Chapter Text
She exited recharge with her spark crackling, electricity humming under her plating, as laughter echoed in her audials. Something was wrong, but she couldn't remember what. Large hands trapped her. Pressure on her chest. Someone was holding her down.
She struck blindly, driven only be the need to escape. A cry sounded as she kicked her captor and flung herself off the berth. Dull red optics brightened, staring down at her. Energeon dripped onto the berth pad.
That wasn't…
"Slipstream?"
Ramjet's voice was quiet. He touched the scratch on his cheek—a set of messy, deep lines—and frowned. Guilt settled in Slipstream's still-crackling spark.
"Ramjet," she said quietly. "I didn't mean to—"
She froze as Ramjet rose from the berth. He wouldn't hurt her, not anymore. But she'd just hurt him.
"Are you okay?" He asked.
The answer was no, but she couldn't say that. He would ask why, and there was no explaining what had just happened, and what was currently happening. It was better no one knew. They had only just freed themselves from Galvatron's tyranny—what would they think if they knew he still lived on?
Slipstream flicked her wings and stood up.
"Are you okay?" She said. "I'm not the one bleeding."
Before he could respond, she left the room. She pulled the medkit from the cabinet, taking out an antiseptic and a rinse. When Ramjet entered the room, she beckoned him closer. Then, she reached up, gently pulling his cheek to eye level by grabbing his chin.
She cleaned the wound. It was deep, but not large. She squinted at it. Did it need to be closed, or just covered? If only she had refreshed her field training…
Ramjet's hands hovered over hers.
"It's okay," he said. He pulled away from her and cut a strip of absorbent pad from the kit, then placed it on the wound. "Let's just go back to berth."
Slipstream sighed. She let Ramjet guide her back. But when he laid down, she hesitated. She could hurt him again. And wasn't it better if he was further away?
'You're woefully dependent.'
It was. She turned, laying on the other berth. Ramjet's berth creaked as he sat up.
"Slipstream?" He said.
She turned away from him and closed her optics.
"Okay," he said.
∆∆∆
Ramjet coaxed her to share the berth with him, but she just couldn't. It was better this way. The more distant she was, the safer he would be. Even if her spark hurt every time his wings drooped dejectedly.
Life continued, despite the voice that assaulted her audials in the dark, with invisible claws digging into her plating. If she kept all of the lights on in her office, did any mech need to know? She wasn't afraid of the dark, it just made the phantom touches more real.
Paws landed on her datapad. She glanced up. Ramjet smiled sheepishly down at her.
"Hey," he said weakly.
"I can't."
His wings drooped. Slipstream's spark burned. The sharp bite of the Matrix quickly joined it. She dug her claws into the desk. Swansong sniffed at them.
"I know," Ramjet said. "But maybe we can go out afterward?"
Slipstream flicked her wings dismissively, attempting to project an air of indifference despite the pulling on her spark.
"You can go," she said. "I'd rather stay home."
"We can go to that bar with the mixes you really liked—"
"No!" Slipstream snapped. "I said no."
Ramjet's wings rose. His frown turned sharper—not quite a scowl, but close.
"That's all you've been saying lately," he said. "What's going on? I thought we had something between us."
Slipstream stood up. Swansong backed away, meowing quietly.
"You thought wrong!" Slipstream hissed.
Ramjet leaned forward, wings going wide. "Then what was all of that? Are you going to tell me that it didn't mean anything to you?"
It meant everything. But it was better this way. He would be safe. She was used to being alone, once. She could get used to it again.
Ramjet backed away. Slowly, his wings fell.
"Not going to say anything, huh?" He said, his voice losing its bite as he spoke. "You're not…"
He squeezed his optics shut. In a swift motion, he scooped Swansong back into his cockpit. The door slid shut behind him.
It was better this way. She repeated that to herself even as the Matrix hummed angrily in her chest, agony pinning her in place. It was better. She wanted to reach into her spark chamber and claw the Matrix out, rip that dead tyrant and all of her responsibilities out of her body. It was better.
It had to be better. There was no other option.
