Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sounds of thunder rang out around the imposing tower known as Darkmount, but there was not a cloud in the sky over Cybertron. Instead, the unrelenting roar of metal clashing against metal came from within the tower. Starscream, former acting leader, and, now, former second in command to the Decepticons was being treated like no more than a child’s plaything. Being tossed against walls and onto the floor for the mere amusement of how gravity caused his spindly limbs to bounce slightly slower than his helm against the hard surfaces. Darksteel and Skylynx roared with glee as they began tossing the Seeker back and forth between their maws, turning to a demented game of catch once the novelty of gravity had worn off. But the constant, shrill screams coming from their new toy? That never got old.

Darksteel caught Starscream in his jaws from an especially great height and violently shook his head in victory, nearly causing Starscream to purge onto himself. Energon dripped from his body as if he had taken a shower in it, covered in ever-growing lacerations caused by the blade-like teeth of the Predacons. Despite his spinning vision, Starscream managed to cry out to Predaking, the largest of the Predacons, who watched from what was meant to be Starscream’s throne with a bored expression, cheekplate resting on a clenched servo.

“My liege, please! You said you were here to settle scores, is this not enough!? Can I do nothing to get you to reconsider!?”

Predaking straightened in his seat, his unamused expression weighing heavy on his brow ridge. “No, you cannot. And no, this is not enough, because you still speak.”

Predaking stood and began to approach the three with a commanding stride, echoing like a sparkbeat across the room. While Starscream’s gaze was elsewhere, Darksteel adjusted the Seeker in his maw until he held onto him only by his elbow joints, and Skylynx immediately took the Seeker’s legs into his own. The two began taking small, deliberate steps backwards, away from each other, while Starscream’s chassis remained in the middle. Stretching, stretching, stretching the mech’s body until it began to creak, threatening to pop at the seams. Starscream let out a loud shriek that was slowly strangled out of him until he could only gasp.

Predaking was at Starscream’s side, now, and he held up a servo, which stopped Darksteel and Skylynx from stretching him any further, letting him linger on the very edge of his internals exploding out of his body. Energon leaked from his intake and steadily dripped onto the floor. Predaking leaned down, looming over the former Decepticon with enough contempt to kill any other mech, but not enough for Starscream.

“There...An improvement, already. But your torment is far from over, Starscream.” The designation left his intake like a purge. “You are a liar, a scoundrel, and a coward. And for that, you deserve a coward’s death. And it will be my pleasure to grant it to you.”

Predaking stood tall and snapped his digits, and his brethren begrudgingly released Starscream, allowing him to clatter to the floor once again. Starscream coughed, more energon spraying from his intake, but before he could hope to steady himself, Predaking transformed and threw himself onto Starscream. Without a single, merciful moment for Starscream to anticipate what could possibly be in store for him next, the Predacon used his claws to pierce into his optics.

The glass spheres shattered beneath the claws as though they were merely Christmas ornaments. Starscream wailed with all the strength he had left. It barely sounded like his own voice anymore, it was almost a roar. A miserable, fearful, anguished roar that caused the temperature of the air to drop. A nauseating rainbow of colors and static covered his vision for only a few miliseconds. And then, blackness. He felt the claws in his optic sockets flex, then they abruptly pulled downwards, across his face plate, leaving a trail of deep gashes from his sockets to his mandible.

Starscream convulsed on the floor for what felt like several minutes. Predaking transformed again, taking the Seeker by the throat and lifting him from the ground, then spoke to the mutilated mech with a low, venomous growl.

“You will die in darkness, alone, and gripped by fear.”

The Predacon began walking. To where, Starscream wasn’t sure, at least not until he felt the cool night wind against his wings. Predaking was holding him over the edge of Dark Mount. Starscream lifted his servos and dug his sharp digits into Predaking’s wrist joint, but was too weak to break past his thick armor.

“Ple...ease…” Starscream croaked.

“And yet it still begs for mercy...You pathetic creature.” Predaking tightened his grip and extended his arm, holding Starscream further over the edge. “This display of weakness will not earn mercy from me, as it did with your former master. Farewell, Starscream, King of Nothing.”

Predaking released his grip, and the drop in Starscream’s tank announced his fall even sooner than the sound of wind screaming past his audials. He couldn’t transform, he was too weak. But what good would that do him now, when the world had become so dark? He could feel the ground approaching with cruel speed. Instinct took over, and Starscream used what remained of his strength to activate his thruster and slow his descent. It was impossible to tell how effective it was , he couldn’t even tell which way was up anymore, but he would soon find out, one way or another.

And sadly, it was not enough to completely cushion his fall. Starscream’s pedes hit the ground, that answered where ‘up’ was, and the rest of his frame followed. A sharp pain ripped through his chassis like a blaster shot, which transformed into a vibrating numbness, and then, finally an indescribable ache that pulsed which each beat of his slowing spark. The dust of the ground caressed Starscream’s cheekplate with all the gentleness of sandpaper. Cold, and scathing against the claw marks on his face plate. Each particle that entered his seeping wounds felt like pure acid. The pain was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, worsened by his lack of vision, which only amplified his remaining receptors to compensate for the loss.

Starscream coughed, painting the ground with a thin mist of energon. But he did not scream. He did not move…Even if he could, what would be the point of trying? He knew that only the vast, empty expanse of Cybertron would be waiting for him. The Autobots were still nearby the Nemesis...Even with their bleeding sparks, they likely wouldn’t even bother to rescue Starscream if they stumbled upon him. With the war over, he had nothing more to offer as leverage. With only a few words, Megatron had stripped him of everything: his title, his power, and his purpose. And now, he would die with nothing.

Starscream, King of Nothing.

What felt like hours passed, and Starscream wished he hadn’t tried to slow his fall. It would have been better to die quickly by hitting the ground than to lie here, in agony, waiting for the end. He briefly wondered whether or not Predaking expected him to do such a foolish thing, then he realized that it really didn’t matter. But he had the misguided hope that one of the Predacons would come down from their tower to look at their handiwork one last time, if only to put him out of his misery...or, at the very least, to not be left alone. Even to die beside his murderer would be better than to be left alone. To know that someone witnessed him, and that his death would have meant something. That his existence mattered.

Another minute passed...maybe. Starscream had no optic lids to shut anymore, but he could feel everything begin to get further away. Yet, somehow, he could swear he felt a presence beside him, now. It made no sound, it didn’t touch him, and yet, he could feel it, somewhere nearby. It washed up beside him like a sheet in the wind, graceful and unfeeling. Perhaps it was only a delusion his processor had created to comfort him in his final moments, but, even so, he welcomed the spirit. But just as quickly as it came, the spirit left, and was replaced by the whirring, electrical sound of...a ground bridge?

Starscream’s chassis sputtered back to life after sitting dormant for what felt like days. He lifted his helm, seeing nothing, but he could feel the energy of the ground bridge on his tortured faceplate, mere inches away. Was this another trick of his mind? Or had Primus actually answered his prayers for once? Regardless, there was only one thing to do, and it would be the hardest thing Starscream had ever done. He dug his digits into the ground, and began to crawl.

All was quiet on the wreckage of the Nemesis. After Optimus Prime had made his greatest sacrifice, the Autobots pressed on through their grief to continue their quest to restore Cybertron. Ratchet was currently in the control room, sputtering and grumbling over the state of their computer systems. Ever since the Nemesis crashed, the ship’s computer kept malfunctioning; opening doors, flickering the lights, turning on the comm system, and worst of all opening-

A green portal flashed into existence to Ratchet’s right and he groaned. “Another slagging groundbridge! For Primus’ sake!” Ratchet stomped over to the ground bridge’s control panel and began investigating, but nothing jumped out as being amiss. Smokescreen, who was currently picking up datapads that had been tossed by the Nemesis’ crash landing, sighed and walked over to Ratchet.

“Before you accuse me of doing it, no, Ratchet, I’m not messing with the ground bridge to pull a fast one on you. That’s like, kid stuff.”
“Then why, in the name of the Allspark, is it continuing to open groundbridges at completely random intervals!”
“Beats me! If I was doing it, you would be able to tell from my comedic timing. Uh, maybe it’s just a short circuit or some kind of...automated…” Smokescreen turned to look at the groundbridge and narrowed his optics, seeing a small figure begin to take shape.
“Automated!?’ Oh, puh-lease. If it were automated, not only would that be a massive waste of energy, but it would also be completely reckless on the Decepticons’ part. And we would be able to see the same coordinates pop up each time! Bah, this whole ship needs a complete reboot.”
Smokescreen approached the groundbridge and stood in front of it, waiting to see who, or what, would appear on the other side. He placed the datapads down and transformed his dominant arm into a blaster. The figure grew brighter as it approached, until finally, it took shape. At first, the mech was nearly unrecognizable from the state of his face, but once Smokescreen dampened his surprise long enough to see the full picture, he gasped.
Ratchet threw up his hands and walked to the main control to shut off the groundbridge. “That’s it, I can’t find anything. I’m closing this down.” Ratchet’s servo landed heavily onto the keypad, which emitted a shrill, monotonous ‘beep.’
“Ratchet, wait!” Smokescreen cried, but not quickly enough. Without a second thought, he dove into the groundbridge and grabbed the injured mech by his servos, then dove back out just as the portal shut, nearly severing his pedes clean off. The sequence of events happened so quickly that Ratchet’s surprised yelp seemed delayed. “Smokescreen, are you alright, what was the meaning of-!?”

Ratchet’s words were crushed by the atmosphere he stepped into. Smokescreen was on his knees, holding a mangled, nearly-unrecognizable Starscream. Energon soaked his chassis to the point that it looked like a top coat of paint. His wings were bent, one could even say frayed from the abuse he’d endured behind that groundbridge. And yet, by some miracle, small puffs of steam were escaping his intake. He was alive.

Smokescreen looked up at Ratchet with terrified optics, his helm shaking slowly as if trying to deny what he was seeing. Ratchet looked into those young, frightened optics, and found the strength to steel himself.

“Get him into the med bay, now.”

By the time he was in Smokescreen’s arms, Starscream couldn’t feel anything at all. Every touch against his frame, even the ones that reached down to his lacerated protoform, felt like nothing more than ocean waves below the surface of the water. Everything even sounded as if he were adrift at sea, nothing but muffled voices and the whooshes of movement. But, over time, things became more detailed. Thumping turned to pedfalls, multiple sets of them, and the voices began to take shape.

“Primus, I think I might faint! I don’t think it’s even possible to buff out something that deep!” Said a particularly familiar voice, that, for some reason, made Starscream feel a bit of anger. Why must this voice be the first he hears?

“Really, that is what you’re worried about!?” Said another voice, one he couldn’t say he’s heard much of. At least, not until recently.

“Hey, give me a break, I’m trying to cope, here!”

“Quiet! Bulkhead, any luck finding a spare optic?” A gruff, more aged voice cut through the commotion with authority.
“No, I’ve been looking everywhere, but all the ones we’ve got are broken!”
“No thanks to you, I hope!”
“Hey, watch where you point that wrench, Ratchet, I’m trying to help!”

Wait, those names, these voices...Starscream knew where he was! He opened his optics to confirm, but, nothing happened. He felt movement in his helm, but no light graced his vision. He tried again, and again, searching for something, anything. But at that he found was inky, unending blackness. The memory of his encounter with Predaking cut through the sedatives like a knife.

Starscream suddenly let out a guttural shriek that forced the entire room into silence.

“MY OPTICS! MY OPTICS! I’M BLIND! I-I’M BLIND!”

Starscream thrashed his helm back and forth, searching in vain for the lights and colors that hid from him. As he attempted to flee from this horrifying reality, he found that his arms were restrained, but his pedes remained free. He kicked and screamed, then, suddenly, his heel strut collided with something that emitted a sharp shout of surprise, revealing that there were even more bots in this room than he had initially heard.

“Augh! Are you tryin’ to make me your twin!?”

“Jackie, help me get his legs!” Bulkhead shouted.

“Knockout, sedate him! Now!” Ratchet commanded.

Starscream felt familiar servos press firmly into his left arm as a set of much larger servos secured his legs to the medical berth, but he continued to try and fight, completely overcome with panicked delirium. His processor craved escape that it could never obtain.

“No! Please, please! Don’t do this! I’ll do anything you want, just don’t hurt me! Don’t hurt me, PLEASE!”

Starscream felt a sharp pinch in his arm, and after a mere second, his glossa became so heavy that it weighed down his entire helm. He tried to keep it upright, but his spinal strut failed him. His helm crashed backwards into the medical berth. A servo rested on the crest of his helm, followed by a weary sigh from his once trusted medic.

“Sorry, Screamer...”

Starscream was back beneath the waves once again, only this time, the warmth of the water had been completely lost. He was cold, with an unpleasant, numb tingling pulsating through his frame and resting on the tips of his digits. The sedatives did nothing to dull his fear, only his senses. He floated in a gruesome cocktail of grief, terror, and anger. Anger, that normally came to his rescue in such times to help him push past his fears. Anger, that fueled him to go on, despite everything he had been through and would go through again. Anger, that had become...weak. There was no kindling to add to his fire anymore; there no revenge to plot and no karmic justice to anticipate. Predaking had settled his score, Megatron was gone, and Starscream was blind.

Voices reached his audials, but they were muffled beneath the water. Was he even awake? He felt that horrid, numb static pulsing through him, but nothing more. He couldn’t even feel the berth beneath him or the restraints around his joints. He could be floating, for all he knew, and he hated not knowing whether this was his own nightmare, or the one that waited for him in the waking world.

Starscream swallowed, and his glossa felt as though it would slide down his throat like a thick, disgusting slab of cold, organic meat. The primal part of his processor told him to cry out for help towards the voices he heard, and he obliged it. But his attempt to say ‘help’ came out more like a wheeze that only ceased to increase in pitch when he pursed his lips around it. The voices continued...They got quieter.

‘Don’t leave me.’

Silence.

‘Help me.’

The silence had already greeted him once; it knew it was here to stay.

‘Help me!’

His final cry echoed out into nothingness, but this time, there was an answer. It echoed back, like the sound of whales, at first, but it grew clearer, and clearer, until he felt a pair of servos harshly shaking his shoulder pauldrons. Reality closed around him as through the air lock of his processor had been breached, and Starscream gasped as sound, glorious sound, graced his audials once again. Medical equipment beeped, air flowed through vents overhead, flooring creaked, and Knockout shrieked.

“Starscream! Wake up!”

Ratchet slapped Knockouts servos away and Starscream flopped back onto his berth, where he took deep, shaking intakes. “That’s enough, Knockout! In fact, none of that would have been preferable!”

Starscream felt Ratchet’s digits inspecting his throat cabling with careful diligence.

“You could have caused further damage to his hexa-lateral scapula if you shook him any harder.”

“Sorry, but I couldn’t take those noises he was making anymore! He sounded like a Zombiecon!” Knockout proceeded to imitate what he had heard, and, unfortunately, his comparison was accurate.

“Inappropriate, Knockout,” said Ultra Magnus, who, apparently, was also in the room.

Starscream shouted at the sudden voice and trembled, moving his helm around to pointlessly search for others. His wings, sore, but whole, tilted without his permission as he searched, as if attempting to catch the sounds as they traveled.

“W-Where am I!? Who else is here!?” Starscream shouted, having finally found his voice again.

“Easy, Screamer. It’s just me, Ratchet, and Ultra Mag now, everyone else left already. You’re back home on the Nemesis, isn’t that nice?” Knockout laid his servo on Starscream’s shoulder, but quickly took it away when Starscream nearly jumped out of his restraints.

“That’s Ultra Magnus, soldier.”

“And this is Knockout, coming to you live with a brief reminder that the war is over, and the moniker of “solider” is now, officially, out of style,” Knockout said with an audible smirk. After a short, scolding silence, Knockout said “sorry, sir,” and shifted his pedes on the floor.

Ultra Magnus cleared his intake and took a few heavy steps towards Starscream’s berth. He looked down at the trembling mech with a restrained amount of pity in his optics; pity that did not infect his tone.

“Starscream, I’m not certain how much you remember of what happened before, or during your arrival on the Nemesis, so I will briefly summarize: Smokescreen rescued you after you crawled through a groundbridge, one that was opened randomly due to a technical error. You were rushed to the med bay, and, while you were unconscious, we discussed what to do with you once you had made a full recovery. I’m sure that you’ve noticed that your optics have...not been restored. Unfortunately, at this time we do not have any functioning optics on board, nor the resources to repair any of what we have.”

“What!?” Starscream shouted, suddenly sitting up. A sharp pain ripped through his frame, and he choked on a shriek. Ratchet placed his servos onto Starscream’s chassis and gently pressed him back down.

“No sudden movements! You’ve sustained extensive internal damages. You need to rest. But yes, Ultra Magnus is right,” Ratchet said, with a twinge of misplaced guilt in his voice. “When the Nemesis crashed, the spare optics were thrown from their storage containers, leaving the least damaged sets with only some of their internal mechanisms intact, if anything was left intact at all. Until we can find the materials to reconstruct their casings, you will have to remain without sight.”

This had to be a nightmare, it had to be. He was still dreaming; any moment now, he would wake up in his safe, warm berth. The lights would slowly turn on, and with that his day would begin. Megatron would chastise him for recharging too late, despite giving him a massive dent in the helm the day before. There was no Unicron, there was no Predaking, no Dark Mount...How could there possibly not be a single optic on board!?

“No...I-I don’t believe you!” Starscream went to move again, but Ratchet pressed him down before he could. “Every optic, destroyed!? Not even one is intact!? I’d sooner believe you intend to keep me blind for your own sick amusement, Autobot!”

“Enough!” Ultra Magnus boomed, silencing Starscream as quickly as he would be silenced by a blaster shot to his forehelm. “We’re telling the truth. Now, that being said, we cannot turn you away in this state, and we cannot, in good conscience, hold you in a prison. So, we have decided as a group to allow you to stay with us while you heal and wait for your vision to be restored. Once you’re able to see again, it will be your choice whether or not you stay. If you choose to stay, you will help us rebuild Cybertron. If you choose to leave, we will not follow you. However…”

Ultra Magnus took another step forward, and Starscream felt the chill of his shadow over his frame, like something had crawled from the Pit to drag him down. “Now that the war is over, our top priorites are to rebuild, and to maintain peace. If you should decide to threaten that peace...we will retaliate. Have I made myself clear?”

Starscream could hardly believe it. Blind, surrounded by the enemy on all sides, bound to the Nemesis because the only alternative to it would be the cruel, untamed wasteland of Cybertron, and they dare delude themselves into believing he wasn’t their prisoner? How long would they take to restore his vision? A few days? A millennia? They could put it off for as long as they wanted and Starscream would be none the wiser! And, that being said...he had no means of fighting back. Even if they made the foolish choice not to disable his weapons, which they surely have already, what good are they to him now?

Starscream was a mech who always had a trick up his sleeve, a lie on the tip of his silver glossa, a knife itching to nestle itself in the spinal assembly of whoever dared stand in his way. But now? Blinded, without an army, without flight, missle, or claw? Without even a polite acquaintance on his side? Now, for the first time since Megatron ground him under ped for his disloyalty…

He was completely helpless.

“...Yes, sir.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper. His newly repaired wings drooped low on his back, almost threatening to fall off entirely.

Knockout’s optics reset themselves in surprise at the sight of Starscream’s paltry posture. Starscream looking pathetic wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, nor was him acting pathetic to get his way, but this...This was different. This was surrender.

Ratchet was just as surprised, but his took the form of a scowl and an incredulous ‘hmph.’ He had been summoned to repair Starscream too many times to believe he would give up so easily.

Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics in suspicion. Even he had expected far more of a fight to come from the Seeker, after knowing of his exploits throughout the war. Perhaps this submission was a ploy of some kind? He had been known to forgo his dignity to get his way in the past. Something about this felt off, and he took in every detail of Starscream’s posture, looking for a tell. But he found none. Perhaps a small interrogation would reveal what lies beneath?

“...I’m sure that you went through something traumatic to sustain such grievous injuries. I apologize for prying into it so soon, but I will need a full report. We have to keep tabs on all potential threats.”

“Predaking,” Starscream said, immediately, with his empty gaze locked to the ceiling above him. “He wanted to...”settle scores.”

Ultra Magnus nodded and hummed, grimly. “I see...Did Predaking-?”

“He made no mention of the Autobots, nor did his compatriots. I wasn’t sent as a warning; I was not meant to survive. And I do not know who opened the ground bridge. May I be left alone, now?”

Ultra Magnus was taken aback by the quick response, but it lacked any bite, so he simply nodded. “...Very well.”

Ultra Magnus looked to the medics, who both nodded and silently began walking out of the med bay. “Get some rest, Starscream,” he said, as he followed the medics outside.

Starscream did not reply, he only listened to them walk, while his wings directed the sounds up into his waiting audials. The med bay doors shut behind the three bots, and their pedes made their path down the hallway easy to follow; they took a right, likely heading towards the lounge. Eventually, Starscream could no longer hear their pedfalls...but something wasn’t right. Did all three of them truly leave the room? They must have; Ultra Magnus and Knockout had very distinct strides, and Ratchet walked just enough out of rhythm to stand out from the two. Why, then, did he still feel as though he was being watched? Had Knockout lied to him before, when he said it was only them in the room with him? It didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility, neither the lie nor the concept of him being secretly kept on ‘round the clock surveillance. He could swear he could feel someone else in the room, lingering, waiting…

Starscream swallowed and shifted, attempting to gain some courage. “I know you’re in here.”

The silence had returned, only punctured by the sound of medical equipment softly beeping. But Starscream didn’t trust it, raising his hackles in an attempt to look more ferocious.

“If you really must keep me under such a tight watch, I want to know who is doing the watching. You Autobots owe me that comfort, at least…! Don’t you?”

Nothing replied, but Starscream took no comfort. He knew the feeling of the air when he was alone very intimately, and this air was occupied. The beeping quickened, in time with his spark.

“I know you’re there! Show yourself, damn you!” Starscream shouted, no longer able to contain his paranoia.

Suddenly, all the medic equipment shut off with a loud, droning, mechanical sigh. Starscream froze, knowing that he must now be sitting in complete darkness. After several seconds, he opened his intake to speak, when suddenly, a loud siren began to blare from the computer beside him, bathing the room in red. Starscream shouted in surprise, looking around the room, unable to hear his own panicked vocalizations above the blaring trumpets.

Starscream pushed past the searing pain that wracked his frame to sit up and began attempting to free himself from his restraints. But it was no use, they were too tight. He was completely vulnerable to whoever, or whatever had tripped the alarm, and he couldn’t even hear them to see where his demise was coming from. As his last resort, Starscream began to cry out, pushing his vocalizer to its limit in an attempt to overcome the volume of the alarm.

“HELP! SOMEONE, ANYONE, PLEASE, HELP ME!”

Meanwhile, Ultra Magnus led Ratchet and Knockout into the lounge area of the Nemesis, where the rest of the Autobots had been waiting to hear of Starscream’s reaction. Ultra Magnus scanned the room as the medics took to their own seats. Knockout took his favorite seat, which looked like every other in the room, this one just offered ‘the most complimentary light for his finish,’ in his own words.

Ratchet took his seat at an empty table across from the two Wreckers, Bulkhead and Wheeljack. Bulkhead was picking debris from his digits and sprinkling it onto the table, while Wheeljack reclined in his seat, resting his pedes atop of the table. He winked at Ratchet when they locked optics, and Ratchet immediately rolled his to sever the link.

Bumblebee sat with Arcee and Smokescreen. Bumblebee straightened as Ultra Magnus entered, and Smokescreen followed suit, though he overcompensated his posture. Arcee, on the other hand, was hunched over, resting her chassis on her crossed arms. She looked at Ultra Magnus with only her optics as he walked in, and looked down at the table again with a scowl when his optics landed on her.

Before Ultra Magnus could speak, Wheeljack broke the silence.

“So, how did it go with Stilettos? Is he gonna behave?” Bulkhead elbowed his friend with a stern scowl, and Ultra Magnus opted to ignore him entirely.

“Starscream has agreed to our terms. He is to remain on the Nemesis until he’s made a full recovery. If he acts out of line, we are free to react as we see fit...And that’s only if he acts out of line,” he finished, looking at Arcee.

Arcee scowled and stood, her chair squealing against the floor as she did so. “This is complete scrap. First we let Megatron get away, now we’re playing house with Starscream? As soon as he gets what he wants from us, the first thing he’s going to do is turn around and stab us in the back,” she announced, raising her voice, but not her tone. It was taking everything in her not to step completely out of line.

“I am not going to sit here and pretend that everything he did never happened,” She continued. “I am not going to just conveniently forget what he did to Cliffjumper for the sake of peace. The way I see it, Starscream forfeited his peace the moment he snuffed his spark, and we should have never taken him anywhere near that med bay.”

Wheeljack raised his fist with a rebellious smirk. “Preach, sister.”

Ultra Magnus shook his helm with a sigh. “Arcee, I’m not asking you to pretend, or to forget. I’m not asking that of anyone. I’m asking you what Optimus would have done, if he were here.”

Arcee turned her eyes down and clenched her servos into fists. The room fell silent, but Bumblebee didn’t allow it to last.

“He would have wanted us to help him, Arcee. Optimus believed that every spark is precious, even one like Starscream’s. He would have wanted us to push past our feelings and give him the chance to earn his place back on Cybertron.”

“And how many chances is he going to get!?” Arcee snapped, her eyes burning with fury. “He’s gotten tens, if not hundreds of chances to change, and what do we have to show for it!? Bots like him don’t change!”

“Megatron changed,” Smokescreen added. Arcee looked at him, but Smokescreen turned his head down to avoid her gaze, feeling, correctly, that it would put two burning holes into his helm.

“Yeah, after Unicron kicked his tail pipe for a few days,” Wheeljack added. “Maybe that’s just the thing old Screamer needs, eh, Bulk?” Wheeljack smirked and punctuated the sentence by pounding his fist into his palm. Bulkhead slowly looked to Wheeljack with wide optics, like an Easter Island head that saw a bomb go off in its peripheral vision.

“...Jackie...We’re not beating up a blind mech.”

Wheeljack froze, then promptly pulled his pedes off the table. “Just kiddin’.”

Knockout laughed, sharply, seeing right through Wheeljack’s hastily reformed facade. “Ha! Really!? How could you possibly forget that? By the Pit, the mech’s face looks like an overhead view of the grand canyon!” Knockout shook his helm and leaned back in his seat, now adopting Wheeljack’s forsaken posture.

“Look, I’m about as happy as Arcee is to have Screamer on board. I think we can all agree that this is the worst mech to have possibly fallen through that Pit-forsaken groundbridge, but we need to look at the big picture: Starscream is one of, if not the best Seeker on all of Cybertron...Well, by default, now, but you get the idea. If we can get him up and running, he’ll be a major asset to our little renovation project. Of course, getting him back in working condition is one thing, but getting him to want to cooperate…”

“Impossible,” Ratchet grumbled. Knockout held up a finger to pin the phrase in the air.

“Actually, it might be plausible.”

Ultra Magnus raised a brow, but allowed Knockout to continue.

“After Ultra Magnus relayed our terms to Screamer, he didn’t huff, or growl, or spit like he normally would. He just hung his head low and agreed like a sad little puppy dog. Starscream is a fool, but he’s not an idiot. He knows that he can’t get out of this without our assistance, so he’s got no choice but to play nice. And we have the power to keep him nice for as long as we think necessary for a bit of...character growth.”
Ratchet straightened with horror on his face. “Knockout, you aren’t actually suggesting that we withhold Starscream’s optics for our own personal gain?”
“What’s there to gain from a blind Seeker? I’m just saying, once we have them, maybe we should consider holding onto them until we think he’s ready to play nice for good?”

Bulkhead shook his helm in disgust. “Spoken like a real ‘Con, Knock…”

“Takes one to know one, big lug. I’m not saying we do it, I’m just saying that if we don’t think he’s ready, when the time comes, we have insurance.”
Arcee shifted from one ped to another, looking at a corner of the room. The thought made her as uncomfortable as it eased her previous nerves, leaving her at a stalemate. But, it didn’t last. As if haunting her processor, she could see Optimus and Cliffjumper looking at her with disgust for even considering such a cruel, decepticon-esque idea.

“No.”

The room turned to look at Arcee, who uncrossed her arms and stood tall, filling her chest with a steady intake.

“As much as I hate Starscream...I won’t stoop to his level, and neither should you, Knockout.”

Knockout simply shrugged. “Fair enough, it was only a suggestion, after all.”

“Remind me not to get on his bad side,” Wheeljack whispered to Bulkhead, only half-joking.

“Just watch the paint and you’ll be fine,” Bulkhead replied with a playful smirk.

“I still don’t like this arrangement, but...I’ll go along with it. Still, if Starscream steps out of line, I’ll react accordingly, sir,” Arcee finished.

Ultra Magnus nodded, a hint of a relieved smile on his face.

“Good. Now then, let’s go back over the agenda for tom—”

It was then that the loud, buzzing alarm went off in the med bay. The entire Nemesis became bathed in flashing red lights, and a nearby monitor that had gone into sleep mode flashed to life. Everyone in the lounge stood and readied their weapons, but it was Ratchet who made the first move when his optics caught a glimpse of the pinged location of the alarm on the monitor.

“The med bay! It’s coming from the med bay!”

“Arcee, Ratchet, Bumblebee, with me! Bulkhead, Wheeljack, you take up the rear! Move!” Ultra Magnus called out. Immediately, everyone fell into position and dashed down the halls of the Nemesis to investigate the alarm.

Ultra Magnus skidded on his pedes to a stop in front of the med bay doors and moved to kick them down, only for the door to open just before he could make impact. He gasped as his balance systems rapidly re-calibrated to compensate for the excess force in his step, and his ped hit the ground with a loud ‘gong.’ And that ‘gong’ cut the alarm short. The lights had returned to normal, the medical equipment was rebooting; as if flipping a switch, all was quiet again. Except for Starscream, who was currently living up to his namesake. As Ultra Magnus and the rest of the group stood in stunned silence, Ratchet immediately came to Starscream’s side, taking the hysterical mech by the shoulders to hold him in place.

“Starscream, Starscream! Calm down, everything is alright!” Despite his efforts, Starscream continued to thrash and call out for help, though it came out only as incomprehensible gibberish. Ratchet turned to Bulkhead with a determined scowl. “Bulkhead, help me apply pressure!”

“Wh-Okay!?” Bulkhead squeezed through the door and came to the opposite side of the berth. “Uh, how do you want me to do this?”

“Just lay your arms across his chassis and press down! Hold him still, but don’t restrain him!”
Bulkhead complied, resting his large, heavy arms across the small, fragile body beneath him. He pressed down, leaning a small amount of his body weight onto the Seeker. Starscream’s violent convulsions reached their peak at the initial contact, but as Bulkhead pressed down, they were forcibly stifled. Starscream’s swirling processor began to unwind as the weight introduced calming signals to his sensors, forcing his cache begin clearing itself. His intakes steadied, quieted, and his hydraulics began to depressurize.

Surprising everyone but Ratchet, it was working. Starscream’s sparkbeat slowed to a normal reading. “Good, keep him steady while I look at the crash log.”
As Starscream continued to calm down, Bulkhead smiled. “Hey, it worked.”

Smokescreen stepped in, transforming his weapon and looking over Bulkhead’s shoulder at the once-terrified mech. Starscream looked almost as if he was in a trance, staring up at the ceiling with his intake slightly agape, taking long, steady vents of air. “What was that?”

Ratchet grumbled. “I don’t know, there’s no crash log! All the computer says is that there was a manual shut down event a few seconds ago, but that-”

“No, I meant that,” Smokescreen clarified, gesturing to Starscream. Ratchet looked over his shoulder, briefly.

“Oh, it’s called deep pressure therapy. It’s very effective with flight frames, particularly Seekers. I don’t know why it works, exactly, but I assume that since Seeker frames were designed to be extremely lightweight, the pressure gives the illusion of being more armored. And their heightened senses make them...responsive.”

“Humans like it, too. They make blankets full of beads to press them down while they sleep,” Knockout added. “Who would have guessed that squishies like being squished?”

Bulkhead looked over at Starscream and whispered, unable to hide the concern in his voice. “Hey, Starscream, uh...You alright?”

Starscream continued to vent for a minute, then moved his helm towards Bulkhead. A bit of static crackled out of his vocal component before he spoke. “What...took you so long...?”

Bulkhead grimaced. “Sheesh, you sound like scrap.”

Ultra Magnus hovered over Ratchet’s shoulder. “Is there really nothing out of the ordinary? A manual shut down wouldn’t have caused that alarm to sound, would it?”

“No,” Ratchet replied. “At least, it wouldn’t in the state we left it. That sort of alarm is only meant to sound when life support systems are beginning to fail. No, that wouldn’t have made any sense...Combined with the manual shutdown, it’s almost as if-”

“Someone...was in here,” Starscream said.

Chapter Text

Starscream sat as the center of attention, which was normally a place he relished in, but, currently, it had lost some of its luster. The fact that he could no longer see the expressions of his audience made him feel as though he were stepping over landmines with every word, and he hadn’t even began to speak yet. Doctor’s orders.

Ratchet was at a desk, mixing together a lubricant and a weak solvent to mend Starscream’s sore vocalizer. It was difficult to squeeze everyone into the med bay, so the only ones in the room, besides Starscream, were Ultra Magnus, Ratchet, Bumblebee, and Arcee. The others stood in the hallway with the med bay doors left open. All optics were centered on the medical berth, with Arcee’s being especially scrutinous. Though the mech on the berth was left battered and fearful, it was still Starscream, and the illusion could break at any moment. Though she wouldn’t admit it, she hoped to witness it, if only to have the honor of tossing the mech into the Pit herself.

Ratchet approached the berth. “Here, drink this, slowly.”

Ratchet slipped his servo under Starscream’s helm and began to tilt it upwards, but before he finish the motion, Starscream snapped his helm to the side and tightened his lips. “I can drink it myself if you just undo these st-straps…!” His sentence corroded into a flurry of ugly, static-filled coughs.

Ratchet rolled his optics and tightened his grip, forcing Starscream’s helm back into position. “No, you can’t. You’ll spill it all over yourself. Now, stop behaving like a sparkling and drink the medicine. Unless you never want to speak again.”

Bumblebee smiled, sadly. “Take it from me, Screamer, you should drink it.”

“My name is not—” Starscream began, but Ratchet seized the opportunity, silencing him with the vial.

“Ep-ep! There we go, slowly…”

Starscream’s lips remained tight, but as the vial tilted, he begrudgingly allowed the contents into his intake. Which revealed itself to be the single most viscous, bitter, vile substance ever conceived. It slithered against his glossa like oil in need of changing, and no matter how hard he tried to swallow it down and escape this hell, Ratchet tilted the vial so slowly that it simply was not possible.

Knockout gasped and pointed from the hall. “Look, look at the face! He’s not going to make it!”

Bumblebee grimaced in sympathy as Starscream’s face contorted, and his pedes curled like kindling that was set ablaze. He knew this deathly broth very well, having had to down at least ten doses over the course of many days as his vocalizer was repaired.

Wheeljack nudged Knockout and whispered into his audial. “I got a cube of high grade that says he purges all over doc.”

Knockout grinned at Wheeljack impishly, matching his volume. “I say he pivots at the last second and hits Ultra Mag on the leg.”

Smokescreen leaned forward to be visible past Bulkhead’s chassis. “You’re both wrong, he can barely lift his helm! It’s gonna spray right back into the vial if he purges anything…” Smokescreen’s optics grew wide as a grim thought graced his processor. “Oh, frag, do you think Ratchet would still make him finish it?”

Bulkhead cut them off at full volume, his optics watering. “If you guys don’t stop talking it’s gonna be me that purges.”

Ultra Magnus glared outside of the door. “Quiet, soldiers. That’s an order.”

Knockout took a deliberate step to the side, giving up his ideal viewing position, now that he knew it may become the splash zone.

Starscream clenched his servos as the foul elixir slithered down his throat. He heard every bit of the betting going on outside, and he refused to back down to the challenge. At least, until his intake tubing began to burn. Starscream spat and threw his helm to the side, sending a spray of clear, thick fluid onto Ultra Magnus’ left leg. Ultra Magnus stumbled back in surprise as Knockout whooped and hollered in victory.

“Acid! Poison! You liar, you-augh-AHCK!” Starscream retched and trembled as the aftertaste wracked his frame, somehow more potent than before, perhaps in a ghastly chemical reaction to his own internal lubricants. Ratchet grabbed him by the helm once again with a grip like a vice, continuing the torture from where he left off.

“It’s not ‘poison,’ it’s medicine. Medicine doesn’t taste good. Now finish it before I force a feeding tube down your intake,” he said with the finality of a promise.

Starscream trembled, but clenched his servos once again, then locked his entire frame. There was no way to escape this torment, he just had to endure, as he always had. He cleared his processor of all thoughts, except for that of some cool, refreshing energon...but it wasn’t enough to sweeten the taste, he would need something stronger.

Ultra Magnus looked around for something to clean himself with, and eventually found a plush, black rag made from organic fabric sitting folded on a separate desk. He gratefully pressed the rag against his thigh, wiping himself clean of spittle. The owner of said desk gasped from the hallway as if he had just witnessed a murder.

“No, not my favorite polish rag! Do you have any idea how much Italian velvet costs!? Swindle is going to own my aft at this point!”

Ultra Magnus paused, abruptly, and looked at Knockout. “...’Swindle?”

“...Scrap.”

Starscream smiled. Now that was enough to make the experience much, much more palatable. Once the vial was finished, Ratchet released Starscream’s helm with surprising gentleness. “There,” he sighed. “Now, clear your throat and take five hefty swallows. Then you can tell us what happened.”

Starscream followed Ratchet’s instructions, pleased to find that the burn had dissipated rather quickly. He sighed and shifted underneath his restraints, preparing himself for what he was going to say.

“Well...After the medics and Ultra Magnus left the room, I felt a presence.”

Arcee immediately raised a brow. “You ‘felt a presence?’ What, can you see ghosts now that you’ve gone blind?”

“That’s one option. The other, more likely options are either that you all lied to me about how many people were in the room, or there’s an intruder on this ship,” Starscream said with a sneer.

“Did they say anything, make any noise? What clued you in that someone was in the room?” Bumblebee asked, giving Starscream the benefit of the doubt.

Starscream sighed. “No, they didn’t make any sound at all. I just...felt them. I felt the air around them stretch, or...shift, or—Gah, I can’t explain it, I just know there was someone in here with me!”

“But, why would an intruder break into the med bay just to turn on the alarm? Ratchet didn’t find anything missing from the computer, and they didn’t hurt Starscream, so, what was the point of that?” Smokescreen inquired.

“Unless they were trying to herd us all into the same room…” Wheeljack said, his optics darkening. He pulled out his katanas and began walking down the hall. “I’m gonna make a clean sweep of the joint, see if anyone’s hidin’ in the dark.”

Ultra Magnus glared, unappreciative of Wheeljack’s brazen lack of planning, but he nodded. “Bulkhead, follow Wheeljack. Bumblebee, Smokescreen, meet them in the middle. Arcee, Knockout, patrol the exterior, I’ll stay with Ratchet. Comms stay open until every last inch of the Nemesis has been covered. Move out!”

Everyone nodded and rushed to their assigned patrol, all except Arcee, who lagged behind a bit to allow her gaze to linger on Starscream a bit longer. Ultra Magnus could see how much she distrusted the situation, likely thinking it to be some sort of trap, but she did not disobey, walking with Knockout down the hall to one of the exterior doors. Once everyone had left, Ultra Magnus looked to Starscream.

“You’re certain you didn’t hear anything, is that correct?”
“Yes, I’m certain! How many times am I going to have to repeat myself?”

“Then you didn’t hear the med bay doors open at any point when we weren’t present?”

“No, if I had heard the door, then I would have known that they-!” Starscream snuffed himself short, his face contorting to one of building terror. Ratchet finished his thought for him as he turned his servos into blades.

“That they left the room.”

Wheeljack stalked through the halls of the Nemesis, opening doors and hopping through with katanas at the ready, but each time, he was greeted with the usual: empty, overturned rooms. It would take forever to get this ship pristine again, but, luckily, they now had time. He heard Bulkhead’s heavy pedfalls approaching from behind, but did not turn to greet him as he stepped out of yet another empty room.

“Nothing so far. We spent a lot of time hanging out with Screamer that we could have spent searching, though. If doc didn’t spend so much time nursing him like a sparkling, he probably would have spit out the details sooner.”

“Don’t be like that, Jackie. I didn’t believe Starscream at first, so I know for a fact you didn’t either. When he said someone had broken in, my first thought was that he somehow slipped out of those restraints and tripped the alarm himself.”

Wheeljack scoffed. “Yeah, I was thinking he set it off by accident and laid back down to pretend he was a good little mech the whole time. But those straps looked pretty tight, and with the ship going ballistic every few seconds, that alarm really could have been anything from a fluke to an actual problem.”

“And we won’t know until we cover our bases.” Bulkhead reached a large set of doors and narrowed his optics at the keypad that sat beside it. “Weapons storage is still locked tight.”

“Good, then we don’t have to worry about them being armed to the teeth, if there’s anyone here at all.” Wheeljack continued down the hall and Bulkhead followed, watching their flanks.

“Any theories on who it could be, if anyone?” Bulkhead inquired.

“With the ‘Cons disbanded and Starscream out of commission? No idea. But it would be stupid to think we’re the only ones who would ever think of coming back to Cybertron.”

Suddenly, a few digital beeps sounded behind them, followed by a metallic hiss. The two wreckers spun around, ready for a fight, only to find the hallway empty, and the door to weapon storage now wide open. Bulkhead turned to Wheeljack and nodded, firmly, before they took position on either side of the now-opened door. They listened intently for any movement, and when they heard none, Wheeljack waved his servo as the signal to move in. They burst in, briefly checking their corners before scanning the room. Heavy, steel boxes of ammunition sat strapped to the floor, thankfully not overturned by the rough landing. Handheld blasters that were previously sitting on racks either held on by their triggers, safeties on, or scattered the ground, intact or in pieces. A thick coat of dust told them that no one had stepped foot in here since the crash.

Bulkhead raised his brow and transformed his blaster, scratching his helm. “What the frag is going on? Ratchet’s been trying to crack that door open since we got here!”

Wheeljack shrugged, a large smirk growing across his face as he stepped to an unopened box. “Maybe Nemmy’s deciding she likes us.” He jammed his katana under the lid, pressing past the locking mechanisms, and popped it open, revealing a large stash of delicately stored grenades. They were packed so tightly that they resembled a finely-knitted square of organic fabric. “Oh baby, you’re spoiling me,” he purred to the unfeeling ship.

“Should I leave you alone?” Bulkhead joked, now also pleased with the good fortune, whatever the cause may have been. Wheeljack returned the lid to its previous position and Bulkhead helped to press down, resetting the locks.

“Hm, maybe...We didn’t see anyone at the keypad, so the door might be getting open either through some kind of fault, or they’re doing it remotely. Someone should stand guard here just in case whoever did it decides to come back and claim their prize.” Suddenly, the doors shut again. And before anything could be said in reaction, they opened once more. Wordlessly, Wheeljack ran outside to inspect the keypad and Bulkhead followed. After a few seconds, the keypad lit up, emitting the same beeps from earlier, before the doors shut again. Bulkhead’s optics bulged from their sockets.

“Jackie, what was that?”

Wheeljack looked to Bulkhead with a serious expression. “Someone’s definitely opening the door remotely.”

Ultra Magnus searched the room with careful optics as Ratchet stood guard beside Starscream’s berth. He looked under desks with his headlights switched on. He looked behind cabinets, and up into exposed ceiling vents, finding nothing. Starscream squirmed, his anxiety beginning to rise once again from the relative silence.

“Can’t you at least undo these straps so I have a shadow of a chance to escape!?” He whined, barely even whispering. Ratchet shushed him.

“We’re exploring every possibility, Starscream, and that includes one where you’re lying to try and escape.”

A spark flew out of one of Starscream’s optics; if they weren’t empty, they would be glowing with fury at such an accusation. This was an insult to his intelligence in its purest form; they thought him to be so stupid that even common sense had to be scraped from the walls of his helm.

“Do you take me for that much of a fool, that I would risk venturing out onto this freshly-scabbing planet without being able to see!? Just because I’m forced to be under your care does not mean I have to accept whatever insult you throw at me!” He shouted.

“Enough!” Ultra Magnus boomed. The deep waves of his vocalizer shook Starscream’s frame, crushing him back down onto his berth. “Starscream, we need you to focus. Do you still feel a presence in this room?”

Starscream sighed to force himself to relax. He furrowed his optic ridge and clenched his servos. While his frame remained still, his wings tilted on his back, flaring upwards, downwards, trying to catch every little vibration in the air like a sattelite dish. He cleared his processor, focusing in on the feeling of the air against his wings...The medical equipment beeped with his spark, though it was quiet, it bounced gently off the walls of the room. Tilting his wings to the left shortened the travel of this invisible game of table-tennis. He knew this was because Ratchet was standing on that side; he could feel heat emanating off of the mech’s frame.

Tilting his wings back, he felt Ultra Magnus. His frame grew wider and thinner; he was turning in a circle, possibly clockwise. His wings flexed towards the ceiling, where he felt pockets of air stretch upwards into a labryinth of vents, but there was too much ground to cover to make out anything but little windows into the roof. Nothing moved above, save for a swinging, thin mass. It emitted it’s own sound, a small fizzle of energy.

“I don’t feel anyone else, but, there’s a live wire. If memory serves, it’s nearby where we keep harsher solvents. I would prefer not to be set ablaze any time soon, so if that could be addressed, that would be wonderful,” Starscream sneered. How dare Ratchet think so lowly of his intelligence when the good doctor couldn’t even bother to keep his med bay up to code? A small victory, but Starscream would take it to soothe his wounded ego without hesitation.

Ratchet’s optics reset as he looked up, searching the ceiling. The tiniest flicker of light announced the presence of the wire, but Ratchet could not hear it, not at all. Following the path of the wire, he reached a breaker box and pulled it from its place. “It used to be attached to the automatic assembler, it’s in storage until it can be repaired…”

Starscream whined. It really was going to take a while before his optics could be repaired. Even if they had the supplies, a new one couldn’t be automatically assembled. It would have to be done manually.

“It’s as thin as the circuitry of a digit,” Ratchet continued, holding up the dead wire for Ultra Magnus to see. “You could hear that?” He sounded as though he were listening to a fairytale.

“Yes,” Starscream replied, shortly, not understanding why Ratchet was so impressed. “How convenient that you couldn’t, doctor. If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re trying to kill me while maintaining plausible deniability.”

Before anyone could respond, Ultra Magnus and Ratchet received a Comm.

“Wheeljack here. Bulk and I just saw the weapon storage room open up by itself, multiple times. Bulk is going to stand guard while I head to the control room.”

Ultra Magnus’ voice entered the Comm. “Negative, Bulkhead stays with you to help guard the weapons. Smokescreen, Bumblebee, make your way to the control room, stat.”

Smokescreen let his most serious voice come through the airwaves. “On it, sir.”

Starscream lifted his helm to listen. “What’s happening? Did you find them?”

“Possibly,” Ratchet replied. “We don’t know for certain, yet. Keep still.”

In the northern halls of the Nemesis, Smokescreen looked to Bumblebee with a smile and Bumblebee nodded, wordlessly agreeing to an unspoken plan. They both transformed into their alt modes and sped down the wide hallways in the interest of reaching the control room as fast as possible. Smokescreen got a visual on the large set of doors first and sped towards them, flipping out of his alt mode and slapping his servo on the keypad to open it for Bumblebee, who sped right through the door and onto the long walkway. The two raised their blasters, pointing towards the Nemesis’ main computer to find...no one. The computer didn’t even appear to be on.

“What?” Smokescreen said, breathlessly, as he checked each corner of the room. “How?”

Bumblebee walked to the main computer console and tapped one of the keys, bringing the system to life. He raised a digit to his audial.

“We’ve reached the control room, it’s empty. And the main computer is in rest mode, so it hasn’t been in use for at least ten minutes.”

“That’s not possible,” Wheeljack snapped. “I’ve repaired a lot of ships in my time, and I’ve never seen a keypad input a password by itself like that unless it was under remote control.”

“Could they have done it from another computer?” Arcee asked, the lazy breeze of the healing planet audible from her microphone.

“No, security access on that level is only possible through the main computer,” Ratchet interjected.

“Then how the frag did the keypad dial itself? And when can I get back inside!? I’m getting covered in dust out here!” Knockout called into the Comm while tapping his pede impatiently.

“Maybe you weren’t too far off with your ghost theory, Arcee,” Wheeljack scoffed.

“Don’t joke about that, Jackie.” Bulkhead said, not into the Comm, but close enough to Wheeljack that he could be heard.

Ultra Magnus sighed before he responded. “We can only treat this as a technical error. Just so there are no further false alarms, I propose that we shut down all unnecessary equipment until the technical faults are repaired. The communications, security, and med bay systems will remain online, but will be placed into manual mode.”

Starscream couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He knew that someone was in this room, he knew he wasn’t insane! But they didn’t believe him, and now they were going so far as to lower their defenses? Surely someone would object to this!

“Ratchet, I’m entrusting you with surveillance duty alongside the groundbridge controls. Knockout will be acting as our sole medic for the time being,” the acting officer finished.

“Uh, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Smokescreen inquired with uncertainty.

“Smokescreen, do you not trust me? You’re breaking my spark, here” Knockout said with a distinct lack of hurt.

“I’m willing to listen to suggestions, if anyone has any,” Ultra Magnus proposed.

After a short silence, Ulta Magnus continued. “Very well. I expect all of you to return to your duties. Wheeljack, I want you to take inventory of the weapons storage now that it’s accessible.

“Oh, yes, sir, with pleasure.” Wheeljack purred before ending the connection.

Starscream growled, baring his dentae incredulously once he saw Ultra Magnus’ digit leave his audial. “So that’s it, no more searching, and you’re neutering our already compromised security? Nobody else saw a problem with that!?”

“The fact of the matter is that no one is on board, Starscream,” Ultra Magnus said, calmly. “Whatever you ‘felt’ was prbably a figment of your imagination. Repairing the security system will be our top priority. Now, Ratchet, let’s get started. Starscream, try to get in a decent recharge.”

A cold chill ran up the Seeker’s frame as he heard their pedes begin their journey towards the doors of the med bay. “W-Wait, you’re going to leave me alone again?”

“Only for a few minutes,” Ratchet assured him, lingering in the doorway. “Knockout will be back shortly. Your receptors have significantly overcompensated for your blindness, so that presence you felt before likely wasn’t anything more than a small object shifting out of place. Your audials are highly sensitive, and you’re under a lot of stress. It’s only reasonable to think that you could be imagining things that aren’t there.”

Starscream opened his intake to argue, but Ratchet silenced him.

“Ep-ep, don’t argue with me. Just focus on your intakes and recharge. Doctor’s orders.” With that, Starscream heard the doors slide shut. He was alone again, just him and the room. He flexed his wings, inspecting it one more time for his own comfort, and found that the prescence, whatever it had been, was no longer there. He sighed, heavily, and let his helm hit the berth.

Starscream’s entire being was wracked with exhaustion; it washed over him with all the grace of a freight train, sending a dull ache through his joints and a pulsing headache to his processor. Maybe Ratchet was right? Maybe it had all been in his helm, a result of phyiscal and mental trauma reaching a boiling point with that damned audial-splitting alarm. Still, he didn’t trust them not to lie about their true intentions, especially after their conversation over comms. It was far too easy for them all to ignore him now that he had been crippled so thoroughly; they acted as if he had gone deaf, as well. Or that he wasn’t in the room at all. Expecting to gain access to their commlinks was a deluded hope for any kind of agency over the situation, not that it would do him any good, but it would be a comfort to be able to covertly listen to what they intended to do with him. As he was now, he was their toy to play with as they saw fit.

Oddly enough, that realization came with a sense of familiarity that almost comforted him. It was like he was back on the Nemesis, when it was still airborne, sitting in the medbay and recovering from his latest punishment at the hands of Megatron. Deserved, or otherwise. Knockout was even going to be watching over him now that Ratchet had to play the part of Soundwave. Whatever happened to Soundwave, anyway, he wondered? Perhaps Megatron found him and flew off into the sunset to live happily ever after; he was the favorite, after all. Not even Shockwave received as much preferential treatment as that tentacled freak. Starscream gnawed at the inner lining of his intake at the thought of Megatron and Soundwave, free as birds, while he found himself back in a cage. He found himself happy, even proud to earn his place as Megatron’s second in command once again, and how had his renewed loyalty been rewarded? ‘The Decepticons are no more.’

‘And now I take your punishment in your stead, my lord,’ Starscream thought to himself, a hollow anger igniting in his chassis. At least it was enough to keep him warm.

The doors opened with a hiss.

“Knockout?” Starscream asked, breaking from his thoughts.

Silence...His wings pivoted, and he felt it. The spirit that haunted him so persistently, it had returned. The doors closed and Starscream’s spark began to whirl in its chamber.

“Hello?”

Nothing answered. It stared with eyes that did not exist. The air expanded beside his berth. Starscream did not dare move, he only waited for something, anything to happen. But as the seconds turned to minutes, nothing followed. This did not offer him any comfort, but what was he to do? Scream for help again? The Autobots already thought he was lying, or that he was insane from stress, or even just in general. He was powerless to stop this thing, whatever it was, from continuing to torment him. Unless...he no longer allowed it the satisfaction of success. Starscream took in a deep vent of air and held it, remembering Ratchet’s earlier command. He counted: three, two, one...and then vented the held air. Three, two, one, invent...Three, two, one, exvent...Three, two, one, invent…

Three...

Two…

One.

He allowed the darkness that covered his eyes to pass over his entire being, spiting the ghost that followed him by escaping into recharge. It was a dreamless, empty sleep, but it was precisely what he needed: an escape into nothingness. It was all he could claim as his anymore. Though, after a few hours of peace, he was reminded that such comforts would only ever be temporary as something began to vibrate against his arm plating with a gentle ‘buzz.’ Starscream grumbled as reality began to reform around him. Sounds regained their finer details, and with them he realized what was happening. Detailing.

“Knockout,” he said, his voice gravelly from sleep. The buffer on his arm stopped abruptly and Knockout sucked his lips into his intake to snuff any exclamations of surprise before they could form. “What are you doing?”

Knockout released his lips with an audible ‘pop’ and relaxed with a smirk. “Taking my rightful place as your favorite medic.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I’m pampering you.”

“You’re buffing me.”

Knockout scoffed, rolling his optics and waving his free servo flippantly. “Yes, if you want to be clinical about it, I’m buffing you. Take my word for it, your finish is absolutely atrocious, so this is going to take at least a hour or two...A ‘thank you’ would be nice.”

Starscream couldn’t help but begin to crack a smile at the familiar banter. “You expect me to martyr you for polishing me, when I won’t even be able to see the end result?”

“You would equate a ‘thank you’ to martyrdom, wouldn’t you?” Knockout turned the buffer back on and continued his work on Starscream’s arm. “But yes, that is precisely what I expect of you.”

Starscream’s digits loosened as the buffer began to massage his sore elbow joint. His helm sunk further into the berth’s neck-support, causing Knockout to grin, knowing that Starscream was enjoying himself.

“For all I know, you could be doing this just to make me into a walking mirror for yourself,” Starscream said, continuing the conversation if only to try and hide his appreciation, which it was far too late for that.

“Oooh, not a bad idea, Screamer. Unfortunately I don’t have the right polish for that sort of job, but I’ll keep it in mind for when I do.”

“From who? Swindle?” Starscream said with an evil grin. Knockout’s buffer lingered in one spot for long enough for Starscream to know he’d gotten a rise out of him.

“From a trusted, unnamed source,” Knockout replied, switching to a smaller buffer to begin working on his patient’s servos.
Starscream hummed with a nod, impish satisfaction on his face. But Knockout didn’t fill the silence again, and Starscream couldn’t see his face to know what he was thinking. Knockout was simply engrossed in his work, rolling over the Seeker’s palm and between his digits, silently pleased at his compliance. Starscream’s processor wandered to dark places, though, and he couldn’t help but finally ask questions that had plagued him for the past day.

“Why are you here?”

Knockout paused, taken aback by the tone of his former commander. The question was foreignly open; did he mean here, in the med bay? Did he mean here, with the Autobots? With him? Alive? Knockout narrowed his optics and resumed his work, bracing himself for regretting his good deed before he’d even finished it.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I mean…” Starscream sighed. “Why are you here, with the Autobots, completely calm, free to roam, and in here, buffing me?”

Knockout switched back to his previous buffer and paced to the other side of the berth, humming thoughtfully. That was a lot more specific, but, not in the way he thought, which was a pleasant surprise. Knockout really expected to get a lecture about loyalty and how slimey he was for joining the winning side, not that he cared what Starscream thought of him in any way. It’s just that blocking out one of Starscream’s lectures was boring, arduous work that he was not the least bit eager to experience again. Thankfully, the former commander seemed more keen on getting philosophical. But the lecture may still come, and he was braced for it.

“Well, at first, they had me locked up with the vehicons. They only let me go free range after I gave you a taste of the Immobilizer. Which you totally earned that, by the way.” Knockout tapped Starscream on the forehelm, playfully, earning a little snarl. “I earned their trust by showing I didn’t trust you, and I continued to earn it by helping out around the ship. Nobody’s taken me up on the offer for a relaxing buffing session, though, so they’re really not letting me show my full potential.” He ran the buffer over Starscream’s chest plate, earning a sigh that was all the agreement Knockout needed.

“So, is that why you’re ‘pampering’ me? To show off your potential?” Starscream inquired, a bit flatly, almost sounding disappointed at such a surface-level answer.

“Maybe,” Knockout said with a shrug. “Maybe I’m also doing it because I pity you.”

Starscream threw up his optic ridge, then scowled in Knockout’s direction. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Too bad, you attract it like a magnet.” Knockout smirked again, but there was an anger in his optics that Starscream couldn’t see. “Honestly, you should be grateful that I still have the space in my spark to offer you even an ounce of pity, after everything you’ve done.”

“Oh, please, what have I done that’s worthy of comment?”

“I’m glad you asked.” Knockout stood up and began running the buffer over Starscream’s helm at intentionally awkward angles. “Let’s see. You’ve called me a “grounder,” “wheel-bound,” or, my personal favorite, “one of those.” You told me to shut up after I broke you out of jail, you scratched my finish as a form of corporal punishment, you tried to gaslight me into beliving that it was my fault the Nemesis was swarmed by Zombiecons—”

“What does gaslight--?” Starscream was snuffed as the buffer ran over his face, eclipsing it completely and smothering his words into spinning, rhythmic mumbles as Knockout continued.

“And you immediately threw me under the bus when Megatron found out about said Zombiecons!” He pulled the buffer away with a satisfied grin as Starscream spluttered and spit bits of fuzz from his intake. “Oh, right...and you’re rude.”
Starscream scowled in Knockout’s general direction, but the look slowly lost its fire. “...So, that’s it, then? You’re being kind only out of pity?”

The change from “buffing me” to “being kind” was not lost on Knockout. His smile faded and he sighed, sitting down to continue restoring Starscream’s lustor. “Yeah, probably; Primus knows you haven’t earned my kindness. But, I suppose I get a selfish satisfaction from not stooping to your level. I’m sure if I came to you blind and bleeding out, you probably would have laughed and thought I deserved it for switching to the winning side. You probably would have made me beg you for help, if you were going to help me at all.”

Starscream didn’t respond, because he was right, as much as it pained him to acknowledge it. He hated Knockout for defecting as easily as he did, he viewed him as flippant, self-absorbed, and above all else, treacherous...Which was ironic, knowing that he would say the same of Starscream. Normally, such a fact wouldn’t bother him. But being here, alone, without sight, with the mech who should be one of the first in line to exact revenge, instead being treated to something so intimate and delicate as a cosmetic polish Starscream wouldn’t even be able to see, that he didn’t even expect to be thanked for, because he knew him...his glossa tasted sour in his mouth.

Knockout took mental note of the silence, but did not break it. Instead, he removed the restraint on Starscream’s arm and lifted it by the wrist, ignoring the surprise on his patient’s face and speaking only to perish any thoughts of escaping imprisonment. “There, easier to get at your elbows this way.”

Knockout finished Starscream’s arm and stood up, grabbing an energon cube he had brought in on a tray. “Oh, silly me, I almost forgot that fuel comes before finish.”

He placed it in Starscream’s servo with a smile, then turned the buffer back on to work on Starscream’s legs. “I don’t care what upper management says, I refuse to bottle feed you. However, I won’t hesitate to get the feeding tube if you make me regret it, so—”

“Thank you.”

Knockout froze and snapped his helm towards his former commander, the buffer still whirring in his grip, just above Starscream’s scuffed thigh plating. “...Come again?”

Starscream’s helm hung low as he held the cube of energon close to his chassis. His brow ridge was as tight as his lips: tense, frowning, and making a futile attempt to hide his palpable shame. He raised the cube to his lips, and, as Ratchet predicted, spilled some onto his chin. Odd. He was sure he hadn’t miscalculated the distance, surely his sense of space wasn’t that compromised. He drank from it slowly, if only to avoid having to repeat himself. He knew he didn’t have to, Knockout heard him just fine. He only ever asked someone to repeat themselves when he liked, or really didn’t like, what he’d heard. This time, however, Knockout was genuinely surprised. Pleasantly so.

Once Starscream finished his cube, he felt something soft dab at his mandible. Velvet. Starscream furrowed his brow in confusion, not seeing the satisfied smile on Knockout’s face as he cleaned the spilled energon off of his face. But he could hear it.

“You’re welcome.”

With that, he picked up his buffer again and got back to work. Starscream stared into the darkness that Knockout resided in, his expression unreadable. He then laid back down and simply allowed the doctor to continue his work, uncontested. A full hour had passed before Knockout finished the Seeker’s front. Knockout wiped some condensation from his forehelm.

“Woof, you are quite a fixer-upper, Starscream. Let’s finish with the wings for today and I’ll work on your back tomorrow.”
“Mm? Oh, right. Yes, go ahead,” Starscream mumbled, having fallen into a light recharge from the gentle massage.

Knockout replaced the head of his buffer and moved to Starscream’s wing, grabbing the edge between two digits. Starscream winced, suddenly feeling a numb tingling passing through the plating of his wing. Before he could fully question it, Knockout placed the buffer to his wing, and a wave of overwhelming, aching static pulsed from the buffer’s landing spot. Starscream let out an odd-sounding screech of surprise and jolted, causing Knockout to quickly release his wing.

“What!? What’s wrong?” Knockout asked, looking at his buffer to ensure it hadn’t shorted.

“I-I don’t know, that hurt, I think!” Starscream used his now-free arm to touch at his wing, sucking in his dentae as his digits pinched it. “Ouch, augh…”

“Well, quit touching it! Let me take a look.” Knockout pulled up a stool and grabbed his handheld scanner, passing it over Starscream’s aching wing. “...Oh, my.”

“What? What is it, wh-what’s wrong with my wing?” Starscream asked with increasing panic. Knockout made a pointless comforting motion with his hands.

“Easy, Screamer. Nothing’s ‘wrong,’ per se...the neural network of your wingspan has just been put into hyperdrive. See?” He moved to show Starscream the scanner, and the scowl he received was one straight from the Pit.

“Sorry. Let me paint you a word picture,” Knockout said as he placed a previous scan of Starscream’s wing side by side on the screen for his own reference. “Your previous scan shows a normal readout for a Seeker’s wings: they’re significantly more sensitive than your average flight frame, full of much denser clusters of neural nodes. Thankfully we had a few spare copies of your wings lying around, thanks to moi, so nothing was lost during your repairs, and the new parts aren’t faulty. Still, those nodes aren’t anything special besides there being more than what you would find in a flight frame that wasn’t constructed to have heightened senses, like you Seekers. However, in the scan I just took, those neural nodes are running hot. Red hot, even.”

Knockout put the scanner aside with an impish smile, crossing one leg over the other on his stool. “Long story short, you’re just sensitive. So, nothing new, just different context.”

“Very funny,” Starscream said, as flatly as possible. “What does that mean for me, though, if I can barely handle my wings being buffed?”
Knockout searched through his buffer’s kit, producing his softest head. “It means we need a softer touch to finish the job. And, that if anything happens to your wings, it’s going to feel like you’ve been dipped wing-first into the smelter.”

Starscream trembled, a crooked smile snapping onto his face from shock. He giggled with a distinct twinge of fear. “Ah...good to know...”
“Thankfully you’re going to be a part of the grounder club for a while. As the president, I bid you a very warm welcome. Enjoy your stay as...one of those.” He giggled wickedly as he gently set the buffer to Starscream’s wing.

Starscream trembled slightly, then slowly began to melt against the berth. The once overwhelming sensation turned into nothing more than a pleasant tingle, like receiving gentle scratches along the protomesh that surrounded one’s spinal strut. If he were the earth creature known as a “dog,” he would be kicking his leg in pure bliss. “Ohhh, sssslag…”

“Language, Screamer,” Knockout said, not looking away from his work.

“Get fragged,” Starscream replied, shortly.

“Do you want me to cut our session short?”

When Starscream didn’t reply, he nodded, staunchly.

“Mhm, that’s what I thought.”

Chapter Text

The remainder of the day was spent in and out of recharge. Knockout’s buffer may as well have been a near-lethal dosage of sedatives with how quickly it sent Starscream to sleep. Every few hours, Knockout returned to the med bay to check on his patient, who he could always tell whether or not he was actually in recharge, or just pretending to be. It was predictable for Starscream to run from awkward situations, even if the awkwardness was one-sided. He must have been embarrassed over apologizing...and for turning into mush beneath his buffer. Knockout would be kind enough to not make fun of him for it, at least not for another day.

The final time Knockout came to the med bay, Starscream was unequivicably down for the count. He took the opportunity to tidy up a bit before dimming the lights and stepping up to his patient’s berthside one more time. Knockout found it ironic, being in this spot again, at his former commander’s berth, looking down at his unconscious face. Of course, back then, he only ever found himself looking at a few nasty dents and scuffs that he would soon buff away. But this was truly a gruesome sight that forced Knockout to frown.

In the dim lights, Starscream’s optic sockets were vanta black, a stark contrast against his pale, paintless faceplating. Without being able to see the torn mechanisms that sat at the back of his sockets, it was like looking into the optics of an offlined bot. But as his chestplate expanded with each silent vent, the mech’s countenance reminded Knockout more of a ghost in a human horror film than of a mere corpse. He had seen corpses, many times, even desecrated a few; what he was looking at was definitely more...ghoulish. For a moment, he thought of Breakdown, or rather, Silas hitching a ride inside of Breakdown. That uncanny face. That’s how this made him feel: uncanny. Like he was looking at Starscream, but, also, not quite. At least this time it didn’t hurt so much, if it even hurt at all. Call him cruel, but Knockout believed that the mech deserved a severe humbling such as this.

From Starscreams optics, the inky blackness continued, traveling down his face like cracked porcelain in two large, diagonal gashes, with a third, likely caused by a duclaw of Predaking’s, decorating his left cheekplate. He wondered if Starscream realized the extent of the damages; he didn’t seem to react when the energon cube he’d drank earlier passed between the crack in his lips and dripped down his chin. Starscream was no Breakdown; once he knew, he wouldn’t take it well. He shared a bit of the vanity Knockout had for his appearance, even if he put far, far less effort into it.

“Breakdown would have said ‘it makes you look cool,” he whispered to himself moreso than Starscream, a mournful smile spreading across his face. He wished that Breakdown was here; he would have made all of this so much more interesting. And a little less lonesome.

Knockout sighed and left the med bay to go collapse onto his nice, plush berth. But as he left, someone else watched from around the bend of the hallway. Arcee waited for Knockout to round a corner before she made her move, slipping into the doors of the med bay as silently as she could. She was immediately taken aback by the sight of the med bay’s sole resident; earlier that same day the mech’s frame was scuffed and dirtied from vengeful claws, now it...sparkled.

It really sparkled.

Arcee approached and squinted, coming to a slow realization that Knockout had not only taken the opportunity to buff his patient, but that he also used his blindness to his advantage. The Seeker had been fully waxed, with an added dusting of blue-tinted body glitter that twinkled in the dim lights. Any other day, Arcee would have smiled at the cruel, yet ultimately harmless prank, if it even was a prank to begin with. With Knockout, it was hard to tell. But Arcee was here for business.

“Starscream,” she whispered, loudly.

The Seeker stirred, but didn’t wake from his recharge. Arcee scowled and grabbed his shoulder pauldron.

“Starscream,” she repeated, much louder.

Starscream yelped, contesting her own volume, and the femme quickly slapped her servo over his mouth.

“I’m here to set some things straight,” she declared, before removing her servo.

Starscream groaned, rubbing his free servo over his forehelm. Despite his multiple attempts at recharge, he found himself being taken out of it many times due to the constant barrage of sounds the Nemesis birthed into his audials. Settling ventilation shafts, the med bay computer’s incessant beeping, and the Pit-forsaken sounds of life outside! How did he ever manage to sleep on this berth without sedation? Damn Megatron to the Pit, too, for never sound-proofing the walls.

“What?” He hissed, a little too angrily for Arcee’s taste, and completely unintentionally on his part, for once.

“You don’t belong here,” she said, with doom in her voice that was enough to snap Starscream awake.

“What?” He asked again, stupidly.

“You. Don’t. Belong. Here. I want to make that very, very clear to you. The only reason you’re still here is because we’re willing to play nice as long as you’re willing to play along, do you understand that? You and I both know that once you get your optics, the first thing you’re going to do is make us regret it. It’s what you always do. So here’s my suggestion—”

Arcee tightened her grip on Starscream’s pauldron, threateningly.

“Save us the trouble and just get out of our sight. Go run off and get yourself killed by someone else. You’re not worth the effort we’re putting into you, so you’re worth even less than that to chase after anymore. You got that, Screamer?”

Starscream trembled beneath her grip, feeling as though he were looking directly into the Pit from the very edge. But she was right, he didn’t belong here. This was all just a ploy, a ruse to maintain peace, and he was the fool caught in the middle. From the very start, he knew that he wouldn’t stay once his optics were returned, but he was also not confident he would even survive that far, especially not now. Because Arcee was right again, he would make them regret ever allowing him to stay. All it took was one slip of his glossa; he’d seen it before with Arcee, when he accidentally revealed that he was the one who killed Cliffjumper. Every conversation a minefield, every word, an air strike.

Starscream swallowed, knowing that he had to play their game. Earlier, with Knockout, he managed to break through to...something? Some semblance of politeness? But Knockout was a much, much easier mech to please. And he hadn’t done nearly as much to earn his ire as he had earned Arcee’s. She wouldn’t believe a pathetic, woe-is-me act, she’d seen it before. How was he going to play this? How could he possibly win?

“Well!?” Arcee barked. Starscream whimpered, feeling the heat of her vents against his tarnished faceplate. There was only one mech he could think of that could get him out of this, one that had been strangely absent, up until now. Their leader.

“D-Does the Prime know what you’re doing!? Would he approve!?”

A heavyness took over the room that weighed on Starscream’s pristine wings. For a moment, he thought he had won with his trump card. He thought he had successfully shamed her into ending her assault. The Autobots always crumbled before their dear leader and his fairytale ideas of harmony. But then, he heard a sigh from the femme. It carried it’s own weight: grief.

“...He’s dead.” Arcee finally said, attempting to hide the pain behind her words.

Starscream was stunned into silence. He had just seen him before he took that fateful trip to Darkmount. How could he be dead? Megatron had abandoned the war, and Cybertron was nothing more than a graveyard. What could have taken down Optimus Prime, and, more importantly, was it still here?

“...How?” He asked, unable to hide his astonishment.

“Optimus sacrificed his spark to the Well of Allsparks, along with the Matrix. He saved Cybertron...it’s the only reason we can even attempt to rebuild.” Arcee narrowed her optics at Starscream. “What? Did you think he would come and save you from me?”

Starscream’s processor whirled, trying to compensate for his bad hand.

“N-No! Well, yes, but—”

Arcee snarled and tightened her grip, giving Starscream a rough shake to silence him.

“I’m not the sheep you think I am, Starscream. I respect Optimus, and I’ll honor his spark until mine beats its last, but I don’t need his approval. I’m only willing to put up with so much from you, so this is your final warning: Don’t make us come after you. Keep your head down, and then just get the frag out of here.”
She punctuated her omen by shoving Starscream back onto his berth with a thud. While Starscream recovered from the bump to his helm, she reached over and put his free servo back into its strap, cementing it down. She turned to leave and Starscream stammered, attempting to free himself.

“H-Hey! Undo that strap this instant, it was removed with Knockout’s approval, you know! And what could I possibly do with only one servo free, anyway!?”

Arcee turned to face him from the doorway, her eyes dark and her voice cold.

“I know you. I give you an inch, and you take everything.”

The doors opened, then shut, locking behind Arcee. Starscream sat in stunned silence, then growled and began attempting to free himself again, or, at the very least, loosen the strap. But it was useless, she had practically welded it down; his one little taste of freedom, gone. One step forward, two steps back. And now, Optimus Prime was dead. The Autobots wouldn’t be as predictable this time around; playing into their ethos was useless, and their pathos was now a dangerous gamble. It was untamed, the difference between Arcee and Knockout’s conference made that abundantly clear. He couldn’t even completely trust Knockout’s good behavior not to be provisional.

Before he could dwell on it any further, static began to buzz in his right audial, where his Comm was set to relay. It left just as soon as it arrived...then promptly returned, just as soon as it left. Starscream looked around with a confused expression and instintively said, “hello?” Only for the static to stop once again...And then it came back. And then it left. Starscream furrowed his brow in confusion; perhaps this was a result of stress, too? He sighed and shook his helm, lying back down. Recharge would surely fix the problem, but, Primus, he missed being able to sleep on his front. This berth was quickly becoming maddeningly uncomfortable without the mercy of being able to toss and/or turn. Maybe timing his vents would aid in getting him to slip into recharge, like it did before?

The static came back. Then it left.

Then it came back.

Starscream groaned and slammed his helm onto his pillow in protest, which did not help him at all, unless his end goal was to hurt himself. Because he did. Starscream sucked his dentae, then sighed, and the pain left within the gust of his vent. Silence returned, and he waited. He waited for what felt like several minutes, checking off every box on the ‘recharge to-do list’ except for actually falling asleep, anticipating the inevitable...But, he heard nothing.

In the blissful silence, he began to count in his mind: One, two, three, invent...One, two, three, exvent...One, two, three, invent…One, two...three...The static made him lose count with its return. Unfortunately, this torture was intent on continuing, and it did, for several hours, on and off, seemingly at random. Occasionally, Starscream would fall asleep, but it seemed to only last for a few minutes at a time. He briefly considered the idea of waking the ship to fix the problem, but, considering his encounter with Arcee, and the palpable lack of trust in his honesty, he doubted it would get him anywhere but nowhere.

By the time the static finally ceased, it was only four hours until sunrise. And, Ratchet, the bastard lovechild between the early bird and the night owl, came to greet him with the sun. The doors of his fuzzy echo chamber opened and Starscream’s helm shot up at attention, giving Ratchet a startled pause.

“...Good morning, Starscream,” He said, studying Starscream’s face. He looked like the mask used to represent tragedy in human theater, only significantly more angry...And, the body glitter was an interesting new addition. He could easily see it was Knockout’s work, so he felt no need to bring it up. He also didn’t really care all that much. “I imagine you didn’t sleep well.”

“No,” he replied, immediately. “I’ve had this blasted, fragging, STATIC playing on and off in my right audial for the past eight hours!”

And, just like that, as if on queue, it returned. Starscream roared with rage and shook his pedes, which did not make him look as fearsome as he would hope. “There it is again!”

Ratchet picked up a cable from the med bay computer and walked behind Starscream’s berth. He cupped the Seeker’s helm with one servo, and with the other, he inserted the cable into Starscream’s medical port with a bassy ‘click.’
“Alright, alright, be quiet. You’re going to wake up the whole ship,” he said, tiredly, as he walked to the med bay computer. “Is it just in your right audial?”
“Yes!” He said, through gritted dentae. “It’s like someone is trying to Comm me from beneath the surface of Cybertron, or from one of the slagging moons, more like! It’s driving me mad!”

Ratchet paid little attention to Starscream’s complaints, at first. However, when he saw nothing wrong with his audio receptors, he decided to entertain the idea of Starscream’s hypothetical. An audio file opened on the computer, which began to quietly play the static that Starscream was hearing.

“Starscream, that is your Comm. Someone is trying to contact you,” Ratchet said, optics glued to the screen.

Starscream ceased all movement for a moment, then turned to Ratchet. “Who?”

“I can’t tell, the signal is completely untraceable. Every time I try to pinpoint the coordinates, it just…” He scoffed, rubbing his optics with one servo, exhausted. “It just defaults to our position. Gah, this Pit-forsaken ship…!”

“Our position, as in...in this room?” Starscream said with a small whine of fear. He knew it, he knew he wasn’t crazy! Someone was on the Nemesis, and they were out to get him.

Ratchet, however, had his own theory. “No, as in it’s only showing the destination of the signal, not the source. It may be entirely out of range, like you said, considering the static...But who could possibly be contacting you?”

“I don’t know!” Starscream cried. “The only other person on this ship who knows my personal Commlink is Knockout! And we can unfortunately rule him out as a suspect, I know he would rather die than sacrifice his slagging beauty rest…”
Starscream went quiet, realizing what this might mean. Somewhere out there, there could be a fellow Decepticon searching for him, someone who knew his personal Commlink. But who, and why? Did it matter, if it was a fellow brother in arms? They could be coming to rescue him! But, if the Autobots knew only a fellow Decepticon could possibly establish a connection, then that would surely be bad news. Starscream shifted and picked at the berth beneath him, attempting to look as innocent as possible.

“Then again...I did leave my Comms open, after what happened at Darkmount. I was trying to send out a distress signal, but I just couldn’t establish a connection, probably due to some sort of damages. I don’t think I ever reset it back to being a closed signal, so...realistically, it could be anyone.”

Ratchet stared at Starscream, scowling in silence. Ratchet wasn’t an idiot, he knew Starscream was trying to lure him into a false sense of security. However, what interested him more was the specific waveform of the audio coming through. The longer he looked at it, the more a pattern started to emerge between the silences. It reminded him of something, a human concept he had briefly heard mention of. Ratchet muted the playback, then opened a video call.

“I’m going to call Raphael,” he said, pragmatically. Starscream stammered at Ratchet’s plan, looking to him as if his voice had shifted up five octaves.

“You’re consulting the organic child!?”

“Yes. I believe he may have an idea of what your pesterer is trying to say.”

“Unless he can translate white noise, I highly doubt it.” Starscream looked off to the side and muttered to himself, “Just when I thought I was finally free of those squishy nuisances...”

As the call attempted to establish a connection, Ratchet saved the recording in preparation to send it over to his human friend. “Quiet, he’s picking up.”

Ratchet couldn’t help but crack a little smile as the boy’s face came on screen. Raphael was still in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes before putting on his glasses and fully settling in to his desk. The boy yawned as he spoke, his room dim with the sunrise.

“Ratchet, do you know what time it is in Jasper? It’s like…” Raphael looked at the clock on his laptop and blinked, slowly. “It’s like six-thirty, and it’s Summer, I should still be asleep.”

“Sorry, Raf, there is a massive difference in our timezones that I’m still getting used to.”

“How’s Cybertron going? Are you gonna come back to Earth soon?” Raf asked, smiling and swiveling in his computer chair.

“It’s—”

“It’s great! Wonderful! We’ll send a fragging postcard! Now can we please get on with this without further pleasantries!?” Starscream shouted toward the med bay computer, which currently did not have a visual on him. Ratchet’s optic ridge darkened his vision and he sighed as Raphael’s face contorted in confusion, then shock.

“Was...Was that Starscream!?”

“Yes, Raf, it is. Starscream has fallen into our care for the time being, and he’ll remain here so long as he remains on good behavior. He’s been...badly injured. He’s a non-threat.”

Starscream sputtered and sat up in time with his optic ridge. “A ‘non-threat!?’ Just because I’m blind doesn’t mean I couldn’t—!”

“He’s gone blind?” Raphael asked. “Can’t you just...pop some new eyes in?”

Starscream chuckled, darkly, and began to lay back down if only to try and soothe his frayed nerves. “Yes, it would be so easy, so very easy...If they weren’t conveniently missing the parts.”

Raphael blinked and adjusted his glasses, finding himself a little uncomfortable with the fact Starscream was actively responding to him. “Wow, yeah that...that’s pretty bad. Um, so, did you need something, Ratchet?” He asked, not even hiding his attempt to escape conversing with Starscream any further.

“I think you could help me translate something,” Ratchet said, happy to get back on track. His heavy digits hit the keys of the computer as he sent Raphael the audio recording. “Starscream has been receiving comms from someone. It’s just white noise, but I remember you mentioning some sort of human code that uses silences.”

Raphael adjusted his glasses once again and leaned down towards his screen to inspect the audio file. He retreived a large set of headphones from his desk and squished them down over his impressive cowlick, and he smiled. “It’s called ‘morse code,’ Ratchet. Humans have been using it for over one hundred years, but now it’s really only used by the Navy. I’m surprised you remembered me talking about it, to be honest…”

“You were theorizing on how you could understand Bumblebee before his voicebox was repaired,” Ratchet said with a small smile that Raphael returned. Raphael had a very large family, and he was a quiet child, so he tended to fade into the background quite a lot. It felt good to be reminded that he was listened to, and, more importantly, remembered. He worried he would lose that when Ratchet had to return to Cybertron to aid with repairs, how easy it would be for Earth to be forgotten, but Ratchet wasn’t one to forget a friend.

“Well, on with it, then, what does the norse code say?” Starscream said while impatiently twitching his left pede. These bots and their blasted sentimentality! He just wanted to silence this confounded static and go back to sleep, already!

“Morse code,” Raphael gently corrected. “And it’s an easy one, it’s just saying ‘S.O.S.’ over and over again. It stands for ‘save our ship.’ But, it’s honestly the most well-known morse code in the world, so it basically just means ‘help.”

Starscream was initially excited at the prospect of an entire ship of Decepticons coming to his aid, only for the squishy thing to swiftly remove the wind from his sails. Still, he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Even one fellow Decepticon looking for their rightful leader was one he was willing to take under his wing. But first, he would have to find his brother in arms. Or rather, the Autobots would have to find them.

“And there’s no other details?” Ratchet asked, looking at the waveform with a scrupulous gaze.

“Sorry, that’s all it says, no other details,” Raphael replied with a shrug.

“Well, we can’t just leave this be,” Starscream finally added, sitting up on his berth and looking towards Ratchet. “I don’t know who this is, but they’ve been firing away at my audial for at least eight hours. They’re desperate...as I was when I crawled through that groundbridge,” Starscream said, beginning to sprinkle in a healthy bit of pathos. He angled his helm down, a bit dramatic, but sometimes a bit of flair was required to get one’s point across. “I’m sure that you’re of the assumption it must be a fellow Decepticon, considering it’s me that’s being contacted. But without being able to trace the signal, we cannot be sure. Regardless...I would rather not sit here and wait until the static dims. If whoever is calling is truly in danger, that would be a grim silence indeed.”
Starscream rolled his shoulders and sighed. “But I’m useless like this, and I’m so damned tired…” He allowed his upper body to sink back down onto his berth. “Please, while there’s a silence, let me rest a while...I’m sure this is a matter to discuss with your team, first.”
Ratchet stared at Starscream during his speech, then looked to Raphael, who was sitting with tight lips. The boy shrugged, and that was all the answer Ratchet needed to know that they were of the same opinion: Probably a trick, but what else is there to do?

“Thank you, Raphael, you’ve been very helpful. I’ll be back soon, I promise.” Ratchet smiled and Raphael returned it in kind.

“See ya, Ratchet...And, Starscream?” Raphael didn’t give him the time to answer, not that Starscream wanted to acknowledge him. “Please be good.”

The video feed cut, and Starscream held back a scoff. Sensitive company was present, after all. The boy had been present for when Starscream intended to expose their fleshy bodies to the harsh atmosphere of Cybertron, wasn’t he? ‘Be good.’ What a fairytale world he lived in to think a command such as that held any weight. But it wasn’t a command, more of a request. Or perhaps even a plea. The taint of worry on his tone was likely aimed more at Ratchet and his faction than Starscream’s own wellbeing. How sad for him to know that he intended to do whatever it took to escape from this wretched place, and as it has always been, it likely wouldn’t take ‘good’ to reach his goals. Only winners defined ‘good,’ after all, and, unlike Megatron, he hadn’t given up yet.

Ratchet sighed and turned to Starscream, briefly, before he left. “I’m going to discuss this with the others. But don’t get your hopes up, Starscream. No mech in their right mind would ask you for help on purpose.”

When the doors shut, that was the closest they had ever been to slamming. Impossible, being automatic doors, but it could be felt when the atmosphere cut so clean. Starscream tightened his servos into fists at the words, upset at the mere idea that they upset him. But they harkened him back to Knockout, what he’d confessed. Despite knowing that Starscream wouldn’t do the same for him, he was kind. He had helped...They had all helped. Starscream shook the feeling from his mind with a growl. What did they matter!? They only helped out of their sense of duty! It was an obligation at best, in memory of their precious Prime. Knockout was a strange outlier, that was all. Perhaps a fool, perhaps...something else, something Starscream couldn’t put an insulting title to.

Starscream fixed his attention onto his comm, only to feel a cold chill up his spinal strut. Both of his servos were locked down, he’d completely forgotten in his restless state, as if Ratchet would agree to free even a single digit. There was no way for him to activate his communicator without pressing his audial. Starscream shook his helm in sheer disbelief at his horrible luck.

“Son of a—”

Suddenly, the doors opened again, and Starscream sighed in annoyance. “Primus, please, just let me recharge…”

No one answered, but Starscream could feel it again, that presence...But the fear had passed as quickly as it came, barely a footnote as Starscream’s processor began to turn. The alarm, the doors, the groundbridges, this feeling...This feeling that he knew, now, must be real. It had to be, it all synced up with the spector that stood at his berthside. All except for--

The static returned again, a long string of fuzzy madness that flossed through the inner workings of his helm, only this time, he could hear its rhythm:

‘S. O. S.’

‘Save. Our. Ship.’

‘Help.’

Starscream took in a deep vent, then swallowed to lubricate his glossa that had suddenly become dry. “...Hello.”

Silence.

“I don’t understand that code you’re using past that one phrase, you need help, don’t you…?”

Silence followed again, but Starscream continued, undeterred.
“If we’re going to talk, we’ll have to do it this way: activate my comm once to say ‘yes,’ and twice to say ‘no.’ Do you understand?”

KZZT.

Starscream nodded, still apprehensive, but hopeful for what was to come. “Good...Now, do you know me, personally?”

KZZT.

“Are you a Decepticon?”

KZZT.

Starscream’s wings perked and a little smile graced his lips, a good sign. But there was more ground to cover, yet. “Are you...a friend?”

Silence. Starscream’s wings drooped and his lips tightened with a flat hum. It was complicated, or they just weren’t sure. That could mean anything, at this point. “I see...Are you in danger?”

KZZT.

“Immediate danger?”

A ‘KZZT-KZZT’ came through, but after a pause was replaced by a single buzz. Starscream’s optic ridge furrowed, wondering what that hesitation could mean. Then a possible answer dawned on him.

“Are you injured?”

KZZT.

A race against the clock, just when Ratchet had left. Perfect. Starscream sighed tightly and tensed. “Where are you-? Are you in this room?”

The flurry of buzzes that came through didn’t answer his question at all, it only gave him further questions. How could that not be a simple question to answer? They were either in the room or not!

“Alright, then, could you get me out of these straps?”

KZZT-KZZT.

“Of course you can’t, why would you be able to!? You can open a door like it’s your primary function but no, noooo, not a restraint!” He groaned and thought to himself. “Well, if we’re going to save your life, we need to get the attention of the Autobots, unfortunately. Could you set off the alarm again?”

KZZT-KZZT.

“Why n-!? The manual lockdown!” Starscream practically cried with anger, remembering that the security system was now completely neutered. “Well that’s just GREAT! Now we’re stuck here waiting for the Autobots to have their slagging little town meeting! HELLO!? AUTOBOTS! I’M ESCAPING, BETTER COME CHECK ON ME!” Starscream yelled into the empty-but-not-empty room.
KZZT-KZZT.

“Shut up, you! I know it’s not working!” Starscream huffed and allowed his helm to hit the berth, no longer feeling the pain he did before. Seconds ticked on and Starscream was forced to calm down from his tantrum due to his sheer lack of movement. Whoever this fellow Decepticon was, they were injured, likely dying, and there was nothing he could do about it. Who knows how much time this mech had? Would they even have enough time to wait for Ratchet to get back and hook him back up to the medbay computer, so that everyone could hear the mech in the shadows? With Starscream’s luck, he found it unlikely.

Yes or no questions would only get him so far, he needed something concrete to tell the Autobots, something that wouldn’t sound made up...Something not even he would know, without help.

“That code you used, the ‘morse code.’ Use it to spell your name.”

When silence followed, Starscream sighed, softly. “You know I’m the only one who can get you out of this, and I can tell you probably don’t have a lot of time, if your behavior over the last few days is anything to go on. You have to trust me; the Autobots won’t believe a word I say unless they believe I didn’t say it. Say your name.”

After a heavy minute, Starscream began to hear the static again. As it played in his audial, he began to tap his digit against his berth, feeling the small tap vibrate through the entire surface. It was a long name, human code was so ineffecient, but once the static stopped, Starscream commanded the mech, “Again.”

As time went on, tapping out the name became almost second nature. Especially when he realized that he already knew the first two letters: ‘S. O.’ But he didn’t know where the other letters began or ended, so he didn’t know who they could possibly be.

Ratchet knocked on Ultra Magnus’ door. The officer had decided to turn what was once, unbeknownst to all but two of the residents of the ship, Breakdown’s quarters. All of his belongings had already been stripped from it, therefore making it the tidest room on the Nemesis. Regardless, when Ratchet was given the call to “come in,” he found Ultra Magnus arranging several datapads on his desk in perfect lines.

“Good morning, Ratchet. Did you have something to report?” Ultra Magnus asked, only glancing up once from his datapads.

“I did, sir. Starscream is receving comms from an unknown source.” Ultra Magnus looked up as Ratchet continued, now having his undivided attention. “At first, it seemed to just be static, but I contacted Raphael on a hunch. As it turns out, the static is actually morse code, a human naval language, and it’s a distress signal.”

“And Starscream is the only one receiving the signal, as far as we know?” Ultra Magnus took a pen to one of the many pads on his desk.

“Yes, sir. It’s someone who has to know Starscream’s personal Commlink. He spun a tall tale about leaving his comms open after his near-death experience, but I find that highly unlikely. If he had the processing capacity to open his comms, then he surely would have attempted to send a distress signal of his own. It wouldn’t have been the first time he asked us for help...Then again, he only ever did so when he had some sort of bargaining chip.” Ratchet scowled and shook his helm. “Regardless, I don’t believe a word. Whoever is calling him must be a stranded Decepticon.”

Ultra Magnus nodded. “I agree, it’s at least the most probable source...You’re wanting to know whether or not we should attempt to trace it?”

Ratchet nodded, silently. Ultra Magnus shuttered his optics and hummed in deep thought. The war was over, but they hadn’t yet had the opportunity to broadcast that message with their communications systems being so limited. They could only really manage it to and from Earth at the moment. Tracing the signal at all would be difficult, but considering that they had managed to get through to Starscream, they couldn’t be off of Cybertron. Whoever this Decepticon was could be dangerous, but, it was his duty to bring them in and give them a fair trial...Whatever that meant, with

less than ten willing bots to act as a jury, which held a clear bias in favor of persecution.

Ultra Magnus placed his digit onto an intercom system on his desk. “All residents of the Nemesis, please report to the lounge immediately. Attendance is not optional...Wheeljack, that is mainly directed at you.”

Every bot was currently on the Nemesis, getting ready to gear up for the day. Each of them paused in their routines and dutifully began making their way to the lounge, Wheeljack taking up the rear with oil on his servos and an annoyed look on his face. Knockout exited his quarters at around the same time and found himself beside the silver Wrecker.

“How’s it feel to live in Ulta Mag’s processor rent-free, Jackie?” Knockout said with a smile.

“I feel like the belle of the damn ball,” he replied as he flicked his digits clean, forcing Knockout to enter a state of orbit around him.

“What were you even up to to get your digits that filthy this early?”

“Getting a head start repairing the ship’s oil reserves. What were you up to to be that sparkly this early?”

“Moisturizing,” he said with pride. “You should try it, sometime, it’ll soften up those scars.”

“Psh, nah. I prefer the rugged look. Maybe you should try getting your servos dirty sometime soon, eh, princess?”

“I’ll get them plenty dirty once I’m elbow deep in your engine, I’m sure.”

Wheeljack scoffed with a smirk. “You think I’ll get on the slab that quick?”

Knockout looked to him with an evil gleam in his optic. “Whoever said anything about the med bay?”

Arcee turned around from the front of the line as she opened the doors to the lounge. “Alright, boys, you’re both pretty, now can we shut up? This could be serious.”

Bulkhead sighed, tiredly as Arcee let him through with two polite steps to the side. “With Ultra Magnus, everything is…”

Arcee smiled at Bulkhead and followed close behind until she broke off to find a comfortable seat. Bumblebee joined her, sitting down at her table with a serious look in his eye.

“I’m guessing this has something to do with Starscream, what do you think?” He said, hardly whispering.

Suddenly, Arcee’s optics opened wide in surprise. ‘That son of a glitch,’ she thought. ‘He must have tattled on me!’ Arcee crossed her arms and leaned back with a sigh, forcing herself to face reality with all the apathy it required. She was certain this would turn into another lecture with her at the center, something about proper ettiqute with prisoners, or code of conduct, or some other jargon Ultra Magnus knew like the back of his servo. And she was far, far from excited. “Yeah, probably…”

Tapping, tapping, tapping away. Starscream had a good grasp on this riff by now, but time continued to pass without any signs of speeding up. It did, however, appear to slow down, somehow. Starscream realized that the static was coming in slower and slower, quieter, and quieter, until their percussive duet became a solo. Starscream sat up, looking in the direction of the ghost.

“Hello? Hey, stay with me, it can’t be much longer!”

But nothing answered.

“Dammit, dammit!” Starscream cursed and began to fight against his restraints to the point of nearly popping his servos out of place. He screamed, trying to get someone, anyone to hear him, but the med bay was too far from the lounge. Nobody in their right mind wants to hear screams of agony while on their energon break, after all. The only hope that Starscream had to save this bot was to escape. This was likely his last chance to make it off the Nemesis: saving his fellow Decepticon and escaping together to go...anywhere but here. The details didn’t matter when all he wanted was to get out.

And so he fought; thrashing, scratching at the straps with the very tips of his digits, attempting to reach them with his dentae with no luck, bending his wings to try and saw into them, until...Something started to give. His left servo, left untightened by Arcee, granted him just enough leverage to start pulling it up and out of the restraint. Bless the artist that gave his frame such slender digits! Starscream dug his heel struts into the berth and pushed himself upwards with all the strength he had.

“Come on, damn you…!” Starscream said, presumably to either himself or the restraint. With one final push, his left servo came free, nearly careening with his helm on the way out. And, miraculously, his thumb was not broken in the process. Starscream laughed, manically, and immediately began releasing himself with trembling digits. Once all of his limbs were free, he hopped out of the medical berth, not realizing that so many days spent on his back would have turned his ankles to mush. He dropped to his knees with a ‘clang’ against the metal floor, his arms trembling beneath the weight of his own chassis.

“Okay, okay,” he said, reassuring himself. “Just, slowly...slowly, now.” He felt around for the medical berth, gripping the edge of it and using it to pull himself back up. He stood there for a few seconds, until the trembling in his struts finally ceased, and he smiled, relishing in his triumph. But, the work was not done, he knew that, and this freedom was only temporary. His soon-to-be-asset was slipping from his grasp for every second he spent dilly-dallying. He made his way to the doors of the med bay, which, thankfully, opened automatically. Before he fully stepped out of the room, he looked behind himself one last time.

“Don’t you dare die on me.”

Starscream ventured out into the empty, unseen halls of the Nemesis, startling himself when his servos made contact with the opposite wall. As his palms pressed against it, he felt something. Though it felt similar, it couldn’t possibly be the purr of the ship’s engine, it was only the ghostly caress of air just behind the wall. He knew this must merely be a web of cold wires and vents, yet an eerie sense of life pulsed through it with each change in the wind. Starscream removed his palms and furrowed his optic ridge in astonishment, but the feeling persisted through his pedes. The floor warped and echoed with every step; it traveled up the walls and into the ceiling, past it, into the unseen atmosphere overhead.

Starscream felt his tank begin to churn. Everything in the med bay felt so small, so dense, but this...he felt as though he were shrinking with each step. He took in a deep vent and let it go with a shudder. “Focus, focus...Picture it: you’re still just outside the med bay. It’s on the East wing, in a long corridoor, right in the center of it. You exited to your right, which means that the lounge area is at the very end...”
Starscream stepped forwards, and that single step echoed down the entirety of the corridor. His wings trembled, catching the air as it bounced off the opposite wall. With each step that followed, his wings latched onto it quicker, and quicker, as the wall behind him ricocheted slower, and slower...This constant flow of information was overwhelming. The entire ship sang to him with every move he made, announcing its presence with a voice that clawed its way through his body to his very core. Starscream was close to falling to his knees until his servos made contact with the wall at the end of the hallway. He hadn’t even realized he was holding out his arms again.

“Primus, what’s happening to me…?” He asked, feeling the ship pulse through his palms once again. It was sickening, like the whole of the ship breathed around him, crushing him with each expansion of its spectral lungs. ‘Those neural nodes are running hot. Red hot, even,’ Starscream remembered Knockout say. Ratchet had also told him that his audials seemed to have become highly sensitive. All of these sensations, it was all from the loss of his optics. His processor and his frame fought in tandem to see without sight, but the change was enough to make Starscream want to purge all over himself.

Still, he was so close, now. He could hear them all talking; fifth door on the right, the only set of double-doors in this section. Starscream steeled himself and pushed off the wall, forcing himself to keep moving. Just focus, breathe, and take it in piece by piece. What were they saying?

Inside, Ultra Magnus continued to address the room, presumably, from it’s center.

“I understand everyone’s apprehension, but it’s the right thing to do. If there’s a way to trace the signal, it’s our duty to find them and take them into custody.”

“Isn’t two ‘Cons enough?” Wheeljack asked, sounding frustrated. “Whoever it is, they’re specifically dialing Starscream. In my mind, that means it’s either someone who’s beneath him, willing to serve, or someone above, willing to take advantage of him. And believe me, he doesn’t make it hard.”

“Which is why we should keep them separated,” Ratchet suggested. “Assuming this is a Decepticon, having them in the same room as Starscream is out of the question.”

“Yeah, whether or not they’re willing to stand down doesn’t mean anything with Starscream around to twist their processor up. Even if he doesn’t bend a knee for Starscream, that doesn’t mean he won’t throw the bot under the bus to get his way,” Bulkhead added.

“Before all of that, how are we even going to figure out where they are?” Bumblebee asked, standing to his pedes. “That should be our first priority! We’re all wasting time by asking if we should instead of asking what we could do.”

Ratchet grumbled. “You’re right...Well, we know that they must be on Cybertron, so at the very least we have a shadow of a chance of figuring out where they might be.”

“Maybe...Maybe we could try and send a message back, through Screamer’s comm? They can use that code to tell us where they are, right?” Smokescreen asked.

“Without a clear idea on where it’s coming from, there isn’t a way to connect back. Right now we’re stuck working with a one-way street,” Arcee said, her tone grim. “If we could just talk to them…”

All of a sudden, the doors to the lounge opened and Starscream leaned limply against the doorframe, his frame shivering. Before anyone else could unfreeze themselves from shock, Starscream gripped the doorframe and stood as tall as he could, in spite of his nausea.

“I need to speak with Raphael. The bot, in my comm, they spelled their name to me, and now it’s gone silent. We need to act now, or they’re going to die—”

His point was punctuated by him promptly purging a cup’s worth of energon onto the floor between his pedes.

Chapter Text

“Starscream, servos in the air, now!” Ultra Magnus boomed, raising his still-intact servo and transforming it into a blaster.

Starscream snarled, wiping his lips with the back of his servo. He was doubled-over against the doorframe, grimacing as the officer’s blaster audibly powered. Each time he thought that the sound couldn’t get any louder, it just continued, getting louder and louder to a crescendo he didn’t think was possible from a weapon he had heard for centuries. It shrieked like nails on a chalkboard. He gripped his helm, losing his friction on the doorframe and falling to his knees.“Turn that off, I beg of you! Just-Please, stop that sound!”

The room was taken aback once again. Ultra Magnus lowered his weapon and Ratchet stood up, his nature as a medic overtaking his misgivings of his patient, who was now a crumpled heap on the floor. He placed two digits to Starscream’s throat cabling, feeling the state of his fuel lines. Smokescreen looked on, finally shaking himself from the initial shock of seeing Starscream out of his berth, and then from the sudden purge. “Woah, uh, okay? What was all of that?”

“Screamer blew chunks for real this time,” Wheeljack answered, lacking the amusement such a statement would normally have.
Ratchet’s optic ridge lowered in disapproval, hiding a bit of guilt, as he took the mech by the shoulders. “Starscream,” he began, quietly. “Can you stand?”
Starscream didn’t answer, he simply pushed Ratchet off of him and rose to his feet. He wobbled, but ultimately managed to keep upright, and Ratchet allowed one servo to hover behind Starscream in case he fell. Ultra Magnus complied walked over to the two with a stone-like expression.

“What’s his status, Ratchet?” He asked, in far more official terms than Smokescreen.

“He’s overstimulated and underfueled. For the latter, I take full responsibility. I was distracted by the situation with his comms and neglected to give him his morning fuel. Knockout?” Ratchet asked.

“On it,” Knockout said with a nod. “I’m not cleaning that up, by the way.” He then walked to the energon station in the back of the room to begin preparing an energon cube. Bumblebee stood next, and moved to the center of the room.

“Wait, when Starscream came in, we all caught that, didn’t we?” He asked, turning to look at everyone else in the room. “Starscream said whoever is contacting him, he managed to get an answer, but they’re not talking anymore. We’re losing time.”

“He said they spelled their name,” Arcee added, before turning to Starscream. “Who is it?”

“I-I don’t know. They used morse code to spell it,” he answered. “But, I’ve committed it to memory.” He tapped the side of his helm, unintentionally beginning the first half of the sequence. “That’s why I need to speak with Raphael, before I forget.”

Arcee nodded, casting any doubts she may have aside for the sake of time. “Then let’s call him. We’ll use the lounge computer.”

“Way ahead of you,” Bumblebee said, already starting up the display on the front wall with a wave of his servo. “It doesn’t have a camera, but it’s got a mic and it can take calls, that’s all we need. Let’s just hope he’s home…”

Starscream’s shoulders sagged in relief at the lack of questions. Even if he told them the truth of how he knew all this, it would sound ridiculous. The spirit he felt was real, in his room, using his personal Commlink to answer yes or no questions. Oh, and he just managed to wiggle out of his restraints, no asisstance necessary. He almost wished he’d had to have broken a few digits to get out, just to seem less suspicious. Still his processor struggled to get a grasp on everything that was happening in the room. He could hear the Autobts moving around, cutting into the air and pulling trails of atmosphere in their wake.

He tried to focus on just one of the many trails as Bumblebee worked to get the lounge display ready. Off to his left, a heavy set of pedes traveled from his table and back to the door of the lounge. Pistons locked and hissed into place as the bot crouched down, and a gentle squeaking emitted from the floor beneath them. Starscream grimaced, realizing it was likely Ultra Magnus taking it upon himself to tidy up the mess he’d left with a rag.

“Er, Knockout, you’re sure it’s alright for me to-?” Ultra Magnus whispered, but not quietly enough that Starscream couldn’t hear.

“I hardly wanted to use it on my frame after it caught Screamer’s spittle once, what makes you think I would want to use it now that it’s caught the contents of his tank? Just keep it,” Knockout quickly answered. He walked to where Starscream was sitting and took him by the servo, placing a full cube of energon into his palm. “Here, drink up.”

Starscream exvented and raised the cube to his lips, only for Knockout’s servo to stop the motion before the energon could enter his intake. “Wait, tilt your helm back a little farther than you normally would,” Knockout said, his optics locked on the large crack in Starscream’s lower lip.

“What? Why?” Starscream asked, raising an optic ridge. Knockout shrugged, and, oddly enough, Starscream was aware of this.

“Just trust me on this one, Screamer.”

Starscream glowered at the continued usage of that nickname, but complied, tilting his helm at an obtuse angle to drink from the energon cube. It was cool, refreshing, and he drank it down in three, greedy swigs. He didn’t even realize how parched he was; no wonder he could hear such guilt in Ratchet’s voice from before. First the live wire above his berth, and now they were forgetting to fuel him at all. Knockout smiled and took the empty cube from his patient’s servo, satisfied to see that not a drop was spilled this time. “Thaaank you!” He said in a singsong voice as he put the cube aside.

“Stop calling me ‘Screamer.”

“No.”

Before Starscream could pick a derogatory remark from his massive database, Raphael came onto the screen. He was in his room, now dressed for the day, and smiling brightly. At first, anyway. Once he realized that there was no video feed, he squinted and began looking for a means to fix the error.

“Hi, Bee! Uh, hold on, I can’t see you.”

“Sorry, we don’t have a camera on this system. Everyone’s here, Raf, and we need your help translating something again,” Bumblebee said, trying to be as concise as possible. “Starscream got a message from that bot from earlier, he managed to get a name. We didn’t get a recording, but, he says he memorized it.”

Raphael blinked and grabbed a notepad from his desk, along with a pen. “O-Oh, okay! Let me hear it and I’ll do my best.”

Bumblebee turned to address Starscream. “You think you can just knock on that table to spell it out?”

Starscream simply nodded and planted his knuckles to the table. Knockout made the wise decision to pick up the empty energon cube as to not corrupt the noise as Starscream began knocking. He moved his servo higher and lower on the table, closer to the edge, to achieve the difference in pitch needed. Raphael listened intently and began writing a series of dots and dashes into his notebook, ending with twenty-four in a neat row. He isolated each group and began writing letters beneath them, and he began to pale as the name formed across the page.

“U-Uh…” He grunted, scratching the side of his head as a means of comforting himself.

Starscream scowled. “Well? Do I need to do it again?”

Raphael jumped at the sound of Starscream’s voice. “No! It’s just, well, it’s…” Before Starscream could angrily comment on the boy’s importunate stammering, he finally concluded.

“It’s Soundwave.”

“Soundwave…” Starscream repeated, almost breathlessly. It took everything in him to smother the smile that graced his face. Soundwave hadn’t run off with Megatron, after all. The most loyal and tacticle of all Decepticons was still within reach! With an ally like that, he could most assuredly get off this accursed ship, and his blindness would be cured in no time at all. He wasn’t a medic, sure, but he was a master of getting results, no matter the task. A cold chill overtook the room.

“No, there’s no way we’re letting that screen-faced freak on this ship,” Wheeljack said, crossing his arms. Starscream looked to Wheeljack with his intake agape, but Ultra Magnus spoke for him.

“Wheeljack, we’ve already agreed: no matter who this bot turned out to be, we would apprehend them. The war is over, and it’s our duty to enact justice-”
“Justice-” Wheeljack interrupted, stepping up to challenge Ultra Magnus. “-Would be letting Soundwave rot in the Shadow Zone. If you’re all okay with holding servos and singing praises to Primus with Starscream, be my guest, he’s nobody worth worrying about. But Soundwave? Next you’re going to say Shockwave is on our friendlist!”

“Excuse me!?” Starscream gasped.

“What, you’ve got something to say now, Scarface?” Wheeljack turned his attention to Starscream and clenched his servos. “Don’t think I didn’t catch you smilin’ when Soundwave’s name bounced off your audials. You’re already thinkin’ about all the ways he could get you out of here, aren’t you?”

“Jackie, take it easy,” Bulkhead warned. He took Wheeljack by the shoulder and forced him to take a step back from Starscream. “I don’t like this either, but we gotta look at the facts: Megatron jumped ship, and Soundwave was practically glued at the hip with him. If Megatron says we’re not fighting, Soundwave has to listen...right?” Bulkhead addressed the room, looking for any form of agreement. Knockout raised his servo.

“Speaking as his ex-coworker, I think you’re making an excellent point, Bulkhead. The hard part will be convincing him that Big M raised his white flag when he’s not here to confirm it.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t have any reason to listen to us,” Smokescreen said, in deep contemplation.

“And he has a pretty good reason to hate Jack, Miko and I, too. I know we’re safe on Earth, but...Are we?” Raphael said, shrinking in his seat.

Starscream scowled, feeling the room begin to shift into uncertainty again. The longer they deliberated, the more likely it was that Soundwave was going to go offline. His own hurt ego aside, he understood why the Autobots had misgivings about the idea of rescuing Soundwave: he was difficult to read, and, therefore, completely unpredictable. Starscream raised his helm with a grevious frown, knowing that he had to do something to sway their decision, or else lose Soundwave forever.

“Let me talk to Soundwave when he’s rescued.”

“Not a chance,” Ratchet said, immediately. But before he could continue, Starscream stood to his pedes to gather some sort of authority.

“Soundwave contacted me before anyone else, including Knockout. As his previous superior officer, my word will hold weight. If I tell him that Megatron has surrendered, he will listen. And…” Starscream looked around at faces he could not see. “You need him. Soundwave is the greatest communications officer that Cybertron has ever seen, not even just within the ranks of Decepticons. If you want to spread the word of peace across the galaxy, he’ll get it out in half the time that all of you could combined. Supervise me if you must, but allow me to speak with him, and he is yours. That, I promise.”

Starscream waited with a stern scowl on his face, hoping, praying that his pitch was well-received. And he got his answer when Ultra Magnus stepped forward.

“Bulkhead, Arcee, Bumblebee. You will be accompanied by Knockout to stage a rescue into the Shadow Zone. Ratchet will remain outside to maintain the groundbridge. The rest of us will stand outside as back up. Let’s move!”

In the Nemesis’ main control room, Ratchet sat at the main computer and began entering the coordinates for the groundbridge. Raphael’s visage sat in a smaller window on the same screen, overlooking Ratchet’s work.

“I at least have the coordinate’s for Soundwave’s original groundbridge still in the ship’s database,” Ratchet began. “You said you opened your own behind the original, Raphael, but without the actual data, the feedback loop recreation may not be completely accurate. Meaning it could take us some precious time to retrieve Soundwave.”

“Sorry, Ratchet, but I didn’t think I would ever need those coordinates again. I do think what you’ve got is as close as we’re going to get.”

“Then it’s as close as we need,” Arcee said, stretching her arms across her chassis with Bulkhead and Bumblebee to her sides. “We’re ready when you are, Ratchet.”

Knockout stood at the front, holding an emergency medical kit with an apprehensive look on his face. “Well, this is going to be exciting…”
Starscream stood at the back wall with the others, sandwiched by Ultra Magnus and Smokescreen, who was guarding the door with as much diligence as he did back in Iacon. Starscream had his arms crossed, impatiently tapping his digit against his arm, once again unwittingly spelling Soundwave’s name. Smokescreen looked down at him, noticing the familiar sound and whispered, “You really do have a good memory, huh?”

“Shut up,” he snapped, quietly. Smokescreen jumped a bit in surprise, then glared and looked back out into the main deck. “Just trying to make conversation while we wait, sheesh…”

“Opening the groundbridge. Stand back,” Ratchet called before digging his digit into a key on his keypad. The swirling, green and blue energy of the groundbridge opened before Knockout and his entourage, lighting the room with it’s eerie, unstable glow. Knockout took in a deep vent and let it go with a determined scowl.

“Alright, with me,” Knockout said, before rushing into the groundbridge. Arcee, Bumblebee, and Bulkhead followed close behind in a triangle formation. Once they all disappeared into the groundbridge, a heavy silence took over the room. All communication ceased once they passed the threshold, leaving the onlookers entirely in the dark as to what lies behind the bridge. Starscream was particularly tense as he waited, forgetting entirely to vent. He didn’t like the way that the groundbridge made his wings feel; they felt as though they were bending like mere sheets of aluminum in the atmosphere the portal created. Though they were moving without his permission, they remained straight. Smokescreen took notice of the way the Seeker’s wings tipped and flexed, and though he wanted to inquire about it, he resisted the urge, knowing what the outcome would be.

Minutes passed and Wheeljack pulled himself away from the rear wall. “Come on, Bulk,” he whispered to himself in quiet worry. He leaned over the edge of the platform to call to Ratchet at the other side. “Doc, shouldn’t they be back by now!?”

“I don’t know, Wheeljack!” Ratchet replied, matching his volume. “Their life signatures are still online, but I can’t pinpoint their positions while they’re in the Shadow Zone!”

Raphael bit his fingernails and kicked his feet behind the screen he was glued to. “Please be okay, please be okay…” he muttered to himself, on a loop, decreasing in volume until his lips moved without a sound.

Starscream’s optic ridge flew up when he felt a change in the air. Something sharp had cut a hole through the groundbridge, and it was moving fast. “Wait, something’s coming through!” He cried, stepping forwards. Ultra Magnus grabbed him by the shoulder to prevent further movement.

“How do you know?” Ultra Magnus asked.

“I just do!”

And just like that, a small aerial bot came flying out of the groundbridge, beeping incessantly. Lazerbeak, Soundwave’s other half, had escaped the Shadow Zone and was careening towards the back wall. Smokescreen exclaimed and jumped up, attempting to grab the drone, but missed, and Lazerbeak flew through the door. “Damn it!”

Smokescreen instantly gave chase, transforming into his vehicle mode and skidding down the halls of the Nemesis. “Get back here, you metal turkey!”

Ultra Magnus called for Smokescreen, but was interrupted as Bulkhead came bounding out of the groundbridge, holding the limp frame of Soundwave in his arms. Soundwave’s visor was dark, and his biolights were as dim as candle light. The tips of his digits were stained with energon, but none dripped from their tips, a sure sign of empty fuel lines. Knockout, Arcee, and Bumblebee followed close behind Bulkhead. “Get him to the med bay, now!” Knockout called before transforming himself and speeding down the hall. Wasting no time, Ratchet closed the groundbridge behind him and followed Bulkhead as fast as his legs could carry him. Wheeljack followed close behind, grinning ear to ear now that he knew his friend was alright.

“Bee!?” Raphael called, causing Bumblebee to skid to a stop and turn to address his human friend.

“I’m fine, Raf!” He smiled, running over to the computer. “Soundwave is alive, too, but he’s in bad shape. I’ll give you the details later, okay, buddy?”

“Okay...” Raphael said, relaxing only slightly. Worry was still plastered all over the boy’s face, and Bumblebee took notice.

“Hey, Raf. You just saved someone’s life, today. You’re amazing, you know that, right?”

Raphael looked up into Bumblebee’s optics and slowly smiled. “Thanks, Bee...Tell him that I said I was sorry, okay?”

“You got it, buddy.”

Bumblebee ended the call. At the same time, Arcee was running to catch up with Bulkhead, but Starscream lunged forward, out of Ultra Magnus’ grasp, and grabbed her by the arm. She gasped and whirled around to face Starscream, the last bot she expected to be able to stop her.

“Arcee, that’s you, right? What’s going on!? Is he alive!?” He shouted, gripping her tightly.

“Barely,” Arcee finally said, snatching her arm away from Starscream. “He’s running on fumes, Knockout said he’ll need a full energon transfusion if he’s going to make it.”

“Then I need to be there,” Starscream said, moving to leave, but Ultra Magnus grabbed him again. Arcee took the opportunity to transform and sped off to join the others.

“Not so fast,” Ultra Magnus said, sternly. “Knockout and Ratchet need to focus; there’s enough chaos as it is without having to worry about you as well. You’ll be staying under Bumblebee’s watch while I find Smokescreen and Lazerbeak.”

“But-”

“That’s an order. Bumblebee, keep an eye on him.” Ultra Magnus then sprinted through the doors, not needing to hear confirmation to know Bumblebee would do as he was told.

Starscream growled in frustration and tried to move before Bumblebee could get ahold of him, but he wasn’t fast enough. Bumblebee took him by the shoulders and managed to fight against Starscream’s struggles.

“Starscream, calm down! Soundwave is going to be fine, just let the medics do their job.”

“I have a right to be there! I’m his commanding officer!” He shouted, as if that title meant anything anymore. “I need to be there when he wakes up, that was the deal!”

“And what are you going to do in the meantime? You’re just going to get in the way! You can’t help!”

Starscream’s struggles lost their fire at Bumblebee’s words. He simply stood still, baring his dentae and clenching his servos into tight, trembling fists. He was right. He was right. Soundwave was near death, and all he could do was wait and hope to Primus that he wasn’t too late to act. If Soundwave died, all hope was lost. Not just for Starscream’s escape, but for himself, in general. He needed Soundwave to live so that he would know he wasn’t completely powerless, that no matter what, he could still change things. This was his final chance to prove to himself that he was still capable of anything he put his mind too, t-cog or not, army or not, optics or not.

And the fact that Soundwave chose Starscream as his lifeline, over Knockout, who he surely could have also attempted to comm at any time...that meant something to him. Perhaps Soundwave saw him as the better, more loyal Decepticon? Perhaps he trusted Starscream’s intelligence more? Whatever the reason, Soundwave went out of his way to choose Starscream to help him. He believed in him. He didn’t want that to be his last mistake. But without the ability to even see for himself, and being barred from even being at Soundwave’s side until further notice, all he could do is stew in the potential of failure.

Bumblebee frowned and slowly released Starscream’s shoulders, knowing the look on his face all too well. The mech was hurting, frustrated by an injury outside of his control, and fighting to get past it. But he was fighting too hard, trying to ignore his own limitations as if he were still operating at full capacity. He knew the feeling, when he was without his voice and his t-cog, he felt that pain, intimately. He cringed, realizing that his choice of words would have hurt him deeply, if he’d heard them at the time. Bumblebee sighed.

“I’m sorry, Starscream...I wasn’t trying to say that you can’t help, I was trying to-”

“Shut up, just SHUT UP!” Starscream yelled, brandishing his claws at the yellow mech, who stumbled back in surprise. “Don’t you dare try to pander to me! I know very well the position I’m in! I know the power you all hold over me!”

“What? Starscream, I wasn’t saying-”

“Be QUIET! I’m the one talking now, not you! You think that we understand each other, because we’ve both been disabled before, but we don’t. You had your team when you lost your voice, and your t-cog. What did I have when my ability to transform was stolen from me? Nothing! But guess what?” He grinned, angrily, and spread his arms wide, as if taking a bow after a grand performance. “I survived. I survived all of it with less than you did. Now, what does that say about you and I, Bumblebee?”

Bumblebee didn’t answer, he only scowled. Starscream took a step forward and poked his digit into Bumblebee’s chest.

“It means I’m stronger than you realize,” he growled. “But I’m not fool enough to not recognize when the balance of power has shifted. I wouldn’t have survived without my t-cog if I ignored that, and I wouldn’t have thought to use your help to get it back, either. That’s all this is: I’m playing along with your little pretend game of peace to get something I need from you. After that, I leave, and you all get to pat each other on the back for being such good little mechs. Arcee made that perfectly clear to me, as if I needed a reminder.”

Bumblebee blinked. “What?”

Starscream grinned. “Oh, right, I neglected to mention that! Arcee broke into my room last night and threatened me into agreeing to leave once my vision was returned, not that she needed to. We’ve been through this song and dance before, after all…” Starscream glared again, clencing his servos at his sides. “So let me make something clear to you, Autobot: Perish any thoughts of solidarity, or, Primus-forbid, friendship from your processor. All we are, and all we ever will be to each other, is a means to an end. You get to drain me of everything I can give, and I get my optics, and my freedom, in exchange. At a time determined exclusively by yourselves, while I get no say in the matter, and have no way of knowing whether or not you’re keeping up your end of the bargain...Doesn’t sound like a good foundation for mutual understanding, now that I spell it out, does it?”

Bumblebee stared at Starscream, surprisingly receptive to his observations, but in a way that closed a door, rather than opened one. At the end of the day, this was still Starscream. Everything was a transaction, a ‘means to an end.’ Bumblebee’s apology would mean less than nothing to him, because he was set on believing that all of them were out to get something from him. That they were all taking advantage of him, actively…But maybe he wouldn’t have felt that way so deeply if Arcee hadn’t threatened him while he was vulnerable.

“I’m sorry about what happened with Arcee,” Bumblebee said, his voice sincere, past the hurt he felt for being shot down so thoroughly. Starscream’s anger shifted to a confused, withheld surprise, but he said nothing. “You’re right, though, we’re not on equal footing. Even right now, I have the power in this situation, and it’s just you and me in an empty room. So, you’re fighting. You’re fighting to feel like you have any sort of power, and you don’t have any. You don’t have your weapons, your men, or your optics...So, you’re scared.”

Starscream scoffed, his hackles raising at such an indignant comment. “I am not scared.”

Bumblebee sighed, shaking his helm. “Whatever makes you feel better. I just wish I could convince you that you didn’t have a reason to be afraid, but, you’re right, you do.”

“For the last time, I am not-!” Starscream raised his servo, brandishing his claws once again to swing them down across Bumblebee’s chestplate, to remind him, and himself, that he could fight. But Bumblebee caught his wrist, silencing him. Starscream’s energon lines went cold, and he pulled, struggling against Bumblebee’s vice-like grip, to no avail. Bumblebee watched with pity in his optics as Starscream whimpered and fought with all of the weight in his frame to escape. After a long minute of this, Starscream finally stopped, looking up at Bumblebee with unrestrained fear on his face.

“Wh-Why are you doing this, if you don’t want me to fear you? Isn’t this counter-productive to your plan to make an ally out of me!?” Starscream cried, anticipating some sort of punishment.

“It’s because you keep making us do this, Starscream…” Bumblebee agonized, desperately trying to get him to understand. “You were trying to hurt me just now, all I’m doing is protecting myself. I just agreed with what you said a few minutes ago and you’re acting like I’m attacking you! I’m not!”

Bumblebee released Starscream, who walked back several paces, holding his wrist. Starscream stood there, stiff as a board, looking down at the floor that echoed up at him. His processor was empty of everything but the last remaining warning pulses his body had created upon being restrained. Bumblebee sighed again, if only to break the silence.

“Starscream...I just want you to know, no matter what happens to Soundwave: we never would have made it as far as we did if you didn’t step in. You did help, and now you have to trust someone else to finish what you started. Okay?”

“...Okay,” Starscream finally said, as he let go of his own wrist. He was confused, painfully so, as to what just happened. Bumblebee had said he would only get in the way, then tried to relate to him, then agreed with him when he said that they couldn’t relate to each other. And now, when he was so used to this being the point where he’s reminded, in one way or another, of his place beneath others, he remained upright. He’d dared to challenge Bumblebee, the person above him, the power role, and nothing happened. Yet he felt as though he had still been punished, somehow...The tone of his voice, when he was being held by his wrist, it cut something in him. ‘You were trying to hurt me.’

Somehow, the acknowledgement that he could have hurt someone didn’t make him feel more powerful, for once. But he didn’t feel weaker, either, he just felt pathetic. And, as much as he wanted to deny it, he was scared. He couldn’t fight any of them; he would be so easy to just kill right now, where he stood. And yet, he continued to live. How long could they continue to pretend before they broke? And if they ever stopped pretending, would Starscream even be able to tell?

Bumblebee raised his digit to his comm, then looked to Starscream.“...Hey, guess what?” Starscream raised his helm, expectantly, and Bumblebee managed a gentle smile. “He’s stable.”

Starscream walked down the hall with Bumblebee at his side, a heavyness in his spark. ‘Stable’ was good, but it wasn’t ‘fine.’ It wasn’t even ‘okay,’ it just meant he was alive, and for Starscream, it didn’t feel like enough. As they walked, he had repeatedly refused Bumblebee’s servo for support, believing he’d felt his grip enough for one day. Smokescreen walked towards them from the opposite end of the hall, along with Ultra Magnus. In Smokescreen’s arms, he was holding a surprisingly docile Lazerbeak in one servo, while the other servo nursed the drone with a cube of energon. Smokescreen turned his attention away from the bird to see Bumblebee and Starscream, and he grinned with pride.

“Hey, guys! Check it out, I’m a beast-tamer, now!”

Lazerbeak was holding the cube steady in his wings, gulping down the energon with the enthusiasm of a duck lapping at pond water. Starscream raised an optic ridge and stood still, feeling Smokescreen and Ultra Magnus closing in.

“Is he holding Lazerbeak?”

“Yeah!” Smokescreen all-but-shouted. “I followed him to the energon storage room and the little guy was going nuts on one of the undistilled cubes! I realized, ‘hey, he’s probably starving from being in the Shadow Zone for so long,’ so I had Ultra Magnus hold onto him while I got a fresh cube from the lounge. And bam! Now we’re best friends!”

Bumblebee looked into Ultra Magnus’ face and tried very, very hard not to laugh at the myriad of tiny wing-shaped cuts in his face, neck, servos, and chestplating. “Uh, is...sir?” He mangaged to get out without smiling.

“Great, never better,” Ultra Magnus quickly replied. “How was Starscream?”

Bumblebee hesitated for a moment, and Starscream took the opportunity to speak for himself, growing tired of being talked about as if he wasn’t present. “No complaints, model prisoner, yada-yada. Right, Bumblebee?”

“Uh, right...”
“Good. Let’s get a debrief from Ratchet,” Ultra Magnus concluded.

Starscream took in a deep vent and tightened his posture as they continued making their way to the med bay. Along the way, Smokescreen kept his optics on Starscream with a quiet sense of apprehension. Starscream could feel the bright-eyed mech’s gaze and, though it pained him to do so, opted to ignore it to keep the peace. That was all he had to do: just keep the peace. Keep pretending.

When they arrived, Arcee, Bulkhead, and Wheeljack were sitting outside in the hallway while Ratchet and Knockout remained inside with Soundwave. Arcee looked up to acknowledge them first, gawking when she saw Lazerbeak in Smokescreen’s arms. “Holy scrap, you actually caught him.”

Wheeljack and Bulkhead looked up as well, and her surprised expression spread to their own faces. Smokescreen smirked and walked forward with a bit of an exagerrated swagger. “Yeah, it wasn’t that hard, he was just-” Lazerbeak began to beep and flap violently in Smokescreen’s grasp, causing him to shriek in surprise and release his grip. Lazerbeak flew straight into the med bay. Knockout turned to see the source of the sound, only to see a familiar drone on a collison course with his face.

“Duck and cover!” Knockout dove to the side and Ratchet looked up from his work in confusion, only for Lazerbeak to gently land onto Soundwave’s chest and lock itself in place. Ratchet sighed and shook his helm.

“It’s alright, it’s just Lazerbeak, we can work around him. Now help me attach these last few sensors to Soundwave’s chassis.”

Bumblebee walked into the doorway with Starscream in tow, and Bumblebee frowned at the sight. Soundwave was lying in what used to be Starscream’s berth, tubes and wires attached to his frame for the purpose of monitoring his vitals. They spiraled outwards towards the med bay’s computer, which showed various graphs that fluctuated more often than they remained steady. An IV drip full of energon slowly emptied its contents into an intravenous wire attached to Soundwave’s left wrist.

Starscream stepped forward, past the threshold of the door, where he took in the sounds and smells. Medical equipment was beeping out of sync with each other, similarly to what he’d heard when he initially arrived. The air was sterile from the berth being hastily sanitized, and Soundwave himself smelled of dust and stress-induced condensation. He frowned, hearing the softest rattling of metal on Soundwave’s chest plate. Lazerbeak was trembling. Knockout turned to Starscream and smiled with optimism.

“Ah, there’s Soundwave’s new favorite mech.”

“How is he?” Starscream asked, flatly, which wiped the smile right off Knockout’s face with a small ‘hmph.’ The onlookers stood to their feet, anticipating the oncoming prognosis.

“Stable,” Ratchet said while wiping his servos clean with a sterile rag. “Which is good, obviously. What’s bad is that Soundwave is currently suffering from prolonged energon-starvation, and his systems are stuck operating at their lowest possible power. For the time being, he’s effectively comatose, and unfortunately, that means the rest is up to him...”

“What do you mean by that?” Starscream asked with worry on his face.

Ratchet frowned, wishing he had better news. “It means that Soundwave’s recovery is entirely dependent on whether or not he can find the strength to power himself back to full capacity, and we have no way of knowing when, or if, that will happen.”

Starscream furrowed his optic ridge and clenched his servos, pained at the news that his efforts might, in the end, have been fruitless. Arcee stepped up to Starscream’s side and put her servo on his shoulder, but only for long enough to get his attention. “You did what you could. When we found him, he was in…” Arcee shuttered her optics, remembering a sight she would have rather not seen. “He was in bad shape. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m grateful we had you here to help get him out of there. No one deserves to go out like that, not even Soundwave.”

Starscream stared at her, silently, then turned to face her completely. “What state was he in, when you found him? I want to know.”

Arcee sighed and crossed her arms, defensively. “Are you sure you want to know?” When Starscream nodded, she looked to Bumblebee, who also nodded, approving her as the best candidate to regale what they saw. She shuttered her optics and began the story.

“When we went through the groundbridge, we went to check the med bay, first, since that was where you had last hear from him. But we already found signs of him along the way.”

Arcee’s optics grew wide at the sight of the wall just outside of the Nemesis’ command deck. An arrow, drawn with energon, glowed on the wall. Bumblebee immediately touched and rubbed the substance between his digits.

“This is only about a day old,” he observed with a grim voice.

“This is something out of a horror film…” Knockout breathed.

“He’s showing us where to go,” Bulkhead stated, already following the arrow. He rounded a corner, and his optics flickered. “He...really wants to show us where to go.”

“The entire corridor was covered in messages, written in Soundwave’s own energon. We were able to figure out by reading them that Soundwave is the reason that the Nemesis’ systems were acting strangely. He was trying to get our attention, long before you got here.”

Arcee looked over a large expanse of the corridor, where a scrawling message read: ‘I OPENED THE BRIDGE, I OPENED THE DOORS, I TURNED OFF THE LIGHTS.’ Arcee shuddered and snarled, angry with herself for wasting this much time already, and she began to run. She pushed past Bulkhead and Bumblebee, who protested in ways she didn’t care to hear, then kicked the doors to the med bay, forcing them to open. But what lied inside made her gasp in complete horror.

Soundwave was lying on the ground, on his side, facing the door. His arm was splayed outward, with a fuel line severed, exposed, but not leaking. It had been stretched, and the line trailed upwards to Soundwave’s chest, where Lazerbeak sat, quivering.

“When we got to the med bay, he wasn’t responsive, but Lazerbeak was. Soundwave had fashioned himself into Lazerbeak’s own personal IV drip, just to keep him alive a little bit longer. When Lazerbeak saw us, he panicked, and Knockout had to quickly detach them from each other.”

“Bulkhead, hold his wings down or he’ll cut the fuel line and kill Soundwave!” Knockout cried, producing a scalpel and welder from his medical kit. Bulkhead was pressing Lazerbeak down onto the floor with his servos. Lazerbeak beeped and screeched in a panic.

“I’m trying! I don’t want to crush him, but the little guy is stronger than he looks!”

Bumblebee took Soundwave by the helm and began giving him little slaps on his cheekplate. “Come on, Soundwave, stay with us!”

