Chapter Text
Starscream was preparing to enter recharge when a ping startled him. He muffled an irritated growl and checked his comms. A message from Optimus.
[Please report to the communications center immediately.]
Starscream glanced at the berth. Skywarp and Nova Storm were already deep in recharge, piled on top of Jetfire. Ravage was stretched out at their feet, tail swaying lazily. Rumble and Frenzy slept on either side of Ravage, leaning against the cybercat. Starscream could just ignore the message. What could possibly be urgent when they were so close to Cybertron?
Starscream flexed his fingers. He hissed quietly in frustration and turned away from the berth. Only he and Soundwave were awake. The others could hear about whatever this was in the morning, but at least someone had to be present.
As Starscream reached the doorway, he paused, staring at the rollator in the corner of the room. He'd just put it away. Was it truly worthwhile to pull it out again? His pedes ached and his legs trembled, but frag it all, he didn't want to take the damn thing out after he just put it away.
Leaning against the walls as he made his way to the communications center, Starscream lamented the poor timing of whatever emergency the Autobots decided to have. He was always worse at the end of the day, tiredness combining with the usual frame strain to make what had become a barely noticeable issue feel exactly like it had when he'd first clambered out of the medbay.
When he crossed the entrance to the communications center, he nearly tripped. He caught himself just in time, an irritated hiss escaping his vocalizer and drawing the attention of the gathered mecha.
"Can't you Autobots have whatever this is at a more convenient time—" He paused as his gaze fell on the main screen. An unfamiliar mech stared down at him through it. "Who is that?"
The mech herself answered him.
"I'm Windblade of the Cybertronian Revival Initiative," she said. "Who are you?"
Starscream took a step forward, moving slowly in the vain hope that he wouldn't stumble. "Starscream, member of Decepticon command."
Soundwave tilted his head. "Nova Storm, Skywarp, Ravage—location?"
"In our quarters, in recharge," Starscream said, adding quietly, "Like I should be."
Soundwave nodded.
Windblade hummed. "I apologize that this isn't at a convenient time, but we can't allow you to land without confirming your intentions."
Confirming their intentions? What was so worth protecting down there? Cybertron was drained of its energeon long ago! It was why the war had ended up on planets like Earth in the first place—both sides were scrambling to harvest their caches after the planet ran out!
"To die at home," Starscream growled. "Instead of some stupid faraway planet."
Windblade's optics narrowed, lips pinching, but she said nothing. She looked toward Optimus.
"Is this true?" She asked.
"I wouldn't have said it in those exact words," Optimus said, bowing his head. "But yes. We have returned because we have nowhere else to go. We expected a barren planet."
Soundwave stepped closer to the screen. "Autobots, Decepticons—no longer fighting. This flight—presumed final resting place."
Windblade's expression was unreadable. Starscream flexed his fingers, wings itching. Was she going to deny them?
"I have good news for you, then," Windblade said. "You won't be dying any time soon."
A notification popped up on the screen—a file download. Soundwave scanned and opened it on a smaller monitor, text and diagrams filling the screen. It outlined exactly where and how to land.
"I'll see you on the surface," Windblade said.
The screen flickered, and she was gone. Starscream dared to glance at the other mecha in the room. Optimus stood completely still, plating tensed. Soundwave stared up at the screen, fists clenched. Then, both of them relaxed.
"We're going home," Optimus said quietly.
☆☆☆
The Ark landed without a hitch, piloted by Soundwave and Optimus while the rest of the ship—including Starscream—recharged. In the future, the ship would be able to land independently, but because it was the Ark's first landing since being brought to life, it couldn't be left unsupervised. Starscream rose first out of the rest of command, having set an alarm to go off right before they landed.
He extracted himself from the cuddle pile, pausing as Jetfire stirred. When the newspark didn't wake, Starscream crossed the room. He stared down at the rollator.
Today was a good day, he decided. He didn't need it. Some part of his processor enjoyed pushing the thing around, and the seat was convenient, but…
He tapped a pede. Windblade didn't know. None of the mecha on Cybertron knew. He could already feel the stares he would get. His plating tensed at the mere idea of them making assumptions, pitying him, underestimating him.
