Chapter Text
He was dying. She knew that. The peeling paint, the weakening joints, the dimness of his optics, the fatigue—it all was clear. Whatever Galvatron was doing to him was killing him.
But he was right. She couldn't just fly out to Glit's lab. She had no idea where it was, and if she asked, she'd only get confused looks. After all, she was the one who told them where it was. How couldn't she know?
He set her up. It was nearly impossible to help him—not unless she wanted to admit her weakness to her subordinates. That was something she needed to avoid at all costs. If they knew her navigation systems didn't work, they'd lose all respect for her.
Just like Nova Storm and Ion Storm had.
Speaking of them… where had they been? She hadn't seen them since the last raid. No one was sporting any distinctly colored new parts, so they must have survived. Where were they?
She shrugged her concerns off and helmed down the hall. Starscream would be out of his daily meeting at any moment. Worrying about mecha who were willing to see her suffer and do nothing about it wasn't worthwhile.
Slipstream rubbed her arms and sighed. She really shouldn't care about them. They certainly didn't care about her. To them, she was Nova Storm's little pet that they were left with after she bled out on the battlefield.
Nova… Slipstream missed Nova. She was one of the few mecha that actually treated her like a mech, instead of an intelligent cyberdog. Even among the other Seekers, there was an odd attitude surrounding those who were sold to civilians. All of the Enforcer Seekers knew each other, but none of the domestic Seekers knew them.
But despite the divide, they were all under the same master. Foolishly, they had traded many masters for one, somehow believing that just maybe this time they'd be set free. But masters never released those under their control. Why would they? It would strip them of their power.
The door slid open. Starscream stumbled out, optics dim and paint peeling. His wings were low, but they raised slightly as Slipstream approached.
She wanted to hug him—wrap her arms around him and never let go. She wanted to pick him up and fly him far away where no one could ever touch him again. It was sickening and embarrassing to admit, so she didn't. She merely stood at his side, walking down the hall with him.
"What did he want?" She asked, despite already knowing the answer.
"Just the usual."
They did this every day. The familiarity was comforting, the words rote. It was too easy to fall into. She had to remind herself that he was going to die if something wasn't done, otherwise she'd forget and lose the only good thing she had.
It was mortifying to think that—to know she was so reliant on another being after already losing so many. But somehow he crawled his way into her spark and she couldn't tear him out. She needed him the way she needed energeon.
They reached the mess hall, retrieved their cubes, and sat. Acid Storm and Ion Storm still weren't there. She popped open her cube and force herself to focus on that. They were fine. They'd come back.
They hadn't sat with her since she invited Starscream over, anyway.
She kept her sensornet on alert. Few mecha bothered to steal from her—especially since she completely thrashed the last few that tried—but it was always good to keep an optic out. An electric shock traveled through her plating, and she fought a shudder.
Things like this always put her on the fritz, especially since Nova died and she took over as Air Commander. Winglord. She took over as Winglord.
She needed that title. It was strong. Important. Everything she wasn't at the time.
Starscream stirred beside her and she was brought back to reality. The tips of his digits were completely colorless, the paint long flaked off with no new color produced. His hand shook slightly as he held the cube, unsteady with weakness.
And she longed to hold him again, but just the thought was mortifying. They were in public. She would be seen and scoffed at. Starscream would scoff at her himself. He'd shove her away and call her insane, and wish he'd never spoken to her.
They wouldn't be… allies… anymore.
Her spark crackled in her chest just thinking about it. She'd be alone again. She couldn't let that happen. It was better to just not.
But he was dying anyway, so maybe…?
He stood up and she terminated that thought process before it could start. She followed him down the hall like a lost cyberpup. As always, he allowed her into his room.
Buzzsaw chirped excitedly as he entered, hopping toward him. It stopped when it noticed Slipstream, letting out a quiet hiss. She rolled her optics.
It flew back to the table and pecked at a datapad.
"Frag. You," the datapad said.
"Frag you too," Slipstream said.
