Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was a crash. A crunch. The sounds of one hundred mech talking at once, hushed, raspy tones overtaken by cackling jeers. 

And Skyfire bolted awake.

The agony was unlike anything he’d ever experienced - waves of pain, running from his damaged plating straight to his scrambled processor. He toppled to the side, vents picking up rapidly as his chassis - no, his spark - ached.

He couldn’t quite get his helm around it, fear and panic overtaking as he clutched at his shattered cockpit, at the void in his chest. He was freezing, shaking, not understanding the pain emanating from within until someone forced him to look upwards, upwards, upwards, straight into the horrified eyes of Starscream.

A flicker of pain rushed through him like lightning, memories shorting in his processor as he gazed, stricken and confused at his partner who seemed unwilling to come closer. Skyfire choked back a small sob, aching like a sparkling for comfort, for anything - a servo on his helm, a nuzzle on his jaw. Something was off, something…

He’d crashed. They’d been on a research mission, and there was a storm, and…

The agony was making his hands shake, his optics flicker. Starscream muttered something in hushed, panicked tones to a large silver mech looking down at him like prey.

Something was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. Skyfire couldn’t feel him, couldn’t sense his conjunx at all. He swore, before he’d woken up, he could feel him just a second ago, nothing but panic as they seperated in the white. He was right there!

Something terrible had happened. Their bond…

It was broken.

It couldn’t compute in his system. The ragged edges of the tear in his spark pulsed with pain, darkness encroaching on the edges of his vision. He couldn’t call out for help, couldn’t look into the optics of the mech he trusted more than anything.

Had he done something wrong? Had he… there had to be some reason, some explanation…

He shivered, stale coolant pooling down his faceplate as he woozily curled into a ball around his quaking spark, desperate to flee the stares, get away from the jeers of mech he didn’t know.

It hurt so, so bad. It had to be a nightmare. An awful, terrible, freezing nightmare.

The universe seemingly took pity on him, finally pulling him into darkness, pain and chatter fading away into jumbled binary code.

-

He’d been having weird dreams again.

Dreams, memories, that left him breathless and panicked as he woke up to the roof of his tiny, windowless quarters, often on the floor, wings spread as far as they could reach. Skyfire would usually groan as he woke, white plating dim in the darkness as he crawled back to his too-small berth he had to curl up in to fit.

The Prime had initially offered him a large recharge plug instead, eliminating the need for a berth entirely, but the shuttle had politely refused, dentae gritted within his smiling intake.

Even if it meant hurting his back, a cable felt… somewhat inappropriate for a living mech. His partn- ex partner had made this clear at the academy. He was to be treated as much as a mech as the rest of them, despite his large size.

“If you don’t stand up for yourself, who will?”

This morning was much different. Skyfire woke up on the floor, as usual, but optics flickered on much quicker than usual due to-

Pain.

Red-hot fire lanced through his spark and he onlined in a fair bit of shock. His systems rebooted twice, HUD flickering errors as he blanched, scrambling to sit before giving up and holding the pristine glass of his cockpit instead, face to the floor as he grimaced through aftershocks.

It calmed down eventually, as it always did. He lay there, immoving before shunting his trembling wings back into their folded positions, and rolling onto his side against the berth. He took several deep vents in before slowly bringing his limbs up to curl around himself, cold against the metal floor of the Ark.

The shuttle lay there, staring into nothing, audials picking up noises of bots who refused to adhere to the Earth schedule many of them had adopted. Lethargy laced through his old frame and he simply wrapped his arms tighter, biting back the urge to transform, fly straight up through the atmosphere and never come back.

He swore the truce the Prime had called was supposed to feel better than this. He finally had a chance to sit back, talk with the few allies he had made about new, scientific pursuits instead of being placed in mortal peril on missions he wanted nothing to do with. The Earth was a xenobiologist's paradise after all! And he’d given up so much to protect those humans and their world. Why wouldn’t he have done that? Why wouldn’t peacetime be perfect for him?

He’d given up everything for this.

Faintly, he wondered if there was something wrong with him. Isolation was ingrained in a shuttle’s nature and he was encouraged to fight it during his time at the academy. For the first time in his life, he felt like he was his own mech, that he was worth something other than transport. He felt like he was worth talking to, and listening to. Looking back with reddened faceplates, he felt beautiful - really and truly beautiful, like one of Primus’ own beloved creations instead of the hulking, stupid, white piece of ceramic mecha had often made him out to be. 

If he thought about the mech that had ingrained those views in him, he would break down. In the five years of being back online, he still felt like a total idiot. A fool. A big, stupid, slow shuttle.

Only three Autobots knew he had anything to ever do with Starscream. And only the Prime himself knew of the nature of their relationship. Nothing intimate. Nothing else.

The rest of it was kept deep inside Skyfire’s damaged spark, which seemed to ripple and roll with painful white hot fury on a whim these days. He was unsure if he’d been holing up in his room because of that, or because of the influx of Decepticons aboard the Arc ever since the treaty had gone through.

Or maybe he was just tired. It was probably the boring reality. He was tired of talking to Autobots who pretended not to look down on him, but would use him for transport. He was tired of being ignored, and threatened, and mocked, and shot at. He was tired of the sound of gunfire making him flinch, of the sound of a null ray powering up making him panic entirely.

Something had to be wrong with him for certain, it was getting worse, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

-

A daily appearance in the mess hall was all Skyfire could really do to keep up appearances. If he went earlier in the morning, most mech would still be in berth, and he’d sit peacefully in a corner, sipping at energon as he tried not to fall back asleep.

The dreams that woke him up were Primus-sent for that. An almost perfect alarm clock to get up, down a cube, and then go back into recharge in berth all cycle.

Like a healthy mech.

He rationalised it like a sparkling. If I had to average approximately 2820 Earth miles in flight per day for four and a half years straight, with no pay, why is a little break so bad?

He walked as quietly as he could down the corridor, stretching his tight struts. He strained his processor, folded his arms and grimaced at the pangs that ran up and down his sensitive frame. It had been thirty-three Earth days since he had last flown. Sky hunger sat uselessly in his processor, simply adding to his terrible mood. His back hurt, his neck cables pinched, and his wings were almost itchy - irritated, jumpy, and sore. Weirdly so. His secondary pack wings shivered at the minuscule amount of air passing over them, ailerons jolting up to catch the breeze. 

He felt like a total wreck, stewing over nothing as he picked up his cube from the dispenser and sat, frowning at the ever-familiar taste of low-grade grounder energon. He missed jet fuel. He’d had a taste of it while in Decepticon Hospice, but nothing ever since. He wondered if the Autobots knew how difficult it was keeping himself in the air on this crap, let alone 40 hopped up Autobot soldiers and their Prime. 

Whatever.

He hung his head, closed his optics, willed himself to be grateful, and drank.

No sooner had he thrown the last drop back, optics shut in retrospective bliss as his fuel tank filled just slightly, someone sat across from him.

He cracked open his optics to a seeker staring up at him.

He choked, slamming the cube down on the table, flinching as it echoed, optics wide as he took in -

A clawed hand reached forward. The shuttle was vaguely aware his intake was open.

“It’s nice to meet you again, Skyfire. My designation is Thundercracker. I’ll be your section leader for the next month.” 

Chapter Text

Skyfire came out of the meeting feeling like he was about to burst into tears.

“You and Astrotrain are some of the only experienced shuttles among us. As the Aerial Bots are busy, I have entrusted you with energon transportation,” the Prime gestured to the smaller blue jet, who stood impassively at the edge of the room. “Thundercracker here will help guide you there. His outlier ability is quite strong and should keep you from harm.”

Skyfire stared dumbly, servos twitching. The Prime cocked his head up at him.

“Any questions…?” He asked him. Skyfire blanched.

“I haven’t flown in over an Earth month, sir…” the shuttle tried, voicebox trailing off. In his peripheral, he caught the seeker’s eyebrows raise. “I need some time to -“

“To warm up, I understand.” The Prime interrupted. “The rest of today should be fine. Learn how to fly with Thundercracker and set off at sundown. The journey there with that cargo should take you a week and a half. You have been permitted a business pass to stay at the Decepticon base for a week of respite before your return home.”

Skyfire was still in a state of shock. The Prime took that as an affirmative.

“You are dismissed, Skyfire. Thank you. I know I chose the right bot for the job.”

He had no idea why he was so agitated. He swore he was usually fine with everything the Autobots could throw at him. He was a total bitch! A pushover! Skyfire usually took in a deep vent and got on with it. But this…

The click of thruster heels followed him out into the hallway. His shoulders hunched at the awfully familiar sound, not even sparing a glance at the other before he strode forward, down the hallway, up a staircase and to the hatch adjacent to the landing pad. He didn’t even hold the heavy door open for the seeker, just losing himself as he walked onto the sun soaked landing pad, staring up into the blue sky.

The sun hitting his wings only seemed to irritate that itching sensation furthur and he frowned, tilting an aileron. This wasn’t a symptom of sky hunger, this was… he wasn’t sure. If anything, it made him not want to fly even more. It was strange. Maybe… maybe some sort of rust infection? He hadn’t preened in a very long time. Four million years, in fact. It was very difficult to stay on top of wing health and your own biological needs when practically every shuttle, jet, helicopter and seeker had perished during the war.

It was definitely something he dreamed about - a painful, empty secret really - of gentle preening, soft kisses, claws holding his face and making him feel like he mattered… his poor wings would be wrecked whenever he woke up, shivering and sensitive, with nobody to help, nobody to talk to, nobody to fly with.

It was pitiful, and embarrassing. He was weak, and he knew that, but the pure humiliation at waking up and expecting someone next to him in his tiny berth was crushing. He didn’t know if it was just his biology at this point or something else entirely that made him feel like this. The contradictory age of his frame? Loneliness maybe? Even trained for isolation, shuttles were still social creatures. All flight frames were like that. He didn’t know any flight frames that had survived over four million years of pure isolation.

That said, most of the flightframes he had once known were dead.

The Autobots didn’t seem to want to help, mech staying clear entirely. Many of them distrusted him for his wings, just like on Cybertron.

He was too drugged up to remember how the Decepticons treated his wings when he came out of stasis, on that leaky, freezing ship. It brought him back to the present to realise he was really going back there, with his ex-bond mate’s… bond mate, no less.

One of the mech he’d broken their bond for. Had ripped his spark into two without a second thought for.

It was almost shockingly evil of Optimus Prime to do this to him. Skyfire was actually shaking a little, fists clenched, ignoring the pain in his spark and the panic in his processor as he leapt up with gusto and transformed for the first time in a month, thrusters firing at full speed as he climbed up into the sky.

Wow, things really hurt, but the air whooshing over his over-sensitive wings cleared his processor a little bit. It felt fantastic actually, as he climbed higher, and higher, and higher, ceramic plates creaking as he climbed in altitude. His radar told him the other seeker had stayed on the ground and so he went as fast as possible when he dived, freefalling, spinning and swirling as agile as possible despite his bulk.

He remembered flying like this on other planets. Happy and free to be alive. Happy to be himself, happy to let himself be loved. The pure nostalgia in it crashed into him all at once as he spiralled downwards, wings flicking through the updraft, condensation streaming off his nose cone. It all blurred together.

And then he was transforming, slamming back down onto the landing pad, shaking off the ice that had formed on his undercarriage. 

“Very impressive for such a long break,” a deep voice said, breaking him out of his reverie. Thundercracker stood, arms crossed, looking over at him with interest. Something curdled in Skyfire’s tanks.

“Thank you,” he said curtly, running a servo down his freezing pack. A few tiny pings sounded off his armour, metal expanding in the sunlight. Thundercracker smiled at him.

Skyfire was planning on being just as abrupt to the seeker, but the other’s expression caught him for a moment. It looked genuine, light. 

He avoided seekers like the plague, not just because they were on opposite sides, but because they all looked so much alike. All the same clunky war build, in different colors. Starscream was so different, so unique to him that he couldn’t imagine seeing him in someone else, but it was alway there. In bright smiles, and curved lips and vibrant, red optics.

It was torture. He cocked his head at the blue seeker, optics flicking from his helm to his wings as he took him in. He was a lot taller than normal seekers, shoulders broad and cockpit long. He had been aware of his presence on the Nemesis and also on the battlefield, but not by much. As the only fully competent Autobot flier, he was often benched after transporting them all there. 

Thundercracker nodded, straight to the point. “How much have you flown in section formations?”

Skyfire thumbed through his memory bank for a klik, pointedly ignoring any files with a red and white jet. “A little bit. We were taught them in transportation college when I was a sparkling. It’s the side by side formation, isn’t it?”

Thundercracker nodded. “So I’m able to see any threats better. To aid, mostly. We will have to go slower though because of the cargo weight.”

Skyfire uncharacteristically scoffed a little. “I can keep up to a seeker.”

Thundercracker frowned. “Not with three hundred tonnes of cargo, you won’t. You won’t even be able to transform into root mode until it’s been offloaded.”

Three hundred tonnes?

The shuttle blanched, optics wide as he turned back to the seeker. “I never carry that high - why is it so heavy?”

Thundercracker shrugged. “Prime and Megatron’s orders. To be fair, most Decepticon mines were overtaken before the war ended. We’ve really been running low. It’s been rough.”

There was silence for a klik, Skyfire quietly doing rough calculations off the top of his helm. At peak performance, when he was a youngling back in the freight industry, he could carry around five hundred tonnes. It was strut breaking work, mentally and physically. Even four million years on, he could remember the rough scratching on his plating as he pulled into ports, the feigned ignorance of dock workers as he was treated like a dumb beast, an inanimate object, a tool.

He remembered being pushed past his limits on what he could physically carry, wings shaking with effort, losing himself in the stars, retreating into his processor to get long assignments done. He remembered trying to pull his EM field in as far as possible, away from prying mech that offloaded his cargo, away from everything but himself.

He hated cargo runs, and he hated shuttling mecha around, but he guessed it was what he was built for. It was all he could tell himself.

After everything he’d been through, all of his awards, all of his doctorates, he was still only useful for transport to these mech. It made him feel sick to the stomach and he wasn’t sure why.

Every attempt at trying to escape this life… it always came back to hit him in the face.

“I should be comfortable transporting that amount,” he bit out, turning back to the blue seeker. Thundercracker had an optic on him, gazing upwards. It was quiet for a klick before he nodded, turning on his heels and leaping into the air, transforming into a sleek, glittering blue Earth jet. A crackle came in over Skyfire’s comm systems.

“Let's get started.”

Chapter Text

Sunset came quicker than Skyfire had hoped.

He fueled himself for the last time in a week. Having the thought of Thundercracker anywhere near his fuel ports made him shudder, but a job was a job. He had to grow up. He’d been on assignments like this a million times before.

Even if he didn’t want to do them.

The trip to the loading dock felt like a death sentence, pedes tapping a morose rhythm into the metal floors. He took in the feeling of his weight on the ground, of the crick in his neck cables, the feel of his servos against door frames as he leaned down to pass.

He swore he’d never felt so uncomfortable about the notion of being trapped in his alt mode like this but his strange mood just brought him down furthur, thoughts spiralling aimlessly. His wings continued to itch irritatingly.

The Prime was overseeing the loading, and Skyfire swallowed, knees trembling for a klik as he simply nodded and transformed, hitting the ground with his neglected landing gear and staying as still as possible. Bots got to work, wheeling crate upon crate into his loading bay and he checked out entirely, pulling his EM field in tightly and simply zoning out as they finished the job.

Thundercracker had briefed him, as they’d practiced formations, that the journey would be to several different mines across the planet before landing at the Decepticon base in the middle of the Indian ocean around ten Earth days after takeoff. Due to the weight, they would rest each night to conserve fuel. It would be slow going, gruelling work.

Skyfire wasn’t really sure if Thundercracker was following him on the flight back. Bitterly, he found he didn’t really care. He’d been given an allowance of a week of rest before his return trip, but he honestly just wanted to speed back as soon as possible. If he took the atmospheric path, he’d be back within a day, slow going cargo hauling be damned.

If anything, he wished he’d had more of a warm up, let himself get the nervous energy out of his system before he was stuck at a measly five hundred miles per hour for days on end.

He startled to a pat on the nosecone from the Prime, catching himself from flinching before he took the initiative to roll towards the doors of the hangar. A ping, coordinates from Thundercracker, invaded his HUD and the doors began to roll open with heavy squeaks.

“Are you ready?” The seeker asked quietly over the comms. He was standing just shy of the roller doors, perched on the launch pad outside. The sun’s evening rays hit his helm and cockpit at a stunning angle, the orange glow turning the blue of his wings an aquamarine green. Skyfire balked, optic cameras whirling in another direction as he croakily replied in the affirmative.

He already felt very, very tired.

They took off only a minute after, rising in slow going circles as Skyfire got used to the weight. It wasn’t too terrible - two hundred tonnes at the Autobot base, with one hundred more to be collected from the mines. He was thankful for the slow introduction of the final goal weight, wings twitching amongst the discomfort as they levelled out at around forty thousand feet.

Thundercracker was characteristically silent as they flew, the setting sun washing them both with vibrant orange light. It was colder up here, somewhat refreshing to Skyfire as he often ran much too hot down on the ground. The cooling system in his hab could only do so much for a mech that was made to brave the freezing vacuum of space.

This was the only night they were supposed to be flying and Skyfire drank it in with gusto. He liked night flights, the higher the altitude the better, all so he could gaze at the glittering stars and the Earth’s single pearlescent moon.

He’d flown through some of those stars - definitely not all, but some. His processor supplied him with star maps, some perfectly detailed, others still corrupted by the crash. Much of Earth’s night sky had changed during his time in the ice. Star gazing, reformatting that information was one of the only activities that held him together in the weeks following his desertion to the Autobots.

He still remembered the fear and confusion that plagued him, the constant pain and betrayal that leaked from his broken spark, seemingly corrupting him from the inside out. The misery that turned into a determined, reserved acceptance, to change things on this planet for the better.

And then he fought, and fought, and fought as the pain kept creeping on back. Kept making his already uprooted, confusing existence a living hell.

He wasn’t a warrior, he found out, as his ex conjunx left him to bleed out on the ground. He wasn’t a scientist, he discovered, as he struggled to catch up with four million years worth of innovation. It turned out he didn’t even seem to be polite or inviting to be around, grounder mech avoiding him like the plague, however hard he tried.

He was something that the universe had tried to lose forever, keep safe in its icy pocket. It had done everything in its power to spare him from the war, from the heartbreak, from the inevitable destruction of his fragile autonomy back on Cybertron. It had tried.

Skyfire knew he was technically one of the lucky few. The one and only civilian survivor of Cybertron. One in billions. A rare, Golden Era flight frame, no less.

He wished he felt lucky; he wished he felt much of anything these days.

Skyfire let himself space out as they flew through the inky black, wings slicing through cloud cover. The moon was close to full, a beautiful white spot on the horizon. It was nice up here. Peaceful.

He didn’t realise they had nearly reached their first destination until the seeker had pulled in front of him, assuming the leadership position to start bringing him down. It was a tight spiral down onto the brushed dirt landing strip, gravel biting into the grooves of Skyfire’s landing gear tires, gravity feeling like heaven. It took everything in him not to retract his landing gear and just flop onto his alt mode’s belly, one with the dirt.

He’d switched his biolights off as soon as he’d reached the ground, optic cameras flickering off as he vented heavily, trying to relax his achy wings. He didn’t hear the other until a gentle servo was placed on his nose cone.

Skyfire jumped, letting out a little squawk as his cameras retrained back on the seeker. Thundercracker held up his servos in surrender, energon pink staining his faceplates.

“I - I’m so sorry - I thought you saw me coming,” he murmured, helm tilting to the side as he stepped back. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Alright was an overstatement. Skyfire’s wings echoed with pain, internal wiring tight and tense. He was still in a terrible mood, still exhausted to all hell, his spark was aching fiercely and some of the load latches in his loading bay were pulling at sensitive inner components uncomfortably. And he hadn’t even been loaded to capacity yet!

But…

Any bite left Skyfire’s glossa at the sincerity in the seekers voice. He squinted inwardly, honesty breaking free through his exhaustion.

“I’m tired. My wings hurt,” he replied curtly, watching, confused as concern took over Thundercracker’s expression. The seeker looked upward to the red and white metal appendages still splayed over him, thrusters activating to bring him higher, closer.

“It wasn’t that long of a flight. You, uh, said you hadn’t flown in a while - is something wrong?” He asked, optics scanning the metal as he flew in for a closer look. A vent of warm air cascaded over an aileron and Skyfire held back a hesitant shiver. A clawed servo lifted. “Do you mind if I…?”

The proximity of another flight frame seemed to slow his processor. Skyfire, utterly flustered, let out a small, slightly befuddled, affirmative sound that trailed off as Thundercracker splayed three claws across his left primary aileron before cautiously lifting the edge up, tweaking it gently before slotting it back into place.

For a few kliks, Skyfire’s processor completely short circuited, engines on low as Thundercracker continued his exploration of his right wing. It was almost torturous, feather light touches and gentle picking at transformation seams.

This was… he was…

“When was the last time you preened?” Thundercracker asked, deep voice sounding genuinely confused, cutting through the fog in Skyfire’s processor. The world seemed to stop.

The shuttle balked in panic, first reeling in his EM field, a sudden, roiling mess of pleasure/confusion that the seeker had surely just got a processorful of by accident. A wave of static came out as he tried to speak, a manic sense of embarrassment taking over.

What is wrong with you! What is wrong with you! Oh Primus!

“I - uh. Not recently. I can't… reach,” he tried, humiliation coursing through his lines, every sensor on fire as Thundercracker gently thumbed his minor aileron. Recently was a critical understatement. Without help, he was unable to preen himself at all, and the grounders just didn’t seem to get it. The thought of one of them touching him there made him want to purge. A fliers wings were the most coveted, sensitive part of their frame. Only someone of great trust would be allowed to preen another. And the last mech that had preened him… 

Would Thundercracker laugh at him if he realised he hadn’t been preened in over four million years? It was pretty disgusting. He… he felt like slag.

He realised with a start he was venting strangely and desperately tried to slow it without the seeker noticing. His alt mode had begun trembling minutely with stress.

“These are so out of line, no wonder your wings are aching,” Thundercracker murmured sympathetically, swiping down to the tip of the wing. Skyfire actually had to steel himself, biting back a yelp as sensitive plates were pushed back into place. His processor was spinning, dizziness making him want to keel over completely.

He was preening him. Thundercracker, of the Elite Trine, of the Decepticons, was preening him.

It was a mix of the best thing he had ever felt in his life and the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened in the history of the universe. His intake felt tight, the sensation of purging growing stronger by the second.

This was wrong.

It killed him to flick his wing away, transforming it and folding it back into his chassis, but he had to. This was someone else’s bonded. Thundercracker had trinemates! What was he thinking, preening some loser shuttle his own trine leader had ditched years ago?

This, Skyfire decided, despite the fuzzy, content feeling threatening to send him into recharge, was crazy. It was insane.

“You didn’t want me to try to work on the other side?” Thundercracker asked, having the gall to sound disappointed. “I’m happy to help. Your slat wires are totally crossed - I think they’re pinching. It’s really going to hurt at full capacity.”

The seeker hovered in the air for a few more seconds before touching down, looking worried, straight up into his cameras. Skyfire watched, vents increasing as a wave of an EM field crashed over him. He hadn’t felt such a potently aimed EM field in years. It was so overwhelming, he choked a little as he responded, drowning in the peculiar haze of safe/healthy the seeker put forward.

“I appreciate your help, Thundercracker. I would just like to recharge before we start off in the morning,” he tried, watching the seeker straighten, wings lowering, stoic mask slipping back over his face. Skyfire swore he wasn’t put off to see it reappear.

“Of course,” Thundercracker replied stiffly, backing up, servos spread, field slowly fading. “Please roll downhill after me - the mouth of this mine has a hangar perfect for your size.”

An unreadable expression crossed his face before the seeker turned and asked quietly in afterthought, “Would you… prefer the cargo loaded tomorrow while you're in recharge?”

Oh. That’s new.

“No,” Skyfire replied quickly, feeling a little sick, overwhelmed entirely. “I am happy to wake earlier for you, I - please don’t give the go ahead without me.”

Thundercracker nodded serenely, surprising the shuttle by flashing him a nervous smile in the moonlight before stepping off down the hill.

Skyfire sighed, ignoring his spark pounding as he trundled after him.

Chapter Text

After a night of restless, thankfully dreamless recharge, Skyfire awoke to a soft tap on his landing gear, optics opening to pure darkness before instinct took over, cameras switching on to stare groggily at the tall, blue frame before him. Thundercracker smiled, cocking his head.

“How was your recharge?” he asked, laughing a little at the groan that poured out of Skyfire’s speakers. “That bad? We have a long day ahead of us until the next check point. It’s about twenty-five tonnes here. Loading should start in half an hour.”

The seeker turned to look at the mouth of the hangar, mid-morning sun flickering in through the trees, as he tapped his servos on his thigh.

Skyfire could only watch in confusion as Thundercracker looked back to him, that strange look of concern on his plates once again. 

“Are you, uh, sure you’re alright?”

Why does he care so much?

Exhausted, Skyfire croaked out an affirmative, shifting his rudder before running an internals check. He had around 65% of fuel remaining, all terrible grounder crap that lasted half as long as jet fuel. It was frustrating, but it was enough to get him over the Pacific; he had to make do.

It took him a solid ten minutes before the memories of the night before hit him, vents slowing as he sat there in the cool morning air. Confusion reigned as he slowly unfolded the freshly half-preened wing from his chassis, flicking it out, narrowly missing the side of the hangar. To his begrudging surprise, it actually felt a little better, the itchy feeling subsiding where plates had been smoothed back into place. Thundercracker seemed to be right about his slat wiring - hell, maybe even his ailerons - evident in the uncomfortable tightness that pulled beneath his plating and hurt whenever he tried to make sharp turns.

He… had no idea why the seeker had done that. Done any of that, considering he was a bonded trine member. That could do a whole lot better than him.

Thundercracker seemed strangely kind for a Decepticon, and that alone had his hackles up, but he… he had attempted to preen him either way. He genuinely… seemed like he wanted to help him out?

Because he was pathetic. Pure embarrassment felt like a good option to settle on here.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of dozens of miner mech, ordering his cargo doors open and ramp down. He complied, sighing, unseeing of the strange look the blue seeker shot him from the other end of the hangar.

-

The skies over the Pacific were glorious, cool winds buffeting the two along, cloud cover racing them westward. The new energon cargo wasn’t really keeping Skyfire down, just keeping him cautious of downwinds and thick clouds.

It really was a beautiful day, and despite his aches and pains, Skyfire relished in the sun on his plating. The silence was peaceful, just hours of rushing wind, music to his audials until it was broken by a comm link request.

“How are you doing back there?” Thundercracker’s smooth voice interrupted, the jet far off in the distance. “Do you need me to slow down?”

Skyfire took a klik to respond, revving his engines uselessly on the remnants of the grounder fuel in his tanks. “I don’t know. Grounder energon isn’t great for speed.”

There was a long enough silence that had the shuttle wondering if his line had gone dead, static hissing before the jet asked incredulously, “You’re on grounder grade?”

Skyfire sighed. He’d been on grounder fuel long enough to ignore the hunger that swam in his tanks at this point. “I don’t really have an option.”

He heard a click of the glossa from the other, cameras watching him seem to slow down. “I have jet grade in my subspace. You should have it next time we need to stop for energon. It’ll probably feel a lot better on your tanks, I - I can’t believe they’re feeding you that shit over there!”

The thought of jet grade had Skyfire’s abused tanks almost whoop in joy before his processor did a double take. The use of human slang, from a Decepticon no less, had him slow a bit, cameras narrowing with genuine, cautious curiosity. “You - you’ve been around humans?”

Another bout of silence had him anxious as he watched the jet slow down completely, then reverse, catching up with him in section positioning. Skyfire eyed the other alt mode carefully, watching for any sort of aerial body language that wasn’t there. He cleared his intake.

“I, uh, didn’t mean to pry-“

“You won’t tell anyone will you?” Thundercracker cut in, voice quiet. Skyfire spared another glance at the seeker, noting the drooping nose cone, the faint anxiety of his flared EM field. He tilted his wings, a flare of concern crossing his mind before he shook it off.

“Why would I tell anyone?” He mused. The jet beside him squeaked.

“I - I’m serious. They don’t like that I - that I’m interested in that stuff. Megatron, he… he isn’t a fan of them. It’s best to keep it quiet.”

A feeling of guilt shot through the shuttle as he dipped lower through an air current. Even during peacetime, the Decepticons still didn’t seem very accepting of the Earth and its inhabitants, which was a shame.

“I understand. I apologise,” Skyfire replied. “I’ve spent quite a bit of time working with humans. They are truly fascinating creatures. Their scientists are incredible.”

He felt a spike of curiosity from the seeker. “You’ve been able to work with their scientists? That’s amazing! I’m personally not very interested in their scientific exploits, but-“

“What are you interested in?” Skyfire interrupted curiously. The seeker spun in mid air, deep voice unsteady with cautious excitement.

“I truly love their writing. I - I have terabytes of their films downloaded onto my external harddrive. I don’t even want to mention the amount of books I've scanned. It’s fascinating they have evolved so much in such a short amount of time. I had never been really… inspired before I read one of their works by accident. I scanned a collective text of poems by a human named Robert Frost.”

Skyfire was stunned, listening to the quiet seeker turn into a different kind of bot, passion eaking out of every seam. “And it… it moved you?”

The seeker hummed an affirmative. “It did. It moved me, but I found my real passion lay in scriptwriting. I watched a ton of different plays - I tried musicals as well, but didn’t quite compute with them.”

“You did this all in your spare time?” Skyfire asked.

“Oh yes, absolutely. Megatron finding out would have had me as good as dead, let alone Starsc-“

The seeker cut off, Skyfire’s lines going cold with anxiety as they were silent for a moment, the ocean rushing below them. 