Arcee sat in front of Bulkhead and grabbed Lazerbeak by the helm, pressing it down with enough force to cause a bit of discomfort, forcing Lazerbeak to freeze. “Come on, cut it, now!”

With one, deft motion, Knockout sliced the fuel line free from Lazerbeak, which began to spray out energon. He shoved it back into Soundwave’s wrist and lined it back into place before welding it back down to stop the leak. “There, done, now grab him and let’s get out of here!”

Bulkhead released Lazerbeak’s wings, which caused the drone to launch out of Arcee’s grip and knock her backwards onto the floor. The drone spiraled around the room before rocketing out of the med bay and down the hall. “Sorry, Arcee!” Bulkhead shouted as he took Soundwave into his arms. Bumblebee helped Arcee to her feet, and the group rushed to get Soundwave to safety.

“You know the rest,” Arcee concluded. Starscream hung his helm low to hide his face, horrified by what he’d heard. “Like I said before: you did your best, Starscream.”

“And my best wasn’t good enough,” he muttered, turning back to the medical berth where Soundwave lied. He walked around to its side, carefully taking the time to not trip over any of their equipment by feeling the ground with the tip of his pede before he committed to a step. Once he was at Soundwave’s side, he reached out a servo, feeling the air around the shaking Lazerbeak. The pulses slipped between his digits with increasing speed as they found their way over Lazerbeak’s chassis. Starscream’s servo made contact with the drone, and the trembling abruptly stopped.

Lazerbeak whined and detached himself from Soundwave to lean into his touch. Starscream’s frown tightened. He knew that Lazerbeak had flown into the energon storage room to get fuel for Soundwave. He knew that Lazerbeak felt guilt for allowing Smokescreen to nurse him while his other half suffered, and he felt an understanding with the drone he didn’t think was possible. They were both desperate creatures, clawing for survival, no matter the cost. And hurting those who dared to extend a helping hand. Pretend, or not.

Starscream sighed, no longer caring that others were in the room. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to his fellow Decepticon. A dark silence surrounded Starscream as he stewed in his own frustrations and guilt. Even if Soundwave lived, he felt as though he’d failed. Barely escaping by the skin of one’s dentae was a hollow victory, at best, especially when the entire operation relied on him. If he were Soundwave, he would have regretted choosing him as his savior.

“By the Allspark…” Ratchet suddenly said, in complete awe.

A long, trembling, spider-like servo overlapped with Starscream’s own, and he looked down, in disbelief. The servo squeezed his as if it feared he would slip away if it let go.

“Soundwave?” Starscream asked. He could hear Soundwave’s pulse begin to quicken through the medical equipment’s sounds. The mech’s servo began to shake harder, and Starscream put his other servo onto Soundwave’s in an attempt to ground him. In the most comforting voice he could muster, he said, “It’s alright, Soundwave. I’m here...I’m real. This is real.”

Arcee stared at the sight of Starscream, the mech who had brutally ended the life of her partner, as he stooped so low as to offer comfort to someone below his self-proclaimed status. The med bay buzzed around them as Ratchet and Knockout rushed to ensure that Soundwave would remain conscious without issue, but they may as well have not existed. Soundwave visibly relaxed, even beginning to pet Lazerbeak with his other servo.

Deep down, Arcee knew this change in Starscream’s spark must only be temporary. It had to be. But for now, she found herself surprisingly thankful that Starscream was the one to meet Soundwave when he woke from his nightmare. Because, as much as it frightened her to admit, she didn’t believe she would have extended the same level of grace. She wouldn’t have even gotten as far as opening the groundbridge. Having seen what would have become of Soundwave if they hadn't intervened put her previous indifference into a far darker perspective, and it sat at the forefront of her processor. Bumblebee brought her back to reality with a gentle touch to her shoulder, and tilted his helm towards the door to ask if she wanted to leave.

Arcee nodded and met Bumblebee outside. They walked down the hall together, away from prying optics as Bumblebee began, “I guess you’re thinking the same thing as I am?”

“Yeah. I didn’t expect Starscream of all people to be that...nice to someone.”

“I had a talk with him earlier that was, um...eye-opening,” Bumblebee said, leaning against a wall. Arcee stopped and stared, politely waiting for him to continue. “He actually made a couple of good points about this whole situation. We’re really holding a lot of power over him, Arcee. He’s being forced to trust us to actually fix him and let him go, and there’s not really much he can realistically do about it. Not on his own, anyway.”

Arcee looked down the hall, towards the med bay, and narrowed her optics in suspicion. “So, you’re thinking the nice-bot act is a ploy to get Soundwave to do his bidding?”

“No, not really.” Arcee looked to Bumblebee with wide optics. “Starscream blew up at me because I told him he had to leave Ratchet and Knockout alone with Soundwave. I told him that he couldn’t help, and he kinda...shut down. I could tell by the look on his face that he was genuinely upset that he couldn’t do more. It reminded me of when I lost my t-cog. I felt horrible for saying that, even if it was true.” Bumblebee stood up tall. “So, yes I think that Starscream is going to want Soundwave to work for him. He’s going to try and regain some power in any way he can, we know that. But, I don’t think that was an act.”

Arcee scoffed. “So, we went in a circle; at the end of the day, it’s still the same old Starscream.”

Bumblebee crossed his arms, lowering his helm to reflect a more serious tone. “He also told me that you paid him a visit last night.”

She tensed, then glowered at the floor and crossed her arms, preparing to be lectured. “Yeah? And what did he have to say about that?”

“It doesn’t matter what he said, what matters is what you said, and what little good it did. Starscream already had the idea in his head that we’re all just keeping him around for our own gain, and he thinks he’s stuck playing along until we either kill him or let him go. All you did was cement that idea...We both just saw something crazy back there, Arcee. If we want to see more of that, we need to encourage it.”

When Arcee didn’t respond, he sighed. “Just don’t scare him like that anymore, he’s freaked out enough as it is. Starscream is a coward, we know what cowards do when they’re afraid.”

“Yeah...They run,” Arcee said, looking over at the med bay one final time.

Chapter Text

Ratchet stared at the med bay computer’s screen and stroked his chin. It was unbelievable, how quickly Soundwave had regained consciousness after running on empty for so long. Especially considering that he was actively hemorrhaging himself to save Lazerbeak. Yet, here he was, and the data was looking promising. Starscream continued to hold Soundwave’s servo throughout his examination, but it seemed that Soundwave had now fully relaxed. The contact was just a comfort he was not ashamed to indulge in.

Everyone had filed away on Ultra Magnus’ orders, leaving only himself, the two medics, Soundwave, and Starscream in the room. Lazerbeak was also, of course, allowed to stay. Knockout stood at Soundwave’s berth, idly petting Lazerbeak with a single digit. The joy in Knockout’s optics was restrained, but a sparkle like that could never be truly hidden; it was clear he’s wanted to do this for years. “I didn’t know you knew how to perform an intravaneous procedure, Soundwave. I must say, I was quite impressed.”

“As am I, with your recovery,” Ratched said, turning to face his patient. “I expected you to be out of commission for at least a week, if you were to wake up at all. Regardless, you will need time to rest. But, if you’re feeling up to it, Starscream has a lot to speak with you about.” Soundwave nodded to Ratchet and looked up at Starscream. He signaled for Starscream to begin with a squeeze of his servo.

“Right, right. Of course.” Starscream hummed as Ultra Magnus took a step forward to supervise. “Where to begin...Well, I suppose, first and foremost, you should be made aware that l-...that Megatron has made the decision to disband the Decepticons,” Starscream groused.

Suddenly, a video recording appeared on Soundwave’s visor. It showed Megatron, after the defeat of Unicron. The position of the recording implied that Soundwave was, eerily enough, standing in the middle of the encounter, entirely unseen. Starscream realized what Soundwave was doing only after being startled by the sound of his own voice.

“Together, we will reunite all Decepticons, and once again grind Cybertron under your mighty heel!” He said with an enthusiasm that made his present self feel hollow.

“No!” Megatron snarled, and the video cut to static, only to regain visual on Megatron. “The Decepticons are no more. And that is final.”

As Megatron sped off into the distance in his alt mode, Soundwave ran towards him on foot for a few feet, then slowed to a stop and watched him leave. Even at this point, he knew he could not follow. Soundwave turned around, and though the audio was too muffled to make out, Soundwave witnessed Starscream’s exit, as well. But this time, the tell-tale sound of Soundwave transforming began to play, just before the video cut again. An aerial view of Darkmount, which then cut to Soundwave crouched down beside a gravely injured Starscream at the tower’s base. Soundwave fanned his servo over Starscream’s barely-conscious frame, before he transformed again and flew off into the night sky.

Suddenly, he was in the main control room of the Nemesis, frantically typing coordinates into the computer. A mechanical hiss played, and Soundwave paused, turning around to reveal that the doors to the control room had opened. A pair of familiar silhouettes entered.

“No, I don’t mind your company, so long as you don’t distract me from recalibrating the groundbridge controls. Silence would be appreciated,” Ratchet said as he unknowingly approached Soundwave.

“I think your definition of “company” differs pretty far from the norm, Ratchet,” Smokescreen said, already beginning to sweep the floor of debris.

As the two continued to talk, Soundwave stepped aside and hovered his digit over the key that would confirm the groundbridge to open. He waited for Ratchet to fully reach the computer, where he squinted and grunted in confused frustration. “Again?”

Soundwave tapped the key and looked over to a blank wall beside Smokescreen, where the groundbridge opened. Smokescreen turned to face it with a calm curiosity, but jumped when Ratchet shouted.

“Another slagging groundbridge! For Primus’ sake!”

Ratchet, in the present, held up a servo with a disturbed look on his face. “That’s enough, Soundwave.”
“Well, that was disconcerting, to say the least,” Knockout said, rolling his shoulders to offset a shudder. “I never did well with ghost stories…”
“I imagine this confirms that you rescued Starscream in the hope that he would come to your rescue?” Ultra Magnus questioned.

Soundwave nodded, but Starscream didn’t need to see it. He frowned, seemingly in disgust. “I was your last hope, with Megatron gone to Primus-knows-where...He truly abandoned us both.”

Soundwave turned to face Starscream again, only observing his savior’s contemplative expression. Ultra Magnus did the same with a scowl, knowing that, if not for his presence, this would be the moment that Starscream attempted to reel Soundwave in. And he was correct, but this only meant that Starscream would have to tread carefully. Surely Soundwave had been deeply hurt by Megatron’s betrayal, as he had been. He wasn’t delusional, he knew full well he was not even half as loyal as Soundwave was to their previous master. So, logic dictated that Soundwave must be at least a little bit cross, and that little bit should be all he needed. Every fire began with a single spark.

Starscream patted Soundwave’s servo, and, with his smallest digit, he began to rhythmically tap a familiar message into his companion’s palm: ‘S.O.S.’
“No matter,” he began, with a peaceful voice. “It would be a waste of time and energy to try and hunt him down. The war is over, why try to seek vengeance when there is so much work to be done here, at home? As you can see, I...do not have much to offer, as of present. But, you...A bot like you would be an incredible asset towards rebuilding Cybertron. But you do have a choice in the matter.” Starscream turned his helm towards the officer in the room. “Ultra Magnus, please, do explain your terms.”

Starscream released Soundwave’s servo and stepped back, allowing Ultra Magnus to have the floor. He was able to hide his nerves well, as he feared that someone may have noticed what he had been doing, but when Ultra Magnus stepped forward without pause, all doubt left his processor. And he smiled, knowing his message must have been heard.

Starscream had managed to rescue Soundwave, and, though his work was sloppy, it had been done. The guilt he felt for his nearly-poor timing had been soothed by Soundwave’s speedy recovery, and the prospect of his own rescue once again becoming plausible. He had earned it, hadn’t he? And Soundwave was intelligent enough to know that, while he had a choice in whether or not to help the Autobots, Starscream didn’t. And his usefulness would run out with Soundwave’s inclusion; he had nothing more to offer but their connection.

“Soundwave, in the interest of peace, I would like to extend an invitation for you to join us in our efforts to rebuild Cybertron as our lead communications officer. Seeing as there is a...lack of unbiased Cybertronians to act as a jury, I believe it is the best course of action to give you the choice to either stay and help in our cause, or to leave. However, should you decide to leave, if you return under threatening pretenses, we will react accordingly. Soundwave, what is your decision?” Ultra Magnus conferred.

Starscream folded his servos behind his back and clasped them tightly together, as if in prayer. ‘Come on, Soundwave,’ he thought to himself. ‘Refuse them, and tell them you’re taking me with you.’ Knockout stared at Starscream while the other mechs eyes remained glued to Soundwave, and he raised an optic ridge at the smile he spotted on his ex-commander’s face. He wasn’t very good at hiding his evil little grins. Soundwave lifted his helm to better face Ultra Magnus. Starscream’s vents ceased and his frame froze in anticipation. Though it was a childish gesture, he found himself crossing his digits behind his back.

A spliced audio-recording of Ultra Magnus’ voice emanated from the silent mech’s helm.

“Soundwave-stay and help-best course of action.”

Starscream’s spark fell in its chamber. “What? But, Soundwave…” Feeling suspcious optics turn towards him, Starscream shifted on his pedes. “I’m shocked, frankly. I-I expected more hesitation from you, that’s all. How...delightful! I’m excited to see what this allyship brings!” Starscream forced a grin and chuckled, nervously. Knockout silently shook his helm and Ratchet rolled his optics, both of them disappointed to see Starscream’s facade crumbling, but they had expected it nonetheless. When Ultra Magnus turned back to Soundwave, he smiled and offered his servo.

“Welcome aboard, Soundwave. We’ll leave you to rest, now. Starscream, come with me.”

Starscream was glaring at the ground, trying to gather pieces of a shattered future, but was swiftly snapped back to reality at the sound of his name falling from Ultra Magnus’ lips. Starscream swallowed and forced a dumb smile to his face. “Me? Uh, wha-what do you need me for, sir?”

“I’m showing you to your room. Pardon the precaution, but we’ve decided it’s best that you and Soundwave remain separated while he’s in recovery.”

Starscream suddenly spluttered, unable to contain his indignation. “What!? I’m being barred from visiting!? What for?”

Knockout snorted and rolled his optics. “Do you really have to ask that question?”

“Yes!” Starscream shouted. “I’m assuming Knockout has free reign to see Soundwave whenever he pleases, despite being a former Decepticon, does he not?”

“That would be because he’s a doctor,” Ratchet said, flatly. “And he has proven to be remarkably unbiased.” Knockout flicked his servo as if to say ‘oh, stop,’ with a flattered smile.

“You’ll be able to see Soundwave again once he’s back at full capacity,” Ratchet finished.

“And what makes you think I won’t require the med bay again anytime soon? I haven’t been given a clean bill of health, yet!” Starscream said with his servos on his hips.

“You look alright to me,” Knockout said with a smirk. “Honestly, you move pretty well for a blind mech, and your vitals have been stable. But, unfortunately, you can’t see just how angry Ultra Magnus is getting the longer you winge, so I’ll spare you from a word picture. Instead, I’ll just make the strong suggestion that you shut your intake and do what you’re told. For your health.”

Ultra Magnus’ face was going to be difficult for him to describe even if he tried, but Starscream could feel the air in the room getting ominously warm in a very specific spot. Starscream’s wings drooped down his back, realizing that there was no arguing against their decision. Not without consequences, anyway. “...You said I have a room?”

Ultra Magnus walked out of the med bay with Starscream in tow. Once they passed the threshold of the doors, Ultra Magnus reached down and took Starscream by the wrist. But before he could say anything, Starscream snatched his servo away with a deep scowl.

“I can walk just fine, sir,” Starscream muttered, darkly. The last thing he wanted right now was to be touched. He wanted to be alone so that he could comfortably stew in the existential nightmare he’d found himself trapped in, until he, hopefully, found a way to escape it.

Ultra Magnus furrowed his optic ridge in annoyance. “I don’t intend to waste my time for the sake of your comfort, Starscream.” He took the Seeker by the wrist again, this time with authority. “Walk.”

Starscream growled, but ultimately complied, knowing better than to fight. He walked in complete silence, leaning with the posture of a child being forced to hold hands with their sibling. In a half-hearted attempt to look on the bright side, he figured, ‘at least I’ll have my own room.’ But with that thought came another, more realistic one.

“I imagine there’s going to be some sort of catch? You wouldn’t just allow me to have the privacy of a personal room without some sort of addendum.”

“You’ll be sharing a room with Smokescreen,” Ultra Magnus stated. Starscream shot upright and his optic ridge twitched.

“Smokescreen…!?” He whined, quietly. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m always serious. Also, Smokescreen is going to act as your chaperone until your vision is restored. He’ll be watching over you at all hours of the day.”

Starscream scoffed, unable to hold back a manic smile. “You’re putting him in charge of me...Him, of all people,” he agonized, but it fell on deaf audials. That bright-eyed, childish oaf of a mech, was his keeper!? Just when he thought things were going to start looking up, they somehow managed to keep getting worse, and worse, and worse.

Ultra Magnus came to a stop, which he signaled by giving Starscream’s wrist a small push. The door to his new home opened, revealing, what Starscream would soon find to be, a small room with two berths, two nightstands, and a single bookshelf. This room was never really used when the Nemesis was still airborne as it was too cramped for officers and too private for Vehicons. So it was perfect for taking a break in true, unbroken privacy, if one had the knowledge of it. How ironic that it now had to be shared with the mech who now sat in the rightmost berth.

Smokescreen didn’t bother forcing a smile as Ultra Magnus gently pushed Starscream into the center of the room. Starscream stood in place, facing the wall, refusing to engage with the situation in any way.

Ultra Magnus gave Starscream the abridged version of a room tour. “There’s two berths. The one to your left is yours, Starscream. Smokescreen,” he turned to address the bot directly. “Get him familiar with his surroundings and keep him busy, just as we discussed. Lights out, soldier.” Without leaving room for backtalk, Ultra Magnus left and the door shut behind him with a metallic hiss.

“Yes, sir…” Smokescreen said with all the enthusiasm of a bot on death row. Smokescreen’s gaze traveled to his new roommate. Starscream stood stiff as a corpse with his servos clenched firmly at his sides, the only sign of life being the miniscule quiver in his digits. He knew a ticked-off mech when he saw one, and Starscream looked as though he was just about ready to explode. Smokescreen adjusted his seated postion, uncomfortably, and the creak of his berth made the silence that followed just that little bit louder.

When Smokescreen decided he couldn’t survive another minute of this, he began to speak. “So—”

“Don’t.” Starscream growled. Smokescreen scoffed and crossed his arms with a sharp frown.

“Primus, you could at least let me finish before you shut me down like that!”

“I don’t need to hear you finish because I don’t even want to hear you start.” Starscream slowly turned his helm towards the irritating noise that occupied his space. “I want to be alone.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t exactly take on this job with enthusiasm! So, if we’re gonna be stuck together, we might as well try and keep things friendly, right?”

Starscream turned away and felt around for his berth, then climbed into it so that his back was to Smokescreen and his face was nearly fused with the wall. He didn’t answer Smokescreen’s question because he thought it was too idiotic to acknowledge aloud. None of this was, or was ever going to be ‘friendly.’ Up until now, he thought he was mere moments away from leaving this all behind and starting over with Soundwave, but now? He once again found himself with nothing. Maybe even less than that, because now he had completely lost hope; there was nowhere to run that wouldn’t be considered suicide, and he had no one left to turn to for help. Unless...No, Shockwave must be dead. The last Starscream saw of him, he was being attacked by a horde of terrorcons. Besides, he hated Shockwave.

“Okay, fine, be like that,” Smokescreen said, breaking Starscream from his thoughts. “I’m just going to ask what I wanted to before you interrupted me, because it’s been bugging me for a few days. And I know you’re going to answer me as soon as I point it out: What’s with the body glitter?”

Starscream tensed, and a wire within his optic socket sparked. “The. What.”

“The glitter. The glitter that’s on your body, that glitter...You didn’t know it was there, did you?”
The vents on Starscream’s cheeks began to glow, red-hot with anger and embarrassment. He bared his dentae and began growling to himself, just barely able to push the name of the mech responsible out from his tight jaws: “Knockout…!”

Smokescreen blinked and shifted with an uncomfortable little chuckle. “Ohhh...right, yeah, that makes sense. U-Uh, but, hey! I think it looks nice on you, Knockout has an eye fo-”

Starscream shot up in his berth and brandished his claws to the thin air in front of him. “THAT SLAG-SUCKING LITTLE GLITCH! I’ll have his HELM for this!”

“Woah, okay, hold on—”

Smokescreen’s attempt to keep the peace was interrupted when Starscream’s empty optics snapped to meet his own, silencing him in an instant. “I bet you’ve all had a very good laugh about this, haven’t you!? And to think, for a second, I thought that he was actually being nice to me! Then he turns around and-and he-he just…!” He planted his face in his servos and bellowed into them, enraged and humilated.

But, the rage dimmed as his servos took in the state of his facial plating for the first time. Sharp angles pricked at his palms, and his digits slipped between deep, cavernous gashes. Starscream fell into a somber silence as he explored his disfigurements and mapped them through feathery caresses of his digits. The slices in his optics led him down to his lips, where he felt at the crack in the dam of his intake, and he knew why he hadn’t been trusted to drink without instruction. His thumb grazed at the opening on his left cheekplate, and with it, the shape of Predaking’s clawed pede came into view.

His shaking servos shielded his empty sockets, reflexively, but he could still feel the disgusting, crackling ‘pop’ of his optics beneath those claws. Starscream’s vents became uneven as the memory came flooding back into his processor, with no optic lids to shield himself or remind him that he was safe. His protoform burned beneath its plating, feeling as though it were stretching, no matter how hard Starscream folded in on himself. He could swear he felt the weight of the Predacons, pressing onto him, downward, downward, downward...An odd sense of peace washed over him, until a caress against his wing, like the kiss of a razor, snapped him from his trance, and he lunged at his attacker.

Smokescreen yelped and stumbled backwards, holding his left arm which now had four, thankfully, surface-level scratches carved into it. Starscream sat on his berth, panting and trembling, and slowly found himself completely dumbfounded to be back in this room again. Smokescreen sucked his dentae and scowled, not out of anger, but out of a mix of pain, pity, and surprise. One moment, Starscream was throwing a tantrum over a harmless prank, the next, he was seemingly having a panic attack. Smokescreen had tried his best to calm him, but, maybe he just wasn’t heavy enough? Maybe his arms weren’t wide enough to disperse his weight across the Seeker’s frame? He could have sworn it was working for a moment...

“Ouch, that really hurt, actually.” Smokescreen blubbered, waving his arm to cool the stinging sensation on its plating.

“Wh-What happened? What hurt?” Starscream questioned, seeming to be in a genuine state of confusion.

“Just-...It’s fine, don’t worry about it. You should recharge.” Smokescreen crawled into his berth and inspected the scratch marks for any leaks. Upon finding none, he laid on his side and observed his bunkmate, who still sat upright, looking into the room with a far away expression. Eventually, he laid down and faced the wall once again. His servos rested on his arms to loosely hold himself, and Smokescreen frowned at the sight.

He really didn’t know how to feel about Starscream, especially at this moment. He took pity on him in the same way one takes pity on a rabid animal; as an observer who couldn’t help in a meaningful way without getting themselves hurt, too. All Smokescreen knew was that this arrangement was going to be the biggest challenge he’d been offered since Unicron had been defeated, which wasn’t saying much, as he’d mostly been delegated to cleaning tasks. But, regardless of that, he wasn’t sure he was fully up to the challenge. Smokescreen rolled onto his side to face the wall and shuttered his optics.

“Goodnight,” he whispered, not expecting a reply. Which was the correct thing to assume. Starscream was laying completely still in his berth with no intentions of sleeping. How could he after such a vivid vision of the past? It was as if he could finally see again, but all that was there to greet him was the gaping, flaming maw of death itself. His digits found his face again, but this time with an extreme wariness as they explored the alien nooks and crannies. He could tell just through touch that he was hideous...And now he’d been effectively tarred and feathered, as well. What a cruel joke. Starscream forced the lump that was forming in his throat into the depths of his engine.

The anger that eluded him before when he was tied to his berth finally reignited in his engine, and it burned away at the hurt that crept into his spark. It dried tears that had never even come to fruition and warmed his frame. It chased his fear off into a deep, dark place that could no longer reach him. How dare Soundwave betray him like this? How dare Knockout kick him when he’s down? And what fools were these Autobots, to think that he would sit and do as he’s told? No, Starscream wanted answers. And he wanted Soundwave and Knockout to beg him on his knees for his forgiveness, he wanted the entire world to hurt in his place.

So, he waited. He waited, and waited, for the perfect moment to make his escape. Starscream’s audials tuned into the sound of Smokescreen’s vents, and, over the course of hours, they found their rhythm. His movements ceased, and Starscream’s began. A single pede touched the floor with a small ‘click,’ yet the symphony of air did not falter. This was all the confirmation Starscream needed to continue. With the lightest possible steps, he made his way to their door and fanned his digit over the panel beside it. On muscle memory alone, he managed to find the “silent unlock” button, and the door slowly slid open with a quiet, mechanical purr. Once it was fully open, he stood still, and he listened for any signs of life outside.

All he could hear, still, was the sound of Smokescreen’s vents behind him. Without even the sound of the Nemesis’ engines, it was eerily silent; a single screw hitting the floor would have the impact of a bomb in this state. Starscream slipped out into the hallway, but cringed when the door began to slowly shut behind him. He could hear each individual mechanism sliding back into place, clicking and grinding and hissing together over the course of several seconds...But despite that, silence still followed in kind. Starscream sighed in relief. “Curse these sensitive audials,” he muttered to himself as he began tip-toeing down the hallway.

He followed the curvature of the Nemesis’ walls by dragging his servo along it in his stride, and it didn’t take him long to find his way back to the med bay from memory alone, though it did take him some time to find the door panel. Knowing he had no reason to suspect that Knockout was awake, and also knowing that Ratchet was likely away in the main control room fiddling with the ship’s computers, Starscream opened the door without hesitation. Soundwave was right where he’d left him, but, unbeknownst to Starscream, he had woken up as soon as the door opened and was staring at his visitor.

Soundwave watched in unbroken silence as Starscream cautiously entered the room, the mech’s face was firm but his gait was uncertain. Certainly not the posture of someone about to attempt an assassination, not that he assumed Starscream to be that much of a fool to even consider such a thing. Starscream made his way to Soundwave’s berthside, nearly tripping over a cable on the way. Once he reached his destination, Starscream reached a clawed digit towards Soundwave’s visor in a clear path towards a very rude attempt to wake him from slumber. Now, Soundwave wasn’t known to speak in most circumstances, in fact he much preferred never to speak at all. But, every so often, an opportunity would arise. An opportunity where, if he did speak, it would be both beneficial to him and also very, very amusing.

This was one of those opportunities. Just as Starscream’s digit came mere centimeters away from Soundwave’s face, his deep gravelly voice assaulted the Seeker’s audials:

“ Starscream.”

Starscream yelped and stumbled backwards into Ratchet’s desk, bumping it into the wall and knocking a few small tools off of its shelves with a tooth-grinding clatter. However, it wasn’t loud enough to wake the ship, just one of its residents: Knockout, who stirred with an unbecoming snort. The doctor removed his plush optic-mask and rubbed at his forehelm in confused delirium. Any other day, he would have just gone straight back into recharge, but things have been pretty chaotic lately. Ignoring loud noises seemed like it would be a bad decision for his health. So, he swung his legs over his berth and pushed himself out of his imported, silk sheets to investigate.

Starscream braced himself for the sound of every door on the Nemesis opening at once, but, he heard nothing. He exvented with a minimal amount of restraint and scowled towards Soundwave, who was very satisfied with himself, he was sure. “Quite an informal time for me to hear your voice again after all these years, isn’t it?” He inquired with a distinct lack of actual interest. “Does this mean you actually intend to converse with me for once?”

“I believe it is necessary for accessibility purposes.”

Starscream hummed flatly and stepped forwards, away from Ratchet’s desk to stand at Soundwave’s berth again. “How thoughtful.”

Soundwave stroked Lazerbeak, who was recharging peacefully on his chestplate. “Observation: Starscream is upset.”

“I am.” Starscream’s scowl grew deeper, but he managed to maintain some level of decorum, despite his rage. “You ignored my request, Soundwave. I know you’re not stupid enough to not realize that I was asking for your assistance.”

“Starscream requested a rescue. Query: Rescue from what?”

“From this.” Starscream snarled. “From this ship, from the Autobots, from my blindness. Have you already forgotten that I’m your superior officer?”

In response, Soundwave played the audio clip of Megatron’s final proclamation: “The Decepticons are no more. And that is final.”

Starscream shuddered, then bared his dentae. “ I know full well what he said. What I don’t understand is why none of this is bothering you!”

“I am loyal to Megatron. Megtron says the Decepticons no longer exist. Conclusion: I am not a Decepticon.”

“And you’re not even intent on finding him?” Starscream challenged. “You’re not even disappointed that he didn’t come to find you after all of this?”

“Megatron is gone. His coordinates: Unknown...Conclusion: I will make peace with the reality I have been presented with. Query: Why can’t Starscream accept reality?” Soundwave lifted his helm slightly to better address Starscream. “Hypothesis: You are lost without the Decepticons. Lost without Megatron.”

Starscream stammered for a moment, shocked at such a bold accusation. “Wh-What? What an absurd hypothesis! When Megatron fled from us to chase after his fairytale dream of dark energon, I was the one who took charge! And when I was banished from our ranks, I did perfectly fine on my own. I am not lost; it’s you, Megatron, and Knockout that are lost. No, all of you, including the Autobots, you’re all lost!” Starscream, finding himself unable to pace the room, instead bounced his ped to relieve himself of a rising sense of anxiety.

“Everyone here is playing a role, they’re all putting up a wall and pretending to be at peace. But the tension still hangs thickly in the air. Regardless of whether or not you want to act like you’re not a Decepticon anymore, you still are. And that’s all they’re ever going to see you as: a potential enemy. I know you feel it too, Soundwave...And you’re my only chance at getting out of here before the facade finally cracks. I’ve already been threatened several times; you were there for all of it, you know this already! So, even if you’ve denounced the Decepticons, why are you intent on remaining here?” Starscream pleaded for an answer, his sense of betrayal laid bare for Soundwave to hear.

Soundwave shook his helm, silently. “I will earn my place on this ship, and I will earn the trust of the Autobots...Correction: There are no Autobots, nor Decepticons. There is only Cybertron, and its people, now.”

Starscream placed his servos on the edge of the berth and scowled, darkening his voice. “So, you’re intent on leaving me trapped here, then...Need I remind you that, if not for me, you wouldn’t even be alive to betray me, as you are currently?”

“I owe you nothing, Starscream,” he replied, instantly. “You have my gratitude. Nothing more. Reason: I know you. I refuse to allow you to lord anything over me, and I refuse to throw away a mutually-beneficial arrangement for the sake of your comfort. Conclusion: You will have to find your way on your own.”

Starscream fell silent, staring with empty voids into Soundwave’s equally-empty facial visor. His digits gripped the berth tightly as a cold rage wracked his frame. Just as Arcee had told him before, he wouldn’t be given an inch out of fear, and out of knowledge, that he would attempt to take a mile. Not by anyone, not even Soundwave, whose life he had no small part in saving. All he would have to show for it is something as meaningless and nebulous as gratitude. Soundwave, sensing a familiar urge forming in his ex-commander, lowered his voice.

“Observation: You want to hurt me, because you are hurt. Hypothesis:...” Soundwave leaned in to where his visor nearly collided with Starscream’s face. “If you hurt me, the Autobots will hurt you. Suggestion: if you walk away now, I will be kind enough to act like this never happened. Requesting input.”

Starscream said nothing, his spark whirled in his chest with a fervor he could barely contain.

“Repeat. Requesting input.”

Abruptly, Starscream released the berth and took several steps back, if only to prevent himself from lunging at his fellow prisoner. “Keep your slagging gratitude to yourself, I may as well not have it with all the good it would do for me. You and that damned drone could have stayed rotting in the Shadow Zone for all I care.” Starscream turned on his heel and exited the med bay, leaving Soundwave alone with the venomous mist Starscream left in his wake.

Soundwave exvented and pet Lazerbeak. “Probability of Starscream regretting his words, aproximately...Twelve percent.”

Starscream practically stomped out of the med bay, in comparison to how lightly he’d tred on the way in. He no longer cared about being seen, he just wanted to go back to his berth. That was a lie, what he really wanted was to strangle Soundwave with his own tendrils, but his observation was correct: he was just as untouchable as everyone else here. “Waste of my time. Pompous piece of scrap, with his irritating speech patterns,” he cursed to himself.

“Starscream?” Knockout said, announcing his presence in the hallway. But Starscream did not turn to face him; he ground his dentae at the sound of Knockout’s voice, the very last mech he wanted to see. Not that there was stiff competition. “What was that about?”

“What was what about, doctor?”

Knockout stood a few paces behind Starscream and quirked an optic ridge at the venom in his voice. “Your little rendevouz with Soundwave, of course. I’m sure I needn’t point out that we’re all under strict orders to keep you two separate.” He let out an amused chuckle, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. “Namely me. Honestly, Starscream, you should really have considered my position before you did that. If anyone saw you, Ultra Nag would have yapped my audials off.”

“Your position?” Starscream repeated, turning to face Knockout with palpable fury on his face. The live wiring in his optic sockets sparked again, and Knockout took an instinctive step back. But this only urged Starscream to continue approaching him. “Maybe you should have considered mine. I come onto this ship, near death, and wake up crippled, with the mere idea of repair far out of my reach. I’m surrounded, on all sides, by my sworn enemies, with no hope of escape. And then you come in.”

Knockout found himself with his back against the wall as Starscream began to threateningly poke at Knockout’s chest plate with each utterance of the word ‘you.’

“You make me...comfortable. You make me feel safe. You get me to trust you, and what do you do!?” Knockout cringed, still looking confused by Starscream’s sudden outburst of rage. Starscream’s optic ridge twitched and his voice cracked as he finally said, “you humilated me. You took advantage of the fact I couldn’t see for your own sick pleasure.”

Knockout blinked and looked off to the side, as if someone would be standing there with a queue card to tell him how he’s meant to respond to that. Then his gaze wandered to the lovely blue sheen around Starscream’s arm plating, and he relaxed with a lackadaisical smile.

“Oh, you mean the glitter? Well, you’ve got me, Screamer. I knew you would never in a million years agree to let me use metal flakes to decorate your finish, so I took the opportunity to finally see how it would look. And I must say, my intuition is always right. You look bewitching.” Starscream snarled in a way that swiftly wiped the smirk from Knockout’s face.

“How dare you act so cavalierly about this!? I don’t give a retrorat’s aft if you think it looks good, you did it knowing that I would think I look ridiculous! Don’t you dare try and spin this around into something positive, you back-stabbing, bedazzled, braggart! You did this purely for your own enjoyment, because that’s what I am to you: a source of entertainment. A joke.” Starscream’s face and voice broke a bit at the end of his tyrade, and Knockout’s finials drooped with guilt.

“I...didn’t think about it that way. I—”

Starscream swiftly shook his helm to hide the malaise that had slipped through the cracks of his veneer. This wasn’t what he wanted, he didn’t want to admit that Knockout had betrayed his trust, he didn’t want an apology. He just wanted to hurt him. And thankfully, unlike Soundwave, Knockout was a much easier target. As easy to please as he was to upset.

“Is this how you thought of Breakdown, too?”

Knockout’s optics bulged in his helm, and his spark bounced off-beat in its chamber. “What did you say?”

“I seem to recall asking you whether or not it troubled you to desecrate the remains of your former partner, and you told me it didn’t bother you at all.” Starscream leaned down, following the hot air emanating from Knockout’s helm. “Upon my return to the Decepticons, you were already gleefully wittling away at his corpse. Not exactly the behavior one would expect from a bot in mourning of a fallen loved one, taking revenge or not. I’d wager to guess you didn’t even shed a tear at the news of his demise. You probably just crossed your arms, pouted, and whinged about how bored you would be without him. Or how hard it would be to reach your shiny, metal backside without an extra set of servos.”

Knockout bared his dentae and folded his servos into tight fists. Starscream was right about only one thing: he didn’t cry when he heard of Breakdown’s death. But that didn’t mean the news wasn’t agonizing to hear. It didn’t mean that his spark didn’t ache whenever Cylas fell into recharge, and all he could see was Breakdown, alive, like nothing had happened. Like he would wake up, and ask if Knockout had slept well. It didn’t mean he didn’t love him, or that an accusation to the contrary wouldn’t feel like a cold blade had sunk directly into his spark chamber.

“Get fragged, Starscream,” Knockout rasped. He turned on his heel and walked back to his room, a cold, burning ache in his chassis. He fell back onto his berth with all of his weight, which was suddenly several pounds heavier than he’d remembered. He was a fool to think that Starscream would change, and he was an even greater fool to bother being the bigger mech by treating Starscream fairly. All it did was make this hurt far worse than it would have if he’d tossed his empathy aside. What little of it he had, apparently. Knockout sighed and planted his face into his servos.

“Breakdown…” He whispered, to a spark that had long passed. But he couldn’t bring himself to say anything else. Partially because he felt it to be a bit dramatic, and partially because there wasn’t anything left unsaid between them. Breakdown knew he was loved, that was all that mattered. Knockout wouldn’t let Starscream’s words make him doubt his own feelings, or whether or not he did “enough” to show them. He loved, and he’d lost. That was the end of that.

Starscream stood still as Knockout fled into his quarters, only regaining his motion once he heard the door shut. He turned with a scoff and made his way back to his own quarters. A familiar, comforting numbness settled in his spark at his success. The score had been settled, the pain was gone, and the fires of rage had been reduced to smolders. Starscream opened the door to his room, and Smokescreen’s, room without bothering to do so silently. He quietly laid down in his berth just as Smokescreen began to stir, and rested his chin onto his arms.

“Mhn...What? Starscream?” Smokescreen slurred, his processor still groggy.

“I stretched and my pede hit the door panel. Power down,” he said, flatly.

Smokescreen blinked slowly with an incredulous frown, but ultimately decided to do as Starscream suggested. Starscream sighed, silently, and opened himself up for the numbness to fully take hold so that it may lure him to sleep...But it didn’t. As cruelly and swiftly as a firm strike to the helm, it was gone. And that ache, the one that hollowed his spark and filled the well of his optics, returned. There was nothing left for him to grasp for but further grief, for the loss of his trust, his dreams, and what remained of his hope. Not even spite could save him, now. Fluid flowed forth from his optic sockets and over the curvature of his arms like a dying creek, fading from existence now that the storm had passed. But not one sob escaped his intake; he would sooner die than ever let anyone hear him weep.

Knockout found himself unable to place himself back into recharge, and he groaned in frustration. He tore the optic-mask from his face and tossed it onto his berth with a limp wrist. He couldn’t believe he was allowing Starscream’s words to affect him this much, it was pathetic. Knockout forced himself from his berth again, hoping that some fresh(ish) Cybertronian air would help him to finally relax. As he walked down the hallway towards the elevator, he forced his processor to remain completely clear. He wouldn’t allow that eyeless terror to occupy his thoughts any further.

Knockout entered the elevator and pressed the button to head up to the deck, eager to feel the cool night air on his frame. The doors opened, and the vast expanse of the Nemesis’ upper deck nearly blended in with the night sky, if not for the natural blue glow of the planet beneath their pedes. It was dim, as soothing as a night light, and the stars sparkled overhead like sapphire stones. Knockout practically ran out to take in the sheer luster of it all. Views like these reminded him of what they were here for, and just how tantilizing close it all was to being home again. But, the comfort was short lived, as his audials picked up a conversation just around the corner of one of the ship’s many imposing fins. And the demon that resided in him that fed exclusively on gossip took hold. Knockout tip-toed towards the voices, and paused only when he was close enough to make out what they were saying.

It was Arcee, and, strangely, Wheeljack. A tryst? In his dreams. No, they were talking about something far less interesting.

“You came all the way out here to ask me my opinion on the band of ‘Cons gettin’ back together?” Wheeljack asked with disinterest as he fiddled with some of the Nemesis’ wiring through a panel in the floor.

“No,” Arcee replied, shortly, as she leaned against the fin they had nestled themselves behind. “I came out here to clear my head, you just happened to be here, so I figured...maybe you were going through the same thoughts as me.”

Wheeljack sighed. “Yeah, you’ve got me there. Soundwave coming to the right side is a cute idea and all, but that’s all it is. I’m sure he’ll turn tail as soon as Megatron decides to show his ugly mug again. Bulkhead was right about that.”

“How’s he handling all this?”

“Better than I am, that’s for sure. I still don’t like being all fluffy with the ‘Cons, but I guess as long as Soundwave just keeps his head down and does his job, which I got a good feelin’ he will, I can learn to deal with it.”

“We should still be cautious. Trusting Soundwave is one thing, but...I’m still thinking about how Starscream treated him when he woke up. Bumblebee told me he didn’t think it was some act, but he knows he’s going to try and get Soundwave to do his bidding. We all know that...But between the good berthside manner and the fact that Soundwave definitely owes him, now—”

Knockout scowled and stepped forward to reveal himself. “Don’t bother speculating,” he groused, earning a small startle from the two bots. “He’s already tried and failed miserably . He’s even finished his temper tantrum already, probably broke a record with that one.”

“Evenin’, Doc Knock,” Wheeljack said with a friendly tip of his helm.

“What happened?” Arcee asked, already scanning Knockout for any scratches to his finish. “Did he hurt you? Did he hurt Soundwave?”

“He’s fine,” he said, blatantly ignoring her question about his own health. “He tried to recruit Soundwave, got turned down, and then threw a hissy fit at me in the hallway. That’s all.” He turned to Arcee with a tired, frustrated expression. “Also, just to spare you some headache: that little moment between Screamer and Soundwave? Forget it happened. The only reason Starscream was all broken up about him was because he thought he was going to lose his meal ticket. He wasn’t apologizing to Soundwave, he was apologizing to himself.”

Arcee scowled in disappointment. “That’s what I thought…” She sighed, heavily, and pushed herself off the fin. “Still, Bumblebee had a point about all this. Strong-arming Screamer or beating him into submission is only going to make him act out even worse. If that sort of response worked, Megatron would have had a model soldier.”

Knockout crossed his arms and averted his gaze. “Maybe so.”

Wheeljack closed the panel on the floor and rose to his pedes. “I thought you and Screamer were getting along well, Doc Knock. What’s changed?”

Knockout shook his helm and shrugged, simultaneously. An awkward gesture that laid his discomfort with the topic bare. “Nothing. What I’d like to know is what’s changed with you? You’ve been the most staunchly against Soundwave and Starscream’s inclusion; why haven’t you put up more of a fuss, hm? Where’s that Wrecker spirit?”

Wheeljack smirked. “I’m not the type to fuss. I’m also not the type to dodge questions.”

Arcee stepped between them, defensively. “Wheeljack, stop. He doesn’t have to talk if he doesn’t want to. Knockout, don’t rile him up.”

Knockout sighed and stepped back. “Sorry...Still, I do want to know how you both plan to go about this.”

“I’m staying the course,” Arcee answered. “I’m not planning on using any more intimidation tactics, but I’m not going to be all buddy-buddy with him, either. Same goes for Soundwave.”

“On my end, I’m just waiting around for the shoe to drop.” Wheeljack wiped his servos on his legs and rolled his shoulders before looking off towards a construction site in the distance. “We’ve got a foundation built up from denta-picks. If it doesn’t get reinforced, it’s all gonna come crashing down. Let’s just hope Soundwave brought some glue.”

Chapter Text

The next day, the Nemesis slowly came to life with the sounds of pedfalls, clanking tools, and the idle chatter of Vehicons. But it wasn’t thanks to the rising sun or the chatter of fauna, it was thanks to Ultra Magnus. The Nemesis didn’t have many windows, so the passage of time was a well kept secret with the outside world. But it was a secret Ultra Magnus was well aware of at all times. With the ever-increasing sudden changes of plans, he took each day as an opportunity to get right back on track with the timetable he’d designed, and re-designed, several times now. He made an efficient route around the ship, knocking on doors with two firm raps of his servos and calling out into the corridors.

“Suns up, soldiers! Rise and shine, we’ve got a lot of work to do! Chop, chop! Cybertron isn’t going to fix itself!” Many other calls of a similar nature escaped from his intake ad nausem.

Bulkhead didn’t need to receive a knock to his door, having heard Ultra Magnus long before he reached it. His helm peeked sluggishly out of his dark berthroom and his optics struggled to reset on the giant blue alarm clock that was marching towards him. “Morning, sir,” he yawned.

“Good morning, Bulkhead,” Ultra Magnus replied, not stopping for idle chit-chat. “Same agenda as yesterday: oversee the restoration of grid 2 with the vehicons.” With that, he continued to bellow out various wake-up calls and rounded a corner out of sight.

“Did you forget about the intercom or something…?” He grumbled, rhetorically.

As Ultra Magnus continued his route, he drew closer to Smokescreen and Starscream’s quarters. Smokescreen’s optic ridge twitched and he groaned as the officer’s voice grew closer. His chassis levitated upwards, dragging his helm behind it like a brick of lead, until he finally reached an upright position on his berth. The two knocks on his door came just as he began to rub his optics to force a reset.

“Smokescreen, wake up, you’re cleaning the archives today! Don’t let Starscream out of your sight!” Ultra Magnus’ voice floated away, with the last legible utterance being “Knockout, continue monitoring Soundwave’s condition.”

Smokescreen sighed and blinked, slowly, until his eyes were focused enough to see the state of his roommate. Without any optics, it was hard to tell, but he was at least fifty percent sure that Starscream was, somehow, still in recharge. He was lying on his front, with his helm resting on his arms. His wings dipped low across his back and angled towards the floor, with only an occasional twitch of his secondary winglets to show he was still alive.

Smokescreen hummed inquisitively and reached out to poke at Starscream’s shoulder pauldron. “Starscream. Hey, wake up,” he loudly whispered. The Seeker’s helm wobbled, but there was no response. So, Smokescreen grabbed his shoulder and gave him a bit more of a forceful shake. “Yo, Starscream?”

Once again, there was no response. His helm dropped from its perch and landed face-down onto his berth with a small ‘klonk.’ In the few seconds of peace Smokescreen had before his processor began to jump to conclusions, he picked up Starscream’s servo by its pinky like it were a wet rag, then released it. The servo hit the berth with a series of smaller ‘klonks’ not unlike spilling a container of toothpicks. That was when the thought ‘holy scrap, he’s dead,’ came to Smokescreen’s mind.

In a blind panic, Smokescreen placed both of his servos onto Starscream’s back and shook him violently. “Starscream!?”

Smokescreen’s servos made contact with Starscream’s wings, applying a course, unwelcomed friction across their hinges. This triggered a static blast up his spinal strut, igniting an explosion in his processor that forced a shrill shriek from his intake. Smokescreen shrieked in a similar fashion and stumbled backwards into the edge of his berth, sending him flapping back onto it like a discarded fish on a dock. Starscream shot up in his berth and held himself as if he had been walked in on while stripping himself of his plating, his wings perked high in the air and vibrating with tension.

“What in the Pit was that!?” Starscream shouted.

“I could ask you the same thing!” Smokescreen snapped back, attempting to recover from his scare by standing up and bouncing on his pedes for a few seconds. “I thought you were dead, you were recharging so hard!”

“Well-Don’t touch my wings to wake me up, you brute! They’re sensitive…!” Starscream sighed and rubbed his forehelm, already feeling a headache coming on from his lack of a proper recharge. Smokescreen huffed and looked Starscream over, then frowned when he noticed some lightly-colored streaks on his face, running down from the craters of his optics. Smokescreen wasn’t aware of the true cause, but it was clear that Starscream had been crying.

“Oh, scrap, are you hurt?” Smokescreen moved forward to take Starscream’s helm in his hands to inspect him, then immediately thought better of it, and instead began searching their nightstands for something to clean him off.

“What are you talking about? Of course it didn’t hurt, it just startled me, that’s all,” Starscream replied, groggily. He swung his legs over the berth and moved to stand up, but Smokescreen stopped him with a servo on his shoulder. In his other servo, he had a thin rag which he dabbed onto his glossa.

“Hold on, you’ve got some stains on your face.” Starscream’s lips tightened when he felt the damp rag touch his facial plating, blissfully unaware of how it had become damp in the first place. Instead, his processor quickly recalled the events of the night before, including his doleful tears. His cooling fans kicked on and he swiped Smokescreen’s rag away.

“Stop that! You didn’t hurt me, you buffoon, this is unreleated. And none of your business.” Smokescreen frowned and continued to clean Starscream’s face, even as he struggled. “I said stop it!”

“You really want to go out there with tear stains on your face?” Smokescreen said, pausing only to throw his optic ridge up at Starscream in a challenging manner. Starscream scowled and his posture slowly became more severely downturned. When Starscream didn’t respond, he nodded. “Uh-huh, that’s what I thought…”

Starscream quietly snarled at Smokescreen’s tone of voice. He was being treated like a sparkling. Again. The ventilators on the sides of his face heated up as his cooling fans continued to whirr; a side effect of his humilation. And Smokescreen was right, he would have been even more mortified to be seen in this state. Smokescreen remembered his visceral reaction to the bedazzling of his finish without his consent, and figured it would be kinder to not have Starscream experience something similar again.

As Starscream thought on it more, it was, surprisingly, a comfort to know that Smokescreen would not willingly let him step out like this. So his expression lost a touch of it’s tension by the time Smokescreen pulled away. “There,” he said, before placing the cloth into his subspace. “Now, you know I’m going to ask—”

“No,” Starscream interrupted as he stood to his pedes. “Like I said before. ‘It’s none of your business.”

Smokescreen exposed his palms in submission. “Alright, then, good talk. So, Ultra Magnus is going to have us cleaning the archives today. Let’s go ahead and get moving.” He opened the door with a touch of his digit and stepped out. Starscream followed behind with an apparent heaviness in his upper body. “...Bad recharge, huh?” Smokescreen asked, actually sounding a bit concerned.

“I’m fine.” Starscream straightened a bit and turned his helm as he tried to triangulate his position on the ship. This was the secret break room, and he knew how to get to the med bay from here. The med bay was on the opposite end of the ship to the archive, so, following that logic, Starscream turned to his right. But, as he did so, an uninvited servo snaked around his left wrist.

Starscream snatched his arm away hard enough to force himself to take a step towards the wall beside him, scowling in what he assumed to be Smokescreen’s general direction. “I’m only going to say this once: Do. Not. Touch. Me,” he growled. Out of politeness, Smokescreen stepped to actually be within Starscream’s imaginary vision cone.

“Dude, you’re blind.” Smokescreen said, cupping his hands around his intake for emphasis on the word ‘blind.’ “If you don’t hold onto me, you’re probably going to run into something.”

“Dude?” Don’t call me “dude!” That’s such an ugly, moronic designation.” Starscream sneered as if he just smelled something foul.

Smokescreen shrugged. “Miko called us that all the time. It’s just a cool way of saying, like, “buddy” or “brother” or something.”

“And are we either of those things?” Starscream challenged with a disinterested expression. Smokescreen said nothing, which urged Starscream to continue. “I’ve only ever heard that word used by half-naked organics who play in filthy salt water on big planks of wood. Or whatever Miko is. I wouldn’t say I resemble either of those, nor would I qualifiy them as “cool.”

Smokescreen rolled his optics. “Fine, whatever, I don’t really care. Point is, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I am not.” Starscream lifted his helm with a haughty expression. “In fact, I’ve found that I can navigate surprisingly well unassisted. Your being here is a waste of both of our time.”

“Kinda like this conversation,” Smokescreen said, unimpressed. “But, if you really don’t want me to, I won’t touch you. Just try and keep up, okay?” He requested as he began to walk down the hall. Today was clearly going to be a long day, if Starscream was already acting up. Maybe it would have been a better idea to just leave him in recharge. Maybe a scolding from Ultra Magnus would have been preferable...No, he didn’t like to disappoint, especially not on purpose. He could endure this much.

Starscream scoffed and followed with his chin still raised. He didn’t need a chaperone, and he would prove it, here and now. But, the hallway was noisy; far noisier than he expected it to be. Multiple sets of pedes were going back and forth at the same time. Doors opened and closed as Starscream’s former legion of expendable Vehicons went about their assigned duties. Starscream found himself wondering what they had all been up to for the past few cycles, then realized they were probably performing the bulk of the construction work outside. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise to have not seen so many at once until now, because the sounds were overwhelming.

Starscream’s wings whirred as they pivoted on his back, frantically adjusting to cup at the ever-changing atmosphere. A Vehicon to his left, traveling North. Two to his right, heading South. One turned around and said he’d forgotten something. No, it was in his subspace, nevermind. How many were down the hall? How many were behind him? Six in front, no, five. One of them left. Back to six? Was one standing still until now?

The constant noise of Starscream’s wings caused Smokescreen to turn his helm towards his follower, who was now moving far slower than he was. Smokescreen stood still and observed Starscream as he caught up, finding himself fascinated by the strange movements of his wings. Starscream hummed, nervously, and cupped his servos around his audials so that they only heard in front of him. But it didn’t really help, he just found himself listening to the delicate mechanisms of his digits, which was disturbing to be able to hear. Quickly abandoning that strategy, he reached out to touch the wall beside him as a means of grounding himself, only for his servo to collide with the side of a Vehicon. The push was, unintentionally, quite hard; because there is no need to hold back one’s body weight for a solid wall. Starscream jolted as the solid surface he expected buckled under his servo, then cringed as he heard a lot of objects hit the floor at once.

The Vehicon had been carrying a toolbox, which was open in his servos, as he was inspecting its contents while he walked. Bulkhead had sent for him to get the spare wrenches, and he wanted to make sure this box wasn’t missing a single size, but also didn’t want to take too long to get back. He was diligent like that. So why, Primus, why did he deserve to be shoved? Why did it have to be so hard as to tilt the toolbox off-kilter and send hundreds of socket-wrench heads clattering onto the ground? Was this some sort of karmic justice for when he’d accidentally drank his fellow Vehicon’s energon ration?

The Vehicon looked down at the mess, then to the culprit...And, yeah, that made sense. His former commander wasn’t known for being able to share a space with Vehicons equally, even with his optics intact. He sighed, accepting his punishment and sat on his knees to tidy up, while a few kind Vehicons moved to join him. Smokescreen, who witnessed it all, stood with a grimace that could shatter glass, in complete disbelief of the shitshow Starscream had created.

“ Dude...”

Starscream chuckled, awkwardly. “I-I’m sorry, I genuinely didn’t mean to push you, I was just trying to brace myself on the wall! Um…” He tapped his digits together, realizing that the silence that was currently present in the hallway meant he was being stared at. This wasn’t a good look at all, and would certaintly get him no closer towards independence. “Uh, here, let me help clean up that-whatever it is.” Starscream moved to crouch down, unknowingly shifting his pede onto a cylindrical death trap.

“No-!” Smokescreen strangle a gasp and reached out his servos to signal Starscream to stop, but it was too late. In a single step, Starscream’s heel strut toppled over top of a socket wrench piece, sending his leg rocketing forward while his other stayed firmly in place behind him. He choked on a yelp as the slip forced his body into a split with an audial-splitting screech of his heel struts scraping against the metal floor. His aft was now planted firmly on the ground, and the pistons in his legs audibly stretched to their fullest tension. His intake hung agape, but no noise came out. The Vehicons in the room filled the silence for him with a cacophany of “oooh’s” and hisses of sympathy.

“Ough, that had to hurt,” one of them said under his vent. Another couldn’t hold back an amused snort. But, on fear of his life, quickly ducked into a nearby room. Smokescreen rushed over to Starscream and took him by the shoulders.

“Are you okay? Can you walk?” He asked, his optics darting around at the onlookers. He harshly waved for them to disperse, and they complied, returning to their routines.

“I want to die,” Starscream croaked, barely audible due to its high pitch. Smokescreen took him by the arms and pulled him to his pedes as gently as he could.

“Alright,” Smokescreen said, not sure how to respond to that but sympathizing nonetheless. “Let’s just get to the archives and we can pretend this didn’t happen.” Smokescreen led Starscream down the hall by his arm, but paused to look over his shoulder at the Vehicon who had dropped his tools. “Sorry, Steve!”

Steve looked to Smokescreen and gave him a quick thumbs-up, his expressionless face still somehow conveying a sense of gratitude for Smokescreen’s apology on Starscream’s behalf. “I’m okay,” he said, seeming surprisingly unbothered.

Starscream hid his face behind his free servo as they continued to walk with a quickened pace, his facial plating warping from the sheer heat of his embarrassment. Once they disappeared around a corner, he grasped for any sort of distraction from what just occurred. “...Steve? They have names now? What kind of name is “Steve?”

Smokescreen chuckled a bit, also relieved for the change in subject. “ To make a long story short? He’s Bulkhead’s favorite, and he got tired of having to remember him numerically. So, now they’ve got names!”

“And Bulkhead chose to name him “Steve?” Starscream puzzled.

“No, Miko did. She sent a list and the Vehicons drew their names from a bucket. Just wait until you meet Bloodbath and Deathmatch.”

Starscream frowned at the continued mention of one of the organic children, then frowned even more at the names of the other Vehicons. “Of course she did...I’m guessing she must have run out of steam partway through the list.”

Smokescreen laughed again. “I guess so. There’s only like, ten of them that are named like that, to be honest.”

The pair walked in silence until they finally reached the opposite end of the Nemesis. A large pair of doors with a sign that read “Archives” above it stood staunchly before them. Just as every other set of doors did on the ship. Smokescreen made a face as he inspected the door for any sort of identifying factor other than the signage.

“You know, if we just came in here and stole all the signs, I think we would have won the war. You guys would have never been able to figure out where everything was.”

Starscream lifted his arm out of Smokescreen’s grasp with a scoff, making a show of wiping it off on his chestplate. “Not everyone needs a bright, shiny landmark in order to find their way around. Spending all your time wheelbound on Earth must have rotted your processor’s navigation unit. There’s a giant sign every five feet.”

Smokescreen rolled his optics and tapped at the door panel. The doors to the archives opened slowly; the metal creaked into place inside the wall, likely a sign of a busted motor within the door’s locking mechanism. Inside, the archives were actually pristine. The walls were lined with shelves that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, in rows that created artificial hallways of information. And on each shelf were drawers upon drawers filled with datapads. Each of them labeled alphabetically, as well as by date, region, author...There was a lot. Smokescreen had already made quick work of cleaning up the nuclear-fallout state that the room had been in after the crash, but Ultra Magnus was displeased with his lack of regard for organization. He let out a sigh that became heavy enough to evolve into a groan as he limply walked into the room like a puppet on strings.

“I can’t believe I have to sort through all of this stuff…” Smokescreen walked over to the far end of the room and pulled out a drawer completely from it’s slot, then placed it on the ground. He crouched over it and began leafing through the thick stack of datapads, pulling out any that didn’t belong. And, much to his chagrin, found that that was the majority of them. Just as he began to fall into rhythm, Starscream reminded him of his prescence by loudly clearing his throat.

“And what am I to do, exactly?” He said, annoyed at Smokescreen’s blatant disregard for his prescence. Not that he was expecting Smokescreen to have any ideas. At this point, he was just coaxing him into admitting that Starscream was entirely useless so that he could go back into recharge. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could just sleep this whole situation away, until he was finally allowed to leave. In whatever way the Autobots deemed appropriate...

“Uh, right…Um...” Smokescreen said, dumbly, as he looked around the room for anything Starscream could do that wouldn’t require sight. But there really wasn’t much, if there was anything at all. Still, he had to think of something for Starscream to do. He’d probably go crazy if he continued to sit still much longer, or worse, he’d have too much free time and come up with something to do.

Smokescreen stood up and met Starscream at the front of the room, taking him by the arm and leading him to where he was sitting. Starscream made no protest this time, if only to get this over with sooner rather than later. “How about you just sit down here,” he said, gently guiding Starscream to sit on his knees. “And you can, um…” Smokescreen sat down in front of Starscream with the drawer between them, and he continued to think. Starscream’s scowled deepened with every ‘um’ and ‘uh’ that came out of Smokescreen’s intake. Just how long was it going to take for him to admit that there was nothing he could do? They both knew that’s where this was headed. “Just start leafing through those, hold them up for me, and we can start putting them into piles.”

Starscream furrowed his optic ridge in confusion. “...How is my inclusion beneficial to this in any way?”

“Come on, just try it, take one out,” Smokescreen said, grasping at straws.

Starscream sighed and pulled out a datapad, then tilted it towards Smokescreen with one servo. Based on it’s weight, texture, and temperature, he could tell that it was, in fact, a datapad. A standard one that likely had a name and date on it, somewhere. Perhaps even a title! How exciting. It was also upside-down, as well as backwards. Starscream couldn’t tell that, but Smokescreen could. And, after a futile attempt to tilt his helm in such a way that he could read it, finally relented.

“Um, could you, like...flip it around?” He requested, politely. Starscream did as he was instructed, but was already becoming increasingly irritated. “Now rotate it?”

“Which way?”

“Just, whichever, I’ll say when.”

Starscream’s optic ridge twitched. “...Clockwise or counter-clockwise?”

“Okay, clockwise, jeez.” Starscream complied. “...Er, not your clock, my clock.”

Starscream abruptly tossed the datapad across the room, just barely missing Smokescreen’s helm. Smokescreen shielded his face with his arms and exclaimed in surprise. When no impact was made, not including the wall behind him, he glared, just as Starscream stood to his pedes with a loud growl of frustration. “This is completely idiotic!” Starscream stomped once to emphasize his words, his wings fluttering in anger behind him. Smokescreen roughly pushed himself to stand with Starscream.

“Hey, watch it! At least I’m trying to give you something to do!” He shouted.

“You’re wasting my time is what you’re doing!” Starscream turned and began to loudly stomp away, feeling at the shelves to help guide his way to anywhere but here. “And so is Ultra Magnus! He’s doing this as some form of corpoal punishment, I know it!”

Smokescreen weaved through one of the shelves to cut off Starscream’s path. Starscream felt a pulse through his wings at Smokescreen’s sudden appearance in front of him, and he stopped, on instinct. But he didn’t have any time to reflect on that before Smokescreen added in his own two cents.

“What, so you think I like having to babysit you!? I can’t even get you from point A to point B without you throwing a fragging temper tantrum! You just threw a datapad at my helm because I told you to turn it!”

“And there you have it, you’ve reaffirmed my point!” Starscream stuck a digit into Smokescreen’s chestplate, earning a small ‘ow.’ He turned around and began walking back to where he originally sat. “Babysit?’ ‘Temper-tantrum?’ I’m being treated like a fragging sparkling! I feel useless enough as it is, I don’t need the constant reminders!” Starscream’s pede collided with the drawer on the ground, and in response to its transgression, he gave it a swift kick, sending datapads across the floor in a large fan.

Smokescreen gawked for only a moment before he angrily grabbed Starscream by the wrists, causing him to gasp and immediately attempt to pull himself away. Fear gripped Starscream’s spark, but Smokescreen only pulled back, forcing him in place. He tugged at Starscream’s arms in an attempt to spin him around and subdue him, just as he did back in his days as a security guard, but Starscream was stronger than he looked. He was putting up quite a fight. “Knock it off, Starscream!”

“Wh-Why should I!? I’m already being treated like a living obstacle, I may as well act like one! At least then I’ll feel like I can do something!”

“What are you talking about!?” Smokescreen managed to get Starscream’s servos behind his back, which was extremely difficult with wings flapping around, and Starscream’s fuel lines ran cold as his range of movement was limited further. “All you’re doing is making things worse for yourself!”

Starscream began to pant irratically as panic started to ignite his spinal strut. “This-This is a nightmare! And I can’t run away! Soundwave won’t help, Knockout won’t help; I’m stuck here and I can’t even make myself useful enough to feel safe! Th-The only reason I’m still alive is because you all think I’m too pathetic to kill, but what happens when that novelty wears off and all that’s left is a slagging BURDEN!”

Starscream stood still, no longer straining against Smokescreen’s grip. His processor swirled with anxiety that upset his tank and cracked open the dam of his optics once again. Tears ran down his face in droves, dripping off of his chin and hitting the floor beneath him in a melancholy percussion. Smokescreen continued to hold onto Starscream, if only to keep him still while his listened, optics wide, to the raw emotion that had managed to escape the mech’s intake.

“I-I don’t know what to do anymore…!” He sniffed, trying to steady his vents but finding himself incapable of doing so. “I can’t even be a Seeker! What good is a Seeker who can’t seek!? I have nothing to give, it’s all gone. My status, my allies, my vision, my function...There’s nothing. I’m nothing.”

His own words weighed down his spark with a grief that knew no equal. The longer he reflected, the more he came to realize the weight behind Soundwave’s words. ‘Lost without the Decepticons. Lost without Megatron.’ And Predaking’s...’Starscream: King of Nothing.’ It was all true. What was he without Megatron, the Decepticons, or even something so basic as his function as a Seeker? A function which may not have even been Primus’ plan for him to begin with? He had no answers for any of those questions, but he knew that everyone on this ship could answer them without a second thought: He was a coward. A sadist. A parasite.

And nothing more.

Smokescreen was silent for a long moment. At this point, he was barely holding onto Starscream; he didn’t need to, Starscream had finally stopped fighting. Smokescreen’s earlier assumption was right: he really wasn’t up to this challenge. At a time like this, he wished Optimus was here. He wouldn’t have hesitated at all; he would have known exactly what to say to steer Starscream back on the right path. But, Optimus was gone, and the age of Primes was over...Still, Optimus found Smokescreen worthy of the Matrix, once. He had the makings of a Prime in him then, so maybe he could tap into that now.

“Starscream, I need you to listen to me, okay?” Smokescreen released Starscream’s wrists, but before he could conjure a speech, Starscream immediately took the opportunity to start walking away. “Starscream? Wait.” Smokescreen said with an attempt at authority. He reached forward to grab him again, but Starscream bolted as soon as Smokescreen’s digit grazed his wrist.

“Hey!” Smokescreen gave chase, the both of them narrowly avoiding stepping on several datapads on the way out the door. Smokescreen actually struggled to keep up with the lithe mech he pursued; despite his lack of vision, his knowledge of the layout of the Nemesis was enough to prevent him from running into any walls. Regardless, there was no way of knowing how long that would last.

“Starscream!” Smokescreen called, panting. “Stop, you’re gonna hurt yourself!”

Starscream didn’t respond, his mind only focused on the prospect of escape, in whatever small form it took. Running was all he really knew how to do at this point. But where was he going to go? Back to his room? Out into the ruins of Cybertron? There was no plan, all he wanted was to run, and to never stop. But eventually, he had to. His forehelm collided with a large hunk of metal, which would have ricocheted him straight to the floor if not for a large pair of arms pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Woah!” Bulkhead exclaimed. The reveal of the voice behind the metal offered Starscream no comfort. “Starscream, hey! Easy!”

Starscream was unable to lift his arms to push away from his captor, and as he attempted to dig his heel struts into the floor, he was instead lifted just above the ground. His legs kicked wildly, and his heel collided with the ground just enough to cause a spark, but nothing more. He gnashed his dentae in an attempt at a dignified display of his displeasure, but it didn’t last, instead quickly turning into a series of pathetic whines.

“Let go of me! Let go!”He thrashed with all of his strength, but his pedes failed to make contact with any part of Bulkhead. His face was close to being planted firmly against the Wrecker’s chassis, but Starscream defiantly bent his spinal assembly to prevent this.

Smokescreen skidded to a stop in front of Bulkhead and stared with wide optics as Starscream fought to escape. Bulkhead looked to Smokescreen in concerned confusion, refusing to release his grip.

“What happened?” Bulkhead asked, grimacing as Starscream began attempting to use his wings as a wedge to open his restraints.

“I-I don’t know!” Smokescreen yelled, as if he was being accused of something. “He got upset and started knocking things over in the archives! So I subdued him and he started going on about how useless he is, and I felt bad so-so I let him go to try and talk and he just-sprinted out!”

Bulkhead huffed and furrowed his optic ridge, certain that wasn’t the full picture, but unable to prod further with a wild jet in his grip. He adjusted his arms so that Starscream’s helm was in one servo, and his other arm tightened around the crook of Starscream’s spinal assembly, pinning his arms and chassis down in one go, while his wings remained free between the gap of Bulkhead’s arms. Starscream’s vents hitched and he froze up like a deer in headlights. His base instincts took over, and he remained completely still, as if pretending to be offline would protect him from some unseen danger. Bulkhead finally lowered himself to his knees so that Starscream was also forced into a seated position, then firmly planted Starscream’s helm against his chassis.

“Calm down, Starscream...Take some deep vents and let them out, slowly,” Bulkhead urged, quietly. Starscream did so without hesitation or protest, much to his own surprise. The pressure on his back was deep, and his position on his knees further compressed him into a more structured shape. But it was, strangely enough, the grip on his helm that soothed him the most. Bulkhead’s servo covered his audial to the outside world, while the other was firmly against his chassis, and he could hear nothing besides the rhythmic pulsing of Bulkhead’s spark chamber. It was warm, here. He smelled of dust from the outside, and the heat of the morning sun, which he never fully recognized that it had a smell until now. But Primus, he’d missed it. He missed being outside, being free.

“Atta bot. That feels better, right? ” Bulkhead whispered with a smile, breaking Starscream from his thoughts.

“Huh?” Starscream grunted, his processor feeling mushy.

Smokescreen crouched down beside them both and observed Starscream’s relaxed expression with intrigue. “...How come that didn’t work when I did it?” Bulkhead shrugged.

“I dunno. Maybe I’m the only bot heavy enough for the job.” Bulkhead chuckled and patted Starscream’s helm, making a bit of a face as he remembered who he was holding. Slowly, cautiously, he let Starscream go, and simply remained on his knees in front of him. Starscream remained seated, and rubbed his faceplate clean of washer fluid. Bulkhead cautiously took this as evidence that he wouldn’t run off again. “Uh...So, what actually happened?”

Smokescreen opened his intake to answer, then looked to Starscream again. He now had a far away look on his face that Smokescreen didn’t like. Starscream was already checking out of the conversation, resigning himself to being the subject and nothing more. “...I think Starscream should tell you.”

Starscream’s optic ridge raised in surprise, and he looked in the direction of Smokescreen’s voice as if he’d somehow imagined it. But as the hall remained quiet, he realized that Smokescreen had genuinely given him the floor. Starscream fidgeted with his digits to work through his thoughts, and his wings fluttered a bit. The gesture looked happy, and outside of his conscious control. “I-I was...frustrated. Ultra Magnus had assigned us together to organize the archive room, but, there wasn’t anything I could realistically do to be of use.” His optic ridge furrowed as he regained some clarity.

“I doubt he cared about that. He just wants me out of the way, and under strict watch. I can understand the latter, I’m not stupid enough to think I would be free to roam as I pleased. But...I have to make myself useful, somehow. I can’t just sit around waiting until I’m fixed! I’ll go mad! Plus, it’s not as if anyone is particularly happy to have me around. If my being here doesn’t have some sort of benefit, then…” He trailed off, unable to finish his thought.

“Then what?” Bulkhead urged. Smokescreen looked between them with a frown. He knew that Starscream would never repeat everything he had said, but the intimate knowledge of his fears was a heavy weight to bear. He wished that he would share them, if only to ease Smokescreen’s mind.

Starscream shook his helm and rubbed his arm in an anxious gesture. “...Then you might realize that I’m not worth the burden.”

Bulkhead blinked and frowned, deeply. “Nobody’s going to kick you out because you’re not being productive, alright? Get that thought out of your processor right now. Even when I was down for the count, these bots never gave up on me. Now I’m back in action, good as new.”

“They like you,” Starscream contended. “If I have nothing to give besides my company, I’m worthless to you.”

“It doesn’t matter whether or not we like you,” Bulkhead replied. “We’re not going to kick you out over something as petty as your usefulness. We’re not Megatron. And we’re not Functionists.” Starscream tensed, realizing the irony of that. The very ideology he had dedicated himself to fighting against, alongside Megatron, and here he was, playing into its hand. “So, like I said: get that idea out of your head. It’s not happening.”

Starscream sighed and furrowed his optic ridge again, but a sadness still overtook his voice. “But I still need to do something! I can’t just resign myself to being a burden, I won’t allow it! There has to be something I can do...right?”

Bulkhead scratched at the side of his helm and averted his gaze. He had nothing to suggest. Nada. Ziltch. A blind Cybertronian was never a permanent state of being, so their world didn’t offer accomodations to anyone trapped in that state for a polonged period of time. Pretty much everything they did required vision in some capacity. Construction was definitely out of the question. He couldn’t fly, or even defend himself, so scouting was also a no-go. Not that he expected anyone to agree to that. Not even cleaning appeared to be within his reach…

Starscream’s wings drooped as the silence dragged on, but he perked up when Smokescreen’s servo touched his shoulder.

“Well, there’s...a bunch of data pads on the floor that need to be picked up. I think you could help with that, couldn’t you?” He suggested with a soft smile.

“Oh…” Starscream looked to his knees and fidgeted with his servos. “Right...”

Bulkhead grinned and patted them both on the back. “There ya go! That’s a start! Come on, let’s get you up.” Bulkhead took Starscream’s servos in his own and pulled him to his pedes. He let go as soon as he was up to not invoke some sort of annoyance in Starscream. You could never be too careful. “Listen, I’ve gotta head back to the worksite before the Vehicons bust their helms open. You two take care. We can meet back up later in the lounge, though. Sound good?”

“Thanks, Bulk. And yeah, we’ll meet you there,” Smokescreen said, taking Starscream by the arm, clearly not sharing in Bulkhead’s trepidations. “Let’s go, Starscream.”

“Er, alright…” Starscream shifted awkwardly and turned around to force himself out of the conversation. Smokescreen followed in kind, but not before offering Bulkhead a final wave goodbye. Bulkhead returned it and began walking away, but he couldn’t keep himself from turning to take a glance at the duo one more time. Bulkhead was conflicted, to say the least. He was happy to have helped Starscream calm himself down, but there was so much he struggled to look past. Cliffjumper, the Omega Keys, his threats towards the children...the clone. Starscream’s face looked remarkably like the aftermath of Bulkhead’s encounter with his clone, back when he woke up in the Nemesis’ energon storage room. Both of the clone’s optics had either popped out of its skull, or shattered completely from the sheer force of Bulkhead’s blows. Even if it wasn’t the real Starscream, it felt incredibly real, and seeing him alive and well did not take away from that.

And now, in his current state, with those empty, pleading optics looking up at him, Bulkhead almost felt like he was being haunted. He had killed hundreds, if not thousands of Decepticons in his day. But the intimacy and brutality of his murder of the clone stuck with him long after it had passed. Bulkhead shuddered and popped the joints in his digits to soothe himself, then continued on his way. He could only hope that he wouldn’t be forced to experience that again.

Starscream sat on his knees and felt at the ground, his digits colliding with countless datapads. He grimaced, realizing just how expansive the blast radius of his kick was. Smokescreen set an empty crate down beside Starscream in a blank patch of the floor, then knocked on it to signal it’s prescence. “Put those in here, okay? I can sort through them later on, once you’re done.”

“Alright,” Starscream nodded and picked up one of the many datapads, then gently placed it down into the large box. As he moved to pick up another, the thought crossed his mind that he was possibly picking up datapads that had been reduced to nothing but coasters. He had no way of knowing, even as he attempted to shake the one currently in his servo to see if it gave him a sign. “...Did I break any of these?”

Smokescreen chuckled and pulled out another drawer of datapads, placing it on the ground to sort through. “If these things survived a crash, you really think one kick from your skinny leg is going to be the final nail in the coffin?”

Starscream shook his helm and huffed with a frown. “I’m going to be merciful enough to ignore that comment. I’m glad they’re functional.”

The two of them worked in silence. Starscream crawled on his servos and kneepads, tidying the mess he’d made while Smokescreen began placing the correct datapads into the now-emptied drawer Starscream had kicked. But, after only a few peaceful minutes of this, Smokescreen looked up to see that Starscream had nearly finished, while he had barely started. Knowing how Starscream really felt about his usefulness, and his need to throw himself into something productive, he knew that he may be upset to once again have nothing to do. And he figured Starscream had been through enough for today.

Smokescreen stood to his pedes as quietly as possible as Starscream fanned his servo underneath one of the shelves, to ensure that no datapads had slipped beneath them, and opened another drawer. He grabbed as many datapads as he could and snuck around Starscream in a wide berth, then crouch down and laid a single datapad on the ground. A small ‘klik’ echoed out as the datapad made contact, which caused Starscream to pause, raising his helm slightly like a meerkat. Smokescreen froze, too, and sucked in his lips. For a moment, he feared he had been caught, but Starscream soon returned to his search. Smokescreen silently exvented in relief, then began strategically placing datapads down just as Starscream picked one up to disguise the noise.

Starscream was already suspicious at the first sound, but as he picked up datapads in places he was certain he had already checked, the sound revealed itself to be out of sync as well as out of place. Regardless, he feigned ignorance and continued to tidy the floor. His audials focused in on the small shifts of Smokescreen’s pedes as he snuck around. He heard the pile of datapads shuffle in his grip. He heard his digits pinch at the edges of the pads as he removed one from the top of the stack. He heard the small, restrained vents that escaped his intake. Starscream’s wings pivoted towards the source of the sounds, and he was able to find Smokescreen a few paces behind him, slowly backing away and leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for him to find.

Starscream wanted to be angry. He wanted to tell him to stop making more work for himself. He wanted to tell him how stupid he was to focus on his comfort instead of the task he had been given. But, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. As ridiculous as it was, he just wanted to keep cleaning, and pretend he didn’t know. He just wanted it to be him and the never-ending mess of datapads, for as long as he needed it. Until he could finish licking the various wounds to his pride that he had sustained. In that way, the knowledge of what Smokescreen was up to was as burdensome as it was oddly comforting. He imagined Smokescreen must feel very clever, and something about that amused him in some way. But, this was mere coddling at best. Just something to placate him for a few more minutes until Smokescreen could think of something else to throw him into. He really, truly wished he lived in a world where he had no idea that’s what he was doing.

Smokescreen emptied his arms to completion and walked back over to his drawer to continue sorting with a big, triumphant smile. Just as he’d finished sorting through the contents of his drawer, he looked up to find that Starscream had just placed the final datapad into the crate. They both sighed in unintentional sync, and looked towards each other. Smokescreen smiled again, though Starscream could not see it, he could very much hear his satisfaction.

“I think that’s as good a time for a break as any, how about you?”

“I suppose…” Starscream sat on his legs with his servo still buried in the crate. Smokescreen would probably feel very sneaky if he didn’t say anything about what just happened. But Starscream was not the type to allow anyone small victories over him. Plus, he needed his theory confirmed one way or another. “Why did you do that, Smokescreen?”

Smokescreen shrunk, instantly, and let out a nervous chuckle. “Wha-What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything!” He braced himself for some sort of explosion of rage from the Seeker. For what? He didn’t know, but he was sure he had already found a reason to be cross. But Starscream’s tone was reflective, almost melancholy.

“I could hear you. All you did was make more work for yourself by putting all those datapads on the floor. Why?”

Smokescreen frowned, taken aback by Starscream’s cadence. “I didn’t make more work. I was going to have to empty all of these, anyway, so I could sort them. I just wanted to make sure you could still contribute.”

“You made a distraction,” Starscream corrected, matter-of-factly. “You don’t need me to help with that. You just took away from your own time to help me. Stop dodging the question and tell me why.”

Smokescreen sighed, defeated. “Because I wanted to help you. Everything you said earlier, everything that’s happened, it’s really...It really put some things into perspective, you know? It sounds messed up, but you reminded me that you’re a person. Up until now, you’ve just been the bad guy I gotta beat up for the greater good. But now we’re just...two bots cleaning a ship. And...I don’t like leaving a bot behind when they’re hurting.”

After a moment of silence, Starscream began to quietly laugh, though his expression lacked any mirth. “So, Ultra Magnus was right to pick you as my chaperone, after all.”

“Huh?” Smokescreen puzzled with a tilt of his helm.

“Because you’re the only bot left on this ship who could possibly still see me that way.” Smokescreen frowned and opened his mouth to speak, to question his use of the word ‘left,’ but Starscream interrupted him.

“I’m...grateful for that. For you. But, don’t do that again.” Starscream looked up and frowned, his expression stern. “Don’t even bother. If I want to find my place on this ship-” He cringed, slightly. He hadn’t planned to say that, he still hoped to one day find a way out, but it was too late to take it back. “-I’m going to have to do so myself. The last thing I want is to be coddled. I can look past it for now, because...itwasactuallyaratherkindgesture.” He finished, quickly, with a short cough. This earned a smile from Smokescreen. “But I won’t entertain that behavior any further. Understood?”

“Yeah, I think I get you.” Smokescreen nodded, a weight coming off of his shoulders. “I’m sure you’ll find something you can do. Just don’t beat yourself up in the meantime, and I won’t baby you. Deal?” Smokescreen held out his servo, on impulse, then moved to put it back down, only for Starscream to swiftly grab it and give it one, firm shake.

“Deal,” he said, finally returning Smokescreen’s smile, but only for a moment before he suddenly scowled and pulled Smokescreen in by his servo. “But if you mention anything that’s happened today to anyone, especially the little tumble I had in the hallway, I will gut you from your groin to your gullet.” He pointed a sharp digit towards Smokescreen’s lower half, and it shone like a knife edge in the dim lights of the archive.

He swallowed, once again nearly forgetting who he was talking to. “Right...Got it. Let’s go refuel.”

The two made their way to the lounge, Smokescreen opting to simply hover behind Starscream in case he ran into anything, or anyone, rather than hold him by the arm. Thankfully the Vehicons had mostly filed out, leaving the Nemesis’ corridors mostly empty. As they approached the lounge, the sounds of idle chatter got louder, and Starscream took note of the voices he heard: Bulkhead, Wheeljack, Bumblebee, Arcee, and...Knockout. Starscream stopped just outside the door and Smokescreen paused with him.

“You okay?” He asked, peering around Starscream’s shoulder to peek inside the open doors.

“I don’t want to be here,” Starscream replied, already taking several steps back, but Smokescreen took him by the arm.

“Hey, come on, don’t do this again. Tell me what’s going on.” Smokescreen frowned, confused and concerned. Damn his soft spark. Starscream huffed in annoyance and shook his helm.

“Nevermind it.” Sensing that Smokescreen was going to attempt to coax it out of him again, he continued. “Knockout and I had a falling out. No, I don’t want to talk about it, so let’s just get this over with. Please.”

Smokescreen squinted, suspiciously, then shrugged. “Alright. Come on, watch the step.”

Smokescreen entered the room first with a smile. He was immediately greeted with enthusiam by the various bots in attendance, but when Starscream entered, he felt the vibe of the room shift off-kilter. Knockout rolled his optics and looked off to the side, successfully showing off his good side, while also sparing himself from looking at Starscream, in one single motion. “Just when I thought I would have a nice day,” he muttered beneath a vent. Starscream huffed in response, but decided against causing a scene. For once.

Bulkhead, unlike the others, did not lose his smile. “Hey, Screamer. How’s it going?”

Starscream took a pause and looked towards Bulkhead, sitting in his booth with Wheeljack, who seemed disinterested as usual through his lack of comment. Even with the awkward encounter Starscream and Bulkhead had had earlier, it was still a bit of a surprise to be acknowledged in such a friendly manner. “...Better, surprisingly.”

Wheeljack decided that he suddenly did take interest. He placed down his glass of energon and allowed a smirk to grow across his face. “Steve wants to know how your pistons are holding up.”

Starscream looked to Wheeljack with an expression that could break glass, and his cooling fans kicked into high gear. Smokescreen let out an awkward, piercing chuckle from his spot in front of the energon dispensor to swiftly slice the encounter in half before it could get uglier. “Wow, yeah, Steve! Such a kidder! Anyway, how’s construction going, Bulk?”

Bulkhead groaned and rubbed his forehelm between two of his massive digits. “Slowly. Hopefully once Soundwave gets our communication systems up and running we can call in some more capable servos.”

Wheeljack patted Bulkhead on the back. “In the meantime: Smokescreen, when’s the brass gonna let you off the leash and put you to some real work?”

Smokescreen sighed and walked over to their table, clearly champing at the bit to complain about the constant menial tasks he was being given. Thus leaving Starscream to his own devices. He would have felt relieved, if it weren’t for the fact he could now feel multiple sets of optics on him. It was easier not to think about with Smokescreen’s jabbering, and easier to confirm if he’d wanted to ask whether or not said optics were a figment of his imagination. Starscream’s wings pivoted towards where he remembered the energon dispensor to be, and they trembled as a mech moved in front of it. Too tall to be Arcee, and too quiet to be Knockout.

Bumblebee politely got his cube of energon from the dispensor and turned to take a seat, only to turn into Starscream, who seemed to be waiting his turn. How he knew he had to wait his turn, Bumblebee wasn’t sure, but Starscream seemed to be full of surprises lately. “Hey, Starscream. Let me get a glass for you.”

Starscream shook his helm and stepped in front of the dispensor to impede Bumblebee’s path. “No need. With the amount of times I’ve stumbled into here in a half-stasis, I may as well be able to do it blind.” And he should learn to do so himself. He was already glued to others against his will, he may as well have the dignity of being able to fuel himself.

“Okay,” Bumblebee said, clearly unconvinced. “If you say so…”

Bumblebee scanned the room and decided to take a seat beside Arcee, who was reading from a datapad with her cheek resting in her servo. He decided to peek at what she was reading, if only to give himself the ability to resist watching Starscream. Knockout, however, was not forged with an ounce of restraint. He’d even moved his chair to get a better angle.

Starscream reached his servo out to where he remembered the little cube-shaped glasses to be, but found his digits colliding with nothing. With a confused grunt, he placed his palms on the countertop and felt around for some sort of geometry, until his pinky touched the rim of a glass with a ‘tink.’ Starscream felt at the stack of glasses until he reached its peak, then successfully pulled one down from it’s perch. A hundred years in the Pit to whoever decided to push them to the left of the dispensor. Then came the more difficult procedure: filling the glass.

Starscream moved the glass to where he remembered the nozzle of the dispensor to be, but miscalculated the trajectory of his cup, so the dispensor’s nozzle received an impromptu toast. He grit his dentae at the way the sound echoed. Arcee’s optics drifted up from her reading for only a moment before she decided she was better than to watch this. Knockout was still not the bigger person, and he was reveling in it. Once Starscream finally put his glass down beneath the nozzle, he felt at the top of the dispensor and managed to find the button to fill his cube quite easily. It was a shame that the nozzle did not find the glass, but the edge of the glass. And the energon found Starscream’s chest.

Starscream yelped at the sudden moisture and jumped back a step, which actually did earn the attention of everyone in the room. He didn’t need eyes to know that. Starscream’s ventilators steamed with heat that only worsened as the seconds ticked on. He felt like a bomb was about to go off. He was about to turn turbine and flee, resigning himself to fueling in the dark later, when Smokescreen stepped up to his side.

“No worries, du-Star,” he stammered, clearly anticipating a meltdown of some kind. “Here, I got a rag.”

Smokescreen pressed the cloth into Starscream’s palm. Smokescreen would really rather not give Starscream a belly rub in full view of others, plus, he trusted his ability to clean himself up. Starscream did so in silence to regain some semblance of dignity, then handed it back to Smokescreen, who immediately wiped up the puddle of energon on the countertop.

“You got pretty close, though. I bet you’ll nail it this time.”

Starscream tsked and turned his helm to the side as Smokescreen cleaned. It was a vain attempt to hide his flattery at Smokescreen’s confidence in him, if the confidence was even real. For the sake of Smokescreen’s frame not finding itself in two pieces, it had better be. Suddenly, Smokescreen stood behind Starscream and held his arms, causing his face to burn hot again in fluster.

“What in Primus’ name are you doing!?” Starscream exclaimed.

“Just resetting the stage,” Smokescreen replied as he began guiding Starscream’s arms in his grip. “Glasses by the left servo, dispensor by the right servo.” He lifted Starscream’s arms up at a right angle and gave them a little shake of encouragement. “You got this.”

Wheeljack leaned over towards Bulkhead and whispered up into his audial. “Did that look kinda familiar to you?” Bulkhead shrugged, even though he was thinking the same thing.

Starscream didn’t allow Smokescreen to gracefully step away after that, he elbowed him in the side, just enough to make him say “ow-wuh!” Satisfied with this, he got back to work. Glass in his left servo, and with his right, he felt around the dispensor with feather-light digits. Eventually, his fore-digit made contact with the dispensor’s nozzle, and he let his digit linger there as a ruler as he placed the glass down below it. The room was silent. Starscream furrowed his optic-ridge, wondering just how bored these bots had to be for this to be the most interesting thing they’ve seen all day. After rotating the glass for seemingly no reason than to over-correct, Starscream pressed the button. A moment of silence, a rumble, a drip, and then...When he was expecting a steady trickle of energon, he instead heard the sounds of five sets of servos clapping.

Starscream whirled in a circle with his wings raised and searched around at the sudden noise like a cornered cat. Bumblebee clapped from his seat beside Arcee, who had not looked up from her datapad, but was tapping her digit on the table to earn a participation badge for the applause. Knockout’s claps were as slow and villainous as his smirk, having clearly enjoyed seeing Starscream struggle, even if for something so mundane. No, especially for something so mundane. Bulkhead’s were loud, but that likely wasn’t on purpose. Wheeljack’s would have been indistinguishable from Bumblebee’s if it weren’t for the addition of one, long, audial-grating whistle. Starscream twitched and covered his audials with a glare.

“Yeah, told you that you had this!” Smokescreen whooped.

“Oh, shut up, will you!?” Starscream shouted, removing his servos from his helm. The celebration dimmed exponentially, and Starscream huffed once the final clap breathed its last. “I thought we had an agreement,” he fumed, as he picked up his full glass of energon.

“But I’m not coddling you?” Smokescreen tilted his helm with a confused smile. “Nobody is. We’re just-”

“Patronizing me. You’re right, I didn’t mention that during our agreement, so forgive me for not being specific enough. I just assumed that you would know I wouldn’t enjoy rounds of applause over basic functions, that sparklings could do, mere hours after being attached to their protoforms.” Starscream sauntered towards the furthest table in the room, his preferred seat from simpler times, and sat down facing away from the room. His shoulders hunched and his wings flared to hide himself as much as he could.

Knockout raised his servo. “Since Starscream isn’t privvy to random rounds of applause, I would like to state for the record that I would be happy to receive them in his place.”

Smokescreen scowled and crossed his arms. “I was just trying to be nice,” he muttered.

Bulkhead stared between the two of them, his gears turning in his helm. Starscream was shutting down again. Even though the circumstances of him being here were not in his control, Bulkhead had a feeling it was possible to control the outcome of those circumstances. Especially after what he’d seen in the hallway. Yet they would get nowhere fast if Starscream started to build those walls back up again. But how could they convince Starscream that their praise, Knockout and Wheeljack notwithstanding, was genuine? It was then that Bulkhead had an idea.

Bulkhead stood to his pedes with a confident smile, strutting over to the dispensor. “Ya know what? Starscream’s right.” Starscream raised his helm slightly towards the sound of Bulkhead’s voice in a vain attempt at appearing disinterested. “I bet I could do this with my optics closed. No problem.” Bulkhead pointed to Knockout. “Knockout, give Screamer some commentary while I flex on him a bit.”

Knockout beamed and leaned forward in his seat. “With enthusiasm! I’ve always wanted to commentate the races back on Velocitron. Starscream, keep those audials open for my debut!” Starscream moved his helm as if to roll his optics, but rotated in his seat to better listen nonetheless. This could be a welcome distraction, even without visuals. Arcee, too, found herself finally lifting her helm from her datapad. She leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms with a soft, amused smile. A knowing smile.

Bumblebee stood up and held a digit in the air. “Hold it! Before we start, we’ve gotta ensure there’s no cheating.”

After a short preparation, Bulkhead found himself blindfolded in front of the energon station, his optic ridge furrowed in determination and focus. Knockout cleared his vocal components with a swig of energon and stood proudly in the center of the room so that his voice would reverberate back into the audials of his listeners with ease.

“Mechs and femme, please direct your attention to the stage-” He gestured to Bulkhead with a flourish. “-To the Wrecker of Wreckers, the Bulk of the Brawn, the Enemy of Amaurosis: Bulkhead!”

The bots in attendance hooped and hollered with varying degrees of enthusiasm for the stupidity on display, as Bulkhead flexed for his audience. Starscream tapped his digits against his kneepad in a bastardization of applause. Suddenly, the sound of a small engine caught his audials, and his helm snapped towards it. A small object fluttered to his table with a gentle trill that signaled it’s designation: Lazerbeak. Starscream managed to force a smirk in the direction of the drone.

“Come to watch the show?” He asked, resting his cheek in his servo. The drone trilled again in response. “Enjoy,” Starscream finished, flatly. Lazerbeak turned his helm towards the bot of interest and silently began to record the encounter.

“For the folks at home,” Knockout continued, clearly really getting into the role. “Bulkhead must fill a glass of energon, while blindfolded, without spilling a drop. In one. Single. Attempt. Bulkhead is standing tall before his opponent: the incredibly obselete energon dispensor that’s sat on the Nemesis for centuries. The reigning champion of spillage has already taken its first victim, let’s see if Bulkhead has what it takes.”

Smokescreen snickered with Bumblebee, trying, and failing, to be quiet. Starscream’s lip twitched a bit, but he remained apathetic to it all. Yet, he had to admit, Knockout’s voice did hold a certain manetism to it.

“Bulkhead’s flexing his digits, preparing for execution. A roll of the helm, the shoulders...The left servo begins it’s journey towards what Bulkhead surely assumes is the energon glasses. But, what he fails to realize is, while Bumblebee was applying the blindfold, Smoke “The Shifter” Screen rearranged the playing field.”

“Wha-!? Hey!” Bulkhead stammered. “No fair, Smokey!”

“Bulkhead has called a false foul, this has earned him a penalty,” Knockout narrated.

Bulkhead turned around to face Knockout with a ludicrous smile. “Since when is there a point system!?”

“Penalty,” Arcee chided with a smirk.

“What the-!” Bulkhead turned towards Arcee’s voice.

“Penalty,” Wheeljack echoed, earning another look from Bulkhead, but all that came from his intake were a series of guttural squeaks of protest. Starscream smiled a little, and was incapable of snuffing it.

“It’s going to be hard to get back on the board at this stage for Bulkhead,” Knockout said, reminding him of the game.

Bulkhead tossed his servos towards the crowd, dismissing them with a smile. “Screw your penalties. I still got this!”

“Bulkhead is feeling confident. Let’s see how that pans out. The left servo begins its journey once again, a gentle fanning over the playing field, in an arc formation. And at the end of that arc…”

“Scrap, Bulkhead-!” Bumblebee called, but it was too late. A series of loud crashes and the sound of Smokescreen scrambling startled Starscream enough to jump up in his seat.

“Disastor,” Knockout continued. A true professional. “But, the crisis is overted by Smokescreen, with a diving save towards the tumbling tumblers! One point to Smokescreen on the board! And a half point to Bumblebee for the assist.”

“Hank ooh,” Smokescreen replied. Starscream covered his intake when he realized that Smokescreen must have caught one of those glasses in his dentae, somehow. Impressive. And what a gift of a mental image.

“Scrap,” Bulkhead cursed. “Sorry. Uh, maybe we should just give me a glass to avoid doing that again? Thanks.”

“At the disadvantage of yet another point reduction, Bulkhead moves onto the final round. He takes the glass from our spectator’s hand, and, perhaps a little too quickly-” Tink. “-Accidentally performs a toast.”

“Whoops, I didn’t break it, did I?” Bulkhead asked, innocently.

Wheeljack stepped onto the scene. “Ah-ah! No peeking!” Starscream assumed he must have been attempting to check his work. After a short silence, Wheeljack audibly moved behind Bulkhead. “Hey, wait, Bulk. I know what Smokey and Screamer reminded me of earlier.”

Knockout gasped, audibly grinning. “What’s this!? A sudden embrace from behind by Wheeljack? Arms intertwined, Wheeljack has taken control of Bulkhead and is guiding his servos to victory!”

“Woah, my love, my darling~” Wheeljack suddenly began to serenade Bulkhead, causing Starscream to sit completely upright in unbridled confusion. Bulkhead barked out a laugh, then began to sing along as everyone else in the room began to laugh. “I’ve hungered for your touch...A long, lonely time~”

Despite his lack of knowledge of the reference, the picture of Wheeljack spooning up behind a blindfolded Bulkhead was hysterical. Combined with the absolute eldritch horror that was their duet, which only worsened as Bumblebee, Smokescreen, and Arcee decided to join in...it was almost too much. He snorted, and continued to cover his intake. This sheer idiocy would not break him.

“And there we have it, folks,” Knockout purred into his imaginary microphone as the off-key choir lingered on behind him . “Love on the playing field. Truly, a tale as old as time. And in reference to a film that I, your lustrous host, premiered exclusively so that this joke could be made and understood. All things come full circle in the end. But the fate of the energon? Well, it lies pooling on the countertop, because Wheeljack cannot possibly see what he’s doing around Bulkhead’s green, gargantuan-”

The imagine in Starscream’s processor warped, now depicting Wheeljack comedically, impossibly small compared to Bulkhead’s rear end. Starscream finally tipped over the edge and broke into howling laughter. He clutched his abdomen, buckling over himself in his seat. Bulkhead, grinning in triumph, turned to face Starscream and finally lifted his blindfold with a push of his thumb. “Guess it wasn’t as easy as it looked, huh, Screamer?”

Starscream steadied his vents and coughed into a closed fist to regain an authoritative cadence. “...Penalty. For using the word “looked.”

Knockout knocked on his table to simulate a gavel. “Sustained, and disqualified.”

Before Bulkhead and Wheeljack could protest, heavy pedfalls came from down the hallway at a great speed. Ratchet’s voice rang out before he managed to skid to a stop before the opened lounge doors. “BULKHEAD! We needed that! You know better than to waste perfectly good energon at a time like this!”

Bulkhead pulled the blindfold from his helm and rubbed his neck with a sheepish chuckle. “Uh, right, sorry, Ratchet…”

Starscream raised an optic ridge towards Ratchet’s voice. “Is there something amiss that I haven’t been made aware of? If I’m to be living here, I should be in the loop.”

Ratchet sighed, immediately going to sit down and rest his pistons from his anger-induced sprint. “No, nothing is wrong. Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway.”

Arcee stepped away from her resting spot against the wall, deciding to nip Ratchet’s roundabout complaining in the bud. “We’re a bit short on energon at the moment. We lost a lot in the crash, and with all the new arrivals, Ultra Magnus is requesting we be more frugal.”

Starscream crossed his arms, incredulously. “This planet is teeming with energon, how could you possibly be running out?”

“Teeming?’ Believe us, we’ve been looking since we landed,” Bumblebee added. “Arcee and I haven’t been able to find a deposit in a few days, though, so Ultra Magnus is getting antsy.”

“A few days?” Starscream repeated, seemingly in disbelief. How could they possibly have gone that long without a single find? That’s when it clicked: with only wheel-bound bots at their disposal, and the Vehicon fliers, however many there may be left, being delegated to construction, they couldn’t cover a lot of ground. The more obvious energon deposits were already picked clean long before even the war began. But Starscream knew of several places they could still be found; not just crystals, but distilled energon cubes ripe for the taking. Decepticon caches, known only by high-ranking officers like himself.

Starscream’s expression brightened. “...I think I can help with that.”

Chapter Text

Obviously, such a proclamation as that coming from a blind mech, let alone from Starscream, was one that would be met with scrutiny. But, in the moment, Starscream was so elated at the idea that he could be of use that the silence that followed came as a bit of a shock. Helms swiveled left to right, from bot to bot, looking for anyone who didn’t share in the collective confusion, but Arcee was the first to finally speak their mind.

“Alright, I’ll bite. How exactly would you be able to help us find energon?”

Starscream’s smile returned and he stood to his pedes with a renewed confidence that made the room a bit uneasy. The posture was a bit too familiar. Starscream only looked like that when he felt he had control over a situation, although in this case that was a net positive. “It’s simple, really. I, being the former second in command to Megatron, have been entrusted with all manner of knowledge. And, being a Seeker, that means I know things not even Soundwave has been made privy to.” He felt a particular shimmer of glee as the words left his intake. Even at his lowest moment, he still had a one-up over Soundwave.

Starscream lifted his half-full, or, in their eyes, half-empty glass of energon. “Namely, matters of energon. I was the leading authority on its acquisition, as well as its storage. I know of every last location the Decepticons utilized as a cache. Shockwave commissioned me to set up quite a few in case of emergencies. Well-guarded, and well-hidden. Clearly, my work paid off, seeing as he managed to remain online in the ruins of Cybertron for several years.”

“All I’m hearing is a fat load of posturing,” Ratchet announced. “Even if you know where they are, how do you intend to get us there? You can’t see, and you won’t be able to for a good long while.”

Starscream scowled and took a pointed sip from his glass. ‘This medic somehow has worse manners than Knockout,’ Starscream thought. ‘Imagine if he told a victim of cybercrosis about their life expectancy with that level of pessimism?’

“I don’t need to see. I just need to know our current coordinates.” Starscream tapped the side of his helm with one digit. “My processor was carefully designed to retain terabytes worth of geographical data.”

Wheeljack scoffed. “And yet you keep running into walls.”

“Baseless accusations.” Starscream puffed out his chassis and raised his chin in defiance. “I have a fine time navigating the Nemesis...when it’s not so populated.”

Smokescreen gently raised a servo. “I can vouch for that.”

Knockout sneered at Starscream, a thinly-veiled threat in his voice. “As can I.”

Starscream cleared his throat and shifted, uncomfortable at the implications of Knockout’s tone. Not only had his outburst the previous evening cut him off from a possibly ally, it had also given said former-ally a vehicle for blackmail. Wonderful. “Anyway, Wheeljack is...He’s simply not looking at the larger picture. I can remember the coordinates of these caches, relative to our location.” Starscream turned to Ratchet and gestured timidly, almost pleading. “Run it by Ultra Magnus, see what he thinks. I promise not to press further if there are any objections.”

Ratchet’s optic ridge lowered, and his gaze traveled up and down Starscream’s frame, looking for some sort of tell. The Seeker’s wings were high, but not tense. He was relaxed, almost looking hopeful. But there had to be some sort of catch to this, it had to be some sort of trap, didn’t it? Starscream didn’t help unless he felt there was something he would get in return. So, what could he possibly gain from this, outside of simply ensuring he could fuel himself? It never ended with something so simple as that.

Ratchet sighed. “...Alright. I’ll run it by Ultra Magnus. But I can assure you, if anything troublesome comes of this, there will be consequences.”

Starscream nodded, firmly. “Understood.”

“As for the rest of you,” Ratchet continued, putting his servos on his hips. “Break time is over. Knockout, I need you back in the med bay. Soundwave needs a fresh energon drip, chop-chop.”

Knockout sighed and sauntered out of the lounge, deliberately not taking his glass to the wash rack. “Duty calls.” As Knockout exited, Lazerbeak took flight and hovered just behind him with a pleased series of beeps. Knockout chuckled, amused. “Did you enjoy my performance, my winged friend?” Beep! “Of course you did, who wouldn’t?”

As everyone filed out, Ratchet lingered a moment longer to observe as Smokescreen waltzed to Starscream’s side with a cheeky grin. “Not bad, Screamer. Honestly, I thought it would take you a bit longer than a few hours to find something to do.”

Starscream huffed just as Ratchet finally slipped out. “Your optimism is misguided. Even if Ultra Magnus agrees, I will simply point to where your scouts need to go, no more than that. After that, it’s back to tidying messes I cannot see.”

Smokescreen gave him an encouraging nudge. “But it’s something, right? You’ll be doing your part in a small way, but it’ll be in a way everyone will notice. If all goes well, you might even get a couple ‘thank yous.”

“Might?” Starscream raised an optic ridge.

“My optimism isn’t always misguided.” Smokescreen smiled again and crossed his arms. Starscream huffed, the smallest of smiles threatening the corners of his lips in his suppressed amusement, and Smokescreen began making his way down the hall. “Let’s go back to the archive. You can start emptying drawers for me until Magnus calls you back. Because he will, you’ll see.”

It didn’t take long for Ultra Magnus to interrupt their work; Starscream had only emptied two drawers by the time the duly-appointed officer knocked on the doorframe of the archives. Starscream looked up from the spark-stopping action of his work, and Ultra Magnus greeted him with all the tact he had come to expect.

“Starscream, come with me to the navigation room. Arcee and Bumblebee are waiting for you there to plot out their next point of interest.” Ultra Magnus extended his servo, audibly, and Starscream stood to his pedes with as much grace as he could muster. Just so his point would be driven in further when he walked directly past the waiting servo.

“I’m pleased you decided to take me up on my offer,” he said, a distinct lack of a smile on his face. “Don’t have too much fun, Smokescreen, I’m sure I won’t be long.”

Smokescreen merely emitted two grunts of affirmation as Starscream left the room, without taking his eyes from the monotonous task at hand. Ultra Magnus retracted his servo and walked slightly ahead of Starscream, observing him closely. The Nemesis buzzed slightly more than it had before, but Starscream was determined to push past the abundance of stimuli. Should things go awry, and he found himself needing to make a speedy exit, he would need to know how to persist in spite of his blindness. His wings swiveled on his back and fanned outwards, gulping in the air before him. Two sets of pedes in motion, one closer than the other. Vehicons, most likely, from their dutiful silence.

Ultra Magnus looked between Starscream and the approaching Vehicon, who had his face buried in a datapad as he walked. As the officer prepared to step to the side, he reached out to grab Starscream’s wrist, only for the Seeker to step in the other direction. Much to his surprise, the Vehicon passed without incident, as if walking through a set of automatic doors. Starscream’s wings fluttered, but he somehow managed to fight back the urge to smile at this victory. He’d felt a gust of air pass as the Vehicon narrowly avoided colliding with him, and Starscream never thought he would be so grateful for their lack of spatial awareness.

Ultra Magnus observed Starscream with cautious intrigue. “You seem to be having an easier time maneuvering around the ship. Still, I wonder just how effective you’ll be at mapping out these caches. You don’t remember the precise coordinates off the top of your helm?”

Starscream shook his head. “If I were able to remember complex strings of numbers without anything to jog my memory, I likely would have gone much farther in the field of science. You may need to guide me a small amount, but I’m confident that my memory will prove accurate.”

Ultra Magnus nodded and hummed, partially satisfied with the answer.

The navigation room sat closer to the front of the ship, near its control room. The doors opened to a wide, purple room, with a circular table in its center. The table had a raised rim, bordering the glass, screen top, which glowed a welcoming blue. An image of Cybertron graced its surface, and occasionally flickered; an unfortunate side-effect of the initial crash. Bumblebee and Arcee inspected the map in quiet contemplation, but their attention was quickly drawn to the sound of the doors clicking open. Ultra Magnus walked with his servos folded behind his back and his chin held high, while Starscream took delicate, deliberate steps behind. Arcee made a dubious face as Starscream entered, and crossed her arms.

“I’m surprised you agreed to let him help,” she said. Her tone was neutral in such an aggressive way that it was nearly anything but. Coexisting on the ship was something she had made peace with, but now Starscream was placed in charge of her next step. It was swiftly becoming a step too far from her comfort zone. Though Bumblebee shared in her trepidations, he wanted to keep to his principal. So rather than voice his uncertainty, he instead touched Arcee’s shoulder to reassure her, silently, that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen. This appeared to work, as she finally took her gaze off of Starscream and addressed Ultra Magnus directly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to come off like I was questioning you. I’m just surprised.”

“It’s understandable,” Ultra Magnus replied as he reached the navigation table.

Starscream hovered his servo in front of himself to act as a bumper once he approached the table. He could feel it’s electric hum against his digits as he gripped the rim, which seemed to light a fuse of nerves in his inner circuits. Though he was confident he would be able to assist, this would still be a difficult task. And he would have to do it perfectly, if he had any hope of gaining some form of a higher ground on this ship. That being said, he would need something more tactile than a flat screen.

“I’ll need to use the 3D holomap mode, and I’ll need you to place my digit on our current coordinates, Ultra Magnus.” Starscream lifted his left servo as if solemnly swearing to his good faith. Bumblebee politely put his digit to the screen, activating the holomap. The image of Cybertron left the table, and instead materialized in the air above it, no larger than a lob-ball. With a gentle push of Bumblebee’s servo, it drifted towards Starscream’s end of the table and slowed to a stop a foot away from his helm. Ultra Magnus took Starscream’s servo in his own, then guided his fore-digit to the precise location of the Nemesis.

As his digit made contact, a small buzz vibrated through its foremost joint. As if reading his mind, Ultra Magnus read out the exact coordinates.

“ Latitude 52.206 , longitude - 126.837.”

“How far from the Well are we, again?” Starscream said, his brow furrowing.

“Give or take...a mile? Maybe two?” Bumblebee replied with a shrug.

Starscream’s shoulders lost some of their tension as his processor began to bring a vision of their environment to its forefront. “That’s right, it’s to the East. Iacon is to the North, I imagine you’ve begun your search there?”

“Yeah, so far we’ve been going in a grid pattern.”

Ultra Magnus took Starscream’s servo again and used it to tap at various little squares on the map, marking them in red. “This is where we’ve already searched. We did acquire some energon, but not enough to keep m-us from a fitful stasis.” As Ultra Magnus moved to lift Starscream’s servo again, Starscream locked his elbow.

“Wait.” Ultra Magnus released Starscream’s servo and watched him as his digit lingered back over to one of the blocked off squares on the map. “...What was here?”

Arcee raised an optic ridge. “Nothing really of note. It was on the outskirts of Iacon and, from what I remember, that section was completely bombed out. Save for one intersection.”

Starscream smiled as the vision finally took shape. A memory of himself and his Trine in the later stages of the war on their home planet, not long before it became completely uninhabitable. Once that sector of the city had evacuated, they were sent in to take anything of use that remained. Among the dust and destruction, what was once an energon bar was left with nothing but its foundation, and a pile of rubble to disguise it. But the cellar, miraculously, was perfectly intact. Sturdy, and so easily hidden beneath the large sheet of metal that draped itself across the door like a blanket. The most important part he remembered was what was hidden inside: energon, and spare parts, per Shockwave’s request.

If that cache hasn’t been stripped clean yet, there was a chance that his vision could be repaired just that little bit sooner.

“You passed right by one of the energon caches I created.” He tapped his digit on that square for emphasis. Starscream grinned wider and gestured with his free servo to better illustrate his directions. “There’s a patch of foundation here, to the right side of the longest segment of that intersection. With all the rubble, it’s very easy to miss what remains of a cellar door. It used to be a bar, so I can’t imagine there isn’t anything especially exciting, there. Unless you count quite a bit of energon and the possibility of spare materials exciting.”

Before anyone could comment, Starscream took in a sharp intake of air. His smile grew wider as he tapped another square on the map. “And if that’s there, that means there’s another cache in this area. Thunder-” Starscream coughed, as if allergic to the word he intended to say. “We also found that the underground passageways were still structurally sound. A train had been knocked off its rails, so the cargo subspaces are worth looking into. Plus, further north, I remember—”

Ultra Magnus put his servo on Starscream’s shoulder, silencing him. “Starscream, in the interest of not overloading our scouts with information, I propose that you save the debrief on each location for later.”

Starscream felt a bit of heat rise to his facial plating and he chuckled. He had gotten a bit ahead of himself in his excitement. “Ah, well said...” He began mapping out other locations; one branched out to another, which lead to another, until a small tapestry began to form on the outer region of Iacon. He hummed and scowled as he briefly reflected on Ultra Magnus’ statement. “Am I misunderstanding, or did you just offer me to preform a debriefing before each expedition?”

Ultra Magnus nodded. “You’ve demonstrated a remarkable familiarity with the region, despite how much time has passed since these caches were placed. I think it would be appropriate for you to prepare Arcee and Bumblebee using your Commlink. In the interest of fairness, that means everyone else on the ship should also have access to your comms.”

Starscream paused at the same time as Bumblebee and Arcee at this sudden gift of leeway. “Er...Really? I mean, of course, that makes perfect sense!”

Arcee shook her helm. “No, it doesn’t. Sir, giving Starscream access to our comms—”

“Is a necessity in order to prevent issues with communication in the future,” Ultra Magnus interrupted. “It’s also a privelige that we should all expect Starscream not to take advantage of.” He placed his servo back on Starscream’s shoulder with an added weight. “Correct?”

Starscream swallowed and nodded, busying himself with the holomap again. “Yes, sir.”

This was an incredible stroke of luck, or it would be, more so if Soundwave hadn’t resigned himself to playing patty-cake with the Autobots. Intercepting a personal comm without being detected was easier said than done, and with the communications system down, that was the only way the Autobots were going to communicate in the foreseeable future. Still, this would have its own merits, if only for something as simple as convenience. No longer having to be dragged around to speak with others would be a delightful change of pace. Then again, that also meant anyone could contact him at any time. And it would likely arouse suspicion if he were to ever set himself to “do not disturb.”

By the time Starscream stepped away from the holomap, Bumblebee whistled, which forced Starscream to cringe. “Looks like we got our work cut out for us, Arcee,” the yellow mech said with a smile.

Arcee, unconvinced and still rattled by Ultra Magnus’ decision, scoffed. “Yeah, but how do we know you aren’t going to lead us right into a trap, Starscream?”

It was now Starscream’s turn to scoff. “I would be happy to hear your theory on that, Arcee. What would I gain from sending you, the only two active scouts, to a suicide mission? One that I will personally debrief you on, before Ultra Magnus? On a ship that’s low on energon, in a position where I cannot possibly go out and do this myself? Tell me what you think I could gain from that, I would love to hear it.”

Arcee opened her intake, but her optics found themselves traveling towards Bumblebee. He looked on with a quiet apprehension, not for Starscream’s inclusion, but for her reaction. Unfortunately, at a time like this, when Starscream had no choice but to trust them, they also had no choice but to trust him. And, as insane as it sounded, Starscream was right; there was nothing he could get out of having her and Bumblebee killed other than petty revenge. She sighed and steadied herself by tightly shutting her optics. “That was a stupid question. I’m sorry, this is just a big change. I’m still getting used to it.”

Starscream was swiftly taken aback by her apology. His wings raised alongside his optic ridges. “Uh...Alright, then.” Bumblebee nipped the incoming awkward silence in the bud.

“So, Ultra Magnus, I think we should start back at the bomb site tomorrow morning. We’ll do a group comm with Starscream to get a debrief and then hit the road,” Bumblebee said, already raising his digit to his temple and sending out a general ping, which Starscream quickly accepted. Arcee followed suit, alongside Ultra Magnus.

“Excellent plan, soldier. Starscream, send a ping to the rest of the ship. After that, you’re all dismissed for recharge,” Ultra Magnus declared.

Starscream exited the navigation room with the trio of bots close behind. Ultra Magnus regarded Starscream with a surprisingly cordial air as he walked past. “Excellent work today, soldier. I expect Bumblebee and Arcee to hear from you bright and early for their next expedition.”

“Yes, sir…” Starscream said, unable to hide his confusion. Confusion that was ignored by the others as they continued past him. Bumblebee and Arcee walked close together, and once they assumed they were out of range of Starscream’s audials, Bumblebee offered Arcee his warmest smile.

“Proud of you, Arcee. I know this is hard.”

Arcee’s lips remained taut. “Yeah, it is. But, at the very least I can keep myself from being a glitch for no reason. I’ll save that for when I do have a reason.”

“Business as usual, then.” Arcee elbowed Bumblebee in the side with an audible ‘tink.’ “Ow.”

“You know it,” she said, finally managing to muster a relaxed smile.

Starscream huffed and furrowed his brow as he remained by the navigation room doors. The Autobots truly did seem to be making an effort to give him the benefit of the doubt, but he knew better than to allow himself to be comforted, or, Primus forbid, flattered by the gesture. This coexistance was to be short lived, merely a means to an end. But, at the very least, it did put his mind at ease to know that it wouldn’t be a constant battle to earn any sort of foothold in this arrangement. Starscream was pulled from his thoughts when he heard Smokescreen’s voice appear behind him.

“So!” Starscream nearly choked on his next vent, but managed to cough just in time to reset his ventilation system. Smokescreen was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, sporting a cheerful smile. “I got your ping! You’re going to be helping Arcee and Bumblebee out now. That’s pretty cool, right?”

Starscream scowled and crossed his own arms as his pede began to tap against the floor. “Were you spying on me?”

“Yep,” Smokescreen replied, without an ounce of guilt or hesitation. “I got bored, so I decided to come by and see how everything was going.”

“And how long did it take for you to break?”

Smokescreen was silent for far longer than it should take to answer such a simple question. And he did not answer it. “Listen, I came here to tell you that Knockout is having movie night in the med bay for Soundwave. He says Soundwave should be back on his feet by tomorrow, but, you know, he’s been cooped up in there for a while with nothing to do. You wanna go?”

Starscream forced the most rickety smile, it nearly made his facial plating creak. “...You want me to watch a movie?”

“Yeah! Why not? Raf says blind humans watch movies all the time, so why can’t you?”

“When did you have time to talk to Raf? Just how long have you been procrastinating!?”

Smokescreen snaked his arm around Starscream’s side and pulled him in, which caused him to tense. “Details, details! Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Starscream groaned and crossed his arms once again. “...I distinctly remember not being given this level of special treatment when I was berth-bound. Next you’re going to tell me that Soundwave has his own engex bar and a room with a view lined up for him.”

Smokescreen frowned and loosened his grip on Starscream. “Oh, yeah, well...Soundwave has been a bit more cooperative, you know? Plus, it’s kinda our fault he was stuck in the Shadow Zone in the first place, so…”

Starscream pulled himself away from Smokescreen with a scoff. “I’ve been plenty cooperative. I’m just more communicative than Soundwave; I speak my mind with absolute honesty. And, unlike me, he was given a choice, remember? I was given an ultimatum.”

Smokescreen sighed, scowling in deep thought. “You know, I’ve been thinking about that...And, I think you’re wrong.” Starscream turned to face Smokescreen with a brow ridge raised and his intake slightly agape. “You do have a choice, same as we do. We didn’t have to take you in, fix you, and keep you here. We did it because it was the right thing to do. You just think we’ve given you an ultimatum because you know that if you decided to leave right now, it would be suicide. Because you know, deep down, if you were to leave, we wouldn’t go after you. And do you know why that is?”

Smokescreen took a step closer, his expression as gentle as it was stern. “Because that would be your choice to make. We don’t get to decide how you behave, how you feel, or how much you trust us. All of that depends on you. And, so far, you’ve made the choice to stay. You’re helping us, you’re finding your place on the ship...You’re not powerless. You’re just convincing yourself that you are, because that’s easier than admitting that you need us.”

Starscream stammered. “I-I don’t...You…!” He snarled and turned around. By the way his vents reverberated, he could tell he was facing a wall mere inches from his face. “Of course I require your assistance. I’m fragging blind. Have you conveniently forgotten how easy it would be for you all to exploit that? You say you’re doing the right thing, but you’re not obligated to it. I’m your prisoner, whether you want to admit that or not.”

“Starscream…” Smokescreen sighed again. “You’re missing the point.”

“That being?”

“The point is: blind or not, you can leave whenever you want to. But you haven’t, and you can give any explanation you want as to why that is. Just as long as you recognize that you’re safer here with us than you are out there, that’s enough for me. But, come on, enough of this psycho-analyzing. I asked you if you wanted to come to movie night.” Smokescreen smiled. “Do you want to come, or not?”

Starscream shifted and frowned, his expression losing some of its tension. As much as he hated to admit it, Smokescreen had actually managed to present a sound argument. Just because he thought he didn’t have any power here didn’t mean that was actually true. His encounter with Bumblebee, and their discussion of the power imbalance at play shook them both. Physically, yes, he was at a disadvantage; without weapons or sight. But it was up to the Autobots to decide whether or not that should be exploited, and, so far, as far as he was aware, they hadn’t. Despite how easy it would be, how much it would harm Starscream, and how quickly he would have exploited that himself, they hadn’t. The fact they even could, and that Starscream recognized it, that it scared him, made Bumblebee audibly upset. Nobody here would hurt him on purpose, until he gave them a good reason to do so.

To that end, he wondered just how far he could push.

And suddenly, the anxiety that gnawed away at his processor began to wane. Starscream stood taller and smiled to himself with a newfound confidence. Smokescreen was right, he did have power. He just didn’t know how much he had. Not yet.

Starscream turned to face Smokescreen with the softest, most innocent smile he could manufacture. “Yes, I...I might enjoy that. Maybe.”

Smokescreen returned his smile, blissfully unaware of the darkness brewing in Starscream’s spark. “Sweet. Let’s go.” Smokescreen moved to head to the med bay, then stopped himself. “Lead the way.” Starscream nodded and pressed ahead as Smokescreen followed close behind.

So long as he leaned into the charade, Starscream theorized that he may find himself able to get away with just about anything. All he had to do was strike that balance. Tell them what they wanted to hear, schmooze a bit. Freedom was once again close at hand, he could almost taste it. All it would require is a bit more patience, and a lot more acting.

By the time they reached the med bay, Starscream found the strength to suppress his glee, smothering it with a neutral expression. He could hear the sounds of chatter from inside, and took note of the voices he heard: Knockout was there, of course. As was Arcee, Bumblebee, Wheeljack, and Bulkhead. It made sense that Ultra Magnus and Ratchet wouldn’t bother with such trivial events as a movie night, there were far better things to do. Especially since he was sure Knockout would be showing a human film, he was obsessed with those. Still, he would hold his glossa firmly in his intake as to not further upset his former-future-second-in-command.

Smokescreen entered with a large grin, waving his servos. “Hey, sorry we’re late!” Knockout turned to face the doors and opened his intake to expel a warm greeting, then quickly clamped it shut once Starscream stode in behind him.

“Oh, you brought Starscream,” he said, callously, with a flat expression.

Soundwave, who was now well enough to sit upright, turned to face the two newcomers. While every other guest shifted in a surprised discomfort, he looked at Starscream with intrigue. Starscream frowned at Knockout’s tone, and felt his confidence spring a leak. Or was it his good mood that was steadily trickling away? It was hard to tell. Regardless, this didn’t feel good. Not at all.

“I was under the impression that an invitation wasn’t required,” Starscream said, as politely as he could. But his helm shifted slightly towards Smokescreen, silently accusing him of being at fault, and wanting an explanation of his own.

Smokescreen frowned, confused. “Uh, yeah, me too...I figured that, because of earlier, we…” He trailed off, quickly beginning to realize he’d made a mistake the longer he looked at Knockout’s disappointed face.

Knockout rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, he can listen in if he wants.” He turned his attention back to the room with a smile, quickly snubbing Starscream’s prescence. “Tonight, I’ve selected an exciting, yet atmospheric classic: Pitch Black. Soundwave, I chose this specifically with you in mind, so do share your feedback with me by the end. I’m confident that you’ll love it.”

Soundwave displayed a smiling face on his screen, followed by the letters “T.Y.”

“Bumblebee, if you would dim the lights, please?” Knockout requested, politely. “Alright, everyone, optics on the projection, we’re about to begin!”

As every bot in the room shuffled to a seat, wall, or desk to rest against, Starscream and Smokescreen stood still. Smokescreen looked to Starscream with an apologetic look that went unseen, while Starscream stared blankly ahead as the last drops of his good mood struggled to remain in place. Smokescreen opened his intake to say something, but couldn’t bring himself to. After their moment of comraderie in the lounge, and the favor Starscream had done for them all by sharing the locations of the caches, he thought there wouldn’t be any friction. He’d forgotten that Knockout and him were no longer even on decent terms. And, as a result, Starscream had come to the foolish conclusion that they had moved on. But there was no moving on from something like that, he had hurt Knockout deeply, just as he’d hoped he would.

Now, Starscream would rather be anywhere but here. “Actually,” he began, sounding oddly dissappointed. “I think I’ll just retire for the evening. It’s not as if I could understand what was happening in the film, anyway.”

“Star-” Smokescreen said, his voice drenched in guilt, but Starscream held up his servo to politely silence him.

“No, it’s alright. I know when I’m not wanted.”

Bumblebee frowned. “Nobody said that, Starscream.”

“You didn’t have to.” Starscream turned to leave, but was interrupted when Soundwave’s voice suddenly pierced the air.

“Soundwave: wants Starscream to stay.”

The room turned still as everyone exchanged surprised glances. All except for Knockout, who merely shrugged. “It’s your night, big guy. Come on and find a seat, you two, I’ve got my digit hovering on the ‘play’ button.”

Smokescreen relaxed a bit and took Starscream’s servo, then gently led him to a set of stools near the doors, patting one to audibly confirm its location. Starscream immediately sat down, looking straight ahead at a blank patch of wall. It would make sense to give him the worst seat in the house, so even if he knew, he wouldn’t be offended. Besides, his mind was elsewhere at the moment. Specifically, he wondered why Soundwave of all bots wanted him to remain here. Had he become stricken with guilt over his decision not to assist in Starscream’s escape? Unlikely. Regardless, Starscream felt neither relief nor joy at the current change of events. The only comfort he took was knowing he was situated in the far corner, near the door. The walls reverberated the sounds in a pyramid formation, making him feel safely tucked away from any further disapproving gazes.

Without any effort on his part, Starscream heard Arcee whisper to Bumblebee.

“Knockout’s holding one hell of a grudge.”

“You think I should talk to him?” Bumblebee asked.

“No, this is between them. Besides, we both know who started it.”

Starscream jolted at the sound of blaring trumpets as the movie began. He sighed as the initial shock passed, and focused his attention on the sounds of the film. Better that than what he heard Arcee and Bumblebee muttering about. And yet, the first minute of the film was woefully silent past the empty droning sound humans used to represent space.

“You think Starscream is ever going to apologize?” Bumblebee asked.

Arcee scoffed beneath a vent. “When the sun goes cold, probably. Knockout isn’t the only one waiting on an apology from him.”

Starscream’s spark went off beat for a moment and he fidgeted with his servos. This would require more patience than he initially assumed. Nobody here actually trusted him yet, and they had good reason to feel that way. If he wanted to get a stronger foothold, if he wanted to escape with more than just his frame to his name, he would need their trust.

“They say most of your brain shuts down in cryo-sleep,” a gravelly-voiced organic said through the speakers of the med bay computer. “All but the primitive side...the animal side...No wonder I’m still awake.”

Wheeljack snorted. “Wow.”

“Like you don’t talk like that, Jackie.” Bulkhead teased.

Knockout chuckled. “He’s just upset because it doesn’t sound cool when he says it.”

Starscream smiled a bit, but snuffed it quickly when he remembered who had made the amusing comment. As the organic man continued to comment on whoever shared a space on his ship with him, which Starscream correctly assumed they were lined up in stasis pods, Starscream made a valiant attempt to imagine the looks of the characters based on the lead character’s assessments. It was difficult, though. Organics were very small, and he felt that they all looked the same. Squishy, hairy, and occasionally damp.

Suddenly, a series of whizzing noises and electronic blares played. Starscream furrowed his brow as the sounds continued, followed by various grunts from the other organics.

“Why did I fall on you?” A male asked.

“He’s dead. The captain’s dead. I was looking right at him.” A female replied.

Starscream shook his helm and looked towards Smokescreen. “How did that happen?” He whispered.

“Oh, uh…” Smokescreen kept his optics glued to the projection. “Hull breach. I think they’re being shot at, maybe? The captain’s stasis pod got hit.”

“Oh, okay.” Starscream frowned, realizing this may be a bit more difficult than he thought. As the film continued, more and more mechanical whirrs blared into his audials. After a few moments, he safely came to the conclusion that the ship they were on was crashing. Especially with Wheeljack’s commentary.

“Dropping cargo. Good call, good call...That nose is still way up.”

Bulkhead shuddered. “Ooh, not good.”

As the female organic, who was revealed to be the co-pilot, began to consider disengaging the passengers from the ship to lower their weight, Arcee hummed in disapproval and shook her head.

“Ultra Magnus would have some strong words with her.”

“I bet you ‘Cons wouldn’t have had a second thought about lightening your load, eh?” Wheeljack teased. Before Bulkhead could scold him, Soundwave spoke.

“Soundwave: would not be in this situation.”

Knockout smirked. “But imagine you were, would you do it?”

“Soundwave: cannot imagine it. Conclusion: Null.”

“You’re no fun at all. Personally, I’d consider it, but only for a minute.”

“Knockout: terrible pilot. We would all be dead already.”

“Get fragged, Soundwave.” Starscream snorted and Knockout quickly turned to him with an evil smirk. “What about you, Screamer? Would you do it?” His tone was aggressively rhetorical.

Starscream stammered, not expecting Knockout to acknowledge him at all, let alone on the offensive. “W-Well, er...Personally, I-”

Smokescreen gasped just before the sound of broken glass and howling wind played. “Oh, scrap!” Starscream leapt at the opportunity to dodge the question.

“What’s happened? What?”

“The windshield broke,” Bumblebee answered with an audible smile. “It just got real.”

Starscream sighed to himself, relieved to hear that everyone had moved on, at least until the movie got quiet again. Then, Knockout’s voice drifted through the room in a sing-song cadence.

“Screamer, you didn’t answer the question~”

Starscream scoffed with a scowl, quickly becoming annoyed. He knew exactly what Knockout was doing; he was subtly turning everyone against him again. Reminding them of his true nature, so it would be harder to convince them otherwise. Gatekeeping his path to freedom out of sheer pettiness. Screw apologies, Knockout was well on his way to earning a deep scratch to his finish. Suddenly, Bumblebee huffed and spoke in a surprisingly loud voice.

“Knockout, save it. We’re all trying to have a nice time, you can bicker with Starscream later.”

“Soundwave: agrees with Bumblebee. And, I want to watch the movie. It is good.”

Knockout frowned, initially annoyed by Bumblebee’s outburst cutting his fun short. But, he quickly found a way out of his aggression at Soundwave’s assessment of the movie so far. “I knew you’d enjoy it.”

Bumblebee vented in relief and turned his attention back to the film, but not before he noticed Arcee mouthing a “thank you” towards him. They locked optics, and had a silent conversation with each other regarding Knockout’s behavior. With a small swivel of her helm and a few movements of her optics, she brought them both to the same conclusion: they should talk to Knockout, after all. Privately.

Starscream was grateful for Bumblebee’s intervention, but found himself struggling to pay attention to the movie, at this point. He’d missed quite a few lines of dialogue, and now everything had gone quiet again, including the audience. A few disgusting, meaty ‘pops’ echoed out, and caused everyone in the room to audibly cringe. Starscream looked to Smokescreen again, who had seemingly been blessedly unaffected by Bumblebee’s sudden outburst, if his lack of reaction was any indication of the fact. His ability to completely tune out important information both astounded and horrified Starscream.

“Smokescreen,” he whispered, only for it to be drowned out by a few other exclamations of disgusted wonder. “Smokescreen,” he pleaded, a bit louder this time, but the film’s music drowned him out once again. Knowing that meant the scene had cut, the moment had passed, and Starscream huffed in defeat. As he turned his attention away from a projection he couldn’t see, he heard the merriment return to the room, slowly but surely. Idle chatter came in whispers, too many at once for him to hear the specifics of. And the last few drops of his good mood finally lost their footing, leaving him empty.

