Chapter Text
Starscream scratched idly at his plating as he monitored the skirmish. Dark energeon induced itching had become the norm since Galvatron forced him to drink it that first time. Where his plating didn't itch, it stung, much of his paint scraped off from the scratching. He tried not to look at himself, not that there were many opportunities for him to do so.
"Stop."
Starscream huffed and turned toward Buzzsaw, who had its talons resting on the datapad he modified into a communicator. Buzzsaw pecked the datapad again.
"Stop."
Starscream rolled his optics.
"Not much I can do about it," he muttered. "Not unless that fragger gives up on whatever he's trying to do with this, anyway."
Starscream wasn't the strongest mech, but lately, everyday tasks were growing more difficult than usual. His arms shook when he carried even the smallest stacks of datapads. Just the walk from the communications center to his room made his fans threaten to activate. If he didn't know any better, he would've assumed Galvatron was feeding him the poison on purpose to weaken him, but the dictator kept insisting that his reaction was strange, and that 'just one more try' would be beneficial—as if he would suddenly stop having allergic reactions!
He considered asking Slipstream to visit Glit and fetch him an immunosuppressant, but then Glit would know this was still happening. The cybercat was already pushy over one occurrence—how obnoxious would he be if he knew this was a trend? It was better to just deal with it.
Starscream turned his attention back to the battle. Ramjet took a particularly strong blow to the head. That probably scrambled some circuits. Acid Storm and Ion Storm were split up by an incoming group of Autobots, but were able to rejoin after taking out the group. Slipstream was still up in the air, firing on the mecha below as she dodged retaliation.
Something was missing. His dorsal strut tingled, and he suppressed a shudder. He knew who it was.
The combiner hadn't shown up at all for this battle, nor the last few. Since the combiner appeared, it was present at every single battle until now. If the combiner wasn't here, did that mean…?
Starscream dug his claws into the console to steady himself. It couldn't be. It just couldn't. Because if it was, then it was his fault. He did it. He killed his newspark—
He squeezed his optics shut. His spark pulsed as his chestplates ached sharply. The last time he saw Jetfire, he shot him in the chest. Had it reached the spark chamber? No, no… it hadn't. But had it?
It didn't. He didn't see it. But he didn't really see anything at all. He hadn't looked.
He didn't know because he didn't fragging look. And now, the combiner was missing. There was only one reason it would be missing. It was his fault—all of it. If he hadn't shot Jetfire, the combiner would be here. If he hadn't left, Jetfire wouldn't be part of the combiner at all. If he hadn't leaped into that portal like a fool, all of them—Jetfire especially—would be safe at home.
All of this was his fault. Every single little danger they encountered, everything that led to this moment. All of it.
He should've known good things didn't last. He used to know. Over endless bouts of suffering, he learned that relief was fleeting, easily snatched away. For every moment of peace and light, there were tenfold more of pain and darkness. Back then blame lied with others—the Enforcers, the Council, the Autobots, Megatron—but now…
Megatron apologized to him, and said he was wrong. But was he really? How many of his own problems had Starscream caused? Had it always been his fault all along?
Megatron used to say he deserved the punishments. Maybe he was right back then, and the Megatron that apologized to him was wrong now. Perhaps he was a rabid turbofox in need of a firm hand to manage him, lest he destroy everything around him. It was starting to seem like it.
"Stop."
Starscream hissed. Buzzsaw pecked the button in rapid succession.
"Stop stop stop stop—"
"I get it!" Starscream spat. He turned back toward the console. "I need to focus on the mission."
Buzzsaw shuffled and pecked at the datapad.
"No. Buzzsaw."
Starscream scoffed, but he turned toward Buzzsaw. What did the cybird want, if not for him to focus on the mission?
"You."
Buzzsaw paused, head bobbing as it searched the datapad. Starscream wrinkled his olfactory ridge.
"I what?" Starscream said.
Buzzsaw let out a quiet beep, wings ruffling. It shifted its weight back and forth as it continued searching the datapad. Perhaps the vocabulary he installed was a tad limited…
"Urgent. You. Urgent."
Starscream twitched a wing. "What?"
"You urgent urgent urgent—" Buzzsaw slammed its beak harshly against the datapad one final time, then stomped its foot with a caw.
"I don't know what you're saying," Starscream said.
