Chapter Text
His chest hurt. It was the only coherent thought bouncing around in his processor. Everything was dim and fuzzy. There were mecha speaking, but he had no idea what they were saying. His chest really hurt.
He closed his optics as the blurry world swam. Why was he so dizzy? His limbs were numb and heavy, barely responsive to his attempts to lift them. But, finally, one of his arms lifted. He moved it toward his chest.
A hand inserted itself into his, their fingers intertwining. He opened his optics. A blurry figure sat beside him. Or was it two? There were too many colors to just be one.
The voices in the room got louder. Jetfire flinched. He still couldn't tell what they were saying. He turned his helm toward the figure next to him.
"Hey," he tried to say, but the words were swallowed by static and sharp beeps.
The hand squeezed his. He squeezed back—gently, always gently. He remembered that much. The hand was smaller than his. Delicate. He was a big monster that crushed things too easily.
"You're not a monster."
Jetfire blinked. He reset his optic feed. It cleared somewhat, but it was still blurry. Still, he could finally make out some details. The bright too-many-colors mech was Jetstorm. It had to be. He checked the always-present numbers in his helm to confirm it.
"I am," Jetfire said. "I'm big and I break things and that's all anyone wants from me now."
Starscream didn't want him. His creator, his only chance to be saved, didn't want him.
"Well," Jetstorm said. "I don't want that from you. I want to be friends. And being so big means you give great hugs."
Jetfire pushed himself up, back resting against the wall. His chestplates protested the moment, twinging with pain. He muffled a grunt. The room spun, and he focused on the texture of the berth beneath his hands to distract himself from the dizziness.
He searched his wrists for his bracelet, the pit crawling into his belly as all he encountered was his own plating. Where was it? Did he lose it? He felt further down, hoping it just slid, and his hand closed around a tube. He followed it.
An intralineal. Why was he so dizzy if he was getting energeon?
The yelling got louder, too muffled to understand but enough to stab Jetfire's audials and make him grit his dentae. Jetstorm's wings flicked. He frowned.
"They've been like that for a really long time," he said. "Star is in there. She got really hurt."
The surgery room. First Aid wouldn't let the others in if he were doing surgery. If Star was still in there, she probably wasn't alive. Otherwise, she would be out here on a berth like he was, and the others would be waiting for her.
He didn't say it. Maybe Jetstorm understood, or maybe he didn't. Jetstorm was sparked into this war. He knew what death was. Jetfire held no doubt that as Safeguard, they'd caused plenty of it.
Ignoring the wave of dizziness that washed over him, Jetfire pushed himself off of the berth. His knees gave as he hit the floor, so he clung to the berth. Jetstorm was at his side quickly, and with a gentle push, Jetfire brushed him off.
Grabbing the intralineal—partially to support himself but mainly so the line didn't get disconnected—Jetfire helmed toward the door. The yelling got louder as he approached, but also more intelligible. He stood as close to the door as he could manage, leaning against the adjacent wall.
"—your fault!"
The voice, uncharacteristically harsh, was Thundercracker's.
"You don't mean that."
Quieter, calmer. Skyfire.
"You're right," Thundercracker said. "I let you do it. I let you suffocate her. I didn't stand up for her when she couldn't. And now she's gone."
"Thunder—"
The clang of metal. Scraping. Skyfire's quiet grunt. Pedesteps approached the door.
"Don't touch me!" Thundercracker hissed. "I can't… I'm mad at you."
"Thunder, please—"
The keypad beeped.
"Stop it," Thundercracker said, voice cracking. "Just stop."
The door slid open. Jetfire backed away as Thundercracker came through, her dentae gritted and her wings wide. Skyfire trailed after her, brow furrowed and wings low, with a small cut on his face leaking energeon. The tiniest sliver of vindictive satisfaction crept into Jetfire's spark, but he quickly quashed it.
Skyfire's hand brushed against Thundercracker's wing. She turned toward him, optics growing fuzzy.
"I'm done, Skyfire," she said. "I can't do this anymore. You can keep the room. I'm going to…" She paused, squeezing her optics shut. "I'm going to get my things."
Skyfire brought his hands back to himself. "Thunder, you don't need to—"
"I said stop!" Thundercracker yelled. "This is exactly why I need to. I can't let you just… keep talking me into things like this. You keep pushing even when I say no, even when I tell you to stop. The next thing I know, I'm agreeing to something I never wanted in the first place. So please, just let me leave."