∆∆∆
Even after that, he still tried to bring her energeon. His optics would fall to her chest, and she would find that she was digging her claws into her plating again. The pain was constant, as it was before. She didn't realize it was gone until it returned.
[Ramjet told me what you did.]
Slipstream sighed, burying her face in her hands. Of course Starscream would hear about this.
[This has nothing to do with you,] she replied.
[You seemed happy.]
If she didn't respond, would he stop sending messages?
[You're allowed to have good things.]
Clearly, the answer was no. And he was incorrect—Slipstream was never allowed to have good things. That was why she had to push Ramjet away. He had already been targeted once, and would surely be targeted again. Acid Storm and Ion Storm didn't say it directly, but they were right—she brought danger to everyone she loved.
[Was there an actual reason you contacted me, or did you just want to gossip?] Slipstream sent.
She muted his messages. If he wanted to reach her, he could do it through the datapad, about work.
∆∆∆
"There's something wrong."
Slipstream looked up from the message she was reading. Ramjet stared down at her, his wings wide. He practically loomed.
"With what?" Slipstream said.
"With you!" Ramjet hissed. "I made you an appointment with the medics and you're going right now."
Slipstream glared at him. "There's nothing wrong with me."
Nothing that could be fixed, anyway. Why did he care so much? Hadn't she driven him away?
"You're practically clawing off your chestplates!"
Slipstream rolled her optics, but stood up from her desk anyway. If Ramjet wanted to waste everyone's time, he could. But she knew they'd find nothing—this was the Matrix's fault.
She followed him through the hall and to the medbay. Jetfire was waiting for them, a pleasant smile on his face as he let them in. He motioned for Slipstream to sit on a nearby berth. Reluctantly, she obeyed.
There were no signs of Hook or any other mecha. Was Jetfire working alone today?
Ramjet hovered beside her. His wings twitched. She hissed at him. He turned, staring at her.
"Out!" She hissed.
Ramjet left. Jetfire watched the door close before turning toward Slipstream.
"So, what seems to be the issue?" He said.
"Ramjet probably already told you."
Jetfire's wings flicked. "Well, yes… but I want to hear it in your own words."
"The Matrix hurts," she said.
Jetfire frowned. "The Matrix?"
"Yes!" She hissed. "The Matrix."
Jetfire's brow furrowed. "I don't know if I can help with that."
"That's what I thought!" Slipstream hissed, digging her claws into the berth. "That's why I never came!"
Jetfire turned toward the drawers on the other side of the room. "I can give you a pain patch—"
"No!" Slipstream snapped. Her processor recalled the last time she was given one—the sharp ache in her helm and the horrible, disorienting dizziness followed by crushing tiredness. "I don't… handle them well."
She hadn't always had that reaction to them, though pain patches had never been pleasant. As she was given them more and more during her recoveries from Galvatron's retaliations, their harm began to outweigh their helpfulness, until eventually, Slipstream begged the medics to put a note in her file.
(That was back when they actually had medics—before Galvatron killed them all.)
"Okay," Jetfire said, coming back toward her. "I'm going to take a look at those scratches, then."
He knelt in front of her. Gently, he pushed her hands to the side. Then, he reached over, grabbing a soaked piece of gauze. He hummed.
"Some of these are starting to get infected," he said. "I might need to debride them. It'll sting."
"Do whatever you have to," Slipstream grumbled.
He was right—it did sting—but it wasn't anything she couldn't handle.
"So," Slipstream said. "You're half of that combiner."
Jetfire cringed. "Uh, yeah."
A sore spot?
"It's a formidable beast," Slipstream said. "I'm surprised half of it is you."
Jetfire's wings lowered. "Yeah…"
It was definitely a sore spot, then. But why?
"Your second half is an Autobot," Slipstream said.
Jetfire nodded. "He is. We visit sometimes, when the pull gets too strong."
The pull? Must be a combiner thing. It would explain why she never saw the combiner teams apart before they were all killed.
But his calmness proved that there was no ill will between them, so that wasn't the reason.
"You can visit him anytime you want," Slipstream said. "The war is over, after all."
"Thank you," Jetfire said quietly.
Jetfire paused for a moment, wringing his hands.
