Chapter Text
Jetfire was tired no matter how much he recharged. His systems were sluggish, barely responding when he asked them to. Every notification on his HUD stuttered and lagged—not that he was reading them, anyway.
"Jetfire?"
Jetfire startled, nearly falling off the berth. He pushed himself up.
"Yeah?" He said.
Starscream stood in the doorway, one hand against the doorframe.
"Would you like to get some fuel with me?" He asked.
Jetfire's hand gripped the berth. He wanted to spend time with Starscream, but the thought of refueling made his chestplates ache. Still, he forced himself up.
"Sure," he said.
Every step toward the mess hall just made the dread settle further. When they finally reached the front of the line, relief washed over him. A variety of dishes sat before them, all of different consistencies and flavors. Right. He didn't have to fuel on just energeon anymore.
He knew that, but it always took a moment to sink in.
Jetfire decided to play it safe, taking only things he'd had before. Starscream's optics followed his arm as he took his portion, and Jetfire fought not to cringe under his gaze. Why was he watching so closely?
They sat down at the table. Jetfire's wings twitched. Why couldn't they go back to their room? It was so loud in here—mecha talking around each other with little care to what others were saying as long as they were heard. It was suffocating. But Starscream sat at the table, and the words stuck in Jetfire's vocalizer before they could ever leave.
Starscream picked at his meal, and Jetfire…
He should've been excited. He would have, before all of this happened. But all he could think of was the horrible heavy feeling in his tank. It was close to empty right now, but if he filled it, it would come back. But Starscream was right there.
Jetfire forced himself to take a few bites. Unlike with energeon, he wasn't immediately averse. But the worry in the back of his processor still lingered, and truly, he had no appetite. What once would've been rich and delicious was instead uninteresting and overwhelming. Were he an organic creature with a gag reflex, he would've gagged. But Cybertronians lacked that reflex, so instead the meal sat heavily in his tank.
It was just… awful. He felt awful.
"How are you?" Starscream asked.
Jetfire nearly jumped. Would have, if not for the table. Subconsciously, he wrung his hands. Sure, he felt awful, but that was the new normal, wasn't it?
"I'm fine," he said.
The table grew quiet after that. Starscream's brow furrowed. Jetfire looked anywhere but at him. Despite the conversation dying before it could start, the mess hall itself was still so loud. The cacophony buried itself in Jetfire's audials.
"Can we go back?" He asked quietly.
They were almost done refueling. He couldn't take it any longer.
Starscream nodded. Relief washed over Jetfire. The moment they were finished, Starscream stood up. Jetfire followed him to the waste disposal like a lost cyberpup, not wanting to spend a moment alone in this place. His creator didn't comment. He never did.
After disposing of their containers, they left, heading back toward the room. They didn't make it far before Jetfire's fans clicked on, a heat warning quietly slipping onto his HUD. The heat bubbled up from his core, bringing with it a wave of dizziness.
Jetfire leaned against the wall with a muffled whine, the room spinning as his helm began to hurt. Immediately, Starscream turned back toward him, his optics wide. He approached slowly, a hand reaching out to touch him.
'I'm okay,' Jetfire wanted to say, but his vocalizer refused to work.
"What's going on?" Starscream asked.
[Dizzy,] Jetfire sent, squeezing his optics shut. [Helm hurts.]
Starscream came closer. He rested a hand on Jetfire's arm. Jetfire reached for it, taking the hand in his.
"Do you want to see a medic?" Starscream asked.
Jetfire didn't know. He felt sick. Just sick. But was it really so bad? The thought of doing anything other than curling up in berth was unappealing.
He shook his helm, pushing himself away from the wall. "Can we just go back?"
Starscream frowned at him.
"Alright," he said. "Let's go."
The moment they reached the room, Jetfire headed straight for the berth and flopped onto it. The dizziness had subsided somewhat, but his helm still hurt and the heat warning hadn't gone away. His fans whirred in his audials.
His spark turned quickly, nearly pulsing. Jetfire brought a hand to his chest. Slowly, the symptoms came together in his processor, and he remembered one of his lectures.
