Chapter Text
Cybirds chirped quietly. Starscream walked along a well-worn path, placing his pedes as deliberately as he could manage. His neurocircuits had finally reintegrated, but one leg recovered better than the other, leaving him with a noticeable limp on his better days. Typically, he would avoid the issue by flying, but the canopy was too thick for flight. The sacrifice was worthwhile—this was where the most mechanimals gathered.
A bytemunk crossed his path, leaping for the nut in front of him. As its spiked tail swished into the undergrowth, Starscream stood still. He had no reason to rush. When the creature disappeared completely, he continued.
The stirring of undergrowth reached Starscream's audials as he reached his destination. He approached carefully. Red metal glinted between fronds. As the creature continued to thrash, its yellow optics caught his.
Starscream bent down to examine the creature. This new type of trap was meant to kill instantly, but it was still being tested. The stake meant to pierce the spark chamber had missed, leaving the mechanimal restrained but not put out of its misery.
As he drew close to the misangled stake, the creature snapped at his fingers.
"You're a determined little thing, aren't you?" Starscream muttered.
It stared up at him and growled. The defiance was almost admirable.
"Don't worry," Starscream said, charging his rays. "You won't feel anything soon."
He aimed his ray, but just as he was about to fire, something cold seized his spark. The creature whined, ears pinned.
'Do you have to do this?' It begged.
Its optics were familiar. Everything about the situation—utterly, utterly familiar. Starscream stared into his own likeness.
'We're the same,' the turbofox insisted.
Starscream fired.
His aim was true. The creature struggled, circuits dying with a horrible crackle. Now, finally able to come close, Starscream ran his claws along the hole he created.
He killed countless times. What made this different?
The turbofox was light in his arms. Its plating was thin, likely due to malnutrition, but it would still make a decent meal. Starscream rose with his prize. Its deactivated optics caught light as he walked, giving the illusion that they were still lit.
Turbofoxes were depicted as tricksters in many tales. They were small, swift, and very difficult to capture. Attempts were made to domesticate them—so many that they became a cautionary tale. They brought bad luck and destruction, often used as symbols of turbulence and rebellion.
Starscream grinned and allowed a laugh to exit his vocalizer. There was a reason Megatron called him a rabid turbofox. Perhaps it was foolish, but the name-calling gave him a feeling of kinship with the creature. It wasn't enough to make him spare the turbofox's life, but it was enough to make him contemplate it.
The canopy was finally open enough for flight, so he leaped and took off. Flying the rest of the way would save time—and his pedes. Fully reintegrated circuits or not, he still lacked stamina. Whatever damage had caused that, it was permanent.
Maybe it wasn't damage at all, he mused as he landed at the camp. Perhaps this just was how his fuel issues manifested with the new processing system. He sighed.
Despite the CRI offering housing, most of the Decepticons—and even a few Autobots—elected to stay in the Ark. It was spacious, stable, and they didn't have to worry about being separated. The Ark didn't seem to mind, and the CRI hadn't pushed, so all was well.
Starscream scanned the small crowd gathering outside. The CRI hadn't lurked since his altercation with Windblade, but that could always change. With wings lowering in relief, he noted that none were present, and approached the crowd.
Ravage was the first to greet him. With an excited mrrowl, the cybercat leaped up, taking the turbofox from his arms. As Ravage disappeared toward the corner where the carcasses were being stripped, a whoosh of air alerted Starscream to his next visitor.
Visitors was the correct word. Large, strong arms enveloped him. The newspark practically vibrated from how intensely his wings fluttered. Starscream returned the embrace, leaning more of his weight than necessary into Jetfire. He accepted the weight, simply hugging Starscream tighter. When they separated, Jetfire stayed at Starscream's side.
Skywarp's bright smile dulled slightly at the sight, but she didn't comment. With her wings held high in greeting, she reached up, grabbing Starscream by the helm. Starscream put up a token struggle. A small part of him recoiled from the rough touch, but he shoved it aside. Skywarp wouldn't hurt him. He knew it with all of his spark.
