Chapter Text
There wasn't anything in between. One moment, Starscream was crashing to the Earth, and the next, his optic feed was refocusing in a brightly lit room. He jolted upward, half-numb limbs barely supporting him. But he had limbs in the first place.
He wasn't sure what he expected. Perhaps he wanted proof that all those legends about the All-Spark and Primus were true. But if he wasn't dead, just disembodied, would he really have received that confirmation?
Something shifted in the corner of his vision. He turned toward it. Slowly, a vaguely brown blur formed into the shape of Windblade. He stared at her. She stared back, blinking, before sitting up.
"You're awake," she said.
"Am I home?" Starscream asked.
Windblade nodded. "They took you back."
Starscream narrowed his optics. Galvatron's frame was utterly destroyed, including the warp drive. Where else could—?
"She didn't," Starscream hissed. He pushed himself up, searching the room, but no one else was there. "Where is she?"
Windblade stood up, turning toward the door. "I'll let them know you're ready."
Starscream was going to… he didn't know what he was going to do, but it wasn't going to be pleasant. How could she? He'd fought so hard for her to avoid giving her warp drive up only for her to do it in the end! But as the door slid open and she stepped through, all of those thoughts slid away.
She stared down at him, wings low and optics fuzzy.
"You're alive," she said.
"I am," he said.
"I—" she curled her claws, her wings trembling. "How could you? You promised!"
Starscream dug his claws into the berth
"I didn't intend to break it," he said.
"But you did!" Skywarp hissed. "You left us."
"I left to prevent you from doing this!" Starscream yelled, failing to push himself up. He flicked his wings. "I couldn't let you know, or Galvatron wouldn't buy the act."
Skywarp stared. Then, her claws curled into fists as she flicked her wings in response. She grit her dentae, a growl rumbling from her throat.
"You're an idiot," she said, her voice trembling. "A complete fragging idiot. You just can't keep yourself from running into danger. Do you need to get hurt? Is that what you want?"
Starscream shook his helm. "No, I—"
Was it? Every moment Megatron was kind to him send shudders down his dorsal strut. Sometimes, he wondered if the mech had undergone some twisted form of lobotomy in secret. The moment a possible adversary arrived, he was quick to leap into battle and follow them despite not knowing where he would end up.
He left the alternate world's Autobots to pit himself beneath the claws of a selfish dictator, this time on purpose. Megatron had often accused him of wanting to be harmed, or of asking for it, whatever that meant. Maybe he knew now. He also said that Starscream needed someone to control him, and maybe he did.
No. He couldn't let himself go down that path. Not after fighting for himself for so long.
"That's not what I want," Starscream said. "I saw the only clear path forward and took it."
Skywarp sighed. "It didn't have to be like this."
"What would you have had me do?"
"Stay!" Skywarp said, stepping closer. "I would've had you stay, and not risk yourself with yet another Megatron!"
Starscream finally managed to sit up, the burning fury in his fuel lines overriding the numbness of his new limbs.
"And watch my newspark be used as a tool for war?" He hissed. "This was the quickest way to get us home, and it worked. I don't regret it."
If he hadn't left, how much longer would Jetfire have been under their control? No matter how hard he fought, they would've made him a part of project Safeguard. It was inevitable. But if he left, then he could fight Galvatron through deception.
And if he never left, what would've become of Slipstream? She thought she deserved what Galvatron was doing to her when he first arrived. Would she have continued to suffer under his wrath, believing it all to be justified?
Where was she, anyway? She had begged to come with him. Did she sneak in, or did she follow his advice and stay behind? Someone needed to lead her world's Decepticons.
"That's the problem!" Skywarp said. "You never regret anything. You hurt yourself and don't even think about how the mecha who care about you will react!"
Starscream pushed himself off the berth, clinging to it as his new legs threatened to give out, having never supported weight before. He adjusted his wings to counterbalance and took a step forward.
