Chapter Text
Glit's lab was nothing like the Autobot base. Loose, chewed-on panels dangled from the walls. Retrorats scurried across the floors and climbed the walls. Various objects, many unrecognizable, littered the floor. It was a complete mess, but somehow Glit and his assistant, Breakdown, navigated it with ease.
Jetfire, Jetstorm, and Pharma were left with the retrorats as Thundercracker and Skywarp followed Glit and Breakdown to a separate room. Jetfire picked a corner of the room to sit in, careful not to harm any of the retrorats in the process of sitting. They were barely larger than his hand.
After a while of sitting still, they approached him, sniffing curiously. Jetstorm let out a quiet peep as they approached him as well, his wings flicking. The retrorats jumped back, startled by the motion.
Pharma was much less comfortable with their presence. The moment they approached, he hissed and swatted, calling out, "Foul beasts!"
They quickly left him alone.
Jetfire offered his hand to the closest retrorat. It sniffed his finger, then promptly ignored it, opting instead to approach his pede. With a swift leap, it launched itself onto his knee. Jetfire dug his claws into the floor, fighting not to flinch. Others quickly joined it, and soon, Jetfire was covered in retrorats.
Their tiny feet tickled his plating. He let out a laugh, and others soon followed it. The retrorats only paused briefly in their scramble. A few of them made the trek all the way up to his shoulders, a lucky one climbing to the top of his head. They were warm—not hot, just pleasantly warm.
A purr rumbled from his engine, for once out of pleasure rather than to self-soothe. Immediately, the retrorats calmed, stopping their mad scramble to flatten themselves against his plating. A few closed their optics.
Carefully, Jetfire brought a hand up and petted one on the forehead. It opened its optics, turning its head to stare at him. Then, with a quick blink, it nestled itself back into his plating and began purring.
They were so small. He was multiple times their size. Yet, for some reason, they didn't fear him at all.
He closed his optics, letting their purrs lull him into recharge.
◇◇◇
"Jetfire."
A hand gently shook his shoulder. Jetfire groaned, cracking open his optics. Thundercracker stared down at him.
"What is it?" He asked, vocalizer taking a moment to activate.
"Glit and Breakdown are giving us all checkups," she said. "It's your turn."
Did he really have to? He was so comfortable here…
Jetfire placed a hand against the floor and began pushing himself up, careful to ensure he didn't harm any of the retrorats that were still recharging on him. At the first sign of movement, they woke, quickly hopping off of him and scattering around his pedes.
"I didn't know retrorats could be so…" Thundercracker trailer off as the retrorats ran across the room.
"So what?" Jetfire asked, pushing against the wall to support himself. He stretched, joints clicking as they moved for the first time in hours.
Thundercracker shook her head. "It's not important. They're waiting for you in the room down the hall."
Jetfire hummed and headed for the hall, quickly finding the door. But before he could enter the room, he paused. He tapped a pede, nearly rooted in place. Beyond that door was two strangers—strangers that saved their lives, but strangers nonetheless.
Skyfire has lied to him. First Aid had helped. Who was to say he wasn't just going from one set of deceivers to another?
He shook his helm and forced himself through the doorway. Regardless, this was necessary. If they wanted to harm him, he could defend himself. There were only two of them.
As he entered, Glit's audials perked, his tail curling at the tip. He turned toward Jetfire, his front paws on top of a counter as he reached for something inside a cabinet.
"Jetfire," he said. "You're here. Please take a seat."
Jetfire sat on the nearest berth. In the corner of the room, a pair of optics stared at him from the edge of a container, framed by two large ears. It looked like a retrorat, but it was much larger than the others. It squinted at him.
Glit approached, drawing his attention away from the strange retrorat.
"Let's get the easy part over with first," Glit said. "Can you open your panel for me? I want to check your vitals."
Jetfire did as he requested, offering his panel. Glit plugged in. After a moment, he hummed, his tail swishing.
