Chapter Text
The crunch of metal beneath his fingers, the screams as he burned them alive, energeon between his seams—Jetfire remembered all of it. But the memories were fuzzy, as if transferred from another mech. He was fully aware when he combined with Jetstorm, but he had little sway over Safeguard's actions. It was almost as if Safeguard was a completely different mech. Still, Jetfire knew he had at least some hand in what transpired on the battlefield.
The flood of praise he and Jetstorm received for their actions made him sick. The pit crept up, and chewing on his charm only did so much to lessen it. The medic's vow was to never harm another mech unless absolutely necessary. Always to heal, never to hurt. He hadn't reached the point in his training that he could take the vow. Now that he was a weapon, would he ever have the opportunity?
Jetstorm was an alright partner. He was eager in all the ways Jetfire wasn't, and more pliant than an elastic band. Every training session, Jetstorm dragged him over early, arriving with bright optics and fluttering wings. Jetfire cared little for the experience, and always delayed as long as he could. It was petty, but it was all he had.
Jetstorm was always out and about. It was rare that he spent more than a few moments inside the room after that first day. Everyone wanted to speak with him, and he wanted to speak with everyone. Conversely, Jetfire only left the room if he had to. He collected his rations each day and immediately brought them back to the room. One of them sat in front of him at the moment as he laid on the floor, staring blankly at it.
Would it be so bad to just… stop collecting them? Let himself waste away on the floor? He hissed to himself. Even if he actually wanted to do that, he was one half of Skyfire's precious combiner. They'd probably just force-feed him and lock him up like Pharma under the grounds that he was insane.
Jetfire forced himself into a sitting position with a quiet groan and popped open the cube. He drank it as quickly as he could, uncaring of the taste or texture. It was all the same boring slag, anyway. He tapped his claws on the container.
He could…
No! Starscream made him the bracelet so he'd have something else. But Starscream wasn't here. Skywarp was doing something with Thundercracker, as usual. Skyfire was probably doing something in his lab—frankly, Jetfire didn't give a scrap—and Jetstorm was with some of his friends. Star was probably with Skyfire, wherever he was.
There was no one to stop him, and no one to care. Jetfire brought the lid of the cube to his mouth and bit. It crunched beneath his dentae. The shards cut his mouth, but he didn't mind. The taste of his own energeon mixed with the flavor of the glass.
He kept going. Soon, there was nothing left of the cube. His cheeks and tongue stung, and his fuel tank had started to hurt, but that didn't matter. He curled back up on the floor, clutching his abdomen as he closed his optics.
A few hours later, he woke to an alarm he set. The pain in his abdomen was worse, but he didn't care. He stretched before rising from the floor. A tinge of excitement flowed through him, but it was quickly crushed by the pit.
He moved to activate the keypad, but the door opened before he could. Star paused mid-step. Behind her, Skyfire loomed. Jetfire backed away, fiddling with his bracelet as they entered. Jetstorm trailed behind them. He stopped to wave at Jetfire. Halfheartedly, Jetfire waved back.
"You look like slag," Star said.
Jetfire rolled his optics. "Thanks."
"I mean it," Star said, glaring at him. "Can't have you falling ill on us."
Jetfire shrugged. "I'm going to train with Aid. The medbay is a convenient place to be sick."
He turned away. As he exited the room, Star shouted after him.
"Get him to give you an exam! We need you in good health for next week's mission!"
Of course. The mission. Jetfire wrung his hands. They didn't care about anything else. He wasn't a mech to them, just half of their treasured weapon. They proved that when they withheld information just to get him to cooperate.
[Feel better!]
Jetfire sighed as Jetstorm's message came in. Was he that jovial when he was created? He couldn't imagine being so naive now. But it wasn't Jetstorm's fault. This was all he'd ever known. At least he cared.
