Chapter Text
Jetfire's branding was arranged quickly. The moment came and went. Slipstream didn't see him often, but the few times she did, he no longer shrank in on himself. He stood proudly, voice confident, with two brands on his wings.
It was amazing how much a symbol could mean to a mech. His change in demeanor was a reminder of what the Decepticon brand truly meant. Even if it was just a symbol, Slipstream wouldn't let those traitors take it from her, nor would she let them take her life. So, she went back to her office.
A particularly frustrating meeting left her tapping her claws against the desk. An alliance between human nations fell through, causing a delay in supplies. The supplies weren't stolen—thank frag—but they couldn't travel the route they were meant to unless the humans stopped fighting.
[You know more about the humans,] Slipstream sent to Elita. [You can figure this one out.]
Her Decepticons had no relations with the humans, nor had they ever. It was the generous negotiations of the Autobots that even got them to this point. If Slipstream weren't certain her mecha would just be gunned down and the war restarted, she would've marched them over and just taken the supplies herself. But when working peacefully with humans, one had to play their games.
Even if it would be so easy…
Movement caught her optics. Her plating bristled, charge traveling through it. Ramjet was outside. No one else should be in her office. She stood from her desk, optics scanning the room.
There it was again! Readying her claws, she sprung. Those traitors would answer for what they'd done—
Her claws landed in the wall with a thunk. What? Someone had been there! Where had they gone? Slipstream pulled her hand away from the wall, hissing in pain her claws refused to exit. Her spark crackled.
She couldn't get free. Someone was in here, and she couldn't get free. They were going to take her again! There was noise—Slipstream growled, a pointless attempt to intimidate.
"Whoever you are, don't come any closer!" She spat.
She turned toward the intruder, but was stopped by her stuck claws. Still, there was a shape in the corner of her vision. It morphed, large and angular. A crest framed its helm. Could it be…?
No. No, it couldn't be Galvatron. Starscream killed him. She saw the body. The Matrix was in her chest because he was dead. But the shape was so distinct…
Slipstream attempted to pull herself free again. She couldn't let him get her. Not again. The shape grew closer. It reached out.
"No!" She cried, squeezing her optics shut. "No…"
Everything went silent. The room grew cold.
"M-my Prime?"
She knew that voice. Slipstream opened her optics. White plating shone in the light.
"Ramjet," she said, hoping pointlessly that the fear had left her voice.
"Are you okay?" He asked quietly. "I heard a loud bang."
Slipstream sighed and tipped her helm toward her claws. "That was me."
Ramjet's optics landed on her claws. His olfactory ridge crinkled. "Oh."
Slowly, he reached over, fingers closing gently around hers.
"Let me help you, my Prime," he said.
Slipstream nodded. As embarrassing as this was, she clearly couldn't free herself. Ramjet inserted his claws beneath hers, carefully twisting and pulling in just the right way to free them. They stung, but were otherwise unharmed.
"You have visitors," Ramjet said.
Slipstream flicked her wings. There were no meetings scheduled, especially not face to face ones. Ramjet knew this.
"Who?" She said.
Ramjet frowned. His wings lowered. Someone she wouldn't like, then.
"They insisted," Ramjet said. "They've been trying to get ahold of you since…"
He trailed off, but she could guess the rest: since she was kidnapped. She had already spoken to the medics, so who else could it be? The answer came to her quickly, and a growl escaped her. Ramjet backed away.
Those fraggers just had to keep interfering in her life, didn't they? Just had to try making peace that wouldn't last! Slipstream pushed through the door with a snarl and fanned her wings wide.
Ahead of her, Ion Storm hid behind Acid Storm. Acid Storm stood proudly, her wings firmly in neutral position. She stared into Slipstream's optics.
"Slipstream," Acid Storm said.
Slipstream flicked her wings harshly, creating an audible whoosh. Behind her, Ramjet flinched loudly, plating clacking together. Ion Storm cowered further. Acid Storm glared.
"Prime," Slipstream said. "Or Winglord, if you must. We are not friends."
Acid Storm stepped closer. "That's what I want to talk about."
Slipstream flicked her wings again. "Leave."
Ion Storm gently grabbed Acid Storm's arm. "Maybe we should—"
Acid Storm shook them off. He strode forward again.
"We heard about what happened," he said. "We wanted to make sure you were okay."
They cared now? Slipstream threw her claws in the air, gesturing to herself.
"Now you see that I am," she said. "Go."
