Chapter Text
On nights like this, Starscream wished he still had his rollator. His pedes ached, and one of his legs refused to cooperate, buckling if he put weight on it for slightly too long. But that didn't matter—as long as he stayed close to the wall and took frequent breaks, he could traverse the halls. His destination wasn't far, anyway.
He turned a corner, and there it was. The door was closed, but when had that ever stopped him? With one hand against the wall to support himself, he hacked the datapad. It beeped as he bypassed its cybermetric security. Not ideal, but as long as there was no one in the lab—
There was someone in the lab.
Bright optics stared into his, standing out starkly in the dim room. Then, the automated lights flicked on, illuminating Skyfire's frame.
"Starscream," Skyfire said.
"Skyfire," Starscream replied.
How hadn't he noticed the mech wasn't in recharge? Foolish!
"What are you doing here?" Skyfire asked.
He had to know Starscream hacked the keypad. So why wasn't he irritated? Skyfire's wings were set in neutral position, twitching lazily as they helped him balance.
Who was he kidding? This was Skyfire, different universe or not.
"I know you're building a combiner team," Starscream said. "I want to see it."
Skyfire smiled, motioning toward the items he was tinkering with when Starscream came in. To anyone not versed in frame components, it looked like some scraps of metal, but Starscream knew better.
"That's great!" Skyfire said. "I was just working on the last one."
Skyfire led him across the room to a door, opening it with his signature. It was small, and not the best lit—before it was cleared it, it was probably a storage room. Before them sat five frames.
All but the last were intact. If it weren't for the dull colors of nanites yet to activate and the empty optics, Starscream could have mistaken them for living mecha. Though, a closer examination revealed copious complications—wings slightly too large or small, joints that wouldn't quite fit if they transformed, cockpit glass that wasn't as secure as it should be, the list went on. One in particular had a massive portion of its cockpit and wings just sitting on its back, as if Skyfire and the other Starscream hadn't known what to do with it.
"They're… interesting."
Skyfire sighed, wings drooping. "You can be honest with me. I know they don't look great."
"They look terrible," Starscream said. "But working with the resources you have and knowing that you're engineering a combiner of all things, it makes sense."
Combiners were created from multiple mecha. Never were they forged as combiners—the Enigma was required to give them that ability. During the war against the Quintessons, several teams were created from forged mecha in this manner. Only a couple were successfully built, and they didn't last long.
Both the individual and group alt mode transformation had to be engineered down to the smallest detail. One missed measurement could doom the whole team. The Enigma, on the other hand, could instantly modify the frames and coding of a team with great success.
The Autobots jettisoned it and many other powerful artifacts deep into space when the Decepticons were just about to get possession of them. Ironic, for it to end up on this planet.
"I know," Skyfire said with a sigh. "But we need them to be perfect. That's why we need you."
Starscream's wings shot up before he could stop them. "Me?"
"You're Starscream," Skyfire said, taking a step toward him. "If you're anything like my Starscream, studying the inner and outer mechanics of life is something you relish. Your help would greatly improve project Safeguard."
Starscream flexed his fingers. If there was any moment to strike, it was now.
"I understand that, and I would like to help," he said. "But do you truly need to make new mecha for this? Why can't you just find the Enigma and use volunteers?"
Starscream knew the answer before Skyfire could say it, but he still held on.
"There aren't enough forged mecha left," Skyfire said. "Especially not ones we can spare."
That little medic—First Aid—was he forged? Most medics were, but he was so small that he couldn't be that old. He was large for a cassette, sure, but tiny for a forged mech. Elita and Prowl were both drones. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen a single forged mech yet…
Even in another world, forged mecha dwindled to near none. The war wiped them out, along with their hegemony. A thought scratched at the back of Starscream's processor, begging to be released: if the old system was gone, why were they still fighting?
Even at home, tensions between the three factions—Autobots, Decepticons, and the Cybertron Revival Initiative—threatened what little peace they'd established.
"And you can't use constructed mecha because they aren't flexible enough," Starscream muttered. "But why not reformat volunteers?"