Buzzsaw trilled and ruffled its wings.
It and Laserbeak didn't hate her. At least she thought they didn't—she could never quite tell. But they certainly didn't like her, either. They only interacted with her when absolutely necessary, but seemed to understand that she cared for Starscream as much as they did.
Starscream snorted at the cybird's antics, and it chirped at him. He sat on the edge of the berth, and Slipstream followed. Buzzsaw leaped into the air and landed next to Starscream, nuzzling him with its beak. Something in Slipstream's spark burned.
She tried to push the feeling away, but it only grew stronger as Starscream scratched the top of Buzzsaw's helm. Buzzsaw's visor caught her optics, and it pulled away. It ducked behind Starscream and came around behind Slipstream. She bared her teeth, prepared to tell it off, when it rammed its helm into her side.
"What the frag!" She spat, shoving it away.
It did it again. She swiped at it, but it ducked out of the way before repeating the action once more.
"Stop it, you fragging—"
"Buzzsaw."
Buzzsaw paused, staring up at Starscream. It clicked, ruffling its wings, then marched back around toward Starscream. It settled beside him with a low grumble.
Slipstream ruffled her plating. "What's its problem?"
It glared at her.
"I don't know," Starscream said.
His optics flickered, his claws clutching the berth. But as soon as the moment came, it was gone. Still, Slipstream's spark was once again seized by fear.
"You're dying."
The words slipped out before she could stop them. Starscream's wing flicked, a smile crossing his face.
"I'm not," he said.
"You are," Slipstream hissed. "He's killing you."
Starscream turned away, staring at some distant point beyond the wall.
"I can't die," he said.
Slipstream fought the urge to launch herself at him. How could he be so foolish?
"Can't die?" She spat. "Says the mech whose paint is peeling—who just almost went into stasis right in front of me! Are you stupid?"
He still didn't look at her.
"I've survived worse," he said. "I know what I'm doing. It's part of the plan. Galvatron will fall, and this will all be over. I'll be fine then."
Slipstream's spark crackled in her chest. It was as if she was still locked in the yard, the boundary collar threatening to zap her again. The thing she needed was just out of reach.
Finally, the wall holding back the tide snapped. Electricity coursed through her plating as her pedes crossed the threshold. She closed her optics and hung her helm.
"Please," she said, her voice weak. She gripped the edge of the berth. He was going to die anyway. What was the use? "You're the only good thing I have."
His hand hovered over her shoulder and she snatched it, pulling it to her chest. His plating was thin, rough where the paint peeled as she ran her fingers over it. Her vision grew fuzzy.
"We'll take Galvatron down, and we'll be free," Starscream said. "There will be other things in the world besides me. But I don't plan on dying anytime soon."
Death wasn't exactly a planned thing, but the words got stuck in Slipstream's vocalizer as she tried to say them.
"You'd better not," she said instead, releasing his arm.
It was easier to let her tongue grow sharp than to let her spark grow soft. Still, it stung. She was vulnerable with him before, as addled by drugs as she was. What made it so difficult to be candid now?
As she absentmindedly rubbed her arms, a thought struck her. After this was all over, what was supposed to happen? Even if Starscream somehow made good on his vow to survive, he would still leave. He'd go back to his universe and she would be alone again, even if he didn't die.
"Take me with you," she said.
Starscream stiffened. "What?"
"When you go home," Slipstream said. "Take me with you."
"What about your air force?" Starscream asked.
What about them? They would be without a leader if she left. Slipstream found she didn't care. None of them cared about her, anyway—she was just some nuisance that somehow managed to become their Winglord.
"They'll sort things out."
Starscream frowned. "You're just going to leave them?"
"You left your allies," Slipstream said.
Who was he to judge her for this? He'd left behind that purple Seeker and that awkward shuttle, if the shuttle saying 'not an Autobot' meant what she thought it meant.
Starscream glared at her, as dulled by the dimness of his optics it was. "It was a necessary sacrifice. I'm the only one who can do this, and this is the only place I can do it. They couldn't come with me even if they wanted to. You want to abandon your soldiers because you don't like them."
