Chapter Text
Jetfire recovered without surgery, though it did take him until the last possible moment. He was under a strict diet until the damage from the obstruction healed, which proved difficult with the newspark's penchant for eating strange things. Starscream had already caught him chewing on a loose wall panel—twice. He and the medics were working on finding the cause, since they didn't want another incident, but it was proving elusive.
Starscream just hoped it wasn't spark-coded. It would be a lot more difficult to stop his newspark from chewing the walls if he was tempted to do the same. Though, with how low rations were getting, it might be worth considering. Starscream rolled his optics at the thought.
As he crossed the mess hall, pedesteps came from behind him, slowly catching up. He readied himself for whoever it was and whatever they wanted. Megatron hadn't harassed him since their confrontation, but perhaps—
Oh. As Starscream took his fuel from the dispenser, a blue hand gently reached around him. The mech entered his code and received a cube—a tauntingly familiar cube. All that time ago, when Knock Out assured him that he wasn't the only one with fuel restrictions, Optimus Prime was the other mech?
Optimus, noticing Starscream's stare, smiled and gestured with the cube in his hand. "Would you mind sharing one final cube with me?"
"Why not?" Starscream said with a sigh. He motioned toward the rest of the mess hall. "Lead the way."
Optimus led them to a table in the corner of the room, passing by a few Autobots who gave him friendly waves. He and Starscream settled down in a brief but contented silence as they sipped their fuel. Optimus was strong and intimidating on the battlefield (much like a certain warframe) but in casual matters, he had proven as harmless as a defanged glitchmouse.
Starscream just hoped he wouldn't ask about Jetfire again.
"What do you think of all this?" Starscream asked, swirling his cube with his wrist.
"It's an innovative solution," Optimus said.
"Innovative," Starscream said with a scoff. "Definitely."
Optimus took a long sip. "What about you?"
"I don't care for the solution, but I'd rather not starve," Starscream said. "Something about this feels wrong, but I have no reason to suspect anything."
Optimus hummed. Silence—as much as could be had in the mess hall—fell over them again. As Starscream stared down at his slowly dwindling cube, his processor drifted. He glanced at the Autobot symbol on Optimus's chest.
Bumblebee preferred Optimus. The matrix had chosen Optimus. When the schism occurred, Starscream's choice was already made. But, looking back, had it truly been?
"If I had joined the Autobots instead of staying with Megatron," Starscream said. "Where would I be now?"
Optimus's gaze was soft, his words softer. "I don't know."
"I suppose we never will."
☆☆☆
His audials activated before his optics, picking up on the soft murmurs and sharp whirring of equipment throughout the room. Slowly, his optic feed trickled in, fading from a blurry mess to something decipherable. He sat up on the berth, using his elbows to prop himself up. A twinge of discomfort rippled through him, and he let out a quiet hiss.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," Hook said.
Starscream rolled his optics. "You'd better not have bungled this."
Hook scowled. Beside him, Knock Out scoffed.
"Bungle this?" Knock Out exclaimed. "How could you ever accuse me of such a thing?"
Starscream snorted. Knock Out dropped the scoff in favor of a grin.
"You'll find we did a perfect job monitoring your recovery," Knock Out said. "That CRI surgeon, on the other hand… quite the suspicious character."
Starscream hummed. The CRI insisted on having one of their surgeons work on him, despite all three medics being trained for the procedure. They claimed his fuel processing disorder and past injuries would cause complications if an experienced surgeon didn't handle the procedure. He would've called it a load of slag if the same precautions hadn't been required for Optimus.
"They found something while you were under," Knock Out said with a frown. "You're not going to like it."
"What is it?"
Knock Out motioned to a nearby counter. Hook grabbed something off the edge of it. He presented it to Starscream. It was a small, shiny object that barely fit in the palm of his hand. Starscream took it and turned it over. Small circuit boards ran along one side.
His fingers curled around the object as his fuel lines burned. He couldn't crush it. Not yet.
"Where did they find this?" Starscream hissed.
Knock Out and Hook exchanged glances. Hook looked away, and Knock Out's shoulders fell—a silent battle lost.
"We weren't in the room when they found it," Knock Out said. "But I've opened you up enough times to know it had to be near your spark casing."
