Chapter Text
Nothing was ever truly silent, but the lack of sound emphasized what normally wasn't heard. The delicate inner mechanisms of Slipstream, Buzzsaw, and Laserbeak whirred as they recharged. Starscream remained still, optics on the ceiling. It was as stained as every other surface in the base, somehow.
Tomorrow, this would all end. The finality rung hollow. He didn't know if his plan would work, but it had to. There was no other way forward. Maybe there had been at one point, but now he had backed himself into a corner.
Slipstream stirred in her recharge, her wings flicking lazily. Her lips were pressed together, her plating slack. She was peaceful like this. Acid Storm said she rarely allowed others to touch her, and that held true even in sleep. They had dragged a spare berth into the room together. Starscream never commented on how it steadily grew closer to his as the nights passed.
She was younger than him, but not by much. He had the multiversal travel to thank for the small age gap. The Starscream of this world would've been younger than her, but because his world was further along in the timeline, he was actually older. Still, she managed to be taller than him. Almost everyone did, even if only by a little.
There were a few times he wondered why his growth had stalled. Now he knew—it was that fuel processing disorder rearing its stubborn helm. It certainly wasn't helping… whatever this was. Starscream scratched at his arms, careful not to let the metal screech. His claws came back caked in paint chips.
Despite the age gap being so small, something in him wanted to protect her like she was a newspark. It wasn't quite the same, but the back of his processor triggered the similar routines when Jetfire…
Starscream slumped, his spark stinging. Jetfire. Why had he let himself do that?
There was no undoing it. He had to keep going. If this plan failed, it would all be for nothing. He couldn't let it go to waste.
Galvatron had agreed with his suggestion to stay behind during the raid, citing that unknowable force he kept prattling on about. Starscream didn't care much for it. Even if there were a mech at the core of the Earth, the planet was far from becoming the next Cybertron. It was still rich with organic life, which was nothing like the husk that early Cybertron was described as.
He would take Galvatron down and rip the stolen warp drive out of his chest. Then, they could all go home.
Slipstream stirred, vocalizer letting out a quiet pop. She must've been having a memory flux. Starscream rarely had them, but he knew others did.
When he left, what would happen to her, Laserbeak, and Buzzsaw? Slipstream had asked—borderline begged—to come with him. He was tempted to let her. But if she came, who would lead the Decepticons of this world? It was better for her to stay.
Even if Starscream would never see her again.
His chestplates stung. His vision fuzzed at the edges. When did the thought of going home become so bitter?
He sat up and reached across the gap between berths, nudging Slipstream. She let out a quiet and ungraceful sound before opening her optics.
"Wha…?" She muttered.
"Do you want to come here?" Starscream whispered.
She blinked at him, mechanisms whirring as her optics focused. Then, she stretched across the gap between the two berths. Starscream wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his. At the foot of the berth, Laserbeak chirped, woken by the stir. Buzzsaw's visor lit the room.
Slipstream returned the embrace, nuzzling him as the two Seekers settled back down. Laserbeak and Buzzsaw quickly went back into recharge, the room falling back into darkness as Buzzsaw's visor shut off. The air filled with a quiet purr as Slipstream closed her optics.
"Can still feel it," she muttered.
"What?"
"Your spark," she said. "So loud."
Starscream hummed. There wasn't anything to say to that. Eventually, Slipstream fell fully back into recharge, leaving the room silent once again.
Despite the spark steadily turning in his chest, Starscream was hollow. Why was that? He was about to accomplish all of his goals. It would come at a cost, yes, but one he was willing to pay.
Slipstream's chest rested against his. Buzzsaw and Laserbeak slept at the foot of the berth. There was no Skywarp, or Jetfire, or Soundwave…
Something in him dreaded what was to come.
☆☆☆
The soldiers departed. He and Galvatron stood in that damned command center as they flew by the window. The sun was high in the sky, but not for long. It would eventually be stained red. The battle would stretch beyond sunset.
Starscream meant what he said to Slipstream. He hoped she sought him out after this, because he would need the aid. But for now, it was time to play the part.
"Forgive me for questioning your plans," Starscream said. "But what comes after this? You will have destroyed everything, and the world is nowhere near ready for repopulation."
