Chapter Text
Starscream wouldn't say he particularly enjoyed leading the High Guard.
Oh, the respect and the status were great. Pit, the ego boost he gets from every warrior under him acknowledging he was the most suitable to lead, deferring to him? Well, he barely needed high grade to reach heady levels of intoxicated euphoria.
(And no, Skywarp, he isn’t the one stealing from your stash, you ever got enough guts to call Soundwave out on his lies? And no, Thundercracker he isn't a clingy overcharger, you have no proof so shut it already.)
But he just got so tired. Most days, he felt like he was managing a protoform ward rather than an army.
He was Head of the High Guard.
And they were barely guarding anything anymore.
They failed to protect their most important charges at their worst moment; failed to even struggle with them and die like they were supposed to.
He failed.
And he refused to fail again. He wasn’t losing a single mech he didn’t absolutely have to.
Which translated to staying hidden and arranging hit and runs or covert missions of sabotage that were enough of a nuisance that Sentinel wouldn’t rest easy at night but also not nearly destructive enough to satisfy their need for revenge.
Because that was all they had now. Revenge. What little energon they steal boiling in their fuel lines every klik Sentinel spends alive and well. They couldn’t -nor did they wish to- rid themselves of the itch under their plating to bring the traitor to his knees.
And still, they couldn’t even achieve that.
He was all too painfully aware his desire to keep his warriors to himself held them back from making any real progress. Prolonging Cybertron’s suffering to prevent anymore of his own.
Selfish, but he never claimed the moral high ground.
They were all frustrated with the unacceptable status quo. Cybertron abused out of any drop of resources by their enemy with no resistance or even objection to the treatment, the last standing city ruled by the disgusting excuse of a mech someone so close to the Primes turned out to be.
They had no direction, no real purpose beyond their shared rage. A spear, sharp to a point and deadly by all measures... And no wielder to provide the right push to make it effective.
As pointless as it was...he wished the Primes were back, that they somehow survived.
He knows they all do; Megatronus wouldn't have let these idiots devolve to squabbling sparklings...at least not as much. He wishes he had more responsible adults to help around; he and Soundwave are just not cutting it these days.
Most of all he wishes they had more high grade.
Then it all went to slag in one fell swoop, one stupid altercation after the other, all in less than 24 hours. He got beaten by some entitled war frame. Captured by Sentinel's worshippers; the betrayers. Witnessed Sentinel's cruelty all over again, and he had to admit, the mech -D-16- hadn't earned more than a shred of his respect by being a simple brute, defeating him.
Standing up to your torturer on the other servo...
His spark is strong.
Then the traitor died, as painfully as he deserved, if a little too quickly. Starscream would've loved to see that filthy little aid scuttle and beg for mercy as the betrayed warriors enacted their own revenge; Knockout had some delightful fantasies...
Alas, he's gone.
And Megatron rises.
Again, he cannot stress the entitlement of the Iaconian silver mech enough.
A new Prime rises too. But the High Guard isn't a fan of change, and they not only swore their allegiance to Megatron, they also believe in him, and that's not so easy to shake off as the Air Commander taking charge when their Lord High Protector was gone.
The battle was embarrassingly quick, and soon they were retreating to their exile from Iacon. Unimportant in the grand scheme of things, they were the protectors of Cybertron not one city, and the surface is plenty habitable to trained soldiers. Especially with energon flowing again.
After that, it was all slow, painful, and tedious.
Fall back to the Victory. Do a headcount; there was a surprisingly no casualties, no such luck with the wounded. Feed them, i.e. Assign Soundwave and Skywarp an energon recon and acquisition mission, they can figure out the 'who's and 'how's of it by themselves Primus dammit! Assign Thundercracker and Shockwave the managing of the Decepticon induction event. Pray to Primus these pairs even themselves out, probably monitor them closely either way.
Shuffle around the stupid shift program to accommodate all the past days’ excitement and upcoming events while enduring Shockwave's needless hovering and Soundwave’s relentless ping summons to the medbay for repairs.
And since he was always gonna end up in the medbay? Harass Knockout to actually do his stupid job.
Try not to strangle anyone or himself in the process, which is certainly the most difficult task of them all.
Currently he sits in the medbay, letting Soundwave -the fake friend that he’s been these cycles- stick terribly sharp objects into his throat to hopefully return his voice to more than broken glyphs and static. It's a work in progress but if there’s anyone he trusts with a voice box it'd be someone who had their own irreparably damaged.
He looks over Soundwave’s -who he truly believes to be his-closest-and-only-friend-in-the-universe, thank you- shoulder to glare at the fretting medic. ::He is fragging alright. You made sure of that three times now. Leave him be and get to the rest of the injured you lovesick fool.:: he comms the red mech and watches him jerk up and whirl around to face him.
The mech doesn't glare so much as frown in annoyance and concern, openly staring at the seeker's removed neck plates, allowing a clear view of vulnerable cabling and a crushed vocalizer.
Starscream's glare is fiery in contrast.
“Breakdown lost a significant amount of energo-” he starts, but Starscream isn't having it today.
::He fought, he got injured, you fixed him back to perfection and he's recharging peacefully. Nothing is new or urgent about this. Your conjunx is fine. Do tend to your other patients, Doctor.:: He usually gives the medic more slack, but he's been distracted by his sparkmate's injury and neglecting the rest of the injured long enough to get on the seeker's last nerves.
Knockout's derma press into a thin line as his optics flit over the mecha either occupying medberths or sulking around the few medical rooms; getting tended to by a swamped and too lenient Hook... Well, more likely too busy to waste time lecturing his co-medic on professionalism.