It was the only place the medic hadn't touched during the many operations Starscream had to undergo. A limited number of mecha would have the ability to request such a thing. The Enforcers hadn't bothered with internal trackers, preferring comparatively cheap collars and tags. It must have been placed during his time under Megatron's leadership.
Starscream pushed himself off the berth.
"Hey!" Knock Out shouted, moving toward him.
Starscream glared at the medic, stepping away from him before exiting the room. Only one mech could have done this. It was the one thing that made sense.
"Controlling fragger!" Starscream spat.
Where was he? Starscream turned a corner, then another. The brute hadn't been in the command center for some time now, so that wasn't worth checking. Where were his quarters?
Another hall. A pair of mecha jumped out of his way. They called his name, perturbed. He didn't bother to check who they were as he sped past them.
More hallways. Starscream peered into rooms, searching for gray plating. Where was that fragger? His claws itched. He needed to—
There! The brute was right ahead, standing beside Optimus. Starscream calculated his trajectory and leaped, claws ready.
The battle was over before it began. Starscream spat and clawed, but Megatron merely hoisted him into the air, lips pressed into a line. Pointlessly, Starscream struggled against the brute.
"What is the meaning of this?" Megatron said.
Starscream shoved the disabled tracker in Megatron's face. The brute's optics widened. Then, his lips drew into a snarl.
"Let's finish this elsewhere," he said, tossing Starscream over his shoulder.
"Megatron—"
Optimus's voice echoed quietly through the hall as he reached out. Megatron kept marching. When he crossed the door to his quarters, he dumped Starscream on the floor. Starscream hissed, welds from the surgery still tender.
The brute snatched the tracker from Starscream's hand. He stared at it, turning it in the light.
"It only could've been you," Starscream growled.
Megatron glanced at him. Then, he sighed.
"Do you remember when the Enforcers raided Darkmount?"
Darkmount was the nickname given to their first true base—the factory Starscream was produced in.
Starscream used the wall to push himself up. "When you let Sunstorm die?"
Megatron's grip tightened around the tracking device.
"If I had taken a moment longer to find you, you would've died too," Megatron said. "He was too far gone to save."
Starscream flexed his fingers. "What does that have to do with this?"
Megatron met his optics. Still, they smouldered. Where had the burning gone? Starscream looked away.
"If I had taken a moment longer, you would've died," Megatron repeated, voice popping with static on the last word. "I had to make sure that wouldn't happen."
Starscream sank his claws into his arm guard. "So then you placed a tracker in me?"
"Yes," Megatron said, words growing weaker as he spoke. "Location, vitals—I would never need to search if you were in danger again."
A sick, crawling sensation invaded Starscream's plating. His spark turned painfully. His wings twitched as he fought for control over his body. Somehow, after everything, Megatron cared. Starscream could block the tender moments out of his processor all he wanted. It didn't change the truth.
How could someone care so deeply, yet hurt the object of their concern so much?
The sensor crunched between Megatron's fingertips. It clinked as it landed at Starscream's pedes. The room was silent save for the quiet click of Starscream's cooling fans engaging.
"I thought about what you said—" Megatron paused, squeezing his optics closed. "You were right. I was shortsighted."
Megatron stepped closer. He was still huge, with hands large enough to eclipse Starscream's, but his presence was smaller. He stared down at Starscream with fuzz-filled optics.
"I never intended to cause harm," he said. "I wanted to protect you—guide you. I saw you not for who you were but who I wanted you to become. It was unfair to you."
Starscream pressed himself against the wall. The words wouldn't end.
"Every fight, I justified it to myself. You were loud, arrogant, and violent. I was merely stripping those traits away. You would look back on it and thank me, because it made you better. You were naive and soft, but I hardened you. You were defiant and selfish, but I taught you to obey and sacrifice. I provided you with shelter, fuel, and power. Every time you protested my methods, only one thought came to my mind: how could you be so ungrateful?"
Starscream's claws raked against his arm guard. His spark stabbed into his chest as his fuel lines burned. The fresh welds inside of him cramped as his plating tensed.
"Wh—why would I be grateful?" He asked.
His vocalizer barely allowed the words to escape. They were coated in static.
Megatron's face fell. He shook his head.
"I failed to see the coercion," he said. "I felt your fear, your pain, and ignored it. I convinced myself it was just part of the process. You were fed and protected—you could leave if you wanted to—so it had to be okay."