"I thought about making it home," he said. "I thought about you and Jetfire, recharging in the berth with me, safe and free. I did this for you. Every moment I endured under that tyrant, I was thinking of you."
Skywarp's wings drooped. Tentatively, she reached out, her face falling.
"Screamer…" She sighed and shook her helm. "You know what?"
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder.
"I don't want to keep fighting," she said. "We're both stupid. Let's just leave it at that."
Starscream returned the embrace.
He knew Skywarp would be angry with him. She had been for similar events in the past. At least this time she didn't push him away for it. Which…
He still needed to speak with Slipstream.
"Did anyone come back with us?" He asked.
Skywarp released him, glancing at the door. "Well…"
She twitched her wing and strode over, then pressed the button to open the door. Starscream could make out at least four mecha on the other side of the door, though the other three were quickly eclipsed as one of them entered. He pushed through the doorway, optics wide, and Starscream's spark stopped.
"Jetfire…?" He muttered.
There was no patch, no scar, not even a single mark to indicate what Starscream had done to him. It was too good to be true. Jetfire's wings fluttered and Starscream staggered forward.
His pedes fell beneath him, but rather than meeting the floor, he was held in large, strong arms. They pulled him close. Fuzzy red optics stared into his.
"Jetfire—" Starscream's voice was swallowed by a crackle of static as his vocalizer refused to work.
"I missed you," Jetfire said quietly.
Starscream closed his optics and wrapped his arms around his newspark.
"I couldn't protect you," he said. "I tried. I failed, but I tried."
Jetfire squeezed him. "I-it was why you left, right? To keep me safe?"
His voice lifted at the end, as if he wasn't certain. Had he thought Starscream didn't care about him? What had he assumed?
"Yes," Starscream said. "They wanted to use you, and I couldn't let them, but… they did it anyway. I should've been faster. Not waited so long."
If only he had taken Galvatron out sooner. Maybe then, Jetfire could've been spared. But no matter how deeply he wished that could've been the case, it was nothing but a kind lie. There was no killing Galvatron faster, and no preventing the Autobots from using Jetfire. In war, there was only cruelty after cruelty. Even the kindest sparks hardened.
Skyfire was proof of that.
"You were trying to help," Jetfire said quietly, optics drifting away. He blinked, focusing on Starscream again. "You're here now. Really here. Please don't ever leave again."
Starscream could never promise anything, not even as part of a gentle lie.
"I'll try not to," he said.
They stayed together, holding each other as if nothing else existed. Then, a shuffling sound made its way to Starscream's audials, the quiet click-clank of pedesteps following it.
"Can I talk to him now?"
Starscream released Jetfire and stared past him. Slipstream stood a short distance away, her wings tense as she leaned forward. Something glowed inside her cockpit, which… had it always been that shape? No, it hadn't. What happened to her?
Jetfire stepped away, wringing his hands. "Go ahead."
Before she could speak, Starscream introjected.
"What happened to you?" He asked.
Slipstream flinched. "Not important."
She took a step closer, inserting herself between him and Jetfire. Then, with a quick motion, she smacked him in the face with her palm. It didn't hurt at all, or use any meaningful amount of force, but it was so unexpected that Starscream took a moment to collect himself.
"Never do that again!" She spat.
"I don't want to test my mortality more than once," Starscream said.
Slipstream flicked her wings. "Good, because if you did, I'd fragging kill you myself."
Starscream put his hands up in mock surrender. Slipstream sighed and looked away. She glanced at the other two occupants of the room, hands drifting to her arms, before turning back to him.
[You saved me,] she sent.
[Only as much as you would let me.]
[No, idiot. You saved me. I would've kept taking his slag forever if you hadn't come along. I thought just because I failed, I deserved it.]
Starscream shook his helm. [I've found that attempted murder typically has a reason. I was in your position during my world's war.]
[I know,] Slipstream replied. [But still… you didn't have to help me and you did.]