"Now that you know…" he said. "Are you going to…?"
"Going to what?"
Jetfire scrunched his optics shut. "Force us to combine?"
Slipstream blinked at him. What? What would ever give him that idea? She laughed.
"No!" She said. "That would defeat the point of the Cause!"
Jetfire looked up. "The Cause?"
Slipstream grinned. "The Decepticon Cause! Before Galvatron went and ruined it, anyway. For every mech to be free! To choose their occupation and lifestyle, rather than having it handed down to them."
Under Galvatron, the Cause had twisted into something else: obey Galvatron or die. But with him no longer in control…
Jetfire's plating relaxed. "Oh. I like that."
"That's why you're here!" Slipstream said.
If the Autobots had forced those mecha to combine, or, even worse, forced them to become a combiner team in the first place, she had half a processor to just march right up to them and restart the war. But neither faction would survive if that happened, so she'd just have to make do with being extra passive-aggressive during the next few meetings.
Maybe they'd care enough to ask, but who was she kidding? They were Autobots, after all!
Jetfire resumed tending to the scratches, furrowing his brow. Slipstream hissed as whatever he was doing stung. He glanced at her.
"Sorry," he said. "Some of these are deep. Do you have a medkit in your office?"
"Yes," Slipstream said.
"Then make sure to clean them out once a day," he said. "I'm… assuming you don't want to keep coming here."
"I will."
Jetfire was a kind mech. But, if he and Hook had any other patients in when she showed up, it would be very awkward. It wasn't that she didn't want anyone to know—though she didn't—but it would attract attention, and that was the last thing she wanted. Mecha would gossip, and might even assume she was ill, which would cast doubt upon her leadership.
They had just established peace, and it was already threatened. She didn't want to endanger it more.
"You seem like you've settled in well," Slipstream said.
Jetfire smiled. "I guess so. Thank you for letting me in."
Where did such a sweetspark even come from? Well, she knew exactly where he came from—he was Starscream's creation—but still. In a world where large, strong hands only served to crush and dominate, his were deft and gentle.
He pulled away.
"That's it for the scratches, but—" He wrung his hands. "Can I ask you something?"
Slipstream flicked her wing. "What is it?"
Jetfire wrung his hands again. "This won't leave the room. I won't even write it down. But I want an honest answer: how are you?"
'Fine,' was the easy answer that refused to leave her vocalizer.
'Scared and alone,' was the true answer that also refused to leave her.
"Trapped," she said instead.
"Trapped how?"
"You were there," she muttered. "You saw it. I didn't want the Matrix. It took me. And now I have to lead mecha who used to hate me. Many of them still do."
"I'm sorry," Jetfire said.
"Are you the one that crawled into my chestplates and made me a Prime?" She said.
Jetfire shook his helm.
"I didn't think so," she said.
Jetfire stood up. His pede tapped as his optics stared briefly into space.
"That's against the Cause," he said.
Slipstream, already halfway off the berth, nearly fell the rest of the way. "What?"
"You being forced to be Prime and lead the Decepticons when you don't want to is against the Cause," he said firmly. "Just because some ancient artifact integrated with you shouldn't mean you have to do things you don't want to. You should get to make your own choices, too."
His wings widened a fraction. His fists curled. His plating trembled. The pieces came together.
Combiners were made with an artifact—the Enigma. Jetfire didn't want to combine. He wasn't originally from this world, but his partner was. He had been forced. This was personal for him.
But this wasn't a matter of just stopping. The role needed to be filled. Everyone already knew she had the Matrix. That was what kept this fragile peace together.
Slipstream walked past him.
"Well," she said. "It's the will of Primus, or whatever religious scrap the Autobots love to peddle. Can't fight that."
She opened the door and slipped through it before he could respond. Ramjet waited on the other side for her, refusing to meet her gaze.
∆∆∆
"Have you seen Swansong?"
Slipstream shrugged from her seat at the table. "Are you certain she isn't in your cockpit?"
Ramjet tapped the glass of his cockpit.
"She isn't," he said.
"I'm sure she'll turn up," Slipstream said.
She went back to reviewing her notes. The humans couldn't give them more space because of what again?