Today was a good day. He could walk just fine.
"Starscream?"
Starscream turned to Jetfire. The newspark was carefully extracting himself from the cuddle pile, eyes on his creator.
"I thought you were still in recharge," Starscream said.
Jetfire exited the berth. "We're not moving anymore. Did we land?"
"Yes," Starscream said. "We landed."
Jetfire wrung his hands. Starscream sighed. Then, a realization hit him. He stepped closer to Jetfire, taking the newspark's hands in his.
"There are other mecha on the planet's surface," Starscream said. "We're going to live with them."
Jetfire's hands tensed. "O-okay."
The newspark's wings trembled, and Starscream silently cursed his own negligence. Jetfire had only known the Decepticons, and his first experience with a stranger had been Megatron. Not only was the newspark severely undersocialized—he was terrified of strangers.
"Come here," Starscream said, pulling him in for a hug. Jetfire leaned down to reciprocate. "You'll be okay. We'll all be okay."
Jetfire squeezed Starscream—gently, always so gently. His plating creaked as his wings continued to tremble. Starscream reached around Jetfire's shoulder, fingers barely reaching the surface of his wing. Jetfire stiffened.
"You'll be fine," Starscream said, motioning for Jetfire to sit. "Stay still."
Had no one touched his wings before? Slag. Starscream had been even more neglectful than he thought. With Jetfire sitting, Starscream was able to reach more of his wings. He took the edge of one in his hand and rubbed it.
Jetfire let out a chirp, then flinched at the noise. Starscream laughed, nearly as startled as the newspark. He continued rubbing Jetfire's wings, and after the shock wore off, the newspark leaned into the touch. As Starscream put more force into his motions, the newspark leaned harder, until Starscream had to back away as Jetfire flopped on his side like an overgrown cyberpup.
Starscream laughed again as Jetfire blinked, staring straight ahead as if he couldn't comprehend what had just happened. It wasn't unusual to elicit such a strong reaction, especially in a newspark. The first time Starscream's wings were touched, he fell straight off the berth. Skywarp had definitely done it on purpose, no matter how much she denied it.
A new frame needed input to calibrate its sensors. Because of this, newsparks were particularly sensitive to touch, among other sensations. While other parts of the body were often touched, the wings were typically left alone, making the calibration of those sensors a difficult task. It was an unspoken tradition among flightframes (and other mecha who possessed similarly difficult to reach structures) for guardians to aid newsparks in calibrating those sensors.
Eventually, Starscream was satisfied with the session. He nudged Jetfire. The newspark was splayed out on the floor, completely limp.
"Wha' wuzzat?" Jetfire muttered, half of his face still pressed against the floor.
"Just calibrating the touch sensors on your wings," Starscream said. "I thought it would help you relax."
Jetfire hummed, making no move to rise. Starscream grabbed an arm and pulled.
"Come on up, you giant cyberpup. We have a big day ahead of us."
☆☆☆
When they finally exited the Ark, the CRI wasted no time greeting them. Jetfire was reluctant, sticking close to Starscream, Skywarp, and Nova Storm as they were escorted to the meeting. Keeping track of the newspark's mood and his surroundings at once proved difficult, and for a moment, Starscream wished he could just sense Jetfire's feelings like any other mech.
The area they landed in was far from any major cities. Sparse buildings decorated the landscape, vastly outnumbered by rocky outcroppings. Small bits of vegetation rose from the ground, shriveled but alive. From a distance, the bright antlers of a lightdeer shone. Already, the world was more alive than they left it.
Since their arrival was unexpected, no living arrangements were made yet, so they were expected to stay in the Ark until they were formalized. Despite that, most mecha spent their time outside the ship. Dirge, in particular, spent most of his time staring into the woods. Jetfire joined him occasionally, the two muttering back and forth about the flora and fauna.
Starscream took a seat beside them, catching the end of a conversation about petrorabbits.
"They really eat their own slag?" Jetfire asked.