"Your spark is strong," he said. "Your air cycle rate and temperature are good… but your fuel line pressure is low. And…"
Glit frowned, his ears pinning.
"Did you activate your fuel-saving measures manually?"
Cold dread washed over Jetfire like a bucket of ice. This was it. He couldn't hide it anymore. Skywarp was going to be furious. What was Glit going to do to him?
"We didn't have a lot of fuel," Jetfire said weakly, the words fighting to stay trapped inside his vocalizer. "I wanted it to last as long as possible."
Glit stared up at him, his tail dropping.
"That's admirable," Glit said. "But your frame isn't meant to do that. Your manual fuel-saving protocols are for space travel, not everyday use."
Jetfire's shoulders sagged. "I know."
Glit hummed quietly. He twitched his tail, optics falling away. Just as quickly as they wandered, they returned to Jetfire.
"I'm going to hook you up to an intralineal to get that fuel pressure up," Glit said. "Then we can talk more, alright?"
Jetfire nodded. Glit disconnected, then brought an intralineal over and hooked him up with practiced grace. In a few moments, Jetfire's vision improved, his helm no longer feeling so light. He'd grown so used to it that he forgot what it felt like to have a sufficient amount of fuel in his lines.
Glit climbed onto the berth beside him, keeping a small distance between them. His tail thudded against the berth as it flicked.
"Do you want privacy for this conversation?" Glit asked.
Jetfire shrugged. It didn't really matter, did it?
Glit sighed. "Alright…"
His optics roamed the room, falling on Breakdown, then the large retrorat, before coming back to Jetfire.
"It's not… uncommon for shuttles to misuse their fuel-saving protocols," Glit said. "I've had to treat many over my time as a medic. I've seen all of this before, and I know how it ends. Do you?"
Jetfire stared down at his claws. "I was a medical student before all of this. I know what fuel deprivation does."
"Then you know why this can't go on," Glit said.
"It was just to save fuel."
It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth. It was to save fuel while they were wandering, sure, but it was also to avoid refueling for as long as possible. Glit's frown told him even he didn't believe it.
"That's what they always say," Glit said.
Glit's tail lashed. Jetfire wrung his hands, fear searing through his plating. The previous times he was confronted about this…
"Don't make me," Jetfire whispered. "Please don't make me."
Glit twitched his audial. "Make you what?"
Scrap. Jetfire his his face in his hands.
The berth shifted as Glit came closer. His voice was soft. "What do you think I'm going to make you do, Jetfire?"
He wanted to say it. But if he said it, would Glit agree with it? Or would he be angry at Skywarp? He didn't want to get Skywarp in trouble, but he also didn't want to risk being forced to drink energeon again.
If he stayed silent, would Glit stop asking?
"Please, tell me."
No. He wouldn't. How did he say it?
"Someone…" The words caught in Jetfire's vocalizer. "Someone made me drink energeon when I didn't want it. Now it's hard to refuel no matter what I try."
If he didn't say her name, she couldn't get in trouble. The room remained quiet, and Jetfire risked a peek. Glit stared at him with a furrowed brow, his audials pinned.
"I see," he said quietly.
Jetfire wrung his hands again. Glit's tail continued to sway, then suddenly, it straightened. His optics grew wide. He turned toward Breakdown.
"Can you get the door?" He asked. "We have an urgent visitor."
Breakdown nodded, exiting the medbay. Glit waited for the door to close behind him before turning back toward Jetfire.
"I won't do anything you don't approve of unless I think your life is threatened, and if it was, my first solution certainly wouldn't be forced fueling," Glit said. "We'll find a way to fuel you that protects your autonomy, I promise."
Some of the tension in Jetfire's frame eased. They were just words, and words could be empty, but the fact that Glit was promising anything at all…
"First Aid—the Autobots' medic—he refueled me with an intralineal," Jetfire said. "I've been refueling with my secondary intake, but it's not pleasant."