His gaze goes back to his conjunx for a long moment before it lifts to meet the Air Commander's again, ::Fine, but you're smuggling the high grade this time.::
His wings finally deem it okay to relax from their flared, agitated state. He can't really promise high grade but it should be significantly easier now than it ever was during their time in hiding, Prime exiled them but they might be allowed to trade at least (and there should be enough going around that he won’t have to ban all the unregulated substance refining they think he’s not aware of).
::I got it last time but I suppose some of us are only good for one thing.:: He smirks back.
The medic isn't looking at him anymore, out of his anxious funk and into some poor bastard's butchered wings. He still lifts an energon covered servo in a rude gesture before he dives back in, summoning his saw on the way down. ::Whatever you say Screamer. Just stay after Sounders is finished, I want to get a closer look at you.::
The display is more threatening than Starscream thinks the medic means it to be. Probably.
He will not be staying to find out.
He averts his optics to meet Soundwave's visor. The communications officer shakes his helm at -assumedly- both of them and continues his work, the seeker keeps his snipes to himself -deep, deep inside- to avoid going completely mute in a 'freak accident'.
*
On his way to the higher levels he takes a short shower in the common wash racks.
He fled the medbay the klik the CCO restored his neck plating, exhausted and wishing for nothing more than the comfort of his berth and maybe the soft sounds of his trine's even breaths lulling him to sleep.
That is if Warp doesn't make himself obnoxious, then he'll have to exert even more energy to shut the loud mouth down somehow, probably abusing his delicate voice box in the process.
The exhaustion doubles at the thought.
As he takes a turn to the officers' hallway he finds- Megatron standing in front of his door, one of two vacant hab suites they still have here. He stares at the door with a blank expression, then he turns that stare at Starscream's frozen form.
He isn't in the mood to entertain company, not even for a mech he holds in high regard, even Megatronus Prime had the decency not to drag his warriors to training or bother his commanders with his philosophical lines of inquiry off shift.
He strides hastily to his quarters, the silver mech silently watching.
Of course, life hates him, so the large bot speaks before he can open his door, "My room is empty." He declares softly, softer than anything the seeker heard from him before. His face is unreadable but no traces of repressed violence or rage are seen.
It almost sounded like a sad whine; juvenile discontent. He erases the thought the moment he processes it.
Something is wrong here.
Starscream feels benevolent enough to send him a request for personal comms, his leader accepts despite the quirk of his optical ridge and he quickly establishes a comm. line to the taller mech.
::Are your quarters not furnished, Megatron?:: He knows they are, he had seen to it himself. Unless those idiots fixed up the wrong hab...
The silver bot cocks his head in another unexpected quirk, "Why comms? Speak up." His voice is still quiet, as if afraid to wake someone or to pop the bubble of peace. They’re off shift and he’s tired; the seeker doesn't heed the order.
His hand unconsciously rises to massage his neck plating just under the welds of the impromptu surgery he's got, ::Speech difficulties for the time being, I should recover enough for vocalization in a few cycles or so.:: And its true, he’s not muting himself for two decacycles. Even if he did it'll never sound the same, he doesn't add, his voice box was irreparably damaged.
Megatron's expression scrunches up; dermas tight and optics narrowed as if in pain.
The seeker jolts. Heat fills his tanks, rage, he realizes. Is this slagger seriously regretting his actions? Feeling sorry for him? Starscream, Head of the Cybertronian High Guard doesn't need pity from a mech that has yet to pay his worth in Quintesson blood!
::Don't you dare think me helpless or weak because of a nick from an infighting squabble, dear leader.:: He pins the mech with cold optics and bared denta, spurred on by the shock at his sudden aggression, ::I am not so fragile as to keel over against a sheltered Iaconian who spent his whole functioning under a rock.::
A bold-faced lie; he vividly remembers the hot fusion canon pressing to his face plates, his spark spinning faster in its chamber, his cooling fans going on overdrive to prevent his processor from overheating as it tried to find a way out of getting blown out of his helm.
The broken canon is now safely stowed away in the constructicon gestalt’s lab, as safe as that could be counted on to be. He doesn’t care what they do as long as it’s not causing damage, Scrapper wanted to take a look at it and thus it’s Scrapper’s problem now.
There's a silence that follows, charged by his processor catching up to his loose glossa and possibly an angry burst building up in the stiff mech a few pedesteps away.
Then, "You're not weak." Megatron declares.
The seeker's optics widen. What?!
"I'm just that much stronger for winning." He asserts, chin lifting and chassis puffing.
The air of immature smugness only serves to flabbergast him further. Is he bragging?! Like some sort of mechling winning an argument against a sibling...
Oh great, this is exactly what they needed. As if he didn't have enough of that.
He sighs soundlessly, only some static and the ex-vent leaving him and he slumps in defeat. The seeker leaves his door to walk up to his leader and his 'faulty' rooms, ::You are.:: He bows shallowly with a hand over his chassis, proper and slight, optics closed for a long moment before straightening and looking up.
Megatron looks stiffer than he did as he bragged, good, easier to get this over with if he doesn't expect servants. They're soldiers not pets and the High Guard never stood for injustice.
::Now, shall we see what the problem is?:: He makes a sweeping gesture to the door, waiting to be let in.
The silver mech takes the hint and the door opens with a swoosh once his code is keyed in.
