, throwing them far away as he could, so there was a long line of HE grenades linked in sequence. He set off a loose grenade and threw it right in front of his position—a little diversion. When it burst, he rose up and lobbed the first of his bolas at the enemy lines. A satisfying explosiong, then a gratifying pause in the weapons fire aimed at one poor little Binary.

He looked around once more before setting them off and getting the frag out of this sorry pit when he heard the roar of an approaching unit. From the Autobot lines.

Mechs dashed around his hole, screaming as they tore across the open no-mech's-land toward the Decepticon lines. One shape wheeled to a stop at the hole's rim. "Got a feeling you could use a little old-fashioned rescuing." Sunstreaker grinned down at him.

"I don't need your fraggin' help!" Sideswipe clawed up the side of the crater, waving the tangled ends of the det cord. "I had it under control!"

"Riiiiight. Face it, you just don't want to think about how much better this makes me look." Sunstreaker rested his hands on his hips as if there weren't a battle going on around them. Sure that he wouldn't get hit. Unafraid. Even now with that plate still missing from the back of his head. Show no fear to the enemy. Sideswipe hated to admit it, but he was impressed.

Then again, Sunstreaker was his Bine. They were alike in so many ways. He'd probably have done the same thing. Meant they were both idiots.

Sideswipe burned—a few more kliks and he'd've done it all himself, but right now, there was a battle and it didn't seem to be going well for the Autobots. Like the tide going out, the same mechs—though fewer—who had rolled or run boldly toward the enemy lines were tearing back, to a brilliant and renewed display of Decepticon firepower.

"Fine," Sideswipe muttered, "Let's get the frag out of here." He grabbed Sunstreaker by the arm, and joined the dash back to safer ground.

Sunstreaker turned his head to make some wiseass comment—Sideswipe could see the cheeky smile already on his face—when the round caught him in the back of the head. Right in the missing helmplate. Whatever Sunstreaker was planning to say came out as "Gaaaaaah." He dropped forward, onto his knees.

Sideswipe whirled, covering them with his weapon, eyes flying side to side to find some decent cover. He spotted a low mound of slagged metal—probably originally a steel wall. That would do. He reached down for Sunstreaker. "C'mon."

Sunstreaker jerked up, his eyes wild. Twitching back from Sideswipe, he jerked his own weapon up and began firing wildly—at Sideswipe; at the 'cons, still safe in their positions; at his own retreating team.

"Sunstreaker!" Sideswipe yelped, diving behind a low piece of stone, the steel mound forgotten. "What the frag!?"

Sunstreaker made some horrible screeching blurt of noise in response, continuing to wheel around, firing at anything that moved. It was when he had turned his back to Sideswipe that Sideswipe saw it—the fitful sparking from the new hole punched in his helm. Sunstreaker's unarmored processor had been hit.

The Autobots rallied behind some cover, and began returning fire. At Sunstreaker. "NO!" Sideswipe howled. When that didn't work, he hit them over comm, yelling again, as if cursing and volume would somehow get through to them.

"Sir, he's firing on us! You don't expect us to take it?"

Sideswipe ducked as Sunstreaker whirled around to fire off another handful of shots at him. "No, but don't fraggin' hit him!"

"What else are we supposed to do?" Dammit, the mech had a point.

Sideswipe felt a little queasy. "I'll do it." He looked at the EMP rifle in his hand. "Forgive me, Sunstreaker." Least he could do, though, was not shoot his Bine in the back. He waited until Sunstreaker had turned again, picked his shot, and fired.

*****

Repair Bay

Iacon

First Aid was getting a little tired of Sideswipe hanging over him. Sideswipe could tell. Well, there was an easy enough way to fix that: FIX SUNSTREAKER. Duh.

First Aid laid his tools down, irritated. He looked up at Sideswipe. "Can you go away?"

"Yeah, I can. Not going to, though."

"You can't help him." First Aid bent back over Sunstreaker's exposed cortex, a magnifier and a plasma scalpel in his hands.

You don't know that, Sideswipe thought, glaring at the medic. He could feel Sunstreaker, along his Binary link. Some turgid mix of confusion and frustration and rage. He looked offline, his eyes recharge-dim, but Sideswipe could feel him. He cursed that they had no one to ask. Everyone knew the stories, of course, about the Seekers, and how they could communicate along their links, and more. Exchange energy. Move as one. Teleport. Myths, they had been told. But what if they weren't? What if there was a way that Sideswipe could reach in and help Sunstreaker? He felt for the Bine link, but it seemed to evade him like trying to catch smoke in his hands. Sunstreaker, he called. Come on. I'll even let you win. Deadly injury trumps everything. But only as long as you wake up to claim the prize.

He pushed these thoughts urgently at Sunstreaker. Was it his imagination or did Sunstreaker's eyes seem to flicker? Come on, he thought, encouragingly.

First Aid sat back again. He turned to a smaller mech. "Let's try it now." The smaller mech nodded, and hit some switch. Sideswipe jumped as Sunstreaker's optics came back online. Sideswipe grinned—he'd be the first thing Sunstreaker would see.

He saw the blue eyes glow, flick in recognition and then, just as he was about to say something, the optics darkened, spiralling in to nearly pinpoints. With a roar Sunstreaker tore up out of the repair frame. He swung one arm wide, and First Aid's tray of tools went flying. The tray clanged to the floor surrounded by a ring of silence. First Aid looked stunned. Sideswipe's welcoming smile was slowly melting off his face. And Sunstreaker—his gold face was a blank snarl.

He lunged at Sideswipe, who barely managed to dive out of the way. What the frag? "Sunstreaker!" he yelled, feeling a sick sense of déjà vu. "It's me!"