A reformat would be nearly as resource-heavy as making a new frame. Constructed mecha—warframes and drones—were rigid compared to forged mecha. They could only take on alt modes similar to the ones they were created with. Most of the Decepticons hadn't even bothered changing their alts to blend in when they arrived on Earth. Finding suitable modes was too time-consuming.
"We've already come this far," Skyfire said, something sharp creeping into his voice.
"Did you not find enough volunteers?" Starscream asked.
Skyfire turned away from him and adjusted the helm of one of the frames.
"Or did you not ask for them at all?"
Skyfire's wings twitched.
"You didn't," Starscream growled. "Why didn't you?"
Skyfire released the frame's helm. He turned back toward Starscream, optics blazing. His wings fanned wide.
"You were right about one thing when you spoke with Commander Elita," he said. "We need more soldiers. Desperately. I'm making us more soldiers."
Starscream tensed his claws to strongly that the joints creaked.
"You're making newsparks!" Starscream hissed.
A memory file played in the back of his processor: Jetfire, cringing in fear as a crowd of mecha surrounded him. The fire on his fingertips was the the only thing keeping them away. Then, Windblade's cold words after Starscream fought them off.
'The mech who created you underwent empurata. Did you ever wonder why?'
The CRI proved they couldn't be trusted that night, just as Skyfire was proving now.
"I'm making soldiers," Skyfire said, baring his teeth. "A combiner team."
Starscream flared his wings in response.
"What if they don't want to fight?" He said. "I remember very distinctly two mecha who wanted to stray from their purposes—a little Seeker and a big shuttle. This is what we fought the war over, Skyfire!"
Skyfire took a step forward and shoved him. Starscream stumbled backward into the wall, fighting a pained hiss as his legs protested the movement.
"You weren't here! You didn't fight in this war!" Skyfire growled. "You got to have peace. You don't know what this is like. It's them or us."
Starscream's spark pulsed in his chest, but the burning fury in his fuel lines outweighed it. He slashed at Skyfire's face, shattering his visor and leaving a small gash on his olfactory ridge. Skyfire cried out and took a step back, clutching his face.
Starscream stomped a pede.
"You're a coward!" He spat. "A sparkless coward!"
His Skyfire would never have done this! The mech abhorred violence, and his convictions were unshakeable. He sought freedom for every being so ardently that the Council had indirectly assassinated him by sending him on that expedition to Earth—the very same expedition that set Starscream on the path to meeting Megatron and joining the Decepticons.
Starscream's claws twitched as the realization washed over him. His spark grew cold.
That was it, wasn't it?
Skyfire was alive here. The Council had never noticed him. He never went on that expedition. This wasn't his Skyfire, nor had he ever been.
Starscream bypassed the keypad and left the room. He stalked through the lab, pausing at Skyfire's work area. Three quarters of a processor sat in the center of it. Starscream's body burned.
He knew what he had to do. Not now, but soon.
Behind him, the door to the storage area slid open. Skyfire stepped through it, energeon smeared across his face. The majority of his visor was missing. When Starscream's optics met his, he snarled.
"I know what Jetfire is," he spat. "Don't pretend you're innocent."
Starscream dug his claws into the table.
"I never pretended to be," he hissed. "But I'd like you to remind me what you 'know.'"
Starscream's plating crawled, the anger fading as his spark continued to pulse. His Skyfire never would have done this, but it was still familiar. Skyfire closed the gap between them with one large step and grasped Starscream's wrists. He ran his fingers over Starscream's knuckles.
"You made him from me," he said. "I know what that paint means. I'm dead in your world."
Starscream pulled his hands away. Skyfire let him. That settled something in his spark, the pulsing slowing.
"You are," Starscream said. "You went on an expedition and never came back."
Skyfire's face softened.
"The preliminary expedition to Vision 15-882 D," Skyfire said. "Starscream caught a virus and collapsed in the lab. I missed my window to accept the offer while I was caring for her, but I heard those who went never returned."
Starscream sighed. "I never knew the name of the planet. I just showed up to the lab one day and you weren't there. I kept trying to visit you, but eventually, they wouldn't let me in. I begged the Science Committee to search for you, then the Council themselves. They wouldn't listen."
Skyfire closed his optics.
"I'm sorry," he muttered.