Slipstream flicked her wings and hissed.
"It's because they don't like me!" She spat.
Starscream's glare softened, his wings drooping slightly.
"I've made that mistake before," he said. "I ended up alone and miserable. You shouldn't take the same path."
The retort left her vocalizer before even she could process it.
"Am I not already alone and miserable?"
Starscream sighed. "You have me."
"You're dying," Slipstream hissed.
Starscream bared his teeth, his legs kicking against the berth. He leaned forward and snatched Slipstream's hand. Slipstream let out a startled squawk as he pressed it against his chest.
"Feel that," he said, voice steady and strong.
Something hummed beneath her palm, powerful and consistent. It vibrated through her plating. Was that his spark? The few times she shared a berth with Acid Storm and Ion Storm, theirs hadn't been this strong. She had never even felt Nova's.
Starscream pressed her hand against his chest harder. The humming got even stronger.
"My frame is fighting the poison Galvatron is feeding me," Starscream said. "My spark is safe. It won't fizzle out. It never will. When my frame gives out, pry open my spark chamber, and it will be there."
When. Not if, when. He wasn't lying when he said he planned for this.
"I'm not going to abandon you."
Once again, Slipstream was vulnerable and small. Suddenly, she was standing beneath the skies of Cybertron, longing to reach the stars, but held back by the collar on her neck. She was alone in Darkmount, energeon staining her hands as she begged to be a part of something, anything just to taste freedom.
She was small, reaching futilely as her wingmates were carted away without her.
Slipstream finally gave in, searching for a scrap of comfort. She found herself in Starscream's arms, her plating vibrating as he purred. Activating her own engine, she nuzzled him, burying herself in him.
Starscream stiffened, his engine stalling. Slipstream's own engine nearly stalled. Did she hate him now? Had she misread this?
His engine started up again.
Thank frag, she hadn't.
ΔΔΔ
She hadn't seen Skyfire on the battlefield before. A handful of times, she'd caught him when he was on a mission, or during a raid, but never when he was actually intending to fight. As yet another Seeker plunged to the ground, she wished she never had at all.
Starscream would give the signal eventually. In the meantime, their primary task was to survive. When the tables turned, the divide between Autobot and Deception would no longer matter.
That didn't keep the Autobots from firing on her soldiers. Her soldiers. Since when were they hers? Slipstream shook her helm and changed course, aiming to avoid the giant figure that now scourged the skies.
At least he wasn't the combiner. She didn't know where the combiner went, but his disappearance saved more than a few lives. They had an actual chance at winning without him there, not that it was their aim this time… or the past several times. Galvatron hadn't said anything, hadn't hurt her since Starscream put himself between them, but he had to know. He always knew.
Burning electricity seized her spark, making her joints lock up. She shook herself and forced herself to keep flying. Now wasn't the time. She had to keep an eye on this.
Galvatron wasn't here. He stayed back, muttering something cryptic about it 'being time,' whatever that meant. Starscream's wings had tensed, so maybe he knew. But he told her to go forward with the plan, so it couldn't be that important. Galvatron was a madmech—always had been, always would be.
Laserbeak flew past and Slipstream gave the little cybird a nod. It circled her before returning to the fight. Starscream had watched the battles using a link with them, but not this time. For whatever reason, Laserbeak seemed to dislike her less than Buzzsaw did.
She still had no idea what Buzzsaw was doing when it accosted her the other day.
Slipstream rolled as a white blur flew toward her. The blur quickly righted itself, revealing the shaking and bleeding form of Ramjet.
"Winglord—!" He stammered.
Slipstream flicked her wings, silencing him. His optics were dim. However much energeon he'd lost, not much remained. He was just one of many. They were all going to tire soon, especially with that brute in the skies.
"Go find sanctuary," Slipstream said. It had become the codeword for Glit's. "You've… done well, soldier."