Acid Storm's optics searched her frame. Then, the stare returned.
"You're not," Acid Storm said. "I can see the tension in your frame. I can feel your fear."
"So you can tell when I'm upset after all, can you?" Slipstream hissed.
"I know you—"
Slipstream leaned in, baring her dentae. "You don't know scrap—"
"We know you—"
Slipstream swiped at the air between them. Acid Storm backed away.
"You did a great job showing it!" She spat. "Shutting me out and leaving me to rot! Threatening to never speak to me again! Leaving me to Galvatron's mercy! You don't know me, and you don't care."
"We do," Acid Storm said, stepping closer again. "We always did. But trying to protect you from him was like digging a hole when the walls kept falling in."
Ion Storm crept out from behind Acid Storm, wings low.
"Yeah," they said. "And we didn't have rank like you did. If Galvatron saw us helping you, he'd have our helms."
"So your best solution was to lock me in the hallway?" Slipstream hissed.
Ion Storm wilted, sliding back behind Acid Storm. Acid Storm watched him, plating ruffling, before glaring at Slipstream again.
"It was wrong of us," Acid Storm said. "We know that. But Galvatron is dead now. We want to help you. We can guard you."
Guard her? When she couldn't trust them not to abandon her when her life was on the line? Slipstream growled from deep within her engine.
"I can't trust you," she said. "This is what we do. I get hurt, you abandon me, you come back, and then I get hurt again. You say you're going to guard me, but I know the truth: the moment your plating is at risk, you'll flee."
Acid Storm bristled. "Not this time—"
"Get out!" Slipstream yelled.
Ion Storm sprinted for the door. Acid Storm turned toward him, hesitating.
"Out!"
Reluctantly, Acid Storm obeyed, following Ion Storm out the door. Only in the silence did Slipstream realize her cooling fans were on. Her spark crackled on her chest, fueled by the stress of the argument and what came before it.
The Matrix stung, and then it burned. Slipstream turned back toward her office, fighting not to freeze as her joints locked up from the pain. The moment she crossed the doorway, she sprinted to her chair, curling up on it.
"My Prime?"
Slag. She hadn't closed the door.
"Do you need a medic?" Ramjet asked.
"No," Slipstream hissed. "It's the Matrix. It'll pass."
A hand entered the corner of her vision, but quickly retreated.
"I—is there anything I can do?" Ramjet asked.
Slipstream shook her helm. She just had to wait it out. The infernal thing would eventually grow tired of throwing a fit and leave her alone.
Maybe she missed Ion Storm and Acid Storm, but only a little bit. They would hold her, at least, because the pain of being touched was nothing compared to this. Slipstream closed her optics.
What was—? There was something on her wing! She prepared herself to push through the agony and turn around—
It was… nice. Gentle. She leaned into it. A kidnapper wouldn't be this nice. She purred. Eventually, almost as if by magic, the pain subsided.
"My Prime?"
Slipstream opened her optics. She was strutless, almost one with her chair. Ramjet stared down at her.
Slipstream forced herself to sit up, attempting in vain to recover some of her composure. "Yes?"
Ramjet tilted his helm toward the door. "We should go."
"I have a meeting," Slipstream muttered. What time was it?
She froze. It was well past the start of the meeting. Scrap.
"I cancelled it," Ramjet said. He grimaced. "You were… in a lot of pain."
She wanted to be angry with him. Every meeting she had was important. But she wouldn't have survived that meeting in the state she was.
"Okay," she said, pushing herself up from the chair.
"My Prime—"
"Just call me Slipstream," she muttered.
He'd earned it.
∆∆∆
Dark energeon was supposed to be a corruption of regular energeon. This didn't compute.
"You say you found more?" Slipstream hissed.
"We have," Prowl said. "We sent samples to Wheeljack to verify it."
Slipstream dug her claws into her desk. Not more of that wretched substance!
"We destroyed the last of our stores," Slipstream said. "We haven't found any since. And now you've found an entire mine's worth of it!"
Prowl nodded. "It appears to be fresh. The entrance was sealed. Not a single crystal of energeon was present, only dark energeon."
Slipstream wasn't a fuel expert, but this sounded like something more than an abandoned mine. It sounded like it wasn't a mine at all.
"These things don't just grow, but this makes it seem an awful lot like they do!" She hissed.
"We're investigating the possibility," Prowl said.
Great. Perfect. Stupendous, even. Dark energeon was just sprouting from the Earth! Why wouldn't it?