Earlier that very same day, in the lounge, he had been a part of it. He had been invited. The laughter, the joy, the community. Now, he felt like a ghost in the room with them all. He briefly wondered if this was how Soundwave felt, when he was trapped in the Shadow Zone; seeing life go on just outside of his reach. Starscream hung his helm low and furrowed his brow. This was all Knockout’s fault, if he hadn’t opened his fat intake when Starscream had come in...Then, what? He wouldn’t have been any more part of it than he was before. They were watching a movie, for Primus’ sake. But at least if Knockout hadn’t decided to speak, they wouldn’t have been reminded of the kind of mech Starscream was. That he was the kind who would gladly drop them all into the endless void of space, if it meant he could live another day.

Starscream furrowed his brow further at his own thought, having caught himself in a contradiction. He wanted to be here, to share in an ounce of their joy, but if he had to drop them all...Starscream shook his helm. Of course he would drop them. He was just bored, that was all. And he was frustrated, because Knockout had nearly sent him back several paces in his plan to earn their trust. Which he needed, to escape. Yes, that was it. Primus, his processor must have been malfunctioning from lack of sleep.

As the audience gasped and chattered amongst themselves, Starscream quietly stood to his pedes and gave himself a trial run of the escape to come. Just as Smokescreen said, he left the room without protest. By the time he was halfway to their quarters, he assumed it was also without notice. However, Smokescreen had heard the door shut, being the closest to it. He looked at everyone else in the room, and found that none of them had heard nor seen Starscream slip away. He found himself wondering if he should say something, but everyone had finally shaken the tension from their frames, completely relaxed. Even Soundwave’s shoulders jumped in a way that told Smokescreen he was laughing. Did he really want to take that away from them?

Starscream laid down on his berth, on his tank, and rested his chin atop his arms. With a sigh, he forced his processor to clear, and relaxed his pistons. Tomorrow, he would reset. Bumblebee and Arcee would be on their way to Iacon, and they would return with what he needed. He was certain of that. Everything would go according to plan, and soon he would be free to go wherever he pleased. He would feel the wind beneath his wings again. He would fly farther, and faster than he ever had before. Starscream found himself smiling at the mere thought, and his wings trembled slightly with excitement. He latched onto that feeling and refused to let go, as it was just enough to keep his helm above the surface. He felt himself begin to drift away, but before he could slip into recharge, the door behind him opened, and he snapped his helm towards the sound.

“Hey,” Smokescreen said from the doorway. “You okay?”

Starscream huffed and turned away, resting his helm once again. “Tired.”

Smokescreen frowned and stepped into the room, then laid down on his own berth, folding his servos across his chassis. Starscream expected him to say something, but when a full minute of silence passed, he groaned and turned onto his side to face Smokescreen. “I thought human films averaged at around two hours? I left about thirty minutes into it, and it’s only been ten minutes since then. What are you doing here?”

Smokescreen snorted. “Sheesh, you did the math and everything?” He rolled his helm to one side to face Starscream. “I saw you leave, just thought I’d pop in and...y’know.” He shrugged, the plating of his shoulders scraping against the berth beneath him. “Make sure you were okay.”

Starscream huffed. “There’s no point in me watching a film. I could hardly understand what was happening.”

“To be fair, I did a pretty scrappy job of describing what was happening to you.”

“Yes, you did. Not that I particularly enjoy the idea of listening to you attempt to describe everything to me as it happens.”

“Yeah, Knockout would probably do a better job.” Starscream turned his helm back towards the wall and scowled at the mention of the medic. Smokescreen took note and propped his helm up onto his servo to better survey Starscream’s body language in the dim light of their room. “So, that was kind of messed up of him to ask that question, wasn’t it?” Starscream forced himself not to reflexively look over at Smokescreen. As if he could even read anything from his face to begin with. “I mean, we were all having a pretty good time, and then he had to go and make it all weird. I’m not saying I’m on your side with whatever went on between you guys, but, time and place, y’know?”

Starscream sighed in annoyed anticipation. “Is this the part where you ask me what happened?”

Smokescreen chuckled. “Frag no. You really think I’m champing at the bit to get in the middle of that? No, that’s between you guys.” Smokescreen tapped one servo, pursing his lips as a means of releasing some tension. “Buuuuuut…”

Starscream groaned loudly and his wings drooped down to the floor. “What.”

“Would you have done it? Detach us from the ship to save yourself?”

Starscream immediately tensed up, and Smokescreen could clearly tell by the way his wings shot up from the ground. He frowned, already knowing the answer, but still waited to hear it from Starscream nonetheless. Starscream felt his spark pulse off-beat and bit his lip, suddenly overcome with anxiety. He obviously couldn’t be honest with his answer, because of course he would gladly drop all of them off a cliff if it meant he could continue living! He didn’t care about any of them, regardless of how kind they had been, how pure they may believe their intentions. He didn’t care. None of them meant anything to him, nothing at all. Nothing.

But to admit such a thing would be idiotic, if not completely suicidal. He needed to tell them what they wanted to hear if he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.

“No. I don’t think I would...Not anymore.”

Smokescreen stared at Starscream for a minute, entirely silent. The kind of silence that nagged at Starscream’s audials like an infinitesimal insect. “Okay. Maybe one day I’ll believe that, but right now? I don’t.” Smokescreen rolled onto his side, facing away from Starscream with a deep frown, and the silence began to nag at them both. What little comraderie that they had built had almost entirely unraveled, though Starscream was firm in his belief that it was just that: fake. But Smokescreen could see it and accept it for what it truly was. The beginning of a positive relationship that would ultimately end up being entirely one-sided, or worse. Exploited.

He wanted to believe that wasn’t the case, that Starscream wouldn’t turn around and ruin what little of a good thing that they all had together. There was no way that Starscream had been pretending the entire time. He’d witnessed this mech cry genuine, fearful tears not too long ago. And even sooner than that, he had laughed with them all. It was nice...it made him feel like the war was finally over, and that peace had finally reached them. Smokescreen had to hold onto that feeling and know in his spark that it was possible. For all of them, even Starscream. Even Megatron. It was what Optimus would have wanted. It was what a Prime strived for.

Thinking back on their moment of peace in the lounge, Smokescreen began to smile. Then he started to giggle. And snort.

Starscream lifted his helm and looked to Smokescreen in utter confusion. He had accepted his fate by now, to try and sleep in the most tense of silences, only for Smokescreen to sputter him into a new reality he hadn’t even considered possible in the current air. “What? What’s so funny?”

“I just realized…” Smokescreen broke into a muffled series of snorts with his servo clamped over his intake. “You...You laugh-You laugh like Freddy Krueger…!”

“Like whom?” Smokescreen began to chuckle wetly, like an oil bath being stirred after sitting too long to cool. “Who the frag is Freddy Krueger? Are you making fun of my laugh!? Smokescreen! Stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry!” Smokescreen whined. “F-Freddy Krueger is this guy from-from a human horror movie Knockout sent me. He’s, um…” He wiped his optics dry with his digits. “He’s this disfigured human with a metal, clawed glove-” He snorted again, realizing how accurate his comparison actually was the more he thought about it. “He has a clawed glove on one hand and-and he attacks you in your dreams. And boy, he enjoys it a lot. He’s always giggling and laughing, and I swear to Primus it sounds just like you.”

Starscream furrowed his brow, only because he was incapable of squinting. “...In your dreams?”

“Yep!” Smokescreen smiled and turned back over to face him. “If he cuts you up in your dream, the wounds appear on you in real life. And because he’s in your dreams, he messes with your head. Like, this one girl, he made her see visions of her dead friend being dragged around in a body bag. Oh, and one time, she was running away from him in her dream, and her staircase turned all soft and her feet kept getting stuck while she was trying to run. Man, that scene was intense!”

Starscream stroked his chin with a single digit. “Hmmm...A deranged murderer who kills you at your most vulnerable, and takes pleasure in dragging it out for as long as possible…” He smirked, suddenly feeling a sense of pride at the comparison. “My dear Smokescreen, are you trying to flatter me?”

Smokescreen cackled, Starscream’s reaction only further affirming his comparison. “Sure, why not? I think you’d really like those movies...maybe once you get your optics back you can give them a watch? It’s kinda hard to describe them as they happen.”

Starscream chuckled as well. “I do admit I find myself a bit curious. I’d like to see this Krueger fellow in action. Maybe I’ll get a few ideas...”

“Yeah-wait. Ideas?” Smokescreen’s smile abruptly faded. “Ideas?”

“Sleep well, Smokescreen,” Starscream said in a singsong voice as he settled back into his sleeping position.

“Not cool, Screamer,” Smokescreen replied with a soft smile. “...Goodnight.”

In the med bay, once the film finally cut to the credits, the bots in attendance gave a small round of applause. Knockout grinned and looked to Soundwave with his chin in his servo.

“Well, Soundwave? What did you think? Rate the film between one and ten.” A nine flashed across Soundwave’s visor and Knockout sneered. “What? A nine? Why not a ten?”

“Soundwave: Doesn’t believe in perfection. Knockout will have to work harder to earn a ten.”

Knockout suddenly smiled and pointed at Soundwave, as if threatening him. “Challenge accepted.” He stood up and turned off the projection, then addressed the room with a clap of his servos. “Alright, everyone! Lights out, Soundwave needs to rest for his grand debut tomorrow. Feel free to leave film or genre suggestions for the next movie night on the data pad by the door, as usual. And Bulkhead, stop suggesting First Blood. You know the rule, we need at least a sixty day buffer between rewatches.”

“Damn it,” Bulkhead cursed below his vent. Wheeljack gave him a reassuring pat on his back as they exited the room.

Knockout exited the room alongside Bumblebee and Arcee as they bid Soundwave a final goodnight. And once the med bay doors closed behind them, Bumblebee placed a servo onto Knockout’s shoulder.

“Hey, Knockout. We need to talk to you.”

Knockout raised a brow ridge, but kept his smile. “Someone sounds serious.”

Arcee frowned. “That’s because we are.”

Knockout frowned. “Oh. Fun.”

Bumblebee placed his servo against Knockout’s back, leading him away from the med bay and out of potential ear shot. “Knockout, I know you’re mad at Starscream-” Knockout mouthed the words ‘here we go’ “-but you can’t put him on the spot like that.”

“Yeah, whatever happened to riding it out and pretending he doesn’t exist?” Arcee added, crossing her arms with a questioning glare.

“I never said I would do that,” Knockout said, inspecting his claws for invisible dirt. “That’s what you said you would do. I just asked what you were planning to do out of curiosity; I wasn’t looking for advice.”

Bumblebee frowned at how flippant Knockout was behaving. “Knockout, that isn’t the way to go about it at all.”

Knockout glared up at Bumblebee. “And who gave you the authority to tell me what I can and can’t do? I already tried playing nice, and all it got me was the same thing it always got me.”

“Hurt?” Bumblebee inquired. Knockout’s optics bugged for a moment, then he glared again and pretended to be interested in a nearby wall. “Knockout, what happened? Maybe if you talk about it—”

Knockout scoffed, cutting Bumblebee off. “No. It’s not your business.”

“You seem pretty keen on making it everyone else’s business,” Arcee accused. “Tonight wasn’t about you and Starscream, Knockout. It was supposed to be a nice night for Soundwave.”

“And Starscream wasn’t fragging invited!” Knockout growled, turning to face Arcee. “I thought that went without saying!”

“Whether you like it or not, Starscream is a part of this crew, for as long as that lasts,” Bumblebee stated. “And Soundwave wanted him to stay, but you just had to keep pushing. Starscream wasn’t even in the room when the movie ended. Did you even notice?”

“Good, that’s probably why the rest of the viewing went smoothly.”

“No it wasn’t!” Arcee snapped. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Starscream didn’t do anything! And singling him out like that isn’t going to do any of us any favors!”

“So, what, you want me to just act like nothing happened!?” Knockout raged. “You want me to be the one who tries to make amends!? I don’t owe him an apology, he owes me, damn it!”

Bumblebee took a step inbetween Arcee and Knockout to cut through the rising tension. “And do you think trying to bully him is going to get him any closer to apologizing to you? We’re not asking you to be friends, Knockout. We’re just asking you not to stir the pot, that’s all!”

Knockout cackled, meanly. “Oh, that’s rich. As if Starscream wouldn’t do the exact same thing to me if—” Knockout blinked as something linked together in his processor, and he abruptly groaned. “Scrap…” He pinched between his optics and furrowed his brow, realizing the hypocrisy of his actions. He remembered when Starscream first arrived, and how he’d behaved when Knockout took it upon himself to buff his scars away. He had been thanked. Genuinely. And though he lashed out at Knockout afterward, and he was rightfully upset by Starscream’s behavior, this was not what the bigger mech would do. This was what Starscream would do.

As he continued to stand in silence, his brow ridge lost it’s tension and began to reflect the deep sense of shame that was welling up in his spark. Arcee and Bumblebee frowned, allowing him some space to breathe a while and reflect on his own actions. “I…” Knockout sighed and gave himself a moment to gather his words, allowing his servos to fall to his sides. “...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made a scene. I shouldn’t be stooping to his level. But...I have done so much for his sake. And I can barely count on one servo how many times he’s showed any sort of gratitude. And I wish I couldn’t count any at all! Because those few times that he has, it made me think…” Knockout chuckled, sadly. “It made me think he respected me, deep down. But I am so sick of digging. I miss...I miss Breakdown.”

Knockout grimaced and shuttered his optics, feeling that familiar pain in his spark. “When he was here, at least I had someone to remind me that I was more than just a pretty face. More than a medic or...a Decepticon. All of you have been surprisingly welcoming since I switched sides, but, none of you really know me. He did...And, unfortunately, so does Starscream.”

Arcee and Bumblebee looked at each other, then back to Knockout with sympathy in their optics. Simultaneously, they each laid a servo onto Knockout’s shoulders, and he looked at them with a cautious sense of surprise. Bumblebee smiled at him.

“Knockout, you are more than just our medic. You’re our cinephile.” Knockout sneered a bit, feeling as if that observation was a little flat. But, Arcee added onto it.

“Our lustrous host,” she said, with a smirk.

“Our cosmetic specialist,” Bumblebee continued.

“Our gossip-sponge.”

“Our event planner.” Bumblebee looked to Arcee, asking for permission to say the obvious conclusion. When she nodded, he looked to Knockout one last time. “Our friend.”

Knockout’s optics grew wide and his lips tightened as his spark swelled a bit in his chassis. It was everything he needed to hear, and more. Slowly, he smiled, and his shoulders relaxed as he looked between the two of them with warm gratitude.

“We only want what’s best for you,” Arcee finally concluded, removing her servo from Knockout’s shoulder. “If you don’t want to talk about what happened, that’s okay. But we know you’re better than Starscream. So...leave him be. If he wants to apologize, he’ll come to you. And if he doesn’t, that’s his mistake, not yours.”

Knockout frowned, suddenly. “...I might have royally fragged up my chances at that with the little stunt I pulled.”

Bumblebee shook his head. “Don’t say that. You can always apologize.”

“But-” Knockout began with a scowl, but Bumblebee cut him off.

“Yeah, I know, he doesn’t deserve it. But you know he won’t apologize if you leave it like this. It’s your choice, Knockout. It’s a hard one, but it’s yours...All we want is for you to do what’s right for you. Forget Starscream for a minute and think about what you want.”

Arcee nodded. “Don’t force yourself to sacrifice anything else for his sake. Alright?”

Knockout looked between them both, contemplative, then slowly smiled. “...Alright.” He sighed, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders, not just Bumblebee’s servo. “Thank you...I needed that.”

“Any time, buddy,” Bumblebee concluded with a smile.

Chapter Text

Starscream slept in surprising peace that night. It was likely the most restful recharge he had experienced in several days. Maybe even weeks. Though the previous day was incredibly awkward, humiliating, and all-too-revealing, he still came out of it feeling oddly pleased. It was, no doubt, thanks to Smokescreen. A mech who was very close to the bottom of his list of possible allies on his ship, only landing just above Arcee and Ratchet, and yet here they were. It was a shame that they would have to part ways, but Smokescreen was too much of a Prime-obsessed fanboy to ever make for a good Decepticon. And he was too naive to ever be his second in command. But, when Starscream managed to take over Cybertron and build it to his own design (which was pending), he was sure Smokescreen would take it as a compliment that he had once considered the idea of bringing him to his side. And, if not, that was on him.

As gleeful visions of himself sitting atop a throne, overlooking all of Cybertron danced in his processor, he was quickly reminded that all joys were short-lived. Ultra Magnus pinged his Comm-link and startled him awake with an unbecoming backfire. Starscream peeled his cheek from his arm, disgusted to find it had cemented itself in place with dried lubricant from his open intake. ‘Good God,’ he thought to himself. ‘I must have been even more exhausted than I thought.’

Starscream reset his vocalizer before placing two digits to his audial, accepting the comm. “Yes, Ultra Magnus, sir?”

“Starscream, you were expected bright and early to debrief our scouts. That means oh-six-hundred hours, soldier. It’s now oh-six-hundred-thirty hours. What is the reason for this delay?” Ultra Magnus spoke with a level of authority that Starscream found excessive. It was almost annoying.

Without much regard for Smokescreen’s comfort, he slipped from his berth and stepped out into the hall, setting his Comm-link to remain locked on as he walked for his own convenience. Starscream yawned and spoke through a deep stretch of his arms. “Forgive my tardiness, sir. Mmph.” He let out a short sigh as his hydraulics hissed away their tension. “I hadn’t had a proper recharge the previous evening. I promise you it won’t happen again, and I’ll give our scouts a call right away.”

Ultra Magnus, currently standing outside with said scouts, tightened his lips and grunted, seemingly only partially satisfied with the response. “Where is Smokescreen?”

“Well, considering the blissful silence...I assume he’s still in recharge, sir.” Starscream rounded a corner on his way to the lounge, enjoying the silence of the ship. “I assume you want me to relay him our tasks for today?”

“Correct. There was an incident with the ship’s ventilation system yesterday, and a significant amount of dust was released into the lower barracks.”

Starscream paused as he made his way to the energon dispenser. “How the frag did that happen?”

“Well, Wheeljack has been keeping himself busy repairing both his ship as well as the Nemesis.” Ultra Magnus said so in a way that told Starscream that Wheeljack was not instructed to do this, and it upset him that the Wrecker had made his own schedule. Either that, or he was upset it wasn’t his idea. “Though it’s going to be a long time before we see the Nemesis airborne, with the amount of structural damage it still has, it’s dangerous to leave unaddressed. Wheeljack turned his attention to the ventilation systems to prevent any complications with internal temperature, but didn’t see fit to check the vents for debris before turning them on. Now we’re down by about thirty Vehicons that are all being treated for clogged olfactory sensors as we speak.”

Starscream snorted and picked up his filled glass of energon, and Ultra Magnus scowled on the other end of the call. “Is something funny, soldier?”

“Oh, no, sir. Not at all, sir.” Starscream cleared his throat, still grinning at the images his processor was blessing him with. A row of thirty Vehicons, peacefully sleeping on the upper bunks, mere feet away from the ceiling vents. When suddenly, the fans roar to life and blast their empty face-plates with a deep vintage of Cybertronian rust. “Those poor Vehicons, bless their sparks. Tell them that I wish them a speedy recovery, would you?” He asked, not actually caring at all for their health, but knowing it would be a good look to pretend as if he did.

Starscream laid back in the booth that Bulkhead normally occupied, finding that the large mech’s enormous aft had massaged the cushion into an almost cloud-like texture. He sipped his energon and placed his free digits to his audial, switching it back into push-to-talk. “I’ll let Smokescreen know of today’s agenda. And I’ll give our scouts their debriefing now, sir. Unless you had anything else to tell me?”

Ultra Magnus shook his helm. “No, that is all. Thank you, soldier. Over and out.” He released his audial, ending the call, and looked over towards Bumblebee and Arcee. They were standing about twenty feet away, gazing out over Cybertron as the sun began to rise more enthusiastically over the horizon. Though they were facing away from him, he could tell that they were chatting. They seemed to be in high spirits, despite Starscream’s tardiness. Despite their dwindling resources. It was a welcome sight among his many anxieties for the road ahead, though he did find himself envious of their apparent tranquility.

Arcee and Bumblebee paused in their conversation and pressed their digits to their audials to accept the comm Starscream sent to them both as Ultra Magnus continued to watch from the entryway to the Nemesis.

“Hey, Starscream,” Bumblebee said, placing his other servo on his hip in a casual nature. “We were planning on heading to that bombed out engex bar today, since it’s closest. What are we getting ourselves into?”

Starscream, comfortably swirling his glass of energon like a king in an over sized, booth-shaped throne, smiled as he addressed the two scouts. “Nothing much, really. As I said in the navigation room yesterday, the only part of the bar that survived was the cellar. Structurally speaking you should have nothing to worry about, minus some stray scraplets or other pests that survived, but I’m sure you’re already vigilant for those. As far as I can tell, you’re all still in one piece, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” Arcee said, sounding tired all of a sudden. “Happy and healthy.”

“Good.” Starscream sipped his energon and leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “This first cache should be easy pickings. We didn’t have the time or resources to add much in the way of security measures; the most you’ll have to deal with is a passcode. Once you reach the bar, push aside the sheet metal until you find the door, there will be a keypad on it. The password is four digits, let me see…” He tapped his claw onto his glass rhythmically, as if trying to lure the memory to him via sound. “Ah, that’s right. I remember the first two digits, I think? Forty-seven. It could be fourth-seven thirty-one, or...fourth-seven thirteen?”

Arcee blinked, slowly. “...You don’t remember the passcode?”

Starscream frowned, feeling a tinge of embarrassment. “I remember locations, okay!? I can’t remember every password we’ve ever had! There’s a reason we eventually switched to servo print locks…”

“So, we’re just supposed to guess until we get it right?” Bumblee questioned, already grimacing in complete agony at the upcoming monotony.

“The first two numbers are four and seven, the rest should not be that hard to brute force!”

“ Starscream: Requires assistance?”

Bumblebee and Arcee cringed as Starscream suddenly shrieked into their comms, and was swiftly cut off as his digit left his audial. Soundwave was now standing a mere foot away from Starscream’s booth and watched in quiet amusement as the Seeker flailed in his seat like a bug being sprayed with insecticide. Starscream snarled and scrambled to a proper seating position to regain any dignity he could possibly grab hold of. “Soundwave! For the love of Primus! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Repeat: Does Starscream require assistance?”

Starscream sighed, and Arcee’s voice returned to his comm. “Starscream, what happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, returning to the call and locking himself in so that he would not be cut off a second time. “Soundwave decided to attempt to assassinate me by way of spark attack, that’s all.” Starscream glared in the silent mech’s direction, and Soundwave merely tilted his helm in a gesture Starscream would find irritatingly innocent. “He’s asking if I require assistance, so I imagine he’s already made quick work of linking himself back into the Nemesis’ database?”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave replied. His deep voice was easily heard through Starscream’s comm.

“He’s an early riser, huh?” Bumblebee asked in a casual tone. “Glad to hear he’s already back on his feet. So, does he know the passcode?”

Starscream sighed, feeling as though his thunder was being stolen. “Do you know the passcode for that emergency cache we made on the edge of Iacon? The engex bar?”

Various lines of data began to crawl across Soundwave’s visor, emitting small electronic sounds as he scrolled through a long list of codes. A separate window opened to a map of Iacon, and the list of passcodes became significantly shorter. Lines were drawn between the list and the map, showing the location in which they were last used, narrowing it down to a single, four-digit code.

“Code: Five. Eight. Three. Eight.”

Starscream clenched his servos, indignant to find that he was not just wrong about the code, but that he wasn’t even close. He took in a long, sharp breath of air that lifted his helm upwards, and folded his servos together. “...Did you two catch that?”

“Loud and clear,” Arcee said, not really caring much for Starscream’s clear frustration. “You got anything else for us, Starscream?”

“No, not really,” he said, relaxing his shoulders and lifting his energon glass. “Again, the most you’ll find down there is some energon cubes and spare materials. It won’t be a massive stockpile; it was just big enough to comfortably lose. But it will be enough to make a difference for us.”

“Awesome,” Bumblebee said, now determined to get moving. “We’ll head out and give you a call if we need anything. Thanks, Starscream.”

Arcee nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Good luck,” Starscream replied, neutrally, before ending the call with a tap of his digit. He drank the last of his energon just as Soundwave decided to sit across from him with a glass of his own. Soundwave was quiet, but the seats and the energon dispenser were not, so he could at least keep track of his movements in that regard. “Thank you for your assistance, Soundwave,” Starscream said as he began to scootch out of the booth. But Soundwave turned towards him before he could fully escape the seat.

“Observation: Starscream left movie night early. Was this due to Knockout’s outburst?”

Starscream moved his helm as if he were rolling his optics and relented, sitting back down on the edge of the booth, but not turning to face Soundwave. “Watching things isn’t particularly high on the list of things I can do, Soundwave. I got bored of listening to explosions and organic yapping.”

“You are getting along well with Smokescreen. He left to find you.”

“I’m aware.” Starscream planted his chin in his servo, appearing bored with the conversation.

“Query: How do you feel? Are you still determined to leave?”

“Of course I’m determined to leave!” Starscream suddenly turned to Soundwave with a firm scowl. “Why would I ever want to remain here? All I would be doing is stagnating myself; there are far greater things waiting for me out there.”

“Requesting description.”

Starscream paused. “...Come again?”

“Your plans. Describe them.”

Starscream’s face contorted into that of a mech in the defendant’s chair, before a jury of thousands. “I-Well, that’s-I’m—” Starscream stammered, then glared and crossed his arms over his chassis, defensively. “I don’t see why I have to disclose my plans for the future with you. You’ve already decided you want no part of it. And I’m perfectly content leaving on my own, so if this is your attempt to retract your previous decision, you can forget it.”

Soundwave lifted his glass of energon with one of the vile, mechanical tendrils that slithered out from his chassis. He inspected the glowing, blue liquid with feigned interest. “Starscream: has no plan. Probability of Starscream ever having one to begin with: three percent.”

Starscream abruptly stood to his pedes and turned to Soundwave, if only to have higher ground. “And what of it!? The fact of the matter remains: I don’t belong here. I belong to a higher cause, I have always belonged to something greater. My spark demands it.” Starscream began to pace back and forth, gesturing with servos that grasped outward at empty air from Soundwave’s perspective. But from Starscream’s point of view, he remained drifting in inky blackness, grasping with servos that he could no longer see. Searching for light, and structure. “I was not born into this world, I was designed by it. All my life, I’ve been fighting against a future that was decided for me. That’s why I joined the Decepticons, to rebel against a life that was not my design. By staying here, I would be doing a disservice to myself! I would be allowing my future to once again be decided on my behalf, and I simply cannot allow that. I need something more than this.”

“Query: Something more than being at the forefront of the rebirth of our home planet? That is not enough?”

Starscream slowed to a stop, glaring into a wall, into the darkness that enveloped him every waking moment. Upon first experiencing blindness, he felt entirely helpless, and almost allowed himself to slip into complete submission to the whims of the Autobots. But then, he managed to organize a rescue for Soundwave. He found himself learning to walk without a servo to guide him. He found, through Smokescreen’s observations, that he did still have power. That he still had his freedom, limited as it may be. But, just as it had always been, that wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

“...I want my optics back.” Starscream growled, clenching his servos. “I want my freedom back. All of it.”

Soundwave fell silent once again, contemplating Starscream’s answer. As he suspected, this was never about Cybertron; it was about Starscream. Whatever higher purpose he aspired to couldn’t possibly exist, and likely never would. Because this was what the war was about, in the end. It was about changing Cybertron for the better, and though they had lost their way, it was now time to pick up the pieces and follow through on their promise. But for Starscream, the war would never be over, because he hadn’t won it yet. And to remain here, to build Cybertron among bots who were once their sworn enemies, would be to admit defeat.

It was Starscream’s greatest weakness, as well as his greatest strength: his tenacity. This would be a purely admirable trait if it hadn’t warped itself into something as self-destructive as it was. Starscream lacked any ambition outside of his own self-fulfillment, and selfish ambition combined with intransigence was a dangerous combination. Outside of refusing to admit defeat, what was it that Starscream truly wanted?

“Starscream...Query: What does freedom mean to you?”

Starscream continued to stare into the darkness. Soundwave’s question lingered in his mind and echoed through his frame as if spoken by Primus himself. It should be a simple question, and yet, he couldn’t find an answer. At least, he couldn’t find a specific answer. Though his processor was empty, his spark was not, and it weaved the words through his lips with ease.

“It’s everything to me,” he muttered, as if reciting a prayer.

Feeling his throat tighten, Starscream cleared it and turned to leave. “I have work to do.”

Soundwave watched Starscream leave, then looked down at Lazerbeak, who was sitting peacefully on his chassis. He wasn’t sure what to make of Starscream’s answer, but he found himself slightly unnerved by it. He sighed and caressed his companion across its wings, earning a pleased trill from the drone that eased Soundwave’s nerves. At the end of the day, he would not allow Starscream to interfere with their plans to restore Cybertron, and he doubted he would ever get far enough to actually pose a threat to those plans. However, Starscream would most definitely be a threat to himself.

Unfortunately, unlike Starscream, he did have better things to do than worry about his well-being. At least for the time being. Repairing their communication system was still his top priority.

Once Soundwave refueled, he stood and left the lounge to return to the Nemesis’ control room. Passing through the doors, he found Ratchet continuing from where Soundwave had left off, typing with embarrassing speed at the ship’s control panel.

“I’m grateful that you were eager to begin your work,” Ratchet said, without taking his attention away from the screen. “But it’s important for you to remain fueled, Soundwave.”

“Soundwave: Now possesses a keen awareness of how much fuel he needs to survive.” Soundwave politely stood beside Ratchet to wait for him to step aside. When Ratchet obliged, he took over the empty space, and his digits immediately went to work at a break-neck speed. Ratchet rubbed his optics to readjust for three-dimensional space.

“I’m sure he does.” Ratchet sighed, and muttered, “why do you talk like that?” Under a vent. Once his optics adjusted, he looked over Soundwave’s shoulder at the screen. Windows opened and closed far too quickly for Ratchet to even comprehend the work Soundwave was doing, so he instead looked down at his servos to massage digits. They weren’t sore, but just watching Soundwave gave him phantom pains.

“Unless you require my assistance, would you mind opening a ground-bridge to our Earth base?”

Soundwave nodded and moved his current work to a different monitor to fulfill Ratchet’s request. “Query: What is your purpose on Earth?”

“Right now? I’m just a liaison between our two planets. I handle outgoing communications, and I’m currently attempting to reverse-engineer the formula for Cybermatter.” Ratchet huffed. “Which wouldn’t be necessary, if Shockwave actually saved his research to the Nemesis’ database.”

Soundwave nodded. “Shockwave: Intensely fastidious. Occasional pain in the aft, as a result.” Ratchet blinked, not expecting such immature language from someone like Soundwave. Soundwave snaked his servo over to the ‘confirm’ key and pressed it, causing a ground-bridge to crackle to life behind them. “Query: Ratchet is not going to say goodbye?”

Ratchet chuckled a bit. “I’m not leaving for good. And I’m just a ground-bridge away, which is an even shorter distance now that you’re in charge of them.”

A smiling face flickered across Soundwave’s visor, which he turned to present to Ratchet before promptly returning to his work. Ratchet smirked, amused by the emoticon, not just for it’s general appearance, but the intense difference between how it made him feel now compared to how it did when Soundwave was their prisoner. Remembering that more clearly, Ratchet suddenly frowned.

“Soundwave...Are you really only helping us because Megatron denounced the Decepticons? After all we’ve been through, it feels too simple.”

Soundwave slowed to a stop with his typing, then turned to face Ratchet. Ratchet saw his black silhouette in the reflection of Soundwave’s visor, the warm, green glow of the ground-bridge still behind him. Soundwave stared at Ratchet, studying his apprehensive expression, before he finally decided to speak.

“Soundwave: is a simple mech. When I was a gladiator, I was a gladiator. Megatron taught me I could be more, so I became a Decepticon. And now that Megatron is gone, I am just Soundwave. I am, as Megatron promised, more than my function. I am myself...And I want to go home.”

Ratchet visibly relaxed, he witnessed it himself, through his reflection. “...Good answer.”

Smokescreen let out a long, meandering groan as he pushed a mop across the floor of the lower barracks. Starscream, who was sitting on his knees on an upper bunk, wiping it clean of dirt, harmonized with Smokescreen for a brief moment. But, not in solidarity. “Will you please cease this endless whining!? I am trying to do my job!”

Smokescreen scoffed and stopped, resting his elbow on the top of his mop to address Starscream with a scowl. “Easy for you to say! This is only your second day on cleaning duty, I’ve been stuck with this since we got here! I’m gonna keel over from sheer boredom!” He huffed and began mopping the floor around him with a distinct lack of care for technique, as the dust began to pool and smear across the ground. “And, honestly, I’m starting to get a little hacked off about it. Like, is this all Ultra Magnus sees in me? Is there a big sign on my back that says “cleaning bot” that I don’t know about!?”

“Don’t ask me,” Starscream said with dry sarcasm as he continued to wipe down the upper bunk. It was hard to clean with only texture as your guide, so he was making sure that the job was done right by doing it twice over. Which was a nice idea on paper, but it also meant there were still about twenty-eight more bunks to go, and they had already been here for an hour.

Smokescreen sighed, beginning to slow his angered mopping into something more practical, but significantly more depressed. “It’s not fair...I could at least help with the scouting missions once in a while. I mean, I got the omega keys back!”

Starscream giggled, wickedly. “Which I promptly stole from you~”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Screamer,” Smokescreen said with a roll of his optics. “Don’t forget that I also stole the Apex Armor from you.” Starscream scowled and grunted, which spurred Smokescreen to continue his rant. “Yeah, that’s the other thing! I managed to fire a shot on Lazerbeak, and because of that, we were able to save Ratchet from you guys when Soundwave got a hold of him. And I saved Optimus’ life after…” Smokescreen trailed off, and finally stopped mopping as Optimus’ memory tugged at his spark. He allowed the mop to clatter to the ground, then took a heavy seat on one of the berths.

Starscream lifted his helm towards the sound of the mop handle bouncing against the floor, pausing in his own work to see if Smokescreen had anything more to say. But all he heard was the quietest, most mournful sigh, as Smokescreen rested his arms over his knees and stared off at nothing. Starscream’s lips tightened and his brow lowered as he assessed the situation and pondered his next move. Smokescreen was never his first choice for an ally, but for now, he was the only choice. Starscream tsk’d and crawled down the ladder to walk to Smokescreen’s side, then leaned against the bunk, facing perpendicular to his temporary crony.

“You seem to be upset,” Starscream said, stating the obvious. “You don’t like leaving a bot alone in such a state, and you’ve done so for me...I think it’s only fair I return the favor, to the best of my abilities.”

Smokescreen let out a weak, breathy chuckle. “Wow. Sorry, but, you already suck at this.”

Starscream’s brow ridge twitched. “...Do you want to talk about it, or not?”

Smokescreen frowned again, nestling his chin into his arms. “I don’t know where to start, everything’s...I don’t know.”

“You mentioned the Pr-...Optimus. Start there.”

“God…” Smokescreen rubbed his forehelm, already feeling emotionally exhausted. “...Ever since Optimus died, there’s been this...hole. I think everyone feels it. I’m sure you do, too.” Starscream nodded as Smokescreen continued. “He sacrificed everything for us. For Cybertron. And now that he’s gone it’s almost like...’What now,’ you know? I mean, obviously we rebuild, but it feels kinda selfish, doesn’t it? He gave everything for something he’ll never get to see, and it feels so unfair. But, that’s what a Prime does...they do whatever it takes, even if it means losing everything, all for the greater good.” Starscream would roll his optics if he had any, but decided it best to endure Smokescreen’s spiel without protest.

“Optimus,” Smokescreen continued, “he almost made me a Prime.”

Starscream’s brow ridge shot up and his helm snapped over to Smokescreen. “What? You? A Prime?” He scoffed in sheer disbelief. “What, did Optimus get cold pedes at the last second?”

Smokescreen shook his head. “No...I turned him down. Optimus was dying, after you guys destroyed our first hideout back on Earth. And he said he would give me the matrix, so I could take the forge back to Cybertron and fix the omega lock, but that meant he would die...I couldn’t do that to him. I couldn’t let Optimus die when there was a chance that I could save him and bring him home. Now he’s gone, the matrix is gone, the war is over...And I’m mopping the floors.”

“You were almost a Prime, ” Starscream said, still completely baffled by that information. He rubbed his forehelm, unable to process why in Primus’ name anyone would ever turn down that much power. Especially Smokescreen, the mech who kissed the ground that Optimus walked on. He turned down all of that, his dream come true...because he wanted to save Optimus. Only for him to turn around and die. If that happened to Starscream, he would have torn Optimus from the Well just to kill him again with his bare servos. “How are you not furious with Optimus!? He threw away your life’s dream! ”

“Because he was my friend,” Smokescreen said, without hesitation. And without questioning Starscream’s logic, because he knew how he thought. “And it was his choice to reignite the Well. Same as it was my choice not to be a Prime.”

Smokescreen turned to look at Starscream with a solemn frown. “I know that the age of Primes is over, but...that hole Optimus left behind needs to be filled, somehow. Everyone is lost without him and his leadership...I was worthy, once. I need to be out there, Starscream. I can’t just spend my time cleaning and organizing, I need to be with them, to try and fill that gap, and help make us feel whole again. I know I can do it, and Optimus knew, too, but...Nobody else does.” Smokescreen looked to the floor, despondent. “I’m not even talking about leading us, Ultra Magnus is great for that. I just mean...I mean that I could guide us. But everyone still sees me like I’m some naive kid...”

Starscream frowned, feeling an odd sense of understanding with Smokescreen’s plight. Though Starscream never aspired to be a Prime, he did aspire to be a leader. And no matter how hard he tried, he always managed to disappoint those above him. As much as it irked him to admit, he had witnessed Smokescreen’s potential first hand, many times. And he was good for far more than just tidying up messes. Starscream sighed, took a seat beside Smokescreen, and fidgeted with his digits in thought. Sympathy should have made this easier, but Starscream was never the first to comfort others...Primus, what was he doing? After an incredibly uncomfortable silence, Starscream’s intake finally released the words that were pooling behind his lips. For better or worse.

“Smokescreen...before I arrived here, I saw you as nothing more than a naive dolt who had survived off pure luck and the comedically-timed hand of Primus.”

Smokescreen scowled, beginning to check out of the conversation. “Wow, thanks.”

“But,” Starscream continued. “After being forced against both of our wills to spend time together, I realized that you’re more than that. And, as much as it pains me to admit...I was wrong about you.” Smokescreen looked to Starscream with wide optics, stunned that he would ever admit to being wrong, let alone about him. Starscream folded his servos in his lap.

“You have great potential, and it’s being wasted on someone like Ultra Magnus. If it were up to me, I would have easily had you be a scout. Your skill set is an exact match for the job.” Starscream began to count on his digits. “You’re a quick-thinker, you’re fast, agile, and, when the work actually interests you, you’re surprisingly diligent. As a leader, I would know better than to set someone with a short attention span to work on monotonous tasks.”

Smokescreen smiled, but raised a brow ridge. “Um...thanks? I guess?”

“I’m just speaking honestly,” Starscream said with a shrug, then smirked. “You did somehow manage to have an entire conversation with Raphael and stalk me in the, what, thirty minutes I was gone to help map out the caches? Not exactly a good look for your work ethic.”

“Aw, come on, cut me some slack! I worked the entire time you were there!”

Starscream tutted and wagged his digit. “You’re only digging a deeper hole, Smokescreen. I’d quit while you were ahead, if I were you.”

“Like you’ve ever done that,” Smokescreen teased with an impish grin. “Knockout told me about the Zombiecons.”

“I wasn’t the only one at fault for that!” Starscream lifted his helm, indignantly.

“Not relevant,” Smokescreen replied, in a singsong voice. “C’mon, let’s just get this cleaning stuff over with so we can move onto the next thing Ultra Magnus wants us to polish.”

It was now Starscream’s turn to groan, though he kept his smile as he climbed up the ladder of the bunk they had been resting on. “Oh, joy.”

“Soundwave’s already started fixing the communication system, apparently,” Smokescreen said as he picked up his mop. “Who do you think Ultra Magnus is gonna volunteer up to help him when he inevitably finds that ninety percent of our electronics are completely scrapped?”

“Oh, definitely us,” Starscream said, his voice oozing sarcasm. “It’s a perfect combination: one bot speaks no evil, the other sees no evil, and the third hears nothing at all because he can’t pay attention to anything to save his life—”

“You can’t see it, but I’m flipping you off right now. Just wanted you to know that,” Smokescreen interjected.”

“-With all of us combined, we’ll equal out to one Vehicon with a processing disorder in terms of efficiency.” Smokescreen snorted, which encouraged Starscream join him in his mirth. They continued cleaning as they giggled together, like little boys at a sleepover.

Starscream’s servos became coated in the red dust of the ventilation shafts, which made it much more difficult to discern whether or not a spot was clean. And wiping his servos off on the cleaning rag only seemed to further exacerbate the issue. He made a face as he rubbed his digits together, feeling the grit that had built up between them. Still, he had been dusting this top berth for a while; he figured it must be done by now.

Starscream made his way down the ladder, dismounting from the middle and turning his helm towards the sound of Smokescreen’s mop dipping back into the bucket of cleaning solution. “Smokescreen, check over my work, would you?”

“Sure thing.” Smokescreen propped up the mop, allowing it to soak in the bucket, and climbed up the ladder of the bunks opposite to the one Starscream had just wiped down. Looking between the one that had yet to be touched and the freshly-dusted one yielded...less than stellar results. It resembled a Japanese zen garden sooner than it did a brand new berth. Compared to the bunk Starscream started with, they appeared to get exponentially worse over time. Smokescreen grimaced, unsure how to break the dire news.

“Well?” Starscream asked, impatiently.

“Well, it…” Smokescreen made the educated guess that Starscream would appreciate honesty far more than any attempt he made to soften the blow. “It looks like you played a one-bot game of Twister after visiting the Sea of Rust up here.”

Starscream groaned, slumping his shoulders. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“Sorry, I’m not. Do you wanna trade?” Smokescreen asked, politely, as he climbed back down.

“We already traded! Gah, this is so stupid!” Starscream tossed his rag down onto the lower berth beside him, and his face crinkled as he felt it kick up a cloud of dust. The smell burst into his olfactory sensors like an atom bomb, despite being such a small puff, and the particles drifted up towards him, sticking to his frame and tingling against his wings. Starscream suddenly took a pause as his gears began turning, and Smokescreen rolled his optics.

“Dude, could you please not do that? It’s only gonna make this take longer if you keep…” Smokescreen watched as Starscream crawled back up the ladder, notably leaving the rag behind. He then turned around, sitting on the top of the ladder with his back facing the top bunk. Smokescreen tilted his helm. “What are you doing?”

“Step back a few paces,” Starscream said, spreading his wings wide across his back until they were flush with his shoulder plates. Smokescreen took a single step back, which was another in a list of long examples of why not following directions was his greatest weakness. Starscream clenched his servos and flexed his arms forward, forcing his wings to clap together with an impact that could have, audibly speaking, been mistaken for a gunshot. Visually speaking, the entire berth exploded in a brown-red mist that mainly shot backwards toward one of the back walls of the barracks. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t still a bit of shrapnel. Shrapnel that Smokescreen had dutifully inhaled.

Smokescreen buckled over, coughing, hacking, gagging, and finally, spitting the rust from out of his ventilation systems. He reset his stinging optics to look up at Starscream in abject horror and confusion, but before he could formulate an appropriate onomatopoeia, Starscream looked towards him while delicately rubbing his tingling wings. “Look again, how does it look now?”

Smokescreen blinked heavily, then huffed and started to climb back up the ladder he’d used before. “It looks like you just blasted rust all over the floor I just m-…” He rubbed his optics as he inspected the bunk. It was spotless. “Oh my God, that actually worked.”

“Did it? I mean, of course it did!” Starscream grinned. “New plan: I blow the rust off the top, then we divide and conquer the floors. What say you?”

“If that means I can take five while you blast that dust, you’ve got a deal.”

“I accept your terms. Rest on the bottom bunk of the first one I cleaned, I won’t be disturbing that spot.”

Smokescreen grinned and slid down the ladder. “Aye-aye, Starscream.” Smokescreen immediately rushed over to the berth Starscream suggested and flopped tank-first into it with a heavy, happy sigh. “Work smarter, not harder, right?”

“Indeed,” Starscream said, already hopping down from the ladder he currently sat upon to reach the next. “At least I can finally use my wings for something,” he muttered, suddenly sounding a bit depressed. Smokescreen took notice of his tone and rolled onto his back, watching Starscream move as he lounged with his servos behind his helm.

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. You haven’t gotten to fly in...how long as it been? Three days?”

“Too long,” Starscream replied, a deep frown on his face as he eviscerated the rust from the next bunk with one mighty clap. He sighed, allowing himself a moment to rest atop the current ladder, with his helm hung low and his servos hanging limply between his knees. “I would give anything to feel the wind beneath my wings again.”

“Really? Would you willingly scrub this ship top to bottom while I watched?” Smokescreen asked in jest.

“In a sparkbeat,” Starscream replied without an ounce of hesitation. His wings fluttered as he lifted his helm, looking towards the bunk across from him.

Smokescreen blinked in surprise. “Wow, no kidding...Flying must mean a lot to you.”

“It does,” Starscream said, letting words fall freely from his intake as his mind focused on the distance between his current position and his next target. His wings fluttered and he tapped his heel strut against the ladder, which emitted a low, dense, metallic echo.“It’s one of the few things I have that feels like it’s truly mine.”

Smokescreen lowered his brow ridge and stared at the bunk above him, now engrossed in the conversation even as he relaxed. “What do you mean?”

The jump felt like it would be about five feet in length, something Starscream could easily do. But that would be a foolish thing to attempt in his current state. He was learning to navigate fairly well without sight, but leaping onto a ladder would surely earn him a broken jaw. So instead, he accepted that he would have to climb down the ladder, and did exactly that. “I was constructed cold, as all Seekers are. My spark was forced into a body that wasn’t its own, so I’ve always felt a bit ‘off.’ But flying, that always felt right.”

“Do you think you were always meant to be a flight frame?” Smokescreen asked in genuine interest.

“Maybe.” Starscream dusted the next bunk and shuddered, the impact being a little too rough this time around. He gently massaged his wings with the tips of his digits. “It would certainly make sense. Then again, my Trine—” Starscream stopped himself dead and scrambled down the ladder, deliberately taking heavy steps as if the sound of his heels scraping against the rungs would chase the thought away. “Most cold constructs have similar experiences with their frames,” he corrected as he strode over to the next object to clean. “I just notice I take particular pleasure in flight that most other Seekers don’t.”

Smokescreen frowned, Starscream’s quick recovery did not go unnoticed. Seekers tended to come in threes, as military units, but Starscream was a notable lone wolf. At least, he was now. He had heard of Thundercracker and Skywarp; being outliers meant they were pretty famous in and of themselves. But Starscream stood out from the two by being completely unremarkable in terms of power. He couldn’t help but wonder what sort of relationship Starscream had with them. Considering how his face contorted and his wings jolted at their memory, they must have been close. And their disappearance, if that were the correct term to use, was likely far from pleasant.

As much as curiosity nagged at him, Smokescreen was no cat. And Starscream was not the type to indulge others of his past. Unless it made him look good, of course. Smokescreen crossed one leg over the other and reclined with his servos folded in his lap. “I think I would get pretty upset, too, if I couldn’t race anymore.”

Starscream scoffed with a smirk, and his wings lifted haughtily on his back. “Racing? Please. Do all you grounders persist only to chase your own tails? Racing is nothing compared to flight.”

Smokescreen sensed a challenge and sat up with a wicked grin and a raised brow. “You think you’re better than me just because you can get some air? I bet you couldn’t do a ninety-degree turn to save your skinny, grey aft.”

Starscream turned on his heel and strode towards Smokescreen like a swan sizing up a bulldog from behind a fence. “You say that as if it’s impressive. I used to be a performer, you know; back in my academy days.”

Smokescreen gawked, suddenly, then squinted in disbelief. “You’re kidding. You? What did you do: school plays?”

The Seeker sneered. “No. Vosian Flight Choreography. The most incredible display of athleticism, skill, and artistic expression that Cybertron had to offer…” He frowned and looked off to the side. “At least as a pre-show to Lobbing games at the school. Nova Point Academy never saw the appeal of funding the art outside of that.”

Smokescreen sat in silence for a moment, then snorted. “You...You were a cheerleader!?”

“A what?” Starscream growled. “ E nough with the organic slang!” He exclaimed, knowing full well what a cheerleader was. “And stop your giggling! This wasn’t some cute little song and dance routine, these were death-defying feats we performed!”

Smokescreen looked at him with unrestrained glee on his face. “I bet they were, buddy! Maybe you could show me one day, if we can find some pom-poms lying around for you?”

Starscream bristled and swung his leg back to give the bunk a threatening kick, only to misjudge the angle of his pede. The front of his calf collided sharply with the rim of the berth, while the tip of hid pede crashed into a box hidden below the bunk. Starscream gasped and grabbed his shin, hopping in place and cursing under his breath. Smokescreen cringed, but ultimately shook his helm. “Yeah, see? That’s why we don’t kick things.”

Starscream glared daggers at him. “Oh, shut up, skid-mark.” He huffed as the throbbing pain finally subsided, then made his way to the other side of the berth to inspect the box on his knees. “Anyway, with the pace we’re progressing at, the day I finally get to show you a routine is one that will likely never come…”

As the words left his intake, so did the anger, leaving only the depressing reality he currently resided in. Smokescreen frowned and peeked over the bunk at Starscream, looking into the box. It looked to just be full of miscellaneous junk, and Starscream wasted no time digging his servo into it and pulling out various objects.

“You really think you should be looking through that? It might belong to one of the Vehicons,” Smokescreen asked as Starscream pulled out a discarded ‘L’-shaped pipe.

“Vehicons don’t have personal belongings. Especially not random scrap such as this,” Starscream replied with a raised brow ridge. He dug into the box and pulled out something cool and heavy. He ran his digits over it and determined it to be...a rock. He scoffed and smirked in a cruel way. “Alright, maybe you aren’t wrong in your assumption.”

“Hey, that’s a cool rock.”

Starscream didn’t dignify that with a response. He didn’t like to be reminded of Smokescreen’s occasional lack of proper processor function. But he did find himself enjoying snooping quite a bit, so he put the rock back and dipped his servo into the box one final time. His digits slid through various tiny objects, some metallic, some more plasticine, until they found something bigger. Something round. Starscream’s spark suddenly skipped a beat and his digits recoiled as if he’d touched a hot stove. Obviously, he had jumped to conclusions. He must have.

Tentatively, he allowed his servo to pass over the sphere once again. And now that his digits had time to linger, he found that the texture was distinctly not glass, nor metal. His spark sunk, and he pulled out a small, orange, rubber ball. It fit nicely into the palm of his servo, but not nicely enough to offset his disappointment. Still, he tossed it into the air a few times and caught it with each little jump. His face distinctly lacked any sort of amusement.

“You know,” Smokescreen said, breaking the silence as he stood up. He took a few steps forward, squinting in deep thought with two digits steepled below his intake. “Maybe you could still fly? Hear me out, but, what if we tied ourselves together? If you just fly slow and low enough, I could lead you around like a balloon!” Smokescreen turned around with a big smile, only to find Starscream looking at him over his shoulder with the most deadpan expression he could possibly imagine. “Right,” Smokescreen said, rubbing the back of his helm and looking the other way. “Stupid idea.”

“Yes. Incredibly.” Starscream casually placed the bouncy-ball into his subspace before pushing the collection of trash-turned-treasures back where it came. He figured it wouldn’t be missed. And if it was, too bad, he wanted something to show for his disappointment. Plus, he figured he could use it later; he had a feeling it may come in handy for reflex training.

Just as he was about to announce his return to work, the doors to the barracks. opened. The duo snapped their helms over towards the sound, and before Smokescreen could get a visual on the person who walked in, they both got auditory confirmation.

“What in Primus’ name are you two doing!?” Ultra Magnus boomed. Both Starscream and Smokescreen instinctively shrunk in place as Ultra Magnus walked in and placed his servos on his hips. “All I’ve heard for the past several minutes is a bunch of loud clapping coming from under my floor! And what do I find when I come to investigate? You two, goofing off, in an absolutely filthy room! You’ve been here for over an hour! What do you have to say for yourselves?”

Smokescreen’s finials drooped in shame. He was already grappling for the officer’s approval, but now, he was just that much further from receiving it. “...Sir, this is-”

“Two words, sir,” Starscream interrupted with a scowl. Once the nearly-instinctive response to cower at the sound of heavy pedfalls wore off, Starscream found himself incredibly irritated with Ultra Magnus’ tone. “News flash.” Starscream allowed his intake to fall open in a farse of awe, then fanned his servo over his empty sockets. Ultra Magnus’ eyes flared and Smokescreen instantly paled in horror at Starscream’s complete lack of tact. He rushed between them and gave Starscream a gentle push to greaten the distance they had between each other.

“What Starscream is trying to say, sir, is that we’re...we’re doing the best we can. We just took a short break to chat, and we’ll get right back to work.”

Ultra Magnus inhaled, deeply, then centered himself as he exhaled. Smokescreen’s assessment was correct: they could only do so much under the current circumstances. A great deal of patience was in order. “...I wasn’t speaking, or thinking, rationally. I apologize. What I meant to ask was: what in the world was all of that loud clapping?”

“Oh, that? That was Starscream,” Smokescreen said with a smile. “He actually found a pretty efficient way to knock the dust off the top bunks. Show ‘em, Screamer!” He gave him a little push and Starscream sneered.

“My name isn’t ‘Screamer,” he grumbled, still making his way over to a bunk he’d left undusted. Ultra Magnus watched with a raised brow ridge as Starscream went about his strategy, and jumped a bit when that loud sound erupted from such a lithe frame. The officer raised his helm slightly, a mech of his stature was easily able to survey their work without the aid of a stool, and he tightened his lips in bafflement. As percussive as the method was, it was surprisingly efficient. Though, not without any casualties. Ultra Magnus’ gaze lingered on the back walls of the barracks that were once untouched by dust. The key word being ‘once.’

Ultra Magnus reset his vocalizer. “That’s certainly an...interesting strategy. But, I am impressed with your ingenuity, Starscream. Again, I apologize for my earlier outburst; I should be more conscientious of your limitations.”

Starscream waltzed back over with a nonplussed look on his face and fluttered his wings to steady them. “Hmph, well said.”

“Hey, Ultra Magnus?” Smokescreen asked, taking a step towards the officer. “Once Starscream and I finish up, could we go outside?”

Ultra Magnus and Starscream both looked to Smokescreen with unrestrained surprise, though Ultra Magnus was quick to return to a stern countenance. He looked the young mech up and down with a quizzical gaze, checking for any signs of horseplay and/or any indications that Smokescreen was not speaking of his own free will. “You’re asking to take Starscream outside of the Nemesis with you? What for?”

“Well, he’s been talking about flying—”

“Out of the question.” Ultra Magnus straightened and nearly checked out of the conversation completely, if not for Smokescreen suddenly waving his hands around to regain his attention.

“Hold on, wait! I just thought that, y’know, maybe going outside might scratch that itch a bit? It’s not like he can fly without being able to see...And, also, I’d like some fresh air. Having to keep an eye on him twenty-four-seven is giving me cabin fever.”

Ultra Magnus regarded the two of them; Smokescreen looking hopeful as usual while Starscream was still standing with his intake slightly agape for any wayward flies. Though Starscream, realistically, wouldn’t be able to up and fly away as he is now, his navigation skills had been improving at an alarming rate. Even if he knew that the slippery mech wouldn’t be running away in this state any time soon, he wasn’t sure if Starscream shared that awareness. He could quickly become a danger to himself. He sighed and shuttered his optics in contemplation. When they opened, Smokescreen was smiling up at him just the same as before.

“...Very well. Once you both are finished, you can go out onto the upper deck.”

Smokescreen pumped his fist. “Yes!” He turned to Starscream with a wide smile, and Starscream’s surprised expression turned to one that held a foreign amount of gratitude. But, as he should know by now: all things had a catch with Ultra Magnus.

“But, Starscream must be put into a wing clamp, for his own safety. And I will be overseeing the both of you to ensure nothing goes awry.”

Starscream’s wings fell on his back and he let out a long, disenchanted sigh. “Why am I not surprised?”

Smokescreen’s own smile cracked. He knew that a wing clamp was probably a good idea, but the fact that Ultra Magnus felt the need to oversee him overseeing Starscream hurt his feelings a lot more than he thought it would. But, he shrugged and whispered out of the corner of his intake. “Hey, it’s still something.”

“I’ll come back in one hour to retrieve you,” Ultra Magnus said, turning around to leave. “I have it in good faith you should be finished by then.” As the doors to the barracks shut behind him, Ultra Magnus frowned and began making his way down the hall. Starscream was acclimating surprisingly well to his new life, no doubt thanks to Smokescreen’s influence, yet Ultra Magnus had this nagging feeling in the back of his processor that refused to leave. The feeling that Smokescreen was being manipulated, and that Starscream was merely waiting for the most opportune moment to strike.

Smokescreen was, at the end of the day, the most optimistic and naive of their team. He was no child, but he wasn’t a general, nor was he the kind of soldier he would reach for in a lineup. And yet, he had chosen him to watch over Starscream. At the time, it made the most sense; Smokescreen had little to no history with Starscream. Though there was the obvious bias of them being on different sides of the same war, that was where it ended. And, as callous as it was to admit, Ultra Magnus believed that Bumblebee was better suited for work in the field due to the difference in experience. Smokescreen had saved him from the Predacons once, yes, but Ultra Magnus was nothing if not impartial.

But had he made the wise choice? As it stood now, he wasn’t sure. He feared the consequences of this choice, should he have made an error in choosing Smokescreen. Not just for their team, but for Smokescreen himself. A mech with a spark as bright as his was something rare and precious, especially now that the war had finally ended. Smokescreen was likely the last of his kind: an optimist. Ultra Magnus sighed as he stepped into his office, and his frown deepened. ‘Optimus,’ he thought to himself. ‘I hope, if you’re watching, that you know I am trying to do what I think is right. And that I will gladly give my life to keep these people...this family, your family, safe from harm.’

Chapter Text

The road back to Iacon was long, winding, and treacherous. But Arcee and Bumblebee were swift, nimble drivers; they had experienced far worse. Still, Bumblebee grunted harshly as he swerved out of the way of a pile of broken glass.

“I miss Nevada asphalt,” he said, dreamily.

“All fifty scorching hot miles of it that existed? Collectively?” Arcee responded with a smarmy tone.

“Yeah, that’s the stuff. Careful, remember there’s a wall collapsed up ahead.”

The reminder was a welcome one. Cybertron had been left to rot a long, long time, and the sea of rust had left its mark as it dried. Thick plumes of rusty, red dust as far as the eye could see, and it only got worse in the city-states. To the human eye, this would resemble Hell sooner than it would the somber remains of a once-prosperous alien planet. At the very least, the occasional blue glow from the Well of Allsparks came as a comfort. Arcee took a wide turn alongside Bumblebee to avoid the wreckage that hid in the blood-colored clouds.

Soon enough, the dust passed over, and the intersection they had previously paid no mind to emerged. Without a word, the two bots transformed and scanned the area as they made their way to the wreckage that Starscream had pointed them towards. As described and previously observed, at first glance all there was to see was a patch of foundation that had been covered in sheet metal. But upon this second look, it suddenly became clear that this rubble was placed deliberately. The pile was too uniform, and one of the many slabs of metal that adorned the foundation was what remained of a billboard. It was decorated with bubbly text and a large, winding arrow.

Bumblebee tilted his helm to better read the text on the billboard. “Maccadam’s Oil House. Located in Rodion, just hang a left, and you’re there.”

Arcee scoffed and shook her helm. “If that’s the case, that billboard came from several blocks away...And I’d wager a guess that arrow’s direction isn’t an accident, either.” She took wide steps over the fallen detritus and tip-toed her way beneath the arrow, which had a small nest of scrap metal beneath it. And within that nest sat a cellar door. Open, and dark, with the resuscitated winds of Cybertron whistling across its entrance. Arcee glared at the sight. “Bee, something’s not right.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Someone got here before us, and they left the door wide open.” Arcee heard Bumblebee’s blaster power on. “Watch my six, I’m calling Starscream.” She placed two digits to her audial and did not take her optics from the cellar’s entrance. Within a mere few seconds, Starscream responded with a small crackle.

“Starscream.”

“Hey, we found your cellar. The door’s already open. Any ideas on why that might be?”

On the other end of the call, Starscream paused in his mopping with a confused scowl. “Hm...I don’t recall that cellar ever being excavated in any official capacity; I wouldn’t have recommended it if that were the case.” Starscream huffed, disappointed to find his meal ticket had already been punched, but trying to keep positive that the next one may still be waiting for him. He leaned on his mop. “I suppose it’s possible that Shockwave had used it during his stint on Cybertron...However, it’s not like him to leave the door open. Logic dictates that leaving that place open to the elements cuts it off from being a potential refuge later, and he never deviates from logic.”

“So, where does that leave us?” Arcee replied as she tentatively took the first step into the cellar, but no further than that.

“In my mind, there’s a few different options. One of them being that, somehow, another Decepticon found themselves stranded here, with high enough clearance to know the passcode. Which I find doubtful. Another is that the door just opened by itself, which is also highly unlikely.”

“Whoever did it, someone was here to open this door up,” she said in a tone that made Starscream’s scowl deepen.

“...Remember what I said in the navigation room, Arcee. If either of you come to harm, it wouldn’t benefit me in any way. That being said...be careful.”

Arcee ended the comm without a goodbye, and turned around to look at Bumblebee, who was dutifully standing with his back towards her to ensure they would not be ambushed. “Starscream’s got nothing.”

“I figured he wouldn’t. Who knows how long that door’s been open?”

Arcee nodded and looked to the cellar door. The darkness stretched onward and obscured the staircase that lied beneath. It emitted no sound, save for the flute-song of the wind. Arcee transformed her arm into a blaster and began taking slow steps downward. “I’m going in, keep watching my six.”

“I’m with you,” Bumblebee said in a tone that came as a reminder, rather than a newly discovered fact.

Arcee crept down the stairs, one step at a time, and darkness slowly enveloped her. Once she could no longer take a step without considering it a leap of faith, she exhaled and clicked on her headlights. There were only three steps remaining, and beyond that threshold, there was a small, shockingly empty cellar. Save for some old machinery, and a large mass hidden beneath a tarp. She scowled and leaned forward, checking her corners, and finding nothing lurking within. “It looks like we’re clear,” she said, but notably did not put her blaster away just yet.

Bumblebee followed her lead and turned on his headlights. The two branched off, Bumblebee to the west and Arcee to the east. Arcee looked to the abandoned machines with intrigue; they were tucked into a corner and had seemingly been torn to shreds by some unknown force. Considering the lack of damage to the cellar itself, she assumed this must be the work of whoever had come here before them. Her digits ghosted over the deep gashes in the machine as she looked over it’s inner workings. Vials, tubes, funnels, and a grinder sat inside. “This used to be an engex distillery. A private one…” Arcee discovered, aloud. The outside of the machine, which had once been a flat surface, now fanned outwards in an arc that led up to the wall behind it. Following the arc with her servo, she found a quartet of scratches in the wall.

Bumblebee walked up behind her and followed the path of her servo with his optics, squinting. “This was no Shockwave, that’s for sure.”

“What do you think it was?”

“Not sure...Hopefully it’s long gone.” Bumblebee gave Arcee a little nudge and smiled. “But hey, check this out.” Arcee turned and watched as Bumblebee approached his side of the cellar and stood before the mass hidden beneath a large tarp. Bumblebee crouched down, gripped the bottom, and swiftly pulled the tarp aside. The cellar was quickly bathed in a cool, blue glow, and Arcee shared Bumblebee’s smile. Cubes of energon sat in the corner, from the floor to just below the ceiling. It wasn’t a lot, but it was certainly a start. “Whoever, or whatever was in here? They weren’t interested in energon.”

Arcee sighed, and her plating sat just that little bit looser against her frame. “Their loss is our gain…” But, it was too simple. Too clean. She began to frown as her processor turned. “But, why would they leave all this perfectly good energon here? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Bumblebee nodded towards the claw marks on the wall. “I don’t think whatever left those behind is all that interested in energon cubes. But it could be interested in us...We should get this stuff out of here as soon as possible.”

Arcee nodded, but still frowned. Something about this didn’t feel right. But, at the very least, they had a bit more fuel on the way back home. Whatever left those scratches would have to wait.

Ultra Magnus walked down the hall, towards the elevator to the upper deck with Starscream and Smokescreen in tow. Starscream walked with his shoulders slumped forward and a wing clap affixed firmly to his back. “This is just humiliating,” he muttered. “I feel like a walking pillory.”

“It’s necessary to ensure your safety,” Ultra Magnus stated, without turning his helm.

“I’m not going to fly blind. I’m not an idiot.”

“I never said you were an idiot.”

Starscream growled and Smokescreen reached over to pat Starscream on his shoulder pauldron with a reassuring smile. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re going to get some fresh air, and it’s gonna be nice. Just focus on that part.”

Starscream scoffed. “Easy for you to say. The neural nodes in my wings are ensuring that I’m keenly aware of the giant, metal clamp they’re currently affixed to. And it’s not an especially comfortable device even without taking that into account.”

Smokescreen tilted his helm. “So, when you clapped them together like earlier, did it hurt?”

Starscream made a face, as if not certain how to answer, then shrugged. “...A bit. Not really. I don’t know.” He couldn’t think of a better word to describe how it felt besides ‘tingly,’ and he hated the idea of using that world in any context around a mech as comedically immature as Smokescreen, so he chose not to.

Ultra Magnus’ digit made contact with the elevator’s control panel, and Starscream stopped at the sound. All three of them walked inside, and Starscream grimaced once he realized how cramped of a ride up it would be. Ultra Magnus was massive, and with Starscream’s wings jutting out from his back, it was like finagling a diagonal butter knife into a crowded bookshelf. He ended up standing at an odd angle and allowed his wings to wedge themselves into one corner of the elevator while Ultra Magnus leaned slightly to the side to allow the flat pieces of metal to press past his enormous arm. Not above it, as Ultra Magnus had hoped it would land, but beneath it, acting as a wedge below his arm pit. Smokescreen just resigned himself to press against the rear door as flat as he could.

“Was it Megatron’s choice to not have any elevator music?” He asked with an awkward smile.

“Yes,” Starscream replied, as though it were a valid question. He was getting far too acclimated to Smokescreen’s childish curiosity. The rest of the ride, though it only lasted about ten seconds, was incredibly awkward in its silence.

The opposite doors of the elevator opened, and Ultra Magnus stepped out. The atmosphere of the outside world flooded into the small space like a tidal wave, and Starscream tensed. His wings raised and strained against his wing clamp, and his servos flexed against his will. The air was hot, flooding his olfactory sensors with the smell of heated metal. It was somehow as stagnant as it was fresh. Filthy and crisp and warm and sharp. He shuddered, a paradoxical chill running up his spinal strut that fanned out into his shoulder plates, down his elbows and settling in the frozen tips of his digits. His wings felt numb.

Smokescreen followed behind Ultra Magnus and stretched his arms with a happy sigh, taking in the fresh Cybertronian air. “Ah, that’s much better. Right, Starscream?” When Starscream didn’t respond, Smokescreen blinked and turned around, only to find that his aquaintance hadn’t moved an inch. He raised a brow ridge. “Uh, Screamer? Ride’s over.”

Starscream still didn’t respond. The wind was loud, drifting past the open elevator door like the mouth piece of a flute. He could barely hear anything else over it, though it was as quiet as a ghost. Smokescreen frowned in concern and walked back, placing his servo on the elevator door to keep it from shutting. “Hey, you okay?”

Starscream quietly took in a sharp breath and turned around to face Smokescreen. “Yes! Yes. I’m fine.” He quickly stepped outside onto the deck and tried his best to ignore the wind as it pelted him with smells and sounds like a missile barrage in an open field. He stood still. The world stretched, exploding outward and imploding inward, right into his hollowed chassis. His wings felt like a lightning rod, trembling against the clamp with waves of electricity. He flexed his digits and turned his helm on a swivel, quickly forcing the last semblance of direction to slip from his servos. The ground hummed and the sky screamed.

High-pitched, ticking, echoing, grinding. East, west. East. East. His processor whirled and his systems rebooted by force to make room for all the new information. North. Heat. Twelve p.m. Latitude, longitude. Construction? Jackhammer? Not the ship. Ship. Nemesis. Upper decks. Too hot, too cold, too loud. Too loud! Starscream coughed and caught it in his servos, then placed his servos over his audials. His optics. Back to his audials. Was he turning, or being turned? Critical stabilizer failure. He dropped to his knees and began to pant. A pair of arms slipped around his chassis, suddenly, and he heard a shout, but couldn’t make out the words.

“Hey, Starscream! Hello!?” Smokescreen shook the Seeker’s shoulders, but didn’t get a response. He didn’t understand! One moment, he was taking in the fresh air, enjoying the warmth of the day, and then suddenly he hears Starscream’s ventilation system kicking into high gear! He was taking quick, unsteady, whistling breaths through a wide open intake. Smokescreen looked to Ultra Magnus with pleading optics. “What’s going on, what happened!?”

Ultra Magnus dropped to his knee and grabbed Starscream’s chin, forcing his helm up towards him. There was no response, he just continued to gasp. Ultra Magnus scowled to hide his own confusion and placed his free digits to his audial. “Knockout, meet me outside of the elevator to the upper deck. It’s an emergency.”

Starscream found himself somewhere else. Somewhere cool and quiet. There was something heavy on top of his chassis, pressing him into the ground. His wings remained clamped. He was on his side, on the floor of the Nemesis, just outside the elevator doors. He scowled in confusion as he discovered something was on his helm, and he lifted a servo to feel at it. His digits grazed its shape, traveling in an arc at the crest of his helm and settling over his audials with large, plush discs. A headset? Starscream lifted up one servo and pulled one of the muffs away from his helm, immediately becoming bombarded with noise as if he’d flipped a switch.

“His pulse is stable, now,” Knockout said, sitting on his knees and scribbling notes into a datapad. “There’s nothing physically wrong with him, I’d say he just had a panic attack. I honestly never thought I’d see that again, but, here we are.”

“This is the third time, actually,” Smokescreen said. He sounded like he was directly in Starscream’s audial, and he cringed. “Maybe even the fourth? This one was definitely the worst, though. What happened?”

“Sensory overload; it’s written all over his readout. With his optics gone, his other sensors are working overtime to fill in the gap. You essentially threw him into the deep end of the pool by letting him out onto the upper deck that fast.” Knockout sounded surprisingly cross with Smokescreen and Ultra Magnus. This concern didn’t seem to be performative, for some odd reason.

“He’s conscious,” Ultra Magnus said, sitting on one knee between Knockout and Smokescreen. “Smokescreen, release him.”

The weight left Starscream’s chest, and his chassis expanded as he took in a deep breath. He sat up, holding his forehelm in one servo and removing the headset with his other. A low, sickened groan escaped his intake. His helm ached and his chassis felt as if it were about to drift away from his body.

“I would say ‘good morning,’ but you were most definitely awake during that entire ordeal,” Knockout said, his cheerful tone sounding a bit forced. “How are you feeling?”

“Like my processor was dipped in a smelter and there’s a hydraulic press in my spark chamber…” He rocked his helm back and forth in his servo, and he felt Smokescreen’s own servo settle on his back. He didn’t have the strength to swat it aside. “What in the Pit is wrong with me?”

“Like I said before: sensory overload. It happens to everyone, at least once. Nothing is wrong with you, Starscream.”

Starscream scoffed, smiling crookedly. “Fan-tastic. So what you’re actually saying is that this can’t be fixed. I’m confined to this slagging prison for as long as it takes to replace my optics.”

“On the contrary, my pessimistic patron!” He lifted the servo Starscream was currently holding the headset in by the wrist. “These could be the cure to what ails you, given you have the patience for it. Sound-cancellation headphones, courtesy of Soundwave!”

Starscream raised a brow ridge and turned the headset over in his servos. “These are Soundwave’s? Of all people who would have a use for such a thing, why him?”

“Apparently, they were purely recreational. Or, in his words-” Knockout made his voice as flat as possible. “Soundwave: prefers the quiet. Headset provided quiet. Not practical during work hours. Headset: Obsolete. Dust collector.”

Smokescreen snorted. “Not bad, Knockout.”

Starscream hummed and continued to explore the headset with his digits. Thankfully, the intrigue he had with the device offset the embarrassment of suffering yet another breakdown. “So, how does this help, exactly?”

“Simple,” Knockout began, taking Starscream’s digit and leading it to a dial on one of the muffs. “You walk out again and start out on mute. Once you get past all the smells and sensations, you scroll the dial up a bit. Acclimate yourself slowly to your environment. Eventually, you’ll get used to it, and you can turn this headset back into a data-weight.”

“If you’re willing,” Ultra Magnus stated, with restrained gentleness. “We can try again. Should we ever need to evacuate, we’ll need you to be able to escape with us. An issue like this needs to be addressed, but if you feel it may be too much for you to handle, we can wait.”

Starscream took in a deep breath and sighed, slowly. Ultra Magnus’ logical reasoning to continue was hardly necessary; Starscream was not one to admit defeat easily. Rather than vocalize in the affirmative, he simply placed the headset onto his helm. All sound ceased, leaving him in a dimension governed only by touch, and he nodded. Smokescreen smiled and helped Starscream to his pedes with a gentle servo. “That’s the spirit.”

Starscream allowed himself to be walked over to the elevator. It was a surreal feeling, being only able to feel or smell. Each step vibrated up his struts like he were a mechanoid tuning fork. As Knockout gathered his medical kit, he lifted a servo towards Ultra Magnus. “Sir, if you don’t mind?” Ultra Magnus turned towards Knockout as the elevator door opened, and Smokescreen led Starscream inside. Knockout’s face was oddly stern, lacking his usual devilish smirk. “I would like to give Starscream a private exam once you finish this exposure therapy session. Would you please instruct him to give me a visit as soon as possible?”

Ultra Magnus nodded. “Of course. And thank you, Knockout. As you were.”

Knockout smiled and his finials lifted as his favorite words were uttered. “You’re welcome.” Knockout turned and made his way back to the med bay as the elevator doors shut. He sighed, steeling himself. ‘Remember, Knockout, you’re doing this for you. Not for him,’ he thought. Still, this likely was going to be painful. Necessary, but painful.

Starscream sighed at roughly the same time as Knockout, and Smokescreen patted his back once again. Starscream sneered a microscopic amount, annoyed at the gesture of reassurance, but notably not denying it. He would have blamed that on his own lethargy. The elevator lurched to a stop, shifting Starscream’s tank, and the doors opened. The air rushed in and Starscream tensed to brace himself against it; the scathing smell of rust wafted into his olfactory sensors once more. Primus, it was a strong scent. But was it really, or did Starscream just have a far keener awareness of its presence? It was difficult to say. A gentle touch to his spinal strut urged him forward, and he obeyed.

Starscream stood still, his pedes firmly planted onto the floor of the upper deck and his servos curled into tight fists at his sides. The air swirled in spirals around him, but he did not follow their currents this time. Though the atmosphere stretched endlessly overhead, and with every passing second he felt himself become smaller, he refused to buckle any further inward. The aroma of the undead planet melted into the back of his processor as the air currents took precedent. It weaved through his frame and made him a part of its tapestry. He became solid. The floor beneath him rumbled and purred with movement, and Starscream twisted his heels to remind himself that the ground, too, was intertwined. It was not a fragile sheet of glass that revealed miles of mechanisms and bodies in motion. It was opaque, and firm.

He took a step. It echoed from the tip of his pede all the way up to the tips of his wings, and he scowled, clamping his jaw taught. It was almost enough to make him fall, but he would not let this beat him again. He remained still and exhaled, his wings fluttered against the clamp in agitation. ‘Come on, Starscream. You survived a war, an exile, a Predacon, a Megatron. A walk will not be the end of you. The dark will not be the end of you.’ Starscream’s own voice echoed in his helm, and his legs slowly began to move. One after the other, until a tip toe became a walk, and a walk became a stride. Twenty paces forward, and then he stopped. The world stopped with him, as if holding its own breath, until it exhaled to his right.

Starscream turned towards the pulse and furrowed his brow. He outstretched his servo towards it, and flexed his digits, grasping towards something unseen. It rumbled through the tips of his wings, first, and his digits began to feel it, too. With his other servo, he touched the dial of the headset, turning it up a mere click. A bassy ‘thud’ echoed towards him like a sparkbeat. He turned the dial again, and he heard it clearer; a sharp, hammering noise that was as quick as a gatling gun. Tiny voices, one deeper from the rest. Mechanical whirs. Metallic echos.

“Construction…” Starscream came to the conclusion aloud, his voice cutting through the muffled resonance like the voice of Primus. Starscream took a few steps towards the noise and muttered to himself, listing out the sounds as they revealed their names. “A jackhammer...a crane...drills, Vehicons...”

Ultra Magnus’ pedfalls tore Starscream from his focus as he came to his side. “Yes, that’s the current construction site.” He sounded somewhat impressed, but Starscream couldn’t imagine why. It must be loud; he’d only turned up the headset by two notches, after all. “Can you hear anything else?”

Starscream turned around, feeling something behind him, and his wings strained against the clamp without his permission. He grunted and attempted to swing them from side to side, noticing how the sounds changed as he did so. “I think I hear something else? Possibly...No, it’s not a sound, but it’s…” He trailed off, unable to describe it. It was similar to what he’d felt when Soundwave was trapped in the Shadow Zone. Like a gap in the air, only much larger, and further away.

Smokescreen came to Starscream’s vacant side. “Sorry, that might just be me walking.”

“No, no, not you. It’s farther. It’s quiet.” Starscream took a few steps backwards, away from them, and turned in a slow circle. His wings trembled and he strained them against the clamp, quickly becoming agitated. “Ultra Magnus, remove this clamp.”

“Starscream—”

“Sir, please,” he interrupted, now standing still to face the direction of the officer’s voice. “I need to test something. If I fly away, you have my permission to shoot me down. Just let me try this.”

Ultra Magnus growled a low hum, apprehensive. Starscream’s expression was stern from annoyance, not from defiance. Yet he didn’t know if he could be so sure. His gaze drifted to Smokescreen, who simply shrugged. Ultra Magnus relented with a sigh and walked behind Starscream. “Alright, I’ll take you on your word,” he spoke as if it were a threat, but Starscream paid him no mind as his wings sprung free from the clamp. His focus was elsewhere. Specifically, to the north. He turned on his heel and his wings danced across his back, dipping and rotating freely, and Starscream took note of the minute changes.

The gap in the air became clearer as his wings moved forward, creating a cup around his frame. He took a few steps, and the gap appeared to become larger. It wasn’t alive, and he was still nowhere near it. It was still too fuzzy, too shapeless. Ultra Magnus and Smokescreen watched with rapt attention, and they both narrowed their eyes on a building that had recently finished being reconstructed. A small, white tower, about a mile from the Nemesis. Ultra Magnus and Smokescreen shared the same idea, but neither vocalized it, thinking it impossible.

After a few minutes of flexing his wings, Starscream growled in frustration and stamped his pede onto the floor, which sounded a muffled gong. The shape before him became clearer, and Starscream’s vent hitched in surprise. After a short moment of contemplation, he lifted his pede and stomped again, harder this time. The entirety of the Nemesis felt as though it trembled, and something shared in its tremor. Something tall, and far away, echoed into Starscream’s wings, light as the touch of a feather. Starscream could scarcely believe what his processor was telling him, and he lifted his servo as if it had become ten pounds heavier, pointing out towards the tower. “...Is there a building, right there?”

Ultra Magnus gawked alongside Smokescreen. While his face was awestruck with horror, Smokescreen’s lit up with wonder. “Y-Yeah! There is!” Smokescreen ran up to Starscream’s side once again and spoke nearby his audial. “What’s it look li-? I mean-uh...Can you tell what shape it is?”

Starscream’s wings fluttered a bit, completely dumbfounded. “It’s...a cylinder. A tower. And I think, unless it’s incredibly small, it’s...a mile away? Maybe a little less?”

“Yeah!” Smokescreen jumped precisely once in his excitement. “How tall is it?”

He scoffed. “I don’t know, I can’t see the fragging thing! I just know it’s there!”

“ Try!” Smokescreen whispered, emphatically.

With a sigh, Starscream stomped on the ground a few times, attempting to take in any further details. But nothing more was revealed, he could see, or rather, feel the beginning of the structure, but the end faded into obscurity. Then again, even if the top of the tower faded, he at least knew it simply couldn’t be taller than a mile. Because if he was a mile away, and assuming the tower was straight, then...Starscream’s wings fluttered again as his processor took him to a place he never thought he’d have to revisit: Trigonometry.

“We’re not standing at ground level...If we were, we’d be looking at the tower from a forty-five degree angle. And if it’s a mile away from here...that must mean it’s also a mile high!”

“Holy Primus,” Ultra Magnus muttered as he approached, sounding nearly breathless. “That’s incredible…”

Starscream grinned and spun around, walking to the west end of the deck. “And over here! There’s lots of structures, a wall of them. But the shapes aren’t solid; they’re filled with gaps. And I feel another pulse from there, similar to that jackhammer.” Starscream turned with a confident smirk. “Dividing and conquering the construction efforts, are we? Is Wheeljack overseeing that segment of the grid?”

Ultra Magnus was silent for a moment, and Starscream’s wings drooped the longer it dragged on. “No, actually, we haven’t been there yet.”

“What? But I’m sure that I felt…” Starscream turned back towards the never-ending ruins, furrowing his brow. He shifted his wings forward to ensure he wasn’t feeling the jackhammer at his back, but he wasn’t. It was situated precisely on the front of his wings. “No, I’m certain that I hear something coming from that way! Or...feel something!”

Smokescreen stepped forward and cupped a servo around his audial, leaning forward as far as he could without tumbling over the side of the ship. But, he heard nothing. “Sorry, Screamer, I got nothing.”

“Well, of course you don’t! You’re not the one with highly-sensitive...senses!”

Smokescreen shrugged with a smile. “Hey, it’s no big deal if you’re not a hundred percent accurate. It’s kinda noisy out here, so, maybe it’s hard to pinpoint everything. The fact you can tell where any of this stuff is is still crazy!”

Starscream still scowled at the horizon, and as he did so, the feeling suddenly passed. No longer able to grasp it, he could no longer confirm with absolute certainty that it was real. And that irked him to no end. Still, Smokescreen was correct: this was an incredible feat. And it was one he knew he had to train, because if he could harness the power trapped within his wings, one day, he could kiss the ground goodbye. It was a comfort, even though it was also a guarantee of more work to be done. He had nothing but time, after all. And he wasn’t the only one who recognized that.

Ultra Magnus could scarcely believe what he’d witnessed. Something about this revelation re-ignited his paranoia, even though logic dictated it should be impossible for Starscream to ever become a threat. He was blind, and his weapons were gone. Was this concern misguided, or misaligned? Naming and pinpointing the exact emotion was likely as difficult as it was to point out a tower with your optics shut. And before he could even begin to attempt such a thing, the three of them received a group comm from Bumblebee. Starscream nearly jumped out of his plates, finding that the sound-canceling headset did nothing to block out an internal noise.

Ultra Magnus answered first, and the others followed. “Bumblebee? What’s your status.”

“Better than before, sir. Starscream really delivered. We’re gonna need some extra servos to my coordinates to pick up a whole bunch of energon cubes.”

Smokescreen looked to Starscream with a grin. “Alright, Starscream! You did it! Whoo!” He raised his free servo. “Up top!”

Starscream looked to him and raised a brow ridge. As realization dawned on Smokescreen’s face, Starscream huffed, and decided now as good a time as any to test his spacial awareness. And, all things considered, today had gone exceptionally well. “Oh, alright. I’m in a good mood.” Starscream raised his servo and slapped it into Smokescreen’s with a loud ‘clang.’ Smokescreen looked at him as if he’d been given the greatest gift he’d ever received.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about! Boomshakalaka!”

“Don’t push it,” Starscream said, flatly.

Ultra Magnus sighed and shook his helm. “I’ll organize a team. Expect them within thirty minutes. Stay safe.”

As the trio made their way back inside, something moved in the wastes where Starscream once looked. It was no jackhammer, but as it’s wings kicked into gear, it most certainly sounded like one. Massive claws gripped the edge of the building it perched on, and it emitted a low growl as it gazed at the Nemesis. It lifted its helm to the sky, regarding the moon as it slowly materialized within the endless blue void, then bowed, as if in prayer.

“My queen, the Seeker lives. It walks among the Autobots.”

Thousands upon thousands of miles away, his message was heard. Luna-Two, one of Cybertron’s moons, was left long-dormant as a result of the war. On that moon sat Garrus-One, a maximum security prison, where prisoners once spent their days endlessly mining for energon crystals. And within Garrus-One was a hive. Webbing weaved through the halls, into the ceilings, and across the floors. Insecticons that numbered in the hundreds skittered through the prison like an infestation of roaches. Clicks and screeches echoed through the cells like a symphony of chaos, and at the center of it all sat the security office. This was where the glorious queen of the Insecticons made her home.

Airachnid sat lazily in the plush office chair, her optics glazing over the various, glowing monitors. Her loyal subjects were hard at work, mining crystals to power their generators as well as themselves. But, most importantly, just outside of the prison, they busied themselves in repairing an escape pod. With what little she could scrap together on this wasteland of a moon, she was nowhere near her goal of escaping the moon’s atmosphere. But, unlike her, the Insecticons hard outer shells provided enough protection to enter and exist a planet’s atmosphere and come out with little to no damage. This meant that she could send drones to and from Cybertron without issue, but it was a slow journey from point A to point B.

Thankfully, their minds never seemed far out of her reach. She smiled as her drone’s voice graced her processor. “What an interesting development. I didn’t think the Autobots would be so foolish as to actually heal that meddlesome leech. Let alone allow him to walk among them.”

“The Seeker is blind, my queen. His optics are empty, and he is helpless.”

Airachnid giggled with a wicked smile. “Blind? At least I’m not the only one strapped for parts. Keep an eye on dear Starscream, would you? His foolishness may prove advantageous for our future.”

“As you command, my queen.”

Airachnid sighed and chuckled to herself once again. “Poor, poor Starscream...You surely intend to bite the hand which feeds you. Hopefully not before Soundwave can fix your communication beacon. After all, I can’t rule Cybertron without a fleet of loyal subjects…”

Suddenly, a new voice came into her mind. “My queen, my queen! One of your scouts has returned!”

“Excellent.” Airachnid stood and exited the security room. Outside the door was an iron walkway that overlooked the cell blocks below. She placed her servos onto the railing and spread them wide with an expectant smirk. The scout in question walked across the floor with it’s arms full of clanking metal. Once it reached the center of the floor, marked by the logo for Garrus-One, it prostrated itself before her like a peon before a goddess. “My noble warrior, at last you return, safe and sound.”

Airachnid began walking across the catwalk, making her way to the stairs, allowing her servo to ghost behind her as she strode downwards. “Have you brought news among your gifts?”

“No, my queen. My road was long, and lonely. I am humbled and grateful to return to you.”

Airachnid could hardly contain her smile as she waltzed over to the front of the Insecticon. She raised her arms in a wide, upward motion. “Arise. Show me the fruits of your labor.”

The Insecticon crawled backwards, revealing the horde it had carried such a long distance, that it had shielded from the heat and cold of deep space with its own metallic carapace. But what lied on the ground was nothing but scrap. Torn, frayed wires, punctured metal, screws, bolts, and what remained of a funnel. Airachnid stooped down and picked up one of the screws, her smile swiftly fading into a furious grimace. She snarled and suddenly tossed the screw aside, then kicked what remained on the floor with a loud clatter. The Insecticons began to swarm, sensing the anger of their queen. The poor drone before her curled into a tight ball, but his helm remained upward, locked onto her fiery gaze.

“What is this slag!?” Airachnid shouted, indignantly. “You dare waste my time with this trash!? I need whole parts! Wires, navigational systems, levers! Circuits! What am I to do with this!?”

“I-I’m sorry, my queen! I will go back, I will find better parts! I promise! Please, I will never disappoint you again!”

Airachnid shook her helm with a heavy sigh, looking at her drone with discontentment. She knelt down, only to lift the Insecticon up by his helm, with her servos gently placed beneath its mandibles. “I know you won’t…” She stroked its forehelm, and the Insecticon sighed, lowering into her touch. It closed its optics for what would be the last time, as Airachnid’s mandibles opened with a hiss. The long, spiked, purple siphon that replaced her glossa shot out from her intake and latched itself onto the Insecticon’s throat cabling.

In thick, greedy gulps, energon flowed into Airachnid’s tank. Hot, fresh, and pungent. A taste unlike any other, a sensation as addictive as a circuit booster. Airachnid drank from her once-loyal subject until she was sucking on a dry, shriveled fuel line. When her vile proboscis detached itself, the Insecticon fell to the ground in a heap, and Airachnid wiped her lips with the back of her servo. She bathed in the afterglow of a fresh kill for as long as it would last. And once it passed, she hissed to herself.

Her numbers were dwindling. Though energon existed in spades here, she could hardly stomach a drop of it, unless it came from a source as pure as a beating spark. Though she managed to keep the stuff down on a few occasions, it was never enough to satisfy her. Time was running out. She snapped her helm to an unfortunate Insecticon who had just entered from a neighboring hallway, and she pointed to it. “You. Go to Cybertron, bring back supplies for my escape pod. And do not fail me.”

The Insecticon trembled, but nodded. “Yes, my queen.”

As it scrambled out of the prison, Airachnid sighed and regarded the corpse she had created with a sneer. She kicked what remained of the useless scrap with a grunt, then stomped back to her throne. Cybertron would not slip from her digits again, and with Primus as her witness, she would have the heads of every last Autobot on her mantle by the end of the year. And Arcee’s would be the ultimate prize.

Chapter Text

Ultra Magnus, Starscream, and Smokescreen strode out from the elevator, back into the belly of the Nemesis. Ultra Magnus turned around to regard the two other bots, just as Starscream had slipped his sound-canceling headset from his helm and allowed it to sit around his neck. “Starscream, Knockout requested you visit the med bay for a private examination. Considering your frequent...let’s call them ‘episodes,’ I believe it’s in your best interest to take him up on his offer.”

Starscream’s wings raised. Knockout wanted to see him privately? This couldn’t be good. He hid the sudden rush of fear Ultra Magnus had just given him by crossing his arms. “A-And if I refuse this ‘offer?”

Ultra Magnus raised a brow ridge and folded his servos behind his back. His silence spoke volumes.

“That’s what I thought.” Starscream sighed and shifted, weighing his leverage, then gestured towards Smokescreen. “May I at least request Smokescreen be present?”

“That will be between you and Knockout. Personally, I don’t see any harm in it. Smokescreen, you’re dismissed until the Vehicons arrive. Once they do, I expect you to aid in gathering the energon and placing them into proper storage.”

Smokescreen stamped his pede and slapped the side of his servo to his forehead in a firm salute. “Sir, yes, sir!”

Ultra Magnus nodded in approval and turned around. “At ease.” With that, he left the two alone to return to his office and determine what would be next on his to-do list. Not to mention to notate everything he had witnessed Starscream do on the upper deck.

Smokescreen turned to his companion with an empathetic smile. “Are you sure you want me to be there when you see Knockout? He did say it was a private examination. ‘Could get intimate.”

“Then I suppose you’ll learn a lot more about me than you ever dared to imagine.” Starscream began walking towards the med bay with an expression of feigned disinterest while Smokescreen suddenly looked horrified. “Besides, I highly doubt it actually needs to be private. I’m sure Knockout just wants me alone for a different reason.”

Smokescreen quirked his brow ridge as he kept pace with Starscream. “You’re making it sound like he’s planning to poison you or something.”

“Possibly.”

“You’re seriously considering that? Dude, come on.” Smokescreen chuckled. “He’s not gonna hurt you, he’s your doctor.”

Starscream turned his helm towards Smokescreen with a scowl. “That’s irrelevant. I’ve angered him, and I know what he’s capable of when he’s angry. I need you there to mediate.”

Smokescreen frowned, then sighed, realizing where this was going. “Starscream, I already told you, I’m not getting involved in this. If you think this is about last night, that’s between you and him. I’m not going.”

“Regardless, I-What?” Starscream stopped, shocked at the clear boundary Smokescreen had just erected. “You’re just going to leave me with him!?”

“Yeah,” Smokescreen said, leaning against the wall. “This isn’t my business, Screamer. If you go in there and you’re genuinely scared he’s going to hurt you, send me a comm. I’ll come running. If I don’t hear from you, you can just meet me outside when Bee and Arcee get back.”

Starscream scowled and stammered. “But--!”

“No ‘buts.” Smokescreen lowered his helm to deepen his scowl. “I’m not obligated to help you out with all of your problems just because you’re my friend.” He paused, realizing what he’d just said, and pushed himself away from the wall. Starscream’s expression shifted as well, but Smokescreen was unable to read it. ‘Scrap,’ he thought to himself. ‘I probably shouldn’t have said that.’ If admitting that out loud did anything, it likely wouldn’t be anything good. Starscream was quick to jump on weaknesses like that, and remembering that made his spark tighten with anxiety. “Just...go see Knockout. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

Starscream’s helm follow the sound of Smokescreen’s pedfalls with an empty, yet shocked expression. The new title he’d been given echoed in his processor: friend. He honestly didn’t expect to earn that so soon, if he was ever going to earn that at all. Starscream should have been happy at such a confirmation, but he genuinely couldn’t shake the surprise long enough to feel anything positive. He just felt empty. Still, this was something to keep note of for later use. Whenever that may be.

Starscream scoffed and turned on his heel, deciding that, as usual, it was better to be angry than empty. “Some friend you are, leaving me to that glittering sociopath.”

Once he reached the med bay, he stood outside the door and fidgeted with his digits in apprehension. He wasn’t sure what Knockout had in store for him, but he couldn’t imagine it was anything pleasant. When it came to being punished, Starscream was used to Megatron being the one to dish it out. And though he found the experience far from enjoyable, it was at least familiar. Knockout was something new and frightening. He had medical expertise. He had circular saws hidden behind his servos. He gleefully dissected the corpse of his conjux, even as it screamed in agony. Starscream swallowed and his tank clenched as his anxiety rose. The only thing that prevented him from running to his room to hide was, ironically, remembering Smokescreen’s promise. ‘Send me a comm. I’ll come running.’

He took a deep breath to steel himself and finally stepped through the doors of the med bay. Knockout was inside, of course, ominously polishing various instruments. Starscream could hear it whenever he put one down. Tink. Tink. Tink. But what Starscream didn’t know was that these weren’t scalpels or blades of any kind; they were merely various cosmetic tools that Knockout was tidying up to avoid wax build up. The doctor whose alignment was yet to be determined turned to look at Starscream and forced a smile, which was unnecessary. “Ah, there you are. I imagine that the headset was a success?”

Starscream nodded and stepped over to the examination table as he had done hundreds of times before, then took a seat, facing Knockout with a frown. “What do you want?” He asked, cutting to the chase.

Knockout frowned as well and leaned against his desk. “Well...I had this whole speech planned up-” He did not. He tried, but he didn’t. “-But, honestly, you know I’m not one for words. I’m a mech of action.” He picked up one of his buffers and Starscream flinched. Noticing this, Knockout’s next words caught in his intake and he looked Starscream over with a raised brow ridge. “Starscream, is something the matter?”

“You won’t get away with this, you know. If you lay a scratch on me, Smokescreen will come to my aid!” Starscream barked, already tensing his legs in preparation to make a run for it.

Knockout blinked, then smirked in confusion and let out a small chuckle. “Primus, Starscream. You think I brought you here to torture you? No, as fun as that would be, that wasn’t the reason I called you in. Here, feel.” Knockout presented the buffer to Starscream, who, after a moment of deliberation, began to explore the device with his digits. “See? It’s just a buffer. I’m offering to rectify my wrong by giving you a proper buffing session. I’ll remove the glitter and give you a matte finish. What do you say?”

Starscream croaked in utter bafflement, continuing to ghost his digits over the buffer for a moment longer to ensure it wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him. He wished he could see Knockout’s face, not that it would reveal much of his inner workings, but it would at least give him a better chance at an educated guess towards his true intentions. Unfortunately, he had to rely on Knockout’s word alone, which wasn’t something he’d come to hold in high esteem. “...Why?”

Knockout placed the buffer aside and hopped up to sit on top of his desk. “Because I want to make peace, even if you won’t.” He frowned, dusting off his thighs with the back of a servo. “Last night was...not my finest hour. Even if I was rightfully cross with you for what you said about Breakdown and I, that didn’t give me an excuse to put you on the spot. I nearly ruined Soundwave’s movie night because of that. So…” He took in a deep breath and let it out, slow enough that Starscream could feel it dance over his wings. “...This is my way of saying ‘sorry.”

Starscream’s brow knitted itself tighter on his forehelm. Knockout was apologizing? To him? He normally demanded this sort of behavior from people, but to actually witness someone act upon it was a different beast entirely. Was Knockout attempting to suck up to him? Lure him into a false sense of security? There was no reality currently in existence where Starscream would take an apology at face value, especially one from a mech such as Knockout. Any other day, he would have already made a haughty display of himself and said something like ‘it’s about time!’ But the disconnect between believing someone is going to kill you and that same person revealing they want to give you a manicure is quite a steep one.

As Starscream’s silence dragged on, Knockout decided now was as good a time as any to clarify himself. “Don’t let this get to your head. I’m making the choice to forgive you for my own sake, not yours.” Starscream’s confusion changed shape, but he remained confused nonetheless, opening his intake to speak before Knockout swiftly silenced him again. “If you think that makes your earlier outburst okay, you’re more hopeless than I thought. All this is is me burying the hatchet so that I can move on. You can take the guilt, if it even exists, to your grave for all I care.” Knockout turned his buffer over in his servos with a cold, vacant smile. “So, are you going to let me un-bedazzle you or what?”

Starscream closed his intake and hummed, flatly. So, his intentions were ultimately selfish. What a surprise. Still, Starscream felt odd about the whole situation. Everything he thought he should feel, he found to be inverted. Apathy was replaced by gratitude, relief with anxiety, and happiness with a general sense of hollowness. Not unlike what he’d felt when Smokescreen had called him his ‘friend.’ It had been an exceedingly odd day, and his mind had gone through a lot. It was better not to question these strange, paradoxical emotions; if only to save himself from a needless headache. He rubbed his arm in a way that could only be seen as bashful, despite his tight expression. “...Very well.”

“Good. Lie back, I’ll make this quick.”

Starscream complied without any fanfare, positioning himself flat on his back with his limps slightly spread to give Knockout easy access to his plating. The buffer whirred to life and Starscream tightened his lips in anticipation for its landing place, which ended up being his chassis. Knockout ran the rotary buffer back and forth, removing all evidence of his shimmering misdeeds. The room was silent, save for the sound of the motor whirring. At first it wasn’t too terrible, but as the minutes dragged on it became incredibly painful for the both of them. The activity was too intimate for a pair that had just vocally resigned themselves to avoiding each other like the plague.

After about twelve uninterrupted minutes, both of them cracked and spoke simultaneously:

“So! How did your exposure therapy-”

“Does this mean that-”

“...Sorry, you-”

“Nevermind-”

It got worse. Knockout reset his vocalizer to shake off the awkwardness and switched to a smaller buffer to work at Starscream’s servos. “This isn’t going by as quickly as I’d hoped. I suppose I’m nothing if not a perfectionist,” Knockout said with a chuckle.

“You really didn’t think this through, did you?” Starscream asked, resisting the urge to grimace.

“Nope, not at all…” He sighed. “I just really wanted to get this over with. I was getting really sick of thinking about it, wondering how best to go about apologizing in a way that would soften your spark and reveal a whole new perspective to you. You would’ve cried. Maybe there would be a little cherub to toot a horn after I finished, I don’t know.”

Starscream chaffed and raised a brow ridge, swiftly falling into familiar banter. “And a bunch of birds would fly in to perch atop your delicate little digits? I, quite literally, cannot see it.”

Knockout chuckled, but it turned sad. “Me neither...I’m not wise or emotionally-savvy enough for that. Never have been.”

Starscream frowned, almost reflecting on what he’d said about Knockout and Breakdown, but forcing himself to toss the memory aside. Clearly his words had had the impact he wanted. That was a victory, wasn’t it? Knockout released Starscream’s servo and moved onto his legs with a thoughtful, yet tired hum.

“We’re a terrible pair, you know?” Knockout laughed dryly, lacking any mirth. “We fall into this pattern far too easily.”

“What pattern?”

“I swear you off, you come back into my life, we talk, we joke, I start to feel like you respect me, we get into an argument, and then you remind me why I swore you off in the first place. Repeat, repeat, repeat.” He rolled his optics. “It’s exhausting.”

Starscream’s frown deepened, and he snuffed the shame he felt by replacing it with annoyance. “You say that as if you’re not the one who chooses to speak to me.”

“But I’m not, though, am I? You’re the one who comes back like nothing happened. I’m just the sucker who keeps falling for it and hoping that this time it will be better. And it never is.” Knockout scowled, suddenly, but didn’t let his anger interfere with his work. “That’s precisely why I need to end the cycle. I just hope Smokescreen wisens up to your tricks before he gets caught up in it, too.” Starscream tensed. “I can tell he cares about you, and I know you’re not stupid enough to not realize that, too.”

Starscream scowled and rolled onto his side, allowing Knockout access to his back. “Of course I’m not stupid enough to see that. But my inter-personal life is none of your business.”

“Exactly. After this, you’re none of my business. Past being my patient, of course.”

Starscream frowned again, far more comfortably now that he was facing away from the medic. He knew that this was a bridge he had burned. In fact, by now he had burned it so many times it was a wonder it was still walkable. He’d managed to push past those embers several times in the past, finding new ways to weasel himself across. But getting confirmation in no uncertain terms that he would never be able to walk that path again, that was what weighed his spark downward. This relationship, whatever it was, was over.

Knockout made quick work of the rest of Starscream’s frame, his delicate touch now completely gone. “There, you’re done. You can trust me on that, this time.” He placed his buffer down on his desk with a clatter that was a bit heavier than he’d intended, and Starscream jolted. Knockout paused a moment, then sighed, rubbing his face with a servo to chase away the wave of lethargy that had just washed over him. “...For what it’s worth, I was-I am sorry for humiliating you like that. I would have gladly apologized to you, but then you went and did what you always do. You dug the knife in, and you twisted it.”

“I didn’t want your apology,” Starscream bit back, hopping off the medical berth. But he didn’t walk away, he just stood with his back to Knockout, making a show of dusting himself off. “And this changes nothing. I don’t forgive you, not for the glitter, and not for your last-minute switch to the enemy’s side. I likely never will.”

“Shocker,” Knockout said, flatly, already busying himself with cleaning off his waxing kit. “If you’re trying to get me to take it back, it won’t work,” he said, reading the Seeker like an open book. “Keep looking for a reason to be angry at me, though. And if you find it, tell someone else about it. It’ll loop back to me eventually.”

Starscream’s wings drooped and he crossed his arms, if only to feel like he had a hold of something. His brows creaked and his frown cracked in a childish display of dissatisfaction. He couldn’t even squeeze a hateful remark out of Knockout, now. Anything to make him feel like he was in the right. But of course he was in the right! He always was. Always.

Always.

Starscream’s spark sank, remembering the tone of Knockout’s voice when he had thoroughly verbally abused him. Get fragged. It bounced around with the memory of when he’d first arrived like a cruel game of table-tennis, flashing back and forth with a clatter.

“ I need the med bay open, Starscream. If there’s something else you need, ask for it now or be on your way,” Knockout stated with a cold professionalism.

Starscream swallowed, thickly. “...Knockout, I-” The words caught in his intake and he choked on them, making dry little sounds. The seeds of an apology, spilling out onto frozen winter soil. Worthless. Knockout raised a brow ridge and looked at Starscream. He was grateful that Starscream wouldn’t see how expectant he looked. But before anything could come of nothing, they both received a comm from a cheerful, yellow car.

“Hey, we’re back, safe and sound! And we need all hands on deck to carry in all this energon!”

Starscream cleared his throat and immediately made a B-line for the door. “I’ll see you later,” Starscream stammered out, pretending that was what he had been struggling to say for several seconds. Knockout sighed and looked back to his tools with a disapproving shake of his helm.

“You’re nothing if not predictable.”

Starscream followed the sounds of pedfalls over to the side door of the Nemesis, and preemptively placed his sound-canceling headset back over his audials. He had a surprisingly easy time avoiding collisions with the many mechs in attendance, and when the doors opened, he slowed to take in the new air. It had a different flavor, so to speak, to what he’d experienced on the upper deck. It was denser; his wings moved through it like a warm oil bath, but the sun had begun to set. The wind had cooled.

Starscream carefully made his way down the ramp and dug his heel struts into the ground once he felt it beneath him. Instantly, he felt a barrage of information being communicated through his struts, and he made a face, as if disgusted by it. Ground vehicles rolled in. One, two, five, ten? Ten. Two of those had to be Bumblebee and Arcee. He lifted his digits to the dial on his headset and turned it up a few clicks, allowing himself to put voices to voids.

“-Wasn’t too bad. But we did see something strange,” Bumblebee said. Starscream could assume who he was talking to even before he spoke.

“What was it?” Ultra Magnus said.

“Claw marks,” Arcee replied, as serious as ever. “We’re not sure what left them, but they were big.”

“Requesting: image. Soundwave: analyze threat.” Soundwave said. Apparently he had decided to come out to help, too. Maybe he didn’t realize that Bumblebee had requested ‘hands’ and not ‘tentacles.’ He tapped the side of his helm with one of those tentacles. “Massive database. Easy to identify. Cross reference.”

“Sorry, Soundwave. We don’t have cameras built in like you do,” Bumblebee relented with a sorry smile.

“Probably not the best idea to linger there, either,” Arcee offered.

“Soundwave: has a solution that does not require back-tracking. However, it is invasive. Cortical psychic patch. I get an image, nothing more.”

“Abso-fragging-lutely not.”

Soundwave shrugged. “Not a command. Only a suggestion. Ultra Magnus: requesting input.”

The officer grumbled. “No, I think not, Soundwave. For the sake of privacy, I’ll request Wheeljack go out to get you an image of those claw marks.”

“Soundwave: requesting leave. I will travel with Wheeljack. Feel wind beneath wings. Have a treat.”

Bumblebee snorted. “A treat, huh? You think you’ve earned a treat already?”

“Observation: I have made great progress. Electrical faults have been identified and will be neutralized by the end of the day. I was a-” Ratchet’s voice cut into his sentence: -”Model patient.’ As well. Conclusion: Two treats. But I am open to bargain.”

Starscream scoffed and walked away to avoid the wafting stench of camaraderie. Of course Soundwave was never given a chaperon. Of course Soundwave had free roam of the ship. But the blind mech had to be kept under tight watch at all times, as if he were an ever-present threat! Perhaps he should find it in his spark to be flattered by that, if only to offset his jealousy. He found himself in the center of a well of voices, all gathered around what he would find to be one of the larger vehicons, dragging a trailer full of energon cubes behind them in their alt mode. A gigantic set of servos whirred, handing out a cube to anyone willing to grab it.

Bulkhead divvied out the energon cubes with a smile while Wheeljack hopped in and out of the trailer, gathering some of his own and placing them on top of a trolley. When Starscream approached, Wheeljack raised a brow and stopped in his work. He strode over to the Seeker and flashed a mean smirk. “Well, look who’s outside without a leash?”

Bulkhead paused as well, hopping out of the trailer and walking over them both. “Hey, Starscream! Uh…” He looked around in confusion, searching for Smokescreen. “Yeah, what are you doing out here by yourself?”

Starscream crossed his arms and fanned his digits against his arm plating as if playing a set of ivory keys. “Ask Smokescreen, he was supposed to meet me out here after I got my physical.”

“You look worse,” Wheeljack chaffed. “Much less sparkly.”

Starscream hummed angrily and outstretched his servos, deciding not to dignify Wheeljack with a response. “Are you going to give me a cube, or not?”

“No offense, but, I think we got it,” Bulkhead said with his servo raised. “You’ve done enough bringing us to this stash already, just go relax, okay?”

Starscream deepened his frown to chase off any flattery he might have felt at that comment. “Forgive me for framing that as a request. Hand me a cube, Bulkhead.”

Bulkhead frowned and scratched the back of his helm. “Well, I’d like to, but...you know, you’re…”

“Blind as a bat, as humans say,” Wheeljack interjected. “Listen, it’s real sweet of you to try and help, but the brass ordered this energon inside in one piece.”

“And you think me incapable?” Starscream sensed a challenge, and his wings raised.

“If that’s the word you wanna use, Stilettos.”

“Jackie, come on,” Bulkhead said with a tired sigh. “Quit tryin’ to get a rise out of him. He’s been a big help.”

Starscream smirked, sensing an opportunity to put Wheeljack in his place. He folded his servos behind his back, tightened his wings, and moved to walk between the gap he felt between them. As he successfully made the pass, he took the time to speak directly into Wheeljack’s audial with a turn of his helm. “Listen to your friend, Jackie.” Wheeljack and Bulkhead instinctively jumped out of the way to give Starscream room, though from an onlooker’s perspective, it would simply look as if Starscream had frightened Wheeljack into stepping aside. “If you want to keep the energon coming, that is.”

Wheeljack scowled at Starscream as he made his way to the back of the trailer, and he angrily whispered out of the corner of his intake towards Bulkhead. “How long are you gonna keep up this nice act, Bulk?”

“I already told ya: just as long as Starscream does. Besides...he hasn’t really done anything bad lately.”

“Yeah. Lately.”

Bulkhead frowned. “War’s over, Jackie. It’s okay to be upset, just don’t cause trouble where there is none, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s what Starscream’s for.” Wheeljack nodded towards the trailer, just as Starscream’s pedes disappeared into it. “Are you gonna stop him, or am I?”

Starscream climbed into the trailer and felt at the wall beside him. He could almost feel the blue glow on his plates, and he smiled at the fruits of his labor. Or rather, Arcee and Bumblebee’s labor...No, his labor sounded better. It had been hard work getting them to trust him as much as they had, this far. Even if most of this was the result of a series of happy accidents. Starscream took a few steps forward, following the shape of the remaining cubes, when he was suddenly hit with a hideous smell. It was sour. Copperish, with a hint of citrus. Filthy pennies, soaking in vinegar and lime. His pedes curled and he coughed, waving a servo in front of his face just to break up the stagnant air.

“Primus, what is that?” He said to no one in particular, but Bulkhead was just outside of the trailer to answer.

“What’s what?”

Starscream jolted in surprise and turned with a glare. “That smell.”

Bulkhead sniffed a few times, then shrugged. “I don’t smell anything. Hey, could you come outta there? Again, thanks for offering to help, really, but we got this.”

Starscream raised his helm in defiance and rested his servos on his hips with a ‘hmph.’ He then braved the deathly air and walked to the back of the trailer, where he stooped down and fanned his servos over a cube of energon. After determining that it wasn’t below another, or was load-bearing in some other sense, he picked it up in both servos and walked back towards the entrance of the trailer. “I know where the storage room is.”

“Starscream, don’t be difficult-” Starscream hopped down out of the trailer and Bulkhead gasped, nearly lunging to catch him, only for the Seeker to land securely on his feet. Starscream smirked.

“I think you’re the one being difficult, here, Bulkhead.” Suddenly, the cube was taken from his hands and he whirled around to face the thief. “Hey!”

Smokescreen chuckled, announcing his presence in a way that made Starscream jump. “Sorry I’m late, Starscream. Looks like you’re still in one piece!”

Starscream scowled and crossed his arms with a huff. “No thanks to you,” he muttered.

Smokescreen rolled his optics and frowned. “Yeah, that was the point​. Glad you picked up on that.” He looked up at Bulkhead and plastered a smile back onto his face. “Starscream’s been getting better at moving around on his own. He just wants to test himself, right?” He returned his gaze back to the Seeker, but Starscream said nothing, still looking off into whatever section of inky blackness he knew they didn’t reside in. Smokescreen’s reintroduction to his day made him uncomfortable, as odd as it was to admit. Perhaps he just craved some solitude, or perhaps Smokescreen’s refusal to protect him earlier still stung? It was likely both.

“I can see that,” Bulkhead said, still surprised at how confidently Starscream had leapt from the storage container. “I mean, I guess so long as you’re here to make sure he doesn’t get hurt, he could—”

“Forget it,” Starscream said with a flippant toss of his servo. He began marching back to the Nemesis with an irritated flutter of his wings. “I’m going back inside. It’s not like I’m needed here, anyway.” Smokescreen’s smile swiftly faded as he watched Starscream leave. He sighed and looked down at the energon cube in his servos, until Bulkhead pulled his gaze towards him by laying his servo on his shoulder.

“Hey, you holdin’ up alright, buddy?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Things are just kinda weird between Starscream and I right now, but I’ve got him under control!” Smokescreen forced a grin, then blinked, which triggered a look of horror on his face. “Oh, scrap...If Ultra Magnus sees me without him I’m gonna be in so much trouble!” He turned to leave, but Bulkhead grabbed his shoulder to keep him in place.

“Woah, hold on, there. You didn’t answer my question: how are you holdin’ up?”

Smokescreen looked at Bulkhead in confusion and tilted his helm. “I’m…” He sighed. “I could be better. Stressed, I guess.” He shrugged. “I dunno…” It wasn’t as if Smokescreen was going to readily admit he had called, let alone considered, Starscream the ‘F’ word. He could already tell that little slip up had added some completely-avoidable tension between them. Or, it could be his boundary with Knockout; which in that case Starscream would just have to get over it.

“Sounds like you need a break,” Bulkhead said with a hearty pat to Smokescreen’s shoulder. “I’ll talk with Ultra Magnus, make it sound like I really twisted your arm to get you to go off-duty.” He winked with a smile. “He’ll buy it. Just take an hour or two to clear your head.”

“Really?” Smokescreen smiled up at Bulkhead. “But, I don’t want you getting a lecture for my sake.”

“Psh.” Bulkhead flipped a servo, flippantly. “Don’t sweat it. I’m a hardened veteran when it comes to getting lectured by upper management. Just ask Ratchet. I’ll be fine.”

Smokescreen chuckled, relaxing and incredibly grateful for the opportunity to re-center himself. “Thanks, Bulk. I owe you one. I’ll help carry the energon in.”

Unbeknownst to the two of them, however, Wheeljack had been keeping an optic on their conversation, but not an audial. He was just waiting long enough for them to be fully engrossed, so that the sight of him pushing the cartful of energon just barely within their periphery into the Nemesis would be brushed off as nothing out of the ordinary. When Wheeljack got past the threshold of the Nemesis’ door, he pushed the cart along towards the energon storage area, but let his servos glide off its handle once he caught sight of a pair of grey wings disappearing down the hall. The cart rolled gently forward until it bounced off a wall with a small ‘tink,’ and Wheeljack kept it at his back without a second thought. Someone else would get it; he had places to be.

Starscream removed his headset and flicked his wings to shake off some excess anxiety that was nagging at his spinal strut. Despite how little he wanted to run through the events of the day in his processor, the data rolled by nonetheless. He’d had another episode, he’d earned more of Smokescreen’s trust than he originally imagined, and was then swiftly betrayed by him. Knockout had apologized, gave Starscream a proper buffing, and then quickly tossed him to the curb, as well. And, he discovered the humble beginnings of how far his ‘sight’ could reach (accuracy pending further review). Let’s focus on that one, that one feels like progress. And it didn’t cause him a headache when he thought about it too long.

He reached into his subspace and pulled out the rubber ball he had purloined from an unsuspecting Vehicon. He palmed it in one servo, examining its texture and weight as he attempted to surmise the best place to begin testing his reflexes. As memories of various rooms came to mind, Starscream finally settled on the one place he was sure most of the Autobots didn’t dare to claim as a berthroom. He would honestly be shocked if any of them even dared step foot into it for more than a solemn minute: The interrogation room.

Starscream made his way to the opposite side of the ship. It was a path he knew well. Walking this way would feel like visiting an old friend, if he hadn’t found himself on the slab several times in the past. But the mixture of good and bad memories at least equaled out into neutrality towards the whole thing. As he expected, the halls leading to the room were as quiet and cold as ever. He couldn’t confirm it, but it even felt dark. Starscream chuckled in dark amusement as his digit found the keypad to open the door. “My, you haven’t aged a day. I wonder if any of my old toys are still here?” He was doubtful, especially upon finding that the door no longer required a passcode.

Sadly, as he stepped inside, the room felt emptier than he remembered. He paced the room in its entirety, finding no chattering chains, electric prods, vats of acid, or any of his other trinkets. Well, his digit did graze a weapon rack, but all that he found attached to it was a small knife designed for skinning protomesh. He could tell by the curve of the blade, and the many teeth that lined its edge. Boring. Starscream always preferred the flashier torture methods, but electric prods required so little clean up it felt like a no-brainer in comparison to slashing and chopping away at a subject. That was for the grand finale. Starscream’s claws tingled.

As sad as it was to find his old stomping grounds nearly completely emptied, it was also to his advantage. He tossed the rubber ball in his servo a few times, listening to how it echoed against his palm in the large room. With every bounce, he measured the space, and his wings drank in the circumference of the room with ease, especially in comparison to the outside. Once he felt like he had a firm grasp of the floor plan, he took in a deep breath and pulled his arm back. If he was going to make it out of here alive, he would need to learn to be swift. He scowled and tightened his grip on the ball, then swung his arm forward with a grunt, letting it fly into the wall several feet in front of him.

ZWOOP! The ball whizzed past Starscream’s audial, forcing a high-pitched yelp out of him as he instinctively shielded himself with the entire length of his arms. The ball zapped around the room with alarming determination to continue bouncing despite Starscream’s continued squawks of protest begging it to consider the alternative. As he continued shielding himself at various angles, it looked as though he were performing some sort of interpretive dance routine. Once the ball finally ceased its percussive reign of terror, Starscream let out a sigh of relief that evolved into a groan of annoyance. “Alright. Too hard.”

He picked up the ball once again and bounced it in his palm in a way that, if it could feel, it would know to interpret as a threat. He tossed the ball at the wall again with much less force, and the ball bounced back towards him with much less gusto than before. In the sea of blackness, he felt the shift against the plane of his wings like a ripple of water, and he stepped to the side. When he felt it travel past him and bounce against the opposite wall, he smiled. But his attempt to step past its second bounce was unsuccessful, and the ball collided with the Decepticon insignia he still wore on his chassis. It fell to the floor with an anti-climactic series of thuds, and Starscream scowled. “Ugh, focus!”

Once more, he grabbed the ball and tossed it, stepping aside preemptively, which he realized completely nullified the point of this exercise only milliseconds after he did so. But when it bounced back this time, its trajectory was cut short with a dense ‘pock.’ Starscream whirled around to investigate, and Wheeljack’s voice slipped into the room like a snake. “Hey, Screamer. Playing ball all by yourself?” Wheeljack, who had caught the ball, inspected it in his servo, then tossed it back and forth with himself in a casual manner.

Starscream gawked and paled, instinctively skittering back towards one of the far corners like an insect exposed to light. Still, he forced a smile and giggled in a mockery of composure. “Wh-Wheeljack! I-er-you startled me! What brings you here?”

“I followed ya,” Wheeljack said with a mean smirk. “Wanted to chat. You got a minute?” He continued tossing the ball between his servos, adding just enough force to it that Starscream could hear it echoing out like a ticking clock.

Starscream swallowed and adjusted his posture in an attempt to hide his fear, but his drooping wings said it all. “I may...Does...Bulkhead know you’re here?”

Wheeljack made an amused sound. “No. Why? Do you think he’s going to protect you again?” Starscream’s guise fell like a house of cards and he began to tiptoe towards the exit, but Wheeljack stepped into his path, forcing him to circle towards the longer route. “You might’ve been right, if he were here. I love the big guy, but seeing him falling into this whole ‘power of friendship’ charade with everyone else? It’s botherin’ me. I think he’s gone a little too soft...You wanna know why he’s bein’ so nice to you, Stilettos?”

Starscream’s path to the exit was interrupted once again as Wheeljack cut through it like a shark sizing up its prey. Starscream walked back towards his corner and his spark whirled as he realized that if he wanted to get out of this, he might just have to make a run for it. And the chances of that succeeding were incredibly low. If he tried to call for help, Wheeljack would surely put a stop to it. If he tried to fight, he would lose. He was at Wheeljack’s mercy, for whatever he had planned.

“He told me it’s because whenever he looks at that ugly, skinny mug of yours, he can’t help but think about time he met one of your clones.”

Starscream paused. “M-My clones? But, how did--?”

“He got stuck on the Nemesis at some point. Your clone was there. The two of them got into a little...disagreement. And Bulkhead pounded the spark out of him.” Wheeljack bounced the ball on the floor, sharply, and caught it. Starscream jumped at the sound. “Bulkhead’s killed a lot of ‘Cons, but never like that. Never that personal. And when you slithered back onto this ship with your eyes gouged out and your face nearly peeled off...he said you were the spittin’ image of your twin. Half the time he can barely look at ya.”

Starscream’s tank churned, remembering the splitting pain in his helm. The crushing blows, and the way they echoed across his entire frame. The weight on his chassis, forcing him to vent outward. “That was Bulkhead?”

“You goin’ deaf, too?” Wheeljack stood in front of him, a mere few feet away, tossing the ball in one servo. “Yeah, that was Bulkhead. Now, he feels real bad about what he did to your clone, and he’d rather avoid havin’ to do that again...And it’s got me wonderin’ if he would feel the same way if he’d spent a few hours in this room, chained down, with you.”

Starscream stammered and trembled, his wings vibrating at his sides as he shrunk down to appear less threatening. “Wheeljack! Please, that was so long ago! I-I would never do such a thing to Bulkhead! Or you, now! The war is over, and we can all move on! Right?” When he no longer heard the ball bouncing, Starscream’s spark thudded in his chassis and he folded his servos together with a smile. “You seem like a reasonable mech! You must be tired of all this bickering, this violence! I-I’d be more than happy to make it up to you in some way, just say the word!”

“...I wanna settle the score.”

Starscream’s spark froze for what felt like several seconds. Predaking flashed in his mind, manifesting like a demon sent straight from the Pit. The dark could not save him. Nothing could save him. “W-Wait…” Starscream’s knees rattled together and he took several steps back, nearly colliding with the corner.

“C’mon, I’ll make it real easy on ya. Just give me one good swing, and we’ll call it even. Nice and quick, for old time’s sake.” Wheeljack rolled his shoulders, taking a step forward, only for his optics to gaze down at the ball in his servo once more. He chuckled, getting an evil little idea, and took a step back to get some distance. Starscream stood perfectly in place for him. He was putting on that familiar, pathetic act that Wheeljack had come to hate more than anything else. A perfect target.

Wheeljack pulled his arm back, locking it like a catapult, before throwing his full weight into his pitch. The ball flew towards Starscream’s helm like a bullet. His wings swung upwards. Time slowed, and a fire ignited in Starscream’s pedes, as well as his thruster. With a loud bang, his thruster tossed him off to the side, narrowly avoiding the projectile that was careening towards him. He nearly fell to his knees, but managed to scramble back to a standing position. For a split second, he felt relieved, even proud to have managed to avoid his punishment. But he quickly realized that this would come with an immediate consequence. This may have been his last mistake.

Wheeljack blinked and exclaimed. “What th-!?” The ball silenced him by colliding squarely into the center of his face plate, then back into the corner, onto the tip of his pede, and then sharply upwards, into his chin. He stumbled backwards, holding his servos over his face. “Augh! Fuck!” He sucked his dentae and shook his helm, sniffing to reset his olfactory sensors. Once he managed to shake off the shock, he growled and turned towards Starscream with a burning rage in his optics.

But before Wheeljack could counter, Starscream held up his servos in surrender, his face warped with fear. “W AIT! Don’t, please, don’t do this !” He suffered a stabilizer failure and dropped to his knees before Wheeljack, folding his servos tightly together as he plead. “ Please, I’ll do anything! Just don’t kill me, please!” He planted his forehelm on the ground, trembling like a leaf in a storm and whimpering incoherently. “D-Do what you must, just...I beg you, spare my spark!”

Wheeljack stared down at the pathetic display with his intake slightly agape. He appeared disgusted, and took a step back to avoid the probability of Starscream gripping at his ankles. As he stared down at the thin, grey mech, he attempted to regain his snarl, but couldn’t hold it for more than a second. As much as he hated Starscream’s weak, feeble, victim act...if that’s what he was doing, it was working. Wheeljack sighed, shame beginning to eat away at him from the bottom of his chassis to the tip of his helm. What was he doing, picking a fight with such a pathetic, sniveling, blind mech? “...Get up.”

Starscream paused, lifting his helm slightly as confusion intertwined with his fear. “What?”

“Get up.” Wheeljack crouched down and gripped Starscream by the shoulders, earning a small yelp. Once he was back on his feet, Wheeljack walked over to where the bouncing ball ended up and crouched down to retrieve it. “Primus,” he muttered to himself, leaving Starscream standing alone and fidgeting with his digits in fretful confusion. The blade of the guillotine hadn’t dropped yet, but he was sure that was just delaying the inevitable. Maybe it wasn’t too late to make a run for it? Or had the time he’d taken to consider that cause him miss his chance?

Wheeljack turned the ball over in his servos, obviously finding nothing amiss with the sphere. He lowered his brows in confusion and sniffed, wiping his face with the back of his free servo. “How did you manage to dodge that?”

Starscream tapped his claws together and shifted, not sure how to go about this line of questioning. He didn’t think he was going to be questioned. “I-I...felt it?” He shrugged and chuckled, nervously with a little twitch of his wings. “It’s sort of difficult to explain, Wheeljack.”

“Huh.” Wheeljack stared at Starscream for a short while, contemplating. “So, you were testing the limits, eh?” Starscream nodded. “Well, dodging is one thing, but catching it would really teach ya a thing or two.” He tossed the ball in his hand a few times and walked backwards as he did so. “Let’s try it.”

“Pardon?” Starscream’s smile twisted from the sheer pull of one of his brows. “Uh, not to question you, Wheeljack, but...didn’t you just--?”

“Batter up!” Wheeljack interrupted and abruptly tossed the ball at Starscream. It whizzed past his helm and he flailed in shock, choking on a gasp. Wheeljack laughed in a subtly cruel way and retrieved the ball as it bounced back towards his hand. “Come on, Stilettos! You wanna test yourself? Then get the lead out!” He tossed the ball again and again while Starscream danced and jumped in place, squawking and stumbling to dodge it. “You’ve gotta catch it! Focus!”

Starscream snarled, quickly becoming annoyed with this new form of bullying. He’d rather just get a beating at this point; at least then he would have some scars to show for it! Then he could get out of this and get Wheeljack excommunicated for his cruelty. At this rate he would be lucky to get Wheeljack sent to time out. “I can’t, you slagger! You’re throwing it too fragging fast!”

“You think a rouge ‘Con coming to kick your tailpipe is going to slow down for your sake? Come on, eye of the tiger!” He laughed as he dove to catch the ball, managing to clasp it into one servo before it could touch the ground. He quickly clamored back to his feet and reeled back, continuing his barrage. Starscream’s brow furrowed with a fury, and he tossed out his own servos into the dark in a pathetic attempt to catch the ball. But he didn’t come close, it kept slipping past him, or bouncing off his wings, his chassis, his knee-pads. Never once did it grace his palms. “Focus, for Primus’ sake!”

Starscream lowered his servos and began to preoccupy himself with simply evading the barrage. He knew the only way this would stop was if Wheeljack got bored, or if he somehow managed to catch that accursed wad of rubber. Starscream exhaled, heavily, through his intake, squared his shoulders, and raised his servos with digits outstretched.

Wheeljack, noticing the Seeker’s new resolve, grinned and began focusing his fire around his target. Starscream dodged several more times, but in that time, he allowed all distractions to fade away, until all his remaining senses honed in on his target. His wings shuddered, and the ball came into focus, ricocheting at him like a bullet. His processor whirled and calculated its trajectory in a mere millisecond; it was headed right for the upper-right portion of his abdominal tubing. His breath hitched and his right palm snapped outwards, towards it.

A heavy thud echoed out from Starscream’s palm, and his digits clamped down like the teeth of an angler fish around the ball. His entire frame jolted with surprise, and Wheeljack froze as well. The room was silent, save for their cooling fans and heavy breaths. Starscream flexed his digits one after the other, then looked down towards his servo in utter disbelief. A smile began to grow steadily across his face, and he let out a breathless laugh. “I...I did it!” Wheeljack smiled as well, looking genuinely impressed. But before he could get in a word, Starscream tossed the ball towards him, which he caught with both servos. Starscream had an expression that clearly hungered for another hit of success. His wings were raised and his helm was lowered, digits still splayed and at the ready. “Again.”

Wheeljack blinked, then smirked, finding himself slightly endeared by Starscream’s display of determination. “You think you got another in you, tough bot?”

“I know I do. I just need practice.”

Wheeljack chuckled, palming the ball with a sigh. “Maybe later. I kinda wore myself out doing all that.”

Starscream’s posture slumped in disappointment, then he sneered and scoffed. “That’s just because you did too much, you show-off!”

“Glad to have you back, Stilettos.” Wheeljack tossed the ball towards Starscream as he turned to leave, but Starscream fumbled to catch it as he remembered what Wheeljack had come in here to do in the first place.

“Wait.” Wheeljack paused, but didn’t turn around as Starscream took a few tentative steps towards him. “Why did you stop? Whatever happened to…?” He couldn’t bring himself to repeat that phrase. Besides, Wheeljack surely knew what he was referring to.

After a moment of silence, Wheeljack clicked his glossa against the roof of his mouth. “I shouldn’t say. I’d probably hack you off.”

“You’ve already made it clear you don’t consider that to be a threat.” Starscream scowled, more out of frustration for Wheeljack’s lack of transparency than indignity. “Tell me why.”

Wheeljack sighed and turned around, sounding annoyed, but looking strangely ashamed. He was thankful Starscream couldn’t see it. After another moment of deliberation, he finally told him the truth. “...It was because I could tell you were scared. Not in the fun, ‘I got a ‘Con to piss themselves before I beat the lubricant out of ‘em’ kind of way...In the Megatron kinda way.” Starscream’s expression faltered, but he said nothing. “You really thought I was gonna kill ya. All I said was I wanted to get in one good swing.”

“...You did?”

“Yeah.” Wheeljack’s brow lowered. “...I’ve seen what war does to people’s heads. I’ve seen Wreckers, safe and sound at base, suddenly lose their minds over the smallest things. Smells, sounds...words. It takes ‘em back to dark places, makes ‘em see things that aren’t real.” Wheeljack looked Starscream up and down, not to size him up, but to condense him. “Just sayin’. Oh yeah, and I also kinda forgot you were blind again.” He forced a smirk. “Kinda takes the wind outta my sails when I remember I’m not gonna have a fair fight.”

Starscream was snapped from his funk in an instant. “How do you keep forgetting that!? Look at my face!”

“I’d rather not, thanks.” Wheeljack fanned his servo and averted his gaze, smiling harder when Starscream growled. “Heh. Take it as a compliment, Screamer. I still see you for you, not some poor schmuck with no optics who can’t handle himself. Clearly, you can handle yourself just fine…” Wheeljack’s gaze traveled towards the rubber ball, which slowly rolled to a stop on the floor. “It’s kinda freaky, to be honest with ya.”