Overcompensation syndrome, they called it—when an underfueled mech refueled more quickly than their systems could handle. It manifested in a variety of ways, and wasn't always consistent, as it was the overarching term for what was really a complex set of issues.
Onset was often delayed. A mech seemed fine, sometimes even felt better than ever, before it crept in and vitals started crashing. But a quick check of his own lessened some of the worry—they weren't declining as rapidly as they could be. He was just underfueled, not starved, so it shouldn't be fatal, even if it was what he assumed it was. It would likely pass, as long as he just laid there.
Still…
"Can you call Glit?" Jetfire asked, pushing himself up a little.
Starscream nodded.
The dizziness faded completely, but the helmache still persisted. Heaviness returned to Jetfire's primary fuel tank in full force, despite his secondary tank being empty. It was supposed to take the overflow, but… well, Jetfire suspected there wasn't actually any.
The door slid open. Glit strode gracefully through the room, the handle of a small medkit held gently in his dentae. He placed it on the edge of the berth. His optics met Jetfire's, but only for a moment. Jetfire offered him his arm.
Glit connected. He hummed, his tail swishing.
"I warned you," he said softly. He let out a sigh, closing his optics for a moment. "This will pass. You're not as far as you could be. When you feel well enough, we'll need to take some line samples so I can see what you're low on."
"Okay," Jetfire said.
It was exactly what he thought. Still, it was good to have confirmation. The clink-clink of heeled pedes travels through the room, and Jetfire was reminded of Starscream's presence. Slag. His creator was going to be upset.
But maybe…
"Warned him?" Starscream said, his brow furrowing. "About what?"
Glit glanced at Jetfire before turning his attention to Starscream. His tail lashed.
"That's private medical information," Glit said.
Starscream flicked his wings. "You seemed to have no problem talking about it in front of me just now."
"It's Jetfire's choice to reveal this information to you," Glit said. "Not mine."
Jetfire pushed himself into a sitting position. The ache in his helm grew at the change in posture, but he pushed through it.
"It's okay," Jetfire said. "He can know."
Starscream would be upset, but he wouldn't hurt him, right? A small part of his processor doubted that, trying to push visions of Starscream turning his rays on him to the forefront, but Jetfire ignored it. Starscream was trying to protect him and couldn't take him with him. He said so.
Glit hummed, his ears curling. "Fine. Jetfire was abusing his fuel preservation protocols when my assistant and I found him. We've been working on better habits, but it's not an overnight process."
Starscream's wings drooped, his shoulders going slack. His optics landed on Jetfire as his claws twitched. He didn't seem angry. That was good.
"It's not uncommon among shuttles," Glit said. He glared pointedly at Starscream. "Especially shuttles whose sparks were split from a smaller mech."
Starscream's gaze hardened, his claws curling in and out. "You know."
"Yes, I do," Glit said. "It's not exactly confidential information at this point, but Jetfire told me himself, if that makes you more comfortable. It takes five medics to wrangle the two of you, so I was bound to learn about it."
Starscream sighed, tensing and untensing his plating. Glit watched him for a moment, his tail swishing. Then, Glit licked his lips—an act that almost reminded Jetfire of an anxious dog.
"He isn't the only one that needs an appointment," Glit said.
Starscream's wings fluttered, but there were quickly forced still. He bared his dentae. "Don't start—"
"You haven't seen a medic since your frame replacement," Glit said. "It doesn't have to be me, but I have the tools right here, if you'd prefer to get it over with."
Starscream snarled, but before he could speak, Jetfire did.
"You should," he said.
Starscream's wings twitched, his claws continuing to flex. He tapped his pede and shook his helm with an irritated groan.
"Fine," he said.
Glit moved the medkit to a nearby table and motioned for Starscream to sit. Starscream sat on the edge of the berth, swinging his legs. It was a large berth—big enough to fit several mecha with little issue—so he and Jetfire fit easily. Despite the abundance of space, they were close together, Jetfire scooting even closer. Gently, Starscream rested a hand on Jetfire's leg.
Glit approached, placing his paws on the edge of the berth.