"Thank you for informing me," Slipstream said.
Before Prowl could speak again, she hung up. The temptation to throw the datapad grew with each passing moment. It seemed she would never truly be rid of Galvatron. Even after death, he invaded everything.
Her resolve broke. She gave in, throwing the datapad across the room. It hit the wall with a crack, landing upside down. Why did she do that?
Slipstream rose from her desk and stalked toward it. She lifted it. The screen was cracked, but not broken. It could be salvaged.
"M—um, Slipstream?"
Slipstream nearly dropped the datapad. Instead, she held onto it by the corner, turning toward Ramjet. He stood in the doorway, two cubes in hand.
"I brought you some energeon," he said, reaching over and carefully placing it on the desk.
Slipstream crossed the room. She set the datapad down with a thunk. Ramjet flinched.
"You're scared of me," Slipstream said.
Ramjet cringed. "I—"
"Don't lie."
Ramjet slammed his hands on the table.
"I'm not," he hissed.
Slipstream narrowed her optics. "I hurt you and you're scared of me."
Ramjet leaned in, holding his wings high.
"You are living in my apartment," he said. "I let you live in my apartment. I am not scared of you."
Slipstream glared at him. He glared back. She bared her dentae. He didn't flinch. She leaned back.
"You have every reason to hurt me, and every opportunity," she said. "Why haven't you?"
Ramjet backed away. A smile crossed his face as a laugh escaped from him.
"I thought you were nothing but a worthless pet Seeker when Galvatron chose you," he said. "I was a Warframe. I had experience. You cowered underneath me. But then you tried to kill Galvatron, and you sought me out."
Slipstream remembered that. Freshly healed from yet another argument with Galvatron, Ramjet had spoken out one too many times while she recited the plan. So, she hunted him down the next day, waiting for the moment Thrust left him alone.
"When you pushed me down and put your ray against my helm, I knew you were someone worth following."
He had quieted down after that. He was still a headstrong troublemaker, of course, but never toward her. All bringing him into line required was a swift blow and some harsh words.
She never considered he might enjoy that.
"So, no," he said. "I'm not afraid of you. I relish you."
"Oh," she said.
What was she supposed to say? 'Hey, now that I know you like being held down and hurt, would you like to let me work out some frustration?' 'Hey, would you like to take the place of that datapad I just threw across the room?'
She had never been wanted, especially not like this. Not since…
"I need to think," she said, barely able to force the words out.
Ramjet's composure deteriorated. His proudly held wings drooped. He drew in on himself.
"Okay," he said, backing out of the doorway. "I'll just—"
The door shut, leaving Slipstream alone with the cube he brought her. She stared into it. He wanted her. Actually, legitimately wanted her. How? Why?
'If you don't let yourself have good things, then you'll never have them.'
Maybe it was time to listen to Starscream. Ramjet hadn't hurt her for a long time—quite the opposite, actually. He let her live in his home, and brought her energeon, and was the first mech to reach her after she was kidnapped…
She stood up. But when she reached the doorway, she froze. What if she was wrong about this?
No, no.
She opened the door.
"Ramjet?"
Ramjet looked up from his seat. "Y-yes?"
He was back to being meek, drawing in on himself. Where was the determined mech from just a few moments ago?
"Did you mean what you said?" She asked.
Ramjet's wings rose. "I did."
She beckoned him closer. He obeyed. When he was in range, she grabbed his throat, laying one of her claws on top of the fuel line in his neck. With just one flick of her claw, he risked bleeding out.
He stared into her optics. His hand reached for hers. She allowed him to grasp it.
"You do," she said, releasing him.
The confidence didn't leave him. Ramjet stood tall, determination in his optics.
"What happens now?" He asked.
It was Slipstream's turn to wilt.
"I don't know," she said. "I didn't think that far ahead."
Ramjet hummed, looking away. He turned back to her after a moment.
"I'm going to touch you," he said.
Slipstream nodded, bracing herself for the electric current that always coursed through her. Ramjet closed the gap. His arms enclosed her, but for once, she wasn't trapped. Nothing hurt.
She sank into the first painless touch she had experienced since Nova died. Ramjet tightened the embrace, a purr emanating from him. Slipstream matched it.
∆∆∆
"We're going to lay down some rules."
Slipstream paced into front of the table. Ramjet's helm followed her every move. He nodded.
Slipstream sighed. She had no idea what this was, or what she was doing. All she knew was that it was too easy to hurt another mech. Ramjet wanted her to hurt him, but not in a way that actually hurt him.