Glit hummed. "If it works, it works. We can start by getting comfortable refueling more often."
Jetfire just barely began to prepare a response when they door opened. Breakdown came through it, his back toward them as he helped carry another mech. The mech was conscious, but his optics were dim. A quick glance revealed the cause: energeon loss. One of his wings was mangled, and his knees were bashed in.
His companion, who was carrying his other half, was only faring marginally better. Rather than a handful of large wounds, she had many smaller ones, but the result was the same.
The injured mech was laid on the berth. Glit glanced between Jetfire and the injured mech. Jetfire motioned toward the mech, and Glit nodded before heading toward them.
"Another battle, I'm assuming," Glit said.
The less injured mech nodded. "Yes. One of the 'bots managed to catch Ion by surprise."
Ion… this was probably Ion Storm and Acid Storm, then. Jetfire hadn't seen them during that first mission, but he didn't know any other Decepticons with names like that.
Glit hummed, examining the torn wing as Breakdown approached with a cauterizer. He sealed the leaking fuel lines, reattaching any he could find both ends to, as Glit continued pondering the wing.
"I wish your command would stop sending their soldiers out so soon after healing," Glit said, gently adjusting the wing. "The patches aren't even off from their last wing injury."
Acid Storm grimaced. "I know. Slippy and Starscream have been doing what they can, but… you know how it is."
Glit glanced at Breakdown, who was still cauterizing fuel lines.
"I do," Glit said.
Starscream? Jetfire turned fully toward the group.
"You know Starscream?" He asked.
Even though his creator hurt him, he still cared. His spark ached at the memory, but he couldn't let him go. Some small part of him still hoped that Starscream would change his mind and come back. And maybe he could, now. He wouldn't have to worry about whether the Autobots would accept him back because they weren't with them anymore.
Acid Storm scrunched his olfactory ridge. "More like know of him. He doesn't talk much to anyone aside from Slipstream and those cybird cassettes."
Jetfire was undeterred. Anything he could learn about his creator, he wanted to know it. Maybe there was a reason he shot him. He had to keep hoping.
"How is he?" Jetfire asked.
Glit paused briefly in the middle of patching up Ion Storm's wing to look up.
"Yes," he said. "I would like to know how he is as well."
Acid Storm looked away, her wings flicking. "Galvatron keeps calling him to private meetings. We don't know what that fragger is doing to him, but his paint's been peeling off, lately. It's… he looks awful."
Glit's tail lashed.
"I have a decent guess," he said. "If he goes into stasis or has trouble ventilating, please bring him here. I can only assume he's avoiding me."
Acid Storm tilted their helm. "He's the one who told us about you."
Glit rolled his optics. "Doesn't mean he wants to use that knowledge himself."
Jetfire tapped at the edge of the berth.
"He's stubborn about that sort of thing," he said. "He and Skywarp took turns dragging each other to appointments because they both hate visiting the medbay."
A quiet laugh escaped his vocalizer. His vision fuzzed as his spark stung. Would they ever be together again?
Acid Storm frowned.
"I haven't seen you before," she said. "How do you know him?"
Jetfire looked down at his hands, wringing them yet again. He missed his bracelet.
"He's my creator," Jetfire said.
Acid Storm's optics went wide, but they quickly narrowed, roving over his frame.
"That doesn't make any sense," they said.
Jetfire widened his wings. "Why not?"
"Your frame predates his," Acid Storm said. "He's an ULCHTAR Seeker. You're a shuttle of some sort, and those haven't been constructed since the Quintesson war. And all that wear on your plating means you're not new."
"He made me," Jetfire said.
If he didn't, what did that mean? Why would Starscream lie about that?
"He wasn't even alive when your frame was built," Acid Storm said.
Acid Storm scrutinized him one more time. Jetfire flexed his plating. Acid Storm's wings went wide.
"You're scavenged parts," she said. "That's…"
He was what?