It had been a really long time since he’d heard his name.

“I really want a dog,” Thundercracker tried, softer this time, wistful. “There are so many human movies that revolve around them. They are loyal, and - I think they’re kind.”

“It’s peacetime,” Skyfire replied quietly. “Why not just leave?”

“I don’t know,” Thundercracker murmured, silence taking over the rest of the flight.

Chapter Text

The med bay smelt like oil and antiseptic. Skyfire had been given a section of the floor, too big for a medical berth. The floor hurt his healing back, his oversensitive, crumpled wings. 

They kept drugging him. The higher the dose, the less outbursts the shuttle seemed to have.

Hook was getting sick of them. The whines of pain, the whimpers of overstimulation from his damaged frame. The ice had saved him, miraculously, but the crash itself had done a number on him. Everything hurt. Nothing made sense.

He cried a lot.

The sedatives didn’t seem to really fix that. It dulled the physical damage, sure, but… his spark…

It was a ragged, gaping wound, ebbing and flowing with unbelievable agony.  The upped dosage only sent him deeper into his processor, unable to think, unable to feel, just enough awareness to exist. The only knowledge that was real to him was…

His conjunx had abandoned him. He’d severed the bond.

The pain was… unimaginable.

Skyfire didn’t know what he’d done. Thoughts spiralled into jumbled, scattered ramblings as they upped his dose, his biology switching on for the first time in four million years. Sparkbond coding was ingrained in most Cybertronians, with overemotional flight frames seeming to take the brunt.

He mourned.

Skyfire slipped into mourning just as easily as he had slipped into the ice all those years ago. The emotional toll it took on him in the first week alone was nightmarish. The pain he was in, the sedatives he was on… it was an awful, awful cocktail. After hours of nightmares, he would come online to agony, all through his wings and burning down his spark chamber. His defrag cycle was lagging heavily, leaving him disoriented and confused, unsure of where he was, or what was happening.

He was so scared. So, so, so scared.

The only thing that was right… the only thing he knew to be true…

Starscream didn’t love him anymore. 

The only mech that called him beautiful. That was patient with him. Advocated for him. Loved him enough to change his life. Fight for him…

The only mech that had ever loved him. From his absent carrier to every professor and classmate that had scorned him for his size, every employer that called him stupid, every mech that treated him like a tool. A vehicle. A brute. A waste of time.

Skyfire would wake back up to the frightening, unfamiliar medbay his memory chip refused to file away, and it would hit him, again and again and again.

Starscream didn’t love him anymore. Starscream had looked at him with fear and disgust. Starscream watched him suffer and pretended he wasn’t there. Like he was some inanimate object, a tool, a hollow, useless piece of transport.

Starscream… Starscream hated him. He had to. The pain was unbearable. Life was…

Life was not worth living.

Nobody was there to tell him differently.

Soon, the world really did morph into something abstract, frightening. His frequent sobbing fits turned into something desperately frightened, animalistic. In the darkness during the early morning of the fifteenth Earth cycle, he was found in the corner of the room, freshly repaired cockpit smashed and battered, servos stained with energon. High on sedatives and scared out of his mind, he’d tried to rip his spark out. When he’d failed, he simply curled into himself and sobbed for his partner.

Skyfire dwindled deep into energon loss incoherence in the hours it took for somebody to find him. He didn’t know who it was. He didn’t care anymore.

He woke up in further agony to Hook angrily fixing his cockpit for the second time, a mix of saline and energon rushing through his lines, flushing sedatives from his overtaxed system. Clarity took its sweet time in returning to his exhausted processor. A feeling of emptiness hit him, remaining solid through his stay, his final argument with Starscream and his eventual defection. It clung to him, a feeling of wrongness, of abandonment. 

Whatever he’d done, something inside his spark told him he probably deserved it.

-

Skyfire woke up with a gasp, servos aching to fly to his cockpit, to check his spark was still there, still spinning. His manual alt lock ground him to a halt, instead letting him jolt so far forward he nearly overbalanced on his landing gear. A strange sense of claustrophobia set in, the need to revert to root mode hitting him hard, his sense of panic spiking as his shaking wings folded back into his sides for comfort.

The want to feel as small as possible overtook his processor and he trembled, desperate to curl up in a berth, metal pinging as it heated from his harsh vents in the cool, balmy air.

His spark hurt.

Oh no.

They’d landed for rest on a remote island just south of Hawaii. The area was distinctly volcanic in origin, black rock with dense, scrubby grasses dotting the ground. It was out in the open, sure, but it was the last stretch of land for thousands of miles. The next mine site sat in eastern Polynesia, followed by one more in the desert on the isolated west coast of Australia before their final touchdown in the Indian Ocean.

There were energon mine sites scattered all around the globe, some funneled dry, some still brimming with resources. The Autobots held ownership to the majority of the mines, particularly those scattered along the planet’s equator. Skyfire had no idea if there were changed ownership plans during the truce. With the high security of him being the one to bring in the energon… he guessed not.

He jumped at the whistle of fans starting up beneath him followed by a croaky murmur of, “You alright?” 

His cameras flicked downward to Thundercracker’s small alt mode, perched halfway underneath his wing and underbelly, half asleep. He must have woken him up by nudging his thrusters with his landing gear. He pulled his EM field tightly around him.

“I’m good,” he rumbled quietly, trying his best to ignore the pain in his spark. “Just a weird dream.”

There was silence, just waves along the shoreline in the distance before Thundercracker commented, “You’re shaking.”

If he had the ability to, Skyfire would have gone entirely pink with embarrassment, opting to simply stay silent, indignant. Who did this seeker think he was? Acting like he knew him, commenting on every single thing he did. This was a work assignment, not some stupid fieldtrip. He really had no right to pry in h-

“Sorry,” Thundercracker mumbled. “It woke me up. Your fairings started rattling. Thought we were in an earthquake.”

Another bout of silence, anger draining from the shuttle before he started laughing. Thundercracker stayed silent, out of embarrassment or trepidation, he didn’t know.

“An earthquake? I forget how small you are sometimes,” Skyfire laughed, then quietened in afterthought. “I didn’t realise my fairings were so loose.”

The seeker seemed to wince. “They’re not… great. A good preen would have told you otherwise. You don’t have a medic who makes sure you’re flight capable, at the very least?”

Skyfire was quiet. Thundercracker sighed. “I don’t understand how the ‘Bots could harness such incredible fliers and refuse to take care of them. It blows my processor. I wouldn’t have requested you come on this assignment if you-“

Pardon?

“What?” Skyfire asked, confused, mood dipping. “You… you asked me to be here?”

There was a beat as Thundercracker seemed to understand his mistake, transforming and stepping away from the shuttle, servos spread as he fumbled, optics wide. “I - yes, I… I was given a choice to wait until Silverbolt of the Aerialbots was available, but… I…”

“You forced me to come instead,” Skyfire groaned. Thundercracker quirked an optic ridge.

“Not forced - your… your Prime wanted you to come. He assigned you in the end-“

“But you still specifically went out of your way to ask for me?”

The seeker’s optics were wide, intake gaping before he shut it with a click, helm dipping low. Skyfire watched him, cameras tracking his every move. Something was… strange here. He swore it wasn’t just his paranoia.

“Why?” Skyfire pressed. Thundercracker seemed to shrink in on himself, shoulder pauldrons hunched.

“I can’t… it was just easier. For the mission,” the seeker bit out.

Liar.

Suspicious, Skyfire sighed and let it go, watching the sky over them begin to turn hues of pink. Thundercracker refused to look at him in turn.

-

It was quiet as they prepared for their three-thousand mile journey south, Thundercracker asking for entry into his cargo bay, triple checking the loads were secure.

Skyfire felt… apprehensive, keeping a camera on him at all times. He was… angry, definitely. It was one word that could describe it. In all reality, he probably wasn’t all that flight worthy at the moment, exhaustion and spark issues be damned. His wings… he’d tried his best to ignore, but the seeker had called him out. Dangerously out of alignment. Grimy. Unpreened. Flying himself to death on grounder fuel, that felt like it ripped up his tanks the lower it got inside.

It was true and false, the way the grounders behaved towards his wellbeing. They cared enough outwardly, he guessed, to ask him how he was going, what he was doing. Not much else than that.

But it was his responsibility to go to a medic and get checked out, which he just hadn’t done. After finalising the trips to Ratchet for his gunshot wounds, the thought of going back to the medbay to get his wings yanked around… it made him feel sick to his tanks.

So he didn’t. And unsurprisingly, things fell apart quite quickly after that. The finely tuned instruments inside his wings dulled due to inward and outward stressors. Sometimes, he felt his processor was the same way.

Back before he met Starscream, just after he’d left his freighter job, with it’s impersonal, stressful, mandatory maintenance checks, his wings fell into quite a bit of disrepair. Thankfully, he didn’t fly much in Iacon compared to Altihex, but it was bad anyway, tangled wires and eventually a bad rust spot on his left wing. Starscream yelled at him when he discovered it, the seeker as vain as ever, horrified at the state of the shuttle.

After coming back from the medic woozy on pain patches, Starscream sighed, sat the shuttle down and preened him himself for the first time.

“If you want something, you always gotta do it yourself, you big dolt,” he’d murmured into the shuttle’s audial, Skyfire laughing groggily in response.

It had taken a long time to get to that point of contact. Starscream was brilliant, a determined, bright spark amongst the rest of the cohort, hellbent on creating change. He’d stuck to Skyfire’s side like glue from their first lecture, but had held him at an arm's length semester after semester. He was stuck up, vain, snobbish in his responses, and yet, he cared deeply. He knew how good he was and he refused to let his frame hold him back from letting everybody know it.

To Skyfire… it was inspiring.

It was a far cry from the mech Starscream was now. The seeker that had once gotten into fistfights defending Skyfire had damaged his spark, attempted to kill him and left him for dead, bleeding out on the ground. He’d replaced him. Abandoned him.

Thinking about it hurt, but it was hard not to when a mech that looked just like him was puttering around after him.

“Fuel check, please!” Thundercracker called from inside his cargo bay. Skyfire jolted out of his thoughts, pulling up his HUD.

“Ugh, I’m on 22%,” he called back, internal cameras swivelling to the seeker. “I-“

“Where is your energon nozzle?”

Fuuuuuck this.

“On my undercarriage to the left of my landing gear,” he replied curtly, plates shifting warily. The seeker nodded, making to move out of the bay before scrunching his nose.

“Do you have a funnel? I don’t think I have one your size.”

Skyfire audibly sighed before dropping one onto Thundercracker’s helm from his subspace. The seeker retrieved it before glaring up at him.

“You can do it yourself if you want. I’m just trying to help.”

Skyfire felt a pinch of guilt but remained silent, watching the other roll his optics before stepping onto the black volcanic rock outside.

He was never much of a fan of being manually refueled. It felt weird, a heavy sensation of force feeding that gave him indigestion half the time. The mech that tried were always too fast, too much, too little. It messed with his tanks quite a bit.

He also didn’t like being touched on his undercarriage at all. Sometimes he wished he was a dinobot, or even a beastformer, so he could bite mech that went anywhere near there. 

Alas. Here he was.

He held back a flinch as his panelling was pressed back and warm servos began to twist his fuel cap off. It was a little stuck, not being used since long before he woke up. He hadn’t been stuck in alt mode due to cargo for a long time, and frankly, he hadn’t missed it.

After a grunt from Thundercracker, the cap was off, Skyfire working through strange phantom sensations as it was placed onto the rock. His funnel was promptly docked into place and he cringed, waiting for -

The energon - glorious, glorious jet grade - filled his tank in a swift, smooth motion. It took about an Earth minute and he waited, gobsmacked, as Thundercracker closed the cap and gently pushed the panelling back into place with a click.

The funnel was left on a bench inside his cargo hold, quickly taken back into subspace. Thundercracker, occupied, didn't realise cameras were on him until he looked up, confused.

“What?” He asked, clicking a stabiliser back into place.

A hint of embarrassment filled the shuttleformer. “You know how to fuel shuttles.”

Thundercracker cocks his head with a sly grin. “Why wouldn’t I? I was on Astrotrain’s in-flight maintenance team. This was a piece of cake. Try refueling a shuttle with outside ports while they're going at the speed of sound.”

That… made sense.

“Thank you,” Skyfire replied bashfully. “It’s been a while since I had anyone that actually knew how to… tend to it properly. It’s, uh, refreshing.”

The seeker looked back up at the camera with a strange look in his optics, before nodding, walking down the ramp and flicking the manual door override.

“You’re… welcome,” he replied, leaping into the air and transforming. “Now let’s get out of here.”

Chapter Text

The energon mine in south Polynesia was peaceful, surrounded by acres of lush rainforest and golden beaches. They settled there for a day long break, most of it spent recharging under the hastily constructed tin hangar.

Skyfire remembered Thundercracker telling him he was off to talk to the mining crew before dozing off, cameras flickering on hours later to darkness, the sounds of the jungle at night invading his audials.

The sense of a content EM field forced his gaze downward. Thundercracker was yet again, peacefully recharging in alt mode under his wing, engine quiet. He was illuminated by the red and blue glow of Skyfire’s calmly blinking navigation biolights. The shuttle hadn’t even realised he’d left them on - the journey really seemed to have taken his exhaustion to its limits and he wasn’t quite sure why.

Skyfire had never had a chaperone that rested with him in vehicle mode before. It was… strange, definitely, but it was also begrudgingly comforting, scratching some mechanical itch in his processor he didn’t even realise was there. Thundercracker could be in a cozy mining hab right now instead of out in the humidity of the rainforest, yet he… wasn’t. He was right underneath him, field lax and empty against his.

Skyfire drowsily wondered if he’d be so inclined to curl up with him in root form like this, before shutting down that chain of command entirely as pain lanced through his spark. He grimaced inwardly, waiting for it to end, switching off his cameras before he heard a strange noise.

They all trained downward again as Thundercracker groaned in recharge, wings shifting a little, EM field fritzing. Another bolt of pain hit Skyfire, and he observed, entranced, as the seeker let out a quiet whimper in tandem before quieting, vents heavy as he recharged.

He watched for a few more minutes, the pain in his spark chamber ebbing slowly. The seeker beneath him was quiet, peaceful once again.

Processor muddled with exhaustion, Skyfire let it go, the sounds of the rainforest lulling him into recharge.

-

The trip across the Oceanic region was peaceful. Skyfire may have even called it fun.

Thundercracker, stoic by nature, was almost a ball of energy when given space to talk about the things he enjoyed. When given the breathing room, he would ramble for hours on end, be it about human books or movies, or humans and their nature themselves. Sometimes he would send data packets to boost his conversation point, allowing Skyfire a glance at the enormous collection of human media the jet had stowed away in his hard drives.

Skyfire kind of understood the fear the seeker had held of his leader finding out. Even an Autobot would be looked at strangely if they revealed this amount of stolen media. It was a total obsession, Thundercracker happily whirling around in updrafts as he chattered away, or dead silent as he hung on every word Skyfire uttered about his own experiences with human scientists.

“I used to hate them,” the seeker said at one point, deep voice sounding embarrassed, bashful. “I really wanted to hate them. I tried so hard. There was this one incident though…”

He trailed off, quiet, staring down at the red continent below them. Skyfire replied with a quizzical sound, frowning inwardly as the seeker sighed.

“We were told to drain the electricity from this one power plant in the middle of a city, and they wanted me for my outlier. So there I was, watching on the ground as they absolutely level this city block - it looked just like Cybertron when they were done with it. I just…”

He was quiet again, Skyfire about to speak up before the jet began to lose altitude, speeding down along the ground. Lowering, the shuttle realised he was speeding through updrafts, letting himself fly without overthinking. The rising heat from the cracked ground felt amazing along his sore wings, so he followed, speeding after him.

It was a couple of minutes before Thundercracker spoke again, voice quiet over the crackling comms.

“I helped a carrier and her sparkling out of one the collapsed hab units. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but the sparkling… it’s carrier was trapped by a piece of metal that fell when the unit collapsed, and I just stood there and watched them. They were so frightened when I helped them. I - I know they were insignificant, but… I felt…”

“Sad?” Skyfire supplied after a pause. 

“Disgusted,” Thundercracker tried quietly. “At us. At what we had done.”

For a klik, Skyfire was gobsmacked at the declaration, processor stalling as a realisation came into place.

“You were punished,” he stated, feeling cold despite the updrafts. Thundercracker hesitated before clicking an affirmative. “What happened?”

Another lowering of altitude, skimming across the desert. Skyfire watched him closely, staying higher up in the updrafts.

“He beat the energon out of me before locking me in my alt mode.”

An awful feeling overtook Skyfire’s tanks and he resisted the urge to purge, horror leaking through his logic chip. “For how long?” he blurted out dumbly.

“Two months, I think,” Thundercracker responded, sounding far away. “I wasn’t allowed to go near my trine unless we were on the battlefield. It was hard.”

Oh Primus.

This was… this was awful. He… this went against everything he’d ever known about old Cybertronian law, about autonomy values… this was sick.

“I’m sorry,” Skyfire replied softly, nosecone drooping. “I… I understand the feeling. You didn’t deserve that. You did a good deed - a good thing.”

It was a few minutes of flying through blissful, warm air, before Thundercracker seemed to unmute, vocaliser sounding a little choked.

“You’re the only Autobot that knows this. It wasn’t my… proudest moment. I learned my lesson.”

A strange sense of admiration curled around Skyfire’s spark as he watched the blue jet race across the red desert.

“On the contrary,” the shuttle replied. “I think that should be one of your proudest moments.”

-

The Australian mine was set in a dusty wasteland, a few miles from the steep cliffs of the western coastline. The Indian Ocean surged imposingly, slashing into the sharp, red rocks that lined the coast. The air was heady, thick with salt, Skyfire already feeling the uncomfortable buildup of dust and minerals in his vents.

He’d been to the continent before - both before and after his stay in the ice. It had some of the best views of the surrounding galaxy on the planet. He had been tasked to run several satellite tests here with his inbuilt equipment. The humans were personable, and the views incredible, but the desert dirt really did a number on his filters and they took forever to clean by himself.

They touched down on a dirt runway, Skyfire double checking the coordinates in confusion. There was nothing for thousands of miles, the land completely bare, the mine entrance completely invisible.

“These are the correct coordinates, right?” he asked the other, rolling forward to crane his cameras around. Thundercracker replied in positive, transforming to look around.

They found the mine entrance eventually, hidden away, nothing but a small hole in the dusty ground. Thundercracker told him to stay put, disappearing into the passageway. Skyfire waited obediently, watching the afternoon sky turn from blue, to pink, to gold, fans working overtime in the stifling heat.

He had almost dozed off by the time Thundercracker had reemerged, observing the other in dull confusion as he transformed back into his alt mode, wheeling steadily into the back of Skyfire’s landing gear with an oof.

At the silence that followed, the shuttle quietly bit out, “What’s happening?”

The seeker sighed. “They’re waiting until early morning to load energon. It doesn’t go well in the heat apparently. The miners wanted to wait until it was cool enough to do so. We have time to kill. I would like to get some recharge in, personally.”

That made a begrudging amount of sense. Skyfire willed his engines to cool a little, sparing a glance down at the little jet, biting the bullet.

“And you’re here because…?”

Thundercracker paused, a small flash of befuddlement flaring his EM field. “Because… I… am on this mission with you? I’m confused.”

Skyfire rolled his camera optics. “No, why are you up here? I know you could be down there in a berth right now. It’d be way more comfortable. And cooler.”

Thundercracker was quiet for a few kliks. “I wouldn’t leave you alone out here in alt mode. That’s terrible.”

Skyfire took a klik to process it before he laughed, almost self depreciatingly. “I’ve been alone in alt mode plenty of times. I fly solo a lot, actually. I’ll be fine.”

There was an almost uncomfortable silence before Thundercracker rolled forward and gently nudged his nosecone into the shuttle’s landing gear joint, hot vents wafting over his tires. Skyfire’s frame tensed before it relaxed, wing joints creaking a little.

“If I was ever stuck in my alt again, I’d rather it be with another mech by my side,” Thundercracker murmured truthfully. “I don’t feel comfortable leaving you up here by yourself.”

Skyfire’s processor whirled.

“Is that why you’ve been recharging under my wing?”

The seeker clicked an affirmative out in Vosnian. It was… weirdly comforting to hear. Skyfire took in a deep vent, vocaliser quiet.

“I’ve… never had a chaperone recharge with me before. Back when I used to work the freight lines…” he let out a bitter laugh. “They’d leave me docked outside even if I was able to unload. Rain, hail or shine.”

“Did you like freighting?” Thundercracker asked quietly. Skyfire tutted.

“I hated it, to tell you the truth,” he murmured. “All functionalist bullcrap. You know I wasn’t even allowed to apply for a basic education until I was hundreds of vorns old? They treated shuttles like cybercattle. Like glorified taxis. And we just let them.”

“Thats how they treated you in the Autobots,” Thundercracker mumbled. The statement hit Skyfire in the spark and he took a klik before recovering.

“You’re right,” he replied softly, regretfully. “The same type of miserable I felt being a freighter… it really hit me during the end of the war. Even given assignments like this, I just…”

He shut his cameras.

“I hate it,” he whispered. “Everything I ever did to be free of it, just to be bought right back. Years at the academy, all those accolades… for nothing. Sometimes I wish I was able to reformat entirely. But my size… I can’t. They want me for my frame, not my processor.”

He felt weirdly lighter having that come out of him, blinking his cameras back online to the quiet jet below him.

“Please… don’t tell anyone that, though. It’s private. The Autobots still looked after me, I swear they did, it’s just…”

“They mistreated you,” Thundercracker spoke up. “Neglected you. Expected you to look after yourself. I think they could have done better.”

Skyfire was silent, processor blank before he responded.

“I hate the fact I’m unable to quite look after myself,” he admitted, plating crawling. “It’s humiliating… exhausting. I know… before the Golden Era - shuttles moved in gestalts, pods, even trines. They helped each other. They were family. But all of that stopped when Sentinal Prime really took hold of the Primacy.”

“They were seperated?” Thundercracker asked, shock lacing his voice. Skyfire let out a miserable affirmative.

“They took them and turned them into freighters. They were placed into isolation. Some of them just sparklings, stolen from their carriers. By the time I came online… shuttles barely spoke to each other anymore. Their culture was lost entirely. I’ve been alone since I was a sparkling.”

He didn’t know what had overtaken him, a strange feeling in his spark blooming in his chassis. His vocaliser crackled, levelled down to a whisper.

“I think… I think the way that Prime did that to us… It affected my processor. Like - there’s something wrong with it. That I don’t think would be happening if I had been allowed to online and just… be part of a pod like my frame intended me to be.”

“How so?”

He took a rattling vent. “I don’t know. It’s like I've been alone so long I'm just… broken. Wrong. There’s no shuttles left. I barely got to lead a life by myself before I crashed. I regret… a lot.”

Skyfire trailed off, staring off into the hazy dusk horizon. He felt a bump on his landing gear again, finding the blue jet half nuzzling into him in alt mode. He broke the silence with a choked laugh.

“You’re kinda clingy,” he told him. The blue jet laughed in turn.

“You remind me of my trine,” he replied softly, Skyfire’s spark twisting painfully.

“You probably would have made a good Autobot,” he replied. Thundercracker mused below him.

“And I guess you would have made a good Decepticon.”

-

They were two days out when it hit.

They were forty thousand feet in the air, racing along the humid clouds above the Indian Ocean. Thundercracker was yammering about something or other, Skyfire zoning out peacefully amongst the wind.

Distantly, he pondered what he was going to do when they arrived, all thoughts of fleeing from the Decepticon warship straight back to the Autobot base stricken from his mind. His wings were beginning to turn numb, pain shooting through his itchy wiring. The excess final cargo weight had really begun to burn. It was slow going despite the jet grade Thundercracker had so gracefully offered him.

Whatever happened, he wanted this cargo out, now. He always found the final stretch the hardest, even back in his freighter days. The thought of curling up on a too small bunk in root mode seemed to be the only thing keeping him going. The shuttle needed to rest before heading back, definitely. His frame was too tired to start the trip back up into the atmosphere.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a warning light flicking on in his cockpit. Exhausted, he stared at it in confusion for a klik, booting up his HUD to run a system check -

Pain erupted from his spark chamber, Skyfire letting out a cry as he banked left, then down. It felt like fire, white hot, his cameras flickering, malfunctioning as he experienced a power surge. It took a klik before the second wave hit, more powerful than the first, causing his processor to reboot entirely.

Suddenly, he was spinning, nosecone pointing downwards towards the ocean. He tried his hardest to right himself amidst the chaos, frantic as he sent a sonar ping outwards, trying to find -

Land!

His vents were working overtime as he spun himself back into a horizontal positon, gunning for the nearest stretch of land. A tiny island, more a sandbar than a beach, appeared on his databanks only five miles away and he aimed for it, agony lancing his frame as he continued to lose altitude.

The crash landing was rough, pillows of sand erupting from the beach as he plowed into it, nose cone crashing into the clear waters. Faintly, he could hear frantic cries in his audials, a jet’s engines coming to rest beside him as he fought to stay conscious. Skyfire’s engines whined as he attempted to cool his system, wave after wave of agony leaving him breathless, speechless.

And finally, it wavered, then stopped.

He was shaking by the time his spark chamber started to cool down, gritty sand having blasted the paint away from his sensitive undercarriage, leaving it a stark, bare silver. His vents rattled in a panic, chassis seizing with fear. For a moment, he malfunctioned, processor fritzing as his cameras glitched once, twice, before flickering back on.

They zeroed in on a blue figure trying to wrestle his nose cone out of the water. Slowly he realised he hadn't even deployed his landing gear, simply opting to land and slide along the sandbar in the chaos. His undercarriage had been rubbed raw because of the split second decision, pain flaring from the area.

He groaned, audials feeling like they were submerged underwater. Thundercracker was yelling something, something…

“…knew it! I knew something was wrong with your spark, I knew Screamer fucked you up - oh Primus!” he cried, panic stricken, trying and failing to lift the nosecone out of the water. “Skyfire, please get up! You need a medic, I - I don’t know how I can fix this!”

Skyfire was pulling himself out of the water, dazed before his words sank in. Horror flooded his processor, the world spinning as he fired up his engines, wanting to escape anywhere but here.

He knows what his trinemate did to you. He knows.

It was the final straw as Skyfire shut down, logic centre denying all requests to reply, to give any sort of reasonable answer. Instead, he gave a single warning before he took off shakily, sand burning him on exit. He watched the seeker stare after him in confusion before transforming and racing behind him, questions turning into a mollified silence, Skyfire’s EM field crackling like a thunderstorm, uncontrollably surrounding them both in shared mortification.

Atmosphere destroyed, the rest of the trip to the base was utterly, horrifyingly silent.

Chapter Text

He knows. He’s known this whole time. 

He knows what his trineleader did to me.

He knows who he replaced.

He knows I’m broken.

He knows.

-

The rest of the trip to the base was silent, fizzling torture. Every time Thundercracker nervously spoke up, voice close to pleading to ask if he was alright, what he could do for him, Skyfire simply abandoned the comm channel, leaving static in his wake.

Every ounce of energon went to speeding in front of the seeker, ignoring his presence for hours on end, not responding to the smaller jet asking for a break when night fell, not responding to anything at all.

The shuttle was silent, stuck in his processor, a mix of numb and livid, as if he was slowly remembering who Thundercracker was for the first time.

An Elite Trine Member, a Decepticon, who’d murdered thousands. One of the two Starscream had severed their bond for. Replaced him with.

And he’d let him become close. Telling him things he shouldn’t have heard, letting him recharge underneath him for comfort, let him preen him. He was so deeply, moronically ashamed he hadn’t even seen it coming.

Skyfire was a fool. A sentimental, stupid, lonely fool. In his pathetic desperation for anything resembling connection… he’d done this to himself.

Devastated humiliation kept him going for hours, spark sinking as an anxiously reserved Thundercracker let him know they were here.

The Nemisis’ landing platform rose up out of the fog as they lowered themselves down. Storms had been brewing underneath them as they had made their way westward, the winds picking up steadily, matching Skyfire’s irately gloomy mood.

He was so filled with anger, the return to the Nemisis didn’t even phase him like he thought it would. He simply sat, waited for the lift to take him and the seeker he wanted to rip in two, down, down, down, into the main cargo hold.

There were a few gasps when they opened him up. The majority of the energon, in hardy cube storage, had survived. One shipment, up near the front of his hold, had shattered completely in the crash, sticky energon leaking through his seams. They retrieved what they could, swept out the glass, and left him to deal with it.

Perfect.

After ten days in the air, he was finally given the go ahead to transform. Joints and plates cracked together, transformation seams itching uncomfortably as he hovered for a second, touching down on his heels. Everything hurt as his optics finally came to life, a blue glow amongst the red optics of the Decepticon mech watching him like hawks in the hold. 

In the corner of his eye, he caught the small, cowering form of Thundercracker, choosing to ignore him completely as a smaller mech he didn’t know presented him with a holocard.

“Your habsuite,” the mech informed him. “A left, two rights and then four lefts.”

Great.

Instantly, with a terse nod, he was out of there, pedes treading as fast as possible. All he needed to do was get some rest, get the hell out of here, and start his journey home. He’d done what was required of him. He’d smashed a crate, yes, but he’d cross that bridge of questioning when he came to it.

His proximity lenses locked onto a blue frame walking after him as quickly as possible, leading him to speed up, uncertain where he was going. All of the empty hallways looked the same, rusty and damp, a small amount of fliers claustrophobia making his damaged wings tremble minutely.

“Skyfire! Please, we have to talk-“

He rounded a corner, pointedly ignoring the seeker as he looked up and down the endless halls. Local time, three in the morning, seemed to be the reason they were so empty. It was a blessing and a curse. Thankfully, he wouldn’t be coming across someone like Starscream any time soon, but it also meant Thundercracker was undeterred, hot on his trail.