She didn't understand it. The need to defend her had pulled at him, some seemingly dormant part of his processor coming alive. He couldn't resist—he just needed to act.
[Spare it,] Starscream sent. [What's done is done.]
"Um."
The conversation halted as a mech poked his helm through the doorway. He was the one with Jetfire—his gestalt partner, then.
"Can we come in now?" The mech asked. "A creepy blue guy just showed up with his buddies, so it's getting a little bit crowded."
Soundwave! An intense wave of emotion overwhelmed Starscream's spark. He waved the mech inside.
"Yes!" He said. "You can come in."
The mech entered hesitantly, followed by an equally hesitant Skyfire. Behind him, Thundercracker trailed in. In a blur, Rumble and Frenzy darted in, followed by a much calmer Ravage and Soundwave. Something small rested on both of his shoulders.
One of the objects let out a caw, and as Soundwave passed through the doorway, it became clear: Laserbeak and Buzzsaw. They had come along! Based on their newfound perch, Soundwave must have accepted them, even though they weren't his Buzzsaw and Laserbeak.
Had that been what they wanted all along? It made complete sense.
"Starscream—alive," Soundwave said.
Starscream fluttered his wings. "Yes. I am."
Soundwave shifted his helm so his visor stared directly into Starscream's optics.
"Laserbeak, Buzzsaw—grateful," he said. "Soundwave—also grateful."
Starscream smiled. Finally, a mech who understood what he had done. He could always count on Soundwave.
"You're welcome," he said.
How many more mecha would be grateful to meet the counterparts of their lost comrades? So many were lost in the war. It wouldn't be the same, but maybe they could fill the gaps.
With so many mecha in the room, it was nearly impossible to hold a conversation. Any attempts died as Starscream was quickly released from the CRI's hold, and the group headed home.
☆☆☆
Starscream probably should have wonders where Nova Storm was in the crowd, but the question was already answered the moment they entered their quarters. Nova Storm rushed at them, wings high and fluttering, with an uncharacteristic joyful squeal. She launched herself at Skywarp first, of course. She was more Skywarp's companion than anything else. Starscream quickly backed away, wanting to both give them space and avoid receiving an embrace of his own.
"You're okay!" She said, a grin on her face. "Soundwave said you came back, but I almost didn't believe him!"
"Yep," Skywarp said, adding an extra pop to the 'p' as her wings twitched. "We're back…"
Movement caught the corner of Starscream's optics. He tracked it. Slipstream rubbed her arms in the fashion customary of an anxious mood, slowly backing toward the door.
[Where are you going?] He sent to her.
Slipstream flinched.
"What's wrong?" Nova Storm asked softly, releasing Skywarp from her hold as her brow furrowed.
"Nothing's wrong!" Skywarp said just a little too quickly. Nova Storm's wings twitched, clearly picking up on it. "Just… things are a little different, I guess."
Slipstream was creeping toward the door again.
[Stop it. Why do you want to leave so badly?]
[Why do you think?]
Starscream fought not to roll his optics.
[It's not because you want to go back to your world and be the leader your Decepticons need right now, is it?]
Slipstream leaned around Jetfire to glare at him.
[Thought not. Tell me what the issue is.]
"They, um…" Skywarp's optics drifted toward the wall. "I got my warp drive taken out so we could use it to go home."
She said it quickly, as if Nova Storm somehow wouldn't hear it if she mashed the words together. Nova Storm's wings lowered.
"I see," she said quietly.
[Her,] Slipstream sent. [I can't—she's just… her. It's her.]
Right. Nova Storm was close to Slipstream. Here, Slipstream was dead, but in Slipstream's world, it was Nova Storm. As much as he was tempted to dismiss her trepidation, Starscream was reminded of his own experiences. Thundercracker hovered awkwardly at the edge of the room beside Skyfire, her purple stripes of paint clear in the light.
[She'll be happy to see you,] Starscream sent.
[But I'm not her Slipstream.]