That pointless set of words. Starscream recognized the attempt for what it was.
"Please," Starscream said. "Reconsider project Safeguard."
Skyfire shook his head. "I already told you. I can't."
Starscream took a moment to think of a plausible lie.
"I guess I'll have to help you, then. Can't let you leave those transformation seams uneven."
Skyfire's optics widened. He smiled.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Starscream placed his hands on his hips and made a dramatic show as he turned toward the exit.
"It's late," he said. "I'm going back to recharge. You should, too."
Skyfire nodded. Satisfied with himself, Starscream took a step forward. His leg chose that moment to finally collapse under him. He compensated for it quickly enough not to fall, but the lift of Skyfire's wings showed that it wasn't enough. Skyfire approached him, offering an arm.
Starscream took it. The moment his arm touched Skyfire's, Skyfire's wings flew upward.
"Your plating is so thin!" He said.
Starscream rolled his optics.
"It's always been this way."
Skyfire scrunched his olfactory ridge. "Star's plating isn't this thin. Did you… were you ever diagnosed with a fuel processing disorder?"
They stepped through the doorway as Starscream scoffed.
"That's private medical information," he said.
Skyfire chuckled. "That's fine! You don't have to tell me. I didn't mean anything by it! Just… Star was diagnosed with one a long time ago. Before the war really started. Your plating feels like hers used to."
Bitterness coated Starscream's mouth. He hadn't been diagnosed until after the war, and only because he'd nearly died from consuming human vehicle fuel. It was that or starving to death. He always assumed that was the cause of his issues, but if the other Starscream's fuel processing disorder was noticed before the start of the war, was it really?
How long had it gone unnoticed? How much damage to his frame could have been prevented?
"I didn't exactly have the best time during or in the immediate aftermath of the war," Starscream said. "It's easier to miss a disorder when everyone is starving."
That had to be the reason. Every medic he went to couldn't have just not noticed—or worse, not cared.
"I guess so," Skyfire said.
They turned a corner.
"But, really," Skyfire said. "First Aid was a fuel specialist before he had to branch out. If you talk to him, he can probably mix you something that'll help."
Starscream already knew what he'd mix: prefiltered energeon. With his altered processing system, it wouldn't do much.
They paused as Skyfire opened the keypad to his quarters. They passed through the doorway, and Skyfire turned to Starscream, arm relaxing as he prepared to release him. Most of the energeon on his face was beginning to dry, but small amounts of fresh energeon still bled from his wound.
Starscream's wings twitched.
"Do you have a medkit?" He asked.
"It's on the shelf," Skyfire said, motioning toward the shelf of datapads.
Starscream made his way over. At the bottom of the shelf, shoved between datapads, was the medkit. He pulled it out and placed it on the desk. Then, the turned the desk chair away from it.
"Sit down," he told Skyfire.
Skyfire glanced at Thundercracker and the other Starscream, who were deep in recharge. After his group refused the extra berth, the other Starscream slept on it. His group was nestled on the floor between the two berths.
Skyfire sat. Starscream doused a rag with antiseptic and began cleaning Skyfire's face. The olfactory ridge was a delicate place compared to the rest of the face, and his attack struck deeper than he'd assumed. It was something the medic could fix in the morning, if Skyfire thought that was worthwhile. In the meantime, he finished cleaning, then applied nanite gel.
"Thank you," Skyfire whispered.
"Only fair to fix what I broke," Starscream said. "What do you want to do about your visor?"
Skyfire shrugged. "It'll grow back."
There were three common kinds of visors—externally applied protective visors, natural protective visors, and natural optic-integrated visors. Skyfire had the second to last. His visor, despite all appearances, was a part of his frame, and attached directly to his olfactory ridge.
Nearly half of the top portion of the visor was missing. Self-repair of non-essential projections like protective visors was a slow process. With how extensive the damage was, it would take a long time.
"Are you sure?" Starscream asked.
He took a capture and sent it to Skyfire. The other mech cringed as he received it.
"It'll… it'll be fine," Skyfire said, shoulders hu as hunching as his wings lowered. "Thunder won't like it, but I'll be fine."
"Alright," Starscream said.