Something in her spark tugged at her vocalizer, forcing the compliment out. It was the kind he would never give in return. When she first took her position, Ramjet was merciless, always with a mocking jeer or challenge on his lips. She cowed him the same way Galvatron cowed her—beating the scrap out of him. Repeatedly.
'He shouldn't hurt you. That's just plain fragging stupid.'
Ramjet nodded awkwardly, turning away. Slipstream shook herself again as another shock traveled through her plating.
Perhaps she had been plain fragging stupid as well.
[Be safe, Ramjet,] she sent. [We have much to discuss after this.]
Ramjet stalled briefly, but quickly picked up his pace, disappearing into the distance. She turned away.
'You want to abandon your soldiers because you don't like them.'
Frag it all, she'd show that idiot. She followed the telltale scream of yet another soldier crashing from the sky. They would all make it out alive whether she liked them or not—whether they liked her or not. She was the best (though perhaps, only) Winglord in this world and no one would forget that.
She needed to live up to that stupid title.
Slipstream dove, following the blur of limbs and flame as it descended. There was only so much she could do without damaging herself when they were already so close to the ground. Her soldier crashed, and she landed before them, sensors om high alert as she scanned the zone of impact. Green caught her optics.
Acid Storm?
Electricity traveled through her plating again, her spark turning faster. They hadn't spoken since she and Starscream announced the plan before the attack on the Autobot base. Both her and Ion Storm had refused to let her in after the battle, despite it contradicting their earlier threats of only doing it if the plan failed. Maybe they thought it already had.
Acid Storm rolled over with a groan, pushing himself onto his knees. His wings were crumpled and warped, and Slipstream fought a wince. She knew from experience that wings that damaged wouldn't fly. Acid Storm's optics locked with hers.
Slipstream froze, electricity crackling in her fuel lines, her spark, everywhere. The invisible boundary was drawn just one pedestep in front of her. She couldn't cross it.
The sky rumbled and roared. Pulled from her trance, Slipstream whipped toward the source of the sound, priming her weapons. The brute approached.
Despite all appearances, Skyfire was named Skyfire for a reason. He was a hardened veteran, as many warframes were. On the battlefield, he was the terror of the skies, his enemies always crashing to the ground in a ball of flame at the behest of his specially built missiles. Scientific genius was scientific genius regardless of what it was utilized for, and he put it to great use designing the most destructive of weapons.
He was a great asset to the Decepticon cause, once. If he hadn't defected with the Prime—er, Orion Pax, as Galvatron had so loudly posthumously declared him after ripping the matrix from his chest—during the schism, he probably would've taken her place.
So, when he didn't fire, didn't flee, didn't do anything but land before them with crossed arms and blazing optics, Slipstream knew one thing: they were utterly, royally doomed.
"Where is Galvatron?" Skyfire said, his voice rasping with barely restrained rage, static on the edges as if he had recently shorted it out by screaming to the skies.
Slipstream glanced back at Acid Storm. They were still struggling to their pedes. The energeon beneath them was starting to pool. Had a vital line been hit? How much time did they have left?
She couldn't let any soldiers die today.
"He's not here," Slipstream said, ruffling her plating. "He hasn't been here. If you want to find him, good luck finding our base."
Skyfire bared his dentae and stalked forward. Slipstream had only a fraction of a moment to regret the slip of her words as she was seized. His hand wrapped around her neck, pressing just enough to strain her components. Her plating grew tight, her spark crackling in her chest.
"Where is he?" Skyfire roared.
Slipstream clawed frantically at his wrist, but his plating was too thick to pierce. She kicked, but she was too far to make contact. So, she tried the only other thing she could think of—she dropped and became dead weight.
Skyfire's grip only tightened. He shook her.
"Tell me!" He spat.
Slipstream renewed her efforts to free herself. "I don't know!"
"You don't know the location of your own base?" Skyfire said, shaking her again.
"I don't!" Slipstream screamed. "I never have!"
Skyfire tightened his grip. The soft metal mesh of her neck dented beneath his hands. A pained squeak exited her vocalizer before she could stop it.