Buzzsaw nuzzled Soundwave with a quiet chirp. Soundwave reached up and stroked its beak.
"It's fine," Skywarp said. "Really. It'll grow back—"
Nova Storm pulled Skywarp into a hug.
"I know," she said. "I'm glad you're back. I'll help you out until it does."
Skywarp sank into the embrace, nearly going limp. All of the tension drained from her frame as she closed her optics.
[I don't think she'll mind.]
Nova Storm and Skywarp stayed entwined for a few moments. When the embrace finally ended, Starscream took the opportunity to pounce. He strode toward them, forcing his wings into neutral position.
"Nova Storm," he said.
Nova Storm raised her wings. "I'm glad you're back."
"I have someone you should meet," Starscream said. It was better to bring it up before she had the chance to escape.
Nova Storm's wings twitched. "Oh?"
Starscream turned toward the crowd, catching Slipstream's optics. When she didn't move, he motioned for her to approach. She did so hesitantly, her wings quivering as she forced them into neutral position.
Nova Storm's optics widened. "Is that—?"
"Slipstream," Starscream said.
Slipstream stopped in front of them, her wings twitching. "Hello."
Nova Storm leaned forward, optics scrutinizing her. Then, she leaned back, a strained smile om her face.
"You look different," she said.
She definitely did, but most of those differences arose during the time when Starscream was offline. He was curious, but not enough to bother asking.
"A lot has happened in a very short amount of time," Slipstream muttered.
Nova Storm's smile grew less strained. "Definitely."
Slipstream took a step back, her hands coasting over her arms. She started to turn away, but Nova Storm stepped forward, the tips of her claws gently brushing against her side. She froze.
"I missed you," she said quietly. "I know you're not mine, but you could be, if you wanted to."
Slipstream's gaze hardened for a moment, and Starscream began to doubt his decision. Then, it softened, her wings quivering.
"You don't mean that," she said.
Was she serious? Starscream tapped his pede and glared at her. Her optics met his, and she looked away, wilting.
[If you don't let yourself have good things, then you'll never have them,] Starscream sent. [I know Nova Storm. She isn't lying. So stop acting like a kicked cyberkitten and just talk to her.]
[I'm not a kicked cyberkitten.]
Slipstream walked away.
☆☆☆
[I need to speak with you.]
The message was from Windblade. Starscream tapped his pede. Should he go? The last time she asked for a meeting with him, she had him and Jetfire ambushed just so she could prove to herself that Starscream had actually created Jetfire. She was oddly fascinated with his spark, and he knew why.
As much as he enjoyed throwing himself into danger, he wasn't eager to risk another confrontation. His hand drifted to the arm guard that covered his medical panel, and he fought a shudder. He had enough of that with Galvatron.
But if he didn't go, he would never know what she wanted. So, with a sigh, he pushed himself away from his desk and headed through the hall.
It had only been a handful of days since he and the others returned home. Skyfire had used Skywarp's sacrificed warp drive to set up a spacebridge with record speed, which allowed mecha to cross freely between worlds. Many mecha from the other world were already present in the halls as he walked toward Windblade's office, side by side with familiar faces.
His own office wasn't out of the way, but it wasn't quite in the main area, either. New Deception Command were all in the same general cluster, though most of them spent their time elsewhere. As time wore on, everything grew more and more consolidated, especially with the need to keep track of two separate universes of mecha. The CRI—both versions of it—moved quickly, eagerly welcoming Autobots and Decepticons from both worlds after peace negotiations were finalized.
Both factions were tired of the war, and Slipstream was a quick negotiator. Starscream suspected that she just let the Autobots have whatever they wanted, which wasn't much, but he didn't feel like confronting her about it. The Other Decepticons were hers to manage, despite her reluctance to do so.