Starscream didn't know what to think. Starscream didn't think.
"I'm sorry, Starscream."
His limbs were detached from his frame. Megatron hovered above him, covered in a dense fuzz. His spark hurt.
"C—"
The words refused to emerge. Starscream dug his claws in and forced himself to speak.
"Can I leave now?"
Megatron pressed a button on the keypad. The door slid open. Numbly, Starscream slithered through. His wings hit the wall of the hallway, and he placed a hand on it to steady himself as he staggered down it.
His quarters. He just had to get to his quarters.
Had the halls always been this long?
A flash of yellow. Bright optics. A blurry face. Starscream kept walking.
"Starscream—?"
Starscream kept walking.
Hallway after hallway. Eventually, finally—the door. He opened it, spilling into the room.
Bright. Horribly, horribly bright. He fumbled, fingers slipping on the keypad. Darkness.
He had to hide. No one could find him. There. Safety.
He slid beneath the berth, bending his wings around himself and pulling his knees to his chest. He was warm. No, not warm. Hot. His fans whirred in his audials. Deafening.
Why did everything hurt?
He whined. No, no sound! Hissing was also a sound. Slag. Darkness. He was alone.
The door. Opened! Slag! No!
He scooted closer to the wall, claws scraping against the floor. They couldn't find him. Wouldn't let them.
A bright visor, framed by dark gray. Familiar. A paw reached toward him. He hissed. No, no! Leave him alone!
Words. Someone was speaking. He needed to listen. What were they saying? Why was it so difficult to understand?
"Starscream."
His name. Another visor, this one surrounded by blue. He knew this mech. Safe. Starscream let out a quiet chirp.
A hand reached beneath, coming toward him. Starscream slapped it and growled. It retreated. The mech sat beside the berth, not daring to reach out again. Starscream fluttered his wings. Good.
But everything still hurt. Something was wrong. He couldn't fix it on his own. So, after a while of the mech sitting still, Starscream crawled out from beneath the berth and laid his head on the mech's lap. The mech startled, plating tensing, then relaxed.
They placed a hand on his head. He leaned into it.
"Starscream," the mech said again.
Starscream knew the voice now. He yipped, burying himself in Soundwave's lap. He was safe, safe, safe with Soundwave here. Soundwave stroked his helm, and Starscream leaned into the touch, purring.
"Starscream—cease running engine," Soundwave scolded. "Starscream's frame—too hot."
Starscream grumbled and forced his engine to shut off.
"Starscream—loud even when not speaking."
Starscream trilled in amusement. Soundwave shifted beneath him, and he let out a sharp yowl to make his displeasure known. The other mech merely sighed and hoisted him up.
"Starscream—overheating," he said. "Soundwave—bringing Starscream to private washrack."
He was fine. All he needed was for the pain to go away. He tried to say that, but his vocalizer refused to produce words. So, he settled for an irritated rumble, hoping it got the point across. Soundwave ignored it, and in a few moments, they were inside the washrack.
Soundwave turned on the solvent. It hissed as it landed on Starscream, creating steam. After a few moments, the static faded from his vision. Thinking grew easier, his mind no longer trapped behind a wall. Starscream stirred, attempting to sit up and immediately thinking better of it as the fresh welds on his abdomen twinged.
"Hurts," he muttered.
"Query: What hurts?"
Starscream rolled over, stretching as much as he could manage. "Everything…"
"Query: Starscream—requires medbay visit?"
Starscream shook his head. A pain patch wouldn't fix this. Besides, he just got out of there.
Solvent splattered on the ground like rain, flooding toward the drain. Starscream's frame finally cooled, the hiss of evaporating solvent dying with the heat. Eventually, it grew cold, and Starscream fought not to shiver. Soundwave reached up and turned off the spray.
"He apologized to me," Starscream murmured. "He said it. 'I'm sorry, Starscream.' Word for word."
Soundwave froze. "Unexpected."
"No slag," Starscream said with a giggle. "I thought it was impossible. Just when I accepted that he'd never understand, he just had to pull the ground from beneath me."
Soundwave dug his fingers between one of Starscream's dorsal seams. Starscream rolled into it, purring. This time, Soundwave didn't scold him.
"Starscream—not required to accept apology."