"You'd better have been taking frequent breaks, you stubborn fragger!" Skywarp half-whispered.
Starscream tapped her arms—a code they developed recently—and she released him. He took a moment to reorient himself before responding.
"Then I assume you went to your appointment?" He said, tilting his head.
Skywarp grimaced. "Yes. They, um… they think it's… what was the word?"
"Spark-coded," Jetfire said.
"Yeah," Skywarp said. "Spark-coded. Some sort of natural overgrowth. That's why it kept coming back. Clipped it and put me on an injection for the pain."
Her wings lowered. The smile left her face.
"You're okay with that?" Starscream asked.
"I'm gonna have to be," she muttered.
Starscream held out his hand. She placed hers in it. He ran his fingers over her plating, and some of the tension left it.
"It helps, right?" Starscream asked.
Skywarp nodded.
"Then it'll be okay," Starscream said.
The CRI had plans that Starscream disagreed with, but for now, all of their resources were provided by them. Was it so terrible to be fed, sheltered, and given medical care? His processor summoned memories of low fuel alarms and aching joints, and he fought a shudder.
Starscream turned to Jetfire, attempting to force the files from his mind. "How are your classes?"
Jetfire opened his mouth, then hesitated, bringing a hand up to the side of his head. Since everyone settled, he and Hook attended the CRI's medical academy. Though, because Jetfire didn't have any previous schooling, he was only taking basic classes.
"They're great!" Jetfire finally managed to say. "Really, really informative."
Starscream smiled. "What are you learning about?"
The newspark launched into several intertwined explanations. Frequent gestures were interspersed. Starscream kept up with most of it—basic genetics, rudimentary biology, smidges of ecology—and what he couldn't still sounded familiar. Skywarp, to the contrary, stared off into space, wings twitching idly.
[He's like you when you get all science-y,] she sent.
Starscream suppressed an amused lift of his wings, knowing Jetfire would pick up on the gesture. Moments like these were as vulnerable as they were passionate.
[Well, I did create him,] Starscream replied.
Jetfire switched from speaking about the different colors of retrorat and how they were inherited to the growth cycles of color nanites. It was something Starscream never had a particular interest in, but coming from Jetfire's vocalizer, it became the most fascinating thing in the world for that moment. If Starscream didn't know better, he would swear he could read EM fields. The newspark practically radiated joy.
[Y'know,] Skywarp sent. [I didn't really think about it, but he kinda is a giant you, isn't he? With the personality coding and all?]
Technically, Skywarp was correct. Personality coding was passed on directly during a spark split. Another reason on top of the many that drones were treated poorly—since they were sparked from criminals, and therefore had criminal personality coding, they obviously couldn't be trusted as equal members of society. Jetfire's personality coding should be identical to Starscream's.
His spark twinged at the idea.
[He really reminds me of you before…]
Skywarp's message was sent unfinished. Starscream met her optics—briefly.
[Before what?]
[The bad things.]
Ah. Right. Starscream looked away, gaze falling back to Jetfire.
"You're not listening anymore, are you?" Jetfire asked, brow furrowed.
"I was," Starscream said. "Skywarp was telling me something important before she forgot about it."
It wasn't quite a lie.
Jetfire slumped. "Oh. Sure."
"You were saying something about how color nanites produced pigment using the byproducts of fuel processing?" Starscream prompted.
Jetfire's wings rose, his optics brightening. "Yeah! When fuel is broken down, it creates—"
A loud bark startled him. Starscream nearly jumped as well, until he remembered the only possible cause of the noise. Buster launched himself at Jetfire, who bent down to catch him. Jetfire held the dog up to his chest. With a wagging tail, Buster pressed his paws against Jetfire's chest.
A shadow fell over the group. Its origin was obvious.
"It is good to see you, little spark," Icebeam said.
Jetfire looked up. "Blitzwing! Hi!"