Starscream stumbled slightly around the corner, clutching the wall. His weakness and balance issues weren't entirely gone. Some of it was spark-coded, it seemed, but a lot of it was made worse over time, so a fresh frame brought him back before much of the damage was done. Still, he wouldn't have undergone the procedure unless it was necessary for his survival, and there was no saving what was left behind after he fought Galvatron.
He send a comm to Windblade as he approached the door. It slid open immediately. Ahead of him, Windblade sat forward in her seat, her wings set high. Starscream stepped into the room as the door shut behind him.
"I wasn't sure if you would come," Windblade said.
Starscream pushed out the seat in front of her desk and sat. "I considered staying in my office."
Windblade hummed, staring at some seemingly random point on her desk.
"I'm glad you didn't," she said. Her wings twitched as she looked at him. "I have something very important to address."
"And that would be…?"
Windblade closed her optics, her plating snapping close before relaxing. She brought one of her arms from beneath the desk, laying her hand palm-up on its surface.
"You asked me who I used to be, once," she said. "I think you ought to know."
She flexed her fingers. Tiny specks of light flew off of them, gathering into a small ball. The light bounced off of her plating. Starscream dug his claws into his armrests.
Her statement had two meanings—he ought to know who she was because she felt she should tell, and he ought to know because he already knew her. No other mech he met had that ability.
"Sunstorm," he muttered. "You were Sunstorm."
Windblade let the light fade. "Yes."
"I thought you were dead," Starscream said, static creeping into his voice.
He mourned Sunstorm for so long, had felt pain so spark-deep that his only choice was to shove it from his processor, just like with Thundercracker. Now, the source of that pain was sitting before him, alive and well. She had attempted to hurt him and Jetfire, for frag's sake!
"The CRI found me when Megatron dragged you away," Windblade said. "I was hurt and sick, but they helped."
It made sense. Sunstorm wasn't dead when Megatron took him away. Starscream had struggled against him, screaming for them to do back, but Megatron only gripped him harder, insisting that they had to leave. The enforcers had already swarmed Darkmount, and any mecha left behind would either be arrested or killed—most likely the latter.
"They were there?" Starscream asked.
Windblade shook her helm. "Not until after the Enforcers left. They thought I was dead, so they left me behind, and the CRI picked me up. I couldn't walk or speak. Doctor Cryak took me in."
Doctor Cryak? That sounded familiar…
Wait. The memory file came to him, and he skimmed it. Skyfire—his Skyfire—had mentioned Cryak before. She was a researcher and medic. He had met with her a few times, and had always asked Starscream not to mention where he was going.
Frag, was the CRI there all along? Had Skyfire been a part of them? Was that why the Council had targeted him?
(Was that what the other Skyfire was missing?)
"I never recovered," Windblade said. "My parts were too damaged to repair. There were too few functioning neurocircuits left to integrate new ones. Cryak started the frame replacement program for cases like me."
Starscream could never agree with their methods—the CRI was careless with life, wasteful of resources, and moved through trials entirely too fast—but he knew utility when he saw it. There were mecha who would have greatly benefited from the program, like Windblade, had it not been so dangerous. But even that was sullied by the pointless cruelty it took to get there.
Starscream was no stranger to it on both ends. He killed many mecha during the war purely for the reason that they wore the wrong badge. He killed others for the sake of keeping his power. But that was why he could recognize the issue in the first place—he had experience.
"When I met you again, I saw myself," Windblade said. "I didn't want you to suffer the way I suffered. You rejected my offer, but I couldn't let it go. So, I had them make you a frame anyway."
It was a blatant disregard of his wishes. Yet, it had turned out to be a boon. Without it, he wouldn't be sitting here. Windblade smiled at him.
"I think it was the right choice," she said.
Starscream couldn't deny it. Sure, he could complain about how she went behind his back to do it, but he wouldn't be here if she hadn't. So, he kept his vocalizer silent.
Windblade sighed. "Fine. Be like that. Seeing your frame utterly destroyed as Skywarp and the others brought you through the portal, I couldn't stand keeping my distance. I had to tell you who I was before I lost you again."