"I know," Starscream said. "I don't think it was really for me, anyway."
Words were empty, often false. It didn't matter what Megatron said, it mattered what he did. But for some reason, pointless words brought other mecha comfort. Perhaps, Megatron was merely comforting himself.
Starscream closed his optics.
☆☆☆
[Please meet me. We have something important to discuss. Bring Jetfire with you and no others.]
Starscream reread the message as he stood outside the building. Jetfire stood beside him, wringing his hands. The newspark was tense, wings high, but that was expected; He didn't know Windblade. Starscream had no idea what she wanted, so he couldn't offer comfort.
He was already on edge from Megatron's… apology. This was just more flames to the fire.
The door swung open. Windblade scrutinized them for a moment. Starscream's claws itched. Then, finally, she waved them inside.
"Come in," she said.
She led them down a long hall. It seemed vaguely familiar, but Starscream couldn't recall it. The walls had been freshly repaired, which was made clear by the new, untarnished paint and clean murals. Ahead of them, the hall opened into a large room. A table sat in the center of it, surrounded by many empty seats.
Starscream's plating itched. The back of his processor screamed, unable to identify the room but knowing he had seen it before. In the background, he initiated a search of his databanks. Surely, he could summon at least one memory to justify the familiarity?
Windblade sat at the center of the table. An odd position, but with so many empty spaces, any place would be awkward. Starscream sat on the opposite side of her, and Jetfire sat beside him.
"I've heard rumors about you," Windblade said, leaning forward in her seat—toward Jetfire.
"What kinds of rumors?" Starscream said.
Windblade leaned away from Jetfire. Starscream's plating relaxed (When had he tensed it?). Her optics met his.
"You created him, didn't you?" Windblade said.
Starscream glanced at Jetfire. The newspark's wings were taut with tension, but not yet trembling. Fighting not to dig his claws into he table, Starscream glared at Windblade.
"I did," he said.
He couldn't lie in front of his newspark like that. She had to know this. Why else would she ask him to bring Jetfire?
"How?"
Starscream let his claws scratch the table this time. The entire situation was crafted to force this information out of him, and that made his claws itch. But what was the point in hiding it anymore?
"We found a spark splitting medium on Earth," Starscream said. "I used it to make him."
Windblade's wings moved upward slightly. She leaned back in her seat.
"Who was the donor?" She asked.
Starscream allowed himself to grin. "Me."
"You're a drone," Windblade said flatly. "That shouldn't be possible."
"Believe what you want, but it's the truth," Starscream said, voice growing sickeningly sweet. All the better if she didn't believe.
Windblade crossed her arms.
"I believe you."
Starscream's wings shot up. "What?"
Windblade stood from her seat. With a loud scrape, she pushed the chair in.
"There is no other explanation," she said.
Something crackled in the corner of the room. Starscream whipped toward it, wings fanning out. He widened his stance to increase his balance.
"Starscream?" Jetfire whispered.
The walls exploded with motion. Starscream activated his weapons as they were swarmed. He was able to take a couple of them out from a distance, but didn't have enough time to get all of them. With a leap, he engaged his thrusters.
With a graceless dodge, he evaded a blow only to come face to face with another mech. He aimed his ray at the center of their face and fired. Just as the crowd began to thin, a cry pierced Starscream's audials.
"Jetfire!" He yelled, taking off toward the source of the sound.
The newspark was backed against the wall, fire on his fingertips. A mech came close and he swiped at them, but missed completely. His wings shook, held in the lowest position his body could manage.
Starscream launched himself at the mech that dared attack his newspark. Wrapping his legs around them to keep from falling, he dug his claws into their optics from behind. The mech wailed, blindly swiping at him.
He released them, growling as they fled. Served them fragging right. Starscream watched, cooling fans clicking on, as his attackers dissipated. He searched the room for the only mech that could have planned this, then leaped.
Windblade hovered above the skirmish. Just as Starscream reached her, she veered to the side. Starscream howled as he slammed into the wall, losing altitude. After a moment of recovery, he shook himself.
"What is the meaning of this?" He spat.
"We were testing a hypothesis," Windblade said. "Now we know it's true."
Starscream bared his teeth and charged his rays. "Explain."