Galvatron smiled. "Nowhere near? You'll find things move more quickly than you believe. With everything else gone, there will only be more space for the new world to thrive."
Starscream frowned. It simply wasn't how things worked. Even if this mech did speak to Galvatron, which seemed impossible—Primus had never spoke to anyone directly—then it could well be lying. Not that Starscream ever believed this drivel in the first place.
It sounded much too familiar. Windblade had said similar things when she offered to make him a new body. A new body for a new world, all ills cured except for the stipulation that it could very well kill him instead of heal him. Accept the cure or be left behind—the new world had no need for the old and broken.
But this time, Galvatron had somehow decided he didn't count among the 'broken.'
How wrong that was. Starscream was broken, by all metrics. His processor discarded EM field data as junk. Despite modification, his fuel processing systems refused to work correctly. He was physically weak, often dealing with aches and unable to stand for long periods of time. He panicked when others touched his wrist, and every cruel word Megatron said to him lived in his mind, even though Megatron himself claimed they were false. He was all of the things a healthy soldier wasn't.
"Why not work with what you have?" Starscream said. "Why do you need to destroy everything?"
Galvatron scowled, his hands moving to his chest.
"They made their choice," he growled. "They're unworthy."
"But I am," Starscream said.
It was a question, despite the way he said it. What made him so different from any other mech, besides the obvious? Galvatron didn't want him for his brokenness, he wanted him for something else. Maybe he just knew he couldn't kill him.
"You are," Galvatron said. "Under my command, the new world will be beautiful and perfect. I will never be denied again. Not by anyone nor anything."
Denied by something, huh? The picture became clearer the more the dictator spoke. Optimus Prime was dead in this world, and there was no mention of the matrix.
"Do you have the matrix?" Starscream asked.
When a mech thought their victory was assured, they tended to give things away. Galvatron was no exception. His expression shifted, unreadable, and his fists clenched.
"Yes," he said, tapping on his chestplates, right on his insignia. "It rests inside me."
The question Starscream didn't ask: but did it work? It was already answered. Galvatron was denied by an object. Prime had told Starscream that the matrix chose its bearer. Although the matrix sat within the dictator's chest, it was dead weight.
Yet another complication piled on top of the others, but it did bring him some reassurance. With the matrix in his chest, the warp drive wouldn't be there. It was probably placed similarly to Skywarp's—just below the chest, toward the center. When he took Galvatron down, he would need to avoid damaging that area. Otherwise, there would be no other chances.
A shot straight to the spark chamber would work.
They stayed at the window until the sky began to bleed. There was no monitoring to be done. Galvatron wanted this battle to last until no mech was left. If they returned, he would just send them out again. If they didn't? Even better.
"We should celebrate," Starscream said, stepping closer to the dictator. "It's not every day the world as we know it ends."
Galvatron smiled, laying a hand on Starscream's shoulder. "It's not an end, it's a beginning."
"Still," Starscream said with a shrug. "This calls for something, doesn't it?"
Galvatron brought his hand down Starscream's arm. Starscream fought a shudder, his joints locking up as his plating tightened. But he had to do this. It was the best way to accomplish what he needed.
Galvatron flipped his arm over and ran his thumb over his medical panel.
"It does indeed," he said.
Starscream sent the command to open his panel and unfurl his cable. With surprising gentleness, Galvatron took his cable. Soon, the link was made. Starscream's fans had already clicked on just from the anticipation, processor running hot as he tried to stave off the fear that coursed through his fuel lines.
Those massive, cruel hands raked through his processor for the thousandth time. Memories flew by, opened but quickly paused. Starscream did his best to ignore all of the open files even as they made his processor stall. He sent the command to charge his rays, leaning into Galvatron as he slotted one right against the dictator's chest.
The recoil would be intense, especially at this level, but he needed to pierce the dictator's armor. Just one more moment, and—
A hand seized the tip of his ray. It forced it backward, bending it as far as it could go and then some, the support giving with a snap. Starscream let out a startled yelp. His arm was forcefully bent until the fully charged ray rested beneath his chin.
Above him, Galvatron's purple optics gleamed.
"You clever little thing."
