Archive of Our Own ^beta

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?

Chapter Text

When he wakes, he's fully fueled, laying on a real berth, and warm enough for the first time in months.

Primus, he's gotten good at pretending. 

No , this is real.

He forces his optics online, seeing a very red… no, he got tired of the green in Terratronus and turned his ability to see it down. He resets his optics a few times, and recognizes, with horror, the grey ceiling of a GHOST cell.

No. No. No no no no.

He's upright and alert in record time, glancing around at his new prison.

The Autobots had the courtesy to deactivate select force fields to give him three cells instead of one. How glamorous, it's not like he's the only bot in the entire brig !! 

Well, the entire space is upgraded from the last time he was trapped here, a real berth, a real table and chair…

Well, that's where the furniture ends. Still a huge upgrade from nothing .

If security hasn't moved since this place was run by GHOST, then… hah, there!

The seeker blows a kiss to the camera in the corner.

Hopefully that got their attention.

Emotion keeps bubbling up, a genuinely difficult battle to keep them manageable. 

He practices the dignified and put-together faces he'd make when the inevitable interrogation came, mumbling various dialogues to himself depending on just who would come to see him. Would it be Prime? No, too busy. Maybe Megatron will come to torment him. Maybe Bumblebee still has some anger about him upsetting the Terrans…

Oh, his voice sounds a lot louder now that he's not in the softly carpeted room.

The freedom to pace back and forth never felt so good. A full tank meant he didn't get winded doing so.

Every now and then, he hears pedesteps down the hall. Distant whispers. He presses his face against the forcefield to try and catch a glimpse.

Nothing. 

This cycle repeats, and every time he fails to identify the culprits.

He sits on the ground and ignores them…

Until a voice behind Starscream startles an undignified shriek out of him as he jumps to his pedes.

“Hey Starscr-woah sorry!” Arcee says.

The seeker whips around to confirm… yeah. It really is that bubblegum pink Autobot standing there with a datapad outside his cell.

“You are the last person I would have expected to visit.” He blurts.

Arcee gives him a confused smile, “Yeah, that's kinda the point. You're… obviously in a sensitive state, and we don't want any ‘intel’ to be compromised by grudges on either side of this forcefield.”

He stares at her blankly.

“You don't have any particularly bad grudges against me, do’ya?” The muscle car sits down on a chair… where did that come from? Did she bring a chair in her subspace? No, focus! That doesn't matter! “-Besides the fact I'm an Autobot.”

Starscream wracks his processor. Despite the apparent damage to his memories, his grudges were perfectly intact. Because he's a freak who stores them entirely separately to the memory files that cause the bitterness.

Arcee has a notably short list of wrongs. Actually, thanks to the time she advocated for Skywarp and Novastorm to keep their makeup kits in prison, she's very easily the Autobot he's got the least qualms with. No particularly cruel jokes, they almost never saw each other on the battlefield… What a calculated choice.

“No, I suppose I don't.” The seeker sits in his chair at the table, arms crossed and squinting at Arcee, “Proceed with your interrogation.”

“Well, it's half interrogation and half wellness checkup.”

She guides him through a series of actions he recognizes as a neurologic function test. Then a motor function test. He has no idea why he's being so… cooperative. 

“Have you Autobots done anything to my processor?” He asks.

“We've scanned it for damage.” Arcee shrugs.

“Did you find any?”

“Of course we did, you were starving and isolated.”

“Nobody poked around while I was unconscious?”

“I promise.”

He doesn't really believe that, especially as her instructions keep pushing his consciousness towards that comfortable back seat he recognizes from his year of foggy haze.

While walking from one end of the cell to the other in a straight line, he steps over a… 

He pauses, looking back at the spot of floor he stepped over. Nothing there. All of his proprioceptors had said there was an obstacle there.

He goes back and sweeps his pede over the area, unable to recreate the sensation.

“What's up?” Arcee asks.

“I just avoided an invisible obstacle.” Why is he telling her this? He should be hiding just how compromised he is!

“ Oh, that's… well, if you didn't have problems we'd be more worried.” She writes it down. 

They go through a couple more tests, with pretty standard results… 

“Alright, buddy, go ahead and sit down for the personal part,”

“I am not your ‘buddy’, no matter how cordial I-” Starscream’s admonished rant is interrupted when he misses the chair , falling to the floor.

He sits, stunned by his own incompetence, before he remembers his Autobot witness and white-hot shame and embarrassment floods his processor so suddenly he can't take it .

The seeker tosses both table and chair to the other side of the cell with as much force as he can muster while sitting. He crosses his legs and arms, digging his claws into himself.

“I'm sitting here .” He announces.

After a moment of stunned silence, Arcee responds. “Alrighty!”

She gets her bearings, then begins.

“Let's start with something simple. Can you tell me where you are?”

“Autobot Headquarters, formerly my involuntary home, GHOST headquarters. Where specifically? No idea. I wasn't kept in this wing.” 

“Cool, is your chronometer functioning?”

He checks. “Yes. Finally accurate, too.”

“Finally?”

“At some point in the last two revolutions of this planet it was reset back to 1984.”

“...at some point in the past two years?”

“Wasn't checking my chronometer that often.” He doesn't want to say that he couldn't check his chronometer whenever he felt foggy. 

“Oooookay then. Can you give me a recount of events from the past two years, chronologically?”

“...you're not even asking me for intel?”

“Well… no offense, I don't think we can use whatever real intel you got.” She grimaces.

Starscream suddenly remembers why. Tears form in his optics, and he frantically wipes them away.

“Alright. Chronological events.” He can do this. Just to prove to himself that he's able to.

Except… as soon as he describes the first ember shard recovery… events start to blend together. He stumbles his way through Aftermath's introduction… but soon he's floundering.

He puts his helm in his servos. 

“I probably should've spent more of my abundant free time fixing my corrupted memories. I can barely guess what happened between that battle and my imprisonment in the titan.”

“Your memories were already corrupted when you were in the titan?”

“Yes. One of the first things I realized upon onlining.”

“Right… Can you… guess at what happened for me? Just… name some events.”

“Well. We.. must've fought at the docks… you lot used a decoy shard.”

Arcee nods, urging him to continue.

“Then… Spitfire was created. She joined the Decepticons.”

“Do you remember what she did?”