He packed up the medkit, and both mecha rejoined their respective berthmates. Skyfire was right—the first thing Thundercracker did when she woke up in the morning was drag him to the medbay. When she asked him what happened, he responded with a lie.
"Slipped while I was working."
Starscream didn't know why Skyfire was protecting him. Cowardly, forgiving Skyfire. It made his plating itch.
☆☆☆
Starscream hissed in irritation as the message came through. His requests for lab space and supplies were rejected—they wanted a soldier, not a scientist. How familiar.
But the Autobots' lack of care wouldn't stop him. He needed to make something to help Jetfire with his biting problem, resources or not. He could break into the supply closet, but there was a much easier option he could try first: asking his other self for aid.
Sure, he could ask Skyfire, but he didn't want to owe that coward anything.
So, as he sipped his energeon in the mess hall—sneakily running his fingers down Jetfire's elbows to lessen the newspark's anxiety—he kept an optic on Star. Skyfire's words from a few nights ago rang true as Star's energeon caught Starscream's eye. It was a different color from the others, though most mecha wouldn't think twice about it.
Ah, well. It would be something to bring up to Hook when they returned. There were more important things to worry about than his nutritional deficiencies.
The meal ended, and the group moved to go their separate ways. Starscream squeezed himself past Skyfire and reached around Star's wing to tap her on the shoulder.
She paused and turned toward him, wings twitching. "You need something?"
"Can I borrow your lab? And some supplies."
Star stared blankly at him. "Why?"
"I'm working on something for Jetfire," Starscream said. "My requests were denied, but he really needs it."
Hopefully, she was as soft as Skyfire. But she was a version of himself, so this could easily go wrong.
Star shrugged. "Sure! I'll have to supervise you."
"As long as I can make what I need, I don't care," Starscream said.
They made their way down the hall in silence. A few mecha passed by. Star waved to some of them. Most returned the wave. Any that noticed Starscream left quickly.
Save for one.
"Hey, Starscream!" A red and white mech said, waving as he approached. His doorwings were high in greeting. They shifted wide as his optics landed on Starscream. "And… other Starscream…"
Starscream rolled his optics.
"Hi, Bluestreak!" Star said.
"I'm really glad I caught you!" Bluestreak said.
The mech then launched into an unending ramble about various disconnected events, ranging from Sunstreaker's latest prank to how he saw a seagull when he and Hound went on a mission. Starscream tuned it out after the third irrelevant anecdote.
He glanced at Star. She made direct optic contact with Bluestreak, nodding along whenever there was a pause in his ramble. Despite the pleasant smile on her face, her plating was tense, and only grew tenser as the conversation continued.
Starscream tapped his pede. They had places to be. Star knew that. Why wasn't she interrupting?
"And then I asked what ice cream was and Spike said that—"
Finally, Starscream lost his patience.
"We have somewhere to be," he said, ensuring his volume overpowered Bluestreak's.
The Autobot's words stuttered to a stop. He glared at Starscream, then turned back toward Star.
Star wrapped her arms around herself. "Um, yes. He's right."
"Oh," Bluestreak said, doorwings lowering. "Alright. Can we talk later?"
Star nodded. "Of course."
They stepped past him. Starscream waited until they reached a sufficiently empty hallway before speaking.
"Why didn't you just tell him to frag off?" He said.
Star's pleasant smile shifted back to a familiar scowl. "It's Bluestreak."
"That doesn't explain anything," Starscream grumbled. "And what's up with the whole pleasant and smiley act?"
Star glared at him. "Autobots don't like Seekers. They especially don't like rude ones."
Starscream flicked his wings. "So?"
Star stopped walking. Her wings sat in neutral position, quivering as if they wanted to lower.
"The Autobots are full of unwritten rules. To be accepted among Autobots, you have to act like an Autobot," Star said. "Otherwise, you won't get what you want—like you with your lab space."
Starscream bared his teeth, irritation making his plating tingle. "Are you blaming me for Autobot Command not giving me lab space?"
Star placed her hands on her hips, baring her teeth back at him. They were completely flat, as if they were filed down. Starscream fought a shudder.
"You're not playing the game right," she said. "That's why you lost."