He said it as if Starscream were a particularly intelligent pet, a grin across his face. Then, he laughed, the sound coming from deep within.
"You think I didn't know?" He said. "I've been in your processor almost every night. There is nothing you can hide from me. I've been humoring you this entire time."
Starscream swallowed, trying and failing to pull his chin away. The ray burned beneath it.
"Wh—Why?" He hissed.
He should have figured. Truly, somewhere in the back of his processor, he did. But Galvatron's lack of action made no sense, unless…
"You can't win this," Galvatron said. "Your place is beneath me, and it always has been."
The data shifted in the back of Starscream's processor, forming connections. The optics, burning even if purple rather than red, the desire to control and possess him, his strange focus on Starscream's older memories, the insistence that the world had denied him—
"You're this world's Megatron," Starscream said.
Galvatron's optics narrowed, his grip tightening.
"How astute," he said. "But I bear that name no longer. I have been reborn in body and spark."
Sure. He may have changed his frame and name, but he was still the same controlling brute. It was easy to see now.
"Good for you," Starscream muttered, trying in vain to pull himself free.
His struggles just made Galvatron grip him tighter. The metal creaked beneath the dictator's grip, threatening to give way. Starscream hissed.
There was one thing Galvatron forgot: Starscream could control his rays separately. With a yell, Galvatron stumbled backward, a burning hole through his hand. Starscream shook himself. That was what the fool deserved for placing his hand right beneath one of his rays!
Starscream wrenched his other arm out of the position it was forced into, ignoring the painful crunch of its joints, and fired. It hit the insignia on Galvatron's chest, scorching it and leaving a small hole. Not enough to pierce the spark chamber, but that only would have worked at point blank anyway. This was going to be a lot more difficult than he hoped.
Galvatron aimed his cannon. Spark pulsing in his audials, Starscream turned on his thrusters and leaped out of the way. The wall where he once stood was scorched and warped, bent outward with a massive hole through it. He spared one moment to shudder before turning back to his enemy.
"You wretched little turbofox!" Galvatron growled, charging his cannon again. "You're going to regret that."
He could only fire it so quickly. It required much more recharge time than Starscream's rays, which were already prepared to shoot again. With a running start, Starscream leaped over Galvatron, turning midair to shoot at the dictator's cannon supports. If he could just detach those…
One shot landed, but the other—the one from his broken ray—went wide and hit Galvatron's shoulder instead. It blew through the decorative plating at the top. As Starscream landed, his knees crumpled beneath him. He scrambled back onto his feet as Galvatron turned back toward him.
The cannon shook slightly as he turned, but it wasn't enough to completely dislodge the support. Frag. If only that second shot hit its mark.
He raised it, now fully charged and glowing. The heat from it ran over Starscream's plating, only accentuating the burning of his fuel lines. For a moment, his spark stuttered to a stop. He moved to flee, but his pedes gave out beneath him again.
As brightness enveloped him, static overtaking his vision, he cursed his frame. Of all times, why now? Everything burned, and he let out a screech, his vocalizer shorting out long before it was over. The world around him smoldered as his vision slowly returned.
Error windows popped up on his HUD, but he couldn't read any of them. Most were glitched beyond comprehension. He sent the command for his limbs to move, and despite being unable to feel anything, his frame obeyed. Massive pedes landed in front of him, and he was yanked up by the back of the neck.
Purple optics glared into his.
"Pathetic," Galvatron said. "Be grateful I didn't use it on full power. I still want you."
He dropped Starscream. Before he could crawl away, a firm pede landed between his wings, crushing him.
Finally, an error he could read. Damage to the neurocircuits connecting one of his wings. His body jerked to the side. Galvatron was pulling his wings off, one by one. Without the pain, it was a lot less terrifying.
But a second set of errors didn't join the first. The wing dropped before him with a clang, leaking energeon from its detached fuel lines. Slowly, it went gray.
He wasn't getting that one back, was he?
The pede lifted. Starscream crawled toward the wing, seizing it. Galvatron stepped over him.
"Now you can't flee," Galvatron said.