"It's good to know," Starscream said.
And it was. His processor was stalling, a swirling mess of something he couldn't identify rising in his spark, but it was good to know. Why she had kept it from him before was a complete mystery, but there was no changing the past.
"I hope we can get to know each other again," Windblade said.
Starscream tapped his pede. They were completely different mecha now, not just because Windblade had changed her name and frame. Sunstorm wouldn't have done those things to him. He and Sunstorm were as innocent as they could be back then, two newsparks trying to find their way in the world.
Now, Windblade was a high-ranking member of the Cybertron Revival Initiative. She held knowledge like a weapon and used any means to seek it. Where Sunstorm was light and joy, she was suspicion and shadow.
Starscream was a well-known traitor and deceiver. He abandoned those he cared about repeatedly. He may have felled monsters, but he was also one himself. Where he was once skittish and gentle, he was now harsh and brazen.
Starscream bid her farewell and left her office, the tips of his digits growing numb. He sank his claws into his arm guards as he walked down the halls. The day was far from over, but the chaos swirling in his processor drew him away from his office and toward his room.
He paused before the door as another mech approached. Jetstorm—Starscream had finally learned his name—stared at him, a frown on his face. His wings went wide.
"Starscream," he said.
Starscream moved toward the keypad, but Jetstorm stuck an arm out. Starscream stepped back.
"What is it?" He said.
Jetstorm tilted his helm. "I don't trust you."
Starscream resisted the urge to roll his optics, knowing it would only cause the newspark to impede him further. If it was a fight he wanted, then a fight he would get. Starscream fanned out his wings.
"So what?" He said.
Jetstorm's gaze sharpened. He bared his teeth.
"You shot him," he hissed.
The fight drained from Starscream's processor immediately, replaced by a cold numbness. He was so relieved to learn Jetfire was alive that he hadn't truly thought of the fact that he harmed him since.
"It wasn't intentional."
"Didn't look very accidental to me," Jetstorm said.
Starscream tapped his pede. How did he explain it to a newspark, especially when he barely understood it himself? The burning optics, the crushing grip, the inability to escape—in that moment, he was a retrorat drowning in a pit. Jetfire hadn't been Jetfire.
"I couldn't let him come with me, and he wouldn't let go," Starscream said. "I needed to do something."
Jetstorm flicked his wings. "Liar."
"I'm not a liar," Starscream said, narrowing his optics.
Jetstorm tilted his wings—one up, one down. It was peculiar.
"You just admitted you 'needed to do something,'" Jetstorm said. "You did it on purpose, but you said you didn't. You're a liar."
Starscream's pede thunked loudly against the floor. The noise jabbed his audials, but he couldn't stop. Perhaps it was foolish, but he needed Jetstorm to understand.
"I didn't want to hurt him," Starscream hissed. "I never want to hurt him. I had no choice. He had to let me go."
Jetstorm opened his mouth to speak, but Starscream threw his helm to the side and kept speaking, the words pouring like rain. He couldn't stop.
"I had to kill Galvatron or we wouldn't be free. I couldn't stay. When Jetfire disappeared after that battle, I thought I killed him. I truly did. The only thing that kept me going was knowing I was going to kill that monster."
Jetstorm's wings pulled closer to his body, losing their aggressive edge. His snarl faded to a frown.
"You still hurt him," he said.
Starscream closed his optics. "I know. And I regret it."
Jetstorm's wings drooped.
"If you're really serious, there's some stuff you should know, because he probably won't tell you," he said. "It's… a lot."
What happened to his newspark while he was gone?
"Please, just tell me."
Jetstorm nodded, adjusting his plating as if to steel himself.
"You didn't see him after that battle because he tried to kill Skyfire," Jetstorm said.
That didn't sound like Jetfire at all. Starscream flexed his claws.
"He was imprisoned for it, but we broke him out and ran away. He's… something happened to him. I don't know what. But he doesn't wanna fuel. He's scared of it."
