Chapter Text
It was as if a glass bottle shattered.
Well, with the force he was brought back to full consciousness, it was closer to a fragmentation grenade going off right next to his helm.
All of a sudden he’s standing in a room bathed in a soft green light. An incredibly organic room. More accurately, a chamber. Two round windows look out into the night sky, a door seals him inside, and across the dim little spark from him…
Ah. So it wasn’t a nightmare.
Two lifeless husks.
Though only flashes of the actual event appear in his processor, Starscream gets the distinct feeling that it’s his fault. He almost purges right there.
What happened ?? Roughly a year of his memories are made up of incomplete, semi-corrupted files.
He can dwell on that later, he needs to get out of here.
Starscream approaches one of the optic windows, reaching for it, only to get a good look at his servos. The paint is scratched, his claws mostly broken, and the plants growing in the room are already cleared from one edge of the window.
He’s already tried this. In that… foggy haze where he felt much less connected to his frame.
Starscream tries the door, keeping to the perimeter to avoid …Aftermath? Is that his name? Yes, it must be. Breakdown brought him back.
To avoid Aftermath’s body. The little flier was unavoidable, however.
He pauses, staring down, wracking his processor for her name. She came after Aftermath. Whatever she did brought the fog down harder.
Not that he didn’t remember her. He knows she’s fast. He knows she’s clever. Sassy and maybe even a little mean. He distinctly remembers feeling a sense of pride at some of her stunts… but it was as if his language processor wasn’t accessible at the time.
He manually replays the audio of a memory he assumes a name would come up in.
“And Skywarp, you’re going to take Spitfire with you on patrol.”
He hears the name Spitfire come out of his own mouth… but the rest of the sentence is. Ever so slightly wrong. The “R” in Skywarp was too sharp. It’s subtle enough he’s not sure Skywarp herself would even notice. A million minor sounds through that sentence we would’ve said differently to be more comfortable coming out of his vocalizer.
Just what happened here?
Spitfire.
He steps around her, and jabs at the door controls. A digit aches as if he’s already poked the buttons a thousand times.
Well.
Maybe he does have time to dwell on what happened.
…but first.
He turns around, kneeling to pick up Spitfire. She's so ridiculously tiny in his servos. He lays her down on the floor nearby the faintly glowing spark in the center of the room… and closes her optics. He gives Aftermath the same treatment, despite him being much harder to maneuver.
Laying down, optics closed… They look like they're just sleeping.
Yeah, let's pretend that's the case until someone comes to get him.
He checks his energon levels. 87%. As long as he doesn't fly, or run, or fight anything, he should be able to last over a year without fueling.
With no reason to do any of those things, he's in for a nice long stay.
…
…
He does a great job at ignoring them for the first two months. Staring out his favorite window (the left one) and watching his Decepticons run amok in the dome. The swirling clouds with red electricity coursing through them… that once coursed through the two corpses he's rooming with.
Starscream never forgets that they're there, he can't, the space is just too small… and the guilt gnawing at him doesn't help.
Why is he feeling guilty? It wasn't him that killed them.
Or was it? Maybe he's truly actually scum of the galaxy and just forgot it in all those corrupted files.
Either way, it was his hands that tore their sparks out. He has no way to make it up to them.
The seeker kneels next to the sleeping sparklings, finally looking at them.
There's a couple puncture holes on Aftermath where the Cyberslayer was jabbed into him, and a fair amount of scuffs everywhere where he most likely was roughhousing for fun. Not that much damage compared to his… sister? Did he think in Earth terms like the other Terrans?
Spitfire nearly tore her arm off in her struggle to escape. Grey and blue paint is still under her… painted nails, some broken in the struggle. Did Skywarp and Novastorm give her a manicure? That's adorable. How did they even do that? Her servos are tiny ??
There's also a clear pedeprint of crushed metal on her elbow from… pinning her down. The brief flashes he has of the fear in her eyes make him want to purge every time it comes to the forefront of his mind.
…he might have his touch-up kit with him. He doesn't remember what exactly he had in his subspace on that fateful day, but he usually has some of his paints just to make sure nobody steals them.
He does!
None of the paints match the sparklings, but the tools might be able to repair the damage, at least.
He starts with Aftermath, flattening out the dents, closing the punctures, then applying a little bit of filler.
He smooths it out, but it's still a bunch of ugly grey splotches on his chest. It's meant to be populated by nanites during self repair but… that system is down.
Well, his paint job is already a splotchy pink and purple…
He gets out his blue and red touch-up paint, taking a tiny bit and mixing it on the back of his servo, holding it up until the color mostly matches Aftermath’s purple. Then, he applies it with his seldom-used blending brush.
Soon the surface is almost indistinguishable. After it sets, he polishes it, and it really is good as new.
Huh. It's dark outside. It was light when he started.
Nevermind that, it's Spitfire's turn.