“She… flew really well.” He looks down, desperately wracking his processor, “I… I'd have to manually rewatch the memories.”

He catches Arcee hiding a shocked expression from him when he looks up. Oh Primus, he's missing something big.

“Anything else before Terratronus?”

“I…hmm. Is that the Titan’s name?” 

Another nod. She’s biting back a grimace. 

There's a lot of feelings. Vague sensations, “I know I did something regarding the humans… are they all still alive?”

Arcee nods.

“Well, I suppose it's not that dramatic, then.” He mumbles, “I can still turn this around,”

“You… You had a speech about it.”

Starscream squints… desperately trying to remember.

..

He remembers his mouth moving. The words escape him. In his efforts to remember his speech he can identify the human as the teacher.

Also known as “Dad”. The least powerful human. Hmm. Nobody would've liked that.

“It sounds like one of my cheaper tactics to get what I want…”

“That's the big question. Tell me what you wanted.” The datapad in Arcee’s servos must be trembling with how much data she's shoved into it in the past few kliks.

He thinks.

“I wanted Ember Shards…” the seeker puzzles it out, “The CyberSlayer… combine that with the Titan, and I may have been able to control her…”

He can't even remember little blips of his “big moment,”

“Why?”

“ Why ? You're asking me why ?” His wings flare in irritation, “I have no idea! The entire plan seems idiotic from start to finish. Ah yes, let me just blow up the most lucrative alliance I've ever secured, destroy the little amount of trust I've been able to build with my own faction, my own trine , all for… for… A mcguffin that would.. what?”

Starscream stands up to pace, his rant driving him forward. 

“Cause a few craters? Bury the Autobots? Kill even more children? The amount of collateral damage would be enormous, and we haven't been able to afford collateral damage for decades ! That's not even mentioning oh, we're on an alien planet full of lifeforms that have already gotten creative with our technology. Even if I succeeded with NO unwanted casualties, once I cleared a big enough area for the Decepticons, those humans will finally have all the moral clearance to launch those nuclear bombs they love so much! Bye bye Cybertronians! It was stupid and it wasn't worth it .”

His voice cracks, arms wrapped around himself. Tears are falling and he can't stop it he should be more in control of himself but the tears keep flowing and he can't stop crying and he can't stop talking and-

“It wasn't worth it. Nothing would be worth- I should have backed out the moment- I can't fragging believe that I-i..”

To his knees he goes, then leans forward. Starscream purges all over the floor, then sits down next to his mess.

“Aftermath AND Spitfire. How can you keep me alive in good conscience after I killed not one, but two sparklings for no good reason?!” He cries, wiping his face with the back of his servo, “not that there are many good reasons…”

A lot of venting and messy tears, Starscream pulls himself back into… well, not calm, but only trembling instead of sobbing .

Arcee sits, stunned by that outburst. She stays silent for a moment, either thinking hard or listening to someone on comms, Starscream can't tell. 

“We're figuring that out, but… I do have some good news for you.”

Starscream squints at her.

“Aftermath and Spitfire are alive and well.”

…

…

“Both sparklings?”

“Both of them are online as we speak.”

“H... how ?!”

“Their sparks never really dispersed, thanks to the fact they're solid crystals. They just remained in the air with the rest of the chaos energy. Once we directed the energy back into their frames, their sparks went right back to where they were supposed to be.” Arcee explains.

…

“Are you absolutely sure they're alive?” His processor quite literally cannot accept it. Error messages pop up every time he tries to comprehend it.

“Here, maybe this will convince you?” Arcee taps some things on her datapad, before showing him a short video of some of the Terrans teaching the Chaos Terrans how to play a human ball game. Notably, Spitfire still has that imperfect paint job Starscream did months ago…

Spitfire's really going to test that arm out. Aftermath's really going to go back to smashing things.

Starscream helplessly succumbs to another wave of tears.

Chapter Text

The resulting catastrophic meltdown is too much even for the mechs watching from a much further distance.

“Arcee, retreat.” Megatron says over comms, “Your audials are in danger.”

“He's still… he's still got a puddle of vomit for company.” She protests.

“Then just let him have the cleaning rags in the storage nearby and get outta there!” Elita demands.

The crowd of bots watch Arcee as she does just that, shoving a servoful of towels through a temporary window in the forcefield, then leaving with a supremely awkward, “Welp, that's all from me! Thanks for participating! I'll leave you to… this.” 

While Starscream continues to cry.

“You see enough to prove your hunch, Megs?” Wheeljack says, playing back some of the footage that captured the neurological tests in another monitors.

The former warlord answers that by dropping his helm into his servos.

“What happened to you, Starscream?” He mumbles.

Prowl crosses his arms, “I gather that we're keeping the lunatic?” 

“Yes, we are.” Optimus answers sternly, “He's in no shape to cause us harm, but easily a danger to himself.”

“Remind me to put some caps on those claws o’his,” Wheeljack watches as the seeker digs grooves into the floor of his cell.

“Is the poor slagger even capable of calming himself down?” Elita asks.

Wheeljack shrugs, “I doubt it.” 

“What convinced you he wasn’t in his right mind?” Optimus places a servo on Megatron’s shoulder.

“The Chaos Terrans. Not only did their assignments under his leadership seem off, but I know from experience… Starscream would rather die a gruesome death than even harm a sparkling.”

A swath of relative silence washes over the room, confused optics locked on him.

“We dealt with a strange combination of an attempt at gaining blackmail on Starscream, and ‘punishment’ for the sparkling’s carrier. Starscream reappeared on The Nemesis covered in energon, down most of a wing and with a sparkling on his hip, demanding vengeance on the captors that had been lucky enough not to get in his way. The worst part was wrestling the little guy away from him when we finally tracked down its carrier. Said carrier was the easiest recruitment of my life.”

“You gotta tell more of these stories when we’re less stressed about Screamer.” Elita says.

Arcee enters the security room, handing the datapad to Prowl, “That was awful. Someone else has to talk to him next time. Have you ever seen him like this?”

Megatron shakes his head, “Even begging for mercy at my pedes, he's never come close to these hysterics.”

“I'm going to be honest,” Wheeljack shakes his helm, “This is out of the scope of my medical training,”

“It might be out of the scope of our resources to keep a mech this dangerous and unstable active in our base,” Prowl braces himself for the inevitable reaction that statement would cause.