Jetfire poked his head into the medbay. First Aid greeted him warmly. The medic was in the middle of examining some mech's knee joint. Jetfire had seen the mech before, but couldn't recall their name. Plenty of mecha filtered through the medbay on a regular basis, needing this or that checked on. Without the resources of their home planet, most repairs were flimsy at best, and needed frequent adjustments.
Reduced rations didn't help. A cybertronian could survive on as little as fifty percent of the ideal ration, but that was just it—they could survive and do little else. Processing systems required a steady intake of fuel to circulate, so if a mech took in too little, the entire system would stall. Here, rations were approximately seventy five percent of the ideal, or eighty if you were recovering from a particularly strenuous procedure. Even med grade was given in smaller than recommended amounts.
Jetfire's secondary tank, having started full, was just below half now. He drew from it more than a few times after those first few weeks. He activated some of his minor fuel conservation protocols as the amount dwindled, but he didn't want to activate the major ones just yet. He could eat things other than energeon if he had to. He just didn't want to risk a medical emergency if he could help it.
"Can you get me a new file?" First Aid asked. "This one is worn."
Jetfire nodded and headed toward the drawers. He pulled a fresh file out from one of them and brought it over to Aid. As he took it, Aid thanked him. Jetfire watched silently as Aid filed down a section of the joint. The syringe from the local nerve block was still sitting on the table, so Jetfire recapped it and dropped it into the appropriate bin.
Something in his abdomen twisted. He froze, hands instinctively pressing into it, but that only made the pain worse. Forcing himself to pull them away, he closed his optics and fiddled with the bracelet. His cooling fans activated.
He checked his temperature. Odd. He hadn't done anything for it to be so high. But it wasn't too far out of normal values. It would correct itself soon.
First Aid was already sending the mech out the door when he returned. Together, they cleaned off the table. It was best to keep surfaces clear whenever possible, especially since they didn't know when their next patient might be in.
"Are you alright?" Aid asked quietly.
Jetfire shrugged. "Why wouldn't I be?"
He wasn't, but who gave a scrap? Skywarp was off somewhere with Thundercracker, and Starscream was with this world's Decepticons. As much as he enjoyed learning from First Aid, he wasn't going to spill his feelings to the mech. At best, it wouldn't change anything. At worst, it would be an excuse to put him away.
He needed Starscream to hug him and tell him stories about the battles he survived. He needed Skywarp to sneak up on him and make obnoxious jokes. He needed Buster to slip out of his lead so he and Blitzwing would have to catch him. He needed Hook to talk about the ever-growing fangs of retrorats with him. He needed Dirge to tell him random facts about the flora and fauna in the woods in poem format.
Jetfire's spark burned. He missed them. All he wanted was to go home.
"I guess so," Aid said. "Your optics just seem a little dull."
Jetfire gathered up the rag and cleaner they used to clean the table. "Don't worry about me."
"I'm a medic. It's my job to worry about everyone. That includes you," First Aid said, his brow furrowing.
Frag, he wanted to spill it all. Desperately, hopelessly—he wanted to tell First Aid everything. But what good would it do? Neither of them could reverse what was done. It was his fault for agreeing in the first place.
He was stupid. Utterly fragging stupid. He thought he was so intelligent but it reality he was just naive.
Another patient entered the medbay, and the conversation was put on hold. First Aid didn't ask again. Jetfire didn't know what he would've said if he had.
◇◇◇
Jetfire felt like slag more than usual. It should've melted away when he and Jetstorm combined during training, like every other sensation, but it didn't. Safeguard's fans whirred just as strongly as Jetfire's, and their combined frame ached fiercely.
But they had training to do. Practicing with Jetfire's outlier was deceptively tiring. Jetstorm's plating was less fire-resistant than his, so Safeguard's protection against his own ability was inconsistent. Still, Skyfire and Star wanted them to practice, so they practiced. Star claimed Jetstorm would adjust over time just like Jetfire had, and eventually they wouldn't need to be so careful about it. But like with all things, they just couldn't wait.