A sensation of servos around his wrist had him stop, flicking his arm away before he whirled on the seeker. He was much taller in root mode, glaring down at the jet with undisguised hatred. Thundercracker, despite his relative height, barely reached the top of his cockpit, staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

“Don’t touch me,” Skyfire hissed out, wings flaring before continuing onward, eyes scanning the doors as rage piled in his chassis. Thundercracker, voice high with desperation, continued like he hadn’t heard him, smaller pedes tip-tapping on the metal.

“Skyfire, I understand you’re upset, a-and I apologise. I didn’t know how to bring this up, but there’s things you don’t understand, bad things, and it’s important, please, you have to listen to me -“

The holocard was swiped against a chipped, rusted door at the end of the hallway, Skyfire whirling around as he opened it. Thundercracker had stopped mid stride, nearly careening into the back of him, wings agitated and eyes widening as Skyfire leaned down to his helm height.

“You and your trine have done enough,” the shuttle spat, watching the seeker flinch backwards, field horrified. “Now leave me the fuck alone.”

The slamming of the door rung listlessly in their audials.

-

Skyfire wasn’t sure how long he sat on the floor of the damp habsuite, staring distantly into the cracked mirror just barely attached to the door.

Back in the day, he visited new planets each month, always entrenching himself in organic muck, arriving back on Cybertron sneezing out moon dust. He’d turn up exhausted, but ecstatic. Long distance travel was ingrained in a shuttle’s processor. It fired him up, gave him the will to keep going. The endless opportunities of space travel had him excited for each expedition, each new planet to survey.

Four million years and half a planet later, he swore he’d never looked worse. His undercarriage, transformed into his front, was scraped silver, rough and painful to the touch. It was an awful case of gritburn, his paint nanites stripped and peeling, separated from his plating. A layer of grime covered him, his vents full of red dust and golden sand. It hurt to cough, hell, it hurt to breathe, airways staticky and clogged. Thin streams of pink energon had dried onto his back and front, most of the mess caught in his cargo bay. It would have taken the cargo hold mecha ten minutes to clean out, but they’d patted him roughly on the nosecone, ‘leaving it’ to him.

His cargo bay was not a place he could reach. Wondering if he could get the Autobots to help clean it out only stressed him further. The stickiness was already overstimulating, irritating his inner transformation seams.

He’d crumpled in a section of his undercarriage during the crash. His chest looked terrible, dented and lined with deep scratches. His left wing, the one Thundercracker had preened somewhat, had a painfully damaged set of ailerons, the tip of the limb bent out of shape. It hadn’t been too difficult to fly with. If anything, through the haze of anger and pain, he hadn't even realised.

When he’d woken up from the ice, and had recovered enough to be coherent, Skyfire had struggled with the strange disconnect between the ages of his frame and processor. Millions of years in the ice had sped up the aging process of his frame somewhat. Everything hurt, despite the youth he still felt in his core. He had no time, no way to process the rapidity of going from a simple xenobiology honors student to a middle aged mech younglings looked up to in awe.

He had nobody to talk to about these things. Nobody seemed willing to listen. They had all grown up in, or had watched the war from the sidelines.

He was just thrown into it.

For once, he kind of felt like his processor and frame matched, exhaustion pooling in his spark. He swore he’d never looked so old. It killed him.

He crawled over to the uncomfortable, tiny berth with a resolution in mind. He would rest, and he would leave. The leftover energon in his subspace hit his quota, even if it was gritty grounder grade.

He needed to get out of there as soon as possible, for his own sanity at the very least. Begrudgingly request repairs with the Autobots. Go back to his terrible, lonely existence. Forget this had ever happened.

He squeezed his optics shut, curling up tightly, spark feeling hollow. 

The plan was back on.

Chapter Text

Skyfire groggily blinked awake at ten PM local time, frame and processor exhausted. His glitching HUD let him know he’d overslept by nearly half an Earth day, and he groaned, rolling into himself, squinting blearily at the rusty wall beside him.

He did not, under any circumstances, miss the Nemesis. It was cold, and damp, and cramped enough that it made him antsy. He had no idea how the flight frames here could stand being stuck down underneath the ocean. It was a total nightmare.

His HUD chimed with a quiet alert and his optics widened to thirteen missed comm requests from Thundercracker. He scowled and ignored them pointedly, slowly sitting up with a hiss of pain.

His plan. Right.

A flood of storm warnings hit the navigation centre of his HUD as he planned his route, stubbornly flicking them off as he considered his ascent.

He was banged up, sure, but he wanted the quickest way out of there, which was atmospheric travel, hundreds of thousands of feet above the clouds. A simple storm wasn’t going to bother him up there. He’d be back home within three hours.

Skyfire tried to straighten out the crick in his neck, sparing a glance for his battered wings as he chugged the spare energon he had stored. He mused grumpily about the way he hadn’t even gotten the chance to properly taste the jet grade. It had felt so nice in his tanks. If only.

With a final glance at the hab, he left the holocard on the berth, quietly shutting the door and making his way down the hallway.

It wasn’t as quiet as the morning he’d arrived in, several mech walking past giving him hostile looks. He fought back the urge to cower, processor urging him forward, back to the cargo bay and the lift to the landing pad. It seemed to be dead quiet in there, not a single mech to be found. 

Thank Primus.

A strange sound rang off the walls as he placed a pede onto the lift; Jumping, he whirled around to the empty bay, optics wide, searching for the source of the noise before he shook himself, pressing the button for the doors and rising upward.

Despite the recharge, exhaustion pulled at his processor. It was possible it was his self repair systems, fixing his nanites and draining his energy. The thought of trying to pull off atmospheric entry for the first time in months had his tanks twist.

He stood for a second, watching off the landing pad as the doors opened. Rain, as thick as sleet, poured over his frame, drumming his scraped front painfully. Lightning lit up the black clouds as he looked upward to the starless heavens, processor slowly calculating his angle of attack. His wings caught the breeze, busted ailerons flaring with pain.

He steeled himself, squared his shoulders and transformed, rocketing up into the sky.

Pain caught him instantly, frame struggling against the G forces. He forced himself onwards, a lower angle across the water than he wanted as he climbed, climbed, climbed -

His radar proximity alarm went off before he’d seen it himself, jolting him out of his ascent in surprise as something near invisible shot past in a flash of violet light. He steeled himself, panic rising as it whirled past him, then reappeared on his radar, giving chase.

Fear invaded his processor as he shot further upwards, the shape so fast it seemed impossible to escape. Skyfire’s damaged wing screamed with pain as he engaged in a barrel roll to avoid contact, slicing into thick storm clouds. The wind buffeted him painfully, sleet whirling around him as he lost his sense of direction, processor addled with pain and exhaustion.

The lightning strike wasn’t expected.

It hit him square in the kibble, blasting him off course, the glass of his pack shattering instantly, the air sucked out of his cockpit. He cried out, any control on his alt mode failing as electricity coursed through his body, rendering his wires useless. Root mode took over unwittingly as he seized, begging to stay conscious, wings unable to brace for a freefall, unable to do anything as he shook uncontrollably. Gravity took hold of him, pulling him down, down -

Something hard hit him with enough force he was blown even furthur off course. Skyfire’s helm lolled, processor groggily taking in the vibrant blue wings of the mech attached to his chest, lit up by the crackling lightning around them.

Thundercracker.

The seeker was crying out as they freefalled, claws digging deep into his chest. Skyfire gasped at the sensation, almost headbutting the seeker off him by accident before he witnessed Thundercracker begin to pull the excess charge from his lines by force, straight into his waiting claws, optics turning a sick white. It burned on the way out, Skyfire fighting the urge to purge his tanks completely.

It took seconds for the seizing to stop, Skyfire unable to control his frame as Thundercracker leeched more of the offending charge from his body, connecting them together through bright waves of energy. It was an overwhelming sensation, his spark overcompensating for the loss of electricity as the seeker’s outlier ability drained it from him. Something else seemed to bloom in place in his chamber, something new, painful, overwhelming.

“I’m so sorry,” Thundercracker cried, barely legible in his audial, voice deep and gorgeous and panicked as they fell.

Skyfire’s processor finally flickered offline as everything went black.

-

He came to to the distant sound of arguing, and a killer helmache.

For a klik, Skyfire couldn’t move, processor jumbled, words nonsensical. Slowly, his sensors began to come back online, followed by a flickering HUD.

The real pain seemed to hit last. It was awful, glass shattering pain, that ran through his entire frame and left him utterly speechless. His HUD helpfully informed him that everything hurt. Literally everything. His glitchy memory banks tried, and failed to give him answers.

The shuttle felt sand underneath him, coarser than dirt. He could hear waves, could hear rain, could hear thunder -

Thunder.

He let out a quiet moan as something shifted behind his head, blearily realising something was holding his face. His optics fritzed the first try, then slowly blinked back on to -

Thundercracker was holding his head in his arms, optics wide, stricken, field fritzing. Rain poured down on them torrentially and he tried to blink it out of his optics, sensors lagging.

He felt awfully woozy, spark seeming to sputter, once, twice, before a sudden, sickening feeling of pure, alien concern hit him square in the chamber. His optics blew wide at the sensation, gazing up into the seeker’s gaunt face, time seeming to slow.

Thundercracker yelled something to his left, panicked, and a dark shape came into view. A smaller seeker, with a frown on his faceplate, fists clenched as he approached before sinking his claws into both of them.

There was a blinking, falling sensation, a flash of violet light before they were somewhere else, under the cover of trees, lit only by the seeker’s biolights. Skyfire rolled to purge, head lolling back into the lap of Thundercracker when the urge stopped.

He rebooted a few times over the next hour, coming to arguing, then silence, then rapid discussion. 

His final reboot had him come online to hushed conversation, Thundercracker holding his head steady, petting him comfortingly. Strange sensations rippled into his spark, feelings of overprotectiveness, of concern, care. 

Something deep in his lines ran cold at the sensation, confusion reigning as he opened his optics to the seeker again, blinking.

“He looks a little better,” said a younger sounding voice next to them, another almost-familiar looking black helm coming into view. “He doesn’t look like he’s gonna purge everywhere this time.”

Skyfire stared, bathing in the sensations, hopelessly confused. He watched Thundercracker grimace, a sense of hesitation settling within his chamber.

An emotion… that wasn’t his.

He had no idea what to feel, what to do, mind blank, intake opening, vocaliser croaky with a mix of building shock and horror.

“I… feel you…”

Thundercracker’s faceplates scrunched up as he bought his claws to the shuttle’s jaw, holding his head almost tenderly. “I’m sorry.”

“I-I don’t understand,” Skyfire choked, words coming to him agonisingly slow. “I - we aren’t spark bonded. I can… this is…”

Guilt flooded his chamber from the seeker and he balked, twisting his head as if to get away from the feeling, frame too weak to stand, overwhelmed as he choked up. “S-Starscream, he destroyed… our bond, I d-don’t have a bondmate! This isn’t - this doesn’t make sense!”

More emotion oozed past the barrier and he panicked, half rolling out of the seeker’s lap, servos coming up to grip his audials in panic. “Stop! P-please! This is wrong!”

“You idiot! Do something!”

“I - I’m trying! Skyfire, you have to calm down - you have to let us explain-” Thundercracker cried edging away from him. “I - focus on this, alright? Just take a deep vent in- “

Another wave filled him, soft and rough and comforting, polite in his chamber. He drew in a harsh vent, choked on the build up, then tried again. 

Deep vents. Deep vents.

The sensation was eerily similar to what Starscream used to send him on a bad day, or when he was tired on an expedition. It slowly, achingly, unwittingly calmed him, servos shaking as he pulled them down to hug at his sides, forest undergrowth streaking him brown and green.

A crunch echoed next to his audials, Thundercracker crouching down next to him. The other seeker… Skywarp? The third Elite Trine member? Settled down at his feet.

“Are you alright?” Thundercracker tried, grimacing.

“No,” Skyfire croaked bitterly, avoiding his gaze. “This… this can’t be real. What did you do?”

“He didn’t do anything,” growled the black and violet seeker at his feet. “Try thanking your stupid boyfriend for this slagstorm we’re in instead-“

Thundercracker hissed, shushing him. Skyfire felt sick as he gazed at the blue seeker, optics unfocussed.

“Look. You… deserve an explanation as much as we do,” Thundercracker began, glancing at him, a measure of guilt plainly written across his face as he struggled with his words. “I… I’m the reason you were put on that assignment. We needed to get you here as quickly as possible. It’s an emergency regarding all of us.”

Skyfire watched as the jet laid his claws across his golden cockpit, wings slanted downward. “All of our sparks are at stake. Including yours. I don’t believe we have all that much time left before we start feeling the effects.”

The sincerity in Thundercracker’s tone chilled him, a sense of genuine fear flooding over into his spark. “W-what? What are you talking about?”

Thundercracker looked to Skywarp for a klik for reassurance before turning back to him, solemn.

“Something is really wrong with Starscream. His spark… It's indescribable. Like it’s rotting from the inside out,” he murmured, helm downcast. “He needs a medic, a real medic to help him. We can’t stay at the Decepticon base anymore. We need your help to get to the Arc. We’ll beg for clearance. We’ll live in the brig. We don’t care.”

Skyfire’s servos were shaking, optics wide with a bitter sense of betrayal. “You… you’re using me to get to the Autobots? To carry you there?”

Skywarp slapped his claws to his faceplate. “No, you moron! You’re in just as much danger as we are. It’s your bond that caused this! I don’t understand how you’re not as comatose as he is.”

“Star… he’s comatose?” Skyfire cried, trying to sit up, optics wide. “I don’t understand -“

He was halted by a clawed hand on his thigh, Thundercracker staring at him pityingly. Skyfire’s plating crawled uncomfortably.

“You said you didn’t have a bond with Starscream. He broke it off, didn’t he?” Thundercracker asked. Skyfire clammed up, gazing at him indignantly. “Answer the question, please.”

The shuttle grimaced, looking away, pain lancing his tone. “When I woke up from the ice, it had been severed. Yes.”

“That’s wrong.”

Within a single klik, Skyfire loomed over Thundercracker, fire in his optics. “You don’t get to tell me I’m wrong. I have felt nothing but pain in my chamber for years. I’ve never sensed him once. Not. A. Single. Bit. He cut me off for you two. That’s it.”

The forest was silent, rain dripping in through the canopy. Two pairs of red optics scrutinised him.

“You’re wrong,” Thundercracker murmured again, nothing but honesty flooding the barrier between him and Skyfire. “You were in his spark long before we were, and long after. You and Starscream’s bond is fractured, yes, but not broken. Not fully.”

Thundercracker looked down at the ground, wet dirt between his claws, seemingly stuck. He took a deep invent.

“We don’t know the specifics. Starscream likely broke your bond for another mech. He refused to let us know who it was - blocked us off entirely afterward. But your bond… it wasn’t broken correctly. It festered. It opened up a one way void, which grew larger and… opened paths to our trine bonds as well.” He swallowed, cringing as he looked up at the shuttle, optics full of remorse. “Skyfire… we’ve felt everything since you’ve woken up. Everything.”

There was a klik of stunned silence before Skyfire was purging again, dizzy as he spat out energon. His HUD let out a shrill low fuel warning and he swayed as he sat back up, gasping, vents running overtime. With a start, he realised Skywarp had stood up and was patting his kibble soothingly, despite his standoffishness. A cold object was pushed into his servos and he looked up, Thundercracker smiling at him ruefully.

“You’re joking,” Skyfire croaked out, mortification making his knees weak. “This has to be some sick joke.”

“We wish,” Skywarp cut in, rolling his eyes. “You’re such a sad sack.”

Thundercracker pulled something out of his subspace and hacked it at his trinemate’s helm. It connected, bouncing off with a yell and a thunk. Skyfire stared into the distance, optics unfocused, shock lancing his frame.

He jumped at yet another push of comfort from the blue jet, claws guiding the object in his servos upwards.

“Don’t listen to him. Please drink. We need to start figuring out a plan.”

He obliged out of shock, lifting the jet grade to his intake and taking it in slowly. It tasted divine, disappearing quickly. Some awareness slowly came back to his helm, followed by exhaustion as he thumbed his cockpit.

“You said it was a one way sensation,” Skyfire murmured, head cocking at the ebbing and flowing of Thundercracker’s calm presence within his spark chamber. “But I…”

“You can feel it.” Thundercracker finished, watching as he nodded. “I… I don’t know what happened. It was normal all through our trip. It’s possible I…”

Slowly, he held a servo to the shuttle’s chest, a look of concentration waning on his faceplate. A small crackle of electricity danced across Skyfire’s cockpit, flinching as it burrowed into his seams.

“The broken spark bond treats energy like a black hole. I may have short circuited it with my outlier when I took the charge for you,” Thundercracker murmured. “We call them pseudobonds. Kind of a bond, but not technically.”

“What have you been able to feel?” Skyfire choked out, shrinking in on himself as the seekers cringed.

Skywarp was uncharacteristically gentle for a klik. “Enough to know things haven’t exactly been going great, big guy.”

His helm sunk low, voice wavering. “And… Star has been feeling it the whole time? He knows?”

Thundercracker tskd. “Well, we’re pretty sure he knows, but…”

“He won’t tell us anything,” Skywarp cut in, rolling his optics. “Dude’s been crazy for a good couple of millennia now. He’s so paranoid he blocks us off at every chance he gets. Really lost it when everything with you went down. Ranting and raving about traitors and everyone out to get him. Something in him snapped at one point and… it was just impossible to put back together.”

“Where is he now?” Skyfire asked. The others grimaced.

“Our quarters. He’s been in recharge for the past month.” Thundercracker sighed. “We found him on our doorstep after an SOS signal and we’ve been trying to take care of him ever since. We have no idea if it’s curable. We’ve never seen anything like it, especially from him, but we need to do something, or we’re all in trouble. For real this time.”

The mech were quiet as they stared at each other in silence, water droplets sliding down glass and metal. Skyfire wrapped an arm around his cockpit, over his spark chamber.

It felt overly warm, somewhat full for the first time in years, his existence calmly lapping against Thundercracker’s. Confused, jumbled emotions swirled within him, helm aching fiercely. He shut his optics tightly.

“What do you want me to do? What sort of plan do you have here?” He questioned, wings lowered pitifully as he gazed down at his servos. “I don’t even know if I’m flightworthy right now. The strike has fritzed out my systems.”

Thundercracker nodded, clicking his glossa as he stood, a comforting palm on the shuttle’s shoulder pauldron . “It’s… it’s fine. We will try get you fixed up as best as we can. Warp can get us back to the Nemesis. We can bide our time and plan from there.”

Skyfire could only nod, sparing a final glance to the darkened forest around him before Skywarp approached them both, digging his claws in -

He kept it all inside this time as he popped in and out of existence, simply gagging as nausea swung through him, landing on the floor of a large room. It looked… kind of homey, rudimentary fixtures on the rusted metal walls, blankets and pillows thrown onto the ground. They were nice ones too, soft, human materials, nothing like the rough mesh he had to put up with at the Autobot base. He grasped a handful of the material in his fist as he took a slow vent, looking upward woozily.

He quickly realised he was leaning up against a berth, a slightly larger one by the looks of things. Maybe it was two pushed together? The source of the blankets seemed to originate there, piling off and slumping to the ground.

A small singe of envy flickered through him as he surveyed the messy nest. Primus, it had been a long five years of consciousness since he’d seen such a comfortable berth. His berth back in his apartment in Iacon had looked similar, all soft mesh and pillows and plush creatures heaped in a shuttle sized pile. It was pushed up against the wall, where he’d burrow down under it all in happy contentment after long days, wings flicking lazily.

Many flight frames needed to nest. It prevented sleeplessness and anxiety, soft materials providing a comforting pressure, protecting their wings from damaging movement and pesky air currents. For many shuttles such as himself, the breakdown of shuttle familiarity over millennia led to nesting as an essential part of their private time. As shuttles ran on primarily carrier coding, these small actions were important for peace of mind as soon as they reached maturity.

Which… Skyfire had tried looking after himself, he swore. At least, back at the academy.

With the Autobots… not so much. Skyfire had been gifted with a tiny berth he fell out of each night and a single mesh blanket that barely covered his chassis. His wings, highly sensitive to air currents, kept him awake more often than not, anxiety drilling into his processor. He could barely recharge with his back to the door, ailerons picking up on the smallest mech walking past, falsely alerting him to unseen danger each and every time.

He knew wartime had everybody scrambling for materials, anxiety and tension rife throughout the Arc most of the time he had been there. It didn’t stop him from wishing for the most basic of things. 

Like the ability to recharge. Which of course, he politely, never bought up.

Like a good shuttle.

He glanced away as he caught the optics of an exhausted looking Skywarp looking at him curiously, a pang of anxiety swirling in his field as he remembered both mech here knew exactly what was going through his spark. He tried to reign it in, feigning blankness as he turned his gaze to Thundercracker.

“Welcome,” Thundercracker murmured. “Are you able to stand? We have a spare room. It’s all yours for the time being. You look exhausted.”

He was completely right on that point, Skyfire nodding as he placed a hand on the berth, slowly, creakily lifting himself up. Skywarp’s face fell as he did so, horror clouding his optics.

“Your paint…” he mumbled, neck craning, optics only widening further.  “Your pack glass is gone. It’s fragging everywhere! We gotta patch it -“

“In time,” Thundercracker cut in soothingly, looking upward. Skyfire was leaning down a little bit, helm having hit the ceiling. “Pain patches? Energon? We have self-repair activators that might speed up the process.”

“All,” Skyfire responded without a thought. “When do we need to leave?” 

“As soon as possible.”

He nodded morosely. “Then we go tomorrow.”

Thundercracker winced but nodded, leading him to an adjacent hallway. Two doors faced each other on either side, one open, one closed; Skyfire felt a sick feeling curl in his tanks. The blue jet must have felt it, looking up at him.

“He’s in there. You… you can see him if you want. I can give you some privacy.”

Skyfire swallowed, processor indecipherable as he stared at the door like it was the scariest thing in the universe.

“Last time I talked to him, he shot me,” he breathed, vocaliser quivering. “I don’t…”

“He’s in recharge and doesn’t seem to be coming out of it,” Thundercracker replied, face downcast. “We… we genuinely have no idea if we can pull him out of this one. Before we get to the Arc… this may be your last time to see him at all.”

Everything telling the shuttle to flee was overtaken by a sense of desperate fear and he nodded, steeling himself and reaching for the handle before he refused.

The room was quiet inside, dim. The closing of the door made him feel cagey, anxious, eyes widening as his optics adjusted to the figure in the middle of the room.

The bot he’d wanted more than anything. The bot he’d never wanted to see again.

Starscream had never looked so small.

He was curled up on his side like an injured bird, plating so dull it was almost grey, Skyfire dropped to his knees next to the berth. He was gaunt, sickly, plates stretched over his protoform disturbingly. A dull light flared from his cockpit, pulsating weakly, golden light piercing the room before fading away into nothing. Again and again.

Skyfire could do nothing but stare in horror, at battered, badly healed wings and a million different scars gouged across the seeker’s armour. He was so different from the academy days, yet terribly familiar. Skyfire couldn’t touch him. Could barely breathe.

His trine was right. Starscream was dying. His light fading before his very optics. The jet’s vents were shallow, barely existent. A white servo trailed up to Skyfire’s chest, holding his cockpit as horror swelled in his processor.

Their bond had done this? The thing he had treasured more than anything?

He had abandoned him, destroying their bond, causing Skyfire constant pain, and it had gone necrotic on his end. A lesser mech may have smiled, but Skyfire simply sat in horror, poking at his own spark, at the painful centre that Starscream had caused.

“Why did you do this?” He whispered, trembling.

There was no answer, the mech quiet, gray. It was too much. Skyfire let out a pained gasp as he stood, urgently backing out of the room, an arm still around his chassis for comfort. It was lighter out in the hallway and he tried his hardest to zone out for a second, catch his thoughts before they ran from him completely. A servo was placed on his arm, Skyfire’s frantic expression dimming as he met that of Thundercracker.

“You okay?” The blue jet asked. Skyfire automatically nodded despite the horrified expression on his face, vocaliser croaking before he settled on a question.

“Why didn’t you come get me sooner?”

He felt a pulse of fear run over the psuedobond, Thundercracker biting his cheek as he gently pushed him towards the other open door.

“Megatron, for one,” he said simply, hushed. “It’s taken a long time to get to this point. Ever since Starscream fractured your bond, really. He just acted like it wasn’t happening. Refused to let us look, or help, even though we were complaining of… side effects we were experiencing.”

Skyfire thought back to the hangar in the Polynesian jungle, feeling sick. “You’ve been feeling my pain.”

Thundercracker nodded. “Not as severely, but to a degree. Our pain. We felt it as soon as you woke up in the snow. It… burns. We couldn’t stop it, and he didn’t seem to care.”

Skyfire frowned. Thundercracker continued.

“Megatron has had him under lock and key for a long time. As soon as the war was up… he started acting like Starscream had never existed. He seemed to get more unwell after it had ended. We barely ever saw him; Starscream had stopped interacting with us by that point. He’d blocked us off on the bonds. It’s almost… like you replaced him in a way.”

There it was, that strangely shy smile again from the seeker that made the shuttle’s spark skip a pulse. 

“Then he showed up at our door. We can’t get into his sparkchamber - he only has an inbuilt medical override, which is why we need a real medic. But we know it’s bad. Ours… don’t look too good,” he tapped the glass of Skyfire’s cockpit with a single claw. “And I highly doubt yours is looking too well either.”

Skyfire nodded numbly, glancing down to the room below him. A single small berth decorated the space, which was disappointing, but it was covered with soft blankets. Large ones. Something heavy in his spark lifted slightly.

“I have been waiting for energon cargo clearance for over a month,” Thundercracker murmured. “I felt it was the only plausible way out of here without Megatron realising his second has disappeared entirely. We don’t trust him. If he finds him in this state, we’re all as good as dead. He’d never let him get checked by an Autobot medic, even in peacetime. Hell, Starscream himself wouldn’t let it happen.”

Anxiety spiked in Skyfire’s chest as he sat on the berth, wings flicking painfully. A small flicker of concern pooled in his chest before it was pushed aside by liquid comfort, warming his chassis, unwinding his joints. He sighed, eyes closing.

“I-“ Thundercracker started, voice a little choked, rushed. “I know that you don’t know me all that well, but… the… the ability to help calm you… I- I can stop it, if you feel uncomfortable, but… I feel at ease for the first time in a long time. It was messing with my coding.”

It was straightforward, to the point. Skyfire opened his optics, head tilting at the mech stood awkwardly before him.

“You’re carrier coded,” Skyfire realised. Thundercracker nodded.

It was one of the reason complete seeker trines, especially in this era of the war, were so rare. A full trine bond, even platonic, required a sire, a carrier and an epicene, a holder of both traits. Carriers were systematically wiped off Cybertron long before Sentinel’s reign came to an end. Unless they were deemed useful in the functionalist hellscape they had all come from, they would be disposed of.

Maybe freighting had benefited him in the long run after all.

A carrier seeker, a viciously overprotective trine member, a war forged creature constructed cold, was a rare, rare occurrence. While once common, even scarcer was that of the elusive epicene. A trine bond was rare, difficult to find, much less in the middle of a war.

“It was painful… to feel you go through everything. It was agony. It felt like one of my trinemates was suffering and I - I couldn’t do anything to fix it,” Thundercracker murmured, arms around his cockpit, looking distraught. “It took everything within me not to just put you in my subspace and take you home with me when I finally got to you at the Arc. I don’t know what’s waiting for us back there, but in the meantime, please. I don’t want you to suffer anymore than you have. I can’t take it.”

They stared at each other after his outburst, Skyfire’s optics wide. Thundercracker reached to take his large white servos in his, optics searching, almost as if to ask for permission before bringing the limb up to his intake, kissing the back of the servos gently.

Skyfire was still utterly stunned as the seeker wished him a good night, leaving a med kit in his servos and dimming the lights before closing the door with a click. He felt a giddiness that didn’t belong to him flow around his spark, the content feeling of a carrier, hard-programmed to protect and comfort, begging to look after him, to help.

The berth was small, but comfy as he slowly pulled soft sheets over himself, wings fluttering, comforted against the material.

Sleep came quickly, his spark feeling full and deliciously warm for the first time in forever.

Chapter Text

Skyfire hadn’t recharged so well in a long time.

He struggled into wakefulness, something warm and soft wrapped around him, unwittingly pulling him back into rest. His normally painful spark was only throbbing gently, a strange, liquid feel surrounding it in comfort. He nuzzled further into a small pillow, processor finally whirring on, optics onlining to -

“Hey.”

Skyfire let out an embarrassing yelp as he shot upright, hitting his helm on the low ceiling. The black and violet seeker watched impassively, optics following the shuttle as he held his sore helm with his servos.

“You… you could have knocked,” Skyfire whimpered, Skywarp’s face lighting up into an evil grin, fangs on display.

“Well, technically it’s my quarters, so I can do whatever I want,” the seeker smirked, plucking a blanket off the shuttle’s wing. It caught on the edge roughly, Skyfire reminded of the damage he’d done to the ailerons and tip as he hissed. Skywarp’s left wingtip flicked as he also winced, smirk dropping. “Slag. Sorry.”

Right. He could feel that. Anything Skyfire felt was directly funnelled into the seeker via Starscream’s broken spark.

But… he couldn’t feel anything of Skywarp in return at all.

Not that he wanted to, or anything. He hardly knew him, and it seemed like a massive, pointed issue of boundaries, if he did say so himself. But it didn’t stop him from poking inwards.

Thundercracker was very much still there, peaceful and content against his chamber. There was definitely a little anxiety there, flaring in bits and pieces, but the presence was otherwise kind. Skyfire had never expected the stoic seeker to have such a gentle, grounding spark.

He distantly wondered how his spark had felt, wings shifting in shame as he realised it had probably… well, felt terrible.