"Do you even care?"
Slipstream didn't look up. "She's a cat. I heard they roam sometimes."
A hand landed on top of her datapad, pushing it down. Slipstream bared her dentae and glared at him. Ramjet glared back.
"What happened?" He said. "First you say nothing between us meant anything, and now you don't care about Swansong—"
Slipstream yanked the datapad away and slammed it against the table.
"None of this is about Swansong!" She spat.
Ramjet's wings widened as his optics narrowed. "Then what is it about?"
She couldn't answer that. Slipstream stood from her chair, backing away. The table was the only barrier between her and Ramjet.
"Is it about me?" Ramjet said. "Is it my fault?"
Slipstream shook her helm. Why would he even think that?
"No," she said. "It's me. It's always me."
And it was. She was the one with the Matrix inside her, and that tyrant with it. She was the one who took his hand after others refused it, who commanded her Air Force into that doomed mission so long ago. She was the one who shot the tyrant, finding his wrath rather than her vengeance. She was the one they wanted when they took Ramjet and held a gun to his helm.
There was a common thread between it all: her, and her thirst for violence.
She freed herself from her first master through it. When Galvatron offered her a mission—slaughter the Council, no mercy—she was elate. Each mission was yet another opportunity. But it all crashed down when Nova died.
So she did what she knew best: tried to kill her master again. He didn't die last time. She should've known he wouldn't die this one, either.
"I kill everything I care about, Ramjet," Slipstream hissed. "All I know is violence. I'll kill you too, if given enough time."
Ramjet's wings lowered. His expression softened.
"What we had wasn't violence," he said quietly.
Slipstream flashed her claws at him. "I ran my claws down your plating. I did everything short of drawing energeon. What else was it?"
He reached across the table, offering his hand.
"Love," he said. "In a way only we'd understand."
She wanted to take the hand. Every part of her frame screamed for her to take it. But she couldn't. And she couldn't tell him why. She turned away.
"Let's just…" The words caught in her vocalizer. "Let's just go look for Swansong."
She turned back toward the balcony without waiting for an answer. She dove off of it, using her thrusters to slow her fall. After a moment, Ramjet landed behind her. They searched around the building, but there was no sign of Swansong. They wandered further, and further. Still no sign.
The sun fell below the sky. Still no Swansong. Ramjet's wings were low. He was upset. Why wouldn't he be? He loved that creature.
"Maybe we'll see her if we fly over," he said.
It was worth a try.
"You can go that way—" Ramjet motioned in one direction, then the opposite. "I can go this way."
Ramjet didn't know. She almost forgot. But here it was, causing problems yet again. There was no reason to refuse.
"Okay," she said.
She waited until he was out of view. Her spark startled to crackle. Energy coursed beneath her plating. Flying alone. She could do it. She'd done it before. She called up her memories of the area, trying to remember landmarks.
Then, she took off. The first few moments were always dizzying. She was used to that. She flew, keeping careful track of what was below her. The roads made a T there, the building with the bright red roof was there, and so on.
A tiny dot of orange caught her optics. She flew lower. Was that…? Slipstream landed.
Little green eyes blinked at her from an alleyway. How had Swansong gotten so far? That didn't matter now. She found her.
Slipstream approached carefully. Swansong meowed, nearly skipping toward her, tail high in greeting. Bending down, Slipstream offered Swansong a finger. Swansong sniffed it, then froze.
Her tail fluffed up as the fur on her back rose. She curled her back, a growl rumbling from within. Then, she hissed.
"It's me," Slipstream said.
Swansong knew it was her. She already said hello! So what was…?
Swansong wasn't looking at her. Slipstream followed the cat's gaze. A shadow stood in the alleyway, moonlight framing it. She didn't need any details to know who it was. Her spark crackled.
The shadow stepped closer. Slipstream let it approach. There was no escaping it. It grinned—she couldn't see it, only feel it, like claws on a chalkboard.
"You're all alone. Did he finally get tired of you?"
Slipstream glared at him. He tilted his helm.
"Poor, poor Slipstream," he said. "Always second best. The cheap copy. The last choice."