The rooms are furnished as he expected, big and comfortable as they should be for the commander in chief; desk, a few chairs and a low table, one side door leads to private wash racks and unfortunately no energon dispenser for now.
The silver mech bypasses them, lights brightening the inoffensive shade of soft yellow on the walls as he strides to the berthroom and stands at its entrance. Starscream stands by his side to take the lacking room in.
But he sees nothing of note.
Berth with mesh covers and a suspiciously new pillow (where was that and who was hording it when he wanted one last orn?), a miniature storage unit for personal belongings and. Even in the dim lighting slipping through the doorway he can tell it's clean.
The walls turn a dark purple and Starscream is suddenly blasted with the memory of fighting Skywarp on getting these quarters just because of the 'beautiful walls'.
He looks to the side and up, scrutinizing the other mech. Maybe he really is some sort of government higher up?
Starscream has seen what extravagance looks like, admires it even, yet he struggles imagine comfort in it. He struggles to picture ever finding comfort without stumbling over two nuisances in a tiny hab where they could scarcely breathe outside of each others' space.
Nor is the thought of letting civilians have free reign in his own home, strangers, no matter how they were vetted a particularly soothing one.
That's how you got assassinated in his well-experienced opinion. Somehow the rich easily trust pretty servants not to act out; making it a game to provoke the poor young sparks. Starscream enjoyed some missions more than others.
He dismisses joyful memories of his youth to focus on the mech before him.
Megatron stares at the dark room with a lost expression, open and sad; too easily read. The seeker realizes neither of them dared step in the room, simply peeking from the threshold. Great, now he's getting antsy too.
::What exactly isn't to your liking, sir?:: Half-genuine, half-mocking and entirely too tired to give a frag.
The silver mech stares for another moment before looking down to his pedes, it takes another wasted klik of what could’ve been recharge before the optics lift to Starscream’s again. "It's...empty." He glances back in, "And- big-" he continues haltingly, "Where..." He pauses.
The seeker feels a strange sense of dread sneak up on him, it's never ended well for him when he ignored it, and he's proven right shortly.
"Where's my charging pod?" The tall mech asks steadily, seemingly already aware he was saying something wrong but uncomprehending as to why.
Starscream is frozen in place for a long time, taking in the bot before him and sorely missing the humor if their new leader is actually a comedian. A charging pod? The outdated tech from a few thousand vorn ago? The one discontinued and condemned for its unethical disregard to mech rights?
No. No, he must've misheard. Yes. That must be it.
::I apologize, Megatron, the battle affected my audials with a slight static, could you please repeat that for me?:: His own request feels foreign, too sincere, too desperate.
Desperate to be proven wrong. A familiar experience, and thus he knows the outcome.
Megatron looks irritated now, "My charging pod, so I can recharge, where is it?" The silver mech's voice dips in a low growl.
The seeker barely has the presence of mind to notice.
Of course he was right. He's never proven wrong when he wants to be.
Charging pods; made for artificial recharge, so mechs wouldn't 'waste' time when they could be functioning, and outlawed immediately upon release. Despite Shockwave's whining, he never tried to imitate that idea.
The question is; why would Megatron want one? And why not use the berth instead? (He already knows. Why is he dragging this out?)
Starscream doesn't shuffle nervously, he's too aware of the optics on him to even let a wing twitch out of line, he knows his expression must've darkened though from the frown building up across his leader's face plates.
His wings are fixed in their position from his efforts not to lower them to the tune of his grim thoughts, ::We do not use that sort of technology. It was banned from production long before we went into hiding and even Shockwave saw the flaw in forced shortened recharge.::
He carefully doesn't mention that the Primes outlawed it; Megatron has a complicated relationship with the word.
The silver mech reels back unsubtly with shock and confusion written in his optics, Starscream has to figure out something for that. Megatronus Prime was the same unable to mask or hide the slightest of emotions from shining through his optics.
A surreal yet fitting thought.
Megatron speaks, "Why would they be banned? How else would you recharge?"
The seeker responds by sending whatever articles are left in his processor about the investigation of the banned tech and the most impersonal image he has of Skywarp using his personal berth, wings draped limply over him and mouth agape in a loud snore.
He can't help but slump at the image, both his trinemates must be in recharge by now. And he is just outside, trying in vain to not reach the conclusions he's reaching.
The large mech doesn't feel merciful, as he only piles on that, "Oh. I've only ever heard of those, miners only get-" he pauses, scowl back full force, "Pods." He spits out. The anger is honestly more up the seeker's ally.
Starscream feels his hatred for Sentinel reignite into a cold fire in his spark chamber and he curses that disgusting excuse of a mech to the deepest pit that will take him since Unicron must've spat out such a vile spark.
Megatron was a miner.
It's such an obvious fact he can't even call it a revelation.
They knew of miners, and then met some during the coup. They all had one thing in common; no transformation cogs, because Sentinel's cruelty knows no bounds. He idly wonders when and where Megatron got his own but discards the sensitive topic. There is one more thing they know for fact about miners.
::Megatron?:: he calls for the silver mech's attention, and slowly, he snaps out of it, ::Were you onlined after the Quintesson war?:: A stupid question, one he should discard, he doesn't wish it to be confirmed, not truly.
The pure confusion on his face is obvious, but the seeker misses it completely at the answer, "Yes, forty two orn ago."
Starscream's processor performs a forced reboot and his voice box spews static and garbled glyphs, instinctually trying to express the mess in his helm out loud; he should've let Soundwave fully switch it off.
Forty two.
The new leader of the High Guard is not even past his first vorn.
