Chapter Text
“What do you mean there's no retrieval mission?” Skywarp hisses.
Thundercracker is, usually, a voice of reason. A voice he often ignores, but one that is there nonetheless. Normally, he'd be pulling Skywarp back, or at least leaving the room to avoid getting caught in the crossfire when Skywarp goes too far.
At the moment, though, Thundercracker is by his side, looking only a few astroseconds away from joining in on the yelling.
“I mean that I have no interest in wasting supplies to go get an incompetent backstabber.” Megatron growls. “That moron will find his own way back, if he wasn't blown up on the rig.”
Skywarp's optic twitches.
Starscream being left for dead wasn't necessarily new. He always came back to the decepticons, occasionally a little worse for wear, but functional, and ready to annoy everyone to death in no time.
The difference was that it had been a deca-phase, almost a full cycle, and there was no sign of Starscream. No glimpses of stupid plans, no proof that he hadn't been blown to scrap.
“He's Air Commander,” Thundercracker says, trying to keep his voice even, “and Second-in-Command.”
“Blitzwing will be acting Air Commander until further notice.” Megatron waves a servo dismissively and turns away. “Soundwave will be my second.”
Skywarp wants to tear Megatron's helm off, talons flexing angrily, and he's mildly relieved to see Thundercracker's wings twitching irritably. At least he isn't the only one seething.
Starscream is a pain in his aft. A pain in everyone’s aft, honestly. He throws him and Thundercracker under the bus at every given opportunity, and he keeps trying to usurp their leader, and he's loud and selfish and petty and has a stick up his aft. He complains about everything and acts like he's Primus reborn, and Skywarp is pretty sure he still has scratches in his casing from the last time they argued.
But he's Starscream. Skywarp's Starscream. Thundercracker's Starscream. Their trinemate, for better or worse.
Skywarp’s engine rumbles low in his chassis, vibrating through his frame. He doesn’t teleport forward to strangle Megatron—barely resists the urge—but the only thing stopping him is the way Thundercracker steps closer, not to hold him back for once, but to join him.
Thundercracker’s voice is tight, anger bubbling just beneath the surface, optics narrowed at Megatron with murderous intent.
“You’re not seriously going to just move on from his absence like it's nothing.”
Megatron turns just enough to glance over his shoulder, optics dim and disinterested.
“Starscream made his choices.” He says. “If he'd been less reckless, he would've been able to retreat with Soundwave and I.”
“Then we're going to find him.” Skywarp snaps before he can think it through.
Megatron’s expression darkens.
“Leave and get back to work, or I’ll have you both thrown in the brig for insubordination.”
Thundercracker doesn’t flinch, wings angling high in a rare display of defiance.
“ Try it.”
There’s a dangerous silence. Soundwave tilts his helm ever so slightly where he stands beside the throne, but doesn’t move. His visor and mouthpiece render his expression unreadable. Skywarp keeps his optics on their leader.
Then, without another word, Megatron sits.
Dismisses them like they’re beneath his notice, waving a servo and turning his attention to a datapad.
Skywarp growls but Thundercracker grabs his arm and pulls him back, frame tight with tension.
They leave.
The door slides behind them, and for a moment, neither of them speaks, silent except for the heavy thud of their footsteps.
“He knows Screamer wouldn’t have gone this long without making a scene unless he was slagged. He knows!” Skywarp blurts, servos clenching.
“I know,” Thundercracker mutters, quieter now.
They walk fast, angry, purposeful. Back to their shared quarters, where Skywarp starts throwing gear into a bag, muttering angrily under his breath the whole time.
Thundercracker is already pulling up schematics on the datapad—of the rig, of the last known coordinates, of the surrounding sea trench and what little they know of enemy movement. He holds out a servo to Skywarp, stopping him.
“He wouldn’t have just left,” Skywarp says. “Even if he was pissed and injured. Even if he was planning to defect again. He’d say something. Leave a message. Gloat. Brag. Something .”
“I know,” Thundercracker repeats, “but what if he comes back? What if he returns, and we're not here? Or he returns and we've been demoted because we were, what, worried?”
Skywarp scowls, but he does still.
“He should be back by now.”
“I know.” Thundercracker emphasizes. “But it hasn't actually been that long. You know how Star is and what his luck is like. For all we know, he could have been stopped on his way back by a flock of angry Earth-animals. He has the worst luck, and he's really stubborn.”
Skywarp shifts on his pedes, wings fluttering restlessly.
“...I guess. So, what? We just— wait? ”
Thundercracker zooms in on his schematic, expression grim and stressed. His wings tilt downwards and his jaw works for a moment.
“We can do some reconnaissance, at least. See if we can find any sign of him in that area. But nothing too brash yet. Megatron would kill us.” He says after a beat of tense quiet. Skywarp sighs, dragging a servo down his faceplate.
“ Dammit, Screamer.” He mumbles.