Next was aerial maneuvers. Safeguard's alt mode was gigantic, yet somehow managed to slice through the air more easily than Jetfire ever had on his own. They rolled to avoid imaginary fire and—had the ground always been so close? Pull up!
Jetfire was… dizzy? It was hard to tell. But something was wrong. Up, up! Why weren't they going up?
Everything spun. Where were they? He couldn't see. What was happening?
Pain. Alerts on his HUD. He stirred. Frag. Why did it hurt so much? The ground faded into focus—leaf litter and sticks. Flames danced on them. Jetfire rolled over. Wait…
He wasn't supposed to be Jetfire right now. He was supposed to be Safeguard. Why was he Jetfire? He forced himself to his knees, muffling a grunt of pain. It hadn't been this bad when he crashed that first time. What was so different now?
He stumbled, falling back onto his knees as the world tilted when he tried to rise. His fans were on full blast. One of the notices on his HUD was about his temperature. Ugh.
"Jetstorm?" He muttered, poking through his files in search of the other mech.
{GESTALT PARTNER JSTM temporarily offline.}
Great. He was unconscious or something. Safeguard could only exist if they were both functional. That left Jetfire to solve… whatever this was. They crashed, that much was clear. But why?
Jetfire already felt like slag. Combining just compounded it. Now, he was injured and his fans were on for some reason. What could possibly…?
Oh, fragging damn it. He was sick, wasn't he? Everyone kept telling him he looked like slag and asking him if he was okay because he was actually sick. It wasn't just the pit. Since he and Jetstorm worked as one when they combined, Jetstorm had to be sick, too. That was why it felt worse when they were Safeguard.
Jetfire forced himself to his feet, using Safeguard's wings to balance himself as the world spun again. Could he activate the separation sequence if Jetstorm was unconscious? It only required one member to initiate it, but they hadn't exactly attempted it when one of them wasn't aware. Only one way to find out.
Jetfire activated the sequence. In a dizzying shift of panels, he was freed from the confines of Safeguard. He fell flat on his aft as Jetstorm landed on his side a short distance away. Jetfire cringed at the thud his body made. He crawled over to Jetstorm, placing both hands beneath his body before hoisting him.
He waited for the wave of vertigo to pass before he started moving. Star and Skyfire should be here any moment now. They would've seen the crash and realized they weren't getting back up at this point.
Eventually, he was correct. Red and white streaked across the sky, landing before him with a roar. Star's optics widened as they fell on Jetstorm. Irritably, Jetfire flicked his wings, immediately regretting it when he nearly lost his balance. Skyfire stepped closer, and he offered Jetstorm to him. Gently, Skyfire took Jetstorm.
"What happened?" He asked.
His optics were soft, his brow furrowed. For a moment, Jetfire almost believed he cared.
"I don't know," Jetfire said. "We just got really dizzy, then I was the only one piloting. I think he passed out."
Better for them to realize he was sick on their own. It was obvious, anyway. Jetfire was tired and forcing words through his vocalizer was growing progressively uncomfortable.
Skyfire hummed. Then, he turned around and began walking away. Star turned to follow him, then glanced back. She motioned for Jetfire to follow. His vision swam for a moment, an ache spreading across his processor.
"Come on," Star said. "You both need to get checked out."
"I know," Jetfire muttered, forcing himself forward. He brought a hand to his forehead, wishing it would all just stop.
The halls passed in a blur, with Jetfire paying little attention beyond putting one pede in front of the other. It was difficult enough to resist flopping into a heap on the ground right there. The value on his temperature warning only increased as they kept moving.
Suddenly, Skyfire paused. Jetfire bumped his olfactory sensor on Skyfire's backpack. He hissed quietly, about to ask Skyfire why they stopped when he noticed movement in Skyfire's arms. Jetstorm's optics opened a smidge.
"What?" He muttered.
Skyfire shushed him. "It's fine. You and Jetfire crashed. We're taking you to the medbay."