That also sounded nothing like him. Jetfire could barely resist fueling. He enjoyed the process, often getting his hands on things he shouldn't. Some of it was anxiety-driven, but…
What had happened to him?
☆☆☆
The thought lingered in his processor. Every movement, every shift of his voice, Starscream logged. Jetfire was different. He would be, obviously, but the extent of it was what shocked Starscream.
But every line of questioning led to the same answer: nervous hand-wringing and a quick, "I'm fine."
So, his processor still on his predicament, Starscream extracted himself from his recharging allies and roamed the halls. It was nice to do so with few stumbles and minimal support, for once. How long would it take for all of that to come back?
He shook himself. Whatever happened was going to happen. It didn't matter. He would adapt, like he did before. But it would be much easier if he could just get it over with.
He found himself in front of the many windows in the building, staring out at the sky. Somewhere out there was Earth—not the version of it that hurt Jetfire so deeply, just the one he loved and was born on. Did he miss it? Or did the memories of the other Earth taint it?
Starscream let his wings fall. Why did the others have to follow him through that portal?
Pedesteps at the side of the hall made him freeze. He straightened, fighting not to fan out his wings. Everyone should've been in recharge. Why was someone awake? And why did they have to walk down this hall of all halls?
Silver shone in the dim light, and Starscream was faced with familiar red optics. Some part of his processor begged to activate his targeting systems, but a much larger part of it wanted to freeze in place. Megatron stopped a short distance away, staring down at him.
"Starscream," he said. "I didn't expect to see anyone."
Starscream flicked his wings. "Neither did I."
Megatron grunted and took a step closer, turning toward the window.
"What's keeping you up?" He asked.
"Does the phrase 'cross-universe escapade' sound familiar?" Starscream said, raising his brow sarcastically.
"I suppose it does," Megatron said.
Silence crawled over them, digging itself into Starscream's plating. He forced himself not to scratch the upsettingly familiar itch.
"I killed you," Starscream said.
Megatron turned toward him. His lips were pressed thin, his optics cold, dying embers. There was nothing to read.
"A version of you," Starscream added.
Megatron's optics bored into him.
"I heard about that," he said slowly, measuredly, as if holding back something greater.
There were mecha who knew what happened to him. They had guessed, and he had confirmed it. Still, something inside him longed to spill. It wanted him to slice himself open and let everything fall out in front of Megatron, as if baring the truth would…
He didn't know what it would do, or what he wanted. He just yearned.
Starscream dug his claws into his arm guards.
"He hurt his closest ally, just like…"
You, he wanted to say. But he could never say what he wanted to around Megatron.
"Just like someone we know. She thought she deserved it. He told her she did."
Megatron didn't speak. Should Starscream tell him? Megatron did it to him, after all—a dark, twisted version of him, but a version of him nonetheless.
"He made me link up with him, repeatedly," Starscream said, voice breaking. Why was it breaking? "For information, for pleasure—he never told me the truth about why. He just wanted to have me, so he did. And all the while, Jetfire…"
Starscream still didn't know what happened to Jetfire. He likely never would.
"No matter how many times…"
Starscream froze as Megatron finally spoke. It was quiet and mumbly, but in the silent halls, it carried.
"What?" Starscream said.
"You just kept getting up, no matter how many times I thought I went too far," Megatron said. "No matter what I did, you'd just get back up again, and I convinced myself that it wasn't hurting you, because if it was, you wouldn't get back up."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Starscream said.
Megatron hung his helm. "I'm sorry."
What?
"You already apologized," Starscream said.
"About that, yes," Megatron said. "But not about this. I'm sorry he did that to you."
Starscream never quite understood the point of apologies. He understood this sort even less.
"I don't know what you mean," he said.
"I should've realized by now that you will always get back up if you aren't given a safe place to rest," Megatron said. "It's in your nature."
Starscream scoffed. "Like you know anything about my nature."