Windblade lowered herself to the ground. After a moment of hesitation, Starscream followed. The floor, splattered with energeon, was especially familiar. Finally, his processor was able to summon the memory files.
This was the Council's meeting room.
"What hypothesis could possibly justify this?" Starscream growled.
He took a step toward her, but his legs shook, barely able to support his weight. Stupid faulty neurocircuits. Stupid weak motors. Frag it all.
"The mech who created you underwent empurata," Windblade said. It was a statement, not a question. "As did the mecha that created me and every other drone. The procedure rendered them incapable of forming any sort of attachment with anyone or anything. Did you ever wonder why?"
"No," Starscream said.
It had simply been their punishment.
"Mechanimals reproduce by splitting their sparks, yet we cannot." Windblade pulled her chair back out and sat. "We're more like antdroids—The largest of us create while the rest of us work."
Starscream pulled out his seat and sat, limbs aching. Hesitantly, Jetfire copied him.
"But we discovered that all antdroids have every component they need within them to become a monarch—including reproductive protocols," Windblade said. "We have them, too."
"So what?" Starscream asked. "You're just going to modify us into being complete mechanimals?"
"If that's what it takes to survive, then that's what we'll do."
"These things have limits," Starscream hissed.
Full frame transfers killed most of the mecha that attempted them. Starscream nearly died bringing Jetfire to life. Jetfire had already encountered issues with the new fuel processing system. That wasn't even getting into spark-coded glitches, which would always self-correct unless they found a way to modify the sparks themselves. He'd seen enough experiments on retrorats and glitchmice to know.
"Limits we've yet to find," Windblade said. "If you got a full frame replacement, you'd know how much of a difference it makes."
Was that why he hadn't recognized her model?
"Who were you?" Starscream asked.
Windblade glared at him. "That doesn't matter. I left my old name in the past."
"Just like you'll leave anyone who holds the least bit of skepticism," Starscream muttered.
Windblade rested her elbows on the table. "You don't have to be left behind. We can build this new future together."
"How does your 'new future' care for mecha it can't cure? Or does it just kill them like we always have? Killing in the process of curing is still killing."
Windblade frowned. "Of course we'll find a way to cure them. We aren't monsters."
"But what if you can't?" Starscream hissed, slamming his hands on the table.
"There's always a way."
Such a naive thing to think. Starscream's processing glitch was spark-coded. Changing the spark code of a living mech was near impossible. All attempts had resulted in immense damage.
And even if it wasn't impossible to change, that glitch was part of him. It was deeply rooted—from the inability to read EM fields to his complete difference in interpreting the world that set other mecha so far apart from him. He'd always known something was wrong about him, he just hadn't known what.
"Humor me," Starscream said. "If a mech's disability ran spark deep and your scientists couldn't engineer it out, what would you do?"
Windblade's wings twitched. "We'd find a way."
Fine, then. If she was so insistent on this fantasy, he would need to push further for the reality.
"What do you do now?" Starscream said, fanning his wings out.
Windblade stared at him. She shifted in her seat. Then, she smiled.
"We won't force you to do anything," she said. "If you don't want to be cured, it's your choice."
Starscream growled. He may as well be speaking to a metal sheet.
"There's nothing wrong with him!"
Both mecha startled at the interruption. Jetfire stood from his seat, palms against the table and wings wide.
"He doesn't need to be fixed!" Jetfire yelled. "The only mech here with something wrong with them is you!"
Windblade's wings fanned out as her lips drew into a snarl. In response, Jetfire fanned his. Starscream whacked his newspark with his wing (ignoring a surprised squawk) and placed himself in front of him.
"I apologize for Jetfire's words," Starscream lied, the statement coating his mouth bitterly. "This has been a very interesting meeting. If you have nothing more to say, we should get going."
As they rose from their seats and crossed the room, Windblade stared. A small frown was on her face. The further they moved, the more her wings returned to neutral position.
When Starscream set pede across the doorway, she spoke.
"Your spark."
Starscream turned back toward her. She stared directly into his optics.
"What about it?" He said, making no effort to keep the hostility from his voice.
Windblade shifted in her seat. "It's highly unusual."
Starscream didn't bother asking how she knew. The answer was obvious—the CRI were poking around where they didn't belong. The crawl of his plating at the thought was familiar.
"Stay away from it," he hissed.
He turned away. Windblade remained silent.