He really did need to add more words to the datapad, but it was difficult to figure out which ones. Buzzsaw and Laserbeak (though the latter barely used the thing anyway) couldn't exactly tell him. Otherwise, they probably wouldn't need it anyway.
Buzzsaw strode toward him. It laid its beak on his shoulder and purred its engine. What did it want? Whatever it was, he wasn't going to figure it out right now. Starscream sighed and went back to work.
But the thought still lingered in the back of his processor. A tension remained in his plating, one moment away from cascading into despair again. He had to focus on the task ahead. There was nothing else for him to do.
Even if Jetfire was…
Skywarp still needed to go home. Slipstream and the other Decepticons of this world needed to be free of Galvatron. Starscream needed that warp drive, and to get it, he needed Galvatron dead. If he said the idea of ruling two different versions of the Decepticons wasn't appealing, he would be lying. Though, what was one more lie atop the pile?
He already—
No. Focus on the mission. Focus.
So far, it was going well. They showed up to intercept a human-ferried energeon shipment, the Autobot guards called for backup, and a battle ensued. All was as expected. Slipstream hadn't been too severely injured, though her wing was grazed. Still, not anything to worry about.
Since they made the agreement with Glit (if one could call it an agreement), more and more of their soldiers returned from the battlefield in better shape. Some took their time returning, but it was good that they returned at all. Galvatron never commented on it, but Starscream supposed that they were all just disposable fodder to him. Why else would he care so little about their safety?
Though, it wasn't as if he cared about anyone's safety but his own. Starscream scratched his neck plating, letting out an irritated hiss as Buzzsaw paused its purring to caw angrily at him. It pecked at his claws.
"I can't help it," Starscream grumbled.
He really couldn't. It was growing worse with each passing moment. He swore he saw some of his paint flake off on its own last night.
The mission. He needed to focus on the mission.
It was nearly over, anyway. The Autobots were falling back without their—Starscream suppressed the ache in his spark—precious combiner to protect them. Now, it was just a matter of securing the cargo and moving it before any other reinforcements could arrive. From what happened in his own world, Starscream knew not to underestimate humans. The ones in this universe could very easily be playing the long game just like the ones on his Earth did.
Finally, everything was secured. The grounders huddled inside their transport as the flightframes took off. Slipstream took the lead and—huh. Acid Storm and Ion Storm weren't behind her. They were at her side, possibly even slightly in front of her, as if they were leading.
Had it always been like that? Starscream skimmed his memory files. It had, even in the sparse moments he had saved from his world's Slipstream. Typically, wingroups flew with the leader in front and the followers at the side in a v-shape. The other wingroups followed this position, but Slipstream's didn't.
They had called her Winglord. Maybe it was related to that. Whatever butterfly effect led to Slipstream taking this position must've had other impacts. But as they grew closer to the base, Starscream was led to question himself yet again—Slipstream surged forward, taking a typical position at the front.
What was that? Why did she lag behind, then suddenly move to the front?
'I used to have wingmates.'
Slipstream failed basic testing. She never said why, and Starscream hadn't asked. If something like his EM field glitch could be overlooked, it had to be a defect in a system essential for the defined purpose of a Seeker drone—something related to flight, tracking, or navigation systems themselves, since he knew they didn't give a scrap about temperament (angrier ones were preferred, actually; the theory was that they would be more aggressive when apprehending targets).
Which of those systems could be compromised without compromising her value so greatly that she would've been melted down?
'And I couldn't leave, because that fragger put a boundary collar on me.'
If she didn't need to go anywhere, then it wouldn't matter if she couldn't navigate.
'[Do you have the coordinates of Glit's base in your files?]
[Um…]'
She didn't have the coordinates because she couldn't generate them. Slipstream's positioning systems didn't work! That was why she hung back. Acid Storm and Ion Storm were guiding her until she could recognize the area by sight. Others probably dismissed it as a weird quirk, or maybe she justified it as her wingmates protecting their Winglord, but Starscream knew.
The group finally arrived back at the base, and Starscream filed that information for later. Not only was it important to confirm—that meant she couldn't be in any unfamiliar areas without navigation aid, which was something to consider when planning Galvatron's assassination—but it was yet another experience they shared. Based on the way her wingmates treated her, any support she received was out of obligation, not understanding.
He could be that understanding. He knew what it was like to be missing a sensory system.