"Don't touch me without asking," she said.
Just because he was able to do it a couple of times without pain didn't mean the possibility went away. Ramjet nodded.
"This stays between us," she said. "We do not bring it into public."
Ramjet nodded. "That makes sense."
"Good," Slipstream said. She completed a circuit before speaking again. "If either of us wants to stop, for any reason, we stop."
"Yes," Ramjet said.
What did they do now? Was she forgetting something? She paused in her pacing, letting her wings lower.
"I've never done this before," she said.
Ramjet rose from his seat. He offered a hand to her. She took it.
"I haven't, either," he said.
∆∆∆
Their routine didn't change, but it was still different. Every little moment had more meaning behind it. Ramjet waited for her. She waited for him. They fueled together.
A single berth was large enough for two, despite the small size of the room. Slipstream was safe in a way she never was before. While sitting in her office, she knew Ramjet was outside, keeping watch. After every meeting, she wandered into the entry room, laying on one of the couches as she complained about this or that. He always listened.
She made time for his voice. He had many thoughts on politics, some she definitely couldn't repeat, but quite a few useful suggestions. It wasn't difficult to slip them in during meetings. The housing many of the Warframes were provided was too small? Any excuse to fill the Autobots' and humans' audials with complaints.
They even bought a buffer, which was why Slipstream had no hesitation when she dragged her claws down his chest, his spark crackling beneath her palm. He was pinned beneath her on the berth, but could free himself with ease. And that was the allure—despite his strength, he wanted to be there, and he submitted to her.
The screech of metal on metal was music to her audials, topped only by the quiet grunt Ramjet let out when she dug her claws deeper. She knew exactly how deep to dig without drawing energeon. When she reached the edge of his chestplate, she brought her claws beneath his chin, a grin spreading across her face. She turned his helm from side to side, caressing his cheeks.
"You're such a good soldier," she purred.
Ramjet smiled. His optics were fuzzy, but she learned this was a good thing. It was some sort of special state, brought on by her and her alone. Ramjet smiled lazily, his fangs catching on his lips.
He was adorable. That was one of the first things she noticed about him.
She ran her claws down his chestplate again. She changed course partway through, sticking her claws between the seams. She leaned in.
"You're so pliant beneath me that I could pull open your spark chamber right now," she said. "I could have your spark in my hands."
"Please!" Ramjet said.
She hooked her claws beneath his chestplates.
"If you insist," she said.
She pulled. Ramjet let out a groan. She pulled again. It wouldn't budge—they both knew that—but it was a fun game. But, eventually, his groans quieted, and she knew the game was over.
"Time to wrap up, soldier," she said.
Ramjet blinked. She pushed herself away from him. He sat up and stared at a distant point.
Tiredness crashed over Slipstream. It always did. The scratches absorbed the light, catching her optics. She hadn't hurt him—not in a way he didn't want—but still, her processor fretted. What if she misread something? What if he really hadn't wanted this?
She fought her worries with the rote action of preparing and turning on the buffer. As she buffed away the scratches, she hummed. Slowly, the fuzziness in Ramjet's optics receded. The moment the scratches were buffed out, he offered a hand. She took it.
"Gonna hug you," he muttered.
Slipstream nodded. He pulled her close, then leaned back. They laid on the berth together, entwined.
"Was it good?" Slipstream asked.
"Yeah," Ramjet mumbled, shoving his helm into her shoulder. "Good."
She could stay like this forever. Safe, in control, in the bliss of the moment…
Something clicked. The door of the apartment opened. Slipstream pushed herself off the berth in an instant. Ramjet followed close behind.
They weren't expecting visitors. Who was this? And why did they have the access code? Was it another one of those mecha—
"Ramjet!"
The mech in the doorway grinned. His plating was red. His helm ended in a peak just like Ramjet's.
"Thrust?" Ramjet mumbled.
Thrust snickered. "Well, that doesn't sound very enthusiastic."
He placed a bag on the counter. He glanced at Slipstream, a frown on his face.
"I see you already got a new roommate," he said.
Ramjet's wings fluttered. "She's just staying here—"
"Just staying here?" Thrust said. He looked between them, a grin spreading across his face. "So she's not a roomate then? Did you finally find a conjunx willing to put up with you?"
"That's not—"
Thrust held up a hand.
"I'll stop you there," he said. "I'm not here to argue, I'm here to visit! What's it matter if you've got a guest or a conjunx? I brought enough extra, anyway."