Starscream shifted on his pedes, feeling both flattered and...oddly anxious. Reminding everyone of his potential to be a threat wasn’t the goal, at this stage. He needed trust. Everyone’s trust. Wheeljack was a bot he knew would be the hardest to crack, but for right now, he had opened. It wasn’t an opportunity that Starscream could let pass.

Wheeljack shrugged and began to turn again. “Welp, I’m gonna leave you to your training. Ultra Magnus is probably bugging some poor Vehicon trying to find m—”

“You wanted one good swing?”

Wheeljack turned back around, just to see Starscream standing tightly in place, as if bracing for impact.

“I want us to be even. Whatever it takes...Do it.”

Wheeljack’s optics grew wide with surprise as he looked at Starscream. He was actually being serious? He almost laughed at the mere idea, but it died on the first exhalation of breath. The longer he looked, and the more he realized that the Seeker had not faltered, or even moved, he realized...he was actually being serious. Wheeljack frowned, then loosely raised his servo and clenched his fist. He saw Starscream clamp his jaw taught, the last part of his body that wasn’t completely rigid. And he gave Starscream a small, borderline friendly nudge to the shoulder with his closed fist. Starscream’s wings flapped in confusion and his hydraulics creaked from the sudden release of tension.

“You got guts,” Wheeljack said with a small smile. “Didn’t think you had room for those in that skinny frame of yours.” He expected Starscream to return to his old self again with that comment, but he remained still. “...Maybe you should play a game of Lob with Bulkhead and I, sometime? That’ll really get you to learn to dodge.”

Starscream finally scowled. “Or get me killed, maybe.”

“Maybe.” He winked, even though Starscream couldn’t see it. “Still, offer’s open...See you around, Screamer.” With that, Wheeljack finally left.

After a long, heavy silence, Starscream exhaled with enough weight to get the entire Nemesis back in the air. Shaking servos found similarly shaking knees, which he determined to not be a good combination, so he laid himself flat on his back to gaze up at the empty ceiling. “Thank the Allspark…” Another smile grew across his face. Somehow, he’d managed to escape that situation alive, and with something to show for it: Confirmation of his skills, and another step forward towards his goal. Get the Autobots to trust him, give him what he needs, then...what was after that? Taking over Cybertron. Right.

He was too exhausted for plotting. He figured he earned the right to take a little breather, after all of his hard work. The floor of the interrogation room was nice, cool, and quiet...Surely no one would think to look for him here? His Commlink buzzed and he sighed with a pained grimace. Oh, right, they don’t need to look for him anymore. He lazily allowed it to buzz for a few more seconds before he finally accepted the call. “...Starscream.”

“Hey, Screamer?” Smokescreen’s voice came into his audial with an irritatingly high-definition. That abhorrent nickname didn’t help make things any better, either. “ Where are you?”

Starscream huffed. “I’m in the interrogation room.”

“The what?”

“...The torture room,” he correctly, quickly and flatly.

“What are you doing in there!?”

“Holiday,” he replied with a sprinkling of false joy.

“Okay, then...” Smokescreen decided not to dwell on that for his own sanity. “I know you’re avoiding me, but could you meet up with me over by the side entrance? Bulkhead is vouching for us, but it’s been nearly an hour since I last saw you, and I don’t want Ultra Magnus to start I don’t have y-things under control. Probably best we stick together for the rest of the evening.”

The correction wasn’t lost on Starscream’s sharp audial. He glowered and began to bounce his knee. “Hmm...No, that sounds like it isn’t my problem.”

“Dude. Come on.” Smokescreen sighed. “You wanna test the limits of your free roaming rights now? Ultra Magnus barely let you outside.” He thought for a second. “...In fact, I think I heard him saying something about me keeping that wing clamp on hand, just in case.”

“You’re bluffing,” Starscream accused while pushing himself to stand.

“You really want to take that chance? Be mad at me all you want, just don’t run off like this again. Not until Ultra Magnus has a good reason to trust you won’t do something Starscream-ish...You’re already hanging out in a torture room, for Primus’ sake.”

“Alright, fine, you’ve made your point. I’ll be there in just a minute.”

“Thank you,” Smokescreen breathed, then ended the comm.

Starscream felt around on the floor for his training device, then placed it back into his subspace for later. This was just great, now Smokescreen was getting comfortable with threatening him. It was difficult to even discern his current level of progress with the amount of back and forth he was experiencing. He took in a deep breath and let it out, slowly. “You’re over-reacting. Just...let the Knockout portion of the day roll off your shoulders. Be agreeable. Things will get back on track.”

Chapter Text

Starscream stepped out of his former play area and began making his way towards the place that Smokescreen chose to meet, only to once again be assaulted by that horrible, sour smell. He retched and coughed into his servo, and a Vehicon who was pushing a cart of energon beside him stopped in his tracks. “Comman-Starscream? Are you alright, sir? Scrap.” The Vehicon cursed to himself and lightly knocked his fist against the handle of his cart for falling into his old script.

Starscream reset his vocalizer and turned towards the Vehicon with a confused expression. As usual, he had forgotten they existed until they were needed or made themselves known in some way. “Fine, uh...thank you, er...?” He no longer had the ability to read the Vehicon’s tag. Which had been covered with a bright, red sticker which read: ‘Hi! My name is--’

“Steve.”

Oh, God, it’s that one. Starscream’s wings raised a bit, remembering a certain display of impromptu acrobatics he had preformed in front of this walking canon-fodder. “Steve...Tell me, Steve, do you smell anything odd? Something...citrusy?”

He heard Steve sniff the air behind his face plate. “Hm...no, sorry. I mean, I did this morning, but Knockout flushed my olfactory tubing out, so, I’m okay now.” Ah, right. The rust. That must be what was causing that lingering stench. He had been exposed to it for an awfully long time today. “I’m sure a shower would fix you right up, si-Starscream.”

Starscream tightened his lips with a hum, not liking the reminder of the shift of power. But at least he hadn’t made any comments on his flexibility. “Perhaps. As you were, Steve,” he said, falling into a familiar script of his own. As he walked away, he exhaled and lazily allowed his digits to drag along the wall beside him. The familiar, electrical hum of the Nemesis massaged his joints with a delicate pulse. His olfactory system finally set that damned smell low on his priority list, as it finally let him be. However, as his digits ghosted the wall, something else was brought to his attention. He stood in place, feeling an odd sensation from behind the wall; like someone were shaking a box of rice just beyond it. Scratching? Or skittering?

He turned to the wall and planted both palms against it, then moved them around in wide circles, searching for the source of that sensation. Just as his left servo found the apex of the vibrations, it abruptly faded. It was moving.

Starscream gave chase, keeping his servo on the wall and following the force beyond it with wide steps, while his upper half was bent forward like a folding chair. It wasn’t a flattering posture, to say the least; he looked like an inquisitive grasshopper in designer shoes to any passerby. And there were a few, watching him as he felt at the walls, but the Vehicons knew better than to question anything their former commander did. Starscream was too focused to pay them any mind, anyway. Whatever this was, living or otherwise, was taking him on an interesting path.

After a series of turns, the vibrations abruptly rocketed downwards, towards the floor, then vanished entirely. Starscream hummed, quizzically, and felt at the floor for a brief moment. When he felt nothing, he stood to his pedes and used his mental map to figure out where he was. He was in an intersection of hallways, where they kept spare parts (Starscream felt a bit of pain), tools, and also where they kept their energon. He walked towards the energon storage room, where a gleeful Vehicon was pushing out the last, empty cart while whistling a nonsensical tune. Starscream paid them no mind, instead slipping past them to investigate.

He would quickly come to regret that decision as the smell returned, tenfold. Just as bad, if not worse than when he was in the back of that trailer. He heaved into his fist and shuddered from the tips of his pedes all the way to tip the crest on his forehelm. “Now I know I’m not crazy,” he muttered to himself as he reluctantly followed the source of the smell. But, it was difficult to pinpoint. The room was full of energon cubes and not much else besides the racks they were stacked upon. Each corner of the room had a square tower within it, with three tiers each, and a small, mechanical lift to reach the upper racks. Each tier held about forty-five cubes of energon. And between each of those towers were two more, evenly spaced across the room. Although, they seemed to be using exclusively the bottom racks for storage at the moment. He sniffed around, scowling as his processor began dizzying itself with the stench, or, possibly from the realization of where that smell was likely coming from.

He crouched down and moved his helm close to one of the cubes, holding himself steady with his servos on the metal bars of the rack, then took in a deep breath. Tears pricked at his optic-less face and he coughed with enough force to send him scrambling back to his pedes. “Slag,” he hissed, gripping his own throat cabling as if he had been freshly strangled. He took a few safety steps backward, only to collide directly into a large, warm chassis. Starscream shrieked and turned around, where he was greeted by a frustrated Ultra Magnus.

“Starscream, I understand that you needed some time to yourself, but-” He began, but Starscream jabbed a digit into his abdomen with enough force to choke a gasp out of him. Ultra Magnus’ optics bugged in their sockets and he placed his one good servo where he had assumed to have been stabbed, but upon looking into his palm, no energon was spilled.

“Will you please not sneak up on me like that!? Primus, I’m starting to think you’re all trying to kill me with a spark-attack.” He huffed and put his servo over his spark in an attempt to physically steady it. “Anyway, save your lecture for another time. I think there’s something wrong with the energon.”

Ultra Magnus frowned deep enough for his face plates to creak. This level of insubordination was rarely something he would glaze over, but Starscream did manage to have him intrigued. He reset his vocalizer, along with his composure. “And what, pray tell, gave you that idea, Starscream?”

“That smell. Nobody else has mentioned it besides me, as far as I’m aware.” Starscream pointed his digit towards the energon cube he had held his face against earlier and stepped back to give Ultra Magnus room to investigate for himself. Which the officer did, dropping to one knee and squinting at the cube in question. “It’s probably because of my heightened senses, but I smell this strong, sour odor whenever I’m near the energon.”

Ultra Magnus hummed, clearly not able to smell it, and looked to Starscream from his spot on the floor. “Are you able to tell which cube is contaminated?”

Starscream didn’t like that word. “I can certainly make an attempt, but the whole room reeks of it.” He shifted, then moved over to another random cube and stooped down to sniff at it, only to cringe in a similar way. “Ugh, yes, this one smells the same. It’s just too strong of a smell for me to pinpoint with all the overlapping cubes.”

Ultra Magnus stood and raised a brow. “But, that isn’t the energon we carried in today, that’s one of the older piles. The newest ones should…” Ultra Magnus looked around the room, blinked, then suddenly growled. It was quiet, but Starscream still flinched at the unfamiliar display of rage. “I told them to store the energon based on date of acquisition for this exact reason! But all they’ve done is fill in wherever there was an empty slot! Not to mention that they’ve been taking cubes from any old place instead of paying attention to the…!”

He took in a deep breath to center himself, then picked up one of the cubes, which was a bit difficult with only one hand and one claw. “Forgive me for my outburst...I’ll see to it that these are quarantined and investigated. Until then, we only drink from the cubes we already have available in the dispensers. I’ll make a formal announcement in my office.”

Starscream frowned and stood up, moving the digits of one hand so that the claws tinked against themselves. Ultra Magnus was known to be touchy, it was something Starscream considered to be his defining character trait. But lately he had been particularly restless. Starscream found himself slightly intrigued by this; another opportunity to get inside the helms of these bots had presented itself. “I’m not normally one to take interest in...personal affairs, but...Are you alright, sir? You seem tense.”

Ultra Magnus shook his helm as he placed the cube under his arm. “I’m fine, thank you. You should go to your quarters, I’ll handle this situation.” He then turned and started to walk towards his office.

“Undoubtedly, sir,” Starscream said, saddling up to follow Ultra Magnus with his servos folded neatly behind his back. “I have absolute trust in you that you’ll see this through. But, if I may ask...is anyone acting as your assistant?”

Ultra Magnus looked down towards Starscream with an incredulous expression. “Not in an official sense, no. But in a situation like this, on a newly revived planet, there isn’t an official chain of command.”

“Always by the book, aren’t you? You should consider accepting some help with your leadership every once in a while,” he suggested with a smile.

“And I assume you’re offering yourself?”

“Me? Oh, no, no. No one here would accept such a thing, in an official sense, that is. All I’m saying is that if you ever need someone to consult, my door is open. Though I’m not a leader, I have led in the past.”

“Mhm.” Ultra Magnus said, unfocusing his optics to escape this prattling in some capacity. “And what do you have to say about the current circumstances?” He really wasn’t all that interested, but he felt it would be polite to humor him just a bit.

“Quarantine is definitely the best option; we can’t risk anyone getting sick. That being said, I won’t take up any more of your time. Your announcement takes precedent. And when it comes to our shortage, don’t dwell on this as a failure. I can assure you, I’ll do everything in my power to ensure our scouts don’t return empty-handed again.” Starscream slightly increased his pace to walk ahead of Ultra Magnus, but slowed for just a moment. “Before I run off: thank you for listening to me. It’s rare for anyone to take my concerns at face value. You’re a shining example of leadership, Ultra Magnus...Have a pleasant evening.” He flashed a kind smile, then trotted away, not expecting any sort of response. The seed was planted, regardless.

Ultra Magnus paused just outside of his office, staring at Starscream as he disappeared around the bend. He knew that this was some sort of manipulation tactic, but...it was also something he needed to hear. Everything was going to be fine; he had this under control. There was a protocol for situations like these, after all, and he intended to follow it to the letter. Everything was going to be fine.

In the lounge, Bulkhead opened the hatch beneath the energon dispenser, removed the now-emptied cube, and slapped a new one in its place. Bumblebee was relaxing in a booth beside Wheeljack, the two of them happily chatting and drinking energon like it were in infinite supply. They weren’t fully stocked on energon, in fact they were nowhere near that goal, but they at least had enough to celebrate with a full tank.

Vehicons, fresh from the wash racks after a long day of construction, filed in to eagerly drink their fill, and Bulkhead greeted them with a glass of energon in one servo as he leaned against the counter. “Slipknot, Mosh Pit, Kill Joy! Good work on the scaffolding today, you’re all really getting the hang of this! Hey, Quentin, keep that chin up, buddy. Everybody gets excited their first time behind the crane, just ask Deathmatch. Yeah, I know you heard me!” He laughed and turned back to the entrance, just in time to see Arcee walk in, glistening from her own well-earned cleaning session. He walked towards her with his arms spread wide. “There she is! Bring it in, Arcee, I just put in a fresh cube for ya.”

Arcee smiled in a relaxed, satisfied manner and spread her arms as well to accept the incoming hug. Bulkhead wrapped one arm around her and patted her on the back, while her own could hardly make it across Bulkhead’s abdomen. “Thanks, Bulk. It’s nice to finally have something to show for all this running around.” Arcee detached herself from Bulkhead and sauntered over to the dispenser, retrieving a glass of her own. “Still, let’s not go overboard, alright guys? We’ve still got a long way to go before Ultra Magnus lets up on the rationing.”

Bumblebee sat up and scooted to the edge of the booth’s seat. “Not to mention the fact the cache was already open. We’re lucky that whatever was down there didn’t loot the place, or else we would’ve still come back empty-handed.”

Arcee nodded, sagely, then scowled as she lounged against the counter and swirled the fresh energon in her glass. Her reflection distorted in the glowing nectar. “I’m still thinking about those claw marks, too…”

Wheeljack waved his servo with a smile. “Don’t think about it too hard. Soundwave and I will scope the scene tomorrow, that way we’ll know what we’re up against. Even then we’d be assumin’ that whatever wrecked the place is still kickin’ around.”

“Where is Soundwave, anyway?” Bulkhead asked.

“In the control room. He got his energon to go,” Bumblebee said with a smile. “He’s really trying to earn that treat.”

Arcee let out an amused sound and finally raised the glass to her lips. She drank eagerly, thankful that she would get to sleep with a full tank. It was ice cold, and had a nice little fizz, despite being locked underground for Primus-knows-how-long. Just before she took her final sip, however, she was stung with a strange taste, which caused her to cringe and let out a sharp hum. She rolled her glossa in her intake and looked down into her glass, only to see the exact same energon. No discoloration, no particles, nothing out of the ordinary.

Bulkhead turned towards Arcee and raised a brow. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just…” Arcee smacked her lips, attempting to recall the taste. “Does this have a weird aftertaste to you?”

Bulkhead sipped at the last swig of his cube, allowing it to linger on his glossa like he were at an engex-tasting. “...Nope. Tastes fine to me.”

“Huh.” Arcee shrugged and looked down into her glass again, then at the line of Vehicons who had all sat down with their own glasses. They appeared to be drinking without any reaction, so she wondered if maybe it were just her imagination. Maybe she got some solvent in her olfactory sensors while she was showering, or something like that. She raised the glass to her lips again, but before she could finish, the intercom system crackled to life, and Ultra Magnus spilled through.

“Attention, all residents of the Nemesis: This is Ultra Magnus. Until further investigation, all energon reserves that were obtained within the last twenty-four hours are to be placed into quarantine. Please refrain from refilling any dispensers until this matter has been resolved.” Bulkhead’s optics bugged and he turned to Arcee, who also looked on in pale surprise. The Vehicons all looked down into their glasses, one by one, as Ultra Magnus continued.

“If you have recently ingested energon from one of these cubes, report to the med bay immediately for a physical scan. Please note: Standard protocol for energon storage dictates that all energon be placed into stock by order of acquisition. After the quarantine has been lifted, I will arrange a mandatory meeting to once again go over this protocol so that we may avoid incidents such as these in the future.”

One Vehicon, who sported the name tag labeled ‘Kill Joy,’ let out a dramatic groan and allowed his forehelm to fall to his table with a heavy clatter. Slipknot shushed him, sharply. “Most importantly: Do not panic, as this is merely a precaution to ensure the sanitation of our fuel supply. That is all.”

As the intercom fizzled out, the lounge became eerily silent, despite the amount of bots there were in the room. Bumblebee looked to Bulkhead and placed his glass down on his table, suddenly losing his appetite. “Uh...Bulkhead? Please tell me that you know whether or not those cubes we drank out of were from today or not.”

Bulkhead scratched the back of his helm, which was all the confirmation anyone needed. “Uh...I don’t know, I don’t think I was the first one in here today…”

Arcee cursed under her breath and poured her energon down a drain. Of course something like this would happen just when she was about to relax. Still, she would heed Ultra Magnus’ instructions not to panic. Worst case scenario, she may find herself with an aching tank...Okay, that wasn’t the worst case scenario, but she vehemently refused to dwell on it long enough to come up with something more creative. “Alright, everyone, let’s get to the med bay. Better safe than sorry.”

Wheeljack slapped his servos onto his thighs with a clang to spurr himself to stand. “Welp! I’m sure Knockout is going to be thrilled.”

Starscream listened to the announcement as he continued to make his way back to his quarters. It was a good alert; very concise. He had no notes. He was happy to find that he still had a good amount of fuel left in him from that morning, so whatever came of this fiasco wouldn’t affect him in the slightest...Unless they somehow found a way to blame him for giving them tainted energon.

His good mood faded as he suddenly remembered his current role as the black sheep. Regardless of whether or not he was innocent, or whether or not he had been the first to warn the crew, it would be so simple to saddle him with the blame. It had happened countless times before, though he did conveniently skim over all the times he had actually been irrefutably guilty by dawning his favorite set of rose-colored glasses. The ones that made it all look like Megatron’s fault. Funny that they still worked in the dark.

Starscream felt an impatiently tapping pede around the final turn to his quarters, and he made the conscious effort to slow his pace as much as possible. “I’m back, Smokescreen.”

“Oh, thank Primus!” Smokescreen half-shouted as he quickly approached Starscream and took him by the shoulders, which caused the Seeker to jolt in surprise and make a face like he had been jabbed with a cattle prod. “I was just about to comm you again! You heard the announcement, right? You didn’t drink any energon recently, did you?”

“No,” he scoffed, brushing Smokescreen’s servos away like errant dust. He gave Smokescreen the benefit of the doubt that he would understand which of his questions he’d just answered. “I was the reason Ultra Magnus made that announcement in the first place. I smelled something odd on the new cubes, so he’s arranging an investigation.”

“Okay, phew…” Smokescreen sighed, then chuckled and put his servos on his hips with a relieved smile. “I was really getting worried that you had keeled over in a hallway somewhere after I heard that.”

“How nice to know that you worry for my safety,” Starscream said with a flat expression. Smokescreen frowned and huffed, and the noise snapped Starscream back to his senses. Remember: be agreeable, you idiot!

“Here we go again. Starscream—”

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Starscream sighed and allowed his own inward frustration to shine through by pinching between his optic sockets. “I understand why you didn’t get involved, I was just...afraid.” He allowed his servo to drift away from his face and land on his arm, and he forced his wings to lower in kind to make a show of submission. “Irrationally so, but afraid nonetheless. I’m not used to a disagreement ending amicably, you understand…”

Smokescreen nodded along, studying Starscream’s body language. “Yeah, I guess...So, you’re not mad at me?”

“I am, but I’ll have to get over it.” Starscream rolled his shoulders and leaned against the wall to cross his arms and rest one of his pedes. “The time alone did help a bit.”

Smokescreen slowly began to smirk. “Your time alone in the torture chamber helped you get over how mad you were at me?”

“Yes.”

“Thinking about me. In the torture chamber. The chamber where you torture people.”

Starscream cracked a smile and turned his helm. “Now you’re just jumping to conclusions. No, I was just tossing a ball around to test my reflexes. I managed to catch it a few times.” He figured it best to remain in Wheeljack’s good graces by refraining to mention their little spat.

“No way!” Smokescreen smiled. “That’s awesome…” Suddenly, he began to frown, contemplating whether or not he should bring up that word. The ‘F’ word. Would it be better to bring it up, solidifying it? Or would it be better to not acknowledge his usage of it, and hope that Starscream forgot about the whole thing? He was torn, and would probably end up torn in a more literal sense later on, depending on his choice. Considering how Starscream had treated Knockout, he couldn’t image that he placed the concept of friendship on a high pedestal. Regardless, what they had going for right now was good. It felt like it was working. He couldn’t make a decision like this, not now, just when it felt like they were getting back on track.

Smokescreen fidgeted. “So, did anything else interesting happen today while I was gone?”

Starscream opened his intake to invoke the negative, then his brows suddenly knitted themselves together. He felt something familiar, near the top of his spinal strut, where he was leaning against the wall. He abruptly spun around and slapped his servo onto that spot in the wall, and it began to move. Starscream followed it with his palm as it moved around and around in place, leaving Smokescreen utterly confused.

“Starscream?”

“Something’s in this wall. I feel it moving. Quick, put your servo here.” Starscream moved his servo to the side and Smokescreen placed his own into the empty space. “Do you feel that?”

Smokescreen’s optics narrowed. “Actually, I think I do. What is that? I can’t hear it-” Whatever was behind the wall suddenly dropped, and Smokescreen gasped, scrambling to find it. Starscream found it quicker, and began to chase it along the wall. This thing, whatever it was, was much faster than the last.

“Come on, it’s going this way!”

Smokescreen followed close behind and kept his servo on the wall behind Starscream, just in case it decided to make a U-turn. “What do you think it is?”

Starscream grumbled, attempting to split his focus between their conversation and the hunt. “Could be a retrorat, if we’re lucky. If we’re not lucky, it could be a scraplet.”

Smokescreen swallowed and squeezed his optics shut, speaking a prayer under his breath. “Please be a retrorat, please be a retrorat…!”

A hefty line had built up outside of the med bay. Even though Ultra Magnus had only warned those who had recently ingested energon to come for a scan, some of the more neurotic Vehicons had decided to join in as well. Arcee, Bumblebee, Bulkhead, and Wheeljack were interspersed between them, hiding varying levels of stress or anticipation, but all appearing entirely calm. Inside the med bay, Knockout was typing away at the med bay computer as a large, arc-shaped apparatus ran back and forth over Soundwave, who was laid back on the medical berth. It whirred and emitted a small strip of light over his frame as it made its agonizingly slow journey to and fro, investigating the mech below it layer by layer. Ultra Magnus stood off to the side with one of the offending cubes of energon, waiting patiently for the results.

The scanner emitted a beep once all the data had been compiled, and Knockout turned his helm to survey the results. A detailed graphic of Soundwave appeared on the projection, viewed from the front, the back, and both sides. Lazerbeak had his own graphic as well. Knockout tapped a single key, swapping between the plating layer, the mesh layer, the internal layer, and finally the armature layer. Not one warning to be found, besides a small warning aimed at his tentacles.

“Looks like you’re in the clear, Soundwave,” Knockout said with a smile. “But do take care to apply some oil to your tentacles, you can’t have those getting stiff.”

Soundwave played back, “apply oil to-tentacles-clear.” He knew Knockout loved the sound of his own voice. Ultra Magnus approached him just as he got up from the berth, presenting the cube of energon, which Soundwave immediately accepted.

“Now that we know you’re not sick,” Ultra Magnus began, appearing relieved at the news. “I want you to test some samples of the energon we have in storage and see if there’s anything amiss.”

Soundwave nodded and walked it out of the med bay to carry into the lab next door. No questions asked. Knockout took the liberty of asking on his behalf. “As much as I love being kept busy, Ultra Magnus, what brought this on, exactly?”

“Starscream stated that he smelled something foul that no one else could detect. Considering his heightened senses, I thought it would be within our best interest to investigate.”

“Why not just have him sniff out the bad batches like a little bloodhound, then? Put that sniffer to use.” Knockout cupped one side of his intake and called towards the door. “-Next!”

“Starscream had a difficult time differentiating between a cube that was contaminated and one that wasn’t. And, if they are contaminated, I want to ensure it wasn’t something that was capable of spreading to the other cubes.” A Vehicon that sported a lighter shade of purple than the rest strode in, giving Ultra Magnus a respectful nod as they made their way to the medical berth.

“Well, aren’t you a lovely sight for sore optics, Susan? Lie back for me, would you? Beautiful, thank you, this won’t take but a minute.” Knockout hummed as he returned to the computer, restarting the scanner. “Hm, I guess I see where you’re coming from on that, Ultra Magnus. Still, I have the optimistic assumption that Screamer was only smelling his own upper lip.” He heard a little giggle. “Don’t laugh, Susan, it’ll disrupt the scan.”

“Sorry,” Susan whispered.

Ultra Magnus almost smiled, pleased to see that Knockout was settling well into his role as their sole medic while Ratchet was away. “We can only hope. I’m going to assist Soundwave in the lab. If you need anything, just send me a comm.” He turned to leave, but stopped in the door. “Oh, and be sure to write a detailed report once this is over so that I can forward it to Ratchet. He’ll be pleased to evaluate your progress.” It was with that that he finally left, not feeling the need to get confirmation from Knockout. Which was good, because all Knockout did was turn to Susan and pantomime a gun against his temple with his digits, earning another ill-advised giggle.

Outside, Arcee tapped a digit against her arm, impatiently. She just wanted to get this over with. She wanted to walk in, get scanned, get told everything was fine, and then go get in a decent recharge. She was sure everyone else shared in her sentiment, though, and she wasn’t the type to pitch a fit over a wait, so she remained silent. Thankfully, she would be next after Susan.

Arcee preoccupied herself by allowing her optics to nestle onto a comfortable corner of one of the door frames so that her processor would begin to wander, but she didn’t get far before she heard murmuring from the back of the line. Bulkhead, who was standing behind her, turned to look first, followed by Bumblebee and finally, Wheeljack.

A Vehicon, labeled as ‘Gerard,’ was being gently led to the front of the line by another labeled ‘Hank.’ Hank had one servo clutched around his tank, while Gerard pushed them along with a servo on his lower back, apologetically murmuring to those in line. “Sorry, his tank is really bothering him. Excuse us, he drank a few hours ago and he’s feeling-yeah. Hey, would you mind if-? Thank you.” Once they reached the front of the line, Gerard faced team Prime with a pleading posture. “Hey, um, is it okay if Hank here cuts ahead? He’s not feeling great and...yeah, I’m worried with the whole ‘quarantine’ thing.”

Hank grunted and trembled, but the tremble was so violent one could almost label it as a seize. Bumblebee grimaced at the sight, both in sympathy and in trepidation. “Oh, scrap...Yeah, he can go. Arcee, Bulkhead, Wheeljack, any objections?”

Bulkhead shook his head, emphatically. “None here.”

“Uh-uh,” Wheeljack stated, pressing his back firmly into the wall. This was the closest he’d get to showing apprehension around a sick bot.

Arcee took a moment too long to answer for her own comfort, as her nerves began to increase. “None from me.”

“Thank you,” Gerard said, sounding relieved. Susan slipped out of the med bay with an apparent clean bill of health, as she offered everyone a friendly wave as she walked opposite to the line to return to the barracks. Gerard quickly shuffled Hank inside, barely even waiting for Knockout to call ‘next.’

Knockout turned to face the two Vehicons and raised a brow, almost letting it slip that he was firm about only letting one bot in at a time, before his gaze traveled over Hank. Instead, he quickly finished sanitizing the medical berth and stepped aside to allow Hank to sit down with Gerard’s assistance and reassurance. Once the scanner was prepped to begin again, Knockout approached the sickly Vehicon and placed a servo to his chest plate to gently urge them to lie down. “Alright-” He took a moment to read the name tag. “-Hank, lie back for me…”

Knockout’s brow furrowed as he suddenly felt a tremor in Hank’s chassis, something small and shuddering. Hank coughed and clutched at his abdominal tubing, doing so quickly enough to startle Knockout backwards. “Hank? What’s wrong? Talk to me,” Knockout said, with just the right mix of a stern and gentle tone. But Hank did not respond, he only continued to cough and further curl into himself. Gerard looked on with a concerned posture and took a tentative step forward, towards his friend. “Hank?”

Knockout approached again, only for Hank to suddenly shriek, unfolding himself as if imploding backwards onto the medical berth. His frame spasmed and his vocalizer swallowed itself, gurgling, choking. Something wet was bubbling up into his throat and spraying behind his visor, leaking through the cracks. Blue energon and thick, yellow bile mixing into nauseating hues of muddy green. Knockout immediately looked to Gerard. “You! Roll him onto his side so he doesn’t choke on his purge, quickly!” Gerard rushed forward and did as he was told, while Knockout quickly prepared a sedative.

“What’s happening to him!?” Gerard called as he struggled to keep Hank on his side.

“I don’t know, just keep him still! Don’t let him-!”

Suddenly, Hank shoved Gerard away and clutched the berth beneath him, his spinal strut arched and his chassis bared itself to the sky. He grunted and continued to seize, his chest violently launching upwards in a frantic rhythm, nearly enough to knock him from his perch if not for his digits digging into the edge of the berth. The sound of metal creaking whistled out like a broken trumpet, growing ever higher in pitch, while the bassy thud of metal banging against metal announced the coming arrival of something hidden deep within Hank’s chassis. Hank screeched, his vocalizer straining to allow a desperate plea from his flooded intake, but it came out only as static, muffled with brackish slush.

Knockout’s optics grew wide with terror, and he watched, helplessly, as his patient’s chest plates began to warp against the internal assault. Until, with a tank-churning splash, Hank’s frame finally gave way. Energon sprayed out like a balloon filled with confetti, covering Knockout and Gerard in a galaxy of twinkling gore. Hank’s frame collapsed onto the berth, his chassis peeled open from the inside like a used bullet casing. Gerard exhaled, stumbled, and ultimately fell to the floor in a heap as his processor forced him into a stasis. The doors to the med bay opened, and Arcee rushed in alongside the rest of her team, while the other awaiting Vehicons struggled from outside to get a better view.

Arcee screamed, and allowed words to ride its waves to Knockout. “What’s happening!?”

Knockout did not hear her. All he could hear was scratching, emanating from the corpse that hold only earned a proper name a mere few weeks prior. Something was moving inside of him.

Starscream followed the pest beyond the wall, until the path finally came to a stop against a door frame his digits collided with. He looked to Smokescreen, panting, as they had been forced to break into a near-sprint to keep up with it. “Here! It’s stopped. It’s here.” Smokescreen jogged up and gulped in a fresh breath of air, then inspected the door. It was a single door, on the corner of one wall, with a sign that simply read ‘closet.’

“It’s-” Smokescreen took another moment to catch his breath and prevent himself from overheating. “It’s a broom closet.”

Starscream wasted no time. He stood before the door’s sensor, taking the most irritating millisecond to ever exist to finally open. He stood there and immediately found himself in close proximity to that horrid stench that had been plaguing him for hours. Through his ever-helpful neural net, he was able to parse that the closet was incredibly small, a mere five by five foot in area, but the actual contents of the closet eluded him. Before he could open his intake, Smokescreen gasped and abruptly shoved Starscream aside, nearly causing him to fall if he didn’t catch himself on the door frame. “Excuse me! What was the meaning of that!?”

Smokescreen crouched down in the closet, filled corner to corner with shelves of solvents and cleaning supplies. All of it, ironically, sprayed with energon and a mysterious yellow fluid. It fanned out in an arc around the room, mainly hitting the front wall where the door was set, but its origin was laid on the floor. A Vehicon, name tag now destroyed and sullied with gore, lied slumped against one of the racks, his chest hollowed open like the metal was as a mere orange peel. The internals, clearly visible from the gaping maw of the Vehicon’s chest cavity, had been whittled down to nearly unrecognizable components. Like a motherboard entangled with steel wool.

Smokescreen shuddered, his digits trembling as he reached out and cupped the Vehicon’s cheek plate. A comforting touch for one that could no longer feel his warmth. There was no possible way that this mech had no died screaming for help, but no one had heard him. “Oh, God...Oh my God…!”

Starscream’s wings drooped and he frowned, standing in the doorway, unable to witness the horrors on display. “Smokescreen, what is it? What’s happened?”

“I-It’s a Vehicon. He’s dead, his chest, it’s...it’s like it was popped open. There’s energon everywhere!”

“Popped-?” Starscream gasped as his audials picked up on a scratching sound, coming from above. A vent. Smokescreen stood and turned to Starscream, his optics alight with terror.

“We need to tell-” Before Smokescreen could finish, the vent swung open and a small, metallic beast fell from it. It latched onto Smokescreen’s spoiler with rows upon rows of sharp dentae, and began to devour the metal as if it were the last meal it would ever have. Smokescreen screamed and flailed his servos helplessly at his back, unable to reach the small menace. Starscream shrieked as well and stumbled backwards. Smokescreen ran out of the closet and slammed his back into the opposite wall, successfully detaching the starving monster from his spoiler and sending it clattering to the ground.

Smokescreen jumped aside to look at the beast, and in the mere second it remained still, his worst fear was realized. It was a scraplet. Worse than that, it was a juvenile scraplet. The hungriest of them all. It’s dentae whirred back to life and it scampered towards Starscream’s pede. “Starscream, run!” Smokescreen called, but Starscream growled and lifted his pede as high as he could. The sound of vibrating teeth announced the scraplet’s path, and Starscream slammed his pede down onto it’s bulbous head. Again, and again, crunching it and splattering the floor with it’s yellow gestation fluid. By the time he had finished, it resembled a metallic egg shell, crumpled with a thick yolk spilling out from its exposed, microscopic internals.

The two of them stood there, panting and trembling. Starscream shakily crouched down, ignoring the ache in his leg strut from the sheer force of his stomps, and picked up the scraplet by its helm between two digits. He cringed, but held it’s dripping corpse a mere inch from his face plate, then sniffed. Smokescreen gagged into his servo. “Ugh, dude, that’s sick.”

Starscream stood back up, still holding the dead scraplet at a distance. “ This is the source of that smell. I was smelling scraplet eggs. Those cubes are likely infested with them.”

Smokescreen’s optics grew wide once again. “That Vehicon...he was just one, big, walking egg sac, waiting to burst!”

Suddenly, some far away screams forced them both to snap their helms towards the sound. Smokescreen gasped. “That’s coming from the med bay!” He grabbed Starscream’s free servo. “Come on, we have to help!”

Starscream yelped as he was dragged forward. “Augh, wait! What am I supposed to do about this!?”

Smokescreen dragged Starscream along, ignoring his plea even as Starscream slapped at the servo that kept him attached to this bullet train of death. Smokescreen was out of his mind if he thought Starscream would be any help! He was only going to get him killed!

As they finally reached the med bay, Starscream heard the doors burst open. Wheeljack rushed out, a few scraplets devouring his shoulder plates. He pushed through the pain by running with heavy, thumping steps. “Hang on! I’ll be back! Ultra Magnus, Soundwave, follow me! We need to get cryo-weapons!” Smokescreen skidded to a stop in front of the open doors of the med bay, and gawked at the chaos within.

Ultra Magnus and Soundwave rushed out of the doors, paying Smokescreen little mind, it was difficult to split one’s processor in such dire situations. Knockout was ducked underneath his desk, shouting and swiping wildly at any scraplets that came near with his servo transformed into a drill bit. Arcee fired off a single shot, sending one scraplet spiraling into a twitching heap on the ground, while another gnawed its way up her leg. She slammed her servo into it until it finally let go, and Bulkhead stomped his massive pede onto it, leaving a flattened, yellow stain. Bumblebee, after failing to hit a shot of his own, instead picked up a folding chair and was swinging it in a wide arc to ward off the remaining scraplets.

While Smokescreen gawked, Starscream took the opportunity to wrench his servo free, then rushed off to his right, only to collide with Ultra Magnus’ side. He was sent sprawling across the ground and smacked his helm into a sharp corner, which caused his internal gyroscope to spasm. He clutched his helm and Smokescreen reached out to him, only for Wheeljack to shove a large rifle into his servos. “Come on, kid! We gotta get these bugs on ice, pronto!” Smokescreen deliberated for a moment, then growled at himself and charged into the med bay. He pulled the trigger on his rifle, and a dense mist of concentrated liquid nitrogen flooded from its barrel. Each scraplet that came into contact with it swiftly came to its end, its gestation fluid instantly freezing inside of it and destroying its internals.

Starscream writhed on the ground a moment longer, and felt the air in front of him shift as a servo extended itself to him. Soundwave, carrying a clutch of cryogenic grenades in his tentacles, stooped down and helped Starscream to stand. “Starscream: Status report.”

Starscream held the side of his helm and did not let go of Soundwave’s spindly servo. “I’m fine, I think...Just a headache.”

Soundwave nodded. “Satisfactory.”

The air that left the med bay began to steam from the stark difference in temperature, and the commotion within died down to mere whimpers and murmurs. Ultra Magnus jutted his helm out of the med bay, using his claw to brace himself on the door frame while his other servo clutched a cryogenic rifle by its brace. “Soundwave, Starscream, get in the med bay and shut the door behind you. I’m calling for an emergency meeting to all bots currently in attendance.”

Starscream let out a pathetic whimper, knowing his fate was now sealed. He was stuck on a ship, infested with scraplet infested mechs that refused to realize that they were already as good as dead. And they were determined to take him down with them.

Chapter Text

The med bay was cold, and the atmosphere was bleak. Everyone stood by while Bumblebee was placed under the scanner, cryogenic weapons at the ready with safeties off in case anyone decided now was a good time to start convulsing. Starscream stood in the deepest corner of the room he could find that was still nearby the exit. He thought better than to vocalize it, but he did still find it amusing that the team opted to scan themselves sooner than the Vehicons that were all trembling in the far corner, fearing for their lives. As cute as it was that they had allowed them to have names, they were still ultimately an after thought at best. Still, Starscream would have done the same. And regardless of how this panned out, he knew he didn’t need to be scanned, so if anything went south, he would be fine to cut his losses and run. Blindness be damned, he refused to die like this.

Soundwave had been instructed to leave the room, since he was already scanned, and to utilize the space bridge to return Ratchet to the Nemesis for assistance. With the time crunch they were on, Knockout would need help.

Knockout’s digits were trembling at the med bay computer, and Smokescreen stood near him, occasionally glancing at Starscream over his shoulder to ensure he was still with them. He knew how the Seeker behaved in times of crisis, and as weird as it was to think, Starscream was safer here than anywhere else. If he ran away now, he would only delay an inevitable demise in the Cybertronian wastes. The med bay computer beeped, announcing that the scan had completed, and all optics turned to the projection. Knockout steeled himself and looked Bumblebee over, layer by layer, and was relieved to find nothing out of place. “Clean.”

Bumblebee sighed and jumped out of the berth, then waved for Wheeljack to take his place. “C’mon, Jackie, your turn.”

Wheeljack shook his head. “No need, I was drinking outta the same cube as you, remember? We went to the lounge at the same time. Bulkhead should go next.”

Ultra Magnus shook his helm. “We need to be thorough, Wheeljack.”

“We need to not waste time, Magnus. If I start quakin’, that’s on me. These other bots need to be scanned more than I do. Let Bulk go next.”

Ultra Magnus considered Wheeljack’s stance, then slowly nodded and looked to Bulkhead. Bulkhead didn’t need to hear verbal confirmation, he simply made his way to the berth and laid down just as the scanner whirred back to life. Knockout exhaled, once again beginning to tap away at the med bay computer, and Bumblebee gave him an empathetic look.

“Hey, Doc Knock? What’s the plan if one of us comes back infested?”

“I would prefer you use the term ‘infected,’ Knockout began, not taking his optics from the computer. “But, essentially, the plan is to use a controlled application of nitrogen dioxide within your tank to prevent the scraplets from continuing to gestate. I won’t lie, it will probably get messy. The contents will then be removed by dislodging the front panel of the tank and then it should all come out in one easy piece. Clean fuel gets pumped in, and bam, good as new.”

Ultra Magnus hummed. “And how long would a procedure like that take? Once the scraplets complete their gestation cycle, it only takes a matter of minutes for them to burst.”

“That...is an excellent question. And I’m praying to Primus that Ratchet will have some ideas, once Soundwave beams him in. Speaking of.” He raised his digits to his audial. “Soundwave, give me some good news.”

“Affirmative. Estimated arrival time: Now,” Soundwave said through the comm. Ratchet’s voice quickly entered the line, and Knockout could hear that he was already making a b-line for the med bay.

“I’m here. Knockout, instruct everyone that hasn’t already been scanned to ingest one liquid unit of coolant every five minutes. That should hopefully be enough to keep them cool while we operate on the others.”

Knockout sighed, relieved. “Roger that.”

As bottles of coolant were divvied out to all in attendance, Starscream began to tap his pede, impatiently. He wanted to raise his voice and ask what he was meant to be doing here, or how he could possibly be any safer trapped in here with them than he would be if he locked himself in his room. But, he held his glossa firm as to not impede their progress. At the very least, the more competent medic was on his way. As the scanner made it’s journey back down Bulkhead’s frame for the umpteenth time, Starscream heard something. A small, nearly insignificant fizzling sound. Knowing the size of what they were dealing with, however, nothing was insignificant.

Before he could vocalize his concern, the lights flickered. Knockout paled and looked to the ceiling. “No,” he whispered, but the lights began to flicker with far more enthusiasm. “No, no, no! Dammit!” He kicked the computer as it finally breathed its last, leaving them all in complete darkness. One by one, everyone turned on their headlights, and Bulkhead sat up on the medical berth.

“Scrap, they must have gotten to the generators!” He looked over to Knockout, barely able to contain his fear. “Did the scan finish?”

“No it didn’t finish, of course it didn’t finish!” Knockout kicked the computer once more for good measure, then shuddered to re-center himself. “Okay, okay. The worst has happened. Just drink this like your life depends on it, because it does.” Knockout tossed Bulkhead another jug of coolant, and Bulkhead immediately complied, taking a hearty swig until the fluid sat below the first line marker.

Arcee wiped her intake clean of coolant with her thumb, then sucked what she’d spilled off of it to not waste a single drop. “Okay, what’s the plan now?”

Starscream fought back the urge to snarl and screech about how there was no plan, and that all of them would be dead within the hour, so why not just let him go? Ratchet peeled the med bay doors open manually with Soundwave in tow, and Soundwave walked in first, wasting no time addressing the crew.

“Generators: compromised. Remaining scraplets must be eradicated before Lazerbeak can be sent down to repair electrical faults.”

Starscream suddenly sprung to life, wings flared wide. “What!? We need the generators back online to prevent more scraplets from coming in to just break them all over again! You’re telling us that we need to run out and kill them first!?”

“Affirmative. Lazerbeak: cannot risk damage to himself. Must remain online. Coolant ingestion will slow gestation. Need equipment to preform procedure properly.”

“Soundwave is right,” Ratchet said with a nod. “The procedure to remove the scraplets is too invasive without our equipment powered on. Not to mention we haven’t even evaluated everyone in this room. Who among us is not infected?”

One by one, Ultra Magnus, Bumblebee, Smokescreen, Knockout, and Wheeljack raised their servos. Starscream took a moment, but eventually did so himself. Ratchet frowned, deeply, upon seeing that Arcee and Bulkhead were yet to be evaluated. Not to mention the four Vehicons, Gerard, Slipknot, Mosh Pit, and Killjoy, that stood together, fearfully sipping their coolant. “Are we sure these are the only Vehicons that couldn’t have possibly been infected?”

“It would appear some of the Vehicons ran off during the commotion once the scraplets burst out of Hank,” Ultra Magnus said with a heavy sigh. “But I have sent Susan out with a trio of Vehicons to put the energon in storage on ice, just in case they start to warm up.”

Wheeljack nodded and stepped away from the wall he leaned against, adjusting a series of cryo-grenades on his belt. “Then we don’t have much time before things go from bad to worse. We need to find where the scraplets are nesting, and lure ‘em out into the open so that we can freeze ‘em all. It’s not gonna be easy findin’ ‘em in the dark, though.”

Smokescreen narrowed his optics, then turned around to face Starscream. “Yeah, but, maybe it won’t be too hard.”

Starscream tensed and immediately shook his helm. “No, no, absolutely not.”

Smokescreen looked at him with pleading optics. “Come on, Starscream! You’re the one who originally found them, so you’re the one who would find them the quickest!”

Arcee scowled and took a step forward. “Starscream found them? How?”

“He smelled them,” Ultra Magnus stated.

“Not just that, but he felt them through the walls!” Smokescreen added with a small smile, almost appearing to take pride in Starscream’s accomplishments. “He can do this-” Smokescreen turned around and stepped towards Starscream, taking him by one of his shoulders. “You can do this. I promise, cross my spark and hope to die, that I’ll protect you. Please, Starscream, you’re the only one who can help us.”

Starscream frowned, his spark spinning a mile a minute in its chamber. As if things couldn’t get any worse, Smokescreen was putting him on the spot. If he refused, all that he’d worked for would be for nothing, assuming they even survived this ordeal. If he accepted, he may as well yank out his own throat cabling and die on his own terms. Anything was better than being eaten alive.

Wheeljack watched from his spot in the room, inspecting Starscream’s face. He could tell he was, once again, afraid for his life. His refusal was to be expected; cowards like him rarely ever stepped up to plate in times like this. But, after witnessing what he was capable of in the interrogation room, he knew Smokescreen wasn’t talking out of his aft. Starscream was their best chance at finding the nest. Luckily, Wheeljack knew the Seeker well, and knew that the one thing that took precedent over his fear, was his ego. He swung his cryogenic rifle across his shoulders and sauntered forward with a bored swagger. “Give it a rest, Smokescreen, he’s not gonna do it. And who could blame him? He can’t take care of himself like this.”

Starscream’s helm flicked upwards, scowling at the blatant lies Wheeljack was spewing from his intake. This was a direct inversion on what he’d told him before. “What?”

“I mean, look at you.” Wheeljack gestured to all of Starscream. “You’re just gonna get yourself killed out there, so you might as well sit tight while we handle this. Stay with Doc Knock, you’ll be safe.”

Starscream’s scowl deepened, knowing full well what Wheeljack was up to. He was challenging him. Starscream also knew that he could help, he just didn’t want to. He’d rather just let them all die so he could escape. He’d manage, he always had. Then again, if he somehow managed to survive this with everyone intact, he’d be a hero. And he wouldn’t have to scrounge for scraps in the wild again, which would be a huge plus. He heard Smokescreen sigh, realizing then that he’d spent a long time in complete silence.

“Sorry,” Smokescreen said. “I shouldn’t have dropped all that on you. Just keep yourself safe.” As he turned to look to Ultra Magnus for guidance, Starscream suddenly reached out and took Smokescreen by the wrist.

“I’ll do it. But if one scratch gets on me, you’ll never hear the end of it.”

Smokescreen smiled and Ultra Magnus stepped forward to address them. “Alright, Starscream, we follow your lead. Autobots, let’s find that nest.”

Starscream walked ahead of the group, feeling at the walls and focusing all of his attention towards the thrumming behind it. Now that they were in a complete blackout, it was much easier to detect movement. Or it would be, if it weren’t for the fact a stampede were a few feet behind him. Bulkhead and Ultra Magnus being especially disruptive beneath their girths. Starscream huffed and turned around to face his entourage, both Vehicon and Autobot alike, all armed to the teeth with cryogenic weaponry. “I can’t feel anything besides your two-ton pedes! Would the heaviest among us please take up the rear?”

Bulkhead immediately shuffled backwards with a bashful expression. “Sorry.”

Ultra Magnus followed his lead. “Let’s all take a pause and let him focus.”

“Thank you,” Starscream said with a sigh of relief. He planted both servos on one wall, then tip toed to the other. When both results yielded nothing, he hummed, then dropped to his knees and planted his servos on the floor. There, he found there was such a thing as less than nothing. Which could only mean that there was something in those walls, it was just too subtle to realistically track. He lifted his helm to the sky and furrowed his brow in thought, allowing himself to focus in on the patch of air above him and nothing else. All other sounds faded away, until all he could hear was ‘skitch, skitch, skitch.’ Metal on metal, tiny claws scraping at hollow walls and lapping at shavings of aluminum. Like toddlers impishly tasting the frosting on a cake that wasn’t their own.

“There,” Starscream whispered, pointing upwards, unknowingly having his digit land directly onto a vent. “In the ceiling. I can hear them, they must be in the ventilation systems.”

Wheeljack cursed to himself. “I just fixed those slaggin’ things.”

“Then do it again later,” Starscream said, sounding annoyed.

Arcee spoke after taking another swig of coolant. “How are we supposed to know where the nest is if they’re in the vents? There’s miles of those things.”

“Theory.” Soundwave began, struggling to keep his bassy voice low. “All vents are one nest. Earth bees show similar behavior in hives.”

Knockout let out a small whimper. “I was wrong before: now the worst has happened.”

“No, actually,” Wheeljack postulated as he walked below the vent. “All the vents are connected, so if we make enough noise, they’ll all come to the same spot.” He detached a grenade from his belt and smiled at it, wickedly. “After that, we should be shootin’ fish in a barrel.”

Starscream instinctively took a few steps back as the group began to crowd beneath the vent, but Ultra Magnus stopped them with a deft wave of his servo. “Wait. Everyone, step back and take a circle formation. Starscream, get behind Bulkhead. I’ll open the vent. Wheeljack, on my signal, throw the cryo-grenade. Everyone else, concentrate your fire on any stray scraplets. Ready?”

Everyone gave a firm nod, and Starscream immediately scrambled to the back of the group to hide behind the arc de triomphe that was Bulkhead. He listened as Ultra Magnus reached up and began to undo the screws with the blade edge of his claw, and he quickly went over his options in his head. He could make a run for it now, or he could wait until the screaming started. Before he could go into further detail, he jolted when he heard the vent open with a clatter. Ultra Magnus let out a loud shout into the vent, which Wheeljack also obliged.

Loud screeching, the sound of thousands upon thousands of chainsaw-like teeth whirring to life began to echo out from the vent. But Starscream’s audials picked up something else. Tink. Tink. Something had fallen from the ceiling. He crouched down and felt at the floor until his digits collided with something small. He cursed and searched for it on his knees.

“Now!” Ultra Magnus commanded. Wheeljack pulled the pin and tossed the grenade into the vent, which let out a heavy drum beat as it smacked itself against the hollow, metal walls. Just then, Starscream’s digits found what he was looking for, and he rolled it around in his claws, only to discover that it was a screw. A screw that had been nearly gnawed in half. It must have shaken loose now that the scraplets were making a move.

Starscream lifted his helm upwards as he heard the screeching close in from all directions, and a trickle of dust traveled downward from the cracks of the ceiling, nicely seasoning him for the buffet he was about to be a part of. “Scrap!” He dove off to the side as the ceiling suddenly buckled at the spot he originally stood. Bulkhead shouted and turned around just as one of the tiles popped itself loose, and a tidal wave of scraplets spilled out, crawling across the ceiling and allowing themselves to drop onto the unsuspecting bots below.

The cryo-grenade detonated, and a mist of icey slush obscured everyone’s vision. Dead, frozen scraplets rained down from the ceiling, which were quickly crushed under pede as the group scrambled, swatting and shooting wildly at the ambush. Sticky, yellow fluid knocked them off balance. Bulkhead tumbled backwards into a wall, and another tile from the ceiling shook itself loose, only further opening the door for the swarm. Knockout, in a panic, attempted to change into his alt mode to flee, but scraplets immediately latched onto his tires and popped them like they were merely a set of plastic balloons, and he fell prone.

Gerard cried out in anguish as his brethren began to fall, and he attempted to crawl away, sobbing as scraplets gnawed through his legs in a matter of seconds, leaving his struts exposed to open air. Mosh Pit attempted to take his hands and pull him from the chaos, only for scraplets to take him by the elbows and cruelly slice him at the wrists.

Killjoy’s chassis was dug into like a candy bowl, tearing his chest plating from the outside to spill the nearly-hatched eggs within, only further adding to the vile slush that coated the floor. Not one drop of energon reached it, as it was drank, greedily and efficiently by the young, starving pests.

Arcee, the smallest of them all, slipped and was pinned underneath Killjoy’s lifeless corpse as it finally fell. As she clawed for any sort of leverage to break herself free, her optics landed on Starscream, who had shuffled backwards on his aft until his back collided with a wall. “Star-!” She retched as Smokescreen slipped and fell onto her as well, his eyes stinging with energon and yellow fluid. “My gun, I dropped it!”

Starscream trembled as he listened to the chaos. Ultra Magnus screamed in a way he never thought a mech of his stature were capable. Pained and fearful and enraged. He slammed his servo into a wall, crushing two scraplets beneath his grip, and he fired his rifle with reckless abandon. Arcee gasped and lifted her helm again, looking up to find Starscream again, only to be greeted the blank space he once resided in. Starscream was already halfway down the hall, breaking into a full sprint to escape. The screaming seemed to only get louder the longer he ran. Though he was unscathed, his entire frame burned. His legs became heavier, until he found he could no longer lift them.

The sounds surrounded him on all sides. Wet, oozing splashes combined with scraping metal, chattering teeth, and anguished screams for help. Some called out to Primus, others to Ultra Magnus. Bulkhead cried out to Wheeljack. Bumblebee to Arcee, searching for her. Ratchet to Bumblebee, attempting to lead him to safety, wherever it may be found. Lazerbeak was beeping incessantly, likely begging for Soundwave to get up and fly away with him. Knockout screamed, not for his finish, but for Breakdown. Then, finally, he heard Smokescreen.

“STARSCREAM!”

This was not a cry for help, but for concern. He was reaching out, now finding himself blind, too, to find Starscream. He assumed him to be among the screams, and wanted to find him. He wanted to offer him comfort in their final moments, if this was the end. To find his friend and hold his hand, just to remind him that he was there. But Starscream wasn’t. He had left Smokescreen alone, to die a miserable, agonizing death. Voices Starscream hadn’t heard in millennia joined the chorus, sobbing and reaching towards him from the dark. His servos trembled and he attempted to cover his audials, but he couldn’t run from the noise. He couldn’t run at all.

They were all going to die. Was this his fault? Had he lead them into a death trap? Did that matter? Since when did any of this matter? All of this was a means to an end...Was this the end he wanted? Starscream struggled to take another step forward, his pede scraped against the floor like nails on a chalkboard. The Autobots would all be dead. The enemies he’d fought for centuries, finally dead. The enemies who brought him back from the brink of death, expecting nothing in return. Expecting this in return. The enemies who made him laugh, who held him steady when everything fell apart around him. Who apologized to him. Who called him ‘friend.’

Suddenly, Megatron’s optics pierced the dark, looking down at him in disgust. “ Starscream, do you exist only to disappoint? To fail? Or do you merely exist for existence’s sake?”

Starscream felt a fire ignite in his spark and he screamed, optics sparking from his turmoil, and he turned around. He felt as if he were flying faster than he ever had as he sprinted back into the belly of the beast. His heels dug into the floor, sparking as he skidded to a stop, and Starscream faced the deafening sounds of gnashing dentae. He bared his wrist, then raised his other servo, brandishing his shimmering claws, and swiftly swung them down into his waiting wrist. Energon gushed from the wound, and he swiped his arm back and forth, spraying his fresh fuel onto the ground. The scraplets abruptly stopped and began to sniff at the air, the pungent smell was too strong for them to ignore. Arcee pushed herself up on shaking arms, Killjoy’s corpse now significantly lighter. She was unable to believe what she was seeing. “Starscream…?”

“Over here, you disgusting insects!” Starscream called, and the scraplets detached from their current meals to follow the new, strong scent. Their wings flapped rapidly as they took to the air, and Starscream grinned in defiance. “That’s right! Come and get me!” That defiance crumbled like rust in the wind once he heard all the scraplets lunge forward. He let out a high-pitched screech and began sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him.

Smokescreen rubbed his optics clear and gasped. He struggled to his feet and retrieved his gun. “Come on, come on, we gotta get up! Starscream’s distracted them!”

Ratchet quickly surveyed the damage to his frame, discovering that he was still capable of movement. He then turned his attention to the others. All three Vehicons had nearly been reduced to their bare armatures, except for Gerard, who was trembling to show he was still online. Ratchet immediately transformed his servo into a welder and turned Gerard over to being cauterizing his opened fuel lines. “Anyone capable of standing, go on ahead! I’ll tend to the injured!”

Bulkhead, Wheeljack, and Arcee all gathered themselves up. Bulkhead looked around, finding Bumblebee sitting slumped against a wall, and he took him by the shoulders. “Bee?”

Bumblebee coughed and shuddered. “I-I’m fine...Go on without me, Ratchet’s got me.”

Wheeljack turned to look at Ultra Magnus, who was also lying on the ground, and he picked the officer’s helm up into his hands. “Sir?”

Ultra Magnus’ optics onlined and he let out a shuddering sigh. His frame was wracked with gaps and trails of teeth marks, but he was alive. Albeit a little delirious. “Is...my other servo functional?”

“Yeah. So are your priorities.”

Knockout was the next to push himself up, resisting the urge to empty his tank when his cheek plate peeled from the floor with a thick string of yolk. “I-I’m coming. Just need a second.”

Soundwave helped Knockout to stand, despite one of his arms dragging uselessly behind him. His shoulder sparked, and he threw his helm to the side to signal Lazerbeak to fly ahead. “Lazerbeak: Command, display video.” On Soundwave’s visor, a live feed from the drone’s perspective played out, revealing Starscream’s current location to the group. From Lazerbeak’s perspective, it wasn’t looking good.

Starscream continued to shout as loud as his vocalizer would allow. Out of every bad idea he’d ever had in his life, this had to be the absolute worst one of all. What was he thinking!? Now he was leaking a breadcrumb trail of fuel, and the scraplets were, quite literally, biting at his heels! His ventilators turned red with strain as he continued to run, but no matter how hard he pushed, the scraplets remained firmly on his tail. He needed to go faster.

As a scraplet managed to grab a firm hold onto the rim of his thruster, the decision was made for him. It was time for an even worse idea. Starscream yelped and growled, steeling himself. With one final shout, he leapt into the air and transformed. His thruster screamed to life, and he propelled himself forward into the never-ending labyrinth of blackness. With only his memory of the ship’s layout as his guide, he made turn after death-defying turn. His wings scraped against the walls, lighting the hallways with lines of sparks. The scraplets still persisted; while he was confined to the Nemesis, he couldn’t pick up enough speed to out-pace them.

“Alright, then,” he said to himself, sounding distinctly afraid despite the confidence of his words. “Let’s go get some fresh air!”

Smokescreen gawked and pointed at Soundwave’s visor. “Holy frag, he’s transformed!”

Arcee grabbed Smokescreen by the arm and dragged him out of the sludge. “He’s heading for the docking bay, come on, we gotta get outside!”

Though they were hesitant to leave Ultra Magnus, Bumblebee, and Ratchet behind, Starscream wouldn’t be able to hold the scraplets off on his own. They all gathered their weapons and rushed out, towards the nearest exit. Bulkhead wasn’t interested in wasting time and barreled forward, crashing his shoulder into the door and bathing them in moonlight.

Starscream swallowed, bracing himself as he approached the Nemesis’ docking bay. The door was going to be small, he knew it was small. It wasn’t meant to allow a jet to pass through, and with the power out, the door would need to be opened manually. Starscream pushed his thruster to it limit, just to get as much distance from the scraplets as physically possible, and transformed, mid air. It was a maneuver he’d performed a thousand-fold, flipping forward and catching himself on his heels to break into a sprint. He slammed his servos into the crack of the door and yanked it to the side, his spark beating so quickly it hardly felt as though it moved at all. Then, a pain unlike anything he’d ever experienced exploded from his wings.

He choked. His body was unable to sacrifice enough processing power to generate a scream that would do the sensation justice. A full opera house of scalpels sunk into his wings and began to grind upwards, etching canyons into the plates. His tank lurched and he stumbled forwards, through the door. His legs blindly pushed him away from the source of his agony, as if it were something that could be out-run. Another scraplet took hold. And another. And another. His T-cog spun without his consent, and he transformed once again. His thruster exploded, bathing the entire docking bay in white, hot light for a mere second before his frame launched into the night sky.

He climbed and climbed, unable to see the ground, but feeling the atmosphere erode around him. One thousand feet. Two thousand. Five. Ten. Fifteen. The grinding didn’t stop; the teeth, like bear traps, clamped down for dear life. Chewing. Gnawing. It felt like acid was pouring through his fuel lines. It felt like his neural net were being strummed like a harp. He was overheating. He was cold. He could still hear the scraplets in pursuit.

His Commlink rang, and he snapped out of his trance long enough to accept the call. It was Smokescreen. “Starscream! We’re outside, we see you! Fly lower, towards the right side of the Nemesis, we’ll try and shoot the scraplets down when they come overhead!”

Starscream didn’t have the strength to answer, so he simply pivoted his melting wings and dove downwards. Wheeljack joined the comm. “Pull up, you’re coming in too hot! Pull up!” The voices dragged him back to reality, slowly but surely. The ground was indeed coming in quite quickly. A memory flashed in his mind. He was diving out of a shuttle, his favorite shuttle, with his Trine. He closed his eyes and spread his arms wide. The air sang to him. His spark soared. Death caressed his frame with beckoning hands. A calm that knew no equal.

But as the ground grew closer, lightning struck his processor. Basic survival coding, lighting a fire within his chassis, forcing him to transform at the last possible second. It was such a rush. One that he hadn’t indulged in for quite some time, as he no longer had someone there to catch him. Now he did. He snarled and intensified his descent, and the bots below shouted up at him, waving their arms. “Pull up! Pull up!”

Knockout shrieked and began stumbling backwards, holding onto his own gun like it were a life preserver. “Move! He’s going to crash!”

Bulkhead narrowed his optics, watching Starscream intently. “No, he’s not!”

Starscream pivoted his nose skyward, the wind punched upwards into his wings, and his thruster felt as though it could melt. Minuscule particles of dirt hit his underbelly, and he rocketed upwards once again. The scraplets, like a cloud of locusts, followed him, but were unable to regain their arc with as much speed. Arcee readied her cryogenic gun. “FIRE!”

The bots shouted and fired upwards, misting the scraplets in a thick fog of ice. They began to fall to the ground, bouncing like stones across water and shattering like glass. But not all of them were hit; they were flying too fast. Bulkhead cursed as he watched them begin to catch back up with Starscream. “Dammit! They’re going too fast! We can’t hit ‘em all like this!”

Smokescreen turned to Soundwave, his optics wild with panic. “Soundwave, can you fly?”

Soundwave looked towards his arm, still sparking from damage. “Negative. Transformation could expedite damages.”

Smokescreen scowled and gripped his rifle like a vice, then his gaze focused in on the video feed that was still playing on Soundwave’s visor. Then, they traveled to the cryogenic grenades on Wheeljack’s belt. “...Soundwave, how fast is Lazerbeak!?”

Starscream panted haggardly as he flew skyward once again. Where his optics once were stung with washer fluid. He couldn’t even tell if the scraplets were still attached to his wings, but he felt energon gushing out of him by the ounce. His processor was beginning to turn to sludge, and his wings felt ice cold. This was it, he was going to die. He couldn’t even spare the energy to wonder whether or not this was worth it: the answer was obviously no.

Smokescreen’s voice came back to him. “Starscream, you’re doing great, buddy! We’re gonna get you out of this! We just need you to do another pass over, okay?”

Wheeljack butted in. “Buuut, this time, when you’re on the way down, just turn off your thruster and let gravity do the work. Keep your nose up, and once you hear me say ‘now,’ you’re gonna transform.”

Starscream’s voice suddenly crackled to life in his throat. “WHAT!?”

“It’ll be okay!” Smokescreen assured him. “Bulkhead is going to catch you! Wheeljack says you’ll be going slow enough for it!”

Bulkhead joined the call. “I’ve caught bigger things going way faster, this’ll be a cinch!”

Knockout also decided to join in. “And I’m here! Medic is on standby!”

“You can do this, Starscream,” Smokescreen said, voice filled with hope. “We’ve got you.”

Starscream swallowed and his frame shuddered, finding himself overwhelmed. He exhaled and turned himself around for the final pass over. Maybe the last of his entire lifetime. But between that, and dying to a small swarm of scraplets in mid-air, the choice was clear. He began to dive, and disengaged his thruster. The wind sang a familiar tune.

“That’s it, that’s it, pull up just a bit…” Wheeljack said, stepping backwards and turning his optics to the sky. Overhead, in the opposite direction, Lazerbeak was flying downward at a rapid pace to meet Starscream. Grenades were strapped to his wings, and his little data-tentacles hovered over the pins. Soundwave watched his drone’s point of view in real time and clenched his servo over his spark chamber. He believed in his drone, but that didn’t make the scenario any less nerve-wracking. If any of this was mistimed, even by a second, Lazerbeak could be permanently grounded, and Starscream would share in his fate.

The bots stepped back, standing in opposite lines, like they were ushering in a plane at an air port with their high-beams. Arcee watched, feeling her chest grow hot as her ventilation system stalled. She clutched her gun, ready to rain hell upon any straggling scraplets. She could hardly believe that this wasn’t some elaborate nightmare, especially with Starscream in mortal danger, and how her spark trembled with fear at the mere idea of him crashing. How could this even be possible? How was this the same mech she had fought for centuries?

Starscream continued to fall, faster and faster still, but not fast enough that Bulkhead faltered from his place at the back of the line, servos splayed and ready to catch him. Lazerbeak kicked up speed and emitted a high-pitched beep as its turbines strained. The scraplets swooped downwards in a wide arc. He pulled the pins on his grenades, but did not drop them. Wheeljack watched, waiting for the perfect moment, and just as Starscream’s frame was a mere hundred feet from the ground, he shouted.

“NOW!”

Starscream transformed, gasping as his frame immediately spiraled out of control, flipping him forwards. His digits scraped the ground and he careened towards Bulkhead. His back slammed into Bulkhead’s chassis, causing them both to skid backwards, leaving deep ruts in the ground from Bulkhead’s pedes. Lazerbeak dropped the grenades overhead, and they exploded a mere few feet below, and Lazerbeak was instantly coated in nitrogen. The scraplet swarm fell directly into the cloud, instantly freezing what remained. Lazerbeak beeped as he spiraled out of control and Soundwave ran after him, just barely managing to catch him in one servo by the wing.

Bulkhead had his arms wrapped around Starscream’s abdomen, but when he looked down, he was met with his aft rather than his helm. Starscream was limp in his arms, legs folded over and scraping the ground alongside the crest of his forehelm. He was taking uneven gulps of air, and his plates were cold while the mesh beneath was fiery hot. Bulkhead let out a chuckle of pure relief at the confirmation that Starscream had survived the fall. “I told you I’d catch ya!”

Starscream choked a bit, letting out a strangled little sound that progressed into a gut-wrenching scream. Bulkhead gasped and rotated Starscream upright, then attempted to lower him to the ground, but Starscream struggled to the point he was dropped. He fell to his knees and curled into himself, his arms grasping past his own shoulders in an anguished embrace. He retched and his wings quaked as if they were shorting out. “God, oh GOD!”

The bots rushed over to him, worry plastered on their faces. But Knockout quickly fell to one knee and placed his servos onto Starscream’s back, surveying the damage of his wings as the Seeker broke into full-body sobs. His wings had large chunks taken out of them, with smaller trails that webbed outwards as the scraplets that had previously latched onto him took their final nibbles. Energon leaked from Starscream’s wrist and wings in a steady trickle. Adrenaline protocols had to be the only thing keeping him conscious. “Soundwave, I need that generator back online, now. I don’t care how you do it, just get it done!”

Soundwave clutched a shivering Lazerbeak against his warm chassis, but nodded. Lazerbeak crackled out a beep in the affirmative, and the two of them rushed inside. Wheeljack followed behind them, shouting. “I’m comin’ to help! Three workin’ servos is better than one!”

Smokescreen and Arcee both dropped to their knees beside Starscream and dropped their weapons. Smokescreen frowned and grimaced, hovering his servos over Starscream but unsure where to place them to offer him any comfort. “Starscream, hey, look-listen to me, okay? You did amazing. Everything’s gonna be okay. Just take some-take some deep breaths for me, alright, buddy?”

Starscream continued to tremble as Knockout retrieved a welder from his subspace. He said something about needing to cauterize the wound. Bulkhead muttered something, likely wondering if Starscream could handle it. But he couldn’t hear any of it. All he could hear was Arcee’s breathing, and the scratching. His brows shot skyward as he heard her plating begin to creak, and she coughed. No, this wasn’t happening. Not now, not after all he’d done to save them. A few dead Vehicons were one thing, but his goal had been to save all of these pit-forsaken Autobots. And with Primus as his witness, not a single one of them were dying today. Not on his watch.

Suddenly, Starscream lunged forward and grabbed the first gun he could find. He shoved Smokescreen aside and jammed the gun forward. The barrel planted itself against Arcee’s abdomen, and he pulled the trigger without a second thought. Instantly, Arcee’s tank, and everything layered above it, froze solid. Starscream pulled the trigger again. She choked on a scream and fell onto her back where she began to seize up, her limbs flailing wildly on the ground and her optics rolled back into her helm. All around him, the others were screaming. Smokescreen wrenched the gun from Starscream’s servos and shouted at him.

“What the frag is wrong with you!? You’re killing her!”

“Not as quickly as the scraplets will!” He retorted, silencing them. “Knockout, take her to the med bay and get to work! I’ll be fine, just go!” When he didn’t hear any movement, he growled and pushed against Knockout’s chest plates with all of his strength, forcing the medic to his pedes. “GO!”

Knockout stammered and looked to Arcee. Her back arched and she continued to gasp, clawing at the ground. “Bulkhead, grab her and a cryo-gun, and for Primus’ sake, keep her tank cold!” Knockout turned and ran inside, and Bulkhead scrambled to follow. He gathered Arcee up in a single arm while his other servo grabbed his rifle, which he planted into Arcee’s abdomen with a grimace. “I’m sorry, Arcee!” He cried, as they both ran inside. Arcee didn’t answer. She only continued to choke, and seize in his arms. Even more so when he pulled the trigger.

Smokescreen watched them leave in horror, then turned his attention to Starscream. He was swaying on his knees, getting dangerously close to tipping over. “Starscream?” No response. “Starscream!?”

Starscream made a small sound and finally fell to his side, his helm only barely escaping a collision with the ground, thanks to Smokescreen’s servo catching his cheek. Smokescreen gently laid him down, then took Starscream by his leaking wrist. The trickle hadn’t slowed at all, and he grimaced as he realized what he’d have to do to save Starscream’s life.

Smokescreen turned his servo into a blaster and fired rapidly at the ground, until the barrel turned red from heat. He bent Starscream’s wrist, baring the wound to the air, and Starscream shuddered as he felt the cool night air pass over his opened fuel lines. “What are you doing…?” He asked, his voice weak and raspy.

“I’m sorry. I have to cauterize the wounds,” Smokescreen said. He brought the barrel of his blaster close to Starscream’s wrist, and he felt its heat. Starscream’s spark was suddenly gripped by fear.

“Wait-!” The barrel made contact. White, searing agony traveled through his lines, all the way to his shoulder. He screamed, then slowly began to sob as the blaster was held in place for what felt like hours. Numbness tingled up his arm as his servo was finally let go, and he fell limp. Smokescreen placed his palm against Starscream’s battered wing, pinning it down.

“I’m sorry, we’re not done,” Smokescreen said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re still bleeding bad.” Static filled Starscream’s processor as the rim of the blaster made contact with his wing. His body quickly forced itself into stasis, unable to take in any more pain without overheating. Like flipping a switch, he fell into the deep, dark waters of his unconscious mind and was set adrift.

“Starscream, do you exist only to disappoint? To fail? Or do you merely exist for existence’s sake?”

“No, lord Megatron.” Starscream rumbled, holding his helm low as he stood in the center of his master’s throne room. Megatron circled him like a predator, eyeing up his prey. Starscream kept his pistons locked to not show his fear. “I exist only to serve you. To serve the Decepticons.”

“Hmph.” Megatron stopped his circling to stand in front of Starscream, looking down at him as though he were scolding a sparkling. “When you joined our cause, you had such promise. While your Trine had abilities that should have surely earned them a seat at my side, it was you who I chose as my second. Tell me, Starscream. Why do you think I would do such a thing?”

Starscream opened his intake and looked up to face his master, but closed it again and looked back to the ground. He began fidgeting with his digits, peeling blue paint and revealing the grey plates beneath. This had to be some sort of test. Or a trap. He refused to fall for it. “...I’m not certain, master.”

Megatron raised his servo and Starscream flinched. A massive, clawed digit traveled to his forehelm and planted itself just below his crest. “It was your mind that interested me, Starscream. Thundercracker and Skywarp are strong, but they will never have what it takes to lead. You are a tactician, just as I am. But you lack brute strength. That is why your perspective is invaluable to me...However.” Megatron placed his claw beneath Starscream’s chin, lifting his helm high.

“Your perspective has been...lacking, as of late. I sense that your emotions are getting the better of you. During your last excursion, you failed to follow through with our plan to attack the Autobot base. You hesitated. You called for a retreat...Tell me why, and I may rethink my disappointment.”

Starscream sighed, shuttering his optics. “...It would appear a member of our ranks has joined the opposing side, master.”

Megatron’s optics grew wide, and he bared his fangs, half grinning, half growling. He didn’t need to know the name of this traitor; their absence was quickly noticed when they first disappeared. “Then bring him to me.”

Chapter Text

Starscream’s processor swirled as his systems slowly came back online. His audials sadly took the longest time to recalibrate, but his neural net came back online with much enthusiasm. His entire frame ached from exertion, his wrist stung, and, thankfully, he found that his wings felt just fine. They had likely been outright replaced. The first noise that he was able to put a source to was the gentle beeps of the med bay equipment, he could have guessed where he was but at least he could now confirm it. Everything smelled sterile. Slowly, voices came into focus to his left.

“Easy, now. I know you’re all excited, but don’t crowd her,” Ratchet said with an audible smile, despite his attempt to sound stern. “Arcee needs to rest.”

Starscream exhaled, suddenly remembering the events of the night before in one large wave. Thank Primus, he’d managed to save Arcee. It sounded like the entirety of the Autobot team had been squeezed into the med bay. Starscream hadn’t made a large enough movement to be noticed, it seemed. Otherwise, without optics, it would be hard to tell he was awake. Hearing the barrage of well-wishes, praise, and apologies from the Autobots made him hesitate to announce that fact. Bulkhead in particular was apologizing profusely for having to continue to freeze Arcee’s tank. What a ridiculous thing to apologize for.

“I’m fine, Bulk,” Arcee said, her voice weak with a slight tinge of static. “It’s okay.”

“I know, but still...I’m glad you turned out alright,” Bulkhead responded, with his servos both wrapped around one of Arcee’s.

Ultra Magnus, sitting in his own berth, looked on with a gentle smile on his face. His plating was still raw with weld-marks from the quick patch-job Ratchet had to perform. But he could wait to be smoothed out. He just wanted to bask in this moment of peace, knowing that, against all odds, they had managed to survive. His optics drifted over to another berth, where the Vehicon Gerard reclined, surrounded by friends of his own. Susan was gently stroking Gerard’s helm and whispering comforting words about how he’d done all he could, and how proud they all were.

Ultra Magnus’ smile wavered, grimly reminded that this peace didn’t come without a cost. Several Vehicons had perished and would need to have arrangements made. Despite all of them being clones, copied and pasted for centuries until the original CNA donor could no longer be remembered, they were still bots with beating sparks. Bulkhead’s decision to name them let their individual personalities finally shine through. How many had they killed over the course of the war, without a second thought? How many of them were silently aware that they had been born to die? And was Ultra Magnus selfish to have focused on the lives of his own team, until now, when the consequences of that were laid bare?

Worse still, he was reminded that their survival wasn’t a result of his actions. It was Starscream who had ultimately saved them all. If not for him, Ultra Magnus would have failed in the promise he’d made to Optimus. The promise to keep his family safe. But his shame would solve nothing, so he swallowed it, alongside his pride. His gaze drifted to Starscream, who, in his eyes, was still peacefully in stasis. Between the dearly departed Vehicons, and the incredible show of bravery Starscream had demonstrated, there was much work to be done. For now, he would allow himself to indulge, and he stood to join the family.

Knockout, who was lounging beside the freshly-healed Soundwave, stood up with a start once he saw Ultra Magnus. “Woah, easy there, big fella. You shouldn’t test your limits just yet; some of your hydraulics still need testing.”

Ratchet shook his helm. “I took care of that while you finished up with Bumblebee. He’s fine to move.”

“Ah...right! I must have missed that. Carry on, then.” Knockout sat back down, suppressing the tinge of shame he felt while standing beside a medic that far surpassed him. He was always better at breaking things than fixing them, and that fact seemed to get clearer each time Ratchet was called in to save his shiny behind.

Ultra Magnus loomed above Wheeljack and Bulkhead to get a better look at Arcee. She was weak, her optics slightly dim, but she was relaxed. Smiling, surrounded by friends. Alive. “Hey, Ultra Magnus...how’s that servo?”

He snickered and rolled his optics, lifting both his intact servo as well as his claw. “Functional, and accounted for. Thank you.”

Bumblebee chuckled from his position, crouched beside Arcee’s berth with his arms resting atop it. “Wow, and you haven’t once asked about my poor ankles. Cold.”

“And what about my boo-boos?” Smokescreen said with a pouting lip.

Arcee laughed and clutched her tank. “Ow, don’t make me laugh!”

Starscream continued to listen in as the chatter dragged on, and his frown tightened. He found himself in a state of intense, tank-churning envy for the femme beside him. All the kind words, jokes, and relieved smiles...He wished that he had that when he first arrived here, when he was first struck blind. Even just one person to see him wake up and say ‘thank Primus you’re still here’ would have meant the world to him. Obviously Arcee took precedent in this instance, she was part of their team. Starscream wasn’t, and he never would be. Not really. And that was fine by him.

Still, all this gushy emotional fluff made him feel physically ill. It was like standing next a boiling pot of honey; thick, syrupy, and sickening in its richness, but it would burn to the touch. Starscream decided he would rather not have to endure it any longer. Once he had a good feeling that they were once again fully preoccupied, he quietly slipped from his berth and began to tip toe to the door.

Arcee lifted her helm a bit, seeing movement from behind Wheeljack, and squinted until the tip of a grey wing came into focus. “...Starscream?” The mech in question froze, just in the doorway, with his wings raised to their peak. Everyone in the room turned, surprised to see him awake, and all incredibly confused to see him attempting to slip away undetected. Bulkhead marched over to him with a baffled concern on his face.

“Hey! Where you goin’? We were waiting on you to wake up!”

Starscream opened his intake to make an excuse, something along the lines of, ‘I find myself having an allergic reaction to the power of friendship.’ But the fact that they were all, apparently, waiting for him made the words shrivel and die on his glossa, until only a strangled noise came from it.

Suddenly, a quick set of pedes rushed over to him and Starscream found himself in the confined restraints of an impromptu embrace, courtesy of Smokescreen. “Oh my God, Screamer, I’m so fragging sorry about the blaster thing, I’m so sorry! It’s just you were bleeding everywhere and passing out and I was freaking out and I didn’t know what else to do because-”

Starscream struggled in his grasp, looking like a mangy cat who absolutely despised being held. “U-Unhand m-!” He found himself being crushed further when Bulkhead decided to join in on the hug. Starscream wheezed like a kettle.

“You had us all worried, pal!” Bulkhead said with a laugh. “You should’ve seen Smokescreen carryin’ you in! He was a mess!”

Knockout grinned, wickedly. “He was crying. No, sobbing.”

Smokescreen gawked at Knockout and his face plates began to warm up. “No I wasn’t!”

Bumblebee smiled. “Yeah, you were.”

Arcee sat up as much as her aching frame would allow, which caused the bots in attendance to flinch. “Hey, before you guys crush Starscream to death, could you bring him here? I wanna-ah-I wanna talk to him...”

Ratchet gently pressed her back down, appearing nonplussed with the attention Starscream was now receiving. “Don’t sit up,” he urged, quietly.

Starscream raised a brow as he was released, and he tapped his digits together with an apprehensive flick of his wings. Logically, there was no possible way Arcee had any reason to be cross with him, no one in this room did, but he still somehow found himself experiencing a bit of anxiety at the idea of getting any closer. Regardless, he steeled himself and stepped forward, hearing the bots at her side move to give him room. “...Hello,” he said, not knowing what else to say, but knowing that definitely wasn’t it.

“Hey,” Arcee said with a smile. “I know that everyone here wants to say it, but I get to say it first: Thank you.” Starscream’s brow ridge jumped. “You saved my life...And you risked yours to save everyone else. I just...I don’t know what else to say. Thank you.”

Starscream’s lips moved, but he made no sound. Of all the bots he expected to hear those words from, Arcee was dead last on his list of candidates. Let alone to have her be first in line. Little did he know that her words were the key that unlocked the flood gates to an ocean’s worth of praise. They overlapped each other, either that, or the words just blended together in Starscream’s mind:

“Excellent work, soldier.”

“When you did that second pass over, that was so fragging cool! And when-”

“Unfortunate landing, but overall flawless execution-”

“-Honorary Wrecker, in my opinion.”

“-Didn’t think you had it in you!”

At first, it felt nice. It felt really nice. But, over time Starscream began to feel that nagging, hollow feeling in his chassis once again. It all became noise. Static...It felt wrong, somehow. Like it were too good to be true, perhaps? No, like it was too good in general. Like the sweetest, slowest poison; his body rejected it before he could grow drunk off of it.

Among the chatter, Knockout took notice of Starscream’s sudden, dour expression. As did Arcee, but before she could point it out and put the clearly-overwhelmed mech into an even more awkward situation, by showing warranted concern, he swept in for the rescue. He knew Starscream well enough to know anyone showing genuine concern for him would only encourage him to close himself off further. “Hello, Cybertron to Starscream?” Starscream looked up towards the sound of Knockout’s voice with a snap of his helm. “Well, this is a fine way to treat your adoring public. Not quite used to the limelight yet, are you?”

Knockout strode over to Starscream’s side and wrapped his arm around the Seeker in a manner that was subtly reassuring. “Or, do you perhaps need some fresh air? It’s a bit cramped in here.”

Starscream stammered a bit, then reset his vocalizer when he finally had enough processing power to spare so that he could understand what Knockout was offering: an escape. “I-Yes. Yes, thank you, I would like that.”

Smokescreen rubbed the back of his helm, sheepishly. “Oh, scrap. Sorry, I got a little excited, I guess. We’ll see you later, though, right?”

Starscream nodded. “Sure, sure.” Knockout pushed Starscream outside with a gentle servo, following him out into the hall until they were outside of audial range.

“I would say I’m surprised,” Knockout began, looking ahead of them as they continued to walk. “But I’m really not all that surprised.”

“Surprised about what?” Starscream asked, sounding a little flat, but not curt.

“Your reaction to all that praise. After that incident with the cortical psychic patch, I think I got a good idea of how you operate.”

Starscream huffed, annoyed. “You’re never going to let me live that damned thing down, are you?”

“Nope, never~” Knockout teased. “Regardless, that was just a mindless crowd of Vehicons you were swiveling your aft in front of. That wasn’t praise it was merely-what’s the word...recognition. Now, praise, real praise...that’s a different beast entirely. It’s intimate. It bites.”

“Is there a point to your psycho-analysis of me, or do you just enjoy the sound of your own voice?”

Knockout spread his arms wide, releasing Starscream. Who, notably, did not push Knockout away. “Porque no los dos? Anyway, the point is: I could see you were short circuiting back there, so I got you out. You’re welcome.”

Starscream frowned and his wings drooped as that hollow feeling crept its way back into his spark. “...Thank you.”

Knockout frowned, too, and stopped. Starscream soon followed his lead, once he no longer felt his medic’s stride. “You’re acting strange. If there’s something wrong-”

“Why did you help me?” Starscream asked, almost sounding as if he were accusing Knockout of something.

Knockout was taken aback by the question, but he smiled through his confusion. “Isn’t it obvious? Not to parrot Arcee, but you saved our lives and risked your own to do it. That’s nothing like the Starscream I know and loathe. This is a big leap for you, and I’m trying to express my gratitude. What other reason would I need?”

Starscream crossed his arm and looked off in a random direction, chewing on his own words before finally allowing them to spill out. “Are we not falling into that pattern again?” Knockout suddenly frowned. “The one you mentioned before, when you apologized to me. We’re in the talking stage, are we not? What comes after that?”

Starscream wasn’t particularly interested in the idea of being on good terms with Knockout again. In fact, he suddenly found himself not being particularly interested in being on good terms with anyone at all. He wasn’t stupid enough to push anyone away outright, even if he really wanted to be alone. He would be throwing all this work away, if he did that. But Knockout’s earlier observation did have a degree of truth to it; they were a particularly volatile pair. Knockout knew him too intimately, and that was dangerous for his goal. If Knockout wanted to, he could ruin him in less than ten words. Even one, if he thought about it long enough. Starscream wasn’t willing to let himself get too comfortable around him. Plus, now that he was aware of their predictable volatility, Knockout getting this close again, this soon, it was...anxiety-inducing.

Knockout nodded, slowly, and took a few steps away from Starscream, though he didn’t take his eyes off of him. It was a painful truth, but a truth nonetheless. Even so, Knockout found himself in a genuine state of surprise. He couldn’t read Starscream’s mind, so he had no idea of what was actually bouncing around in his helm, or his spark. But from where he stood, all he could see was a remarkable amount of maturity on display. Starscream may not have had the most pure of intentions, but regardless of that, he’d actually listened to what Knockout had told him. And he took heed. Still, it did hurt to be pushed away, even if it was the best choice for the both of them.

“Whatever it was...I’m glad to see that won’t happen again,” Knockout said. “Goodnight, Starscream.”

Starscream waited until he heard Knockout walk several paces away, before he finally muttered a soft “goodnight,” in return. He exhaled, relieved to finally find himself alone. Actually, he was surprised to be alone. Completely alone. The Nemesis was eerie in its silence, even though he could hear the hum of electricity once again pulsing through its walls. With all the death, anguish, joy, and relief that still hung in the air, it was a paradoxical tomb of past and future. He walked, and each step echoed on for minutes upon minutes. Without much of a route in mind, he found himself at the elevator to the top deck. The ride up came so naturally that by the time the doors opened, it felt as though he’d teleported here.

The night was cold, cool and still. But the air felt electric with the energies that remained. Starscream walked to the middle of the deck and lifted his helm to face the sky, basking in it. Just a few hours prior, he had taken flight. Just when he had begun to stew in the possibility that he may never taste the skies again, against all odds, he did it. No one told him to, no one had held his hand and guided him to that decision. His chassis swelled with pride, and he smiled, spreading his wings wide as he breathed, just to get another sample of the wind. If Megatron could see him now, he would delight in rubbing his cracked face-plate in this victory. Predaking, too; the dragon that sought to have him die in darkness. He would look them both in their ugly faces and say:

“I’m still alive.”

He chuckled to himself in delight and spun in place on his heel strut in a carefree manner. He began to idly walk along the deck with a smile on his face as he continued to reflect on his successes. It was a risky move, rescuing the Autobots, but they all appeared to hold him in much higher esteem. Ratchet seemed to still be on the fence, considering his professional silence, but so long as he continued to be professional, his opinion of Starscream really didn’t matter. Knockout was a bit more flippant with his duties than Ratchet, but so long as one medic was on his side, his optics were close at hand...But how close?

Starscream hummed and came to a stop, contemplating to himself aloud to better walk himself through his own processor. “Without Shockwave’s formula for cybermatter on hand, I’ll have to wait until the Autobots stumble upon a functioning optic in the wild...Who knows how long that will take?” Starscream began to pace back and forth, scowling. “I can’t stay blind for the rest of my functioning life. Pits, I can’t even remain here for the rest of my life. Sooner or later they’ll wisen up to their foolishness.” He stopped and huffed, scratching the side of his helm. “Eventually this sacrifice I’ve made will lose its luster; they’ll grow bored of me…”

Starscream looked to the sky, frowning as nothing looked back. “Then, eventually, they’ll remember why they hated me in the first place.”

The cycle begins again, just as Knockout described.

He scoffed and rubbed his forehelm as he gazed at the wealth of stars just outside of his reach. Except, they weren’t, were they? He managed to fly through the Nemesis just fine in tight quarters. Certainly his familiarity with the ship played a factor in that, but his reaction time was nothing to sniff at. Perhaps, if he wanted, he could fly away, right now. Starscream spread his wings again and tightened his lips, taking a single step back.

Maybe he could give it a try? Just fly out into Cybertron and search for Shockwave’s old caches himself. He could feel around for an optic. Starscream took a few more steps back, and then a few more. How hard could it be to attach an optic? Better yet, if he found one himself, he could take it back to the Nemesis and demand it be re-attached. Wait, with what leverage? His weapons were disabled.

Despite the growing list of concerns, Starscream now found himself walking at a steady pace. The call for freedom was a siren’s song, and the call to the sky was something far stronger. Just him and the open air. No need to constantly worry about his standing among the crew; he could once again focus on himself and himself alone.

His chances were slim. Deathly so. But Starscream, at the end of everything, was a creature of habit. When he didn’t feel safe, he ran. And he didn’t feel safe here, not in the long term. He didn’t even feel safe now. All this praise and gratitude quickly thickened in his tank and turned saccharine. It felt familiar, and dangerous. Starscream stood still for a moment, then began to break into a forward sprint.

The wind whistled past his audials as he kicked up speed. His pedes began to drift from the ground as his wings caught the air. His thruster whirred, preparing itself for take off, when suddenly he heard the elevator doors open behind him. Starscream’s tank fell to the floor; he couldn’t afford a witness to his escape! In a swift recovery, he turned in a wide arc and slowed his pace until his full sprint became nothing more than a bouncy jog. Complete with humming and smiling. Not suspicious at all.

Bulkhead’s heavy pedes strode out of the elevator, which he easily filled to near capacity. “Starscream, what are you doing?” he asked with a tilt of his helm.

“J-Just stretching my legs!” Starscream jogged in place a moment longer, then wiped imaginary condensation from his forehelm and rested his servos on his hips. “What are you doing out here, Bulkhead?”

“Looking for you.” Bulkhead wasn’t really buying the jogging bit, but he wasn’t currently entertaining any alternatives. “Wanted to check in and make sure you were doing okay, figured you’d be out here.”

“Oh, I’m fine, thank you.” Starscream said, turning around to look anywhere else besides the sound of Bulkhead’s voice. He walked over to one of the currently-dormant satellite dishes and leaned against it, discouraged to hear Bulkhead following close behind.

“You sure? You kinda shut down back there. Knockout says you’re just not used to that much attention, but I wanted to hear it from you.”

Starscream scoffed and crossed his arms. “Knockout had a fine theory, but you were all talking over each other. Of course I would get overwhelmed, anyone would.”

“Yeah, I guess we were just kinda excited.” Bulkhead leaned against the same satellite and looked up at the stars. “Still, I was kinda worried that you’d flown off.”

Starscream visibly tensed and let out a small chuckle. “Why would I do that? That would be stupid!”

“Yeah, it would be...I guess I got the idea in my head because I realized you’re a lot like Wheeljack.” Bulkhead fully settled against the satellite while Starscream looked to him with a raised brow. “When Jackie and I were with the Wreckers, there was this sorta...unspoken rule. Or, more like a truth: every last one of us was eventually gonna kick the bucket. Nobody knew how, or when, but we all knew it was gonna happen. And the way we acknowledged that was not to acknowledge it. Everyone cared about each other, but everyone was also sorta...distant.”

Bulkhead looked down at Starscream with a soft, sad expression. “It was how we dealt with the idea of losing people; we acted like it was a normal thing. We still mourned, and we mourned hard, but we all knew where we would end up. When Ultra Magnus came in and started reeling us in, giving us some structure, it changed things. Everything got a little too real. We weren’t just a bunch of slaggers running around crackin’ helms anymore, we were becoming real soldiers. And when soldiers die, instead of it being all on them, or whoever killed ‘em, you have other people to blame when you lose somebody.”

“Your superior officer,” Starscream said, scowling with a sense of understanding.

“Yeah. It’s harder to get closure when you can’t take a swing at who you think is responsible...So, Jackie left for good.”

“I suppose I understand, in a way, but what does that have to do with me?”

“You two both got a bit of a weird thing with authority.” Bulkhead smirked, but only for a second. “But, mostly you two both got issues with getting close to people. When you start caring too much, you make distance to protect yourself. Jackie’s tryin’ to do better with that, it’s why he’s still here, but you? I barely know you, and I can already tell you’re thinkin’ of runnin’ away.” Starscream frowned and averted his gaze, tightening his grip on his arms. “Talk to me,” Bulkhead urged.

After a moment of silence, Starscream huffed, stepped away from the satellite, and began to pace. “There isn’t anything to talk about.” Before Bulkhead could disagree, Starscream spun around to look at him with his arms spread wide. “All of this, this...esprit de corps. It’s meaningless. You all act like I made this great sacrifice, but did I, really?”

“Of course you did, you could have died!”

“Yes, but I also could have died if I did nothing. I just would have died slower. Maybe the scraplets would have found me, maybe I would have escaped, and eventually starved to death. Or maybe, I could have gotten lucky and managed to survive for years to come. But what would the point of it all be, if I was doomed to simply scrape by on a comatose planet? I need you all alive so that I can live, too. Sure, I made a good show of it, I even bled a little bit. But does that matter if, in the end, the only reason I saved you was for my own gain?” Starscream scowled, challenging Bulkhead.

Bulkhead frowned and shook his helm with a scoff. “Who cares?”

Starscream flinched. “What.”

“I said: ‘Who cares?’ Who cares if you did it for selfish reasons? You still did it. And it was a selfless thing to do, no matter how much you convince yourself it wasn’t. And even if you announced that to everyone on this ship, I don’t think they would care, either. You wanna know why?” Bulkhead approached Starscream and spread his servos to grasp the bigger picture. “Because they’re still around to hear you say it. They’re alive because of you. Nobody in their right mind would sit around wondering why someone saved them, not for long, anyway. At the end of it all, all they can be is grateful.”

Starscream pointed in an attempt to physically slice through Bulkhead’s point. “But! When that gratitude wears off, because it will, what else will they have to dwell on but the past? Eventually, you’ll all remember me for what I am, and everything will go right back to how it was before!”

“Starscream, we’re not just going to forget that you saved us just because of something you did a long time ago.”

“Does that mean you can forget Cliffjumper?”

The name echoed out into the night, haunting the air like a ghost. Starscream paled and his wings fell as he realized he may have just made a huge mistake. Why, why did he have to argue!? He should have just nodded along and said ‘oh, Bulkhead, I never took you to be so sage and wise! I feel so much better, now!’ But no, he just had to flap his lip-plates and get answers to questions that should never be answered. He just had to fight.

Bulkhead shuttered his optics and let out a silent breath to offset the pain of the newly-opened wound in his spark. He knew Starscream was challenging him, testing his limits to really see how far his mercy went. But he had already taken vengeance for Cliffjumper, and all it left him with was stains on his servos he could never seem to wipe clean. He opened his optics and stared at Starscream, who he could see was already beginning to regret his decision to bring up his departed friend. The longer his silence dragged on, the more afraid the Seeker became. “...I’ll never forget Cliffjumper. Nobody who knew him could ever manage something like that. But, I can try and forgive you.”

Starscream’s wings flicked and he straightened with surprise. “That is not something that can ever be forgiven.”

“Try me,” Bulkhead said. “I mean that literally. I want you to try and move on from Cliffjumper, from everything you did, and if you can manage that...I think we could, too.”

Starscream scoffed. “I’ve already moved on from Cliffjumper, I didn’t know him.”

“Then why bring him up?”

“Because you would have if I didn’t, eventually.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“How can you?”

Starscream stammered, attempting to come up with a counter argument of some kind. Rather than admit he couldn’t come up with one, he remembered that it was better for him not to continue fighting, lest he dig himself a deeper hole. He sighed and resigned himself, crossing his arms once again. “...You’ve made your point. Anyway, to ease your fears, I’m not going anywhere. I just needed to clear my processor.”

Bulkhead nodded and smiled. “Good, glad to hear you’re doing alright...But, I actually came up here to tell you something, too.”

“That being?”

“Arcee wants to talk to you, one on one.”

Starscream’s gyroscope suddenly malfunctioned and he stumbled in place, despite standing still. “A-Arcee? Alone? Talk? Me? What?” He said, expertly demonstrating his ability to toss a word salad.

Bulkhead snorted. “Easy, Screamer, she’s not gonna bite you. She’s on too many painkillers to do that.”

“Ha,” Starscream stated. “But why alone?”

Bulkhead shrugged loud enough for Starscream to hear. “I didn’t ask. Do you not wanna go?”

“No. I mean, yes.” Starscream tapped his pede a few times and took a couple steps in a random direction, as if looking for an escape route when they existed all around him. “I’m tired.”

“Starscream…” Bulkhead said, raising a brow. Clearly, he didn’t buy that. “Come on, be a big mech and go talk to her. It won’t kill ya to have a conversation.”

“Easy for you to say,” Starscream muttered. As fretful as he was about Arcee’s intentions, he did find himself curious. Last time she talked to him alone, she threatened him, openly. But now she had actually thanked him; was it an act? Was she going to set the record straight while they were alone? She wouldn’t be stupid enough to threaten him again, while she was vulnerable. Or maybe she would be? It’s not as if he could get away with retaliating…Then, of course, there was the inconceivable third option, which he could not even begin to entertain enough to even describe. “...Fine, I’ll go talk to her.”

Bulkhead nodded with another smile. “Good. We’ll be hanging out in the lounge for a bit if you wanna join afterward. We’re all kinda having a hard time winding down after all of that excitement.”

Starscream paused on his way to the elevator and looked over his shoulder. “...Thank you, but I think I’ll just get some rest.”

“Your call. If I don’t see ya, then goodnight.”

“Yes. Goodnight,” Starscream finished, just as the elevator doors shut.

Starscream could hear the Nemesis slowly coming back to life as he made his way back to the med bay. Idle chatter, likely coming from the lounge, along with the synthetic beeping and booping of what he assumed to be a video game. Otherwise known as a waste of time. But, what else was there to waste when you couldn’t recharge?

Starscream felt anxiety beginning to well up in his spark chamber the further the sounds became, and the closer he got to the med bay. Logically, he was in no danger; Arcee was crippled and heavily drugged. He had everyone’s personal Comm-link. The lounge was just around the corner. He was the hero of the day. The list went on, but no matter how many times he ran through it, it gave him little to no comfort. He stood in front of the med bay doors like a turbofox being forced into a cage, and he took in a deep breath in an attempt to steady his nerves. This was just a formality, a demonstration of good faith. This would be helpful, in the long run. “Okay,” he whispered to himself before stepping inside.

Ratchet turned to face the door, standing beside Arcee’s berth, and he narrowed his optics. “Starscream,” he said in flat acknowledgment of his existence. Starscream made a bit of an odd expression at his tone, almost surprised by just how little Ratchet cared for his sacrifice, even though he fully expected the medic to be cold.

“Ratchet.”

Ratchet turned his attention to Arcee and gave her shoulder a gentle shake, waking her from her half-stasis. “Starscream’s here, Arcee. Send me a comm if you need anything, alright?”

Arcee blinked heavily and smiled up at Ratchet with a gentleness that brought one to Ratchet’s own face. “Okay, thank you...Goodnight, Ratchet.”

“Goodnight,” Ratchet whispered, as if he’d just tucked a sparkling into its berth. He gathered his things, placing them into his subspace, then walked out the door, only sparing Starscream a lingering, skeptical glance. As the doors closed, Starscream remained in place for a moment longer before he finally walked over to Arcee’s berthside.

“You wanted to speak with me?” He said, attempting to sound as neutral as possible.

Arcee didn’t respond for a moment, she just looked up at him and scanned him with her slow, sluggish optics. Her ventilators were audible; slow, and evenly paced. Ratchet had given her a conservative dosage of painkillers, but her exhaustion compounded the effects. Still, she was cognizant enough to see that Starscream was hesitant. She decided to ignore that, just in case that pushed buttons. The last thing she wanted was for him to run away. “Yeah, I wanted to ask you some questions.”

“And you couldn’t do that with anyone else in the room?”

Arcee let out a weak, dry chuckle. “Well, you’re easily influenced by an audience.”

“Mm.” Starscream neither agreed nor disagreed. But mainly, he didn’t disagree. “What are your questions?”

Arcee shifted, making herself more comfortable, and rested her servos on her abdomen. Her arms weaved between tubing that was locked against her frame to keep her tank pumping at a normal pace. “I saw you run away, when we got swarmed...Why didn’t you keep running?”

Starscream tightened his lips and lowered his brow, feeling a sense of deja vu from when he was speaking with Bulkhead. Would it be wise to say what she wanted to hear, or to tell her the truth, as he’d told Bulkhead? Then again, he wasn’t sure what Arcee wanted to hear. The most obvious option was to say ‘because it was the right thing to do,’ but would Arcee believe that? Or was she trying to squeeze the truth from him, so she could more easily return to their old dynamic? Bulkhead’s curt wisdom echoed into his mind, reminding him that, ultimately, his reasoning didn’t matter: ‘who cares?’

“You were of more use to me alive than you were dead,” Starscream said, in a tone that was so bland it was almost insulting.

Arcee blinked, slowly, but nodded in time. “Okay.” Acceptance. Pure, simple, and altogether alarming. But before Starscream could linger on that response for long, Arcee continued her interview. “Have you ever lost someone you care about?”

Starscream gaped, and his wings tensed at the sudden question. “I...What sort of question is that?”

“A good one,” Arcee said, though she wasn’t joking. “This is the second time you’ve saved my life, Starscream.” Starscream threw up his brow ridge, and she smiled. “Yeah, I remember that. I never forgot it, really. I was able to brush it off since you said you just didn’t want to owe me for saving you, but, now I can’t. You talk a big game, but I don’t believe that you only saved us because you needed us. But I don’t really think you did it because you care, either. So…” Arcee chose her next words, very carefully. “I want to know if you’re capable of caring about anyone besides yourself.”

Starscream clenched his servos at his side, unaware that Arcee could see them. He clamped his jaw, tightly, feeling the heat of rage crawling up his throat cabling and warming his helm to a simmer. She was putting him on the spot. If he answered how he wanted to, she would write him off for good. Because of course Starscream didn’t care about them. He didn’t need their approval, their praise, or their friendship. He didn’t need anyone. He didn’t care.

When everyone showered him in adoration, he didn’t care. When Knockout cut Starscream out of his life, he didn’t care. When Bulkhead held him until he calmed down, he didn’t care. When Smokescreen left him a trail of datapads in the archives, he didn’t care. And he especially didn’t care when Smokescreen called out to him in the hallway. When he could hear him reaching out to find him, in the blind hope he could comfort Starscream one last time, he didn’t care.

He didn’t.

But that wasn’t what Arcee wanted to hear. She wanted the actual truth. The one that Starscream had spent his entire life trying to bury, deeper and deeper within himself until it couldn’t hurt him anymore. The monster under his berth that shared ‘his’ eyes. But they were younger. They were kinder. They were blue.

Arcee allowed Starscream to stew in his silence, because she had her answer. “What was their name?” She asked, leaning her helm upwards in anticipation. Starscream abruptly turned to leave without a word, but she caught him by the wrist, ignoring the pain in her tank. He stopped, but didn’t turn to face her. “Starscream, I just saw you do something I didn’t think was possible. And you can keep trying to pretend, you can keep trying to act like you’re this cold, sparkless monster that only cares about himself. But I saw you. We all saw you. And I swear to Primus, if you run from me, I will never forgive you...Prove me wrong, Starscream. What was their name?”

Starscream remained still. One of the exposed wires in his optic socket crackled with energy, but it wasn’t enough to fill the silence. As time dragged on, Arcee’s grip loosened until her back was once again against the berth, but her servo remained outstretched. Starscream remained still a moment longer, then began making his way towards the door. Arcee looked on with a crippling disappointment in her eyes, until Starscream suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. “…I didn’t lose anyone.”

Arcee’s optics whirred as they opened to their fullest, but she did not interrupt. Her patience was rewarded as Starscream turned his helm slightly over his shoulder, towards her. “I didn’t lose anyone; I killed them...All of them.”

“Who?” Arcee asked, her voice showing a surprising gentleness.

Starscream turned back towards the door and swallowed. “My trine...and my conjux.”

Arcee blinked and her optics flashed, but Starscream did not allow her to question him further. He slipped out the door without another word, leaving her alone to wonder. He hoped she would die of it, somehow. But Arcee’s spark shivered as she settled back into her berth. She had gotten her answer, but it was somehow so much worse than she could have ever imagined. She knew of Starscream’s Trine, and though they were never a confirmed kill, at some point, they simply disappeared. Never to be seen again...Now she knew where they had gone. Worse still, now she knew that Starscream was not only capable of care, but of love. And he killed them.

She wasn’t sure if she felt pity, or dread.

Starscream’s pedes weighed tons. He may as well have been walking through mud on his way back to his room. He ignored Bulkhead’s suggestion to meet the others in the lounge, even as he heard the mirth growing fainter and fainter still. He would have no part of it...He didn’t want it. That was to say, he didn’t feel he deserved it, but he would never admit such pitiful feelings. Not even to himself. His helm was so low it felt as though he were crawling, and his wings practically scraped the floor as he finally opened the door to his and Smokescreen’s quarters.

The door shut behind him, and he was enveloped in near-complete silence. Only the hum of electricity remained. Selfishly, he locked the door from the inside; Smokescreen could sleep on a couch in the lounge for call he cared. He didn’t want to see him, or anyone else. After standing still for what felt like hours, he finally worked up the strength to walk to his berth. Rather than lying flat on his tank, he took to lying on his side, facing the wall, and curled into as tight of a shape as he possibly could. His forehelm made contact with the wall, along with his spiked knee-pads. The space behind him was so empty he felt it to be a black hole that threatened to take him apart, piece by tiny piece. Whittling him down to a mere grain of rust, but not enough to take him completely. Only the parts it wanted. The useful parts.

Starscream let a series of long, silent sighs. Each one guiding him closer and closer to the sweet release of stasis. He did not allow his processor to dwell on anything, only how tired he was. One, two, three, inhale...One, two, three, exhale…

One...Two...Three.

“I preferred the equator,” Starscream complained, shivvering as he trudged through the snow.

“Yes, I know. I remember. You hate everything about this place,” a large mech said, a few paces ahead. Just out of reach. But this wasn’t right, this wasn’t what Starscream remembered. But he couldn’t question it, he was confined to a script like a rodent in a vice, suffocating him.

“Yeah, well, so far all it’s been is too fragging cold. We should just cut our losses and leave before my thruster freezes shut.”

“We didn’t, though.”

I know. I wish we did. The ghost turned around, and Starscream stopped, even though he could still hear the snow crunching underped. Blue eyes, like sapphires, pierced through the snow. He was white, he blended in too well, even with the little splashes of red he could no longer see. What did they even look like? It was all white. Just those eyes, and that warmth he would never find again.

Starscream struggled to open his intake, but all that came out was static. Defeaning static. Please, Primus, just let me talk to him. Let him hear me. Let it be different, just this once. Let this end well and I’ll gladly never wake up again. Let me have this. Give him back. Bring him to me.

“Sorry, my Star. That’s not how it works. It’s too late. See? It’s happening again.”

Starscream’s optics shook, taking in the blurry image of his blue arm in his peripheral vision. The barrel was hot. Smoke wafted upwards, stinging his olfactory sensors. No, no, not again. Not again! His optics moved on their own, back to the shuttle that was simultaneously so close and so far away. Blue leaked from his chest like a waterfall, dead center. It was instant. God, he prayed it was instant. His optics remained open for so long before they finally went dark. A rainbow of colors leaked from the wound, cool blue, calming green, and bright, hot white.

It was the first and last time he saw that spark.

“Does it still hurt as much as it did back then, Star?”

Yes. It’s worse.

“Good,” he said, his tone so gentle and sweet. It hurt more that way. “I’m glad you haven’t forgotten about me. Do you remember them, too?”

I couldn’t forget them, no matter how hard I tried. He felt them, standing just behind him, purple on the left and blue on the right, but he couldn’t turn to look. He didn’t deserve to look. They said nothing.

“You’ve changed, Star.”

Stop. I can’t hear this again.

“This isn’t the bot I fell in love with. But we can get through this, together. Just come with me, please.” The snow melted, he was in a sea of bright blue, it leaked from the jet’s chassis and optics in a never-ending deluge. Starscream’s arms were too blue, it blended right in.

Stop it, stop it!

Starscream opened his mouth again, and the static dissolved into a cacophany of screams. It wasn’t his voice. Everything was turning white, the wind was so loud. A cruel miosis of the first and last time he’d lost him.

“Starscream...Don’t do this, please.”

Starscream howled until he felt his body could tear itself apart.

“I still-”

The optics disappeared behind the wall of white snow, and the howling wind took the shuttle’s voice with it. Finally, Starscream’s voice broke through the tide.

“JETFIRE!”

Starscream awoke with a start, gasping and clawing at his own chassis. The Nemesis was warm, but the floor was cold. He’d fallen from his berth and landed on his wings. Starscream hissed and pushed himself to sit up, then grabbed his helm with trembling digits as he forced himself to return to reality. Clawing and digging for purchase into the real world. He was gasping to cool his systems down, his breathing eventually evening out into something long and slow.

He hadn’t had that dream in centuries.

He sighed and covered his face with his servos, finding his cheek plates sopping wet and his throat hoarse. He was somehow more exhausted after recharging than he was after dealing with an entire horde of scraplets. He forced himself to stand on shaking pedes and looked towards Smokescreen’s empty berth. The door was still locked. Good.

He felt disgusting; hopefully nothing a solvent shower couldn’t fix. Starscream approached the door and opened it, only to hear a short gasp. Which wasn’t ample warning for the lumbering blue and yellow mech that crashed into him, as a result of leaning his audial firmly against the door. The two of them screeched and fell backwards onto the floor, and Smokescreen quickly scrambled off of Starscream like he were freshly dipped in a smelting pit.

“Sorry! Scrap, sorry!” He sat on his knees, looking at Starscream with a worried grimace. “Are you okay? I fell asleep in the lounge and when I was on my way back I heard you screaming!”

Starscream sat upright, growling, but Smokescreen only grew more concerned as he saw the tears that stained Starscream’s face. “Oh, dude...What happened?”

“Nothing,” Starscream snapped, pushing himself to stand. At least he wasn’t going to get chewed out for locking Smokescreen out of his own room. “Leave me alone, I need a shower, not your blasted mud-flap you call an intake.”

“Jeez,” Smokescreen scowled and stood up. “You don’t need to be a shithead about it.”

Starscream ignored him and stormed off, leaving Smokescreen to stand alone in their room. Hurt, and confused.

Who the hell is Jetfire?

Chapter Text

Starscream stomped into the wash racks in a huff, paying no mind to anyone who saw him in his current state of emotional undress. Nobody dared approach him; the scowl he was sporting, combined with the bright tear stains, gave him a look that could kill a mech. Not to mention how his wings sat high on his back, flicking and flapping through his agitation. The only thing he was missing was a giant, neon sign that said ‘Caution: Will bite.’

He stood below the shower head and wrenched the lever to the side like it owed him shanix. Instantly, he was assaulted with a deluge of ice cold water that slapped the top of his helm like a metal bat. He yelped, though it was dangerously close to a scream of terror, and stepped aside. He shuddered and reset his ventilators, then snarled to re-center himself in the present. “Sure, fix the ventilation system, fix the communication system, but not the fragging solvent-heater. Let’s just bring in a bunch of new recruits and immediately freeze them to death!”

He shoved his servo under the stream, as if attempting to beat it into submission, and waited, impatiently, for it to finally warm up. He tapped his pede in the meantime, just so he could focus on something other than how cold his digits were. Thankfully, it didn’t take too long for the solvent to finally begin heating up. As soon it was tolerable, he leapt beneath the shower head and tilted his helm up. Instantly, his processor was alight with warnings he couldn’t see, but could definitely hear. His optics, olfactory tubing, and intake were instantly flooded, and he gurgled, sputtering and backfiring to drain his systems.

Starscream hung his helm low and became deathly still, servos clenched so hard that his claws creaked into his palms. He asked himself, ‘is this minor inconvenience worthy of the level of violence I want to commit?’

No. Not today.

He exhaled, not realizing he had been holding his breath, and gently placed his shaking servos against the wall in front of him. He leaned forward to allow the warm solvent to cascade down his back and across his wings. Instantly, his decision to keep the peace was rewarded. He nearly melted beneath the solvent, as the internal sensors of his wingspan amplified the comforting warmth a hundredfold. His knee-pads knocked together and his brow twitched while his wings moved outside of his control, taking in every last drop. His posture was borderline obscene, but he didn’t care. This was exactly what he needed.

He sighed, his spark expanding with simple pleasures as he turned, stretched, and scrubbed his body clean. He was careful not to look up again, instead letting the solvent pool in his palms to clear away the stains of his rotten start. Starscream honestly wished he could stay here forever, happy and warm. But he would eventually have to go back out into the cold, cruel world and get some work done. His processor wandered, wondering what would be on the docket after such an eventful evening? Smokescreen and him would likely be placed on cleaning duty. He grimaced in disgust and made a mental note to treat himself to a second shower, when he suddenly froze up.

Oh, Primus. He did not start off on the right pede with Smokescreen. “Slaaaag,” he whispered to himself before turning off the shower. The cold air hit him instantly, and he flapped his wings to rapidly flick off the excess solvent, then shivered. Today was most assuredly not going to be an easy one. And his suspicions were confirmed when he heard the intercom system crackle to life, and Starscream realized that he hadn’t heard Ultra Magnus knock on his door this morning. In fact, he hadn’t heard from him at all.

“Good morning,” Ultra Magnus said, his vocalizer gravelly with sleep. He’d overslept? This was a bad omen, for certain. “Ultra Magnus speaking...In light of our recent losses, we will be holding a funeral service by the Well of Allsparks at oh-nine-hundred hours. Please join us in remembrance of our fallen crew: Hank, Mosh Pit, Killjoy, Slipknot and Taiyaki. Everyone is welcome to speak, should they wish, and refreshments will be provided. All tainted energon has been disposed of, and what remains has been purified. Anyone who wishes to take time off to grieve is welcome to make a request via my Comm-link. To those of us who wish to continue on, we will reconvene in the lounge at eleven-hundred hours for a debriefing. Thank you.”

Starscream finished drying himself with a towel he managed to grab, and sneered. A funeral for the Vehicons? What a waste of time. Starscream heard a trembling, mournful sigh behind him, and nearly jumped out of his plates. He had assumed he was alone in the wash racks, but apparently a Vehicon had either slipped in while he was showering, or he’d been there the entire time. Steve walked past Starscream, muttering to himself. “Oh, Taiyaki...Why did it have to be you…?”

Starscream’s helm followed Steve’s footsteps. He was thankful that Steve didn’t notice his distasteful expression regarding the whole thing. Still, his opinion was unchanged. He stepped out of the wash racks and placed his digits to his audial as he sent Smokescreen a ping. He didn’t answer, and Starscream sucked his dentae before making the risky move of sending another. After a heavy few rings, Smokescreen answered.

“Yo,” his voice lacked any sort of mirth. “I’m getting ready for the funeral. Did you need something?”

Starscream was taken aback. “You’re attending? Why?”

“Because it’s a real douche bag move not to go, obviously.”

Starscream huffed. Again with the Earth slang. “What in the world is a ‘douche bag?”

Smokescreen took a long pause. “Honestly, you don’t wanna know. I thought I wanted to know, and I really didn’t want to know. Anyway, I also wanted to go to speak for poor Taiyaki. That’s the name of the Vehicon we found in the broom closet, if you care.”

Starscream’s wings flinched at Smokescreen’s choice of words. “Oh...That’s...a tragedy. Poor Tah-yah-key.”

Smokescreen sighed, heavily. “Taiyaki. Whatever, if you’re not going, just meet me at the debrief. Later.” Smokescreen ended the call so abruptly that Starscream continued talking.

“Wait, where are you? Hello? Smokescreen?” Starscream groaned. “Dammit…”

Starscream made the educated guess that he was going to end up attending a funeral today. How lovely. He quickly broke into a brisk jog towards one of the side doors of the ship, which he was quick to notice it was being used as a front door with all the foot traffic in that area. As he came around the corner, he heard Wheeljack and Bumblebee’s voices.

Wheeljack was looking down at his chassis, which Lazerbeak was firmly attached to, appearing slightly uncomfortable. “I thought you said you wanted a treat, Soundwave. Why are you just shippin’ me off with Lazerbeak?”

“Soundwave: Will redeem treat at later date. The communication system remains offline, this takes precedent. Level of excitement: at full capacity, due to last night’s events.”

Bumblebee smiled and stroked Lazerbeak’s back with a single digit, which produced a series of happy, synthesized trills. “I figured an ex-gladiator would always be up for danger.”

“Soundwave: Happily retired. Very happily.”

Wheeljack fanned Bumblebee’s servo away. “Does he really have to clamp onto my chest like this?”

Bumblebee laughed. “Aw, Jackie, don’t be cold. It’s just because he likes you.”

“I don’t think that’s why he’s doing this.”

Soundwave nodded. “Correct. Lazerbeak: enjoys warmth. Wheeljack: not special. Also, a warning: Lazerbeak has a good memory, Wheeljack. Be nice.” Soundwave walked away, leaving Wheeljack with wide open optics as a certain incident involving a dud grenade and a virus came to the forefront of his processor.

“...I hate him,” he said, as he began to pet Lazerbeak for no particular reason. Certainly not bargaining.

Starscream approached, snickering. “It seems I’m finding more in common with you every day, Wheeljack.”

Wheeljack smirked, surprisingly pleased to see Starscream out and about. “Well, look what the scraplets dragged in.”

Bumblebee grinned. “Morning, Starscream. Where are you headed?”

“To the funeral,” he replied, which caused both of the two mechs to throw up their optic ridges in surprise. “And you?”

“Same for us,” Wheeljack confirmed. “After the service and the debrief from the brass I’m headin’ out with the flying sting ray to snap a few pics of those claw marks for Soundwave. Need a lift?”

Starscream scoffed with a confident smirk. “No need. I think I can fly there by myself, thank you.”

Bumblebee grimaced. “Uh, no offense, Starscream, but-”

Starscream scowled, placing his servos on his hips. “Oh, please. Don’t tell me you’re going to say I shouldn’t fly blind. I’ve proven myself fully capable of such a feat! Or did the scraplets manage to gnaw out part of your processor?”

“Starscream, you’re a fighter jet.”

“Good to see your optics still function. Way to rub it in, Bee.”

“You’re going to a funeral.”

Starscream opened his intake to retort, then swiftly clamped it shut. He hadn’t earned the name Starscream by flying quietly. Even if he landed miles away from the service, they would surely still hear him. It was common practice for fliers to walk or be towed by a grounder during a procession, out of respect and reflection. To Starscream’s credit, he couldn’t remember the last time he attended a proper funeral, and he didn’t actually think that they would be going about it the traditional way. But, they were back on their home planet. Now was as good a time as any to return to form.

“...Ah, point taken.” He scowled with a little huff. “Still, I don’t see how I can ‘get a lift’ with either of you,” he said, making air quotes with his long digits. “It’s not as if I can fit in your puny alt modes. And I don’t see two Earth-grounders towing a fighter jet.”

Wheeljack smiled. “Who said anythin’ about towin’?”

Starscream was tucked into a tight ball on top of Wheeljack’s roof, hugging his knee pads as they all joined the procession at a snail’s pace. Ample time for any onlookers to sear the image of the former S.I.C. to the Decepticons sitting atop a comedically puny Earth vehicle. Starscream’s scowl threatened to permanently warp his facial plating with how deeply it creased. “This. Is. Humiliating.”

“Hey, I’m doin’ you a favor, here, Screamer,” Wheeljack said, clearly amused. “This isn’t a picnic for me, you know that, right? Your aerodynamic aft is threatenin’ to pierce my roof.”

“Would it make you feel better if you hitched a ride with me, Starscream?” Bumblebee asked, though it sounded like he was only offering out of kindness. He did not want to do that.

“Why couldn’t I have gotten a ride from Ultra Magnus? At least I could see him being able to tow me.”

“Sorry,” Wheeljack mused. “You’ve gotta schedule valet services ahead of time. So now you gotta deal with the cab.”

“I feel like this is far more disrespectful than just flying there. We look like a fragging circus act!” Starscream hissed, which earned him a stern shushing from the procession around them. He flinched and felt his ventilators begin to heat up.

“They don’t care,” Bumblebee whispered. “But they definitely will if we don’t keep it down.”

Starscream frowned and furrowed his brow ridge, sinking into himself. He should have just waited back at the ship for Smokescreen to return so that he could attempt to smooth things over. But it was too late now; it wasn’t as if he could magically make everyone in attendance unsee this ridiculous display. Instead, he fantasized about digging his heel struts straight into Wheeljack’s windshield as punishment for being so openly pleased with Starscream’s embarrassment.

The procession dragged on for a long while; the Well was a decent distance away, and their top speed was currently a grueling five to ten miles per hour. When they finally reached their destination, Starscream was dangerously close to slipping back into recharge. It was the sound of the front of the line beginning to transform out of their alt mods that stirred him back to reality. Wheeljack slowed to a stop, and Starscream didn’t need to be told to leap from his roof. Though he couldn’t see the actual setup, Starscream was still capable of knowing that there was a surprising number of guests.

It was nothing lavish. There were no chairs or even music to accompany the bereaved. All there was was a crowd standing before a podium, and behind that podium was Ultra Magnus, preparing to give a speech. Starscream crossed his arms, hoping this wouldn’t take all day, and turned towards Wheeljack. “So, how many of the Autobots are in attendance?”

There was no response, and Starscream’s wings flapped, only to feel a gap in the air where Wheeljack once stood. Bumblebee, who was also moving to leave, took a pause to look at Starscream. “Oh, sorry. We’re heading up to leave some innermost energon with the rest. Did you bring any?”

One of Starscream’s brows rocketed skyward. Innermost energon was a precious, finite substance; whatever you were forged with, or constructed with, was all you would have for the rest of your function. It was the fuel that flowed around one’s spark casing, and to present someone with it was a bold demonstration of love. Or, in this case, of grief. Vehicons, being an endless line of clones with weak sparks, were born completely dry. Which would mean that these gifts were exclusively from the Autobots. Innermost energon, thrown at canon-fodder. When most proper, forged mechs go their entire function without a single taste.

Starscream hadn’t bled a single drop in his entire function. He didn’t intend for his first bottle to be wasted on a group of Vehicons with such ridiculous titles.

Starscream nearly scoffed, but just barely managed to cover the incredibly rude exhalation by disguising it as a cough. “No, I haven’t.”

Bumblebee nodded. “That’s okay, being here is enough. I’ll be back in a second.”

When he felt Bumblebee leave, he allowed his posture to slump, unable to withhold some form of visible distaste without exploding. He tuned his audials outward, searching for Smokescreen’s voice in the crowd, but aside from some quiet sobbing and mournful whispers, he heard nothing. He still wondered who else of note was in attendance, and, to fill the time, he moved through a list of bots he knew for a fact were not here.

Soundwave and Arcee were obvious. Between Ratchet and Knockout, he assumed Ratchet, ever dutiful, had remained behind to watch over Arcee’s recovery. Knockout likely said he was going to the funeral, just to escape work, but was probably just taking a drive. Bulkhead was surely here, it’s the only way he could imagine Wheeljack would agree to come...That didn’t take very long at all. Thankfully, before Starscream could get bored again, he finally heard Ultra Magnus’ voice wash over the crowd, just as Bumblebee returned. Notably, Wheeljack was not present; he had likely found Bulkhead and remembered that they’re magnetized at the hip.

“Friends,” Ultra Magnus began. Already a strange start. Starscream half expected him to start with ‘my fellow Cybertronians,’ as if he were president. “I would like to thank each and every one of you for attending this service. Today, we mourn the loss of five dear mechs: Taiyaki, Slipknot, Mosh Pit, Killjoy, and Hank.” Not one laugh. Surprise after surprise. “All of them had only recently earned these designations. I remember when Bulkhead came to my office and pitched the idea to give you all the gift of a name, after spending so many years dictated by numbers. I remember taking the time to come and watch as you all drew your new names from a pail, and I witnessed something truly magical: Rebirth.”

Ultra Magnus folded his servos together and bowed his helm, immersing himself in the memory. “As you placed your name-tags on your chest plates, I saw the contents of your sparks. These five are no exception. Mosh Pit was confused as to what his name meant, and when Bulkhead told him, he got so, for lack of a better term, ‘pumped’ that he butted forehelms with Killjoy.” It was then that there was laughter. Fond, and sad, fluttering in the air like fallen leaves. “...Killjoy went next, then vowed to kill Mosh Pit. Slipknot requested a ‘mix-tape’ from Miko to better learn the origin of his namesake. He carried it everywhere. Taiyaki simply nodded and said, ‘I love it, thank you.’ And Hank said his name had ‘a certain punch’ that was ‘perfect for a handsome mech such as himself.”

Once another round of laughter faded, Ultra Magnus lifted his helm with a frown. “On that day, I witnessed the beginnings of a bright future for Cybertron. I felt the weight of the war being lifted from shoulders who had spent their entire functions carrying it, without knowing that there was more to life than death. And today...I stand before you, deeply sorry that I did not do more to protect our fallen friends. I am sorry that these five brilliant, shining sparks will never witness the fruits of their labor. In their memory, I make this promise: I will do everything in my power to protect each and every one of you. Vehicon, Autobot, or Decepticon. All of you are Cybertronians. All of you are a family, united beneath one planet, with one goal...‘Til all are one.”

Starscream listened on with a frown and crossed his arms. Not out of disrespect, not outwardly, anyway. He was just making himself comfortable for what he was sure was about to become the next several hours of his day: a bunch of pandering speeches punctuated by platitudes. He tuned out the next few; a bunch of Vehicons lining up to weep and sob for their fallen comrades while telling stories about how great they supposedly were. Starscream felt a phantom pain of his optics rolling so far into his helm that they threatened to take his entire frame tumbling back with them. He wondered why he even decided to commit to such a torturous formality in the first place, until he suddenly heard Smokescreen take a stand behind the podium.

Smokescreen exhaled and looked out over the hundred or so guests. He knew he would likely be the only other Autobot, besides Ultra Magnus, to go up to the stand. Bulkhead preferred to offer his condolences one on one, and he could do so easily since he worked with the Vehicons every day. Still, he knew he stood out. And worse still, he didn’t have anything prepared. Ultra Magnus could pump out profound speeches like air through his vents, but he was no Optimus. Optimus didn’t ‘perform’ speeches, he simply spoke, and the whole universe stopped to listen to the song of his spark. And that made Smokescreen nigh infinitesimal in comparison to the two. But he didn’t let that stop him. Even if he wasn’t as wise, experienced, or well-spoken as his superiors, his voice would be heard. Even if the one he wished could hear him was no longer with them.

“I would like to say a few words for Taiyaki,” Smokescreen reset his vocalizer and exhaled once again to steel himself. “I know that I didn’t really know you. In fact, for all I know, when I walked into that broom closet, that was the first and last time we’d met. And it’s weird, thinking about it. We never once talked to each other, and yet I was the one to find you. Your name tag was gone, so I had no idea who you were. We had to find it by the serial number under your arm. Like you were some...object. But even before you got that name tag, and even after it got torn off, you were a person. And I was hoping by the time you were identified that I would be able to remember you and properly mourn your loss. But I didn’t, and that’s like…unbelievably unfair.”

Smokescreen regarded the crowd, scanning the Vehicons who had come to speak before him. “You had all these wonderful friends, with all these amazing stories, all this love for you. And you got found by some random guy...I remember the first thing I did was reach out and touch your cheek. I don’t know why I did it, it was just an impulse. You were long gone, incredibly cold, but a part of me hoped you could feel me and know that...I found you. And that whatever nightmare you went through, it was over, and you would be okay. Not okay-okay, obviously, but okay in the sense that...you were seen, and that your death wasn’t some meaningless accident. But now I’m wondering if that’s selfish of me to assume it was that profound of an act.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, furrowing his brow as he allowed the words to come naturally. “I mean, sure, your friends said they were grateful that we found you. But I wasn’t the one to break the news to them. I didn’t know your name until this morning. And I didn’t know your story until an hour ago. But I was the guy who found you, how messed up is that? And what’s worse is that I couldn’t even just be the random guy who brought you home, but I was the random guy who was too late. You didn’t feel me touch you. I wanted that, I wanted to have been there for you more than anything, but who cares about what I want? I can’t even comfortably say I failed you, or your friends, for not saving you. Because who am I to be your hero?”

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that...I’m sorry that I didn’t save you. And I’m even more sorry that the person who found you didn’t realize how much of a tragedy it was to lose you, until today. I’m sorry I didn’t know your name. And I know that it’s selfish, but I do hope that when I touched you, you felt it, somehow. And I hope that it would have meant something to you, that I was there, and I saw you. That I knew you were scared, and I wished I got there sooner to hold your hand. And if I was there, I hope that it would have meant something...Your friends miss you, and this random guy on the ship misses you now, too.”

Smokescreen looked around at the crowed, who looked on in crushing silence, and he bowed his helm, then softly said “thank you.” Then he left the podium to rejoin the crowd. He frowned and swallowed, feeling the silence to be a sign that his speech was a dud, until one of the Vehicons, Steve, ran up to him and took him into a firm embrace.

“Thank you,” Steve whispered. “Thank you for caring about him. About us. Thank you.”

Smokescreen swallowed again and gratefully returned the hug. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s okay. It’s okay, you did all you could.”

