Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Starscream?” Skyfire sighed heavily, sinking down into his desk chair. “Now there is a youngling I do not know what to do with. Where do I begin?

“He’s sharp. Certainly smarter than other people give him credit for. If he applied himself, I think he’d be in the top percentage of the whole Academy. The problem is, he bends his intelligence towards securing a reputation, instead of letting his abilities shine as they are. I don’t know why—maybe he had to compete for attention in his aerie, maybe he got no support from his peers when he was younger. But with the way he carries on now, everyone assumes from his boasting that he must be compensating for stupidity.”

He shuffled in the desk drawers for a moment, pulling out a couple datapads and bringing up a layout of charts and diagrams, marked with Starscream’s name at the top. “He’s taken to xenobiology like an insecticon to sweet gels. Thundercracker and Skywarp haven’t grasped the concepts like Starscream, but somehow he’s the one who feels the need to remind everyone in the vicinity that organics are disgusting, lesser-than creatures that shouldn’t be considered lifeforms. It’s like he’s parroting the common propaganda to prevent others from accusing him of being interested in a subject that seekers don’t often study.” Skyfire looked down with a blank expression. “He doesn’t want to be bullied for falling outside of his frame’s stereotype. I understand that.”

He put away the datapads and stood to pace the length of his office. Late evening sunlight blazed through the bay windows, sending prisms reflecting off the many specimens and replicas of organic life scattered across his space. “The worst of it is, he’s perfectly willing to become a bully himself! One moment he’s shrugging off cruel remarks from someone taunting his voice cracking, and the next he’s mocking another for their low grades, or their clumsiness, or some other inane thing that he thinks he can compare himself to and come out better looking. He—”

Skyfire stopped and sighed once more. He shuffled to the windows to watch the sunset light up the cityscape, plating bathed in crimson. “He has so much potential,” he murmured. “There’s no reason for him to squander it, trying to force everyone to recognize him. There are people who see and appreciate him for who he is. Why, if it weren’t for Windblade still stubbornly talking to him, I wouldn’t have noticed half of what Starscream does. She seems so determined to prove him a good person… and he often proves her right in spite of himself.”

“One day,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a wry smile. “Mirage was particularly antagonistic, and no matter what I did he would not stop pestering the students in his row. Starscream paid him no mind, but as soon as he turned his comments on Windblade, he got right up to Mirage and hovered there, perfectly poised, and with a lot more menace than a youngling should be capable of! I’d never seen a mech of his age fly in root mode with such control and precision, and no one else in the class had either, because they all stopped to stare. I don’t even remember what it was that Starscream said, but it was scathing enough to keep Mirage quiet for an orn. Windblade looked shocked. Starscream did too, to be honest. I don’t think he thought about what he did until it was already over.

“His base instinct is to intervene when wrong is being done… but his learned behavior is to protect himself from perceived danger.” Skyfire’s smile fell, and he looked very somber for a moment. “I don’t understand how he finds the bravery to transform and rise up as… anyway.”

He strode back over to his desk and flipped through a stack of files, as if leaving his train of thought behind. “Starscream is a favorite student of mine, true. But I don’t go easy on him. I simply understand that he struggles with more demand on his time and energy than I know about, and I give him the space he needs. I’ve told him I am always here to help should he need it, but it’s his choice to take me up on the offer. There isn’t much more to say.” He looked up, something hard in his optics, and gestured to the door. “Anything else would have to come from Starscream himself, although I don’t believe he will trust so easily. And I will certainly never break the trust he’s given me.”

Chapter Text

They’re whispering again.

They do that a lot, Dead End has found. It’s like they think it isn’t suspicious. Cosmos doesn’t seem to notice, bless her spark, but she is very polite. Maybe she’s just giving them privacy.

Dead End does something similar herself. She simply never reacts. Why would she? It doesn’t matter anyway

Orion is gesturing something in the middle of their little huddle, Windblade and Minimus nodding along. He lists off a few points on his fingers and grimaces. Minimus scowls. Windblade’s antennae flick down.

Good. They should be unhappy. The world is ending.

Their not-so-clandestine meeting breaks up as Orion goes to his berth to look for something and Minimus darts out of the room. Windblade shuffles her wings and chews on her lip. The weight of a city is on her shoulders for a moment.

The textbook in front of Dead End has gone dark from inactivity, and now the vaguely interesting conversation has ended. Visor blank, she stares into the middle distance. If she doesn’t move from this spot on her chair, how long will it take her to rust into nothingness?

Pedesteps rudely interrupt her experiment.