"Nutrients hide themselves within the plant walls," Dirge said. "So they have learned to unlock them."
Jetfire hummed. Then, he stiffened, wings shooting upward. He leaned forward, focused. Starscream followed his gaze.
"A cybird," Starscream muttered.
Jetfire glanced at him. "Looks kinda like you in your alt mode."
"I was designed to mimic them," Starscream said.
"Seek and Capture Drone Model ULCHTAR. Less than a thousand produced."
Starscream's wings shot up as he whipped toward the source of the voice. Windblade stood in front of him, arms crossed. The CRI mecha lingered in the area, but he hadn't seen her since the call. Just what was her role in the organization?
"Less than four hundred, actually," Starscream said.
Windblade's optics narrowed. "Discontinued due to low capture rates and a proportionally high rate of deactivations."
Plating creaked as Jetfire wrung his hands. Starscream flexed his own at the newspark's nervous tell, claws digging into the ground. He twitched his wings, and received a twitch from Windblade in return.
"Most of us died during the war," Starscream said."But I was strong enough to survive."
Windblade was a flightframe, but not any model Starscream recognized. There were many possible explanations for this. Firstly, she could be a forged mech. Forged mecha took unique forms, and their frames reflected that. But any forged mech alive would be far older than she seemed based on the lack of wear on her plating.
The second option was that she was a warframe. This was unlikely. Starscream had never seen a flight warframe with fans on their wings. So, that left one other: she was a drone created after the war left Cybertron. Or, possibly even by the CRI itself.
"I want to speak with you," Windblade said. "Privately, if you're willing."
Starscream leaned to the side, attempting to project a relaxed and comfortable image. His elbow shook, and he knew it was a losing battle, but he stubbornly kept the position.
"About what?" He asked.
Windblade smiled. "I heard you studied in a handful of scientific fields. I'd like to talk science with you."
Starscream pushed himself to his pedes, a grin slipping onto his face. "Very well."
They walked past the camp and into the nearby forest, making their way through a well-worn but empty trail. Throughout, they traded various facts. The CRI mecha had done extensive ecological research, it seemed. The area wasn't of Starscream's expertise, so when Windblade sought opinions, he steered the conversation toward more familiar areas. His education was spotty, so there were quite a few moments where he was outshone. The only thing keeping the ordeal from being pure humiliation was the fact that they were alone.
Despite his best attempts, Starscream was a lab assistant at his most qualified. Even then, he could never hope to obtain a certification of any sort. He'd spent most of his (very sparse) hours at Jetfire's lab caring for the retrorats and glitchmice or carefully observing whatever strange alien species Skyfire had imported that week while Skyfire lent him textbooks and allowed him to observe studies. It was the most he could do without getting caught.
The majority of his practical skills were obtained during the war through trial and error. Shockwave was willing to prattle, but his words were drier than most textbooks, and most of his experiments were the kind that made Starscream's plating crawl. So, while Starscream understood which solutions he needed to mix underneath a fume hood to keep himself from passing out, he never quite got around to figuring out why.
Although, he did learn one particularly interesting tidbit.
"That was after we discovered Unicron's Blood—"
"Unicron's blood?" Starscream asked.
What the frag could they possibly be calling that?
"Our supply of crystallized energeon," Windblade said, flicking a wing. "We found that unpurified energeon degrades over time. The most obvious signal was a change in color from cyan to purple."
Starscream hummed, flexing his fingers. Purple energeon. Could this 'Unicron's blood' be dark energeon? If so, why did this degradation begin in the first place? When energeon flowed freely and crystals were abundant, they didn't deteriorate, no matter how long they went unpurified.
But the conversation drifted toward other things, and Starscream didn't feel the need to ask these questions to Windblade specifically. He kept them in the back of his processor, fully intending to investigate them later. Maybe there were records of dark energeon even further back, if it were a natural process.
When they were far from the camp, Windblade finally made the move he was waiting for.
"You were attempting to synthesize energeon from organic compounds," Windblade said. "I saw the records, but in your own words, how did that go?"