Slowly the crowd began to break into applause. Not an uproar, or a formality, but out of genuine admiration for the young Autobot who spoke from his spark and opened it for the bots who were once seen as nothing but expendable. Through their gentle claps, and the deep embrace Smokescreen was offered, they expressed their gratitude for Smokescreen. Because he was brave enough to step forward and say, in no uncertain terms, that not only were they considered equals, but that if they were to pass, they would not be alone in their grief. Never again would they hold secret funerals in the barracks for fallen friends. They could grieve loudly, openly, and they would be heard. Even if they had only just met, in a broom closet, without a word between them. Smokescreen dared to be the first to say that he was unworthy of their thoughts and prayers, and open the door to be welcomed in with open sparks.

Starscream gawked throughout the entirety of Smokescreen’s speech, finding himself deeply moved by his clumsy prose. This was not rehearsed by any means. The grief, guilt, and mourning in Smokescreen’s words were powerful despite their amateurishness, or perhaps in spite of it. And all of this was for a Vehicon that he didn’t even know.

Though Starscream still held to the idea that these Vehicons were lesser beings, for a brief moment he felt himself swayed. He even felt a bit of guilt for tuning out the stories shared before. But he was nothing if not stubborn, so it was easy enough to brush that guilt aside. Maybe a little harder than normal, but not too hard. Still, Starscream found himself wondering: if he had perished the night before, would Smokescreen have spoken of him so highly? Had he earned their grief, already, if they were able to spill their innermost energon and speak such lovely words to mere Vehicons?

The service moved along, and Starscream stood politely silent for the remainder, staring off into the nothingness he called home. Until he was finally brought back through the door of reality with a gentle touch to his shoulder. It was Bumblebee, he could tell by the shape of the digits, and they way they hesitated to move past his pauldron.

“Hey, everyone’s starting to head out. You want a ride back with me?” Bumblebee said, his voice still soft despite the service beginning to dissipate. Starscream shifted, taking a brief moment to consider what he wanted to do next.

“Could you take me to Smokescreen? I’d like to speak with him. Briefly,” Starscream requested, ignoring his question.

“Sure,” he nodded and took Starscream by the wrist, then tugged him through the steadily-thinning crowd to the blue and yellow mech. He was talking with some Vehicons, thankfully reaching the end of a conversation. Something about meeting up sometime to share a fuel break at the construction site. Starscream would have been lying if he didn’t feel a bit apprehensive that his compatriot was already making plans that didn’t involve him being there. But he lied all the time, so this wasn’t anything special.

“Hey, Smokescreen. Nice speech,” Bumblebee started, politely.

Smokescreen turned to him with a smile. “Thanks-” It was then that he saw Starscream and did a double-take. “Hey, Starscream. I didn’t think you would have showed up.”

“Neither did I,” Starscream said, sounding less callous and more like he was genuinely just as shocked. “I just wanted to compliment you on your speech as well, before I headed back to base. It was...surprisingly moving.”

“Uh, thanks,” he said, clearly expecting more by the short silence that followed. When Starscream said nothing more, he frowned, but didn’t seem all that shocked that that was it. “I guess I’ll see you guys at the debrief?”

Bumblebee nodded. “You bet.” He looked to Starscream with a little smile. “Ready to go?”

“I can fly back myself, thank you. I don’t think it would be impolite at this stage.” Starscream said, already beginning to walk away.

Bumblebee blinked and immediately began to pursue Starscream. “Oh, I mean, sure, that’s okay, but-”

“But what.” Starscream stopped and lowered his brows since he couldn’t narrow his optics.

“Uh, well...” Bumblebee trailed off, unable to think of a good enough excuse in time. Or at least one Starscream would actually listen to.

Starscream grinned, angrily, and turned on Bumblebee. “Aha! I knew it! I knew you didn’t think I was capable of flying on my own.”

Smokescreen smirked a bit and began walking away. “Sorry, Bumblebee, you’re on your own with this one. I’m beat. See ya!” He then transformed and sped away at top speed, gleefully relinquishing his responsibility for self-care purposes.

“It’s not that I don’t think you can do it, Soundwave showed us the footage he took, it’s just...It’s kinda scary?” Bumblebee shrugged and grimaced. “Plus, no offense, if I let you go it’ll be on my conscience if you crash. I like keeping that clean.”

“And if I were to, hypothetically speaking, fly off before you could get ahold of me?” Starscream said while ominously taking several steps backward. “Would that stain your conscience beyond repair? Or would that soften the blow?”

“Starscream,” Bumblebee warned. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Oh, please,” Starscream purred, radiating a terrifying level of confidence. “Just watch, and be sure not to leave your jaw behind.”

Bumblebee reached out to grab Starscream, but the Seeker quickly transformed. His thruster exploded with heat, forcing Bumblebee to jump backwards, and he watched, helplessly as Starscream rocketed off into the air. He cursed and transformed as well, quickly grinding his tires into the ground in hopes of picking up enough speed to match Starscream’s pace.

Starscream, on the other hand, laughed with delight as he took to the air. Though he couldn’t see the contents of the sky, he knew it was perfectly clear. The morning sun was warm against his wings, and the air above the ground was as thin, soft, and refreshing as being swathed with silk. Last night had been such an awful ordeal, it was an incredible treat to finally immerse himself in flight. In fact, why was he limiting himself to just a simple trip from the Well to the Nemesis?

Starscream suddenly dipped to the side, causing Bumblebee to skid on his tires as he attempted to remain in pursuit. He growled, exasperated as he watched the blind Seeker change course, and activated his Comm-link. Much to his relief, Starscream answered. And, much to his anger, he sounded incredibly smug.

“Air traffic control, I presume?”

“Starscream, what the frag do you think you’re doing!?”

“I think I’m having fun. Wait, hold that thought.” Starscream grinned without teeth and pivoted his frame to the side, successfully pulling off a barrel roll that made Bumblebee gasp as if he’d just seen Unicron’s head appear over the horizon. “Now I’m having fun!” He punctuated his stunt with a self-satisfied cackle.

“Great! Awesome! Fun time is over now, let’s land!”

“I didn’t take you to be such a spoilsport, Bee. But, if you insist.” Starscream made a dramatic sigh, then turned again, using his internal memory to put himself back on course to the Nemesis. “I’ll be making my landing on the upper deck. Nice and safe. I’ll meet you in the lounge.”

Bumblebee grunted and floored it towards the Nemesis. “You’re sure you can land without any help!?”

“Absolutely,” he purred, making another gleeful roll in the air that churned Bumblebee’s tank. “Keep your optics peeled, Bee, this is how a master flier lands in zero-visibility conditions.”

Starscream bowed his nose and deactivated his thruster, positioning himself for a nice, slow descent towards the upper deck of the Nemesis. With everyone at the service, or still returning, it was surely clear for landing. Starscream hummed, feeling his wings tremble at the slight turbulence, speaking to him in a code only he could understand. And it said, ’the deck is a lot closer than we originally thought.’

Starscream’s ventilators hitched and he abruptly tilted himself upwards, then blasted his thruster to compensate for the sharp downward angle. This successfully slowed him down, but the sudden movement was a bit too sudden, and it quickly sent him aft over helm. What was meant to be a graceful entrance quickly turned into what, from a distance, looked like a paperclip that got caught in a blender. As Starscream transformed and flailed himself upright, then dug his heel struts into the ground for purchase, only to skid forward with an audial-splitting screech. He broke into a flailing sprint, slowly but surely reached his inevitable fate, as his face plate finally stamped itself into the floor. Hard.

Starscream’s gyroscope lurched and spun in his helm. He remained with his face flat against the deck, arms at his sides and legs straight behind him. His frame took a while, but it eventually received the pain signals from his processor in one big wave. He groaned into the floor, starting low but reaching an eventual crescendo into a frustrated whine. A brief internal diagnostic came back without any major injuries; just a severe case of broken pride.

Bumblebee’s voice rang in his audials like his helm was being flossed with copper wire. “Like a true master, Screamer.”

Starscream groaned again, displeased to find that he neglected to deactivate their comms. “There was an unforeseen-” he retched, pushing himself to his knees, “-change in the w-wind pattern...Not my fault.”

“Must have been some wind. Very, very specific wind.”

“Alright, alright! Slag it!” He huffed and rubbed the back of his throbbing helm. “I still can’t fly, I get that now. You don’t need to rub it in…”

“Not without more practice. Or, more importantly, someone to properly spot you, in case you crash! For Primus’ sake, what was I going to do if you knocked yourself into stasis, or worse!?” Bumblebee sighed. “Don’t do something that stupid again...I was really scared you were going to get hurt.”

Starscream paused, suddenly feeling a bit of guilt from the sincerity in Bumblebee’s voice. “I...Alright. I won’t.”

“Seriously, Starscream, you need to stop trying to prove yourself to people. We all saw what you’re capable of, you don’t need to convince us anymore. Okay?” Bumblebee said, his voice just as sincere.

“Mm,” Starscream hummed in a flippant form of the affirmative. He honestly wasn’t really paying much attention to what Bumblebee was saying anymore. “I’ll meet you in the lounge, after I regain my bearings.”

“Okay...See ya, Starscream.”

Bumblebee ended the comm and Starscream let out a heavy sigh to steady himself, then pushed himself to stand with a slight wobble. That was as humiliating as it was humbling. Starscream was deeply embarrassed by all of his own posturing, and was incredibly frustrated by the fact he lacked the ability to properly follow through. He’d landed with little to no visibility before, why was this proving to be so difficult? Starscream absentmindedly reached up to massage his wings, finding they were no less sensitive than before. Perhaps he had just misread their signals? “It would seem I do still have a ways to go before I can properly make a move,” he grumbled to himself.

That could wait. He had a meeting to get to.

Starscream entered the lounge without issue, finding himself fashionably early, if the lack of chatter was any indication. Ultra Magnus was standing at the front of the room, and turned to greet Starscream as he entered. When Smokescreen did not follow, he narrowed his optics. “...Good morning, Starscream. Please, have a seat.”
Knockout, early only by virtue of proximity, sat at his usual table with Soundwave at his side. Knockout allowed himself to smile as Starscream walked in. “Hey, Screamer. Where’s your keeper?”

Starscream scoffed and delicately made his way to the table beside Knockout, telling himself that he only chose it because it was closest to the door. “Smokescreen should be on his way any minute. He just got caught up in a conversation with some Vehicons after the service.”

Ultra Magnus hummed, thoughtfully, but said nothing.

“You attended?” Knockout said, his voice pleased enough to hide his surprise. “A paintless mech with no optics standing in the middle of a funeral service. That’s a striking image. Did you start speaking in tongues for good measure?”

“Knockout,” Ultra Magnus warned, looking over his shoulder as he sifted through some datapads.

“Oh, I’m only teasing him, Ultra Magnus!” Knockout said with a flip of his servo. “It’s good to laugh in times like these, isn’t it Soundwave?”

Soundwave nodded. “Lazerbeak: recorded service. I watched as I worked. Grief can come with a smile.”

Starscream let out a vaguely amused ‘hmph,’ but did not smile. “And where were you during the service, Knockout?” Not an accusation, but a genuine question.

Knockout’s smile softened to something a bit more solemn, and he shrugged. “I was taking a drive...Funerals aren’t really my scene. Plus, I find it a bit in poor taste for medics to attend for their departed patients. It feels like party-crashing, in a way.”

Starscream nodded. Just then, the room began to flood as the remaining members of Team Prime entered and took their seats. All except for Arcee, of course, who was likely deep in recharge.

Smokescreen was one of the first to enter, and took his seat beside Starscream.

“Hey,” he said, a bit flatly for Starscream’s taste. Clearly there was still some damage control that needed to be done. “How was your flight?”

Starscream made a face and suppressed his plates from heating. “I’ve had worse. And we will leave it at that.” Smokescreen nodded, correctly assuming that the result of the flight was mortifying.

Bumblebee entered next, taking a seat in one of the rear booths. The Wreckers followed close behind and joined him at his table. Ratchet was one of the last to enter, and took a heavy seat at Knockout’s table. A few stray Vehicons came in as well, some of the few who decided not to take the day off, and filled in the gaps.

Once everyone was seated, Ultra Magnus exhaled and properly addressed the room. “Before we get started, I would like to thank all of you for attending today’s meeting, despite last night’s events. Our first order of business is, of course, to address our fuel shortage.” Ultra Magnus looked down at his datapad and began prattling on about numbers, proper storage practices, and other such flavors of common sense. Starscream rested his cheek in his palm and tapped his digits against the table in an inpatient rhythm. He was quickly beginning to find the sound of public speaking to be incredibly audial-grating. If not for his little tumble earlier, today would have been uncannily dull. It was funny how peace could be so damned painful.

It took him a while to notice, but Smokescreen was also tapping his digit on the table, making a conscious effort to be slightly out of time with Starscream’s own tapping, creating a sort of drum beat. Duh-duh-duh-duh-dum. Duh-duh-duh-duh-dum-dum. Smokescreen’s lack of an attention span was astounding, and no, Starscream did not recognize the hypocrisy in that observation whatsoever. In the interest of not being a bad influence, Starscream made a show of lacing his digits together and correcting his posture to feign genuine interest. And, sure enough, Smokescreen did so as well, with the added flair of thoughtfully stroking his chin. ‘Primus, he’s simple,’ Starscream thought to himself.

“Moving onto today’s agenda,” Ultra Magnus continued as Starscream tuned back in. “With Arcee temporarily out of commission, we’ll need someone to act in her place as Bumblebee’s partner.” Smokescreen straightened in his seat, for real this time. Starscream took note and frowned, feeling he knew where this was going. It was the most logical choice, selecting Smokescreen, but Starscream wondered what his fate would be afterward. Had he finally earned the right to walk the ship alone?

“After careful deliberation, I’ve decided that since Ratchet has offered to remain for the duration of Arcee’s recovery, that Knockout will accompany Bumblebee on his next mission.”

What?

Starscream scowled and lifted his helm, just as Smokescreen sunk into his seat. Utter, soul-crushing disappointment radiated off him while Starscream, inversely, radiated pure unbridled bewilderment and a strange amount of rage. Assuming this to be some sort of joke, his jaw clamped down hard, waiting for the punchline. But there wasn’t one, Ultra Magnus was being entirely serious. Knockout had field experience, sure, but he was a medic, first and foremost. Did he think Smokescreen to be some sort of complete and utter dunce? And if so, just how low did Ultra Magnus think of Starscream?

“Bulkhead, you’ll be handling construction solo while Wheeljack investigates the claw marks Bumblebee and Arcee reported previously. Bumblebee, Knockout, you’ll meet with me after-”

Starscream suddenly stood, causing his chair to squeak loudly behind him. “Ultra Magnus, sir, if I may speak out of line for a moment?”

The room fell silent. Smokescreen looked up at Starscream with wide optics, in disbelief of what he was witnessing. Ultra Magnus blinked and narrowed his optics to offset his own surprise at the sudden outburst, but allowed Starscream to have the floor. “Is there a problem, Starscream?”

“Is there a problem?” He scoffed and stood loosely, addressing the room for a brief moment before turning back to Ultra Magnus. “Do you have a fragging problem!?” Instantly, the room tensed, and Starscream could feel the air grow thinner as everyone collectively sucked in a breath. Ultra Magnus deeply scowled as Starscream marched up to him, raising his digit like a sword. “You-!”

The avalanche of swears got caught in his throat, as his processor suddenly gifted him foresight. This was not the correct play. Smokescreen was the best possible candidate to be a scout besides Arcee, but Ultra Magnus didn’t recognize this. For what reason? Starscream didn’t know. To be fair, Smokescreen didn’t seem the type to put his strongest pede forward, so it could be anything. What he did know was that, up until recently, Ultra Magnus saw him as a potential threat. He knew Ultra Magnus was grateful for his aid, but he didn’t know how far gratitude could get him with this mech. He was hard, straight-laced, rule-oriented, and a skeptic.

If he continued to be a threat, or even just present himself as such, Starscream was guaranteed to fail. He would never truly earn his place, so long as Ultra Magnus had any room to doubt him. Starscream needed a different approach, and he found one, quickly.

He relaxed his posture with a sigh and took a single step back, thinking better than to box Ultra Magnus in. He allowed his wings to sag, ever so slightly, and he turned his helm up to the officer with a new, hurt expression. “It’s because of me isn’t it? I’m the reason you’re holding Smokescreen back.”

Ultra Magnus’ shield crumbled in an instant. “What?”

“Smokescreen is the most capable bot in this room for the job, anyone can see that. His talent is being wasted the longer he stays confined to the Nemesis. Knockout has experience, but he’s a medic first and a soldier second. His services are needed here, not out there.” Starscream turned towards Knockout. “Not meaning to offend, of course.”

Knockout jumped on the opportunity not to go anywhere near those claw marks like a magnet to metal. “Oh, no, none taken! I’m in complete agreement, actually! Smokescreen is an excellent foot-soldier, he should be the one to go.” Soundwave nodded in silent agreement.

“But he won’t,” Starscream said, turning back to Ultra Magnus. “And it’s my fault, isn’t it? It’s because I’m still not trustworthy.” Not to Ultra Magnus alone, of course. To say that would be too antagonistic. Starscream had to leave the door open for the officer to be the bigger mech.

Ultra Magnus opened his intake to speak, but no words came to him. His optics scanned the room, and, eventually, his gaze landed on Ratchet. The senior medic had his optics firmly locked on Starscream, not Ultra Magnus. Out of everyone in the room, Ratchet was the only one left who seemed to believe, with his whole spark, that Starscream was still up to something. Not even Wheeljack shared that expression; he had been grinning ear to ear when Starscream initially exploded, but his expression grew darker and darker as Starscream softened his approach. But his optics shifted between Starscream and Ultra Magnus, as if he were still on the fence.

Bumblebee, Knockout, and Bulkhead all looked to be on Starscream’s side. They seemed to be disappointed in Ultra Magnus for his decision, and that stung badly enough, but it was Smokescreen’s expression that cut the deepest. Smokescreen had been glued to Starscream the entire time, until now, when it was Ultra Magnus’ turn to speak. Those big, bright optics burned into him with all the fire hope had to offer, and he exhaled to offset its heat. Smokescreen was young, inexperienced, but he had a spark bright enough to light all of Cybertron. Ultra Magnus saw a glimpse of that light at the funeral, when Steve had run up and locked Smokescreen into an embrace. He saw it in Starscream, too, time and time again, with every little surprising act of selflessness. Including this one; standing up to a superior officer for the sake of his friend. By confining him to menial tasks, Ultra Magnus wasn’t protecting that light; he was smothering it.

Ultra Magnus shuttered his optics, then opened them again, slowly, to face Starscream. “Starscream, though I cannot outright ignore the past, I will admit that you have proven yourself capable of change. But I will humbly admit that your argument is sound, and I’ve allowed my judgment to be clouded by personal biases.” He lifted his helm to address Smokescreen, who looked on while barely sitting in his seat. Ultra Magnus withheld the urge to smile, knowing his next words would make the mech’s whole week. “I apologize, Smokescreen, for stunting you. You’ll be accompanying Bumblebee on his missions until Arcee recovers, and Knockout will remain here as Ratchet’s assistant.”

Smokescreen jumped up and grinned. “No way, you’re seriou-I mean-!” Smokescreen cleared his throat and stood in a firm salute. “Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!”

Starscream grinned in a satisfied way, but kept his meek posture as he tapped Ultra Magnus on the arm to get his attention. “Thank you. I apologize for my outburst, sir.”

Ultra Magnus shook his helm, as professional as ever. “No need to apologize. You may return to your seat.”

Starscream nodded and happily obliged, taking his seat beside Smokescreen with a pleased flutter of his wings. Smokescreen sat down, and, unable to help himself, took Starscream by the arm and gave him an excitable shake. “Dude, you’re the greatest,” he whispered, his optics alight with joy as Ultra Magnus calmly continued running through the agenda.

“I know. Now, do me a favor and don’t make me look stupid by getting yourself killed out there,” Starscream teased.

“How about I make us look like a pair of geniuses by coming back with enough energon to put Bulkhead in a coma?”

Starscream smirked and rested his chin on the back of his servo as a list of potential caches ran through his processor. Energon was one thing, a very important thing. But Starscream, of course, was always looking towards his own goals. “Whoever said you needed to stop at just energon?”

“Oh?” Smokescreen said, lowering his helm as well. “What did you have in mind?”

“How does the prospect of a replacement assembler for the med bay sound?”

Chapter Text

By the end of the meeting, Smokescreen was practically a blur of excitement. Not only was he finally, finally going to strut his stuff out on the field again, but Starscream had promised him that this supply run was guaranteed to impress Ultra Magnus. Their sights were set on a brand new assembler. With their limited stockpile of materials, it was difficult to imagine they could ever get the one in the med bay back in working order. Having to piece together complex body-parts by hand was doable, but in a pinch, it could be the difference between life and death.

Starscream was in a grimly unique position, with the sheer amount of spare wings, arms, legs, and even helms the ship had in storage. Larger parts like that survived the crash fairly well, minding some dents, and remained in a pre-assembled state. It was just a normal fact of life that Starscream often found himself in various states of damage, for equally various reasons, so the stockpile was more of a comfort than anything else. Knockout liked to call the practice of slotting Starscream with these spare parts ‘plug and play.’ But everyone else was not so lucky; their parts needed to be pieced together to their own specifications. Without a functioning assembler, there was the possibility of error alongside being pressed for time, which only compounded the likelihood that somebody walked out of the med bay with a few important screws loose.

All that being said, Starscream wasn’t all that interested in the assembler. He was more interested in what he knew must be near it: spare parts. Spare parts, plus new assembler, meant new optics. New optics meant new opportunities. New opportunities meant freedom. With all this hard work, surely the universe would finally award him with some good fortune and make this cache the easiest one yet. Surely.

Starscream waited outside the Nemesis with Bumblebee and Ultra Magnus. Smokescreen had run off to get something ‘important,’ and he was taking a minute. Or at least, that’s the amount of time he promised it would take, but Starscream was keenly aware that it had now been two minutes. Which meant one minute further from his goal, which equated to...sixty stab wounds for Smokescreen in the near future. Give or take.

Starscream was tapping his pede and scowling with enough force to make his face plates creak, and Ultra Magnus took notice. He reset his vocalizer to politely get the Seeker’s attention. “While we’re waiting, I would just like to reiterate that I’m very impressed with you, Starscream.”

The praise calmed Starscream like a feral turbofox kit being swaddled in a cloth. Still growling, still frowning, but at least they couldn’t swat anymore. “Naturally, I’ve done many things worthy of awe in the past day.”

Bumblebee squinted and smiled, impishly as he remembered Starscream’s graceful, masterful tumble into a top-secret face-to-floor maneuver. But he was kind enough not to mention it out loud, knowing Ultra Magnus would get mad at them for allowing him to fly unsupervised. “Yeah.”

Starscream’s face-plate heated. It seemed Bumblebee didn’t need to remind him. He let out a casual cough. “May I ask what in particular you’re referring to, Ultra Magnus?”

“You’ve been yourself,” Ultra Magnus clarified. “Or at least, I hope you have.”

Starscream was taken aback by the answer, and he stammered. “Pa-Pardon?”

Before Ultra Magnus could answer, Smokescreen bounded outside, waving his right wrist in the air. Securely wrapped around his wrist, like it were a mere timepiece, was the phase shifter. “I got it! I’m ready!”

Bumblebee reset his optics upon seeing the relic, but smiled. “You’re taking the phase shifter with you?”

“Of course I am, it’s my signature weapon!” Smokescreen made a rooster’s attempt at a masculine pose, which got Bumblebee to snort.

Starscream was further taken aback, and he whirled towards Ultra Magnus. “The phase shifter!? You leave it unguarded!?”

“It wasn’t ‘unguarded,” Smokescreen said, flippantly. “It was in our room, in my lock box.”

“The phase shifter was in our room the entire time!?” Starscream shrieked, gripping his helm like he’d just realized he left the oven on.

Ultra Magnus’ optic twitched from the sheer volume of Starscream’s voice. He reached down and patted the Seeker on the shoulder in hopes of preventing further escalation. “Smokescreen has proven to be very responsible with that relic. And he is the most skilled at using it, so it’s only natural to have him keep it under close watch.”

It took a monumentous amount of willpower not to say ‘oh, like how he’s done such a bang-up job keeping me under close watch?’ It really, truly did. But he’d just earned his place back in Smokescreen’s good graces, it was best not to firmly secure his spot back outside of it. Starscream instead took a deep breath and attempted to re-center himself.

A relic of the Primes. In the same room as he was. For several days. And he had no idea...Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, clear skies and pretty meadows. Look on the bright side, Starscream...at least now you know where Smokescreen keeps it.

“Well...As off-putting as this information is, I trust Smokescreen, and I trust you. I’m sure he’s got it under control.” Starscream nodded, swiftly exiting that conversation and beginning anew. “Now, then. Gentlemechs, if you’ll kindly reference your maps?”

Smokescreen and Bumblebee both looked down at their wrists, transforming their arms to make way for their internal G.P.S. screens. “Your target for today is marked by the red dot,” Starscream said, now folding his servos behind his back, assuming the posture of a proper general. “The structure was once a relinquishment clinic.”

Both of the acting scouts raised their brow ridges in surprise, but Bumblebee was the one to ask the questions. “Seriously? You guys used one of those as storage?”

Starscream shrugged, nonchalant. “A grim locale, yes. But with bots looking to offline themselves as their sole clientele, by the time they’d done their work it was essentially free real estate for Shockwave.”

Bumblebee scowled, gawking at Starscream’s callousness. But before he could scold the Seeker, Smokescreen paled and spoke in a soft, wavering voice. “I thought bots just used those clinics to body swap for fun? Drop a couple thousand shanix to be an aerial frame for a bit, that kinda thing. You know, weird, rich bot stuff?”

Bumblebee shook his helm and looked to Smokescreen with a sad gaze. “You were still in your pod by the time it got that bad. After Iacon fell, bots got desperate. Anyone who couldn’t escape, well…”

“Found other means,” Starscream answered. “Regardless, we can save the rich history lesson for later. What’s important is that when the clinic finished their rounds, they left everything behind. From their fuel to their equipment.” Starscream allowed a smile to grow across his face. “I didn’t personally oversee the operation, so I’m not sure what Shockwave could have hidden there past the obvious treasures that were left behind. So, practice caution, check your corners, and tread lightly. Understood?”

Smokescreen smirked a bit, inspecting the phase shifter. “I’ve definitely got us covered on the ‘tread lightly’ part.”

“Smokescreen.” Starscream scowled at him like a disgruntled parent.

Smokescreen smiled, sheepishly. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just messing around. I’ll be extra careful.”

Starscream nodded. “Alright, then.” He paused, waiting for Ultra Magnus to say the signature catchphrase so that he could roll his imaginary optics. But when only silence followed, he looked up at the officer with a raised brow. “...Aren’t you going to say your line? See them off?”

Ultra Magnus raised a brow in return. “Hm?”

“You know, ’Autobots…?” Starscream whispered with a shrug.

“I have no idea what you’re-oh.” Ultra Magnus blinked in recognition. “I thought you would do the honors, seeing as you’re the one performing the debrief,” he said, not actually caring.

Smokescreen smiled. “Come on, Starscream, you know you want to! Give it some energy, really hype us up for the mission!” Though Starscream couldn’t see it, Smokescreen shook his servos as if he were holding a set of pom-poms. If Starscream could see that, Smokescreen wouldn’t have had servos anymore, so this was for the best.

Starscream looked back to the scouts, then let out a long sigh. “Oh, alright. Fine.” He reset his vocalizer, then dug one heel strut into the ground, assuming a firm, dramatic posture. “Autobots…”

Smokescreen revved his engine and clenched his servos, grinning. Bumblebee smiled, endeared by the display, and also got into position.

Starscream raised his servo to the sky and made a fist. “Transform!”

The two scouts turned, activating their t-cogs with a flourishing leap into the air. They switched into their alt modes and their tires pounded against the ground, engines still purring, tires itching to spin. Starscream couldn’t help but grin, feeling even a fraction of the pride he once did when he had an entire armada at his command. He threw his fist backwards in an arc, and, at the apex, pointed towards the horizon.

“And ROLL OUT!”

Bumblebee and Smokescreen’s tires spun before they even released their brakes, kicking up a cloud of dust as they suddenly rocketed off into the wastes. The heat of their exhaust pulsed outward like a shotgun blast, scattering and dissipating at Starscream’s pedes. They were moving so fast that in a mere few seconds, the sounds of their engines was but a murmur in the wind...Except for Smokescreen’s hooting and hollering. That was anything but.

Starscream chuckled with a genuine sense of endearment, and the shock of that reaction pierced through him like a glass grenade. He coughed and waved his servo in front of his face, pretending that it was a mere reaction to the dust cloud. “That seemed to ‘hype them up’ a bit too well.”

Ultra Magnus chuckled as well, which caused Starscream to do a double-take. “Perhaps. But it’s good to see morale on the incline.” He frowned again, as if flipping a switch. “Our situation is still dire, Starscream. Rations are at an all time low, and there are threats still lurking on this planet we’ve yet to discover. It’s important to keep our crew in high spirits.”

Starscream pretended to believe that was profound by nodding as sagely as possible. “Indeed...Now, I suppose I’ll be on my way.”

As Starscream turned to leave, he heard Ultra Magnus take a step towards him. Oh, great. Here comes the patented Ultra Magnus Addendum. “Actually, Starscream, you’ll be under my watch, today. I wanted to take the opportunity to give you a short interview, in my office.”

Starscream tensed and slowly turned to face the massive mech behind him, flashing the most crumpled smile ever placed on a Cybertronian canvas. “An ‘interview?’ Wh-What kind of interview?”

Wheeljack drove at a casual pace, having already left for his own mission. He was eager to get back out in the field after spending so many days helping out with construction or getting bored and running off to do repairs on his own. And then getting bored of that. That wasn’t to say this task was particularly exciting, he was essentially just following the tracks that Bumblebee and Arcee has left the day before, but the change in routine was still welcome. He hated routine. Any more of it and his paint might start to peel.

Lazerbeak floated overhead, easily keeping pace with Wheeljack, but remaining slightly ahead to act as his eyes in the sky. His shadow cast onto Wheeljack’s hood, which actually made for a rather stylish decal. It looked oddly familiar, maybe from some human thing he saw once. Lazerbeak trilled, signaling Wheeljack to do something. Which he correctly assumed meant it was time to stop. Just as he transformed out of his alt mode, he saw the billboard for Maccadam’s heradling his destination with that big, yellow arrow.

Lazerbeak circled the air above Wheeljack, almost appearing to be playful, but Wheeljack knew impatience when he saw it. He chuckled and held out his arm for Lazerbeak to perch onto. “Eager to get back to your daddy, aren’t ya?” Lazerbeak beeped as he landed onto Wheeljack’s arm like a well-trained hawk, and Wheeljack took it in the affirmative. “No love for Uncle Wheeljack, eh? Alright, let’s get it done,” he said with a sarcastic smirk.

Wheeljack approached the door to the cellar, which had been covered with a metal sheet to keep out the dust. He kicked it aside, which made Lazerbeak jolt and squawk in protest. Wheeljack shrugged. “Relax, it’s not like there’s anyone here. Unless you thought it would be a funny joke not to tell me that you saw something?” Lazerbeak beeped in the negative, and Wheeljack nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

He turned on his headlights and Lazerbeak did the same as he made his way down the cellar steps. He frowned and scowled, feeling the smolders of his anger heating his tank as he remembered what the contents of this damned cellar led to. He wished he could be mad at Starscream for it, because he could more easily punch a mech than take his anger out on an empty room. Maybe he would get lucky enough to find a stray scraplet to squash?

He reached the bottom and looked around, finding the room just as empty as they’d left it. The tarp that covered the tainted energon lied in a heap in the corner of the room, while the energon distillery remained in place. He blinked at the damage it was in, now understanding what had Bumblebee and Arcee so spooked. Wheeljack whistled as he approached, marveling at the sheer size of those claws. “Alright, Lazerbeak, get to snapping those pics.”

Lazerbeak immediately complied, floating off of Wheeljack’s arm and hovering before the distiller. A few brief flashes from Lazerbeak’s visor lit the room like lightning strikes, causing Wheeljack to recoil a bit. Once he was done taking pictures, Lazerbeak’s visor lit up in a bright, blue hue. His visor projected a pyramid of light that lit up the back wall of the room with a thin, brillantly bright line. It moved downward, then upward again, taking in the dimensions and transmitting them into a 3D holofile in his processor.

Once he completed, Lazerbeak twirled in the air to easily communicate that the job was done. But Wheeljack, instead of acknowledging this, dropped to one knee in front of the distiller and looked inside. He squinted, looking at what remained of the internal mechanisms, finding only a few funnels, some tubing, and not much else of note. He traced his digits along the claw marks and let out a fascinated “huh,” which made Lazerbeak tilt in the air with a questioning bleep.

“Take a scan of the inside, too, would ya?”

Wheeljack stepped back, allowing Lazerbeak room to do so.“I have a hunch,” Wheeljack explained. “And I think Soundwave would agree with me on this, but I think whatever tore up this machine had a goal. That distiller is missing most of its internal parts, the delicate parts. Circuits, chips, pistons, the pump...Nothing got ripped out, it all got removed. Look at those ports, they’re all clean. Not a torn part in sight.” Once Lazerbeak completed the scan, he walked over and ran his servo over the machine, studying the gash. “It clipped the distiller at the edge and tore up and away from it. It wanted what was inside, and didn’t want to damage any of it. It might’ve even taken the swing too hard, over-corrected, and ended up swiping the wall…”

Wheeljack looked to Lazerbeak. A red dot blinked on the edge of the drone’s visor, and Wheeljack smiled now that he knew he was on camera. “Soundwave, you get all that?”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave’s voice played through Lazerbeak’s speakers. His voice crackled, the connection was poor, but not bad enough that they couldn’t establish some sort of live feed.

“Hell of a bird you’ve got here,” Wheeljack mused. “Think you can impress me, too, and tell me you already know what this thing is?”

“It is an Insecticon,” Soundwave said, somehow managing to make his flat cadence hold weight. Wheeljack scowled.

“An Insecticon? I thought the ones we found on Earth were the last of them.”

“Negative. Insecticons: Resilient, intelligent, and, above all, plentiful. Soundwave: finds it highly unlikely that they would ever truly be rendered extinct.”

Wheeljack hummed, low in his engine, and glared at the gashes in the wall. “Intelligent,” he repeated. “Then the question is: what was this one up to? Why is it gatherin’ parts?”

“Soundwave: does not have an answer at this time. It is difficult to admit, but this is something we will be forced to ignore for the time being. Our resources are too limited to chase after a possible non-threat. However, Ultra Magnus: will be notified.”

“Good call. I’ll meet you back at base,” Wheeljack said with a nod. With that, the red light on Lazerbeak’s visor ceased to blink, signaling the end of the live feed. Wheeljack scowled ever deeper as he turned to leave the cellar. An Insecticon, running around gathering delicate machinery? That couldn’t possibly be a ‘non-threat,’ but, for right now, Wheeljack wasn’t sure what that threat could be. Insecticons were smarter than most gave them credit for, but they weren’t engineers. If they wanted materials for their pods, or their nests, why not just peel off the outer plating of the distiller and be on their way? No, those parts were taken for a purpose. But what?

The road to the relinquishment clinic was less a road, and more of a test of spirit. It was in what used to be a more densely-populated area, which meant it was more of a target, so the conditions of their journey worsened exponentially the further they ventured towards Iacon. The pot holes could more readily be described as craters, or even caverns depending on their proximity to each other. Smokescreen swerved around, barely able to reach a comfortable driving speed. “Woah! Woah, okay, okay, I got it,” he affirmed to himself. “How are you holding up, Bee?”

“Bad,” Bumblebee bleated. He sounded like a goat, because he was rumbling over about one million hunks of rubble. He grunted and transformed back into his normal mode out of frustration. “Let’s continue on foot from here. There’s just too much in the way. Besides, we’re close.” Bumblebee looked down at his map, then lifted his helm and focused his optics to scan their surroundings, finding ruin after ruin and not much else.

Smokescreen followed his lead, then started to walk towards the dot on their maps. “C’mon, it looks like it’s just a few blocks from here.” He looked around, frowning at the broken state of what used to be his home. It felt like it was only yesterday that he walked down this very same street, on his way to work at the hall of records. He’d look into the clock shop and admire the designs every time he passed, holding a fresh energon brew from the cafe just a block before. The air would be cool, but not cold, just like it was right now...It was a warped, demented version of nostalgia.

“Wheeljack left to go get pictures with Lazerbeak already, right?” He asked, if only to distract himself from the sadness.

Bumblebee nodded. “He’s probably already done by now. Whether or not he’s heading back is anybody’s guess.”

Smokescreen forced a small laugh, then rounded a corner to find the street almost completely blocked by a fallen building. He briefly marveled at the odd sight of a building sitting perfectly on its side, then looked down at his map to see their destination was just beyond this point. Bumblebee walked up to one of the building’s smashed windows and wasted no time stepping through, his pede crunched as he entered, sounding almost like snow with how dense and fine the glass had shattered across the floor. The floor, which was actually the wall.

Smokescreen followed, maneuvering around toppled desks and stepping onto plaques, picture frames, and empty windows. He looked skyward, and his optics met with an opened doorway which extended through the rest of the building. Room after room stretched on like a fun house mirror; this was an office building, so each door was perfectly in line with the next. And each door was fully opened, likely due to a call for an emergency evacuation. Smokescreen wobbled, feeling a sense of vertigo as he looked through the near-endless line of doors, but snapped back to reality when his pede collided with something on the floor.

He stumbled with a quiet gasp, then looked down to see what he had tripped over. An opened brief case, its contents bared for him to see. Datapads, a bottle of cologne, and a much, much smaller datapad. Smokescreen picked it up, and the pad flickered, dimly, to life. Through the crack on its surface, the dim light, and the bleeding pixels, Smokescreen could see this was a photograph of several bots drinking merrily at a bar. Their faces were obscured, all except for their smiles. Smokescreen frowned, deeply, and gently sat the photograph onto a nearby desk. ‘I should have been here,’ he thought to himself. But he shook his helm, knowing that Alpha Trion sent him away for a reason. Destiny brought him here for a reason. The fate of this world was not solely on his shoulders.

He looked up, seeing that Bumblebee was near the other side of the building-turned-tunnel, and sprinted to meet him. Bumblebee, hearing the quickened pace, paused to look at Smokescreen. “You alright?” He asked.

“Yeah, just got distracted,” Smokescreen said with a reassuring smile. “Walking through a building sideways is pretty trippy.”

Bumblebee nodded with a small smile of his own. He had a hunch he knew what Smokescreen was really feeling, though he had been forged into this war, he still had the briefest glimpse of life before the reckoning. The air tasted bitter, but the memories remained sweet. They could commiserate on that later, when the job was done. “Yeah, it is. But try and stay focused, alright? We’re here.”

The two stepped out of the opposite window, minding the gap between it and the ground below, and stared up at the building before them. It sat two stories tall, though the top floor did spot a meteor-sized hole in one of the corners of its roof. Its colors, though dulled, were calming. Cool greens, blues and whites, adorned with a comparatively menacing sign with bold, angular text: ‘RELINQUISHMENT CLINIC.’ On its front doors, it had been vandalized with bright, red graffiti. ‘THE COWARD’S FINAL STAND.’

Bumblebee exhaled his disgust so that it wouldn’t linger on his glossa, and scowled. Smokescreen shook his helm at the cruelty, his optics grim. “I can’t believe it ever got this bad...Do you think that the bodies…?” He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Bumblebee shook his helm, not in disagreement, but to steel himself for the reality Smokescreen was proposing. “If they are still in there, I hope they’re nowhere we can see them.”

“But if we do find them?” Smokescreen said, following Bumblebee as he approached the front doors. “Do you think we could, you know...Move them somewhere nicer?”

“I think there’ll be too many to move, Smokey,” Bumblebee lamented, his optics full of remorse. “Sometimes, all we can do is leave them where they lie, and let our sparks do the talking.”

Starscream fidgeted with his digits like a mech who had just discovered he had them. His claws touched every joint, seam, and gap they could find as he sat in a chair opposite of Ultra Magnus’ desk. This was just an interview. That’s all Ultra Magnus had told him: ‘just a short, informal interview to see where you stand.’ What did that mean? This was a test, it had to be some sort of test! Or a punishment, for slighting Ultra Magnus’ authority at their meeting that morning. He’d just been withholding his anger until now. No, he wasn’t that kind of mech. But what if he was? What if Starscream hadn’t given him enough credit, or rather, enough caution?

Ultra Magnus quietly organized his desk for what had to be the third time that day, even though it was completely unnecessary. To anyone with optics, it was absolutely spotless. But it was less about tidiness, and more about comfort. There was a certain sense of peace he felt when he organized his things, when he experimented and found new ways to arrange his space. There were no consequences in breaking apart order and reforming it, at least in this place, with these simple things. Outside of this office, things were different. The disorder was yet to be reformed, and wouldn’t be for quite some time. He had started to wonder if it ever would, until now. That was why Starscream was here.

If Starscream wanted to be trusted, Ultra Magnus had to know it wouldn’t be exploited. He needed to know what Starscream truly wanted. Because if he was willing to change, and earn their trust, then perhaps Ultra Magnus could allow himself to hope.

Ultra Magnus relaxed into his seat and looked across his desk at Starscream, only to see the mech performing some strange maneuvers with his servos. “Starscream, let me start off by saying that you’re not in trouble.”

Starscream’s wings lost some of their tension, and he finally ceased his constant fidgeting. “I’m not?”

“No, I just wanted to ask you a few questions.” Ultra Magnus folded his servos in his lap, as much as they could allow. “To preface: during our meeting...you accused me of not trusting you. And you were right about that; I don’t trust you. I would like to, but I don’t.”

Starscream’s wings drooped, distinctly less relaxed than before. “Ah.”

“And I wanted to ask you, in your own words...why do you think I should?”

Starscream tensed further, feeling like a pane of thin glass watching an approaching tornado and hoping it passes by. “I-I...don’t quite understand the question?”

“The Starscream I know is a coward, a manipulator, and a cold-blooded killer. Despite all the good you’ve done, despite the change I’ve witnessed, despite the faith that Smokescreen has in you, I simply cannot forget the mech I know you to be. I would like to, but I can’t. And the only mech on this ship who can convince me to look past that is you.” Ultra Magnus lowered his brow, already anticipating disappointment. “So, I apologize for putting you on the spot, but if you truly want to earn my trust, I’m giving you the floor to do so.”

Starscream stammered as the serrated blade of fear ran its teeth through his spark. How in Primus’ name was he supposed to talk his way out of, or rather, into this!? ‘I apologize for putting you on the spot,’ slag! Pure, fresh, hot, foul-smelling slag! He would be furious at Ultra Magnus’ gall if not for how terrified he was. Not that getting aggressive was the best course of action. Be agreeable, Starscream. You know what he wants to hear, don’t you? Not exactly, but...he had to try and swing this in his favor. There was no running from this.

Starscream clenched his servos for only a second, then allowed them to travel to his knees. Air escaped his intake in a quiet hiss. “You certainly have put me on the spot, sir...It’s...not an easy task.”

Ultra Magnus leaned forward and planted his elbows on his desk, resting his intake against his servos. Starscream had his full, undivided attention. He could swear that the blackness he resided in was suddenly pierced by bright blue. Think. Breathe. Ultra Magnus was right about one thing, he was a manipulator. And he was a good one, at that. He just needed the right angle...

Starscream exhaled and made his posture as meek and remorseful as possible, servos intertwined loosely in his lap. “When I first arrived here, I was terrified. After my near-death at the hands of the Predacons, I awoke to find myself in complete, unending darkness. I was surrounded by enemies, and I was certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that I would find myself dead within a matter of days...I had given up hope. So I simply planned to...prolong my existence in any way I could.

“I admit it: my intentions were selfish. My assistance with the caches, my cooperation, it was all just to ensure I could live another day. And it’s funny, looking back on it, seeing how similarly I felt to when I served under Megatron.” Yes, this was good. Play the victim. “Every day was a gamble. You all sneer at my treachery, but it was never solely about power. It was about survival, and freedom. But it’s...different, here. I thought I was trapped, but I’m not. Technically, I could leave whenever I want to. Not that it would be a wise choice, but it is a choice I could make. I thought about doing it several times, but every time I feel like I’m about to do it, I realize...if I do, no one will come to find me.”

This was the goal, but Starscream managed to make himself sound disturbed by that revelation, rather than relieved by it. “If I die out there, that would be the end of me. I wouldn’t get a funeral, no tears would be shed. Just the same out there as it would have been with the Decepticons… It took some time, and it may take longer, still, but I realized that there’s something for me here.” Starscream lifted his helm and placed his servo over his spark. “Every day I remained on this ship, I witnessed kindness I thought too good to be true. Too good for me. But I received it, regardless. Bulkhead has saved me from myself twice, now. Smokescreen, a dozen times more than that… I only now started to kick myself, because I almost realized that too late: when you were all swarmed by scraplets.

“I almost ran…” Starscream genuinely had to search within himself and remember why he didn’t just keep running. “I’m...tired of running. I’m tired of just existing for existence’s sake.” The words left Starscream’s lips naturally, though he swore he didn’t consciously choose to say them. His expression reflected his own surprise, and Ultra Magnus took note. “...I didn’t want you all to die, even if it wouldn’t have been my fault. And if there was a chance I could save you, I wanted to take it. If I died, I would have at least died trying to do the right thing. And if I lived… I thought maybe you could learn to trust me.”

Starscream firmed his expression with finality. “That’s why I want you to trust me, sir. Because I already learned to trust you, and it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.”

Ultra Magnus stared at Starscream with a firm expression, mulling over his answer. Starscream paused his ventilators, which only made the silence that much more oppressive. Ultra Magnus’ optics traveled downward and lingered on the insignia that adorned Starscream’s chest-plate. “You say the Decepticons treated you so poorly, yet you still wear that badge. Are you ever going to take it off?”

Starscream’s brow ridge rocketed upwards, appearing to take genuine offense to that. Suddenly, all pretenses of being submissive and agreeable flew out the window, and he scowled. “No. Never.”

“Why not?”

“For the same reason you would never remove yours!” Starscream covered the insignia with a gentle touch, caging it with his digits. “Regardless of what became of the Decepticons, I don’t feel shame for having been a part of them. I joined because I believed in it, and I still do. For Primus’ sake, I gave up a piece of my spark chamber to have this badge made! It’s part of me. Just the same as the cold-blooded killer you know me to be is still a part of me. I’m not going to pretend I was never a part of this cause just to appease you, or anyone else!”

Ultra Magnus nodded, slowly, though Starscream couldn’t see it. Perhaps it was just blind hope, but Ultra Magnus did believe Starscream was telling the truth. He wasn’t denying who he was, though he could sense that he was trying in the beginning to pin his actions on Megatron. But he was firm that he would never pretend he wasn’t a Decepticon; there was a limit to how much he was willing to placate them. He wasn’t afraid to lay his flaws bare, and that took honesty. And honesty took courage. “...Thank you for being honest with me, Starscream.”

Ultra Magnus heard his Comm-link ring, and raised his digits to his audial. “Excuse me, I’m getting a comm. This is Ultra Magnus.”

Starscream just about collapsed from relief, but managed, just barely, to stay upright.

“Sir,” Soundwave began. “Meet me in the control room. Wheeljack and I would like to discuss our findings.”

“Of course, I’ll be there soon. Starscream will be coming with me, just so you’re aware.”

“Understood.”

Ultra Magnus heard the comm end; he really enjoyed how punctual Soundwave was. Starscream raised a brow and stood when he heard Ultra Magnus leave his seat. “Where are you dragging me off to now?” Starscream asked, sounding exhausted.

“The control room; Soundwave has figured out what left those scratches in the wall. Does that not interest you?”

“That depends: what would you have me do if I refused to follow?”

Ultra Magnus opened the door to his office and stepped out, feeling a bit lighter after their talk, but not revealing it at all in his posture or cadence. “Hm...Jumping jacks.”

Starscream followed and scowled incredulously. “Was that a joke? You don’t joke...You’re not joking?”

“Would you like to find out?”

Starscream thought for at least triple the amount of time a ‘yes-or-no’ question would typically call for. “...No.”

The wind howled through the boarded windows of the relinquishment clinic, echoing an off-tune dirge through the dark halls. As dilapidated as it was on the outside, the inside was disturbingly clean. Bumblebee scanned the front desk area with his headlights switched on. Though there was some debris on the floor, he took note of the fact that most of the things you would expect to be on the ground (datapads, syringes, and such other creepy medical equipment) were notably absent. Nothing large enough to trip over was left on the ground. Shelves still had objects on them. Just as it was with the cellar, to the untrained eye a place like this could easily be overlooked, but upon closer inspection it was obvious that it was recently tampered with.

Smokescreen walked a bit ahead, but didn’t stray far from Bumblebee. He looked down one of the opposite hallways, and at its end, there was an opened stairwell that led upstairs. Sunlight pored in from the massive crater that had been left in the roof, illuminating the crumbling staircase in an ominous, heavenly glow. It was practically calling to Smokescreen, and he was convinced it wasn’t just because it was the only well-lit thing in this building. “Hey, Bee? I’m gonna go check out that staircase.”

Bumblebee nodded, already joining him in the hallway and opening one of the many doors with a grunt. The metal shrieked against its own mechanisms, causing the both of them to cringe. “Okay, just send me a ping if you need me, and be careful. Don’t go upstairs without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, this place makes my plates itch.” Smokescreen audibly shuddered and began walking towards the staircase just as Bumblebee squeezed through the door he’d just opened.

As he approached the stairs, he took passing glances at the rows of closed doors. Honestly, he didn’t want to open any of them. In the best case scenario, they were only empty rooms with medical berths and scattered equipment. Which, knowing what this place had become, was still quite grim. And in the worst case scenario...it wouldn’t be empty. Smokescreen didn’t want to think about that, and found himself clenching his servos to offset his nerves. Each step he made echoed, like he were in a dormant air ship.

His optics focused exclusively on the stairs, and he squinted as he began to hear something odd. A quiet, nearly inaudible fizzing sound. Electricity? No, that couldn’t be; all these structures were completely destroyed. Even with the Well flowing, without working power lines, the entire planet was stuck in a blackout. Smokescreen turned off his headlights as he stood before the beam of afternoon sun. Yet, the sound persisted. It wasn’t coming from him, it was coming from here.

Smokescreen looked up at the first platform of the staircase, which had collapsed from whatever had impacted the building, but still managed to remain above ground level by a mere sliver. Smokescreen bent his helm to see the bottom of it, and found that there was a light fixture attached to it. The bulb was long gone, but the filament remained in its port.

Smokescreen walked gently beneath the fallen platform, treating it as if a single wrong step could send it crashing down. Because it might. He stood on the tips of his pedes below what remained of the light and reached upwards towards it, but he was just barely too short. He bit his glossa and grunted, stretching his digits as far as their joints would allow and fanning his servo just below the light, until…

ZAP!

The tip of Smokescreen’s digit collided with the bare filament and he yelped, stumbling backwards and instinctively shoving it into his intake. The platform groaned, ominously, and Smokescreen cringed, bracing himself for it to finally fall from what remained of its supports...but it held fast. He sighed around his singed digit and pulled it from his intake with a low-pitched ‘pop.’ Well, now he knew where that sound was coming from.

Bumblebee rushed out of the room he was in and ran to meet Smokescreen. “Hey, what happened!? Are you okay!?”

Smokescreen turned to Bumblebee with a confident smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. But Bee, check it out, this place has power.” Smokescreen pointed towards the stairway. “I heard electricity coming from that staircase, come on, let me show-”

Suddenly, the platform shifted and the two mechs tensed. It groaned like a beast awakening from a hundred-year slumber. What was left of its rusted, load-bearing beams finally decided to retire, crumpling below its weight like an aluminum can. The three-foot-thick platform tumbled down, the electrical wiring that ran from its innards through the wall pulled taught and snapped in an instant, and they flailed for purchase as the slab of metal crashed downwards into the floor below. It took the handrail with it, along with small chunks of the wall. Each piece piled onto the other in a heap, but the show was far from over.

A far lower, mechanic groan rumbled through the floor, sending Bumblebee and Smokescreen flailing in place as the hundred-pound pile of scrap punched downward. And downward again. The floor beneath it was giving way. Bumblebee looked down at the tiled floor and saw them ominously shifting, beckoning them downwards. He grabbed Smokescreen by the shoulder and sprinted backwards, towards the front entrance as the stairwell completely collapsed inward like a dying flower spooling around itself. The floor around it began to collapse as well, revealing that the ground there was completely hollowed. With every piece that fell, the halls became bathed in blinding, white light.

Safely outside the front entrance, the two bots peeked through the door and watched, waiting for the destruction to finally cease. Luckily, the entire upper level didn’t fall with that one section of the floor, but if they had remained still, they surely would have fallen. As the initial shock finally wore off, Bumblebee and Smokescreen were finally able to hear their own frightened panting, which slowly cycled to a stop.

After a short silence, Smokescreen looked to Bumblebee. “...Um. Oops?”

Bumblebee swiftly swatted the back of Smokescreen’s helm with a hefty ‘gong’ and Smokescreen recoiled. “Ow! I’m sorry, okay!? How was I supposed to know that was gonna happen!?”

Bumblebee sighed and took a cautious step back inside. “I know you didn’t know; I just needed to let off steam and your helm was right there. Anyway, come take a look at what you found.”

Smokescreen stepped inside and blinked, resetting his optics to adjust for the sudden amount of light. Just beyond the ground floor was an entire basement sub-level. Pure white, if not for the gigantic mess that Smokescreen had just made of the corner. Just from the look of this one section of the basement, they were able to make out what looked to be some medical equipment. No, lab equipment. Though it was unlikely everything got out unscathed, they had found exactly what they were looking for.

“Shockwave’s lab...Well, one of them, anyway,” Smokescreen breathed with a smile. He looked to Bumblebee, who smiled right back at him.

“Come on, there’s gotta be a way down there...Keep your steps light.”

“Oh, I may as well be floating with how light I’ll be stepping.”

Bumblebee fanned over his shoulder, signaling Smokescreen to follow. “This is a clinic, so there has to be a map on one of these walls-Ah!” He grinned, spotting a large plaque just out of sight, and turned on his headlights to better see the layout. “Here we go, here we go…”

His optics scanned the map from top to bottom, but...there was no basement on the map. Just the upper and lower floors were depicted. There were elevators, but no mention of a sub-level of any kind. He blinked, frowning deeply as he realized what this must mean. “Oh…”

Smokescreen looked over the map, squinting. “Please tell me that was an ‘oh, I found it’ oh and not an ‘oh no’ oh.”

“It’s no wonder Shockwave set up shop here. That lab wasn’t built by the Decepticons, it couldn't have been. It's too established; Shockwave's secret labs are never this clean. It was already here, before the war.”

Smokescreen looked to Bumblebee, apprehensively. “I thought we were done with the left turns after you told me this place ended up being a suicide clinic.”

“Smokescreen, I think we could be standing above the Institute.”

Chapter Text

Smokescreen’s processor whirled as Bumblebee and himself made their way to the elevators. He flipped back and forth between being elated to have made progress, and terrified at the idea that they could be sitting above the Institute. He’d heard of the Institute in hushed whispers. It was a place where Decepticons and Autobots with wavering loyalty were sent to be ‘fixed,’ courtesy of the Senate. Their minds would be altered via shadowplay, as a means of forcibly keeping bots in line. The practice was highly contested for obvious reasons; altering someone’s personality was not something that should ever be a common procedure. But Smokescreen figured it was only a made-up boogeyman used to scare bots into remaining loyal to their government. And he really would prefer not to be wrong about that.

“Maybe it’s just a normal secret lab under a relinquishment clinic, you know? Maybe they just did cruel experiments on-on retrorats! Yeah. Normal mad scientist stuff, not the...mess with your brain stuff,” Smokescreen bargained.

Bumblebee shook his helm as they finally reached the elevators. “I don’t want to believe it either, Smokey, but I’ve seen what Shockwave’s secret labs look like. They’re cobbled together from scrap metal; he never expects to stay in one place for long. And what better place to hide something like the Institute than a relinquishment clinic? Remove the spark upstairs, wheel the body downstairs...and do whatever you want with the brain.”

Bumblebee pressed the button on the elevator and was as disturbed as he was relieved to see the button suddenly light up. The elevator creaked, whirred, and audibly made its first ascent in what had to be centuries. But the doors only opened a small amount, so Bumblebee helped them along with a good push. He stepped inside with Smokescreen, whose optics were wide with anxiety.

Bumblebee’s digits felt over the elevator panel, looking for the secret button they knew had to exist. “For what it’s worth: I would love to be proven wrong. Not that there’s any world where a secret lab, under a place like this, could be used for anything good.” His digit caught on the maintenance panel, and he quickly yanked the door off. Sure enough, there was a button hidden just behind a tangle of wires. Bumblebee pressed it instantly, and they made their descent.

The elevator doors refused to shut, and the empty chamber of the elevator rolled past. Smokescreen exhaled, knowing that Bumblebee was right, but still wishing that there was some way to put a positive spin on this. Some way to keep believing that the Senate would never do something so drastic. But as the blinding light of the lab cut through the elevator, lighting them from their pedes to their helms, Smokescreen’s world subsequently unraveled. He stepped out first, looking out over the sea of berths.

Rows upon rows of magnetic circuit slabs lined the room. All of them, thankfully, empty. But this relief was short-lived as Smokescreen’s optics scanned the lab further. The walls were lined with monitors in sleep mode, showing no data, but an ominously default lock screen. No logo, no insignia. No evidence. Below the large monitors were desks filled with lab equipment: replacement claw tips for mnemosurgeons, ominous-looking, vacuum-like tools, and rows upon rows of jars. Some empty, some full.

Smokescreen swallowed and took a few steps closer to the desk until he could make out the contents. His tank lurched and he squeezed his optics shut at the sight. Clusters of Cybertronian processors, spherical brains floating in clear fluid. He turned before opening his optics again, only to let out a short shout of surprise, finding the wall beside him decorated with the remains of Empties. Poor, naive junkies who had come to this clinic for a few extra shanix to get their next hit. Only to become hollowed lab rats. Their helms were sliced at their crests, and they dangled by their throats on hooks. Their helms were bared forward, showing their dark, empty skulls. Relinquished of their processors, with their sparks long extinguished.

Smokescreen stumbled backwards from shock and he collided with one of the slabs. Thankfully, the magnet had been shut off. He covered his intake with one servo and heaved into it. “Ugh, Bee? I think I’m gonna be sick…”

Bumblebee came to Smokescreen’s side to see what he was looking at, then quickly averted his gaze. “Primus...I guess we have our answer. Only Shockwave could set up shop in a place like this.” He took Smokescreen by the arm and pulled him away from the corpses on the wall. “Come on, let’s just find what we need and get the frag outta here.”

“No arguments here.” Smokescreen spared a glance over his shoulder as Bumblebee lead him away. He wondered how many bots had been sent here, and how many came out different, just for daring to disagree...Most of them were Decepticons, weren’t they? A few Autobots, here and there, sure. But this was in direct retaliation to specifically the Decepticon movement. For a moment, he wondered how different everything would have been if Megatron was ever taken to this place. And he refused to see a reality where anything was better, because he refused to entertain the idea that removing someone’s autonomy could ever be an improvement.

Smokescreen walked over to one of the desks that lacked any free-floating brains, finding a datapad. As he approached to pick it up, he felt an unexpected texture underpede. Grit. He looked down and lifted his foot, finding a few stray piles of dirt. That was strange; the floors in here were so pristine Smokescreen could actually see his reflection in the white tiles. And the ceiling was no different, minus the new, gaping hole they’d just made. But it was pretty far away from where Smokescreen was standing...where did this soil come from?

Suddenly, Smokescreen and Bumblebee perked their helms as they simultaneously heard a low, distant rumbling. Immediately, they readied their blasters and scoped the room, but found no threat. Soon enough, the rumbling ceased, and the two regarded each other with a confused look.

“I hope that wasn’t coming from us,” Bumblebee said, his voice apprehensive and stern. “Be careful, this place is apparently more fragile than it looks. Anything starts to crumble, we make a break for the elevator and climb up the shaft.”

Smokescreen nodded, then picked up the datapad and squinted at its contents as they lit up the screen. Rather than being a single, easy to read document, it was instead a patchwork of copied text, with various lines running between each text box. Smokescreen pinched his digits against the datapad and then spread them wide, zooming out to reveal a galaxy’s worth of cobbled data. He blinked in awe of how intricate this tapestry was, then zoomed in again to attempt to read one of the hand-written blurbs:

“Though the mnemosurgeon is uniquely equipped and trained in the art of neurological investigation, it should be noted that there is a significant risk to the practitioner’s safety with each injection. This is likely due to the limitations of the Cybertronian processor’s computing capabilities. When foreign data is uploaded, it induces strain and compounds the risk of ‘cortical fracture’ and ‘data bleed.’ Though not impossible, it is improbable to propose the idea that the processor could be altered to withstand strain by removing the natural fail-safes. Instead, the strain should be mitigated through mutual connection between surgeon and patient via cortical data-lines utilizing—”

Smokescreen’s processor physically recoiled and he promptly set the datapad down. Nope.

Bumblebee turned his attention to another side of the room, and suddenly, their good fortune had finally reared its head. A section of wall made of large panes of glass sat before them, and beyond that glass sat a wide, open storage area. Within that, there was a large stockpile of energon cubes in a neat tower, alongside several undistilled crystals. But that wasn’t all; on the opposite side of the storage area was a small collection of medical machinery. Including a brand new assembler.

Bumblebee smiled and urged Smokescreen to look with a tap on his arm. “Hey, check it out.”

Smokescreen managed to find the energy to smile, despite the darkness that surrounded them. “Now we’re talking.”

Finally, something worth seeing, and it was just a door away. Smokescreen trotted over to the storage area and stood before the glass door that split between the massive panes, but nothing happened. He frowned and inspected the door, giving it a small push, but it didn’t budge. Another, stronger push yielded the same lack of results, with the added bonus of an angry-sounding ‘buzz’ that made the two scouts nearly jump right out of their plates. Their helms snapped over to the source of the sound: a small screen affixed to the side of the door, once black, now flashed with a bright, red ‘X.’ A servo-print lock.

A calculated, low-pitched, familiar voice drifted from the control panel. “Access denied: Clearance level must be eight or above to enter.”

Smokescreen groaned in frustration, if only to offset the shudder from hearing Shockwave’s vocalizer again, even if it were only a mere recording. “Oh, come on! It’s locked!?” Without thinking, Smokescreen threw his arm back, then punched the glass door with all of his might. His knuckles collided with the glass and made a sound like a bug zapper igniting beneath the surface of a pond: dull, crunchy, and warbling. Smokescreen’s optics shot open and he curled inwards, over his own servo while he hissed through tight lips. A spurt of steam escaped from between his neck cables, and it took him a moment to regain the ability to make a sound other than ‘fffft.’

“Ooooh, ohhh that hurt! Oh fuck me, that hurt! Wow.”

Bumblebee grimaced in sympathy, even waving his own digits with solidarity. You knew it was bad when the Earth accent slipped out. “That would be blaster-proof, war-grade glass paneling...We’re not breaking that down.”

Smokescreen huffed, then looked to his wrist. The phase shifter regarded him like an old friend, quiet and comforting with its blue glow to his chassis. He smirked. “Well, it’s a good thing I brought my signature weapon, isn’t it? I’ll just slip on through to the other side and unlock the door from the inside.”

It was now Bumblebee’s turn to smirk. “You didn’t think to try that before you punched the glass?”

Smokescreen pouted. “Hey, I’m antsy, alright? This place is undistilled nightmare fuel. And, to my credit, you didn’t think of it either until now, did you?”

“You know what? Point taken!”

Smokescreen reached towards the phase shifter, when that rumbling sound from before returned. But this time, it was twice as loud, and started to sound a little less like distant thunder. It sounded more like a stalling engine. Smokescreen looked to Bumblebee with a raised brow. “What is that?”

“Hopefully not trouble,” Bumblebee replied. “I’ll keep watch while you get the door. Make it quick; we need to fully clear this place of any threats before we call in the Vehicons to collect.”

Smokescreen nodded, finally twisting the phase shifter on his wrist. His frame was alight with a warm, tingling sensation as his molecules stretched the slightest bit apart, leaving him threadbare as cheese cloth. Air passed through each fiber of his being with an electric buzz, which combined together into that iconic, droning whistle the device made. Or rather, that Smokescreen made. Most of the other Autobots detested the sensation, but Smokescreen kinda liked it; he theorized this is what it felt like to be a ghost.

Expertly, Smokescreen was able to fiddle with the phase shifter as he walked, keeping his pedes bound to the ground, but allowing them to disperse through the glass. Passing through felt like nothing at all, which was arguably just as strange as the feeling of shifting in and of itself. Once he was inside, Smokescreen shut the phase shifter off and found himself whole in a flash. He smiled and waved at Bumblebee through the window, then turned his attention to the door. But, as he bent down to inspect the door for some sort of manual lock, Smokescreen shifted his pede onto one of the floor tiles. Which suddenly sunk down with an ominous ‘click.’

Smokescreen’s optics flared and he gasped, suddenly standing upright and reaching for the phase shifter again. Just as the very tips of his digits came close to the relic, the lights outside of the storage room abruptly dimmed, and the ones inside got much, much brighter. With a loud, fizzling ‘crack,’ the gaps between the floor tiles lit up with electricity. Rivers of bright, ferocious lightning weaved a tapestry on the ground, and Smokescreen was instantly caught in its web.

His entire upper body contorted in an atrocious display. His hydraulics tightened to the point where they ground against their own pistons, threatening to crumple inwards on themselves. His protomesh lit up with the fire of billions of microscopic needles piercing him all at once. His knees rattled involuntarily, sending aftershocks up to his spinal strut that curled his neck cables backwards as taut as tangled fishing line. His optics flashed bright white, sending him spiraling into a white void. His mandibles creaked, attempting to flatten his own dentae. The inside of his helm bloomed outwards, and he felt as though his spark would follow, if only to escape the tomb his frame was becoming.

Bumblebee was screaming behind the glass, pounding on it with his fists, even though he had said himself it was useless. Smokescreen couldn’t make out what he was saying. With a tremendous amount of strength, Smokescreen forced his jaws open and let out a deep, throat-shredding cry of static. The back of his throat lit up as brightly as his optics. A last gasp at defiance, before the electricity finally ceased. The invisible strings holding Smokescreen up were sliced, and he fell to the floor like a discarded marionette. He didn’t feel himself hit the tiles; the last of his sensors to shut down were his olfactories, and all he could smell was his own burning circuits. The void faded to black, and he crashed into stasis.

“SMOKESCREEN!” Bumblebee cried, slamming his fists on the glass door. He prodded at the door’s control panel, which buzzed with every futile attempt. Mocking him with Shockwave’s spirit.

“Access denied. Access denied.”

His ventilators kicked into high gear and his engine revved with frustration as he finally placed his digits to his audial. “Bumblebee to Soundwave, come in! Soundwave!”

Soundwave didn’t turn his helm when the doors to the control room opened. Wheeljack leaned casually nearby, with Lazerbeak once again in his favorite place: attached to Soundwave’s chassis, feeling the pulse of his spark. The drone found the confidence to nuzzle its chin into his beloved master’s chest plating, and Soundwave lifted an appendage that wasn’t currently in use to give the drone a little pat on the helm. Wheeljack was smirking at the sight, endeared, and maybe a little envious. But when the doors opened, he turned his attention to Ultra Magnus as he entered the room with Starscream, reluctantly in tow.

“Sir,” Wheeljack said with a nod to the larger mech, who nodded in return. “Screamer.”

Starscream leaned his helm back as if he were about to unleash a groan that could tear the planet asunder, but no sound came out. Wheeljack just silently laughed at the gesture.

“Soundwave, Wheeljack; relay your findings,” Ultra Magnus commanded.

“I’ll handle the talking bit,” Wheeljack said, turning to Soundwave. “You supply the visual aid.”

Soundwave nodded, and with a flick of his wrist, an image of the hollowed-out energon distiller came on the large screen before them. Followed by various windows of other images for purposes of comparison with the slashes.

“Soundwave was able to figure out that whatever was in that cellar was an Insecticon,” Wheeljack began. “Now, that wouldn’t be so bad, we’ve squashed hundreds of those bugs by now. What’s worryin’ me is the state of that distiller.” He gestured to the image, and Soundwave pulled up the 3D scan that Lazerbeak had taken; a wire frame model rotated slowly beside the original picture. “The internals were gone, but not in the way you’d think. It’s like they were pulled out on purpose. Delicately.”

Ultra Magnus furrowed his brow. “Hm. I’m assuming you believe that the Insecticons are building something using these parts?”

Starscream suddenly let out a callous ‘pfft’ sound. “Oh, please. These are Insecticons we’re talking about! They’re only a minor step above mindless Terrorcons in terms of processor function. Even if they are building something, it’s assuredly nothing we need fret over. Probably just building a lovely little bungalow to screech in.”

Wheeljack scowled and crossed his arms in a challenge. “Oh yeah? How come all the circuits are missin’ from the distiller, then? What kinda bungalow needs those?”

Starscream scoffed and waved his servo in dismissal. “They know not what they’re working with. Even Hardshell, the most intelligent among their ilk, couldn’t tell a motherboard from a mother ship. Unless someone is controlling them, they-” Starscream cut himself short, then scowled. “Actually...that’s not out of the realm of possibility. They are remarkably gullible, after all.”

Wheeljack nodded. “Yep, I figured you’d come around to that. Now the question is: who’s controllin’ ‘em?”

“And what are they building?” Ultra Magnus asked as he stared at the screen with a grim scowl.

Starscream stroked his chin in contemplation as the mechs in the room theorized amongst themselves. Starscream didn’t care to hear their theories, he much preferred the sound of his own inner voice. Airachnid had been banished to Soundwave-knows-where, and Starscream trusted Soundwave’s solo work nearly implicitly, so he didn’t consider her as an option. Predaking was likely, based on his brute strength he would be able to easily claim them as his subjects, but Starscream found that unlikely as well. Predaking preferred to be among his own kind. In Starscream’s mind, that left only one possibility: Shockwave.

Starscream’s wings fluttered slightly, and he smiled. Of course, it had to be Shockwave! That one-eyed, one-servo’d, placid scientist must still be alive! He had survived the Terrorcon horde and gone into hiding! Or at least, Starscream hoped this was the case. As much as he loathed Shockwave, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that that mech was his quickest route to vision he would ever have. For crying out loud, he had managed to repair his own optic completely blind! If he truly was alive, Starscream had to find him.

Before he could reflect on the possibility further, a crackle of static, followed by an alert ‘beep,’ turned everyone’s attention back to the main computer. Bumblebee’s likeness flashed on screen, requesting to comm with Soundwave, and Soundwave wasted no time answering. Louder static blared through the speakers as the shoddy comm-link was established; they were even further from base than Wheeljack had been, so the connection hung on by a thread.

“-ave, come in! Soundwa-!”

Soundwave’s tendrils interlaced with the computer’s systems as he attempted to clear the airwaves. Ultra Magnus stepped forward and leaned in to better be heard. “Bumblebee! Status report!”

“We-KZZT-the lab, but Smokescreen’s shut down!”

“What!? Bumblebee, what’s happened!?”

Starscream suddenly felt his fuel lines run ice cold. “What?” He whispered, stepping forward. But Wheeljack held him back with a firm servo to prevent Starscream from crowding the control panel while it was occupied.

“There--KZZT--this storage room, behind blaster-proof glass. We couldn’t open it without a servo-print, so Smoke--KZZT--een walked through with the phase shifter--KZZT--Whole floor lit up with electricity, and it’s knocked him out! I can’t get in!”

“Are you certain there’s no other way in? Could you perhaps infiltrate through the ceiling?” Ultra Magnus stated, as calmly as possible. There was only static as his reply. “Bumblebee? Do you read?” After another, painfully long moment of static, Ultra Magnus moved to try again, only to be interrupted by pure, unbridled chaos. Bumblebee screamed within the static, and the sound of his blaster cut into the unending white noise like he were trying to physically break through it. “Bumblebee!”

“KZZT--agnus! I ne--KZZT--up! I--KZZT--Inse--KZZT--”

Starscream suddenly snarled and wrenched himself out of Wheeljack’s grasp. He shoved Ultra Magnus to the side and lowered his intake to where he remembered the receiver to be. “What’s the clearance level on the servo-print lock!? The number, Bee! What is it!?”

Instead of the voice of their friend, a garbled, screeching roar cut through the static. It crumbled the comm-link at its foundations, until their connection was fully lost with an unceremonious ‘blip.’ Starscream barked in frustration to cut through the silence that followed, and slammed his servo onto the nearest surface, which opened several windows on the screen. “Damn it, damn it!”

Ultra Magnus turned to Wheeljack and firmly pointed to reel in his optics. “Wheeljack, assemble a team and bring them here, we’re going to ground-bridge to Bumblebee’s last coordinates and stage a rescue.” Wheeljack said nothing, wasting no time running out of the room and lighting up his comms. Ultra Magnus swiveled to Soundwave, who didn’t need a command, but received one regardless. “Soundwave, prepare the ground-bridge. Starscream, you-”

“NO!” Starscream yelled, which startled Ultra Magnus, but did not peel Soundwave from his work. “I’m not staying here!”

“Starscream-” Ultra Magnus spoke in a half-warning, half-pleading tone.

“Shut up and listen! Whatever door Smokescreen is stuck behind, it’s locked with a servo-print scanner. That means that lab has power, so even if you manage to get past that glass with brute force, I guarantee you there will be another layer of defense behind that. I know Shockwave, and if he wants someone out, they stay out! The quickest, safest way to get past that door is to unlock it. Therefore, you need me.” Starscream raised his right servo. “Unless you intend on ripping this off and borrowing it for a while.”

Ultra Magnus grunted, not enjoying the fact that Starscream was making sense. “What about Soundwave, or Knockout? Would they not be able to unlock it?”

“You think a medic or communications officer would logically have access to highly-volatile, experimental weaponry?”

Ultra Magnus opened his intake to speak, but was interrupted by the sound of a pair of long, thin servos slamming onto a desk. Soundwave stared at the screen, his visor flickering with an array of garish colors, presumably from anger at witnessing its contents. An error message overtook the entire screen in an oppressive shade of red that painted the bots below it:

“CAUTION: Ground-bridge fuel reserves: 12%. Ground bridge range has been limited to 10% of normal capacity. Exercise EXTREME caution for risk of implosion.”

“Soundwave, what’s happened?” Ultra Magnus asked, feeling his frame begin to heat from stress.

“The consequences of my actions,” Soundwave replied, grimly, as his digits dug into the edge of the control room’s keyboard. “Fuel reserves: too low to ground-bridge to exact coordinates. It has not been refueled despite extensive use, due to shortages. Ground-bridge: will be miles from desired location, even at maximum distance allotted. And, we only have enough fuel for a single bridge.”

“You’ve got to be fragging kidding me!” Starscream shouted, punctuating his exclamation with a manic chuckle. “How many slagging ground-bridges did you open while you were in the Shadow Zone to nearly run the entire thing dry!?”

Soundwave turned his visor slightly towards Starscream. “Enough to save us both.”

“Enough!” Ultra Magnus boomed. “Soundwave, prepare a ground-bridge as close to their coordinates as you possibly can. Starscream, you’ll stick with me to unlock the door. On the way to their location, you’ll stay grounded on my trailer. We can’t risk a crash. Do you understand?”
Starscream, surprisingly, had no complaints. Ultra Magnus’ logic was sound; Starscream knew he needed more practice before he could safely fly, and they needed him in one piece to save Smokescreen. He simply gave a firm nod, much to the relief of Ultra Magnus. “Yes, sir.”

The doors to the control room opened again, and Wheeljack bounded in, followed by Bulkhead, Knockout, and a trio of Vehicons. Their name tags read: Chester, Sawtooth, and Blade. Bulkhead stepped forward, presenting Ultra Magnus with his own signature weapon: the Forge of Solus Prime. “Wheeljack gave us the run down. What’s the plan, sir?”

“Are you certain there’s--KZZT--in?--KZZT--you--KZZT--thr--KZZT--ling?”

Bumblebee grunted and slapped the side of his helm in a futile attempt to beat the air waves into submission. “Sir, repeat! Repeat!” But only static followed, at least initially. It took him a moment to notice, but that rumbling sound had returned. It was closer, louder, and clearer than before. What they were hearing wasn’t the sound of a settling foundation, or a far-off thunder storm. It was the low-pitched cry of an Insecticon.

Bumblebee spun around, looking towards the gaping hole that had been left in the ceiling. The sound of fluttering wings, as deep and bassy as a jet propeller, slowed to a stop before the entrance. Claws sunk into the metal wall, and the beast revealed itself as it made its way down the wall in its beetle-shaped alt mode. Its massive size uncanny against the solid-white of the laboratory walls, like something only conceived in nightmares. Bumblebee stumbled backwards and ducked behind one of the magnetic circuit slabs, hoping that the beast would not see him as he hid.

But he wasn’t quick enough. The Insecticon lifted its helm and caught the last glimpse of Bumblebee’s pede as it slipped behind the slab. And it roared. Bumblebee screamed and dove to the side, barely having a moment to react before the Insecticon had detached itself from the wall and barreled through his previous cover like a rampaging bull, leaving the slab flattened in its wake.

Bumblebee powered on his blaster and fired off a few shots on the beast as it transformed, hitting vulnerable protomesh. But it only seemed to make it angrier, as it whirled to face Bumblebee once again with another, strut-crushing roar.

“Bumblebee, do you read?” Ultra Magnus said, his voice tauntingly clear. Out of sheer desperation, Bumblebee dove again to dodge the Insecticon’s rampage as it tore through rows of circuit slabs, uprooting them like vegetables. He placed his digit to his audial in one final attempt to reach the base.

“Ultra Magnus! I need back up! It’s an Insecticon!” Bumblebee was forced to continue his dance, firing shot after useless shot into the monster that pursued him to no end. He heard Starscream’s voice crackle through his comm-link, but couldn’t make out a word of it. He didn’t have time to think; all he could do now was hope and pray to Primus he could keep up with this thing long enough for them to get a ground-bridge to his location. “Alright, ugly! Let’s see how long you can keep this up!”

Outside, a few miles away, all was quiet. Eerily so, considering the turmoil that was happening just out of sight and earshot. That was, until a massive, green portal exploded to life, sending debris flying in all directions. The Nemesis’ space bridge wheezed as Ultra Magnus’ alt mode burst forth from it, followed by the crack team Wheeljack had assembled. Lazerbeak took to the skies with Chester, the one Vehicon flier of the trio, and they forged ahead to foretell any unseen threats to the group below. Bulkhead took up the rear, and the ground-bridge faded just as his rear tires left its range. As the portal breathed its last, it audibly crumpled, rather than spiraled, out of existence.

‘We only have enough fuel for a single bridge,’ Soundwave had told them. That meant there was no easy escape, and no guarantees that they would all make it back in time to receive proper care if they were injured too severely. Knockout could only do so much, after all. Starscream’s claws gripped tighter onto Ultra Magnus’ trailer bed as the reality of the situation began to properly take shape.

Smokescreen was injured and out of reach. Bumblebee was under attack. They could only afford a single ground-bridge. And Starscream had agreed to tag along, no, he had insisted he come along. And now he was flying across the ruins of Cybertron, scrunched onto Ultra Magnus’ truck bed, on his way into battle...with no optics, and no weapons. The missiles attached to his forearms remained dormant, useless without the ability to fire them. At this point, it probably would have been a more sane choice to gnaw off his own servo and stuff it into Ultra Magnus’ subspace like an energon candy for the road. Surely, this was a sign that Starscream had finally gone insane.

Clearly, Knockout agreed. “It’s not too late for me to just amputate, Screamer!” He yelled, easily keeping pace with Ultra Magnus in his alt mode.

“It absolutely is too late!” Starscream replied, his voice easily making it over the roaring engines that surrounded him. “We can’t afford to stop for anything at this stage!”

“I just don’t think I would qualify this as one of your most well-laid plans!”

“I wouldn’t either!”

“Glad we’re in agreement on something for once!”

“Guys?” Chester said over the group’s comms. “We’ve got trouble up ahead: I’m picking up some life signals on my radar. I think that Insecticon has friends on the way.”

“Intercept them!” Ultra Magnus commanded. “You and Lazerbeak, do whatever you can to keep them at bay as long as possible!”

“Yes, sir!” Chester said, then engaged his thruster. He rocketed forward, towards the coming horde on their horizon, and Lazerbeak followed with a synthesized battle cry.

“Show ‘em who’s boss, Lazerbeak!” Wheeljack shouted.

Starscream adjusted his seat to hold on with one servo, while the other reached his audial. They were getting closer, so surely they would have an easier time reaching Bumblebee here. “Bee? This is Starscream, do you read?” The static that filled his audials had the presence of a dirge, and he grimaced, changing the signal. “...Smokescreen?”

Silence. Complete, utter silence.

Starscream’s tank churned and he gripped Ultra Magnus by his roof, earning a choked sound of surprise from the mech. “Can’t you go any faster, grounder!?”

“Unfortunately, this is as fast as I go!” Ultra Magnus grunted and his tired shrieked as he managed to avoid a fallen structure in the road.

“You wouldn’t need to worry about that if we weren’t all wheel-bound! I can’t reach Bumblebee or Smokescreen, they could be dead already for all we know!”

“Loving the optimism, Screamer!” Knockout loudly groused before choking on a gasp as he rolled right over a pot hole. Luckily, he was able to recover. “I-I’m okay!”

Bulkhead swerved around a fallen street light. “We’ll get to them, Starscream, just hold on!”

Starscream growled and tightened his grip on Ultra Magnus’ roof. This wasn’t good enough. They were still several miles away from their destination. If Megatron struggled to take down a single Insecticon on his own, Bumblebee was as good as dead by now. And Smokescreen…

No.

Not again. Not you, too.

Starscream adjusted his grip, lacing his digits underneath Ultra Magnus’ trailer. He lowered his helm, planting it firmly against Ultra Magnus’ rear window, and spread his wings as wide as they possibly could. Starscream’s spark spun hot in his chest while his processor remained calm, calculated, but nonetheless reckless. “Ultra Magnus, I have an idea."

Ultra Magnus’ rear view mirror adjusted, and he locked onto Starscream’s hollowed scowl. A sharp spark of fear lit up Ultra Magnus’ engine. “I’m listening, soldier.”

“I can’t fly, but I can surely give you a boost with my thruster. Be my eyes, tell me when it’s safe to do so, and I’ll propel us forward.”

“Starscream, that’s-!”

“I know, it’s completely idiotic! But we need to reach them as quickly as we can, and I can get us there quicker! Please, sir, if we don’t try-if we don’t make it, they’ll-!”

“Starscream, you didn’t let me finish,” Ultra Magnus said, his tone shifting into something oddly soothing. “I was going to say: ‘that sounds like something a Wrecker would come up with.’ I’ve worked with the Wreckers for centuries...I would be lying if, after all that time, I didn’t learn a thing or two about spontaneity.” Starscream felt a smile grow across his tattered cheek-plates. “On my command, Starscream.”

Ultra Magnus slowed to round a corner, swiping over various bits of rubble with his trailer as he did so. He scanned the road ahead, and as soon as he saw a straight path through the rubble, he sped forward. “Now!”

Starscream braced himself and engaged his thruster, rocketing them forward. Ultra Magnus’ front end caught the air, and the two mechs screamed, but Starscream quickly lowered his speed and allowed the truck’s front end to bounce back onto the road. Then, he slowly increased their speed once again, giving Ultra Magnus more ample time to gain control. Behind them, Wheeljack and Bulkhead hollered, one sounding significantly more concerned than the other. Knockout was stunned into total silence.

“Corner! Disengage!”

Starscream complied, and Ultra Magnus skidded to a near stop as he managed to make it around the near ninety-degree turn. In his side mirror, he could see that their group was now far behind them. “Keep moving, soldiers!” He called, through his comm-link. “We’ll meet you at point! Starscream, engage!”

“Yes, sir!” Starscream propelled them forward once again, unable to keep himself from letting out a single, maniacal laugh. Against all odds, this was working! At this speed, they might just be able to make it! But something in the wind caught Starscream’s wings, or rather, something that blocked the wind. They were coming up on something large, he could feel it. And Ultra Magnus could see it, a building, toppled perfectly on its side, blocking the road. They were rumbling over massive pot holes, but Ultra Magnus ignored the pain in his axles. And, notably, hadn’t told Starscream to stop.

This was because Ultra Magnus saw something else on that same street: a fallen billboard, propped up by piles of storage containers. Putting himself into Wheeljack’s mindset, that pile of scrap started to look like a perfect ramp. But Starscream slowed his boost. “Sir, we’re coming up on a blockade, I feel it.”

“Engage.”

“What!?” Starscream gawked, assuming Ultra Magnus planned to ram himself through the obstacle. “Are you insane!?”

“If you trust me that I can get us over that blockade, then I trust you to help us land safely.”

“Over-!?” Ultra Magnus’ tires made contact with the billboard, causing Starscream to lurch upwards with a squawk.

“Now, Starscream! Give it all you’ve got!”

Starscream held fast to Ultra Magnus’ frame and held his forehelm to his roof. He felt what was left of his optic mechanisms squeeze as he braced himself. With a frightened, yet determined shout, he blasted them both forward and spread his wings as wide as they could, not catching the wind, but cutting a path through it. Ultra Magnus’ tires left the security of the diagonal surface, which crumbled into a heap behind them from the sudden friction after years of stillness.

The two mechs shared in the feeling of their tanks shifting upwards as they reached the apex of their climb, but one was significantly more accustomed to it than the other. Ultra Magnus felt a flash of cold rush through his body like lightning, which he knew very well to be regret, and as the front of his frame began to tip forward, he let out a loud honk of terror. Which, thankfully, to the far off onlookers, did not sound like fear. They instead interpreted it as a battle cry.

Feeling their sharp descent, Starscream gasped and grasped Ultra Magnus’ roof, forcibly tilting them back and tilting his wings to catch the air. But their escape from a nose-dive was not an escape from an axle-snapping fall. Starscream quickly hooked his heel struts into Ultra Magnus’ frame, wherever he could snag them. Which, in this case, was on his bumper. And he pulsed his thruster in three powerful bursts, singeing the backs of his legs, but successfully bunny-hopping themselves to a much more manageable thud. Ultra Magnus’ tires squealed when they finally touched the ground once again, and he pushed off towards their destination, now a mere block away.

Ultra Magnus reset his ventilation system, which he didn’t realize had gone offline, and let out a manic chuckle. “Eh...E-Excellent work, Starscream! We’re nearly there!”

Starscream rested his upper body across Ultra Magnus’ roof as his knees buckled and rattled like wind chimes. “D-Don’t you ever...ever be spontaneous again…!”

Bulkhead nearly collided with a wall as he watched the entire event from afar. “Holy SCRAP!”

“Incoming!” Called Knockout, as Chester suddenly zoomed overhead in a flash that was heralded by a scream that steadily grew louder, and was abruptly stifled as he passed over. On his non-visible heels was a group of four Insecticons, their wings in tandem sounding like a frantic war drum overlapping itself infinitely. Wheeljack quickly transformed and began laying down cover fire for Chester as Bulkhead and Knockout continued on.

“Jackie!” Bulkhead called, skirting to a stop as Knockout zoomed past without a second thought.

“Keep movin’, I’ll catch up once I take some heat offa Chester!” Wheeljack replied, his optics serious but his grin wicked.

Bulkhead grunted, willfully placing his trust into Wheeljack’s word, and sped off to meet the others. As Wheeljack continued firing at the Insecticons, successfully forcing them to disperse and give Chester time to cool his thruster, he narrowed his optics. Where was Lazerbeak?

Bumblebee choked on a shout as he narrowly avoided the Insecticon’s butcher knife talons, but did not avoid the gravitational pull of its knuckles. They collided with Bumblebee’s abdominals, sending him flying backwards into a desk, which threatened to slice his back struts cleanly in half. He gagged and grunted, pushing himself up on shaking legs. He couldn’t keep this up for much longer; he was starting to slow down, and his fuel was burning as fast as ever. He reset his optics to focus in on his attacker, his vision blurring from exhaustion. Within a single blink, the monster teleported from one side of the room, to mere feet in front of him. And it was closing in fast.

Bumblebee, knowing his legs would fail him, searched his surroundings, and his optics immediately landed on the row of corpses hanging on the wall. He reached out and snatched one by its ankle, then pulled it taught to shield himself from the jaws that seemed to spread endlessly wider the closer they got. Just as they threatened to snap the Insecticon’s helm in twain, they clamped down where Bumblebee’s helm once was, and instead got a mouthful of the corpse’s thigh. The beast’s dentae tore into the metal like a slab of meat, tearing the top layer of plating down to the empty fuel lines in a single tear, exposing the armature to the open air.

Bumblebee’s spark burned in his chassis as the Insecticon gulped the metal down like a snake, its prize scraping down its throat and vibrating the vital fuel lines on its neck. It licked its fangs with its long, prehensile glossa, and it locked its visor on Bumblebee’s wide optics. It felt like it smiled as it opened its jaws again to take another bite, which would surely sever Bumblebee’s once-living shield at the thigh and leave him standing there, unguarded, and holding a single severed calf. ‘Where is the ground-bridge?’ He thought, his own inner voice now an anguished cry. ‘Where is everyone!?’

The jaws made their mark again, but Bumblebee refused to back down. He knew they were coming for him; he couldn’t give up now, he couldn’t let them down. He had to survive, for them. As the smiling faces of his friends, his family, flashed through his mind, he summoned his second wind with a mighty roar to rival the Insecticons own. He raised the amputated leg high and slammed it down like a whip, hitting the Insecticon directly on the apex of its helm. It squealed in surprise and stumbled, but Bumblebee did not give it time to rest. He bludgeoned it again, and again, and again, until the severed limb snapped at its ankle. The Insecticon took that very moment to strike, and swung at Bumblebee, sending him flying into one of the remaining slabs. His legs clipped its foundation and sent him tumbling over it, and he landed with his helm to the ground.

His processor swirled alongside his optics in an array of colors. Multiple warnings flashed in his HUD, about low fuel levels and risk of overheating, but he didn’t have the strength to close them. Among their incessant beeping, he heard the Insecticon crawling over to him on all fours, taking its sweet time to admire his handiwork and claim his prize. Bumblebee shut his optics tight to forcibly clear his HUD of errors, but the beeping didn’t stop. Suddenly, he heard a rapid-fire blaster, followed by the Insecticon barking in annoyance. He opened his eyes, and saw the tail-end of a familiar drone.

“Lazerbeak…?” His voice was hoarse, interlaced with static.

Lazerbeak blared and beeped at maximum volume as it rained fire upon the Insecticon, which swiped wildly at the air in an attempt to take the drone down, but Lazerbeak was flying too high. The Insecticon hopped onto the magnetic slab beside Bumblebee, and Lazerbeak flew around it in place, flying in a much tighter pattern than before. It seemed...deliberate. And it was.

Bumblebee’s optics flashed and he suddenly shot to his pedes. He didn’t even feel his legs moving anymore, he was flying to one of the few undamaged computers. He slammed his digits on the keys, frantically attempting to open its command console. As the computer woke itself from sleep mode, a window popped onto the screen with a cheerful ‘ping.’

‘Please enter your pin.’

“MOTHER FU-!”

Lazerbeak shrieked in warning, but he was too late. The Insecticon grabbed Bumblebee by the helm with one servo and lifted him from the ground. It squeezed its digits, and Bumblebee choked as he felt the plates of his helm creak at their seams. Lazerbeak swooped in for another pass, but the Insecticon spun with a sharp bark and slashed the drone with its claws, sending him spiraling to the floor. Lazerbeak’s frame nestled into a corner on his back, now sporting a gash in one of his wings, and he briefly seized, sparking and beeping in a mixture of pain and anger.

Once Bumblebee reached the maximum height that the Insecticon’s arm would allow, the monster suddenly pivoted and swung him downwards in a sharp arc. Bumblebee’s frame smashed into one of the already-destroyed slabs, sending a tooth-cracking shock through Bumblebee’s spinal strut. His ventilators stalled and his optics rolled back as the Insecticon reeled back for another swing. But before it could follow through, a massive blaster shot landed directly on the Insecticon’s abdomen, which forced his servo to drop his toy, which landed to the floor with a clatter.

Ultra Magnus had jumped down from the ceiling with a thunderous clap, in perfect time with the initial swing. He stood, with a smoking barrel, like a statue carved from titanium, with a glare strong enough to slice it. The Insecticon stumbled, chittering in pain, before it unfolded itself and roared at the officer. But Ultra Magnus cut it short with another shot, which hit the beast directly in its mandible. Its carapace cracked, and sent the appendage to the ground where it audibly scraped the tile as it skidded to a stop. “You have the right to remain silent.”

Ultra Magnus’ blaster heated up again. “I strongly advise you to exercise it.”

In an instant, the Insecticon transformed and thrust itself into Ultra Magnus, sending him into the wall behind him with a loud grunt. It used its wings to pin him in place, and Ultra Magnus struggled to push it away. He craned his helm slightly upwards, towards the hole that had been left in the ceiling. Starscream was peeking over the edge, wings up, but trembling as he attempted to get a feel for their surroundings. ‘Keep right when you jump down and you’ll find the door. Focus on the task at hand. I will be fine,’ Ultra Magnus had told him. But, the sounds of metal bashing against metal didn’t exactly comfort him.

Starscream swallowed what felt like a liter of lubricant back down his throat with a shudder, waiting for Ultra Magnus to move the Insecticon out of range. He stood to his pedes in preparation for the jump, when he felt a prickling at the back of his wings. His audials honed in on the sounds outside. Blaster shots. Skidding tires. Wings. The Insecticons were closing in. Soon he would be trapped on all sides as the rest of the horde swooped in to rescue their brethren. He had to go now, or risk losing his chance. Why, oh why did everything have to be an ultimatum!?

Ultra Magnus shouted and reeled back, managing to sock the Insecticon’s freshly-shattered mandible, dislodging them both from the wall. As the beast stumbled back, Ultra Magnus removed the Forge from his back, and his optics darkened as he rushed forward without a sound besides the thunderous clanging of his pedes. He reeled back and swung upwards, once again landing a blow into the Insecticon’s abused jaw, which sent it flying backwards onto a desk, destroying it beneath its girth. It spasmed into a screeching tantrum as it leapt upright and barreled into the general once again. Ultra Magnus braced himself with the Forge and pressed the handle into the Insecticon’s throat to keep its snapping jaws from reaching his own neck.

Starscream sucked in a breath, knowing that it was now or never. Despite his trembling knees, he jumped down from his perch. His ankles buckled from their looseness and he yelped as he tumbled down from the pile of rubble, landing on his hands and knees. The plates on the Insecticon’s back raised with interest, and it turned its helm, but Ultra Magnus took the opportunity to wrench himself free and continue his assault. “Quickly, Starscream!”

Starscream huffed out a weak puff of air and stumbled to his pedes. His servos found the wall and he trembled, his wings vibrating like tuning forks as the sounds reverberated around him. His servos scrambled for any sort of purchase against the glass, until his digit clipped the edge of the door’s control panel. He coughed out a laugh of relief and slapped his servo against it. A purple strip of light spilled between his digits as the scanner slowly, painfully, coasted down his palm.

Just as it had gotten halfway through the upward pass, the floor shook as Ultra Magnus swung down the Forge into the ground, and Starscream’s palm detached from the panel. “Error,” Shockwave said from within the confines of his recording. “Please remain still and attempt your scan again.”

“Scrap…!” Starscream hissed, planting his servo onto the control panel again. “Come on, come on,” he whispered, praying to whatever God would listen. He was so close, he just needed to slip past this door, this final hurdle. He would find Smokescreen, and he would be alive. He would sit up as soon as Starscream walked in and say something stupid like ‘hey, Screamer, what brings you here?’ Or something slightly more clever and infinitely more irritating than that. Then Starscream could whip him into shape and they would all walk out of here alive. But this damned life somehow managed to beat Starscream down with every passing second. When it didn’t have Megatron around to do it, it sent a faulty door to do it instead.

And Insecticons.

Starscream’s wings raised as he suddenly heard those damned wings coming in closer. Blasters fired just outside. He could hear the rest of their team swearing as they struggled to beat back the ravenous monsters. The front door gave way, and they swarmed in. Bulkhead grabbed one by the helm and swung it into a wall with a thud. Knockout managed to use his saws to ground another with a whoop of triumph. “How’s that for a field amputation!?” Another almost slipped past, but Bulkhead leapt forward and began to pummel it with his wrecking balls. The floor started to give way beneath the weight of his blows. The cracking and creaking of metal was melodious in Starscream’s audial, like a funeral march.

Starscream pressed his servo further into the panel and braced himself, but it wasn’t enough to prevent the collapse from knocking him away once again. He flailed, catching himself against the rim of the glass wall with a screech of his claws.

“Error. Please remain still and attempt your scan again.”

He snarled and slapped his servo back onto the panel, pressing his full body weight into it, focusing. His spark pounded, threatening to take him off course. He could hear the team, as well as the Insecticons, pushing themselves up from the floor. Unable to tell friend from foe, unable to make any sort of picture of the chaos behind him, Starscream pressed harder and clamped his jaw shut. Claws raked the floor behind him as an Insecticon freed itself from the rubble. It roared, baring its tusks, and bounded over his team as they struggled to regain their footing. Knockout retched as one of the beast’s pedes stomped onto his abdomen to launch towards Starscream.

“Access granted. Welcome, Commander.”

The door swung open with a metallic hiss and Starscream practically dove inside as the drumbeat of his demise grew closer. He skidded on his pedes and turned, slapping his servo against the inner control panel. The door hissed again and began to shut. Starscream jumped back, feeling his spark attempt to escape his chamber. He heard a thud. But it was wrong. It wasn’t a contained sound; it crunched and sliced the air. The Insecticon had managed to slip its claws into the hairline crack of the door, and it slammed the door open, ratting the glass panes with a bassy tremor.

Starscream felt himself leave his body, the only form of escape his processor could hope for as the Insecticon barreled past. And the door, that damned, Pit-forsaken door, automatically slid shut with a click that could snap an armature like dead wood. Massive claws made contact with Starscream’s chassis and slammed him onto the tile, and his helm hit the floor with a reverberating numbness that forced a scream from deep within his spark. It felt as though it was a recording, it echoed from a time that felt so long ago, when his optics were first taken from him. He heard the sound of fists pounding against glass and muffled screams from the outside, but they sounded as if they were miles away.

The Insecticon’s foul breath assaulted Starscream’s senses; it reeked of death. Copper, fuel, and wet moss. But not sulfur. The yellow optics that pierced the dark were only an illusion. The weight on his chassis was not nearly as heavy. He wasn’t alone. And after everything he’d been through, after Megatron, Predaking, and the scraplets, Starscream refused to die saving Smokescreen. No, he was going to live, and Primus as his witness, once they were out of here, he was going to kill Smokescreen for forcing him to do this.

He snarled in defiance as the Insecticon arched its spinal strut, preparing itself to force Starscream’s helm past its jaws in a single snap. Starscream quickly strained, testing his movements, and felt that while his chassis was pinned, his limbs were not. Starscream flexed his leg and snapped his hip to the side, forcing it beneath the Insecticon’s abdomen.

“Get…” He straightened his leg and growled, tightening his hydraulics. “OFF!”

Starscream slammed his knee upward with all of his strength, sending the spiked end of his knee-pad into the Insecticon’s stomach. It pushed past a transformation seam and instantly laced itself within the monster’s internals. It shrieked pathetically, but Starscream did not relent. He thrust his leg upwards, again, and again, feeling the energon gush out of the wound and coat his thigh with warmth. The Insecticon pushed on its claws, into Starscream’s chassis, knocking the air from his ventilators as it adjusted its grip. It pinned Starscream’s legs beneath its own, still standing, despite the holes in its body, much to Starscream’s unpleasant surprise.

As the Insecticon roared, Starscream flailed, finding his right arm to still be free. “No! No, please! I’m sorry, please! No!” He cried, as if the monster could understand or even humor such a request at this point. His servo flailed and grabbed at bare floor, until he suddenly gripped onto something. His palms instantly recognized the shape: another servo. Smokescreen’s servo. It twitched in Starscream’s grip, and Smokescreen made a small sound. He was alive, and more importantly, he would stay that way. Because he still had the phase shifter.

Without thinking, Starscream gripped the device tightly and twisted. Instantly, his whole frame exploded like the crash of tidal wave, spreading him thin. Starscream held fast to Smokescreen’s wrist, half from fear, and half from an instinctual need for comfort. But rather than follow the script Starscream had made in his mind, where the two slipped out from underneath the Insecticons grasp and out of the storage room, the device decided to improvise. The Insecticon yelped and trembled in confusion as it, too, came undone. And in a mere fraction of a second, the three of them plummeted through the floor. Starscream’s shout of surprise died beneath the tile.

In an instant, the storage room was quiet. But outside, the chaos continued. With the other three Insecticons still standing, whether literally or metaphorically, no one could spare a moment to continue attempting to bust down the door. Like a cruel magic trick, Starscream and Smokescreen were gone. And not one bot saw them leave.

Chapter Text

When you jump off of a high ledge, at the apex of your jump, there is a point where your momentum reaches zero. From there, as you plummet, your momentum begins to pick up until you reach a top speed. Evidently, when your atoms are spread thin enough to pass through solid objects, your weight, general trajectory, and your relationship with the laws of gravity cease to apply. As Starscream, Smokescreen, and the wounded Insecticon fell, their speed was determined at the very start, and remained absolute. That feeling one gets in their tank during a sudden drop was not present, in fact it would have been preferable to the eldritch Hell being unleashed on Starscream’s internals. Weightless as if he were adrift in space, yet every fiber of his being felt as though it were being flossed with spider silk.

Falling through solid metal was disconcertingly quiet. It’s not as if sound passed through solids, it merely reverberated through them. And Starscream couldn’t hear much of anything. Even his own shouting, which he knew he had to be shouting if the burn in his vocalizer meant anything, fell completely silent. If he had optics, would he see anything? Or would it be as pitch black as usual? When all he could smell was metal, all he was left with were the sensations. His servo gripped tighter onto Smokescreen’s wrist, and he felt no resistance. There was still a weight on Starscream’s chassis. A set of claws linked into his collar.

The droning sound of air passing below echoed up through the, for lack of a better word, ‘floor.’ They breached the barrier, and were suddenly in a world of sound. The claws in Starscream’s collar suddenly dug into him, piercing past his plates and into the soft mesh beneath. The sudden jolt of pain caused Starscream to lose his grip on Smokescreen, and the phase shifter. As he lost his grip, his claw grazed the device ever so lightly, just enough to give it a turn. All at once, they became solid.

Smokescreen’s frame slammed into the ground with an audible thud, and the Insecticon followed close behind, their own weight making Smokescreen’s impact seem like a pin drop in comparison. But Starscream did not hit the ground, his ankles snagged onto something and wrenched him from his fall, causing him to gag as he felt his spinal strut stretch to its full length. Starscream took heavy, gulping breaths as he attempted to reset himself and figure out where they ended up. His gyroscope, after a quick reboot, told him that he was upside-down...Upside-down?

Starscream gasped and swung his upper body forwards, then gripped his own ankle in both servos. Both of his pedes were submerged in solid stone. He was suspended above Smokescreen and the Insecticon, the both of them lying unconscious on the floor below. His audials picked up…nothing. Just the sound of wind and an occasional dripping sound. With that, and the texture of the stone-metal ceiling-turned-floor, Starscream was able to parse that they had fallen into an energon mine. Which was all fine and dandy, but the main thing he was thinking about was the fact he was stuck in the ceiling.

He pulled and pulled, but it was no use. He couldn’t even wiggle the tips of his pedes. With a huff, he let go, and swung back and forth with his arms dangling limply above his helm. “Well...this is just great,” he said to himself with a sigh. “Have I learned nothing? First the scraplets, and now this. This is what you get when you try to play the hero. This is what being noble gets you. When I get my claws around Smokescreen’s—Smokescreen!” Starscream flailed his arms as his processor finally cleared and reminded him why he was here. “Smokescreen! Wake up! I know you’re alive, you cocksure buffoon! Get up and get me down from here!”

Smokescreen didn’t make a sound. Starscream’s tank would have sunk if it wasn’t nestled against his spark chamber. But, he’d heard Smokescreen make a sound! Didn’t he? Back upstairs, when he first grabbed onto his wrist. He had to be alive. “Smokescreen…?”

“Sst...tuh…?” A weak voice, filled with static, finally graced Starscream’s audials like the sweetest music. Smokescreen grunted and tensed as sparks crackled between his plates. He was barely conscious; his processor completely fried and still experiencing after shocks. But at least he was alive. Starscream smiled and laughed with relief.

“There you are,” Starscream said, scowling with a smile and not fully recognizing the state Smokescreen was in. “You’ve gotten us into a fine mess! You should count yourself lucky I found it in my spark to come looking for you. Do you have any idea how difficult this was!? First the ground-bridges malfunctioned, then I had to catapult Ultra Magnus’ two-ton aft over a massive blockade, and then I had to kill an--!”

Starscream was cut short by the sound of chittering jaws. “An...Insecticon?”

In spite of the grevious wounds Starscream had inflicted on the monster, and the massive fall they had all shared, the beast’s spark still burned. Like a cockroach from the pits of Hell, it rose again on shaking arms. Wiring and energon snaked out from its puncture wounds like glowing, parasitic worms. A pitiful whine of agony crumbled from its mandibles, that slowly morphed into an enraged growl. It turned its helm to Starscream, who now resembled a delightful, grey pinata.

Starscream felt a puff of hot air graze the tips of his wings, which dangled limply overhead. His whole frame froze with recognition of what the Insecticon intended to do. He quickly snapped his wings out of reach and engaged his abdominal mechanisms to swing himself to the side with a shout, just barely moving out of the way of the set of massive claws that attempted to swipe at him. He swung again when he felt the Insecticon attempt to reach with its other servo, in hopes that it would be able to stretch that side of its frame high enough to reach Starscream. With one large swing, Starscream curled into himself and gripped his ankles, flattening himself into a tight cube against the ceiling.

The Insecticon barked in frustration, then growled, summoning as much strength as it could to leap upwards towards its prey. Starscream tightened, feeling the air rush past the flat expanse of his wings when the beast’s claws swiped beneath him, mere centimeters away from slicing through the sensitive appendages. He whimpered and trembled as he heard the beast’s frame leave the ground again, and again. The drum beat of each landing back onto the ground resembling a ticking clock. Until suddenly, it stopped. And all he could hear was the Insecticon letting out trembling, wheezing breaths. Their heat caused condensation to build in their corner of the mine, and Starscream shivered from its chill.

Eventually, he heard the Insecticon growl in defeat, and it began to move. Was it walking away? Starscream’s processor struggled to get ahold of the concept, but when it did, he barked out a sharp laugh. But this moment of relief was short-lived, as Starscream realized that the Insecticon wasn’t walking away, it was changing targets. Smokescreen was still lying prone on the ground, optics shut, with only the occasional twitch as a sign of life. The Insecticon, though teetering ever closer to the Pit, dragged itself towards Smokescreen. It refused to die without someone answering for it, and if Starscream was not that person, Smokescreen would do just fine.

“S-Smokescreen! Wake up! Get up!” Starscream shouted, unfolding himself and flailing his arms in a vain attempt to get the barely-conscious bot’s attention. The Insecticon chittered its mandibles with glee as it slowly dragged itself towards its last meal, and Starscream let out a cry of anger. “Don’t you dare lay a finger on him, you foul beast! I’ll kill you, you hear me!? I’ll KILL YOU!”

The threat was as empty as it was pitiful. How could Starscream possibly stop this? He was bound by his ankles, pathetically dangling like a sheet on a clothes line. His weapons were disabled. Though Starscream still raised his arms and flexed his digits, trying to will them to fire at the Insecticon. Even though they were in an enclosed space, he would rather risk facing the backblast of his own missle than sit here and listen to this thing feast upon his...upon Smokescreen.

Starscream’s ventilators cycled in a panic as he heard the Insecticon drag its trembling frame over rubble, inching ever closer to Smokescreen. If he died, this would all be for nothing. No, it would be worse than that. If Smokescreen died, it would be all his fault. His mistake, his error, his failure. No, he couldn’t fail again. Not like this!

In a sudden flash of rage, the useless wires in his optics sparked, lighting the cave for the briefest moment. Starscream raised his arm to his intake, baring his dentae over the useless missile that remained sheathed against it, and he bit down. Hard. He simultaneously pulled his arm away and yanked his helm back with all of his strength, but the missile did not dislodge without a fight. The safety mechanisms that held it in place creaked, fraying and snapping as Starscream continued to pull. Washer fluid stung at the back of his optic sockets, his audials assaulted by the sound of his own mechanisms squealing and tearing. Until, finally, the missile broke free. Starscream yanked it from his intake with his undamaged arm and aimed it towards the sound of the Insecticon taking its final steps.

With an enraged cry, he swung backwards, then launched the missile towards his unseen target with all of his strength. The tip collided with the Insecticon’s back plating, and in an instant, the missile ignited. It unfurled a meteor-sized ball of fire in a mere second, instantly engulfing the entire cave. A rush of boiling wind slammed Starscream backwards. The back of his helm collided with the ceiling. A flash of foreign color, followed by a thick stillness as he abruptly lost consciousness. The ceiling shook at its seams and released his pedes as the cave abruptly changed its shape. His frame hit the ground, and the world fell apart in his absence.

Bumblebee coughed as his systems forced a reboot. His entire frame ached, his spinal strut pulled taught and knotted into a foreign straightness. Not broken, but well on its way. His blurry optics cycled, brushing away dead pixels and automatically focusing themselves several times. His audials buzzed and whistled as they attempted to reboot as well, and he slowly took in the scene around him. Ultra Magnus, Bulkhead, Wheeljack, and Knockout were here, battling three Insecticons.

Wheeljack was attempting to pull Knockout from a bunch of fallen rubble whilst Simultaneously warding off an Insecticon which bounced side to side, gleefully snapping its jaws towards Wheeljack and the captive medic. Blade, the Vehicon, was firmly attached to the bug’s back, attempting to live up to his namesake with his servos that transformed into a pair of knives. But he was having trouble breaking past the Insecticon’s plating whilst simultaneously keeping his legs hooked around it. Knockout held up his circular saw threateningly as he attempted to wrench his pede free from a fallen slab of the ceiling.

Bulkhead was leaned back against one of the remaining magnetic circuit slabs, holding an Insecticon’s jaws open with his servos. He grunted and strained, leaning back with trembling arms as he struggled to prevent the massive mandibles from snapping shut over his helm. Chester and Sawtooth stood back to back in the center of room, laying down cover fire that only occasionally got the Insecticons to twitch.

“This isn’t working!” Chester shouted.

“You got any better ideas!?” Sawtooth retorted.

“Um-!”

“That’s what I thought!”

Bumblebee looked to Lazerbeak’s last position, finding the drone using its wings to slowly inch towards him. Suddenly, Bumblebee heard Soundwave’s voice echo through the syrupy state of his processor.

“Bumblebee: Deposit Lazerbeak onto lab computer. Quickly, while the others are distracted.”

Bumblebee furrowed his brow and managed a painful nod. His pistons hissed and ground together in protest, but he managed to will himself to move and gently grab ahold of the drone. He crawled over to one of the few desks that remained and grabbed onto it with his free servo. With a monumentous effort, he pulled himself to stand and placed Lazerbeak down in front of the system. A cable snaked out from Lazerbeak’s chassis and attached itself into one of the ports. The pin lock came on screen, and Lazerbeak began running through all possible combinations at a breakneck pace.

Bumblebee looked to Ultra Magnus as Lazerbeak worked, the general’s blurry image slowly coming into focus as he stood over one of the three monsters. It was gravely wounded, missing half of its lower jaw and crawling across the floor. Ultra Magnus reeled back, Forge in hand, and let out a loud cry of anger as he swung down.

Suddenly, it rolled out of the way, and Ultra Magnus stumbled as his Forge hit the tile. The Insecticon abruptly transformed into its stag-beetle alt mode. Its wings whirred to life and it took to the air. Shockingly, the Insecticon then shouted out a command to the remaining two.

“Insecticons! Retreat! Retreat…!”

The Insecticon that tormented Wheeljack and Knockout abruptly stopped its snapping, which made it easy for Wheeljack to fire off a shot into the beast’s shoulder. It cried, standing upright and launching Blade off of its back. It then quickly transformed and flew out of the hole in the ceiling alongside its leader. The final Insecticon, just as it began to loosen its grip on Bulkhead, was suddenly held tight by the Wrecker. Bulkhead spun them both around and pinned the Insecticon to the slab with a hefty grunt. “Oh, no, you’re not going anywhere!”

Lazerbeak let out a loud beep of warning as the command prompt to activate the slabs flashed onscreen. Bumblebee gasped and turned towards Bulkhead. “Bulkhead, step back! Now!”

Without a second thought, Bulkhead released his grip and walked backwards, only to collide with another slab. Before Bumblebee could issue a proper warning, Lazerbeak confirmed the command. With a massive ‘gong,’ both Bulkhead and the Insecticon were wrenched downwards, their backs now firmly attached to the magnetic slabs. The Insecticon flailed and screeched in a blind panic, but only managed to make its situation worse as their limbs, too, got caught in the magnetic field and glued themselves to the slab. Bulkhead merely yelped and laid perfectly still, his legs still free but his upper body held firmly sideways against the length-wise slab. His optics were wide and angled to the ceiling. “...Ow,” he said, after a slow blink.

Ultra Magnus panted and slung the Forge back across his spinal strut. Exhausted, he limped over to Bumblebee, taking care to avoid the magnetic slabs. He quickened his pace when he saw Bumblebee’s knees buckle, and just barely managed to catch the black and yellow bot before he collapsed outright. “I’ve got you,” he said, as he gently lowered Bumblebee to the ground to sit.

“I knew you’d get here eventually,” Bumblebee said with a lethargic smile. “Ough, my back…”

“Knockout?” Ultra Magnus turned to face the medic. Wheeljack had him by both arms and leaned back with a grunt, finally wrenching the red mech free. Knockout stumbled into Wheeljack’s chassis, and the Wrecker chuckled, giving him a pat on the back as he helped to steady him.

“You alright, Doc Knock?” Wheeljack asked, just as tired as the rest of the team.

“Yes,” Knockout said, gently pushing Wheeljack away and brushing off his chest plate. Not out of rudeness or disgust for the Wrecker’s touch, just out of reflex. “Nothing a bit of dynasty glaze won’t fix.” Knockout skipped over the remaining rubble and took to Bumblebee’s side, not needing the command to run a diagnostic check. “First the scraplets, now this...I think you’ve earned a vacation, don’t you agree?”

Bumblebee chuckled and sighed. “I’ll take one once I’m sure we’ve got enough energon to last a while.”

Knockout rolled his optics with a smirk as he traced his handheld scanner across Bumblebee’s chassis. “Heros.”

Chester panted alongside Sawtooth. “I think...I think that went pretty well.”

Blade remained prone on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, his knives still out. A barely-contained rage simmered beyond his expressionless face-plate. “...I’m gonna kill that bug. Slowly.”

Sawtooth scoffed and yanked Blade to his pedes by his shoulder. “Sure you will, buddy.”

Ultra Magnus walked over to the storage room, and Wheeljack followed. Upon seeing the room completely empty, the two mechs scowled in confusion, but Wheeljack was quick to figure out what must have happened. “The phase-shifter,” he said, turning to Ultra Magnus. “They must have gotten out with it.”

Ultra Magnus let out a short sigh, not having the time to fully expel his tension. “Yes, I think you’re right...Let’s see if we can reach their comms,” he said, placing his digit to his audial. “Starscream, Smokescreen, come in.”

Silence. Ultra Magnus frowned, deeply, and moved to speak, only for the floor to suddenly shake beneath them with a muffled, thunderous sound. Every mech in the room exchanged glances, except for Wheeljack, who planted his audial to the ground. “...They’re underground. I hear a lot of movement, but I can’t make out if it’s the good kind. Sounds like it could be some sorta cave-in, or it could be that Insecticon firing off some shots.”

Ultra Magnus’ optics bugged. “An Insecticon got into the room!?”

Wheeljack stood and placed his servo against Ultra Magnus’ arm. “Yeah, but I know who I’m betting on to get out of that alive. Insecticons are tough to kill, but Starscream is even tougher to get rid of. Still, we should increase their odds and start diggin’. Bulkhead, Sawtooth, Chester, Blade, come here and help me get through the tiles. We’re gonna make a controlled explosion and see if we can find where our bots landed.”

The Vehicons immediately ran over and got to work, Blade used his knives to pry the tiles from the floor while Chester placed them aside. Sawtooth stood still for a moment, then shrugged, picked up a rock, and started bashing it into the foundation. Bulkhead wriggled on the slab, grunting and straining, until Wheeljack fired his blaster into the slab’s powerbank, instantly shutting it down. Bulkhead tumbled forwards a few steps before regaining his balance, causing all those in the vicinity to shield themselves from sheer survival instinct. “Thanks, Jackie.”

As Bulkhead approached with his wrecking balls, Ultra Magnus walked to the Insecticon, who was still writhing on the magnetic slab, slowly losing the strength to continue struggling. He glared down at the beast, now beaten into submission and utterly pathetic. Like witnessing a wounded turtle on its back. As Ultra Magnus came into its cone of vision, it briefly regained enough strength to snarl, growl, and threaten him with its mandibles clacking together. Ultra Magnus did not waver, staring back until the tantrum ceased.

“Can you speak?” He asked, with authority in his voice. The Insecticon’s visor flashed red with anger, as if finding Ultra Magnus’ attempt to communicate insolent. “...Very well. You’re within your right to remain silent. However, I should warn you, upon your release—”

Knockout snapped his helm up from his work. “Come again?”

Ultra Magnus ignored him. “—If you choose to retaliate, we will have no choice but to react in kind. You’re wounded, and out-numbered. Your allies have left. Right now, you have the power to either leave this place alive and uncontested, or you can make peace with having this place be the last you ever see. Do you understand me?”

“You’re not seriously considering letting that monster go, are you?” Knockout stood up with an incredulous smile. “Look at what it did to us, to Bee!”

“The one who attacked Bumblebee already left; the only crime this one is guilty of is assault. And he barely got a scratch on Bulkhead.” The Insecticon growled again, taking the observation as an insult. Ultra Magnus took a mental note of that. “Plus, we don’t have the means to keep him prisoner. Even if he is the weak link.”

The Insecticon’s visor flashed again, but it fell silent. Knockout suddenly snorted and covered his intake. “Oooh...Sorry, bug-bot, I didn’t bring salve.”

“As you were, Knockout,” Ultra Magnus softly commanded. Knockout, though still uncomfortable with the idea of letting that thing leave this place alive, shrugged and returned to Bumblebee. Ultra Magnus turned his attention back to the Insecticon and lowered his brow ridge. “Your commander won’t be pleased to hear that you’ve been captured, I assume. Even if we let you go, do you know how you’ll return to them? Will they show you mercy, as we have? If you believe they will...by all means, return to them and keep their secrets.”

The Insecticon’s facial plating shifted, but by nature, their expressions were not so easy to read. Ultra Magnus took this as a sign to keep digging, and stared into its visor, challenging them further. “Who commands you? What do they want?”

A long silence followed, only broken by the sounds of the Wreckers and Vehicons preparing their blast site. The Insecticon and Ultra Magnus’ gaze was unwavering, linking them together in a mental battle. Slowly, the Insecticon began to crumble beneath his gaze, or so Ultra Magnus assumed. It trembled, and its face shifted again, finials drooping in submission.

“M...My queen…” It whispered, the words lingering in the air like a hex.

Ultra Magnus’ expression softened, less from empathy and more from relief that they were getting somewhere. “Your ‘queen?’ She’s a femme, then...Why did she send you here? What does she want from you and your brothers?”

“My queen...My queen…!” The Insecticon whimpered and shook its helm. “No, no! I must not fail, I must fight! I must return victorious! If I fail, I-I…!” Suddenly, with a great amount of strength, the Insecticon arched its back off of the slab and roared loud enough to shake the walls. Ultra Magnus covered his audials and stumbled back, watching as the Insecticon pushed itself skyward. Its helm and servo remained flat on the slab, and its entire frame convulsed from strain as it continued to fight against the relentless pull of the slab’s magnetic field. Sparks flew from its neck cables, creaking and snapping as it thrashed.

Ultra Magnus gasped and moved forward, servo outstretched. “No, STOP! You’re going to-!”

Crack.

Instantly, the Insecticon’s visor went dark and its frame hit the slab like a lead brick, echoing out in a crack of grim thunder. Knockout quickly stood up and rushed to the Insecticon’s side. “Lazerbeak, shut it down!” The drone complied, the magnet powering down with a meandering ‘thoom.’ Knockout took the Insecticon’s helm in his servos and felt at its throat cabling as well as its spinal strut with a deep grimace. “...Complete severance of the spinal strut at the base of the neck. Processor has completely lost connection to the spark.” He huffed and took the loose helm in both servos, looking down into its black visor. “In other words: lights are on, but nobody’s home.”

Ultra Magnus frowned, shaken, and stood beside Knockout. “And your prognosis?”

“There isn’t one,” Knockout stated, coldly. “A severance like that causes a power surge that completely fries the processor. If we knew a mnemosurgeon, it could be possible for them to read whatever data remains, but this bug is as good as dead. That spark isn’t doing anything but keeping its internals moving, and the processor is going cold as we speak. And no, I’m not going to use the spare equipment to do it myself, I happen to like my life expectancy where it is.”

Ultra Magnus sighed, feeling guilt suddenly stab into his spark. “...I suppose I should put it out of its misery.”

Bumblebee looked up with a frown from his seat on the floor. “It sounded...scared.”

Lazerbeak turned to face the group, Soundwave’s voice crackling from his speakers. “Soundwave: has a theory as to who is commanding the Insecticons. Discussion: will be scheduled after we retrieve Starscream and Smokescreen.”

The floor of the mine was cold, damp, and was covered with a thick layer of soft, squishy muck. Lichen, perhaps? Coagulated rust? Whatever it was, it was soothing to the plates after such a fiery blast. What wasn’t soothing was the rocks that had rained down from the ceiling. Those hurt, and they hurt very much. Starscream’s wings twitched, and several softball-sized stones slid down their length, bouncing off his thruster with small, metallic ‘pings.’ The ceiling was higher than he remembered, now weathered and weakened by the earlier explosion. He groaned as the rest of his frame slowly forced itself back online. He wiggled his digits and flexed his pedes, finding them sore, with an ache in his processor that echoed through them with each pulse of his spark.

He limply moved his servos underneath his chassis, and with a pained grunt, managed to push his upper body out of the muck. He spit several times, but eventually had to relent and pick at the cracks in his face plate to rid them of the sludge. He tasted used energon on his glossa and made the hopeful assumption it wasn’t his own. Starscream’s helm felt as though it was full of boiling mud, sloshing about in his olfactory tubing and fanning out into his fuel lines. It burned, and his helm felt ten pounds heavier. The world smelled like copper and mildew.

Without thinking, he started to crawl forward, following his base instinct to continue onward. His servo landed into the moist ground with a ‘plop,’ and he grimaced at the odd texture. Not the wetness, but the shape of it. There was a gap beneath his palm that disappeared as it made contact with the soft floor. He lifted his servo again and drunkenly ghosted it over the floor, feeling the oddly geometric pattern in the sediment. Long chasms, rectangle-shaped, in perfect, even lines...Tracks. Tracks left by tank treads.

Shockwave.

Starscream would smile if he had the processing power to do so. The most he could manage was an uncomfortably wet cough that made his helm feel as though it had just been shot with a glass bullet. He grimaced and hissed, pushing himself to his knee-pads and gripping his forehelm in both servos. “Oooooh...my head…” He whined, his vocalizer sounding sloshed. Though the sudden pain was unpleasant, it helped bring him back to the present. Which was...when? Now. Sweet Primus he’d hit his head hard.

In a flash, everything fell into place. It was overwhelming, but he didn’t have the strength to properly react, or resist. He just let the information cascade over him like acid rain, melting past the comforting, abusive barrier of a concussion and leaving him bare down to his armature. The lab, the Insecticons, the phase shifter, and Smokescreen.

Starscream’s optics sparked. “Smokescreen…!”

Instantly, Starscream crawled forward, his servos scrambling for purchase among rocks and what used to be an Insecticon. It now lied on its side, its chassis hollowed and ballooned like a crescent-shaped flower with sharp, angular petals. Starscream’s servo landed inside of this giant chasm as he struggled to get his bearings, and he gasped as still-warm energon instantly soaked that servo. Panicked, he gripped at the Insecticon’s helm, only to find that it was not Smokescreen. He snarled and angrily tossed the Insecticon’s corpse to the side, where what was left of its helm bounced off the stone wall of the mine with a loud clatter.

“Come on, come on...where are you!?” He called, hearing his own voice echo across the tunnels. He felt around with increasing panic, picking up random stones and tossing them behind him, crawling over others and flailing his arms as if attempting to tread water. His spark thudded, threatening to burst out of its chamber as he hoped and prayed that Smokescreen was not underneath any of these rock piles. Which he couldn’t possibly be under them. Because Starscream refused to accept a reality where he managed to survive that blast mostly unscathed while Smokescreen was crushed!

The odds of that were astronomically unlikely. It wasn’t that he was upset to have survived the blast, he was obviously happy to have made it. But Smokescreen needed to live, too. It was the logical conclusion. It made sense, because...he said so. And Starscream needed him alive, because...because Smokescreen was his closest ally! Losing him would be a major blow to his plans, which...were still being drafted. But they were in motion, surely! Plus, Smokescreen had promised he would be alright! He promised. And that was significant, because...because…

It was at this point that Starscream realized he was having trouble breathing. His servos trembled and his ventilators burned as he picked up another stone, and, with a loud cry of anguish, threw it at the dead Insecticon. It crunched, but the sound gave Starscream no comfort. With a whine, he dug his servos back into the muck, only to grab hold of a familiar servo. Familiar, but it wasn’t warm, not anymore. Starscream’s fuel pump shivered as it turned to ice.

No.

His servos ghosted over the frame in front of him, soaked in cold sludge and covered in stones of various shapes. Sizes. Weights. His servos moved on their own, yanking the piles away brick by brick, each one feeling heavier than the last regardless of their size.

Not again.

“Please, please…!” He begged to whoever might hear him, though he could hardly manage anything above a whisper anymore.

This is all your fault.

The feeling was so similar to back then. When he would lie awake in his berth at night, unable to recharge, and unable to escape the dark fantasy his processor had created. Not to comfort himself, but to punish himself. When he made the order to send Thundercracker and Skywarp into battle, alone, without him, he never got to find their bodies. When they went offline, all he got were a pair of red dots on a screen. Two, flat beeps. A Vehicon, delivering the news like it were a weather report. The beating he got from Megatron for losing their outliers didn’t hurt at all.

They went down over the Atlantic. No point in trying to salvage a body out of that. Yet still, he put himself in this position nearly every night following that. Where he found them, and got to hold them. Where he screamed until his vocalizer broke about how sorry he was, how he should have been there with them, even if he had been angry. But no matter what, even in his own sick fantasies, they never moved. They never responded. They were just shapes in his hands, purple and blue and black, their faces misshapen in fun-house mirrors. Like broken toys, he cried over them, begged for them to be replaced. He whined like a sparkling that refused to live with the consequences of their actions and wanted their caretaker to come and fix it.

But Starscream never did cry for them, not in public, anyway. He couldn’t, it wasn’t safe to. If he cried, Megatron would beat him into silence. Permanently, or worse. Because crying did nothing but show his weakness and reveal his emotional failings as a commander. He had to take it in stride, lie through his teeth about how this was only a ‘minor setback’ he could make right. Crying about it meant he knew how horribly he had failed. Because, as much as he wanted to deny it, this was all his fault. No one else was to blame, not even Megatron; he’d trusted Starscream to make the right choices and instead Starscream turned around and robbed him of his strongest soldiers. He failed Megatron, he failed Jetfire, and he failed his Trine.

And now Smokescreen was lying beside him, plating filthy, and cold. Stuck underground in some Pit-forsaken mine, crushed by a cave-in that Starscream had caused in his infinite wisdom. He’s the one who suggested he come here, he’s the one who picked this location, knowing the possible risks. He wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that he got to physically touch the consequences of his actions. In his daydreams, when he unearthed the corpses of his Trine, it never felt fully real. It always felt as though one day they would suddenly come back online, stumbling into his room and flopping across his chassis to rudely wake him up. But Smokescreen was real. This was real. And once again, it was all his fault.

“Don’t do this to me, please!” Starscream shivered out a sob as his servos finally found Smokescreen’s chassis. “Smokescreen...I-I’m sorry! Please, I’m sorry! I…” Starscream collapsed and folded his arms over Smokescreen’s chassis, openly sobbing. Choking on guilt, spoiled pride, ego, and grief. It felt like it was killing him. He could swear his spark was beating over itself in his audials. “Th-Thundercracker...Skywarp…”

“...Star…” Smokescreen rasped. Starscream’s breath disappeared in his intake, and he froze up. A gentle, cold servo landed on Starscream’s thruster and stroked it, comfortingly. The spark beating beneath Starscream’s arms finally made itself known as Smokescreen slowly regained consciousness. “Hey, what’s wrong? Where...Where are we? What happened?”

Starscream’s face plate heated to a dangerous temperature, warping the metal. He clenched his servos and straightened his spinal strut as rage slowly traveled up its length.

“Starscream?”

He ground his dentae as his tears turned to venom. “You…” Starscream suddenly lunged and took Smokescreen’s throat into his servos. He swung his leg over Smokescreen’s frame to straddle him as he began throttling the poor, confused mech beneath him. “You son of a glitch! You slag-sucking, wheel-bound inconvenience! Do you have any idea what I just went through!?”

“Ghhk! Ch-Choking! You’re choking me!” He strangled out, whilst swatting at Starscream’s arms. “Stop it! ”

Starscream abruptly released Smokescreen’s throat, fumbling for a bit as if the rage in his body was attempting to pick a body part to settle into. Eventually, it chose it’s preferred location: his glossa. He snarled, pushing himself to stand above Smokescreen’s prone frame with his servos on his hips like a disapproving parent as Smokescreen coughed and pushed himself onto his elbows. “You fragging imbecile! You’re lucky I still need you alive, it would be so easy to kill you down here. Not a witness in sight!”

Smokescreen rubbed his helm, grimacing as his optics adjusted to the pitch darkness of the mine. Not grasping a word of what Starscream had said, or choosing to ignore him outright, he looked up and tilted his helm. “Seriously, Starscream, what happened? Last thing I remember is going through a glass door, and then...I’m down here with you.” Smokescreen looked around, then attempted to turn on his headlights, only to find them busted. “Ugh...wherever ‘here’ is.”

“It’s an energon mine.” Starscream hissed. “And the long and short of it is this: You walked through that door, got yourself knocked unconscious, and then Bumblebee got swarmed by Insecticons while you sat in that storage room having a nice little nap.”

“What!?” Smokescreen shouted, his optics wild with worry. “No way! We gotta get back up there and help!” He moved to push himself up, only to suddenly choke out a cry of pain that sent him sprawling back onto the ground. “Ugh, m-my pistons...E-Everything’s locked up…!”

Starscream sighed. “You were electrocuted; your frame is still recovering from the lockup. Even if we did find a way back up, you’re useless in a fight.”