“He's probably fine.” Thundercracker says. It sounds like he's trying to convince himself more than Skywarp.
“When he gets back, I don't care about the stupid independent streak he's had since Vos fell, we're all getting in a berth and I'm polishing his wings.” Skywarp mutters to himself, tossing his bag aside with more force than necessary. “It's been ages since all three of us did anything together like a proper trine. I swear, if I was a stupider mech, I'd think he didn't care at all.”
“Star's just difficult and particular.” Thundercracker sits on the edge of the berth with a sigh. “Always worried about looking weak.”
“I know. But it's stupid.” Skywarp sits next to him and then flops backwards. “Do you remember back on Vos when Screamer used to sneak out past curfew just to fly loops over the city towers? Like the enforcers wouldn’t notice a bright red, white, and blue idiot doing barrel rolls over the plaza.”
Thundercracker smiles faintly. It almost looks like it hurts.
“Yeah. He used to tell us it was ‘training,’ but he just liked the attention.”
Skywarp snorts.
“You’re telling me! He’d make sure his wings were waxed before sneaking out. That wasn’t training , that was peacocking .”
Thundercracker leans back on his servos with a hum.
“Do you remember how he used to sneak us into the upper levels, just to sit on the edge of the glass towers and gawk at the launch paths?” Skywarp continues, trailing into nostalgia. “He acted like he hated it; complained about the height, the danger, the effort. But he always went back with us because the wind calmed you and I liked practicing my teleports up there.”
Thundercracker huffs a bemused breath.
“He liked it more than he let on. He always does. Likes us more than he says, too.”
Skywarp sighs.
“Well, if he’s still functioning, I’m going to tell him that next time I see him. That I know he gives a damn, no matter how much he pretends otherwise. Then I’m going to punch him in the face.” He folds his arms behind his helm and stares up at the ceiling.
“Get in line.”
“I hate this. Not knowing. I’d rather he send a message saying ‘slag off, I’m defecting again’ than this- this nothing .” Skywarp mumbles.
Thundercracker doesn’t answer, just staring down at the datapad, tracing the coastline with one finger.
“So, when are we leaving?” Skywarp presses.
Thundercracker doesn’t answer that immediately, either. He studies the schematics, marking likely places where Starscream could’ve escaped to if injured, or places he might have fallen into if he didn’t. After a moment, he sets the datapad down and leans back, optics narrowed in thought.
“Tonight.” He says finally. “After third shift swap. Most of the guards will be tired or distracted. We’ll fly low over the sea trench. Cloaked .”
Skywarp nods.
“Stealthy recon. Got it. If he’s alive, we find him. If he’s not-”
“He is. Until I see a body, he's alive.” Thundercracker cuts him off forcefully.
Skywarp falters, wavering, and Thundercracker's servos ball into fists.
“He's alive.” Thundercracker snaps.
“Yeah.” Skywarp glances away.
-
By the time they reach the outer perimeter, the skies are dark and the moonlight reflects off the ocean like something out of a movie. Thundercracker leads the way, his expression tight with focus. Skywarp trails just behind, ready to blink them out of danger if needed.
The rig is quiet when they arrive. Eerily so. Ruined. Collapsed. Singed struts poke out from the sea like broken fingers.
Skywarp hovers just above the damaged platform, wings twitching.
“Energon residue,” Thundercracker mutters, scanning the area. “A lot of it. Old. No fresh trails, but-”
He stops. Kneels by a half-melted panel.
“What?” Skywarp drops beside him.
Thundercracker lifts a scrap of scorched plating, twisted and carbon-marked.
Faint, but unmistakable, on the underside is a smear of red paint. Starscream’s red.
Skywarp goes very still, optics flitting around to take in the whole scene. Pieces of shattered yellow glass linger nearby, and more paint chips and paint transfers decorate the area, some in Starscream's colors and some not.
“He was here,” Thundercracker says, voice low, “but there’s no sign of a body. He made it off the rig.”
A mix of relief and a fresh wave of concern wash over Skywarp.
“Then where the frag is he now?” He whispers.
Thundercracker grits his denta, standing up again.
“I don't know. But not here. Scans didn't pick up any sign of him in the water, so he must have gone somewhere. Hopefully somewhere where he can't get himself hurt worse.” His wings twitch, then droop low.
Skywarp crosses his arms.
“So we're relying on hope now? You sound like an autobot.”
“Do you have a better plan that won't get us melted down by Megatron?” Thundercracker retorts. Skywarp scowls and looks away. “Didn't think so. Come on, we need to leave before anyone notices our absence.”
“But-”
“He's not here, Sky.” Thundercracker says. “He's not here and all signs point to him having made it off alive. The best thing we can do with the information we have is to wait.”
Skywarp bites his glossa and resists the urge to scream, kicking a stray piece of metal off the rig and into the water with a distant splash.
“ Fine. ” He spits, wings flaring. “Let's go.”