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He hadn't believed in expendability, the idea that a person's worth could only be justified through their willingness to give up their life. A Decepticon soldier's purpose to the cause was enough for loyalty to manifest, the acts of heroism that followed would be enough to arise.
It only felt like a snippet of his mind, seeing just how miniscule his impact was only after the Decepticons dissipated. How little he was in a bigger, more powerful Cybertron.
Walking among them, the people he'd fought for as long as his memory served, terror was put into perspective. Life had changed, Cybertron had changed, nothing would ever be comfortable in the sublime way it had. Never before had he missed Starscream so much, never in his whole life had he wanted to go back in time and relive his pain.
It wasn't the fact that the Autobots won, he'd realized it was for the better. Megatron was a terrifying force, one to follow out of fear rather than a desire for change.
Yet, despite nothing coming from the treachery of Decepticon overreach, the news of Megatron's death had left him tearful. It was only then that the permanence of death floored him. That Megatron was not the only one who was never coming back.
The looks he received, the words spoken behind his wings, not even the fake Autobot symbol on his chest was enough to ward it off. The symbol itself always left him in discomfort, that even for a liar the facade was pointless.
His voice left him. Finding the right phrases, speaking to people that hated him for being, awkward living in a time that pretended he wasn't real. Pride pushed him along, it always had.
He cried many times trying to find his voice, too scared of the Autobots and too scared of being brave. It was times like these he missed his friend even more, embarrassed at the thought of being seen this remarkably afraid.
Because after everything he'd said; after the lies and words weaved away to comb a path through uncertainty and disbelief, there was nothing left to say.