Smokescreen scowled, despite his lethargy. He was beginning to get irritated with Starscream’s terseness. “So-what, we’re just supposed to sit here while Bumblebee gets torn apart!?”

“He’ll be fine. I didn’t come here by myself, you know. Ultra Magnus, the Wreckers, Knockout, and some Vehicons came along. And Lazerbeak, if that counts for anything. Focus on the now, because right now our top priority is getting out of this mine and back into comm range.”

Smokescreen huffed, mulling over Starscream’s words a bit. “...How did we end up in a mine, anyway? And what are you doing here?”

“Oh, I’m so glad you asked!” Starscream said with feigned enthusiasm. “I was minding my own business when I heard about how you and Bumblebee were in mortal peril. Knowing that you were locked behind a door that had a servo-print lock, I took it upon myself to come along and unlock the door, knowing I had practically unlimited access to most caches. Turns out, the control panel is a piece of scrap, and it took me forever to actually complete a scan. Especially with Ultra Magnus swinging the Forge around like a damned paperweight!

“An Insecticon managed to slip in with me, and I used the phase shifter to get us out of there…” Starscream turned and gestured towards what was left of the Insecticon. “It ended up making it down here with us, but I managed to sort it out. I tore a missile from my arm with my dentae and tossed it at its back. Now, against all odds, we’re not dead! And yes, you’re welcome.”

Smokescreen gawked and blinked a few times to shake off his disbelief. He grinned and chuckled, breathlessly, which took Starscream aback strongly enough to actually make him step backwards. “You...did all that for me?”

“Well...Yes, obviously,” Starscream said, attempting to sound flippant. “You’re of far more use to me alive than you are dead. Plus, you broke your promise, so if anyone is killing you today it’s me, not some slagging insects.”

Smokescreen’s smile faded, a sharp sting of guilt rocketing through his spark. “O-Oh...Right.”

Starscream scoffed. “Yeah, ‘right.’ You’ll be lucky if Ultra Magnus even lets you outside at this rate.” His venom sufficiently spat, the two sat in silence for a while. Starscream’s wings drooped the longer the silence dragged on, and he flinched when Smokescreen let out a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to wrap you up in this, Star. I should have been more careful...Now Bumblebee’s probably hurt again, or maybe even the whole team, and I’m...stuck down here...”

Starscream frowned, deeply, and swayed awkwardly from pede to pede. Now this was certainly an odd sense of deja vu; it felt like he had just got done verbally grilling his Trine for one of their stupid stunts all over again. They were the only ones who could ever manage to make Starscream feel remorse for an outburst, even if it was justified in his mind. Still, he wasn’t one to admit he was wrong. “Well, good! I’m glad you’ve learned a lesson about...being cautious. Still, I wouldn’t fret over their safety. Right now, we need to focus on escaping.”

“...I just wanted to help,” Smokescreen sighed, ignoring Starscream in favor of his own swirling thoughts. “How did it get so bad so fast…?”

Starscream frowned again, scowling, but not at Smokescreen. Starscream had clearly gone too far in his tirade, and it was beginning to look like he would never get the mech to abandon his sulking. In the interest of moving forward, and no other reason at all, Starscream sat on his knees beside Smokescreen and tapped his arm to get his attention. “Look...Regardless of what happened, whether or not it was actually your fault, that doesn’t matter now. What matters is that we’re both still alive, and that means we can try to make it right. Sitting around sulking about it won’t do anyone any favors, least of all the rest of the team.”

Smokescreen inspected Starscream’s face as best as he could in the darkness. “Yeah, okay...But, how are we gonna get out? I can barely move, and it’s so dark in here…”

“I’ll help you walk,” Starscream said, offering his servo. “Just lean against me. There’s some air flowing through here; if we follow that, we’ll find the exit.”

“Okay.” Smokescreen took Starscream’s servo and struggled to stand. His entire frame felt as though it were fifty pounds heavier, and his pistons burned with a dull ache. He slung his arm over Starscream’s shoulders and the Seeker stumbled a bit in the mud, but managed to carry his weight just fine.

“Steady?” Smokescreen nodded. “Good, we’ll take this slowly.”

The two carefully made their way past the rubble and over what remained of the Insecticon, when Starscream suddenly paused and raked his claw across the wall, generating sparks as he drew a small ‘X.’ No bigger than his own palm. Just in case Shockwave’s tracks were ever lost, Starscream wanted to make it easier for himself to find his way back to this spot.

“Marking the way?” Smokescreen inquired.

“Mm? Ah. Yes, just in case we get turned around.”

“The giant, dead bug isn’t enough of a landmark?” Smokescreen said, smirking weakly.

“For you, maybe. I need something more textured. We’ll leave a mark whenever we make a turn.”

“Good idea.”

They pressed on once again. Starscream was pleased that Smokescreen hadn’t noticed the tracks in the darkness. And he couldn’t help but see the irony in how, despite them both lacking vision, he was the one to notice the trail. His wings pivoted back and forth, searching for the breeze he’d felt before, and he turned to follow it whilst simultaneously leaving his mark on another wall. The silence was pleasant, but Smokescreen didn’t share in that opinion.

“You...really think that Ultra Magnus is never gonna let me do this again?” He asked, shame in his tone.

Starscream grumbled, chewing on his words. “I think I may have been a bit presumptuous when I said that. Ultimately, it’s his call, not mine...Do you remember what caused all this chaos at all?”

“Ugh, it’s really fuzzy...I really only remember going through the door with the phase shifter. I think...maybe I also remember some screaming? I don’t know who.”

“Bumblebee will know for certain what happened. Until then, we can at least assume this was some sort of freak accident. Perhaps some kind of electrical fault. If that’s the case, Ultra Magnus has no reason to be cross with you.”

“And if it was something obvious I overlooked?”

“Hm...I think logic dictates Bumblebee would have noticed if it was something obvious. So, that being said...I think I may have jumped to conclusions when I said this was your fault.”

Smokescreen smirked again, just a little. “I think you could have said that in fewer words...Three, exactly. One of them starts with a ‘w?”

Starscream smiled the slightest bit himself. “I can’t say I’m familiar with the term.”

“It’s familiar with you.”

“Anyway,” Starscream said, unashamed to change the subject so obviously. “I’m still firm in my stance that you’re an excellent scout. Today just had some...unforeseen obstacles. I don’t think it would be fair to bench you again over something like this.”

Smokescreen smiled. “Does that mean you aren’t going to kill me?”

“Hm...we’ll say the warrant is out.”

“I’ll take that.” Starscream’s features came into focus, and Smokescreen blinked in surprise. He looked ahead and saw the smallest blue glow of energon deposits peeking through the stone. The tunnel took the softest of shapes, comforting and mysterious as a night-light in a dim hallway. “Hey, check it out…this mine isn’t tapped! We could mine for energon here!”

Starscream tensed somewhat. “R-Really? My, how...lovely.”

“Yeah! Maybe...Maybe today isn’t a total loss, after all?”

That didn’t bode well for him finding Shockwave. Knowing him, seismic activity on that scale would certainly signal him to pack his bags and flee. And the mine was large; their voices echoed down its many halls and weaved between themselves like a spider’s web. That could either mean Shockwave was nestled somewhere within it’s heart, and would hear nearly all goings-on within it, or that he was tucked so far away that he couldn’t possibly notice interlopers. Shockwave wasn’t dumb enough to corner himself, though. For all he knew, Starscream had already scared him off with his damned missile! Surely that explosion was enough to jostle his lab equipment, should he really have nestled himself here!

As if on queue, the walls suddenly trembled. The ‘X’ Starscream was drawing on the next wall wobbled, and he scowled, planting his palm against the wall. Small vibrations echoed into his digits, and then, once again, the walls shook. This time, it was enough to nearly knock them off balance. Particles of stone rained down onto their helms, and Smokescreen turned to Starscream with worry in his voice.

“Uh...Starscream? What is that?”

Starscream’s wings drooped and he tightened his grip on Smokescreen’s side. “Considering our track record, it’s probably nothing good. Let’s...keep an audial out for anything that sounds like-”

“Don’t say it,” Smokescreen said, not wanting to jinx themselves into manifesting a collapse.

“Okay,” Starscream replied without any form of protest. Without another word (for safety reasons), the two began limping onward once more into the dim, blue halls of the mine.

Chapter Text

“Alright, charges are in place,” Wheeljack said with a smile, looking at the three foot deep hole they had managed to form in the foundation. Nestled inside was a trio of small, square, explosive charges. Nothing outwardly intimidating, but it was surely enough to blast a sizable hole in the floor. “Everybody get behind the barricade. Chester, take Knockout, Bumblebee, and Lazerbeak and get ‘em outta here in case things get hairy. Find a safe place and stay there, then ping us the coordinates so we can come find you after. If Starscream and Smokescreen are still down there, wherever there is, we’ll find ‘em.”

Chester took Lazerbeak into his servos, allowing the drone a safe space to begin hovering, and he slowly, weakly floated to Knockout’s side. With Bumblebee’s arm wrapped over his shoulders, Knockout began to walk him towards the elevator, but paused to look back at the hole in the floor. Then, he looked at the hole in the ceiling; his expression becoming evermore skeptical of this plan. “So...our grand plan to rescue our subterranean comrades is to just blow a massive hole in the floor? In this building?”

“Yup,” Wheeljack said, smiling with confidence that did anything but comfort as he walked behind the barricade the Vehicons had set up. It looked anything but sturdy, fashioned from desks, ceiling tiles, and scattered scrap. “Relax, Doc Knock, I know what I’m doing. I worked in demolition.”

Bulkhead nodded, though his smile wavered, revealing his own apprehension. “Yeah, I trust Jackie not to bring the roof down on us...The roof, on the other hand, might have different ideas.”

Ultra Magnus sighed, his optic lids heavy from physical exertion and general anxiety. “Unfortunately, we don’t know what’s underneath this building. It could be anything from a train station to a subterranean cave, and it would take far too long to try and find the entrance. This is the quickest way to get to them, even if it isn’t the safest…”

Sawtooth shrugged, leaning casually against the barricade from his seat on the floor. “Honestly, at this point I would be more shocked if we decided to go the safe route for once. Let’s just get it over with and deal with the consequences.”

Knockout nodded with a smile. “Right! You have fun with those consequences. Let’s go, Bee.”

Bumblebee frowned as he was walked into the elevator, and he stared over his shoulder at his team until the doors shut and they began their ascent. “...I don’t like this, Knockout,” he said, turning his gaze to the floor.

“Funny, you make it sound like I do,” Knockout mused. “Just...think happy thoughts, or whatever it is Autobots do when they’re worried about their team.”

“What did Decepticons do at times like these?” Bumblebee asked with a weak smile, attempting to lighten the tense mood.

“Depends. Megatron usually broke things. Starscream paced a lot, with those heels you could hear it through the walls. Soundwave just stood there, and Shockwave said ‘hm,’ sometimes. Exciting stuff."

“And you?”

“I made jokes nobody laughed at, mostly.”

“You got one in the chamber for this situation?”

“Not at present, I’ll get back to you.”

After a few minutes passed, plenty of time for Knockout and Co. to exit, Wheeljack shuttered his optics and let out a long breath. His thumb hovered over his detonator, and he looked to his sides at his comrades with a smile. “Alright, you guys might wanna cover your audials.” They all complied, and Ultra Magnus grimaced upon realizing that his claw did not provide ample protection against a blast. Also, his shoulder pauldrons were too large to plant his audial against the floor...So he instead moved his arm in such a way that his shoulder pauldron planted itself against his audial. Sawtooth offered the officer an empathetic look that went unseen.

“Three, two, one!” Wheeljack called, then pressed down onto the detonator. He clasped his audials with an impish smile as a frantic series of beeps echoed from the hole in the ground. Two seconds later, the explosives ignited, and the shock wave caused everyone to lurch forward from behind the makeshift barrier. The very-much-destructible barrier immediately blew apart like a Christmas cracker, but at the very least it did protect the group from the initial blast. However, it did not protect them from the rain of porcelain, courtesy of the tiled floor, that shattered across their exposed backs. It stung like the first crack of a cat of nine tails, leaving them all scuffed. Thankfully, this was mostly surface level, minus a few chunks that lodged themselves into their plates.

The entire floor shook tremendously for several seconds, with the distant, bassy sound of falling rubble echoing up from the ground. Once the noise and tremors finally died down, Sawtooth sucked his dentae, then let out a high-pitched, breathy, “Ouch.”

Bulkhead huffed, reaching behind his back with great difficulty to yank some shards from his expansive backside. “Took the words out of my mouth, Sawtooth.” He turned around to see the damages, and was pleased to find that a nice, large hole had been dug into the floor. Comedically, the glass stood firm, but there was a sizable amount of floor missing beneath it they could now slip under. Plus, the contents of the storage room were still entirely intact. Bulkhead smiled and elbowed Wheeljack. “You did it again, Jackie.”

Wheeljack chuckled, standing to walk over and inspect the hole in the floor. “I hope we’ve all learned a valuable lesson about doubting me...Hm.” He squinted, staring down into a dark void. There was only just barely enough light to illuminate a small circle of stone floor from the hole they had created. “It looks like an old mine shaft.”

Bulkhead stood and joined Wheeljack with a surprised expression. “The bots who built this lab above a mine had some serious ball bearings.” He turned, finally taking in the atmosphere of the room. The processors in jars of fluid, the corpses hanging on the wall, and all the magnetic circuit slabs were enough for him to start putting the pieces together. “Slag...I guess if anyone would have the ball bearings, it would be these sickos…”

Ultra Magnus joined them both, with the Vehicons in tow. He was visibly dragging his feet, but trying his damnedest to hide his exhaustion. “Best not to dwell on this place until after we find Starscream and Smokescreen. Bulkhead, could you lower us down?”

Blade stepped forward, raising his servo with a serious tone. It seemed to be his trademark, aside from the obvious signature weapons. “I’ll go first. See if it’s safe.”

Bulkhead smiled and waved Blade over, then transformed his servo into a wrecking ball. He offered Blade his arm, and the Vehicon clung onto it, pedes planted firmly onto the sphere. Bulkhead leaned over the pit and slowly allowed his wrecking ball to descend, and Blade grabbed ahold of the thick cable it was attached to. Eventually, the cable reached its maximum length, and stopped with a small lurch.

“That’s as far as I go, Blade! Can you hop down?” Bulkhead called. Blade did not verbally answer, and instead just hopped off of the wrecking ball, safely landing onto the stone floor. “Alright, good. Looks safe?” Blade suddenly turned on a swivel with a panther-like posture, transforming his servos into knives. “Blade? For Primus sake, talk to me!”

“I see spilled energon, over there,” Blade muttered.

Ultra Magnus paled, assuming the worst. Wheeljack scowled, then turned and nudged Bulkhead. “Lower me down, I’m going to check it out.”

Wheeljack descended downwards, but leapt from Bulkhead’s wrecking ball long before it reached its full length. He turned on his headlights, unsheathed one of his katanas, and walked past Blade; following the trail of glowing, blue fuel that steadily grew thicker across the stones. Until, finally, he reached its source. He couldn’t help but smirk at the state of the dead Insecticon: it looked to have been flash-fried, its limbs contorted in odd angles with a massive crater in its upper body that steadily dripped energon like a bird bath. Wheeljack reached out and touched the edge of the crater, catching some black residue and rubbing it between his digits. Gunpowder.

“Well, I’ll be damned…” He quietly mused with a chuckle.

“What is it?” Blade asked.

Wheeljack turned towards Blade, then turned his optics to the peanut gallery in the ceiling. “Looks like Starscream managed to find a way to put one of his missiles to use. Turned this Insecticon into a modern art piece.”

Ultra Magnus remained apprehensive. “And is there any sign of them?”

Wheeljack looked around, inspecting the empty cave until his headlights caught a glimpse of some very familiar pede tracks. He approached them and knelt down again to inspect the muck, lowering his brow ridge in focus. He paid no mind to the sound of Bulkhead lowering down Sawtooth, and Ultra Magnus. Tank treads clearly marked the mud, but they looked older than the tracks that cut through them. One set was thin, sharp, and sported several struts. While the other set was much larger, though their gait was far less steady, smearing the mud in several places.

Ultra Magnus approached with heavy steps, and Wheeljack answered his earlier question without turning away from the trail. “Stilettos looks like he’s doing just fine, but Smokescreen is hurt. Maybe now that we’re down here, we can give ‘em a quick comm and tell ‘em to stay put. They’ve got dirty pedes, it should be easy to follow the trail.”

Ultra Magnus nodded and moved to try just that, figuring it to be a safer bet to patch into Starscream. “St-”

“Here I come, watch out!” Bulkhead leapt down from the pit, landing with a massive crash. Bulkhead expected a small wobble, but it lingered far longer than anyone expected. Sawtooth and Blade fumbled and nearly fell entirely off balance, all the while Sawtooth pleaded for Blade to watch where he swung his knives as the mech scrambled to regain his balance. Once the tremors finally subsided, everyone turned to look at Bulkhead with a collective glare. Bulkhead chuckled, sheepishly. “Whoops, sorry…”

Ultra Magnus jolted when a few small pebbles fell from the ceiling, colliding with his helm with a few ominous ‘pings.’ He looked up, seeing the massive crater that Starscream’s missile had left, he he paled once again as the pebbles continued to fall. A low groan echoed from the tunnel beyond them, precisely in the direction Smokescreen and Starscream had fled. The floor began to tremble once more, and Ultra Magnus grabbed Wheeljack by the arm, throwing him away from the tracks. “Move, move! The tunnel is collapsing!”

Sawtooth didn’t need to be told that, he was already kicking up dust several feet ahead from the others as everyone took off down the opposite end of the tunnel. Ultra Magnus took up the rear, heaving as the thunderous sound of falling stone echoed out behind him. But, the storm front did not get louder. Instead, it steadily grew quieter, and more distant. Ultra Magnus turned around, only to see a wall of solid rock had formed behind them, which showed no signs of continuing to splinter in their direction. “Wait, it’s stopped!”

The team skidded on their heels, and Bulkhead squinted at the newly-made wall. Still, the sound of the mine coming undone continued, far beyond them. “Oh, scrap...The collapse is heading towards them, not us!”

Wheeljack suddenly changed into his alt mode and revved his engine. “What are we waitin’ for, then!? Come on, maybe we can intercept them!”

“You ever get the feeling you’re...being watched?” Smokescreen breathed, slumped against Starscream’s side. He was barely even walking at this point; his footprints slowly began to resemble parallel snake tracks the longer they traveled.

Starscream huffed and took a moment to adjust his grip on Smokescreen. “By the Pit, will you stop asking stupid questions!? You’re wasting what little energy you have left. How’s your fuel level?”

“I don’t...I dunno. I fueled before we left…I should be okay, I’m just tired, I-I think...”

Starscream grumbled to himself. “You must have burned off quite a bit while you were in stasis...At this rate, I’ll be dragging you out of here within the next few minutes.” Starscream lowered Smokescreen to the ground and leaned his back against the wall of the tunnel. “Wait here, it’s not a permanent solution, but a bit of raw energon might help. Do you see an exposed deposit anywhere?”

Smokescreen slowly cycled his optics and looked up, waiting for them to once again adjust to the dim light. “Y-Yeah...right behind you, up...upper part of the wall…”

Starscream turned around and outstretched his servo to search. Strangely, he felt the energon long before he actually touched it. His digits buzzed as they got close, like the aura of static in front of a TV screen, and he jumped at the odd intensity of it. Surely that would come in handy later.

“You were...crying…” Smokescreen breathed, deliriously. “When I woke up...But you didn’t...say my name.”

Starscream scowled and his wings trembled. He took a firm hold of the tip of the energon crystal between his digits and sunk his claws into it, wrenching it back and forth until a small chunk, no larger than a pill, broke free. “You must have been hearing things.”
“Thundercracker and...Skywarp...They were your Trine, weren’t th-?”

Starscream swiftly shoved the bitter pill of energon into Smokescreen’s intake, harshly scraping his dentae on the way in. He held Smokescreen’s intake closed with his palm, just for good measure. “Don’t swallow that. Suck on it and let it dissolve, it’ll enter your system quicker as a liquid than it will a solid.”

This was a bold-faced lie, but Starscream just wanted Smokescreen to stop asking invasive questions. He would need a clear head in order to continue their escape, but unfortunately Smokescreen’s fried processor seemed intent on testing whether or not it was contagious. Luckily, Smokescreen didn’t have the mental fortitude to argue or question Starscream’s logic, so his intake was firmly locked for the time being.

Starscream knelt down and slung Smokescreen’s arm back over his shoulder. His wings once again caught the smallest sliver of a breeze, and with a small pat to spur Smokescreen into movement, they set off again. “Come on, it can’t be much further. Just focus on staying awake, would you?” Starscream nearly pleaded. Smokescreen just nodded, as slow as ever, and trudged onward with a minimal increase in speed.

Piercing through the blackness, far behind the two mechs, a single, red optic watched as they disappeared further into the mines. Shockwave had expected this mine to be discovered by the Autobots eventually, but he didn’t expect Starscream to stand at their side when that day came. Let alone in the state he was currently in. Still, despite his blindness, Starscream appeared to be moving on his own just fine. In fact, he was actually navigating. And, to top it all off, he was heading in the right direction. Fascinating.

An alert beeped into Shockwave’s audial, and he looked down at his wrist. A hologram screen flashed upwards from his arm, warning him of a sudden spike in seismic activity. He hummed, shoving the energon he’d collected into his subspace before transforming into his vehicle mode. His treads whirred, sending him speeding down one of the many, winding tunnels of the mine. He hadn’t collected much, but it would have to be enough. More of the mine was about to be lost, and the Institute lab he’d claimed was now also compromised.

No matter. Shockwave had moved out of the place days ago. And the Autobots were welcome to take what they needed. After all, they shared the same goal as he did for the time being: they were both trying to rebuild Cybertron. Shockwave just preferred to do so alone, with the added freedom of getting to continue his research uncontested. Still, he was sure Starscream getting added to the mix would make things a bit more unpredictable, for lack of a better word.

Starscream’s breathing became more labored as Smokescreen’s legs began to go completely limp. One of the useless limbs swayed like a rope in the breeze, entangling itself with Starscream’s own leg. He yelped and stumbled, falling onto his servos while Smokescreen hit the ground with a hollow, breathy grunt. Starscream snarled and harshly grabbed Smokescreen by his pauldrons. “Smokescreen! For frag’s sake, get up before I regain the processing power to leave you behind!”

Smokescreen slurred and swallowed the energon crystal he’d been sucking on, his optics becoming a blurry mess of black and blue hues. His fuel pump pressed fumes harshly through his lines, burning him from the inside. But compared to his already-burning armature, the sensation was oddly pleasant. Hunger was far more familiar than the gnarled pretzel he was being forced to untangle with every step. “Mmkay...I cuh...I can do...it…”

Starscream didn’t need optics to see that Smokescreen was passing out. Normally, this would be the time Starscream stood up, wiped his servos, and cut his losses. But, he found himself in a particularly stubborn mood today. After all these trials and tribulations to get Smokescreen this far, Starscream refused to also have to drag his frame the rest of the way out of this damned cave. Starscream may have been deceptively strong, but a passed-out mech was never an easy thing to drag over long distances. This called for percussive medicine.

He raised his arm and tightened his digits into a firm paddle, but before he could bring a harsh punishment upon Smokescreen’s cheek-plate, the floor suddenly quaked and knocked Starscream off balance. This would have been nothing more than another minor annoyance, if not for the sudden, incredibly loud, unmistakable sound of boulders shifting out of place. Starscream’s spark spun in the opposite direction and he grabbed Smokescreen with trembling servos and an expression of quiet panic. “Smokescreen,” he flatly begged, “now would be an excellent time for a second wind.”

Starscream, with a less-than-gentle amount of force, slapped Smokescreen a few hundred times in about three seconds. “Get up!” Smokescreen, still barely conscious, gritted his dentae and suddenly took Starscream by the wrists. His grip was weak from exhaustion and lack of fuel, and he could barely see Starscream’s face anymore. But, even though he didn’t have the strength to react to it, he was aware of the danger they were in.

“Star,” he croaked, his voice becoming drowned with static. It took everything he had left to fight through the sea of his murky processor and force out a single word. “Fly…!”

‘Fly!?’ Blind, in a narrow mine shaft that he’d never been in before!? He would have flossed Smokescreen’s internals with his claws for suggesting something so stupid, if this wasn’t already a life-or-death situation. And, if he wasn’t already privy to the concept of being stupid when the need arose. Only then, of course. Starscream huffed and scooped Smokescreen’s chassis into his arms. He spread his wings wide as the cacophony of thunder boomed behind him, growing ever louder, and ever closer. Stray rocks pinged off of his wings as he finally ignited his thruster, sending them careening forward into nothingness.

Starscream thought back to when he was on the Nemesis, weaving through its halls. He’d memorized the layout, yes, but he couldn’t have managed such a feat with that alone. He had trained with Wheeljack, even if it was for a short time, and that helped him learn to react quickly. But regardless of all that, he didn’t really have the luxury of deciding whether or not he was ready to do this. He just had to do it, or else they were both dead. Once again, another hour, another ultimatum. It was becoming routine. He coughed as the dust from the falling tunnel began to assault his ventilation system. His wings shuddered, and Smokescreen’s pedes scraped the floor for just a moment, emitting a high-pitched sound as the metal scraped along the rocks.

They were heading directly into a wall.

Starscream yelped and took a hard turn that shifted his internals. His wing scraped against the stone, lighting the cave with a lightening strike. His wing burned, the feeling only intensified by the cold air as it rushed past. Smokescreen’s limp frame followed after, and his swinging legs slapped against the wall with empty ‘thuds.’ Smokescreen made a pained noise, but it fell on deaf audials as Starscream honed his senses onto the invisible path ahead. The wind he’d used to guide them to safety was now lost like a needle in a haystack as they zoomed onward. For all Starscream knew, they could be heading deeper into the mine, sealing their fates behind miles of stone. Unless...

“Smokescreen, use the phase shifter! Quickly!”

Starscream waited, just barely managing to pass under a large stalactite, but they remained solid. “No! Damn you, Smokescreen! If you don’t pull yourself together, you’ll kill us both!”

A thin column of rock came into Starscream’s field, but it was far too minuscule for him to notice in time. His wing crashed right through it, severing it and sending them both into a spiral. Starscream, now hopeless to regain his bearings, simply hitched his breath, tightened his grip on Smokescreen, and braced himself for his demise. Smokescreen’s death was guaranteed as well, but at this point, who cares? Starscream wasn’t even going to be given the grace of dying as a hero. He was going to be crushed to death, with the biggest, stupidest Prime fan-bot in the universe sandwiched nicely into his frame.

Starscream didn’t feel the impact. What he did feel was weightless. His frame spread itself wide, with only his arms interlaced with Smokescreen’s chassis to remind him that he was still whole. His audials became stuffed, the collapse sounding as if it were suddenly miles away. For a split second, he could hear again, and he didn’t have time to process the sounds before his audials deafened themselves again. But this second wave of muffled ambiance did not last nearly as long as the first. It was instead replaced with the droning sound of Cybertron as she lazily orbited her sun, blissfully impartial to the chaos beneath her skin.

Smokescreen grunted and shakily grabbed the phase shifter once again, instantly bringing Starscream and himself back together. Starscream’s thruster scraped the road and he choked on a gasp of surprise, snuffing it and tightening his grip on his passenger to brace for the real impact. He bounced across the ruined street like a stone across a pond, each impact wrenched his helm up and down, jostling his gyroscope and reigniting the pain he’d felt when he first regained consciousness. His wings and back burned as they finally skidded to a stop in the middle of a large expanse of road.

By the end of their journey, Starscream’s entire upper body was tight, from his arms, still tightly wound around Smokescreen, right down to his vents and throat cables. He squeaked as air finally forced itself back through his system, then strangled out a small ‘ow,’ which forced his pistons to release their tension all at once with a loud hiss. For a while he laid still, taking in deep breaths and basking in the warmth of the sun. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel the sky shifting into beautiful, orange hues, as the afternoon took the evening by the hand into a calm waltz among the clouds. It was peaceful, but the quiet slowly became a matter of concern.

“Smokescreen?” Starscream rasped, just barely lifting his helm. He didn’t get a response. He painfully lifted one arm from around Smokescreen and pressed his digits against his throat cables. A small thrum greeted the tips of his claws, and small puffs of warm air wrapped around his thumb from Smokescreen’s intake. He was hungry, and very, very tired, but he was alive. “Oh, praise the Allspark…”

In his relieved delirium, Starscream smiled with a pleased twitch of his wings and wrapped his arms around Smokescreen once again. But this only lasted for a second before Starscream was wrenched back to reality, and he callously pushed Smokescreen off of him. The race car rolled onto his back like a ball of jello, and he made a small sound which might have been an attempt at a word. Starscream didn’t care to fret over that, or him, any longer. Thankfully, he was granted something else to offer his attention rather quickly, as multiple sets of tires squealed to meet them outside. Starscream made a valiant attempt to raise his helm, but ultimately gave up and flopped in a direct parallel to Smokescreen.

A quintet of transformation sequences assaulted his audials, and Bulkhead’s heavy pedfalls drummed beside Starscream’s helm. “Starscream, Smokescreen, are you okay!?”

“What took you so long?” Starscream said, attempting to sound venomous, but ultimately just sounding exhausted.

Bulkhead knelt between the duo, then reached over and cupped Smokescreen by his cheek-plate. “Smokey? Hey, c’mon, buddy. Wake up...”

Smokescreen made a weird, gurgling snort. “Mmnoooo, five more minutesss…”

Bulkhead smiled, wearily, and ghosted his thumb over a divot in his friend’s helm. “That’s quite a dent you’ve got in your head, pal.”

Just as Starscream was about to complain about nobody offering him any attention, a set of servos unceremoniously slapped themselves against either side of his helm. Wheeljack rotated Starscream’s helm, inspecting it and ignoring Starscream as he hissed and bared his dentae. “Got a couple dents in this one, too.” He placed Starscream’s helm back on the ground with surprising gentleness. “You two sure know how to make one Hell of an entrance. Or, maybe ‘exit’ is the better word. Saw you go flying right through the mine shaft with the phase shifter and followed your lead. We had to take the longer route, though.”

“Your witty observations of things we were all a part of are always such a delight, Wheeljack,” Starscream groused.

Ultra Magnus approached and smiled down at the sight of his soldiers; damaged, but alive. He turned to Sawtooth and Blade without resuming his usual, icy expression. “Go get Knockout and the others. Tell them that we’re all going to head back to base; we’ll wait for them.” Sawtooth gave a quick salute while Blade simply nodded, and the two transformed, speeding off to meet Knockout at his coordinates. Ultra Magnus turned back to his team and took a heavy seat on the ground with the Forge acting as a cane. As if they had just gotten permission, Bulkhead and Wheeljack followed his lead.

“Well done, soldiers,” Ultra Magnus said, his voice filled with relief as well as pride. “We got our comrades back in one piece, we secured the assembler, and we’ve discovered a rich vein of energon in the process. So long as we’re careful, I believe our shortage may finally be put behind us.”

Bulkhead grinned, cradling Smokescreen in his arms. “And we kicked some serious Insecticon tail! Even Starscream managed to get a kill!”

Starscream scoffed, but smirked a bit and lazily crossed his arms over his chassis. “Even Starscream?’ Bulkhead, you wound me! I thought you would have figured it out by now.”

“Figured what out?”

Starscream exposed his palms to present the concept. “That I’m just that good.”

Bulkhead snickered and Wheeljack rubbed his knuckles into the apex of Starscream’s helm. Just to jostle, not to harm. “Between firing a missile in close quarters and flyin’ a semi over a fallen skyscraper, you might as well be an honorary Wrecker.”

Bulkhead’s optics sparkled. “Ha! Miko is gonna freak when she hears about this!”

Ultra Magnus nodded. “You’re more than welcome to tell her about it later, but for right now we should focus on getting back. Starscream, are you well enough to fly?”

Starscream barked out a laugh. “Are you joking? After the amount of work I put in to save this buffoon-” Starscream gestured to Smokescreen’s near-catatonic form. “-I’m not going to lift another digit for the rest of the day.”

Ultra Magnus sighed and shook his helm. “I suppose I’ll be carrying you back, then...”

Wheeljack smirked, eager to punish Starscream for putting himself on a pedestal when everyone else was clearly just as exhausted. “Actually, I could-”

Starscream harshly shoved his digit towards Wheeljack’s intake to silence him. “Absolutely not,” he hissed.

“I can carry them both; I have the space,” Ultra Magnus said. “I just hope Bumblebee is well enough to drive.”

A pair of familiar engines revved behind them, and the Vehicons entered from around a corner, with a distinct red, luxury vehicle and a black and yellow sports car following close behind. Overhead, Chester zoomed past them. Knockout drifted with a flash of his headlights a short distance away from the group. “Come on, we’re wasting daylight, and it’s a long drive back from here!”

Wheeljack’s optics scanned those in attendance, then he scowled in confusion. “Wait, where’s Lazerbeak?”

“Taking a snooze in Chester’s cockpit. But I’m sure Soundwave would be flattered to hear you’re so concerned for the little guy, Jackie,” Knockout teased.

Wheeljack tsk’d and stepped back to transform, and Bulkhead offered him a smile. “C’mon, who could blame ya? Lazerbeak is pretty cute.”

Wheeljack took to Knockout’s side without another word, and Bulkhead scooped Smokescreen up into his arms. He approached Ultra Magnus, who also transformed, and he gently placed Smokescreen into his truck bed. Bulkhead turned to see Starscream struggling to push himself to stand. “Ohhh no you don’t,” he called, then quickly rushed over, taking him up into his arms with such speed that Starscream instinctively flailed.

“What are you doing!? Put me down this instant!” He squawked.

Bulkhead laughed as Starscream struggled in his arms. “You’re the one who said he ‘isn’t lifting a digit,’ Screamer. You did this to yourself!”

Starscream growled like a purse dog as Bulkhead placed him onto Ultra Magnus’ truck bed, then pouted as Bulkhead patted his shoulder pauldron. “Make sure Smokescreen doesn’t fall off, alright? Hold onto him, like this.” Bulkhead took Starscream’s arm and wrapped it around Smokescreen’s shoulders, pressing them together with their backs against Ultra Magnus’ boot. “There, nice and cozy.”

Starscream glared into the blackness Bulkhead resided in. “Cramped, more like.” Smokescreen mumbled and his helm slopped to the side, landing onto Starscream’s shoulder and causing the jet to flinch.

Bulkhead smiled, but resisted the urge to comment, knowing it would upset Starscream. “I think you can handle it for a little while. We’ll talk once we get back and get a clean bill of health, alright?”

Starscream made a noncommittal grunt, which he knew Bulkhead would take as a ‘yes,’ and listened as Bulkhead transformed and rolled off with the others. Ultra Magnus’ engine whirred to life, and he started in a neutral gear, allowing Starscream ample time to adjust his grip on his fellow passenger.

“Excellent work today, soldier,” Ultra Magnus said as they began to pick up speed.

Starscream gaped for a split second, momentarily forgetting that Ultra Magnus was capable of acknowledging his presence. “Thank you, sir.”

“I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you to volunteer yourself up to come along as quickly as you did. If you hadn’t...It would have definitely taken us a lot longer to reach Smokescreen. Considering the state he’s in now, I feel like that little bit of time made all the difference.”

Starscream’s wings raised, happily, and he allowed himself to smirk in a place where Ultra Magnus couldn’t see it. “I suppose you’re feeling quite foolish for not trusting me before, aren’t you?” He purred, drumming his digits against Smokescreen’s shoulder as if he were a mere thing.

“No,” Ultra Magnus clarified, causing Starscream to blanch. “I think my trepidations were justified, even if they were wrong. I’m certainly pleased to find that you’re continuing to cooperate, yet I’m still finding myself on the fence. I can’t help but think you’re still thinking about leaving...Am I wrong?”

Starscream clamped his intake shut and tapped one digit against Smokescreen’s shoulder. Suddenly, the truck bed he sat on felt significantly smaller. “...You wound me, Ultra Magnus. You really do.” Starscream peered over his shoulder towards the rear window of Ultra Magnus’ frame. “I said it myself, didn’t I? There’s nothing out there for me but a dead planet and enemies I’m yet to meet. It would be foolish of me to leave.”

“It’s a ‘yes-or-no’ question, Starscream,” Ultra Magnus stated. “Do you plan to stay after you’re repaired, or not?”

Starscream swallowed, but found his throat dry as the dust that surrounded them. “Yes, of course I plan to stay...But while we’re on the topic, why do you care so much about whether or not I stick around?” Starscream scowled, facing the window once again. “Is it out of fear for your own safety? Because if that’s all it is, I may as well assume you do intend to keep me crippled for the rest of my function.”

“No, that’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?”

Ultra Magnus hummed, gathering his words as best as he could. “...There was a time, not too long ago, that I had joined this group. I stepped up, believing that this was going to be like any other military operation, and I acted according to that assumption. But, I quickly found that this was anything but standard. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I was seen as an outsider; when Optimus Prime was still with us, my leadership style paled in comparison to his own. He lit up a room with his presence, while I seemed to...drill a hole into it, where only I could fit.

“It’s strange, being in a room filled with bots and still managing to feel alone. Optimus saw me in that state, and pulled me out of it. He said that this group was something ‘far greater than an army,’ and I took that to spark. I made it my duty to preserve this family, after he passed. And I hope to one day be a part of it, as impossible of a task as it may seem.” Ultra Magnus adjusted his rear view mirror to get a look at Starscream, who was no longer facing his rear window, but appeared to still be listening.

“I can see you becoming a part of them, Starscream. And I feel you are aware of this, too. I don’t know how that makes you feel, and I’m not one to assume, but I do know this: to be one of us, one of them, is a gift. And to throw that gift away would be the cruelest thing you could do...So, for the sake of this family, think before you act.”

Starscream lowered his brow ridge in deep thought, but did not reply. The sounds of engines, the breath of Cybertron, and idle chatter in the distance washed overhead. Starscream would have felt disconnected from it all, if not for the weight on his shoulder. Tiny puffs of hot breath against Starscream’s chest-plate began to collect condensation, and his servo steadily rose and fell in time as Smokescreen’s frame expanded. He took his other servo and fanned it in front of Smokescreen’s face, eliciting no response; he was fast asleep.

Starscream had been here before, many times. Loaded into shuttles, on board trains, and even on couches that didn’t belong to him. Only this time, there was only one weight, on one shoulder. Even though he was the smallest of his Trine, his brothers always managed to fall asleep against him during long nights. They were so heavy; he never thought he would miss that weight so much. While they slept, he would stay awake, as long as he could. They had him, and he had them. It was the safest place he had ever been, and it was always there, whenever he needed it. Home, always on either side; all he had to do was turn his head to find it.

But it was so dark, now. And he knew he would never find home again, but, at least for now, he was halfway there. Even if it was only an illusion, Starscream could allow himself a moment to indulge in the comfort of a ghost. He sighed, and adjusted his grip on Smokescreen, pulling him close. He allowed his aching helm to sit atop Smokescreen’s own, and he made small, comforting circles into Smokescreen’s shoulder with his thumb. It didn’t matter, Smokescreen wouldn’t remember this, and it was more for Starscream’s own comfort than anyone else’s.

His spark ached in such a dizzying way, this beautiful pain he’d hidden from for so long, knowing that if he lingered for too long that he would never truly leave. Thundercracker was snoring so loudly in his ear, while Skywarp drooled on his shoulder. They were in Thundercracker and Skywarp’s dorm room, watching movies late into the night. It’s what always happened when they invited him over to study. The end credits were rolling, and Starscream’s own optics grew heavy. He didn’t have an alarm set, but that was okay. Jetfire would be there to wake them all up in the morning with a tray of double-shot energon lattes; he knew how these nights went. And then, Starscream, too, fell asleep.

Ratchet looked over the results of Arcee’s scan for the third time, ensuring that nothing was amiss. He knew he had taken too long when the little two-wheeler loudly reset her vocalizer, and he smiled when he looked at her over his shoulder. “Oh, a cough. That’s new, maybe we should check for that?”

Arcee rolled her optics so hard that her helm followed. “How about you just euthanize me, instead? That would take less scans.”

Ratchet chuckled. “As your doctor, I cannot recommend it. But, at the very least-” Ratchet took Arcee’s chin in his digits and shined a light into her optics. “-I can say you’re well on your way back out into the field. You just need to rest, and try not to do any sit-ups.” He let her go, gesturing for her to leave the medical berth.

Arcee slowly, carefully pushed herself from the berth, and gratefully took Ratchet’s servo as it was offered to her. She exhaled through tight lips, and Ratchet tilted his helm in a silent question, which she answered with a nod. “So...any updates on what’s happening with the boys outside? Soundwave’s been lighting up the chat box on your monitor for the past few minutes.”

Ratchet grumbled, turning his attention to the screen to look back over the previous messages. “It’s good news: Ultra Magnus and the others have Bumblebee, and they’re all on their way back. No casualties, just a few dented helms, and Smokescreen is in serious need of an energon drip. Other than that-” Ratchet’s voice lightened as he read. “it looks like we’ve located the assembler, and we’ve also stumbled upon an untapped energon mine!” He laughed, his pistons finally loosening themselves from relief.

Arcee smiled wide. “And no bad news?”

“Nothing of the sort! Finally.”

Arcee sighed, happily, but shifted on her pedes a bit. “...And, what about Starscream?”

Ratchet made a dismissive sound. “He’s fine, why do you ask?”

She shrugged. “Just curious. I was surprised to hear he’d tagged along.”

Ratchet hummed and began busying himself with moving things on his desk. “Yes, as was I. Well, I should get the med bay ready for their arrival. You’re free to go.”

Arcee made a face and stared at Ratchet’s back as he finally grabbed something to sanitize his station. “I feel like I struck a nerve. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“There’s nothing to tell. I think I make my opinion very obvious without having to say anything out loud,” he near-spat as he sprayed down the medical berth with disinfectant.

“You still don’t trust him, do you?” Arcee asked, leaning against a nearby wall.

Ratchet paused in his work, snapping his helm up to meet her gaze with an incredulous glare. “And you do? I thought you, of all bots, would understand me on this.”

“I never said I did,” Arcee clarified, but blinked and shrugged, revealing her lack of commitment to either extreme. “I don’t know if I do. I know that I shouldn’t, but-”

“Then that’s all you need,” Ratchet interrupted, with a flippant wave of his servo. “Starscream is not a mech to be trusted, Arcee. That shouldn’t be something I have to say out loud. He’ll do anything to get what he wants, and he always, always bites the hand that feeds him. That’s just how he is.”

“I know that, but-”

“Arcee-”

“Ratchet, listen to me,” Arcee snapped. Ratchet took the warning, placing his things down to offer her his undivided attention. “I don’t know if I trust Starscream, but I can’t just ignore all that he’s been doing for us. He’s saved my life twice, now. And now I’m hearing that he just ran into battle, blind, to help save Bee and Smokescreen. All of this is going against everything I know about him, and I want to believe that he’s changing, but...I’m still worried he’s going to do something awful. Maybe after he gets his optics back, maybe before that.”

Arcee thought back to what Starscream had confessed to her: how he’d killed everyone he’d loved, and that it was no accident. Doing so once could be considered an accident. Twice, a coincidence. But three times was a pattern, and that meant a fourth, fifth, or even thirteenth time could be a possibility. She didn’t know what had set Starscream off for those first three kills, and she knew he would never tell anyone, let alone her. That fear of the unknown was palpable, even among the hope all of his sacrifice had spawned.

“I don’t know how, but I want to keep that from happening,” she continued. “And I don’t think pretending like all of this good he’s doing is meaningless is going to help.”

“Pfft, and what do you want me to do instead? Bow? Write him a ballad? It’s all a means to an end, Arcee!” He turned away, busying himself again. “No matter how much good he does for us, it’s all to service himself. I’d wager a guess that when the scraplets were here, if he had an opportunity to just save me, and only me, he would have sooner jumped at that opportunity than he would have saved everyone else! Realistically, I’m the only bot he needs: I’m the one who’s trying to replicate the formula for cybermatter, after all. If he loses me, all hope is lost.”

“And yet he was the one with the ball bearings to pull the trigger on me to save my life,” she retorted, her face sharp with a tone to match. “You weren’t there to save, Ratchet. He chose to save me. And now, he’s chosen to save Bumblebee and Smokescreen, too. What do you say to that?”

Ratchet turned slowly towards her, his optics dark. “...I say he’s putting on one Hell of a good show, but a show nonetheless. Think about Cliffjumper, Arcee.” Arcee flinched, then glared. “Do you really think he regrets that? Do you think he would take it all back, if he could? Or would he just be upset that it was all for nothing?”

Arcee suddenly stormed up to Ratchet and yanked his arm to pull his face down to her level. “Cliff...didn’t die...for nothing.” She released him, and Ratchet looked at her in utter shock. He stared into her sharp optics, a shimmer of hurt washing over them, and he felt guilt stab into his spark. He averted his gaze, grimacing to shake away his regret, until a forced veneer of calm washed over him.

“He did, Arcee. Him, and many others like him,” Ratchet muttered, unable to meet her gaze a second time. “We won the war, but it wasn’t because they died. It was because, at one point, they had lived.”

“I’m not talking about the fragging war, Ratchet. I’m saying Cliff didn’t die for nothing because I’m still here to remember him, and how much his death mattered to me. To all of us. None of us ever die for nothing. Just because Optimus sacrificed himself for Cybertron doesn’t mean his death meant any more that Cliff’s!” Arcee punched Ratchet in the elbow, hard. Ratchet recoiled and rubbed the joint, watching as Arcee began stomping out of the med bay. She paused as the doors opened, and turned to face Ratchet with misty optics.

“And for the record: I don’t know if Starscream regrets it. And at this point? I’m wondering whether or not I should care about that anymore. We’ve got three Decepticons in our ranks, now. Did you ever stop and wonder if they had any regrets? Do you think they wonder if we do? Or are you just worried about Starscream because he stood the closest to Megatron?” With that, she stormed out, wiping her optics on her arm in rage.

Ratchet gawked at the closed doors, still holding his elbow joint as it throbbed. Once the shock wore off, he scoffed and shook his helm. “I don’t really trust any of them, either,” he muttered to himself. “But at least I know where they stand well enough to know they won’t stab any of us in the back. So long as Megatron doesn’t come back…” Ratchet turned to the med bay computer and typed Soundwave a quick message.

“Tell Knockout to handle the med bay for himself when he gets back. He needs to get used to handling it without having to call me out to help each time. It should be simple enough for him to do.”

“Understood. Query: What will you be doing?”

‘Primus, he even types like that,’ Ratchet thought to himself, before rolling his optics and sending another message. “Going back to Earth to continue my research.”

“Negative. Ground-bridge: needs to be refueled. You will remain on Cybertron until it is.”

Ratchet’s optics shorted. “And when were you going to tell me this!?!?!?”

“Observation: You did not ask. Second observation: only one ‘!?’ is necessary to communicate upset.”

Ratchet growled and rubbed his servos down his face. He began typing out a very long response, full of colorful expletives and promises of what was to come of Soundwave, but he decided against it. “Fine. Do me a favor and fill agent Fowler in on the current situation, and give him an estimate on when I’ll return.”

“Already done.”

Ratchet’s optic twitched, frustrated that he couldn’t boss Soundwave around in any way to ease his anger. “Good.”

“Query: Would you like to talk? Soundwave: Professional listener.”

Ratchet blinked, taken aback by the offer, and he squinted, suspiciously. “Where did this come from?”

“Repeat: Soundwave: Professional listener. Arcee: walks very loud. She is clearly upset, and so are you. Requesting input: would you like to talk?”

Ratchet glared at the screen and tapped his digits on his desk, almost considering the offer. “No, thank you. I’ll be busy again soon enough.”

“Acknowledged,” Soundwave replied, a mere second later. Almost as if he expected Ratchet to respond that way. Ratchet suppressed a shudder, and picked up his sanitizing equipment once again. There was a lot Ratchet wanted to talk about, but the only mech he truly trusted with sensitive materials was gone for good. And, unfortunately, when he left, he took a piece of Ratchet’s self control with him. There was no one here to put a gentle servo on his shoulder and tell him ‘no.’ No one to make him think past his gut instinct, or chisel past the many layers he’d wrapped around his spark. Ratchet couldn’t think about him now, because if he ever stopped to think for too long, he knew that Optimus would have been very disappointed in him.

Chapter Text

Arcee’s rage-filled gait slowly lost its fire the more she trudged onward, towards the main entrance of the Nemesis. Ratchet bringing up Cliffjumper like that was a low blow, but it wouldn’t be Ratchet if he never struck a nerve. His concerns were valid, but Arcee wasn’t looking to be talked down to. For Primus’ sake, she didn’t say she actually trusted Starscream! She just said that she’s hoping he’ll change, but she was scared he might fall back onto old habits. She let out a heavy exhale as she opened the doors to the main entrance and leaned in the door, watching as headlights in the distance grew closer and closer.

Realistically, what did she really expect from Ratchet? The mech was as stubborn as a horse, or whatever it was Agent Fowler had compared him to. He wasn’t going to see things the way they’d all seen it, even if he was there to witness some of what Starscream had done. It was easier to write it all off as some fluke; Arcee agreed with him on that much. Between when he’d released her from Airachnid’s webs, the scraplets, his confession, and now this...everything was so damned complicated.

But, she was certain about one thing: Bumblebee was right. They need to encourage this sort of behavior from Starscream, not write it off. Arcee smiled, spotting the black and yellow car among the group as they came into focus. Considering how banged up the lot of them were, and what little she was able to peek at from Soundwave’s messages, there was going to be quite a story to tell. And after being confined to the med bay for an entire day, she couldn’t wait to hear it.

Knockout swerved to a dust-kicking stop in front of the Nemesis with a triumphant rev of his engine. He transformed, then looked up, making a show of shielding his optics from the sunset as Chester made his landing on the roof of the ship to deposit his precious cargo. Except, Knockout had definitely noticed Arcee first, but was making a show of only seeing her just now. “Do my optics deceive me? Is that Cybertron’s most famous two-wheeler in the door?”

Arcee giggled and cocked her brow ridge in the medic’s direction. “Only by default, but yes, that’s me.”

Bumblebee drove up to greet Knockout, transforming in a far less fabulous fashion that ended with him purposefully face down in the dirt. He let out a muffled howl into the ground that made Knockout kneel beside him and give him a gentle shake. “Come on, Bee, we’re almost there. There’s a prescription for a low-grade painkiller and a high-grade massage with your name on it in the med bay.”

Arcee frowned and stepped forward. “Bee-?” She moved to bend down, only to hiss and clutch at her tank. Knockout and Bumblebee’s helms snapped towards her, and she silenced them with a servo. “I’m fine. I just can’t be doing any heavy lifting for a bit, that’s all. Are you okay, Bee?”

Bumblebee sighed, his spoiler drooping in relief as he looked up at Arcee with puppy-dog eyes. “My back hurts real bad, but, other than that...everything else hurts slightly less.”

Arcee smiled again. “Sounds like that massage will do you some good.” As Knockout helped Bumblebee to stand, Bulkhead, Wheeljack, Sawtooth and Blade came to a stop and transformed. The two Vehicons said goodbye in their own ways; Sawtooth with a two-digit salute and Blade with a firm nod. Sawtooth stretched his arms above his head and sighed as he strode past Arcee into the Nemesis, muttering dreamily about how hard he was gonna hit his berth. Considering Blade’s posture, it was clear he was going to recharge that night with visions of disemboweled Insecticons dancing in his head.

Bulkhead waited for Ultra Magnus to come to a stop and lapped around him to check on his passengers. “Alright, Starscream, we’re back-” He reset his optics upon seeing the state the two bots were in. Starscream was dead asleep; it was easy to see despite his lack of optics. His intake was slightly parted, his wings slack, and his shoulders slumped. Smokescreen’s helm was comfortably sandwiched between Starscream’s own helm and shoulder, with the Seeker’s arm still wrapped around his frame. Bulkhead’s expression softened, and he planted his fist against his smiling intake to keep himself from making a sound.

Ultra Magnus’ windshield wipers made a pass in confusion. “Bulkhead? Is everything-?”

“Shh!” Bulkhead urged, flapping his servos with a slight scowl. “They’re both sleeping,” he whispered.

Wheeljack came to Bulkhead’s side with a raised brow ridge, but upon seeing the display, he snorted. “D’aww, well ain’t that cute?” He asked, his volume a little higher than Bulkhead liked, which earned Wheeljack another shush. But Wheeljack just shrugged as an apology. “Sorry, but we’re probably gonna have to wake ‘em up to bring ‘em to the med bay,” he said, correcting his volume.

“Nah,” Bulkhead said with a shake of his helm. “They’re out cold; we’ve just gotta take it nice and slow.” He began moving to scoop up Smokescreen, but Wheeljack stopped him.

“I’m not carryin’ in the walkin’ knife drawer.”

“Really, Jackie?”

“He’s also got a couple feet on me, even with the hunch back.”

Bulkhead sighed and shrugged. “Fair enough. You get Smokescreen, then.”

Wheeljack smiled, satisfied, as the two switched places and gathered their respective cargo into their arms. Bulkhead smiled with a sigh as he managed to work around Starscream’s wings, which twitched as he shifted positions, but did not wake him. “I guess I really am the only bot big enough to handle you, huh, Screamer?” He whispered, jokingly.

Wheeljack grunted and hopped to readjust Smokescreen in his grip, then gave Ultra Magnus a nudge with his pede to spur the officer to transform. Which Ultra Magnus took the time to do so as quietly as possible. He sighed and stretched, rolling sore shoulders as the Wreckers made their way towards the Nemesis.

Arcee leaned in the door, smiling as Bumblebee and Knockout made their way inside, and she turned her attention to the group that was yet to come in. She blinked in surprise at the sight of Smokescreen and Starscream, curled up in Bulkhead and Wheeljack’s arms like human children being carried to their rooms after a long car ride. Her face contorted into worry and she pushed herself away from the wall to start coming to Smokescreen’s side, but Wheeljack offered her a smile that said ‘don’t worry, he’s just sleeping.’ So she relaxed, and turned her attention to Starscream and Bulkhead. She walked alongside them, and Bulkhead grinned wide, clearly elated to see her up and about. “Hey,” he whispered, “how are you feeling, Arcee?”

“Good,” she said, matching his volume, “just sore.” Her optics explored Starscream’s frame like she was meeting him for the first time. His servos rested limply against Bulkhead’s chassis, and his wings swung loosely on his back with an occasional flutter. A dream was holding onto him even tighter than Bulkhead was, keeping him safe from the waking world and the near-lethal dose of embarrassment he would be subjected to in this very moment. Arcee smiled a little at the sight; he genuinely looked peaceful in this state. Once again, her processor was struggling to grasp the concept that this was the same mech she had been at war with for centuries. The Demon of the Skies, greatest Flier in all of Cybertron, and former S.I.C. to Megatron, fast asleep in one of her closest friend’s arms.

She shook her head in disbelief, and Bulkhead shrugged, as much as he could, in agreement with her silent declaration. She turned around to see Ultra Magnus lagging behind as they reached the door, and she stopped to allow him time to catch up with her. Ultra Magnus was slightly hunched, the plates beneath his eyes sagged, and his frown creased his face deeply. But when she looked up to see Arcee waiting for him, his frown softened into a thin line of surprise. “Hey, big bot,” Arcee said in a gentle voice, “how are you holding up? You look like scrap back there.”

Ultra Magnus grunted in noncommittal agreement, and he attempted to straighten his posture. “I’m alright, sol-Arcee. I’m just in need of rest.”

“I’ll say,” she smirked, placing her servo onto Ultra Magnus’ arm as they walked. “And you are going to rest, right? You’re not just saying that?”

Ultra Magnus nodded without looking at her. “Yes, just as soon as I write my report.”

Arcee rolled her optics. “That doesn’t sound like ‘rest’ to me. Just wait to write it in the morning; if you write it now you’ll probably end up having to re-write it anyway. You’re exhausted.”

“I do consider writing my report a form of rest, Arcee.”

Arcee squinted. “Does anyone even read your reports? Who are they for?”

“They’re for me, of course. I’m the current leader of the operation. They help me to keep my processor clear and keep a record of all goings-on so I don’t lose track.”

“...So, when you say ‘report,’ you really mean ‘your diary?” Arcee smirked, and Ultra Magnus looked to her with just his optics and the tiniest smile.

“I see you’re a fan of synonyms. I say what I mean, Arcee.”

She patted his arm. “Then do whatever you need to do to relax. You’ve earned it, and you need it.”

Ultra Magnus nodded, his spark lifting a bit at her choice to express this time was both necessary and well-earned. “Goodnight, Arcee. You’ll hear me again during the morning announcement.”

“Goodnight, Ultra Magnus.” She gave him a gentle wave as he disappeared into his office, then sighed as she watched Bulkhead and Wheeljack disappear into the med bay. She wanted to follow, but she also really didn’t want to see Ratchet right now. Even if she knew he always had her best interests at heart, that didn’t make his words sting any less. Still, she was a tough bot, and she wanted to see her friends. If that meant she had to stand in the same room as Ratchet so soon after their fight, so be it.

Ratchet looked up from the datapad he wasn’t reading when he heard the med bay doors open. Wheeljack stepped in first, grimacing a bit with Smokescreen in his arms. A steady stream of lubricant was leaking from Smokescreen’s intake onto Wheeljack’s chest, and Ratchet smirked with a snort as Wheeljack silently pleaded with his optics. Ratchet gestured to a cleaned medical berth, energon drip already prepped and ready. “Set him down here, Wheeljack,” he requested.

As Wheeljack eagerly complied, Bumblebee lifted his helm from his own berth, where he was lying on his chest with a pained look in his optics. “Oh, thank the Allspark. You guys gotta help me, I think Knockout is trying to kill m-!” His voice reached a high octave as Knockout dug his elbow into Bumblebee’s back, forcing Bumblebee’s limbs to splay outward like an action figure from the eighties.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. This massage technique was designed for medicine, not luxury. Now, take a deep breath, in and out, like I told you to; I’ve almost released this piston.” Bumblebee reluctantly complied, and Knockout harshly pressed into his back. A loud ‘pop’ echoed from inside of his frame, and his entire frame tensed. Then, a slow hiss, punctuated by a release of steam from under his plates slowly eased Bumblebee face-down into the berth with a groan of relief. Knockout grinned in a self-satisfied way. “There we go. Now, let’s take a little break before I move onto the left oblique,” he said, gently running his thumbs across the soft mesh beneath Bumblebee’s plates.

Ratchet rolled his optics as he gently slotted the energon drip into one of the fuel lines in Smokescreen’s wrist. “This is a med bay, not a spa,” he grumbled to himself. Smokescreen stirred slightly as energon began to steadily drip into his system, making him shiver. Ratchet patted Smokescreen’s helm and shushed him silently, then began inspecting the state of his patient’s head with a frown. He hummed in thought, running his thumb over the softball-sized dent left slightly above his forehelm. Before he could ask any questions, Bulkhead walked in, with Arcee close behind. She took up a place by the door while Bulkhead placed Starscream gently down onto the medical berth parallel to Smokescreen, and Ratchet frowned at the sight.

Still, Ratchet never let his personal feelings get in the way of his work. He moved to Starscream and looked him over with his optics. Scorch-marks on the backs of his legs, dried energon on his knee-pad, dented wings, several deep scuffs, some surface-level puncture wounds to his chest, and a few dents in his helm, but otherwise no worse for wear. Except...One of the missiles on his arms was missing. Ratchet squinted and inspected the holster, now completely snapped. “What happened here?”

Wheeljack smirked. “I think he tore that missile out and used it to slag an Insecticon that had him and Smokey cornered. Wish I could’ve been there to see it.”

Arcee’s optics got wide, but she said nothing. Ratchet made a face, a little disturbed by the idea of Starscream having the willpower to do such a thing, but managed to shrug it off for now. Instead, he let out a quiet ‘hmph,’ took Starscream’s helm in his servos, and looked into his empty optics with a flashlight, inspecting how the remaining mechanisms flexed around nothing. Phantom-blinking, like clockwork. A clear indicator that he was in a deep sleep.

He turned to Bulkhead and Wheeljack, who was flicking spittle off of his chest with his own digits. He caught a glimpse of Arcee and quickly returned his gaze to the Wreckers. Arcee frowned at how quick he was to dodge her optics, but only crossed her arms. “Has Starscream been drooling, as well?” Ratchet asked.

Bulkhead shook his helm and gestured to his expansive chassis. “Dry as an armature, over here.” Wheeljack scowled in a way that made Bulkhead smirk, knowing that Wheeljack was thinking he should have just carried Starscream in when he had the chance.

“Hm. Have they been slurring their words? Or speaking at all?” Ratchet turned back to Smokescreen and lifted his helm to attach a cord to the port at the base of his neck. He then turned to the med bay computer to look over the diagnostic data that began to crawl across the screen.

“Smokey’s been mumbling a lot,” Wheeljack said, wiping the tips of his digits onto Bulkhead’s arm in retaliation. Bulkhead flinched and waved his arm, scowling at Wheeljack, but he only smiled in triumph. “Screamer would know better than we would, though. They were stuck underground together for a hot minute.”

Arcee smiled. “Looking forward to hearing that story. Sounds like it’ll be a good one.”

Bulkhead chuckled. “You bet! I definitely want Miko and the kids to be around to hear it, too.”

Knockout looked up as he was rubbing Bumblebee’s shoulders. “Well, as the resident event-planner, I say we should plan a nice evening in. We’ll drink, tell stories, and celebrate our good fortune. I can see about arranging a group call with the children, as well.”

“Smokescreen has a concussion,” Ratchet said, before anyone could get excited. He sighed, turning his attention back to Smokescreen with a deep frown. “Thankfully, it looks to only be minor, but I strongly advise all of you to keep an eye on him over the next few days. He’s forbidden from going on another scouting mission until he’s fully recovered. And that means he absolutely cannot drink any engex or high-grade until then, either. If he starts to slur his words, drool, lose his balance, or Primus-forbid, lose consciousness, take him to the med bay immediately. Understood?”

The bots in attendance nodded, and Ratchet returned the nod, pleased to see he was being taken seriously. “Good. Now, let me take a look at Starscream.” He removed the cable from Smokescreen’s helm and wiped it off before striding over to Starscream’s berth.

Starscream’s wings fluttered slightly as his helm was lifted upwards, and his brow ridge lowered as the back of his neck was fondled. He felt himself begin to slowly slip out of his pleasant dream, but was swiftly torn from it as the tip of the cable began to push into his port. A different memory took hold, one of him having pleasant dreams of himself, surrounded by adoring Vehicons chanting his name. Only for Megatron to appear, in the one place he thought he could truly escape to, swiftly turning his mind into just another prison. Suddenly, Starscream gasped and shot upwards, gripping the berth beneath him. “NO!”

The room went silent, save for Starscream’s heaving breaths. Bulkhead approached Starscream, cautiously, but not silently, so that he wouldn’t get startled. “Hey, it’s okay, Starscream. It’s just us.”

Wheeljack stepped forward as well. “Yeah, we’re back at base, in the med bay. You hear it?”

Starscream’s breathing slowed and his digits loosened as the sounds of the Nemesis sunk into him. The gentle hum of electricity, combined with the soft beeps of medical equipment soothed him back to reality, though his expression was still guarded. Bulkhead made his way to Starscream’s side and resisted the urge to put his servo on Starscream’s shoulder. “We just got back from the mission, you remember that, right?”

Starscream finally huffed out some air that was caught in his chest, and he rubbed his helm with one servo. “Yes, of course I remember...How did I get in here?”

“Er-” Bulkhead stammered and Ratchet took Starscream by the helm to snip the conversation in the bud.

“Not important. Hold still, I just need to run a diagnostic test,” he commanded. He plugged the cable into Starscream’s helm, and Starscream grimaced as it slotted into place. Ratchet returned to the med bay computer, and Starscream moved his wings, searching the room.

“Is…” His question died on his glossa, and he reset his vocalizer. “Were there any casualties?” He liked the sound of that question more than the one he was originally planning to ask; this one was far more impartial. And less specific.

“No,” Arcee said, causing Starscream to jump at the sound of her voice. She lowered her brow ridge upon seeing that reaction, feeling something she didn’t recognize as guilt. “Smokescreen has a concussion and he’s on an energon drip, but he’ll be fine. Bumblebee is in the back getting a massage.”

“Hi,” Bumblebee said with a small wave.

Knockout peered at Starscream and saw his brows shift in envy. “Don’t get jealous just yet, Screamer. Bee, deep breath for me.”

“Oh God-” Bumblebee braced himself and Knockout flicked the back of his helm.

“Ah-ah! No tensing up! Come on, deeeeep breath.” Bumblebee scowled, but complied. “Hold it...Now, release, annnd…” Knockout made a ‘hup’ sound and pressed his elbow into Bumblebee’s back once again, forcing his hydraulics to release once more. Starscream heard Bumblebee’s forehelm hit the berth with a ‘klonk.’ “There we go! Still want a turn, Screamer?”

Starscream cringed and subconsciously shielded himself with his wings. Suddenly, he wasn’t very inclined to complain about the crick in his neck. “No, thank you.”

“Help…” Bumblebee croaked, face still in the berth. But he sighed as Knockout shushed him and began to stretch his taught mesh once again. “Oooh, nevermind, it’s nice again.” Ratchet walked behind Starscream and plucked the cable from his neck without fanfare, and Starscream cringed again at the unpleasant friction.

“You’re fine,” Ratchet said, neutral to the glare Starscream was giving him. “At worst, you have a processor ache and some surface-level dents. I can fix those relatively quickly.” He pulled a small device that resembled a suction-cup with a handle from his subspace and planted it against Starscream’s dents. “Hold still,” he said, without really giving much of a prelude. With the press of a button, the device hissed as it suctioned itself to the warped metal. And, after a gentle tug, the dent corrected itself with a hollow ‘ping.’ It felt similarly to removing a leech, just without the wet sensation.

“Would you please warn me before you start attaching things to my body!?” Starscream screeched.

“Ah, my apologies, I forgot your vision was compromised for a moment,” Ratchet said, sounding frustratingly impartial. Starscream suddenly reached out and grabbed Ratchet’s wrist before he could put the device back onto Starscream’s helm.

“That seems to be a recurring theme, lately…” Starscream hissed in an almost accusatory tone. “When it suits you, at least.” Ratchet blinked, then glared into Starscream’s empty sockets. Wheeljack shifted from one pede to another and pretended to be interested in a flickering light in the ceiling. But Arcee stepped forward with a glare of her own.

“Ratchet, quit being an aft.” The two mechs looked to Arcee with surprise, but Starscream instinctively inched slightly away from her, despite her coming to his aid. “I know you’re not happy about him being here, but this still isn’t like you. If you’ve got an actual issue with Starscream, be a big mech and say it instead of making it his problem. You’re a doctor, act like it.”

Several jaws audibly dropped; namely Bulkhead and Knockout’s. Starscream’s brows rocketed upwards with his wings in surprise. Well, this was an unexpected turn of events, but it wasn’t unwelcomed. Starscream released his grip on Ratchet to fold his servos politely in his lap and assume a submissive posture. Now was as good a time as any to play the victim card, especially if it meant Ratchet would lay off. He needed Ratchet to cooperate, after all...That is, unless he could get to Shockwave without issue. But that was something to mull over later, he didn’t want to miss the show.

Ratchet’s optics searched around the room for someone to take his side, but all he got were astonished stares in his direction, waiting for his rebuttal. All except for Wheeljack, who only spared him a glance. But there was something odd in that look...Was that guilt? Ratchet squinted at that, then looked back to Arcee, whose stern look remained unwavering. He sputtered, looking off at nothing to distance himself, only to meet that same pair of optics again, which swiftly removed any sort of argument from his intake before it could even take shape.

Ratchet huffed in defeat and turned back to Starscream. “...I’m sorry, Starscream,” he forced the words out as if they held physical weight. “Is it alright for me to continue removing those dents? Or would you rather have Knockout handle it from here?”

Starscream fidgeted, then cleared his throat and raised his chin along with his wingspan. He chose to be the bigger mech, both physically and socially, so he would not lose another potential asset. “You may.”

Wheeljack loudly yawned, stretched, and turned on his heel. “Welp, I think I’m gonna hit the showers and then follow up with the sack. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Bulkhead looked back and forth between Wheeljack and the others, feeling an easy escape from the tense atmosphere slipping through his digits. “Er, uh, wait for me, Jackie! I’ll, uh, get your back, or something…” He followed Wheeljack, cringing at how obvious his bail was, but Wheeljack just patted him on the back as the doors shut behind them.

“If anybody needs help reaching their back, it’s you, Bulk.” Wheeljack smiled sympathetically.

“I know,” Bulkhead responded with his servo covering his warmed face-plates.

“I’m still holding you to that, though. You know the sayin’.”

Bulkhead laughed, weakly, and nodded. “Yeah, I do...Thanks, Jackie.”

Once the Wreckers fled, Bumblebee also pushed himself off of his medical berth and gave Knockout a few pats on the back. “I think I’m good for tonight, Knockout. The painkiller just kicked in and I’m really tired, so-”

“Oh, yes, me too, my goodness look at the time!” Knockout said, making a show of looking at an invisible watch. The two overlapped over each other, saying nonsense about how it was important to get at least eight hours of stasis a night, and how they would really love to stay and chat, but this that and the other got in the way. Knockout patted Ratchet’s arm as they both scurried out like bugs whose rock had been lifted. “My comms are open if you need me, of course! Goodnight, all!”

“Yeah, goodnight, everyone!” Bumblebee said, already fully in the hallway. With that, the only mechs in the room were Starscream, Arcee, Smokescreen, and Ratchet. But the silence held more presence than all of them combined. Arcee blinked a few times, pouting her lips with a knowing glare at the closed door.

“...I guess that’s my queue,” she said with a shrug. But before she could fully commit to her first step, Starscream suddenly blanched.

“Wait!”

Both conscious bots turned to him with a single brow raised. Starscream’s wings slowly drooped on his back, and his face-plates heated as his processor whirred, trying to find something to say. An explanation would have been nice, but not even he fully realized why he didn’t want Arcee to leave. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be alone with Ratchet.

Arcee frowned at Starscream, a hint of knowing sadness in her optics. The others may have known that Ratchet wasn’t the type to capitalize on a vulnerable mech, but Starscream didn’t know that. And, considering how Arcee had acted when the two of them were alone together, she didn’t blame him for being afraid. Ratchet wasn’t exactly welcoming, either. Still, she knew he wouldn’t be asking this of her if Smokescreen were awake. “...You want me to stay?” She asked, wanting to hear Starscream say it rather than assume.

“I-I…” Starscream struggled to think of an answer that wouldn’t reveal his fear, eventually coming to the frustrating realization that it was far too late to correct that. He scowled at himself and fanned his servo, dismissing her. “Nevermind, I forgot what I was going to say. Have a good night.”

Arcee nodded, slowly. “You too, Starscream…” She looked to Ratchet, and they locked eyes for a heavy moment before Arcee broke the connection with a scowl. She left without a word, and Ratchet sighed to himself.

“...Turn your helm for me, Starscream,” Ratchet requested in a defeated tone he failed to suppress. Starscream complied, saying nothing. He knew prodding into this would be a death sentence; Ratchet was already cross with him, and the spat between Arcee and the medic was clearly because of him. So, for the sake of his health, he just followed Ratchet’s directions without complaint. It was the longest thirty minutes of Starscream’s life, but Ratchet had experienced longer before.

By the time it was all over, Starscream was dent-free, with a repaired, but empty, holster for his missiles. Ratchet took a step back to give Starscream space. “You’re all fixed, just take a shower to get the soot and mud off before you go to bed, and try not to overexert yourself.” Ratchet moved to his desk and began cleaning off the tool he’d used to correct Starscream’s dents.

Starscream stepped off the berth, holding his chin slightly upward. “Thank you, doctor.” He moved to leave, but paused upon hearing a small whimper to his side. He turned his helm towards Smokescreen’s berth and frowned, taking in the sounds of the room and allowing them to paint Smokescreen’s shape. Smokescreen was still asleep; the noise he made could have been anything. A wheeze of breath, a reaction to a dream, or even a half-conscious acknowledgment of Starscream’s presence...No, that wasn’t the case. He still had no idea where he was, or who was here; he’d been out since he asked Bulkhead for five more minutes. Maybe he’d be happy to know he’d been granted far longer than that. Maybe he’d be upset he missed out on all the fun they were having.

Ratchet turned slightly when he didn’t hear the doors open, and he watched Starscream over his shoulder. He squinted, suspicious, as Starscream continued to stand by Smokescreen’s berth, unmoving. Ratchet wouldn’t call attention to it, though; he had a feeling that’s what Starscream wanted. To make a show of how sparkbroken he was to see Smokescreen in such a state, to try and show Ratchet what a good little mech he’d become. Well, he wouldn’t give him the chance. He just went back to disinfecting the device, taking longer than usual to see if Starscream would finally give up and leave.

But Starscream remained still, just listening to Smokescreen’s ventilators cycle. A few memories drifted to the surface, abstract as they were. A trail of datapads, a high-five on the roof, a movie left half-watched, and the first laugh he’d shared with someone in a long time. Starscream’s spark ached in a way he hadn’t felt in years, and hoped to never feel again. He sighed, knowing he should not have let himself indulge in old habits when they were still on their way back to base. He should know better by now; it was better not to get attached. It wasn’t as if he was going to need any of them anymore. So long as he could get to Shockwave, he would be fine. The trouble was actually getting there in one piece.

Still, Starscream lingered a while longer, fighting tooth and nail to go against his impulses. He wanted to reach out and take Smokescreen by the servo again, feel the weight and electric pulses running through his frame. It was a stupid thing to want; he knew that he was really here, and alive. To indulge that would only worsen the feeling in his chest. But why? He said he wasn’t going to let him die today, and he didn’t let that happen. Everything went according to plan, at least outcome-wise. So, why wasn’t he happy? He shook his helm and made his way to the door, figuring it to just be a result of a jostled processor. He left without bothering to bid Ratchet goodnight, though it wasn’t as if either of them really cared to hear the others voice.

It was peaceful in the Nemesis; everyone had gone to sleep already, which meant Starscream should get the wash rack all to himself. He forced a tiny smile in an attempt to regain the capacity to enjoy simple pleasures, but it was a hollow attempt. Idiot. This is what always happened when he let himself get too close; he suddenly found himself a glutton for punishment. It’s why he wanted to hold Smokescreen’s hand, he knew it would make the pain in his spark hurt even worse. It was an addiction, this grief that he’d forced down for centuries upon centuries. When he lost his Trine, it took him decades to be able to sleep without mentally bludgeoning himself every night, thinking about them. And Jetfire…

Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

Starscream found himself below the shower head without even fully realizing he had entered the room. He robotically reached down and turned on the water, barely even flinching when ice-cold solvent assaulted his wings and back. It was good that it hurt. No, it wasn’t, stop it. Starscream buried his face in his palms, pricking himself with the tips of his claws. Stop thinking about them. Think about the future, how are you going to get to Shockwave? The mine was going to be compromised soon, and it was dangerous enough as it was. He couldn’t fly yet, not without risking himself getting hurt, especially with landing. The solvent warmed up and Starscream scowled, beginning to focus.

He was getting better at flying, that much was clear, but he would need more training if he ever hoped to escape this place. Which he needed to, desperately. It didn’t matter where he ended up, he just needed to get to Shockwave, get his optics back, and figure it out from there. Anywhere but here.

Starscream stooped down and scrubbed the backs of his legs, coated with dried mud and soot. Wheeljack had offered to help him train, he could take him up on that offer. But he was always busy with construction, and throwing a rubber ball around a room was nothing compared to field training. Ultra Magnus had begun to trust him, which was good, because now he would take heed to Starscream’s suggestions. Perhaps he could pitch the idea of regular training sessions to Ultra Magnus? It certainly couldn’t be seen as a bad idea; it would obviously benefit everyone if Starscream was more capable of handling himself.

And he would need to, now that Insecticons had been thrown into the mix. He knew he couldn’t fight them, so he would have to learn to run. Starscream felt at his arm, now a few pounds lighter without a missile in its holster, but Ratchet had made quick work repairing it. With no intention of re-enabling his weapons systems, of course. That was something else to pitch to Ultra Magnus, but he would focus on the training schedule first to not overstep. Until then, he had one more holstered, and he knew he could tear it out again, if needed. Hopefully that wouldn’t be the case...It hurt less than he expected it to, but it still hurt. He ran his glossa over his dentae, pleased to see they hadn’t flattened. He could worry about the finer details later, but it felt like he had a clearer goal than before.

Starscream shut off the solvent and dried himself off, finally feeling somewhat satisfied. Still not happy, per se, but at least he wasn’t caught in a self-inflicted doom spiral anymore. Now all that was left was to get some rest and see what the next day had in store. But, as he made his way to his room, something felt amiss. His wings flicked, and he scowled, feeling a foreign shape take form outside of his berthroom door. He paused, and the shape announced itself.

“Hey, Starscream,” Arcee said, “are you okay? That whole mess in the med bay was kinda weird.”

Starscream’s spark hitched in its spiral as a cold flash of fear spread through his frame. He snuffed it in an instant with a deep scowl. “I’m fine. Leave me alone,” he glowered, while making his way to the door.

Arcee frowned and watched as he approached, resisting the urge to write him off for his attitude. He’d had a long day. Still, she only asked if he was available out of formality, so she didn’t really intend on leaving the conversation here. “Are you planning to just avoid me from now on?”

“Yes, even though you seem pretty keen on making that difficult.” Starscream reached towards the door’s control panel, only for Arcee to suddenly, yet gently, wrap her digits around his wrist. He jumped and whirled towards her, then snatched his servo back indignantly. “Don’t you touch me!”
“Sorry,” she said, taking a step back, “but we really need to talk. I promise, it’ll only take a minute. Then you can tell me to frag off all you want, okay?”

Starscream was certain she didn’t really mean that, but still, his brow lowered in a mixture of apprehension and suspicion. “...One minute, that’s all you get. Starting now.”

Arcee nodded. “I wanted to apologize for putting you on the spot, before. When I asked if you had ever lost anyone. Looking back on it, I really didn’t give you much of a choice...I’m sorry for that.”

Starscream’s brow ridge rocketed upwards in surprise. He was now so accustomed to everyone on this ship prying into his business and pushing his boundaries, that an apology like this felt beyond his wildest dreams. Let alone Arcee, of all bots, having an admission of guilt. And she still had forty-seven more seconds to surprise him again.

“But I needed to know,” she continued, “I needed to know if you really were as sparkless as you make yourself out to be. You’re not exactly an easy mech to read. But I could tell you were being honest with me, so, thank you for that.” She smiled at him. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone what you told me. But, if you ever want to talk about that with somebody, I guess I’m your girl.” She shrugged with a small smirk. “Only by default, but still. I’m here for you, okay?”

Starscream gaped, with fifteen seconds to spare. This didn’t feel right. Who was he even talking to right now? This isn’t the Arcee he knew...perhaps even she was a victim of the Autobot’s trademarked soft-spark. Regardless, it didn’t really matter, did it? He didn’t care about apologies, or how they really felt about him. At least, not beyond what was necessary to ensure he could remain here uncontested. This meant nothing to him, nothing at all. He picked some invisible grit from between his knuckles and tossed it aside, regaining his composure as he did so.

“Well...that’s all fine and dandy of you, but you shouldn’t expect me to forgive you just because you said you’re ‘sorry.’ I have no use for such platitudes. All I care about is whether or not you keep your intake zipped; so long as you keep that promise, we won’t have problems.” Starscream scowled and put his servos on his hips. “And as for coming to you to ‘talk,’ you can forget it. I think you know more than enough. If you breathe a word about any of that to anyone, even to me, I’ll have you slagged. Have I made myself clear?”

Arcee frowned and crossed her arms, as if shielding herself from the disappointment that had been slapped in her face. She felt stupid to expect any kind of forgiveness, or even basic manners. He had changed, yes, but this was still Starscream. “...Yeah. You have.” She sighed and walked past him, her tone flat with defeat. “Goodnight, Starscream.”

He listened as she walked away, but his wings drooped as she left. She had been in the wrong, unequivocally. Yet he felt a stab of guilt at the way her usual bite had been filed down. Still, she wasn’t entitled to his forgiveness, same as she wasn’t entitled to know of his past. This was merely the consequence of her actions, that was all. “...Good. I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding.”

But he didn’t get a response to that; she had already left. Starscream lingered just a moment longer before he finally huffed, escaped into his berthroom, and locked the door behind him. He leaned against it, crossing his arms with a scowl and trying to find a reason to be in the right. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that she only did this to try and wring more of his secrets out of him, by luring him into a false sense of security. “Here for me,” he muttered, in a whiny voice, “I bet you would like that, you nosy little…” He grumbled various expletives to himself. “Never again. My business is my own, no one else’s.”

He tapped his pede to fill the silence once he ran out of things to grumble, then sighed and threw up his servos, as if surrendering to it. “Whatever. I need to recharge…” He crawled into his berth and rested his chin on his arms, feeling instant relief as he settled into his ideal sleeping posture. To entertain himself into a pleasant sleep, he immersed himself in a fantasy. He was at Shockwave’s side, with his legion of Insecticons, all of them gathered around Wheeljack. Take them for a ride, won’t you, Jackie?

The next morning, Starscream awoke to the sound of the Nemesis’ intercom buzzing to life. It was hellish not being able to force his optics shut, so that he could sleep right through the announcements. But, alas, once he was awake, he was forced to stay awake. He barely had time to groan before Ultra Magnus’ voice drowned out his displeasure.

“Good morning, everyone. This is Ultra Magnus-”

“You don’t need to fragging introduce yourself,” Starscream heckled, from the safety of his berth.

“-I have good news to start us off: Thanks to the efforts of our scouts, as well as the brave volunteers who came with us on our mission yesterday, we’ve discovered a rich energon mine in grid eight. Wheeljack will be in charge of our new mining operation, and I urge anyone interested in joining to meet me in my office as soon as possible. We’ll need all the help we can get.”

Starscream grunted as he sat up in his berth, deciding it best to pay attention, now that his processor was starting to escape his post-recharge delirium. Primus, he was sore. If Knockout’s massage technique didn’t look so efficient, he would have eagerly taken a turn after Bumblebee. Ultra Magnus began with schedule changes, which Starscream didn’t need to pay much attention to, so he idly picked at the vents on the sides of his helm.

A very stupid idea came to his mind that gave him pause, but not enough pause to refrain from poking around in his own optic socket. The tip of his claw tapped once against the interior, and he flinched, not from pain, but from the shock of a brand new sensation he never wanted to feel again. It was like scraping against one’s teeth with a butter knife, only the feeling was much higher up than it ever should be.

“-Moving onto the matter of fuel, the fuel rations are still in effect for the time being. But, not for much longer. Unfortunately, the space-bridge no longer has enough fuel to function, so it will remain offline for the foreseeable future.”
Great. More time with Ratchet. Still, he would have to find a way to lay on the charm sooner or layer. He couldn’t have Ratchet tainting anyone’s opinions of him.

“And finally, our most exciting announcement...Soundwave has requested I allow him to assist. Go ahead, Soundwave.” Starscream raised a brow, then heard the sound of a literal drum roll over the speaker.

“Soundwave would like to announce that the communication system is now fully operational!”

Starscream suddenly rocketed upwards, and he could hear muffled cheering from beyond the walls. Already? Soundwave had managed to get them up and running already?

“Though our supplies may be low, tonight is a night to rejoice. Tonight, we finally broadcast our message across the stars, and let our brethren know that it’s time to come home. Give yourselves a round of applause, and let’s all continue to work hard to give our misplaced comrades a safe transition back home. That is all.”

Starscream would have the Cybertronian record for ‘Longest Blink’ if he’d had optic lids. This was...certainly a change of events. But, he doubted that their signal would reach anyone anytime soon. It would likely still take weeks for anyone to actually make landfall on Cybertron; this entire corner of the galaxy was a wasteland. Any coward not willing to fight either offlined themselves, or got so far out of dodge that they may as well have teleported. Starscream lingered in his surprise for a while, then just shrugged. You couldn’t very well rule a planet without a population, after all. He just hoped this wouldn’t get in the way of his plans.

Starscream stood up and stretched, then stepped out of his berthroom. All was quiet. That was to say, it was just as noisy as any other day, but in such a way that everyone on board seemed to be collectively asking: ‘wait, was that it?’ He smirked a little at the obvious disappointment in the air. Were they expecting a party? When they were still this low on energon? With Ultra Magnus as their leader? And he thought he was the one who had lost a few screws. Suddenly, Starscream straightened. Speaking of loose screws...

Knockout walked back into the med bay with tense shoulders and a deep glare. His lop-sided patient lifted his helm and smiled at him, sympathetically. “I’m guessing he said ‘no?” Smokescreen asked.

“Of course he said ‘no.’ Why did I ever think he would say ‘yes?’” Knockout asked, his optics turned up to the ceiling, as if asking a God to give him the answers. “’We don’t have the supplies, Knockout. We need to be at peak efficiency, Knockout. I already said the engex stash is off-limits, Knockout.’ I shouldn’t have expected anything less from Ultra Nag.” He huffed and walked over to Smokescreen’s berthside to inspect his energon drip. “You’d think after such a rigorous game of Whack-An-Insecticon he’d be more gung ho about the idea of taking a break for once in his function.”

Smokescreen shrugged. “Maybe you could bring it up again after we get the mine up and running? We only started this morning.”

“Ew, delayed gratification. Go on and shoot me, why don’t you?” Knockout said with a deep smirk on his face. Clearly, he did see where Ultra Magnus was coming from, but that didn’t make him any less disappointed. It was then that the med bay doors opened once again, and Knockout turned, expecting to see Ratchet. But, much to his and Smokescreen’s surprise, Starscream was the one to walk in. “Well, now, isn’t this a surprise? Good morning, Starscream. Come to visit your favorite mech?” He asked, not specifying which of the two that could be on purpose.

Smokescreen looked up and smiled, brightly. “Hey, Star!” His spark lifted in his chassis, elated to see that Starscream had actually come to visit him, but he suppressed it as quickly as it began to lighten. After all, he didn’t actually know why Starscream was here yet. It was better not to jump to conclusions, lest he come out disappointed. “What, uh...What brings you here?”

Starscream tightened his lips and cleared his intake upon hearing the joy leave Smokescreen’s voice as quickly as it came. Knockout’s friendliness, too, tasted sour on his glossa, but he managed to speak past it without making a face. “What do you think? I was coming to check on your status.” Starscream folded his servos behind his back and walked over to Smokescreen’s berth, as poised as he could possibly be. “I’m glad to see you’re still functional.”

Smokescreen softened, but only a little bit. “Yeah...I’m still here. I probably wouldn’t be, if you didn’t come to save me.”

Starscream waved his servo to force the statement to dissipate in the air. “Don’t be dramatic. You would have been fine, I’m sure.”

Knockout smirked, knowingly. “Mhm, hence your urgency.”

Starscream’s face audibly creaked, and he reset his vocalizer. “Anyway, it looks like things will be moving forward smoothly, despite how many times our plans backfired.”

“Might be a new record for you.”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly my fault it all went to slag, now, is it?” Starscream scowled towards Knockout, and Smokescreen’s smile waned.

“I...I’m still sorry about that, guys,” Smokescreen lamented. But Knockout and Starscream immediately turned towards him and spoke simultaneously.

“Oh, stop that, you didn’t—”

“No, that wasn’t—”

Starscream clammed up, which seemed to cause Knockout’s optics to grow wide, like they were directly connected. Then, Knockout smirked, knowingly, and leaned with one servo on Smokescreen’s berth. “Oh, my apologies, Screamer. By all means, you first.”

Starscream quietly sucked in a breath. By the Pit, he could practically feel Smokescreen’s giant, blue optics sparkling with hope. It was like getting sprayed with acid, the way it made Starscream’s plates itch. “...Fine. It wasn’t your fault, Smokescreen.” He crossed his arms, scowling to himself. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this. In fact, he couldn’t even believe he was considering it in the first place. But something about their time together in the mine, along with Arcee’s apology the night before, and how it ended, made him feel oddly...soft. “And...I was...wrong to suggest otherwise.”

Knockout’s intake popped open, openly gawking at the very convincing clone of Starscream that stood before them. Poor thing went so far as to pop out their optics to keep up the charade, but this was the moment the curtain fell. Starscream never admitted he was wrong unless he was held at gunpoint. But Smokescreen’s expression softened, and he reached out to pat Starscream on his arm, which caused the Seeker to flinch just a bit. “Told you that the word would come to you eventually. Thanks, Star...It means a lot to hear you say that.”

Starscream looked in the direction of Smokescreen’s voice, and his wings fluttered slightly. Another crushing betrayal to the veneer of indifference he was attempting to uphold. Ratchet must have overlooked something during his diagnostic scan. Either that, or whatever it was that plagued the Autobots was proving to be contagious. Starscream did not like that, but, he did like being told ‘thank you,’ and there was nothing out of the ordinary about that.

“Well, I’ll be slagged,” Knockout breathed, “now we have to throw a party! We’ve witnessed a miracle, a sign from Primus!” Before Starscream could get discouraged, Smokescreen elbowed Knockout’s hip plate hard enough for it to ring like a church bell. “Ow!” Starscream covered his intake with the tips of his digits and giggled with an evil glare, but Knockout couldn’t be deterred for long, and simply put his servos on his hips. One side was held a bit tighter than the other. “No matter how you choose to ‘boo’ me, I know that I’m right.”

Starscream reset his vocalizer and brushed off his arm to appear aloof. “Knockout, are your audials in need of repair? Ultra Magnus said we don’t have the supplies to celebrate; there will be no party.”

“Oh contraire, mon frere,” Knockout purred, with a devilish grin. “We don’t have the supplies for a party for the entire ship. But we do have plenty of engex to go around if it’s just, say...a select few of us. It’ll just be a small soiree, nothing too fancy. Nothing that’ll tip off the brass, anyway.”

“Smokescreen can’t drink, doctor,” Starscream replied with a scowl to rival Optimus’ trademarked disappointed frown. “He’s concussed.” Smokescreen looked at him, surprised to see Starscream immediately jump to consider his side, but not unpleasantly so.

“More for the rest of us, then. He can celebrate without needing to drink.”

“How very inclusive of you. Next you’re going to tell me you plan to have us play charades. Besides, it’s still going against Ultra Magnus’ orders.”

“Ah. Right. Forgive me for forgetting your spotless track record with authority.”

Smokescreen looked between the two mechs as they spoke, alternating his helm back and forth before he finally cleared his throat to get their attention. “I’m right here, guys.” Jeez, now he knew how Starscream felt. “Personally...I say we should go for it! I’ll be bummed out I can’t fully join in, but I can at least be there, right? Either way, you guys deserve to relax; it’s been a real shitty few days and we kinda need a win, even if it’s small.”

“Then it’s settled!” Knockout declared with a pleased clap of his servos, before Starscream could retort. “I’ll see about getting the arrangements started. Keep your comms open, gentlemechs, I’ll be giving you both live updates as they happen.”

Starscream sighed, raised a brow and placed his servos on his hips. ‘Oh, whatever,’ he thought to himself. ‘He’s already started, may as well just watch how this disaster pans out.’ It wasn’t as if he had any specific plans for the time being. “And how, pray tell, do you plan on doing that without Ultra Magnus noticing?”

Knockouts wicked grin returned, tenfold. “I’ll ask an expert.”

Chapter Text

Soundwave was in the bridge of the ship, as he normally was. He was staring at a holographic screen as it hung in the air, looking over the command code he’d written, with one digit hovering over the ‘confirm’ key. After days of work; squeezing himself, Lazerbeak, and Wheeljack into the darkest crevices of the ship to correct electrical faults and re-organize copper wires, this was it. They were finally going to hail their displaced brethren home. And Soundwave knew without a shadow of a doubt that this moment was going to be completely anti-climactic. But that’s just how his job went, when he wasn’t in the field. Numbers, letters, and lines upon lines of code. Single key-presses that brought about great change.

But he didn’t want to bring about change just yet. Not until he got in a word with Ultra Magnus.

The doors to the control room opened, and Ultra Magnus strode in, datapad in his clawed servo. It was on a new, blank page. Soundwave appreciated how prepared the mech always was, and he took his servo away from his workstation to greet the officer with a nod.

“I came as quickly as I could after the announcements, pardon me if I kept you waiting, Soundwave,” he began. “You wanted to speak with me about the Insecticons?”

Soundwave nodded. “Affirmative. Soundwave: wants to discuss theory on who is commanding them with you, alone.”

“Why alone?” Ultra Magnus inquired as he came to his side, pen already in his grip, scribbling away at his datapad.

Soundwave looked towards the front windows of the Nemesis, and Ultra Magnus instinctively followed his gaze. But there was nothing of note outside; it was only when Soundwave spoke again that he realized this was merely a gesture to break eye-contact. “Soundwave:...Feels responsible. Foolish, if I am correct in my theory.”

Ultra Magnus raised a brow ridge, but his optics softened slightly. He was a little disturbed by this admission of guilt, but he now understood why Soundwave didn’t want to speak before an audience about this theory of his. “Well, let’s hear it, then: what is your theory?”

“Airachnid,” Soundwave stated, flatly. Ultra Magnus threw up his brows while Soundwave looked to one of the inactive holo-screens. It showed an image of Luna-Two, taken several centuries ago. “She attacked me on the Nemesis, and I remotely opened a space-bridge in front of her, sending her as far away as I possibly could. Her, and many Insecticons. Luna-Two: furthest possible coordinates within my reach, at the time. Soundwave: always had a suspicion this would not be her end, that she would be dealt with at a later date. Soundwave:...did not imagine that date would be today.”

“Luna-Two is the location of Garrus-One,” Ultra Magnus observed, to show understanding. “She could have survived there, with the energon mines, and her army of drones to do the heavy-lifting.”

“Correct. And, Insecticons are very resilient. Their shells are capable of withstanding extreme temperatures and changes in air pressure. Insecticons: fully capable of breaking atmosphere. However, they are slow. Travel time between Cybertron and Luna-Two, at top speed: One week.”

Ultra Magnus finished writing that down and hummed, shuttering his optics in thought. “So, those Insecticons we fought, if they’re on their way back, they’ve got about six more days before they reach home…” He opened his optics again, regarding Soundwave with a serious expression. “And when you send out that hailing beacon-”

“One week, should Airachnid see fit to strike. However, Airachnid cannot enter Cybertron’s atmosphere without sustaining critical damage. Solution: Stasis pod.”

Ultra Magnus blinked. “She’s building a stasis pod…” Soundwave waited patiently as Ultra Magnus stroked his chin, a deep scowl warping his face-plates. “Well, we have no way of knowing how far along she is, but, we can’t let that stop us from sending out the beacon. We’ll need numbers, if we’re going to fight back.” Soundwave nodded, and Ultra Magnus pointed towards his computer. A familiar tone and cadence took over him like a spirit. “Send the beacon. While we wait for everyone’s return, research the enemy. Find as many weaknesses as you can and relay anything you find to me. And send out-”

The control room doors opened again, and both mechs turned to see who had walked in, only to see a red, luxury vehicle stride in with confidence. Confidence which was swiftly snuffed like a wet candlewick as Knockout caught a glimpse of Ultra Magnus. He froze up and sucked in his lips as Ultra Magnus scowled at him in confusion. “Knockout? What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be watching over Smokescreen while Ratchet is in recharge,” Ultra Magnus asked, suspiciously.

Knockout brushed off his chest-plate and put on a casual stance. “Oh, Smokescreen is doing fine! Starscream actually offered to watch over him while I…” He glanced at Soundwave. “Left to check in on Lazerbeak! I thought about running a quick diagnostic scan on the little drone to make sure his gyroscope was still in working order, after I checked on Smokescreen’s.”

Soundwave looked down at his chassis, finding Lazerbeak peacefully resting against it. Ultra Magnus looked at the drone as well, then glanced at knockout with one brow raised. “I see. Soundwave?” Soundwave responded with a shrug. “Hm. Very well, Knockout. Run the scanner over Lazerbeak.”

Knockout sucked in his lips again. “Right, of course. The scanner.” Frag. Knockout made a show of feeling around at his subspace, then slapped his forehelm. “Oh, silly me! I left the scanner in the med bay!” He chuckled without any humor. “My apologies, sirs, I must be experiencing energon-deficiency. I’ll be right back, you two carry on with whatever it was you were talking about!”

“Are you certain this isn’t about that request you made this morning, Knockout?” Ultra Magnus asked, causing Knockout to freeze in the door.

“That? Oh, nooo, noooo!” He threw his wrists limply forward to perish the thought. “Also, that was more of a suggestion than a ‘request.’ I’m just trying to be more proactive in my duties, per Ratchet’s constructive criticism. I’ll come back later.” With that, Knockout practically fled out the door and took refuge around a corner. If he wasn’t smart enough to know Starscream would have instantly thrown him under the bus, he would’ve wished he’d sent Starscream to pitch the idea of their secret celebration to Soundwave. But unfortunately, a certain incident involving Zombiecons informed his decision not to.

Ultra Magnus sighed and turned to Soundwave. “As I was saying...After you send out the beacon, find a slot in my schedule for a group meeting and send a message to confirm to the team. I’ll be helping Wheeljack get started with the mines this morning, so send me a comm if I’m needed before then. Understood?” Soundwave nodded and turned, instantly pressing the ‘confirm’ key to send out the beacon and then opening a calender immediately afterward. As always, very anti-climactic. Ultra Magnus nodded in approval over Soundwave’s diligence. “Thank you, Soundwave. Until next time.”

Ultra Magnus left the control room, and Soundwave slowed his pace as he checked the schedule. There was an opening for late this evening, and another for tomorrow afternoon. And there was a terrible medic outside who clearly wanted his attention. Soundwave paused in his work and sent Knockout a ping, not to be answered, but just to get his attention. About twenty seconds later, the control room doors opened again, and Soundwave turned to face Knockout. “Query: What did you really want to discuss, Knockout?”

Knockout smiled and swaggered over to Soundwave’s workstation. “You read me like a book, ‘Wave.”

“Observation: Not difficult. Request: Do not call me that.”

Knockout pouted. “What is it with you people and nicknames?”

“Wave: Common designation. Soundwave-” He began playing recordings of various bots relaying their designations. “Shockwave, Airwave, Blastwave, Heatwave—”

“Alright, alright! I get it!”

“Conclusion: Be more creative.”

Knockout rolled his optics with a groan. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you something...” He moseyed to Soundwave’s other side, speaking in a knowing, siren-like tone. “A little Bee told me that you were interested in having a ‘treat.’ Is that still true?”

“Affirmative. However, duty calls.”

“Oh, come on, Soundwave,” Knockout purred, leaning his back against the console. “You’ve been working non-stop! And you just got pulled out of the Shadowzone only a few days ago, then the scraplets happened, and now this whole business with the Insecticons? You deserve a treat.”

Soundwave looked him up and down. “Query: Are you propositioning me?”

Knockout’s expression flattened and he stuck out his lower lip towards him. “No, don’t flatter yourself. I’m just saying, we’ve all had it rough this past week, but Ultra Magnus doesn’t seem to agree. I wanted to see if you would be interested in re-enacting a bit of human history.” When Soundwave continued to blankly stare at Knockout, he smiled and leaned forward. “Prohibition,” he whispered, and Soundwave’s shoulders moved ever so slightly. “Mm? Piquing your interest, now? Hypothetically, let’s say we gathered up other like-minded individuals, a bunch of engex, a few speakers, and took it all to a secondary location. And then-again, hypothetically-we privately celebrated our first major success. Would a cunning, sly little bot like yourself be interested in such a thing?”

Soundwave stared, reflecting Knockout’s impish expression in his visor. He turned to Ultra Magnus’ schedule, looking at the openings he’d found, and silently deliberated. Knockout withheld a breath, now also staring at the schedule, until Soundwave swiftly moved a seperate event into the opening for this evening. Then, he placed the group meeting for tomorrow morning, and sent out the updated schedule with a click of a button. After a few seconds, a check mark appeared on the block from Ultra Magnus, approving the schedule change. Then, a second, from Knockout. Soundwave turned to face the medic, now sporting an emoticon wearing a party hat on his visor.

Knockout grinned, a sparkle in his optic. He outstretched his servo, and Soundwave wrapped one of his tendrils around it in a gentle handshake. “And that’s why you’re the coolest mech on the Nemesis, Soundwave.”

“Correction: DJ Soundwave."

“Oh, this is going to be beautiful. So, DJ...how can we pull this off without alerting upper management?”

“He’s not going to agree to it,” Starscream said, leaning against Knockout’s abandoned desk with his arms crossed. “Soundwave isn’t the type of mech to shirk his duties for something as silly as a party.”

Smokescreen smiled at him and folded his servos over his abdomen. “I’m getting the feeling you’re just hacked off about him leaving you to watch over me.”

“That’s true, but it’s unrelated to what I just said.” He scoffed. “For a grounder, he’s incredibly flighty.”

Smokescreen chuckled a bit. “Am I really that bad to hang around?”

“You’re tolerable,” Starscream said, flatly. “I’m just not exactly qualified to watch over you, should you start having an episode of some kind.” After a few seconds of silence, Smokescreen began making dramatic gurgling noises, and Starscream kicked his berth. “Stop that.”

Smokescreen giggled, impishly. “I’m not gonna have an episode, Star. You’re just keeping me company, that’s all.”

Starscream hummed. “I’m not exactly qualified for that, either.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Smokescreen said with a snort. “You’re fun to talk to. When you’re in a good mood, anyway.”

The Seeker smirked a little, and his wings raised with the small praise, though he couldn’t help but question it the slightest bit. “Really.”

“Really. I’ve been learning a lot about you, things I would have never expected in a billion years.”

“Such as?”

Smokescreen smiled. “Well, you being a cheerleader, for one thing.”

Starscream’s wings twitched and he scowled, standing taller with indignation. “I was not a ‘cheerleader.’ I was Captain of the Vosian Flight Dance Team.”

“So...Cheer Captain.” Starscream growled and Smokescreen just chuckled again. “Hey, that’s pretty cool in its own right. I was training under the Elite Guard, so, I never really went to Academy sports games unless I needed some extra shanix. Usually made me miss the pre-shows.”

Starscream rubbernecked towards Smokescreen. “Excuse me, what?” Smokescreen didn’t get to answer, Starscream just laughed to reveal the question was rhetorical. “You spent your free time gambling on Academy sporting events? You!?”

Smokescreen’s ventilation systems kicked on. “Okay, listen, I was between jobs because Elite Guard training schedules are super strict and-stop laughing! It’s not that funny!”

“The bot who held the final Omega Key in his chassis, who was trusted to guard Alpha Trion, the hall of records, the relics of the Primes! Who was almost a Prime himself! A gambler!” Starscream’s vocalizer crackled as his laugh became hoarse. “It’s just so, so...pedestrian!”

Smokescreen started to smirk a little bit, now seeing the comedy in it himself. It was a bit silly, thinking about how destiny had panned out for a perfectly average bot like himself. A bot with vices, embarrassing stories, and everyday problems, who almost became a Prime. But, he wasn’t going to sit idly by and let himself be the only object of ridicule. “And you, Starscream: Second in command to Megatron, the most dangerous Seeker in the Decepticon ranks, the Demon of the Skies…” Smokescreen began to make shapes with his arms and digits in the Cybertronian alphabet. “Gimmie a ‘D,’ gimmie an ‘E!’ Gimmie-!”

Starscream, feeling the air shifting as Smokescreen moved his arms, flailed around until he grabbed Smokescreen’s wrists. “Oh, shut up!” He whined, notably still smiling and laughing alongside his berth-bound compatriot. “How many shanix did you lose, hm? Answer me that!”

“Only after you tell me what color your pom-poms were!”

“Gold!”

“Eight thousand!”

Starscream’s breath hitched in a gasp, then he suddenly howled and lost his balance, releasing Smokescreen and doubling-over onto the floor. The two of them flailed around as their laughter was reduced to giant gasps of air and the sound of static crackling along with the wet sounds of lubricant in their throats. Like stirring a gallon of macaroni next to a TV displaying white noise. Eventually, Smokescreen wiped the washer fluid from his optics and managed to get in enough air to speak again. “Oh, Primus, my head hurts. Oh God, hooo…! I’m okay.”

Starscream sat up and coughed, re-centering himself. “Ugh...Wow. I can’t believe that’s what you were up to before the war, chosen one.”

“Speak for yourself, fragger.” Smokescreen watched as Starscream stood up, the both of them glowing from their shared mirth. But Smokescreen’s optics shifted to something inward. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? How much the war changed us. I mean, I was barely in it, and I still feel like I’ve come out of it a different mech.”

Starscream hummed with a frown, appearing to withdraw as the conversation shifted to something more self-reflective. “Mm, quite.”

“Star?” Starscream grunted to signal that he’d heard Smokescreen as he casually picked at his claws. “Do you think that, if we’d met before the war, we would’ve been friends?”

Starscream scowled, confused, but didn’t look up. “Does it matter?”

“No, I guess not…” Smokescreen shrugged. “I’m just curious, I guess. You’ve obviously changed a lot, too. You kinda got to meet pre-war me, or...at least, pre-Cybertron-death me. I don’t know if pre-war you would’ve put up with me, though.”

Starscream smirked a little and exhaled sharply. Memories of his Trine came to surface, but they were softer than the ones that usually plagued his memory banks. A pair of blundering buffoons with mouths like waste depositories and sparks displayed proudly on their wrists rather than hidden deep in their chassis. Smokescreen reminded him of them: so eager, so head-strong, so imbecillic. The laughing fit seemed to get him in an exceedingly sentimental mood. “No, but, I think I would’ve ended up being stuck with you, eventually. I attract your type like a magnet.”

“My type,’ huh? Are we talking handsome, rougish, or charming?”

“If that’s how you typically describe cyber-ticks, then yes, absolutely.”

Before Smokescreen could select a non-lethal place to punch Starscream, they both got a notification. But, without optics, Starscream didn’t have a HUD, so Smokescreen took it upon himself to read it out loud. “There’s gonna be a team meeting tomorrow morning. And Ultra Magnus…” He turned to Starscream with an excited grin. “Is going to be unavailable for the rest of the day.”

Starscream pinched between his optics with a heavy sigh. Every time he thought he had Soundwave pegged, the face-less mech turned around and hand-delivered another surprise. Smokescreen nudged him with his elbow. “Come on, don’t look so down! This is gonna be fun!”

“Possibly. We’ll just have to wait and see if they’re able to pull it off. Personally, I wouldn’t bet my shanix on it.” He grinned. Smokescreen did not.

“Dude.”

Knockout slid through the doors of the med bay with his chin held high. “Hello again, you two! Thank you for keeping a- pardon my choice of phrase- close eye on Smokescreen while I was away, Starscream. And I’m sorry to ask for yet another favor, but Ratchet’s shift doesn’t start officially for another hour, and I’d rather not be caught wandering about again.” He strode over to Starscream and took him by the wrist, then planted a business-card sized datapad in the palm of his servo. “Would you be a dear and pass this note along to Bumblebee for me? He’ll know what it means.”

Starscream raised a brow, but curled his digits around the pad regardless. “...You want me to deliver this to Bumblebee?”

“Don’t be modest, Starscream, we both know you’re handi-capable.” Starscream’s jaw jutted to the side and Smokescreen covered his intake to suppress a laugh of shock. “And that you’ve got nothing going on today. I know it’s true, I saw the schedule. Why not get in a few steps? It’ll be well worth your while, I assure you~”

Starscream leaned towards Knockout, raising his wings in a threatening way, but Knockout did not falter. “It had better be. Or else Ultra Magnus is going to get a strongly-worded letter regarding your flagrant language, Doctor.”

“So long as it isn’t about you-know-what, I think that’s fair.” Knockout patted Starscream’s closed servo. “We’re all counting on you, Scre-” Starscream’s brow ridge raised, slowly, and Knockout cleared his intake to make his voice as syrupy as possible. “...My dear Commander Starscream~”

Starscream stood tall again with a ‘hmph.’ “That’s better. Very well, I’ll run your errand. But if you get caught, I had nothing to do with it.”

“Had nothing to do with what~? I’m just having you deliver a letter; it’s not as if you can read it,” Knockout comforted.

Starscream hummed pleasantly as he realized that he had plausible deniability. Knockout and Smokescreen waved him off with multiple variations of the word ‘goodbye.’ Clearly, they were both very excited. But he wondered how much of it was about the party, and how much of it was just excitement towards breaking the rules. He couldn’t blame them for the latter; he would have given up on it centuries ago if it wasn’t so exhilarating. And gratifying, when it went well, anyway.

He walked confidently through the Nemesis, feeling lighter with the knowledge that even if he got caught right now, he would be safe. Oh, he could get Knockout and Soundwave in so much trouble if he conveniently slipped the note to Ultra Magnus from under his office door. He could get away with saying he’d dropped it. Who was going to question the validity of that to a bot who couldn’t see? And if he did, how severe would their punishment be? Nowhere near what Megatron would have done, but the mental image of Knockout and Soundwave scrubbing floors with detailing brushes was delicious. That’s what they both get for not helping him escape. And for the body glitter. Yes, he was still mad about that, and yes, Starscream would be a champion gold-medalist if holding a grudge was an Olympic sport.

He wondered how incriminating the contents of the note was, and he ran his thumb over the little pad, as if the message would reveal itself to him that way. He couldn’t imagine it was some sort of encoded message, Knockout wasn’t that clever, and Soundwave knew that Bumblebee wasn’t that clever, either. At least, he would know, if Starscream’s assessments of their respective intelligence were correct. It was so, so tempting to throw them both to the wolves...But, the more Starscream thought about it, the more he decided that he just really, really needed a stiff drink. So long as he got some decent engex out of this, he could consider it more worthwhile than petty revenge...Even if it was his favorite kind of revenge.

Starscream pressed a digit to his audial and sent Bumblebee a ping, which was answered within a few seconds. “What’s up?” Bumblebee asked, casually. Starscream could hear cheerful music and plasticine-sounding clicks in the background. He was playing video games, why was he not surprised?

“You’re in the lounge, aren’t you?”

“Uhhh, yeah. How did you know?”

“Because that’s where that silly game console is hooked up,” Starscream said, turning to head in the direction of the lounge. “Is that really how you intend to spend your day off? Pressing buttons?”

“Hey, it’s not just ‘pressing buttons.’ It takes reaction time, planning, skill, and I know you’re just mad because you suck at them. That’s the kind of thing only people who suck at video games say.”

“I don’t ‘suck’ at them, I’ve just never even wasted my time with them to begin with,” he lied, but was convincing enough to sound like he was speaking the truth. “Anyway, stay where you are, I’m delivering something to you on Knockout’s behalf.”

“Yes, sir,” Bumblebee said, sounding out a salute.

Starscream entered the lounge after following the ever-increasing volume of Bumblebee’s game. Bumblebee was sprawled on the couch with several pillows beneath his back, and a bowl filled with energon treats on the coffee table in front of him. And, much to Starscream’s dismay, Bumblebee was not alone. Arcee lounged beside him, a pillow behind her back and another in her arms that she was snuggled against. “You missed a dragon egg,” she said with a lazy smile on her face.

“What? Where?”

“Up on that ledge, see?” Arcee’s optics drifted over to Starscream, and she frowned, unfolding from her comfy posture. “Oh, Starscream’s here.”

Bumblebee quickly paused the game and handed Arcee the controller, which got her smile back. “I’m a bot of my word.” He stood up, making sounds that suggested he had only just sat down, though this was clearly not the case, and made his way over to meet Starscream. “Hey, Scream.”

Starscream made a face. It was a little better than ‘Screamer,’ but it was still borderline. “Here,” he said, while extending his servo with the note. He didn’t really feel the need to say ‘hello.’ Bumblebee looked over the note and Starscream awkwardly stood still while he waited for Bumblebee’s reaction, listening to Arcee take her turn with the time-waster. The game’s music was cheerful, without being audial-grating. But he couldn’t really parse what the game was about based on the sound effects alone. It was a salad of cartoonish noises: sheep baying, lightning, animalistic grunts, and what he assumed to be blasts of fire.

Bumblebee hummed in a way that sounded both inquisitive and pleased, which regained Starscream’s attention. “Okaaaay, I see,” Bumblebee said with smile before he handed the note off to Arcee. She paused her game and looked it over herself.

‘To whom it may interest,

There is going to be special, private event this evening. Details will come out as they happen. If you’re interested, send a ping to Comm-link code 9477-NM and ask about the weather for the afternoon. Whatever they say, respond with ‘that’s a shame’ if you’re willing to assist with preparations. If you’re unable to assist, respond with ‘sounds like a good night to stay in.’ We will send updates via personal comm-links, please remain discreet.

Pass this note along to whoever you believe will be interested. Do NOT inform Ultra Magnus.

Starscream.’

Arcee withheld a snort at the incredibly obvious cover-up. This had to be Knockout’s doing; he even took the time to put a stamp of Starscream’s signature on the note, rather than just write out his name. Or was this Starscream’s personal notepad, and it added the signature automatically? Regardless, even though it was unlikely to actually work, it was smart of him to put some insurance coverage on the whole operation, should Starscream decide he wanted to get everyone in trouble. Arcee was still a little sore, but she knew her limits, so a party sounded like a great time to her. It stung a bit that they couldn’t invite Ultra Magnus, but something told her he wasn’t much into parties, either. Plus, he would never agree to throw one, shortage or not.

“Hmmm, interesting…” She handed the note back to Bumblebee. “I think Bulkhead and Wheeljack should see that, but they’re probably already working.”

“Yeah,” Bumblebee said with a nod. “Hmm, maybe Lazerbeak could help? I could go ask Soundwave.”

“Why are you talking like this?” Starscream said, annoyed that he had been completely forgotten.

“Oh, no reason,” Bumblebee said, reaching over to grab a couple energon treats. He took Starscream’s servo and planted three little cubes into his palm. “Here, a tip for the deliveryman.”

Starscream moved his digits to examine what he was holding through texture, then raised his brow ridge as the sweet scent reached his olfactories. Oooh, candies. His wings fluttered a bit behind him and he smiled, tucking the treats into his subspace for later. It had been a while since he’d seen treats like that around; most bots hoarded their stashes, or learned to make it themselves, failed, and then proceeded to horde the disgusting botches anyway. “Hm. Well, shanix it isn’t, but I’ll accept it.”

“I’ll be back in a sec, Arcee,” Bumblebee said, already on his way out the door. “Don’t forget to make that call later.”

“I won’t,” she replied, giving Bumblebee a friendly wave goodbye. After a few seconds, she looked to Starscream and her smile fell from her face like it were an article of clothing. Still, she thought better than to bring up what had happened the night before. It wasn’t as if Starscream was going to apologize for being such an aft, he ‘had no use for such platitudes,’ after all. Instead, she picked up her controller again and resumed her turn with the game, hoping Starscream would take the queue to leave her alone.

Starscream did stand there a moment, as if expecting her to say something, but once the cheerful music resumed, he understood that wasn’t going to happen. She seemed intent not to pay him any mind, which was good. Neutrality was better than animosity. But Primus, the silence was thick, even with the happy-go-lucky soundtrack. Whatever, he was well on his way to a relaxing evening, and now he also had some sweets to enjoy. Things were finally looking up again. So, rather than dig himself another hole, he chose to turn around and leave in silence.

Arcee watched him from the corner of her optic, then slowly sighed and paused the game again once he was out of sight. She sent a ping to the code she was given in the note, and a modulated voice came through the other end. “State your business,” it commanded, in a garbled tone. Arcee snorted in surprise, saying nothing. “...Hello? Can you hear me?” The voice asked, no longer sounding as mysterious, but just as modulated.

“You are such a fragging nerd,” Arcee said, lovingly. “Really? A voice-changer?”

The voice scoffed. “Ugh, it wasn’t my idea. It was Smokescreen’s. How do you turn this stupid thing off?”

“Hi, Arcee,” another, higher-pitched and further away voice said.

“Hi, Smokey,” she replied. “Anyway, what’s the weather going to be like this afternoon?” She asked, reclining in her seat. She had to admit, the super-secret angle was as cute as it was stupid. And, just a little bit fun.

“Partly cloudy,” Knockout said, now sounding normal.

“Sounds like a good night to stay in, huh?”

“Indeed it does, my friend. Indeed it does,” Knockout replied, cheerfully. “Get your rest, Arcee. We’ll talk again soon after I take care of some business.”

The Nemesis was suddenly abuzz with activity. Lazerbeak flew from the ship and delivered a message to Bulkhead, which was then delivered to Wheeljack. It was tricky to be discreet with delivery while Ultra Magnus was on the scene at the mine, but Lazerbeak was a professional. Plus, it’s really easy to pull Wheeljack away from monotonous work with literally anything, especially if it’s a drone he’s come to enjoy the company of making happy little trills like his very own coal mine canary. With Wheeljack’s inclusion, they had their venue: the Jackhammer, parked several miles from the Nemesis.

Bulkhead couldn’t leave the construction site just yet, but that was alright. Bumblebee was available to do a bit of heavy lifting. Soundwave set him up with a simple task: move some of the engex off the Nemesis and hide it inside one of the ship’s rear thrusters for Bulkhead to pick up later. Not too much, not too little. Soundwave took the liberty of looping the security camera footage outside of the storage room where they kept the engex. From there, Bumblebee just had to be careful not to get caught. Ultra Magnus was circling back to take stock on their weapons.

The general walked down the hall, looking over their previous stock report on his way to weapons storage. Out of the corner of his optic, he caught a glimpse of Bumblebee passing by, wheeling a large cart with a tarp on top of it. It wasn’t difficult to see what was wrong with this picture: he was supposed to be taking the day off. “Bumblebee? What are you doing?” He asked, an eighty-twenty mixture of suspicion and concern in his tone.

Bumblebee paused and took a brief moment to allow himself a panicked expression, just until Ultra Magnus came to his side and he leaned against the cart. “Oh, hey Ultra Magnus, sir,” he began, as Ultra Magnus’ optics remained glued to the tarp. “I was just carting some energon into storage. Those crystals we got ahold of just finished distilling.”

“Hm. Let me see.” Ultra Magnus grabbed the tarp and tore it off without waiting for Bumblebee to confirm. But, all that he found was a bunch of neatly-stacked energon cubes. About twelve or so, it seemed.

“Not a bad yield, huh?” Bumblebee grinned and patted one of the cubes. “There’s some more for me to grab, too.”

Ultra Magnus squinted and re-secured the tarp to prevent any of the cubes from slipping off. “Be that as it may, you shouldn’t be working today, Bumblebee. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Bumblebee pushed air past his dentae. “Psssh, this is nothing, sir. Besides, Knockout said it was good to stretch my hydraulics, so I figured pushing a cart around would be good exercise. Don’t worry, I’m being careful.”

“Hmmm...Well, if you’re sure. I’ll be taking stock, if you need me. As you were.” He turned and continued on into the weapons storage room, and Bumblebee silently exhaled with relief. Nailed it. Now the rest would be up to Bulkhead to move.

As the day dragged on, Starscream found himself becoming increasingly bored. There was only so many times he could lap the ship inside and out before things got stale. He’d gotten an invite to a private group-comm by Knockout, but he ignored it. If anyone needed him, they could call him the old fashioned way instead of committing to this silly stealth bit. Normally, this would be an ideal time for him to plan for what was to come, a time he always relished. But, he just couldn’t focus. His processor was a jumbled mess of past, present, and future. Fond memories, mixed with this dark, topsy-turvy reality, and the emptiness that awaited him outside. Damn Smokescreen for getting him to bring up his history again! And double-damn him for his slagging sentimentality!

Even if it was somewhat worth it, if only to find out what a colossal failure Smokescreen was before the war. “Eight thousand shanix,” he whispered to himself with a snort. He wondered if that was cumulative, or just the most he’d lost at one time. Smokescreen, the chosen one, suffering from gambling debt. The war had changed him very much, indeed. And for the better. Starscream could relate to that, in a way. Though he was never that pathetic, he was certainly...average. He was built for war, a blueprint designed by Cybertron’s most brilliant minds, another zero to a total, a Seeker lined up with hundreds that looked exactly like him. And to make matters worse, he was the middle child between two outliers.

Starscream shook his helm. ‘No, damn it,’ he chastised himself, internally. ‘Stop thinking about them!’ He sighed, rubbing his forehelm. God, he needed that drink. And a distraction. Which, thankfully, he got one in the form of a ping from Knockout. Starscream ducked into a broom closet that he knew wouldn’t be opened anytime soon (rest in peace, whatever-your-name-was) and leaned against one of the racks of cleaning products. “Starscream.”

“Did you not get that invite I sent you earlier? To-” Knockout coughed, “-theprivatecommchat?”

“Yes. But I didn’t accept it, because this is stupid,” he said, grinning wide as if to show off slag between his dentae. “Nobody’s going to intercept our comms if Soundwave is a part of this operation.”

“You’re such a party pooper, Starscream. It’s all in good fun,” Knockout teased. “And i’s not too late for me to rescind your invitation, you know. If you’re so intent on being a stick in the mud.”

Starscream faked a pout and twisted his pinky into his unscarred cheek. “Aww, and what will Smokescreen and the others have to say about that, hmmm~?” He chuckled, evilly. “I’m in too deep for you to back out now, Knockout. Unless you want Ultra Magnus to hear about your little soiree.”

“Mm. Point taken,” Knockout said, displeased with Starscream’s threat. But, only for a moment, as his smile audibly returned. “Well, in that case, we’ll all see you and Smokescreen at eight o’ clock. He knows the directions, and Ratchet has him under his personal round-the-clock surveillance, so good luck sneaking him out.”
Starscream suddenly shot upright. “Wait, what!? Why do I have to sneak him out!?”

“Because Bulkhead and Wheeljack are busy setting up the party, Soundwave is on camera duty, Arcee said she doesn’t want to, and Bumblebee already did his bulk of the work. Maybe if you were in the group chat, you would have known that~”

Starscream snarled. “Ohh, you slag-sucking little—”

“Aw, I love you too!” Knockout interrupted. “Now run along and don’t disappoint poor Smokey. See you there!”

“Knockout!” But the comm was already cut, and he’d put himself on do-not-disturb. Medics shouldn’t even have that option available! He grumbled and referenced his internal clock to see how much time he had: an hour. Great! Wonderful! Generous, even! If he were taking candies from a sparkling, that is! Starscream growled and kicked at a dry pail, causing a loud clatter that didn’t really make him feel any less angry. “That conniving, rust-crusted…! Be petty to me all you want, but don’t you dare punish Smokescreen for whatever crime you’ve pinned me with!” He declared to nobody, suddenly feeling very noble now that he was being slighted.

He huffed and rubbed his face-plate, then began to pace the small area of the broom closet. Alright, Ratchet had Smokescreen under a tight watch. But Soundwave was handling the camera feed, so he shouldn’t have to worry about anything incriminating coming back to bite him. The hard part was convincing Ratchet to let him take Smokescreen out. Because there was no possible way that they could slip out undetected without Ratchet sounding the alarm and getting them all caught. If there was a reality in which only Knockout would get caught, he would gladly forgo the party to achieve that...and also deny Smokescreen said party in the process, undermining his previous nobility entirely.

He needed a damned good reason to get him out of there. “Alright...Let’s start by asking if he’s doing well. If he is, let’s be forward! ‘Why, that’s excellent news! I was wondering if he would be interested in accompanying me for a walk, I think the fresh air would do him good! And you’ve been working so hard, Ratchet!’ Yes, hence your...lack of decent berthside manner.” Starscream shook off his own venom by flexing his digits.

“’You should take the night off, I’ll keep an eye on Smokescreen. So to speak, of course, so to speak!’” He laughed at his own joke as if he were standing by a water-cooler, then sighed, allowing his wings to droop down his back. “This isn’t going to work, he hates me.” But was there really a better option? Starscream cleared his intake and steadied himself. He corrected his posture, held his wings high, and ran his servos over his helm. Time to lay on the charm.

He made his way to the med bay, taking note of how much quieter the Nemesis had become. It was smart to do this at sundown, when everyone was already making their way back to their berths. Just enough movement to not be suspicious, but not too much that they could get spotted. Once he reached the doors, he took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. His chances of success were slim, but that had never stopped him before, now, had it? Raising his chin high once more, he stepped through the doors and put on his friendliest smile. “Good evening, all! Pardon my intrusion, Ratchet, I was…”

He paused. His wings flicked.

The room was dead silent; the medical equipment had been shut down, and there was no hum from the lights. Starscream walked over to Smokescreen’s berth and placed his servos onto it. Warm, but empty. “What the f-…” he whispered, trailing off. Where in the Pit was Smokescreen? Where was Ratchet? He placed his digits to his audial and sent Smokescreen a comm. As it rang, he tapped his pede, impatiently. Primus, please, not another sudden crisis. Any more of those and Starscream was well on his way to an early scrapheap. Thankfully, Smokescreen picked up just as Starscream was about to give up. “Smokescreen! Where the frag are you!?”

Smokescreen wheezed out a shaking breath on the other end of the comm-link, which initially froze Starscream’s fuel lines, but slowly became more cartoonish as it continued. “I’mmmm…” he took in another deep, shuddering breath, “deaaaaa-duh.”

Starscream’s expression flattened, unamused. “Oh, you will be, if you don’t cut the slag and tell me where you are.”

“I’ve turned to duuuuuust…I’m in the veeeeeeentsssss…”
Starscream decided now was as good a time as any to use an old technique of his. He shifted onto one pede to settle into the correct posture, locking his comm and crossing his arms. “One…”

“...What?” Smokescreen said, though he didn’t let up on the bedraggled cadence.

“Two…”

Smokescreen’s haggard breathing ceased. “Okay, okay! Joke’s over! I’m outside with Knockout, we’re waiting on you before we head out.”

Starscream’s optic component fizzled a bit. “Ah. So, he came to get you…” That would make sense. The only thing that could get Ratchet to leave his post was either Optimus or a fellow medic. “Be sure to let him know how funny this waste of my time and patience was, would you? I’d rather not waste my breath doing it myself.”

“You got it,” he said, chuckling. “Now come on, we’ve got a party to go to!”

Finally.

Starscream ended the comm and walked out of the med bay, forcing that setback off his shoulders. He made his way down the hall, heading towards the main entrance, when he heard a familiar voice echo out from behind him.

“Starscream?” Ratchet asked, approaching from behind.

Starscream froze in place and his wings flicked skyward. Scrap. Of course, Knockout could convince Ratchet to get lost, but convincing him to stay lost? That was a different beast entirely. Starscream turned around, stammering. “Uh, I...Well, you see-”

“Where’s Smokescreen?” He asked, his voice darkening slightly. Not from malice, but from urgency. “I just went into the med bay to check on him, but he’s not there.”

“He’s gone?” He asked, quickly feigning ignorance. “How could that be? He was under your watchful optic, was he not?” He crossed his arms and raised his chin, jutting it out in an accusation he knew to be false. “Or was Knockout supposed to watch over him?”
“Yes, he was, actually…” Ratchet scoffed and pinched between his optics. “Turn my back for one fragging second…” he grumbled, trailing off into incomprehensible, tired gibberish.

Starscream shifted on his pedes, now looking for an escape. “...Well, I suppose it would be best for us to divide and search for them, wouldn’t it? Knockout’s put himself on do not disturb, so we won’t have much luck there. Look, I’ll check this way-” he said, pointing towards the nearest exit “-and you can check the opposite way. Divide and conquer.”

“You seem awfully keen on getting away from me,” Ratchet quickly observed, placing his servos onto his hips. “Sounds to me like you know something I don’t...Am I wrong?”

Double scrap. “Me?” Starscream gestured to himself, smiling as innocently as possible. “What gives you that idea?”

Ratchet raised a single brow. “Because you didn’t suggest calling Smokescreen, you immediately jumped at the opportunity to separate.” Starscream’s wings drooped, and Ratchet rolled his optics now that he had confirmation of the facts. “Quit beating around the bush and just tell me what’s going on.”

Starscream fidgeted with his digits, postured like a kicked puppy. Great...Party’s over, and now he’s going to be outed as a snitch, even though this wasn’t his fault. It was Knockout’s, as usual. He sighed, defeated, and resigned himself to telling the truth. “...Okay, so Kn-”

“Helloooo?” Knockout half-whispered, half-shouted from down the hall. “Starscream, did you trip and bust your helm or something? I’m not going to wait out there for you all-” he rounded the corner with Smokescreen in tow, and the two instantly froze upon seeing Ratchet “niiiiiiiight…”

Ratchet raised his chin, looking down at the three guilty mechs. “Mmmhm,” he hummed, lowly, and more to himself than anyone else.

Knockout grinned and batted his optics. “Well. This is awkward, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Smokescreen agreed, his own optics turned to the floor. “Hey, Ratchet…”

“Hey,” Ratchet responded, before letting out a loud sigh. “Alright, Knockout, tell me what’s going on.”

Knockout clasped his servos together with a smile. “Ratchet. My dear superior medical officer-”

“The short version would be nice.”

“Right,” he deflated, his expression turning as flat as his tone. “I asked Ultra Magnus if we could have a celebration to, you know, celebrate our recent success with the mine and the assembler and the whole ‘we’re all still alive’ thing. Plus Starscream admitted to being wrong for the first time.” Starscream sneered at him, but Knockout paid him no mind. “He said ‘no,’ for reasons I, admittedly, understand. We’re still low on supplies, even if that’s going to change soon, and we need to be on our A-game now that we’ve made our first outgoing call. But you know what else is true? We are tired.

“The war is over, and that’s great and all, but it only ended, what, a week or two ago? Maybe less than that? And then we got Starscream back, which wasn’t an easy transition for anyone, including him. And then Soundwave nearly died. And after that we had to deal with the slagging scraplets, and...Ratchet, someone exploded on me!” Knockout’s voice broke suddenly, which caused everyone in the room to be taken aback. It didn’t really sound like remorse, but it still sounded like some form of pain at the memory of it all.

“We were nearly eaten alive, from the inside out! We almost lost Arcee, and no offense, but she’s one of my favorite people here. And if you weren’t there to help, Ratchet, I don’t…” He looked at his servos, struggling to find the words, before he sighed. “...We somehow managed to get out of this last excursion alive, with something to show for it. And by the Pit, if I don’t get to sit back and drink an engex spritzer within the next few hours I may have a complete mental breakdown. I can’t imagine I’m the only one who feels that way, either…” He cleared his throat as the silence dragged on. “Sorry, that wasn’t the short version. The short version is: Ultra Nag can be mad at me all he wants. These bots need a win that actually feels like a win, and if no one else will give them that, I will.”

Starscream gawked at Knockout, surprised by his seemingly selfless intentions. Not to mention his sudden break upon remembering poor Hank. Starscream knew Knockout, and he was simultaneously the best and worst medic he’d ever seen in the Decepticons. Skilled and swift with his instruments, with horrible berthside manner and a lackadaisical relationship with consent. He’d said himself, many times, that he was ‘better at breaking things than fixing them.’ He highly doubted that Knockout mourned Hank. But, he was upset that he had failed to save him. And he felt he could have done even worse. Perhaps it was merely an emotion that came from a crushed sense of pride, but Starscream supposed that this, too, could be seen as grief. At least, for someone like Knockout.

Ratchet frowned, his optics sympathetic, but only for a moment before he resumed a stern expression. “Knockout, this is gross negligence towards your patient. Smokescreen is concussed, he shouldn’t be partying.” Smokescreen moved to take Knockout’s side, but Ratchet held up a digit. “Ep-ep, let me finish. As for Ultra Magnus, he was right to deny your initial request. You said it yourself, we’re too short on supplies to get big heads. And this is not only a massive breach of conduct, but also a breach of trust. One that you will reap the consequences of...”