But for now, Galvatron would call them in for the typical post mission review at any moment. The moment came just as soon as he thought it, and quickly, he was out the door and down the hall. Slipstream was already in the room, wings twitching. She watched as Starscream dragged his chair over, her hands rubbing her arms.
Nothing about the briefing was notable, but as usual—
"You're dismissed, Slipstream."
—Starscream was left alone with the dictator. Slipstream sent him one last glance before leaving, her wings drooping slightly. But there was nothing she could do. They both knew that. The doors slid shut, and Starscream prepared to play his role, ignoring the unsteady pulsing of his spark.
"Have you refueled yet today, Starscream?" Galvatron asked.
He had a cube before the mission started.
"Yes, sir," Starscream said.
Galvatron hummed, a frown creasing his face.
"Well," he said, pressing a button on the armrest of his throne. "It must have been some time ago. It can't hurt to have more."
Starscream suppressed a shudder as a cube of dark energeon emerged from the armrest's dispenser. Galvatron held the cube up to the light. The energeon inside swirled as it glowed purple.
"I'm fine, sir—"
Galvatron turned toward him.
"Nonsense!" He said. "You did good work today. You deserve a reward."
He said it with a wicked grin as he stepped down from the throne. He had to know what this was doing to Starscream. It was obvious at this point. Yet he kept dismissing it.
The dictator loomed over him and Starscream recognized this for what it was: a powerplay. Galvatron wasn't doing this because he thought it would help, he was doing it because he could. Starscream's fuel line burned with something beyond the itch at that realization, but it was quickly extinguished as Galvatron's hand seized his chin. Starscream let out a quiet hiss, energeon leaking into his mouth as he bit the side of his tongue from the sudden motion.
Galvatron snorted. "Don't hiss at me, little turbofox."
Starscream reached up, his hand closing around the dictator's wrist. His mouth was forced shut by Galvatron's grip, so it was the only way he could safely protest. Optics roved over his face, the dictator examining it as if he were a particularly intriguing puzzle.
Then, finally, he let him go. Starscream resisted the urge to open and close his jaw, the joint sore from how harshly Galvatron forced it shut. The cube was held out to him. He took it slowly, wanting to delay the inevitable as long as possible.
"You're beautiful as always," Galvatron said.
There was that horrid word again. Starscream opened the cube and took his first sip. No matter how slowly he drank, Galvatron always waited. He couldn't spit the fuel out—the fragger always watched him swallow it. And once it was in his tank, it wasn't coming out.
"I still don't understand why the dark energeon hasn't strengthened you as it has me," Galvatron said. "It's truly a wonderful substance, and so rare to come across."
Starscream fought not to cringe at its bitter taste. No matter what Galvatron believed, it was a terrible, disgusting poison.
"If it's so difficult to find, why share it with me?" He asked.
Galvatron's optics burned.
"You belong to me," he said. "All things that belong to me deserve only the best."
That was a load of slag. Starscream was a pretty little toy he was having fun breaking. But calling him out on that would ruin the plan.
Galvatron's optics wandered toward the viewing window. The sky outside was tinged red and pink, slowly darkening to purple as the sun set. Purple plating, purple optics, purple energeon, purple insignia, purple sky—what a disgusting color that shade of purple was. Starscream never wanted to see it again.
"It's almost time," Galvatron said.
Starscream swallowed his latest bitter sip. "Time for what?"
Galvatron didn't look at him as he spoke, optics fixed on the window. Starscream took the opportunity to stall taking any more sips.
"There is a being in this planet's core," Galvatron said. "It has spoken to me. Everything will be destroyed, and I will rule the new world that emerges."
Starscream narrowed his optics. Galvatron wasn't just a fool—he had completely lost touch with reality!
"Forgive me if I don't believe you," Starscream said.
Galvatron turned toward him, a small smile on his face. His plating was relaxed, his body open—completely vulnerable to attack. But Starscream couldn't attack now. Even if Galvatron suspected anything, he would've known that. The dictator motioned toward the cube.
"Drink, Starscream."
Starscream forced a sip down his throat, then another.
"You and I will both survive when this planet meets its end," Galvatron said. "You will remain by my side."
Starscream rolled the statement in his processor, combing over it until it barely had any meaning. Why was Galvatron so confident in this? Did he think the dark energeon would save them? Was that why he was forcing Starscream to drink it?