He isn't acting like a sparkling, he-
He is one!
Frag.
Frag. He handed over the High Guard to a sparkling.
A bitlet who misinterpreted a tiff with what must be another bitlet -the new Prime is a mechling?! What is Primus thinking?!- as a reason for war and is probably ready to drive them all into it until or unless he realizes so.
Not all the warriors around will be against the notion of a free for all for Iacon, even he is restless and raring for any new commands and newer battles. But he knows his officers, they'll be less inclined to fight the first Prime since the last fell and more focused on the bane on their existence that is the Quintessons; if he makes his opinion known they will listen.
And before it even reaches that, he should try to convince the mech himself of the discrepancies in his views.
He's a sparkling.
That is probably the reason Soundwave didn't resist the takeover, the softspark he has for mechlings is well-known and Starscream deeply regrets not fighting harder for his position.
That was some truly amazing friendship and camaraderie displayed on his account. He's gonna kill that stuck-up aft.
"Starscream." the sparkling- their leader interrupts his spiral down a murderous path and he looks up. There's an edge to his voice the seeker isn't overjoyed his handler protocols label 'close to tantrum', "What's wrong with my age?"
Starscream keeps his expression as far away from his internal panic as he can, ::Nothing, you are just a tad younger than I expected.:: ::A little too young.:: he tacks on thoughtlessly.
Megatron's derma pull down unhappily but he doesn't snap, "I mean, I guess I'm young to you, you guys are like old old." He shrugs his oversized shoulders. (And in what world is it fair for a bitlet to be larger that him?)
And how dare he call them old? They're just adults! He's barely one himself, forty two orn, and he disrespects his elders so-
An elder. That's what he is to this rude mechling.
He is not that old, he's just mature...
It hits him that he might have to break the news to others, if only to get them to behave in front of the actual mechling in the room.
They're both getting too distracted from the problem at servo.
With his new understanding of the bot in front of him, he easily deduces the second problem with the room. Big, empty; he's lonely. Not an emotion he can easily place on the raging mech but one understandable considering he became isolated from everything he ever knew a few joors ago.
Prime's punishment seems a little harsher from that perspective.
There's no love lost between Starscream and Iacon. His plating crawls like scraplets invaded his protoform at the mere thought of Sentinel's unabashed admirers.
The sparkless mecha who stood by and allowed his reign with little doubt or protest; turning a blind eye to all his outlandish lies. Turning a blind optic to every other new-build getting thrown in the pit of mines to never know what true freedom is like.
Although, his trinemates were nothing but positively pushy for him to reconsider continuing his research if they returned (unforeseen turns of events unaccounted for).
Thundercracker doesn't say anything, vastly content to be with his wingmates in relative peace and whatever media he manages to convince (read: bribe with sparkling-sitting duties) Soundwave into loading for him. But they know he wants to go back, be home, not assigned quarters.
Skywarp mostly misses sweets and snacks, maybe a new audience to his shenanigans but showed no signs of actually wanting to live there again for anything but comforts. They figured places are hard to be truly attached to when you can be anywhere anytime.
Safe to say his trine isn't pressed about living in the city again but it would be preferable. And he goes where they go.
They'd most probably be forced to dissolve the High Guard (or are they Decepticons now?). Honestly, it'd be stranger if they were allowed a private army inside the city after they already tried to kill Prime once.
Shockwave would be arrested in less than a megacycle without any Prime-ly protection or feared respected inhibitors to his less-than-ethical tendencies. Knock Out might adjust better with Breakdown around but if he isn't the High Guard's Medic his medical license might come to question with his technically illegal practices the past fifty stellar cycles.
Soundwave will be heavily against disbanding, but life in a safe environment for his cassettes might be appealing enough to convince him to bear it. Not that he thinks the peace will last, and Soundwave has a debt to pay the Quintessons in their own energon for everything they put them through.
Starscream has no idea how some of the more violent soldiers would adjust to a new set of rules. Military can only be dictated by might because that is ultimately its purpose, but a society can't adhere to such a simple code. It just isn't sustainable.
The seeker blinks hurriedly a few times and realizes he'd been staring blankly at the younger mech's face for the last few kliks. He distractedly noted the smooth faceplates lacking the permanent dents that should line it with the passage of time, he attributed it to a new frame before but the tank looks undeniably young up close.
Megatron has lost the snappy dismissal of the insult and has fallen to uncertainty covered -badly- by an indifferent mask. They should really get him an actual mask.
The sight saps him out of any energy he has left in his spark to posture any longer.
Maybe that's what breaks the filter between his processor and his comms, ::Would you like joining me in my trine's shared quarters for tonight?:: The words are sent before he can review them and Megatron receives them with the distant look of reading comms and an obvious jolt at the contents.
They're both equally shocked at the offer.
The oversized mech could never fit in one of their individual berths, but their shared one should be too large even for him. Hopefully the idiots are using their own berths; he doesn't need the hassle of waking them.
He shouldn't disturb his trinemates, he's already imposing on them by inviting someone without their knowledge.
The young mech hesitates, possibly misunderstanding the seeker's gesture for either mockery or a polite insincere offer. Starscream represses an impossible groan; so high maintenance.
He takes a deep in-vent and releases it, barely abating the rising frustration. ::Trines usually recharge together for peace of mind so we understand the need for company.:: He struggles to release his tight grip on his EM field to brush against Megatron's whirlwind of a field.
It's almost as distressingly intense as one of Soundwave's targeted migraines, dizzyingly sharp emotions overpowering his senses.