The three mechs hung their heads, one by one. Knockout from defeat, Smokescreen from shame, and Starscream from a general want to escape this lecture. Ratchet looked them all over, studying their postures, before he continued. “...Tomorrow morning. So long as I get a cube of high-grade, and a promise that Smokescreen will be closely supervised.”

Chapter Text

Well, this was certainly an unforeseen turn of events. Instead of being sent to their rooms like a bunch of children, Starscream and Co. were all walking side-by-side with Ratchet, on their way to Knockout’s ill-advised and very illegal party. Knockout and Smokescreen were clearly elated by this good fortune, while Starscream remained silent as they exited the Nemesis. While it was nice that they were getting away with this outing for the time being, he thought that Knockout and Smokescreen weren’t really looking at the bigger picture. Ratchet had said they would reap the consequences of this action tomorrow morning, which, in his mind, meant that the medic still very much intended to squeal on them. Namely, himself. And Starscream would rather remain blameless.

The night was surprisingly cold, and Starscream held himself, his wings instinctively turning inwards to shield himself from the wind. Smokescreen was chattering on with Ratchet about how grateful he was to get to go out, and how much he owed Ratchet, how great he was, and so on and so forth. Starscream had honestly tuned him out as soon as the influx of compliments began to hit the air; he just wanted to go get a drink, then go to bed, same as Ratchet. Maybe then his memory banks would finally seal themselves shut long enough for him to think rationally.

Starscream shivered and rubbed his arms as a gust of wind washed over him. He was used to the cold, but only when his thruster was running hot enough to keep him warm. Knockout suddenly made his presence known with a gentle tap to Starscream’s pauldron, which rang like a concierge’s bell. “Cold?” Knockout asked, reminding Starscream of his illustrious rank: Captain Obvious.

He grunted with a nod, continuing to tune out Smokescreen and Ratchet’s casual chattering. “Just how far is this venue, exactly?”

“Sadly, quite far. About ten miles west of the Nemesis.” When Starscream’s aghast face snapped to meet his own, Knockout smiled in an empathetic way. “We had to be discreet, and Wheeljack’s ship is about as discreet as we can be while still being safe.”

Smokescreen came to Starscream’s opposite side, sporting a confident smile. “We were planning on driving the rest of the way, once we got far enough from the ship.”

“I am not hitching a ride on a grounder ever again,” Starscream snapped, pointedly in Smokescreen’s direction, as if assuming he would be the one to offer one.

“Who said anything about hitching a ride? You could just fly there while we drive,” Smokescreen offered, surprising only Starscream and Ratchet.

“Ohhh no,” Ratchet warned, his expression stern once more. “I don’t care how well you think Starscream can fly, the fact of the matter is that he’s still completely blind. It’s too risky.”

“He flew in the Nemesis just fine, and he got us out of that energon mine without crashing!” A bit of a lie, but Starscream wasn’t about to correct him. Plus, he was barely conscious at the time, so he likely didn’t remember all the facts. “This should be a breeze in comparison,” he placed his servo onto Starscream’s pauldron, reassuringly. “What do you say, partner? I’ll spot you for the landing, or whatever!”

Starscream hummed, skeptically. “Have you ever landed an aircraft in your life?”

“Nope,” he said, with contradictory confidence. “But how hard could it be? I’ve seen you pull off some fancy landings before.”

So had Bumblebee, quite recently. Starscream’s face screwed further into hesitation, but Ratchet’s scoff pulled him out of it. “Absolutely not,” he said, pointing at Smokescreen with a scowl. “Starscream has pulled off two miracles, yes, and we’re all grateful for them, but the likelihood of a third is slim to none. It’s better not to continue to test his luck and just walk the rest of the way.”

“’Luck?’” Starscream asked, indignantly, raising his wings. “You think all of that was just ‘luck?’”

Ratchet sighed, shaking his helm. He should have known better than to present Starscream with facts. If they ever put his capabilities into question, he never accepted them. But Ratchet just really, really didn’t want to scrape him off the ground tonight. “I’m sure your neural net and general skill as a flier comes into play in some capacity, but flying blind is still flying blind, Starscream. I’d expect you of all people to know better than to take unnecessary risks.”

Him, of all people? Starscream bared his dentae and clenched his servos at the choice of words. So, that was how it was: Ratchet still only saw him as a coward. A coward that had just gotten lucky a few times. ‘Well,’ he thought, ‘if it wasn’t for this coward, all of your Autobot friends would be dead.’ And that was lucky, yes, on Ratchet’s end. He was so, so very lucky that Starscream had decided to help them. He could have left them all for dead, but if Ratchet was right about one thing, Starscream did know better than to take unnecessary risks. But he was also intelligent enough to know the difference between a necessary risk and an unnecessary one.

If Starscream wanted to leave, he needed to fly. And he would need to learn to do it blind. And there really was no time like the present, was there? Especially if it meant he could rub Ratchet’s face in his flagrant dismissal of Starscream’s skill. “You know, Ratchet,” he began, smiling meanly at the medic, “it occurs to me that you’ve never actually gotten a front row seat to my ‘miracles.’ I think we should change that.” Starscream elbowed Smokescreen. “Start spotting, Smokey,” he commanded, then began to sprint ahead of the group at a surprising speed for a blind mech with heeled pedes.

“Now you’ve gone and done it,” Knockout said to Ratchet with a smile. Ratchet’s optics bugged for a moment and his intake opened to shout, but he was too late. Starscream leapt and transformed, lighting the ground with a flash of fire before soaring upwards into the night sky. “Better swap into your vehicle mode, if you want to keep up.” Knockout then transformed, speeding off to meet Starscream’s speed. Smokescreen whooped excitedly and followed suit, leaving Ratchet in their literal dust. The senior medic growled to himself in frustration before he, too, transformed. Despite his anger, he managed to suppress the urge to light up his siren.

Starscream counted in his head as he ascended: one hundred feet, two hundred, four hundred, six hundred, all the way to one thousand. The air was still too dense at this height to reach maximum speed, but that wasn’t the goal here. He needed to remain within eye-shot of his companions, and to not fly too far ahead of them. Once his wings adjusted to the density of the air, Starscream slowly felt himself begin to relax into the familiar ritual. The air cut into his frame like a knife at the initial ascent, but now that he had begun to cruise, his thrusters heat had time to envelope his entire body. The ideal state of being: cold exterior, warm interior. His engine was deeply humming, while his wings cut through the sky, and the air of night filled his ventilators like the sweetest, softest rush of nicotine.

He only wished he could see the stars again.

But that day would come, one way or another. And when it did, he would fly so high and so fast that the stars would part like ocean waves, marking the sky in the shape of his path like a pen to paper. He would sign his name in the universe and finally claim it as his own. Starscream smiled without lips, drinking in the ghosts of constellations, until Smokescreen brought him back to reality with a ping to his Comm-link. He answered, but said nothing, knowing Smokescreen would waste no time in speaking first. “Yo, dude, you’re going too fast! Ease up a bit!”

Whoops. Starscream hadn’t realized it, but he had been progressively picking up speed this entire time. He slowed his pace, cringing as the wind took advantage of this moment of weakness and rattled his wings. He grunted over the comm as he struggled to maintain a horizontal posture. “Ugh, I had forgotten how slow you grounders are.”

“It’s a little thing called ‘friction,’ Star. It’s like wind resistance, but for the floor.”

Starscream grunted, ignoring him. “How much longer?”

“Let’s see if you can find out,” Smokescreen said, sounding hopeful. “Feel anything up ahead?”

Starscream huffed, annoyed that Smokescreen wasn’t intent on answering him directly. But, he’d humor this nonetheless. It was in his best interest to continue practicing, after all. He exhaled, focusing past the thick wash of wind, to find shapes within the expanse of his wings. The floor was but a gentle hum below, like an ocean of static noise, and when he bowed his nose, the static shimmered with greater speed until it became something more solid. Three fine lines raked through the abstract waters like claws, revealing the paths of his compatriots beneath him. He assumed Knockout as at the head of the trio. Show off.

Still, that was only what was directly below him. What was ahead was a mystery, which likely meant there was nothing. But, as he made small rotations of his wings, he did feel slight changes ahead of him. Like feeling at marbles with the tips of his digits, pushing them away with every touch. Far too fragile, fickle, and far in the distance to make any sense of it all. “Nothing,” Starscream grumbled, “at least, nothing immediately ahead of me.”

“Sounds about right. But keep focusing! Let me know when something pops up and I’ll tell you if I see it.”

Ratchet increased his speed to drive alongside Smokescreen. “Stop encouraging him, Smokescreen, this is only going to get him hurt in the long run.”

Smokescreen scoffed, but it lacked any venom. “Relax, Ratchet. I’m telling you, he’s got this! You’ll see, with enough practice, we might not even be able to tell he’s blind.”

Ratchet decreased his speed slightly, allowing himself to lag behind once more. “Yes, and that’s precisely what worries me,” he mumbled to himself.

“Ah!” Starscream suddenly gasped and tilted left as a numb spot on his wing began to grow in size.

“What is it?” Smokescreen asked through his comm once again.

“There! Is that it? Maybe, er-” he grumbled rapidly to himself “-three, four kliks north west?”

Smokescreen sped up, reaching Knockout’s side to get a better view of the horizon. As they passed by some construction equipment, the Jackhammer came into view, lit up with multi-colored spotlights. Smokescreen beamed, his engine revving with pride. “Yeah, that’s it, Star!”

Ratchet internally gawked, but did not vocalize his discomfort.

“He found it?” Knockout asked, sounding just as pleased as Smokescreen.

“Yeah! Okay, Star, it’s time to come in for landing. Start heading down, I’ll watch you!”

Starscream took in a deep breath and exhaled as he bowed his nose downward. “Alright...I swear to Primus, if I crash because of you, your concussion is going to be the least of your worries!”

“Don’t worry, we’ve got you! Just keep going down, you’re doing great!”

Soundwave stood inside of the Jackhammer before its center console. From the head of the ship, he had a nice view of the venue they had almost finished setting up. Bulkhead and Wheeljack stood outside, Wheeljack putting together a holoscreen projector on the ground while Bulkhead moved their speakers to Soundwave’s specifications. The wires and speaker boxes framed the venue in a semi-circle, with Soundwave looming above it all from the Jackhammer’s front window. It really was a great spot for a DJ, especially with the spotlights Bumblebee had provided. Arcee was on punch duty, because, in her own words, she ‘didn’t trust any of them to know how to make a punch that actually tasted good. Or didn’t knock you out in one sip.’ Soundwave was thankful, because he didn’t trust any of them either. Especially Wheeljack. He was too eager to take up the job.

He looked over the playlist him and Knockout had put together over again, a healthy mix between Cybertronian music as well as Earth songs Knockout had acquired. Legally, of course. Not Soundwave, though. He’d stolen every last one of these over a period of centuries, and was quite proud of it. Especially now that his stash of pirated audio files could be labeled as a historical archive. It was well-paced, as well; starting with slower songs until it reached a climax and slowly wound down for the night.

Though Soundwave was never a mech that could be easily read, he felt that it was clear to see his excitement. And he was right: the tendrils gave him away as they moved around like charmed snakes whenever they weren’t in active use. Lazerbeak shared in his joy from the outside of the ship, gliding around and chirping little tunes to the guests. It was nice to see his drone so happy, and he indulged in watching as it spiraled around, only for him to catch a glimpse of another aircraft approaching. Soundwave straightened and sent Lazerbeak a silent command, which Lazerbeak immediately accepted. A little red dot began to blink on Lazerbeak’s visor, and Soundwave stepped closer to the window to watch as Starscream slowly descended.

Bulkhead grunted as he set down the final set of speakers, then planted his servos on his back and stretched. Before he could proudly proclaim that he was finished, however, he heard the telltale sound of a jet engine whistling overhead, and turned to face it, along with the other guests. As it turned out, overhead was a bit of an overstatement, as he found the reflection of the party’s humble beginnings in Starscream’s cockpit. He blinked unevenly, then shouted, “hit the deck!” Before diving to one side. Wheeljack covered his helm, Bumblebee dove forward and did the same, while Arcee crawled underneath the punch table.

But Starscream abruptly pulled up, causing the dirt to burst outwards in a ring as his nose turned skyward. He climbed upwards for a mere few seconds before the sound of his transformation sequence cut through the hum of his engine and snuffed it into silence. Starscream’s frame drifted upwards a second longer, before his helm began to make its journey towards the ground in a wide arc. But, like a cat falling from a great height, Starscream quickly corrected his descent, flipping backwards until his pedes were in their rightful place beneath him, and he hit the ground with only a slight bend in his knees. However, instead of gracefully straightening, his knees wobbled and he flopped forward, catching himself with his servos with a shuddering sigh of relief.

“Oh, Primus,” he whimpered to himself, clenching his digits into the floor. Yep, Smokescreen was going to die tonight. He’d decided. The angle of descent was far too steep, and Smokescreen was saying ‘pull up’ as if saying it a hundred times in the span of one second would make his wish come true. Even if he did manage it, he only managed to say it about five or six times, and he had chosen to do so when Starscream had already decided for himself that it was time to correct his angle. Still, despite all of that, he managed to land...And with a bit of a flourish, too, now that he thought about it. Starscream reset his vocalizer and pushed himself to stand with a new veneer of confidence. “...Sorry I’m late.”

“Holy slag,” Arcee breathed, still under the punch table.

The party guests gawked in unison at Starscream, standing in the center of the makeshift dance floor, as his entourage finally rolled in and transformed. Knockout rushed to Starscream’s side with a surprisingly concerned expression, which quickly faded as his processor caught up with his optics and determined that he was, in fact, standing upright. He laughed with relief and put his servo over his spark to steady it. “By the Pit, Starscream! Grand entrances are my speciality, you get your own!” Starscream, in a particularly good mood now that he was undoutedly alive, took a split second to stick out his glossa in Knockout’s direction.

Smokescreen transformed without any grace, stumbling forwards with his pedes kicking progressively higher behind him while his helm got closer and closer to the ground. Bumblebee quickly intercepted him and helped Smokescreen to stand upright. Smokescreen gladly held onto Bumblebee and laughed away his frayed nerves. “Nice save, Bee. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Bumblebee said with a reassuring smile and a pat to Smokescreen’s back. He then looked up, only to lock optics with Ratchet. He blanched, looking around for an excuse as if it would be growing out of the ground, but Ratchet just raised his servo.

“Calm down, I’m not here to shut you down, I’m just grabbing a drink,” he said, already walking to the punch bowl. Bumblebee breathed a sigh of relief and Arcee crawled out from under the punch table with an incredulous expression.

“You’re not going to shut us down, Ratchet?” She asked, pointedly taking a moment to look at Starscream, who was still posturing, before locking optics with Ratchet. “How did you even find out about this?”

Ratchet sighed, knowing that Arcee was still cross with him. “I ran into them when I left my suite to check on Smokescreen one last time, and Knockout did a pretty decent job convincing me not to inform Ultra Magnus about this, to give credit where it’s due.” He looked over his shoulder at Knockout, who was already gleefully running to meet Soundwave in the Jackhammer. He turned back to Arcee, who still looked skeptical, then sighed once again. Not out of annoyance, but just as a means to release his guilt in some way. “...And, I could really use a drink to clear my head. I’ve got some… things I need to sort out. And some things I need to say, once I figure out how best to say them.”

Arcee’s optics widened slightly as she saw Ratchet’s shift, softening into something remorseful. No, not just remorse. He looked pained. Earnestly so, as his gaze remained locked into her own, unwavering, searching for nothing but understanding. Arcee was angry with him for what he’d said about Cliffjumper, yes, but not that angry. Yet Ratchet looked as thought he was suddenly being torn apart from the inside, and it made Arcee worry for his mental state. Was this really just because of their fight? Because of Starscream?

Regardless, Arcee instinctively took hold of one of Ratchet’s servos with a reassuring smile. “...Whatever you need, Ratchet.” Ratchet smiled back, but only looked slightly relieved. And Arcee pulled him towards the punch bowl with a more earnest smile. “C’mon, let’s get you that drink. You want punch, or just some plain high-grade?”

“High grade for me, thank you.” He paused, staring at the punch bowl, which glowed a pleasant shade of pink. “...Who made the punch?” He asked, unable to hide a small grimace.

“Me.”

“Thank Primus. I do not want to pump anyone’s tank tonight.”

Smokescreen and Bumblebee came to Starscream’s side, and Smokescreen grabbed ahold of Starscream’s pauldron to give it an excitable little shake. “I knew you could pull it off, Star! That was a sick landing!”

Bumblebee nodded in agreement. “Definitely one of the better ones I’ve seen, that’s for sure.”

Starscream glared at Bumblebee in warning, then grabbed Smokescreen’s servo and callously tossed it away from himself. “Let’s make one thing clear, Smokey. You are never going to ‘spot me’ again, for as long as I function. That was horrendous.”

Smokescreen chuckled, sheepishly. “Yeah, that was kinda bad. But you manged to get out of it alright, that’s pretty cool, huh?”

“Yes, and you should have expected nothing less of me,” Starscream said with a haughty smile.

“I already said I knew you had it in you, dude,” he said, smiling and speaking so earnestly that Starscream was actually taken aback somewhat.

“Well… good, then.” He cleared his throat and turned in a circle, forcing Bumblebee and Smokescreen to take a step back to not get thwacked by his wings. “Now, then, where is the engex?”

“Not so fast, Starscream,” Wheeljack said, sauntering up to meet them. “We can’t start going crazy just yet, we’re gonna get in a group call with the kids to catch up first.”

“What.” Starscream’s face froze in a smile against his will, and Wheeljack shrugged.

“Don’t look at me, Bumblebee, Arcee and Bulkhead are the ones who said it wouldn’t be ‘appropriate’ for the kids to see us getting wasted.”

Smokescreen gasped with a smile, looking as though he were about to implode with happiness at the news. “Wait, really!?”

Bumblebee grinned and patted Smokescreen on the back, cementing that Starscream’s disappointment was either not noticed or being outright ignored. “Yep, Knockout worked his magic and rounded them all up at the last second. They’ll be on in about five minutes.”

“Make that three!” Knockout called as he ran over to meet the crowd with Soundwave walking ominously in the background (which was not on purpose, it’s just how he was.) “Places, people! Everyone get in front of the holo-projector! The children will be online soon and I have worked too hard for us to be the ones who show up late!”

Ratchet paused in surprise as he was about to raise his freshly-filled cube to his lips, and Arcee smiled up at him, impishly. “Still going to leave after you finish your drink?”

Ratchet huffed and returned her smile. “Hm, I suppose I could stick around a bit longer, just to be polite and say ‘hello,’” he said, knowing that Arcee saw right through him, and he didn’t really care. Arcee hummed with a smirk and took him by the arm, leading him to where the crowd had begun to pool together before the holo-projector on the ground.

As everyone set up, Starscream remained in place, tuning out the chatter. No one had told him that the squishies were going to be involved. And he was certain that if he spoke this fact aloud, Knockout would gleefully tell him that he would have known, if he had joined their stupid private comm-chat. And if he had known, Starscream wouldn’t have come in the first place. Dealing with the Autobots was bad enough, and now he had to suffer the company of their loud, annoying, vertically-challenged pets? He was really beginning to wonder how much more of this arrangement he was actually willing to endure. Not just for a drink, but in general.

He was torn from his anger-induced paralysis when Smokescreen suddenly took him by the arm. “Hey, what’s wrong, Star?” His irritating, dented ally asked, his voice frustratingly concerned. “You’re all tensed up.”

Starscream ground his dentae, just to force his mandible to dislodge itself long enough for him to speak. “...I just wanted to come here to have a drink, and to relax, that was all. Now I’m being told I have to wait, because, apparently, babysitting was the first item on the docket for this evening, and I was not made aware of this.”

Smokescreen frowned. “I mean, if you had been in th-” Starscream’s optic components sparked, instantly dissolving Smokescreen’s statement. “...Okay. I’m sorry that nobody told you, but Jack, Miko and Raf are our friends. We just want to catch up because we miss having them around. We try to keep in touch, but, you know how it is…” When Starscream didn’t waver, Smokescreen smiled and gave his arm a reassuring pat. “And we’ve been telling them about you, you know.”

“You’ve what?” Starscream asked, suddenly appearing aghast at this information.

“I know Bulkhead has, at least. Raf upgraded Miko’s phone recently to make outgoing calls to Bulkhead, even on Cybertron! With Agent Fowler’s permission, of course… after the fact. So, she’s been getting the inside scoop and then keeping the boys in the know on what’s been going on with us. And I know for a fact that the kids are really, really impressed with you, Star.”

Starscream scoffed, pulling himself away. “As if I would take that as some sort of compliment. I want nothing to do with those pests. In fact, I would be very happy if I found out I never had to speak with them, or of them, ever again.”

Smokescreen squinted. “...Is this because Miko kicked your aft that one time?”

Starscream blustered, stammering. “N-No! And she only bested me because she was wearing the apex armor! Anyone could have, in her place! Therefore, it doesn’t count!”

“Uh-huh,” he replied, unconvinced, then shrugged. “Anyway, regardless of how you feel about them, we’re doing this. Besides, it’s only gonna be for a little bit!”

“And if I refuse to participate?”

Smokescreen smiled. “Come on, don’t be like that. The kids are gonna want to talk to you!”

“Oh, I’m sure they would! I’m sure they would all love to point and laugh at me, now that I’ve been pacified against my will.” Starscream crossed his arms, scowling. “They’re not impressed with me, they’re comfortable with me. And that’s…!” Pathetic? Disgusting? Disgraceful? Sad? He growled, not pleased with any of those words.

Smokescreen shook his helm, still smiling. “Star, they wanna talk to you because you’re one of us, now.” Starscream tensed, in shock as well as confusion. “You’re part of the team, just like they are. And they want to meet you… Just give them a chance. Please?”

Starscream stood still, his expression unreadable. ‘One of them?’ As the words sunk in, he scowled once more, figuring that could only mean one thing. “… I am not an Autobot.”

“I never said you were.”

Before Starscream could question Smokescreen on what in the Pit that meant, if not that, the party-goers hooped and hollered in greeting as the holo-projector came alive, manifesting the faces of their human allies in neat, green, semi-opaque little squares. Rafael had the highest-quality camera, sitting in his room, at his desk, as usual. Miko’s came in a close second, but what she had in camera quality she lacked in tidiness. Her room was a mess, decorated ceiling to floor with band posters and objects which shouldn’t typically be used as wall decor, such as throwing darts and a few pilfered road signs. She had her laptop on her bed, angled towards her as she stood in the middle of her room, jumping and screeching with joy. Jack was in his work uniform, sitting in what looked like an office and talking to someone off screen while muted.

Smokescreen beamed with excitement as the kids came online, then looked to Starscream, who remained still, steadfast in his ways. And he frowned, finally accepting defeat. “Okay, fine… You can stay out of it, if you really don’t want to chat. But, if you want to be a part of this team, you can’t just avoid them forever. I know it’s hard for you to give people a chance, but… when we cast a vote on whether or not to let you stay, they voted, too.”

Starscream tensed again, and suddenly, not one sound could reach his audials. At least, nothing besides the unending echo of Smokescreen’s statement. The humans had gotten a say in his fate? And here he was… still here, after all this time. After everything he had done, not just to the Autobots, but the humans, as well. Starscream’s processor became a mess of ratios, equations, and possible candidates on who had voted for what. If he had won out, even by one, single vote, that meant that he had needed a whopping six to cover all eleven of them.

Six didn’t sound like much, but if none of the humans voted in his favor, that meant six of the eight Autobots had to agree to let him stay. And if they weren’t included, he still would have needed five, but that just wasn’t possible, in either case. Six already seemed like such a high number under those circumstances, and to be honest, up until now, he hadn’t even thought about the significance of their vote. It most likely was only a single vote that spared him from wandering, blind, in the wastes until he eventually succumbed to the elements. Because Arcee, Ratchet, and Wheeljack most certainly didn’t vote in his favor. And parsing who could have possibly had the other three votes was not so easy. Was it possible that, if not for the humans, he would be alone? Or worse, already dead?

Suddenly, Starscream felt sick. No, he refused to believe that he owed anything to these humans. These fleshy, loud, annoying little organics. Owing the Autobots was bad enough, but he’d made them even at least ten times over by now, so he no longer had to worry about them lording anything over his head… besides the promise of his optics, of course. But owing a bunch of squishes a favor? Not only was that a complete embarrassment, but it was also a threat to much more than his pride. As all debts were. Eventually, they needed to be paid, and unfortunately he always found himself being asked for far more than he ever initially requested. If he requested anything at all. Considering the hell he’d put these children, and their planet through, he would rather not find out what sort of devilish scheme they could possibly set up.

“Hi, Soundwave…” Raf said, with a hesitant wave. “Feeling okay?”
The silent mech nodded.

“No hard feelings, right?”

He shook his head. Raf remembered how to breathe.

“Jack, are you at work right now?” Arcee asked with a fond smile. Jack’s mouth moved, but no words were heard. “...Jack, you’re muted.”

Jack mouthed out the word ‘oh,’ and then promptly unmuted himself. “Sorry. Yeah, I’m at work. I actually just made manager, so...yeah! I can kinda get away with this sorta thing during the night shift.”

“Well, look at you,” Smokescreen said, putting his servos on his hips. “Don’t you forget about us little people from your throne, king of the K.O. Burger.”

Soundwave, standing completely still at the back, put an emoticon of a crown on his visor and played an audio file of an enthusiastic trumpet.

“Is there any way you could pull some strings to get that grease pit’s mitts off my brand, oh powerful one?” Knockout asked with a smirk.

“No, but I could get you a coupon for a free shake next time you visit Jasper. Or some, uh…” He grabbed something from off screen and held it up to the camera. It was a fridge magnet of a cartoonish cheeseburger with big, googly eyes. “Merchandise,” he completed, with an enticing shake of the magnet’s goofy eyes.

Knockout stroked his chin as if genuinely considering the offer. “Hmmmm… hard pass.”

“Oh, oh! Bulk, Jackie, check this out!” Miko called, before dipping below the camera to pull a guitar case from under her bed. She slapped it onto the messy bedding and mugged for the camera as she clicked open both latches simultaneously. “New guitar.” She then dramatically pulled out the instrument, which resembled a silver battle axe, though it obviously wasn’t as sharp, and it had already been defaced with various stickers. As she posed, Bulkhead and Wheeljack chuckled, ooh’d and aah’d.

“Now that’s a nice piece, kid,” Wheeljack offered.

“Frag yeah it is!” Bulkhead agreed. “What song did you break that beauty in with, Miko?”

“Chop Suey, obviously,” Miko said, rolling her eyes as if it were a stupid question.

Rafael kicked his feet below his desk and adjusted his glasses. “Um… nothing much happening on my end. Nothing interesting, anyway.”

Bumblebee smiled. “Hey, that’s okay! You deserve a break after you managed to get that game working on a Cybertronian game console. Arcee and I love it. I wish you were here to play it with us, Raf.”

Rafael adjusted his glasses again with a smile. “Thanks, Bee. It was pretty tricky, since I only had blueprints to work off of...And, maybe you could, one day. I’d just have to make some sort of remote play system, which shouldn’t be too different from what I did with Miko’s phone, actually…” He was already writing down notes.

“Oh no, you’ve gone and given him another idea,” Ratchet said, with notable fondness in his voice. “At least he has the time for it, since it’s still summer.”

Miko casually plucked at her new guitar, then scanned her screen with an attentive eye. “Hey, where’s Starscream? I thought you said he’d be at this party. I wanna hear about the mine explosion!” She grinned, eyes already sparkling.

Smokescreen gulped and raised his digit. “Actually-”

“Oh yeah!” Bulkhead interrupted, slapping his forehelm. “I totally forgot!” He then searched around, finding Starscream in a matter of seconds. They were in the middle of nowhere, after all. “Hey, Scream! Get in here, the kids wanna hear about how you slagged that Insecticon!”

Starscream had been lost in thought, and gasped shortly as he was ripped back to reality. “Cuh-wha?” He coughed sharply in an attempt to banish that stupid-sounding noise from reality. “Oh, no, thank you. I’d rather let Smokescreen do it. If someone could just direct me to where I could get a drink?”

“Aw, come on, Scream,” Wheeljack said with a smirk. “Smokescreen was barely awake for that! You should do the honors.”

“I concur,” Knockout said with a firm nod, then beckoned Starscream over with his servos, as if the air itself would lead him over. “Come on, Starscream, have your little moment in the spotlight! Your adoring public awaits!”

Starscream growled, bristling with annoyance as he crossed his arms. “Just get someone else to do it and leave me alone!”

The guests were taken aback by the sudden venom in Starscream’s voice, including those on Earth. Miko then pouted while Jack pretended to be interested in a stain on his desk. Raf shrunk in his seat a bit, and Ratchet scowled disapprovingly in Starscream’s direction. Smokescreen cringed and shaded his optics with his servo, then chuckled, awkwardly. “Uh, sorry. Starscream’s kind of upset because he’s been out of the loop today.”

“Which was his own fault,” Knockout muttered, crossing his arms.

“Bulkhead, why don’t you tell the story?” Smokescreen asked, only for Raf to sit up in his seat again.

“Um...Starscream? Hi, it’s Raf again. I’m sorry you’re upset, but, I just...I wanted to say thanks, for coming to save Bumblebee. For saving everyone, really. Twice. You’re...um…”

“Totally freakin’ awesome!” Miko offered, and Jack nodded, not fully realizing that the person of interest wouldn’t be able to see it.

“Yeah, what Miko said.”

Starscream scoffed, but it lacked its usual bite. His wings fluttered, then drooped on his back and he looked away from the source of the noise. Because that’s all this was: noise. Just a nice, pleasant noise that he didn’t care to hear one bit. Like...what were those Earth creatures called again? Crickets. High-pitched, singsong little insects that disrupted his recharge back when he was forced to live off the land. At least until they were no longer a problem, and he had a few sleepless nights aboard the Nemesis. Yes, that was exactly what it was. Something that started off annoying, became pleasant, and would end up causing him an inconvenience in the long run. He tapped his digits on his arm.

Knockout squinted at Starscream. He was receding again, just like he did when he was showered with praise after saving them from the scraplet infestation. It seemed a bit silly to always demand recognition for his efforts, only to shut down when he actually received it. But, Knockout understood. Not personally, but clinically. It was apparently a pretty common reaction to finally getting what you want. To question it or reject it outright. And even though Knockout had sworn the Seeker off, even though he told himself he would never let himself fall back into their old habits, he couldn’t help but get just a little annoyed. Just take the compliment, for Pits sake.

Knockout smirked, realizing that he had an opportunity get Starscream to break quite easily. He just needed a push. So, he reset his vocalizer and turned his attention back to the children. “Well, seeing as Starscream doesn’t have the spoons to socialize, and seeing as I was also present for the event, why don’t I regale you all?” He didn’t need to turn his helm to confirm that Starscream’s wings just swung upward. Miko crawled into her bed and looked at the screen with her chin in her palms, and the boys both leaned in with rapt attention. “I was in the med bay, as per usual, performing my duties alongside Ratchet-” Ratchet nodded in agreement, which wasn’t necessary, but it was nice to have his work acknowledged, “-when all of a sudden, Wheeljack starts lighting up my comms.

“He said, ‘Knockout, get ready to stretch your hydraulics; Bumblebee and Smokescreen are in trouble. Meet me in the bridge.’ Naturally, I sped over right away. And the first thing I see is poor Starscream prostrated over the control module, crying out: ‘Oh, Smokescreen! How could I have let this happen!?’” A set of heeled pedes began approaching at a rapid pace, and Smokescreen did a double-take, then took Knockout by the shoulders in a silent warning. Or was it pleading? Either way, it meant his plan was working. “I should have never let you go out alone, my dear, sweet, innocent-”

Starscream lunged at Knockout and covered his intake with his servo, cutting him short. “That is NOT what happened, you slagger!”

“Well that’s how I remember it,” he said through Starscream’s digits.

Starscream snarled, his wings twitching high on his back in rage. But he was startled out of his upset when Miko loudly gasped on the other side of the screen. He turned his helm towards the sound, seeing nothing, of course, but his imagination was quick to fill in the blanks. It had come to his attention that this was the first time the human children had actually seen him since he’d arrived. The breeze shifted to caress his face-plates in such a soft, cruel way. The new, harsh edges seemed to sharpen with the knife edge of the air, to remind him he was broken, and hideous. His wings swung low again and he released Knockout, turning his head towards the ground with a scowl. They were all looking at him, shrinking him down to something pathetic. It was so easy to do behind a screen.

But he was only partially right. They were certainly shocked by his grisly appearance; they only knew of his lack of optics, not of how violently they had been taken from him. But they were not disgusted, or amused. Rafael’s eyes were heavy with pity, which Starscream would have disliked to see just as much as a smile, but Jack’s frown was stern. It wasn’t pity, it was something else. A mix of misplaced guilt and an odd sense of justice, as if he was contemplating if this was something that needed to be answered for, or if it was deserved. But Miko’s eyes sparkled with amazement. Respect.

“You… look… awesome,” Miko breathed, her mouth spreading into a wide smile whose radiance even reached past the darkness Starscream resided in, light years away. He looked up, in shock, his mouth agape without a word to fill it. “You’re like a-like a robot, angel, ghost, warrior thing,” she stammered, flitting her hands about to try and conjure better words.

Knockout smiled and nudged Starscream, both to ground him and keep the attention on him, even as he spoke. “The name ‘Demon of the Skies’ has never been more appropriate, has it?”

Miko’s eyes may as well have started to change color with the way they continued to brighten. “That’s so totally wicked!”

Jack smiled a little at Miko’s ever-increasing excitement. “So… Is it still a hard ‘no’ on story time? I think Miko might explode if she doesn’t hear it from the source, at this point.”

“Oh, I will. I’ll paint the walls red!”

Starscream’s expression was… difficult to read, at this point. He almost looked to be in awe. Miko, of all of the pesky organics, was the one he least expected to speak of him in such high regard. After all, she had, indeed, ‘kicked his aft’ before. He had always more pictured himself crushing her in his servo with agonizing speed, rather than having her jumping around, asking for what was essentially a bedtime story. It was strange. He felt sick again.

“...Please, Starscream?” Rafael asked, softly.

Warmth spread through Starscream’s chassis, tickling his spark and forcing a smile across his tattered face. He chuckled and fruitlessly shielded his expression from them, his face-plates heating up. Not from embarrassment, but from… something else. He didn’t know what this was, but he simultaneously felt extremely pissed off and immeasurably happy. Had he caught something? He certainly wasn’t drugged, he hadn’t even gotten a drink in him yet. Knockout smiled, having the diagnosis, which was a moderate case of ‘cuteness aggression,’ and gave Starscream another nudge. “Don’t keep them waiting, Starscream,” he whispered in a voice that sounded all-too-pleased.

Starscream sighed and shook his helm. “...Alright. Fine. But only because I know now that none of these bots are qualified to do the job right.”

It started casually enough; Starscream wasn’t much of a storyteller after all. He only gave the details directly, as he remembered them. He did this, she said that, they did this. But the children’s incessant need for details both annoyed and inspired. Eventually, Starscream found himself as the only one standing, while all the party guests sat around him in a semi-circle before the green glow of the holo-projector… Except Smokescreen, who was now being used as set dressing by laying dramatically on his side on the floor, pretending to be knocked out. And Starscream was proving himself to be surprisingly good at panto-miming.

“-That’s when I heard the beast change targets. I heard his massive talons scraping against the stones, leaving me behind, and approaching Smokescreen, ever closer.” He was on one knee, now, scraping the ground with his claws to apply sound effects, relishing in the rapt attention of his audience.

Smokescreen lifted his helm a bit to look at the holo-projector from over his shoulder. “Augh, I really slept through all of that?”

“Shh. You’re still passed out.”

“Oops, sorry,” he whispered, then let his helm fall limp and allowed his glossa to fall back out. “Mleh.”

Starscream stood. “I realized that, though I was safe from where I hung from the ceiling, Smokescreen was entirely prone. And though the Insecticon was fast approaching its own demise, it would not be satisfied leaving this world without taking one of us down with it. I had to do something. But without my weapons in working order, my options were limited.”

“So, what did you do?” Rafael said, now swaddled in a blanket.

Starscream grinned and proudly presented his arm, missile still missing. “I raised my arm to my intake…” He violently threw his arm to the side. “And ripped my missile from its holster with my dentae.”

Arcee’s optics bugged and she covered her intake with the tips of her digits. She turned to find Ratchet and see his reaction, but he was not present in their circle. She continued to search, confused, before she finally spotted him, depositing his emptied cube by the punch bowl and beginning to walk away. She turned to Bumblebee and tapped his arm to get his attention. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered, before pushing herself to stand.

“Awesome…!” Miko breathed, as Arcee disappeared off screen.

She worked up to a brisk jog to catch up with Ratchet, who turned when he heard her approaching and politely stood still to allow her room to slow down. “You shouldn’t really be running,” he said, which caused her to roll her optics a bit.

“Where are you going? The party just got started.”

“I’m tired,” he responded, immediately, though he broke eye contact soon after. “I’m a bit too old to be going out like this anymore. I’d rather not push my limits.” His optics slowly drifted back towards her, and he frowned upon seeing that familiar, incredulous expression on her face.

“So...those things you needed to say?”

“Still a work in progress, sadly.”

“Are they?” She crossed her arms, but her expression didn’t harden. “Or are you just hoping I’ll forget about it?”

Ratchet’s eyes sagged, heavy with guilt, and he sighed. He owed her at least this much, and he knew he did. But there was so much he needed to do, and say, that she didn’t even know about. He wasn’t even confident he could fix this much, but he needed to try. “...I’m sorry, Arcee. I didn’t mean to insinuate that Cliffjumper’s death was pointless… I miss him, too. And, looking at this, at him…” He looked up, scowling at Starscream, as he danced on the graves of hundreds, and laughed with the sparks he’d saved. Ratchet’s scowl broke and he shook his helm. “...It’s too much, Arcee. I’m sorry, but I can’t trust him. Not after everything he’s done.”

Arcee frowned and uncrossed her arms. “I know. And I still don’t trust him, either. But not because of what he did. In hindsight, we’ve all done bad before.”

“Then why don’t you trust him?”

Arcee smiled a little. “Because he’s an asshole.”

Ratchet blinked, surprised, then smiled and let out a little breath. “...You’re an incredible bot, Arcee. Better than most… Cliffjumper and Tailgate would be proud of how far you’ve come. And they would be proud of the fact they got you here… Their sparks burn on with yours.”

Arcee’s optics shined with tears, and her smile brightened. Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around Ratchet, as far as her little arms could reach. “I knew you didn’t need that long to come up with the right words… Thanks, Ratchet.”

Ratchet returned her embrace with a sigh of relief. “No, thank you. I’ll try and be more… lenient with Starscream, from now on.”

She shrugged, smirking. “Eh. Maybe wait on that. He owes me an apology, too.”

“Oh he does, does he?”

She laughed and pulled back, patting Ratchet’s arm while subtly wiping her optics with one digit. “Easy, old bot. I’m only kidding around. You just do what you always do and let him come to me, okay?”

Ratchet nodded. “Understood… Goodnight, Arcee. Tell the children I said goodnight, too.”

“You got it.” As Ratchet turned and began to walk away, she shifted a bit. “Hey, Ratchet?” He paused, turning slightly. “Optimus would be proud of you, too.”

Ratchet’s expression was unreadable from over his shoulder, but he nodded, either in agreement or thanks, before transforming and rolling out into the distance. He watched in his rear-view mirrors as Arcee waved him off, then jogged away to return to the others. The further he went, the more his spark burned in his engine as Arcee’s words echoed in his mind. ‘Optimus would be proud.’ Unfortunately, he knew that was a lie. He’d wanted to avoid thinking about it, but it was true. And, even worse than that, this was a weight he had no choice but to carry alone. He just hoped that no one else would notice it weighing him down.

Arcee made it back just as an explosion of laughter rang out from the group, and she increased her speed to see the cause. At the center of the circle, Starscream had Smokescreen gathered up in his arms and was dragging him around the diameter of the circle at a surprising speed, while being pursued by Bulkhead, who was stomping his pedes and apologizing for ‘his boulders.’

“Oops, my bad. Yep, that one was my fault. Whoops, sorry, here comes another one,” he said, on and on, while Starscream continued to narrate with Smokescreen in his arms, struggling to get in air between laughing fits.

“So, not only am I flying at top speed through a mine shaft, completely blind, with the fruits of Bulkhead’s labor closing in on us. But I’m also carrying a bunch of blue-and-yellow baggage in the cargo hold I don’t have!”

“I can’t breathe—” Smokescreen rasped.

“But, I realize that Smokescreen still has the phase shifter on his wrist! Which means we should have an easy out! But we don’t, because he’s still having a pleasant, mid-air, hundred-mile-an-hour snooze. Until my wing suddenly collides with a stalactite, and we start spinning out of control!”

“D-Don’t spin me, I’ll purge-!”

“Oh, right, right.” Starscream set Smokescreen down and did a little pirouette before gathering him back up. “Apparently, that’s enough to jostle some sense back into Smokescreen, and he grabs hold of the phase-shifter, sending us flying through the stone!”

Wheeljack immediately stands beside Bulkhead and watches as Starscream drags Smokescreen in front of them. Bulkhead takes the liberty of making the whooshing sound, and Wheeljack makes a show of looking confused as to what he just saw, complete with helm-scratching and double-taking. “Wheeljack, in his infinite wisdom, makes the call that the way out is most likely in whatever direction we flew off to,” Starscream said, before laying Smokescreen flat on the ground, and then taking up a space beside him. “And we end up landing-”

“Gracefully,” Knockout offers.

“Safely,” Bumblebee suggests.
“Painfully,” Smokescreen declares.

“-outside. And, then we all dragged ourselves back to base.” Starscream sat up and shrugged, smirking. “End of story.”

The children clapped alongside the audience, and Smokescreen peeled himself from the ground, now covered in dirt. He took Starscream by the servo and led him into a dramatic bow. Bulkhead and Wheeljack did the same behind them, and Arcee laughed, clapping from the sidelines, which encouraged everyone else to stand with her in an ovation. Smokescreen stumbled a bit in place from the enthusiasm behind his bowing, and Starscream steadied him with a gentle servo. “Enough of that, remember your concussion,” he whispered. Smokescreen smiled, pleased to hear that Starscream was thinking of his health.

Knockout entered the circle as the applause died down. “Alright, children, it’s now, officially, past your bedtimes. Except for Jack, but his shift should be ending soon and we all know Ms. Darby gets when he’s late.”

“Aw, what!?” Miko cried. “But it’s summer!”

Bulkhead chuckled. “Sorry, Miko. We gotta let you go, but we’ll talk again soon, okay?”

Rafael rubbed his eyes, smiling tiredly. “Yeah, it’s late...Goodnight, everybody, it was nice seeing you all. And thanks for the story, Starscream.”

Jack nodded, scratching his hair from beneath his uniform’s cap. “Yeah, thanks, Starscream. It’s been fun.” His eyes flashed with recognition. “Oh yeah, and I’ll be sure to send pictures once I get enough money for that bike, Arcee!”
“Just as long as she’s not cooler than me, Jack. Can’t have you replacing me,” Arcee said with a smirk.

“As if that’s even possible. Goodnight!”

As the boys logged off, Miko sat firmly on her bed with her arms crossed. Bulkhead saw this and sighed. “Miko, you’ve gotta go to bed…”

“Nuh-uh! I was promised a party. And partying means dancing. I’m not leaving until I get to thrash.”

Wheeljack looked at Bulkhead with a smirk, nudging him. “C’mon, let’s just let her stay on a bit longer. She’ll tucker herself out.”

“Jackie, we’re gonna start drinking soon.”

“So? She’s a big kid, she can handle it. Besides, there’s no way she’s gonna last long enough for us to get crazy. Remember all the times she fell asleep in your backseat after a concert?”

Bulkhead smiled fondly at the memory. “Yeah…”

“Pleeeeease, Bulk?” Miko pleaded, clasping her hands together with big, watery eyes.

Bulkhead frowned and looked around to see everyone else’s opinion. Arcee threw up her servos, refusing responsibility. Starscream walked past, paying the entire situation little mind with Smokescreen in tow, who just smiled with a shrug. Bumblebee shrugged, too, but finally gave him a verbal answer. “It’s your call, big bot.”

Knockout raised his digit. “I vote in the affirmative, if only to end this discussion quicker and get Arcee’s punch in me faster.”

Bulkhead sighed, loudly, then rubbed his forehelm, hoping that this wouldn’t come back to bite him. “Alright, but only for a little bit, okay, Miko? Next time I say ‘go to bed,’ I mean it.”

Miko jumped out of bed in celebration. “Yes! Hold on, let me plug in my headphones. We’re gonna do this silent disco style, so I don’t wake up my host parents.”
Knockout beamed and cupped his servos over his intake, calling out towards the Jackhammer. “Alright, DJ Soundwave! It’s time for your debut performance!”

Chapter Text

“Well,” Starscream said once he was a fair distance away from the center of attention, “I’ve held up my end of the bargain. Where’s the high grade?”

Smokescreen, who he correctly assumed to be following him around like a loyal dog, looked over at the small table that had been set up. “You know, I bet you’d be able to find it on your own.”

Starscream turned on a swivel and looked at his traveling companion with a look not unlike a bot that was about to ask to speak to a manager. “Smokescreen, you’re surely not about to expect me to start sniffing around for the punch bowl like a turbofox, are you? Because if that’s what you’re suggesting, I would also love to show you how simple a field autopsy can be.” He flashed his claws, which made a sound like three pairs of scissors dancing in tandem. “You can even do it with your optics shut.”

Smokescreen blinked with optics that were suddenly much drier than before. “...I-Let’s put a pin in that. Drink is this way. We go this way.”

Soundwave, upon his safe return to his command station, rolled his shoulders to loosen up for his debut. With the flick of a switch, the little oasis around the Jackhammer pulsed to life with bass that thrummed through the ground, giving Cybertron back its sparkbeat. Wheeljack, Bumblebee and Bulkhead all hollered like a pack of wolves as the nostalgic sound of an old, Cybertronian club mix entered the atmosphere. Arcee and Knockout cringed in unison as the trio converged on the dance floor, not even needing a drink to loosen their joints. The two shared a look of amused worry, asking without words, ‘if this is how they are before they get tipsy, Primus help us for when they do.’ But then they both shrugged, smiled, and laughed in a way that said ‘so be it.’

It was a song from a time that most thought could never be recaptured, back before the war broke out in full swing, and just before blissful ignorance would breathe its last. But now, here they all were, on their home planet once again. Together, at peace, listening to old songs with shell-shocked ears and weary sparks. But as they began to move together, smiling in the multi-colored lights with their voices intermingling with the music, today became as light as a thousand yesterdays.

For all except Starscream, who was covering his audials and scowling like someone who was about to loudly declare their avid hatred of happiness. “For frag’s sake, does the music really have to be this loud!?”

Smokescreen took Starscream by the pauldron and shouted into his covered audial, like a bot with a death wish. “Is it too loud!? Did you bring your headset!?”

“Augh! Stop shouting at me!” Starscream exclaimed and shoved Smokescreen away from him, then forcibly rooted around in his subspace until the headset was retrieved, unfolded, and promptly slapped onto his helm. The relief was instantaneous, and he exhaled as if he had just gotten done being strangled as he adjusted the volume to a more comfortable level. “Praise the Allspark… Have they just conveniently forgotten my condition again!?”

“I don’t think there’s anything convenient about it, Star,” Smokescreen said with a friendly shrug of his shoulders. “I mean, it probably wasn’t on purpose.”

Starscream crossed his arms with a huff. “Regardless, it’s happened far too many times for my liking. And I think someone should answer for it for once.”

“Oh yeah? And how do you think they should do that?” Smokescreen asked as he poured some high grade into a glass.

“Hm…” He tapped his chin with one digit. “Since there’s no sharkticon pit nearby, I’ll settle for a neck massage and a nice energon tea.”

Smokescreen snickered. “How about some high grade and good company?” He asked, passing Starscream the glass. Starscream smiled and swirled it in his servo to determine its fullness, and he found it satisfactory.

“I suppose I could settle for that.” He tilted his helm back, just the right distance to avoid spilling, and took a small sip of his drink. It was electric on his glossa; sweet and spicy all at once. But, it hadn’t been properly stored, so it did have a bit of a dull, plastic aftertaste. But that was alright, because that was what the next sip was for. Starscream sighed and looked around, as if he were actually searching for something. “So, when does the good company arrive?”

“Oh frag you,” Smokescreen said, then laughed. He looked out at the rest of the party, and he simultaneously leaned against the punch table with Starscream. His smile brightened as he watched Bumblebee cut a rug while Bulkhead and Wheeljack cheered him on. Smokescreen told himself he wouldn’t be envious, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t wish he could be drinking and dancing with them, too. Still, despite that, he was happy. Because for the first time, all of this felt real. Autobots and Decepticons, hand in hand, celebrating a new dawn. He just never expected one to stand so close to his side, and he gave Starscream a glance.

He looked peaceful. He had the smallest of smiles on his face, his wings were down, but not heavy, and he toyed idly with his glass as he took small sips from it every few seconds. It had always been surreal to be at Starscream’s side, but on a night like this, Smokescreen felt it tenfold. The past and the present stretched onward forever, and his processor struggled to make the distance. Did he know this person, really? Or had he just convinced himself that he had? Was he still convincing himself, even now? His optics traveled down to the insignia that adorned Starscream’s chassis, and he hummed, successfully getting Starscream’s attention.

“So…” Smokescreen began, “is it true that the Decepticons make you use a piece of your spark chamber to make your badge?”

Starscream toyed with his badge with his free servo. “You say ‘make,’ but it was really your first test of mettle as a Decepticon. If you weren’t willing to go that far, you weren’t deemed worthy of joining the cause.”

Smokescreen nodded towards Knockout, who was currently chatting with Miko on the holo-projector as they danced in place. “Then how come Knockout doesn’t have one?”

Starscream sneered. “Knockout got a free pass because he’s a medic. He said it would ‘clash with his paint job.’ I told Megatron that we should have slagged him for saying something so flippant, but we needed healers. And now Knockout went and proved me right by turning tailpipe and running as soon as things got serious.”

“Well, he was one of the people who voted for you to stay, you know.” Starscream snapped his helm towards Smokescreen, in shock, but Smokescreen just smiled. “Do you still think you would’ve been better off without him?”

Starscream’s jaw clamped shut. Knockout wasn’t really high on his list of possible candidates for allowing him to stay, considering his flimsy relationship with his allegiances. And the Zombiecons. And the finish-scratching. Many such cases. But he supposed he could excuse his vote as being purely practical: why toss away a free Seeker? Especially after he went through all the trouble of fixing him. Or, the more likely answer: pity. Knockout had said it himself. And, unlike Starscream, he wasn’t much of a liar. It was just him taking pity on a broken mech, even though he had every right to hate him.

Starscream managed to unscrew his jaw enough to take an ill-advised swig of his drink. “The warrant’s out,” he rasped through the burn in his throat.

Smokescreen smirked a little, satisfied with the fact he’d clearly made Starscream question himself. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but, I’m kinda surprised you went through with the badge.”

Starscream scowled at him. “What in the world is the right way to take that!? You think I lack any sort of dedication?”

“No, it’s just… you know, that sounds like it hurt.”

“… You think we were conscious for that? Primus, you really took us for savages.” Starscream rolled optics that no longer existed. “It was a test of mettle, not of pain tolerance or stupidity. It was to determine how much you were willing to sacrifice, and also to determine just how much trust you were willing to put into your new brethren. The procedure itself was painless, and harmless.” He tapped at his badge with fondness his face didn’t reflect. “Still… I suppose, looking back on the whole thing, it is a bit ironic.” His claw dragged down the length of his badge until it were holding on by a sliver, and Starscream began to frown. “… I really trusted him, once.” He didn’t need to specify who ‘he’ was.

Smokescreen was surprised by Starscream’s sudden change in tone. It wasn’t exactly remorse in his voice, and it wasn’t grief, either. It was a bittersweet sorrow, spoken by someone in so few words to say that ‘if I had known then what I know now, everything would be different. But there would be no way of knowing if everything was better, because nothing could compare.’ No regrets, just the echos of pain that come with them. Smokescreen could relate to that, immensely. “… What was he like? Megatron, before he… y’know,” he said with a shrug.

“Brilliant,” Starscream said, sounding shockingly neutral as he nursed his glass. But the sip he took caused a chemical reaction in his intake, returning the venom to his voice and the scowl to his face. “And that’s the last kind thing I’ll say about him. In fact, it’s the last thing I’ll say about him at all. Bastard…” You left me here. After all I’ve done for you, you left me here. You left Soundwave here. Ungrateful, flighty, pompous, backstabber.

“Sorry, touchy subject,” Smokescreen said, upon hearing his upset. “Let’s talk about something less depressing.” Starscream grunted in the affirmative as he polished off his first glass. “We’re standing on a brand new Cybertron, Star. And it’s one we’re all going to make together. What’s something you want the most from it?”

Starscream furrowed his brow, surprised by the question. “Mm, you may need to elaborate,” he said, handing Smokescreen his glass in a silent request, which Smokescreen obliged without complaint. “I think I’ll need something more specific.”

“We’re obviously not going to go back to how things were; if we did that, we’d just repeat the last few millennia all over again. For all we know, everything could be different! And you were-you are a Decepticon, there has to be something you fought to see in the new world. Something you wanted so bad that you gave up a piece of your spark chamber for it. So, what was it?”

“Well…” Starscream swirled his fresh glass in contemplation. “I think that should be obvious: I don’t want anyone to go through what I went through.” When Smokescreen hummed and leaned in to urge him on, Starscream sighed, heavily. “No more cold construction, no more functionism. No one should ever be forced into a frame that isn’t their own, let alone from birth. And everyone should have the right to choose their lot in life, even if their alt mode doesn’t align with it… But, we should definitely do something about the roads, first. By the Allspark I thought that Ultra Magnus was going to t-bone me into a wall with all those potholes.” He smirked and turned towards Smokescreen. “Congratulations, grounder, you’ve got a flight frame in your corner for road infrastructure.”

Smokescreen chuckled, warmly. “There’s a first time for everything. But, what did you even want to do, before the war broke out? Like, what was your major at Nova Point?”

“Political science.”

Smokescreen sucked in his lips and squinted extremely hard, grateful that Starscream couldn’t witness him fighting for his life. “… Political science. That’s… fitting!”

“Shut up,” he said, without any hostility. He knew it was obvious to the point of being amusing, he just had higher standards for comedy. “I studied it because I wanted to learn more about how the whole system worked. That way, I could exploit it easier. But it turns out just blowing up statues of bigots is a lot simpler and more effective than having an argument when it comes to radical change…

“And I hated those classes. Primus, you make one student cry during their slag presentation on the merits of the caste system and all of a sudden you’re banned from further discussions. I branched out into science just to save my helm from an appointment with the business end of a gun.”

“And also you were a-” Smokescreen began with a smile.

“I will fragging stab you if you finish that sentence.”

Smokescreen snickered, impishly, then gave Starscream a gentle nudge to signal him to move aside as the party-goers decided it was time to refresh themselves. By the sound of their footsteps, Starscream could tell that Knockout was approaching them. “Having fun, you two? As your medic I’m also obligated to ask if you’re monitoring your fuel intake. Less so for you, Soberscreen.”

Smokescreen sighed, accepting his title. “Designated driver, reporting for duty.”

“M’ fine,” Starscream said, then sniffed to correct himself. “I’m doing alright, now that I’m not dealing with the children.”

Knockout smirked as he poured himself some punch. “Come now, we all know you loved every second of that.” He took a sip of his drink, his optics suddenly flashing with pleasant surprise as he turned towards Arcee. “Arcee, I could kiss you.”

“Easy, Red,” Arcee said with a smile, clearly still accepting the compliment. “Save that for someone else and say it was from me.”

Bulkhead laughed as he poured them all a glass, including an extra one. He looked around a bit until he caught sight of Lazerbeak resting atop one of their speakers, then waved the drone down. He offered the glass to the drone, who dutifuly wrapped it up into his tendrils. “Mind deliverin’ this over to Soundwave for me, Beak?” Lazerbeak trilled and made a gentle ascent, then turned and began his quest, taking care not to spill a drop of his package. “Tell ‘em there’s more where that came from if he plays ‘Getting Away with Murder!’”

Miko made an attempt at a deep-throated yell that gave Starscream the impression that she really enjoyed that song. He made a mental note to set his headset to mute once he heard a millisecond of an electric guitar. Bumblebee moved to stand beside him and Starscream. “So, do you guys think you’re gonna dance tonight?”

“No,” Starscream immediately replied.

“Sure!” Smokescreen answered.

“Hold it,” Knockout said, placing a gentle servo on Smokescreen’s chassis. “If you do dance, just make sure you don’t throw your helm around. No ‘thrashing’ or ‘head-banging’ or whatever else it is Miko calls dancing.”

“Okay,” he responded with a nod, but turned to face Starscream. “You’re not gonna dance? I figured you’d like dancing.” He knew better than to explain his reasoning, as he was sure that would count as ‘finishing his sentence’ from earlier.

“I thought the same thing,” Knockout teased, which earned another patented Starscream scowl. “We’ve got plenty of open space here, Screamer. It’s not like you’re really in any danger of knocking into anything. You’ve been to the Pit and back, why not let loose?”

“This is how I ‘let loose,’” Starscream said, raising his glass slightly. “Whether or not that fits your definition of the phrase doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Yeah,” Wheeljack said, sauntering over with a drink in each fist, which was surely not a bad omen. “Leave him alone, he’s got all he needs! His best buddy Smokescreen, a drink in his servo, and his favorite stick shoved square up his-”

“Jackie,” Bulkhead warned, tugging his friend aside to sufficiently cut him off. “Don’t mind him, he’s just playing around. Even though that’s not how you like to play,” he warned Wheeljack, who just shrugged and sipped from one of his glasses.

Starscream sighed, heavily. “Thank you, Bulkhead. Now, run along and leave me be, the lot of you. I want some peace and-” Suddenly, an incredibly loud guitar riff assaulted his audials and nearly got him to spill his drink.

Bulkhead turned towards Soundwave’s booth and pointed, roaring, “Yeah! Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about, Soundwave!” Soundwave tipped his helm and gratefully raised his glass in thanks. Miko jumped around on the holo-projector with her hands clasped over her headphones.

“Woohoo! Get over here, Bulk!” Bulkhead quickly obliged, rushing over to join Miko on the dance floor, and Wheeljack cackled, downing his first drink so he could join them.

“Don’t forget about me!”

Starscream turned up his headset with a deep grimace. He despised human music, but he especially hated Miko’s taste. It was like putting his helm into a blender with a bunch of screaming cats. But, apparently no one else shared his opinion, as Arcee idly gyrated by the punch bowl and Bumblebee matched her rhythm by pumping his free fist into the air. Knockout seemed nonplussed by the whole thing and just watched everyone else dance with a smile on his face, whilst idly patting his thigh to the beat. But Smokescreen, ever the observant one, took notice of Starscream’s discomfort and gently tugged at his arm to signal him to follow.

Starscream obliged without thinking as Smokescreen led him over to the now-empty crates of engex and leaned against them. “Not a big fan of rock, are you?” He inquired, casually.

Starscream scoffed. “That’s what they call it? Stupid… Yes, I think I’ve had my fill of rock both literally and metaphorically, thank you.” Smokescreen laughed at that, but the conversation stalled once he was finished. Starscream adjusted the volume of his headset again, just enough to hear the mirth continuing on several feet away from them, and he began to frown again. “… Aren’t you going to join them?”

Smokescreen turned towards Starscream again and tilted his helm. “Uh, sure, maybe in a bit. Why?”

He shrugged. “I’m starting to get the feeling you’re forcing yourself to continue to be my chaperone. I personally doubt that Ultra Magnus is going to continue to have you watch me for much longer, considering everything that’s happened. I would rather not have you here if you’re just doing it out of obligation.”

Smokescreen smiled. “That’s what you think this is? No, dude, I’m here because I want to be.”

Starscream looked towards him as if he were speaking in tongues. “Why?”

“Because you’re my friend,” he replied. This time, it wasn’t a mistake, or a slip of his glossa. His tone was completely, entirely earnest. “And I like hanging out with you. No obligation, no ‘sense of duty’ or whatever you think it is. I’m just here because I want to be here, that’s all.”

Starscream’s next breath burned as he inhaled, and he held it in hopes that it would cool. But it didn’t, it just sat in his engine, heating his frame and bringing a small glow to his ventilators. It was as pleasant as it was terrifying, like a frozen mouse indulging in the warmth of a snake as it coiled around it. A brief moment of peace and comfort within the belly of danger. An embrace that slowly began to crush, crack, and break him. But this was good, this was what he wanted to happen. And yet, it hurt so much. Why did it hurt this much? And why did that feel right? Worse still, why did he want it to hurt more?

He cleared his throat to force his ventilators to reboot, but it wasn’t as effective as he’d hoped, so he took a swig of his drink that was a little bigger than it should have been. A flash of static traveled up his spinal strut and made him shiver, which Smokescreen couldn’t help but notice. “Uh, are you okay, Star?”

“Yuh,” he rasped, then coughed. “Yep. Just a tickle in my throat cables.”

“Oh-kay…” Smokescreen scratched at his neck, trying to let go of how weird that was but finding it hard. Especially with the silence that followed being so loud, even among the roar of the party in front of them. The two of them shifted, uncomfortably, and Smokescreen grimaced as he wondered if he had somehow overstepped. Except, he definitely hadn’t; Starscream was just acting weird. Maybe he was just starting to get buzzed, or something.

Regardless, he couldn’t really handle much more of the silence, so he leafed through the million questions he wanted to ask him and tried to find the one that would be least upsetting. But, it was hard to determine which would fit that criteria. So he just said ‘frag it,’ and picked one. “… So, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Mm?” Starscream grunted from behind his glass. “What’s that?”

“I thought that Trines were just military units. You know, just… a group of three Seekers that got stuck together to better divide and conquer, or whatever. But, it’s more than that, right? I was just wondering if that was a Decepticon thing, or something.” When Starscream fell silent again, Smokescreen shifted. “You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to. I’m just interested in like… the culture, I guess.” After another painful moment, Starscream chuckled. It was quiet, but not quiet enough to prevent Smokescreen from being surprised.

Starscream toyed with his glass in his digits, staring towards the ground with a faraway smile. “’Culture.’ That’s an interesting word for it. We’re not another race, you know. We’re just… prebuilds. But, I suppose there really isn’t a better way to put it.” He tapped his digit against his glass, emitting a sound only he could hear. “Trines are exactly what you said they are: military units. And the way they were selected was entirely arbitrary. It was just as simple as whoever was next to you on the assembly line. You just come into the world, and you’re told that these other two strangers are going to stick with you for the rest of your function. And you just nod, because you’re only a sparkling, and the world is what other people say it is.

“Obviously, Trines don’t always work out perfectly. It’s not as if there’s any actual bond to be had between you. There’s no link between your sparks or anything like that, they’re just bots you were told to stick with. You could absolutely hate the poor fraggers who got stuck with you, but, there’s always this sense of understanding, this unspoken truth between you that’s hard to put into words… We were all built to fight in a war we didn’t yet understand. We all trained together. We endured every last grueling second, all the pain and the exhaustion that comes with it, and all we knew was that one day it was just going to get worse. That we were all doomed from the start, but at least we were all doomed together.”

Starscream’s grip on his glass tightened slightly. “I’m sure most people believe they would understand that, now that the war has gone on so long. But they don’t. You can choose your team, your side, but you can’t choose your Trine. No matter how hard you might try, that sort of bond can never be replaced, once it’s gone…”

Smokescreen looked on, awed by the story, and feeling a sense of guilt, now that he knew just how much his Trine really meant to him. “… You’re probably not gonna like hearing this, but, that sounds like a family.” Starscream didn’t respond, but he moved his head slightly to indicate he was listening. “It’s a human thing. Since we’re forged, I mean, usually we’re forged, that means we get to pick and choose our inner circles. And we don’t really need to be raised beyond being taught how to transform. Humans take a long time to develop, and so they’re pretty much stuck with whoever decided to… uh, grow them?” He shrugged. “I dunno the word for it, but, anyway, Optimus took a lot of interest in what ‘families’ are. He said that’s sort of what we are, now.”

Smokescreen smiled, with a hint of sadness behind it. “It’s kinda strange, but, I think I’m starting to understand what he meant by that. We’re family because we look out for each other, no matter how much we drive each other crazy. Even though some of us literally fell from the sky, or through a ground-bridge, we’re all in this together. And… I’m happy that you get to be a part of that.”

Starscream’s engine burned again, and his breath stalled as a sharp chill assaulted his spinal strut. No, absolutely not. This, whatever this was, he wasn’t a part of it. He wasn’t, and he never would be. He didn’t want to be. But, Smokescreen could think that to his bleeding spark’s desire for all he cared. This would only serve to make his escape that much easier, once he was ready. But still, his spark ached, and it was making him angry. He would snuff it himself if it meant he could end this near-constant anxiety that was hunting him with increasing eagerness. “That’s… sweet,” Starscream managed to force out, before he quickly downed the remainder of his glass in two large gulps, spilling a bit through the crack in his lip-plate. It hit him instantly, tickling his entire frame with static and forcing him from his spiral from sheer disorientation. Perfect.

Smokescreen’s optics bugged and he hovered his servos near Starscream. He was becoming increasingly erratic, despite Smokescreen’s many attempts to comfort him. “Woah, careful, you shouldn’t drink that fa-”

“I need a refill,” Starscream interrupted, already walking back into the fray to do exactly that while wiping his chin on the back of his servo. Knowing that Smokescreen was beginning to catch onto his nerves, he took a moment to twirl around and face him with a forced smile. “And you’re really killing my buzz with all this mushy slag, Smokey! We’re here to relax, aren’t we!?”

“I mean, yeah,” Smokescreen began to plead as he followed close behind with a nervous smile, “but don’t overdo it, okay? We’ve still got that meeting in the morning, you know?”

“To the Pit with the meeting,” he said as he sloppily filled his glass with punch rather than high-grade, just because it was easier to reach. Though it did take him a few tries to find the ladle. “I’ve had it with Ultra Magnus’ constant drivel. Supplies this, schedules that. Knockout was right, we’ve been working too long! We deserve to enjoy ourselves for once! I deserve to enjoy myself, for once!”

“Oh, shit,” Smokescreen whimpered to himself as he watched Starscream eagerly drink from his next glass. This was bad, very bad. “Okay, now you’re freaking me out a bit, dude. Let’s calm down a second.”

“You calm down a second!” Starscream jabbed, pointing loosely in Smokescreen’s general direction. “I’m just trying to relax, that’s what you wanted, right? Well, this is how I want to do it. And if you don’t like it, that’s not my problem.”

“I just don’t want you to get yourself sick,” he said, scowling with a bit of irritation at how flippant Starscream was being. He was clearly already getting drunk.

“You’re overreacting,” Starscream said, reassuringly, while taking a step back to avoid being touched. “I’m not going to hurt myself, Smokey. I know my limits. Just trust me, won’t you? You know… as my friend?”

Smokescreen’s lips tightened into a thin line, and he scowled. He wanted to fight against this, knowing that this was going to go too far, but he didn’t think there was any way he could convince Starscream to slow down. In fact, he might just make it worse if he tried, as much as that annoyed him to think about. As much as he felt responsible for Starscream’s sudden change in mood, he didn’t have the physical or mental energy to fight him. So he threw up his servos in defeat, then crossed his arms. “Alright, fine. But if you do something stupid, you’re not allowed to get mad at me, got it?”

“Of course!” Starscream beamed, his voice syrupy sweet all of a sudden. “It’s not like I’m your responsibility anymore, anyway. I’m not your job, so quit acting like I am. Just relax. It’s what we’re here for!”

“Yeah… sure,” Smokescreen said, not feeling any less uneasy. He turned his attention back to the party and let out a long, quiet breath to steady his nerves. And watching Starscream continue to put away engex like triple-distilled energon wasn’t going to help with that. But, he was right, he wasn’t his responsibility anymore. And maybe if Smokescreen was able to have a drink himself, he wouldn’t have been so worried about the whole thing. Because good lord he wanted one right about now.

The music switched to the next track, and a human woman’s voice came through the speakers with an impish giggle, followed by a simple command: “Dance.”

Knockout’s optics flashed, and he thrust his arm towards Bulkhead without looking, asking him wordlessly to take his drink. “Alright, everyone clear the way. This is my song.”

Bulkhead chuckled and took Knockout’s drink. “Ohhh scrap, here we go.”

Wheeljack cupped his servos over his intake. “Make way, everybody, make way!”

As if on queue, (which it probably was) as Knockout moved to the center of the dance floor, Soundwave tapped at his control panel and all of the spotlights moved in tandem to illuminate the luxury vehicle in blue light, changing his paint from red to purple. Arcee nearly choked on her drink as this happened and she shielded her face into Bumblebee’s arm as she regained her composure. The sheer theatrics of it all was too much for her to bear.

“Shh, don’t ruin this for him, ‘Cee!” Bumblebee whispered, loudly as the little two-wheeler wheezed.

Starscream swayed a little in place and raised a brow at the commotion. “Whazhappen?”

Smokescreen snorted, not taking his optics from the dance floor. “Knockout’s about to show off his moves.”

Starscream snorted as well and chuckled to himself, listening to the lyrics as they blasted through the speakers around them.

‘Back door cracked, we don't need a key.
We get in for free,
No VIP sleaze.
Drink that Kool-Aid, follow my lead.
Now you're one of us,
You're coming with me.’

Ah, yes. Only Knockout would listen to slop like this. But, that was one of the things Starscream admired about him: he was unapologetically himself. As much as he seemed to perform, he rarely actually did. Still, that didn’t mean Starscream didn’t still delight in making fun of him every opportunity he got. He snickered and gave Smokescreen a nudge with his elbow. “Hey, Smokey. I bet I know exactly how he’s dancing to this.”

Smokescreen rasied his brow and smirked at his inebriated friend. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, here, hold this,” he handed Smokescreen his drink, “and tell me how accurate I am.” He took a few steps forward to give Smokescreen a better view. “Okay, ready? Are you watching?”

“I’m watching,” he said with a nod.

Starscream bounced in place a moment, just getting a feel for the beat, then he quickly got into character by widening his stance and jutting his hip to the side, showing off his jaw line. He began dancing, but a better name for it would have been ‘rhythmic fondling,’ as he traced the outline of his frame with loose digits until he reached his helm, where he then flattened his servos and used them to frame his face at various angles. Smokescreen choked on his next breath in complete shock, not just at Starscream’s confidence, but at the sheer accuracy of his performance.

Knockout continued to dazzle his audience, unaware of the heckling happening just out of sight. How could he possibly notice, when they chanted his name so earnestly? But, at a certain point, at precisely the same time, both Starscream and Knockout flung their upper body forwards whilst jutting their aft outward, then slowly dragged their servos up along with their upper half. But, Starscream took the creative liberty of pursing his lips and making various grunts that parodied sensuality into primitive cave speak. Smokescreen turned red in the face and suddenly howled with laughter. “Ew, ewww! Stop making that face! I can’t even look at it, oh my god!”

The sudden outburst got the attention of all the party-goers, as well as a single spotlight which moved over Starscream, who froze in his current pose, still sticking his aft out, once he heard half the noise of the party come to a sudden stop. Smokescreen had a slightly delayed reaction, but once his optics noticed the spotlight, he made an ‘op’ noise and sucked in his lips. But, it wasn’t enough to stifle another loud snort.

Starscream remained still, as if he thought that if he didn’t move, no one could see him. Knockout squinted, but grinned in an evil way, then threw up his servo to signal Soundwave to stop the music, which he did, while also adjusting the lights to a neutral color to fit the mood. Knockout crossed his arms. “Well, well, well,” he began, taking a few steps towards Starscream. “And here I thought you didn’t want to dance. Honestly, I’m flattered that my performance inspired you to consider otherwise.”

“Oooooh, you’re in troubleeee,” Miko said in a sing-song voice.

Starscream reset his vocalizer and stood up, brushing himself off with an awkward smile. “Well, you know what they say, Knockout: imitation is the highest form of flattery!”

“Really? Because it really looked like you were making fun of me,” he purred, poking Starscream in the chest without any force behind it. “You think you can do better? Hm?”

“Ohhh, no, I’m just-” he put his fist to his intake to suppress a hiccup “-sorry. No, I was just, er…”

“Come onnnn,” Knockout urged, “what’s wrong? Not up for a little friendly competition? Or are you just scared that you’ll inevitably lose?”

Starscream’s brow ridge jumped, then he scowled, sensing Knockout’s challenge a few minutes later than he should. “Me? Lose to you? Donn’ make me laugh. What you do isn’t dancing, it’s… it’s fondling! I could do better with both servos tied behind my back.”

“Mm, let’s just settle for doing it with your optics shut.”

Starscream gasped, loudly, then grinned in a mean way and poked Knockout’s chest. “Oh, I will destroy you for that.”

Miko bounced up and down, eagerly, and began to chant. “Fight, fight, fight, fight!”

Smokescreen put Starscream’s drink down and began clapping in time with Miko, then joined in her chant. It wasn’t long before everyone else joined in, except for Arcee, who just pinched between her optics with a tired smile and slowly shook her head. “Here we go,” she muttered.

Knockout eagerly took Starscream by the wrist and pulled him out to the middle of the dance floor. “No hard feelings, regardless of what happens. Agreed?” He whispered, in an oddly reassuring tone.

“For when I wipe the floor with you?” He asked, rejecting Knockout’s sweetness. “No, of course not.”

“Confident little fragger, aren’t you?” Knockout asked with a grin, before turning around to face the DJ. “House’s choice, Soundwave! Give us some music!”

Soundwave nodded and quickly picked their track, while simultaneously setting the lights to cycle between a rainbow of colors. A modulated female voice came through the speakers.

‘Poppin bottles in the ice, like a blizzard.
When we drink we do it right, gettin' slizzard.
Sippin' sizzurp in my ride, in my ride, like a Three 6.
Now I'm feelin' so fly like a G6.’

While Starscream suppressed a processor anyuresum whilst trying to figure out what the frag a ‘slizzard’ was, Knockout pushed him back to make room for himself. “Hey!” He whined, as he regained his footing, but Knockout was already getting started. Though Starscream couldn’t see what Knockout was doing, he knew it couldn’t be much different than what he was imitating before. But, it was clear that Knockout had the advantage of knowing this music. ‘Frag you, Soundwave,’ Starscream thought to himself as he stood there like a deer in headlights.

He could hear words of encouragement from the crowd, urging him to just move, but he didn’t really pay them any mind. Instead, he focused in on the music, and began to tap his pede to the beat. And, suddenly, he smiled as his frame began to fall into time with a familiar pattern. This song had the exact same beat-per-minute of one of the songs he’d performed to before. Knockout had no idea what he was up against. And just as his opponent teased him with a, “what, having cold pedes?” Starscream suddenly threw his arms out wide and stretched his wings, giving himself a striking silhouette.

Then, he became a blur of limbs. His wings moved in time with the music, with an occasional clap to emphasize the bass. It was certainly hypnotic, not unlike dancing with a large set of fans, only he had the added bonus of having his arms free to further the complexity. Starscream had changed his frame several times over the course of his function, so his pedes weren’t as accustomed to the movements he used to make. Namely, he lacked the thrusters he used to have in his heels, but he figured taking flight in this instance would be cheating. And, unlike most other times, he was intent on winning this competition fair and square. Translating the more elaborate movements onto the ground was a little tricky, but a little spin on the tip of his pede, a deep dip of his helm, and an arc of his spinal strut seemed to compensate well enough.

Knockout gawked, stunned to a near stop. Where in the Pit was he hiding all of this during the cortical psychic patch!? Or just in general!? But Bulkhead brought him back to reality with a whoop to get his attention. “Don’t just stand there, keep going!”

Starscream grinned, smelling weakness, and slammed the back of his heel into the ground, making a small arc of sparks that made Knockout jump back. This made Miko particularly excited, which made sense for a simpler life form. Fire pretty, and all that.

“Don’t take that lying down, Doc Knock!” Wheeljack yelled, now fully invested.

Knockout chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He then bounced back, now reinvigorated, and honestly just really enjoying himself. He started to get a bit more bold, and decided to use some moves he’d learned from Breakdown that had a slightly higher risk of damaging his finish… Well, ‘learned’ was a strong word. ‘Attempted’ was certainly more apt, but the engex was telling him that he suddenly had god-like powers, and who was he to argue? He suddenly leapt forward onto one palm, in a hand stand, while he used his free servo to grip one of his ankles. It looked very cool, for all of one second, before he lost his balance.

He yelped and frantically walked forward on both palms, careening directly into Starscream and sending them both to the floor in a heap with a loud ‘bang!’ Soundwave abruptly cut the music with a record scratch, which was definitely pre-recorded as they weren’t using records. When the little cloud of dust settled, Knockout’s head was between Starscream’s pedes with his aft planted onto the Seeker’s abdomen, while Starscream’s helm lied between Knockout’s pedes. From above, they resembled an asterisk.

“Oh scrap,” Arcee said, not sounding surprised at all. She jogged over to survey the damage done to the two stooges; the rest of the party-goers followed close behind. All except for Wheeljack, who was laughing so hard he was in serious danger of purging onto the floor. “That looked like it hurt.”

“Are you guys okay?” Bumblebee asked.

“Hey, move out of the way, I can’t see!” Miko whined.

Starscream groaned as his pain receptors finally took the time to send the signal to his processor that they were, in fact, on the floor. Knockout groaned in a similar fashion, and the two sat up at the exact same time. Before anyone could warn them not to, their forehelms collided with the ring of a church bell. Bulkhead grimaced in sympathy, as well as in preparation for the inevitable meltdown Starscream was about to have.

Knockout, too, was bracing himself. He couldn’t even bear to open his optics to see the death glare he was being given. “Ough, that was not my finest performance. I’m sorry, Starscream, are you, uh... okay?”

But, much to his, and everyone else’s surprise, Starscream didn’t swear, gnash his dentae, or flash his claws. He laughed. Knockout quickly opened his optics, only to see Starscream’s smiling face a mere foot away from his own. He was holding his forehelm with one servo, clearly in pain, but laughing through it all with all the joy of a child. “Ow!” He said, once he finally caught his breath. “What was that, Knockout!? Trying to win by default!?”

Knockout blinked, slowly, then began to relax and chuckle along with Starscream. “Well, there was no way I was winning that, was I? Better to win by default than not at all.”

Bulkhead smiled and scooped Knockout up beneath his arms. “Alright, up you go!”

Smokescreen moved to help Starscream, but Bumblebee stopped him with a gentle touch to his chassis, and proceeded to help Starscream up in his place to keep Smokescreen from bending. “Since Knockout’s assassination attempt failed, that makes Starscream the winner!” He lifted one of Starscream’s servos into his own and whooped, while the crowd gave them a polite round of applause.

“Where’d you learn to dance like that!?” Miko asked, once the applause died down.

“Uh-” Smokescreen said, feeling the need to come to Starscream’s rescue.

“I second Miko’s question,” Knockout said, unintentionally cutting Smokescreen off. “I’ve seen you dance before, so if I don’t get answers, I’m assuming witchcraft.”

“It’s a secret,” Starscream loudly whispered, then put his digit to his lips for emphasis. “Unless you get me another drink, then I’ll consider telling you.”

“Now you’re talking,” Knockout beamed, already heading off to get him a drink. “Does anyone else need a refill while I’m there?” Everyone but Smokescreen, Arcee, and, of course, Miko raised their hands. “Primus, I only have so many servos, people!”

“Lemme help,” Starscream said, following Knockout’s voice, but Smokescreen grabbed his wrist.

“I really think you’ve had enough, Star,” Smokescreen whispered through a barely-contained grimace. Starscream put his digits over his headset and resumed walking away.

“Lalala, I can’t hear you, you’re not in charge of me, I do what I want. Et cetera, et cetera.”

Smokescreen stammered a bit, then sighed, hoarsely. “Being the designated driver fragging sucks,” he whispered to himself aloud. Arcee appeared at his side and patted his arm, but didn’t look at him. Her optics were trained on Knockout and Starscream as she nursed her own drink.

“Eh, we’re all fragged anyway. Starscream isn’t the only one looking to get absolutely trashed; Wheeljack is already on his sixth cup. Plus, even though Ratchet isn’t planning on tattling on us, even if we somehow get to the meeting without Ultra Magnus finding out, he’s eventually going to guilt us into admitting what we did.” She turned to Smokescreen and shrugged with a half smile. “Might as well just watch the fireworks at this point. That’s what I’m doing, anyway… Care to join me? It looks like you could use a break from babysitting.”

Smokescreen sighed, sparing one last glance to Starscream, who was already serving himself and others at Knockout’s side. Happily chatting away. It was nice, seeing him so happy, but he hoped Starscream wouldn’t come to regret this. At least, nothing past the usual hangover. That was inevitable at this point. “… Yeah, I think that sounds good, actually.”

“Let’s go hang with Miko while everyone else gets a refill,” Arcee said with a smile, leading him over to the holo-projector, just as Soundwave saw it fit to continue the set-list as originally planned.

“Cheer captain!?” Knockout exclaimed. “You cannot be serious!”

“I am!” Starscream said, giggling and leaning heavily onto the table. “I took a buncha dance classes, decided I liked it, and then one thing lead to another.” He slipped a little bit and caught himself with his elbows on the table.

“Easy!” Knockout urged, caging the glasses with his arms. “Primus...”

“Woah...you sound taller, Knock-knack. Knick-knock. Nick. Heheh.”

“Tickling yourself, over there, aren’t you?” Knockout asked with a fond smile on his face. Starscream nodded with a pleased looking smile. “Well, as fun as it is to see you all loosey-goosey, I think you should think about giving it a rest pretty soon.”

“Mnuh-uh,” Starscream said, already lifting his glass to his lips again. “You don’ tell me whaddado.”

Knockout sighed and shrugged. “Alright, then. On your pretty light-weight helm be it, Starscream.”

Bumblebee, who was also there, but barely keeping it together if his thousand yard stare was anything to go by, suddenly returned to their shared reality with an uneven blink. “Holy slag, I should’ve stuck to the punch. What were we talking about?”

Just as Knockout was about to gleefully fill Bumblebee in on the last several minutes, Bulkhead arrived on the scene, looking around semi-frantically. “Hey, have you guys seen Jackie? I was talking to Miko for a bit and he slipped past me.”

“HEEEEY!” Wheeljack shouted from across the way. There was a large, metal box under his arm which he quickly swung over his helm. The contents were clearly also metal, based on how lovely and pleasant of a sound it made as it banged around. There was some Cybertronian lettering haphazardly welded into the side, clearly done by hand. “I found fuckin’ JENGA!”

And that was about the last thing Starscream remembered hearing before everything went quiet. It could hardly get any blacker than it already was, after all.

Chapter Text

Pain was a difficult thing to measure. It’s an entirely arbitrary thing, with no physical weight, volume, or other characteristic by which it could possibly be quantified. And yet, most intelligent species in the universe felt the need to attempt to do so anyway, and they were so bold as to believe they could boil down pain to something as simple as a ten point scale. One to ten. From stabbings to burns, all of it from one to ten. In extreme cases, you could be cheeky and say something like ‘eleven’ or even ‘one hundred’ to really sell that you were in horrible agony, but it seldom went in reverse. Yet currently, Starscream sat comfortably in the negative. This was the honeymoon phase of a hangover; just after a forgettable night of fun and just before a world of hurt, misery and regret.

Before this, he vaguely remembered being carried back to the ship. Just the sensation of it, nothing specific. He was warm, safe, and a good distance from the ground. The arms that held him aloft were large, dwarfing him down to an infinitesimal speck against a rumbling chassis. It took him back to a happier, simpler time. When he would get dragged along to parties by his Trine and get roped into stupid drinking games. His need to out-do others would get the better of him, and his better half would end up carrying him all the way home. On foot, to spare his poor tank the G-forces. It would take such a long time, but neither of them minded. The streets would be quiet, save for the sound of their soft-sparked jabs and sweet nothings.

At least for now, he could live in the fantasy that Jetfire was the one who had carried him home again. And he would blessedly lack the processing power to think of it any differently. It would all just muddle together into a pleasant experience; pure nostalgia, untainted by conscious thought or truth. He would just be allowed to be happy, without the spark-ache that normally followed, for once. At least, until he woke up and found himself alone again. Then it would all go away, like a distant dream you could only recall from the space it left behind as it slipped away. But hollowness was always so much easier than pain. And happiness that didn’t leave behind the ghost of memory was so much easier to let go, once it ultimately passed.

Starscream was honestly in serious danger of becoming an alcoholic, with that logic. But thankfully he took physical pain to be a very good teacher, despite it’s sporadic results. So the temptation would be squashed quicker than he could say, ‘wait, am I even in my room?’

Thankfully, the answer was yes. He was currently lying face down on what the unconscious mind would immediately assume to be his berth, but it was actually planted firmly into the floor beside it. In fact, the only thing currently on his berth was his left leg, while the rest of him had apparently slithered off at some point during the night prior. Or maybe he started out that way. This posture gave his frame a shape that would fit nicely into a Fibonacci sequence. Which was not something that should ever happen, if you value having a functional spine. Which Starscream typically did. But at least for now, he didn’t have the capacity to worry about anything. He felt nothing at all, just the cool caress of metal against his cheek.

That was, until his comm-link suddenly blew apart his helm like an empty eggshell with the death knell of a thousand synthesized bells. He sucked in a stale breath with such violence that his entire frame appeared to rapidly inflate, and then deflate at the exact same speed, sending his limbs flailing in all directions and removing his final tether to his berth. The entire act lasted about three seconds, maybe less, but the consequences of that were immediate. This is where, on the pain scale, one would normally say ‘one hundred,’ but this did not do it justice. At all.

His processor suddenly felt much more akin to the balls of meat that humans called ‘brains.’ And it was leaking from every invisible, hairline crack in the eggshell that made up his helm, with a large bubble of ever-expanding air at the center of it all, pushing the process along with agonizing speed. He was suddenly incredibly aware of the circumference of his optic-sockets as they throbbed in time with his spark, which was pounding far too quickly in his chassis. His intake was dry, his glossa was prickly, and his dentae were sticky.

His entire frame, from toe to tip, felt like it were made of a series of broken toothpicks stuck together with molten glue. And with every ring of that Pit-forsaken comm, a static numbness pulsed through every splintered fiber of what remained of him. He forced a sound out of his vocalizer that sounded very, very far from any form of language, but still conveyed a whimpering cry for mercy. He finally managed to get control of his limbs again, and quickly used his reclaimed servo to press his audial and cut the torture short by answering the call. Suddenly finding himself with no prior experience speaking on a phone, or in general, he began the conversation with a pathetic-sounding grunt.

“Heeeeey Screamer!” Miko said, her enthusiasm flossing his helm with serrated teeth. “You dead?”

Oh, Primus. Sweet, merciful Primus, no. How did Miko get ahold of his personal comm-link!? His lack of any sort of answer past his slightly haggard breathing gave Miko a bit of pause. “...Hellooooo? Screamer? Am I actually gonna have to get help, or something? Because Bulkhead isn’t answering, so…” She actually sounded a bit worried for his safety. Thankfully, this was just what the doctor ordered, as Starscream had a visceral reaction to receiving any form of care.

“Ugh, I’m...fine. I feel great, Miko,” he rasped, swallowing painfully as he managed to stand without purging. Still, he needed to place his servos onto the nightstand to keep his balance, and the slight ‘thud’ against the little table caused the glass that sat on top of it to wiggle and reveal itself to him. Instantly, he snatched it up, finding it blessedly full, and downed the contents without a second thought. It was coolant. Cold, refreshing, soothing coolant. And there was a pitcher of the stuff beside it, too, for when he inevitably finished the glass. Starscream was not a religious mech, but he believed this is the closest he’d ever been to being blessed by the Allspark.

“You don’t sound great. But at least you’re not dead! Anyway, did you just wake up? What time is it on Cybertron right now, because it’s like, noon in Jasper.”

Starscream, not listening, poured himself another glass of coolant. His servos trembled slightly as he did so, and spilled a bit onto the table, but he paid it no mind. It’s not like he could see any stains. “How in the Pit did you manage to get ahold of my comm?” He asked.

“You gave it to me!” Miko replied with a happy bounce to her voice.

Starscream nearly choked on his next sip of coolant. “What!? I wouldn’t do that!”

“Yeah, you did! By the time the party started packing up, we were talking and you got all upset that we had to cut it short. So you remembered how I could call Bulkhead and you gave me your number, too! We ended up talking for hours.” Starscream was quiet, and Miko was able to read the silence very well. “Wow, you really don’t remember anything, do you?”

“...Evidently, I don’t.” He sat down on his berth, suddenly finding his knees were too weak to hold him up any longer. Great, Miko not only had his personal comm, but he had also managed to blab at her for hours on end, about Pit-knows-what. His tank churned, not just from his over-indulgence of engex, but of socialization as well. “What...What sorts of things did we talk about, exactly?”

“It wasn’t anything bad, Screamer. Relax!” Miko said, sounding frustratingly casual. “You just told me a bunch of fun stories about life before the war, about you and your brothers getting into trouble. I didn’t take you to be such a thrill-seeker; jumping off buildings, stealing things, running from the cops? You said that was mostly because of your brothers, and you hated it, but now you kinda miss cleaning up their messes. I would, too… They sounded cool. Oh, I really liked that story about them running that underground betting ring, even though you told them not to, so that they could raise money so that you and your-”

“Mm,” Starscream grunted, rudely cutting her off. He found himself sickened at the way Miko’s voice softened at the mention of his Trine. At least he hadn’t talked about anything immediately incriminating, but that didn’t make this conversation any less mortifying. “Did I talk about anything else, or was that it?”

Miko huffed at the sudden onset of familiar rudeness. “Jeez, you don’t have to rush me… Well, you talked about Smokescreen a bit,” she said that in a way that made Starscream’s plating itch. Like she knew something he didn’t, and that she was eager to tell him. “You said he was like another brother. Complete with the messes to clean up,” she continued, pouting her lips and making a goo-goo voice. Purely with the intent to annoy him, which was working. “It’s cute that you guys are playing so nice.”

Starscream frowned, deeply, and drank his coolant if only to keep himself from vehemently disagreeing with his own drunken assessments. Historically speaking, that sort of thing never worked, so he just chose to brush past it. Not without a little grumble of distaste, though, because he couldn’t get by without letting Miko know in some fashion that she was getting on his last nerve. Still, he was certain he’d mentally lash himself for saying such a thing for the rest of his function. Smokescreen was an afterthought at best and friend only out of convenience. At worst, he was… too close. A liability. “Anything. Else?”

“We talked about music for a while,” Miko continued, more casually. “I found out that your favorite color is red, and mine is purple by the way, since you definitely forgot. Your second favorite is yellow, mine is black, and you said it wasn’t a color. Which it totally is.”

“It isn’t.”

“You hate snow, but you like rain,” Miko continued, not entertaining a second, sober edition of this argument. “Apparently Earth rain is really nice compared to rain on Cybertron. And it was raining at that point, so I moved my phone so you could hear it through my window. Then you started getting sleepy and we kinda nodded off from there. That’s pretty much it.” Before Starscream could comment, she gasped. “Oh! And you asked me to make you a playlist!”

“No.” It didn’t sound like disbelief, more like a command. But, of course, Miko heard what she wanted to hear.

“Yeah, you did! Get ready for that, because it’s gonna blow your mind! I already got lots of bands I think you’ll like. When you get it, I want some good, honest feedback, okay? Once I get a good playlist I’m gonna burn it onto a CD and give your mix a custom cover. For you, I’m thinking a constellation that makes a set of bat wings and claws or something.”

Starscream rubbed his face, feeling his intense lethargy compound onto itself. “What use would I have for a primitive piece of Earth technology like that?”

“Pfft, the CD is for me, dummy. I made a collection for my shelf; everyone’s gotten one except for you and Soundwave! You just get the playlist digitally, and then I’ll send you a pic of the cover, once it’s finished! When you get your eyes back, I mean.”

“Hm, yes, that’s very nice of you,” Starscream said, not really listening. As if he was ever going to purposefully torture himself with Miko’s ‘rocks.’ But, unfortunately, he wouldn’t be able to free himself from Miko without having to outright change his Comm-link code, which would surely arouse suspicion. And it would only lead to her whining to Bulkhead until he ultimately relented and had no choice but to give her the new code. For a bot with such a massive backside, he lacked the spinal strut to hold it up.

Now that his processor was burning slightly less intensely than before, all he was currently wondering about was what time it was. But his internal chronometer was completely desynced from the sheer amount of engex he’d consumed. He made a face, surprised at his own downward spiral. It had been a long time since he’d last gotten that slag-faced. Wasn’t there supposed to be a meeting this morning? Maybe it was still early… And where was Smokescreen? Since he wasn’t in the room, he imagined he must be the one who left him the coolant. Which was good, because this whole hangover business was obviously his fault.

And that was why Starscream wouldn’t bring it up: because Smokescreen had clearly already realized his error, and promptly made up for it. Why couldn’t everyone else make it so easy?

He placed his digit to his audial and huffed, preparing to end the call as soon as he finished his sentence. “Anyway, Miko, I have to get to a meeting. Have fun with your ‘seedies,’ or whatever it is. Goodbye!” Beep. And then there was silence, blissful silence… too much silence. Starscream furrowed his brow as he walked out of his room, focusing in on the lack of stimuli. The entire Nemesis was quiet, all except for a distant, muffled noise. It sounded like a very one-sided conversation, and a rather passionate one at that.

With nothing else to go off of and no idea what time it was, Starscream figured that was as good a thing to investigate as any. He swallowed back a vile backfire from his tank before it could come to fruition in his intake as he trudged towards the sound. Even with Miko gone, the throbbing pain in his helm persisted. At this rate, whatever mundane task Ultra Magnus had in mind for him to keep busy may as well be death by firing squad. Hopefully his pitiful posture was a good enough indicator that he needed a full day’s rest. And he could reasonably blame it on the near-concussion he sustained two days prior. Primus, that really was only two days ago, wasn’t it?

As he approached the source of the sound, he found himself, ironically, in front of Ultra Magnus’ office. He planted his audial to the wall beside the door, not because he needed to do so to hear properly, but because it was just that difficult to remain straight upright. In reality, he could tell from several feet away that the officer-turned-general was giving someone a good old fashioned grilling. And by the slight fry in Ultra Magnus’ vocalizer, it had been going on for several minutes. Or, maybe this wasn’t his first appointment. This was a good indicator that they were, as Smokescreen would say, ‘busted.’

“This is a gross example of misconduct, a massive breach of trust, and above all else, a completely horrific display of negligence. You’re a medic. Smokescreen had barely even begun to recover from his concussion-”

“He didn’t drink!” Knockout exclaimed, which caused Starscream to slightly recoil. Honestly, he shouldn’t have been surprised to hear that it was Knockout getting a verbal thrashing, but he was so used to things just working out for the red menace that this was a genuine twist. “Smokescreen is a grown mech, I told him not to drink, and he didn’t.”

“And if he had?”

“He didn’t. How many times do I have-!?”

“Knockout, the only two bots still standing are Smokescreen and Bulkhead. Everyone else is sick.” Including Soundwave? Now that was another twist. “We have no scouts, and we’re down one foreman. I told you that we couldn’t celebrate, and you deliberately disobeyed my orders. Everyone on this ship has placed their trust in you to ensure that you’ll take care of them, including Ratchet, and now I don’t know if you have what it takes to follow through on that oath. I strongly encourage you to reflect on your blasé attitude, and make adjustments, if you intend to keep your post in the future.”

Starscream’s plating flared a bit in shock. Ultra Magnus surely wasn’t threatening Knockout’s medical license, was he? The heavy silence behind the door spoke volumes, filling in the gaps in Ultra Magnus’ tone with Knockout’s lack of response. If not his medical license, he was still threatening his position. As much as he despised Knockout for his horrible berthside manner, the idea of him being demoted out of his field made his tank twist in anger. He knew foolish leadership when he heard it, and Starscream was nothing if not a creature of habit.

Ultra Magnus’ office door swung open, Starscream’s shadow slicing into the room like a blade, his wings raised in indigence. Knockout swung around in his chair to face Starscream, optics wide with surprise, not just for the sudden entrance, but for the culprit. Before Ultra Magnus could open his intake to speak, Starscream occupied the air with a low drone. “Have we had our feelings hurt, Ultra Magnus? Or is this some other manner of cognitive malfunction?”

Ultra Magnus lowered his brow ridge, baffled. “Excuse me?”

“Auditory, then. Perhaps you should bring that up with Ratchet. And while you’re at it, why don’t you ask him to come see Knockout about those loose lip-plates of his?”

“Starscream, what is the meaning of this? Is there something Ratchet hasn’t told me?” Ultra Magnus asked. Starscream chuckled, meanly, and sauntered over to the officer’s desk, trailing his digits across the rim as he did so.

“This insubordination that has you so riled up runs deeper than you think, Magnus. Ratchet was at the party, too. In fact, he even agreed to keep his intake shut about the whole affair, so long as he got some high grade of his own. I’m happy to see he actually held up his end of the bargain. And, luckily for you, I had no say in their deal, so there’s really no paint off my plates to squeal about it.” He placed both his servos on the desk, looking slightly off-center from Ultra Magnus, but staring him down nonetheless.

“So. What’s your next move, Magnus? Are you going to fire Ratchet, as well? Or is it just Knockout? What of the rest of us, hm? Do we all have a scheduled appointment for a verbal thrashing, too? No?” He lowered his helm, not waiting for an answer. “You honestly believe that he’s the sole reason this soiree happened in the first place? Only a fool would think him that resourceful. Noooo, it’s so much worse than you thought, sir. It was all of us. Every. Last. One.”

Knockout reset his optics, even taking a moment to wipe them clear with his digits to ensure he wasn’t dreaming. Starscream had come to his aid. And he was doing so without any ulterior motive, Knockout could tell by the little insult Starscream had snuck into his speech. ‘You aft,’ Knockout thought, affectionately. Ultra Magnus glared into the pits of Starscream’s optics, frowning deep enough to crease his face-plates. “...So, you admit that you had a part in this, Starscream?” He challenged, but Starscream did not falter.

“Yes. I’m long past denying that. Now answer my question: what’s your next move? Do you intend to punish all of us?” Starscream counted to five in his head, and when he heard no answer, he continued. But his tone shifted with his brow ridge, taking on a softer edge. “I understand as well as you do the situation we’re in, but an army can only go on for so long with low morale. We were tired, and we needed a break. Perhaps if you had compromised, or even supervised, then this would have gone differently. Do not be fool enough to throw away one of your two medics just because he dared to give your people what you refused to.”

Starscream straightened, lifting his servos off the table in a faux display of submission. “But, that’s none of my business. Good day, gentlemechs.” He turned to leave, but Ultra Magnus stood in his seat, and the squeak of the chair legs made Starscream freeze up.

“Hold it,” Ultra Magnus commanded, his tone even and his expression clear. “...Knockout,” he said, turning to the medic, who had been surprisingly quiet during this whole ordeal. In more ways than one. “I’m surprised that you didn’t tell me about everyone else’s involvement. Including Ratchet’s. Why?”

Knockout fidgeted with his digits in his lap, taking in a deep breath and speaking at it’s apex. “For one, I’m not a snitch, unlike Starscream,” that earned him a dirty look, he was sure. “And, for another… this is still, at the end of the day, mainly my responsibility, sir. I’d rather be the one thrown under the bus -er, truck- than have anyone else take the fall for me.”

“Hm.” Ultra Magnus shuttered his optics for a moment, thinking. “… I want to make it clear that I never intended to fire you from your post outright. But I had considered a temporary demotion, at the very least. However, I’m willing to sweep this mess under the rug, just this once. Make no mistake, this is still a major breach of conduct, but… I see that it wasn’t without reason. And you’re not the only one to blame.” He nodded, gesturing towards the door with his helm. “You’re both free to go. Keep your comms open for when the meeting is rescheduled. We still have a lot of important matters to discuss.”

Starscream stood in place, but Knockout wasted no time standing from his seat. “Thanks for being open-minded, Ultra Magnus!” He rushed out, pushing Starscream along the way despite how his heeled skidded in protest. It was clear he was getting them both out of there as quickly as possible in the fear he may change his mind and punish them both. But, Ultra Magnus just sat back at his desk as the door closed behind them with a heavy sigh, planting his helm into his servos for a blessed moment of vulnerability. Maybe he was being too harsh, and maybe he shouldn’t have been so firm as to tell Knockout ‘no’ without any alternative solution, but Starscream had ultimately gotten to the heart of the problem.

His feelings were hurt by this betrayal, regardless of how small it may have been. Like most things, Ultra Magnus would add this to the ever-growing list of his problems. As hypocritical as it was, now he really did feel as though he needed a break. But, item number five on his list of problems remained uncrossed: ‘I seldom take my own advice.’

“Will you quit pushing me!?” Starscream squawked, digging his heels as deeply into the floor as he could. The squeak that resulted from this made his processor feel as though it were being pierced by knitting needles, and he gripped his helm just as Knockout finally released his back to swing around to his front.

“Starscream, you beautiful, alcoholic bastard,” Knockout said, grinning with his finials as well as his intake. “You actually came to my rescue for once! Talk about a character arc.”

“Yes, yes, I’m very generous,” he said, sparing one servo just to flip it around aimlessly as he grimaced. “Could you please control your volume?”

“Woof. Can’t really say I’m all that surprised, though. You were really putting them back last night,” Knockout said, lowering his volume to a whisper out of kindness. But he still managed to keep his velvety cadence, much to Starscream’s chagrin. “How long have you been up?”

“About ten minutes,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck with both servos.

“Double woof. How’s that chronometer?”

“Offline,” Starscream raised a digit in a threatening manner. “If you say ‘triple woof’ I will do something rash.”

“It’s three p.m. You’ve been in recharge for thirteen hours.”

Starscream paled, muttering, “Woof, indeed.”

“Did you have any coolant? I left a pitcher for you on your nightstand.” When Starscream’s brow ridge skyrocketed, Knockout smirked and put a servo on his hip. “What? Did you expect Smokescreen to have left it for you?”

“Uh,” he said, intelligently, while feeling a bit of heat in his face.

“Don’t be silly, he’s not your doctor~” There was an almost affectionate tone in Knockout’s voice when he said that, a byproduct of how pleased he was to still be in that position. And it only made Starscream heat up a little bit more. Thankfully not enough to bring a glow to his ventilators or kick on his fans. “And don’t feel too special, I got one for everybody… But, you were the one who got the actual pitcher after I made my rounds. Frame-to-engex ratio dictated that made the most sense.”

Knockout reached and grabbed the servo that had previously threatened him, and Starscream accepted it with only a slight twitch, surprisingly enough. “Now, how does a little re-calibration session in the med bay sound, hm? I can tell you all about the fun misadventures you had… away from prying audials. I just know the suspense is killing you.”

Starscream’s wings abruptly swung downwards on his back. “I really don’t like that I can hear you smiling.”

“So it’s a ‘yes,’ then. Good! This way, my disabled friend.”

Knockout led him to the med bay without much fuss, but Starscream was finding himself increasingly unnerved by the lack of noise on the ship. “Where is everyone?”

“Sleeping, mostly,” Knockout replied as he adjusted the medical berth to fold so that his patient could sit upright. “Ratchet has taken over for Soundwave. Forcibly so, from what I heard. Had to scrape him off his desk. Two peas in a pod, those two.” He patted the berth. “Hop up.”

“What about Smokescreen and Bulkhead?” He asked as he sat down, mentally deliberating whether or not the order in which he said the names would be taken as some sort of ammunition. “I overheard they’re both in working order.”

“Helm forward, pinch, you know the drill,” Knockout politely requested. Starscream complied, allowing Knockout to pierce the port at the base of his helm with a cable. He’d done it so many times he didn’t even have to search or part his neck cabling to find it. “Very good,” he said as he made his way to the computer and began typing in commands. “Bulkhead is overseeing construction, as usual. Smokescreen is still on medical leave; last I saw him he was playing video games in the lounge with Steve and Gerard. Remember him? He got his legs bitten off. I think him and Susan have a thing going on, but you didn’t hear that from me~”

Starscream lowered his brows. “Have his legs not been replaced?”

“No, of course they’ve been replaced. You really think we have a shortage of Eradicon parts? Oh, forgive me for forgetting their trademarked longevity!”

Starscream huffed. “Not a single optic, though,” he muttered, bitterly.

“Nope. I saw it myself, Starscream, the whole container was overturned. Besides, I don’t think you’d really want Vehicon optics even if we did have them. They’re ghastly behind those visors, like pinprick lazer pointers.”

“Any optic is better than none at all, you vain buffoon.”

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t complain about how hideous you are, I know you care about your appearance as much as I do. You’ve just gotten lazy. Seriously, when’s the last time you had a reframe?” He teased, hitting a few keystrokes that immediately sent the message ‘it is three-twenty-one p.m.’ into his processor like an intrusive thought.

“It was an expensive habit,” Starscream said, rubbing his forehelm to recover from the sudden influx of data. “And idiotic, in hindsight. Why waste so much energy on a new look when it’s only going to get torn apart?”

“Pessimist,” Knockout purred. He looked over Starscream’s readout and clicked his glossa. “Well, you’re in working order. The hangover should pass in a few hours so long as you keep yourself fueled enough to burn off the extra charge. But, I think a little massage could help with the headache, if you’re willing.”

Starscream grimaced as Knockout removed the cable from his neck. “If it’s anything like the one you gave Bumblebee, I think I could get the same results by throwing myself off the roof.”

Knockout barked out a laugh and shook his helm, petting Starscream’s pauldron. “No, nothing like that. That was for medicine, this would be more for recreation. A favor to a friend.” Starscream looked towards Knockout with trepidation in his face, which made him roll his optics. “No strings attached, obviously.”

There was an awkward beat of silence, which Knockout almost filled with a snarky ‘what, is there something on my face?’ But Starscream beat him to the finish line, asking, in an uncanny innocence, “We’re friends?”

It took Knockout by surprise that that was what Starscream had a problem with. But, reflecting on their previous conversation on their cyclical patterns of abuse, it actually did make sense. And, honestly, it comforted Knockout that Starscream still remembered all of that. So he smirked, with softness in his optics, and patted Starscream once more with an added weight. “I like to think so, yes.”

“I thought about ratting you out, you know. When you gave me the note,” Starscream said, in a challenge. “I could have done it.”

“I know,” Knockout said, adjusting the medical berth to lean Starscream back, which only startled his patient the slightest bit. “And I had a backup plan. I used your personal datapads and wrote it as if you were the one behind all this. Signature and all, Soundwave provided that little touch.”

Starscream’s intake dropped open, but he caught it quickly. “You-!? The likelihood of that actually working is so slim! What if I had personally handed it to Ultra Magnus?”

“You wouldn’t have, because that would have outed you as a snitch to the rest of us. We already know that you are, but, you would’ve figured it better to not give anyone a reminder. You planned to slip it under his door, didn’t you?” Knockout said with a knowing grin, looming over Starscream’s helm with his servos planted on either side of it. He spluttered, giving Knockout all the answer he needed. “I know you. But, guess what? You didn’t do it. How come?”

“… Wanted engex,” Starscream muttered.

“Mhm. And you came to my rescue a few minutes ago. No engex there. I’m going to touch the sides of your helm, behind your audials, alright? Let me know if it hurts.”

Starscream nodded, secretly comforted to hear that Knockout was distracting himself with this silly favor of his, so that the conversation was hardly center stage. “Well, Ultra Magnus was being foolish. You don’t deserve to be fired over such a petty reason.” He flinched a bit as Knockout’s digits took up space behind his audials and pressed down, inserting themselves into the cabling beneath his plates. A tingling rush began in the center of his processor and pulsed outward, dying at the base of his neck but echoing across his collar.

“Hurts?” Knockout asked with a dutiful pause.

“No.”

“Good,” he said, then began to gently press against the delicate wiring, slowly but surely loosening the tightly-wound mess Starscream’s processor had become. “I figured someone like you would have understood such an over-correction for petty insubordination. I’m sure you would have done the same in his position, you megalomaniac.”

Starscream scoffed, but it lacked any bite as he slowly sunk further into the berth as his helm finally began to loosen it’s vice-like grip on his processor. “You’re speaking as if you have a theory,” he said, pointedly not disagreeing with Knockout’s diagnosis.

Knockout hummed in a self-satisfied way. “I do. I think I’m your favorite bot.”

Starscream snorted meanly. “Please, you’re not even my favorite medic. Ow!”

Knockout pinched the tip of Starscream’s wing with an evil smirk. “Really? Well then, shall I get Ratchet to take over for me?” He released the wing, and Starscream just grumbled to himself, which was all the answer Knockout needed. “Mhm, that’s what I thought.”

Starscream sighed, annoyed not just with Knockout’s schoolyard bullying tactics, but with the slight tinge of truth to his theory. He was far from being his favorite bot, but, oddly enough, between him and Ratchet, he found he would rather have Knockout caring for him under most circumstances. As flippant and egotistical as he was, his need to add a personal touch to everything he did was oddly, in a word Knockout would prefer, luxurious. Comforting, being more apt. But Starscream didn’t like the idea of using that word for this, even if it was true.

Knockout was, in every sense of the word, a terrible doctor. Simultaneously far too casual and way too intimate in all the wrong ways. But, he was also Starscream’s favorite. And it felt good to have him back, even though, realistically, he had never truly left that position. And, thanks to Starscream, he wouldn’t be leaving it anytime soon. Thank goodness he had at least one medic in his corner. He could excuse the warm, fuzzy, icky feeling in his spark away on that. As well as the admittedly effective massage he was receiving.

“Weren’t you going to tell me more about what happened last night?” Starscream asked, his voice low as he turned to a molten puddle of metal beneath Knockout’s digits.

“Oh, that’s right! I almost forgot. Now, where to begin…” Knockout clicked his glossa a few times. “Well, we kissed, for one thing—”

Starscream shot upright. “WE FRAGGING WHAT!?”

“Joking, joking!” Knockout said, cackling like a witch. “It was actually Bulkhead that you kissed.” He deftly caught Starscream’s swiping servos, still laughing. “It was just the cheek!”

Starscream yanked his servos back and retched into them, shuddering. “You-! Ugh, Primus! Why!?”

“It was a ‘thank you’ for him offering to carry you back bridal-style. You actually specifically requested to be carried like a princess, for some reason. By the end of the night you were so damned sloshed it was hard to make anything out besides-” he made his best impression of Starscream’s drunken slur “-carry m’like a princess.’ You were adorable.”

Starscream buried his face deeply into his servos, his fans whirring at full speed and his vents glowing near-white with heat. “… How soon can I make a request to be medically terminated?”

“Wait until after I tell you the rest, then I’ll gladly put you on suicide watch.”

Despite the lack of atmosphere, it was heavy on Luna-Two. Airachnid paced back and forth in her control room, flexing her digits with increasing tension. Energon, energon everywhere, but not a drop to drink. Nothing that wouldn’t further dwindle her numbers, anyway. The longer she remained confined to this cruel oasis, the more her spark coiled around itself, threatening to snuff itself in its chamber. She wasn’t sure if her fasting was making her thirst worse, or if her condition was just worsening by the day. Either way, time was running out, and fast.

“My queen, queen,” a voice echoed in her helm. “I’ve returned, returned.”

Airachnid paused in her pacing and sighed upon finally being able to feel the ache in her struts. “It’s about time,” she replied, sharply, as she exited her chamber. “I trust you haven’t come back without something to show for it. And good news isn’t going to cut it, I need results.” She stood, overlooking the ground floor, with her digits drumming impatiently against the iron railing. “Especially after your poor performance against the Autobots,” she hissed, furrowing her brow.

The stag-beetle shaped Insecticon with the bothersome speech impediment shambled forward until it stood in the center of the floor. It transformed, lifting its horned helm to meet Airachnid’s cold gaze, with its arms filled with ill-gotten gains. Its helm was lopsided, on account of one of its mandibles being torn from its face. “Yes, my queen, queen. In fact, I have brought you far more than what you asked of me, to compensate, compensate…”

The Insecticon turned around and chittered a command. Soon after, a set of two more Insecticons came into view. One taking the form of a rhino beetle, and the other, a grasshopper. They each transformed and took a knee beside the stage beetle, paying their respect to the spider than looked down upon them, her silhouette dark against the bright, artificial light that bathed the prison in stark, blue-white hues. Her violet optics narrowed as she surveyed them, drumming her digits one final time before finally making her way towards the stairs. “New recruits? From Cybertron? Interesting, but worthless if you failed to deliver what I asked of you.”

Before she could take the first step, the grasshopper abruptly yanked the treasures from the stag’s servos, then leapt on powerful legs, easily hopping up and over the railing to stand behind Airachnid, where he once again took a knee. Without flinching, she turned and raised a brow, her silence giving the grasshopper the floor to explain this outburst. “You look weary, my queen,” it said, keeping its helm low. “Please, spare yourself the travel. Behold our gifts.”

The stag growled, angrily, but Airachnid raised a servo to cool its ire. She would rather not have to deal with a dogfight right now. She knelt down and callously swiped the broken baubles to the side, allowing them to shatter completely against the metal floor below. Until finally, her optics latched onto something. Withholding any excitement, she delicately picked up a thin sheet of metal between two digits. Finally, this was it. A circuit board, completely intact, including the Cybertronian lettering that dictated its functions. A perfect fit for her stasis pod.

She grinned wide enough for the slits in her cheek-plates to part slightly, an ominous purple glow streaking through with a pleased hiss. She placed the key to her freedom into her subspace to avoid further damage and turned to face the Insecticons that remained on the ground level. “Well, it would appear that you’ve managed to exceed my expectations,” she said, addressing the stag. “Tell me, what is your designation?”

“I am Shrapnel, Shrapnel,” he replied with a gentle bow of his helm.

“Shrapnel…” Airachnid breathed, smirking as she heard the Insecticon’s engine purr from the sound of its name alone. “How did you come across this?” She lifted the circuit board so that he could see it.

“After our battle with the Autobots, I returned to the site, site...I retrieved it from a slab, slab…”

“A magnetic circuit slab, hm?” She turned the circuit board over in her servo. “Not the same as a stasis pod, but...I can make it work.” She turned to the grasshopper. “And you? What is your designation?”

“Kickback, my queen. I am eager to serve you,” he purred, his voice as sickening as honey. A veritable kiss-aft, this one. But they had their uses.

“And I’m Bombshell!” The rhino beetle shouted from the ground level, almost appearing indignant at his lack of attention. Airachnid turned to him with a smile.

“So you are.” She offered her servo to Kickback. “If you wouldn’t mind taking me down to properly address the others?”

Kickback complied, gently taking her into his arms and leaping down to the ground level. The impact was almost non-existent, due to the robust set of hydraulics in the Insecticon’s legs. Airachnid hummed, pleasantly, as she was gently placed down onto the floor, and she allowed her servo to drag away from Kickback’s chassis. “I must say, I’ve never really seen Insecticons like you three before. Shrapnel, how did you ever manage to slip past me?” She purred, walking over to cup Shrapnel’s damaged jaw into her gentle servos.

Shrapnel leaned into her touch, chittering pleasantly. “I waited patiently for a chance to impress you, my queen, queen…”

“And impress me you have. You deserve a reward. All of you do.” She released Shrapnel and turned to face the trio with a wicked grin. “Shrapnel, I hereby anoint you as captain of my guard. Kickback and Bombshell will work at your side. Together, we will take Cybertron. You all will stand with me, and be lavished with riches the likes of which you could only imagine.”

Suddenly, a crackle of electricity ran along the horns that adorned Shrapnel’s head, and he shook with excitement. “Such as, as… the honor of torturing, maiming, and killing all who stand in our way, my queen? Queen…”

Airachnid blinked, a gesture of pleasant surprise. “I like your enthusiasm. And that cute little trick you just pulled. Where have you been hiding that? Don’t tell me you’ve been holding out on me…”

“No! No,” Shrapnel answered with a shake of his helm. “Lightning takes energy, energy...I save it for when it is most necessary, or most fun, fun…”

“I think this partnership is going to work out beautifully, my dear.” She turned her helm towards Bombshell and lifted her chin slightly. “And what about you? Do you have a trick of your own?”

Bombshell nodded, eagerly, and turned towards Kickback, who recoiled. But he wasn’t fast enough as Bombshell’s horn suddenly shot out of his helm like a rocket, lodging itself squarely into the crest of Kickback’s forehelm. Instantly, Kickback went rigid and began to stumble around like a Zombiecon. “Hit yourself,” Bombshell said, and Kickback complied without a second thought, slack-jawed and sloppy as he punched himself again and again until he literally knocked himself off his pedes.

Airachnid watched the whole display and laughed, delighted. “Mind control! Not exactly the most subtle method I’ve ever seen…” She walked to Kickback and popped the horn out of his forehelm with a small tug, then inspected it in her servos. “But, useful nonetheless.” Kickback groaned and rubbed his forehelm, whining at the small hole that had been left behind.

“I call it my cerebro-shell, my queen,” Bombshell said.

“Call it whatever you want,” Airachnid said, gingerly popping it back into place on Bombshell’s helm. “So long as you use it whenever I say. Or, whenever Shrapnel tells you to.” She stepped over and gave Shrapnel another pleasant pat on the helm. “Now then, run along and refuel. But don’t get too comfortable, there is still work to be done, and we’re short on time as it is.”

“Yes, my queen,” they all said with a bow. Shrapnel, of course, ending it with one extra ‘queen.’ Kickback shambled off the floor and snarled at Bombshell as he passed, muttering about how that ‘wasn’t very nice.’ Which was an understatement, to say the least.

Airachnid sighed, content as she made her way back upstairs. Things were finally starting to look up. New recruits, and her stasis pod was finally near completion. But as she made her way back up, an unfamiliar sound graced her audials. A soft, melodic tone, which gave her slight pause. Her optics traveled to the opened door of her chambers, finding a calming blue glow emanating from within. Far removed from the sickly yellow-green hue that normally adorned her monitors. She jogged the rest of the way upstairs and hurried into her office to investigate.

Instantly, the coil in her spark unwound from the sheer force of her delight. She approached the monitor and basked in the glow of the center console, which was overtaken by a blue text box, with white lettering that read:

“INCOMING HOMING BEACON: DESTINATION: CYBERTRON.”

Airachnid breathed out a soft laugh, then sunk into her seat with a pleasurable sigh. “Soundwave, you’re nothing if not punctual. Don’t you worry, I haven’t missed your invitation. And I don’t plan on being late…”

She wasn’t foolish enough to assume she was the only one to receive this message. No, she knew it was being broadcast light-years away. Every Cybertronian spacecraft, every surviving computer console, all of it would receive this beacon so long as it was within range. Which, knowing Soundwave, was vast. The longer she waited, the harder it would be for her to take Cybertron for herself. So the sooner she escaped this rock, the better. Once she took down the pitiful population that remained, anyone who dared return home would be ripe for the taking. Like flies, they would all become caught in her web. And Arcee would bear witness to it all, in her rightful place on Airachnid’s mantle.

Airachnid closed her optics and leaned her helm back, preparing to address her subjects. “My loyal servants,” she began. Out of her sight, all movement on the monitors stopped on a dime as every Insecticon froze with the reverence of disciples before their god. “There has been a change of plans. Cease all operations except for that which pertains to my stasis pod. Time is of the essence. Do not fail me.”

She opened her optics, heralded by a determined cry of devotion that she could hear from all directions. She removed the circuit board from her subspace and held it up to the light, marveling at it as the light of the monitors shone through the minuscule gaps within its dimensions. “You had better be worth all of this trouble it took to get you, little one.” She sighed and placed it onto her desk, easily slotting it into place with several other circuits. “Don’t disappoint me,” she whispered, like a prayer, as she used one of her many legs as a soldering iron to lock the piece into place.

Chapter Text

A couple hundred light years away (give or take) from Cybertron, there was a ship. A very large ship, about the size of a cruise-liner, porcelain white. And on it’s side, it was adorned with the designation: The Peaceful Resolution. Millions of years ago, this vessel left Cybertron with hundreds of Cybertronians on board. Most of them were called Neutrals, but nowadays they’re just called whatever their name is. Because as much as anyone liked to point and sneer at those who made the choice not to choose a side in the Great War, anyone who hopped onto the Peaceful Resolution since then has learned to keep their intake zipped about your stance. The Peaceful Resolution has since become a melting pot of deserters, refugees, defectors, and other such types.

Tonight, all is quiet. Which would be a good sign to just about anyone, except for Red Alert. He was in the bridge, overlooking the main console with an energon latte (decaf) despite being assured many, many times that the Peaceful Resolution quite literally pilots itself. But Red Alert always took it upon himself to oversee the bridge during the graveyard shift, regardless of that fact. Because he knew if he wouldn’t, no one else would. Which was another thing he filed away as ‘suspicious,’ alongside the lack of activity tonight, and many, many other things.

Namely, their newest additions to their crew. They had recently visited the planet Messatine, per the suggestion of Prowl of all mechs, to go and check on Delphi, a medical facility that had been erected sometime during the war to ensure that the nucleon mines would remain operational. This was a bad idea from the start, because Delphi was within the territory of the Decepticon Justice Division. But it was also why they had to go. If there was anyone there that needed to be rescued, Autobot or Decepticon, they needed to be there to guide them to safety.

What they found there was… troublesome, to say the least. And though Red Alert had been told to ‘chill out’ and just be glad they had a new medic, he was certain nobody would think him crazy to not be too excited about the accessory that had come with Pharma. Disease. An infectious disease, wrapped in a Cybertronian package labeled ‘First Aid.’ Pharma, supposedly, had it under control. First Aid had been placed into quarantine, and Pharma was hard at work developing a vaccine. They had been assured that no one would be infected, so long as they didn’t touch First Aid. But Red Alert wasn’t so sure. Something just wasn’t adding up about Pharma’s story. But for now, he had no way of proving it.

He was snapped from his thoughts when the monitor in front of him suddenly lit up, bright blue, with white lettering:

“INCOMING HOMING BEACON: DESTINATION: CYBERTRON.”

Red Alert stared, for a long time. Longer than should be necessary to determine that what you were seeing in front of you was, in fact, real. But it couldn’t be real, Cybertron was a wasteland. What had happened? Who had sent this? Was it a set up? A trap? He took a sip of his latte that was mostly air, then hesitantly activated his comm. “Rodimus?”

After a brief amount of static, Rodimus’ voice entered the channel. “Yo, Red,” he said through a yawn. “What’s up?”

“We’ve just gotten a homing beacon from Cybertron.”

There was a small beat of silence. “… No bullshit? Actually, don’t answer that, I’ll be right down.”

The med bay was large, with high ceilings. That, combined with the perfect, symmetrical indentations on the eggshell-colored metal walls gave it the atmosphere of a cathedral. Every sound echoed ad infinitum, spiraling into the roof and cascading downwards like a rain of serpents. Every note sung by the equipment compounded onto itself. Every drop of fluid, a waterfall of hollowed glass. And the breathing. That Pit-forsaken breathing. Rotted fans spiraling in a stew of rust, condensation, and oil. Bubbling out and popping through vents like pits of tar. Rhythmic, droning, unending. Mocking.

The lights were off, save for a large monitor that sat at the back of the room. Large enough for a theater, to be seen from anywhere in the room for more intense procedures. It had gone into sleep mode, now emitting an aggressive white light into the room. It silhouetted Pharma’s patient as he slouched beside him on a stool, sparing his optics from the disgusting, brackish colors that had entirely overtaken First Aid’s paint. But he could tell First Aid was looking at him, he seldom looked at anything else. Despite his optics being long gone, melted into the backs of his helm, he always seemed to know exactly where Pharma was in the room.

And Pharma looked right back, seeing past First Aid, past the white light. It turned into snow. His once-blue servos were stained red and brown, slick with the vile fluid that endlessly pumped through First Aid’s fuel lines and through the seams of his frame. It rolled off his digits like lukewarm molasses. The bucket that sat below First Aid’s medical slab would need to be emptied, soon. And then it would need to be pumped right back into him. An ouroboros of his own excrement. A necessity to ensure that the parts that had nearly melted away will not heal incomplete, once the vaccine was complete. A punishment for still being alive.

He had been so close. The virus worked beautifully, and swiftly. It ran through Delphi like water, taking over the patients, the staff, one by one. Because everyone needs to transform, eventually. He’d locked himself in a quarantine chamber to wait out the rest, acting as though it were an accident, and leaving First Aid and Ambulon to scramble like headless chickens. But, unfortunately, Ambulon was one of the few bots out there that didn’t actually need to transform, because his alt mode was rubbish. A leg. While everyone else rotted around him, Ambulon had ample time to figure out what triggered the virus.

But it hadn’t yet crossed his mind that he had the clearance level necessary to force Pharma’s quarantine chamber door to open prematurely. Still, Pharma knew this was inevitable, so he slumped over in his chamber and put himself into a half-stasis. Waiting, and waiting, until one day that door finally opened and Ambulon stumbled in. The mech had dropped to his knees and taken Pharma by his shoulders, shaking him with trembling servos and a dazed smile.

“H-Hey! Wake up! I figured it out, it’s the T-cog! It’s the T-cog that triggers-I-come on we gotta move, First Aid is-!”

And that’s when Pharma planted his pistol to Ambulon’s chin, and pulled the trigger. It was quick, painless, but messy nonetheless. It would be difficult to explain that away, but for that one moment, Pharma felt like he could finally breathe again. And the air was heavy with the stench of rust. Of blood. It made his tanks clench, and when his optics finally focused enough to see Ambulon, or what was left of him, he’d retched. The energon that leaked from the gaping hole in his helm was thick, and murky. More brown than it was blue, and it hardly even glowed. Air escaped the hole and made it bubble. Pharma retched again.

He stumbled, dazed and underfueled, into the center of the room. It had gone dark, illuminated only by back up generators. Life support remained online, but the spark-rate monitors blared endlessly, or neared the end of their solo. The sound of dripping fluids, buzzing wires, and the wind howling outside was all he could hear. The smell was intoxicating. But he made it. With no outgoing communications, there would surely be a rescue team coming to investigate soon enough. He would have control over his life again. No more T-cogs. No more death. No more DJD. No more Tarn.

He could come and salvage any T-cog he wanted; in fact, Pharma hoped he would. He hoped that transformation-obsessed monster would come crawling back, desperate for a replacement, and slap whatever he could find into himself. The more he used that T-cog, the sooner he would seal his fate. But oh, Pharma wished it could be slower. He looked out over the sea of corpses, piled high onto medical slabs, or haphazardly set up onto the tiled floor. He looked into their optic-sockets, the black stains that coated their faces, and he began to laugh, imagining that it was Tarn.

He laughed, and laughed, and laughed. But it wasn’t funny. What had he done? He’d survived. This was the only way, it was either this, dying at the hands of the DJD, or an inevitable execution. This was his only hope of escape. But there was so much death, so much. Never again. It was okay now, it would all be okay. He could be a doctor again, he could move on, and it would all become nothing but a memory!

His laughter morphed into a scream. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. He would’ve gone for the DJD directly, if those coward combiners hadn’t refused! He just wanted to do his job, continue his purpose. He never should have agreed to come here. This was Prowl’s fault. This was Tarn’s fault. This wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t his fault! He didn’t have a choice!

His vocalizer eventually burned itself out, and he just sat there, at the epicenter of his misdeeds, waiting for rescue. Marinating in a toxic fog of his own mess, until it just smelled like plain air. He did have a choice, and this was what he’d chosen. Once he was outside of it all, once everything turned back to normal, he would learn to live with that guilt. What’s a few hundred corpses, compared to the thousands of lives he would save in the future? This world still needed him.

A ship landed outside. He didn’t know how long he’d been waiting, but he was exhausted by then. He removed the vaccine, the only vaccine, from his subspace and injected himself before he ran outside, waving his arms. A sea of white snow, clean and soft, with a white ship before him. A mech, painted like fire, came out to greet him, his vents steaming against the crisp air. Rodimus Prime. It was easy to regale the story he’d drafted, even past his shot vocalizer. A virus of rust, no survivors, his assistant committed suicide in the quarantine chamber after his partner passed. There was no way for Pharma to save him in time.

But before he could explain that he’d made a vaccine, he heard someone shout behind them. And when Pharma turned around, the noose around his throat tightened. A member of the ship, Skids, he’d learned, had gone inside to investigate like a brave fool. “I’ve found a survivor!” He shouted, grinning audial to audial and staring Pharma directly into his wide, frantic optics.

And it was First Aid, because of course it was First Aid. And he was soaked in his rust, infected once again, with no hope of changing that without First Aid revealing the truth. As much as Pharma wished he could, he couldn’t just cut off this last loose end. There were too many witnesses, now. Even now, in the med bay, he was being recorded. But most would assume Pharma’s current posture to be that of one in mourning, and they would be right, just misguided. He was mourning the loss of his freedom. And First Aid was mourning a lot more than just that. His vocalizer, for one thing.

Pharma had made sure it deteriorated as soon as possible without rousing suspicion, which was stupidly easy. Just a local injection of dud nanites mixed with a slow-burning acid. When every other part of his frame was melting, what was one more? First Aid was also mourning Ambulon, Pharma was sure. They didn’t appear to be all that close, but when you’re snowed in on a distant planet, you tend to bond with whoever you’re stuck with regardless of your own will. In a way, Pharma missed Ambulon, too. More for what he represented than who he was. A window into a simpler time.

He looked First Aid over again, looking at the little patches of brown-red that decorated his frame, and he snorted. “You kind of look like Ambulon,” he mused. Something gurgled in the back of First Aid’s throat, and a small stream of red fluid sprayed out towards Pharma, but it only managed to hit the floor between them. “Well, now you’re just being rude.”

He sighed, looking down at his filthy servos. Waste of a vaccine. He then stood on creaking knees. “Don’t go anywhere, I’m just going to hose off and stretch my legs a bit.”

He washed his digits without paying much attention, his mind elsewhere. He’d told everyone not to touch the rust, before Skids found First Aid, so no one would dare break quarantine besides the other medic on board, Velocity. How this ship had managed to remain afloat with only a recent-graduate as its sole medic, he would never know. But, he’d insisted on being the only one who treats First Aid. It wasn’t as if Pharma really wanted anyone else to die from this disease, including the young medic, but as time went on he was seeing fewer and fewer opened doors.

If he made the vaccine, the ship’s computers would record it, so there was no hiding that for himself. If he killed First Aid, he would be found out. If he tried to conveniently let him die due to negligence, that wouldn’t happen, because Velocity would hear the alarm once his spark flat-lined. Plus, Pharma would honestly rather die than stain his record with negligence. And he couldn’t turn off the alarm without higher clearance, either. Because, against all logic, the rookie was the Chief Medical Officer of this vessel. Pharma was just a stranger. Slowly but surely, everyone on this ship was looking more and more like another obstacle.

Not to mention that this Pit-forsaken ship was positively crawling with Decepticons. Even now that he was millions of miles away from Delphi, nothing had truly changed besides his body count. He was still sick with his own disease, surrounded by Decepticons on all sides, with little hope of escape. Why bother even properly sterilizing himself, at that point?