The tingling graduated to burning. Starscream flexed his plating in an unsuccessful attempt to make it go away. This was fragging Megatron all over again—countless unwritten rules, every single one created to hurt or hinder him.
"What are the rules, then? To always smile? To never stand up for yourself? To take whatever they throw at you?" Starscream swiped a hand across the air, the energy trapped beneath his plating too much to contain. "To be meek and pathetic? Do I need to grovel at their pedes and pray they take mercy on me every time I cycle air?"
"If that's what it takes," Star said.
Starscream took a step back. Star's dentae were grounded down, and so were her claws. Where weapons would have been was empty air. Starscream flexed his claws.
"I'm done playing those games," he hissed. "They've done nothing but hurt me. They'll hurt you, too. What will you do if the Decepticons raid this base? You have no weapons."
Star's scowl faded to a frown. "Scientists don't need weapons. The soldiers will protect me."
But what if they didn't? What if they were killed? What if they didn't arrive on time?
What if she were on her own?
A request to view a set of memory files appeared. It played without permission.
Bright, brilliant yellow. Laughter, cloaked by a fuzzy glow. An orb of light held in dark hands.
Then, an explosion. Screaming, crying his name. The world filling with static, low fuel notifications and damage pop-ups flooding him. Light leaving optics.
A yellow frame, fading and fading away.
"You're naive to believe that!" Starscream spat.
Star tilted her wings. "I'm naive to trust my comrades? I'm naive to think they're competent and will protect me?"
"No—"
Star took a step closer. She locked optics with his, fuzz building inside them.
"I'm sorry someone hurt you," she said quietly. "But I have something here, even if it isn't perfect."
She turned and walked down the hall. Starscream stood still for a moment, frozen. A shot straight to the spark chamber would've hurt less. Numbly, he followed her.
He had a project to work on, after all.
☆☆☆
Starscream was placing the finishing touches on his gift for Jetfire. His newspark preferred chewing to just biting, so it had to be something different from the arm guards. So, he settled on an object that could be repeatedly chewed, but was small and easy to store: a bracelet with a durable charm.
He sighed as Star moved in the corner of his vision. The other mech worked on the opposite side of the lab bench. What she did barely qualified as supervising, but Starscream wasn't about to complain. The disembodied hand in her grasp twitched as she stimulated it with an electrified rod. Disgust crept into Starscream's fuel tank, the meal Jetfire begged him to share earlier sitting like putty.
He'd fixed many of the seams on the frames himself. The final frame was far from complete—hence the disembodied hand—but the others would be perfectly functional if they had sparks. With the Emberstone in Autobot possession, only one thing was holding them back.
He and Star had established an uneasy alliance since their spat. They steadfastly avoided pushing one another's buttons, speaking only of mundane things. This might get him kicked out of the lab. But with the gift for Jetfire completed, what did he have to lose?
"Why did you decide to make new mecha for project Safeguard?" Starscream asked.
Star looked up from the hand and blinked at him.
"There aren't a lot of us left," she said. "If we run out of soldiers, who do you think they'll send next?"
Starscream sighed. "Would that be so terrible? Skyfire fought against the Quintessons. We both started off chasing down criminals. Neither of you are inexperienced. Those newsparks will be."
"They'll learn," Star said.
"They'll die," Starscream retorted. "And when they do, what happens? Will you melt down the remains of their frames to make new ones, just like during the Quintesson war? Just like what the Council did with defective drones?"
Star placed turned off the mechanism powering the rod and placed it on the table.
"We have to," she said, gaze falling to the table. "It's the only way."
Starscream bared his dentae. "It's a betrayal of every value we once stood for."
Star snapped upward, wings flicking downward with so much force that it created noise.
"I don't want to die!" She yelled. Her hands gripped the table as she sank. "I really don't want to die."
The disgust buried itself deeper.
"So you're sacrificing newsparks instead," Starscream muttered.
Star leaned against the table. She forced her optics upward, glaring at him.
"You're helping," she said.
Starscream sighed. "I'm giving them a fighting chance."
He placed the bracelet in his cockpit and turned away before Star could respond. He had what he wanted. There was no changing her mind.
It left him with one option.