The last few years had been awful for him. Even freighting had never had him feeling so down, so tired of his life and frame that he wished he didn’t exist.

It was probably just because he didn’t know what he had to lose yet.

“Okay. So, we’re leaving today,” Skywarp announced. Skyfire nodded in resignation. “We need to plan stuff, now. You mind coming out to chat?”

The shuttle nodded, taking a moment to detangle from more of the blankets he’d smothered himself in before standing, joints creaking as he followed the seeker out into the main room. Thundercracker was perched in the larger berth, datapad in hand. Skywarp took no time in practically throwing himself into the lap of the other, wings nearly knocking the pad from his servos.

“Morning,” Thundercracker smiled, tone stressed, as he ran his claws softly down the top of Skywarp’s helm. Skyfire smiled back timidly, taking a seat on the floor, struts squealing in pain.

“I have questions for you,” the blue seeker told him, grabbing a stylus from subspace.

“Uh, shoot.”

“Estimate on cargo weight limitations right now?”

Skyfire tilted his helm. “Like how much I can hold? I like to keep it below four hundred tonnes, but…”

Thundercracker shot him an incredulous look. “You’re injured. I’m not expecting you to carry all three of us back to the American continent, but some weight allowance may be necessary. Starscream’s last physical was fifteen tonnes, Warp is around twenty, and I’m twenty-five. Starscream will have to be carried the entire way, with Warp also on board for rest periods. His outlier will be needed here. It takes it out of him.”

Skyfire’s faceplate crinkled a little. “Sixty tonnes? I could carry you to Earth’s moon and back on a single cube.”

Thundercracker’s optics narrowed. “You are badly damaged and have overtaxed your flight capabilities greatly. I weigh nearly half of the allowance. If I have to remain in alt all the way there, so be it.”

Skyfire frowned. “I - atmospheric travel is the better solution for this situation, right? We’ll be back within hours. Nobody aside from Astrotrain can even follow me up there.”

It was quiet for a moment before Skywarp jolted up, glaring at him.

“You seem hellbent on damaging yourself even more. Don’t really know what you’re getting at here, big guy. You couldn’t even make it off the ground last night.”

Skyfire was speechless for a second, cheeks warming. “I - no, I’m just trying to give you an easier solution -“

“By putting yourself in harms way,” Thundercracker cut in gently. “That will help none of us. We have no idea what sort of pressure your spark is under. With these… pseudobonds… you getting hurt means we all get hurt. Skywarp and I could get through it. Starscream? Absolutely not. It’s a chain reaction. Nobody wins here by making stupid, selfless decisions.”

Skyfire’s intake shut with a click of his dentae, optics burning a hole into the ground. Confusion and shame swum through him, wings dipping.

“I’m not… I’m not trying to hurt anyone-“ he tried, voice faltering. “I’m just…”

“Doing what the Autobots would ask of you,” Thundercracker said quietly. “I know.”

Oh.

The shock of Thundercracker seeing straight through him further silenced him, thoughts swimming as he attempted to process the line of reasoning. He felt vaguely sick, mostly at himself.

“Game plan,” Thundercracker continued after a tense silence. “Skyfire leaves to a planned coordinate just out of reach of the Decepticon sonar field half an hour beforehand. Warp will get us out there, and then warp us even further out of reach of the satellite field. Then we’re smooth sailing back to the Arc at around seventy-thousand feet. It should take two, three days.”

Okay. Seventy thousand feet was smart, doable. Skyfire rolled his neck joint, watching as Thundercracker crossed something out on his datapad, before stepping out of the berth.

“Warp, I’ve just pinged you a list of everything I need stored in your subspace, stat,” Thundercracker ordered, claws gently drifting along Skyfire’s round audials as he passed him, distracted. “Skyfire, there’s energon for you on the counter. Four cubes of jet grade and one of med grade should be enough for your tanks. Do not skip the med grade or Skywarp will be tasked to feed you it himself. Are we all clear?”

Skyfire nodded, optics wide, mildly overwhelmed. Skywarp laughed. “Trying to steal the trine leader gig from Screamer? You have my vote.”

Thundercracker rolled his eyes. “I’d rather offline myself, but someone has to keep you two in line. Now hurry up. We have til midday. I want us out of reach of the satellites by midnight.”

Skyfire eased himself up to a flurry of sarcastic “Aye aye,”s from Skywarp, making his way over to the counter. A small pile of pink-filled cubes sat there, one bright red. He crinkled his nose. Med grade was overly sweet, in his opinion. He wasn’t going to enjoy it. But the thought of Skywarp shoving it down his intake, well. He certainly didn’t enjoy that more.

He got to savour the taste at least, this time, washing down the med grade with fizzly jet fuel. Oh Primus, he missed this stuff so much. It made his tanks actually feel normal for once, which was wonderful.

He got a ping a short time later, a set of coordinates and corresponding times alongside a pre-set flight route. He felt almost spoiled as he studied it. Aside from the energon shuttling, he was the Autobot that had to put together flight plans. The new-spark Aerial Bots were completely clueless, as was the rest of the grounder crew. They couldn’t fit a desk into his hab to plan them on, so he always had to use the loud mess hall, overworked and stressed beyond belief.

Tasks done, he wandered back to the hallway to keep out of the way, spark lurching as he stared at the door adjoining his, hurrying past. He stopped by the berth he had slept in, looking back at the door before sneaking the spare blankets he had recharged in into his subspace.

The seekers, from the looks of them, had no idea if they’d be back here. Looking up at the dingy, rusted ceiling, Skyfire preferred the comforting items not to go to waste.

-

He set off at midday, avoiding the stares of Decepticons during broad daylight. His blue optics aside, it was his colors, or lack of them, that made him stand out here. White was a very rare color for a Decepticon. It had been almost customary in Altihex. Skyfire was almost eight million years old at this point, and still liked it. Maybe he was just boring like that.

The chosen coordinates were about two hours away and he rose steadily up into the atmosphere. It felt almost like a joyride, relaxing without strut breaking cargo or the need to steeply launch himself into the atmosphere. He made a great pace, arriving half an hour ahead of schedule despite his wings aching terribly.

It’s fine. It’s fine.

The trine appeared in a flash of violet light soon after his comm, Skywarp venting heavily as they flew closer in root mode. Skyfire’s cameras zeroed in on the small bot Thundercracker held in his arms, dread singing through his wires.

He let them into his cargo bay, waiting for them to settle on the ground before rising higher and blasting off. Once they were stable, Skywarp woozily asked for access to his cockpit.

Right. They’d agreed on it back at the Nemesis. The next part of the plan.

Skyfire showed him the way, concern pooling in his tanks as he watched the seeker stumble, transforming a section of his cabin walls to catch him before he fell. He mumbled a thanks before making his way downward.

It had been a long time since anyone had been allowed access into this section of his frame, the Prime probably being the last bot to step foot in there. He couldn’t exactly say no to him, so. That was how it was.

Unlike many Earth vehicles, Cybertronian alt modes weren’t for holding passengers. Kibble didn’t hold controls, or seats, or protective equipment. They were for personal use only.

Shuttles were… different. A contract Skyfire had been handed as a sparkling had controls forcibly installed, including a manual override button that linked all the way up to his processor. These controls were often hastily installed, dangerously so. Many shuttles, including Skyfire, found them irremovable, regardless of alt form or occupation. The link they had to vital lines and a bot’s processor were death sentences, often much too delicate for even a skilled medic to remove.

Skyfire, as a sparkling, had nowhere to go. Functionalism in Altihex had reached it’s peak, mining, construction and transport bots forbidden from general education, forced to find jobs as soon as they onlined. For him, it was a choice between a seemingly minor procedure, as the higher ups had told him, or starvation. Processor still developing, he chose the former, quite unaware of the consequences.

It was the first real mistake he’d ever made.

These controls were hidden under a piece of blue glass spanning the entirety of his control panel. He’d reformatted the area as soon as he’d left freighting. Never again, would a bot take control of his lines with a flick of a switch, leave him trapped in his processor as they fumbled with his slats and ailerons, bringing him down for painful, jolty landings. Never again would anyone ever get access to the single, red button that could fry his processor entirely if he chose to go AWOL, leaving him a winged husk.

He remembered the strange look the Prime had given the area, brushing grime off the glass before he’d disembarked. That same, off look seemed to be coming from Skywarp now as he stared at the guarded panel before him.

“I wanna get in there,” the seeker blurted out, claws scratching at the glass. Skyfire bristled at his brazenness.

“Absolutely not,” Skyfire muttered at him, wings rigid. “You’re in here to help us get out of here, not scratch up my panel.”

There was a pause before Skywarp spun around, seemingly looking for his cameras, optical ridge waggling at the faux innuendo. The shuttle sighed before turbulence hit and the jet stumbled again, landing right on the floor.

This time, concern flickered through him. “Are you… alright?”

Laughter burbled up from the floor. “No.”

Skyfire waited for the seeker to rise, cameras cocking downward. “Uh. Are you sure you’d even be able to warp us right now?”

“Dunno,” came the reply. “I think i need a klik.”

“Uhuh,” the shuttle responded, vision flicking to the outside. The afternoon sun bore down on his plating; below them, a thick layer of cloud emerged.

The original plan was to continue warping until the satellite drop off, but…

He flicked his cameras back again. Skywarp still had not got up, wings flared out as he stared up at the ceiling. Concern flared through him.

“Do I need to get Thundercracker?” Skyfire tried, voice a little high. The seeker waved him off.

“I can feel you worrying. Calm down,” he responded, laughing at Skyfire’s embarrassed huff. “I thought I’d rested enough since warping last night, but I guess not. I just need a quick break and we can get out of here.”

Skyfire didn’t seem to really care about upping the distance between them and the Nemesis. He looked down on the jet, taking in his pale faceplate, condensation dripping down his helm.

“You really don’t look that great. Maybe I should -“

Skywarp shot up, pointing a claw at the camera accusingly. “Don’t you dare! I’ll have to go look after Screamer and it’ll give an excuse for Thundercracker to be outside trailing your alt mode for the rest of the trip. Give me… give me an hour. Forty minutes. I don’t care.”

He crumpled back on the floor, claws coming up to his cockpit to rest. Skyfire sighed, peering back outside.

Skywarp was… a strange individual. Almost like Starscream, if his ex-conjunx hadn’t been so… uptight all the time. Not that he hadn’t had fair reason to be, but…

Skywarp was in recharge in seconds, faint snores echoing around the cockpit. The shuttle continued to soar, zoning out above the clouds, slowing only to check on the occupants of his cargo bay. It took him a second to see them in the dark, Thundercracker curled around Starscream protectively, alert, but staring off into space, claws drumming on the metal floor. 

Skyfire left them be.

-

It was around five hundred miles until the satellite dead zone when Skyfire was pulled out of his haze, peripheral alert sounding heavily on his HUD.

For a second, he tilted his flaps, aiming to bring himself higher. Most of his alerts were due to human commercial craft in the area. It was rather dead out in the middle of the Indian Ocean, but he was aware several different routes operated there. Gaining altitude would usually be enough to disguise him.

It took him only a split second to realise the anomaly on his radar was not a jetliner. The shape, he realised, with burgeoning dread, was too familiar. As were the bulkheads spinning right towards him.

No time for a warning, he banked a hard left with a gasp, missile exploding next to him as fear took over, thrusters glowing with heat as he upped his speed. Faintly, he sensed a set of claws coming down hard on the sensitive glass in his cockpit.

“What the frag are you doing?” cried a groggy Skywarp, holding his helm. “Are you trying to kill us?”

Skyfire, frantic, booted up his LED display system, cameras trained on the attacker. The seeker stared at the display in horror.

“Soundwave,” gasped Skywarp, gazing at the navy jet fast approaching them, optics wide. “Slag! I thought he was off planet! Why is he attacking us?!”

“How do I get rid of him?” the shuttle cried, weaving in and out as the jet opened fire. Skywarp bought his claws down on the glass again, sensation pulling Skyfire from his concentration as he dived. “What are you doing?!”

“I need to get to your navigations port on your dash, you moron!” Skywarp growled, snapping a cable from his arm. “I need to warp you like a ship or we’ll leave the others behind -“

A crackle of gunfire sliced through Skyfire’s second set of pack wings and he cried out, pain flaring through him as he lost altitude. Skywarp also let out a grunt, wings flicking with phantom pain as he bought up an arm to smash the glass -

Skyfire transformed it away in the nick of time, the seeker rolling his eyes as he shoved the cable into the port, grabbed the dash and squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating.

Information bridged the gap between them as a desperate Skyfire switched on his hyperdrive, engines screaming as he tore away from the Decepticon officer. Faintly, he felt Skywarp accessing his navigation drive, digging his claws into his processor, digging himself deeper, deeper -

Violet light overtook them both as they disappeared from thin air, molecules arranging and rearranging as they travelled further into the abstract. Distantly, Skyfire could hear screaming, unsure if it was him or Skywarp as power ran through their frames, connecting them at the processor. Concentrated dregs of violet energy wrapped around his spark, their spark, and pulled -

They were out in a flash of black.

Chapter Text

“Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic -“

Skyfire groaned silently, cameras blinking on and off. A system reboot began to take place, systems short circuiting for a moment before everything slowly restarted.

He felt strangely sluggish, sensory systems failing to reboot, optics dead. He couldn’t quite get his helm around what was happening. Whatever it was, he felt unwell, nausea tugging at his tanks.

“You’re alright, Skyfire. Take a deep vent. You’re good. I’m going to start giving you back controls now, alright? I just need a sign.”

Primus, that voice sounded familiar, something warm tugging at his odd-feeling spark as he listened to the deep, lilting, almost panicked tone. He tried to say something, anything, but he was voiceless, breathless. Uncertainty began to cloud his lagging processor. Straining for anything, anything at all, all of his cameras finally flicked on at once.

He was… he was in alt mode. Seventy thousand feet, his instruments told him.

And a blue seeker was at his control panel.

Panic overtook him as he realised he was unable to move, unable to even speak, cameras glancing around wildly. The seeker seemed to take this as his cue, docking the manual controls and flicking the autopilot mode back on.

Instantly, the sheet of glass slammed back over the panel, nearly taking off Thundercracker’s servos. Awareness had returned to the shuttle at force, vocaliser struggling to form anything but a snarl. Distantly, he felt something positive, alien, poke at his spark, which he rejected, fuming.

“I understand you’re upset -“ 

“No, you don’t,” Skyfire replied coldly. The seeker backed away from the console, servos up, face contorted with that horribly concerned look of his as the shuttle ran a paranoia induced systems check, making sure everything was in order.

It was. His slats were in place, his ailerons weren’t being messed with. His spark felt… strange, but what else was new. He was low on fuel and his left pack wing was filled with bullet holes, which actually was new. Alongside all of his other scuffs, he was leaning to the right a little in the air, overcompensating.

Primus, his wings hurt.

“You don’t like your manual controls being used,” Thundercracker stated, voice strained. Skyfire laughed bitterly, unresponsive. The seeker’s shoulders slumped further. “I understand, I do. We were going down. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Skyfire was still silent, tense as he surveyed the flight record himself.

Travelling in the Indian Ocean… before trauma to his pack wing and a sudden change of coordinates. A warp of over two thousand miles, before a sudden, very steep dip in altitude. Manual controls were turned on, a struggle for control ensued before levelling back out. With some, he hated to admit, expert flying.

Last thing he’d seen was the hazy, rigid form of Skywarp before he’d woken back up to his manuals being on. The memory of it already had his tanks doing backflips. His frame was shuddering lightly. Thundercracker had his servos on his cockpit walls, to comfort Skyfire or himself, he had no clue.

The push of regret, apology into his spark made him crumble a little, vents hitching as he watched Thundercracker slide down the wall with a screech of metal, knees to his chest. He caught himself, trying to hold back the wave of betrayal, of fear he felt, to no avail.

“Do you want to talk about it?” asked Thundercracker, exhaustion lacing his vocaliser. “I don’t know how I can help. I - I’m sorry. It was necessary, I… there were no other options and whatever I did, you just wouldn’t wake up.”

Guilt began to bloom as Skyfire observed him crumple in on himself. Vaguely, he realised the jet was also shaking, trying to keep up the positive emotions over the psuedobond but failing. Guilt, regret, fear. Skyfire felt sick.

“You did what you had to do,” Skyfire tried, almost robotically, like he himself didn’t believe it. Thundercracker’s helm dipped lower, leading him to try a different angle. “You are a good flier. At least… I was in good hands.”

He sickeningly, simultaneously wanted nothing more than to take Thundercracker and hold him tightly to his chassis while also screaming at him until his vocaliser bled. Which… was new. He hadn’t had someone touch his manuals in so long. The lack of control backed up data in his achy processor. He wanted to purge.

“You’re still upset. I’m sorry,” Thundercracker murmured, seeming to sink further into his frame. “I’ll try to make it up to you.”

Skyfire shook himself, watching the clouds outside, refusing to bring his cameras inward, the mix of dread and guilt killing him as he backtracked. “I - it was an emergency. I understand. You understand it’s not… something that I want touched. You get it. It’s okay, Thundercracker. It’s fine.”

There was a momentary sense of clarity, relief against the psuedobond before Thundercracker’s mood dipped dangerously again, morose, panicked. Skyfire hesitantly gave in, spark surging to comfort the seeker, large and reassuringly warm against the smaller life force. Thundercracker’s optics widened before they pooled with coolant. He shoved his helm into his servos, sniffing.

“Everyone onboard was out. You… Warp... Your pack wing was nearly blown off and we were going down. If I hadn’t figured out your controls we would have been offlined,” he whimpered thickly. “I - I know basic shuttle controls. I’ve needed to guide Astrotrain before, but this was different…”

Skyfire was silent, regret coursing through him, reaching a crescendo as Thundercracker suddenly burst into tears.

It was quiet, on the floor of the shuttle’s cockpit as the usually stoic seeker sobbed into his servos, trying desperately to muffle the sound. Fear, dread, regret laced through the bond, spinning around Skyfire’s spark, rendering him speechless, almost panicked.

It wasn’t really his conscience that came to the rescue, or regret, or even the psuedobond. He watched him unnervingly, unable to curl himself around the seeker like his spark wanted him to, sick to his stomach before something clicked in his processor for the first time in forever, letting it out into the bond.

Carrier coding.

His carrier instincts hadn’t really seen the light of day for well over four million years. Back on Cybertron, with Starscream, back when they were themselves, it would make its appearance again and again and again. His love for the seeker burned so bright his coding insisted how to look after him, protect him. He swore to himself it would be activated by the Aerialbot sparklings given time, but it just hadn’t reappeared.

He’d never been all that interested in sparklings, it was true. Yet he still wondered, alone in berth at night if something within him was broken after the ice. Something that didn’t want him to ever have any sort of connection with any mech ever again.

But here was a frightened seeker, far from a sparkling, crying his optics out in his cockpit. And, as his processor timidly put forward, he liked this bot. Thundercracker was kind, genuine, trying his best in a leadership role not quite meant for him. He’d just saved all of his trinemates and the shuttle they were flying in, and Skyfire had the nerve to berate him?

“I’m sorry,” Skyfire rumbled through his speakers, closing his camera optics to concentrate on providing the seeker with comfort. “I… I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I was just… scared. You’re doing your best and I appreciate that. We all do.”

Thundercracker’s sobs were practically silent, a desperate need for comfort lingering in his EM field. Unable to give it to him physically, Skyfire settled on stimulating the bond, giving as much support as possible, guilt wracking his systems as he felt the sliver of seeker spark in his chamber begin to calm.

He kept an optic on him as he jetted forward, watching as the seeker’s sobs petered off, black helm thumping against wall of the cockpit. Thundercracker’s arms hung loosely around himself in an aborted method of self comfort, coolant tracks tracing their way down his faceplate.

“Are you alright?” Skyfire murmured after a klik, observing the seeker shutting his optics tightly.

“I don’t know what that was,” the jet mumbled robotically, listlessly. “I apologise.”

“You’re okay,” Skyfire soothed, coding whirring through his spark. The jet’s shoulders seemed to slump a little as he leaned back against the wall. There was silence for a moment, just the sound of Skyfire’s engines cutting through the cockpit.

“Are you upset with me?” Thundercracker asked, deep voice strangely small.

“No,” Skyfire responded, meaning it, spark curling protectively around the other. “I really am sorry for snapping at you. I saw my flight data. You prevented three stalls. Your flying was brilliant and I… I went off at you. It startled me. I apologise.”

Thundercracker hesitated before nodding, wings slanted downward as he stared up at the forbidden glass. “I felt your anger.”

Skyfire would have winced if he were in root mode. “I know. I’m sorry. I need to try to figure how how to reign myself in; I can't imagine how… overwhelming it has been for you all after all these years.”

Thundercracker shrugged. “It was almost refreshing after hundreds of years of Starscream’s bullshit. Painful, but refreshing.”

Holding back on his emotions, hiding himself away… it sounded nothing like the Starscream he had known. Skyfire felt nausea rise, coming to a different, painful, overdue talking point.

“I really thought he’d given me up for you two. Not that you aren’t a catch, but… I don’t know. From what I heard, he’d never wanted to trine. Hated that it was his only option in Vos. So he went to Iacon.”

Thundercracker stared up at one of his cameras, daring him to get to the point. Skyfire lost his nerve, vocaliser trailing off. Silence filled the cockpit before the seeker cleared his intake.

“He loved you a lot, you know,” Thundercracker murmured. “Loved you more than anything. More than anyone else he was ever involved with. Including us.”

Something hit Skyfire straight in the spark and he cut his vocalisers, staying silent as pain dredged through him. 

I don’t know if I want to think about this yet. Is that bad?

“He kept your bond strong for the millions of years you were trapped. Barely talked about it. He knew you were alive, even if nobody else believed him. He held onto that possibility for millenia, even when we appeared, and he became the commander,” Thundercracker said softly before he shuddered. “And then one day… he just disappeared. Didn’t show up to our quarters anymore. Blocked us off. And then… this pain…”

Skyfire swore he could feel flashes of the pain he was talking about, shooting through their sparks. He felt raw.

“This pain hit both of us, just before we were to leave on the Nemesis to Earth. Through the sparkbond. It was agonising. It had to have been him. It had to have been your bond,” Thundercracker whispered, expression confused, dismayed. “He never gave up hope on you. And then… he just… changed. We couldn’t explain it.”

Skyfire nose cone drooped, Thundercracker continuing, voice small. “I’ve never lost a partner before. But this was a microdose. We felt you mourn. We felt you grieve. It was so real...”

Skyfire felt numb as he soared, night sky above him. Millions of stars that he and Starscream had explored. Millions of stories they had shared.

“He’s gone now. The version of him I bonded with,” he said softly, faintly, determined. “If - if he makes it out of this, if we all do, I… want him to leave me alone. I want him to never come near me, ever again. I’m sure you understand.”

Thundercracker was silent before laying his claws on the wall, voice hesitant. “I… do. You deserve peace, Skyfire. Not many flight frames survive the loss of a partner the same way you have.”

They were quiet again, Skyfire’s engines a soft rumble amongst the tenseness of the conversation. 

“I don’t think I want to talk about this anymore,” Skyfire said softly.

And he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t even want to think about it. About the agony he’d suffered, mentally and physically. The heartbreak. The isolation.

It had changed him as a mech. It had shown him the bitter truth. The only bot you could truly trust was yourself. Even fighting for his rights led him to enslavement, all because of his biology.

The memories… of ice, and med bays and his empty, empty Arc habsuite. Of loneliness and mourning. Of being treated like dirt. Like the fool he really was.

Like someone who deserved all that had happened to him.

Nobody would ever understand his pain. It was foolish to even try to unpack it.

Yet here he was, with two mech that had felt everything he’d gone through, broadcast to them freely on the other side of the world. With the very mech that had done it to him, locked away in his cargo bay, deep in a recharge they weren’t sure he was coming out of.

“They’re in my cargo bay, right?” Skyfire asked eventually. Thundercracker nodded.

“I had to put them in the storage compartments under the floor so they wouldn’t shift around,” the seeker explained. “They’re fine. Skywarp has been out of it for hours. That jump… it was dangerous. Stupid! I can’t believe he even had it in him. He seemed exhausted.”

Skyfire hummed in agreement, the memory of the warp strangely sending a singe through his spark. Thundercracker sighed.

“You don’t have anything in here for bots our size. You got rid of it all after freighting, didn’t you?”

Skyfire cast an optic on him, sitting on the floor of his empty, empty cockpit. No seats, no access to the controls. Just him, his processor located under the floor, and the sky rushing past the glass.

“Yes,” he replied shortly, distant. “I never enjoyed having mech in here. Too much… noise. And treading muck all through my internals.”

“There’s still energon all through your cargo bay,” Thundercracker interjected. Skyfire groaned.

“Sometimes, I swear it’s like… mech forget I’m alive too. Like I’m even here.”

The seeker frowned before his face lightened a little. “I’ll help you clean it when we get back to the Arc.”

The shuttle blanched. “Huh?”

“It’s all up in your internals!” Thundercracker smiled. “I’ll help you get it out. When we get there.”

That was… kind of him to offer. “Are you sure?” Skyfire asked, vents heating. “I - you usually have to get a hose and it’s really -“

Thundercracker elbowed his wall with a grin, optics rolling. “What are friends for? If I drag Warp into it, it’ll take two minutes, as long as we don’t have to scrub you.”

Ooookay. That was definitely a thought. Skyfire stumbled over his words, flustered as Thundercracker laughed. The seeker was dipping down a little lower in his posture all the while, psudeobond leaking exhaustion.

“You seem tired,” Skyfire told him after he’d recovered. Thundercracker closed his optics. “Maybe you should get some rest.”

They flashed open again. “I - I’m fine. I don’t want to be deadweight on your struts. Give me a klik, I’ll be out flying in a-“

“When was the last time you recharged?” Skyfire interjected, prodding through the psuedobond. Layers of exhaustion opened to him. Thundercracker shuddered, then gave in.

“The Australian energon mine,” the seeker admitted. “It was so comforting to sleep under your wing. Like being in a nest without the nest. I can’t explain it. When I thought I’d messed the plan up entirely, I was scared I’d never get to do it again. Isn’t that stupid?”

Skyfire felt himself soften, spark spinning in his chassis as his cockpit cradled the exhausted seeker. “I… there’s a small compartment behind my cargo bay you can recharge in. It’s secure. You can take Skywarp with you if you need.”

Thundercracker’s face contorted. “I don’t… I really -“

“You will be no use to anyone without a good defrag, Thundercracker,” Skyfire chided softly. The fire in the jet’s spark abated as he considered him.

“I guess you’re right,” the seeker murmured. “Could you lead the way?”

Skyfire let out a hum of affirmation as the seeker stood shakily, making his way to the cargo bay. A row of biolights lit the corridors, lighting the bot up in dingy blue and red.

The room, usually locked and hidden, was unnaturally warm. It nestled near his energon pump, plating thick, but not thick enough to ward off the uncomfortable sensation of pedes stomping through it. He’d locked it off for that reason. I was the perfect size for a place to rest, though, ceilings low, red biolights dim as the walls hummed along with his pump. He had learned to hide it early on in his freighting career. Said it was a mechanical room.

Skyfire switched cameras as they travelled down into the bay, observing Thundercrackers slumped wings, dazed optics. His wings were a little battered, not as in desperate need of a polish as his were, but close.

His processor wandered for a klik, wondering if the smaller jet would ask for help, for assistance getting them back into order. His wings were so pretty, such a gorgeous shape, color as vibrant as the sky he loved to soar in. Nothing like the wide expanse of Skyfire’s dirty, dented wings, ugly things used for transport and freighting, that Autobots looked upon with disdain. There was something freeing in Thundercracker’s wings that lifted his nervous spirit. Something in him wanted to curl around those beautiful, kind wings, hold him close -

Wait.

He snapped out of his reverie with embarrassment, cameras flicking anywhere but Thundercracker, mortification flowing through him. He - he hadn’t had thoughts like that for years. This was Starscream’s trine member! They were going to get to the Arc, find a solution, and then stop talking. That would be it.

Skyfire would go back to just… existing.

Primus he was pathetic, old thought cycles whirring, leaving him ashamed. A single bot was nice to him under duress and here he was, jumping to sad, desperate conclusions. Something had to be wrong with him.

Thundercracker didn’t like him. Skyfire was a necessity, a link to salvation. An annoying bot who’d got stuck in the middle as soon as Starscream had laid eyes on him all those years ago. This was exhaustion and pain driving him nuts. This was his stupidly protective carrier coding making a grand, unneeded entrance, delusion taking hold.

The seeker had retrieved Skywarp from the floor as Skyfire spiralled, lifting the mech into his arms, holding him close. It was a closeness the shuttle would never achieve, would never deserve. He had no idea why his processor had even brought it up in the first place.

Shuttles were created for isolation, he desperately told himself, resolve steeling. He could deal, when they inevitably all had finished with him.

When they figured out how to seperate the sparks, tie off the bonds, destroying his link with Starscream once and for all. They would all leave. Live their peacetime lives. And he would be alone.

“It’s through here, isn't it?” Thundercracker queried, breaking his thoughts. He stammered an affirmative, feeling his spark sink, his abused wings quiver.

I don’t want to be alone anymore, something in him cried. My wings hurt. Everyone makes me feel like a monster. It’s not fair-!

Thundercracker kneeled down, placing Skywarp on the floor of the cramped space, looking for the door.

“Wait,” Skyfire called morosely, watching the seeker hesitate, processor unable to come up with a good stall. “I - you’ll be uncomfortable. Take these.”

A small pile of blankets dropped in front of him. Thundercracker’s face lit up.

“Thank you, Skyfire,” he said softly, gathering them in his arms before shutting the door with a click.

And Skyfire was alone.

Chapter Text

“He’s such a fragging loser.”

The night was humid, thick rainclouds dotting Iacon.

“I know right? What gave the dean the right to let that freak in on campus?”

“It’s gonna sit on someone and squash ‘em to death!”