"Why us and not others?" Starscream asked.
Galvatron nudged the cube. Starscream took another sip. He stepped toward the window.
"The others cannot withstand what is to come," he said. "But we will. The Allspark cannot hold us. I saw it in your memories that first night, in small glimpses. Every time we shared data since has only confirmed it further. You are like me."
Slipstream claimed Galvatron couldn't die. Starscream theorized the same about himself. But it was Starscream's spark that couldn't die, not his frame. He had enough long-term conditions from all of the near-deaths he survived to prove it.
If Galvatron was the same, then there was still a chance to defeat him. But if he was a hubris-driven fool spewing falsehoods, then Starscream would have the pleasure of ending him. Either way, the plan would still work.
Starscream let a smile slip onto his face, fighting the buzzing in the back of his processor. "I should've known you'd figure that out."
Galvatron nudged the cube again, prompting Starscream to take yet another sip.
"Why else do you think I kept you that night?" He said. "I couldn't let something so precious and unique slip from my grasp."
The words were syrupy sweet, rolling smoothly out of his vocalizer. But between the warmth of praise was the sting of the word something—yet another of the endless confirmations that Galvatron saw Starscream as a possession rather than a mech. Why was that such a difficult thing to escape?
It was time to grovel. Starscream needed to match the sickening sweetness with his own.
"I am grateful that you saw such value in me," he said. "I don't know where I'd be now if you didn't."
The awful taste of the words mixed with the bitterness of the dark energeon as he took yet another sip, ever urged on by Galvatron. In another world, this would be sweet—a mech ensuring his partner was well-fueled. But here and now, every little word had hidden motives, and the fuel fed was poison.
No matter what Galvatron claimed, dark energeon killed. It was a miracle the dictator was alive at all. Starscream hadn't seen him drink a single drop of regular energeon. Did he fuel exclusively on the poison?
Speaking of… Starscream took another sip and realized the cube was nearly depleted. He resisted the temptation to tip the whole thing back and down it immediately just to gr tit over with, knowing Galvatron would notice the change in behavior. They fell into silence, Galvatron alternating between watching Starscream and the sunset.
Finally, the cube was empty.
"You're dismissed, Starscream," Galvatron said, plucking the empty cube from his grasp.
Starscream wheeled his chair back to his desk, wings twitching. His plating was already itchy, and at any moment, it was about to get much worse. He checked his fuel levels, dread creeping through him as they came back high. There wouldn't be much space for him to dilute the poison. But he knew from previous incidents that Galvatron would force him to drink—full tank or not—so it was better to go into meetings with low or middling levels. Today, he was on the side of middling.
Still, he had some space in his tank. He needed to lessen the effects in any way he could. As Starscream entered the hallway, he knew his first destination would be the mess hall.
Before him, Slipstream startled, wings thunking against the wall that she was leaning on. She stepped toward him, holding herself in that awkward not-quite-sure-what-to-do position he began to recognize after that day she first invited him to sit with her in the mess hall. He flicked a wing at her in acknowledgement and kept walking. She kept pace with him.
"What did he want?" She asked.
Starscream sighed. "Just the usual."
Slipstream hummed and looked away. 'The usual' consisted of anything from just drinking the cube to a full hardline connection. He preferred she not know which, and she rarely pried.
Starscream scratched his arms. The itch crept up to his wings and back. He reached backward, but his claws couldn't quite make it. Tapping his pede, he paused in the middle of the hallway.
"Can you—?"
Slipstream scrunched her olfactory ridge.
"No," she said flatly. "I can't. Your paint is peeling off, idiot. You're one scratch away from drawing energeon. I'm not going to make it worse."
Starscream tapped his pede harder. "Just once—"
Slipstream surged forward and grabbed his wrist. His plating tensed, but her fingers were thin and her grip was soft. She was nothing like the dictator. With bared teeth, she dragged him down the hall.
"I swear, I'm going to drag you to Glit myself," she hissed. "At this rate, you'll have no paint by the end of the—"
"You can't," Starscream said.
She couldn't, not if her navigation systems didn't work. Coordinates didn't mean anything if she couldn't put them into her systems, and she wasn't conscious when they were brought to Glit's base. She had no idea where it was.
Slipstream paused, nearly releasing Starscream's wrist.