“What are you suggesting ?” Megatron stands up, servos clenched at his sides.

“I'm not suggesting we kill him. Perhaps we put him in stasis until we track down a neurologist and a mnemosurgeon-”

“In a century or two! The second he realizes what's happened, just how long we’ve had him stored away like an object, he'll tear out a vital line!”

The background soundtrack of Starscream's anguished cries suddenly stops.

“Don't you dare mute the feed, Prowl needs to know the pain he's ignoring.” Megatron growls.

“That wasn't me!” Wheeljack startles, glancing back and forth between him and the screen, “it's him !”

All mechs crowd around, seeing Starscream almost completely frozen, save for one servo repetitively twitching as it tries and fails to complete an action over and over again. Locked in a kneeling position with his face stuck ugly crying.

What a pitiful sight. A truly broken mech.

Wheeljack jumps out of his chair, “I gotta get neural readings on this. Someone , wait by the door for me!”

…

…

Elsewhere, another group of bots watches the same footage.

Not just security footage of Starscream, but of the security room at the Autobot base as well.

Hashtag snaps her head to her siblings, mindful of the cable coming out of it, “I knew something was wrong with him!”

“ Everyone knew something was wrong with him,” Spitfire rolls her eyes.

“Well, yeah,” Hashtag scoffs, “but nobody knew it wasn't him !”

Thrash finally bites back the ‘bile’ in his throat, “Who would even do that to Starscream?” 

Mo pats Thrash on the shoulder, “Dad always says to find the culprit, you look at who would benefit most.”

All nine kids think.

“Oh, I know!” Aftermath says.

All eyes turn towards him.

“I don't care!”

Spitfire is the only one who laughs, “Yeah, I like seeing him all fucked up and sad about killing us,”

“It wasn't him who killed you!” Hashtag throws her hands up in exasperation, “it's… it's like me when Mandroid-”  

Twitch jumps in, ”Who would even want to kill you two?”

“ Anyone, if they had to spend enough time around those two,” Robby mumbles.

“You wanna say that louder, squishy?” Spitfire disappears and reappears in his face.

Nightshade grabs her by the propeller guard and gently pulls her away.

“The Quintessons would benefit from dividing cybertronians, taking control of a titan, and destroying a powerful artifact.” They announce, “Of course, now that the influence is long gone, there's probably no way to know for certain whether it's true, but it stands to reason that the Quintessons would prefer not to expend troops, a ship, and their time when they could have a single mech do their dirty work for them.”

“And they almost succeeded,” Twitch adds, “Thanks to all of Starscream's stunts, Terratronus was hard to access and frozen.”

“That's a lot of explanation, but what are we going to do about it?” Spitfire jerks out of their grasp.

…

They all turn back to the screen to watch Wheeljack stick diodes to Starscream’s head and probe his processor. 

Drool drips down his face along with the last few tears still sticking to him.

“Give him a hug?” Jawbreaker suggests.

“Give him a bath?” Mo grimaces.

Hashtag looks further into the dugout…

“What's the biggest blanket we have?” 

…

…

After resetting his processor, the stupid Autobots at least had the decency to wipe him and his cell down before once again leaving him to stew. 

Starscream ran his digits over the towel they'd left him, taking in the texture.

Hundreds of tiny raised loops in hundreds of rows. Too small for him to really do much with, but he focused on it as hard as he could.

The second he takes his optics off the fabric, reality tries setting in. Too much at once, towel is here. A dull, dusty blue. Either old and many-times used, or made with partially recycled materials to be more “sustainable for the environment”. If these organics were so intolerant to their own synthetic materials, why would they be using them? Lean into it or don't.

He’s going to have to look Spitfire and Aftermath in the optics at some point in the future. They're both stubbornly labeled as ‘dead' in his processor, still. They're also labeled as ‘his’. They didn't choose either of those titles.

“They are my victims,”  he reminds himself.

“Who?” Says Nightshade.

Starscream shrieks , a full force, Star scream. The effort of his startle sends him backwards to the floor, looking up at the equally startled Terran with servos over their audials.

…

“What are you doing here?!” Starscream picks himself off the ground.

Nightshade stares up at him for a moment.

“I think you deactivated my audio receptors…”

“Ah slag.” Of course he did, he's cursed to injure every child that tries to help him. He makes a twisting motion on either side of his helm, hoping it comes across as ‘reset your audials.’

…

Nightshade snaps their digits next to an audial fin.

“Ah, that's better. Thank you.”

“Thank you? I caused the problem in the first place!”

“You didn't mean to. I scared you.” They say, reaching down. Apparently they had dropped something in fright, “On to the point of this mission, this is for you.”

Nightshade bundles a massive, folded up blanket in their arms. Not only did it look fluffy and soft, it was a royal purple.

Starscream needs it. He does not deserve it.

“Are you supposed to be here?” He hisses, instead of graciously accepting the gift.

“No, Hashtag is looping the video and audio of you staring at that washcloth to allow me to deliver this undetected.”

Starscream blinks. He can't wait to see if it works, the entire stunt resembling something Soundwave would pull.

“ Why? Your parents surely wouldn't approve of this.”

“That's why we're covertly delivering you this comfort object.” They deactivate a portion of the force field, dangerous , and push the blanket through. It flops onto the floor of his cell and partially unfolds in a heap of soft.

 “Enjoy.” Nightshade gives a small bow before turning to leave.

“Wait!”

They pause.

“Be serious. Why are you giving me this?”

Nightshade, despite being so young, could be quite intimidating when they want to be. They stand straighter, tilt their head, focus their unnaturally colored optics. To accentuate their point. Just how serious they are.

“We, the Maltobots, think you need it. All of us believe you deserve it.” They extend their wings, “Now, I'm expected at Wheeljack’s laboratory. Be seeing you.”

And off they fly, eerily silent in their travel.

Starscream blinks at where they were for a few seconds… minutes? Considering that freeze earlier he's now decided not to trust his own perception of time.

The distinction between “all of us” and “the Maltobots” was especially pronounced. 

…

It can't possibly mean the Chaos Terrans were in on this. It can't.

He gathers the blanket in his arms, squeezing it. Soft . It clearly was meant to emulate organic fur in some capacity, though he doesn't have enough experience with Earth animals to attest to its accuracy. He can attest to its comfort, however.