"It's not… unheard of," Glit said. "It explains quite a bit about you."
Then who was he made from?
There was one mech in this world who resembled him above all others—one mech was verifiably dead back home. It was the very liar he despised. The pit grew inside Jetfire's belly.
Skyfire. He was made from Skyfire.
☁☁☁
It was nearly melted, one side completely turned into a bubbly mass, but as Skyfire rolled it in his palms, he could see the outline of what once was. The little charm on the end somehow managed to survive the whole ordeal, indentations from Jetfire's dentae intact. It was the only thing he had left of them now.
Thunder…
She said he always pushed, but if he didn't, she would never agree. Didn't she see that without him, she couldn't function? She needed him to push her. They were the sky and clouds—complimentary in every way.
But still she left. And she did it for that bizarre reanimated corpse. That thing tried to kill him, yet he was the one she sided with!
It was strange to stare at another version of himself. It was horrifying to stare into the optics of his own frame, puppeted by some brand new spark as if the original never existed at all. If Skyfire said he was comfortable with it, he would've been a liar. Despite what others claimed, he wasn't one.
Jetfire was a newspark, sure, but he was also a monster. Now, he looked much less like Skyfire, but that didn't change his origin. Besides that, he was half of Safeguard—a mech that delighted in causing as much suffering on the battlefield as possible. Where would Safeguard get his sadism if not from him?
And Jetstorm. Skyfire never deluded himself about Jetstorm. The newspark was never his, but the months spent crafting his frame made him love him all the same. The creation he longed to call his was a bundle of energy, enthusiastic beyond comprehension.
But he had left with the others. They all left. Maybe it was his fault. He didn't hold on tightly enough. He couldn't convince them to stay.
They would die out there because they didn't listen to him.
Skyfire placed the bracelet back on the shelf. He was moved out of his old room temporarily as it was reconstructed. An entire section of the wall was tarnished by Jetfire's murder attempt. Part of Skyfire wished the others saw it. If they knew exactly how much destruction Jetfire caused, maybe they wouldn't have left.
He was dangerous, just like his creator. They would only be safe if he was locked away and held under supervision, just like Pharma was before they freed him, too. Murderers were bound to murder again. Broken mecha only continued to break.
With a loud creak of his damaged joints, Skyfire left his temporary room. He winced as he headed down the hall. First Aid may have given him pain patches, but they clearly weren't strong enough. He placed a hand against the wall as he walked. One of his optics was melded completely shut—something First Aid claimed would take extensive surgery to fix, among many other things the young monster had melted—which left him with little depth perception. His radar could only carry him so far in tight spaces.
Still touching the wall, he swung through the doorway to the mess hall. Then, he finally released the wall, walking slowly toward the dispenser. He was a difficult mech to miss, so most others were able to get out of his way when he couldn't quite see them. He took a cube and turned back toward the mess hall.
Just the mecha he wanted to see sat in the corner. He approached them, keeping one of his hands just in front of himself so he didn't run into the table. Sideswipe elbowed Sunstreaker, and the two quickly looked up at him.
"Did he say anything to you?" Skyfire asked.
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker exchanged glances. Sunstreaker leaned forward.
"Look, mech," Sunstreaker said. "We already told Prowl everything we knew, and that was nothing. Jetstorm didn't even wanna hang out with us in the weeks before they left. Now we know why."
Skyfire leaned down. "He truly didn't say anything?"
"Nope," Sideswipe said. "Nothing at all."
Skyfire sighed. It was worth a try. He left the mess hall, sipping his cube as he headed back toward his makeshift room. His radar pinged. Someone was behind him, but as they approached, he lost track of where they were. Their presence merged with the walls, making it difficult to distinguish the two.
"Skyfire."
Skyfire paused, fully turning to view the mech who approached him. His good optic was toward the wall, so it was the only way he could see them. Bluestreak stared up at him, his own cube in his hands, and his doorwings low.