Skyfire opened his mouth, then closed it, stammering as if he wanted to say more, maybe refute what she said. Then, his optics fell to the floor, and he stepped back.
"Okay," he said softly.
Thundercracker opened the door to the medbay and walked out. Silence passed over the room, every mech within it at a loss for words. Jetfire's intralineal beeped. First Aid slipped through the doorway and pulled a new bag of med grade from the cabinet.
Skywarp poked her helm through the doorway, scrunching her olfactory ridge. "I don't think you're supposed to be up."
"He isn't!" First Aid called out as he approached with the bag. He replaced the one on the intralineal with practiced grace, then stared up at Jetfire. "You should at least sit down. Can you make it back to the berth, or do I need to bring one over?"
"I can make it," Jetfire said, pushing himself off the wall. His vision fuzzed out for a moment as his optics glitched and his limbs grew numb. But it passed, and soon he was sitting on the berth.
First Aid looked between him and the other two occupants of the room.
"I have something important to talk with you about," he said. "Are you okay with them being here?"
Jetfire had no idea what he meant, so he shrugged. What were they going to do about it?
First Aid sighed. "Alright, then. I noticed your fuel levels were extremely low, and your fuel line pressure was far below normal."
Oh, slag.
"Have you been refueling?"
Jetfire picked at his wrist, his spark stinging as he remembered that the bracelet wasn't there. The truth was, he wasn't—he'd spent the last while waiting until he got to the absolute bare minimum level, when his desperate need for fuel overrode the fear in his processor. Before the attack, he hadn't quite made it there yet.
"Um—" He stammered. If he admitted it, what would Skywarp think? What would First Aid think? Would they force him to? "I, um…"
A hand reached around his wing, gently touching the back of his shoulder. He flinched. The hand moved away. He turned to the source. Jetstorm sat beside him, a frown on his face. He reached toward him again. Jetfire allowed it.
Jetstorm leaned forward, a soft vibration traveling from his plating to Jetfire's. Jetfire leaned into him. Jetstorm kept purring.
"He's scared," Jetstorm said.
Jetfire wasn't sure if he meant in this current moment or of refueling, but either was correct. He closed his optics and focused on the rumble of Jetstorm's engine.
"Okay," First Aid said. "Both of you—out of the room right now."
The sound of shuffling and pedesteps, then the door closing as Skywarp and Skyfire left the room. Jetfire opened his optics. Skywarp stared at him as the door slid shut.
"What's going on?" First Aid asked in a quiet and too-gentle voice.
"I—" His vocalizer froze. What did he say? If he said he didn't want to, would First Aid force him to? Or worse, what if he decided Jetfire was crazy, and decided to lock him up 'for his own good' like Pharma?
Jetstorm purred louder, his arms curling protectively around Jetfire. They weren't long enough to wrap him, but they came close. Safe. Jetstorm wouldn't let anything happen. Not while he was holding on.
"I can't," Jetfire said.
First Aid hummed. "Why can't you?"
Wasn't that the question? Again, Jetfire searched for the bracelet, letting out a quiet growl as he caught his hand running over his wrist.
"It tastes boring," Jetfire said. "And it just feels… bad."
"Bad how?"
Jetfire longed to be anywhere but here. If he were a less restrained mech, maybe he would be. He would run straight out the door, fly off, and never come back. He didn't need energeon, not really. He just needed fuel. Starscream survived on human vehicle fuel without a modified fuel processing system, so he could probably do just fine with one.
"Jetfire," First Aid said quietly.
How did he explain?
He never liked energeon, but before he got his fuel processing system modified, he had no other options. It was terrible to drink, but he could force himself to. Now, he could barely even do that. It all got worse after Skywarp forced it down his throat, but he couldn't say that. There were two possible consequences, and neither of them were good: First Aid would agree with Skywarp, and potentially do the same thing himself, or he would disagree with her and she would get in trouble and be angry with him.
He loved Skywarp. He cared about her. He didn't want her in trouble. And he really, really didn't want her angry at him. Not after last time.
"It's just hard," Jetfire said. "It hurts to drink and I don't really have to as much as others, so I wait as long as I can."
