Archive of Our Own ^beta

10 mechs down. The report reads, the text searing into his optics.

Staring at the datapad in his servos, Springer doesn’t blink at the screen. After a moment, he lets out a loud sigh and pinches the bridge of his nasal.

Ten mechs isn’t much, but for a team that doesn’t have many members to begin with—some of whom tend to die young—the number hits like a metal panel to the face.

"Well, at least this isn’t as bad as last time," the triplechanger sighs, lowering the servo from his face.

Silence greets him in the base’s makeshift living room. Mechs are scattered everywhere—on the ground, nestled on top of shelves, hanging from the hangar, and apparently inside an oven for some reason.

Placing the datapad on the desk, Springer leans back in his seat. Memories of the previous battle flash across his processor in a mantra, focusing on where things went wrong: charging in too fast, actions or inactions, and so on.

'Was I too overconfident?' the triplechanger wonders. 'Why did I do that?'

Staring up at the ceiling, Springer grinds down on his molar.

'I don’t think I’m a suitable leader,' the triplechanger thinks.

'Doing!'

Pausing in the midst of his thoughts, Springer slowly turns toward the building’s entryway.

With another sigh, the triplechanger slowly rises from his chair and makes his way toward it.

At the entryway, Springer looks at the screen implanted on the side of the wall, showing who’s on the other side of the door.

Standing outside is none other than Starscream, in all his glory. The seeker’s wings are angled upward in a confident, smug display.

Letting his engine rumble a bit, the triplechanger lets out a series of curses before pressing the open button for the door.

“Ah, finally,” Starscream smirks, placing a carefully manicured servo over his cockpit. “Any longer, and I’d think you’d have rusted out or something.”

The seeker is wearing what looks like a huge sombrero, the thing occasionally sliding down to cover his entire helm. A huge fake mustache is haphazardly glued to his face, contrasting harshly with the bright red-and-yellow jumpsuit that covers his entire frame.

Staring at the scene before him, Springer slowly blinks his half-lidded optics.

'…What the frag am I even staring at?' the triplechanger thinks.

“Boy, what kind of hufflepuff have you been getting?” Springer blurts, his processor too tired to even give a frag at this point. “You better march your aft to the nearest washer. Your processor must be full of dust.”

“Hey, do you know how hard it is to get these?” Starscream huffs, crossing his arms. “I swear, the trouble I go through. Hmp!”

Narrowing his optics, Springer begins to massage them.

“Why would you even try to get… whatever…” the triplechanger just waves his servos at the seeker. “…This is… and how did you get past our defenses?”

Starscream simply shrugs his shoulders.

“Ehh, it’s not that bad,” the seeker says, as if he didn’t just get past several hundred traps. “Just a little bit of the right electric current, and you can temporarily deactivate them. As for the annoying garments, I just read that some mechs like a little bit of adventure. This kink seems like one of the lesser ones.”

Before Springer can say anything else, Starscream suddenly plops onto his side.

The seeker props a leg up and beckons a suggestive digit at the triplechanger.

“So, where were we, handsome?” Starscream purrs, blinking his optics so rapidly it looks more eerie than seductive. “Weren’t we just about to do a reverse cowgirl?”

'Ah, right,' Springer thinks, staring off into nowhere. 'Well, if it isn’t the consequence of my actions.'

After an accidental hookup that mostly involved a lot of high grades and bad decisions, Springer somehow finds himself in a weird situationship with the Decepticons’ second-in-command—someone who can apparently invent a machine capable of destroying a planet but is so bad at social skills that even a blind mech searching for a bolt looks better.

At a loud snore from inside the base, Springer quickly glances back.

All of the mechs inside are still recharging, slumbering heavily, some twitching their limbs here and there.

Letting out a sigh of relief, the triplechanger slowly turns back to Starscream.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” Springer says. “I’d rather not wake the whole team with your screech.”

“—…and that’s when I say, eat your own blaster, bucket helm!” Starscream shrieks, throwing both arms into the air.

“Uh-huh,” Springer murmurs, half paying attention to the conversation.

The two of them walk, with the triplechanger following slowly behind the other, who is still wearing that ridiculous outfit.

“Honestly, I swear every bot seems to take me for granted,” the seeker huffs, crossing his arms. “It’s like one thing goes in one audible and right out the other.”

“Uh-huh.”

Just as the triplechanger is about to take another step, Starscream suddenly steps in front of him with crossed arms.

“Okay, what’s with you today?” the seeker hisses, jabbing a digit at Springer. “You’ve been moping about like… like something.”

“Like what?” Springer casually says.

Crossing his arms, Starscream leans back slightly. “What I mean is that you’re usually a lot more confident than this. Outright foolish at times.”

Staring at the seeker, Springer casually scans him up and down. After a moment, he lets out a small sigh.

“I don’t know,” the triplechanger answers, glancing off to the side as he scratches the back of his neck. “…Things haven’t been the most… stable these days…”

Slowly glancing off into the middle of nowhere, Springer begins to chew on the bottom of his lip.

“Ever since I was made leader of the Wreckers, things seem to have gone downhill,” the triplechanger continues, waving his servos in the air. “I keep overlooking things, rushing into plans, or just making dumb mistakes.”

Slowly narrowing his optics, Springer frowns.

“I honestly don’t know why they decided to make me leader,” the triplechanger lets out a small chuckle. “Honestly, there are more suitable mechs than me.”

Starscream simply shrugs his shoulders. “You’re probably right.”

Quickly turning back to the other, Springer glowers at him.

“Wow, thank you, Starscream,” the triplechanger says with a roll of his optics. “That’s doing so much for my mental health.”

“Let me finish,” the seeker quickly says, holding up a servo.

Raising an optical ridge, Springer leans back slightly and crosses his arms.

“Anyways, as I was saying,” Starscream begins, letting out a series of fake coughs, “does it matter?”

The seeker sharply flicks his wings, rolling his shoulders back slightly.

“Sure, there might be other bots who are smarter—like me—or better than you in some aspects, but that doesn’t mean they’d be better at leading,” Starscream answers. “Who’s to say they wouldn’t end up making the same mistakes you do as well?”

The seeker pauses, making a smug expression as he glances off to the side.

“Except for me, of course,” Starscream states, slightly puffing out his chest. “I’m perfect.”

“Huh,” Springer murmurs, tilting his helm to one side. “…That’s awfully… nice of you?”

“Hmmm, well, unlike what other mechs like to say, I’m not just a vain mech, you know,” the seeker huffs with a smirk. “I’m quite good at reading others, if you must know.”

“Righhhhttt.”

Starscream suddenly pauses in place, clapping both his servos loudly.

“Anyways, enough talking,” the seeker huffs, swiveling around to face Springer again.

Starscream suddenly grabs both of Springer’s shoulders, yanking him uncomfortably close into his personal space. They’re so close that their nasal bridges are almost touching.

“I have to return soon,” the seeker hisses. “I’m not about to go without a frag.”