Jetstorm squirmed in his arms, helm turning as he attempted to view his surroundings. Skyfire frowned and adjusted his grip, freeing a hand to stroke the edge of Jetstorm's wing. Jetstorm hummed quietly and relaxed, leaning his helm against Skyfire's chest.
A hateful, disgusting feeling crawled into Jetfire's spark. He forced it back, but it ignored his efforts. Claws dragged down his plating, slowly grinding lines. The pit grew ever deeper, pain wrenching itself into his gut like never before. He pulled at the bracelet, desperate to make it just go away, but the bracelet tightened into a shackle.
How could that liar be so gentle? It was like watching a ferrowolf tear chunks out of a squirming lightdeer. He cared so little for Jetfire, yet cradled Jetstorm in his arms and soothed him.
Jetfire was still reeling when they entered the medbay. First Aid startled upon seeing them, quickly guiding them to berths. Since Jetstorm wasn't quite fireproof yet, he sustained more damage, so Aid tended to him first, cleaning and patching his wounds. Star and Skyfire hovered over him the entire time.
While Aid cleaned a particularly deep wound, Skyfire offered his hand for Jetstorm to squeeze. Jetfire fought not to growl. The pit grew deeper.
"That should be it for the damage," First Aid said. "Is there anything else I should be aware of?"
Star flicked her wings. "Jetfire claimed they got dizzy when they were combined. We think they might have a virus."
First Aid nodded. "I'll take a look."
He tapped on Jetstorm's medical panel. Jetstorm hesitated, looking toward Skyfire.
"It's alright," Skyfire said. "He's just going to plug in and take a look."
Jetstorm cringed. "Plug into my processor?"
"He's only going to look at what he needs to," Skyfire said, laying a hand on Jetstorm's pauldron. Jetfire's insides writhed again.
Jetstorm's wings lowered. "Does he have to?"
Jetfire tuned out the conversation. It was more gentle coaxing and reassuring caresses. He tried fiddling with the bracelet, but all that did was remind him of Starscream. His creator left him, and Skywarp was barely around, and the only other mecha who spent time around him didn't give a scrap!
Sure, Jetstorm got to have loving reassurances and gentle touches. He got to be told he could wake an entire barrack and had to listen to everyone talk over him. Jetstorm got to hang out with Skyfire and Star whenever he wanted, but Starscream was in a whole other faction and Skywarp barely spared him a moment if he wasn't having a medical emergency. He'd given up after repeated weeks of asking her to spend time and getting rejected on account of having other plans.
What was so special about Thundercracker, anyway? What made her so much more interesting? Why did Skyfire and Star treat Jetstorm so gently and not give a scrap about him? Why did Starscream leave? Was he really just that unlovable?
Skywarp told him it wasn't his fault, but maybe it was. He was big, strong, and powerful. He could light fires with his hands. He was dangerous. He was a weapon.
He was a warframe.
In his history classes, they were always described as mecha constructed to fight in the Quintesson war. Jetfire had never fought in that war—he hadn't been alive then—so when others described him as a warframe, he had no idea what that meant. It made no sense. But now he knew.
He was made to destroy and little else. That was why no one cared. He was just some big, stupid war machine.
"Hey."
Jetfire blinked, slowly emerging from whatever state he sank into. First Aid stood before him. He sat up.
"Y-yeah?" He said.
"It's your turn now," Aid said softly.
Jetfire shrugged. "Go ahead."
First Aid was gentle as he cleaned out the wounds the crash left. He placed patches with a soft touch. It left Jetfire's plating tingling in a pleasant way, his spark warming. He hadn't realized it was so cold.
Aid tapped his panel and Jetfire opened it. A notification alerted him to a pre-authorized connection.
"How are you feeling?" Aid asked.
"Like slag," Jetfire said.
Aid hummed. "Your temperature is really high. Your fans aren't keeping up."
"Definitely not," Jetfire muttered.