"Let her go!"
Skyfire's grip relaxed, but only slightly. He turned toward the voice. Numb dread washed over Slipstream, her limbs tingling. Acid Storm staggered forward, dragging a mangled pede across the dirt.
"Her navigation systems don't work," Acid Storm said, voice thin and frantic. "Mine do. I can send you the coordinates. Just let her go."
"Acid—" Slipstream's vocalizer gave out before she could finish. It didn't matter. Acid Storm continued approaching them, his wings high and steady despite being mangled nearly beyond recognition.
"Send them," Skyfire said, glancing between Slipstream and Acid Storm. "Then I'll release her."
It was that moment, in the brief silence, that Slipstream remembered something important. For the plan to work, Skyfire couldn't be there. It would ruin everything. There was no way he wasn't going to tear the whole base down the moment he got those coordinates, and any opportunity Starscream had to act would be ruined.
[Don't!] Slipstream sent to Acid Storm. [You're going to ruin everything!]
[Shut up. I'm saving your life.]
"I will," Acid Storm said.
What could Slipstream do? The answer was absolutely fragging nothing. All of their hard work was about to be destroyed.
Then, Skyfire's grip went slack. Slipstream fell to the ground in an awkward heap. She scrambled to her pedes. This was it. Acid Storm sent him the coordinates. Everything would be ruined—
What was he looking at?
Skyfire's optics were fixed at some point in the woods that surrounded them. His snarl turned to a grimace. He took a step forward.
"Thunder?" He said quietly.
Slipstream followed his gaze. At the edge of the undergrowth was a mech—blue plating, orange optics. She was familiar. Where did Slipstream know her from?
The mech—Thunder?—stepped into the clearing. More pairs of optics were behind her, obscured by the trees.
"Skyfire," Thunder said. Her optics drifted toward the missile launchers on his arms. "You got your weapons reinstalled."
Skyfire straightened. "I did. After what happened to Star, I couldn't… I had to."
Star. Slipstream almost forgot Starscream had a counterpart. She had barely ever seen her after she left with the Prime in the schism. She was the first Winglord, if such a title could even be applied to a traitorous rocketworm.
It seemed she was dead now. Good riddance. It explained a lot.
"I couldn't just sit by after what happened to her," Skyfire said. "I thought about what you told me. You were right. It was my fault."
He was distracted. Good. Slipstream crawled away, too unwilling to draw attention to herself to stand. Acid Storm was beginning to slump, optics growing even dimmer than they already were. She would hit the ground at any moment, and Slipstream needed to be there to catch her.
Because it would be loud and draw attention. Not because she cared or anything like that. Acid Storm didn't deserve it.
"You couldn't have known," Thunder said.
Acid Storm started down at her with optics that were growing steadily unfocused by the moment. Slipstream finally stood, hands hovering near the wound on Acid Storm's side. It was the main source of their energeon loss, but Slipstream couldn't do anything about it here.
On impulse, Slipstream tried to speak. Her vocalizer shorted out with a zing of pain and a quiet puff of static. Damn it.
[You need to find sanctuary,] Slipstream sent.
Acid Storm swayed and shook his helm.
[No,] he sent. [Ion is already there. If I leave, no one's gonna help you get there.]
Skyfire and Thunder were… hugging? Whatever. At least they were distracted.
Slipstream tried not to think about the fact that despite Acid Storm and Ion Storm berating her and constantly kicking her out, they somehow managed to still care for her well-being. As if they weren't damaging it themselves by doing those things! Anger seeped through her like a frost, but she couldn't let it take hold of her now.
[Just go, you dumb fragger!] Slipstream sent. [I'll be fine.]
She wished she could hiss the words out just to get her point across, but alas. Broken vocalizer.
[I'm not leaving you.]
Slipstream flicked her wings and swiped at the air. Now, of all times, Acid Storm decided to be buddy-buddy? Where was the cold, selfish mech who refused to let her in now?
[Like you did every night that Galvatron beat me?]