He offered Buster to Icebeam, who took him gently.
"He just could not wait to see you," Icebeam said. "You know how he is."
Starscream snickered. The dog was nothing but trouble from day one.
"How's synthesizing a diet for him going?" Jetfire asked.
Icebeam frowned, glancing down at the excited dog. Buster's eyes were still on Jetfire.
"It is a difficult task," Icebeam said. "But working with Tarantulas and Dirge has proven fruitful. We are confident that we can make something he will want to eat before we run out of the Earth food."
Jetfire wrung his hands, a smile crossing his face. "That's great! I was just reading about the nutritional requirements of cyberdogs the other day—"
Skywarp jabbed Starscream in the side. Starscream hissed quietly, and she rolled her optics.
"They're gonna be at it for a while," Skywarp said. "Why don't we check on fuel prep?"
Starscream shrugged. That was all the permission Skywarp needed to grab him and teleport him halfway across the camp. A yelp drew Starscream's immediate attention. Beside them, Bumblebee nearly dropped the saw he was holding.
"Warn a mech!" Bumblebee exclaimed, scrambling to regain control of the saw.
"Sorry!" Skywarp chirped. "Wanted to save my glorious commander's pedes."
Starscream rolled his optics. He was used to Skywarp's ability, and so were many of the Decepticons, but the Autobots didn't have the opportunity to acclimate. Now that they were on the ground, Skywarp had plenty of space to warp around. Thus, the current situation.
Bumblebee was shaving plating off a carcass. Beside him, Optimus cut the plating into serving-sized pieces. At the base of the table, Ravage was pulling organs out of significantly more intact carcasses, passing the processing tubes to Rumble and Frenzy. When those were removed, Ravage drained the carcasses of their line energeon. The container Ravage was currently using was already half full, and Nova Storm was carrying away a completely filled one.
"What're we preparing?" Skywarp asked as she leaned over the carcass that Bumblebee was stripping.
"Soup," Bumblebee said, handing another scute to Optimus. "As close as we can get to it, anyway."
Starscream had no idea what that was. Based on Skywarp's disinterested wing flick, she didn't, either. Bumblebee pulled an extra saw from the table and offered it to Skywarp.
"If you're going to just stand here, you might as well help," he said.
Skywarp took the saw and warped to the other side of him. After Starscream grew bored of watching them, he walked to over to Optimus. The Prime barely looked up.
"Hello, Starscream," he said quietly.
"What exactly is soup?" Starscream asked.
Optimus shrugged as he carved out a chunk of plating. "A human dish. Usually meats and vegetables suspended in liquid fat."
Starscream hummed. He knew, logically, what all of those components were, but he never cared to understand them. The collection of the chyme from the processing tubes made more sense now. It was one of the few ways to obtain liquid metal that wouldn't melt a mech's mouth (or intake, in the case of Soundwave).
"We have a distinct lack of vegetables here," Starscream said.
Optimus's hand slipped, cutting a long gouge in the scute. He paused, staring down at it.
"We do," he muttered.
His plating was close—not tense, just close. It flared slightly as his fan system expelled air. Something was clearly upsetting him. Morbid curiosity bit at Starscream, and he allowed himself to indulge.
"What's troubling you?" He asked.
Optimus glanced at him. Then, he went back to his work. Starscream tapped a pede. It wasn't like the ever-compassionate Optimus Prime to ignore a mech.
[Killing to live. It seems wrong.]
The message came in moments later. So, that was how he wanted to play it.
[We've killed for less valid reasons,] Starscream replied.
They nearly drove their own species to extinction just to win a war that shouldn't have happened in the first place. Starscream himself caused many unnecessary deaths, though he preferred not to dwell on them.
[These mechanimals didn't do anything to deserve this,] Optimus sent.
Naive fragger. Starscream rolled his optics.
[Something would have killed them, regardless. It just happened to be us. They feast on each other, and now we're no different. It's worth the cost to live.]