The outer suburbs were bustling with nightlife.

“Ha! You think? The sooner he frags up, the better. Aerials give me the creeps.”

And Skyfire was alone.

He’d found refuge on the darkened balcony about twenty minutes ago. It seemed to take his weight, just. Rain slid down his plating, spattering onto the metal railing below.

He had been staring out into the suburbs as long as he’d been there, sat and curled up as the heavens poured down on him. The droplets were cold despite the humidity. A rare storm season. A once in a vorn event.

He wished he were home. In berth, curled up, listening to one of his playlists as he dozed. Exam season was a week away. Why he’d let himself be dragged here, he had no clue.

Starscream seemed to make him forget himself every time.

A grounder party, out in the suburbs, was not a place he should have been. It wasn’t where he belonged. And yet he had gone anyway, following the tetrajet to an apartment filled with stares and laughter.

All aimed at him.

Skyfire looked down at his dripping servos, large enough to destroy the tiny railing he was pushed up against. His helm, swimming as it was with humiliated sorrow, remained blank, expression stoic as he slowly, robotically, tried to find a way out of the predicament he found himself in.

He was too close to buildings to transform and jet off. He couldn’t afford to repay half a street's worth of broken glass windows. Or the curfew fines he'd be breaking if caught. And his friend was nowhere to be seen. Surely it wouldn’t be a good look if he left without him. Hell, even with Starscream’s impressive ability to defend himself, leaving another flight frame behind at a grounder event, with frame based crimes going up at such an unprecedented level, was morally wrong.

Skyfire cringed, head in his servos as he ran through his options, panic beginning to leak through his frame. Oh, Primus, he was so screwed. So, so screwed! He couldn’t go back inside! And Starscream wasn’t answering his comms! 

Frag! Frag! Frag!

Nonsense started to pour through his logic chip. Had Starscream bought him here as some cheap party trick? Was he trying to get into grounder circles? He - he’d only known him for a few months, sure, but did that mean the seeker would throw him under the bus? Why had he come? Why did Skyfire keep wanting to impress him so bad?

The shuttle groaned, a speck of coolant bubbling in his optic as he gripped his audials, panic beginning to -

The sound of the sliding balcony door slamming made him jump, hitting his head on the windowsill he was trying desperately to hide under. He yelped, holding his dented audial horn, looking up to brilliant blue optics glowing in the darkness.

“Skyfire!” Starscream slurred, optics narrowed as he grabbed an arm and attempted to pull him to his feet. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Let’s get the frag outta here, this party-” he paused before tilting his head back towards the door, voice louder. “Fragging stinks!”

Starscream took off with reckless abandon after pulling the shuttle up, transforming and blasting off, leaving plates of glass rattling in their sills. Skyfire, optics wide, quickly followed upward on his thrusters, making sure he was out of the damage radius before transforming and following as quietly as possible.

Starscream had landed on the roof of Iacon’s library, seemingly ranting to noone. Skyfire landed cautiously, stretching out a servo, only to pull it back as the tetrajet turned to him, steam pooling off his armour.

“Isn’t it fragged? Isn’t it fragged? What those imbeciles can get away with?” He hissed, throwing his servos in the air. Skyfire opened and closed his intake, confused. Starscream continued.

“You didn’t do anything wrong! I - look at me!” He cried, grabbing the shuttle’s chin guard and jerking him downward. “You didn’t do anything! And they were so rude! And functionalist! Slagging aftholes!”

He continued to rant, the smell of high grade wafting over Skyfire. Cheeks red, he forced himself out of the grip, stepping back.

“You’re drunk, Starscream.”

The jet stopped, whirling around to face him, a grin lighting up his pretty features. “Oh, you bet. I stole gallons of high grade for us! It’s all in my subspace right-“

He’d tripped as he’d advanced towards him, Skyfire catching the seeker as he went down. His concern skyrocketed, optics wide at the seeker-shaped mess at his pedes.

“I… I think you’ve had enough, Star,” he said quietly, pulling the other back to his pedes. The seeker swayed. “We have to get you back home.”

Starscream stared at him, unwavering for a klik, optics softening before opening his intake.

“Those… those… rustbuckets. Sky, they were nasty to you because they're intimidated of you. I let them know they're right to be scared. B-because you’re smarter than any of them.”

Skyfire stared down at him, cheeks hot as shame flooded his processor. “You… saw that?”

Of course he had. How couldn’t he have seen three grounders mock a shuttle within earshot. How couldn’t he have watched him dash off?

Starscream stared up at him, half lidded but defiant. “I saw them. They all stink of grease. I let them know you’re gonna blow ‘em outta the water.”

He… he had defended him. The twenty minutes Skyfire was out on the balcony panicking… a very drunk Starscream had been… defending his honour?

He zoned back in to Starscream looking up at him, blue optics gorgeous, wings slanted comfortably. The humid air seemed warm, quiet. For the first time in his life, Skyfire found himself wanting to kiss a mech, the feeling -

He… wait, what?

The universe seemed to stop. This was… well, Starscream was drunk, for one thing, and… he was a seeker. Wasn’t… wasn’t it natural for bots to stick to their species? Interframe mingling was weird and illegal and…

Shutting it out,, Skyfire squeezed his optics shut, and leaned to gather the shaky seeker in his arms. Starscream’s EM field flared wildly with things Skyfire’s flustered processor couldn’t even begin to explain.

Starscream, usually so defiant, so independent, so touch avoidant, melted into the hold as Skyfire held him against his chest, large wings unfolding to shield him from the rain.

“Thank you,” Skyfire rumbled softly, meaning it. “You didn’t have to do that; you’re a good friend.”

The seeker seemed to puff up adorably, helm burrowing into the crook of the shuttle’s neck with a croon that made the shuttle’s spark flip in its chamber. “Duh. I’m the best.”

Skyfire laughed.

“I’ll get you home, okay? We can’t be in alt mode so close to midcycle. You know that.”

“I guess,” Starscream whined, droplets streaming down his helm. “They’re all stupid fraggers too. Danger to society my aft. No wonder the… the Winglord doesn’t want us travelling here. Fragging slaghole.”

“Mhm,” Skyfire agreed politely, holding the seeker close as he jumped off the roof, thrusters quietly letting him float down. The streets in this district were empty, quiet. It wasn’t too far to the academy dorms from here. A half hour walk for someone of Skyfire's stature.

Starscream continued to mutter as the shuttle plodded along the alleyways, vents slowly evening out, weight turning limp in his hold. Skyfire looked down at the seeker, quiet in recharge, warm feelings he wasn’t sure how to react to spreading through his chassis.

He’d… he’d never felt this way before. Was this bad? Wrong? It couldn’t be right. He…

Maybe the last couple of months were beginning to make sense. The warmth he felt in his tanks whenever he saw the seeker, the unnatural beating of his spark whenever -

Do I like Starscream?

He frowned, optics shutting to the sound of his quiet steps through the streets. No. Surely not. This was just some… some weird… carrier thing? He was of age. He’d never been close to another shuttle before, never told about his biology besides what he’d researched himself; this had to be that, right? No. He… was just inexperienced. Unsure. Lonely. Surely.

Starscream was a seeker. He was a shuttle. They were lab partners. Starscream was drunk.

He was stressed. It had been a long night. That was all it was.

It just wasn’t meant to be.

Skyfire made sure he got him home safely, ducking through the low hallways of his dorm, entering the habcode he’d been given for emergencies, settling him down into berth.

For a second, he stared at the seeker, chin tucked into his golden cockpit, wings fluttering in sleep.

He’s so pretty, Skyfire thought, with a twist in his tanks.

And then, with a turn of his helm and a flick of his rain dappled wings, he was gone.

-

To say Skyfire spiralled was an understatement.

It was a steady drop into hell. A long, slow dive into the loneliness he had been avoiding ever since Thundercracker had arrived.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, the warp jumps, his empty fuel tank. Maybe it was the use of his manuals, or the emotional strain the open pseudobond had dealt his already weak spark.

Skyfire wanted to crumple into a ball and sob his optics out. He wanted to curl up in berth and never wake up.

He wanted to go home.

Not the Arc. Not the Nemesis.

Home. His apartment, in Iacon, with the Starscream of yesteryear. With its low ceilings and giant berth.

He’d cleaned the place top to bottom just before their final trip. It was always nice to get back to a clean apartment after a long assignment. And this one was their biggest one yet. The most important moment of their lives. A chance to prove themselves as explorers, as true mech of science.

A chance to prove they were more than a clumsy, hulking oaf of a transport shuttle, and a skulking, frightening creature of war. More than their pasts and their penchant for the skies.

It wasn’t the biggest apartment. Or in the nicest area in town. Or, considering Starscream was living with him, the neatest.

But it was home. The only real home Skyfire had ever had, after being sparked and abandoned and shunted from company to company, boss to boss, as some sort of inanimate tool to be exploited.

The past five years had had it’s range of nightmares. Of war and death. Of ice and medbays. Of pain and suffering.

Nothing ever came close to the memories that replayed on loop. Of his waking up, of his final conversation with his ex conjunx. Of the good times. Of the peaceful times.

Of flying. Of studying, and talking, and squabbling and making up and laughing over the stupidity of it all. Of falling deeply, deeply, deeply in love. So stupidly in love that they didn’t know what it was at first. Of hiding it, sneaking out, their first kiss -

And he would wake up, the feeling of his conjunx in his arms ripped from him every morning. Left to the stinging, empty ache in his spark chamber. The horrible reality setting in as he slowly onlined to a too-small hab, to a cold berth, on a planet far, far away from a home that had been destroyed millions of years ago.

For him, putting the finishing touches on their clean habsuite felt like only an orn ago. Kissing him, their bond singing with happiness, as they travelled, felt like it had happened only yesterday.

Now he was travelling with what felt like a corpse in his cargo hold, cold body nestled against his struts, bond dead and buried.

It had taken so long to find happiness. Millions of years of fear and uncertainty and patience.

And it had all been taken from him in a klik.

That was all it had taken.

The sky up ahead glittered with stars as he soared, shooting over islands and oceans as he headed north east. Far above, against the light of the moon, he spied himself racing along the water, alt mode white amongst the blackness.

Youngling, student, explorer, veteran. He always looked the same. Always bounced back. Always wore his heart on his sleeve.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up with it all. How much longer he could deal with the isolation before he went insane. How much longer he could deal with the mocking, the stares, the whispers. The sparkbreak.

Something deep inside his chassis groaned, metal on metal. He let out a breathy gasp, rapidly morphing into a dry sob before he cut his vocaliser, EM field fritzing. He willed himself to reign it in, let himself become the transport he was sparked to be. Quiet and emotionless and sparkless.

His mind wandered with distress before he slowly sunk into oblivion, thoughts distant, vision tunneling. He felt nothing but the sky and the wind and the stars. No gunfire, no bombs, no mech, no spark. He was transport, an empty box, to keep the passengers he held safe from harm.

He wasn’t important to them. He was never going to be important to them. He was a vehicle. An unfeeling tool, white plating battered and dirty from use. He wasn’t important to anyone at all. 

Hadn’t been for a long, long time.

Chapter Text

It was a strange sensation that bought him back into himself.

It had been a night of silent flying, tanks running on empty, pain and fear lost to the walls he had put up around himself. He had an assignment to do, a job to run. He was a good shuttle, a good worker, a good soldier, a good -

Something in his spark twinged, a shock of violet light shorting his cameras for a klik.

Skyfire blinked for the first time in hours, awareness slowly flooding back as he twitched his sore wings, adjusted his sticky rudder. His empty tanks burned. It was about mid morning. He hadn’t even registered the sun coming up, bathing his plating in an ethereal, snowy glow.

What… had disturbed him? He -

Another strange sensation. Then -

There was someone in his cockpit.

He slung his gaze inward, internal cameras flicking on, exhausted with the power usage. He felt awful. He felt…

He felt Skywarp.

He saw him too, and heard him, the violet seeker leaning on his control glass, looking stressed as he tapped urgently on a camera. The stress… Skyfire could feel, bouncing around his sparkchamber restlessly. Skywarp felt so different to Thundercracker, small and sparking with energy, a shock to his sluggish system.

Oh Primus.

He felt he should be more shocked, more frightened, more anything to the feeling of the new psuedobond, but his emotions felt as if they were locked behind glass. Skywarp spoke again. Skyfire missed it entirely.

“Huh?” the shuttle tried eloquently, cockpit speakers screeching a little. Violet tinged fear flickered in through the connection. What? Why?

“Skyfire, can you hear me?” Skywarp cried, claws dragging on the glass. It tickled. “I said I need a fuel level reading from you, right now!”

“Whuh…” Skyfire replied, dazed as he took a second to pull up his HUD.

Oh.

Things started to make a little more sense as he stared dumbly at the 7% flickering back at him. 

This was… not good. This was bad. Very bad. How had he not seen this? How the fuck was he still up in the air?

“Seven percent,” he relayed back to Skywarp, who swore, then commed someone in return. Distantly, Skyfire took in the state of his frame. He was shaking, quite badly, like he was going through imaginary turbulence. Both sets of his wings were absolutely shot, filled with bullet holes or numbly unresponsive. The nearest land was much too far away for him to get to. And even if he could, he… he couldn’t land in this state. At all.

A bolt of fear, of anger at himself flowed through his unruly field. He was spiralling, processor lost and -

“Hey!” A set of claws snapped at him in his cockpit. “Talk to me. TC is working on refueling you okay? Don’t freak out.”

It took a second for Skyfire to respond, voice shaky and a little choked. “I - I don’t know why I wasn’t keeping an eye on it. I swear it’s never got so low on an assignment. I’m such an-“

“No more wallowing, it feels like slag,” Skywarp cut in, expression blank, whirling spark betraying his nonchalance. “Just hang on. It’s good I woke up when I did.”

“I feel like I’m going to purge,” Skyfire realised out loud, wings shifting. “It hurts.”

Skywarp’s face fell. “What hurts?”

Skyfire felt like his processor was floating in a vat of sticky coolant, thoughts scrambled. “I… I don’t know.”

Vaguely, he could feel Thundercracker’s presence, half blocked from the psuedobond. He wondered why for a klik before his rear cabin door flicked open.

The momentary depressurisation left him feeling dizzy, knocking him a little off course before a blue jet sped up alongside him.

“Don’t stress, Sky, we’ve got you, okay?” Thundercracker commed, flying down under the shuttle’s undercarriage. Skyfire felt himself tense regardless, power going towards staying on course.

“How bad does it hurt?” Skywarp asked him. Skyfire let out static before retrying.

“Burns.”

“Where?” Skywarp pushed, determined. The shuttle groaned.

“Tanks,” he pushed out, pained. “They - they shouldn’t have gotten that low. I have a-a failsafe. I don’t under-“

He let out a yelp as deft claws twisted off his fuel cap before a heavy pause filled the cockpit.

“Damn it! You have a bullet hole through your fucking fuel tank!” Thundercracker cried over comms a moment later, anger flaring through the psuedobond. “I’ll patch it! I - no wonder you were losing fuel this whole time! Primus!”

The pure, protective anger that flared through the bond was enough to make Skyfire’s already scattered processor want to flee, hide. It was doubled by Skywarp, looking ready to bite the head off the next mech he saw.

“Fragging Soundwave!” the seeker hissed. Skyfire felt himself pull back as he watched his fuel gauge continue to fall, overwhelmed to the point of silence.

It was a few minutes before Thundercracker skilfully had his tank patched. Skyfire had gone down to a scary 5%. Full frame chills swept him as Skywarp kept a cautious optic on his display, lips in a straight line.

They should get out, Skyfire thought hazily, nonsensically. Before I crash.

He continued to spiral a little into the darkness, biolights flickering off with the strain. He distantly heard Skywarp yell out onto the comms. Then…

A deliciously cold feeling flowed into his tanks, soothing the burning feeling of searingly hot, empty metal. He felt far away, distant as his fuel gauge began to go up. Pure exhaustion and pain ravaged his trembling frame as he was unable to stop a quiet, pathetically staticky whine escape his vocaliser. 

Thundercracker was back in his cargo bay as soon as possible, Skywarp petting his control panel awkwardly as his biolights flickered back on. He felt deliriously tired, exhausted beyond belief.

Thundercracker made his way to the cockpit, face steely. “Skyfire, I need access to your cabin medical port please. I need to make sure the damage to your tank is centralised.”

Skyfire paused, processor unbearably foggy as the blue seeker tapped on the glass anxiously. “Sky. Let me in, please.”

The shuttle obliged numbly, as if he were in a dream, glass sliding back, cable plugged into his port. Thundercracker continued to soothe him, warmth flowing around his spark. He relaxed a little as the seeker began to scroll through his medical data.

His… medical data.

Wait.

Oh no.

“Pack wing… undercarriage, left wing, aileron sections A, B… D…” Thundercracker’s face fell quickly, Skywarp watching on anxiously. “Left fans, overactive hyperdrive, stuck rudder, torso vents, faulty thruster -“

The calm around his spark began to fade, turning into embarrassed anger as he looked to the cameras, distraught. “You - these are historic injuries! There’s dozens! The Autobots haven't even tried to… attempt to -“

This was a mistake. A massive mistake. Thundercracker continued to scroll through wordlessly, wide optics in every nook and cranny, on every bit of evidence that displayed, almost sickeningly proudly, that Skyfire had not been taking care of himself. At all.

All of the evidence that displayed there was something wrong with him. Something horribly, horribly wrong.

It was all right there for him to see.

“You need a medic,” the jet said quietly, horrified. Skyfire held back a flinch. “You needed one before you even left the Decepticons. Why haven’t the Autobots kept up with your maintenance?”

It was silent in the cockpit. Skywarp frowned down at the floor, spark anxious as Thundercracker seethed. “I’m serious, answer me!”

It was a little too much. The shuttle manually disconnected the port, glass slamming back over his controls as humiliated anger flooded his systems. Thundercracker glared up into a camera, claws pointing accusingly.

“They haven’t looked after you! They have no idea how to treat a flight frame at all. They’re letting you rot!”

He was… right, but wrong at the same time. Skyfire lashed out, overwhelmed.

“What the hell does it matter to you?” Skyfire shot back woozily, nausea rolling through his half-empty tanks as his speakers spat out static. Thundercracker hissed in response, a deep, guttural sound.

“It matters to us a great deal-“

“Since when?” the shuttle spat, hackles raised, processor misfiring sluggishly, words slurred. “Since some… stupid fake bond? Since Starscream fucked us over entirely? Why the hell would you care? Since when has anyone ever?”

Thundercracker fell silent, distress etched across his faceplate. Skywarp, uncharacteristically quiet, seemed frozen entirely.

“I have been alone among nothing but grounders for half a decade after your trineleader left me for dead,” Skyfire hissed, unable to stop, unable to control himself as his vocaliser spat out venom. “Would you feel comfortable going to a medic like that? Would you like that?”

Skywarp shook his helm in the corner. Anger still flared in Thundercracker’s optics as he opened his intake accusingly. “No. You need help. You need a medic regardless. Your frame is at critical capacity. How long did you think you were going to last without repairs? Another five years? A million?”

He didn’t know who he was trying to hurt. The panic of his outed health issues slowed from an angry, overwhelming roar, to pure, humiliated misery.

Skyfire scoffed, a painfully woozy, crackling sound. “Why would I plan to last that long? There’s nothing left for me here. There hasn’t been for a long time.”

The silence in the cockpit was stifling, the seeker’s optics wide, horrified.

“Hey-“ Skywarp stuttered, claws landing on the glass, fear lacing the new psuedobond. “You don’t mean that-”

“You didn’t go to a medic on purpose,” Thundercracker breathed, shoulders slumping. “You - the bond breaking fucked you up more than I thought it did. I knew you were putting on a front. Do they even know?”

Skyfire itched to shoot back a no, of course not. He was resilient. He survived against all odds. He shined. He didn’t need a medic and he didn’t need support from his faction and he didn’t need Starscream and he didn’t need his stupid trine. He’d survived. He’d survived.

And look where you are now.

The silence answered for him. The look Thundercracker was giving him was full of sorrow, psuedobond full of regret. Of pity.

“You’ve been working for them all this time. Shuttling them everywhere like cybercattle. Breaking your struts assignment after assignment. With a broken bond that nobody knows about? That a medic has never scanned, even once?”

“Yes,” murmured Skyfire, before he’d even realised he’d responded. He cringed as tendrils of horror, of care, wrapped around his spark. 

“Why?” Asked Skywarp finally, stepping forward, aghast. “Why would you do that to yourself? Why would you torture yourself like this?”

There was no answer for that. Nothing that they couldn’t put together themselves, if they were really that desperate. He didn’t owe them an explanation. He could barely give himself one.

It was spark deep. A wound that had fractured him from within. It was loss, and mourning and abandonment rolled into one big, awful truth. The fewer bots that got involved with him, the better. Anything good that ever happened to him was destroyed, tenfold. He was cursed.

He remembered, when he was barely a sparkling, learning what a broken bond could do to flight frames. It would destroy them from the inside out, corrupting biological coding, slowly driving mecha insane before slow, torturous deaths. 

Sparkbreak was nothing to make light of. It was dangerous, painful, unstable. Skyfire found out the hard way, as he mourned and begged and pleaded to be left in any other state.

He was going to be alone until he died. There was no big twist, no light at the end of the tunnel. He had been abandoned, left for dead, poisoned from within. Turned into a bitter creature, that woke up exhausted each and every day, barely able to leave his hab.

Flying wasn’t fun anymore. Scientific pursuits weren’t fulfilling. His spark ached, and ached and ached.

Existing was something he did to keep up appearances, as one of the last of his species. Existing was for others at this point, not for him.

He was no longer the proud, adventurous youngling he used to be. He was deeply, deeply ashamed.

As soon as everything was dealt with, he would go back to that lonely existence. The soft, sparkling sensations of the psuedobonds would fade. He…

Did he want them to stay with him? He didn’t, did he? They weren’t consensual connections, all built on the pain and lies his ex conjunx cooked up to survive. There was no hope for him, for any sort of connection he could ever build again. His spark was probably too damaged to ever merge again, not that he wanted to.

The worst part of it all, though, a shameful secret he tried his hardest to bury…

Something in him refused to give Starscream up.

Even as the seeker lay comatose and dying in his storage compartment. Even after shooting him to kill, again and again and again. After abandonment and lies…

He couldn’t give him up. Couldn’t give up the memories that haunted him in his sleep, or the longing for his ex conjunx in his arms in berth. The terrible, painful pull in his core as he watched him from far away on the battlefield, pillaging and murdering to his heart’s content. He couldn’t accept the change in his soul, from shining student to terrifying executioner. He didn’t know why he couldn’t leave it all behind.

It haunted him, in soft, warm dreams and cold nightmares. In murmurings behind his back in the mess hall, in battle plans and personal items left in his subspace from four million years ago. In two achingly familiar seekers, who stared at him in counter parts anger and awful, awful sadness. In their false, terribly comforting bonds wrapped around his tired, damaged spark.

He was so exhausted of himself, of his life. In the blink of an eye everything had gone to hell. His downward spiral in such a short amount of time was indicative of becoming a sparkbreak statistic. He was unable to accept the sunk cost his conjunx had become. What his entire life had become.

“We’re only a few hours from the Arc,” Thundercracker murmured finally, voice steely. “You and Starscream are going straight to your medic. That’s an order.”

Skyfire remained silent, numb. Skywarp’s optics flitted anxiously between the blue jet and his cameras.

“And if you think you’re getting out of it, you’re just as selfish as he is,” Thundercracker hissed, whirling out of the cockpit. Skywarp flinched as he passed, wings slanted downwards in distress.

To say Skyfire wanted to scream was an understatement. He wanted to yell, sob his eyes out, curl into a ball -

The gentle sensation of cool servos across his display bought him back inward. Skywarp was leaning forward, resting his helm on glass, vents leaving small marks. He was just quiet, one red optic lazily watching his cameras.

When Skyfire felt the soft prodding motion within his spark, he knew it was over. All pretense flew out the window as he sighed, exhausted.

“So you can feel me,” Skywarp murmured, frowning. Skyfire was silent, ready for another lecture, before the violet jet let out a sad hum. “Does… it hurt for you? All the connections at once?”

The shuttle pondered this for a klik, attempting to respond before resetting his choked vocaliser. 

“They make me tired,” he responded, vocaliser listless, small. Skywarp looked up again, lips in a thin line.

“He didn’t mean what he said. I - I promise you he didnt. He’s just… stressed. TC likes to protect people,” he sighed, claws tapping. “He just totally wigs out when he can’t. You know how crazy carriers are.”

There was a klik of silence before Skyfire mumbled back. “I’m a carrier.”

The pure embarrassment that hit him in the spark from Skywarp’s direction had him actually burst out laughing before the seeker could bark out an apology, pink staining his cheeks.

“You know. Shuttles. Carrier class mech?” He tried, continuing to laugh as Skywarp looked at him, perplexed.

“I - dude, I thought that was ‘cause you guys carried people,” Skywarp blurted, only continuing to redden as Skyfire continued to wheeze. “It’s - you’re joking.”

“It’s half-half,” he replied. “But yeah. You get to my size and up, uh, you won’t find any sires around here. Too big. You didn’t learn that in basic training?”

Skywarp scrunched his face. “I wasn’t that great at school.”

“Mhm,” Skyfire hummed. He could tell, but he wasn’t an aft. The seeker changed the subject.

“I agree you should go to a medic though.”

Skyfire was silent. Skywarp ran a servo along the corner of the glass. It tickled.

“If the psuedobonds overtax your spark, you’ll get sick,” the jet continued, quiet. “I don’t want to contribute to that. I will try my hardest to section off our bond.”

That woke Skyfire up. He peered down at the seeker, camera optics widening. “Why?”

Skywarp shrugged, looking a little guilty. “Because neither of us asked for this. I don’t really know you. Having you feel whatever stupid slag I’m feeling is kinda pointless, right?”

He was right. And yet… 

The feeling of the psuedobonds pulled at Skyfire’s spark so gently. Their warmth filled his chamber, lapping at the sides. The exhaustion they pulled down on him didn’t seem to make much sense. He wanted to recharge, curl up and just nap forever.

Thundercracker’s psuedobond had been sectioned off as he stormed off beforehand. The connection was growing colder, devoid of life. A sudden panic flew through him as he considered the option of both psuedobonds feeling that way.

Leaving him exhausted, in pain, alone, abandoned -

“You don’t like that idea,” Skywarp said softly, optics inquisitive. Skyfire blanched.

“I - I don’t know,” he tried. The seeker frowned up at him.

“Look, I know this is a stupid question,” Skywarp replied. “But are you alright?”

It was kind of a stupid question, but it was kind regardless. Skyfire tilted a wing, spiralling through a freezing, high altitude updraft as he considered his answer.

“I’m not,” he replied honestly. Skywarp tilted his helm.

“TC’s better at sappy slag, I’ll be honest,” the seeker tried, almost nervously. “But I reckon some Med-igon and some rest will have you feeling better.”

Skyfire was silent, sending some approval across the bond in lieu of a response. Skywarp’s wings flicked up. 

“And we’ll get this sorted. Whatever Screamer’s done. He… he’s lived through worse. He’s like a cyber-roach. Never fragging dies.”

A thought passed through the shuttle’s processor.

“What did he do?”

Skywarp rolled his eyes. “Ugh. What didn’t he do.”

“You all lived together, right? What happened?”

The seeker slumped a little, almost defensively. “I - it’s complicated. Even trining was complicated. It’s a -“

He was cut off by the proximity alarm, wings flaring in alarm. “Soundwave?”

Skyfire, tense himself, watched a slim silver shuttle shoot impossibly fast out of the clouds in front of him, anxiety abating, then surging as a comm call patched through.

“Hi Skyfire!” the shuttle announced cheerfully. Skyfire cringed, dread singing his circuits.

An armed escort probably wasn’t a good sign.

“Hey, Silverbolt,” he sighed.

Chapter Text

M: Back to base, Soundwave. Now.

Soundwave transformed and landed with a clunk, shaking off condensation as he stepped towards the Nemesis' lift.

Shuttlelag was getting to him. The change in Earth’s time and Cybertron’s was… jolting. It wasn’t just a change of day. It was an entire change of time measurements. An Earth rotation was barely a joor in Cybertronian time, and the frequency of the sun rising and setting turned into nothing but an annoying flash in the background. It made his cassettes restless, uncomfortable.

He pressed a button, pauldrons slumping for just a second before he got a release request on his HUD.

He let out a long vent, digits digging into the bridge of his nose before he relented, Rumble all but tumbling out of his chest compartment.

Rumble did what Rumble always did, glaring up at his host like he was staring up at the sun.

“You feel bad,” the cassette blurted out, spread out on the floor. Soundwave clenched his jaw, turning to ignore him.

Symbiotic relationships were… certainly something. Not much could be kept secret with five cassettes who were practically a part of you. It was fine, usually. Unless said cassettes were going around blurting out everything private.

It was always fragging Rumble.

The doors clicked open, Soundwave striding forward. Few mech were around to see him storm through the entrance to the ship. Rumble moved fast to keep up.

“Boss? What’s up? I know you’re tired, but that was fragging weird, don’t you think? I - ugh!”

Soundwave stopped short, Rumble slamming into the back of his pede. He shifted, looking down at him.

“Business: Not Rumble’s,” he stated, staring down the bridge of his nose. Rumble glared up at him.

“It technically is our business if it’s got your feathers ruffled, Boss,” Rumble shot back, clambering to his pedes. “So what if Screamer flew the coop? Didn’t Megatron say he was sic-“

Soundwave picked him up before he had a chance to finish, irate, tone steely. “Quiet.”

The cassette hung from his servo, arms crossed, pouting. “You’re not telling us something, Soundwave! That’s not how this slag works. You know the rules.”

The host sighed as a shy agreement came from the other symbiotes within his tape deck. Rely on them to make Rumble demand it, of course.

Genuine concern was coming through their connection, though, and Soundwave’s hardy resolve wore down quickly. He was achy. He was hungry.