"Let's start with vitals," he said, unfurling his cable.
Starscream removed his arm guard. He stared down at his bare arm, brow furrowed. His plating tensed. Then, as if it had never happened, he relaxed and opened his panel. Glit plugged in.
Jetfire pushed himself off the wall to lean in, ignoring the sharp ache in his helm. Not only was this a medical appointment, it was his creator's medical appointment. He'd sat in on them before, and wanted any information he could glean.
Glit glanced at him, the edges of his lips rising. Jetfire smiled back.
"Your spark is strong as always," Glit said to Starscream. "Everything seems operational. Have you experienced any dizziness, disorientation, itching, or spark pain?"
Starscream shook his helm.
"Good," Glit said. "Your spark has reintegrated well."
"Then there's no cause for worry," Starscream said.
Glit let out a rumble. "These things can change at any moment. Just because you're fine now doesn't mean you'll be fine later. I don't care who you decide to see—don't skip your next appointment."
Starscream glared at him. "I won't."
Glit unlinked from Starscream. He reared up, placing his paws on Starscream's arm. He scrutinized the plating before feeling along it.
"They did good work," he said. "Plating is sturdy and thick, but too new for me to tell anything for certain. How have you been processing fuel?"
"My temperature fluctuates sometimes, and I'm a bit weak at the start and end of the day," Starscream said. "But nothing like when you first saw me."
"You'll let someone know if that changes," Glit said.
Starscream nodded, his claws tapping against the berth. "Yes, I will."
Glit closed his optics for a moment. His ears flicked. He licked his lips again.
"I know struggles like this are frustrating, and at times undignified," he said. "But we are here to help."
Starscream's claws dug into the berth. No matter what anyone said, Jetfire's creator was stubborn. It probably wouldn't get through to him, but it was a nice attempt. At least he and Skywarp had their mutual 'who can drag the other to the most appointments' competition going.
Glit turned toward Jetfire, optics searing into his from the suddenness, and Jetfire nearly flinched.
"That goes for you as well," Glit said. "Embarrassing or not, trivial or severe—it is our job to help you. Don't forget that."
"I won't," Jetfire said.
That was what he wanted to do, after all—help every mech he could. The realization struck his spark, making his chestplates sting. If a mech came to him with the same struggles he had, he wouldn't view them as stubborn, or paranoid, or dramatic. He wouldn't force them to do anything.
"Good," Glit said, turning back toward Starscream. "You could probably do with some line samples as well, but the need isn't as urgent. I just wanted to ensure your frame was integrating properly."
Glit said his goodbyes, then he was gone. The room fell silent. Jetfire pushed himself into a sitting position, still hot, but no longer dizzy or disoriented. His fuel tank twinged, and he fought not to press his hands into it. It wouldn't help.
Starscream's claws flexed against the berth. He kicked his pedes with a sigh.
"What happened while I was gone?" He asked.
A lot. Too much to explain. Jetfire didn't know what to say.
Starscream's olfactory ridge crinkled. He shook his helm. "I'll start with this one: why don't you want to refuel?"
Jetfire's plating tensed, his temperature increasing as the tension sealed the cracks between, keeping hot air from escaping. His wings lowered.
"I—I don't know," he said.
Skywarp had… well, she had, but that wasn't actually when it started. He'd refused fuel before that. It was the last thing he could control, and part of him wanted to let himself wither away just to maintain that control.
"I guess it was the only thing I had," he muttered.
Starscream looked away for a moment, optics dimming.
"The only thing you had," he muttered to himself. He blinked, turning back toward Jetfire. "But you have more now."
It was a statement, but the tone mad fit seem like a question.
"Yeah," Jetfire said. "I do."
Starscream nodded. His claws drifted to his arm guard, running down it.
"These things don't always go away," Starscream said. "But they can get better. They will get better."
Something clicked in the back of Jetfire's processor, facts and actions threading together. Carefully, he leaned over, resting a hand on top of the one Starscream had on his arm guard. Starscream's wings shuddered.
"Did you—"
"Yes," Starscream said. "I did. Once, while I was gone. I'd… forgotten the guard."