Starscream bit back a retort. The dictator was right. He could barely feel his frame, but a blast from a cannon, especially Megatron's, left a lot of damage. Starscream dug his claws into his detached wing, which—he had both hands. That was good. Maybe he still had both pedes, too.
Galvatron's back was to him. Starscream stared down at the wing. It had a sharp edge. Maybe he could…
Starscream pushed himself up, swaying, and fired his thrusters. Miraculously, they worked. Galvatron, fully believing him defeated, never had time to react as Starscream plunged his wing into the dictator's back. It pierced all the way through, and Starscream silently celebrated as he dangled from the dictator's shoulders.
Any moment now…
Sparks couldn't survive without insulation. Their energy would dissipate. Any moment…
There was no gleam through the wound. Galvatron stood still. Any moment—
A hand closed around the back of Starscream's remaining wing. He was flung forward over Galvatron's shoulder. The ground met him with a loud clang.
What…?
Burning purple optics stared down at him, framed by a snarl. Then, Galvatron's hand found the edge of the dead wing, and he laughed. Reaching behind himself, he pulled it out with a grinding screech and tossed it aside.
His spark chamber was punctured. Inside it was barren—no light, no spark.
"How…?" Starscream stuttered.
Galvatron grinned, stepping closer.
"This is where we differ, little turbofox," Galvatron said. "Your spark cannot be extinguished, and I do not need one to live."
A mech's body could function without a spark. That was how the Autobots kept the Ark until it was revived. But a sparkless frame was merely a machine, with no capacity for thoughts or feelings. Starscream's claws dug into the floor.
Galvatron wasn't a mech. He was something else. Starscream didn't know what, but he couldn't be a mech. Not without a spark.
But, the dark energeon…
Dark energeon weakened the spark while strengthening the frame. The mecha who used it became rambling messes desperate for their next dose. Galvatron didn't quite fit that profile, but the effects added up.
Slipstream claimed she tried to kill him, but he was unkillable. Had she extinguished his spark only to watch him rise? Was that the moment when he stopped having one entirely?
Whatever the case, Galvatron needed to die. If extinguishing his spark wasn't an option, Starscream would have to destroy his frame instead. Not a single piece of it could survive.
His lost wing sat behind the dictator. He knew what he had to do.
With one final leap, Starscream launched himself at Galvatron. The dictator grunted in surprise, but caught him. Starscream sent all power to his thrusters. With every nuke once of energy he had left, he sent them both into the sky. With only a single wing, they spun, the world dissolving into an endless blur.
Starscream had done this on Cybertron, once. Only certain kinds of mecha were designed to survive atmospheric exit and reentry. He was not one of them, and neither was Galvatron.
When Skyfire—his Skyfire, who taught him how to train retrorats and told him everything he could about the world—went on that expedition and never came home, he went after him. With nothing but the energeon in his tank and determination burning in his fuel lines, he flew into the atmosphere. But his frame gave out quickly, and he crashed.
That was when he met Megatron, and set himself down the path to both his damnation and salvation.
So high into the air, the dictator didn't struggle. If he did, he would be dropped, and would surely die anyway. Instead, he clung tight, hands denting the metal beneath them. Everything grew cold.
The Earth was surprisingly beautiful from so high. Clouds swirled around, painting the sky with white. Stars glittered on the thin edge where the atmosphere met emptiness. Starscream turned off his thrusters and leaned back.
[Well played,] Galvatron sent. [But you'll die, too. A spark with no body may as well be deceased.]
[Do you think I did this alone?]
Starscream dipped backward all the way, spreading out his remaining wing. He fired his thrusters one final time, though they barely did anything at the edge of the atmosphere. Together, he and Galvatron plummeted.
Starscream could die, but he had full faith he wouldn't. His spark hadn't given out the many other times it should have. Why would this be any different? Their frames would be destroyed, but his spark would linger. As long as his spark turned, he still had a chance.
But he knew from creating Jetfire that memories were preserved in the processor, not the spark. His attempt to return life to Skyfire's frame instead created an entirely new mech. Who would he become when this was all over? Or would enough of his processor survive the fall to keep the memories intact?
The thought of death terrified him less than it used to. In the past, it stalked him, lurking at the edge of his mind. At some moments, he wished for it, craving relief from his suffering. Now, he held no feelings. It simply just was.