And he… felt exhausted.

“Was it… the shuttle?” Rumble asked, quieter. The empty hallway around them echoed slightly. Soundwave let out a quiet vent before pulling Rumble in, sitting him on his shoulder. The cassette kicked his pedes gaily.

“Soundwave: Unsure,” he replied unsteadily. “Cassettes: Shouldn’t worry.”

“You always say that stupid slag,” Rumble groaned, turning to grasp at his host’s neck cabling. “You totally feel bad because you shot that shuttle.”

Soundwave mused over this, turning the idea around his helm. He wasn’t quite sure. The shuttle was a Decepticon deserter. He deserved… something, at the very least, for setting Starscream off the way he did five years ago.

Working alongside the seeker after that… event had been unbearable. He was wild, unpredictable. Acting like his spark had been broken in two.

Drama queen.

But whatever was happening now was… odd. Soundwave had pledged his life to the Decepticon cause. The strangely abrupt end of the war, alongside his sneaking suspicions of it all…

Following Megatron was fine. It was his entire life. But when the silver mech had started hiding things even from him, grey areas had started to blur. Abandoning the cause outright was strange. With Soundwave’s forced reposting to Cybertron after the truce and Starscream’s abrupt disappearance due to ‘illness’…

For the first time, in millions upon millions of years, Soundwave had no fragging clue who he was serving. After he’d been cut off from surveillance at the end of the war, all of his claims felt baseless. The only mech that could even begin to back him up here was apparently ill enough to have been offline for months and was now in a damaged shuttle, rocketing towards the Autobot base.

What was the right path here?

Rumble was pulling at straws. “Or… you feel bad for shooting at… the rest of the trine? Aren’t they technically deserters?”

Soundwave considered for a klik.

“We… are in peace time,” he replied stiffly. Rumble cocked an optic ridge.

“So? You’re still following Megatron. You just shot a total noob and you fragging jumped to come here. What’s got you so bothered?”

Soundwave paused, jaw tense before he looked around them. Cameras dotted the ceiling, glass optics piercing.

He sent off a message.

SW: Soundwave and Rumble: Must be quiet.

Rumble cocked his helm at the ping, looking at his host curiously. Soundwave took in a vent, letting out another message before continuing to the control room.

SW: Soundwave: Has reason to believe war was ended for the wrong reason. Starscream: Compromised.

Okay? Rumble pinged back, confused. Soundwave swallowed.

SW : Starscream: Knows.

Chapter Text

Skyfire felt like his systems were shutting down.

It was a short, guided flight back to the Ark, Silverbolt leading the way amidst dense clouds.

He should have expected this, really. Should have been more prepared, should have commed back to base to request medical assistance for his living cargo. Should have let anyone know what was happening.

But he’d been too tired, too strung out. Too…

Was he injured? His pack wing hadn’t responded to his sensors since the attack, his other wings cramping, tingling due to the added strain. 

Why had Soundwave shot him? They were on the same side! It didn’t make sense.

Nothing made sense anymore.

Distantly, he realised the Prime would be disappointed in him. He was unsure if he could find it in himself to care anymore. He wanted his tiny berth and his dim habsuite, with the cooling system set high. He wanted some energon. Grounder grade, probably. But… wouldn’t it flow out of the hole in his tank? No, Thundercracker had patched it. But his tanks hurt. He was injured.

Well and truly injured. He couldn’t fix this himself. He…

Ratchet was going to kill him.

He’d been avoiding the medic for years. Any grounder with access to a spark scanner was an instant no in his book. He didn’t want him inevitably messing him up even more.

It was his issue. The injury Starscream had afflicted on him was his cross to bear.

In the early days, after Ratchet had initially saved his life, the doctor had been persistent. It was all a blur, checkups and surgery and lingering sedative addictions. When Skyfire had retreated, the old mech kept trying, to no avail. Eventually the knocking on his habsuite door stopped. Slowly but surely, after each gruelling mission, his frame began to fail.

He wasn’t sure why he did it to himself. Skyfire felt like he barely knew himself anymore, chassis foreign and old and hurting.

The more gravity pulled on his damaged plating as they sunk down to land had his processor spinning. Skywarp was saying something to him in his cockpit but he had yet again checked out, optics tracing the slim shape of the jet in front of him.

Breaking through the clouds had his tanks lurching, a drizzling afternoon before them. Just ahead, perched in the mountain, the Arc sat dully, rain etching its way down her golden plating.

There was a small crowd on the short landing strip. Silverbolt touched down first, transforming, barrel rolling gracefully out of the way. Skyfire took in a vent, releasing his sore landing gear.

Sparks flew as he hit the asphalt, optics widening as he realised far too late that he had overshot in a haze. He swerved a little, flaps flaring in agony as he came to a screeching halt, white spots overtaking his vision.

Then his landing gear collapsed.

The impact of his nosecone and battered left wing on the wet concrete had him cry out in pain, the sensation of Skywarp thrown into his cockpit wall even more disorienting. His belly scraped against the tarmac, irritating already damaged, bare plating.

Pain shot up his frame, lancing his processor as he attempted to take back control of the situation, find a way to get back up, keep going, unload, be good, be good, be good -

But he couldn’t.

However hard he tried, his now flattened landing gear refused to cooperate. His wings retracted instinctually, sending him further into the ground as he struggled in alt mode.

Everything hurt so badly. He… 

Skyfire couldn’t get up.

This… was it.

For a second, his cameras registered shocked faces as he lay there, unmoving. Then, the psuedobonds were suddenly loud, overwhelming, as everything descended into chaos.

The Prime was in front of him immediately, a warm servo on his nosecone as he ordered his passengers out. Skyfire wanted to snap at him to leave them alone. They were… they were his passengers. His… friends. He couldn’t form the words. He felt servos on him, a flash of red and white. And suddenly, weight lifted from his cargo hold. His cockpit was empty.

He was alone.

There was yelling all around him. His vents picked up at the sounds, sensations. They were gone. Thundercracker was angry with him and Skywarp wasn’t there and Starscream was gone forever.

No, no, no, no, nono, nononononononononono -

He was going to die. This was it. They were all gone. Everything hurt. Why had he done this to himself? Why had Starscream done it to him? He didn’t understand.

He was calm, once. Collected and peaceful. Always aware, always intelligent, always ahead, always kind.

Now he knew nothing but panic. Every flare in his processor screamed with fear, frazzled, undone as he lay, battered and damaged on the runway. He had well and truly lost it.

He hadn’t realised Ratchet had snuck into his medical port before he felt the humiliating flick of his T-Cog medical override. His frame jolted with agony, plates grinding and squealing against each other before he was left lying on his side on the ground, servos curling against nothing but empty space, cold air drying the coolant currently trickling down his faceplate.

Ratchet entered his vision, expression gruff, thumbing his neck cabling before hooking him up to something cold that flowed through his lines, leaving him a familiar type of numb.

He turned to look at him, optics fritzing as the sedative took hold, horror taking control of his mainframe. 

Ratchet only had time to mouth a sorry before reality faded into utter incoherence.

-

Skyfire wanted his carrier.

He wanted his warmth, his soft, glowing spark that lit up their tiny, rented habsuite at night. He’d always been so afraid of the dark. 

He wanted to be held, safe and sound in their nest, where nothing could hurt him.

His optics flicked open.

This… this was not that.

He was… he was restrained, cabling and rusting chainlink netted around his neck and limbs. Sedative flowed through his system, leaving him disoriented, frightened as he struggled to move for a klik.

It was dark. Pitch black save for his dimmed biolights lighting up his restraints. They were particularly tight on his sensitive young wings and he gasped, processor swimming with hazy fear.

His chassis hurt so badly. He vented once, twice, feeling so unwell he was unable to even call out before he began to sob for his carrier. Why had he left him here? Didn’t he love him?

Reality came to him slowly through the panic, crushing his spark impossibly small as he wriggled, distressed. His carrier had abandoned him half a vorn ago. He… he’d signed up for a freighter company. They’d wanted him to undertake maintenance… something about his controls?

It hurt. It was so dark and he was scared and he couldn’t help it! Coolant tracked his cheeks as he cried out anyway, wings scraping painfully against the medical berth.

He passed out sometime after, consciousness replaced by frightening, nonsensical dreams.

His carrier was not coming to save him.

-

Something was touching his wings.

Skyfire came to face down, helm against his arms. The room smelt of oil, antiseptic and his helm lolled as he rebooted.

His pack wing. Something was touching it, irritating. It flicked instinctively before it was grabbed harshly, pain erupting as a blowtorch whirred to life behind him.

Skyfire jolted, letting out a cry as he whirled around, dizzy with the effort as one of his extended, damaged wings slammed into the metal ceiling. A yell was heard as something - someone - heavy crashed down to the ground.

The shuttle overbalanced on the berths as his wing made contact, left arm slipping before one of the berths toppled, taking him with it.

Woozy was an understatement as he lay awkwardly, tanks churning, optics flickering. A groan was heard behind him, gruff muttering before a visibly pissed off mech entered his vision.

Awareness came back to him in spades as he witnessed the full might of one extremely irate Ratchet.

“You,” the doctor huffed, “are getting yourself back on those things, Primus help me, because I am not calling back the ten mech who got you in here!”

Skyfire tried to respond, a groan slipping past his lips as he held a servo to his aching helm. The room spun wildly as he tried to pull himself up into a sitting position. He gagged for one horrifying klik before he realised there was nothing in his tanks to spit up.

“Up,” Ratchet sighed, flipping the berth back over before slinging his small frame underneath his pauldron. “C’mon.”

The medic was extremely strong for his size as he helped Skyfire back onto the berths. One of them creaked ominously for a second before he settled on his cockpit again, nausea threading through him.

“You’re not getting energon until I patch all the fragging holes in your plating,” Ratchet grumbled behind him, pulling a stool across the floor. Skyfire’s helm thunked down onto the berth. “You know wings will bleed like anything! You couldn’t even be fragged to comm ahead? Idiot.”

Skyfire shrank into himself, tanks rumbling painfully as his filters flicked through the last dregs of fuel. He was so lightheaded he wanted to purge. The sound of the torch flickered back on, the servo grabbing him gentler as fire flashed down into his protoform.

The shuttle let out a choked cry as pure agony took over his oversensitive wing, plating melting back together to form rudimentary seals. White spots danced in his vision, optics pooling with coolant. Fear filled him. He - Ratchet wasn’t going to examine his entire wing, was he? No. No, he’d see the lack of preening and just attempt to do ‘maintenance’ himself. Just like all the other grounders who came close to his wings.

White hot pain went on for a while, overwhelming, until the torch was switched off and something cool was slapped onto the area, sapping the burn.

A pain patch.

He felt awfully woozy as a servo lifted his head, a penlight shining into his optic. He hissed quietly as Ratchet moved to the other lens, field eerily calm, still, before the medic lowered him back down. Skyfire listened to rustling sounds before a click was heard, something cold pouring through the attached neck line.

“Let’s try that,” Ratchet mumbled, turning to observe the shuttle. The wooziness seemed to subside, pain ebbing away as he slumped into his own arms. “Say something, Skyfire.”

“Ye…s…” Skyfire murmured, vocaliser feeling soft in his neck. Ratchet sighed before pushing him sideways, lifting his waist before setting it back down.

This time, the blowtorch was barely a tickle, just warmth spreading through his abdomen as he was patched up. He could do nothing but groan, optics shutting tightly.

“You’ve done this to yourself,” Ratchet muttered eventually, smoothing the hot metal. “You scientists think you’re so smart avoiding me until you completely fall apart. All those smarts, no fragging brains.”

“Ugh…” Skyfire tried, optics half lidded. His processor felt as if it were melting with his plating, all soft and mushy. He was unable to control his field, the anxious body of it settling around them both like a wet cloak, plating warm against the connection the medic had with his medical port, a calm, cool presence. Ratchet finished his tanks before moving onto his thrusters, then something else, then something else. All soft, warm welds leaving him spiralling into recharge.

He was barely conscious when he felt a soft pat to his audial horns. He’d curled up somewhat, crusted energon spattering the berths and floor, sore wings patched and messy. Faintly, he heard the sound of a medical scanner, a sharp vent inwards.

Then it was black.

Chapter Text

Consciousness was not as welcoming as it had initially seemed.

Coming back was a steady stream of data; of soreness, tight joints, fresh welds. Of weird smells and silence.

Then his optics rebooted and he was back.

It wasn’t where he was before - it was a private room, an offshoot of the med bay. Too small for him really - one wrong move and his helm would go through the ceiling.

But it was dark and cool in here. Small machines beeped politely. His wings ached. His spark ached.

The door opened and shut quietly, the shuttle’s wings raising almost indignantly as he tried to sort through his recent memory files. He felt scattered, unwhole, confused.

Skyfire hated feeling confused.

Ratchet entering his vision had a few more memories come back to him, humiliation letting itself be known. Welding and crashing and flying and seekers-

The seekers. Oh Primus.

“Where are they?” he yelped all at once, lurching upwards, vocaliser skipping and crackling before he hastily reset it, servos reaching up to grasp at his spark. His field flared, the medics' optics widening before spreading his servos placatingly.

“They’re safe,” he replied gruffly, optics making direct contact before Skyfire shuddered and looked away.

He - after all this time, he hadn’t prepared how to approach the truth. Avoid it entirely? Lie? Wait until the right moment?

The command trine were enemies, war criminals. He didn’t know how to even begin to advocate for them, let alone reveal they were psuedobonded to his fucking spark.

He’d kept Starscream a secret for so long, he had no idea what to do. His spark clenched painfully, dully. Faintly, he could feel the cinched off bonds.

The feeling had his tanks feel like they had dropped down to his pedes, sucking the air from his vents as he tried to keep a hold on himself. He was alone right now, and that was fine. He was okay. Right? He was good?

What’s wrong with me?

He sucked in a shaky vent, servos clenching as his mind tried to wander. Forcing it back to the present wasn’t working at all. He felt sick. He felt -

Ratchet snapped his digits right in front of his faceplate and he fumbled, optics clearing. The medic had a strange look on his face as he pointedly placed a datapad on the shuttle’s knee. Skyfire took a klik before he picked it up, bringing it to his face.

The energon drained from it instantly as the urge to purge everywhere returned. His optics widened in horror as he gazed down at the grainy image of a scan.

His scan.

He really was clutching his cockpit now, fear rushing through him as he wordlessly stared down at the medic, then back at the scan, then back to him. This was irrefutable. The years of fleeing this mech were useless now. He didn’t know what to do, to say.

He was going to be in so much trouble. The Prime was faintly aware of his entanglement with Starscream pre-war, but the others? He… he wasn’t just going to look insane, he was going to look like traitorous fucking sharewear. Primus. He was going to be sick. He was going to pass out.

Ratchet cleared his vocaliser, gruff voice steady. “You wanna explain this one to me and let me have a look, or you want to keep running?”

Skyfire flinched, ducking his helm in shame, field flaring wildly. There was really no excuses here, he realised as he stared down at the datapad, at a scan of a fading spark that bloomed with a dark, irregular void at the centre, psuedobond threads wrapping their way around it.

It looked… worse than he had imagined.

No words seemed to come, processor empty with nothing but fear as his wings shook. He felt caged, trapped. Ratchet was going to go straight to the Prime, or Jazz, or Primus forbid, Prowl about this before Skyfire had even processed what had happened to him. To them.

“It’s not their fault!” he blurted out first, thoughts scrambled as he searched for a way to explain. Ratchet looked on, seemingly unimpressed. “It’s - they haven’t done anything. Thundercracker and Skywarp. They need to be left out of this.”

“So these,” Ratchet replied after a klik of silence, tracing a digit along the scan. “… bonds are theirs, then?”

Skyfire felt his faceplates go paler than usual, fumbling. “I - wait -“

“Did you bond with them before or after you joined the Autobots?”

The question was deceptively level. Skyfire swallowed in a panic, voice rising. “I - I didn’t bond with them at all -“

The medic snatched back the datapad, optics narrowing. “You didn’t bond with them at all? They forced themselves on you?”

Skyfire blanched, horrified. “N- no! It’s-“

Ratchet whirled on him, expression thunderously unreadable. “Then what? That at least would make sense seeing your spark is one of the most damaged sparks I’ve ever seen. Second only to your fragging bondmate right next door!”

Skyfire was shocked into silence, only faintly aware of his rattling plates. He was trembling, unable to take a verbal beatdown, let alone a physical one. From a mech a quarter of his size. He was pitiful. Beyond pitiful.

What had he become?

He caught the medic’s optics, bright blue, blazing with a strange sort of anger as the furious statement hit him all at once. He froze, vents stalling, lightheadedness coming back at force.

“You knew?” he whispered, only aware a drop of coolant had made its way down his cheek before he caught a flash of it hitting the berth. He took in a rattling vent, staring down in anguish. Ratchet’s optics narrowed for a klik.

It was back to silence, just quiet creaks of the Arc as it cooled in the cold. The medic continued to glare up at him before his pauldrons slumped a little.

“Your field is too potent. You’re not lying.”

“A-about what?” Skyfire cried, indignant, voice choked. “You knew about Starscream? I only told the Prime because I had to! I had no other option! He told you?”

“Of course not!” Ratchet cried, throwing his servos in the air. “It was just fragging obvious! How was I supposed to know the bastard dumped you?”

Skyfire audibly whimpered, backing off into the corner his berths were pressed against. He was still shaking. Everything seemed too loud, too small.

Ratchet continued to glare at him like he had something to say. The shuttle remained silent.

“I tried,” Ratchet began. “To scan your spark several times when you came to us. You refused again and again. This was the reason why, isn’t it?”

Skyfire was silent, helm falling into his servos in despair as the medic continued to berate him.

“And then you avoided me completely. You disappeared when the war ended, hell, you barely came in to get patched up after battles. And now look at you!”

Skyfire sniffed, digits pressing into his squeezed shut optics. 

“All because you were scared of a broken bond?” Ratchet cried incredulously. Skyfire bristled, shaking.

“With Starscream! That bond was with Starscream!” He exploded, wings pinned back. “In what world would anyone here treat me better after knowing that?”

Ratchet seemed infuriated. “Skyfire, you are sick! You needed medical attention and now your spark is going out because you refused to seek it.”

Skyfire actually growled in frustration at this, processor swimming with irritation, fear, anger, acknowledgement.

He was going to die.

“You are going down with the ship and that ship is Starscream,” Ratchet continued, optics wide, frustrated. “Your processor is stuck in a sunk cost loop and you need to get out now.”

Skyfire actually laughed, tears pooling down his cheek, past his dented servos, past his scratched plating. He was going to lose it before he died. He was going to go insane and then offline forever. It was probably what he deserved.

“Tell me exactly what lead up to this and we can start treatment,” Ratchet growled, glaring up at him. The shuttle only giggled mirthlessly. “I’m being serious!”

“Why would I do that?” Skyfire hissed out. “Give me one reason.”

“Because if you go down,” Ratchet snapped back, frowning as he pointed at the scans. “The other bonds go as well. If you want their deaths on your conscience? Fine. But if you’re saying their bonds were accidental…”

That did get the shuttle to shut up, gazing down at the datapad. At the little specks swimming amongst his damaged spark.

They didn’t have anything to do with this. They never had.

They had been so kind to him.

Ratchet was quiet, almost pleading as he continued. “These deaths won’t be seen in vain, Skyfire. The entire command trine dead has the potential to spark up war all over again. Peace is fickle. This isn’t just about you. This isn't just about them. And I sure as hell can’t do that all again. Neither can you.”

He was completely right. Skyfire felt like purging again.

“You’ve already told everyone.”

“Optimus and I know,” Ratchet replied. “I believe in confidentiality regardless.”

Skyfire winced. “You can save them?”

Ratchet sighed, picking up the scans. “I could save you too if we tried. Starscream… is likely a lost cause. Spark damage usually requires the party responsible helping to fix it. He’s done this to himself.”

Skyfire slumped, optics dim. “He’s not going to wake up?”

Ratchet shook his head, grave. “We need to seperate you both fully. Full examinations. Even if he did make it, his processor probably wouldn’t. You, all things considered, shouldn’t be alive right now. I believe it’s your size and the corresponding size of your spark that has kept the gangrenous nature of spark-rot at bay.”

Skyfire didn’t respond, staring blankly at the wall. His spark panged with pain.

“I need answers. You need fixing. Should we start at the beginning?”

He could only agree.

-

Ratchet seemed to cool down a little as he started work on his crushed landing gear.

Skyfire started at the beginning, but was sparse on details. Mostly on Starscream, pausing before changing the subject. He recounted their meeting at the academy and their eventual journey to Earth. His crash landing.

He said he was in pain when he woke up from the ice, ignoring the medic asking for further information. He’d sooner die than talk about that nightmare in depth. Those files stayed in the back of his helm at all times, for his optics only.

He skipped the way the Decepticons had left him - that had been attended to by Ratchet himself. Instead, he morosely, shamefully, started recounting his spark pain getting worse. The way fatigue had curled around his very being. Mourning.

Ratchet was quiet, tinkering somewhat gently as Skyfire recounted the arrival of Thundercracker, head flicking upwards at the mention of the psuedobond.

“Psuedobond…” he murmured, looking back at the scans. “It is fainter than a regular bond. Smaller too. Their origin points are directly linked to your spark damage. It’s like they’ve crossed the border entirely.”

Skyfire let him know they were initially one sided. Ratchet tilted his helm.

“That considered… cutting off Starscream should take care of these bonds for you. You won’t have to deal with them anymore.”

Skyfire froze for a klik, wide optics meeting the wall as he staved off panic. Ratchet moved onward.

“So… you know them or not?”

Skyfire blinked. “What?”

The medic sighed as he unscrewed one of his wheel hinges. It tickled. “The trine. You seem mighty interested in them considering they’re not even your bondmates.”

The shuttle went red. “I- interested? No! No, I’m - we’re acquaintances. They… they have been kind. They’re good mech -“

Ratchet snorted. “Good? My aft.”

Skyfire bristled. “We were all complicit in the war-“

“Some more than most,” the medic cut in, slapping a compartment closed. “Though I feel you already got that memo when Starscream realised you weren’t on the same side anymore.”

Skyfire cringed, shame edging his field. Ratchet tsked before switching in tone.

“Would you take medical advice if I gave it to you right now?”

That was different.

Skyfire sat up further, optics narrowing. “I… it depends.”

Ratchet rolled his lenses. “You need psychiatric support as much as spark treatment right now. In my humble opinion.”

Psychia-

Huh?

That was a weird statement. Psychiatric… support? That was - no. That was…

There was something wrong with him, fundamentally, surely, but other than that, he was fine. He was okay.

He was spiralling.

No, he was fine. Right?

He must have been sitting there too long because Ratchet was in front of him now, arms crossed, scrutinising him. Watching him. How long had he been thinking for? He blinked, shaking his helm.

“Exhibit A. Welcome back, space cadet,” Ratchet snarked, motioning to the clock on the wall. “You were just out for four Earth minutes. Just to process a simple statement.”

Skyfire’s optics widened as he frowned. “I - no -“

“Every two sentences, you completely zone out. Talking with you is like talking to a brick wall,” Ratchet scrutinised. “You can barely control your field, which even you know is odd for a shuttle.”

The shuttle’s pauldrons hunched, embarrassment flowing through him. “I - that’s none of your business -“

“It is when I’m standing here trying to remain professional through it,” Ratchet shot back, glaring up at him. “You have ignored every single warning sign your frame and processor have sent you after your bond breakage. You have no idea how lucky you are to be alive right now, do you?”

Skyfire tried to respond, processor supplying him with nothing as he fumbled. Ratchet pointed a digit at him, accusing.

“Flight frames die after improper bond breakage. You knew this and you did nothing.”

Skyfire took a sharp invent, optics downcast. The medic continued.

“You didn’t seek help. You didn’t look after yourself. You have been using this to self harm for years now and it’s only because others have gotten involved that you have finally parked yourself on this berth here. Is that correct?”

He could do nothing but stare down at him, aghast. He didn’t - no. Did he? Was he doing that? He was going to die. That didn’t make sense. Did he want to? Was it going to be soon? Were the others going with him? Was he scared? Was he in trouble? Was he good? Was he good? Was he -

It was another snap of Ratchet’s servos that brought him back to the present. He was venting kind of weirdly, lightheaded, spots dancing before his optics.

“You were just expecting to waste away in your habsuite without wondering what that would do to a flight frame? The only build class with the… what was it? Oh, that’s right! Inbuilt social impulse routines?”

Skyfire’s jaw clamped shut, metal against metal. Ratchet stared at him, as if he was stupid.

Maybe he was.

No, he wasn’t, he… he was just having a rough time. He deserved it. He was…

He stared down at his servos. They were dirty, dented. He’d never seen them this bad, he was usually so…

He used to care.

I used to care.

It finally hit him, optics widening as he took it all in. The pain that ricocheted through his frame every waking moment. The fear and isolation and agony. This wasn’t right. When had this ever been him? Why was this him?

“What’s wrong with me?” he choked out, breaking the silence into a million pieces. Ratchet watched him, immoving. For a second, he was himself again, looking down in horror at a dirty, dented wreck. At a flight frame so consumed by grief, they were rotting from the inside.

And then he was back in it all, in pain and agony. Drowning in a frame he’d destroyed in chase of death. 

The first sob was rough, agonising against his rusty vents before another joined it, then another before he was choking into his dirty servos. It hurt his throat, his tanks. He felt positively sick. 

This was never going to end. His arctic crash was it. Fear in the snow, the wind, pure agony as he crashed and then… he woke up to a universe he didn’t belong to. So much older, yet the same. Displaced. Sparkbroken. Scared.

Nobody had come to his aid, so he hid. He turned bitter, as cold as the ice that had entombed him. He turned fearful.

He’d successfully broken himself.

He felt a small touch to his shaking knee, looking down through tears to Ratchet’s rueful gaze, grip steady. He gasped, shaking.

How long had it been since a mech had laid a hand on him in comfort as he cried? He hadn’t really done so in a long time. In his hab, by himself, of course. This though, was a lot to take in. He felt too big, awkward as usual, perched on the berths, choking through the realisation at the devastation he’d brought upon himself.

He was offered a rag eventually and he took it, trembling, exhausted. The wall next to him was sturdy enough to lean on, one leg up to lean against, curling into himself. The other sat listlessly on the floor.

Ratchet had sat in a seat nearby, tinkering with some of his busted landing gear components when he was done, sniffing and shaking.

There wasn’t anywhere he could go lower than this. This was rock bottom. After everything, it had to be. Right?

“D’ya want to talk about it?” the older mech asked, faking disinterest, gazing at the components. Skyfire didn’t look at him, staring straight at the wall ahead, thoughts leaving his intake before he even considered them.

“I’ve been waiting to die.”

It was a sad admission, blunt. The medic sighed.

“And you’re still looking to go ahead with that?”

Skyfire shut his optics. “I don’t know anymore.”

Ratchet tsked. “How aware are you currently that you’re barely functioning?”

The shuttle was silent, optics distant.

“Skyfire?”

“I’m aware,” Skyfire whispered, voice thick. “I’m never going to be able to fix this.”

Ratchet stood, shaking his head. “You’ve been going through the effects of a fractured sparkbond alone for a long time. Your processor is… scrambled right now, but with proper social adjustments and treatment for your spark, you’ll start feeling a lot better.”

Skyfire continued to stare at the wall, silent. Ratchet tried again.

“I have a list of things for you to do, so recovery would be more comfortable for you.”

A datapad was placed on the berth next to him. He ignored it.

Silence.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” the medic asked, concern finally breaking through his impassiveness. “Earth to Skyfire?”

Another klik of silence. Then another, then -

“Where are Thundercracker and Skywarp…?” Skyfire murmured, voice small, faint as he clutched at his cockpit.

“Do you want them?” Ratchet asked, frowning.

Skyfire’s voice hitched, distraught. 

“Please.”

Chapter Text

He couldn’t think.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. 

Everything hurt.

He needed them here. Where were they?

Was this… even appropriate? Was anything, at this point? He had no idea, processor scrambled from distress, ticking and whirling in circles.

Learning he had been passively suicidal for the past five years may have been… a shock.

It was… well. It didn’t feel like it was a particularly welcome shock. It made sense but he still couldn’t quite process it, a salty taste in his intake. Shock. Sadness. Shame.

He was still curled up in the corner on the berths, unable to stop shaking. His wings slanted back in distress, cramping terribly.

It had finally happened. He’d completely lost it. He’d made it five years. Lucky him.

Every decision he made, every action. It had all been his processor trying to lead him off a cliff. The grief, isolation…

Where was his trine?

His - no, not…

His vents hitched, engine trilling a small whine as he shoved his faceplate back into his servos, scattered. He wanted Ratchet out of here! He wanted to be left alone! He wanted his - he wanted Thundercracker and Skywarp. They would help. He’d be okay if they were here. He… 

They were going to hate him. They barely knew him. He was losing it.

For the first time, he was getting it. What Ratchet was talking about; he saw it for himself, reality slipping from him, dissolving into a hazy panic.

It was like Skyfire was disappearing, a ghost in his place, scattered thoughts pushing him out of his own processor. Nothing he was thinking was making sense. It was all gibberish! He had to compose himself!

He’d barely realised Ratchet had left the room, looking up to three figures in the doorway. The last time he’d seen him, Thundercracker’s face was blazingly angry.

Now, it looked apprehensive, optics wide. Skywarp shared a similar expression. Ratchet pushed them forward and gave Skyfire a nod before stepping back outside.

The closing door felt like sealing a lock on a tomb. 

It took Skyfire a klik to realise the position he was in, scrunched heavily into the wall like a frightened bird. Of which, he guessed he was, but he attempted to peel himself away regardless, attempting to defuse himself.

He was trying so hard to keep up the act, processor desperately trying to throw him. 