Jetfire didn't know that Starscream hurt himself, but it wasn't difficult to figure out. He showed him the guards while trying to get him to stop his own harmful habits—it was an easy connection to make. They said splitsparks got their personality code from their creators, and it must have been true.
He scooted closer, reaching around Starscream. He moved slowly, giving his creator ample time to wriggle away. Then, he wrapped him in a hug.
"I missed you," Jetfire said.
Starscream shifted in his grip, laying one of his hands on Jetfire's arms.
"I missed you as well," Starscream said.
Jetfire squeezed Starscream—gently, always gently—and buried his helm in his shoulder. His creator was here.
"Whenever they made me fight, I imagined you protecting me," Jetfire said. His voice wavered. "Telling Prowl to let me go back to medical training, or yelling at Skyfire to leave me alone…"
But he hadn't been there. Starscream was gone, silently executing a plan he never told anyone about. Jetfire's vision grew fuzzy. Everyone who could've kept him safe was gone or didn't bother.
Starscream tensed in his hold. He pushed himself out of it, and Jetfire released him, only for him to turn back around and wrap Jetfire in an embrace of his own. Jetfire returned it.
"I should have been there," Starscream said. "I'll never regret leaving the Autobots, but I do regret leaving you. I wish I could've done more."
Jetfire closed his optics. "You killed Galvatron. You ended their war."
"It was supposed to save you and it didn't."
That wasn't…
"You ended their war!" Jetfire said again. "You saved so many lives, did so much good—"
"Good doesn't matter, Jetfire!"
Jetfire froze. Starscream turned away, shaking his helm.
"It wasn't good that saved those lives," Starscream said. "I lied to Galvatron. I manipulated him, and he manipulated me in turn. I stabbed him. It wasn't gentleness or goodness that killed him—it was violence and deceit."
Jetfire always wanted to be helpful. He always wanted to be kind. He wanted to be good. It was failure for him not to be. But if he got his personality coding from Starscream…
"I don't care about some mecha I'm barely ever going to speak to," Starscream said. "I care about you and Skywarp. I just wanted to go home."
Was he ever good at all? Was Starscream right? Did goodness not matter?
Jetfire rarely complained. Jetfire always helped. Jetfire wanted to be good. But not complaining left him with no one to listen when he needed it. Wanting to help locked him into a life he couldn't escape. Being good was what broke him.
"I tried to kill Skyfire," Jetfire muttered.
Starscream didn't startle, nor recoil. He sat comfortably, expression not changing.
"They wouldn't let me go and I just couldn't—there wasn't—"
"It was your only way out," Starscream said. "I know."
The taut wire in Jetfire's mind he didn't know was there snapped. He slumped, plating rattling as he began to shake.
"I asked them to let me go," Jetfire said. "They said no. They lied to me. They locked me up and pointed a blaster at my helm, and I almost wanted them to shoot."
Starscream's wings flicked. He pulled Jetfire closer. Jetfire sank into him—as much as he could at his size, anyway.
"You were defending yourself," Starscream said. "Some mecha don't like that."
"I hurt him," Jetfire said.
"He hurt you."
He did. That was the problem. But Jetfire hadn't been allowed to hurt him back. He wasn't supposed to. And wasn't attacking someone different to coercion? Was Jetfire even coerced, if he had agreed to it in the first place?
"I said yes when they asked," Jetfire said.
Starscream bared his dentae. "They shouldn't have even asked."
"But I said yes!" Jetfire snapped, his wings hiking. "I said yes… and they wouldn't let me go because I said it."
Starscream's wings lowered. "How were you supposed to know? You've never experienced war. They lied to you. It's not your fault, Jetfire."
The reassurance bounced around in Jetfire's helm. It should've been nice to hear. Instead, he went numb. Why wasn't it his fault? He said yes. Until he tried to kill Skyfire, they never did anything he didn't consent to.
Rather than protest, Jetfire sighed, burying his helm in Starscream's shoulder. Somewhere along the journey, a chasm had opened between them. Maybe it had always been there, and he just hadn't noticed it before.