It was petulant—the irritated words of a newspark. Megatron knew him just as well as Skywarp did or Thundercracker had. He had molded him. Starscream followed his lead like a cyberduckling, always looking up, up, up until he realized he was being looked down upon.
"Perhaps I don't," Megatron said. "Still, you should rest."
Starscream tapped his pede. "I can't, if you haven't noticed."
At this point, Megatron would glare at him, perhaps chastise him for being disrespectful. He was always so obsessed with attention and respect, but not in ways that meant anything. Only the insignificant things—optic to optic contact, stillness, quietness—seemed to matter to him.
"I suppose not," Megatron said.
There was no sharpness to his tone. It was light, almost fond. Something crawled up Starscream's dorsal strut. Where was the scowl? The scolding? The harsh words?
"You don't mean it," Starscream said.
Megatron's brow furrowed. "Don't mean what?"
Had he secretly gone to a different world? Was he actually home? Starscream's claws itched.
"I'm not here," He muttered. "I'm not."
Megatron took a step closer. "Starscream—"
"Just do what you're supposed to!" Starscream spat, taking a step back. "Stop… stop whatever this is."
"Whatever what is?" Megatron asked softly—so, so softly.
Starscream stomped his pede. "You're just so… you can't just yell at me, and scold me, and hit me for so long, then turn around and be so soft! It's wrong."
"I harmed you," Megatron said. "I'm trying to rectify that."
The walls within Starscream's processor broke. Static filled his vision, his vocalizer glitching and screeching as he stomped his pede again and again, almost rhythmically. How could he? After everything, how could he?
"I—you—" Starscream stammered, his vocalizer spitting static. Megatron took a step toward him, and Starscream fanned out his wings. "Leave!"
Megatron… retreated.
Starscream stood, silence filling the air. Megatron actually listened to him. Had the world fallen apart? Was he actually here and not in some strange parallel universe? He had apologized to him before, but it was still so…
Had he meant it? Truly, completely meant it? Starscream thought he had, but he didn't comprehend exactly what that meant. Not until now.
Sinking to the floor, Starscream curled up, burying his face in his knees.
This was what he had always wanted, wasn't it? For Megatron to respect him and listen to him? So why did it hurt? Why was it so wrong?
He remained curled until the world faded away, his body forcing recharge. He stirred when large, gentle hands hoisted him. Soft red light met his optics.
"Megatron," He muttered.
Megatron grunted.
"Why?" Starscream said.
"I was a fool obsessed with power," Megatron said. "You were the one thing I couldn't control."
It made sense. Something clicked in Starscream's processor—the familiar hold, the soft voice—and for a moment, he was small. He shifted in Megatron's arms, clinging to him. Megatron adjusted his grip, holding him tighter.
"But I'm not that mech anymore," Megatron said. "At least, I'm trying not to be."
Starscream nuzzled Megatron's chest, squeezing his optics shut.
"He called me beautiful. Said he wanted to break me," Starscream said.
He left the last part unsaid: it may have worked.
"And you killed him," Megatron said, his voice growing sharp. "You're untameable, Starscream."
Starscream hummed, sinking back into recharge. Later, he woke nestled between his allies, and had to wonder how Megatron managed to become so gentle. Then, it came to him in brief glimpses—little moments before and during the war, few and far between, where kindness, comfort, and affection were offered with no strings attached.
Megatron was capable of this all along.
Bitterness coated Starscream's tongue. But how much could he fault him? He, too, had been unnecessarily cruel in the face of war. Still… Megatron was capable of this all along, and he still chose to hurt him.
It shouldn't have been so upsetting to realize. He already knew it, it just didn't sink in until now. But another part of him spoke louder.
Megatron was trying. He held him. He hated what was done to him. The cruel, twisted mirror that Galvatron represented was long dead in both worlds.
Starscream couldn't forgive, nor could he forget, but he could appreciate change for what it was.