Hadn't she thought so herself?
"I suppose taking your body for myself will just be the latest in a long line of trends," Galvatron purred.
He was planning to what?
"My body?" She hissed, rising to her pedes.
"Did you truly think I'd let myself stay dead?"
This was what he wanted. A second chance at life. Another opportunity to take everything over and make everyone suffer. And the Matrix handed it to him perfectly.
Galvatron laughed.
"Yes, it did," he said. "It won't take long to override you at all."
Galvatron was inside the Matrix. The Matrix was inside her. He was going to take over her body and ruin everything and everyone she cared about. How could she stop that? Unless…
Slipstream dug her claws into her chestplates. She did say she wanted to be rid of the thing.
"What are you doing?" Galvatron hissed.
She couldn't open them. The opened panels would keep her from reaching what was needed. So, she clawed like the desperate animal, metal bending beneath her fingers.
"What do you—" she cut herself off with a grunt of pain as her claws finally punctured through one of her chestplates. "What do you think I'm doing?"
The rest of the metal gave way. The other chestplate was soon to follow. Slipstream sliced through her internals, normally so carefully tucked behind the plates. Her hands grew slippery with warm energeon.
There. She took her claws and stabbed.
"I'd rather be dead than under your control again!" She spat.
Her vision grew fuzzy, fading at the edges. With each moment, her limbs grew weaker as they began to tremble. Her legs threatened to buckle. But she couldn't let go. Not yet. She had to destroy the Matrix, or Galvatron may just take over the next poor bot who was forced to bear it.
So, she dug deeper. Deeper. Deeper—
She crashed to her knees. Her vision swam. She careened forward. The Matrix. She had to…
She pushed against the ground. Her limbs shook. She couldn't move.
"No…" she murmured. "No…!"
There was no silhouette at the end of the alley. Galvatron was gone.
Swansong crept in front of her. She sniffed at the growing puddle of energeon beneath her, jumping back when it touched her nose. Then, Swansong raised her muzzle to the sky and yowled.
Pedesteps came from the entrance of the alley. Hushed voices. They were familiar.
Tiredness washed over Slipstream. But she had to… had to…
The pedesteps get closer. Two sets. One passed her. The other stayed beside her. The one beside her picked her up, turning her to the side as she was pulled into their lap. Good. Slipstream dug her claws into the hole in her chest—
Her hands were forced back. She kicked and squirmed, but the mech just held her even more firmly.
"No!" Slipstream hissed, her vocalizer popping. "I have to…"
"Have to what?" The mech in front of her asked.
What….? What did she have to do? Everything was so fuzzy…
∆∆∆
It was cold. Her systems should've been compensating for that. She shivered. Why was it so cold?
Muffled voices reached her audials, but she didn't listen to them. She wouldn't understand them anyway. It was so cold. She tried to turn herself over. Why was she so shaky?
The ground shifted. Something inserted itself beside her. It was warm. She clung to it. It pulled her closer. There was a tugging on one of her arms, almost as if…
Slipstream opened her optics. Ugh. Too bright. She tried again. A line attached to her arm, blue energeon running through it. White. White plating, white walls, white berth cover. Wait.
'Ramjet?' She tried to ask, but could only manage a repeated rrr.
"It's me."
It was Ramjet! Slipstream buried herself in his plating again. He was here, and he was so, so warm… but she was supposed to be avoiding him for some reason. What was it?
{Memory bank repair complete.}
It hit her in a rush. Galvatron—Tarn—the Matrix—
She put her claws on her chest. There was a patch there. The Matrix hummed beneath it. Gently, a hand closed around hers, pulling her claws away. There was something dull and soft on the tips of her fingers…
Did they put caps on her claws?
She pushed herself away from Ramjet, forcing herself to ignore the cold. None of that was important right now. She had to destroy the Matrix before Galvatron came back.
Colors caught her optics—green and blue. Acid Storm and Ion Storm? What were they doing here?
"They found you," Ramjet said softly.
That didn't matter! She needed to get rid of the Matrix! But without her claws, how could she? Wait! She checked her weapons.