“Good afternoon, Dead End!” Windblade smiles at her.

“Not really,” she grunts.

“What’s the matter this time?”

“Hasn’t changed from last time. We’re living through the apocalypse. And there’s homework on top of that.”

She lays a gentle hand on her shoulder with a sympathetic look. “Oh, come on. It isn’t all that bad. There’s been plenty of disasters throughout history and yet we’re still here! It’ll all work out.”

“What,” Dead End mutters, “you think someone like the heroes will prevent the inevitable entropic decay of the universe?”

“Well…” Windblade pauses, clearly thinking hard. She must have some compulsive comforting disorder. “I don’t think the entropic decay of the universe is a concern if it’s truly inevitable. But the littler things are, like monster attacks, and relic victims, and natural disasters. It’s those times that people can be saved. And yes, I do think the heroes can do something to stop the apocalypse, even if it’s just for one person. They’d certainly save you, if you were ever in trouble.”

Her face shines with kindness and sincerity, a brilliant being of hope bringing light to a dark world. Dead End squints.

“You’re very nice for someone who beats up Hellscream in your free time.”

All of Windblade’s paneling contracts in a full-body jolt of shock. Looks painful.

“Wh-what, um. What makes you say that?” she croaks, optics wide and whited out.

Dead End flickers her visor slowly. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Orion comes up behind Windblade with a few datatrax in his hands. “Ready to go?” He looks between the two of them curiously. “Um. Is everything okay?”

He’s just as caring and saccharine as Windblade. Ugh.

“No matter how powerful the heroes are, you’re still not gonna escape doomsday, y’know,” she deadpans.

His finials tilt all the way back. “Uh.”

“Dead End.” Windblade hasn’t quite shaken off her surprise but her expression is set. “The world will end someday, you’re right. But that doesn’t mean we won’t fight as hard as we can to keep everyone safe and happy right up to the end. That’s the point. We can help people here and now, and so we will.”

Again with that shining halo of goodness. Is it a metaphor or is there actually light coming off her? She’s passionate and driven to be recklessly kind, a warmth and a steel in her gaze that weren’t there when school started. She really means what she says. Power soaks through her every word.

Dead End snorts. “That’s stupid.”

It seems a monumental effort to reach out from her slouch and switch on the textbook again. She eyes it halfheartedly.

Her two roommates have another short whisper-conversation and leave, Windblade patting her on the shoulder as they go. Off to do some heroic Autobot scrap, probably.

They’re the weirdest doomsday preppers Dead End has ever met.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

“This is uncomfortable,” Rampage grumbled beneath his decorative facemask, picking at the servo sheathes.

“Well, unless you can grow another finger, I don’t know how else to keep you unnoticed,” Orion said with a shrug. The pile of decals, veils, and party kibble in his arms sparkled under the lighting. “All of you already look weird with the centerpiece on your faceplates.”

“It’s called a nose,” Hot Shot said.

“Right.”

“Can’t we just pretend to be some of this universe’s heroes? New kids on the block with snazzy new talents?” Arcee picked through the fancy vestments he held, looking for pieces that would fit her well enough to hide her apparently criminal five fingers.

“Er…” His finials went back and his expression pinched. “That’s… a really stupid idea. Sorry.”

Hot Shot rubbed his hands together. “Y’know, if I could find that relic I used last time, I could power up into Ignis--”

“ No! ” Orion dropped his pile all over Arcee’s pedes, earning him a dirty look. “No, no. No. No thank you. I don’t think we need another dozen buildings melted to the ground, especially not inside the Great Dome. Senate forces would actually execute you this time, and Rodimus won’t be around to get you out of it.”

“Okay, now you have to tell me this story,” Arcee said with a grin.

“Rodimus? As in Hot Rodimus?” Rampage asked.

“Y--well. Rodimus Prime, one of the Autobots. The heroes, I mean.”

Arcee finally chose a set of bangles to obscure her hands and a nice front-end wrap to match them. “How do you know he won’t be around then?”

“Relic hero magic?” Hot Shot’s optics brightened at the idea.

“Scheduled shifts,” Orion responded dryly. “This is an event hosted by Councilmember Tyrest, and he deliberately invited all the heroes. There’s no way that’s benign. All of us met beforehand and agreed that the only ones who will show up are Ultra Magnus, the Mistress of Flame, Galvatron, Hellscream, and Elitas 1 and 3.”

“So if this is a trap, they won’t get all of you.” Arcee nodded. “Smart!”

“If you’re all considered heroes,” Rampage rumbled, arms crossed. “Why would you need to fear a trap from your own government?”