The world exploded, and everything went dark.
ΔΔΔ
Behind her, Jetfire's pedes landed with a thud. Slipstream tensed and untensed her plating, fighting the urge to scream and knowing that her broken vocalizer wouldn't allow it. Before them was a mess of flame and melted parts.
He said he wouldn't leave. What a liar! Now she was alone again…
Frag. The plan. She still had to follow through. But how could she when faced with this?
'When my frame gives out, pry open my spark chamber, and it will be there.'
Maybe…
Slipstream crouched in front of the pile of parts. Closer, it was easier to tell whose may have been whose. The purple was burnt and blackened, but still recognizable. Galvatron. He had taken out Galvatron, just like he said he would.
Galvatron was worse for wear than Starscream was. Aside from half a faceplate and the majority of his cannon, nothing was discernible. Something sat in the center of his chest, and Slipstream made a note to herself to retrieve it later. She needed to see if Starscream was telling the truth.
Despite all odds, the spark chamber was nearly intact. Still, something glowed beneath the small holes it had obtained. Slipstream fluttered her wings as she forced the chamber open.
If her vocalizer wasn't broken, she would have cried. It was right there, strong as ever, humming beneath her fingers. He was here. He was alive.
Jetfire came from behind her. He crouched down in front of his helm. Jetfire grabbed beneath the helm's chin and with a powerful crunch, tore it away from the body. Slipstream stared at him.
Jetfire stared back. He knew what this looked like from the outside. How could he not? For all she knew, he was just mutilating a corpse. But he had a reason.
Pharma said Ratchet could be brought back with a new spark as long as his processor was preserved. Jetfire and Jetstorm were created from placing sparks in empty frames. Here, they had both spark and processor. All they needed was a frame.
He held the helm out to Slipstream. She glared at it.
"Take this," Jetfire said. "I need my hands free."
A spark couldn't survive without insulation. It was a miracle Starscream's was still turning at all. They didn't have an insulator here, but they did have two working spark chambers. Jetfire pulled the spark chamber the rest of the way open and opened his.
He hadn't opened it before. The air hitting an area that wasn't meant to be open made him shudder. But he pressed on. He could only leave it open for so long. With gentle hands, he scooped Starscream's spark into his chamber.
He was the largest of the two of them. He had the most room for it. Still, as he slid his chamber shut, his chestplates tingled. He shook himself, subconsciously wringing his hands.
[Can you hear me?] He sent to the spark, despite knowing that Starscream's comms died with his frame.
The spark in his chest buzzed warmly. Maybe it could hear, after all. Or maybe it just felt him.
Jetfire turned to Slipstream. "We need to helm back—"
Slipstream shoved the helm into his chest. He took it, confusion traveling through him as she stalked toward the other set of remains. She crouched down and reached for something in the pile. Whatever it was, it had a large hole in the center of it.
She held it up, scrutinizing it. The matrix was spark-powered. It had sat inside that monster's chest for too long. The best way to ensure the future, now that Starscream was safe, was to find another Prime.
A new Prime would unite both factions, with Galvatron gone. Slipstream forced the matrix into her cockpit. It barely fit—she had to fold it in ways she wasn't certain it could fold—and as she attempted to click her cockpit shut, it refused. She would've grumbled in frustration, had her vocalizer been working. Instead, she let out an angry burst of static.
Something jolted inside her. One moment, she was standing before the remains of everything she'd known, attempting to force the matrix into her cockpit, and the next, she was on the ground, Jetfire staring down at her.
"Are you okay?" He asked.
Why did her chestplates hurt? Slipstream forced herself into a sitting position. What had even—
Did she just groan? Her vocalizer was broken! That shouldn't have…
"What happened?" She asked. Her voice was crackly, but it worked. How?
Jetfire's optics wandered over her frame. "You, uh… passed out, and the artifact—"
"The Matrix," she corrected.
"The Matrix did something to you," he said. "It's… I don't know. Are you okay?"
That did not just happen. The universe was playing a cruel joke. It had to be. But she searched her running programs and found it. Why was the world so cruel? Did it want to see her suffer?