With remarkably nonexistent control; while the deployer weaponized his own EMF in calculated jabs, Megatron's was lashing out like an energy whip whenever it wasn't busy pressuring whoever's in proximity's vents into failing.
It wasn't the overpowering pressure of hot fury that met him though. There was an underlying pulse of anger but not nearly the same as it's been from the moment they met and until they retreated here.
It was uncertainty that reigned in his field the most; spikes in sadness and anger and hurt and fatigue and stinging betrayal come in unrelenting random bursts, but the oppressive air of confusion and the undercurrent fear are what make Starscream wish for a quick retreat to reorganize his thoughts before he has to continue this interaction.
The seeker doesn't think he himself is the source of confusion; the distrust might be warranted if the mechling has yet to resolve his emotions on their past fight, understandable even.
But the confusion feels innocent in its origins, disbelief and insecurity warring wildly-
WHY?!
Starscream doesn't think of himself as a particularly enigmatic mech even from a stranger's point of view. Overly expressive disposition and loudly declaring his intents and wants isn't conductive to a very mysterious aura.
Yet this youngling is treating him like an unsolvable puzzle.
The overarching situation is hopefully the biggest factor to the strange reaction.
Starscream resists the urge to stumble back -or Primus forbid, reach out- and wrestles his field into a steady presence, filling it with calm and understanding, vindictively stomping out the sense of feverish protectiveness that might have an opposite effect and smothering the irritation and exhaustion to the best of his ability.
He changes tactics.
::The offer stands. But if you'd prefer, Soundwave also has space in his quarters, he houses quite a number of cassettes in there but he'd be amenable if you promised them no harm.:: He'd be delighted, Starscream doesn't fool himself into thinking otherwise.
After another long pause, he notices the silver bot had discreetly taken a step away from him. Why?! What is it now? Ugh, sparklings. How did he get stuck doing this again? ::You are also welcome to join the troops in their shared dorm.:: If he had to use his voice it would be grounded out through his denta.
The sarcasm can be read in his words and on his face, probably in his field too if the mech was bothering with it, but Megatron looks hesitantly contemplative enough that he dreads getting taken up on it. He doesn't trust those idiots with a cybercat let alone their overemotional, recently traumatized youngling leader.
On that note.
::But under no circumstances is it advisable to seek out Shockwave.:: He adds as a sudden wave of concern realization washes over him, ::He has a loose understanding of consensual surgery at best and none for what's considered personal frame parts.:: Soundwave almost offlined him once when he almost vivisected Ravage for 'scientific discovery'.
Primus. He knows they haven't even gone through the rebranding but is it too soon to desert yet?
It's a few other kliks before the silver mech's shoulders slump and he speaks, "Where would I recharge in your room?" he concedes.
Oh, thank you Primus!
Starscream was exhausted joors ago; he can't keep this conversation up to the new leader's sensitivities before some well-deserved recharge. He turns on his thruster and takes the few strides to his quarters, ::We have an extra berth.:: he simply responds and opens the door.
The living area has a table covered in datapads, empty energon cubes and only a half-empty box of energon goodies. The bigger couch has some stray mesh blankets and a tub of polish with a discarded buffer next to it from a failed attempt of Knock Out's to ambush him into a 'neater look'. He'll have to take him up on that sooner than later.
Two other chairs are similarly covered with discarded blankets and datapads, he notices a squished energon goody on one and shivers in disgust. They should really clean up around here.
Megatron takes the room in with unabashed curiosity at the random splotches of color (bad pranks), the different color scheme of each corner (disagreements in decorating), or the general mess. And the seeker lets him, for a moment.
::Wash racks are that way.:: He points to a door to one side, ::Energon dispenser.:: It stands in a corner and its distance from the lounge has been the subject of many arguments. ::Berthrooms.:: A door at the opposite corner with a few variations of 'don't come in' and 'stay away' stricken off and rewritten a few times in red polish and the one beside it unblemished and emphasizing the catastrophe of ongoing projects and chemical spill happening on the desk next to it.
He goes to the unassuming blue door that leads to the larger berth.
As it slides open, his optics instantly lock onto the sight of his trinemates huddling on their shared berth and speaking in whispers, looking halfway into recharge but staying upright to fight the pull of rest.
They were waiting for him.
His spark suddenly grows warm and fluttery. Of course they waited, they're just fools like that. They waited for him because they wouldn't settle for anything but their full trine before surrendering to rest, they'd dote and fuss all over after such a battle.
And of course he's the inconsiderate fragger that brings a stranger into their safe space. Some trine leader.
He averts his optics when they look up at him.
Starscream doesn't let something as mundane as shame stop him though, he walks in as he feels the young mech sidling up to him and peering over his helm at the spacious rooms.
His comms are connected to the others long since, but it's still first instinct to open his intake on a loud statement. It, predictably, comes out as painful static and causes him to reset the cursed thing a few times. Right.
Both Thundercracker and Skywarp spring up with wings flared high in palpable alarm, the blue mech is hovering by his side in a nanoklik while their other trinemate stands stiffly by the berth.
::I'm fine.:: he emphasizes while shaking Thundercracker off him and straightening, he quickly makes a decision to include the mech behind him into the next messages, he can at least pretend he's addressing the room at large. ::The vocalizer will heal, but Soundwave made it clear it should be disabled for a short while until then.::
Immediately as the message is sent, Skywarp takes a few angry steps towards him, "Sounders?! Why are you getting checked up by him? What about Hook? Knock Out?" With his fists clenched by his sides and the growl in his voice, he almost looks ready to attack.