◇◇◇
The hall was quiet—much quieter than the mess hall. Jetfire sat on one of the various rarely used benches that littered the halls. This particular hallway was quite far from the mess hall, or anything, really. It was the perfect place to be alone.
Except he wasn't. Pedesteps assaulted his audials. He turned to the source, plating flaring. A massive figure stared back at him, blue optics narrowed—one moreso than the other. Jetfire glared, but the figure didn't back down.
The mech sat one bench away.
"Why are you here?" Jetfire hissed.
Skyfire waved a full cube of energeon at him, a frown creasing his face. Jetfire flinched away.
"Can a mech not refuel in peace?" Skyfire said. "I didn't expect you to be here."
"No one ever comes here," Jetfire said.
Skyfire opened his cube with a pop. "Exactly."
Jetfire stared down at his own meal, which rested on a tray on his lap. The jelly had already begun to melt, leaking into the food surrounding it. It had barely been touched.
He couldn't bring himself to eat it.
"Why me?" Jetfire said, still staring down.
"Why you what?" Skyfire said casually between sips.
Jetfire flicked his wings, a tingle irritation passing through him. Skyfire should've known.
"Why did you make me part of Safeguard?" Jetfire said. "Why did you lie to me?"
Skyfire's brow furrowed. He pulled his cube away from his face, his lips falling into a frown.
"It was you or me," he said. "Well, you or me and Star."
"So you picked me."
Skyfire nodded. "Yes. Though, it didn't end up how I expected."
Jetfire's claws dug into the bench.
"How did you expect it to go?"
Really, how did he expect it to end? How much of this cruelty was just selfishness?
Skyfire raised his helm, staring off with a sigh. "Star, Thunder, and I would be able to stay away from the fighting. We would be safe. You didn't factor into it at all. I didn't even think about Jetstorm…"
He hadn't thought about Jetstorm? Then why was he so kind to him and so callous toward Jetfire?
Skyfire closed his optics and shook his helm. "Instead, Star was killed, you tried to kill me, my conjunx left me, and so did Jetstorm."
The berth creaked beneath Jetfire's claws. He forced himself to release it.
"Do you think you deserve that?" Jetfire asked.
Skyfire stared at him.
"You ruined my life," Skyfire said.
It wasn't an answer.
"Did you ever stop and think that maybe you ruined mine?" Jetfire hissed. He flinched at the venom in his own voice, wings lowering as soon as they had raised.
Skyfire's face contorted into a scowl. He leaned forward, his damaged optic—repaired but not quite the right shape or color—catching the light.
"You're a corpse," he said. "An alternate version of my Star's sick attempt at playing house."
Jetfire leaned away, baring his teeth. The pieces shifted in the back of his helm, forming a new picture. He bit back a laugh.
"You hate me because I'm made from you," he said.
It finally made sense. Jetfire did laugh this time. He had an answer. There was a why to all of this, and it was the pettiest one he could imagine!
Skyfire spluttered as Jetfire continued to laugh, the loss of composure only confirming his suspicions. Surely, Skyfire understood that Jetfire had no choice in how he was created? That if he had his way, he would be lithe and swift like his creator, not large and slow?
'It was you or me.'
Skyfire was afraid. That was clear now. He looked into Jetfire's optics and saw a twisted mirror of his own, rather than an independent mech.
There was no reconciling this. Not that Jetfire even wanted to try.
He stood up, tray of untouched fuel in hand, and strode past Skyfire. At the edge of the hall, he turned back toward him. Skyfire stared at him with a furrowed brow, wings twitching. Jetfire grinned at him.
"I hope I never see you again," Jetfire said.
He turned down the hall without waiting for a reply. His spark pulsed in his chest, the sound crashing into his audials. How hadn't he noticed it before? His plating was tight, nearly aching.
He continued down the hall, staring down at the tray as his frame grew numb. Frag, he hadn't eaten anything. He didn't want to. But was he really going to waste it all?
The temptation to throw his tray into the nearest waste receptacle grew with every step. His fuel lines practically sung with energy, his spark squirming. The pit had long crept up on him—it enveloped him now, claws digging in.