Optimus accepted another scute from Bumblebee. As he moved the previous one, a flash of metal caught Starscream's optics. He reached for it before it could be covered, and found himself with a saw. So, he got to work.
[Maybe we shouldn't have,] Optimus sent.
[Shouldn't have what?]
[Lived,] Optimus sent. [Maybe we were supposed to die.]
What Primus-ridden slag was this? Starscream sliced a piece off the scute before responding.
[Well, we've defied the odds.]
Optimus's brow furrowed, his cuts deeper, nearly scarring the table.
[We shouldn't have,] he sent. [I know our history. All of it's in the matrix. Every single moment. It's full of violence and suffering. And now Cybertron is dead and we have to kill just to live.]
Was this news to him? Had Optimus not known this before? Starscream forced himself not to tear into the naive idiot. The world was full of suffering. So what?
[But we're alive!] Starscream sent. [Perhaps these words don't mean much from a selfish coward, but I would rather this than death. I have too much to lose. You do, too. How would your Autobots feel if you told them you wished they were dead?]
Optimus fumbled with the saw.
[That isn't what I meant!]
[But it's what you said,] Starscream sent. [Don't be an idiot. I know where these sorts of thoughts lead.]
If he sent a couple of messages to a few mecha requesting that they ensure their Prime was intaking sufficient fuel, Optimus didn't have to know. At the thought, Starscream scrutinized him. His optics were duller than they should've been, but not enough for alarm. If he were avoiding refueling, he hadn't been at it for long.
Starscream never received a reply. Perhaps Optimus did have a petty streak. Eventually, all of the carcasses were processed. Fuel was handed out, and the meal began.
Halfway through his portion of soup, Optimus turned to Starscream.
"Megatron wanted to speak with you," he said.
It took everything in Starscream's power not to let his wings quiver. "He does? About what?"
Optimus's optics met his. Starscream forced his wings to stay in position and his helm not to turn away. He sipped his soup.
"He didn't say," Optimus said. "Only that it's important."
It had better be, if that fragger wanted his plating intact. Starscream forcibly downed the rest of his fuel.
"Thank you," Starscream said, turning away. "I'll go find him, now."
As he passed by Skywarp, she sent him a message.
[You really gonna go find the old afthelm?]
Starscream snickered at the insult.
[I have to know what he wants from me.]
Skywarp took a step closer. He swept his wing toward her.
[Don't,] he sent. [I need to do this alone.]
She stayed back as he left. He scanned the group, but found no sign of Megatron. So, he settled at the edge, toward the woods. From here, he had a clear view of everything. Still no Megatron.
Ravage joined Frenzy and Rumble in handing out seconds. Soundwave approached them shortly afterward, datapad in hand. Skywarp and Nova Storm popped back toward Jetfire and Blitzwing, who were somehow still speaking. Dirge had joined them at some point while Starscream had been preparing fuel with Optimus.
Starscream began to relax when heavy pedesteps caught his attention. He widened his stance as he searched for the source. Megatron approached from behind. His hands were empty. Just what was he doing in the woods?
"Haven't been taking part in the festivities?" Starscream asked.
Megatron grunted. "I prefer to spend my time in quieter places."
"How asocial," Starscream muttered.
He couldn't fault the mech. While he didn't mind spending time with plenty of allies at once, the sounds and sights of many mecha in a single place were overwhelming. No one could ever mistake him for a social mech, despite his meager efforts to the contrary.
"I recall a young Seeker getting stuck in the walls in an effort to avoid attending his own promotion ceremony," Megatron said, lips twitching upward.
Starscream rolled his optics. Of course he would bring that up. "I never said I wasn't the same. Besides, Ramjet threatened me. I was barely half his size back then. Not showing up was better than showing up beaten to scrap."
Buster leaped from Blitzwing's hands. The fall was too high for such a tiny, delicate creature, so it resulted in a scramble to grab the dog before he fell. Dirge managed to catch him, but not before Jetfire whacked his face on Dirge's wing.