"Bluestreak," Skyfire said. "How are you?"
Bluestreak glanced down at his cube, swirling it. A quiet, buzzing sadness radiated from him. Skyfire was wrapped up in his own thoughts, but he supposed he could spare a few moments for a friend of a friend. What else was he doing?
"Could be better," Bluestreak said.
Skyfire leaned backward against the wall. "What's the issue?"
"Just…" Bluestreak paused. "I woke up this morning and thought, 'Hey, it's a nice day out! I should see if Star wants to go on a walk with me! She likes walks!' Then I got into the hall and started walking down it, and I went to your room, and it was empty and I remembered…"
Skyfire hadn't thought about Star. He didn't want to think about Star. The reminder that he lost more than his conjunx and his sort-of-creation in the past weeks did more than sting. It burned, a searing fire in his very spark.
Star was a troublemaker. She liked to complain, and she used to hit things a lot. She used to destroy things when she got upset. But Skyfire loved her, and he taught her how to be gentle. She begged to go into the lab with him and he let her, showing her how softly and carefully retrorats and glitchmice needed to be restrained.
Her optics lit up whenever they got a new shipment and he allowed her to help put them away. She loved those mechanimals.
And now she was gone, just like them.
"I understand," Skyfire said quietly.
Star and Bluestreak spoken often. He usually went out of his way to find her. If not for Star's consistent refusal of the title, Skyfire would've called them friends.
"I-I'm glad you do," Bluestreak said. "She was really something, just really really something. If I ever got stuck or needed ideas, I could just talk to her and…"
Star was smart. She had always been that way. It was why Skyfire allowed her into the lab. She learned quickly, and was always hungry for information.
"Yes," Skyfire said. "I miss her, too."
'This is your fault!'
The words, yelled at him as they stood next to Star's lifeless frame, came back to him. Was it his fault? They couldn't have predicted the attack.
But he could've fought harder. Could've trained more. Could've…
No, he couldn't have. He had no claws—they were filed down long ago to keep mecha from cringing when he touched them—so he couldn't have taken out Galvatron's optics. He had no fangs—they were filed down to keep mecha from recoiling when he smiled—so he couldn't have sunk his teeth into Galvatron's plating and never let go. He had no weapons—he removed them so mecha would stop warily glancing at his shoulders as if he would shoot them at any moment—so he couldn't shoot Galvatron in the helm and end it all there.
Neither could Star.
The realization washed over him, encasing his spark in ice. That was what Thundercracker meant. He had killed her, albeit indirectly. Throwing away all of their means of self-defense was his idea, concocted to please a contingent of Autobots that was growing steadily more hostile toward them as the war dragged on.
It pleased no one, and it cost him everything.
Skyfire muffled the growl that rose from his vocalizer, not wanting to startle Bluestreak, who was rambling about something or other. Skyfire flicked his wings and pushed himself off the wall, cringing at the creak of his damaged joints.
He had an appointment to get them reshaped today. Would First Aid mind if he came early?
"I need to get going," Skyfire said, cutting Bluestreak off. "It was nice speaking with you."
"O-oh… you too!"
Skyfire turned down the hall, barely sparing him a glance. He headed for the medbay, stopping at the door to listen. It was quiet, so he entered.
First Aid placed the instrument he was holding on the counter. Inventory, Skyfire presumed. First Aid turned toward him.
"You're early," he said.
Skyfire nodded. "I have something extra to ask, if you don't mind."
First Aid tilted his head and shrugged. "Depends on what it is."
Skyfire sat on the nearest berth as First Aid pulled out the supplies he needed for the appointment.
"Reattach my weapons."
First Aid went still.
"Are you sure?" He asked.
"I'm sure," Skyfire said.
It was only the first step. He needed to do this.
First Aid looked up at him, optics staring into his. "Is this because of what happened to Star?"
Skyfire's hand squeezed the edge of the berth—gently, he couldn't damage it.
