Chapter Text
When Starscream rose from the dead for the very last time, he was not at all surprised to find a Prime bending over him.
"I can explain!" he said quickly, sitting up on the pallet of metallic, fur-like material which Solus Prime apparently used as a bed. He didn't get far. Not because Solus Prime had done anything to stop him, but because his body was so stiff and sore. He ached everywhere, and when he tried to stand, he had to grip the wall for support.
"What's wrong with me?" he asked, glaring at her. "What did you do?"
"Nothing," Solus Prime replied, studying him with interest. "But perhaps you should look in a mirror."
She provided one from subspace. Starscream took one look at himself and recoiled. "What—! But I look so… so…"
"Old?" Solus Prime seemed faintly amused. "It happens to all of us, you know. Even to Primes."
"But… I wasn't old before," Starscream said, staring at his reflection in horror. "Why am I old now?"
"I'd imagine it's because you are no longer in possession of your life-thread," Solus Prime said. "Your body has probably advanced to the physical age you would have been had you not become Deathless. And since we're on the topic of stolen items, I'll just take this back, too."
She darted a giant hand toward his chest. Starscream tried to flinch away, but wasn't able to move as fast as he once had. Solus Prime plucked something from the vicinity of his spark. At first it looked like a steely blur, but then it solidified to become the talisman.
"Charge at zero percent," she observed with a wry smirk, and dropped the talisman into a vat of bubbling liquid. "I hope you learned something on your journey, The Starscream."
"I…" Starscream trailed off, staring at her. "Why haven't you tried to kill me?"
Solus Prime laughed. It was a loud, booming sound that rattled the shelves of her workshop. "I have never killed anyone, and certainly have no plans to start with you. Especially not after what Mortilus has told me. He follows politics more closely than I. Part of his job, I'd imagine."
When Starscream continued to gape at her, baffled, Solus Prime rose, smoothing her heavy apron with a practiced sweep of her large hands. "Come," she said, striding for the door. "You have a funeral to attend, and there's only one way you can get there on time."
"Funeral?" Starscream hobbled after her. "Whose funeral?"
"Yours, obviously." Solus Prime opened the door and stepped through, letting out a low, whooping 'chirrup' as if she was calling to someone.
A loud rumble shook the floor, rattling the shelves once again. Starscream stumbled to the door, glanced out, and immediately wished he hadn't.
Something was emerging from one of the tunnels. Something that was all mouth. Well, mostly mouth. The circular maw was rotating blades, and the worm-like body filled the entire tunnel.
Starscream cowered back, watching in terror as the monster careened toward them. It rushed toward Solus Prime. She held her ground, and when the thing reached her, she… embraced it. Threw her arms around the creature's seething jaws and hugged it as if it was an old friend. Its tentacles wrapped around her in turn, and they spoke to one another in a strange, chittering language that consisted mostly of clicks and whirrs.
"What… is that?" Starscream demanded, lowering the rifle that he'd instinctively raised. His guns were back. They were right on his shoulders where they were supposed to be, though he doubted they'd have done him much good against this monstrosity.
Solus Prime threw him a grin. "This is Driller," she said, patting the creature's snout as if it was a pet cybercat. "He's agreed to take you to the surface, and help settle any… differences of opinion… about who should be in charge."
.oOo.
Picture, if you will, a funeral procession. It winds its way through the streets of a darkened capital, solemn in its grim purpose. No one flies. No one sings. No one speaks.
The only sound is the heavy tread of footsteps as the procession files through the gates of a spire palace and into a main square draped in somber grays befitting the occasion. A dirge floats in the still air as a solitary, masked figure mounts the podium.
Soundwave faces the crowd, waiting until every optic is upon him. This is it, he thinks. He has been practicing his eulogy since the fall of Megatron, which was a very long time ago, and he knows each word by spark.
"Fellow Cybertronians," he begins.
He gets no farther, for just then, the ground shakes. A murmur runs through the crowd. Soundwave raises his arms, motioning for calm, but no one is paying attention.
"Ground-quake!" someone shouts, and the crowd scatters to the far edges of the square as pavement, recently repaired, begins to buckle. A crack appears, and then something bursts through.
Something long, metallic, sinuous, and purely horrible. Soundwave has never seen its like before. He hopes never to again. It rears against the stars, its bladed jaws whirring, then dives toward him.
He raises his hand to cover his chest. Not to protect his own spark, but in a vain instinct to protect his symbiotes—his children—who are housed behind his chest-plate.
But the monster does not devour him. Instead, the terrible snout lowers itself to his level, and he sees, for the first time, the figure who stands atop the monster's head.
"Starscream?" He gapes. "Is that… you?"
It is Starscream. Soundwave is quite sure of that, but he looks different. Older, yes, but it's more than that. He looks… revitalized. As if he has found something he did not have before. A purpose. Something for which to live.
"Here's a hint," Starscream replies, raising one of his guns. Soundwave braces for the blast, which he fully expects will take him in the spark. Instead the hand keeps rising, and a single finger points toward the stars.
"This is the only chance I'm going to give you," Starscream said. "And by the way, it's not my idea. You owe your life to Skyfire, the mech you murdered. Never forget, and never return. Ever. Is that clear?"
.oOo.
Soundwave wasted no time in departing Cybertron, and Starscream wasted no time in making good on his promises to Skyfire. Cybertron thrived under his rule; the other worlds he'd conquered regained their independence, though most remained allies.
Starscream's empire became a federation, and in time, he selected an heir from among the best and brightest of Cybertron's younger generation. Throughout his reign, he was rumored to have one of the original Thirteen Primes as his personal adviser, and sometimes during the night, he could be heard speaking with someone who did not reply in words that anyone was able to hear.
One day, his quarters were found empty. The only clue to his disappearance was a note left on his desk which said that he'd gone home, and would not be returning. What that meant, no one could be sure.
Some speculated that he had died. Others believed that he had once again crossed over using magical means, and would indeed return if his help was required. Many have found comfort in this idea, though it has yet to be proved one way or the other.
All we can say for sure is that Mortilus goes about his work as diligently as always. He measures out the spark-beats of each mortal's life with the utmost care, knowing that his task is a sacred duty.
And perhaps it is less of a burden to him now, knowing that he does not simply separate mortals from the ones they love. He also reunites them.