Starscream sighs, ::Busy.:: It's a voice box, worst case scenario he'd still be physically functional.
The purple seeker stomps his pede, "K.O? Too busy for you?!" he thunders incredulously.
Thundercracker, on the other hand, rests a servo over his optics and ex-vents deeply towards the skies, "He didn't tell him." he says, which is untrue; Knock Out had to know for his medical records, he just didn't have to know until the CCO was already halfway through.
The tired expression peeking under a dark servo and the worried lines of Skywarp's tightly wound frame keep him from pointing it out.
"Screamer." The blue seeker chides softly; the shortened name giving the impression of a lecture of its own accord.
A scuffing sound behind reminds him of the intruder to this very private moment and he pushes down embarrassment and steps away, to Megatron's side.
He fails to ignore how his trinemates' faces instantly darken at the tank's presence; they might adhere to authority more often than not, but this is their private quarters and they're free to disregard the command structure inside it.
Megatron seems to sense the mood change and folds his arms over his chassis in a challenge; the red seeker doesn't even have to look to see the glares reciprocated.
Amazing, this is escalating before anything is even said.
Starscream brings his servos together loudly; drawing their attention back to himself before these idiots make the youngling retreat after all the trouble he went through convincing him this was a good idea. ::Megatron, these are my wingmates, Thundercracker,:: He gestures to the taller seeker, ::And Skywarp.::
The purple mech uncharacteristically doesn't even wave or grin stupidly to break the tension, neither does Thundercracker deign them with a smile or a greeting beyond a nod. Uncooperative afts.
::Megatron will be recharging in our rooms tonight, his quarters are facing technical difficulties. Try to be civil with our guest:: He sends them both pointed looks to behave themselves.
Starscream's the one in the wrong, he's aware; he should've consulted them first instead of springing it up last klik. He'll have to explain himself, but that's for later, for now it's important to get this over with. He can't really get vulnerable with his trinemates while the silver mech's looming over his wing.
On a more private line he sends a message for them to ::Go with it for now.::
Skywarp is outwardly seething; stance still aggressive and glare burning the tall mech behind his trine leader, but he thankfully says nothing, ex-venting sharply and storming to his berth with the loud clicks of his heeled pedes declaring his displeasure all the way.
Thundercracker looks upset as well, not approving of him pulling rank or disregarding their opinion in trine matters, but it's a lot less obvious than the purple seeker's anger. He rests a servo over Starscream's forearm and squeezes firmly, "Okay." he says, voice soft, and lets go to leave for his own berth.
The air commander looks down at the newly formed dents on his gauntlet. At least he hadn't fixed anything yet, it blends well with his array of dents from earlier scuffles; smaller ones are on his shoulder from drones, deeper one on his neck from a lost gamble, not to mention the cuts and scuffs. Knockout will be clutching his spark at the mess he's made of his poor frame the moment he's in a better mood for a good buffing.
He mentally corrects himself, Thundercracker isn't upset, he's furious. Good to know.
He turns to the mech behind him and gestures to the berth closest to the door, by the corner. ::That is where you're recharging.:: he states and moves to his own berth, sweetly calling his name. Then he turns again, ::Would you prefer if I separated the rooms?:: He points at the access panel in the wall between their berths and -for tonight- Megatron’s.
Their berthroom is technically two rooms; no matter how close mecha can be, sometimes just the smallest of distances was needed to balance oneself. He couldn't imagine his life if he had no repose from everything every once in a while.
They do enjoy a single larger room instead when no one’s in need of space or alone time.
Megatron glares and stares at the other seekers getting comfortable for the night, looking close to shouting at him to mind his business before remembering where he is, then reluctantly tearing his gaze away to the side and shaking his head silently.
Starscream nods, bids him a ::Goodnight, then.:: uninterested in prolonging this interaction and simply struts to his berth. He promptly decides to ignore the addition to the rooms for his own mental health.
He lies down, comfortably shifting his wings on the soft material, ready for rest to claim his processor away. Thundercracker breaks that delusion first.
::Explain.:: He demand curtly, the red seeker can't remember the last time Thundercracker was ever this openly cold to him.
But before he tries to ease them into the fact that their new leader is a youngling, Skywarp floods his HUD with panicked massages. ::STAR?!:: ::Are you okay?!:: ::Did he hurt you?:: ::Did he threaten you?:: ::I know he beat your aft off your big chair but this is your personal life Screamer he doesn't get to force you to do anything!!!!:: ::Do I have to drop him in the rust sea? I'm sure the guys will get over the new leader getting a little lost and never coming back.:: ::You know me and TC are always on your side right?:: ::We're here for you.::
The constant pings are swift and overwhelming. His faceplates heat up, in anger of course. Starscream turns to glare at the purple idiot peeking down at him from the top berth. ::Of course you're on my side! You're my trine you imbecile!!:: He tries to shout without actually making a sound.
Skywarp is smiling widely and enthusiastically projecting safety and reassurance even when his EM field is never especially steady or focused, it rankles the Air Commander's plates that his trinemate would think him so easily intimidated or driven to distress. It makes him bare his denta, even knowing Skywarp will ignore all aggression if he thinks his trine leader needs his comfort.
Thundercracker breaks it off, ::Both of you stop it. Star, Warp is just trying to help so tone it down. Warp, listen to him before you reach conclusions.:: They both jump at the interruption.