"That's not…" Aid shook his helm. "Let me take a look."
Jetfire sat still as Aid examined him. He knew what Aid would find—nothing, because this wasn't a mechanical problem. It was something else.
Aid leaned back, releasing Jetfire's jaw. "I don't see anything unusual, but if you say you're in pain, I believe you."
Jetfire wrung his hands. His optics fell to the floor. The thought of looking Aid in the optic was too much to bear.
"Different kind of pain," he muttered.
"Different kind," Aid mumbled to himself.
He hummed, optics unfocused as he stared at the wall. After a moment, he sighed, turning back toward Jetfire.
"I don't know what's going on," First Aid said. "But fueling is important for everyone. Even if you can activate your fuel-saving measures manually, that doesn't mean you should, especially not when we have enough to go around. If you keep depriving yourself, it's going to take a toll."
Jetfire knew that. He understood the process. They reviewed it in class—had a whole unit on it, actually. So many mecha endured starvation during the war that it was necessary to cover.
First, fuel-saving measures would activate. The lights on a mech's frame dimmed. Their frame would dull as their color nanites were deprived of the byproducts they needed to produce color. Healing and growth would slow. If they continued without fuel, processes the frame deemed unnecessary for survival, such as comms and weapons, would be given less and less power until they shut down. After that, the processes shut off would grow closer and closer to being essential, until emergency stasis was induced. At that point, only outside intervention could save them.
But Jetfire was fine. His colors were slightly dull, sure, and his optics weren't as bright as they could've been, but he wasn't starving. He might've let himself get close to stasis, but he knew what he was doing.
"It's not the same," Jetfire said.
First Aid stared at him. Then, he crossed the room, returning with a cube of med grade in his hands. He held it out to Jetfire.
"Then show me."
Jetfire hesitated, glancing between the cube and the intralineal. "But the intralineal—"
"Is filling your lines, not your fuel tank," First Aid said. "Please, fuel up."
Jetfire took the cube. It popped open with a click, and he flinched. He could do this. He brought it to his mouth. He had to do this. Aid was watching.
The energeon hit his tongue and he jerked backward, nearly spilling the cube. His spark pulsed in his chest. He pulled the cube away from his face as his hands shook. His vision fuzzed out at the edges.
What was Aid going to do to him? The liquid in the cube sloshed. He couldn't look at it. He held it out toward Aid and hid his face in the crook of his elbow.
"Please," he said. "I can't. Please don't make me."
Gently and slowly, the cube was lifted from his hands. A rumble vibrated through his plating as Jetstorm pulled him closer.
"He's scared," Jetstorm said. "Really, really scared."
"I know," Aid said quietly.
The intralineal hummed, but the rest of the room was silent. Then, it beeped. As First Aid reset the machine, Jetfire uncurled slightly, freeing his helm to watch. There was still a good amount of energeon in the bag.
Aid turned toward him.
"I'd prefer not to make this a regular thing," Aid said. "But if you're okay with it, I can use an override to fuel you directly with this. That way, you can still be fueled while we figure this out."
He wasn't going to force it down his throat? He wasn't angry? It was almost too good to be true. Apprehension crept through Jetfire's plating.
"Y-yeah," he said. "I'd like that. Just for now."
Aid nodded, gesturing for Jetfire to give him his arm. Jetfire complied. Aid plugged in and sent the override. Then, he went back to the intralineal and turned it on.
It was strange. Although mecha without primary intakes fueled this way regularly, Jetfire never had. The fuel practically sloshed into his tanks. His abdomen felt heavy, despite his tanks being far below capacity. Had he grown that used to running low?
Every once in a while, Aid asked for his levels, until eventually he got numbers he approved of and disconnected the machine. Jetfire closed his medical panel.
"You're good to go, now," Aid said. "I'll set up an appointment so we can think of solutions."
Jetfire nodded. He pushed himself out of the berth, pedes much steadier than earlier. His chest still hurt, almost anything he did pulling on the large weld in the center of it, but that would improve with time. Jetstorm followed him as he left the medbay. Outside, Skywarp leaned against the far wall, Skyfire nearly an entire mech's worth of distance away from her.
"C'mon," Skywarp said. "We're getting our things from Skyfire's room."
Jetfire scrunched his olfactory ridge. "We don't have any things."
