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“Megatron has fallen!”
A faceless Decepticon calls over the crowd of advancing Autobots. Starscream doesn’t need the vocal confirmation; the visual lay beneath him in a pathetically pitiful state, barely clinging to life. Despite all that he’s struggling to remain online, red optics are blown wide at the sight of Starscream hovering over him.
“Get over yourself,” the seeker grunts, hauling one of Megatron’s bulky arms over his shoulder. He disconnects the fusion cannon from his leader’s other arm, struggling to lift both that and the mass of Megatron’s frame. He manages but has little time to be smug at the look of disbelief Megatron gives him. Starscream sucks in a breath, “This is a total disaster. If I take your position, the blame would fall on me, wouldn’t it?”
Megatron doesn’t answer. Starscream thinks he might be incapable considering the blast he took to his throat. Megatron’s helm is tipped over so as to obscure Starscream’s view of his wounds. Starscream bares his denta. How appropriate: even an incapacitated Megatron doesn’t grant Starscream the sadistic pleasure of basking in his failure. Shame. But he has other things to worry about, like the approaching figure of Optimus Prime.
“Back!” Starscream snarls, waving the fusion cannon around. The Prime isn’t swayed.
“Stand down, Starscream.” He lifts his blasters. Starscream’s optics narrow. Does the Prime not consider him capable of wielding Megatron’s fusion cannon?!
Starscream bristles and charges the weapon. “ No. Move aside, Prime.”
The Prime must have realized he was serious and drops his weapon, carefully lifting his servos. Good. “We will grant you the opportunity to retreat here.”
“How noble,” Starscream sneers. He’s yet to power the cannon down, casting the Prime in an ominous glow set to explode at any second. The Autobot leader takes a tentative step back. As much as he’d like to stay and gloat, Megatron’s entire weight leans on him now.
He’s running out of time.
Starscream reattaches the cannon to Megatron’s arm and hooks his arm under Megatron’s knees. He draws a vent and steadies himself, bodily lifting Megatron’s mass and winces at the creak in his joints. “You’re heavy ,” he hisses to an unresponsive Megatron, activating his thrusters and takes to the sky. “Next time, you’re carrying me .”
There’s cheering beneath him; the Autobots undoubtedly celebrating Megatron’s failure. Still, Starscream glances at the carnage from above, permitting himself a scornful smirk. The place is in shambles and he can at least count several offline and crushed, whether they be their own or Autobots.
Rather than the medbay, Starscream takes Megatron back to his quarters instead. He presses the warlord’s limp servo to the access panel and stumbles inside, unceremoniously dropping Megatron to the floor with a loud clang. Starscream has ample time to worry about his questionable judgment later; he needs to… ugh, ensure Megatron’s continued function despite his ambitions.
Starscream stretches out his aching joints with a groan and flexes his digits. He kicks a dent into Megatron’s helmet for good measure, “You useless hulk of metal. Everything you do inconveniences me, even while you are unconscious.”
Even so, he's still on his knees by his leader’s side, delicately running his servos along the cracks and dents that mar Megatron’s unconscious frame. There's something cathartic about verbally unleashing his frustrations on the unresponsive warlord. “I hate you.”
Starscream doesn't. Or, at least, not to the extent that he claims to. He retrieves a blowtorch from his subspace and sets to work without any regard for Megatron’s comfort. The dents are the easiest, and Starscream uses a heavy servo to literally beat them out of Megatron’s frame. Some part of him hopes it'll still ache when he onlines again, as he doubts the warlord will be amiable to his efforts.
He's never been grateful. Save for when he acquired the cannon. Some part of Starscream believes that it is to keep his ego in check, forcing him to chase after Megatron’s approval like many of his loyal followers do.
Well. He’ll have time to ponder on the injustices of that while he saves Megatron's sorry excuse for a spark, doesn't he?
Megatron onlines to a dull ache in his helm. He reflectively lifts a servo to soothe it with a groan, only to be stopped by pointed digits curling around his wrist and keeping him at bay.
Pointed digits. A delicate grasp.
Oh no.
Megatron overrides the warnings in his HUD and forces his optics online, blinking until the blurry visage of Starscream comes into view.
“You– what–” Megatron stutters before a burst of static overtakes him. He wheezes at the strain put on his vocalizer by talking alone and settles for leveling a glare at his treacherous Second instead.
Starscream isn't impressed. He rolls his optics in his usual dramatic flair and sits himself down on the edge of Megatron’s berth.
Wait.
His berth? When did Starscream…
“Predictable,” the seeker sneers. He scrutinizes Megatron’s frame with narrowed optics, expressing an odd level of concern that doesn't entirely sit right with the warlord. “Not even a lick of gratitude. And you wonder why I’m so intent on overthrowing you…” Starscream trails off into a dissatisfied grumble, fetching a cube from somewhere and pushes it against Megatron's lips.
“Drink,” Starscream orders. Something ridiculously petty wells up in Megatron's processor at the tone Starscream dares to use with him, urging him to clamp his mouth shut. He suppresses it and doubts he'd have the strength to go against Starscream in the state he is in regardless.
Megatron offlines his optics as he allows Starscream to feed him the energon. He won't give the seeker the satisfaction of seeing him submit.
“That wasn't so bad now, was it?” Starscream is smirking when Megatron looks at him again, “I've slipped in a sedative, by the way. You'll be out cold in about a breem again. Saves me the trouble of putting up with you like this.”
Megatron’s lip curls. Flippancy to this degree warrants some form of discipline but Starscream takes advantage of Megatron's impaired state, forcing him to lie there and take it at face value. Brat.
He blames the odd surge of charge through his circuits when he looks at Starscream’s pleased face on both his injuries and the sedative that's yet to kick in, as the actual reasoning behind it is far too mortifying to accept. Realizing this is a losing battle, Megatron exvents wearily and makes a meager attempt to steer the conversation away from his own humiliation.
“You brought me to my quarters,” Megatron croaks as the strain on his vocalizer has lessened considerably due to the medical-grade Starscream supplied him with. “Impressive. It seems I clearly pegged you wrong.”
“Careful, Megatron,” Starscream drawls and Megatron watches as he stands, trying to keep his expression even. He realizes that Starscream clearly has more to say, but whether it be out of self-preservation or concern for Megatron’s wellbeing, he keeps it to himself. “It almost sounds like you're grateful. You can't have that, can you?”
Megatron wants to argue back that he is grateful and capable of showing that, to the right mechs, but timely remembers Starscream is not the right mech. That would undoubtedly be the beginnings of his undoing. Expressing gratitude is one thing; doing so to Starscream is another entirely.
Even if his traitorous processor almost urges him to. A part of him fears that once he starts complimenting Starscream, he'd be unable to stop himself.
Starscream resets his vocalizer. Megatron snaps back to the present and watches Starscream slowly retreat to the doors. “Well,” he says, giving Megatron a wave he knows is more intended to taunt him than anything. “I would hang around and watch you sulk, but I have a ship to run.”
Starscream is long gone when Megatron realizes the meaning behind his words.
“ Starscream! ”