Starscream folds his wings down and wraps the blanket around himself tightly, then slumps onto the berth with a deep sigh. The seeker has never been so comfortable in prison. It was already catching heat and warming his outer plating. 

….all these emotional outbursts really make one tired.

It won't hurt to just. Lay down for a klick.

Chapter Text

The nature of Cybertronian memories meant that unless you specifically wanted it gone and had the cortical psychic patch to do so, nothing was ever truly forgotten. A proper memory had everything: Visuals with identification labels on the subjects in focus, audio with tags assigning voices and sounds to visuals, words and/or directions, touch data that includes everything from surface identification to air currents (especially relevant to Starscream's function), and if you had fancy air intakes, olfactory information as well. All of this can be corroborated with code logs for internal thoughts, canceled actions, ideas.

As Cybertronians recharge, clean-up code determines what parts are the most important, or if the moment in time is important at all, getting more and more pared down as the memory file becomes older.

The year Starscream spent under… something's control… had most of those things. 

But large swaths of time were formatted completely wrong. Visuals with no identifying tags, audio disconnected from video, miles of sensory data dumps that blend into meaningless mush. 

This happens from times to time. Anything that reduces consciousness partially, but not entirely can produce corrupted memories. Under normal circumstances, Starscream would have just discarded all of the incomplete memories.

Most of a year isn't that long, to a transformer. Starscream had over 9 million years under his armor, if estimates are to be believed. Conversion between units of measurement was never his strong suit. 

Except he specifically marked every single one as ‘important’ to come back to later.

He'd probably never have perfect memories of these moments, but at least he'd know what the slag they were using his body for .

Starting from the beginning, not long after the first Ember Shard recovery, the memories weren't that badly damaged. Logs show a few failed commands to his arms and hands to grab the shards from the mech he handed it to.

Clumsy.

It didn’t matter how the alliance broke, how he incited it… if he even did. Because it made sense for him to do it.

“You’re being paranoid again, Screamer.” Skywarp had said, rolling her eyes. 

And that’s as far as suspicion ever went. He despises how predictable he is.

It's surprisingly quick work piecing back together months of just… normal Decepticon activities. Once he was in the swing of running things again, control pulled back slightly. 

Except for one aspect.

His trine.

Well, Novastorm and Skywarp. They weren't a real trine. Thundercracker was on the other side of the space bridge when it blew up, as were Acidstorm and Ionstorm. And the rest of the seekers.

With only three seekers on the planet, it only made sense to take Novastorm in instead of attempting to function as a duo. 

Starscream had actually begun to like Novastorm after being forced to work and survive with her for so long.

Which was ruined over the course of his out of control year.

He painstakingly matched up the motion data to visuals to audio of him insulting and pushing away both of the other seekers.

Okay, directive includes “don't compromise the mission,”

Which includes pushing away his closest allies. 

It's. Not even out of character, just his worst side turned up to 11.

…

Starscream pulls the blanket off of his head, frowning.

He doesn't want to think about this anymore.

Later, uncorrupted memories include overhearing Skywarp and Novastorm talk about how “Screamer's finally lost it,” so he must have started acting out of character at some point … but he's not sure if it matters when. Why would it?

He sighs deeply, getting up from the berth.

With the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, he approaches the table and chair he tossed yesterday, picking each one up and righting it. He moves them over to the wall furthest from the security camera, placing the chair so that if he sits at it, whatever he's doing is blocked by his body.

Yeah, it's against a transparent wall, but nobody is there . It's really unwise not to have bolted these things down.

Down the hall, he suddenly hears a voice.

“I'm announcin’ our presence from a far distance!” Wheeljack says, somewhere down the hall, “I'm continuin’ to announce our presence as we approach Starscream, to make sure we don't accidentally sneak up on him!”

Starscream blinks, an amused huff escaping him.

Elita-One and Wheeljack stop outside his cell.

“Now is avoiding scaring me that hard?”

“Apparently! Your camera’s audio receiver broke sometime last night and I can't seem to pinpoint when it happened.” Wheeljack shrugs, “Someone'll fix it while you're in the med bay this morning.”

“That's where you're going right now.” Elita takes out a pair of cuffs. Surprisingly, not stasis cuffs, just normal mechanical ones.

“Are the restraints really necessary? It's not like attacking you would even do anything for me.”

“Has that stopped you before?”

…

“Point taken,” he drops his blanket off on the berth, then stands in front of the force field with his hands together and out.

The force field drops, and as Elita cuffs him, she looks over at the blanket.

“Where’d you get that?”

“What? It wasn't one of you?” The lie flows smoothly out of his mouth without even thinking. “I wasn’t awake.”

Elita shrugs, “I'll ask Arcee.”

…

Starscream would usually appreciate a wide open room like the med bay, but it's a wartime style med bay, easy to get in and out, and off one of the biggest hallways in the entire base to be extra accessible.

That means he's extra accessible.

It makes his plating crawl.

Wheeljack hooks him up to a vitals monitor, then hands him a cube of energon.

Starscream takes a small sip.

Extremely processed, the kind of swill you feed to cassettes when Soundwave is injured.

He sneers in disgust.

“Don't be a baby, you're barely weaned off infusions.” Elita rolls her eyes from her little observation stool.

“And what will happen to me once I'm back to consuming standard energon? You all seem well aware I wasn't in sound mind the last time we all had a good chat, so…” he loudly jingles his cuffs, raising an eyebrow, “Surely I'm pardoned of all crimes committed in that period of time?”

“I wouldn't go that far just yet.” Elita scolds.

“Even if you're not guilty, we can't just set you loose.” Wheeljack takes out some plating patches, “You’re unpredictable as a baseline, and you had some serious processor interference. We have no idea how that will affect you,”

“Then drop me off somewhere far away and forget about me. I'll be fine.” 

Wheeljack squints, but doesn't say anything.

“I hear Australia has lovely wildlife, I could get back into xenobiology.”

Wheeljack ignores him, covering up the worst of the claw marks Starscream’s given himself.

He huffs, giving up on bantering with them for now, focusing on drinking his cube with loud sips until it's empty.

With the convenient finger slots he’d worn into his plating filled in, Wheeljack breaks out something he hasn't seen since he was a child . He'd hoped he'd never see them again.

Claw caps and glue.