Skywarp stared at him, then huffed and looked away. She walked down the hall.
"You're right," she said. "Let's just go meet TC."
They went through the halls, Skyfire and Jetstorm behind them, but when they reached the usual turn to Skyfire's quarters, they walked past it. One of the sets of pedesteps behind them paused, then the other. Jetfire turned back.
Jetstorm stared at him, wings twitching. Skyfire motioned for him to come down the hall. He didn't move.
Skywarp turned back, optics drifting from Jetfire to Jetstorm. Her wings twitched.
"You can come with us if you want," she said. "I'm sure TC won't mind."
Jetstorm hesitated, looking back toward Skyfire.
"Come on," Skyfire said. "You're staying with me."
Something about the way he said it was off. Wrong. Jetfire couldn't explain it, but it irked him. He wrung his hands and decided to chime in.
"Did you ask him?"
Skyfire's brow furrowed. "Ask him what?"
"If he wanted to stay," Jetfire said.
He and Jetstorm were gestaltmates—partners. They were linked. If they lived in separate rooms, they wouldn't be far away from each other, but it wouldn't be the same. Some desperate part of Jetfire wanted Jetstorm to brush Skyfire off and just keep walking.
But despite their connection, Jetstorm was his own mech. He had the right to make this choice.
Skyfire sighed. "Do you want to stay with me, Jetstorm?"
Jetstorm's wings twitched. He shuffled in place.
"Um…" He caught Jetfire's optics. Then, he looked back toward Skyfire. "I don't… I don't know."
Skywarp hummed and stepped back toward the group.
"How about this," she said. "You can stay with whichever one of us you feel like, whenever you feel like. Just let us know where you're gonna be."
Jetstorm brightened. His plating untensed, and his stance grew straighter.
"That sounds great!" He said.
Skywarp nodded. "Mm-hm. Who do you want to go with right now?"
The nervousness returned. Jetstorm's optics fell to the floor.
"Y-you guys," he said. "I want to go with you guys."
"Then come with us!" Skywarp said, motioning for him to follow.
With one last glance at Skyfire, Jetstorm obliged. He walked side by side with Jetfire as they set off . As they left, Skywarp turned back around, sticking her tongue out at Skyfire. He glared at her, brow furrowed. She rolled her optics and they continued down the hall.
Eventually, Skywarp stopped at a door and knocked. After a moment, it slid open, and the group poured inside. The room had the same general structure as Skyfire's—a desk, a shelf, and a berth—but everything was empty. Thundercracker knelt on the floor in front of the shelf, boxes of datapads surrounding her as she placed them inside the shelf. She looked up.
"I'm going to get another berth," she said. "I don't want you sleeping on the floor."
Skywarp knelt down beside her, opening one of the boxes Thundercracker hadn't gotten to yet.
"It's alright," she said. "We've been sleeping on the floor this whole time. We can manage."
Thundercracker hummed, a frown creasing her face. "You shouldn't have to. I don't know why we didn't just ask for another one. I should have."
"It's really fine," Skywarp said. She turned toward Jetfire. "Tell her it's fine."
"It's fine," Jetfire said.
He really didn't care. It hurt sometimes when he was injured, sure, but not that much.
Thundercracker sighed. "It's not. I shouldn't have let things get this far."
Skywarp opened her mouth to speak. Thundercracker put up a hand.
"Don't say it," she hissed.
It was nice that she wanted to help now, but she was right. So much had happened without interference. But whatever. Jetfire drummed his fingers on the desk.
"You're helping now," he said. "That's better than not doing anything."
"Right…" Thundercracker said, gaze falling back to the boxes of datapads.
Quiet moments passed as the two put away the datapads. Jetfire's hands closed around his empty wrist, and the pit crept up on him. Where had the bracelet gone? Had it disappeared with his last shred of hope?
Thundercracker paused while holding one of the datapads, her wings drooping. Skywarp turned toward her after putting another one away, wings twitching.
"What is it?" She asked.
"They found this one for me," Thundercracker said quietly. She placed it on the shelf. "My physical copy got destroyed, and with so many libraries gone, I couldn't get another. So Skyfire and Star searched around until they found a mech with a pirated digital copy. They had them burn it onto a datapad."
"I'm sorry," Skywarp said.
Thundercracker pulled out another datapad. She slumped, optics scrunching shut.