{ERROR: Weapons systems disabled by override.}
A medical override. Of course. They didn't know. How could they? But if she couldn't do this, then…
She whipped back toward Ramjet, seizing his arm. He let out a surprised grunt as she yanked it upward, aiming his gun toward her chest. His optics widened.
"Shoot me!" Slipstream hissed.
"No—"
"Shoot me!" She spat. "We need to destroy the Matrix before Galvatron uses it to come back!"
Ramjet pulled his arm away. "Slipstream, no. I'm not going to shoot you."
"Please—!"
"Galvatron?"
Raspy, high-pitched. She knew that voice. Slipstream turned. Starscream leaned against the wall, arms crossed. How hadn't she noticed him before?
"Yes!" She said. "Galvatron! He's inside the Matrix. He said he was going to use it to possess me!"
Starscream frowned. His pede clicked against the wall as he swung it.
"He can't do that," he said.
Slipstream shook her helm. "I talked to Optimus! He said the Matrix saves copies of its wielders. Galvatron is in there."
Starscream pushed himself off the wall, stumbling slightly. He shook himself and approached the berth.
"He can't do that," he repeated. "Because Galvatron was never able to wield the Matrix. He told me before I killed him."
That didn't make any sense. How else could he be haunting her?
'These things don't just grow, but this makes it seem an awful lot like they do!'
The dark energeon had to come from somewhere. Galvatron consumed the substance exclusively. She only drank it a few times before the first mech's spark gave out under its influence, but she had still consumed it. Could that be the connection?
'He's coming for you! You're the key. Destruction or salvation—it's your choice!'
What if this wasn't Galvatron at all, but some higher power using his image to get what it wanted?
And what would it want? That answer was obvious: the Matrix's destruction. The Matrix posed a threat to it, whatever it was.
'You're woefully dependent.'
It wanted her isolated so there would be no one to save her when she destroyed the Matrix and herself with it. She almost gave it exactly what it wanted.
"Get my datapad!" She hissed.
Ramjet frowned. "Slipstream—"
"Get it!" She spat. "Right now! It's important."
Ramjet left the room. Starscream watched him leave with a furrowed brow.
"Datapad?" He asked.
"You'll see," Slipstream said.
A few moments later, he returned. He handed it to her before settling beside her again. Slipstream turned it on and pulled up the list of locations dark energeon appeared in. She turned it toward Starscream.
"Are there any patterns here?" She asked.
Starscream leaned down. He scrutinized the information.
"It avoids your city by a wide margin," he said.
Further proof. It couldn't come near her directly.
"Whatever this thing is, it's afraid of the Matrix," she said. "It tried to manipulate me into killing myself to destroy it."
Starscream hummed, his optics narrowing as he made the same connections she had. He sat on the foot of the berth. His pede swung, clicking quietly as it hit the berthpost repeatedly.
"I think I know what it is," he said.
Slipstream pushed herself more upright, fighting the energeon loss induced weakness in her limbs. "What is it?"
"It's…" Starscream's optics drifted away. He picked at the guards on his arms. "When I killed Galvatron, he had no spark. He was already dead. I think it was puppeting him, because it has no body of its own. He told me the world was going to be destroyed, and that he was immortal. That I was like him."
Slipstream remembered. Flame streaked across the sky, Starscream crashing to the Earth with Galvatron in his claws. Both frames were nearly destroyed. But in Starscream's exposed chamber, his spark still burned.
Sparks didn't do that. When they were exposed, they expended all of their energy and fizzled out. That was why spark casing damage was so fatal, and why exposing one's chamber was such a strong show of vulnerability.
But if Galvatron said Starscream was like him, and his frame had no spark, then…
"His spark is somewhere else!" Slipstream said. "But where?"
Starscream blinked, straightening up, as if suddenly remembering something.
"Inside the Earth," he said.
How would they get there? It wasn't like there was some secret tunnel that—wait!
'Destruction or salvation—the choice is yours!'
If anyone knew, it would be that madmech. Slipstream shoved herself off the berth. She immediately regretted it as he knees began to buckle and she stumbled forward. Ion Storm caught her. She stared up at him.
"We need to find Sideways!"