"Hey, Jetfire!"
Jetfire flinched, but quickly forced himself to calm. He knew that voice.
"Jetstorm?" He said, turning to face him.
Jetstorm increased his pace as Jetfire slowed his. They walked side by side. In his far hand, Jetstorm held a half-empty cube of energeon. Jetfire averted his gaze, the phantom feeling of liquid in his mouth.
"How're you doing?" Jetstorm asked. "Haven't seen you much today."
Jetstorm was an early riser. He was up almost as early as Soundwave, but somehow managed to never wake anyone else up when he extracted himself from the berth. Conversely, Jetfire only got up if he had a reason to. Right now, the main reason was not wanting Skywarp or Starscream to pester him about a lack of activity. When he didn't have classes or training, there really wasn't much to do.
Jetfire shrugged. "I'm fine."
Jetstorm moved closer. Briefly, his optics fell to Jetfire's untouched tray, his wings flicking. Jetfire pulled the tray closer to himself.
"Wanna sit for a bit?" Jetstorm asked. He led his cube up, the liquid inside sloshing. "I've gotta finish breakfast."
Jetfire nodded. The sat down at one of the benches, and yet again Jetfire was faced with the prospect of refueling. Jetstorm's helm brushed against Jetfire's shoulder. Startled, Jetfire leaned away, before recognizing what the nuzzle was and returning it.
"I've been talking with Bluestreak lately," Jetstorm said after taking a sip of his cube.
"Bluestreak?"
Jetfire had seen the mech in the medbay a couple times, mostly minor injuries. They hadn't truly interacted.
"Yeah!" Jetstorm said. "He's a real nice mech. A bit chatty, though. Can hardly get a word in sometimes."
Jetfire smiled. "Not like someone I know at all."
Jetstorm elbowed him, a grin spreading across his own face. "Hey, hey, hey!"
"It's true," Jetfire said.
It was a lot easier when someone else was carrying the conversation. Jetfire never minded listening. In truth, he reveled in it. Quiet and listening was where he was most comfortable.
Jetstorm took another sip of his cube. The brief silence reminded Jetfire of his own untouched meal. He forced himself to scoop up a portion of it. Before he could put it back, he shoved it into his mouth.
"But, really," Jetstorm said. "A nice mech. He used to hang out with Star."
Jetstorm's wings drooped. He had been close with Star, hadn't he? For Jetfire, Star was one of the mecha holding him hostage, but for Jetstorm, she was just one of his creators. The contrast sliced through his processor.
Yet again, he had to wonder how mecha could simultaneously be so kind and so cruel.
"You miss her," Jetfire said.
Jetstorm clacked his claws against his cube. "Yeah."
He stared down at his claws, wings perfectly still. Then, he shot upward.
"I visited Glit's the other day," he said. "Pharma said he wants to see you again. Rattrap said the retrorats miss you."
Since fleeing the Autobots, Jetstorm and Pharma had bonded—nowhere near the same kind of bond that Jetfire and Pharma had, but it was undeniable. Jetstorm was eager to learn about the mech that made him, and Pharma wanted to know his creation. Although plenty of space had been allocated across both worlds, Glit, Pharma, Rattrap, and Breakdown elected to stay together in a lab only slightly larger than the one they had on Earth. The retrorats had a room now, rather than free-roaming.
Jetfire had only been there once.
"I'm sure they do," he said.
"You should come with me next time," Jetstorm said.
Jetfire shook his helm. "I don't—"
"Don't have time?" Jetstorm said, frowning. "I know you don't have anything to do. You can't sit in the room forever."
Jetfire hung his helm, closing his optics with a sigh. "I'm tired."
"You're always tired," Jetstorm said.
Jetfire put down the spoonful of fuel he didn't realize he was holding. He was always tired—ever since that fragging reformat. But he knew that wasn't why.
He had everything he wanted now. He was home, he was free, Starscream was with them again, and he was training to be a medic. Why wasn't he happy?