He pulls his pedes onto the table and shuffles backwards, wings popping up in a threat display. It's childish , but his fingers are already tingling with discomfort all the way up to his elbow.

“Woah, woah, it's okay-” Wheeljack puts his hands up, dropping the caps.

Elita stands up, presumably to restrain him.

“No ‘Lita. Sit down.” Wheeljack says sternly.

That grabs Starscream’s attention.

“Alright, you don't gotta wear these if you don't want to. I just don't want to hurt you filing down your claws.” 

That doesn't sound great either. Even Starscream isn't 100% sure where the pain sensor begin in each digit.

“Can I keep my claws?”

Wheeljack ponders this. 

“Tell you what- I'll just take off the sharpest edges for now, and if you scratch yourself less, I'll leave the length.”

What the engineer is suggesting baffles Starscream. Leaving anything other than blunt edges gives him a possible weapon, just one he can't use on accident . He spares a glance to Elita, also looking confused.

“......I can do that.” He finally agrees.

Out comes the dremmel, and Starscream gives Wheeljack one hand, primed and ready to pull back the second he goes too far.

But he doesn't.

He's got two sets of clean, even fingertips.

“That'll work.” Starscream tries to keep a bored sneer on his face… a little flicker of a smile escapes him.

Wheeljack looks proud, “Think a nail salon might hire me?”

“You have a lot more practice to go before you…” the words become just… a little harder to articulate, “before you should start applying.”

“I like the confidence, but I think I'll stick to nails I can hammer.” The engineer chuckles.

Starscream tries to respond. Sound does come out of his mouth, but he's not quite sure if it makes any sense.

..

…

…

Starscream wakes up on the floor, every strut in his body aching, one of his wings in piercing pain. He opens his optics, the two figures standing over him sloooooowly coming into focus.

“Starscream, you with us?” Wheeljack crouches down next to the seeker's head. Elita, at his pedes, has never looked so concerned for his well being.

Though it strains his shoulders, Star makes an attempt to sit up, realizing that his cuffs are still on, the chain between them broken . “Something happened.” 

He glances around, seeing something pink and something yellow duck out of view on either side of the doorway. Great. An audience.

“Yeeeeah.” Wheeljack starts, “you just had a seizure,”

Oh slag.

“What?” Starscream looks at him dumbfounded, “I don't… why would I… You’re lying.”

Wheeljack retracts his mask, revealing his mouth pulled into a flat thin line. He shakes his head.

“That ‘freeze’ you had yesterday could also be considered a seizure too, just not the big, theatrical type you just had.”

Starscream looks at the engineer. Then looks down, soaking in the news.

What if that happened while flying?

“Why.. why am I only having them now? I don't think I had any in the titan…”

“If there was nothing to bang your wings on, then it'd be easy enough to just confuse it with passing out for any other reason… y’know, it might be good to ask Terratronus if she has security footage of you, maybe get a good read on how frequently this is happening.” Wheeljack thinks out loud, “Twice in a single 24 hour period isn't good…. But it might just be the stress making things worse.”

Oh Primus security footage of him playing pretend with corpses may or may not exist. Would the Autobots find it creepy, or sad? And it’d only be right to let Aftermath and Spitfire have access to it. 

He doesn’t want to have that conversation.

“Speaking of wings,” Starscream looks behind at his left wing, a visible dent from slamming it into the medical table, “Can you fix this?”

Wheeljack nods, “I'll take care of it.”

He scampers off before coming back and dropping his tools on the ground next to the seeker.

Starscream braces for pain… then only feels a pinch before the entire wing goes numb. He tries not to show his surprise, any good doctor would know to numb a limb before bending it back into shape… but Wheeljack isn’t a doctor.

He watches him reset the dent back in place, easing the strain on the metal using a blow torch. 

This has passed from ‘dumb Autobot kindness’ to 'there's some unknown variable making him act like this’

Starscream looks over at Elita.

“...What?” She asks.

“Is he usually so nice to his enemies?”

Elita smirks, “His definition of ‘enemy’ has always been a little weird for an Autobot.”

“Thanks!” Wheeljack says, clicking off his torch, “but I'm just doing my job as an engineer.”

Starscream tilts his head.

“I solve problems.” He shrugs.

The particular phrasing and tone of that instantly reminds him of Hashtag… he must've heard it from her.

“There's easier ways to solve this problem,” Starscream gestures vaguely at himself.

“Eh, I'd argue that'd make some bigger problems.” Wheeljack runs his fingers across the edge of his wing, satisfied with his work, “Let's get you back up on the table, I still haven't got neural readings on you,”

The seizure, still only a couple minutes ago, has sapped all of his energy, making the prospect of standing, specifically the act of standing up … seem impossible.

Rather than admit weakness, he crosses his arms and looks away.

There's a small sigh.

 “Glad you're starting to feel better,” Wheeljack says, sticking probes to Starscream's helm anyways.

…..

Starscream has the privilege of walking back to his cell unrestrained, due to the fact breaking the first restraints gave him some nasty dents that needed to be repaired.

“I feel like I've flown cross country without any of the accomplishment that comes with it,” He complains. Again.

“I bet,” Elita says, her patience wearing thin.

Wheeljack shuts down the forcefield, and Starscream steps inside before either Autobot can push him.

“I'm gonna check real quick for any faulty force field generators, I'll be alright here, ‘Lita” 

“Ah, okay. See ya, Jackie,” She says, walking off.

…

Starscream sits on his berth, trying to ignore the engineer he's now alone with.

Though, he does seem to actually be checking for security flaws.

…

“Nice work, by the way.” Wheeljack starts.

“...on what?”

“Repairing the Chaos Terrans. All you had on you was a cosmetic kit.”

Starscream pulls his blanket over his shoulders, “I was bored.”

“Bored enough to repair them perfectly and then never open them up again?”

…

Starscream doesn't answer. 

“Their plating is still extremely soft, I can tell you were super careful with ‘em, no matter what.”

Sending Elita away was almost certainly to make some sort of emotional moment here more likely. He's not taking it.

“Spitfire doesn't have any lingering pain in her arm. Aftermath hasn't even noticed he's been repaired yet. I think they both assume they were repaired as a result of being raised from the dead.”

“Whatever,” He says , voice cracking into a million pieces under the pressure of the urge to cry. He hides under the blanket, another act of kindness he can't seem to come to grips with.