"Yes."
First Aid's brow furrowed. "I understand where you're coming from, Skyfire, but are you really sure? Grief makes unwise choices. With Safeguard and the others gone, they aren't going to let you back out of this."
"I know," Skyfire said.
By getting his weapons reattached, he was making the same agreement Jetfire did when he became part of Safeguard—to fight and die for the Autobots. With no fliers left but him, Prowl and Elita would refuse any attempts to remove himself from a combat position after this. But it was bound to happen regardless. That was why they were working on Project Safeguard.
It was meant to be their salvation—an aerial combiner with the might of a hundred soldiers. Instead, it became their damnation. Star dead, and his conjunx gone. Now, he alone could fill the role. It was only a matter of time before they sprung it on him, anyway. Better to choose now than be forced later. But that wasn't his only reason.
'We're safe, safe safe—always safe—but none of us are happy!'
Star was right. When was the last time Thunder smiled at him without strain? When was the last time Star had genuinely laughed? When was the last time he felt comfortable enough to let his plating relax?
'This is what we fought the war over, Skyfire!'
It was time to do what he was should have all along.
First Aid brought out his weapons from storage. He insisted on fixing Skyfire's joints first, which required him to undergo medically induced stasis due to the extent of the damage.when Skyfire woke, the pain was gone, finally dampened under an effective dose of pain patches. He checked his connection to his weapons, but didn't test them.
Then, First Aid bade him farewell, giving some basic instructions, and he was back in the hall. His next destination was obvious. As the door slid open, Prowl's optics caught his.
"Put me on the roster."
Prowl didn't speak. His gaze fell to the weapons fastened at Skyfire's sides. He made a mark on the datapad.
"Welcome back," he said.
◇◇◇
"I—" Jetfire didn't know what to say. "He never told me."
"It's generally not something you tell someone," Acid Storm said. "Though how he managed to get the materials for you is a whole other question…"
Jetfire wrung his hands. "I don't know. But I think I know who he used."
He should've guessed. Skyfire looked so similar to him. It explained his assumption that Jetfire was his world's version of him, and why mecha kept saying he looked just like him. Jetfire thought it was just because of their visual similarities, but in reality, it was because they were from the same frame.
Ion Storm let out a hiss as Glit adjusted his damaged knee joint, drawing the group away from the conversation. Glit hummed, his tail flicking. Jetfire got off the berth.
"Did you give him a local?" He asked.
Glit shook his head. "Not yet. I was hoping to avoid it."
Jetfire was already halfway to the cabinet. He turned back.
"What do you normally use?"
Glit gave him the name and the amount. He drew it up and searched for the log sheet, quickly finding it pinned to the wall nearby. He noted it down before carrying it over. Breakdown watched him as he approached, Jetfire's plating crawling at the attention.
Glit took the syringe from him. "Thank you."
Glit administered the local anesthetic and waited a moment to ensure it took effect before he continued his work. He handed Jetfire the syringe, and Jetfire placed it in the sharps container, Breakdown still watching him all the while.
"Your comms are disabled," Breakdown said when he got back.
Jetfire flinched. "Uh, right."
He turned them back on. His helm ached as the program started up, unused to the information passing through after he'd had them deactivated for so long.
[Earlier, you said you were a medical student.]
The message was from Breakdown. Jetfire began drafting a reply, but another message came in before he could.
[We can keep teaching you, if you want. We could always use more hands.]
Jetfire tapped his pede and flicked his wings. Energy coursed through his plating. He could help again—he could learn again. And maybe this time he wouldn't have to fight.
[Yes, please.]
Breakdown smiled. [Welcome to the team.]
It took every bit of Jetfire's self control not to hop in place, or squeal, or do something equally attention-grabbing. He continued to tap his pede, swaying a little to assuage some of the energy. Although they were still trapped a universe away from home and Starscream wasn't there, something good had happened for the first time in months.
Maybe things would be okay after all.