Starscream stared straight into her face. "Terribly."
Windblade hummed, turning away from him. "We tried something similar when your factions left the planet, but with compounds available on Cybertron. We didn't succeed, either."
She increased her pace, and Starscream stumbled while trying to keep up.
"How aren't you starving, then?" Starscream asked.
"We changed our focus."
A particularly large branch thwacked Starscream in the face. When he wrestled it out of the way, Windblade was crouched in front of a cage. Quiet scraping made it clear the trap was occupied. A large ferroet struggled inside the cage, tail banging against the edges as it hissed and howled.
Windblade drew a set of swords that were sheathed inside her wing. With one, she forced the ferroet to the edge of the cage until it could no longer struggle. With the other, she decapitated in a swift motion.
"Why?" Starscream asked.
Ferroets were trapped for extra materials in the past, but their usefulness was quickly outpaced as mining technology improved. Since she killed it, there was little chance it was caught for a study.
Windblade flicked a lever on the side of the cage and it sprang open. Carefully, she removed the helm and frame.
"It's simple," Windblade said as she laid the ferroet's frame on its dorsal strut. She stood back, using one of her swords to slice the creature down the middle. "There were sources of fuel all around us—we just couldn't access them."
"You're not implying—"
Starscream cut himself off as Windblade bent the ferroet's plating open. She dug her claws into its internals, pulling out its fuel filters. She held it up to him. The organ was nearly identical to a Cybertronian's from the outside.
"We have fuel filters," Windblade said, placing the organ on the ground. "And they're a close match. But that isn't enough to allow us to process fuel aside from purified energeon."
She pulled out a tubelike organ. Attached to the side of it was a portion of a different organ. Starscream called up the diagrams from his time with Skyfire. The answer came quickly—the enteric tubes and the dissolution tank. In mechanimals, the enteric tubes took liquid from the sublimation system, allowing mechanimals to process less refined fuels and eventually secrete waste. The dissolution tank stored the substances needed to turn raw materials into fuel.
Cybertronians lacked both of these organs, so they could only eliminate waste through the sublimation system. Anything that couldn't be exhaled through the plating remained in the fuel lines. Only energeon and derivatives of it were safe to consume.
"What are you saying, exactly?" Starscream said, leaning closer.
Windblade pulled out the ferroet's spark chamber and bit it. Starscream flinched backward as the sound of grinding metal assaulted his audials. The action was his answer.
"That's insane," he muttered. "You modified your internals?"
"Yes," Windblade mumbled around her meal. She paused, holding the bitten spark chamber in front of her. "If your mecha want to live, they'll need the surgery, too. It's the only way forward."
Starscream flexed his fingers. If the rest of command—Autobot and Decepticon—were informed of this, he wouldn't be hearing it now. Windblade was telling him before the others.
"Why are you telling me this now?" Starscream asked. "Why not just call a meeting?"
Windblade took another bite of the spark chamber before replying. "You're a mech of science. You'd understand the importance of this the most."
She stared down at the spark chamber. In the distance, a cybird chirped.
"Besides," Windblade said, sighing. "This isn't exactly sanctioned. There are… other things I wanted to ask you, but this has to do with it."
Starscream flicked his wings to rid himself of a nervous itch. "What did you want to ask?"
Windblade closed her optics. She took another bite of the spark chamber. It was particularly drawn out.
"Your gait is uneven," she said. "I noticed it when we first spoke, but I wasn't certain until I asked you to walk with me. It got easier to see the longer we walked."
Great. Starscream flexed his fingers. There was no doubt the other CRI mecha had noticed, if she picked it up from a single video call. He would be lucky to receive any sort of respect—
"We've been working on full frame transfers. There have been a couple of successes. If you wanted, we could build you a new frame."
What?
"A new frame," Starscream muttered.
"Yes," Windblade said. "A new frame. It might fix things."
"Might," Starscream said, shifting from flexing his fingers to picking at his arm guards. "Why just 'might?' What aren't you telling me?"