"We've lost so much of our culture to this war," she said. "These might be the only copies of these stories left."
All of the datapads Jetfire managed to read were schmaltzy romances. He held no doubt that was the majority of them. At the start, he discounted them for not matching his preferences. But now…
How much had they lost? How much had mecha like Thundercracker protected?
◇◇◇
Living with Thundercracker wasn't too different from living with Skyfire. Skywarp was in the room a lot more often, now, and so was Thundercracker. It seemed that wherever Thundercracker went, Skywarp followed. Her increased presence made Jetfire wonder: how long had Skyfire and Thundercracker actually been fighting? Was that why Thundercracker, and therefore Skywarp, had barely been in the room during the day?
They had two berths, now. Skywarp wanted to push them together so they could all recharge together, but Jetfire didn't want to recharge so close to Thundercracker. He barely knew her, and despite her attempts to remedy her lack of action, it left many marks.
The times Jetfire was left with Thundercracker alone were few and far between, but not zero. Now was one of such moments. Skywarp was in a meeting with Elita and Prowl—for what reason, Jetfire had no idea. Jetstorm wasn't around, probably off with his friends or something. Jetfire didn't ask.
Thundercracker laid on the berth, reading one of the datapads. Jetfire busied himself by playing with a scrap of metal he found in the hall the other day, since his bracelet still hadn't been found. His requests to search for it were denied. The Autobots were still working with the humans to find a new base, since this one was compromised. In the meantime, only a limited set of mecha were allowed outside, for fear that the Decepticons could be waiting to pick them off.
The metal was surprisingly flexible. He bent it back and forth. How many times could he bend it before it broke?
"I was wondering," Thundercracker said quietly, almost hesitantly. "Why did you decide to accept the offer?"
Two bends.
"What offer?" Jetfire asked.
"To become part of project Safeguard."
Three bends. Four.
Jetfire shrugged. "What else was I going to do?"
The metal warped beneath his fingers, but it still refused to break. What was it? Where had it come from?
"You could've had the program uninstalled," Thundercracker said.
The process was irreversible. Skyfire said it was. But Skyfire was a liar.
"Uninstalled?" Jetfire said.
Sixteen. Eighteen.
"Yes," Thundercracker said slowly. "Uninstalled. Or at least deactivated. First Aid isn't a processor surgeon, but he can manipulate programs."
Jetfire lost count. The ugly thing that lived in side his spark squirmed, the pit rising to meet it. His limbs grew numb.
"It was reversible," Jetfire said.
"It was," Thundercracker said. Her brow furrowed. "Did no one tell you?"
The metal bent beneath his fingers, scraping against his plating as he wrenched it just a little too hard. Inside his spark, the ugly thing howled and thrashed, threatening to claw its way outside. There was already an opening for it, protected only by a flimsy patch.
No one had told him it was reversible. In a calm, gentle voice, Skyfire knelt down and told him the opposite.
With a quiet snap, the metal beneath Jetfire's fingers split in half.
"No," Jetfire said.
Thundercracker's wings shot upward. A frown creased her face. She turned off the datapad rose from the berth, marching toward the door.
"I need to talk to Elita," Thundercracker said. "I'll be back."
Jetfire shrugged. Wasn't Skywarp in a meeting with her? Whatever. He ran his fingers along the jagged edges of the freshly split metal. As it dug into the tip of one of his fingers, he let out a surprised hiss. The sting sent a jolt through his processor.
Starscream left him, and he didn't want to come back. He didn't want Jetfire to come with him, either. Starscream didn't want him at all.
Skywarp… hurt him. He didn't want to say it. Just thinking it made his plating tense. But she did. Starscream did, too. They both hurt him. They would hurt him again.
Star was dead. Thundercracker was passive, no matter how much she wanted to change. Jetstorm had no power, nor any desire to go against his remaining mentor. Prowl called it all consensual and didn't listen to a word he said. The Autobots, as a whole, kept Pharma in a cell like he was a dangerous criminal rather than an ill victim.
There was no one to save him but himself.
Skyfire was a liar, and he would lie again. He would lie to get anything he wanted. Jetstorm cared about him, so what was to stop him from using Jetstorm to control Jetfire? And since Prowl refused to do anything, Skyfire would be allowed to do whatever he wanted. Slag, Prowl would approve each and every abuse.