Orion opened his mouth to respond but grimaced instead. Hot Shot watched him in concern. While it was obvious to him that his friend was well aware this universe was trapped in functionism, he also knew how deeply dedicated he was to seeing it improve. A simple question about the corruption he fought against had no right to be this painful.

“Are you done yet? What’s taking so long?” Lightbright trotted back into the room, resplendent in her chosen shawl, beads, and stickers. Her biolights made the fibre optic fabric pulse with her movements.

“Almost. Hot Shot just needs a mask.”

“Huh?” Shaking his head, Hot Shot turned around. “Oh yeah. Uh, this one’s fine.” Red and black, went with his paintjob well enough.

Orion stuffed the mess of decals and cloth back into the trunk it had come out of, then shoved it under a shelf. The group of them trickled out of the back room into the cafeteria proper. Maccadam winked at them from his position behind the counter, where Transmutate sat sipping on a purple drink. Hot Shot waved.

He wasn’t quite sure he’d ever understand how Maccadam managed to look identical and yet different depending on what universe they were in.

The five alternate universe kids followed Orion through the halls of the Academy, going unnoticed as most of the student body had already left. On the stairs up to the school landing strip, Arcee found a dark corner and scrawled RC WAZ HERE in acid on the wall.

“So what’s wrong with having five fingers anyway?” Rampage asked as they walked. “Or three? What’s wrong with being taller or shorter than the size classes you talked about?”

Orion grimaced again. “There’s nothing wrong with it, it just means you look different. And since everyone’s looking for more vigilantes, different is… bad.”

“Well it shouldn’t be! Everything about mecha here seems to be so controlled.” Lightbright said. “Maccadam said he hadn’t seen wings like mine in megavorns. I’m perfectly average back home!”

“Maybe different universes just have different biologies,” Transmutate said placidly, winding the mesh of her veil around her fingers. “I like the way you dress up here. Why does Windblade have hubcaps?”

Glancing at the bronze caps attached to his wheels, Orion shrugged. “This stuff belongs to a friend of a friend, she said. Couldn’t think of anywhere else we could get disguises for you. I’ve never been able to afford formal wear like this anyway.”

“They suit you.”

“Oh! Um, thank you!”

“Whoah, is that who I think it is?” Arcee hissed, elbowing Rampage. “Is that Alpha Trion?”

The mech in question stood at the top of the stairs, the awning folded back to reveal a brilliant pink evening across the tarmac. He stared up at the sky, an inscrutable look on his face, pelt swaying in the breeze. Or maybe he was the one swaying. He looked a little unbalanced, actually.

“Is he a librarian here too?” Hot Shot whispered as they got closer.

“Is he one of the Firstforged?” Transmutate added. “He might be in our universe.”

“He’s--ugh. You’ll see,” Orion said, keeping his gaze firmly ahead to where the last few shuttles waited.

The rest of them couldn’t help but sneak glances at the solitary mech as they passed. He didn’t even look down.

Then, only a few steps past him, they heard a cheerful “ Orion! ”

The youngling in question winced as he froze midstep. “Ah. Hello, archivist, I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Nonsense. Going to enjoy the gala, are you?” Trion brushed through the other five to clap a hand on his shoulder. Hot Shot shook his head at Lightbright before she could say anything. Rampage’s servo sheathes creaked as he balled his hands into fists.

“Listen.” The older mech leaned in close to Orion, optics slightly unfocused. “The creatures here with you… you realize that they do not exist?”

Hot Shot blinked.

“Um.” Finials pinned back and face frozen in the most uncomfortable expression, Orion scrambled for a response. “Why do you say that?”

“Because they aren’t from this reality, you see.”

“ Ah. ” His gaze darted to Hot Shot’s in a panicked glance, and he could only shrug exaggeratedly. “So does, uh, does that mean they don’t exist?”

“Hm, perhaps!” Trion held up one clawed finger. “There are things from outside this reality, simply making them not real. Things outside of existence do not exist!”

“Sir, if we’re from outside this reality,” Transmutate interjected. “Wouldn’t that mean we still exist, but aren’t real?”

“Perhaps, perhaps. Which one did I say first?”

“That we don’t exist.”

“Hm, I must have gotten them switched around… well!” He straightened abruptly and patted Orion’s shoulder again. “Just so long as you are aware! Good evening, little knight. Good evening, false realities.”

And with that, he swivelled on his heel and strode to the stairs, disappearing into the shadow of the stairwell.

The six of them stood dumbfounded for a moment.

Finally Arcee spoke. “Is he always like that?”

“ Yup .”