Windblade turned away. "Not all transfers are successful. The process requires complete reintegration of the spark with the new frame. Memories are uploaded afterward. Not every trial mech reintegrated, and the rate of integration errors is similar to spark splitting. If your issues are from spark coding, they'll just be brought with it."
"So, I could die during the process," Starscream said. "Or end up no better than I am right now."
Windblade nodded.
Starscream considered it for a moment, but only a moment. No more struggling to walk. No more rollator. No more staring. No more invalid. No more of Skywarp hounding him over his limits. He could drink regular energeon again.
But what if this wasn't just his frame? How much of this was coded at the spark level? His inability to sense EM fields would remain.
What if he never woke up? Or worse—what if he was stuck as a disembodied spark, forever alive but unable to reintegrate?
Starscream dug his claws into the arm guard.
"Thank you for the offer," he said quietly. "But I would rather be disabled than dead."
Windblade turned back toward him, a smile gracing her face. "I understand. I just wanted you to know it was an option."
Starscream sighed. She was honest with him about the procedure. If she truly wanted him to accept, she wouldn't have mentioned the negatives at all, or at least downplayed them. But there must have been plenty of desperate mecha willing to throw their lives away if it meant they had the slimmest chance of solving their problems. 'A couple of successes' implied many failures.
[Hey, Screamer?]
Starscream stood straight. The message was labeled as urgent, despite its lack of meaningful content.
[What is it, Skywarp?]
[Can you get back here? Fast? It's Jetfire.]
Starscream turned away from Windblade. She rose from the crouch she had adopted to dismantle the ferroet, wings lifting.
"What's going on?" She said.
"I need to go back," Starscream said. "It's important."
Windblade nodded. "Don't let me keep you."
Starscream glanced at the sky. As luck would have it, the canopy was open where they stood. He leaped, activating his thrusters, and transformed as soon as he cleared the treeline.
[What happened? How is he?]
[I don't know. He just started screaming and hit anyone that came near him. He's on the roof of the Ark right now and won't come down or let any of us close. There's smoke. Definitely from him.]
Starscream increased his speed. Smoke was never a good sign. It typically implied severe overheating or the failure of multiple systems. He forced that thought out of his processor before it could take root. Jetfire's frame was old, but it was healthy.
There was another, significantly more plausible reason: Jetfire was an outlier, and had just developed his ability. Forged outliers—the few that existed—formed the mechanisms required for their abilities with their frames. Constructed mecha, since they were placed into pre-built frames, formed theirs over time after integration.
The spark coded the processor, and the processor operated the frame. When it sensed an imbalance between coded traits and the frame, it moved to fix it. That was why not just any mech could perform a proper reformatting procedure, or build frames. Coding for specific outliers in mediums was unreliable, but the blanks that spark splitting mediums filled in ensured that at the very least, the internal schematics of processors would match the frames they were placed in.
Starscream had known, objectively, that it was possible for Jetfire to be an outlier, but hadn't seriously considered the possibility. It was yet another reason he was negligent.
As he landed, Starscream stumbled, nearly falling. The high speed paired with his reduced coordination made for a difficult combination, but that didn't matter. He sprinted across the camp until he found Skywarp.
She stared up at the roof of the Ark. A small trail of smoke rose from it. Starscream traced the trail. Then, powering on his thrusters, he leaped onto the roof. It was far from graceful—he pinwheeled to keep himself from falling backward when he landed—but he made it. Crouching low to keep his balance, he made his way to the source of the smoke.
Jetfire was curled, helm in his knees and arms wrapped around his legs. His wings were high, quivering from tension. The sides of his arms were reddened with heat around where his hands gripped them.
"Jetfire," Starscream said.
The newspark jolted. "G—go away!"
"You're…" Starscream searched for a neutral word. "Stuck. You need to calm down. I want to help you do that."
Jetfire closed his optics, his olfactory ridge scrunched as he hid his face again. Weakly, he mumbled, "No…"
Starscream moved closer. The newspark's cooling fans whirred, standing out against the sparse chirps and chitters of wildlife. Before reaching out, Starscream hesitated. If this was anything like his episodes, touch was a fickle thing. Jetfire was strong enough to crush his plating by accident. If he were too distressed to communicate properly, injury was a serious risk.
