“So you’re made of metal?”
“But you’re alive.”
“… Yes.” Sideswipe pauses, reconsiders. “In a matter of speaking. We’re not organic like you. But we’re not machines either.”
Sokka taps his chin with his finger as though earnestly contemplating the same facts they’ve gone over time and time again. “That… is seriously cool.”
Despite himself, Sideswipe preens. “I know.”
“No, I mean, that is very, very cool,” Sokka says, and leaps to his feet, pacing back and forth, arms waving wildly. “You’re metal. But you move. And you’re like thirty feet tall.”
“More like fifteen.”
Sokka waves a hand dismissively. “The point is: You. Are. Awesome.”
Sideswipe rocks back and forth on his wheels, feeling like his twin the way pride emanates from his frame. Slaggin’ Sunstreaker, affecting him like this. “Of course I am.”
“I’ll bet you’re smart, too,” Sokka continues, pacing back and forth, only to pause and stare at Sideswipe’s knee or Autobot emblem or wheel or really anything he can look at with awe. “And fast. And strong. And–”
“–seriously bored,” Sideswipe chimes in. Because as fun as it is to hear Sokka complimenting him, it would be far more amusing to slag some Decepticons.
Sokka pauses, mid-step, and whirls his body to face Sideswipe, planting his hands on his hips. “What do you do for fun anyway?”
Sideswipe rolls his shoulder with a creak of metal and a scrape of gears. “Games. Races. Beat up some ‘Cons.” He pauses, and grins. “Pranks.”
An evil glint appears in Sokka’s eyes, one that Sideswipe recognizes easily. “Really?” Sokka says with a cackle, rubbing his palms together. “Sideswipe, my man – I mean mech – I have a feeling we’ll get along just perfectly.”
And somewhere, on the other side of the camp, both Prowl and Katara feel a simultaneous, eerie chill of dread creep over them.