"I'm leaving," Megatron said.
Did Starscream care? Did he have to?
"Hooray," he grumbled. "Good for you."
Megatron glared at him, but the fire in his optics was put out long ago.
"I want to leave things on good terms," Megatron said. "Whatever that may mean for us."
Starscream flexed his fingers, watching as his joints caught the light. In, out. In, out. For once, Megatron didn't push. He stayed still, waiting rather than demanding.
"Y—you apologized to me," Starscream said, words glitching as they refused to exit his vocalizer. "I blame you for a lot of things, but I wasn't innocent."
Megatron stared at him, mouth opening and closing. Then, finally, he turned away and spoke.
"No, you weren't."
Starscream picked at the edges of his arm guards. He knew what he needed to say, so why was it so difficult to speak?
"You were amazing," Starscream said. "I wanted to be just like you. When you belittled me, it hurt, but not as much as being ignored. I craved your attention, even if it meant being hurt. I needed it. So, when you didn't give it to me, I took it. I sought you out. I attacked you. You were right about that."
He glanced at Megatron. The mech made no move to speak, so he continued.
"I should've stopped. I should've listened to Thundercracker. I should've listened to you. Stopped yelling, stopped fighting, stopped everything, then maybe…"
The hand on his shoulder was gentle—impossibly gentle. Starscream felt nothing. His frame wanted to shudder.
"You were a newspark," Megatron said. "I was a combat veteran."
Starscream wrenched himself away. He ran his hands down his shoulders, clutching himself.
"Why is it that every time I speak with you, I don't say what I want to?" Starscream said, voice shaking. "I know you were wrong. You know it too. You apologized for it. But now you're touching me, and looking at me, and it's nice, and it just feels wrong to say what I should."
"I'm sorry," Megatron said.
He closed the gap between them. Starscream dug his claws into his arm guards. With carefulness unparalleled, Megatron pulled them away. Starscream launched himself several steps back.
"Stop it!" He hissed. "Stop it! I don't…"
His claws scored his chestplates.
"I don't know what to do anymore."
Megatron reached for his hands again. When he pulled Starscream to his chest, holding both of his hands, Starscream let him. He rumbled his engine quietly, the vibration loosening Starscream's tensed plating. Starscream leaned into him and closed his optics, spark aching.
"Then wait until you've figured it out," Megatron whispered.
He released Starscream, but Starscream didn't move.
"I think it's good for me to leave," Megatron said. "We can both get out of each others' lives, allow ourselves the space to decide if we want to try again."
"Perhaps."
The scratches stung. A wall was building between Starscream's processor and frame. Familiar fear clawed at the back of his processor, screeching to be let out. But it was sealed far, far back. An empty sense of comfort rose to the forefront.
He wasn't afraid anymore. Just overwhelmed.
"You should get those scratches treated," Megatron said.
Starscream sighed. "Right…"
[Hey, Warp? Can you bring me to our quarters?]
[If that fragger hurt you, I'll—]
The rest of the message outlined in excruciating detail how Skywarp would dismantle Megatron. Before Starscream finished reading it, she had already warped beside him. With a sharp glare at Megatron, she grabbed Starscream. The world twisted around him, and soon he was standing in the center of New Decepticon command quarters.
As claws brushed against the scratches on his chest, he let out a surprised hiss. Skywarp flinched away. With two pops of air, she disappeared and reappeared with a first aid kit.
Starscream sat on the edge of the berth as she opened the kit.
"What happened?" She asked, retrieving an antiseptic.
"Megatron is leaving," Starscream said.
Skywarp dabbed the antiseptic around the scratches. She oversoaked the pad, so some of it leaked directly into the wound. It stung, but not enough for Starscream to care. The wounds were shallow enough that she didn't feel the need to flush them, which was good.
"He wanted to tell you," Skywarp said. "Even though he should really just leave you alone."