“Sky?” Thundercracker tried, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”

Skyfire sat there, clutching his cockpit, willing his spark to ask for help, to do anything, but it sat, limp in his chest and he still couldn’t feel them. They were right in front of him! They were right there!

His intake opened and closed, optics hazy as he tried to speak, tried to do anything, vocaliser spitting out static.

He needed them. He needed them, he needed them -

Thundercracker bit the bullet and crossed the room and there - there, there, he could feel his EM field and it was so soft and warm and Skyfire relaxed, wings falling.

And then Thundercracker had vaulted himself onto the berth and Skyfire was suddenly in his arms, small helm nuzzling all the way up his sensitive jaw.

And with that, the fog cleared.

It was only a klik before he was sobbing again, desperate, keening as Skywarp joined them, curling up in his lap. Skyfire couldn’t help but pull them in close, bask in their fields, flight frame on flight frame. It was calming, it was something, the only thing that could pull him back to the present.

The kisses up his jaw were butterfly soft as he leant into them, deft servos wiping away his tears as he cried his optics out.

“You’re okay, you’re alright,” Thundercracker soothed into his audial. Skyfire shrunk into himself with a whimper, squeezing his optics shut as he lost it.

He didn’t know what this was anymore. He didn’t know who he was anymore. But this felt so good, after millions of years. This felt so wonderful, so right.

Skyfire didn’t know if he cared anymore. He needed this. More than anything, to keep him sane. Alive. To ground him.

“I’m not well,” he whispered, choking as he tried to breathe. Skywarp nestled into his cockpit. “You… knew, right?”

“We know,” Thundercracker replied. “It’s all we’ve been feeling for a long time.”

Skyfire bit back another sob. “I- I’m sorry. I-“

“It’s not your fault,” Skywarp mumbled. “The grounder said you were upset.”

“Which is fine,” Thundercracker murmured. “You do whatever you need to do.”

Skyfire vented, warm air cascading off the two seekers. “He said I’m like talking to a brick wall.”

Skywarp laughed. “Afthole way to say it, but I guess he’s got a point. You zone out a lot.”

“I didn’t even realise I was doing that,” Skyfire whimpered. “I - he was telling me all these things a-and it just hit me. The things I've been doing to myself, Primus-“

He tried to catch his vents before he let out a wail, losing himself, curling inward, optics squeezed shut, shaking.

“I- I’ve just wanted to die,” the shuttle cried, shame dousing his field. “I’ve been torturing myself for years a-and it’s paid off and everything hurts.”

The word was almost hard to push out and he continued to break down, wrestling with himself. “I’m sick of hurting myself! I didn’t break the bond! Why do I have to suffer! Why do e-either of you?”

Thundercracker was saying something that only fell on deaf audials as he sobbed, voice tight with grief, loss, sparkache.

“I hate myself a-and I’m so sick of being alone,” he whimpered, helm thunking onto the wall next to him. “I don’t know who I’m supposed to be. My conjunx is gone. The a-academy is gone. Everything I ever wanted was blown to smithereens on a planet I haven’t been to i-in four million fucking years.”

Another whine ripped from his throat, broken as he leant on the wall, with two seekers steadily in his arms and just cried.

Thundercracker nestled into his neck cables, warm and comforting as he vented calmly. Skywarp remained a healthy weight in his lap, running his claws over the overworked hydraulics cables in his knee joint.

Every time Skyfire thought he was finished, he’d burst into tears again. Wave after wave hit him, dragged him under, thrashed him against the rocks before it finally let him go.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he croaked eventually into the silence, exhaustion weighing down his struts, optics shut tight. “I didn’t mean for you to get involved a-and you shouldn’t be seeing me like this. I’m so sorry.”

He slumped further back into the corner, frame desperately drinking up all the contact it could. It was almost exhilarating, all engines and wings, hitting an instinctual sweet spot in his flighty processor. Primus knew he didn’t deserve it, but he needed it so badly. He wished he could just let himself relax.

“What even are we?” He murmured, drifting, voice torn. The EM fields fluctuated. A pair of servos came to rest on either side of his jaw.

Opening his eyes to Thundercracker was a sight to behold. He was so beautiful in the dim lights of the bay, wings tilted as he perched in Skyfire’s arms. He could distantly see aqua optics reflected in deep scarlet.

It reminded him of Starscream.

“We don’t have to be anything you don’t want us to be,” Thundercracker replied quietly. Skyfire looked away. “But I need to make this clear. Are you going to listen?”

He nodded. Thundercracker continued.

“We have been aware of you a lot longer than you have been aware of us. You patched a hole we’d all been feeling. Your presence has become part of our norm,” the seeker murmured. “This… feels quick for you, but for us, you have been here for millennia.”

Skywarp shifted a little in his lap, arms looped around the shuttle’s midsection, silent. Thundercracker took a deep vent.

“You feeling good - feeling safe and happy, makes us feel more complete in turn. Why not chase that?”

Skyfire bit his lip. “I’m not some project.”

The blue seeker shook his helm. “And yet, you are hurting. Let us help fix what our trineleader broke. It doesn’t just affect you. It affects all of us. Working together is the only way out of this.”

Silence. Skyfire swallowed thickly.

“I don’t know if I’m even worth the time,” he whispered, vocaliser crackling. “I’m never going to get back to normal. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t fix it.”

“Normality doesn’t exist on this Primus-forsaken planet. Even if you aren’t trine, winged mech should be sticking together. If you’re struggling, we can help.”

Skyfire felt like he was sinking, emotion stirring in his tanks, fighting for a chance to speak, before it came out in a shameful rush.

“You… you don’t understand. I can’t get close to you both. If you leave -“ he choked, chest heaving. “I’m not going to survive it all again. I can’t do that to you. I can’t do that to myself. I - I’ve tried to ignore it, but Ratchet was right. I let myself malfunction in an attempt to flee what he did to me. I can’t - I - going through it again… it’ll kill me.”

Skywarp was muffled, vocaliser speaking pressed directly into Skyfire’s midsection. “So you’re just gonna try and run anyway? When we’re right here?”

Coolant bubbled and spilled yet again as he took a heaving vent, then another as he tried to calm himself. He was breaking apart regardless, every single terrible thing that had happened since he woke up from the ice coming back to bite him, swirling amidst elevated pain and lack of recharge. He had lost it. He’d gone insane. None of this was real.

Words no longer came. Skyfire whimpered, humiliation, fear swirling in his tanks.

I don’t want to be alone anymore.

Thundercracker tilted his helm until he was optic to optic, large, teary cyan lenses looking into warm scarlet.

The seeker pulled him close, kissing him on the nose before softly clunking their forehelms together. Skyfire sniffed, attempting to calm himself.

“We think you’re worth it,” Thundercracker murmured. “We can figure this out together. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

A fresh batch of silent tears poured down his faceplate. The seeker leaned back to wipe them, guilt written across his face.

“I think… you’ve been hurting yourself. You think you deserve it. I’m sorry for getting so upset at you. You just… you don’t deserve the treatment you’ve been giving yourself. None of this was your fault.”

Skyfire looked away, shutting his optics, conflicted. Thundercracker continued.

“Destroying any opportunity to feel good, punishing yourself at every turn. Pushing your frame past it’s limits. We can feel what you’re doing and you need to stop, Sky. Please. You don’t have to do this to yourself anymore.”

How?

Self sabotaging had become second nature to him. Looking back, every large decision was just that. A whirlpool of grief and self hatred. He had no idea what he deserved. No idea who he even was.

“I don’t know what I deserve anymore,” he eventually whispered, helm lowering in shame. Thundercracker rest his chin on his head, claws splaying across the sensitive base of his spinal strut.

“Well, I think you deserve some proper medical attention first,” Thundercracker grinned wryly. “And then you have us to help you.”

Help him with what? Skyfire hummed in slight confusion, exhausted. He actually heard Skywarp laugh.

“You need a good preen and a detailing session,” Thundercracker responded, claws trailing up his neck cabling. “Your wings have been putting you in pain for ages. It’s going to take a while to get them back into top shape, but it will help you feel so much better.”

Skyfire’s optics shot open, face heating. Thundercracker looked at him mischievously. “I - you don’t have to, I -“

“We would like to, if it’s okay with you.”

He continued to redden, bashful. “I - I don’t know -”

“Ratchet has already asked us.”

Skyfire’s optics widened. “He asked you to preen me?”

The seeker nodded. “Well, I was determined to long before he asked, but yeah. Your wing pain that wasn’t caused by Soundwave has mostly come down to negligence. He said your cables were the worst he’d ever seen.”

Skywarp let out a low cackle. “Practically begged us to do it.”

Skyfire frowned, confused, hesitant. “If he wanted it fixed so bad, why didn’t he just do maintenance himself?”

The seekers went quiet, Thundercracker looking at him curiously before he spoke slowly, like he was speaking to a sparkling.

“It… preening - you’re aware it’s a cultural thing, right? Aren’t you? You have to be.”

Skyfire was quiet, flustered before he responded with a quiet, “It’s not like that for shuttles. They don’t usually give me an option.”

The room went dead silent. Skyfire cringed, about to change the subject.

“You guys just didn’t preen each other? Isn’t that what flocks are for?” Skywarp asked incredulously, sitting up straight. The shuttle swallowed, unsure how to proceed, processor working a mile a minute.

“Flocks didn’t exist for shuttles during the Golden Age,” Skyfire murmured distantly. “I belonged to a freighting company from only a few hundred vorns old. Preening was just routine maintenance.”

Skywarp was horrified. “Done by grounders? Did it hurt?”

Skyfire could only nod before clamming up, feeling unexplainably sick.

It was one of the many reasons he hadn’t even tried to seek that particular type of care out himself. The memories of millions of years of grounders performing maintenance on him all over the Cybertronian freighting routes made Skyfire spiral. Flier wings were extremely sensitive, filled to the brim with thousands of different sensors, fine tuned for the tiniest of changes in the space around them. For many flight mech, wings were so overloaded with constant sensory information they were classed as erogenous zones, important for flight, for mental wellbeing, for relationships. They were everything.

And for two million years of his life, Skyfire’s wings were owned by someone else. Memories of dull servos, yanking at his ailerons, his sensitive flap wires, his slats. Of crews of mech, carelessly slamming his wings into hangar walls, ‘forgetting’ to disable manual wing locks so he was unable to tuck them in comfortingly during recharge. Of… of…

He… didn’t know. He was only a youngling when he started. Maturing in the freighting environment was frightening. He was unable to afford information on his species. Unable to afford going to a private medic. He knew nothing about himself, or his frame or why it felt like he was dying inside. The shuttles on the routes around him were old, and listless and silent. Many were injured, breaking down, with a lack of any sort of maintenance. Many displayed symptoms of bond severances, unfixable and fatal, unable to escape and find their pods, their conjunxes. 

It was an awful way to live. To survive.

Maturing sensitized his wings to the point he purged all through his internals during a particularly brutal maintenance session. They’d been carelessly tweaking his aileron cords for almost an hour, leaving them stripped raw. Never once had his wings been subject to any sort of pleasure from… maintenance. It felt wrong, and painful and sick.

And for a second there, Skyfire had really thought Ratchet would go down the same path. Pull out his pliers and just shred through his spoilers.

To have him… hand him over to other flight mech for that instead was… kind. Thoughtful.

Embarrassing, too, of course, but the seekers seemed somewhat receptive…

He was surprised. Genuinely grateful.

“Starscream looked after you though,” Thundercracker cut in quietly. Skyfire nodded, a longing smile ghosting his lips at a distant memory.

Starscream did. After millions of years of pain and confusion, Starscream sat him down and just… talked. Helped him to understand he… was allowed to feel good.

“He was the first mech that cared,” he murmured. “No rough tools, no rush job. I hadn’t had maintenance since well before I’d joined the academy. My wings were - they weren’t this bad, but they ached and… it wasn’t ideal.”

“He fixed them up?” Skywarp asked. He nodded.

“I’d… I can’t describe it. I’d never felt that way in my life. Like… I was worth the time,” he murmured, embarrassed. “But he always went out of his way to make sure I was looked after, even if I didn’t understand what he meant by it. Really. He… meant everything to me.”

Skywarp scoffed. “Couldn't be more different than the bastard right now.”

Skyfire’s helm sunk low, openly devastated. 

“Ratchet had already spoken to us about his… prognosis,” Thundercracker said softly. “He wants you both for a full inspection in the coming days.”

Skyfire swallowed. “Have you seen him?” 

“Starscream? No. They took him from us before we had a chance to even enter the Arc,” Thundercracker replied. “We were given bond blocking chips to stave off any pain either of you were suffering. It has been relieving, but unnerving.”

The shuttle blinked, looking at him. “That's why I haven’t felt anything? I- I thought I’d finally lost it.”

Thundercracker actually laughed. “I thought Ratchet had told you. No, I assure you, it’s a chip on your neck cabling. It’s stabilized us all for the time being. Don’t want some sort of instant domino effect if things went south.”

That made sense. Skyfire winced, watching as Thundercracker’s optics narrowed into the dimness of the room.

It was pretty obvious he was getting comm messages. Skyfire’s wings hunched.

“Alright,” Thundercracker sighed, slipping away, out of the shuttle’s arms and back onto the floor. “We have to get out of here. Doctor’s orders. He wants you in recharge.”

Skyfire felt like screaming, for once grateful the bonds were silent. His current feelings were too… insane to explain. It was probably best left under wraps.

He really didn’t want them to go. He slumped a little as Skywarp pulled off him, pretty black wings glistening in the low light. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t.

Thundercracker must have seen the devastated expression covering his faceplate, face falling.

“We’ll be back as soon as we’re allowed,” he told him. “You should get some rest.”

“Thankyou,” Skyfire mumbled, giving them a half hearted wave as they closed the door, sparkchamber eerily empty. Silent.

And he was alone once again.

Chapter Text

“You brush em against something by accident and it feels kinda good, right?” Starscream asked, frowning. “Like - like all those stuffed things in your berth. The pressure’s calming or whatever.”

It was a warm afternoon in Iacon, sun streaming through the windows of Skyfire’s apartment. Datapads scattered the floor, the table, the chairs, a welcome sign in the face of exam season.

Skyfire stared at him from his spot on the floor, confusion reigning. “I - no, I - can we change the subject?”

Starscream crossed his arms, pursing his lips. “I’d seriously prefer we didn’t. You literally just told me you’ve never once felt good with anything touching your wings. That’s weird.”

The shuttle’s pauldrons hunched. “I don’t think it’s that big a deal.”

Starscream rocked forward, pedes barely touching the floor from Skyfire’s oversized couch. “I do! You’ve been complaining about wing pain for as long as I’ve known you. How do you even preen?”

Skyfire’s brows knitted together. “I don’t.”

Silence.

Maybe… that was the wrong thing to say. The apartment was quiet, the seeker looking horrified. “You… you’ve never been preened?”

The shuttle dipped his helm, embarrassed. “No, I - I had maintenance scheduled every thousand vorns, which was good because it hurt so badly I had to request PTO to recover.”

“Extend ‘em.”

Skyfire jumped as Starscream vaulted from the couch. “What?”

The seeker sauntered over, gesturing at him. “Wings. Out please. I want to look.”

“I…” Skyfire tried, face reddening, considering, before he extended his left wing. His primary hinge creaked a little and he winced.

Starcream stood there for a little while, inspecting, staring at the great length of it. They weren’t fairing great today. He was battling oversensitivity, as he often was these days. Starscream’s vents, from metres away, were making some of his sensors tingle.

He flinched as the seeker got closer, the other whirling around to make eye contact.

“I,” he started, optics curious as he pointed at the flat expanse. “Am going to touch this. You can move. You can say no.”

They stared at each other for a couple kliks, Skyfire’s optics wide. 

Starscream bought his palm down, slipping along the top of his smooth wing. Skyfire was unable to stop the full body shudder that assaulted him, yet he still sat, watching with wide optics. It didn’t feel good at all. He felt… nauseous.

“Does that hurt?” Starscream asked neutrally. Skyfire swallowed thickly.

“It… doesn’t feel good. I don’t… like it.” He croaked. Starscream pulled back.

“You want me to stop?”

The circle Starscream was rubbing into his plating was almost hypnotising. He felt so awfully nervous, uncertain all of a sudden. Why was he…?

Click.

The weirdest sensation hit him as a section of displaced plating clicked back into place, warm and steady. He shivered, optics widening. Starscream kept a lens on him, continuing to push gentle circles into the wing.

“What are you doing?” Skyfire asked, dazed. Starscream tilted his helm.

“Preening is… it’s none of this maintenance slag you were talking about, like youre some fragging drone. Seekers use it to upkeep, sure, but it’s also about feeling good. Relaxed and all. Are you okay?”

Skyfire felt hazy. “I don’t know what I’m feeling.”

The seeker frowned. “Is it good?”

Skyfire considered for a moment. The feeling was foreign, warmth pooling from the spot in his wing. His overstimulation had quietened. How was this even possible?

“I think so,” he whispered. He felt like he was sinking, optics closing, briefly catching a flash of Starscream’s grin.

“Perfect. I’m going to switch places, just be rea -“

Skyfire let out a cry as servos touched his left aileron, optics shooting back open in surprise. Starscream had his servos up by the time he looked at him.

“I- I don’t know if I-“

“This caused you pain, back then?”

He was red again. “Yes but it’s stupid sensitive and I… I…” Skyfire slumped a little. “Is this… normal?”

Starscream frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Am I weird?”

Starscream actually laughed and he immediately felt like an idiot. “For feeling good? Being nervous? I think you’re the bravest mech I know. Just because shuttles have abandoned anything fun doesn’t mean you can’t be that difference. I mean, you know that. You’re the only shuttle at this stupid academy. You’ve worked hard. So why not figure out what feels good?”

He… he was right. Starscream was always right, one way or another. Skyfire looked at him, drinking the seeker in before he let out a small smile.

“I’ve never actually felt like that on there before. The grounders were always rough. Sometimes they would walk on them. They hated me in root form, so. I had to take it.”

Without a beat, Starscream smiled brilliantly. “Names and comm codes. I’ll kill them for you.”

Skyfire laughed, relaxing. Starscream grinned.

“Fine. Go ahead.”

The seeker’s optics widened. “With killing them?”

Skyfire rolled his eyes bashfully. “No you idiot! You want my aileron, you… can have it. Just be careful?”

Starscream smirked, unsheathing his claws. “Anything for you, my liege.”

-

The next few days leading up to Ratchet’s spark examination were spent mostly in recharge.

Skyfire didn’t mean to be so dead to the world but exhaustion had finally claimed him. It had been weeks of weird sleep patterns and gross wake up calls. Younger him would have taken it by the horns, spending months on end without a single klik of shuteye.

But he was not young anymore, even if he didn’t feel it mentally. At all, really. Old age seemed to be getting to him. Making him fragile.

In hindsight, he guessed his… current mental condition may have also contributed. Most of his sleeping patterns were irregular now, nightmares and paranoia leaving him staring into the darkness for hours on end. This wasn’t even mentioning his spark flare ups, leaving him gasping in pain, aftershocks hitting until sunrise.

Ratchet must have sensed this, because he came in to insert recharge fluid into his IV every night. In all reality, Skyfire was so exhausted he probably didn’t need it, but it seemed to help take the edge off his nightmares, leaving the dreams grainy and vague.

The berths were uncomfortable, but somewhat of the right size, three all pressed together. They were up against the wall, leaving him to recharge on his side instead of his front, wings hovering precariously behind him. Normally he’d be wide awake in such a position, but right now…

He was just so tired.

“It’s your self repair,” Ratchet told him at one point, feeding him energon. “Your nanites in particular. You’re going to feel tired for a bit.”

Skyfire had just nodded silently, helm tilting and optics half lidded before Ratchet had connected up his IV line and let him return to recharge.

It was the day before the examination when Ratchet burst in without warning with the seekers in tow.

The shuttle groaned as the overhead lights flickered on, helm aching at the strain. He hadn’t seen the seekers since he’d requested them the other night after his…

After his stupid tantrum. He’d never been more mortified in his life.

“Up, Skyfire. I need to give you all the rundown for tomorrow’s procedure.”

Skyfire creakily got up, optics widening as Ratchet went straight for his neck cabling, disconnecting the IV.

“Hold this here,” he instructed, holding a rag to Skyfire’s neck. Skyfire obliged, wincing at the slight sting of his cables.

“Hey,” Skywarp grinned, hoisting himself up onto the berth. Skyfire gave him an exhausted smile despite himself. “How are you doing? We were wondering why we haven’t had any distress calls.”

Skyfire went red, wings shifting in embarrassment as Skywarp smirked. “I’m joking. We tried to come by a few times and you were snoozing each time.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. Skywarp elbowed him, rolling his optics.

“Don’t. You needed the recharge. You were exhausted.”

Skyfire’s optics trailed from Skywarp to the other mech in the room. Thundercracker and Ratchet spoke in hushed tones, the seeker looking just as exhausted as Skyfire felt. They turned, Thundercracker leaving to sit in the chair at the foot of the berth.

“Alright,” Ratchet began. “Tomorrow’s spark examination. Any urgent questions before I begin?”

The room was quiet. Skyfire shook his head. Ratchet nodded.

“This examination will be performed with both Skyfire and Starscream on the tables. Scans aren’t enough information for this case. I will need both of your spark chambers bared so that I can figure out exactly what and where we need to begin repair. To see… what’s salvageable.”

Skyfire swallowed nervously. Thundercracker looked sick. Skywarp placed his servo reassuringly on the shuttle’s knee.

“I have already spoken to all of you privately about Starscream’s current status,” Ratchet relayed curtly. “His scans are… not optimal. I need to take a closer look at your spark bonds; physically see where they are at, what damage they’ve suffered.”

Ratchet took a deep breath. Thundercracker looked to the ground, unreadable.

“Starscream is… unlikely to survive this stage of spark rot without processor death. I have already examined him physically. He was likely in a fight before he went to his trine for help.”

It was like it really hit him this time. Skyfire felt sick.

“How are we supposed to survive if he dies?” Thundercracker spoke up, sounding awfully small. “Sky is bad enough, but me and Warp have trinebonds to consider.”

Ratchet pursed his lips. “I want to be clear. This will not be easy, either way. If everything goes to plan during this spark examination, I will be looking to surgically remove - close your bonds with your permission. It will be painful. As flight frames, you know it will take a toll. It is for you to decide on how you deal with that damage.”

“That’s the only way?” Skywarp asked, frowning. Ratchet nodded.

“Either I close off your bonds in an environment where you can be monitored safely, or you… can go down with the ship. I assure you, his death on your bonds will feel a hell of a lot worse than the option I am essentially gifting you. You have to be smart here.”

“The psuedobonds won’t exist without Starscream holding them in place,” Skyfire murmured. All optics in the room turned to him.

Ratchet shook his helm. “They will cease to be as soon as Skyfire has been separated safely. It is probably a blessing. I understand these bonds weren’t consensual.”

Skyfire shook his head, nausea pooling in his tanks. Thundercracker was staring at him, expression unreadable.

“Starscream has made his decisions. Any damage to a spark can only be undone by the mech themselves who did it. Starscream is unlikely to be able to fix this. I won’t be able to fix it completely without him. All I can do is lessen the impact. Tie up loose ends.”

The room was practically silent. The medic straightened, vocaliser gruff. “Any questions?”

Skyfire numbly shook his head. Skywarp seemed shaken. Thundercracker didn’t respond.

“Great,” Ratchet replied, bringing his servos together. “Skyfire, no energon after eight tonight. We start at seven tomorrow. Skywarp, Thundercracker, you need to be present. My nurse will be monitoring your scans during the procedure.”

Skywarp nodded. Thundercracker pursed his lips.

Skyfire remained silent.

-

Skyfire barely recharged that night. The IV fluid had been taken, cold turkey. He felt sick.

At first he dreamed of Starscream.

He wasn’t sure if it was a nightmare, but he nearly fell out of berth as he woke up, spark pounding, lightheaded.

He didn’t want to think about Starscream right now. Couldn’t bear it.

He couldn’t. Couldnt…

Starscream was going to die.

He curled up in berth, servos over his audials. He could hear his own energon rushing around his helm.

Starscream was going to die and Ratchet was going to cut them apart, piece by gangrenous piece.

No.

This was a nightmare. This was a complete nightmare.

He had to let him go. Had to. He’d destroyed everything. Had hurt Skyfire on purpose. Tried to kill him. Multiple times.

He wasn’t the same mech he’d bonded with all those years ago. Something had happened to him, corrupted his spark, his mind. Turned him into a rabid, snarling beast who knew nothing but the manic glee of war.

Starscream was killing him. Actively killing him. And his stupid processor just kept on -

He wanted him. Wanted him still.

Longed for him.

Missed him.

He wanted to scream at himself. Yell and curse and cry.

Starscream was going to die. Soon, they’d be seperated, sparks bared ruthlessly for all to see. Their bond, once so treasured, so sacred, out in the open as a rotten specimen. It was… sacrilegious. And he would die.

And as soon as the right cords were cut, Skywarp and Thundercracker would be gone too. Three in one. Alone again. They had probably lied about wanting to stick around. If not, they’d come to their senses soon.

He curled up further, wings trembling from distress, optics a cold blue in the dark.

Recharge did not come back to claim him.

-

The examination room was uncomfortably cool as Skyfire was set on the berth.

It had been a long, awful night. He felt sluggish, more exhausted than usual.

Coincidentally, Ratchet’s nurse, a rather flamboyant, sleek grounder named Knockout, was the Ark’s only other Decepticon defector during the war. He had defected a little while after Skyfire had arrived, quiet and nervous in the corridors.

He’d found a community, evidently. The sports car seemed to glow now, quite literally. He was chatty and snarky, and Skyfire had seen him in the mess hall, surrounded by eager Autobot onlookers.

He wanted to feel happy for him. Admire the way he’d come out of his shell. Looked so much better, physically and mentally since defecting.

Skyfire just… couldn’t share the sentiment. Defecting had been so different for him, as a flight frame. Admiring looks and awed glances turned into simpering stares, bitter scowls as he entered the room.

In hindsight, something lonely in him wished he hadn’t given up so quickly. The more realistic side… 

Well. Some things were just for the best, he supposed.

Knockout was mostly professional as he concentrated on a datapad, measuring fluids into an IV socket.

Skyfire watched him, trying to remain casual as the smaller medic hooked the IV up onto a stand, coming closer with a line.

Skyfire knew the color of that medication. He swallowed nervously. Just another reason he refused to see Ratchet.

Sedatives in a medical environment… freaked him the fuck out. Still.

“A light sedative,” Knockout drawled, reaching forward to fumble with the shuttle’s neck line. “For the pain. You will probably doze off through this. It has that sort of effect.”

Skyfire simply nodded, gripping the berth as the line slipped in, a cool sensation making itself known.

Knockout gave him a pat on the cockpit, disappearing. Skyfire stared up at the ceiling, uncomfortable lying on his pack. He gripped his cockpit, feeling his spark churn in it’s chamber. 

He felt frightened.

He didn’t want to feel scared at such a little procedure, but the environment, the tiles, the smell… it had him on edge. His wings were shaking.

He heard Knockout talking, moving his helm to watch the seekers in the doorway. He vented deeply before staring back up at the ceiling, at bright, white light.

Not being able to feel them… it had his feathers ruffled, spark uncertain. They looked… dejected, as exhausted as he felt. He wanted to help, at least understand a little what they were feeling. He needed… to…

The sedative seemed to flood his systems all at once, visual feed blurring, staticky. He felt like he was dreaming, everything dissolving together. His sensory systems seemed to have gone offline and his…

His…

What if I hurt myself again? 

He blinked, trying to keep himself awake, aware, but this was strong, pulling him under. He might have been saying something… making some sort of sound, some sort of… some…

And he was out.

-

Starscream was talking to him. Skyfire whipped around, intake open in an automatic apology.

“You keep slipping away. What’s wrong?” the seeker asked, concerned. “You seem out of it today.”

Skyfire blinked before he stared down at his servos, grainy and odd looking. He vented quietly, looking upward.

Starscream really was the most beautiful student at the academy. He was perched in front of him on his apartment roof, staring down at the city as they worked through assignments. The setting sun hit his vents, flashing a red glow across Skyfire’s white plating.

The shuttle stared, nausea flushing through his tanks.

“You’re not real.”

Starscream actually laughed at that, turning away to look downwards. He missed the curve of his cheek plate, his strong nose.

But he wasn’t real. This wasn’t real. This was a dream. A memory. That he just wasn’t falling for right now.

“You caught me,” Starscream murmured eventually, voice almost sing-songy. “But what are you? Are you real?”

Skyfire swallowed, drinking in Starscream’s blank, factionless wings. “I don’t know.”

“They’re doing things to us out there.”

Skyfire froze, gaze dragging back to the seeker’s cyan optics. He had a rueful smile on his face.

“You’re a figment of my imagination,” Skyfire croaked, as he always did. A failsafe.

“They’re opening you up and treating you like a sideshow,” Starscream hissed, vocaliser fritzing into something deeper… something…

“Why can’t you just be a good memory?” Skyfire asked, turning away, moving to leave. A servo grabbed him by the arm, pulling him back.

“You’re always going to be scared of me,” Starscream growled, vocaliser truly descending into the scratchy, squeaky mess it had become. Skyfire stared back at two blazing crimson optics and went almost limp in his hold.

“Why did you do this to us?” he whispered, faintly feeling something painful lurch from his spark. Starscream grinned, then faltered, then let him go.

Skyfire turned to watch him. “You were always so smart. Smarter than me. I don’t understand how you did this to us and let it get this bad. Did you… did you want to torture us both?”

Starscream was silent. Skyfire felt anger flare up inside him.

“You had everything! Second in command, a trine! You had me! There has to be something I’m missing. You wanted me gone that badly? So - so you could pretend you were some big bad air commander? Is that it?”

The shot Starscream aimed at him arced wide. Skyfire barely flinched, jaw clenched.

“You,” Starscream hissed. “Have no idea what the frag you’re talking about because you were having a little dirt nap!”