She pushed herself to her pedes and shoved those thoughts into a closet and locked the door. That wasn't important right now. They needed to bring back Starscream and end the war.
"I'm fine," she said, twitching her wings to rid herself of the electric itch that crept through her plating. "We need to head back. They're probably still fighting."
Jetfire frowned. "Right."
Gingerly, he placed the severed helm in his cockpit. Slipstream sent him one final glance before taking to the air. Luckily, the battlefield was still in view. Otherwise, she might've had to ask him for directions. That would've been an awkward conversation.
She hovered above the battlefield and grabbed every available comm channel she possibly could.
[Cease the fighting! Galvatron is dead! We are free!]
Her Seekers were the first to listen. Slowly, the battle dissipated, both sides glaring at each other warily. Slipstream lowered herself to the ground, Jetfire trailing behind her.
"The plan is a success," she said. "We don't have to fight anymore."
The crowd rippled. From it emerged Acid Storm, still limping on a broken pede. She reached toward Slipstream, who sidestepped the touch.
"What happened to you?" She asked.
"That's not important," Slipstream said.
"It almost looks like—"
Slipstream whipped toward her, wings fanned wide, and snapped, "It's not important! I'm in the middle of ending a war, here!"
"Holy frag! He's really dead, isn't he?" Some Autobot shouted from the crowd.
Slipstream flicked her wings and swiped her claws through the air. "That's what I've been trying to say! With Galvatron dead, I am the Head Commander of the Decepticons, and I want to negotiate peace!"
"Could you turn off the light show, maybe?"
If another bot called out from the crowd, Slipstream just might rescind her peace offer, part of the plan or not. "What light show?"
One of the bots closest to her just motioned to her. Slipstream rolled her optics and glanced at her frame. Huh. That was new. She always felt a creeping electricity passing over her, but she assumed it was just memories of her time with the collar.
Had the matrix…? Maybe. Whatever. She had to turn it off. Eventually, the crackling energy dissipated.
"Now," she said with a sigh. "Maybe we can get back to the point?"
The crowd hushed as Elita parted them, Prowl soon joining her. They approached Slipstream cautiously, weapons uncharged but still at the ready. Jetfire shuffled his pedes, searching the edges of the crowd.
Where was she? Skywarp was sent to fetch mecha from the other side of the battlefield with Thundercracker, Glit, and Breakdown. She needed to know what happened.
There! A flash of purple. He made his way around Slipstream and the others carefully, not wanting to draw attention. That was quickly thrown out the window when Skywarp launched herself at him with a running start, flinging her arms over his shoulders.
"You're okay!" She said. "Skyfire told us you took off."
"Yeah," Jetfire said sheepishly. "I did…"
Skywarp's optics scanned his frame. "You shouldn't—"
She froze, wings rising as her plating stiffened. Her optics went wide. She motioned toward his cockpit.
"What is that?"
Jetfire grabbed her shoulders—gently, always gently.
"Don't freak out," he said.
Skywarp bared her dentae. "Tell me that's not what I think it is."
The spark hidden inside his chamber buzzed. Jetfire sighed.
"It is."
Skywarp's wings drooped as her optics filled with fuzz. "No—"
"Look!" Jetfire hissed, opening his chestplates.
Skywarp remained still, optics growing unfocused.
"He's alive," Jetfire said. "That's him. His memories are in his processor. That's why I took it. All he needs is a new frame."
Skywarp took a step back.
"A new frame," she said quietly.
Then, with immense speed, she turned back toward the others.
"Glit—" The aforementioned mech looked up from the mech whose lines he was sealing. "Take out my warp drive."
"What?" Jetfire said.
Skywarp's ability to warp was something she cherished deeply. Just the idea that she might have to remove her warp drive was enough to make her flee. And now she was asking for it to be removed?
"Take it out right now!" Skywarp snapped. "And get Skyfire over here."
Glit finished sealing the mech's lines and padded over, his olfactory ridge crinkled. "That is a surgical procedure, Skywarp. I can't just—"
"I don't care," she hissed. "Take it out and give it to Skyfire when he gets here."
Glit glanced at Breakdown.
"Fine," he said. "But it won't be pleasant."
"I don't care—"
"Sit down."