Slipstream narrowed her optics. "Extra what?"
Thrust walked back toward the counter. He rummaged through the bag, pulling out a cube.
"Energeon, of course!" He said. He pulled out two more. "With a fancy new additive. It's real popular back on Cybertron."
"You work on Cybertron?" Slipstream asked.
Thrust tossed a cube between his hands and shrugged. "Yeah. Deliveries, mostly. I like to travel."
With a grin, he tossed the cube toward Ramjet. It bounced off his chestplates, and nearly slipped between his hands, but he caught it. Thrust pulled out another cube and swung it.
"Don't you dare!" Slipstream hissed.
Thrust scowled. He handed her the cube. She took it, turning it as she examined it. Nothing about it seemed unusual. Still…
(Red scratches on her wrist.)
She didn't trust it.
Thrust took out a cube of his own and settled at the table, leaning back in his chair. He took a big sip of his cube. They weren't poisoned, then. Or at least his wasn't. She glanced at Ramjet.
Ramjet shrugged before opening his own cube and taking a sip. His optics widened. He turned toward Thrust.
"This is good!" He said. "What's in it?"
Thrust paused mid-sip. He raised his brow.
"They wouldn't say," he said. "They're keeping it secret til they get business going."
Ramjet hummed and took a large sip. Slipstream left hers untouched, but settled beside him. The more questions Thrust answered, the less she trusted this energeon.
"Who?" She asked.
"Swindle," Thrust said. "He and some of his buddies are trying to start a bar, so they're experimenting."
Experimenting. Right. Exactly the type of story one would use as a coverup. Slipstream was tempted to accuse him then and there, but this was Ramjet's wingmate. She couldn't just accuse him without reason!
So, she sat quietly as Ramjet and Thrust chatted. The contents of their cubes slowly disappeared, while hers remained full, despite Ramjet and Thrust's urging. Shortly after the cubes were emptied, Ramjet's optics began to shutter.
That was wrong. A few moments later, Ramjet lowered his helm onto the table, and Slipstream knew. Ramjet couldn't sleep sitting up. That new additive wasn't just an additive.
They needed to get out of here, or get him out of here. A plausible excuse was already made. She tapped gently on the side of Ramjet's helm. He opened his optics.
"Huh?" He muttered.
"I'm going to bring him to his berth," Slipstream said to Thrust.
Thrust shrugged. Slipstream rolled her optics and pulled Ramjet up. He stumbled as she led him. Not typical at all. As they reached the berthroom, she paused.
"How are you feeling?" She asked.
Ramjet closed his optics, swaying slightly. He leaned on the doorway.
"Tired," he said. "Fuzzy."
Definitely not good.
Slipstream led him to the berth. Gently, she helped him lay down. As she turned away, he reached for her.
"No," he grumbled.
"I'll be back," Slipstream said.
Ramjet's hand flopped onto the berth. "No…"
She ignored his protests and left the room. As quietly as she could, she readied her rays. Thrust would answer for this.
As she entered, Thrust looked up at her from his seat at the table, a lazy smile on his face. Slipstream scowled.
"You will leave," she hissed. "Now."
Thrust leaned forward. "I know you don't like me, but this is my apartment."
Slipstream bared her dentae and flared her wings.
"I know what you did!" She spat.
Thrust's grin fell. "Do you, now?"
He rose from his seat. Slipstream's shoulders twitched. Should she raise her rays now? What if she was wrong, despite every sign pointing to this outcome?
"I suppose the jig is up," Thrust purred, the grin returning to his face.
Now. Slipstream aimed her rays and fired. One of the shots went wide. Thrust hissed as the other grazed his wing. But the distraction was momentary. He pounced on her.
"You know those have to recharge, right?" He said, grabbing her face.
Slipstream swept her feet beneath him, but he stood strong. So, she clawed at him instead. He laughed.
"You're really nothing at all when you aren't in the air, Winglord," he said.
He swung, sending her sailing into the table. She bounced off it, landing on the chairs. They flipped over, taking her down with them. Pain seared through her dorsal strut.
She attempted to stand, but the pain radiated. The moment she placed weight on her leg, she cried out, agony gripping her. A pede landed on her back. Something pinched her neck.
"You should've just drank the cube," Thrust said.
Slipstream clawed at the floor. "Frag you!"
Slowly, her limbs stopped obeying her. Static crept into her vision, then darkness. Everything faded away.