Starscream glances across at the blue seeker, with their berths vertical they’re usually a whisper away. He only gets a blank expression. He folds his arms over his cockpit and lays back to glare at the underside of the top berth instead. It always unnerves him how well his wingmate hides his emotions, never having been that good at suppressing most of his own.
::Are you okay?:: A message appears from the worrybolt anyway, of course, now that Skywarp's suggestion is in the air they're both thinking it. This is what he gets for losing one fight. Granted, it was against a fragging youngling.
Serves him right for not taking a fight against an unarmed mech seriously.
::Again, I'm fine. No one can force me to do anything, let alone share my trine's space. I'm afraid that was all me.:: He tries for flourish but his anxiety must be written in his avoidant body language, he can’t force himself to stare them in the optic and see their disappointment, or worse, the indifference Thundercracker has been keeping his faceplate to.
::What happened?:: said seeker asks, Starscream can't read anything into the words, he can't read anything of his blue wingmate's tightly closed EM field, and he knows he wouldn’t be able to read his expression any better.
His side of their bond in blocked and bolted to both of his trinemates.
He can't think of what would appease his trinemate and it grinds his gears to have Thundercracker of all people mad at him, mad in a way that feels too real and cold, nothing like their usual arguments. He's unsure if the truth will even fix it or just drive a wedge between them.
A ting jolts him out of his thoughts and he glances to see it was Skywarp, dangling from his berth, he flicked Thundercracker's forehelm. The blue seeker blinks at them. ::Relax TC, you're scaring him.:: ::And you just said not to jump to conclusions.::
Skywarp shakes his helm in exasperation as if he isn't the one usually causing them helmaches while the blue seeker rubs his forehelm with sheepish glances sent both their ways.
The purple mech flashes the trine leader a grin. Starscream scowls, more reassurance he doesn't need, ::I am not scared! I'm just thinking, something that may be a little foreign to you but quite essential to the rest of us.:: he snaps, but it doesn't have any effect on his wingmate.
Skywarp slides upside-down and crawls to the lower berth, ::Okay, think-y face.:: he retorts easily and shoves him away to make space.
He aimlessly wrestles the other seeker until they somehow reach a position that satisfies the menace; Skywarp laying on his back and holding Starscream close over him. The red seeker almost agrees with the advantage of the position if his trinemate wasn't smiling up at him infuriatingly bright in the low light.
He tries to keep himself propped, but his elbows lose purchase with the wiggling of the mech under him. Then a tight hold keeps him from trying again, though the affection afforded in the EM field fully engulfing him now might’ve contributed as well.
::This is so unfair.:: The indignant thought focuses him on the outside again. Outside of the warmth and the heavy weight over his torso keeping him grounded onto safety and love.
Thundercracker, laying on his front, glares at them half-heartedly over his folded servos, ::He's the one that did something bad but he's getting cuddles for it? I'm starting to think you have a favorite, Warp.:: he complains. Rather reasonably Starscream notes with a tensing of his wings.
::If you didn't scare him from talking I wouldn't have to.:: His servos pat his trinemate's back agitatedly as if trying to calm himself. ::You know he works himself up to an anxious wreck when he thinks we're mad at him.:: He taps the Air Commander's helm for emphasis.
Starscream growls, which exits his throat as nothing more than stuttered static, and swats the servo away, ::I'm NOT SCARED! And I don't care what you think.:: he snaps angrily.
And realizes what he said as he meets Thundercracker's optics.
He does care; they know that no matter how much he denies it. He doesn't have to admit anything for them to know...right?
His trinemate doesn't reach with his EM field for a non-verbal response or assurance; he just sighs and lays back down. ::Fine, but this better be good.:: he sends, resigned, and Starscream tries not to drown in the upset and disproval coming off of the seeker under him.
He sinks back into the embrace, somewhat chastised and fuming at the same time; Thundercracker hadn't even listened to him before passing his judgment.
::Well if you must know, I invited him to recharge here because I thought you both would be a little aggrieved if I left a lonely sparkling to hover sadly in the hallway all night.:: He's exaggerating, Soundwave would've passed him to get to his hab and certainly felt the distress radiating from him with how loud the silver tank's field is. It still felt like his responsibility at the moment.
He feels both of his trinemates stutter into a confused stop with mild amusement on his part.
::What?:: The blue jet sends, at a loss.
::You sure you're okay?:: Skywarp questions again. ::Are you sure you didn't hit your helm?:: ::I told you you should've let Knock Out or Hook see you.:: he continues to irritate.
::I'm just fine, thank you. And a visit to the overworked medics won't change the fact that our new leader is barely a little older than forty stellar cycles, a fact that you'll find reasonable when you figure out he was a miner that I can only assume obtained his T-cog a shortly before our meeting.:: he explains, relishing in their muted shock.
At this point he's certain that a vocal outburst doesn't occur only because they've been communicating through comms for the past half-joor.
::So you're telling me you got your aft handed to you by a new-spark who barely just got his cog?:: Skywarp mocks, shaking with oppressed laughter. Starscream lets the tips of his claws unsheathe directly into the idiot's chassis, getting a hiss. ::You're feral.:: he taunts, smirking.
::You brought this upon yourself.:: he responds.
::Are we gonna discuss how Screamer thinks the adolescent mech is a sparkling?:: Thundercracker chimes in.
::He is a sparkling!!:: the red seeker argues, the mechling is barely halfway through his first vorn for Primus' sake! ::He is younger than any of Soundwave's cassettes!::
They ignore him. ::No, no, you're right. He's sounding ancient.:: Skywarp teases.