Before they spoke, Starscream would've agreed. Now, he wasn't so certain—even if Megatron himself seemed to think so. He had known Megatron for more time than he hadn't. The mech entangled himself in Starscream's life. To remove him completely was unthinkable, now that the option was presented.
"He's different," Starscream said.
Satisfied with disinfection, Skywarp moved on to packing the scratches with nanite gel. It was easier to fill small wounds with the stuff than to bother placing a patch. Skywarp frowned, glancing up from her work.
"He still hurt you," she said.
"He regrets it."
Skywarp's gaze sharpened to a glare. She bared her teeth, a hiss escaping her vocalizer.
"How do you know that?" She growled. "You can't tell what he's feeling. You can't even read EM fields!"
Starscream pushed himself away from Skywarp as hot fury washed over him, burning his fuel lines. He dug his claws into the berth.
"I may not be able to read EM fields, but his actions are quite fragging clear!"
He had one of his episodes in front of Megatron and he didn't scold him for it. He didn't hurt him or grab him—only held him and purred. And those stupid words—"I'm sorry"—he said them again. Then, he'd let him go.
Skywarp reached for him. "Screamer, you can't—"
Starscream swiped at her hand.
"You seem to think that just because I have a glitch, it makes me incapable of making decisions!" He yelled. "I'm sick of it!"
Skywarp rubbed her hand. As energeon seeped from it, Starscream's spark twinged.
"I don't think that," Skywarp muttered, gaze falling. Her wings were set in their lowest position. "I… I'm just scared. For you. You've nearly died so many times, and that fragger was the cause of most of them. I don't want him to hurt you again."
Starscream took her injured hand in his.
"I'll never trust him," Starscream said. "But I don't think he wants to hurt me anymore. That means something."
Skywarp sighed. "Just be careful."
"I will—"
The door slid open. Soundwave's visor shone through the doorway. Nova Storm and Jetfire peered over his shoulders. At his knees, Ravage ducked past Rumble and Frenzy, crossed the room, and flopped belly-up onto the floor.
Soundwave tilted his head. "Starscream—injured. Query: What happened?"
"Megatron," Skywarp growled.
Soundwave stepped into the room, Rumble and Frenzy skittering past him to join Ravage. Nova Storm moved in behind him, then hesitated as Jetfire entered.
"You should wait outside," she told him.
Jetfire opened his mouth to speak. He paused as Skywarp turned toward him.
"You should do what Nova Storm said," she said.
Jetfire wrung his hands. "I—"
"Jetfire—Wait outside," Soundwave said. "Discussion—should not involve newsparks."
Starscream flicked his wings as hard as he could, making an audible whoosh. Nova Storm and Skywarp startled.
"Oh, for frag's sake!" He yelled. "He's young, not stupid. He's seen Megatron. He can stay if he wants to."
All optics turned to Jetfire. The newspark tensed, wings moving upward.
With a shaking voice, he said, "I want to stay."
"Then, that's settled," Starscream said.
Starscream's comm pinged as Ravage rolled over, belly to the ground and paws tucked beneath.
[So, what happened?]
Starscream tapped his fingers on the berth.
"Megatron is leaving," Starscream said. "He just wanted to say goodbye. But he extended an offer to speak again. Before that, he… apologized to me. He did it again today."
Soundwave's hands curled into fists. His plating rattled slightly.
"Soundwave—also received apology," he said. "Soundwave—did not accept."
He really was trying, then. But if he wanted to apologize to Starscream and Soundwave, he may as well go around and apologize to every other mech that came with them from Earth. In some way, Megatron wronged them all. Starscream had slain many Autobots and taken out some of his own side when it suited him, but no one expected him to apologize. So why did the old mech feel the need?
"I didn't accept, but I didn't reject it, either," Starscream said. "I think he really means it."
It was nothing like the callous faux kindness of the past. Or, perhaps, it was too close to it. The smidges of care from back then were amplified now without the cruelty that accompanied them. A pang passed through Starscream's spark. Had Megatron been capable of this all along? Or had the final days of the war changed him?