"Wh—" she stammered. "Yes I can!"
"Your navigation systems don't work," Starscream said. "I figured it out this morning."
It was far from the best way to bring it up. In fact, it was quite possibly the worst. But Starscream was so damn itchy. The itch was all he could think about.
"I—you—" Slipstream's wings flicked harshly. "Frag you!"
She released his wrist and shoved him backward with a hiss. Starscream stumbled, landing on his aft with a yelp. With a growl, Slipstream turned toward the closest wall swiped at it, leaving deep ruts.
She turned back toward him, optics fuzzy. "What is wrong with you?"
A lot.
"I never know how to answer that," Starscream said.
Slipstream grimaced and offered him a hand. He took it and she helped him up, then quickly turned down the hall.
"Come on," she said. "We're going to get you a cube, then I'm going to drown you in hot solvent until your sensors stop working."
It was one of the few things they could do without any medicine or working medical devices. Starscream followed her down the hall, processor only half-focused on anything that wasn't the itch.
☆☆☆
Starscream was starting to suspect that he did something wrong. He really should have picked up on it the moment Slipstream clawed the wall, but he was a bit preoccupied. With real energeon in his systems and his sensors numbed from the hot solvent, it was easier to focus on something beyond his own frame.
Slipstream didn't speak a single word to him since they returned from the washracks. She sat at the edge of the berth, staring ahead as she rubbed her arms. Starscream tapped his fingers on the berth, the awkwardness digging into his plating. He couldn't let this fester.
"I didn't say that to upset you," he said.
Slipstream turned toward him with a snarl. Her voice was unsettlingly steady.
"How nice of you."
The cobalt spinehog was back yet again, it's spines turned toward the threat. Once more, Starscream had to prove that he wasn't trying to hurt her. It was tiring, but he couldn't begrudge her for it—the company she was forced to keep didn't allow her much vulnerability.
"I don't want you lost or hurt," Starscream said. "You're too important."
Slipstream scoffed. "Because I'm the Air Commander and you can't replace me?"
That was the reason he used to make Galvatron spare her, but it wasn't the one making him seek a remedy now. She was important in that way, yes, but it was a different kind of importance that made him want to protect her. The same kind that made him care for Soundwave, or Skywarp, or Jetfire…
Starscream suppressed the pain in his spark.
"You're also my co-conspirator," Starscream said.
The word didn't convey the depth he desired, but it was the only thing he had. 'Ally' was too general. He doubted she knew what to call this. They were both beyond their depth, both taking shelter in and drowning in whatever this was—two abandoned traitors finding solace in the only mech that would look their way without scorn.
Slipstream's gaze fell, her lips twitching upward. "Right…"
Starscream had to make his move now. He needed to tell her.
"You aren't the only mech with nonfunctional systems," Starscream said. Her optics met his. "I can't sense EM fields. It was never caught during basic testing."
Slipstream's optics searched his. Then, suddenly, she doubled over, a chortling wheeze exiting her vocalizer.
"We have that in common, then," she said.
Surprise zinged through Starscream's plating and he forced himself not to show it. Although Ratchet claimed other mecha like him existed when he made the diagnosis, the only one he knew was Jetfire, who came directly from his own spark.
"I didn't know," Starscream said.
Slipstream raised her brows. "Well, yes. That was the idea."
"Obviously," Starscream said with a huff. "I haven't met another mech like me before."
There was Jetfire, but… Starscream forced himself not to think of his newspark.
Slipstream flicked her wing. "Same here."
This was quickly veering from his original intent. Starscream hummed, preparing to bring the conversation back on topic.
"I just wanted you to know you aren't the only one," he said. "I… value you, functional navigation system or not. I don't want you getting harmed for my sake, especially when it's unnecessary. It's a waste of resources."
"A waste of resources," she repeated, a smile on her face. Her voice was light, laughter on the edge of it, as if he just told a particularly entertaining joke.
"Yes," Starscream said.
He didn't see what was so amusing about it.
Slipstream shook her head. "I can't believe you lead the Decepticons in your world."
Starscream bristled, fanning his wings wide, but something about her tone kept him from reading her words as an insult. Still, he couldn't let it stand.
"I'm a perfectly capable commander!"
Slipstream buried her face in her hands, wings quaking as she laughed.
"I know," she said.