::I'd like to remind you that'd make you even more ancient than both of us.:: Thundercracker retorts playfully, in one of the rare moments they can all accept that the purple seeker is the oldest.
Starscream snorts, delighted, even as Skywarp's act of a deep wound in his spark dislodges him and he almost falls off the berth, ::TC, I thought you were on my side!::
Their trinemate just shrugs and looks over them with an amused -fond- smile, ::I'm on the winning side.:: Then meets optics with his purple trinemate, ::And the one that didn't betray me first.::
Starscream watches the brutal exchange with a smile of his own, if a little more self-satisfied than his wingmate's.
::Well, if you're gonna gang up on me then maybe you'll be happier with each other instead.:: Skywarp grumbles sullenly and tries to push his trine leader off him. Starscream snakes his arms around the sulking seeker, burying his faceplates in warm neck plating to prevent his dislodgement.
Thundercracker watches them struggle for another klik before intervening, reaching to pat Skywarp's helm, ::Okay, enough of that. We can't all fit into a berth but that's no reason to throw a fit, Warp. Accept the predicament.:: he consoles his trinemate, patronizing tap of his servo turning gentle caress.
The trine leader holds still as the servo rests over his own helm comfortingly, and then it slips leisurely over their wings before finally returning to support the blue seeker's helm.
Slowly, a calm EM field brushes against where his entangles with Skywarp's and they both settle. He didn't even notice how rigid the seeker under him was until the tension broke.
Starscream allows the peaceful moment seep through his plating and into his protoform; Thundercracker's field is calm and mildly amused at their expense, Skywarp’s responds expectedly by bursting with satisfaction, infuriatingly so, but it's overshadowed by unfiltered joy.
He knows his own reluctant field is doing some weird dance of recoiling from the contact and seeking it out, but he can't be bothered to control it. His trinemates don't complain.
His trine doesn't hate him, of course they wouldn 't. The mere thought is outrageous, ridiculous, like something a nervous fledgling would think about potential trining candidates. He's better than that, he knows them. They know him. They might get cross with each other but they'd never actually hate.
The relaxation only clears his processor enough for it to start relentlessly pinging him of how battered and weary he is, and with that, recharge immediately takes highest priority; anything unsaid can be reviewed after he recharges for the entire cycle tomorrow.
He's halfway to it when another message pings his HUD.
::Think Screamer would admit he developed carer coding?::
::I'd say this qualifies as more of a mentoring than nurturing situation.::
::You get what I'm saying.:: ::Think Soundwave knows about this?::
::Oh, he definitely knows. Probably seething he didn't get there before Star too.::
Starscream doesn't have the energy to argue with the two slaggers over their gross misconceptions, he can barely focus enough to know what they're saying. Aren't they fragging tired? How are they still going?
His wings twitch in irritation and he pats around blindly for a faceplate until he almost pokes Thundercracker's optic out, he ignores the squawk of protest to lay his palm over the other seeker's faceplates too.
::Shut.:: ::Up.:: He manages to send, after the incoherent soft static falling from his intake continues to be incoherent.
::Someone's cranky.:: Skywarp attempts to goad.
But Starscream's beyond words, he smoothes his servo clumsily over the purple seeker's faceplates in an effort to lull him to rest.
His other servo gets caught in Thundercracker's own and he doesn't bother trying to shake the loose grip off, his trinemate can have it for now.
::Okay, okay, we'll go to recharge.:: Skywarp gives up, batting the servo on his faceplate away and readjusting his grip around the red seeker's torso.
A few kliks pass in merciful stillness.
::Primus he's gonna freak out when he realizes how much buffing he needs right now.:: ::He feels thoroughly beat-up.:: ::Think he saw himself yet?::
::Warp, he's gonna wake up and thoroughly beat you up if you don't shush.::
::I'm just saying!:: ::Did you see how deep the ones on his neck are?:: ::Pits, just the burns and dents on his wrists are gonna take forever to buff and repaint.:: ::Knocks isn't made of resources, I gotta go raid some clinic again and soon after this whole mess.::
::Warp, I really get it. I worry too, but if he wakes up we're both dead. Can you at least use my private line if you won't let me recharge?::
::I am on the private line?::
::Screamer is still getting these, you're on trine comm. line.::
::Then you're also doing it!::
::Just go to recharge if you can't differentiate your comms anymore! Primus knows we need it, I can feel every single one of my back struts aching from the last couple cycles!::
Starscream unsheathes his clawtips to dig into vulnerable plating with a silent growl. They both hiss.
::Okay, we're sorry Star, we're recharging now.:: Thundercracker apologizes, gently prying claws from his servo and cradling it again safely.
Skywarp hisses and fails at removing the sharp digits from his shoulder pad. ::Claws off!:: ::Claws off.:: ::Claws off.:: Then spams the others' HUDs with a dozen urgency pings.
::Warp! Shut up!::
::Screamer I swear I'll throw you to the floor.:: ::Let go!:: Starscream flinches at the hint of real pain in the other seeker's field, he retracts his claws. He must've dug into some seem or hurt a line under one; he brushes his servo gently over the scratches in silent apology.
Skywarp huffs but the red seeker doesn't hear or receive anything after that.
They settle down soon after. So with a servo warmly smoothing over his back struts and a digit brushing slowly on the back of his servo, and as he falls into the blissful unconsciousness of recharge he finally realizes what was wrong.
Megatron’s optics were a soft sunset orange.
A closer shade to the amber optics of D-16 than the crimson ones he declared himself a new mech with.