“Alright. I'll leave you alone. I just wanted you to know you did a good job.” 

Starscream hears him retract his mask, and he peeks out of the blanket to see what exactly his face is doing.

A smile.

“Soft-sparked fool.” Staracream grits his teeth to spit the insult out.

There's a slight exhale of a laugh.

“Keep in touch, I'll see you.”

…

…

It's not until he's sure Wheeljack is gone does he let himself cry.

Chapter Text

A decacycle has passed in his new prison.

A little over a ‘week’.

Wheeljack started a log to keep track of Starscream's seizures. He's averaging about three a day.

He's lucky enough to have experienced another set of violent, full body convulsions only once more in that time, but the possibility looms over his helm.

After a long day of getting poked at by Wheeljack, both physically and through attempts at conversation, Starscream just wants to recharge for the rest of time.

Before he can, however, he hears the soft hum of bladeless rotors approaching, and his spark leaps into his throat. 

Spitfire? 

He'd expected her to avoid him for longer. Maybe years. He doesn't have anything good to say to her yet! Unless she's here to kill him? That would be valid. Maybe he can-

“...Starscream? I know you heard me!” Says… Twitch ! Tapping her fingers on one of the metal edges of his cell.

Thank Primus.

He rises from the berth and approaches the forcefield she's hovering by.

“Twitch, what brings you to my humble abode?” He crosses his arms but… tries to give her a smile. 

“I have more contraband for you!” She says, taking out a strange little device. Some plastic rotor on a stick.

Starscream tilts his head trying to identify it.

“It's a fan! I just thought- y'know, since you haven't flown in like a year and a half I thought you'd want some air currents in there. I get antsy when I haven't been in the air for an hour. No idea how you've been so okay in here.” 

Starscream genuinely smiles. He'd forgotten, even though she's one of the oldest Terrans, Twitch is still quite young. She probably still has days where her feet don't even touch the ground. Adorable.

She turns the fan on, pointing it at his face. A cool breeze ripples through the forcefield.

Starscream’s wings lower of their own accord.

“See? You're already looking better!”

He readjusts back to an ‘alert’ position, looking away from her and down the hall, “I'm fine without it. Get out of here before someone notices you're not where you're supposed to be.”

“Nope.” She opens a window into the forcefield, sticking her entire hand and the fan inside.

The forcefield is already closing back up.

“Wh- don't- G-get your fingers outta there!” Starscream frantically stutters, rushing to physically push her digits out of the extremely high current forcefield.

ZAP!

Starscream yanks his hand back, muttering a swear. 

“Are you okay?!” Twitch asks, eyes wide in panic. The fact she's even still conscious is a good sign she didn't get shocked.

“I'm fine ,” he hisses, shaking his hand to rid himself of the lingering electricity, “Just go . And warn your siblings about this feature if you feel the need to return.”

“Okay, I'll go.” She frowns… but a smile comes back as she turns to leave, “See you next time!”

“Wh- stop giving me things!” He shouts after her.

There's no response, just the cell block door opening and closing.

…

The fan stares forlornly up at him from the floor. It looks pathetic, really, laying where it should've probably broken.

He picks it up and turns it back on. It's a much stronger breeze without the forcefield in the way.

…it is nice.

He lays back down on his front, angling the fan to blow over his head and onto his wings.

If he closes his eyes… It's a bit like flying.

Well, the fact he's laying down, not engaging his thrusters at all is distracting from imagining himself flying… it's more like the times he would ride on the back of… Skyfire. 

…

It brings to mind a time soon after Starscream first got the upgrade required to latch onto his partner, when Skyfire had suggested they test it out. Obviously, they shouldn’t wait until an attempt to escape the atmosphere to try it. 

He took them both on a leisurely flight outside the city, much slower than Starscream was used to. With big graceful arcs and ages spent tilted enough for Starscream to see the landscape over his partner’s bulk. It was magical, feeling Skyfire's sheer power and strength up close, right on top of where his engines rumbled.

It was possibly one of their first ‘dates’, though neither called it such at the time, since it wouldn’t be until vorns later that they both fumbled their way through their mutual confessions of deeper feelings. 

…

He holds onto that memory tightly. So tight it hurts.

Until it hurts so much he's forced to open his optics again, and face the fact he's in an Autobot prison holding a children's toy like a lifeline.

The lights are out. He checks his chronometer, surprised to find he spent nearly four hours replaying one memory.

His record for doing that is about 6 days of daydreaming in the titan, so he shouldn't be so surprised.

He should be surprised, however, by how awake he feels afterwards. It's some of the best rest he's gotten in this cell.

Thanks to that, he doesn't feel like recharging.

…

Starscream attempts to appreciate the quiet. The hum of the forcefield is more even and quiet than the hum of Terratronus’ spark. The sound of birds doesn't reach this deep underground. He can only hear his own engines running because he's actually alone, not because-

He stands up and approaches his table and chair. There's a datapad and stylus there, letting him draw, or color pictures in whenever he feels the urge to. It was heavily modified to restrict access to anything other than pictures and words, and the individual parts can't really be used for escape in the first place.

…that gives him an idea.

He returns to his berth, and picks up the fan, inspecting it closely. If he remembers correctly, human technology uses a lot of copper wires…

He checks his chronometer. This is around the time where monitoring of him was done solely by recordings, only checked when bots rose for the day in a few hours.

Perfect. 

He lines the plastic seam up with the corner of his table and gently presses until the casing pops open in two perfect halves, revealing a primitive battery housing, the switch, some wires, and the motor.

He doesn't even need to break much, just strip a wire or two, there's enough slack in the wires for him to form the knot and loop he required.

Required to deactivate the forcefield without setting off any alarms.

He crouches to the floor near one particular corner of his cage, gently pushing the exposed copper through the forcefield.

The energy is caught and looped back around, shrinking the barrier to the size of the wires. Caught like it was previously trapping him.

Starscream waits carefully, listening for any pedesteps, alarms, or other commotion.

….

…

Silence.

With a quiet giggle, he steps out of his cell. He turns around to look at the quaint little living space from a distance he doesn't have the chance to appreciate.

Tiny!

But now he's escaped! As long as he leaves right now, he can-

….

He can…

…

What can he do?