"Look," Jetstorm said, resting a hand on Jetfire's elbow. "I'm going to a movie night tonight. It'll just be sitting around, and you can leave whenever if you don't like it. Can you please come?"
"Sure," Jetfire muttered.
What else was he doing, anyway?
◇◇◇
When Jetstorm said 'movie night,' Jetfire assumed something like the ones he'd been to before—small and private. As Jetstorm led him outside, Jetfire's trepidation grew. They sat down in a field full of mecha, and Jetfire regretted agreeing to come. Murmurs from the waiting crowd reached his audials and he fought not to cover them, completely unprepared for a crowd.
[It'll get quieter when the movie starts,] Jetstorm sent to him.
Despite knowing him for a relatively short time compared to others Jetfire knew, Jetstorm could always pick up on when Jetfire was upset. If it weren't so easy for others to miss, Jetfire would've assumed it was his EM field, especially since Jetstorm described him as 'tingly' before. But his apprehension was often ignored by others.
Was it the gestalt bond, then? Jetfire couldn't sense EM fields, so it would make sense that if a connection was made through them, Jetfire wouldn't be able to feel it, but Jetstorm could. But really, Jetfire was just trying to distract himself from the noise. He said he'd come, and here he was.
If he were with Starscream, Jetfire would've whined and pleaded and they would've gone back, because his creator hated crowds, too. But this was Jetstorm, who wouldn't leave with him, and would just try to get him to go some other time.
"Hey, Jetstorm!"
Jetfire froze. He knew that voice. He fought not to bare his dentae, his wings shifting wide without his permission as he turned toward the source.
Sunstreaker approached, Sideswipe trailing behind him. Jetstorm waved to them.
[I thought you stopped hanging out with them,] Jetfire sent.
[Yeah… they need to tell you something.]
What could they possibly want to tell him? Sunstreaker and Sideswipe settled next to them. There was a noticeable gap between them and Jetfire, but Jetfire didn't mind. They should've gone further away.
""You guys should—"
"Yeah," Sunstreaker said, cutting Jetstorm off. He turned toward Jetfire. "We're sorry."
Jetfire dug his claws into the seams of his fingers. "For what?"
He needed to hear him say it.
"We were wrong about Seekers," Sunstreaker said. "We only ever saw them as monsters, but Starscream and Slipstream took out Galvatron."
Was that really what it took? They couldn't just realize that Seekers were mecha too? They had to see them end the war for their minds to change?
Whatever. There were two less hateful mecha in the world.
"Okay," Jetfire said.
Sunstreaker leaned closer. "Just 'okay?'"
"Just that," Jetfire said.
What else did they expect from him? Forgiveness? He wasn't the one they intended to harm. He was just an incidental target.
"So can we hang out with you?" Sunstreaker said. Sideswipe elbowed him, and he hissed at him in return.
That's what this was about? They wanted some blessing so they could be friends with Jetstorm again? Jetfire fought a laugh and shrugged.
"Do whatever you want," he said.
Sunstreaker scrunched his olfactory ridge. "That's not an answer."
"It's the answer you're getting," Jetfire said.
Jetstorm glanced between them, wings fluttering. He turned to Sunstreaker.
"He means it's okay," he said.
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe exchanged glances, warily scooting closer. Jetfire turned away, picking at the ground beneath him. He lifted a small rock and—there! Tiny boltbugs skittered away, their plating shining as they fled. One lagged behind, and before it could disappear like the others, Jetfire stuck his finger in front of it.
He raised his hand back to his face, the boltbug clinging onto it. It was so small. He wouldn't need any force to crush it. If it crawled between his joints, it would be dead before it knew what happened.
Why did he have to be so large? Why did the world have to be so delicate?
Something nudged him in the side. He muffled a squeak, the pressure causing pain to shoot through his internals despite its gentleness. Jetstorm stared up at him, his wings low.
"Sorry," he said, motioning toward the now-lit screen ahead. "The movie is starting."
◇◇◇
When Jetfire first came back, Hook greeted him with little more than a dip of the head and a mumbled hello. He didn't treat the moment as anything special—it was the same sort of greeting he gave every day. It was as if nothing had happened. Jetfire appreciated it.
