Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In an abandoned hangar somewhere near Central City, Starscream sat and sulked. 

He really hadn't expected Megatron to follow through with his threat and leave him as a jet, refusing to reverse the effects of the transfixation ray despite his pleas.

Eventually, he had flown off to brood somewhere. Landing was harder than he'd expected — not only had the ray prevented Starscream from transforming, it didn't even let him extend his landing gear.

He ended up scraping along the floor, before coming to a stop at the back wall. Not the prettiest hideout, but it would do. Hopefully, the ray effects would eventually wear off and he could return to Megatron.

Unfortunately, Megatron — and his trinemates, damn them — found him before that.

"Well, well. If it isn't the lost little Seeker himself."

Starscream quivered — not out of fear (definitely not, no, never ), but in a desperate bid to transform. "Please, Megatron, turn me back! I'm no use to you like this!"

"You're right about that, Starscream. As much as I enjoy you in your current form... well, you're not of much use. Unfortunately, the transfixation ray has been destroyed —"

Starscream made an indignant shriek. "You mean I'm stuck like this forever?!"

"Oh, stop your whining. Even though you can't transform, it just may be possible to manually fold you back into root mode." Megatron nodded at the other Seekers. "Skywarp, Thundercracker — flip him over."

"Got it." Skywarp advanced towards the jet, and Starscream really wished he had the capacity to move backwards.

"What are you doing? You keep your grubby servos off of me! Skywarp, I'm warning you — ahh!"

"Don't be such a baby." Skywarp took hold of Starscream's nose cone, lifting it up. Thundercracker helped his trine mate, pushing Starscream until he was perfectly vertical and balanced on his tail.

"Don't you dare let me fall," he cried. "You'll smash my cockpit to pieces!"

Thundercracker scoffed. "Oh, I don't think a little fall would do that much damage to you." Still, he was gentle as he let Starscream down, laying the jet so he was belly-up.

Skywarp held down his tail, and Thundercracker grabbed hold of his nose. "Alright, 'Scream. On the count of three…"

Starscream wailed as Thundercracker essentially tried to fold him in half. "Stop it, you idiot! That hurts!"

"Out of the way," Megatron grumbled. He got to his knees at the Seeker's side. "Let me try."

Megatron gripped Starscream's wings, and the jet shuddered with a sudden bout of laughter. 

"D-don't touch me there," he squeaked. "It's a very delicate area."

"I can see that." A devilish grin spread across Megatron's face. "Hmm… that gives me an idea."

Light as a cloud, he ran the tips of his fingers across the underside of the wing. 

"Sto-ho-hop it! Thundercracker,  Skywa-ha-ha-ha —!" Starscream's voice warbled with barely contained laughter. "Don't just stand there, you foo-hoo-hools! I'm being tortured to de-he-he — ! He-help me-hee-hee—!"

His shrill voice echoed off the inside of the hangar, and to Starscream's embarrassment, his trine mates simply laughed along with him — or, more accurately, at him.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Starscream," Thundercracker said. "You could use a little harmless fun." 

"Fu-hu-hu-hun? I'm not having fu-ha-ha-ha!" 

"You're laughing, aren't you?" Megatron moved lower to play with the flaps on the wings, keeping his touches frustratingly light.

"Hey, lemme at him." Skywarp got to his knees and started to tickle the other wing.

Starscream's plating shuddered, his vocalizer going staticy as he screamed with mirth. His circuits buzzed with embarrassment — here he was, utterly helpless in jet form and on his back. Did they have to make the situation even more awkward?

The tickling began to edge towards pain as Thundercracker stroked the underside of Starscream's fuselage.

Something inside him clenched, then shifted, and then Starscream found himself transforming back into root mode.

"Aha! I knew it would work."

Starscream would have said something witty if he'd been able to stop his giggles.

Chapter Text

Scrapper wasn't a bad guy at spark. Sure, he'd partnered up with the Decepticons, but they had some top-notch oil, and as long as they let him build stuff, he was happy. He hadn't been too pleased at everything else they put him through, and Scrapper had been more than grateful at the chance to quietly "retire" to Dinobot Island.

Of course, then there had been the whole thing with the cybernetic human dragging him to fight some rock band reject.

The humans of Detroit had been grateful for his help, but they hadn't let him get off scot-free.

They and the Autobots had not-quite-forced Scrapper to come back to the city for community service, mostly in the form of infrastructure repairs.

Scrapper would have liked to be left to his own devices on Dinobot Island, but he eventually acquiesced and soon found himself doing what he was built to do — excavation.

"Argh!" He was snapped out of his thoughts by a blast of cold water to the back of his cab. The rubble he'd been holding in his claw slipped and rained back to the ground.

Scrapper swiveled around to see Wreck-Gar standing behind him, holding the end of a pressure washer. "Whad'ya go and do that for?"

"You asked for it." He pointed at the back of Scrapper's body. "It says 'wash me' right there!"

"I didn't do that!" Scrapper twisted and turned in an attempt to look at himself. "And what are you laughing at?"

"It's just… your bucket-thing moves like a mouth when you talk in alt-mode." Wreck-Gar giggled harder.

Scrapper groaned. "Quit yappin' and get back to vacuuming. We can fool around with cleaning afterwards."

"Gee, Scrapper. When was the last time you washed yourself?"

"Heck if I know. It's not like I can go through a human car washer." He extended his arm forward. "Get my bucket, will ya?"

"Sure thing." Wreck-Gar ran the sprayer over the appendage, getting in between the "teeth". "I think you're looking better already."

They were standing on the bank of the Detroit River as the sun set, casting long shadows. 

The water was cold on Scrapper's plating, turning to steam as it met his heated frame. He shook his plating like an earth mammal, flinging drops of water from his chassis.

"Drying time." Wreck-Gar turned off the spray and pulled a towel from his bottomless garbage backpack. 

Scrapper sighed appreciatively as Wreck-Gar's busy servos slid over his frame. "Thanks. For doing this, I mean. I can clean myself in robot mode and all, but it's just… harder like this."

"No problem, Scrapper." Wreck-Gar ran the towel over Scrapper's cab, pressing close to him as he did so. "I love nothing more than helping my friends!"

"I'm your friend?"

"Well, yeah! Why wouldn't you be?" Wreck-Gar's face glowed with innocent sincerity. 

"Because I… never mind." 

Scrapper didn't really have a face in alt-mode, but he thought of his bucket more or less as one. He turned it away from Wreck-Gar, embarrassed. 

In truth, part of the reason he'd wanted to retire was to get away from everyone else. Not just the humans of Detroit, but the manipulative Decepticons, too. He didn't enjoy hurting people quite as much as they did, nor did he yearn for power.

Maybe it was because of his frame. He was built to build, not destroy. Every day, he regretted not joining the Autobots, even if their oil sucked.

Scrapper realized Wreck-Gar had stopped with the towel, and was leaning against him with his arms wrapped around Scrapper's cab. 

"What's wrong?"

"You felt sad." Wreck-Gar stroked Scrapper's plating. "I'm hugging you, so you won't be so sad."

"Oh." Scrapper didn't question how Wreck-Gar knew that — he seemed to operate outside of conventional norms for both humans and robots. "You're adora- ah, er, sweet."

"I am Wreck-Gar, I am adora-sweet!" he chirped. 

Scrapper was incredibly glad that it was cold out. Otherwise, it would have been hard to explain the sudden gush of steam from his vents.