"Soundwave—does not believe."
Starscream looked away. "That's your right. I want to see where this goes."
Soundwave took a step closer.
"Starscream—unwise," he said.
Starscream snickered. "Perhaps. But I don't really care."
"Starscream—will be hurt."
Soundwave's visor was bright.
"He might hurt me, but he can't control me."
He was a turbofox. A rabid one, even. Utterly untameable, and willing to wreck any fool that tried. He knew that, now. A beast could protect just as much as it could destroy. And…
He glanced at Jetfire.
…even animals could create.
The Enforcers had enslaved him. Megatron tried to tame him. The Autobots caged him. Yet, here he was, free. Every time the universe tore him to pieces, he got back up, spitting in its face. Perhaps, his will to survive was so strong that it rendered him unkillable.
Soundwave stared.
"Soundwave—will be present," he said. "Always."
The statement was more reassuring than Starscream could possibly say. As Skywarp finished treating the scratches and put away the first aid kit, the group fell into silence. An alert appeared on Starscream's HUD suggesting recharge. Was it really so late in the day?
Well, the meal was the final of the day, and it had taken a while to prepare. Then, he'd spoken with Megatron, and Skywarp had to treat the scratches…
"I'm going to recharge," Starscream said, stretching across the berth. "Feel free to join me."
With a quiet pop of air, Skywarp dropped on top of him. Before he could chastise her, she had already wrapped herself around him. Jetfire came around the side closest to the wall, inserting himself beneath Starscream carefully. Soundwave was equally careful when he joined. Conversely, Ravage, Rumble, and Frenzy leaped onto the group, eliciting various exclamations of discomfort.
Inconsiderate cassettes aside, it was comforting to have the whole group together. Starscream nestled his face in Jetfire's neck and closed his optics. On his chest, Ravage purred and slipped into recharge. As usual, Starscream was the last to go—but it was habit that kept him up, rather than anxiety. He spent so many nights keeping himself awake that his frame refused to sleep before any others.
Just as he was about to drift away, he was yanked from recharge by a whisper.
"Who is Megatron?"
"What?" Starscream mumbled.
"Who is Megatron?" Jetfire repeated. "Why did he hurt you? Why did he apologize?"
The room was dark except for his and Starscream's optics.
"He's…" Starscream paused.
Who was Megatron to him? He was his leader, for a time. He was his enemy for another. Before that, he was his savior. So what was he now?
Starscream reached over, cupping Jetfire's face with his hand.
"He took me in when I was very young," Starscream said. "Not as young as you, but still very young. I was his air commander during the war, and set to inherit his position if anything happened to him."
Jetfire's optics grew wide. "Did he create you?"
Starscream fought not to laugh, but quickly realized the assumption was an easy one for Jetfire to make.
"In a metaphorical sense, maybe," Starscream said. "But, no. He didn't make me."
Starscream closed his optics. That only answered Jetfire's first question. He had two others.
"As for why he hurt me, I don't know. I think he was scared—of me and for me."
It was the only thing that made sense. Megatron feared he would die, so he placed a tracker. Megatron feared he would take his power, so he sought to control him. He feared Starscream would leave him, so he tracked him down.
Jetfire hummed, nuzzling Starscream.
"I don't like him," he said. "It takes a lot of strength not to hurt anyone when you're this big, and he doesn't even try."
"Maybe not," Starscream said. "But I think he's trying now."
They stayed entwined. Slowly, Jetfire's optics slid shut, leaving Starscream the sole awake inhabitant of the room. He glanced at the wall.
Toward the top of the room—tall enough that it would take effort for him to reach—the Emberstone was mounted. Though it didn't glow, somehow, Starscream could still see it in the darkness.
Windblade hadn't asked about it when she interrogated him about Jetfire. No mecha from the CRI had come after it. So, it sat proudly on the wall, disguised as a simple decoration.
Starscream allowed himself to drift away, wondering what tomorrow held.