After much waiting and persuading, they finally let him back into the medbay not as a patient, but as an assistant. It was good to be useful again, and Jetfire finally found himself with a reason to leave his berth every day. This particular day was slow, but there was always plenty to do regardless—cleaning, maintenance, more cleaning, preparations for the next day, inventory, and even more cleaning.
Jetfire and Hook were on inventory. While Hook counted all of their patches, Jetfire checked the various medicines they had stored away to ensure none were expired. He marked off another set, tossing an expired bottle into a spare box. It would be disposed of properly when they were done.
"I heard you have a partner now," Hook said.
Partner…?
Jetfire must've made a face, because Hook sighed and shook his helm.
"A gestaltmate," he clarified.
"Oh," Jetfire said, tossing another bottle into the box. "Yeah. I do."
"He seems like a nice mech."
Jetfire scribbled down his count. "He is."
Did they really have to talk about this?
"I was part of a gestalt once," Hook said. "They were a bunch of idiots, but there were no mecha like them."
A smile tugged at Hook's face. Despite his words, his tone was warm.
"What happened to them?" Jetfire asked, because clearly something had.
Hook paused, turning toward Jetfire. "They died in the war. All of them."
Jetfire's wings twitched. He looked away. What was he supposed to say?
"What was it like when they were alive?" Jetfire asked.
"Constant noise in my helm," Hook said. "Every moment of every day. I could feel them and they could feel me. It was like we were always next to each other."
Jetfire's bond with Jetstorm was nothing like that. It was all numbers, and he could hide those when he needed. But Jetstorm always seemed to know how he felt…
Was it because he couldn't sense EM fields? Was that why their relationship was so uneven? Why Jetstorm seemed to always know what Jetfire was thinking and feeling but Jetfire couldn't even guess what Jetstorm was?
"It's not like that for me," Jetfire said, closing his optics.
"You're…" Hook paused, brow furrowing as he searched for the words. "Different. But I know Jetstorm can feel you. You were both born on Earth, weren't you?"
Jetfire didn't really want to talk about Earth, but he wanted to talk about his bond with Jetstorm even less, so he took the out.
"Different Earths," Jetfire said. "But yeah."
"Do you miss it?" Hook asked.
Did he miss it? Jetfire's time on Earth was short, but so was his time existing in general. Until they'd gone through the portal, Earth was a wonderful place full of fascinating life. Now…
Jetfire wasn't sure what he thought. He shrugged.
Hook hummed. "Well, with Pharma staying close to Ratchet, and Glit and Breakdown over here, the other Earth's Decepticons are low on medics. Slipstream sent me an offer to stay with them. Do you want to come with me?"
Did he…? Jetfire wrung his hands.
"You've been somber lately," Hook said. "The Autobots and Decepticons on the other Earth are still separated. I figured it would be a nice break for you. And—" he dipped his head in a mock flinch. "Though I've tried to conceal it, I did miss you."
Of all the things, it was that remark to bring static to Jetfire's vision. Hook missed him. When he first woke, Hook was the mech he spent the most time with, whether it was staying in the medbay by Starscream's side as he recovered from creating him, or learning basic things about the world.
"I want to come with you," Jetfire said.
He would have to leave Starscream behind, but it was bound to happen eventually. During his time with the other world's Autobots, he had already been without him. And though Starscream cared for him deeply, there were some things he just couldn't understand.
Jetstorm would want to go home eventually, anyway. Thundercracker already went back to the Autobots, and Skyfire had lingered in this world for an uncomfortably long time. Whether it would be to rejoin Thundercracker or get away from Skyfire, they would leave.
Jetfire was never afraid of Decepticons, just of strangers. The other world's Decepticons had only seen Safeguard on the battlefield. They wouldn't know him as Jetfire the newspark, or Jetfire, the second half of safeguard, or Jetfire, Starscream's 'twisted attempt at playing house.'
It would be a fresh start. And maybe, he could finally be something other than not an Autobot.
Hook smiled. "I'll make the arrangements, then."
Finally, he would be free.