The main Decepticon base is only feasibly reached by flight from here, and with the looming threat of a seizure constantly hanging over his helm and the fact he hasn't flown since before getting trapped inside Terratonus…

Flying would probably result in the Autobots finding his crash site in the morning, maybe a few klicks after noticing he's gone. Whether he survives a seizure induced crash is up to luck, but it wouldn't be very lucrative either way.

Walking? Not as fast, hard to be stealthy for long, but there is one of his little storage caches close enough to reach before morning by walking. 

Well. Then what? Sure, he’s got some supplies there, he'd be armed, but soon enough he'd be back to surviving on whatever he can steal from the Autobots. Or harvest on his own with clunky, inefficient scrap machines.

And again, back to the seizures and other glitches. It'd be a matter of time before he gets caught in one that would require his systems to be reset. Which would have to be done by an Autobot. Or whoever found him. 

His glitches are completely uncontrolled. No warnings, extremely disorienting at best .

…maybe. Maybe he can swipe something from an Autobot’s quarters. Just to say that he did. Or… or do some graffiti. Yeah, do something to show that he's… not as broken and pathetic as he seems, then go back to berth.

…the idea doesn't seem that appealing to him

….

What's the point?

He can't do anything meaningful.

Starscream needs the Autobots’ charity. Not even for some ulterior motive or scheme, but just to survive .

How far he's fallen.

He steps back inside his cell, retrieves his fan, and flops back onto his berth as the forcefield closes up behind him. 

Thankfully, it still functions. A gentle breeze blows a little bit of the tired despair strangling his spark away.

Maybe he can dive back into another fantasy just as fast as the first time, get a full night's-

A sound.

It takes him a moment to recognize it over the fan but… he just heard a pedestep.

Not just any pede touching the ground. 

Megatron's.

Starscream feels as if ice has formed in every energon line in his body.

How much had Megatron seen? 

He turns the fan off, listening carefully. The warlord is extremely light on his feet for a mech his size… but Starscream knows exactly what to listen for.

To both his horror and relief, the steps are going away from his cell.

Starscream can only be so glad he's leaving. Because it means Megatron was there the whole time . Watching him. Watching him do something he unequivocally shouldn't be doing. The fact he's walking away means that he's not approaching him to punish him for escaping, but that means the actual punishment will be completely unpredictable.

How long had he been standing there? Where was he standing? How many nights had he been watching him?

Obviously, every night, technically. He would have access to the security feed. Starscream already knew this.

But knowing he could be right there makes his plating crawl.

He needs to calm down. He needs to calm down, but he feels too weak and exposed. He heard Megatron leave. But he's just-

Starscream crawls under his berth. It's not any better. The spiraling panic still grips him.

The blanket does nothing even as he covers as much of himself as he can.

The fan does nothing even as he angles it mere inches from his face.

All he can do is vent shallowly and quietly, running his thoughts in circles trying to convince himself he'll be okay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What the frag do you mean ‘worse than a suicide attempt’?!?” Wheeljack whisper-shouts as Megatron drags him by the arm to the security room. Not the rudest awakening Wheeljack had ever received, but concerning nonetheless.

“You'll see.” 

Neither bothers to sit down as Megatron rolls the security footage back to a few minutes prior.

He lets it play.

Starscream wakes up. He paces, before an excited look appears on his face and he takes out a fan, breaks it open, and uses the pieces to lower the forcefield.

Wheeljack rubs his face in exasperation, “Oh Primus, which way did he go? I knew we should've installed a track-” 

“No. Keep watching.” Megatron says.

… and so he does.

Wheeljack watches Starscream escape his cell, celebrate a little… before every drop of excitement visibly drains from the seeker's body.

And he gets back inside the cell.

Wheeljack feels so much dread gather in his core he could purge .

“I… I see what you mean.” 

“We’ve severely overestimated his health.” Megatron sighs, “He… gave up . He gave up before anything could happen,”

“I have no idea what to do. .” Wheeljack admits, “What about you?”

“There's one little… treat we can give him to attempt to lift his spirits.”

“How soon can we give it to him?”

“Anytime. Though.. maybe we should let him calm down beforehand.”

“What do you mean ca-” 

…

Wheeljack squints at the security footage, spotting two red eyes in the background.

“ Hey. That's you!” He points at Megatron on the screen.

The Megatron standing next to him looks away.

“And that's Screamer hearing you!” He points to Starscream shaking like a leaf just moments later.

Megatron takes a step away, “I'm going to go calibrate the training room for him,”

“ Megatron !”  

~~~~~

At some point Starscream’s systems had simply decided that it had enough panicking, and went into a forced recharge. 

“Starscream,”

It always made him groggy the next morning, processor slow to engage with whatever is poking him.

“Starscream, you awake yet?”

Poking him?

Starscream jerks back away from the source, wedging himself as far under his berth as he can.

“Starscream! Starscream. It's me, it's okay.”

He's hit a wall, he can't escape. 

“Screamer! Screamy-poo, Superstar, Star of the Scream!”

Wait, what?

His confusion gives his processor enough time to catch up. He realizes he's not being attacked, and it's in fact Wheeljack laying on the floor of his cell, staring worried at him.

“... what did you just call me?”

“No idea, I just… kinda started riffing once you really established your name wasn't working,” Wheeljack gives a nervous laugh, “You okay?”

…

Starscream doesn't answer, but he shuffles his way out from under the berth. Wheeljack scoots back to give him room, sitting on the floor across from him.

The lights are on. He checks his chronometer, and it's much later in the morning than they usually wake him up.

As soon as Starscream gets settled, Wheeljack slides him an energon cube.

…it's shimmering.

A sip confirms it. 

“Titanium?” 

One of his favorites.  

“Yeah! Your tanks are probably strong enough for additives now.” Wheeljack explains, “You probably need more of all of the minerals, but titanium should be more gentle in case I'm wrong about your tanks,”

“...right.” Starscream sips more, squinting at the engineer. The proper thing to start out with when someone needs a variety of mineral supplements is aluminum, and Wheeljack knows that . Someone told him that he liked titanium better.

What is going on ?!

“Once you're done with at least half that cube, I got something fun planned for you.” 

Starscream… hesitates.

There is no way he's not aware of Starscream's little stunt last night.

But Wheeljack is just sitting there, earnestly excited, waiting for him to eat.

Wheeljack isn't sadistic . At least, he wasn't the last time he checked. He can't say for certain that's the case with all of the other Autobots. But it's not likely to be something bad . 

….he takes another sip. Guess he'll find out.