He has to hold her in order to get a good look at the damage on her. Her right arm makes an awful squeak when he moves it.
Well, nothing he hasn't fixed before.
Being a vain and paranoid mech had its perks, since it meant he had the equipment to fix her on hand. Make her look new.
Well. Make her husk look like new.
He opens up her shoulder, pulling aside empty energon lines, before seeing the joint itself. Dislocated.
Did he stab her that hard? Or did she struggle to the point of damage? He can't know.
He unlatches, then resets the joint back in place. A couple cables have broken at their connections. He plugs them back in, making sure the connections are secure so they don't lea-
Ah. No. Her fuel pump won't be testing that.
Well, there's no shame in repairing her right anyway.
Carefully, he puts her back together. Presses her arm plating back into the intended shape. The paint has chipped off where the metal bent the worst, leaving grey cracks along the worst areas of damage.
He can't match her colors even slightly. The thought pains him… a clear coat to keep any more paint from flaking will have to do. He removes his paint from under her tiny tiny nails, gently evening out her claws before taking a close look at the paint on them.
Hmm. Maybe his efforts to keep his paints from being stolen were in vain. He doesn’t mind, because it lets him touch it up with his dark gray paint.
Good as new.
He puts the two back where they were, and goes back to ignoring them.
…
It's hard to ignore them. They’re the only things here with him.
The plants grow too slowly to provide much entertainment. The door taunts him. The Decepticons outside can’t be in his view all the time.
He tries putting them in different places, but no matter where he and they ended up, Starscream could still see them. It was intrusive.
He tries using the plants to keep them from view, but the nagging feeling that they aren't able to vent causes him to uncover their faces, letting the blanket of plants take on a more literal meaning.
They aren't alive. They don't need it.
But the sight of them tucked in ready for recharge warms his spark.
…
Starscream props them up by the window. He says to them (as if they're listening) that it's to lure soft-sparked Autobots in to rescue them, where he can make his escape.
Really, he just wants them to be able to watch the sky.
When Novastorm and Skywarp fly over the little town, he starts to explain their formation, their tricks, and why a trine is the way seekers simply exist .
He's glad the random shuffle of mechs had put Novastorm and Skywarp on the same side of the space bridge. They made a great pair.
Heck, if Thundercracker and.. whatever Novastorm’s storm suffix trinemates are named… ever come back to earth, they'd have the beginnings of a real flock . Wouldn't that be beautiful?
Though, the two femmes hadn't come to visit, not even for a hello through the glass, so he can't really cheer too hard about their flourishing relationship.
Maybe the corpses in the window scared them off.
…
Just when the very beginnings of delirium brought on by energon deprivation start to creep at his processor, the autobot ship crashes through the dome.
This is great. A big development like this is the perfect moment for someone to break him out. Maybe… he squints down at Optimus and Megatron, trying to identify the white mech they're talking to.
Prowl? Maybe Prowl will want the Cyberslayer. Or the Autobots can finally retrieve their abandoned children.
Really, it was cruel to just leave them up here with him. He may be taking good care of the Chaos Terrans, but they don’t know that! For all they know, he murdered them with a cold spark.
Aftermath is against the door, doing a great job as a lookout. Spitfire is leaning against the wall, slacking off. Starscream supposes that she can have a little leeway. She's dead, after all.
It's later that day, seeing the Decepticons pile into the ship, take off… and not turn around. You're… forgetting something. Surely they'll come back. Right?
The sky turns orange, then red, then darkens with him staring at the spot where the ship became too small to see. The stars come out and twinkle beautifully while he stares.
The sun comes up. The despair finally sinks into his processor.
He's doomed. The last Decepticon on Earth.
Another low energon warning pops up in his HUD.
He does not care.
…
…
He can't help but think about what he's given up for the Decepticon cause. The things he knew he'd never get back the moment things looked bad for the Decepticons. Primus, the life he really wanted to live is frozen solid somewhere on this planet, lost forever.
He wonders if Skyfire was conscious before succumbing to the cold. Did he cry? Did he feel this delusional hope? Was there a moment like this where it really sunk in that nobody was coming? Did he even know Starscream was looking for him? Maybe he believed it until his processor shut down due to the cold.
Maybe the Decepticons were trying to save him, and they just failed like he failed to save Skyfire.
He knows that's not the case but… he can pretend it is. Nobody will dispute it.
The mental fog that comes with energon deprivation is not too dissimilar to the fog that covered his processor while leading the Decepticons in finding Embershards. The fog that made him-
No, this time he's doing whatever he wants. Not… whatever that was.
And if he wants to hold Spitfire like a sparkling, that's his Primus given right.
She's secure and safe, so it can't all be bad.
He scrounges the still unidentified plant life into something resembling a nest in the darkest corner of the room, laying the little ones inside.
He wanted a life with Skyfire. A family. As many sparklings as he could possibly convince the big softie was reasonable.