But—Starscream glanced at the red-hot plating of Jetfire's arms—the newspark was already injuring himself. That couldn't continue. Decision made, Starscream closed the gap.
He started small, making sure to avoid the wings—those sensors still weren't calibrated, so a touch in this state was just as likely to further Jetfire's distress as it was to relax him. Starscream rubbed the newspark's shoulder, slowly moving as close to where Jetfire's hands rested as he could. He needed Jetfire to let go. But first…
"Do you want to go to our quarters?" Starscream asked.
Jetfire buried himself further.
"We could also go into the woods," Starscream said. "The cybirds are out. Maybe we'll see some."
Jetfire didn't respond. Starscream needed a different approach. He searched his processor something, anything else to do—
"Sss… ss… cy—"
Starscream shot upward, then winced.
Wait.
"Do you want to go in the woods?" Starscream asked.
"Mm—mm…hm."
Knowing how difficult it was to speak in this state, Starscream despised asking questions, but he didn't want to do anything to upset the newspark. So, trying to keep his tone light, he spoke again.
"Okay, let's go into the woods. Can you fly there with me?"
Jetfire curled back up. That was a no, then.
"Can I ask Skywarp to take us?" Starscream said.
Jetfire raised his head just enough for his optics to peek through. "Hh—hmn."
"Okay. I'm going to comm her."
[Can you warp us into the woods? Somewhere far enough that we can't hear or see anyone but close enough for us to walk back.]
Rather than receiving a message, his response came in the form of Skywarp appearing on the roof beside him. Jetfire brought his head up completely, staring at her with wide optics.
"Hi," she said quietly.
Jetfire hid his face again. Skywarp grimaced.
[Don't take it personally,] Starscream sent.
Skywarp sighed. [I just wish I could help.]
[You are.]
With a dizzying rush, they were transported to the base of a large tree. After one last glance, Skywarp warped away, leaving Starscream and Jetfire alone. A nearby cybird let out a long chirp.
Starscream sat beside Jetfire, listening to the cybirds chirp, until eventually the newspark unfurled. It happened in pieces. First, his grip loosened, hands falling away. Burned, warped imprints were left behind. Then, he sat upright. When Jetfire was comfortable enough to stretch his legs, Starscream spoke.
"How are you feeling?"
Jetfire closed his optics, face scrunching, and let out a sigh. "Li—nhn. Slag."
Starscream laughed. "Makes sense. These things are terrifying. They take a lot of energy."
"You kn—know what…?"
Good. Full words. They were coming out the other end of it.
"Yes," Starscream said. "I get stuck sometimes, too."
Jetfire stared at him with wide optics. "You?"
"I do," Starscream said. He leaned closer. "Let me look at that arm."
Jetfire offered his arm. Starscream took it, gently running his claws over the warped plating. As they ran over a particularly singed edge, Jetfire flinched.
They would need to visit the medbay after this. Perhaps, while they were there, Knock Out and Ratchet could check Jetfire for Starscream's processing glitch. Or, if the episodes weren't associated, whatever one caused this.
"What happened before you got stuck?" Starscream asked.
Jetfire looked away, wringing his hands. "W—well… my plating was burning and itching and it really hurt, so I kept trying to stay away from everyone. Then I felt something on my wing, an—and there was a hand on my shoulder and it was so big, and I wanted it off and I just… I don't know."
So, he was already overwhelmed. Whoever touched his wing had just sent him over the edge. Was the discomfort beforehand from his outlier ability manifesting? Or was it the same kind that Starscream always felt?
"Does it still hurt?" Starscream asked.
Jetfire shook his head. "Only where… um…"
Starscream hummed. Jetfire stared at the ground.
"We need to go to the medbay, when you're ready," Starscream said. After realizing the newspark had never met Ratchet and Knock Out before, he added, "But we're not going to Hook."
"Okay," Jetfire said quietly, joints creaking as he wrung his hands tightly. "Okay…"