~~~~~

Wheeljack guides him through an area of the base that Starscream has never seen before. It's several levels higher than the prison blocks.

He will never admit how exciting the elevator ride was. There was no need for it to have windows !

The two finally make their way down an offshoot hallway ending in a pair of double doors that reach floor to ceiling.

Inside is… a white room.

A huge white room. 

“This is our training simulation room, but it's also the biggest room in the base. You should have enough space for a small flight.” Wheeljack gestures excitedly.

Starscream looks up, trying to calculate exactly how much space he has.

.. theoretically enough for a takeoff. He hasn't actually shifted his fuel pump into the gear required to fly since…

Oh. Diagnostics say this morning.

Panic attacks count? 

“And if that isn't enough- not sure if this'll work ,” Wheeljack clears his vocalizer, “Engage the Starscream preset!”

“Acknowleded” An automated voice responds.

The room shifts slightly, before several pillars raise at the other end of the room. About the length of his alt-mode is between them. Platforms extend from the walls, all of which would only be accessible through flight.

“So this is where all your funding went instead of prisoner accommodations.” Starscream snarks. 

“Don't blame me, blame Prime. I just build the stuff!” Wheeljack laughs, “Now go at least find out if you can fly! We've got all day.”

Wheeljack thinks for a moment.

“Okay, correction, we’ll have to clear out by 4 so the Terrans can train. But that's hours out.”

Starscream is barely listening, he's putting a bit of distance between himself and the engineer. He goes through a routine he's done over a million times.

Get in position, crouched slightly. Route power to servos in each leg.

Jump and engage thrusters. One second to gain height…

Then transform.

His chassis unfolds, his limbs collapse, every auxiliary system engages in full. Every part aligns together with a series of satisfying clicks as his entire body becomes dedicated to flight .

Starscream doubles his speed, a delighted cackle escaping his alt-mode as he completes a lap around the room in seconds.

It feels so good . Yes, it's indoors, and the wind is simplified, but it's there , and he's flying.

His second lap around the room, he tackles the columns, darting in between each one in a tight zigzag, until looping tightly around the last one, up and up until reaching the top.

He disengages his thrusters, falling for just a moment , before transforming to land on top.

Starscream lets his vests catch up with the rest of his systems for a moment, surveying the room below.

Wheeljack is jumping up and down, too far to hear what he's saying, but close enough to hear him cheer.

Starscream takes a deep vent in… and falls forward off the column. He tucks in his wings, letting himself plummet.

Usually he'd pull up at the very last second before hitting the ground… but he transforms a second or two before that. A safer way to pull that trick, but not nearly as impressive.

…he only has an audience of a single grounder, however, so he lets himself have that leniency.

He takes a harsh turn right over Wheeljack, the gust of wind that follows sending the engineer tumbling backwards into his alt-mode.

Another lap to lose some speed, and he lands on his pedes next to the still reeling racecar.

“That was amazing! ” Wheeljack shouts, transforming back upright, “I can't even tell you were starving to death a couple weeks ago!”

“You can't ?” Starscream asks incredulously, “That was barely a warmup.”

“So you're saying you need a few more laps?” Wheeljack asks.

Starscream smiles… but…

“What's this about?”  The seeker crosses his arms, looking away from Wheeljack.

There's a small sigh.

“The security footage of last night scared the scrap out of everyone who saw it. You escaping and… un -escaping” He explains, “I can't even describe it, it was like if I invented something without a significant chance of exploding on failure. It's wrong .”

Starscream exvents a little scoff of a laugh.

“I don't really know how to treat that besides… well, giving you something to cheer you up,” he continues, “So please enjoy it as much as you physically can.”

Starscream smiles, “Alright, if you insist, I'll try to stop worrying you,”

“We are miles away from not-”

Wheeljack probably keeps talking, but Starscream has gotten what he wanted from the conversation and fires his thrusters, blasting straight up for another lap around the course.

…

He's not sure exactly how many times he's circled the room when things start to feel.. weird. No way to describe it, simply… weird. His navigational readings seem inaccurate and his vision is full of artifacts.

Not a good sign.

Starscream pivots, flying directly to the end of the room with no obstacles, slowing down as much as his ailerons would allow.

He transforms back into root mode with a tumble, a roll and a slide that leaves blue marks trailing behind him. An overwhelming vertigo washes over him, all he can do is try to balance on his hands and knees.

Wheeljack isn't far, rushing to his side and asking him… a question, probably. Actual words are simply not processed.

“I think I'm about to-”

The next word Starscream wanted to say is “seize”, but he's not sure if it ends up said before everything goes dark.

…

Starscream comes to on his side, once again exhausted. The taste of energon fills his mouth.

He opens one optic into a squint.

“Hey buddy, how ya doing?” Wheeljack asks, sitting on the floor opposite to him.

Starscream lifts himself up just enough to spit out a mouthful of energon. Ow.

“Bad.” He answers, “Bit my glotha,”

Bit his glossa bad enough to affect his speech for the moment.

“That sucks, but hey, there was one good thing about that seizure!” Wheeljack raises a finger.

Starscream stares up and contemplates spitting on the engineer.

“You had warning signs! It wasn't completely out of nowhere! That's huge for getting them under control.”

…Starscream spits onto the ground again, thankfully mostly oral lubricant. That is huge. He might not be stuck here forever .

“I want to go back to sleep.” He grumbles, too frustrated by everything to really be excited. No matter what his prognosis is, it's going to be a while before he can even think about leaving.

“After I get a neural reading outta you,” Wheeljack lays Starscream back down, before sticking neurological sensors to his helm.

…

“Megatron, what are you doing here?” Optimus asks as he enters his study.

“Reading a book Dorothy recommended to me,” Megatron answers, not looking up from his datapad, comfortably relaxing in the Prime’s chair.

Not the answer Optimus was looking for.

“What are you doing reading instead of training like you usually are at this time?” He asks again, pulling up another chair and grabbing a datapad of his own to read.

“The training room is occupied.”

“Occupied?” …Optimus tilts his head, but leaves it at that. He has a couple ideas of what might be happening… and they all bring a smile to his face, “Alright,”