Aid continued to read through his parameters. Jetfire stared at the wall, resisting the temptation to swing his legs. He was large enough compared to the berth that it would only make things difficult. Finally, Aid's plug disconnected with a quiet click, snapping back beneath his panel.
Aid crossed the room and opened the energeon additive cabinet. Sorting through the additives, he took two packets. As he pulled out two cubes, Jetfire decided to introject.
"I don't need one," he said.
Aid stared at him. Slowly, Aid placed the cubes on the counter.
"You do," Aid said, words soft but firm.
He shouldn't be putting up a fuss about this. Jetfire knew that. But the ugly thing squirming inside his spark was tearing him apart. He just needed… something. He didn't know what. Just something.
"I don't," Jetfire insisted. "Put it back."
Aid sighed, popping open the cubes and pouring the packets in. "I'm going to give you one whether you need it or not. You don't have to drink it, but you should."
Jetfire swung his leg, kicking one of the legs of the berth with a clang. He rolled his optics and looked away. Star stepped closer to him, her teeth bared.
"Behave yourself!" She hissed.
Jetfire flared his wings. The ugly feeling curled inside of his spark, igniting into anger as he stared into Star's optics.
"Make me!" He spat.
Star stepped closer, but froze as a hand landed on her shoulder. She stared up at Skyfire. Crossing the room with a sigh, First Aid stood between Jetfire and the rest of the group.
"I'll call Skywarp in a moment," he said. He shoved one of the cubes in his hand toward Jetfire. "Just, please—take this. Even if you don't drink it."
Jetfire pulled his hands close to himself, but First Aid just shoved it at him with even more intensity. A sharp glare made Jetfire wilt, and he took the cube from the medic's hands. Aid's gaze softened and Jetfire felt… useless. Stupid. Small.
Why was he acting like this? Didn't he always strive to be gentle? What inside him made him want to scream and bite and growl, and why couldn't he make it go away?
Light caught his optics. Jetstorm stared back at him, wings low. He turned away as First Aid handed him his own cube, but quickly turned back. Jetfire scratched at his leg seams.
"Both of them are in rough shape," First Aid said.
Skyfire frowned. "Will they recover in time for the mission?"
"I doubt it," Aid said, shaking his helm.
Jetfire's plating relaxed just a tad. Satisfaction crept into his spark as Skyfire's face fell. Guilt stalked after it, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He wasn't supposed to feel like this.
Star's wings flicked irritably, a scowl forming on her face. Skyfire hummed as he glanced between Jetfire and Jetstorm. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a whoosh of air and a shout.
"Hey!"
Leaning heavily against Thundercracker was Skywarp. Jetfire's processor latched onto the way her wings went wide and low as she stepped away from Thundercracker, a too-wide grin on her face. Those gyroscopic sensors weren't being compensated at all, were they?
Skywarp placed her hands on her hips. "So, uh… what's up?"
"I told you in my message," First Aid said gently. "Jetfire and Jetstorm crashed during training today. They have a virus."
Skywarp clicked her tongue. "Sheesh. That sucks."
She glanced at Jetstorm, following his gaze, before heading toward Jetfire. Scrunching his optics shut, Jetfire rolled the cube in his hands. The berth creaked as Skywarp sat beside him.
"How're you doing?" Skywarp asked.
Jetfire sighed. He forced his optics open, the ugly thing in his spark squirming as Thundercracker leaned close to Skyfire and whispered into his audial. He squeezed the cube in his hands, but not too hard—if he cracked it, it'd cause a mess.
"I miss Starscream and I feel like slag," he muttered.
Skywarp reached her arm around Jetfire's shoulders and Jetfire fought not to flinch as the touch burned. His optics fell to the floor as he tapped her thigh three times. She stiffened, then released him and stood up.
"Anyway," she said. "We should head back to the room. You can drink that on the way."
Jetfire stood, having no qualms with returning to the room. But…
"I'm not going to drink it," Jetfire said.
Skywarp's brow furrowed, her wings rising just the tiniest bit. "What? Why not?"