He walked out into the hall, the creases below his optics darkened and heavy, and he began to wander. A decent recharge had eluded him for days, and it had earned him some misguided sympathies from those assuming he was working hard to keep his dear friend alive. Though, keeping someone on the very edge of death was hard work, too, so he took his comforts where he could. Though, he detested accepting anything from the Decepticons on board, but he figured it would be better not to intentionally step on anyone’s pedes.

He found himself by the bridge and paused by the doors when he heard a conversation. In order to act natural for the cameras, he leaned against the wall and fished a cygarette from his subspace. An ugly habit he’d picked back up to deal with his stress, but at least now he could put it to some use.

“-It could be a trap,” Red Alert said. Pharma had heard him say that so many times now it was a great candidate for his epitaph.

“Okay,” Rodimus began, making a triangle with his digits and pressing it above his lip-plates. “I can see that, but, hear me out...what if it isn’t? We haven’t gotten a signal from Cybertron in how many centuries now? You really think Megatron would wait until now to try a stunt like this? You know what, don’t answer that, I don’t wanna hear the hundred theories you’ve come up with in the ten minutes it took me to walk from my hab to here.”

Pharma held in his next breath, his optics widening. Cybertron? They’d gotten a signal from Cybertron?

“So… You think it’s safe?” Red Alert asked, hesitantly.

“Nothing good in life is one hundred percent safe, Red. And if it is, you have to do something unsafe to get it. Don’t you wanna go home? Aren’t you tired of drifting around?”

Yes, Pharma did. And yes, he was. And he’d also heard enough. He exhaled a massive, blue cloud of steam from every vent on his body, then forced himself to walk, not run, to his hab-suite. His spark was spinning out of control in his chassis as his processor whirled. This was his chance, he knew it was, and he had to come up with a plan, fast.

Luckily, Pharma had put what little free time he had to good use. He’d learned nearly every blind spot on the ship in terms of surveillance. Red Alert was instrumental in achieving that. A little sedative in his energon during the graveyard shift and an hour spent studying the cameras he kept up at all times on the bridge, and Pharma had it down to a science. Which was good, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to pull off a stunt like that a second time. This made it much easier to slip things out of the lab.

There wasn’t a blind spot that could prevent him from being seen going in and out, but there was at least a spot he could inconspicuously slip something into his subspace. The hardest part was having to deal with Brainstorm for extended periods of time, pretending to be interested in whatever ridiculous invention he’d made into a prototype without so much as letting the ink dry on the drawing board. Seriously, who in the Pit would ever want or need a stun gun that automatically fires when it detects guilt? Pharma’s joints still ached from that lockup.

No, the only thing he’d ended up stealing from the lab was a holoform generator. He rooted around beneath his berth and pulled up the loose panel he’d unscrewed there, then stuck his servo inside and retrieved the device. It was small, no bigger than his palm, shaped like a disc with only a few buttons on the rim. One to record, one to reset, and one to play. It was rudimentary, but it would do its job well enough.

He returned to the med bay, rolling over his steadily forming, bare-bones plan several times. In short: decoy, distraction, escape. Still, he knew he had a very short window, so needing to walk everywhere was torturous. But he smiled as the door to the med bay opened, delighted to be reminded that as bad as he felt, it could be so much worse. “I’m back,” Pharma said as he walked to First Aid’s side. “I hope you didn’t miss me too much, old friend.”

He placed his servos down on a clean patch of First Aid’s birth with a contented sigh that made First Aid tense. The puddle beneath him grew a bit wider, and Pharma’s optics softened at the sight. “I’m sorry for getting so glum with you before. I’m feeling better after that little break, though. How are you? Comfortable? Need a pillow? Some coolant?” First Aid bubbled and shifted on the slab, and Pharma heard something creak. Likely a joint threatening to dislodge itself from the sheer slick of First Aid’s steadily-melting interior. “Oh dear… You’re in pain again, aren’t you?”

Pharma leaned down to where his intake ghosted mere inches from First Aid’s audial, warming his cheek-plate with the gentle caress of his cygarette-scented breath. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, as to not be heard by the cameras, “it will all be over soon. I promise… And, for what it’s worth, I am sorry it had to end like this. I never intended to prolong your suffering. But, if this is how it has to be, I’m glad I can share this moment with you.”

First Aid’s breathing increased in intensity, forcing his chassis to expand and creak under its own weight. Pharma placed his servo gently over First Aid’s spark, and listened intently as his spark-rate increased. “You were a fine nurse, First Aid. And you ended up proving to be quite the fighter, as well. Take pride in that, and know that I won’t soon forget the role you and dear Ambulon played in getting me here. I’m eternally grateful for your sacrifice, I truly am.”

First Aid hissed and began to spasm against his slab from sheer panic. His digits flexed, as if grasping for something, but the sudden motion caused his joints to pop. Several digits unraveled and clattered onto the slab in pieces, two on his left servo and three on his right. The disgusting stew lurking within him suddenly rocketed from his throat like a geyser, heralded by static crackling. A pathetic attempt at a scream. Pharma smiled for just a moment longer, then corrected his expression as the show finally began.

He rushed to the console of the med bay and logged on, then pulled up First Aid’s vital readout. He ran to one of the storage cabinets and pulled out a syringe, then purposefully fumbled with his servos and dropped it, with a subtle kick to send it rolling underneath the console. He dove under and grabbed it, then retrieved the holoform generator from his subspace and put it into position, out of sight of the camera. Then, he quickly filled his syringe with various sedatives and medicines he knew very well to not play nicely with each other. Combined, they would not only knock First Aid out long enough to avoid rousing suspicion, but they would also become a slow-acting poison.

Because, for the time being, he needed First Aid alive to avoid setting off that damned alarm. By his estimate, he would have about ten minutes before First Aid suffered a stroke, and that would have to do. He returned to First Aid’s slab, and his patient shook his helm to and fro, his spittle going in all directions. He could practically hear First Aid’s voice, begging, ‘No! No! Please, don’t do this!’ But Pharma just scoffed and held First Aid’s forehelm to cease his thrashing. “Don’t make this harder than it already is,” he hissed. Then, the needle nestled itself into the vital fuel-line on his throat, and Pharma carefully pressed the plunger downward.

As First Aid’s seizure quickly began to wane, Pharma ran back to the console and pressed ‘play’ onto the holoform generator with his pede. Instantly, a pre-recorded holoform of Pharma took his place at the station. He’d recorded himself doing diagnostic scans, and just as advertised, the holoform was solid enough to hit the keys. Unfortunately, this part was sloppy, as he’d have to just hope no one was looking at the camera when he performed the switch, and he’d wasted no time running out of the room. But, if no one had witnessed that, all they’d see now is a good doctor, running basic diagnostics on his patient. Over, and over.

The decoy was in place, now he needed the distraction. And this is where First Aid would get his time in the spotlight, just before curtain call. Pharma snuck through the halls, purposefully taking the longest, safest route to the ship’s generator room. He slipped beneath several cameras and ducked into various rooms, narrowly managing to avoid his image being captured. Everyone was in recharge, no alarms had been raised yet, and it looked like Pharma was home free. Still, his spark continued to pound in his audials. One false step, and this could all be over. And, if he was too slow, the alarm would go off well before he has a chance to shut off the power to the med bay.

Upon finally seeing his destination, Pharma walked at a quickened pace. Just a few more steps. Just a few more. But then, the doors opened, and Pharma’s fuel lines froze. A purple femme casually strolled out of the generator room, twirling a wrench around in her servos and looking at the floor with a smile on her face. She caught Pharma in her peripheral vision and stopped, then looked up, meeting his optics with a curious tilt of her helm.

“Hey, doctor,” her smile faded upon seeing the wild look on Pharma’s face. It wasn’t unusual for the doctor to look out of sorts, but to look panicked was another thing. “Are you alright? Is something wrong? Is something wrong with First Aid?”

“I-I-...” Pharma stammered and averted his gaze, suddenly finding himself struggling to breathe. Think, think! Every moment you spend deliberating is a moment spent further away from freedom!

The femme approached Pharma, holding out one servo, as if deliberating whether or not she should touch him. From where she stood, the doctor was in a daze, nearing a processor shutdown. “Hey, look at me. My name is Nautica, remember? We hung out at the bar a few times, we discussed the multi-universe theory and how it could apply to organ donation? I think you were just trying to force the conversation to work by applying it to your field, but it was still fun, wasn’t it?”

Finally, she awkwardly planted her digits onto Pharma’s shoulder, which was a weird shape for comforting touches as it was. Pharma locked optics with her again, meeting a concerned smile. “Pharma? Uh, could you start listing the colors you see? You know, just for fun?”

Suddenly, a blaring sound emitted from down the hall, and a red, flashing light. Nautica’s helm snapped towards it with a short gasp, and Pharma’s body moved on its own. He snatched the wrench from her loose servo and swung it high above his helm. When Nautica turned back towards him, her mouth agape, he replied “Red,” and swung down with all the weight he could muster. The wrench smashed against the apex of Nautica’s helm, shutting off her optics and sending her to her knees. Pharma dropped the wrench and ran into the generator room, then wrenched the breaker box open. Finding himself with little time to carefully find the med bay’s power switch, he slapped his palm against it and whatever was unfortunate enough to be adjacent to it, then ran out of the room.

Decoy, distraction, escape. And escape would come in the form of an escape pod. Now that he was far past the point of stealth, he sprinted through the halls, paying little mind to the amount of noise he was making now that the alarm had been shut off.

Velocity was off shift, but she wasn’t asleep. She’d found it hard to shut her optics for long, ever since they left Delphi. She’d re-read her datapads on disease so many times she felt that when she finally did sleep, she would begin to recite them word-for-word. Wishful thinking. If that were true, she would have had a much easier time passing her exams. But, she felt no shame in being tenth-time-lucky. What she did feel shame in was the fact she had no idea how to help First Aid, or Pharma.

She’d really never seen or heard of anything like it! A virus that melts you from the inside out? It was disgusting as it was terrifying, and Velocity was getting very, very worried. Pharma had assured them they would be fine so long as they didn’t come in contact with the rust, but accidents happened all the time. And just how long could Pharma keep the symptoms at bay? If he went offline, Velocity would be completely clueless as to what to do next. She’d taken little peeks at Pharma’s notes with his permission, but it was jarring how little he’d actually figured out while he was trapped on Delphi. But between struggling to keep everyone alive, and being in DJD territory, she felt she could give him a pass for working slowly.

But that didn’t excuse him from all-but-barring her from assisting. He didn’t want her to get sick, she understood that, but she was the CMO here, and that meant First Aid was her patient, too. Maybe Pharma’s caginess was some sort of trauma response, like he felt that he had to be the one to save him, or else he’d felt he truly failed all of his patients. At least let me save one, sort of thing. She could understand that. It was still stupid, but she could understand it on an emotional level.

Just as she had skimmed over her own notes for the fiftieth time, the med bay alarm sounded off, both outside, and inside of her hab. She had it directly linked to the clock on her nightstand, just in case. She leapt out of her berth and tossed her datapads aside, missing practically every surface that was qualified to carry them in favor of the floor. She ran to the med bay with lazer focus, skidding on her heels as she slammed open the door. Her optics darted around the pitch-black room, and in the nanosecond it took for her to realize that there had been an outage, she was already scrambling to the emergency lever to the backup generators.

She grunted and yanked the lever down, and the lights slowly came back on. Dim, but functional. First Aid was stiff as a board, and she rushed over to his side, instantly placing her digits to his throat cabling to feel for the pulse of his fuel pump without a care for Pharma’s wishes to keep herself clean. She didn’t have time to waste, and waiting for the monitors to reboot would have taken too long. His pulse was there, but far too slow. She hissed and looked to the monitor as it finally came online, finding his spark-rate to be even slower.

She spun around, only to find Pharma casually running diagnostics on the main console, like nothing bad had happened. “Pharma, what’s happened!? Nevermind, let me see the diagnostics. You can yell at me about this later.” She jogged over and surveyed over Pharma’s shoulder, watching with wide optics as the data crawled across the monitor.

‘WARNING: Energon compromised. Foreign body(ies) detected. Full transfusion recommended.’

‘WARNING: Core temperature has dropped 67% since last scan. Expel coolant immediately.’

‘WARNING: Spark has lost 5% mass since last scan. Verify chamber integrity.’

And it just kept going, and going. Velocity could barely take it all in before Pharma suddenly ended the scan before it had even fully completed. She gawked and looked to the doctor, whose expression was entirely calm as he suddenly decided it was a good idea to look over the results of First Aid’s last energon sample. “Pharma! What are you doing!?” She yelled, but got no response. She grabbed his arm and yanked it to spin him around, only for her servo to suddenly pass right through, like crushing a block of chalk, nearly knocking her completely off balance.

She caught herself and looked down at her servo, finding it clean of all but First Aid’s rust. “What…?” She turned around to look at Pharma. His visage wobbled, like he were reflected in a fun-house mirror, until it finally flickered and disappeared with a synthetic ‘vop’ into a small disk that had been between his pedes the entire time. “A hologram!?”

Before she could really grapple with the implications of that, a soul-shattering rattle sucked through First Aid’s intake. His spark rate abruptly began to increase nearly exponentially. He was clinging to life with all the strength his liquefied frame had. And just like that, nothing else mattered. Velocity’s processor cleared of all else but a list: Energon transfusion, coolant expulsion, spark chamber repair. How she was going to perform a transfusion on a mech whose fuel lines were swimming in the remains of his own internals, let alone drain him of coolant? She had a hunch, and with First Aid already teetering over the edge of the Well of Allsparks, she was certain he could forgive her if it hurt.

She moved in a blur, gathering up several spare fuel-lines, a lazer scalpel, and a tank filled with pure energon, then moved to First aid’s slab. She activated her comm with one servo, and with the other, she hooked First Aid into the main console. “Prowl, Pharma’s run off, and he left First Aid to die. Find him, and hurry, I don’t know how much longer he can hold on.”

Pharma skidded to a stop, landing on his aft in front of the emergency escape pods. He pushed himself up and, with deft digits, he typed the coordinates for Cybertron into the keypad on the wall beside his pod. He then spammed the confirm key without reading the various pop-ups that scrolled past, and in an instant the entire ship lit up with blaring alarms and flashing, red lights. Every escape pod swung open with a hiss, and Pharma stepped back to not get hit by the door. Among the blaring trumpets, a new alarm cut through the unending noise: a police siren.

Pharma turned his helm, seeing blue light approaching from around the corner. Prowl drifted in his vehicle mode, his tires screeching and leaving a trail of black in his wake. He rolled forward as he transformed, his helm low as he sprinted towards Pharma at top speed. By the look in his optics, he didn’t come to read him his rights. So Pharma dove into the escape pod and slammed his fist onto the control pad to shut the door behind him. But Prowl slid on his knees, lighting the floor with sparks, and shoved his digits into the seam of the pod.

He wrenched it upwards in a familiar motion that he’d done several times in the past, easily fighting against the hissing hydraulics and slowly forcing the pod back open. But Pharma pressed the button to shut the door once again, hard enough to actually wedge the button stuck in its own casing. The door swung back down with incredible speed, slamming Prowl’s digits into the seam and cementing them with the pod. He cried out in pain and pulled, straining his joints, but they didn’t come free. He panted, gasping as he met Pharma’s optics through the glass of the pod. The doctor was grinning with giant, fanged dentae. His optics wild with manic joy, the kind of joy one could only have when they were about to inflict terrible pain onto someone else.

Prowl blinked and watched, helplessly, as Pharma pressed the launch button on his pod. “PHA-!” Was all Prowl managed to get out before he was harshly wrenched out of the ship, still attached to Pharma’s escape pod by the tips of his digits. All sound ceased with a loud ‘whoosh,’ and suction that threatened to tear the internal mechanisms of his helm out through his audials in one unbroken rope. Frost instantly affixed itself to his entire frame, burning him. Several warnings flashed across his HUD, listing the dangerous drop in temperature as if he didn’t know already.

He bared his dentae and planted his pedes onto the escape pod’s door, then pulled. Ice crackled between his joints and his fuel lines began to rapidly crystallize. His digits creaked, popping and snapping sooner than coming loose from their vice. He opened his intake and cried out in agony within the soundless void. All the while, Pharma just leaned back and smiled, enjoying the show and chuckling to himself. Prowl began to feel weak, flying further and further away from the ship. Glass flowed through his veins, slicing him to microscopic ribbons one fiber at time. He knew better than to look at his servo, but he did so anyway. His digits hung on by mere slivers, splintered and sparking.

“Come, now. Be a big mech and get on with it,” Pharma teased to deaf audials. “Almost there.”

Prowl let out one final yell and yanked his upper body backwards while simultaneously pressing down on the pod with the last of the strength in his hydraulics. With a sharp snap, he broke free of the pod, leaving several parts of his digits behind. He floated backwards, staring with frozen optics as Pharma’s escape pod disappeared into the endless black of space. His HUD flashed, taking over his vision with grim totality:

‘CORE TEMPERATURE FREEZING. SHUTDOWN IMMINENT.’

Prowl, finding he could still move his intake, mouthed the word ‘slag,’ as his optics finally dimmed. But before he could fully go offline, he felt a pair of arms cross over his frozen chassis, pulling him close. Then, in an instant, he was teleported back into a warm bubble of sound and motion. He trembled at the second drastic temperature change in the span of ten minutes, and his processor struggled to reboot as he was gently laid onto the floor. He blinked several times, refocusing his optics. Blurry blobs, colored Red, Purple, Blue, and White stared down at him.

“Nice catch. Now go and check the perimeter; make sure Pharma didn’t cause any further damage.” Rodimus said as he knelt beside Prowl. The ghostly purple and blue mechs nodded and dashed away, leaving a streak of color in Prowl’s frozen optics. He grimaced and shuttered his optics in an attempt to force them to reset.

Rodimus placed his servos onto Prowl’s chassis and slowly raised his core temperature to warm Prowl’s internals. He smiled as he heard Prowl’s fans instinctively kick on. “Easy, Prowl. We’ve got you. Just keep still and think warm thoughts.”

“Got… away…” Prowl wheezed through gritted dentae.

“You did all you could,” the white mech said, kneeling beside Rodimus with his servo on the hilt of his sword. “Red Alert is checking the camera feed as we speak. Hopefully he’ll give us an idea of where Pharma is headed.”

“I think I got a pretty good feeling I already know where he’s going, Drift.” Rodimus grumbled, his brow furrowing deeply.

“Cybertron, right? Rather bold of him to pull an escape like this when we’re all headed towards the same destination.”

Prowl coughed and cycled through several blinks. “You’re right. So he’s either going somewhere else, which is unlikely, or he’s betting on us not making it.” He sat up, grunting, and Rodimus pulled him into his side to continue to warm him up. “My processor is still warming back up, but it doesn’t take a logistic mind to figure out what his contingency plan might be. Those escape pods are fast, and the little parting gift he left for us probably spreads even faster.”

Rodimus looked to Drift. “Speaking of, how’s First Aid?”

“Stabilized,” Drift said with a soft smile and a firm nod. “But we’re going to be down our last medic for a while. Lotty is firm that she must remain in quarantine until we find a cure.”

“That’s bad,” Rodimus said, flatly.

“That’s putting it lightly,” Prowl said with a sneer. “Rodimus, these people elected you captain. As much as I hate that, pitching a fit about it isn’t going to get me back in the captain’s chair any sooner. So you have to make a difficult decision, here.”

Rodimus squinted, taken aback. “Weren’t you the one who suggested we go to Delphi?”

“Yes, because I figured we would be picking up stragglers out of range of the DJD, not bringing a plague onto the ship! I suggested we turn around as soon as I saw that big, red ‘X’ on their front door. You’re the one who thought it was a good idea to look for survivors. And now we’re here, and you’re the captain, so this is on you.”

“Surely you’re not suggesting we dispose of First Aid?” Drift asked, his optics wide.

“No, it’s too late for that. Velocity’s already infected herself by treating him. And who knows whether or not some of that rust didn’t spill someplace it shouldn’t while Pharma turned turbine.”

“So, what’s the difficult decision, then?” Rodimus scoffed.

Prowl lowered his brow ridge, his optics darkening. “Are you really going to risk bringing this to Cybertron?”

Velocity breathed heavily, slumped over onto the stool that Pharma had used to watch over First Aid. Her optics were shut; she just wanted to rest and listen to the sound of First Aid’s spark monitor beeping. Endless, and steady. Plus, she honestly didn’t want to look at him right now. Not out of disgust, far from it. More-so out of embarrassment. She knew his optics were non-functional, but that was a blessing, because she had turned him into a cartoonish science project.

She’d Jerry-rigged several IVs, tubes, Bunsen-burners, and funnels into a Rube Goldberg machine whose soul function was to simultaneously pump out the toxins Pharma had placed into his fuel-lines, whilst pumping in energon as well as his… juices. The varying density of the sedatives with the particle-dense slush made it easy to separate the two like oil and water. And all she needed was gravity, a bit of heat, and a lot of tape. She never thought creating a homemade engex distillery would be in the plan-of-care for a patient, but, you know, there was never really a dull moment in the field of medicine.

Once she finally cooled down, she peeled her optics open and looked at her patient. First Aid was looking in her direction, breathing deep. He sounded calm, far calmer than he ever was when Pharma was still on board. The realization made her frown, and she scooted her stool forward to get closer. “Hey, First Aid. This is going to sound like a stupid question, but, how are you feeling? Any better, at all?”

He nodded, slowly. Velocity smiled, but her optics remained fixated on his throat. “… I’m gonna take a look at your neck, okay?” She stood up and gently felt at First Aid’s throat, then tilted his chin up to look at the underside of his jaw. She shined a small light into the area and squinted upon seeing some discoloration there. There was discoloration everywhere on his body, but these were off. Small, circular stains, near-black, but mostly green.

“Acid burns…” She breathed, releasing First Aid’s chin. She cupped the side of his helm, frowning deeply as she started into his useless optics. His helm became heavier in her servo, but his gaze remained upturned. “Your vocalizer… he destroyed it, didn’t he?”

Another nod. Velocity swallowed the lump of rage that formed in her throat. He had been stuck here for weeks, without a voice. Locked in a room with a mech who, for whatever reason, wanted him dead. And he almost succeeded. First Aid must have been terrified. Velocity felt sick with her anger, not just at Pharma, but at herself for not realizing something was wrong sooner. “I’ll find a way to fix you, I promise. And I’ll think of a way for you to communicate, too. Until then…” She softened her expression into a smile. “How about some music?”

Pharma exhaled, his breath fogging the glass of his pod as he watched the stars streak by. Perfect white lines of light, glittering across his weary optics. That certainly could have gone better, but, it was okay. Everything was going to be fine. That young upstart didn’t have a single chance in the Pit of saving First Aid. And without any knowledge as to how the virus worked past its transmission, or a living petri-dish to collect samples from, he was certain that they would all succumb to the plague in time. And if they didn’t… They would at least be kept away from Cybertron for a good long while, as they attempted to find a cure. He could come up with an alibi of some kind in that time, maybe even convince the denizens of Cybertron to shoot the vessel out of orbit for the greater good.

Pharma grimaced a bit, knowing that he was still infected. If Cybertron could send a signal, they must have power somewhere. Whether or not they had the proper materials was another thing. And without his notes… He would figure it out. It would all be fine. At least he was out of Delphi. Away from Tarn, away from First Aid and his disgusting ventilations. It was better not to torment his processor further on the subject; he’d already been long overdue for a decent recharge. He tapped his digits onto the control panel, pleased to find that his estimated arrival time was a mere week from now. He must have confirmed the selection for the fastest speed in his haste. Lucky!

He tapped at the control panel a few more times, setting up the pod to put him into stasis for the remainder of his flight. He leaned his helm back, allowing a cable to slot itself into the back of his neck. He sighed as lines of data rushed into his processor, urging his frame, slowly but surely, into a deep sleep. There would be more work to be done soon enough, but for now, he could finally rest. And so he drifted off into a pleasant, dreamless sleep among the silent beauty of the stars.

Chapter Text

It had been a month since Starscream arrived on the Nemesis. One month since he crawled through that ground-bridge, on the edge of death. One entire month, spent in pitch blackness, with no end in… you get the picture. And it was starting to get old. Actually, it wasn’t starting to get old, it was starting to become normal, which was something Starscream had come to fear the most. This was not how everything was supposed to end for him, this was not his life. This was the life that had been chosen for him by the Autobots, and he knew it to be true now, because how could it possible that, in the full month he’d been here, that they had not found a single optic!?

Surely there was a corpse they could have pilfered one from. And if there wasn’t one, Starscream could have made one. What of the Vehicons that had perished from the scraplets? Did none of them have an optic to spare, or are the Autobots suddenly above recycling? Apparently, according to Knockout, the former was true. But how could he be so sure? Starscream couldn’t tell, he couldn’t see. And it was getting harder and harder to just take them all on their word, at this point. All except for Smokescreen, whose naivete and general lack of intelligence gave Starscream the confidence that he would always tell him the truth. Still, if he heard Smokescreen shrug and made that stupid grunting sound one more time he swore he would pluck out one of Smokescreen’s optics as a tax.

That was another thing: why hadn’t anyone found it in their sparks to make a donation? They were all friends now, supposedly. Where’s that patented Autobot generosity he’d heard so much about? He’d saved all their lives once and a select few of them a second time, so where was the karma he’d been owed? At this point, Starscream knew the answer, and in reality he’d known it all along: it wasn’t coming. This was it. They were fully intent on keeping him blind forever, if only to keep him under lock and key. He was little more than a pet to them; a rabid dog they didn’t have the bearings to put down, but were too scared to turn loose, lest they get bit for their insolence. Starscream could not, and would not, allow himself to be tamed.

And so he started testing the locks on his cage. He’d somehow managed to convince them to give him back his weapons under the pretense that he would need to be able to protect himself, now that Airachnid was a potential threat. Now that was a fun meeting. Arcee about had a nuclear-level meltdown and had to be held in place by Bulkhead to protect Soundwave from her wrath. A couple doses of compassionate jargon and one shot of ‘what would Optimus do?’ And suddenly she was right as rain again. Of course that never worked when Starscream tried it, but whatever. Plus, Knockout actually shut up for the first time in his function. In fact he didn’t talk for the entire rest of the day. Little blessings; the last thing they needed was another one of his quips at a time like that.

He was, admittedly, slightly saddened that Ratchet wasn’t the one forced to re-engage his weapons systems, if only so Starscream could metaphorically rub his nose in it. But he had returned to Earth about one week ago, and had become increasingly reclusive. Or at the very least, Starscream had gotten better at avoiding them. He’d actually found that nearly every bot here had a distinct smell, along with distinct pedfalls, so it made avoiding others much easier than before. Anyway, Knockout did so without complaint, even making a little joke about Starscream ‘getting his sparkle back’ when he saw how happy he was to be able to use his blaster again. For someone so sorry about coating him in glitter without his consent, he sure liked to bring it up.

But just getting his weapons back wasn’t enough, he needed to learn to use them again. Ultra Magnus only fully came around to that idea when Starscream also suggested he have regular, regimented training sessions to, hopefully, fully overcome his disability. Considering how far he’d come already, and how much of a rapport he’d managed to gain, this arrangement was quickly set in stone. Ultra Magnus originally suggested they train once a week, but Starscream insisted it be daily. After quite a bit of schedule changes, and quite a bit of convincing Ultra Magnus that he didn’t actually need to visit every work site once a day for hours at a time, they were good to go.

Originally, these training sessions were done solely with Ultra Magnus, Wheeljack, Bulkhead, and a few volunteering Vehicons with nothing better to do with their off time. But it quickly spiraled out of control and became an entire team affair. Starscream suspected it was also because they, too, had nothing better to do with their time. The idea wouldn’t surprise him, considering how they usually spent it with video games, movies, and, more recently, human television shows. It was truly incredible how the Autobots could hear of the potential of one of their greatest enemies to return, and they thought a good use of resources was to rig their satellites to intercept human television stations. How in the Pit did the Decepticons lose this war, again? Oh, right, they didn’t. Megatron had just given up. What a joke.

Anyway, their current training regimen was certainly something. Their original plans involved basic target practice, then learning to dodge, and a short obstacle course in that precise order. Nowadays, they had thrown the whole damned structure out the window and said, ‘frag it, why not do it all at once?’ Okay, that was actually Wheeljack’s suggestion, but Starscream had agreed to it in the interest of honing his skill as quickly as physically possible. Ultra Magnus had been reduced to a mere innocent bystander at this point, but Starscream was still thankful to have him there to blow the whistle if he noticed immediate danger. He initially had an itchy trigger finger, but now he had gotten quite good at recognizing when Starscream was in need of help.

Which was good, because today was pure, undistilled chaos.

Their training area was marked with a basic fence with thin posts and a single chain looped around it, but it was still about the size of a lobbing field, and Ultra Magnus stood outside of it, watching with a stern expression. Within that flimsy fence was a large obstacle course consisting of a few staircases, ramps, pot holes, piles of boxes, and random segments of metal sheets to be used as cover. A pair of Vehicons, painted red and black with inverted colors as to not get them mixed up (as if their name tags weren’t enough), sped around in their vehicle modes, both of them cars. But for now, they only circled the perimeter of the space like a pair of Sharkticons. Still, the noise of their engines was an obstacle in and of itself.

Starscream stood at the center of it all, one servo being used as a blaster, as Bumblebee ran around the course, smacking metal sheets with targets painted on them with an iron rod. Starscream quickly turned and fired at each one as he was made aware of their presence. From outside the fence, Bulkhead and Wheeljack tossed various pieces of junk back and forth with each other, which Starscream also fired at if they got too close. Smokescreen added an unpredictable element, or at least that’s what he liked to call it. Starscream just called it ‘being annoying.’ But every so often he would bang a pair of metal trash can lids together to throw Starscream off, or scream, or make some other audial-grating sound that he had to ignore. Even though it would be really, really gratifying to ‘accidentally’ shoot him silent.

He didn’t hit every single target that was thrown at him, and he hardly managed to hit every target Bumblebee smacked at, but perfection was not an achievable goal, as much as Starscream hated to admit it were true. The main point was not getting hurt. And after he ran out of targets, the next stage of his training began. Ultra Magnus raised his servo and tossed it towards the arena. “Arcee, move in!” She nodded and hopped over the fence, narrowly avoiding the two Vehicons as she rushed in. The white ribbons attached to her hips flowed a mere few feet behind her as she took up her role as the mouse to Starscream’s cat.

“Bloodbath, Deathmatch, move out!” Ultra Magnus called, and the two Vehicons hollered with delight as they peeled into the center of the ring, forcing Starscream to jump out of the way. They were the dogs to Starscream’s cat, and he had come to the conclusion early that they enjoyed this role just a little too much. They were likely getting off on the fact that they had the opportunity to send their former commanding officer running for his life, even in a controlled space. If anything, it just made everything more realistic.

“You know the drill, Starscream, you’ve got five minutes to get those flags, starting now!” Ultra Magnus declared.

Starscream transformed his blaster back into a servo and immediately began sprinting towards where he assumed Arcee to be. But she had been chosen to play the mouse for more than just her speed. She was as quick on her pedes as she was quiet. And when he was being actively pursued by a pair of jug-headed Vehicons with their mufflers removed, as well as the onlookers shouting kind, but ultimately completely unhelpful words of encouragement at him, it made the goal of getting both of Arcee’s ribbons improbable. But not impossible.

As Starscream dove to one side to avoid a near-collision with Bloodbath, Knockout sucked his dentae and gripped his medical kit a little bit tighter. “Oooh!” He exclaimed, smiling. “You know, as a medic I should really be against this, but damn if it isn’t entertaining! And don’t act like you don’t agree, Ultra Magnus, I know you’re loving this just as much as we are.” But Ultra Magnus did not respond, he merely narrowed his optics to better focus on Starscream’s movements.

Starscream panted, his ventilators burning in his chassis as he rushed up one of the staircases-to-nowhere, if only to get his bearings. He turned on a swivel, silencing his breathing to try and better get a grasp on Arcee’s position. Deathmatch rounded a corner and played a little game of chicken with Arcee, which made her gasp and stumble in place as he turned at the last second. As much as she wanted to yell at the Vehicon, (whose side was he on, anyway!?) she had to avoid getting Starscream’s attention. And she looked towards Starscream to ensure she was doing just that. But his helm immediately snapped ominously towards her, his black optics staring right through her, and he leapt down from his perch to continue his pursuit. She suppressed the urge to laugh at just how terrifying this was, either in or out of context.

Arcee slid under an archway to evade Starscream, who leapt over it with a controlled burst of his thruster to immediately continue his sprint. She weaved in-between a forest of rebar, which forced Starscream to slow down due to the width of his wings. He snarled, wishing he was allowed to transform and pursue her from the air, but they had decided early on that it was against the rules for any of them to use their alt modes. Aside from the pursuing Vehicons, whose sole purpose was to subdue Starscream. Bloodbath rolled out of his alt mode and immediately cut Starscream off in the sea of metal pipes. He reached towards him, cackling and taunting him. “Got you now, Commander!”

Starscream yelped and immediately engaged his thruster, narrowly avoiding the Vehicon with one leap. Though he failed to gracefully land on his pedes. One managed to find the top of one of the pipes, while the other slipped off and he tumbled, flailing until his servo managed to latch onto another of the poles. He immediately locked up to keep himself out of reach of the Vehicon, laughing from his success, uncoordinated as it may be. “Not quite, grounder.”

“Hey!” Bulkhead yelled, getting Starscream’s attention. “Time’s running out, Starscream! Eyes on the pr-slag.” He wasn’t fast enough to fully snuff his micro-aggression, and Starscream pointed at him ominously with his free servo.

“You’ll answer for that later!” He yelled, then leapt from his perch with another pulse of his thruster to make distance between himself and Bloodbath. He stumbled as his pedes met the ground, but managed to reach a stride once again. It had already been about three minutes, and Arcee remained untouched. He snarled in a mixture of annoyance and determination as his ventilators strained to keep him from overheating. One minute per flag, he could do that. Easy.

If not for the slagging Vehicons, that is. Deathmatch skidded on his tires and turned, watching as Arcee ran past and Starscream remained a good distance behind her. He grinned without teeth and revved his engine as a wicked idea came to his mind, then sped in Starscream’s direction at top speed. And Starscream, feeling the frontal assault coming his way at a rapid pace, quickly weighed his options. He could dive to the side, which would force him to lose what little pace he had and likely lose. Or, he could throw caution to the wind and call Deathmatch’s bluff. Which, based on his designation, didn’t sound likely to succeed. And then there was the third option.

Starscream lowered his helm and flattened his wings, sprinting straight into the maw of danger. Wheeljack, as if psychically linked to the Seeker, gripped the fence in front of him and watched with a giant smile. Bumblebee took a moment to realize what was happening, and gripped the sides of his helm with wide optics. Smokescreen fell silent and leaned forward, also gripping onto the fence to cope with the crushing weight of apprehension. Bulkhead started to yammer off several variations of the phrase ‘stop, what the frag are you doing!?’ And Knockout looked between the scene in front of them and their anointed referee, as if giving his neck a repetitive stress injury would somehow make Ultra Magnus reset.

“Um, Ultra Magnus? Hello, Cybertron to Ultra Magnus!?” But he did not falter, he just narrowed his optics further, knowing that Starscream must have a plan of some kind.

And he did. As Deathmatch came within a few feet of Starscream, the Seeker suddenly bent his legs and dove in an arc over top the Vehicon’s roof. But he then twisted, mid-air, and bent forward with servos outstretched. And before Smokescreen could scream ‘no fragging way,’ he blasted his thruster, rocketing himself back forward. Starscream’s servos gripped Deathmatch’s roof like a vice, and they both zoomed off. Starscream grimaced as his elbows were pulled taught from the sudden change in direction, but he held firm, even as Deathmatch frantically swerved around in a panic whilst yelling various expletives.

After a short struggle, Starscream managed to curl onto his knees on Deathmatch’s roof with a triumphant laugh which absolutely dripped with evil intentions. He turned his servo back into a blaster and planted it onto Deathmatch’s roof, causing him to swerve a bit more. “Woah, hey! Time out! Isn’t this against the rules!?”

“Not unless I pull the trigger,” Starscream purred, then choked on a gasp as he nearly lost his grip but managed to correct himself. “Relax, Deathmatch, this is all just pretend. So I suggest you pretend that I am, in fact, holding you at gunpoint when I say: ‘shut up and drive!’” He ground the barrel of his blaster into his roof for emphasis.

Arcee looked behind her with wide optics as Deathmatch followed her at top speed, with Starscream, grinning like a madman, riding on top of his roof. Too out of breath to swear, she simply barreled onward as the clock continued to tick. Thirty seconds left, and she still had both ribbons. Regardless of whether or not this would necessarily count as a victory, she didn’t see Starscream winning this anytime soon. Even if this was merely for his training, her competitive spirit always burned brighter than her sense of duty. And by the Pit, she would never make this easy for him.

At the last possible second, Deathmatch chuckled to himself. Starscream barely had time to ask what was so funny before he abruptly found out, when Deathmatch suddenly slammed on his breaks, sending him flying towards Arcee with a high-pitched squawk of fear. “Last stop, Starscream!” He yelled as he watched the Seeker flip aft over helm, narrowly avoiding a full-on collision with Arcee as he zoomed behind her, and then completely cleared the fence.

“Oh-! Home run!” Wheeljack shouted as he watched Starscream skid across the ground like a rogue industrial fan that was auditioning for a western. Despite his jab, he ran at the same time as Bulkhead to meet him where he landed. Which was to say, pretty much as soon as his upper half went over the perimeter. Everyone else followed close behind, but Knockout easily passed them all in his alt mode.

Knockout tumbled out of himself to be at Starscream’s side as he lied face-down on the ground. “Are we alive?” He asked, sounding convincingly worried. Starscream groaned and Knockout smirked. “I wouldn’t expect any less from our resident cockroach.”

Smokescreen skidded to a stop, somehow managing to overtake everyone else despite not being the first to start running. “Holy slag, Star! Are you okay!?”

“M’fine,” Starscream blubbered into the floor.

“Good,” he breathed, relieved, then smiled. “Because you looked awesome.”

“Somehow I doubt that very much.”

“Mm, all but that last part,” Knockout mused as he opened his medical kit. “Now, roll over like a good bot and let’s see the damages.”

Starscream coughed and spit as he pushed himself up with one servo. “Actually… you might want to look at Arcee, first.”

Knockout raised his brow, but Arcee took the words from his intake as she arrived on the scene. “Why me?”

Starscream smiled languidly and rolled onto his back, revealing what was clutched in his other servo: a pair of white ribbons. “Because you’re missing a few pieces.”

Arcee gawked and felt at her hips, as if Starscream were holding a forgery. Bulkhead laughed uproariously. “Nice catch, Screamer! I hope Lazerbeak got a good look at that for Soundwave.”

Lazerbeak floated down and landed on Bulkhead’s shoulder, echoing Soundwave’s voice through his speakers. “Affirmative. Excellent form, Starscream.” Knowing Soundwave’s general demeanor, Starscream had it in good faith he was being sarcastic, so he scowled.

Ultra Magnus made a disapproving grunt, which turned helms to say the least. “I wouldn’t call that ‘excellent.’ Starscream, you essentially hitched a ride to the finish line at the last second, so I can’t in good confidence call this a success.”

“What,” Starscream said, but didn’t ask as he fully sat up. “I got the slagging ribbons,” he shook them for emphasis, “therefore, I beat the challenge!”

“This isn’t just about snatching ribbons, it’s about ensuring that you can hold your own in battle,” Ultra Magnus clarified. “Your reaction time is excellent, but your marksmanship still needs work. This ‘spray and pray’ method is only costing you precious energon. Plus, holding an opponent at gunpoint like that is very unlikely to succeed. At the end of it all, you’re still a blind mech. Therefore, it’s easy to overpower you in close quarters. You should be avoiding intimate situations like that entirely.”

Ultra Magnus looked over his shoulder as the Vehicons strolled up. “And Deathmatch, you’ll be on floor duty for the entire day tomorrow for that little stunt you pulled. Starscream could have been seriously damaged by that impact.”

“Augh, what!? He was the one cheating!” Deathmatch groused, but the glare Ultra Magnus gave him quickly cooled his ire. “I mean, understood, sir.” Bloodbath patted his arm and whispered a promise that he would be there to give him company, but the well-wishes were cut off as Starscream abruptly stood up with a defiant groan.

“This is utter slag!” He shouted, before throwing the ribbons onto the ground. Which was not an especially effective object to throw when upset. He wobbled a bit as steam began billowing out of his vents, and Knockout stood with servos that immediately took position to catch him if he fell. “’Cheating!?’ Where in our rules, which have apparently gotten significantly more precise since they were last recited to me, is that maneuver considered illegal!? And what’s the point of me grabbing the fragging ribbons if I’m not meant to be in ‘intimate situations!?’ Just for fun!?”

“It’s to make sure you can reliably follow a quick, moving target. Which you can, so long as you can focus on where it is. But this is the only time you’ve been able to catch up, and it was with a Vehicon’s help,” Ultra Magnus sighed, shaking his helm. “Don’t misunderstand me, Starscream, you’re still making great progress. But from where I’m standing, you’re still not ready to be on your own should we ever get separated.”

Starscream snarled and walked up to Ultra Magnus, one optic-socket sparking in rage. “You would like that, wouldn’t y-…?” Karma played another dirty trick by proving Ultra Magnus’ point. Starscream suddenly went limp, and Bumblebee lunged forward to catch him before he could fully hit the ground.

“Woah! Starscream, you’re overheating! Sit down and I’ll get you some coolant,” Bumblebee urged, attempting to lower him to the ground, but Starscream thrashed in his arms.

“Get off of me! I’m fine!”

“No you’re not,” Knockout said, his tone uncannily serious. “You’re billowing out steam like a fog machine right now. Way too much for that amount of exercise you’ve just had, in fact. Have you fueled today?”

“Of course I’ve fueled! Do you think I’m some sort of idiot, too!?”

“I never said that...” Knockout said, growing more and more worried with his increasingly erratic behavior.

“Star, calm down,” Smokescreen said, coming to Bumblebee’s aid more-so than Starscream’s as he continued to try and keep Starscream still. “He’s not bullshitting you. You need to take a minute or you’re gonna shut yourself down.”

Wheeljack scoffed, resting his servos on his hips and shooting Ultra Magnus a glare. “This wouldn’t’ve happened if you’d just admitted that-”

Ultra Magnus silenced him with a raised servo. “You know as well as I do that recklessness is best used in dire situations, even if you prefer a more liberal application. This is training, Wheeljack. As impressive of a feat as this was, if it were done in a real battle, he likely would have died trying it.”

“Oh, blow it out your fragging exhaust, Magnus!” Starscream said whilst battling off Knockout’s advances with a jug of coolant from his medical kit and making a valiant attempt to stand, despite his hissing hydraulics. “Unhand me! I don’t need your help!”

“Really!? I hadn’t noticed!” Knockout barked, quickly reaching his limit. “You can gripe about how much of a spoilsport Ultra Magnus is on your own time, right now you need to shut up and take your medicine like a grown mech before I force it down your fragging throat! And you know that I will, you know how much I love using the funnel! I’m this close to telling Lazerbeak to fetch it for me!” His digits were touching.

Smokescreen made a face full of both disgust and fear, then sympathetically rubbed his throat. Either the threat worked, or Starscream was already on his way towards shutdown, because he finally stopped wriggling in Bumblebee’s grip. He exhaled, releasing more steam into the air as he finally took the jug from Knockout’s servo. He’d intended to take it with more force, but was now too tired to do so. So he simply complied and slowly drank from the bottle. The fluid audibly crackled and hissed as it entered his system.

“Thank you,” Knockout breathed, then closed his medical kit with a ‘click.’ Bumblebee slowly released Starscream as well, grateful to get his hot plating away from his own. But Smokescreen, seeing the slight dip in Starscream’s posture as Bumblebee pulled away, quickly moved to take his place, placing one cool servo against Starscream’s back to keep him steady. But he nearly recoiled from the sheer heat.

“Holy shit,” he muttered. “That-That’s not normal. Star, are you sure-?”

Before Smokescreen could ask any questions, Starscream wrenched himself away from his grip. “Will you quit suffocating me, already!?” Smokescreen blinked in surprise, hurt very much present in his optics, but Starscream didn’t care to see it even if he could. He grunted and strained, pushing himself to stand on wobbling pedes. “I’m just tired, alright? That’s all this is. Maybe I forgot to refuel this morning, maybe I didn’t. Who cares either way? It’s not like I’m dying, for Pits’ sake! I’m going to go lie down and cool off.”

He shoved the jug back into Knockout’s servos and stormed off towards the Nemesis, quickly finding his footing, if only for appearances, and leaving Team Prime to stare behind him in a mix of anger and confusion. With a drop of hurt from Smokescreen.

“Who put the sand in his gears?” Bloodbath asked. “Not literally, because that was obviously Deathmatch.” The mech in question gave him a covert a low-five.

“I’m gonna talk to him,” Smokescreen said, taking a determined step forward, only for Arcee to stop him with a gentle touch to his chassis.

“Not right now, Smokey. He’s been wound really tight lately, I’d hate to see what happens if he snaps,” she said, as gently as she could.

“Maybe he needs a little engex to take the edge off, again,” Bulkhead suggested, half-joking to lighten the mood. Which was successful only for Wheeljack, who smirked.

“Lookin’ for him to plant another wet one on ya, big bot?” Wheeljack teased.

Bulkhead shuddered. It really was wet. So wet in fact he could swear that spot on his cheek still felt slightly colder than the rest of him when a stiff breeze blew through. “Ugh… Forget I said anything.”

“Give it time, Smokescreen,” Bumblebee said with a frown. “Wait for him to come to you. He’ll have to, eventually.”

He sighed and nodded, though he spared Starscream another worried glance before he moved to help the others as they began to pack up for the day. Arcee was right, but he didn’t need her to tell him that Starscream had been acting weird lately. Even though he was no longer his chaperon, he was still his roommate, and his friend. But Starscream had started putting up walls again. It was a subtle change, with no clear inciting incident, but he was becoming increasingly short with them all, but Smokescreen had noticed the change the quickest.

The playful back-and-forth he’d come to enjoy sharing with Starscream had all but vanished. When he ribbed Starscream, he was used to him getting a little angry, but it didn’t really feel fun anymore. It wasn’t as if he had suddenly become cruel to Smokescreen, but he’d stopped smiling when he retaliated. He just seemed annoyed, like it was some sort of chore he had to get through. Like he was doing his taxes. Even when Smokescreen made fun of himself, the result was the same. All he really seemed to care about anymore was being kept busy, either with odd jobs or with his training.

Something was clearly wrong, that much was clear, but Starscream was not the type to talk about his feelings. At least nothing deeper than basic annoyance and general displeasure with the structure of things, or with others. It was definitely one of his more annoying traits, worse than his ego for sure. At least his ego was funny, at times. Starscream could be a gold medalist if complaining were a sport, but when it came to admitting he was upset, or, Primus forbid, just plain sad? Getting him to do that was as painless as pulling teeth with razor wire… while getting repeatedly bashed in the head with a brick.

But, there was one thing that Smokescreen knew always cheered Starscream up. It was still technically against the rules, but Starscream was still a Decepticon, so that just made it more enjoyable for him. A midnight flight, far away from the Nemesis where no one could hear. It’s something they had slipped away to do only once so far. The first time was after Knockout regaled him with every touchy-feely thing he did at the party. No one was safe, really. Everyone got a limp hug from Sloshed-Scream. Bulkhead got much worse than that.

Smokescreen almost did, too. Apparently him and Bulkhead were being mistaken for someone else. Smokescreen had carried Starscream the rest of the way to bed to give Bulkhead a break from his nonsensical pillow talk. But, Smokescreen managed to dodge Starscream’s second wind at the last second. He still felt kinda bad about just leaving him with his face on the floor like that, but at that point he was looking at Starscream like some sort of drunken, cheek-pecking cobra. One that would strike as soon as he got too close. Thankfully, Knockout wasn’t there for that, so Starscream didn’t recoil in horror upon hearing that Smokescreen wanted to take him on a walk.

He didn’t get his hopes up too much, but he hoped a relaxing flight would break down his walls enough to get him to talk. Even if he didn’t open up enough to let him know what was wrong, at least it could be enough to get Starscream to smile again. And, even if only for a short while, Smokescreen could have his friend back.

Third Cycle, 4036.

The Autobots have already made efficient use of the energon mine. I’ve changed my scavenging routes accordingly to easier avoid detection. Though I possess a rather substantial bargaining chip in the form of the missing pieces to the formula for cybermatter, I feel I am not yet ready to reveal my presence to them. This newfound freedom I’ve come to possess has not yet lost its luster, and Cybertron has changed in our absence. There is still much for me to explore and research. And I would like to observe the Autobots to see what they plan to do next.

Soundwave is amongst them. I am curious as to what caused his absence, but it is good to see him functioning nonetheless. He has made quick work of repairing the communication systems of the Nemesis, which benefits myself as well as Cybertron. I now have the option to intercept their communications from my lab, should it be necessary. I will need to finish creating a backdoor, though, if I intend to do so without being caught. Soundwave’s expertise is not to be taken lightly.

Starscream has also joined them, but he has been blinded. Yet he appears to maneuver quite well, in spite of this. I was able to overcome blindness myself as well, but it admittedly required a substantial amount of time and effort to return to normal function. Either Starscream is remarkably adaptable to a lack of senses, or he’s been blind for an extended period of time. Which would be odd, as I highly doubt they lack the materials necessary for a replacement or repair. Perhaps more was lost in the crash than I originally estimated, or perhaps Starscream is being taken advantage of. Both conclusions are perfectly logical.

The Institute lab has been compromised, but I doubt anything of note has been left behind. I’ve taken my fill of their research already, flawed as it may be. And the loss of the energon stockpile will hardly be the end of me. The assembler, on the other hand, is a definitive loss. Should I need repairs, I will have to do so manually. With the aggression present in the wildlife, I will need to be careful. Skylynx and Darksteel appear to have become restless with the lack of activity, though Predaking appears to be handling them well enough. However, the native Insecticons have been behaving erratically. I should pay special attention to them.

Tenth Cycle, 4036.

Insecticon activity has increased dramatically. I’ve been observing their migrations and I’ve discovered that they’re converging towards a singular location, though I have not yet found their point of interest. Logic would dictate that they would select an underground location, yet I have not found any signs of construction within the abandoned mines, railways, or chasms. On the contrary, what evidence I have found of their presence has been clearly abandoned. Pods left dormant, nesting materials collecting rust, meals left half-consumed.

This is troublesome. If my hypothesis is correct, the Insecticons are not migrating of their own volition, they are likely fleeing from some perceived threat. They do demonstrate territorial behavior with the Predacons when their turf is encroached upon, but they lack fear. What are they running from, if not the Predacons? And if they are not running, what is luring them in?

I plan to observe from the outskirts of Nova Cronum tomorrow. Insecticons have taken up a home in the bombed-out trenches that were once roads. There is easy access to and from the mines there, in an especially deep chasm, so I should have no trouble returning to my lab uncontested.

Eleventh Cycle, 4036.

Upon entering Nova Cronum I discovered a crashed escape pod, ten kliks from the entrance to the mines. It was opened and empty. There did not appear to be any signs of forced entry, at least at first. However, upon further inspection of the pod, I discovered a few severed digits within. The energon has dried, but the wounds looked severe; they were clearly torn from their sockets. Some indentations on the plush mesh of the door of the pod lead me to believe that some unfortunate individual got their servo stuck in the door as it closed.

Unfortunately, it is impossible to tell if this was from the inside or the outside. The footprints around the pod, though faint from the erosion of wind, showed no evidence of injury to the occupant. Their stride appeared to be surprisingly steady for a bot that may be missing several digits. I attempted to retrieve the black box from within the pod to find its origin point, but it has already been removed. It appears that whoever landed in this pod did not want to be discovered. Curious. Regardless, I’ve taken the pod back to my lab to salvage its parts.

I do not know who this pod belonged to, or where its occupant may be, but I intend to remain vigilant. As for the Insecticons, I’ve narrowed down their migration point to somewhere within Helex. I performed the bulk of my experiments on the Insecticons there, before and during the war. I wonder if there is a correlation to that fact, or if it is merely a coincidence. I’ll investigate further tomorrow.

Twelfth Cycle, 4036.

Before I could fully embark on today’s expedition, I was interrupted by the sound of someone muttering down one of the mine shafts. I was nowhere near the Autobots’ claim, so I found it unlikely that this would be a straggling miner. I was correct to assume this, but unfortunately I failed in remaining unseen. I was immediately assumed to be hostile, but the bot, who I now know to go by the designation “Pharma,” was unarmed. Save for the blasters on his shoulder pauldrons, which he was intelligent enough not to fire in an enclosed space. I was thankful for that, there is only so much you can do to reinforce a mine-shaft, and my lab is not impregnable.

Pharma was also intelligent enough not to argue with a mech with a lazer cannon in place of one of his servos, so he was quite forthcoming with my questioning. He’s an Autobot, a medic, but he hasn’t actually met anyone aside from myself thus far. In fact, he is apparently the owner of the escape pod. When questioned about why the black box was missing, he lied and said it had been damaged. Further pressing on the subject quickly revealed that he had indeed removed it intentionally so that he would not be followed. Apparently, he was being held captive on the Peaceful Resolution, a neutral vessel that has since been overtaken by pirates.

He was on Messatine at the time of his capture. The DJD had been making threats to their medical outpost, Delphi, and after several attempts to signal for help, the Peaceful Resolution answered. Organic marauders, looking to smelt him and his nurses down for parts. But since the ship was of Cybertronian origin, it had received Soundwave’s beacon, and Pharma caught wind of it. He was the only one who managed to escape, apparently losing a few close friends in the process. This was where I found it appropriate to ask about the digits in the pod, and Pharma showed a clear expression of surprise.

“First Aid,” is the apparent owner. I am remiss that my original database remains on the Nemesis so that I cannot test the digits’ CNA to see if there is a possible match. The Decepticons do not have as many samples for Autobot CNA, but the additional evidence would at least lead me to a more informed conclusion as to Pharma’s character. He began to bargain with me. He had been on a long journey, and his fuel tank was dangerously low. Without any means of distilling his own energon, he would be forced to ingest the raw crystals, which is of course not sustainable in the long-term. In exchange for some energon, he would leave and not tell a spark where I’ve settled into.

I agreed. On the additional condition that I receive his comm-link code, in case I am ever in need of repairs I cannot perform myself. He did not like this, but agreed nonetheless. I took him to my lab, gave him his rations, and sent him on his way. I will say in the interim between our initial discussion of our terms and actually receiving his energon he seemed to come around to the arrangement. Or, at the very least, decided to be more cordial now that we would be working together. He was very interested in my equipment and how I managed to construct it with such limited resources. He is, of course, welcome to use it should it be needed for my health. Still, despite his pleasantries, I think a firm shake of the servo is more appropriate than patting my pauldron. But perhaps they just do things different on Messatine on account of the temperature differences.

Fourteenth Cycle, 4036.

Something is wrong with me. Yesterday, soon after returning from my latest expedition, I began feeling ill. So, I took some time to rest and continue my research in my lab. But even as I consumed well past my daily rations of essential fluids, my readings continued to steadily fall soon after ingestion. I am currently running at a temperature 6% higher than normal levels, and there has been a massive buildup of condensation in my joints. I feel weak, but I am working to find the source of my affliction. I’ve contacted Pharma, and he says he’ll be back soon. I detest the lack of urgency in his voice, but he assures me that this is likely a case of line congestion. I personally doubt that.

Fifteenth Cycle, 4036.

Pharma still has not arrived, and he is no longer answering my comms. My optic is beginning to fail. Red fluid is steadily leaking from my optic socket and dripping down the back of my throat. I can barely stand for more then a few minutes, but I’ve managed to remain upright long enough to test a sample of the fluid. It is a coagulated stew of energon, coolant, dispersant, and anti-rusting agent. Somehow, they have all cross-contaminated with each other within my lines. If I do not act soon, I may begin to break down at the molecular level. I must remain upright and attempt to find a cure.

[DATA MISSING]

soun dwa ve do not trust ph amra do not t tocuh th eerus t tra ce this messag ad fin d mee he lpef mee fdpkplease .

“Wow,” Pharma said, leaning back in his seat as he looked over Shockwave’s monitor. He took a generous sip out of his cube of energon and chuckled before gently placing it onto a coaster beside the main console. “This is chilling. Really, it’s something straight out of a horror film. Do you like those, Shockwave?” He swiveled in his chair to turn towards his new patient, silhouetting him in darkness save for the blue glow of his optics.

Shockwave was lying on a large magnetic circuit slab, one that he had been using as his berth up until now. He never thought that it would ever be switched on, but, now the magnetism was just about the only thing keeping him in one piece. Or at least, it was in a conceptual sense. Shockwave’s body had been spread apart like an insect displayed in a shadow box; his limbs spread wide, his digits splayed out in a gentle arc. A posture not unlike one you would find in a diagram within a medical text. His plating resembled a series of ill-fitting bracelets as his inner workings were stretched out to their maximum length. He was a tapestry woven of his own circulatory system, and then subsequently undone by Pharma, who had found the one wavering thread that kept him together, and slowly pulled.

The cold air that occasionally whispered through his lab intertwined with him so intimately that it felt violating. His body had never been so thoroughly exposed; every fuel line, joint, hydraulic, and armature bared for all to see. His chassis was open, his spark chamber vulnerable, illuminating the inner workings of his engine with the burn of his own soul. It betrayed him, and further made him feel naked. The occasional coverage his plating offered was pitiful, about as effective as draping oneself in a series of cold, wet napkins. His plating, his skin, no longer fit. It no longer kept him safe. The bleeding wouldn’t stop, it would never stop. He was one big wound that would never close, no matter how much he wished to be sewn shut forever.

He could see again. But he couldn’t turn his helm anymore, his neck was twice its length without any of the mechanisms to move it. His helm was propped up on a tray, turned skyward, looking at a small monitor that had been attached to an adjustable stand. And as his optic slowly explored the screen, the cursor moved with it. He was ignoring Pharma entirely, completely engrossed in his work, looking at the biological makeup of the virus that was slowly rotting him from the inside out. Pharma had boasted about how he managed to separate his helm from the rest of his frame to keep his optic intact, but Shockwave paid the whole spiel little mind. It wasn’t that impressive, anyway. He’d merely diverted the virus from reaching his spark chamber and helm by nearly separating the two systems from each other entirely.

That being said, there was really no reason to keep him attached to his original frame in any way. If anything, it was just risking further infection. But Pharma likely was doing this for his own sick enjoyment. Because if Shockwave were completely detached, the pain would have gone away. And though his vocalizer had been removed to snuff his endless groaning, the occasional spasm of his frame let Pharma know that he was still in ceaseless agony. It was bad enough to be reduced to a living petri-dish, but now Shockwave was a source of entertainment, as well. Like a clown doused in gasoline dancing over hot coals.

“I never was a fan, personally,” Pharma continued, knowing full well that Shockwave was ignoring him. “They never get the anatomy right.” He stood up and walked to Shockwave’s berthside, smiling with disgusting fondness as his optics traveled up and down his patient’s ruined body. “Now, psychological thrillers, those are a lot more enjoyable when done right. But now I don’t think any of them, even among my personal favorites, have ever managed to really capture true mental torment. The feeling of being trapped. Of helplessness.” His optics settled onto Shockwave’s exposed spark chamber as it whirred outside of his chassis, and he ghosted his digits over the glass. Shockwave twitched and abruptly stopped.

Pharma smiled. “Now we both know better, don’t we? I’ve heard of your escapades, Shockwave,” he mused, tracing the rim of Shockwave’s spark with the very tip of his digit. “I doubt there’s any Cybertronian currently functioning who hasn’t. The Cybonic Plague was certainly one of your finest achievements, if I do say so myself. It was one of the few times I was grateful to be on Messatine. Then again, I think if I was given enough time, I would have found a cure. I think I was actually very close to curing Cybercrosis, but unfortunately I was kept too busy with the DJD to ever complete that little side project.

“Between them, and the stress of keeping my little secret on the Peaceful Resolution, it’s no wonder I neglected to properly clean my servos. But, ugh, it’s still so embarrassing. You won’t tell anyone about this, right? I have a reputation to uphold, and forgetting something so basic is just, well, you understand.” He stepped away from Shockwave’s spark chamber and watched as his entire frame slowly decompressed, causing more fluid to leak from his frame and into the pails below his slab. He moved to stand beside Shockwave’s helm, leaned down, smiled, and put his servos on his knees to survey Shockwave’s progress.

“Oooh, but you are clever, aren’t you? I barely had to give you any instructions and you’re already this close to figuring out a cure!” He patted Shockwave’s helm like he were a dog who had just successfully done a trick. Shockwave’s digits trembled as a high concentration of rage mixed into his fuel lines. “We’ll get those vaccines synthesized in no time at all.” Pharma sauntered back over to his seat, humming as he promptly deleted all of Shockwave’s journal entries and pulled up his vital readings to casually look them over.

“It’s funny,” Pharma began again, determined not to give Shockwave even an ounce of peace. “When I first met you, I was furious. Of course, of all mechs for me to run into, it just had to be another slagging Decepticon. And not just any Decepticon, nooo, it had to be one of the biggest, baddest ones of them all. Shockwave, the most brilliant, evil scientist to ever crawl out of the Well of Allsparks. But, now that we’re here, I think this was the best possible outcome for me.”

He finished his cube of energon and lounged in his chair with a sigh, crossing one leg over the other. “Logic is your one true master, or at least that’s what I’ve always heard. So you know better than to try and trick me by making some fake vaccine. Because if I die, well… who is going to keep you alive, then? You can’t reach Soundwave without your satellite dish online,” he said, picking up an unplugged cable and twirling it around his servo. “No one even knows where you are. Which I have to say, very stupid of you to outright admit that to me. A rookie mistake, really. And to top it all off, this whole planet is just crawling with Insecticons, but now I get to relax in this impressive stronghold you’ve made for yourself. I mean, look at it!”

He made a grand gesture with his arms and spun in his chair, taking in the impressive state of the lab. “You have doors. Strong doors, too. Especially for a cave, of all things. Plus you have power, a working energon distiller… I feel like I should be paying rent!” He laughed and turned to look at Shockwave over his shoulder. “But I think keeping you alive is enough of a fair trade, don’t you?”

Shockwave continued working in silence, save for the crackle of his ventilators. “You’re a terrible conversationalist,” Pharma said with a pout, as if that wasn’t also his fault. “Really, you could at least nod. Remember, I’m doing most of the heavy lifting in this arrangement… So, it’s within your best interest to keep me on your good side. You know, for your health.”

Chapter Text

Starscream collapsed onto his berth as soon as he came close to it. He let out a deep exhalation of air which instantly coated the berth in a thin layer of condensation. He was still running a bit hot, but the coolant would do its job in time. Well, it would be doing its job a bit faster if he’d actually taken the time to keep his fuel levels in check, but he’d been burning so much of it off during his training that it all but guaranteed he’d be subjected to more social interaction than he cared to experience. And there was no way in the Pit he’d ever stoop low enough to share the Vehicons’ distiller.

So, going hungry it was, then. But he couldn’t really say he was hungry anymore, he’d quickly gotten used to the feeling during his stint in exile, and this was no different. Still, he almost felt he preferred the isolation Nevada’s woods offered over the constant noise of the Nemesis. In fact, by comparison, this was practically torture. The Autobots thought themselves so high and mighty with their blasted moral codes and honor, but in reality they were no better than Decepticons. In fact, they may be worse in terms of treachery, because at least Decepticons wore their tendency to fight dirty on their sleeves.

At least with them he wouldn’t be surprised when a friend left him blind.

Starscream rolled onto his back with great effort and idly picked at his badge as he tried to relax, staring up into the ghost of a ceiling. He couldn’t help but stew in his anger, it was one of the only things that kept him sane. He cursed this entire ship and all who walked in it for leaving him like this. He cursed Ultra Magnus for daring to say he wasn’t ready; Starscream knew he was just afraid of the truth, that he just didn’t like to see him become independent, that he was wrong to underestimate him. He cursed Bumblebee for daring to draw him a picture of his cage, for laying it bare that he was helpless, and doing nothing about it. He cursed Bulkhead for daring to touch him with the same servos that beat his clone to death.

Wheeljack, for making him feel small and failing to finish what he started because he felt bad. Ratchet, for being so cold and so blunt, for saying he was just ‘lucky.’ Arcee, for forcing open scars that he spent decades attempting to heal for her own comfort. Knockout, for treating him like a punchline and his hot-and-cold demeanor. Soundwave, for leaving him behind when he needed it most, after he tried so hard to save him. And Smokescreen... for making him have hope. For making it all feel okay. None of this was okay, and it never would be, no matter how many times that blundering oaf distracted him with fleeting pleasures. And worst of all, he cursed him for reminding him of them. Of Trine. Of family.

He groaned and rubbed his face, shaking his helm in a feeble attempt to physically remove the thoughts from his head. This sickness had to go away at some point, this disgusting feeling that coated every inch of him. The crushing weight around his spark, the swelling in his throat, the bitter taste of purge at the base of his glossa, and the vice around his processor had not let him be for over a week. This was far beyond hunger, or exhaustion, it was so much worse. He had to get out of here before it swallowed him whole. But he couldn’t do it yet, not when his body ached this much.

“Primus, just let me get some sleep,” he begged, barely above a whisper.

Primus was nothing if not cruel, though, because instead of sleep, he got Miko. It took everything within Starscream not to live up to his namesake as his comm-link buzzed in his helm like a persistent swarm of locusts. He just let it ring, he’d learned that hanging up was useless. If Miko wanted something, she would get it by any means necessary, unless that meant leaving her bored. So he endured the ringing; once, twice, three times in a row she attempted to call him. Each attempt lasting about one entire minute, before there was a beat of silence. She was deliberating whether or not this was worth it, and Starscream waited with bated breath, knowing his fate would be decided in the next ten seconds.

Then it rung again. Miko had spoken, she was not giving up today. ‘One day,’ Starscream thought, as he answered the call as slowly as physically possible, ‘I am going to take you by those silly tufts on your head. One in each servo. And I will tear you apart, right down the middle.’

“What,” he groused.

“Hey, Screamer!” Miko said with a happy gasp, as if she didn’t actually expect him to pick up on the fourth attempt. He really was deliberating the merits of suicide by this point. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Important business.”

Miko giggled, sounding sheepish. “Weeeell, if you can find a slot in your schedule, I sent you that mix-tape like a week and a half ago and I still haven’t heard your thoughts on it-”

“Sorry, too busy,” Starscream interrupted, picking at his own digits. Clearly the epitome of productivity.

Miko huffed and groaned, Starscream could hear her rolling around on something, perhaps her own bed. “You’re literally not, though! And you never are when I call you. Soundwave gave me the best times to call all you guys, remember?”

Starscream clicked his jaw. “Mm. Yes, I remember. He’s very...convenient.”

“So, why not listen to it now, while you’re just hanging out? Because I know that’s what you’re doing. Whenever you’re not working, you just lay in bed. You have like, zero hobbies.”

He snarled. “Well, it’s not my fault that most hobbies require sight, Miko! What do you want me to do, read!?”

“Music doesn’t require sight,” she said, stating the obvious. Starscream just grumbled incoherent anger at that. “Pleeease? I worked really hard on it. Just give it a chance!”

Starscream rubbed his face again, knowing he really would never hear the end of this. And, unfortunately, Miko had a point, as obvious as it was. He’d been bored out of his mind for so long that he might as well make his audials bleed, just to pass the time! He took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “...Alright, fine. I’ll listen to it.” Miko made a high-pitched noise that he assumed meant she had been satiated. “But you need to leave me alone so I can listen properly.”

“Okay, no problem! Just be sure to let me know what you think, okay?” She asked, surprisingly alright with his demands.

“Sure, sure. Bye, Miko.” She managed to get out a quick ‘bye!’ before he ended the call. He took a moment to bask in the silence before he finally rooted around in his subspace for his sound-canceling headset and put it on. If he was going to give Miko’s idea of what ‘music’ was a chance, he wanted to do so properly, without distractions. As the silence enveloped him, he leaned back and folded his arms across his chassis, rooting around in his database for the file Soundwave had forwarded to him. He couldn’t physically see the titles, but they did pop up in his mind in the form of an idea. Which was a strange feeling, but he’d gotten used to it. It was called ‘Starscream’s Mix,’ very creative. He huffed and allowed the first file to play.

There were a couple songs that he skipped mere seconds into their length. He felt he heard all he needed after the first few shrieks of an electric guitar crying out for death. But after wading through the cacophony of a silverware drawer being assaulted, the music began to slow into something more palatable. He furrowed his brow, waiting for disappointment, only to find himself disappointing in the lack thereof. It was actually, admittedly, sort of, maybe, a little bit… beautiful.

He liked it.

Now he knew he must have some sort of processor glitch, attempting to diagnose himself with a localized seizure as his pede tapped at the air, casually slung across his knee. This was just a momentary bout of insanity, it would pass. But in the meantime, he could enjoy himself a little bit. And he did, finally relaxing enough to actually listen to the lyrics along with the music, as the next song played in the bubble he’d built around himself.

‘Times ablaze under the flags we chose,
Denied my step and froze my heart,
Yet I stare with nothing left to do.
The verdict that I came for, migration's song.’

Starscream’s brow tensed again, and his lips parted slightly as the words bit at his processor with teeth so soft and gentle. It gripped his spark, but did not do so unkindly, even through the cold chill he felt pierce through it. Somehow, this one spoke to him in a way both comforting and not. It hurt him in a somber, beautiful way.

‘Take your well deserved step into darkness,
I'll become your eyes, you have no other.
We have to walk along the wire,
Trust the one that never trusted you.’

As if on queue, Starscream was startled out of his trance by a pair of wayward digits tapping on his shoulder pauldron. He spasmed and flailed in his berth like a bot who had forgotten how to use his arms, before he finally tore the headset from his helm. “What!?” He shouted, glaring towards the gentle assailant.

“Hey,” Smokescreen said with a smile, choosing not to ask Starscream why he looked so upset a second ago. “I brought you some energon.”

“Oh,” Starscream said, seeming genuinely surprised. But he corrected his expression to something more flat and tried again, as if Smokescreen hadn’t heard him the first time. “Oh, thank you.” That was better. Starscream held out his servo and Smokescreen put the filled cube into his palm. He resisted the urge to reveal his hunger by drinking immediately, instead pretending to be interested in its weight as he waited to hear Smokescreen sit down on his own berth.

“Listening to anything good?” Smokescreen asked, casually, as he took his seat across from him.

Starscream shrugged, impartially. “Feh. Just Miko’s drivel.” It was then that he decided to start drinking from the glass. Primus, he was ravenous, but he figured he was hiding it pretty well.

Smokescreen brightened a bit. “Oh yeah, she made you a mix-tape, too!” His shoulders sagged, remembering the adjective Starscream had used only a moment ago. “I’m… guessing you’re not a fan?”

He tsk’d, licking his lower lip impolitely without realizing it. “It’s… we’ll call it ‘hit or miss.’ Mainly misses. Maybe… one or two hits, so far. Honestly I’m surprised there was anything decent on there to begin with, so I suppose I underestimated Miko’s musical sensibilities.”

Smokescreen snorted. “God, you suck at giving compliments.”

“I wasn’t giving one,” he said, shortly. Smokescreen frowned, but Starscream cut to the chase before they could linger on the subject. “What do you want, Smokescreen?”

“Uh, nothing?” He raised a brow and shrugged. “I mean, I wanted to check in, I guess. Hang out, share some energon, see if you were feeling any better. Are you?”

“Fine, just as I told you before,” he said, curtly, then took another sip of his energon, only to find the glass emptying itself sooner than expected. This visibly confused Starscream, but not Smokescreen, who had watched Starscream put that energon away like his life depended on it. He was making a valiant effort to hide it, but you could only do so much when you were truly starving. Smokescreen got up, took the empty glass, and put his own into the waiting servo. Starscream looked towards him, unable to hide his shock, and not even thinking to attempt to hide it this time.

“You really haven’t been fueling much, have you?” Smokescreen asked. His voice sounded impartial, but his optics were full of worry. “How come?”

Starscream sneered, but raised the glass to his lips regardless. “Haven’t much appetite,” he muttered, just before he drank again, not even bothering to hide his thirst anymore. There was little point in trying when he’d already been caught.

“Yeah, you’ve been acting kinda stressed out, lately.” Smokescreen took the other glass once it was inevitably emptied and put them both on their nightstands. “You’ve been working really hard, though. And you’ve made a lot of progress on your training, too. I guess it’s kinda hard to remember to take care of yourself on top of all of that.”

“I’ve…” Starscream took a moment to adjust his posture. “I’ve been taking perfectly good care of myself.”

“Pfft. Okay, fog machine.” Smokescreen smiled at the familiar sneer that earned him. “By the way, I kinda lied earlier; I do want something.”

Starscream huffed and deflated. “I knew it. Well, out with it, then. What is it?”

Smokescreen’s smile widened. “You wanna go for a flight?” Starscream’s helm snapped at attention, and his wings spread wide on his back, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. “C’mon, we can sneak out the back.”

“How? Soundwave is always watching this time of night.”

“Don’t worry, I already took care of it! He owed me a favor after he lost our last poker match.”

Starscream did a double-take. “Wh-You beat Soundwave? At poker? How!?”

Smokescreen smirked, wickedly. “He may have the better poker face, but, it’s also made of glass. Just be sure to sit him in front of a lamp and you’ll win against him every time. Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

After a stunned moment of silence, Starscream let out a little laugh full to burst with delight. “Why, Smokescreen! You deceptive little imp, you! I would’ve expected that from Soundwave or myself sooner than you, mister Almost-A-Prime.”

He shrugged with a cheeky smirk. “What can I say? I learned from the best. Now, let’s go!”

The night was cool, but not cold. And though Starscream couldn’t see it, the sky was absolutely dripping with diamonds. The rich, royal blue of the night enveloped everything within it, all except the planets that hung in the air in a brilliant garland of color. Smokescreen and Starscream fled from the Nemesis like a pair of children sneaking into the woods at night. It was an innocent, juvenile thrill. They quietly ran across the wastes, Smokescreen occasionally looking over his shoulder to ensure Starscream was keeping up. And he was. He looked excited, smiling with his wings raised high on his back, but not pulled taught. Smokescreen’s plan seemed to be working out just fine, so far.

Once they were a good distance away, they slowed their pace to conserve their energy, boundless as it may feel. They walked in a natural, comfortable silence, in spite of so many things left unsaid. Smokescreen allowed his optics to wander, taking in every dot of starlight while Starscream drank the night air like a fine wine. Every breath seemed to make him feel a little bit lighter, purifying him from the inside out. Maybe he was just getting used to the stench of a dying planet, but it was finally starting to smell like Cybertron again.

“Okay, I think we’re good,” Smokescreen said as he came to a stop, and Starscream followed in kind. “You go ahead, I’ll catch up.”

Starscream chuckled as he confidently walked backwards. “You always say that, but you never do.”

“Says the blind guy.”

Starscream pointed at him. “Penalty.” Then, he flipped backwards and transformed, rocketing into the air with a triumphant scream from his thruster. Smokescreen laughed, delighted to hear that old in-joke make a return, then followed Starscream’s lead, peeling off into the moonlight at top speed. Smokescreen practically roared along with his engine as he dominated the ground beneath him, almost flying above it himself. But from where Starscream was, that was a definite overstatement.

He rolled through the air, returning the embrace of the atmosphere like a long-lost friend. And God, how he had yearned for this. Even now, he continued to yearn for flight in its purest form, complete with the visage of the universe, shrinking beneath him and laying itself bare for him to bask in every little detail. One day, it would all be his again. But for now, this was enough. Playfully, he decided to dip low and give Smokescreen a little scare as he passed overhead, and he laughed as he heard the race car’s tires skid a bit.

“Woah!” Smokescreen exclaimed. He gave Starscream’s comm a ring, which the plane answered immediately. “Hey, air traffic control here! Over.”

“Yeeees~?” He purred, innocently. He wasn’t playful enough to go along with this silly role play Smokescreen was doing, though.

“Just wanted to let you know, that would’ve looked way cooler if you pulled a barrel roll on the way in. Over.”

“Oh, interesting suggestion! Permission to pass over?”

“Granted. Over.”

Smokescreen moved into a straight line, allowing Starscream ample time to line himself back up for his second dive. He watched overhead as he climbed higher, swooping to one side in a large arc before he came careening downwards towards him. As he came down, mere feet overhead, his weight shifted to one side, and then the other, sending him into a spiral. The wind tangled into him like a net of ribbons, rattling his frame and vibrating him with turbulence to his very core. Smokescreen slowed down, but only out of pure survival instinct. Even though he knew Starscream couldn’t see, even though he knew the person he’d been, and in some ways still was, Smokescreen trusted him not to allow him to get hurt.

The millisecond where Starscream’s wing grazed mere inches over Smokescreen’s roof may as well have been an eternity. But when the world around them breathed in again, resuscitating the hands of time, the speed in which they spun was electrifying. Starscream flew back into the air, and as the ground grew further away, he laughed with such a wanton sense of joy. And Smokescreen shared in that same high, finding himself skidding in complex spirals on the ground below, his tires screaming in harmony with him as energy surged through his fuel lines.

Starscream felt untouchable. He spiraled up, higher and higher into the sky. So high, in fact, that he began to feel pinpricks of frost between his joints. The air here was familiar; clear and sweet, with the lingering spirit of ozone in its wake. He was within the barrier of the clouds. He disengaged his thruster and transformed, allowing himself to drift upwards and take it all in. The air was bitterly cold, with condensation drenching him from head to toe in an instant as he slipped through the clouds. A bath made of pure stratosphere that peeled away his worries like they were a winter coat.

He breathed deep, and felt as the breath of the planet mapped out his body down to its circuits. His limbs relaxed, with his spark bared to the invisible light of the moon. No longer flying, but floating. A feeling that would only last a second, but that he would chase, again and again, and never tire of. Pure freedom, condensed into a single, fleeting moment. A calm that knew no equal. His smile broke through the thin layer of frost that covered him, and as he inevitably began to fall, for the first time in weeks, Starscream felt alive.

The weightlessness slipped away, and he plummeted. Down, and down, and down some more. Though his spark was pounding, he felt no fear. His servos swam behind him, ice crunching between his digits as the cold tried desperately to latch onto him forever. His legs straight, but not taught. His wings were numb, yet tingled with embers as they sliced through the air. He indulged in his fall as long as it would last, he knew when it was about time to stop once he heard Smokescreen yammering on the ground. With one precise movement, he flipped upright and transformed, then burst upwards to slow his descent, warming his frame and changing his deathly plummet into a graceful downward coast. Like a paper airplane reaching the end of its journey.

Once he felt the ground echo against the bottom of his wings, he transformed again and landed onto his pedes., though it lacked the grace he normally implemented into his landings. He wobbled and stumbled as he attempted to remain upright, only to submit to the pull of gravity and allow himself to fall onto his back. His arms spread wide as his smile, his chassis expanding heavily with his overclocking ventilators. Smokescreen rolled up and transformed until he was kneeling at Starscream’s side. The tumble made him worry, but when he saw the undiluted joy on the Seeker’s face, he relaxed.

“Feeling better?” Smokescreen asked, also out of breath.

Starscream took a moment to regain control of his vocalizer. “‘Better’ is… an understatement.”

Smokescreen sat down with a thud. “Then, what...what’s a better word for it?”

After a moment of deliberation, he answered. “I feel… invincible.”

Smokescreen chuckled and finally decided to join him on his back, looking up at the beautiful night sky. “Yeah, I bet you do. You really scared me for a second; you went so high I couldn’t even see you! I didn’t think you were gonna be able to make it back down without getting hurt…”

“Ye of little faith. Though, I can’t say I can blame you. I haven’t flown since we went to that party.”

“And after it, thanks to me,” he said with a smug smile. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Starscream chuckled. “Yes, thank you for sneaking me out again, Smokescreen.” He sounded as if he were rolling his optics. He let out a contented sigh and folded his servos onto his abdomen. “Nothing clears the processor better than a flight…”

“Glad that it worked,” he said, admiring the constellations with unrestrained awe. “Primus, it’s a beautiful night…” He heard Starscream move his digits in the quiet, and turned his helm to look at him. His face had suddenly fallen, sobered with the reminder that this beauty was not for him to see. Smokescreen frowned, feeling a sudden pang of guilt, before being struck with an idea. “Hey, Star? Do you like constellations?”

He quietly scoffed, finding the question stupid. “I think you would be hard-pressed to find someone who doesn’t.”

Smokescreen looked to the sky again and pointed towards one of the shinier stars, then began to trace the outline it heralded with his digit. “Right above us, I can see Vector. That’s the one kinda shaped like a zig-zag, remember? And then near that, like… past the first ‘zig,’ there’s Trion’s Quill.” He took a pause and looked to Starscream, finding him silent. Smokescreen smiled, knowingly, and continued to map out the sky for him in great detail. Of course the Prime fanboy would know their constellations by spark. Starscream did not smile, but felt it in his chassis as he listened and allowed the little four-wheeler to reintroduce him to the sky. It went on for minutes on end, until Smokescreen finally began to lose steam.

“And the sky is pitch black,” he continued, valiantly. “But there’s this little… blue glow around the brighter stars. The clouds are catching it, so they almost look like energon dust, sort of… I don’t really know if I can come up with anything else to say. But, I hope that gave you a good idea.”

“It did…” Starscream sounded surprised as his imagination filled in the insurmountable blank. Describing the beauty of the night to a blind mech was surely a fool’s errand. That being said, he found himself so fortunate to be beside one of the biggest fools he’d ever met. He felt a lump form in his throat, but he swallowed it before it could become a pearl. “Thank you, Smokescreen.”

The fool smiled and looked back to the sky. “No problem, buddy.”

They remained silent a while, just listening to the gentle thrum of the planet below them, without the distortion of wind or wildlife to get in the way of Cybertron’s steady sparkbeat. As time dragged on, Smokescreen frowned and deliberated with himself. Starscream had clearly softened up, just as he’d hoped, but he worried that attempting to point out how distant he’d become may only further cement that distance. It was hard, and he once again found himself wishing that Optimus was there. Surely he would find a way to navigate this, and he would do it with ease. Perhaps that sort of wisdom could only ever truly be found in the Matrix.

But the Matrix was gone, and so were the Primes. There were no easy answers anymore, no holy figures that walked among their disciples, there was only what remained after the smoke cleared. And all that remained was each other; community, friendship, and those that were brave enough to reach out their hand, knowing they could be bitten. “Star… You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” Smokescreen asked, his voice soft, but his optics still turned to the sky as it shifted.

Starscream tensed somewhat, snapped from the blessed emptiness he was struggling to maintain. “… What’s this about?”

Smokescreen resisted the urge to shrug. He needed to remain steadfast. “You’ve been avoiding everybody for weeks. We barely talk anymore. You’re not eating, and you’re working yourself to death with training. If there’s something bothering you… as your friend, I’d like to know what it is. I want to help.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he answered, reflexively. “We’re all just busier, now that we’re preparing for others to arrive. Including Airachnid, if she’s alive. And I want to be ready if she is.” The last thing he needs is to encounter her in the wild unprepared. Still, Smokescreen’s sudden need to dig was making him twitchy. He felt like he was about to be found out, even though realistically he’d done nothing wrong. Yet.

“I get that. We’re all kinda stressed out, but you’ve been acting especially stressed out. It’s something more than that, isn’t it?”

Starscream sat up, scowling in annoyance. “It’s not. I swear to you, it’s not. Not everything is some massive conspiracy with me, alright!?”

Seeing Starscream’s rising tension, Smokescreen sighed and sat up. “… Okay.” This graceful submission clearly took the Seeker by surprise, and Smokescreen finally allowed himself to shrug. “Okay,” he repeated, “if you say it’s fine, then… I trust you. Just try to keep yourself fueled up before you train, okay?”

“...Okay,” he muttered, still taken aback by how quickly Smokescreen dropped the subject. He was still clearly disappointed by Starscream’s lack of transparency, though. For some reason, that made him feel anxious. Maybe it was because he now knew just how observant Smokescreen actually was, and he feared that he may keep him on a closer watch? No, Smokescreen trusted him. Maybe a little too much? Was that even possible? Why would he even think that?

“You always look so happy after you fly,” Smokescreen observed, out of nowhere. This successfully pulled Starscream out of his own spiraling thoughts. “If you don’t count sky-diving, the closest I’ve been to flying is probably when you got us out of that mine-shaft. It sucks that I barely remember it.”

Starscream scoffed. “I would gladly pass the memory unto you if I could. Because that was not fun by any stretch of the imagination.”

“Yeah, I know,” he chuckled, “but I still wish I could remember it…” He thought for a moment, drumming his digits on his knee, before he smiled. “What if we did that again?” The look of confusion Starscream gave him may as well be in the running for a spot in the dictionary. “Minus the collapsing mine, obviously. But I’d like a taste of the real deal, if you’re down for it.”

“You want me to fly you around? You’re insane,” he said, flatly, while turning his helm elsewhere. “I’m not submitting myself to the torment of having to lug you around by your giant shoulders again. You’re about as easy to carry as a gargantuan string of lead pearls.”
“Who said you had to carry me like that? Why not just let me sit on your back in your alt mode?”

He made a face of disgust. “Ugh, I think I’d rather die than allow you to straddle me like those flat-dentae’d Earth quadrupeds.”

Smokescreen pouted. “First of all, that’s called a ‘horse-’”
“I don’t care.”

“-Second of all, don’t act like it’s my fault you’re too scared to take me on a flight.”
“What did you say?” Starscream asked, now finally turning to face Smokescreen again. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel that smirk rolling off of him like an electromagnetic wave of smugness. He had him hook, line, and sinker.

“The truth. You’re just scared you’ll drop me, aren’t you? Don’t wanna risk losing your best-est buddy Smokey? It’s nice and all, but after all the work I did to get you out here...” He let out a dramatic sigh and drew some circles into the sediment underneath them. “Using up a favor from Soundwave, of all bots. Who knows when I’ll get a get-out-of-jail-free card like that again?”

“You…” Starscream pointed at him with a hiss, but Smokescreen just smiled like a cat that knew it still had all nine lives. “You don’t get to pull that slag on me, you little mud-flap.”
“Why~?” He giggled, impishly, knowing Starscream was just hacked off that he’d pulled one of his signature moves. “Don’t worry, you can make this up to me some other way! Let’s just head back on foot.”

Starscream really had been spending too much time with him. Manipulating him like this, knowing that he hated owing anyone anything… he was almost impressed. Or he would be, if he wasn’t so thoroughly annoyed that he’d been had. As Smokescreen stood up, Starscream followed, only to take him by the wrist and glare into the smug expression he knew still had to be there. “If I hear… one word of this, from anyone… I will rearrange your circuits until you’re nothing more than an abstract art piece. Understand?”

“Loud and clear, captain.”

Starscream grumbled and stepped back, then transformed into his alt mode. He popped out his barely-used landing gear to suspend himself above the ground. “Then get on before I change my mind.” Smokescreen smiled and jogged over, looking for the best angle to climb on, eventually deciding it best to lie on his belly on top of Starscream’s cockpit whilst interlacing his legs beneath the belly of the plane. Primus bless mass-displacement, or else this would not be possible in the slightest.

“Comfortable?” Starscream asked, not actually caring to hear the answer past the purpose of getting this over with as soon as possible. Admittedly, the weight on his back was oddly pleasant, but he didn’t want to dwell on that as much as he didn’t want to dwell on how much he’d grown accustomed to Bulkhead’s wanton embraces.

“One sec,” Smokescreen grunted and shifted a bit, but ultimately ended up in the exact same spot. “Yep!”

“Alright then.” He then engaged his thruster, causing Smokescreen to yelp and tighten his grip due to the lack of any sort of countdown. But it wasn’t as if he was going at top speed, they were rolling across the ground for a good distance as he gradually increased their velocity. He pretended not to be able to hear Smokescreen begin to vocalize his regrets as they began to lift off the safety net of the ground, but by that point he couldn’t really pretend anymore as Smokescreen had begun barking expletives like a foul-mouthed yap dog. This was the funniest thing that had happened to Starscream in days, and he laughed with wicked sadism as they continued to climb. “Having fun yet, Smokey~?”

“HOLYSHITHOLYSHITHOLYSHIT!” He shouted, subtly and eloquently between manic fits of laughter.

Starscream laughed some more and took mental note of how far they were from the ground. Once they reached a nice, reasonable twenty-thousand feet, he began to coast through the air. Smokescreen was gripping him tight enough to almost dent his outer casing, but the steady rattling of his knees prevented that from coming to fruition. By this point, Starscream assumed he’d had enough, but couldn’t keep himself from adding another pinch of salt to the wound. “Oh, come now,” he tutted, “this isn’t even the maximum height for human aircraft! Don’t tell me this is too high for you! Didn’t you say that you’d sky-dived before~?”

Much to his surprise, Smokescreen suddenly let out a loud, cackling laugh. His servos released his frame as he threw his fists into the air and let out a triumphant whoop. “This. Is. AWESOME!”

Starscream would have pouted if he could, as he came to the disappointing realization that he’d entirely misinterpreted Smokescreen’s exclamations coming from a place of fear. In reality, he was far from afraid; he was thrilled. Starscream grunted, not even trying to hide his disappointment.

But Smokescreen couldn’t be bothered. He managed to wriggle himself into a comfortable seated position and looked around, optics opened as wide as his mechanisms would allow, at the beautiful view laid out before him. He could see everything from here. The Nemesis, Iacon, Kaon, even Darkmount was within his line of sight, a mere black needle in the distance. Thankfully, with no flying objects in sight besides themselves. Still, he was glad Starscream couldn’t see that. He looked down, daring to lean to one side, marveling at how his pede seemed to dwarf the planet below.

He looked above, into the sea of clouds just overhead, and he reached both servos into the air, as if attempting to tear off little pieces to take home as souvenirs. But his digits ghosted right through them, leaving claw-mark trails in their wake that closed themselves up as quickly as they opened. He shivered and looked at his digits, finding them coated in cool condensation, and he blew air into his servos to warm them back up. Finally, he settled on looking ahead, into the endless horizon, where the rich hues of dark blue only seemed to grow more complex. The air was thin, and soft, like a bath of downy feathers. Smokescreen breathed deep, allowing it to linger before finally exhaling a plume of warm steam that kissed his cheeks in its rush to leave them behind.

“Wow,” he breathed, finding himself speechless. “Just… wow.” His servo found Starscream’s cockpit, where he gave the glass a gentle touch. “This is incredible… It’s nothing like sky-diving. Or even riding in a ship! Still, I wish the Nemesis had more windows…”

Starscream snorted. “So you could get a nice, clear view of the ground?”

“We’ll get him back in the air, you’ll see!”

“Penalty,” he said, though his tone was off. It lacked playfulness, or bite; it was more like he’d read it from a script. However, Smokescreen didn’t notice, and just laughed.

He looked towards the Well of Allsparks, the glow reflecting in his optics like the North star. Every so often, little streams of color leaked from the Well and drifted off into the sky. “Star, I really owe you one for this.”

“I thought you said this was to make us even?”

“Nah, I was only messing with you.”

Starscream choked on a gasp and growled. “Why you little-!?”

“I’m sorry!” Smokescreen said, chuckling and clearly not harboring many regrets. “But I mean it: I really do owe you big time. I don’t know how I can make it up, but I promise, one day I will.”

It was about this time that Starscream thought of a suggestion, though he kept it to himself. He knew better than to ask, after all. Smokescreen would never sacrifice even one of his optics for him, no matter how much he postured about getting even or being ‘friends.’ He felt he shouldn’t have to ask. He felt owed. He felt… like he had an opportunity. Here, thousands of feet in the air, miles from the Nemesis, on an empty planet deep in slumber, was a small glimmer of hope. But it shined in a way that stung, with barbs made of pure light, it forced him to bask in it whether he wanted to or not.

No one was around to see them. And they were so high up, dangerously high. All he realistically had to do was flip himself over, and Smokescreen would fall right off. He wouldn’t suspect him to do something like that so suddenly, after all. He trusted him too much. He would flail, facing upwards, clawing towards him and crying out for help. Landing on his back would all but ensure his optics wouldn’t be damaged in the fall. Maybe there would be a crack, but Starscream could manage. He could stick them in his subspace and toss the excess into the Well of Allsparks. Then he’d cut himself up, claim it was an Insecticon attack, that they took Smokescreen away. That he’d perished protecting him. Then he could slip the optics into a storage container and wait for them to be found. It would be so easy.

It could be so easy.

Starscream’s spark was pounding at the images flashing in his helm; abstract scrawl of the reality that was lost to him, intermingling with memories that were far too clear. A trail of data-pads. A spilled glass of energon. The sound of his own name. Rows of teeth. A cold servo under a pile of stones. Two red dots in the ocean. A graveyard of snow. The weight of a corpse made real. Eight thousand shanix. A party. A family. A friend. It was overwhelming, nauseating.

He was moving, but he felt like he was standing still. The air could no longer reach him. The servo on his cockpit burned him, crushed him. Suffocating. Just turn and let it be over. Rip it off like a bandage, bear the wound to the open air and let it scab. What was a scab if not another layer of armor? What was a friend if not a fool? What was he, if not an opportunist? His wings tensed to the point he felt that they had begun to shrink. This was not his life, this was not how he wanted to live. They couldn’t keep him in the dark like this, he wouldn’t let them keep him in the dark!

And yet he couldn’t move. The thoughts wouldn’t leave him, they screamed at him from the depths of his processor to just do it. Kill him. Take what is rightfully yours, and wash your servos in energon with a smile on your face, just as you always have. No, not as you always have; just as you learned you had to. His arms used to be blue, it blended right in. Never clean, never clean, never clean again. Why bother being clean? Why bother caring anymore? No, not a bother, but a burden. The spark in his chassis was betraying him the same as everyone else always did, holding him back from taking what was his and screaming ‘no’ like it were chastising a child. Training a dog. Beating him, until he felt he could no longer bear the burden of existence for existence’s sake.

Smokescreen was saying something, both servos were on his cockpit now. Starscream didn’t hear it, he didn’t care. He just swallowed and finally said, “I think I’m about to purge.”

“Oh!” Smokescreen exclaimed, immediately beginning to stroke Starscream’s side. “Okay, that’s okay, you can stop. Just take a deep breath and start going down. I’m right here with you.”

Starscream wasn’t sure if Smokescreen was reminding him of that as a means of comforting him, or if just to remind him that he had a passenger, so it would be very bad if he chose to pass out now. Either way, it didn’t matter, he just wanted to get down. They slowly made their descent, Smokescreen’s servo continuing to stroke his side whilst speaking soft words of encouragement. It flayed him alive and made his audials ring. His landing gear bounced on the ground due to his eagerness to cut their ride short, and his tank lurched. Smokescreen nearly fell off, but unfortunately kept his grip.

They had barely come to a stop before Starscream transformed, forcing Smokescreen off and nearly making him fall flat on his aft. Starscream stood on shaking legs and put his servos on his knees to comfortably dry-heave. His throat gurgled and popped but nothing came out, save for the taste. Smokescreen approached, worried and confused, then put his servo onto Starscream’s back. But before he could properly ask what was wrong, Starscream used his elbow to shove his servo away. “Stop touching me, please,” he begged. Primus, he was begging. How pathetic.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Smokescreen apologized, but stayed close as Starscream attempted to regain himself. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he repeated, coming to his own conclusion. It was a habit, forged from Starscream’s own habit to never admit something was wrong. “You’re still underfueled, I shouldn’t have asked-fuck…”

He trailed off, and Starscream shuddered as his tank finally ceased its internal assault on his frame. He took in a deep breath and held it, on a count of three, then released, just as he’d been taught. After a few rounds of this, he managed to stand up straight on the last exhale. “… I’m fine. I just need to get some rest.”

“Star, I’m-” He was silenced when Starscream raised his servo.

“Stop that. Just stop…” He sighed, frowning, as lethargy leaked into the calm expression he’d worked so hard to build. “It’s… not your fault.” None of this was.

Smokescreen blinked in surprise, and he waited for something more. But when nothing came, he just watched Starscream with a careful optic. It was a small movement, nearly unnoticeable, but he was shaking. “Can you walk?”

“… I don’t know.”

Smokescreen nodded and took a small pause. “...Do you want-?”

“Please.”

“Okay.” With that, he transformed, and Starscream crawled onto his roof, trembling all the way. He curled his arms around his legs, if only to cease his shivering. Smokescreen waited patiently until Starscream finally stopped moving before he finally shifted into neutral gear. Then, he shifted into drive, and began carting the Seeker home at an even, steady pace. The both of them mentally flagellating themselves for something that they didn’t actually do to each other. But for Starscream, it was something he felt he should have done. And that made him feel disgusting.

Still, past his disgust, Starscream couldn’t help but wonder just how misplaced that feeling could be. Or maybe he was just searching for anything to dull that nagging pain in his spark. Maybe he was just terrified of being wrong about his decision not to kill Smokescreen when he’d had the chance. But being right was terrifying in its own way. Because if he was right to leave it be, this was surely all that was left. He would never see the stars again, if the rest of the team had any say in it. And surely they did. It was all too convenient, otherwise.

Smokescreen was blissfully silent the entire ride back to the Nemesis. It was only when they came to a stop and Starscream left his roof that he finally spoke again. “Feeling any better?” He asked as he transformed.

Starscream shrugged, not looking at him. “I’m not complaining, if that means anything.”

“If you’re not complaining, that’s usually a sign the world’s about to end,” he said with a weak smile. Starscream did not smile, but hummed to communicate a light sense of amusement. “I’ll walk you to berth and bring you some fuel. Hopefully you’ll feel better in the morning.”

He nodded and followed as he heard Smokescreen start to walk, but he paused before they could get too close to the rear entrance. “Smokescreen, may I ask a question?”

“Sure, buddy. Anything,” he said, pausing without hesitation.
“Hypothetically speaking… If someone on the ship was withholding a set of optics from me, you would have told me by now, wouldn’t you?”
Smokescreen scoffed, as if it were a ridiculous question. But the comfort that gave Starscream hurt as much as a ‘no.’ “Are you kidding me? Of course I would have told you!”

Starscream wasn’t satisfied with that; it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Thankfully, a better question came to mind right away. “Would you have told me that before I saved you from the scraplets?”
Smokescreen’s throat made a noise, and his brow ridge went skyward at the question. “I…” He lowered his brow, inspecting Starscream’s expression for any sort of clue as to what brought on this line of questioning. Did he really think they were holding out on him like that? And that he was complicit? His hesitation made Starscream furrow his brow, and Smokescreen noticed. “I wouldn’t have agreed to something like that in the first place, Star. None of us would have thought to hide them from you.”

“And how can you be so sure? Do you really know everyone on this ship well enough to know if they would hide something like that from you as well? Comparatively, I’ve known them longer than even you have!”

“You don’t know them like that, you know them like-”

“Enemies?” He asked, taking a bold step forward. “Yes, I know. But to know them as an enemy is still a means to know them, is it not? You knew me as an enemy once. Tell me, honestly, if you think I’m any less of the person that I was when we were on opposing sides. You can’t, because that was still me, wasn’t it? And those bots in there are still the enemies I knew, the only thing that’s changed is which side of the fence I stand. And I know they can be just as sadistic as I.”

Smokescreen scowled, feeling as though Starscream were trying to get him to question the morals of his friends. “I already told you, they wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Prove it.” Smokescreen gawked in confusion, and Starscream snarled when he heard the shift of his jaw. “I’ve fought them for centuries, Smokescreen. Your word alone isn’t enough. I need proof. You have a reason outside of them just being your friends, do you not?”

“Yes,” he said, though it lacked any power on its own. He sighed and rubbed the back of his helm. “… We talked about it, but we didn’t go through with it. That’s how I know it didn’t happen.”

“‘We?’ Who is ‘we?’” Starscream took another step forward and lowered his helm to better hear Smokescreen.

“Ugh, I knew you would ask that!” Smokescreen threw up his servos. “Star, I’m not gonna repeat myself again: we didn’t do it! We talked about it for all of five minutes as a hypothetical, but we all realized how fucked up that would be. We-they aren’t monsters! We just honest-to-Primus don’t have any optics, okay?”

Starscream’s lips tightened along with his scowl. So, they had ‘discussed’ it, and come to a consensus not to go forward. But realistically, that didn’t mean anything. What it did mean was that whoever brought it up in the first place was most likely the culprit, and they were attempting to cover their tracks. By then, the optics were already gone. Again, it was all too convenient. And Smokescreen was as gullible and blind-sided as they come… At the very least, this exchange reinvigorated Starscream’s resolve. He wasn’t going to stay here. But Smokescreen didn’t need to know that.

“...I see. Perhaps I’m just paranoid from thirst…” He made a show of holding his helm with an added grimace. “I’m sorry, m-my processor is overheating, I think. Is it?”

Smokescreen’s expression softened, thankful to find that Starscream was aware of his own hysteria, and he gently placed the back of his servo to his forehelm. “Mm, it’s a little warm. Come on, let’s get you to berth before it gets worse.”

Smokescreen took him by the wrist, and Starscream accepted the contact as he was led inside. “Do you think Ultra Magnus would be willing to let me off the hook tomorrow, if I’m still out of sorts in the morning? I was rather terse with him today…”

“I think he’ll understand. Besides, it’s not like he’s gonna punish you for being hangry.” Smokescreen chuckled a bit. “But hey, I’ll check in on you before it’s time to get up. If you’re still feeling bad, I’ll go talk to Ultra Magnus so you can get right back to recharge. I have to see him first thing anyway for our next scouting mission.”

“Thank you, Smokescreen… You’re a good friend.”

Smokescreen smiled and let out a relieved, pleasant sigh. “Anytime, Star.”

Chapter Text

Starscream didn’t really get much rest that night, there was just too much on his mind. He wondered who had brought up the idea of withholding his optics from him, running through multiple options, and eventually coming to the conclusion that it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t as if he had any proof, and he had no hope of finding them without help. Plus, Smokescreen was steadfast in his belief that no one on his ship would ever go through with such an idea. It was more likely that they were just keeping them both in the dark about the whole thing. Smokescreen was still naive, and he only knew the Autobots as far as he could throw them, as much as he liked to think he could throw them very far.

No, the same bots who left him to die by being slowly crushed to death by a boulder were surely the same bots capable of keeping him blind on purpose. But in the end, he would have the last laugh. He would make sure of that. And by Primus, if they were content with leaving him blind on purpose, he had no intention on leaving this place empty-handed. The relics of the Primes were still on board, he knew where they were, he just needed Soundwave to look away long enough for him to take what he deserved.

Sadly, the phase shifter was out of the question. Not only was it usually either locked up under Smokescreen’s berth or around his wrist, but Starscream had to come to the humbling conclusion that he was just terrible at using it. Plus, if anything went wrong with it, he didn’t really see any easy ways out. The star Saber was not only useless to him without the Matrix, but it was way too bulky to carry around long term. The same went for the Forge, and even then it was normally in Ultra Magnus’ possession. Then there was the Dark Star Saber, still bulky, yet he knew it to be functional at least. But he’d had his fill of dark energon for one millennia.

The resonance blaster had come into Soundwave’s posession long ago, and there was no way in the Pit he could convince him to part with it. With most everything else having been broken or lost, that only left the Polarity Gauntlet and the Apex Armor. Which honestly didn’t even sound like a choice, when you laid it out. Of course he was going to favor the Apex Armor over the glorified magnet! He smiled to himself, imagining how easy of a stroll he’d have to Shockwave’s lab, not a care in the world, safe and sound inside of his armor. Then, once his vision was restored, he could come back for the rest. It was only fair.

Still, the main problem was actually getting to, and inside of, the vault. He’d lost access to it long ago, so even if he was still listed in the Nemesis database, he surely didn’t have high enough clearance to get inside. And he had no way of knowing which of the Autobots did have access. He could go off the educated guess that Ultra Magnus had it, but he couldn’t very well ask him to open it so he could window shop. He made a face and rolled onto his side, facing the wall as Smokescreen slept in the opposite berth.

The vault was locked with a servo-print scanner. Even if they had a spare servo for Ultra Magnus lying around, not only would he have have surely taken it already, it wouldn’t work if it hadn’t been attached to its user at least once. It needed to be ‘broken in’ with the user’s electromagnetic pulses, and reshaped to fit them on the molecular level through their CNA blueprint. Without that, it would be as effective as planting a very convincing glove on the screen. He sighed, reaching a dead end. It didn’t stop him from continuing to mull it over, but it only led to further dead ends. So many in fact, that by the time he’d counted them all, he had fallen asleep.

In the morning, Smokescreen gave him a gentle nudge. “Hey,” he whispered, instantly earning a displeased grunt in response. “Feeling any better?”

“Mmm,” Starscream mulled it over for a second, already knowing the answer. “Mm-mm.”

“That’s okay,” Smokescreen reassured him. “I’ll go talk with Ultra Magnus, you just focus on getting some rest today.”

“Mm,” he approved, as if he were trying to test how many meanings a single grunt could have. Smokescreen patted his arm and went on his way, leaving Starscream alone in their room with his thoughts once again. It wasn’t as if he was going to go back to sleep. As per usual, without the luxury of optic lids, once he was awake, he would stay that way for the remainder of the day. Still, it was true that he didn’t feel very well. The days upon days of malnutrition were starting to catch up with him. But at least he could go to the lounge knowing that this may very well be the last time he would visit it.

After lying still for a healthy amount of time, just to mentally prepare for the day ahead, he finally decided to face it. He peeled himself out of his berth and stretched, grimacing initially from the lingering soreness, before letting out a contented sigh. At least this time the ache came from a nice flight instead of an obstacle course. Which he was also thankful to know he would never have to run that course again, soon enough. He walked out of his room and began his journey to the lounge, secretly hoping he had waited long enough to avoid any social interactions. As he got close to the med bay, Ultra Magnus’ voice caught in his audial, and he paused just outside the door to eavesdrop. You really never knew when you would overhear something useful, after all.

“I personally find the concept more disturbing than anything else, Knockout,” Ultra Magnus said, whilst sitting on the medical berth with a disconcerted look in his optics.

“How come? It’s a perfectly good servo. Look, works like a charm, minding a few dents and a severe lack of style.” Starscream heard a series of mechanical whirs and clicks, indicating that Knockout was demonstrating the functionality of said servo. “Plus, it’s currently the only one we have that even comes close to being in your size, big bot. It’s just a servo, it doesn’t matter whose it was.”

“Still… I can’t say I’m comfortable with the idea of attaching a part of Megatron to my body.”

Starscream’s brow ridge flew up. They had one of Megatron’s servos? Though Starscream and the Vehicons typically had an abundance of spare parts lying around, Megatron rarely kept spares. For anyone else, Starscream would find that as bold and boastful as it were stupid, but Megatron was a skilled fighter. He wore scars as badges of honor, and it was rare for him to even get a scratch. Keeping a stockpile under those circumstances really was a waste of resources. So, how did they come about such a prize?

Then he remembered: The Dark Star Saber. Of course, when Megatron had his arm replaced with that of a Prime’s, his old appendage had to go somewhere. Why toss out a perfectly good arm? And Knockout, in an admittedly smart move, must have built an entirely new arm for Megatron when Optimus removed the Prime’s. That made this servo the one and only spare Megatron ever had. And it had been used. Suddenly, the vault was looking much more akin to a cardboard box. That was, assuming they hadn’t removed Megatron from the Nemesis’ database. And considering how easy of a time Starscream had getting around, he highly doubted that.

“Is it the dark energon?” Knockout asked. “Don’t worry, this thing has been flushed and disinfected to Luna-Two and back. Besides, all the dark energon went dim once Unicron got put in the time-out cube. You should be fine to use it.”

“That’s not the issue.” Ultra Magnus shook his helm and sighed. “It’s just that it’s Megatron’s. It doesn’t feel right to wear it, even if only temporarily.”

Knockout rolled his optics, heaving the servo up into his arms. “Alright, had to give it a try. But if Bulkhead loses a servo, I’m not asking for his permission. No offense, but I think most anyone would agree with me when I say I’d rather not have Captain Hook in charge of my scaffolding.”

“Knockout-” Ultra Magnus began, but just before he could begin reciting the Hippocratic Oath word for word, he spotted the tip of a wing out of the corner of his optic. “… Starscream? Is that you?”

Scrap. Starscream tensed and sheepishly leaned into the doorway with a nervous smile. “Y-Yes. Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Knockout beamed at him. “Ah, good morning, Starscream! On your way to get some fuel, I hope? I still have the funnel on standby, you know~” he purred, sounding all-too-pleased at the prospect of getting to use it. Sadist.

Starscream nodded. “Yes,” he said, then remembered he needed a reason to have been standing there. “I mean, I was, but I overheard you both talking and thought it would be a good idea to stop in for a check-up.”

“Certainly, just as soon as I wrap up with Ultra Magnus, here.” He huffed and put the massive servo back onto his desk, muttering, “Primus, that’s heavy,” as he did so.
Ultra Magnus nodded. “No need, I’m firm in my decision. I would rather wait until we’re able to build me a new servo from scratch. Still, I appreciate the offer, Knockout.” He stood up and moved to leave, but stopped beside Starscream. “And, Starscream, about yesterday-”

Starscream shook his helm. “It’s behind us,” he said, not really wanting or caring to bring their spat back up. It’s not as if he would be training again anytime soon. “I apologize for my behavior, sir. I was not in my right mind.”

Ultra Magnus gave him a smile that looked more like a twitch, as if he had almost forgotten that Starscream wouldn’t be able to see it. Then he nodded. “Apology accepted. Smokescreen has already informed me that you require rest. Please see to it that you do.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied as Ultra Magnus walked away. He then took his place beside the medical berth and searched the room for Knockout with his wings so that he could properly show him his incredulous expression. “You honestly kept Megatron’s servo for this long?”

“I do love a good souvenir,” Knockout answered with a smile, giving the servo an affectionate pat on the back of its palm. “I figured that if we couldn’t put it to use in the traditional sense, it would make one Hell of a conversation piece.”

Starscream actually snorted at that. “Don’t start giving me ideas, or else I might have to steal it from you and make a lovely ottoman out of it.”

Knockout threw his helm back and barked out a laugh. “Well! If you’re a good patient during your check up, I might consider letting you keep it.” He patted the berth. “Hop up.”

Starscream smiled, brightening at his good fortune. This would be much easier than expected! He followed Knockout’s instructions and made himself comfortable on the berth. “Before you snip at me for my fuel levels, keep in mind that I do intend on stopping by the lounge.”

“Lift your helm up for me.” Starscream complied and Knockout slipped a cable into his medical port. “Beautiful, thank you. We’re off to a great start.” He turned and walked to the med bay computer, then pulled up Starscream’s diagnostic scan. He hummed, but didn’t lose his smile. “Actually, your fuel levels aren’t that bad. Just needs a top off. Your coolant looks good, lubricant looks good, temperature is within normal readings, et cetera, et cetera.” Knockout twirled his servo around flippantly. “Could it be that you actually listened to my advice? Hold on, I need to pinch myself.”

Starscream waited a moment. “Your diagnosis?”

“Awake and aware, pleasantly enough!” He chuckled and moved around to Starscream’s back, but didn’t remove the cable just yet. “Any complaints from you? Processor ache? Dulled claws?”

Starscream shook his helm. “Nothing past the obvious.”
“Ahh, right,” Knockout’s smile wavered a bit as he finally removed the cable. “The case of the missing optics remains ongoing…” Starscream took note of the beat of silence that followed. Perhaps this was a sign of guilt? He wouldn’t put it past Knockout to slip some optics out of sight, just to keep Starscream docile. But the gentle touch to his pauldron came as a bit of a shock. “I’m going to be completely honest with you, Starscream. I’ve been wracked with guilt.”

“Oh? Whatever for?” Starscream’s brow ridge lowered, and his tone indicated an accusation left unsaid.

“I haven’t invited you to movie night a single time since you arrived.” Starscream’s expression did not flinch, save for his intake, which opened a bit, but no sound came out. “I know, I’m terrible,” Knockout continued, dramatically. “But I’ve just been so busy with overseeing your training and performing my duties that I haven’t spared a moment to think about making movie night more accessible!”

“… Wow. You should be hung on a cross,” he said, flatly. Honestly, he shouldn’t have expected a response he would have actually wanted to hear. Knockout was the reigning king of not giving him what he wanted.

“I know,” Knockout teased with a smile, knowing that Starscream really didn’t care all that much. “And I’m so very sorry for neglecting you in such a way. That being said, it is that time of the week again, and was my turn to pick a movie. So, I decided to pick one I’ve seen quite a few times already. That way, I can give you a proper audio commentary.” He gestured with his servos, pointlessly mapping out the scene. “We can sit in the back to not disturb the others, and you can actually participate. Interested?”

“No, not particularly,” he said, getting up from the berth and walking over to Knockout’s desk to retrieve his prize. “Thank you for the kind offer.” Before he could grab Megatron’s servo, Knockout suddenly gathered it up into his arms again with a pout.

“Hold it!” He grinned and fiddled with the circuits that hung from the servo’s wrist, forcing the digits to curl into a point towards Starscream. “I didn’t say you’ve earned your treat yet, have I?”

He blustered and scowled. “But-You said-!”

“I said I ‘might consider letting you keep it,’ not that I actually would.”

Starscream snarled. “Ugh, you’re such a damned brat.” He rubbed his face with one servo and groaned. “Let me guess: you won’t let me have it until I agree to come to your stupid watch party, will you?” He yelped when he suddenly felt a familiar palm heavily pat the top of his helm. It was too heavy for Knockout to lift up for more than two pats, though.

“You are a clever one, Starscream,” Knockout purred, before setting the servo back down on his desk to give himself a rest. The styluses and datapads trembled in fear in its wake. “Honestly, I think it’s more than fair; you hardly ever leave your room on your days off! You need to live a little! And, as your physician, as well as your friend, I’m more than happy to apply pressure where its needed.”

Starscream shuddered and smoothed the top of his helm. “I’m such a lucky mech,” he sneered through gritted dentae. Of course, leave it to Knockout to continue to withhold his happiness, so long as it served his own ends. Then again, they usually watched their silly human films at night. And it was a whole team affair, last he’d heard. “… Out of curiosity, who else will be attending?

“Pretty much everyone, minus Ratchet, Ultra Magnus, and the Vehicons. Oh, except Steve, he’s been a recent addition at the behest of Bulkhead. He’s a sweetspark.”

“Really? Even Soundwave will be joining?” Starscream couldn’t help but smile at this new information. If Soundwave was there, that meant the security system would be left unattended.

“But of course!” Knockout said with a smirk as he moved to clean up his workspace. “I have to earn that perfect ten eventually, after all. Though I don’t think this film will be to his taste. I more picked it for your enjoyment.”

Perfect. Now he just needed an excuse to leave the viewing early, and he would be in the clear. That shouldn’t be too hard to manufacture. Starscream leaned against Knockout’s desk and crossed his arms, feigning interest. “And what film have you chosen for me?”

Knockout, pleased to see the Seeker engaging with the idea, turned to him with a smile. “Reanimator,” he said, in a dramatic whisper. “A terrifying tale of scientific hubris, as a mad doctor attempts to find the secret to bringing the dead back to life.”

“Hm, that certainly does sound like something you would watch, doctor,” he replied with a smirk. “We’ll see if it’s any good, I suppose.”

“Then it’s settled!” Knockout clapped his servos together to stamp the contract. “I expect to see you in the lounge at eight o’ clock sharp. Oh, and you may take your prize. But try not to do anything that would break it, just in case we need it later.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be taking good care of it.” Starscream rubbed his servos together and giggled with wicked glee before finally descending upon the discarded appendage. But he fumbled with it a bit as he lifted it up off the desk. Primus, it really did have a bit of heft to it. It only made sense; Megatron was an excellent negotiator, after all. Still, it felt a bit uncanny to carry it. It still felt a bit warm, but this was likely only because Knockout was playing around with it.

As he turned to leave, a mental image materialized in his processor that gave him pause, and he turned towards Knockout. “… Knockout, where have you been keeping this? Surely someone would have already suggested this to Ultra Magnus by now, if it was in the storage area.”

Knockout paused and sucked in his lips, then released them with an audible ‘pop.’ “I kept it somewhere...discreet.”

“Be more specific.”

“… Okay, I kept it under my berth.” In the silence that followed, Knockout whirled around to face him, sputtering. “L-Look, you of all mechs don’t get to act like I’m the weird one when you’re about to move it into your slagging room! When you have a roommate, no less!”

Starscream snickered at him and shook his helm. “You have a point, there, I have to admit. But I do wonder what you got up to with your little ‘souvenir.’ Puppet theater, perhaps?” A stylus pinged off of his forehelm, forcing him to stumble backwards. “Ack!”

Knockout tossed bits of stationary at him one piece at a time, his face plates glowing with childish embarrassment. “Out! I will not entertain this slander, out!”

Unfortunately, Starscream was skirting dangerously close to being correct. If training himself to make the servo recreate various crude gestures by manipulating its circuits counted as ‘puppet theater,’ anyway. Or just messing with the digits when he was bored. They had a good weight to them. Starscream ran away from the barrage of office supplies, yapping and cursing until he finally rounded the corner. Then, he let out a loud laugh that echoed right back to Knockout. Not purposefully, but Starscream did delight in the fact that he, quite literally, had gotten the last laugh.

His laugh died down to a few pleased gasps for air and he cleared his throat as made a pit stop into his chambers. He couldn’t very well let anyone see him carrying Megatron’s servo around without getting a few questions tossed his way. Initially, he planned to just do as Knockout had and slip it under his berth, but he found himself genuinely considering the idea he’d proposed in jest: using it as an ottoman. Unable to resist indulging in his own power fantasy, he turned the giant servo over in his grip until he found its base, then placed it on the floor beside his berth. Thankfully, the joints weren’t completely limp, and he was able to curl them into a tasteful, caged pose.

Starscream hopped into his berth, his wings high and trembling, revealing his giddiness even as he maintained an evil smirk. With a satisfied sigh, he rested his pedes into the palm of his former master’s servo. It was actually quite comfortable, like it was made for this exact purpose. In his dreams, maybe. But with Megatron gone to the wayside, this was currently the closest he could get to living out his self-proclaimed destiny. It didn’t heal the scars Megatron had left behind, it was unlikely that anything ever would, but it certainly dulled the pain. It felt good, really good.

He crossed one leg over the other and idly bounced his pede, humming pleasantly. “Well, well, well… How the mighty have fallen,” he purred, settling into the fantasy even further. “It’s sad, really. You used to have such promise, such potential, yet you threw it all away. And for what? For your own peace? Because you were tired? Primus, you’re pathetic! A few days trapped with a tyrant, and the mighty Lord Megatron just gives up. Try a few centuries on for size, why don’t you?”

Starscream scowled and ground his heel strut into the palm, his lip twitching into a mean grin. “I endured it all: The beatings, the reprimands, the torture. Loss, after loss, after loss. But I never gave up. No matter how hard you tried to keep me beneath you, I always rose above. And I got stronger because of it. How does it feel, Megatron? How does it feel to grovel at the feet of your treacherous, former second in command?” He growled, baring his dentae to a ghost. In the silence of the room, the illusion quickly dispersed, leaving only reality in its wake. Starscream lowered his brow ridge and clenched his fists.

“No… In spite of everything you’ve done to me, you’re free. You’re free, and I’m blind. But I won’t be trapped, not for much longer. And when I get out of here, I’ll find my army. Then I’ll find you,” he lowered his voice to a deep, rumbling whisper, hissing a promise to the universe. “You will answer for what you’ve done, coward. If you thought Unicron was bad, well… just you wait. He may be a God, but I am mortal. And suffering is defined not by those who design it, but by those who endure it.”

Megatron, of course, did not answer. He was too busy frolicking among the stars to care for the damage he’d done. Starscream sighed, stood up, and harshly kicked the servo under his berth. He actually had to do so twice to give it enough force to be completely hidden, but he gladly took the opportunity for round two. Despite his re-ignited rage towards his former master, he actually felt better, in a way. This was a somewhat therapeutic experience, and he found himself with clearer ambitions than before. Get his optics from Shockwave, rebuild his army, and make Megatron pay. To the Pit with this falsified peace. The Autobots may comfort themselves with the delusion that their war was over, but for Starscream, it was just getting started.

But fantasizing about his rise to power could wait. He was hungry, and he would need to be in top form if he was going to make his escape.

Today’s scouting mission was a simple one. Which was something you never said out loud, or else you risked making it the exact opposite. So Smokescreen and Arcee had listened to Ultra Magnus’ debrief in silence, and agreed not to jinx it at the exact same volume. Since Starscream had made a habit of running himself ragged into every dark corner of the Nemesis, Ultra Magnus had decided to take a preemptive measure and sat the Seeker down to map out the next few supply caches in advance. It was already paying off, since Starscream had taken the whole day off per Smokescreen’s message.

They were in an abandoned subway station within Iacon, headlights turned on, searching for materials. With the energon mine now in full swing, they had the liberty to take their time and search for more interesting things. Which currently included signs of Airachnid, or Insecticon nests. But so far, it’s just been a whole lot of train station. Arcee’s pedes clicked against the horizontal slats of rail, while Smokescreen’s ‘tinked’ against the vertical slats he was using as a balance beam. With no power, he didn’t have to worry about being electrocuted again, but this was still decidedly bold considering the use of the word ‘again’ in this sentence.

But the real purpose of his balancing act was even bolder. Arcee couldn’t see it from where she was standing at the moment, but he had one optic closed. He had determined that his left optic was the dominant one. And during his last attempt at organizing the archives (because yes, he still wasn’t done with that), he had taken a healthy break to do some reading by victims of Empurata. Lack of depth perception was, unsurprisingly, a common side effect. But apparently it could be ‘re-learned,’ though it would never really come back to its fullest with only one optic.

And if Starscream could operate as well as he was without any at all, then surely Smokescreen could get by with just one, couldn’t he? At least he had the luxury of having time to practice before fully committing so such drastic measures. But, after reflecting upon their conversation the night before, Smokescreen knew that Starscream was starting to have doubts. Even past the brief bout of hysteria, it was clear he was slipping into his old, distrustful tendencies. And at this point, Smokescreen really couldn’t blame him for that. You could only hear ‘sorry, we haven’t seen any,’ so many times before you start to wonder just how unlucky you can possibly be.

Also… it just felt like the right thing to do. Even if it was also the hardest thing to do. That’s just how Optimus would have seen it, isn’t it? Plus, he still felt bad about manipulating Starscream into flying, even if it was only a joke. Maybe after he gritted his dentae and got it over with, he could stop worrying that he was going to lose Starscream to himself. Besides, it would only be temporary. Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself to try and shake off his nerves. Even now, keeping his balance was surprisingly difficult…

“Bored?” Arcee asked, sparing Smokescreen a glance over her shoulder. He stumbled a bit due to the shock of being acknowledged and quickly opened his optics.

“Is-Is it that obvious?” He chuckled with a smile, though he didn’t take his focus off of his balance beam.

“Better to be bored than covered in scraplets,” she said, not noticing his stammer. She allowed herself to slow down enough to walk in time with him again. “Or worse. Keep your optics peeled so we can be ready if that changes.” She gently elbowed him off balance, smirking when he pouted at her. When she looked ahead, her headlights finally flickered against a glass surface in the distance, which she nodded towards. “Hey, look at that.”

“Another train car,” Smokescreen assessed, not really sounding any more excited than before. “Hopefully there’s something in it besides seats this time.”

“Careful with open statements like that, Smokey.”

They continued on towards their new destination, each step echoing out infinitely in the giant, black tunnel. Alternating between crunches of rock, clacks of metal, and puffs of soft dirt. The silence had lost its eeriness after the first hour of aimless wandering, but the pitch blackness was steadfast in its oppressive atmosphere. Once they finally reached the car, which apparently had been dislodged from its siblings long ago, was quite banged up, but it at least remained upright. Which was more than most of the other trains they had come across could say.

Arcee tried at the door, but it wouldn’t budge. “Jammed.”

Smokescreen cracked his knuckles and smirked. “Sounds like a job for The Shifter,” he puffed out his chassis and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “Step aside, citizen.”

Arcee rolled her optics and scoffed with a smile as Smokescreen activated the phase shifter. He hopped directly into the door with an “alley-oop,” then fiddled with the latch from the inside. After a few moments, the door clacked and slid open. Smokescreen took a bow, which transitioned into him politely offering Arcee his servo.

“I’m surprised this one is actually still attached to the track. Think we could take it for a spin?” He asked, only half-joking.

“Hmmm, a random passenger car with no brakes going down a dark tunnel to nowhere… It’s really tempting, but I’m gonna have to pass on that.”

She took the servo and gathered herself up into the car, looking around. It was small, not much of note at first glance. Most of the storage compartments had already been opened in some capacity, save for one or two. But the contents of the opened compartments were laid out nicely onto the ground for them to inspect. Smokescreen crouched down and opened one of the briefcases, finding nothing but cracked datapads, a stylus, and a broken bottle of face polish. It looked like it was expensive, too. Smokescreen made a face and tossed it over his shoulder with a huff. Somewhere, Knockout had just shed a tear.

“Do we really have to look through all this, ‘Cee?” He whined, but still picked up a larger case and popped it open. “This looks like a whole lotta nothing.”

Arcee hummed and stepped over the mess, then opened one of the storage compartments, finding nothing but stagnant air. “I wouldn’t waste my time opening up old luggage, personally. Let’s just give the car a once over and head back before it gets dark.”

She moved to the remaining compartment and popped it open. Instantly, a pair of beady, red optics stared back at her. Before she could gasp, the little creature hissed and leapt down from the compartment, diving headfirst into the luggage and skittering about in a frenzy. Smokescreen instantly dove into it, gathering the creature up in his palms with a smile. “Gotcha!” He chuckled as the pest wriggled around and attempted to nip at his digits, but it was expertly immobilized. “Aw, hey there little retrorat. How long were you stuck in there?” He asked, in a goo-goo voice, as he inspected his catch.

The seams on its sides weren’t flush, the gaps between them glowed a warm shade of orange, and its body was heavy. Especially on the lower half, giving it a pear shape. All signs that pointed towards a healthy, chubby little scavenger. Though, it certainly wasn’t happy. “Hm… Nice and plump, still. I guess you got to the energon before us, huh little guy? Yes you did, yes you did!”

Arcee let out some air and grimaced, half in disgust but mostly out of anticipation. “Put the retrorat down, Smokey.”

Smokescreen laughed and turned his upper body to show off the creature’s angry expression. “Aw, c’mon, he’s pretty cu-OW!” Alas, he had let his guard down, and the rat pounced. Smokescreen instantly shoved his digit into his intake as the retrorat landed onto the floor, belly-first, with a mighty clap. It then skittered towards the door and began rapidly scratching at it. Arcee gingerly leaned over and slid the door open for it to escape, all the while maintaining eye-contact with Smokescreen in a wordless proclamation of ‘I told you so.’

“Okay, now let’s go home and make sure you didn’t catch whatever that retrorat might’ve been carrying,” she said.

Suddenly, a distant, bassy thud caught both of their attention. They each looked up and out of the car door, towards the way they came, but the tunnel was so long that their headlights couldn’t possibly reach the back of it. “Uh… Did you hear that?”

She didn’t need to answer, as the soft booming suddenly continued. Rhythmic, and evenly-spaced. Thump, thump, thump, thump. Pedfalls, heavy ones. Either one set, moving quickly, or a duo moving in tandem.

“Turn off your headlights,” Arcee commanded, already switching hers off. Smokescreen complied, and Arcee shut the car door before crouching down beside it, readying her blaster. In its gentle glow, she raised her digit to her lips, and Smokescreen nodded before readying his own weapon. The pedfalls continued, getting louder, and seemingly more numerous. Now it sounded more like eight, heavy-weight bots moving in tandem. Arcee squinted and spared Smokescreen a glance, but he shrugged, also unsure of what was coming, and whether or not it would be worth it to poke out their helms and risk being spotted.

Then, they heard a high-pitched, shrieking squeak. The sound of gnashing jaws, and a sickening ‘pop.’

Outside, Darksteel licked his jaws and happily trilled, before Skylynx roughly butted his helm against his side. Darksteel hissed, then transformed. “What was that for!?”

“You always pounce upon prey before I can, brother!” Skylynx replied as he transformed.

“Finders keepers,” he replied in a sing-song voice. “It’s not my fault you’re too slow.” Suddenly, Skylynx gripped him by the helm and snarled.

“And it is not my fault that the prey has run dry! You should consider your comrades, you gluttonous bastard!”

Darksteel chittered, angrily and slammed his forehelm into Skylynx’s. “If I’m a bastard, that means you are as well, brother!”

“At least I do not grow fat while others starve!”

Smokescreen sighed and smiled at Arcee with relief as the Predacons continued to argue, with increasing intensity and decreasing legibility. “Well,” he whispered, “at least we weren’t the only ones struggling.”

“Don’t you hear what they’re saying?” Arcee asked, her expression serious. “There’s no prey out here for them to eat.”

Smokescreen raised a brow. “Uh, no duh? It’s a city.”

“Yes, and why do you think they’re hunting in a city? This isn’t their territory, it’s ours.” Smokescreen’s optics shined with recognition, but Arcee put the answer to the air regardless. “That means their stomping grounds are running dry, and if they’re scouting here, they must be getting desperate.”

“That’s… probably not good.” There was a beat of complete silence that caused Smokescreen to jump once he’d noticed it. “Are they-?”

Suddenly, the train car lurched forwards and knocked them both flat. Outside, Darksteel chuckled alongside his brother, as Skylynx caught the train car in his giant arms before it could go further into nothingness. The sudden stop forced Arcee and Smokescreen to roll over themselves on the ground like bobby pins in a glass jar. For a moment, they were given the promise of enough time to stand up, only for it to be cut short as Skylynx pushed them right back into his brothers waiting arms.

“Well, look here, it seems we have a present!” Darksteel purred. “Come out, come out, little morsels! We won’t hurt you, much.”

The car was passed again, but Smokescreen managed to grab hold of one of the seats so that he could properly stand. “Hey!” He shouted, angrily. “Darksteel, Skylynx, knock it off! It’s us!”

Skylynx began to shove them, but stopped himself with a screech of his claws against the sides of the car. A yellow optic peered through the murky glass of the door and focused in on the contents of their toy, only to find two very angry sets of blue optics meeting his own, easily outnumbering it. “Oh. We thought you were that black creature we spotted roaming the wastes.”
“’Black creature?’” Arcee repeated, rubbing her helm as she finally stood up.

“My… apologies,” he said, sounding more disappointed than sorry. When no one responded to his attempt at civility, he shifted his optics around. “… This is awkward.”

“It’s only awkward if they live,” Darksteel jeered, getting the attention of everyone in the car.

“What!?” Smokescreen exclaimed, snapping his helm towards Darksteel in shock. Arcee simply glared and shook her helm in indignance.

“Explain yourself, brother,” Skylynx inquired, narrowing his optics.

“Predaking isn’t here,” the bird-faced Predacon continued, “he’s probably back home picking his fangs while we do all the hard work scouting for food! We deserve a treat. These two will do nicely.”

“By the Pits we will!” Arcee exclaimed, raising two blasters and preemptively pointing them at either end of the train. “We had a deal. You stay on your turf, we stay on ours, and we stay out of each others way until we both rebuild. If we go missing, our team will come looking for us. You’ll get found out, and then you’ll answer to Predaking.”

“Hm… But Predaking isn’t here, and neither is your team, Autobot,” Skylynx said with a smile, though his optics were fixed on the other side of the train. “How unlucky, for this to be your final destination.”