He had other dreams, of course. That was one of his defining traits.. But maybe it was just because he was locked in here with two sparklings that he became so focused on just one of those dreams.
Or maybe because of the brief glimpse of it he got.
Hashtag sounded so hurt even before he hurt the Chaos Terrans. He can't remember what she said, or what he said in turn… but the guilt still gnawed at him. It hurt her. That's the last thing he wanted. It wasn't that long ago that he was jumping in front of a cave beast to save her. She believed him. He trusted her. Before his heel turn they’d even had casual, comfortable interactions. She never told him all her movie script ideas.
He'd thrown it away. Why ? How had nothing pierced the fog?
Starscream wanted nothing more than to do right by her, and make sure she grew up. Preferably, happy and healthy.
Aftermath and Spitfire didn't get to grow up.
He pushes the thought out of his mind. If he was going to wither away and die, he wouldn't go out suffering.
And so he continued to pretend. He holds Spitfire in the crook of his arm for nearly a month. He makes an attempt to do the same for Aftermath, only to find his arms too weak to hold him for long. Stupid energon deprivation.
With some fungal growth that was creeping up the walls, he makes a table. He sits the sparklings down and pretends he's serving them breakfast. He tells them stories when the sun goes down as if he needs to lull them to sleep. He goes on fake little adventures, more like performances with the amount of prop design he puts into the sets he makes.
Really, he shouldn't be playing around. He should conserve his last couple weeks of energon in case of a miracle.
It hurts to stay still. The hopelessness starts to set in.
He takes Spitfire out for a flying lesson, though he doesn't leave the ground. Goes grocery shopping, which consists of picking the best plants for making furniture and props out of. Lets Aftermath crush some… well, he's forgotten what those items were meant to be when he sculpted them but Aftermath DESTROYED them. The kid used to love doing that.
His little scenarios quickly become more fantastical.
He reenacts some Decepticons missions he thinks would be entertaining or educational. He acts through what some schemes would have been like if they succeeded . Pretends he's one some of the ridiculous planets he and Skyfire once visited.
He's only vaguely aware of the treacherous world outside the windows.
Oh no! A volcano is going to erupt and this trio are the only ones who can stop it! As thanks, the residents crown them rulers of the whole planet!
Of course, he does a little detour down reforming the fictitious planet’s laws and regulations, because the thought genuinely was a thrill at this point.
Oh, someone invited the Quintessons? How dreadful, they'll be difficult to accommodate.
To celebrate making this loopy planet's tax guidelines make sense, he puts on a fancy dinner! With tea and everything.
He's about to give a toast when.
Someone bursts through the door.
The door is open .
Starscream falls backwards in shock.
Two Terrans and three Autobots have crashed his tea party!!!!!!!!!!
Slag. Glitch. Frag.
How is he supposed to turn this in his favor?!
“Welcome, Welcome! Lovely to see you all!” He’s still somewhat in “Tea Party To Celebrate A Tax Reform” Land but he can still turn this around. He’s got the Cyberslayer! They must need it! Bargaining chip!!!
Ah.
His sluggish processor finally identifies the bots in the room with him. That tiny scout pointing his gun at him, Prime of all mechs, the policebot he genuinely forgot even came to this planet, Jawbreaker… and Hashtag. It dawns on the seeker that he is not getting out of here on his own terms.
Normally he’d be hungry to hear whatever interpersonal drama is involved in the argument clearly happening in front of him, but his processor is screaming OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT louder than he can take.
His threat assessment feel like it takes vorns, but he decides the best way to sneak out would be to slide past the Terr-
Jawbreaker bites his leg and drags him back to the center of the room.
Starscream drops the Cyberslayer.
THIS IS STILL SALVAGEABLE!!!
Jawbreaker chews on his leg, and honestly? He can have it. Starscream doesn’t want it. He just needs OUT.
Oh, Bumblebee’s done with his rant. Sounds powerful. He genuinely does not care, but golf claps for the bug anyway. Well. He’s a Camero now. Will that be enough approval points to let him go???
“You too, Flyboy!” The stinger is once again menacing him.
It’s not enough. Jawbreaker chews harder. Ow.
“Prowl,” Optimus says. That forces him to pay attention, even if the words move like concrete through his processor. “Please see Starscream to the brig at Autobot base.”
Frag. Tears prick at his optics. He’s not getting out of this.
Starscream’s mouth has a nasty habit of moving on its own in a fight or flight scenario, and once more, he speaks complete nonsense .
“But!! But you need me!” Even he knows they don’t. “The Quinttessons are notoriously vicious.” He picks up vaguely on Hashtag behind him, failing to register her as a threat, “For the small price of freedom I’m willing to freelance for the Autobots and-”
HORRIBLE LANCING PAIN BETWEEN HIS WINGS SPREADING ALL THROUGH HIS FRAME
The last thing he hears before consciousness mercifully leaves him is Hashtag giggling .
He’s fragged up big time, hasn’t he?