"I don't want to."
She frowned at him, but turned away. They exited to the hall and the rest of the group soon followed. Skywarp glanced back, wings twitching, then wrapped her arm around Jetfire. He flinched at the sudden movement.
"How about we just—" Skywarp said.
The world twisted around them. One moment, they were standing in the hall, and the next, they were in the room as Jetfire's vision swam. He shook his head, trying to force his gyroscopic sensors to stabilize.
"Sorry," Skywarp said, cringing. "But now we've got some time alone."
Silence passed between them. Skywarp clicked her claws together before pacing in a circle. Then, she turned back to Jetfire with an antsy hum.
"So, um," she said. "What's up? Cause I know it's not just the virus."
"I already told you," Jetfire said.
Something in the back of his processor refused to let him spill his spark. If he told Skywarp about how he actually felt, would she be angry? She spent all of her time with Thundercracker, and Thundercracker was close with Skyfire. If she mentioned it to Thundercracker, would Thundercracker mention it to Skyfire?
Skywarp shook her helm, her wings drooping. "I miss him too. He'll come back. He promised he wouldn't leave again."
Jetfire shuffled the cube in his hands. Did she really believe that, or was she just trying to convince herself?
"Okay," Jetfire said quietly.
"Did he ever tell you why he was alone on Earth?" Skywarp asked.
Jetfire shook his helm. Starscream had only told him that he'd been alone, pursued by both Decepticons and Autobots. He never said why. He'd just assumed it was because of Megatron, since Starscream recounted so many fights with the mech.
Skywarp scrunched her optics shut, her claws curling into fists.
"He left us," she said. "He thought we were trying to take his position away, so he left us. He does that when he's scared. Just… leaves like that. Doesn't care about who he's hurting or if he's gonna be okay."
It didn't sound the same. If Starscream left the Decepticons because he thought they wanted to take away his position, then what reason did he have to leave now? He had no position in this world. All he had was them.
Was he afraid of losing them? Was that why he left?
"I made him promise to never do that again—" Skywarp spread her arms wide. "—but here we are. So he has to be doing something. He has to be planning to come back. Because otherwise, he broke his promise."
Jetfire stared down at the cube. Again, was Skywarp confident or was she just trying to convince herself? Before he left Starscream got stuck because Skyfire wanted Jetfire to be part of Safeguard. He destroyed the frames Skyfire and Star built. Was he doing this to protect them? How? By leaving them alone with the very mecha that wanted to use and manipulate them?
But would being with this world's Decepticons be much better? Galvatron had to get his warp drive from somewhere. This world's Skywarp was dead, and that didn't bode well.
The door slid open. Skyfire and the others entered, and the conversation was silenced.
◇◇◇
Solvent ran down Jetfire's plating as he leaned against the wall. His fans had refused to turn on, and his temperature was too high to just let sit, so he'd dragged himself to the washrack and turned on the cold solvent. Skywarp was out with Thundercracker, but she swore she'd be back soon.
She'd been gone all day like usual. Jetstorm always had someone hovering over him—whether that was Star or Skyfire—while he was on the floor alone. Not a single glance was spared his way. But he wouldn't let himself complain. He knew exactly why they didn't care about him.
Pedesteps came from the hall, barely audible over the assault of solvent. Jetfire opened his optics and watched the doorway. A moment later, Skywarp peeked through it.
"Hey," she said quietly. "How's it going?"
"Bad," Jetfire muttered.
Skywarp entered, a very familiar cube in her hands. Jetfire stuck his claws between the plating of his fingers and sighed. As another set of pedesteps traveled through the room, he looked up again. His optics met Thundercracker's, and he fought a scowl. Why were they spending so much time together?
Without hesitation, Skywarp stepped beneath the cold spray and sat next to him. Jetfire wanted to lean into her, but his plating tightened at the thought of touching another mech. He wasn't normally averse to contact. Why was he now?
"How are you fuel levels?" Skywarp asked.