Sunstreaker got up and swung again for Sideswipe, falling only because one of his legs tangled in auxiliary power cables. Sideswipe ducked again, shooting a panicked glance at First Aid. "What the frag's going on?"

First Aid had backpedaled against a tool cart. "I don't know! There must be some micro-shrapnel or something still in his cortex."

Some great fraggin' doctor you are, Sideswipe thought. But right now, he had other concerns. "Sunstreaker," Sideswipe called out, both out loud and trying, desperately, across the Binary link. All he felt in return was an agonizing burn, as if someone had poured acid on his cortex. Sideswipe staggered back under it, clutching his head. Sunstreaker whirled away from Sideswipe, setting his gaze on the nearest occupied repair frame. The mech in it was out cold under heavy sensor block. He didn't see Sunstreaker coming. Didn't see Sunstreaker's large energon sword form itself above him. Didn't see the blade puncture his spark chamber.

Sideswipe saw it. He saw it all. Burned into his cortex. Burning.

Sunstreaker…had to be stopped.

Sunstreaker turned again, his eyes lighting on the small mech who had been assisting First Aid. First Aid might not have a reputation as a fighter, but Sideswipe gave him credit when he saw the medic flick on a reciprocating saw and slice into Sunstreaker's arm, cutting the servos that let him grip the sword. Not the smartest move, but it took some gyros. "Get away from him," First Aid yelled over the whine of the saw. Sunstreaker sent him backward with one blow. The saw flew from First Aid's grip, power guttering out as it was jerked from its power coupling. Sunstreaker's energon sword skittered across the floor under a repair frame.

Sunstreaker looked down the repair bay. Sideswipe looked too, and for a moment it was almost like he was seeing through Sunstreaker's eyes. All those…enemies. All those threats. Waiting to be neutralized.

Sunstreaker has to be stopped. I'm the only one who can.

He jumped into action, sprinting after Sunstreaker, recoiling in horror as Sunstreaker punched a hole, bodily, through another injured mech. The fluids seemed to rise in slow motion, like a crown of colored crystal that tore itself into droplets reaching for the sky. With that second mech's death, any doubt Sideswipe had got erased from his mind. He drew his twin blades and…it was all he could do NOT to think about what he was about to do…skate up behind his brother in a swinging attack arc…and….

…slice through the exposed power core line in Sunstreaker's neck.

He turned away, trying desperately not to see Sunstreaker's body jerk once. Again. Sparks showering from the gash in his neck, igniting fluids, running down his twitching body. Don't look, he told himself. He's already dead. Motor reflex. Nothing more.

He felt the Bine link burn in him like a thousand suns. Hot. Searing. Taking his sight away. Filling him only with white hot pain.

He shattered his blades against each other, and succumbed to the white heat.

*****

Sideswipe sat, listening to the clicks and hums and beeps of the CR pod. Sunstreaker, he thought. Was that a message? Or was that our Bine link dying? Were you telling me you were all right? Are you still there? Is this our link or is this my imagination? Wishful thinking?

If I had a wish, it would be I didn't come out of…whatever that was. First Aid called it a seizure brought on by stress and exhaustion. A sort of cortical fritz from too much static on the line. Was it? Or were you trying to tell me something—something I'm too stupid to get? Or were you trying to take me with you? I wish you had tried, just a little bit harder. Then I wouldn't have to be here. And you…here too.

"Sunstreaker," he said. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." He placed a bandaged hand on the CR chamber, and pulled back, feeling ridiculous. Stupid hunk of metal and refrigerant. First Aid had told him that Sunstreaker could be repaired. Just…not with their current technology. As good as dead. For as good as forever.

He heard a footfall. Another medic come to check the levels on the CR chamber, probably. Nope. Seems even his illimitable luck ran out: Red Alert. His cortex told him, dully, that he should stand for a superior officer. He didn't care. He remained hunched over his knees, on the floor beside the pod. Bits of crystalline energon still pocked his forearms from when he'd shattered his blades in despair. They caught the light like hard tears. "Sideswipe," Red Alert said, gruffly. His eyes kept shooting to the pod. "First Aid has put you in for a commendation. For saving the ward."

Commendation. Frag. For killing his brother. For killing part of himself. "Don't want it."

"I figured not. But you did," Red Alert's voice cracked for a second. "…you did a brave thing."

It was a horrible thing. Like an amputation. Of the better part of himself. "It had to be done," he said, dully.

"Uh…yes. Look. We understand if you need some time, alone, to deal with this." Red Alert shifted on his feet, uncomfortable.

"Alone." Sideswipe held the word in the air, so they could both look at it and study its meaning. Binary sundered. Sideswipe alone, truly, truly alone, for the first time in his life. He looked at his hands again—hands that had killed his own Binary. Primus, they didn't understand. Even now, they didn't understand.

But it wasn't their fault that they didn't understand. They did their best. They tried their hardest. And, as Sideswipe had just learned, sometimes even that wasn't…wasn't fraggin' good enough.

They certainly didn't deserve to feel guilty for this. No. That was all Sideswipe's. Not their fault, not their burden.

A thin plan coalesced in his cortex: one day he'd find a way. He could lift the terrible weight of this guilt by saving his Binary. He knew there had to be a way. He knew it. He'd find a Seeker, and learn a way. Or he'd do it on his own, sitting here by the pod, reaching with his Binary link until he could actually do something. It would be hard, but Sideswipe wasn't a mech put off by a little difficulty. Ha! He thought. Saving your sorry aft from death, Sunstreaker. Top that one.

"Nah," he said, looking up at Red Alert. "I'm fine. Be fine. As long as I get to kick some 'con." He managed a smile, but it wasn't his smile: this was cold and hard-edged. Like the blades he had ruined. And though his voice was light and confident, his eyes, when they caught Red Alert's, had shadows.