Jetfire called upon his outlier, watching as the metal in his hands turned red with heat. He was always afraid of his power. He didn't want to hurt anyone. But what if it was the only way to save himself?
The metal melted in his hands. Jetfire turned off his ability and turned his hands into fists, forming the metal into the shape of them. He released his fists, the now-cooling metal clattering to the floor.
He opened the door and walked down the hall. It wasn't far. He stopped before the door and knocked. After a moment, the door slid open. Skyfire's optics met his and widened.
"Jetfire," Skyfire said. "Do you need anything?"
"I want to talk," Jetfire said.
Skyfire stepped out for the doorway, allowing him in. A flash of color on the shelf caught Jetfire's optics. He recognized it immediately. His hands tightened into fists. He forced them to relax.
"You lied to me," Jetfire said. "Thundercracker told me the program was reversible."
Skyfire stared at him for a moment, brow furrowed. His wings twitched.
"It wasn't a lie, exactly," Skyfire said. "None of the records Star and I found said it was. That's what I told you."
'Would he have agreed if he knew?'
The thing inside him roared. Jetfire knew now. Skyfire would say or omit anything he could to get what he wanted. Instead of doing any of the things his processor so desperately craved to do, Jetfire turned, helming for the shelf.
"You found my bracelet," he said.
Skyfire straightened. "Yes. It fell off when they moved you. I figured I'd keep it safe."
"I've been looking for it," Jetfire said, forcing his voice to remain calm. "You never told me you had it."
Just like he hadn't told him the program was reversible. Just like he hadn't told him what would happen when it ran.
"I was going to."
Skyfire stepped closer. Jetfire watched from the corner of his vision, waiting for him to get close enough. Then, finally, it happened.
Activating his outlier, Jetfire turned toward Skyfire, digging his class into the other mech's plating. Skyfire let out a surprised grunt, stumbling backward, but Jetfire's claws held. Jetfire snarled.
"What else didn't you tell me?" He spat.
Skyfire's hands closed around Jetfire's arms. "Jetfire, please—"
Jetfire slammed him into the wall. His flames burned bright, turning Skyfire's plating red just like the metal. Skyfire grunted in pain.
"You're a liar," Jetfire hissed. "I don't want to do this anymore. I didn't want to do it to begin with."
"Jetfire—"
Jetfire turned and threw him across the room. Skyfire crashed into the berth. It crumpled beneath him, legs giving out under the impact. The softer, more flammable materials resting on the top caught the fire from his plating.
Jetfire stalked forward, only one thing on his mind. This mech made him suffer, and he was going to make him suffer the same. Then, he would end this all, and he would be free.
Skyfire attempted to push himself down, but Jetfire struck him across the face, aiming for his optics. His visor, still not fully repaired from whatever happened to it so long ago, provided very little shielding. One of the topics cracked with a loud crunch. The other was missed entirely.
Whatever. Jetfire dug his claws into Skyfire's plating, activating his ability again. He placed a foot on Skyfire's back, pinning him down. A growl rumbled through his plating as Skyfire struggled beneath him. Something in the back of his processor clocked the lack of resistance as odd—Skyfire, despite his distaste for fighting, was a combat veteran—but a much larger part of his processor begged him to keep going.
"Jetfire," Skyfire said. "Let me go."
"No!" Jetfire hissed.
He reached for Skyfire's helm, shifting his full weight onto the other mech so he couldn't get away. Then, he leaned close, his mouth near Skyfire's audial.
"You're a liar," Jetfire growled. "And you're going to keep lying. The only way to stop you is to melt your processor out of your helm."
The flames licked his plating, warm and inviting. Skyfire screamed. A laugh threatened to creep out of Jetfire's vocalizer, the disgusting thing inside his spark finally loose. In just a moment, it would all be over.
Pain blossomed on his shoulder as he was blown sideways. What the frag was that? He turned, hands still aflame. The door was open.
"Surrender or we shoot."
Jetfire rose to his feet. He didn't have rays, but he did have his fire. So, he lashed out. The rest was a blur of screaming and flame.
In a move oh-so-familiar, he was forced to the ground, cuffs placed around his wrists. It didn't matter. He could still bite. Soon, a muzzle was slipped around his face. But he could still fight.
A sudden pinch.
He could…