Acid Storm flinched, which caused her to stumble. Despite herself, Slipstream was at her side, supporting her.
[That was different,] Acid Storm said. [We didn't want to draw his attention.]
[So you abandoned me instead?]
Acid Storm looked away. She knew it. Selfish, cowardly fragger. Slipstream didn't need her.
Acid Storm slumped, not quite unconscious but steadily descending toward it. He would go into stasis at any moment. They needed to get moving. Slipstream took a step, but Acid Storm jabbed her in the side, causing her to nearly drop him.
[What is your problem?]
Acid Storm tilted their helm toward the woods. The optics that stared from them grew closer. A mech entered the clearing, followed by another. Red and white—Slipstream recognized one, but not the other. She attempted to run, but Acid Storm jabbed her again.
[Stay. They're from the sanctuary.]
Slipstream let out a silent sigh and sank to the ground, helping Acid Storm sit. Stupid. She clawed at the ground, needing something to run her claws across. The two mecha approached.
Slipstream squinted up at the red and white one. Well, they were both red and white. She knew which one she was talking about. It was one of the medics they took prisoner a while back. A shame she couldn't remember his name.
[You're alive,] she sent to him.
The medical stilled. [Yes. No thanks to you.]
[You think I wanted any of that?]
The medic turned toward Acid Storm, busying himself with sealing and redirecting her damaged lines. The other mech—a shuttle of some sort, though a model she'd never seen—knelt beside Slipstream.
"Where are you damaged?" He asked. Then, he winced, optics landing on her neck. "Aside from your neck."
Slipstream shrugged. She couldn't feel anything else, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. The shuttle sighed. He brought his hands under her chin, lightly resting a finger beneath it in a silent request for her to tilt her helm.
Slipstream obeyed, her plating growing tight. This was a medic. He was helping. Still, her spark crackled in her chest. She dug her claws into the dirt. Fingers brushed against the dent on her neck, and she nearly flinched.
He was helping. He was helping. He was a medic, it was his job to—
Frag it all, she wanted to run. She wanted to run far, far away. It hurt to sit still when everything in her processor screamed against it.
She snatched his hand and pulled it away. He let her, brow furrowing.
[Just leave it.]
The shuttle withdrew his hand.
"Does it hurt?" He asked quietly.
Slipstream shook her helm.
"It might need to be repaired," he said. "But you'd have to come back with us for that. I don't know much about vocalizers."
Slipstream dig her claws into the ground again. She couldn't leave. Starscream could give the signal at any moment, and she'd be the one to announce the end of the war.
With a broken vocalizer. Her wings drooped. No one would even hear her now.
The shuttle glanced between her and Acid Storm, his wings twitching. Then, finally, his optics settled on her.
"How is Starscream?" He asked.
Just who was this and why was he—oh. That voice. She knew now. He was that shuttle she fought for the Enigma, the one that said he wasn't an Autobot. The one Starscream left behind.
[He's fine,] she sent, allowing a grin to spread across her face. [I can't say the same for Galvatron in a few moments.]
It was somewhat a bluff. Starscream was as weak as always when she took off with her air force. But that was part of the plan. He said it was. She had to believe it would work.
The shuttle's plating relaxed. "That's good."
[What is your name, anyway?]
"Jetfire," the shuttle said.
[Well, Jetfire—] Slipstream stood up. [This has been… not unpleasant… but I have to rejoin my soldiers—]
She froze mid-message. A streak crossed the sky, tearing through the clouds. Whatever had made it came from the Decepticon base.
Starscream. It had to be him.
As suddenly as the streak appeared, another joined it, going toward the earth. At the end of it was a ball of flame brighter than a star.
No. He said he would be fine. He said it was all part of the plan. He said he wouldn't leave.
Slipstream leaped and took off. The shuttle—Jetfire—followed her. It didn't matter. The flames had already crashed to the ground, forming a crater. The trees around it burned.
If Slipstream's vocalizer wasn't broken, she would have screamed.