Jetfire checked them. They were lower than he thought. His secondary tank was completely empty, and his primary was nearly empty. Had he been laying around that long? Was that why his fans wouldn't turn on?
Jetfire shrugged, not wanting to tell her.
Skywarp flicked her wings. "Did you refuel today?"
He hadn't. If he said no, was she going to force him? Would she be upset?
"Jetfire?"
Jetfire closed his optics. "No."
"Okay," she said. He held the cube out to him. "Can you try to drink this?"
Jetfire stared down at the cube, watching the blue liquid swirl inside. He should. But something curled in his spark at the thought. He didn't want to. Why didn't he want to?
What would she do if he said no?
He turned away.
"It'll help," Skywarp said, her voice losing some of its softness. "C'mon."
Jetfire shook his helm. Weapon or not, he could still decide what to put into his frame. He didn't want this. He didn't want anything.
Skywarp's voice grew sharper as she shoved the cube toward him again. "You need to refuel, Jetfire."
"I don't want to."
There. He said it.
Skywarp stared at him. Slowly, her face twisted into a scowl.
"What are you gonna do then?" She said.
Jetfire shrugged. "Dunno."
She shoved the cube toward him again.
"You have to refuel. Just take it."
Why was she so insistent? Jetfire swatted the cube away.
"No," he muttered.
Skywarp's scowl turned into a sneer, her wings shifting wide.
"Just take the cube!" She hissed. "It's not that hard. You need it!"
"I don't want—"
His protest was cut off as he was slammed into the wall. He let out a surprised yelp, squirming against it. Skywarp's body pressed into his cockpit. What was she doing?
"TC!" She shouted.
How did Jetfire forget she was there?
Thundercracker's wings rose as Skywarp called her name. She took a step closer.
"Hold his helm!" Skywarp said.
Thundercracker's hands closed around his helm, the rest of her body pinning his other shoulder. Jetfire squirmed as she tipped his helm upward. He could escape easily—all it would take was a quick crunch of plating—but he didn't want to hurt them.
"What are you d—"
Skywarp jammed a finger into his mouth, forcing it to stay open. The click of a cube opening sounded, and his mouth flooded with liquid. No! Jetfire wrenched his helm out of Thundercracker's grip.
He tilted his head down. The energeon dribbled from his mouth. Satisfaction warmed his spark, and he wondered again why he would feel it now. A frustrated growl and his head was yanked upward, a finger jammed into it as his mouth was forced open again.
More energeon was forced into it. Before he could free his helm again, his mouth was forced shut, his helm tilted even further backward. He was pressed into the wall, delicate wings protesting as his back struts were pushed into them. There was no choice but to swallow.
Fingers pushed his mouth open and he tried to free his helm again. More energeon. Helm upward again, mouth shut. Why was she doing this?
"You're not leaving me alone here, you idiot!" Skywarp hissed.
She thought he was going to…? Frag it all, maybe he wanted to. He went limp. Who cared what happened now?
Eventually, the weight holding him down released. He sank to the floor. There was still energeon in his mouth, remains he couldn't swallow. He pulled his legs toward himself, plating rattling as she shook.
He lost his body. He lost his freedom. This was the only thing he had, his only ounce of control, and she'd taken that, too. There was nothing left.
A hand brushed against his plating. He flung himself backward, claws at the ready. Shame flooded him as he realized what he'd just done. Skywarp's optics stared into his, her hand outstretched.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I shouldn't have done that."
But she did it. There was no undoing it.
"I'm just… scared," she said, wings drooping. "For you. Starscream is gone. I don't want to lose you, too."
Jetfire didn't want to forgive her. He wanted to get up and run far away. But his limbs were shaky and couldn't carry him. She was the only mech he had. He scooted closer to her.
Her claws rubbed gently against the edge of his wing. He leaned into her. Placate, placate.
"Everything is going to be okay," she whispered. "I know it's hard. Just keep trying, alright?"
Jetfire didn't believe her.