“No shit!” Skyfire yelled, towering. “Silly me to have woken up to my conjunx trying to kill me!”

Starscream laughed in his face, optics wild. “Stupid of you to think I’d have a conjunx as dumb as a bag of rocks like you.”

Skyfire let out a snarl before he tackled the seeker, metal on metal. Starscream kept laughing as he evaded punches, rolling before vaulting the shuttle off him.

Skyfire had no chance to even get up before the barrel of a null ray was pressed against his spark.

“You want to die so bad, it’s embarrassing,” Starscream spat. Skyfire shifted, grimacing, vocaliser shaking.

“Get it over with.”

The jet grinned, all teeth. “But you have so much to live for! Aren’t you seeker sharewear now?”

Skyfire felt his spark stop, optics going wide as he faltered. “I- I-“

“So desperate for me you had to go for the next best thing?” Starscream laughed, pinning Skyfire down with his thrusters. “Didn’t take you for a bot after a quick frag.”

Skyfire hissed, humilated. “You know it’s not like that! You knew they could feel me for vorns. They were there when you weren’t.”

Starscream leaned in closer. “Did I give you permission to frag my trinemates? Or does aerial code only matter when it upsets you?”

Skyfire let out a frustrated yell before headbutting the seeker, guiltily delighting in Starscream’s cry of pain. He skittered, moving away across the metal.

“They’re servos deep in our sparks and I know they’re laughing,” Starscream roared, energon pouring out of his nose before he quietened with a whimper of pain, desperate. “You should have just let us fragging die.”

Skyfire sat at the edge of the roof, panting, watching as the seeker collapsed. He’d never felt so tired, so lost.

For a klik, they were silent, the seeker staring listlessly at the ground as the shuttle stared at him. Always at him. Everything was for him.

“Am I missing something?” Skyfire asked, quiet. Starscream refused to look up, shrugging.

“I’m a figment of your imagination,” the seeker rasped, dejected. “Go back to your trinemembers.”

Skyfire shook his head, gritting his dentae. “You’re lying to me.”

Starscream did finally look up, energon still dripping before he hissed at him.

The shuttle sighed, looking away. The sunset hadn’t once moved since he’d woken up here. He felt sick.

“Did you ever love me, or was that all a lie, too?” Skyfire asked distantly.

Starscream was silent, watching him. He continued.

“You were my everything. I never thought I’d be without you until I was and… it hurts. I don’t know if I can recover from it. From what you did. Are you even in there?”

“Your silly frame instincts are going to kill you if you don’t get a grip on yourself,” Starscream replied, empty malice coating his words. “Grow up.”

“I can't get rid of my frame coding,” Skyfire spat back. “Believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve had five years to myself -“

The seeker laughed, an awful, screechy sound. “Five years? Poor you. I’ve been alone for millions.”

“Millions of years with an intact bond. An intact spark!” Skyfire cried, kneeling. “You don’t understand -“

“I understand enough,” Starscream snarled, and there it was. A hint of pain, regret. Skyfire frowned.

“They’re not going to like what they find out there,” Starscream murmured, curling in on himself. “You’re not going to like it either.”

“Not like what? That you're a dead mech walking? Newsflash, Star, these bots hate you,” Skyfire spat. “They’re not going to attempt to save you unless there’s a real good reason. And I - I won’t attempt either.”

Starscream looked up at him then, wings clinking together gently in the breeze. His optics were empty, dead.

“Finally beat that sunk cost coding?” he murmured. Skyfire looked away, chest heaving, painfully honest, raw.

“You’re… you’re just something my processor makes up to punish me for failing you.”

His vocaliser cracked on the last word. He slumped, wings back, silence worming its way into his spark. The streets below were eerily silent, devoid of sound save for the breeze that agitated his ailerons.

The truth hurt. Knowing he’d failed him always did.

“If I was there, would you have gone down the path you took?” Skyfire asked faintly, looking up. Starscream was looking to the stars, to Cybertron's moons. It was all so real, here in his helm.

“Probably. Something would have seized me anyway,” Starscream replied, despondent. “The real question would have been if you followed.”

Skyfire didn’t respond, tank in knots. Starscream let out a huff.

“On that note, I don’t think you… failed me. Things happened for a reason, I suppose.”

That was… surprisingly introspective. Skyfire narrowed his optics, considering. 

“You tried to murder me. What sort of excuse would have led to that?”

Starscream glanced at him disdainfully. “If I wanted you dead, you would be with the Allspark. I don’t miss.”

Skyfire tried to respond once, twice, intake clicking shut as his optics widened.

“You’re in my helm. I don’t-“

“They won’t be happy with what they find. I don’t care anymore.”

“Find what?” Skyfire cried, stumbling to his feet, moving forward. “Why are you so-“

His wrist was grabbed, the seeker rising gracefully to his pedes, optics bright.

“Find what he did,” Starscream hissed, desperate. He looked wrecked, ancient. “To us.”

“I-“ the shuttle cried, choking as his vision filled with black.

And suddenly, Skyfire was gone.

Chapter Text

He woke up to a spark attack.

It hit him in an overwhelming wave as he lay there, aftershock after aftershock. His spark felt raw, painful. Sedatives slipped out of his system slowly, leaving him groggy, breathless.

He was back in the examination room by the time he was able to open his eyes. It was overly cool, another stressor to his overtaxed system. He tried to sit up, bracing as a servo looped around his forearm.

Ratchet pulled him into some sort of sitting position, struts painfully tight. He let out a hiss, helm aching fiercely as he planted his pedes on the floor, trembling.

He opened his intake to say something before he looked up, optics widening, to three pale, expressionless faces.

“What - what happened?” he croaked. Skywarp winced, Thundercracker’s faceplate radiated stress, jaw rigid.

Ratchet let out a vent, clenching his servos before reaching for a datapad.

“Skyfire, the examination itself went off without a hitch. We got all the scans and information we could have possibly needed.”

The datapad was passed to him, a picture of his own spark taking up the screen. It was more… intimate than the scans. The void in the middle seemed darker, deeper. Trinemember ribbons wove around it, keeping it secure, steady. He swallowed looking up. “And?”

Ratchet looked exhausted, strangely unsure as he reached for the pad, faltering on his words before coming to something that made no sense.

“We will be unable to go forward with the separation of your sparks currently. Optimus has already been informed.”

That… made no sense. This was dangerous territory, for both him and the seekers.

Skyfire’s hackles raised, confused. “What do you mean? The Prime has nothing to do with this. He -“

He was stopped, a servo planting itself on his knee.

“Skyfire, I know this will be difficult to process, but… Starscream’s spark was confronting,” Ratchet cut in gently, urgency painting his tone. “He… his spark is… it’s mutilated.”

In an instant, Skyfire felt like the conversation was a million miles away. He swallowed drily, optics distant, wide as Ratchet continued.

“In all my years… I’ve never seen anything quite like it since the Cybertronian War Conventions were released,” he murmured, servos clenching around the datapad. “Spark torture… I’ve never seen anything this bad. It’s not fixable without the culprits input, but it… it still needs to be reported. Meddling with a spark like this is a section five war crime, Skyfire. It’s serious.”

Skywarp looked sick, arms crossed across his cockpit. Skyfire felt like he was in a daze, glossa moving before his processor.

“I don’t understand,” he tried, feeling faint. “He - torture? He broke our bond, any side effects are… on… him…”

He trailed as he was handed back the datapad, optics widening.

The picture was grainy, camera struggling with the pull of energy surrounding the black hole that had once been a spark. It was a singularity, scarred and rippling with tears and holes, centred around a singular, glowing void, a tear in reality, gangrenous.

Starscream’s spark.

Ratchet caught his gaze, jaw tight as he tried to get through to him. “Skyfire, Starscream didn’t break your bond. The evidence is right here. It was something out of his control. I would love to blame him as much as the next mech, but I need to be clear with you about this. Do you understand?”

Skyfire felt himself dissolving, the universe suddenly just him and the datapad. He was shaking, distant, horrified. 

“You’re lying,” he whimpered out, optics glued to the image in front of him. Ratchet grimaced.

“If you need some time, I can leave you to-“

The data pad was smashed against the floor, deafening on the tiles. Skyfire’s optics were bright, unseeing as he stood, helm nearly crashing into the ceiling. The seekers scattered, Ratchet standing his ground.

“You’re lying. This is some trick. He wanted me dead, he - he destroyed the bond-!” he was pulling at his own cockpit, almost panicked. “It ruined me! How couldn’t it have been him?”

Ratchet stared up at him, servos out in a show of peace, expression strained. “Your bond is the main site of the original disturbance. I did every test I could. It wouldn’t react to his CNA. Somebody manually ripped your bond out of his spark. It never healed.”

Skyfire leant in closer, optics wild. “He wouldn’t let that happen. He wanted me gone. He would have done it himself.”

A sound from behind startled him before Thundercracker spoke up, wings flared. “That’s not true-”

He spun, towering, vents wild. Thundercracker cowered, vocaliser crackling.

“He loved you. He never stopped searching for you. He was biding his time before he could come back to Earth, to find you again-“

“He didn’t come back for four million years!” Skyfire bit out, servos clenching. “And when he did, he left me for dead!”

“He wanted you more than he ever wanted any of us!” Thundercracker tried. “Skyfire, please, you’re going to stress your spark -“

He couldn’t get the image out of his head, an empty, excruciating void of a spark, with injuries only servos could create. Blunt servos, ripping, tearing apart their connection. Starscream, in agony. Him asleep, underground, unknowing. He couldn’t. This was all fake, all…

“They’re not going to like what they find out there,” Starscream murmured, curling in on himself. “You’re not going to like it either.”

He let out a pained gasp, looking down to see his servos shaking as he faded in and out, struggling not to purge, to scream, audials winding down to a low whine.

“So who did it?” he hissed, manic, shaking. In his peripheral, Skywarp backed away.

“We - we don’t know, but we can fix this, we just-” Thundercracker tried, optics wide, frantic.

The next few kliks were a hazy, frantic blur.

Skyfire was screaming something, a deft pressure on his palm. Faintly, he could hear shouting, feel coolant running down his face. Feel twinges in his spark, flaring with agony, nothing but pain and rage and grief making itself known. His neck pinged with pain, a section heating before his spark chip fizzled out with a pop.

The pure, heightened fear and pain hit him like a truck, snapping him back to the present. Skywarp and Ratchet were pulling at his arms, his servos. He bought in a rattling, wet gasp, vocaliser shot, optics zeroing in on the struggling figure in his servos.

Thundercracker was crying out in pain, begging. He had been thrust up against the wall by his neck cabling, strangled, pinned between digits.

As Skyfire had… screamed at him, lost, adrift. Enraged.

Oh Primus, no.

The psuedobonds hit Skyfire full force as he choked on a sob, letting the seeker go in shock. Thundercracker fell, hitting the tiles with a clang and a whimper as his battered, bent wings scraped the wall. With the chip broken at his feet, Skyfire could feel the agony coming off them, the betrayal, the confusion.

Skyfire stared at his servos for a moment, horror, self hatred running through his lines, fear, grief. It was all too much.

And so he did what he always did.

He fled.

-

“So where is he?” the gruff voice asked, echoing around Optimus’ quarters. 

Optimus grit his dentae. “He’s on base, being examined.”

He couldn’t see Megatron’s expression on the screen, but he could predict it. Anything to do with Starscream had the mech turn completely irate. Even if the seeker hadn’t done anything to note. Same old, same old.

“Peacetime law states mech from any faction are free to do as they please as long as they stick by that law. If his trine deems he needs treatment here, then he is welcome, by any means,” Optimus continued, before putting down his datapad and staring up at the screen, expression unreadable. “I would love to understand exactly what business Soundwave had shooting and hitting a former Autobot, though.” 

Megatron went quiet, lips flattening into a thin line. Optimus picked up the datapad again, reading lenses slotting onto his nose.

“‘Patient presented with numerous gunshot wounds to the wings, thrusters and tanks, one of which, according to accompanying seekers, drained his tank completely of energon, which nearly resulted in a crash into the Pacific ocean.’”

The look he shot Megatron was icy at best. Megatron swallowed, visual feed crackling.

“He was… authorised to be in that area. It was night. He was likely startled. War nerves.”

Optimus quirked an optic ridge. “What he did was in direct misalignment with peacetime law, whether he’s your third in command or not.”

“Second,” Megatron mumbled. Optimus sighed.

“Well, your second, was aiming to down a shuttle - a civilian shuttle, might I add - with patients inside. Patients that are directly linked to his spark. Downing him wouldn’t have just killed him. It would have been a massacre!”

Megatron was silent, optics downcast. Optimus changed the topic, turning to fully face him again.

“How long have you known Starscream was bonded?”

The former warlord went rigid. “He was assigned his trine early on in the war. It forced them to bond soon after.”

Optimus shook his head. “No, bonded, bonded. With his conjunx, Skyfire of Altihex. How long have you known?”

There was silence over the airwaves. Optimus looked up to a conflicted mech.

“How long?” he pressed. Megatron huffed.

“Personally, I have known for as long as I’ve known him.”

“Which is?”

Megatron growled. “A very long time, Prime.”

“But you didn’t quite realise it was him until he was unearthed?”

The silver mech nodded. Optimus bit his lip below his mask.

“I don’t understand what would have caused the damage Ratchet is reporting back to me. It’s unheard of without cause. A gangrenous spark?”

Megatron sniffed. “It’s none of my concern. My ex-second wanted me dead. The sooner he’s snuffed himself out, the better.”

Wrong answer.

Optimus crossed his arms. “If he dies, he’s taking three others with him. Not just your elite trine, but our only adequate shuttle. I know you care more about this than you're letting on. This will be an issue if it isn’t resolved.”

Megatron went quiet, optics flitting across the Prime’s faceplate. Optimus’s plating prickled at the silence.

“You could at least respo-“

“How is he doing?”

Optimus startled. “Starscream?”

He nodded. Optimus sighed. “Him and his ex-conjunx are being examined right now.”

The ex warlord nodded, expressionless. “And his examination records, they’ll be accessible?”

“Megatron -“

“Orion,” he replied simply, optics blazing. Optimus’ intake snapped shut.

He was being so difficult today. Annoying. Brazen, with the usage of that name.

That’s it.

“I’ve been respectful throughout this conversation, Megatron, and it seems you’re simply not in the mood,” he snapped back, shutting his optics. “Perhaps it would be best to reconvene at a later date.”

The Decepticon hissed. “An in person meeting is needed, Optimus. And soon. It’s been too long since our previous meeting.”

Since their… previous… meeting.

“Right,” he sighed.

“I’m serious,” Megatron replied, a curious hint of anxiety in his voice. “You will need my guidance on the matter. If I request an audience, it is of the utmost importa-“

Primus, save me.

“Whatever sort of bot you think I am now, what happened last time is not happening again,” he hissed. Megatron froze, cheeks pink. “We’re leaders. We have to act like it.”

“That’s - I’m not trying to get at that -“

“Good. Send in your availabilities and we’ll schedule an in person meeting, then.”

“I… right,” he responded, mullified. “We’ll speak again soon.”

Optimus struggled not to roll his optics. “Yes, Megatron. I’ll talk to you soon.”

His servo moved to end the call, stalling as the other mech let out a, “Wait!”

He raised an optic ridge, the silver mech seeming to shrink inward. “Don’t - be careful. With Starscream. Really careful.”

Right.

Optimus simply nodded, ending the call, helm falling into his propped up servos, exhausted. The presence of the Decepticon leader felt suffocating. Sometimes he wondered if it would have been easier just to continue fighting.

He’d betrayed Optimus a long, long time ago. Their sentimentality was killing them. Overshadowed the importance of their current roles, whether they liked it or not. Made them selfish.

Pull yourself together.

He let out a long vent, intake shuttering at a knock on the door. He sluggishly moved to answer it.

Knockout stood before him, an armful of datapads in his grip. He seemed anxious, skittish. The Prime frowned, towering over him. “Knockout. You have the results of the examination -“

“Your Primeliness,” Knockout replied, breathless. “You’re going to want to see this.”

Optimus stilled, dread building amongst the matrix before waving him in.

Megatron could wait.

Chapter Text

Skyfire rocketed into the sky.

He was shaking, unable to get away from the potent fear/betrayal running one sided through the psuedobonds. The midday sun was a welcome warmth as he transformed and fled.

For the first time since the war ended, he engaged his hyperdrive. It spat and spun just behind his tanks, whirring to life before a sonic boom rippled the sky behind him. He was out of the Earth’s atmosphere in a flash, overheating as his vents grew even more rapid, ragged. His welds burned against the temperatures, injuries singing in agony as he soared up and away.

He needed to leave. To run. His universe had been flipped upside down again, leaving him stranded, bewildered, devastated. He couldn’t even recognise himself anymore. He was a bad mech, bitter and mean. A mech who hurt others.

Who hurt mech just trying to help

He hadn’t meant to, he swore he hadn’t meant to! He was a pacifist to the bone, anxious and avoidant of conflict, had been all his life. He’d never felt… so outraged, so manically angry. He’d never lost himself like that. Didn’t even know he could.

Skyfire was suddenly paranoid, unable to trust himself.

His crash landing on the Earth’s moon wasn’t on purpose. In all reality, he wanted to keep flying for several thousand galaxies, never looking back, but the lasting sedative along with his injuries and empty tanks slowed him down. Travelling at the speed of light was difficult in top form. Travelling at the speed of light in this state was complete madness.

He realised too late his landing components were out for repair, hitting the moon with force. Powdery rock crumbled under his weight as he slid, tipping into a small crater. It stopped his slide, cradling him as he reverted to root mode, gasping and sobbing as he fell and curled onto his side.

Starscream hadn’t done it.

He sat up in pain, servos grasped behind his helm as he let out a scream. His overworked vents choked on dust, servos scrabbling in the dirt as he curled into an upright position, hyperventilating.

It felt like everything was hitting him all over again, loss and grief and agony. 

He’d tried to accept reality. He’d tried to detach himself from caring about Starscream’s wellbeing. Every little issue eventually was blamed on him. On the way he had hurt him, fracturing their bond, leaving it to rot.

But he hadn’t.

It was like he was stuck in a nightmare as he curled, servos over his face, and just screamed into the vacuum of space.

Somebody had ripped their bond out of Starscream’s spark, strand by strand. It had left a gaping hole, the seeker too frightened, too damaged, to try and find someone, anyone, to repair it. Whatever the reason, someone had hurt him, destroyed him, in the most evil way possible.

While he slept below the ice, Starscream kept looking for him. Kept holding out. Kept searching. He’d held onto the bond like it was something precious, sacred. Until somebody mutilated his spark. Stole his agency. Tortured him with its removal during the war.

Anything to do with injuring or manipulating sparks was a war crime. The injuries he’d sustained… it made sense to be reported. The damage was horrific. Why had he stayed silent? Why didn’t he cry out for help?

Starscream’s downward spiral begrudgingly made sense. Skyfire had only lived through five years of bond breakage. Starscream had been dealing with it for millennia, on top of keeping the initial assault itself a secret. He’d gone well and truly insane.

It felt terrible to admit Skyfire just… wanted him back.

He was sick of grieving him, sick of missing him. Even with their bond rotting their sparks, he needed him like humans needed oxygen. It was unfair. He’d scapegoated him to survive, to hate him more than ever. It was all a lie.

Everything had been a lie.

He’d hurt Thundercracker too, processor reeling with fear and shame. Fear at himself, mostly. He’d never put his servos on another mech before, let alone one he cared about. Thundercracker had been nothing but kind and understanding. He comforted Skyfire despite feeling frightened of the future of his trine. He treated him like a friend. Like a real mech.

And Skyfire had attacked him in a blind, panicked rage.

Attacked him to hurt him. Screamed at him, when he’d done nothing but try to help calm him. The seeker had been pleading for him to let him go, wings damaged. Skyfire was a monster. 

He just wanted to die.

Everything he did now, it was all corrupted. It wasn’t Starscream, it was him. Every mean thought and bitter reply. It was all him, rotting and seething and hurting. He was spiralling, processor shorting with distress.

“How long are you gonna sit there like that?”

Skyfire jumped mid sob, peering up to Skywarp in horror, watching his legs swing over the edge of the crater. He skittered backwards, chest heaving, wary.

“You’re acting like I’m gonna bite,” the seeker drawled, dentae flashing, attitude unnervingly off. Like he was speaking to an enemy, psuedobond radiating nothing but seething anger. A stupid, pitiful tear rolled down Skyfire’s cheek.

“I-it was an accident,” he whimpered, servos back over his helm. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t want to hurt you too.”

Skywarp raised an optic ridge, voice low. “Was that a threat?”

“No,” Skyfire bit out, overtaxed vents wheezing, dentae bared. “Leave me alone.”

Another sob burst its way out of his throat and his helm was back in his servos as his pauldrons heaved. Putting his frame into hyperdrive mid recovery had been a horrific mistake. His healing nanites had been stripped again, wings burning with the tension. The sedatives made his helm hurt, tanks empty, subspace stupidly devoid of any energon.

He was so stupid. Where did he think he was gonna get to? How far would he have gotten before perishing? He was so selfish. What would have happened by those affected by the bond if he’d run into trouble?

His coolant stores ran out quickly, optics dry and itchy as he simply hyperventilated uselessly, cowering on the ground. Dust clogged his vents, Skyfire flinching as a small thud echoed in front of him.

Skywarp was standing above him now, just up ahead in the crater. He radiated anger, wings flared, crackling with violet sparks.

“You trying to abandon us after doing that to him is one of the most cowardly things I’ve ever seen,” Skywarp snarled. “What is wrong with you?”

Skyfire was shaking, intake too numb to do anything but shrug, servos finding their way onto his audials again. His digits ran across the sensitive buttons, gripping the base as he hunched back over, optics squeezing shut.

For a second, all he could see, could feel, was darkness. Then… the psuedobond flickered, changed, confusion overpowering the anger.

Skyfire wanted him badly to go away, but his stupid frame craved any sort of comfort, coding haywire. It made his plating crawl. Skywarp wasn’t safe right now, as much as he wanted him to be. The shuttle wanted to sink his dentae into something. He wanted to scream until his vocaliser rusted.

“Earth to Skyfire…?” Skywarp tried again, voice confused, closer this time. Skyfire opened an optic to the seeker leaning over him.

“Don’t touch me, he croaked. Skywarp jolted back, optics widening, somewhat indignant.

“I - fine,” he shot back, folding his arms. “We need to leave.”

Skyfire couldn’t respond. Skywarp stood there, psuedobond beginning to leak the beginnings of anxiety.

It was another few minutes before Skywarp tried again, nervous. “Skyfire, we’re not gonna be able to fit you on any ships, you… your chip is missing. Slag.”

That was a little closer, vents ghosting down the shuttles neck as he sat, catatonic. A couple of steps sounded, further away as Skywarp mumbled to himself. 

A hiss of pain sounded, a crunch. Skyfire opened his optic again to Skywarp pulling off his own chip in his peripheral. Some further steps forward, and the seeker was on his right, blocking out his vision, bond suddenly frantic, aware.

“Okay. Primus. You’re not - okay. I don’t know how to fix this. You’re -“ some clinking sounds echoed across the crater. “You didn’t fuel. I forgot. Okay…”

More mumbling. More steps. Skyfire’s optics slid closed again.

“Skyfire,” came the seeker’s voice, closer. “Look up. I can feel you. You need energon so we can go back to Earth.”

So I can face the awful thing I did.

Skyfire looked up regardless, fighting his rigid frame to lift his helm. It hurt. Skywarp bit his lip, flexing his claws, trying to speak, frustrated.

“I don’t understand,” Skywarp snapped eventually. “I understand your anger but I don’t get why you attacked TC. That wasn’t right of you. Why?”

Skyfire felt his optics go distant as he shrugged again. Skywarp let out an irritated vent before he edged closer.

“Are you good?” he asked warily, leaning in closer, optics narrowed, spark confused. Unable to hold his gaze, Skyfire shook his helm, jaw clenched.

“Are you gonna flip out if I…“ Skywarp murmured, giving the shuttle time to move before his warm servo ghosted the side of his neck cabling. Skyfire flinched somewhat before Skywarp explored the former site of the chip. It smelt somewhat burnt, scratchy and uncomfortable. Skywarp sighed, pausing for a moment before running his servo across his neck, gently cupping the shuttle’s jaw.

It was firm, somewhat comforting. Skyfire looked up, face scrunching with guilt as his helm tilted slightly. Skywarp simply watched him silently, pauldrons hunched.

The moon was a very quiet place to be, lit up by the light of the Earth. It was beautiful here, serene. All they could hear was the soft sound of vents, slowing over time.

“Why did you do it?” Skywarp tried again. “Why would you say what you said?”

Oh Primus. What had he said? He hadn’t registered anything at all, just pain and screaming -

Skyfire vented, voice raw, expression defeated. “I don’t remember what I said.”

Skywarp frowned. “That we had ‘one job’? As Starscream’s trine? That we failed? You have no idea what our trine was. How it even came to be. You can’t say those things when you weren’t even there.”

Skyfire looked at him, horrified. “I - I didn’t mean - I -“

A spike of anger whipped through the psuedobond.

“Skyfire, we were an arranged trine. None of us wanted to be there. Least of all Starscream,” Skywarp clenched his jaw, a rare show of coolant building in his optics, vocaliser crackling. “We tried. I promise you, we did.”

Skyfire was left, intake open as Skywarp backed off to cool down.

Arranged… that made sense. Seeker numbers were down after pre war cullings, especially carriers and epicenes. Of course the Elite Trine were arranged. Two seekers with incredible outliers, ready to back up the air commander they had been arranged with.

The air commander that had never wanted to trine. That would have been left with just his unwanted trine members after the only link to his conjunx had been savagely ripped out of his spark.

“Skywarp, I’m sorry-“ Skyfire choked, panicking, attempting to move before pain took over. “I promise you, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to hurt either of you. I… Thundercracker’s my friend. I couldn’t handle what I did to him - I - I panicked and -”

Skywarp turned his helm, crimson optics flashing. “And left? Like a coward?”

It felt like he’d been shot. Skyfire slumped, servos shaking. He was right. He was a coward. Silence took over.

“What if I hurt someone else?” the shuttle whimpered eventually, grasping his knees, the dirt. “What if I hurt myself again? I blink and I’ve missed hours, days. Everything that’s happened to me, I - I’ve wanted to blame it on Star, but it’s me. It’s all my fault.”

Skywarp turned fully, confused. “What?”

“I don’t feel like myself anymore,” Skyfire murmured, ashamed. “Sparkbreak is eating me alive. It’s changed everything about me. It’s made me sick and it’s getting worse.”

The seeker’s optics widened. “It’s not going to kill you -“

“I don’t know anymore,” Skyfire whispered. “I’ve never… I’ve never lost it like that. I’ve never cried this much in my life. It won't stop. I’m scared.”

They were quiet for a klik before Skywarp sighed. “We need to get you back to Earth. Everything is up in the air at the moment with… Starscream’s spark condition. We don’t need you getting worse.”

“Did you know someone had done that to him?” 

The seeker jolted at the sudden question, pauldrons hunched. Skyfire sniffed.

Skywarp swallowed. “We… we didn’t know. Not like that. If we had better communication… maybe, something would have made sense.”

Skyfire looked distant before mumbling, “Thundercracker’s going to hate me.”

Skywarp actually laughed, an empty sound. “You could knock that freak out and he’d still want to frag you, dude. It’ll be okay. I’m - well, I’m more pissed off than him.”

The shuttle’s optics widened, vocaliser trailing off before the seeker shoved a cube in his servos.

“Three of these in your tanks and we can head off. I’m tired and Ratchet is not gonna like his prize specimen going walkabout.”

Skyfire swallowed, staring down emptily at the unrecognisable reflection in the glass. A gaunt face blinked back at him, eerily unreadable before he tightly shut his optics and drank.

Coward.

Chapter Text

”You wanted to see me, Optimus?”

The Prime stilled, thumbs digging into his sockets as he leaned onto the worn desk.

“Only you would walk in without knocking, Ratchet.”

“Yep,” the medic huffed emptily, shutting the door, settling in the seat before the desk. As always, his field was eerily rational, calm. Medic’s coding.

Optimus groaned, finally sitting up, optics flickering back to life. Ratchet was staring at him, servos flexing, antsy against the seatrest.

It had been another long and terrible day.

“I didn’t realise it was this bad,” the prime murmured, gaze setting just beyond the older mech’s pauldron. “You… can’t separate them, can you?

A grimace, followed by a slow shake of a helm. Optimus reset his vocaliser before waving a servo.

“Give me everything. A full status report.”

Ratchet let out a vent, simply nodding before pulling out a datapad, sliding it across the metal.

“Thundercracker has been… stabilised. He suffered a tier three crush wound. Skyfire let him go just before he got to pinching his lines. It was lucky. Too lucky.”

Right. The shuttle had attacked his… bondmate?

“You sent Skywarp after him?”

Ratchet sighed, helm dipping. “It was the only mech I could warn in time. Who could maybe keep up with him. He intercepted him about ten minutes ago.”

“Where?” the blue bot asked, looking to the monitors at his side. “He left satellite radar over half an hour ago.”

The medic huffed, pulling up comms before sending a copy. Optimus’ optics widened.

“The Earth’s moon? Where did he think he was going?”

“Nowhere,” Ratchet replied, shrugging. “He was panicking.”

Obviously.

“Skyfire is usually so calm-“

“Well now he’s not. He’s unwell,” the medic snapped. “And we have to figure out what to do here, Optimus.”

The Prime winced, straightening. “I apologise. Get back to the procedure.”

Ratchet opened his intake, seemingly about to say something before he shook his helm, leaning to drag up files on the datapad.

“You’ve had a look at the scans. Knockout relayed the basics.”

“I… yes,” Optimus replied, optics zeroing in on the datapad. A grainy, black and white image popped up before the medic swiped to another, in color. “He was rather shaken up.”

“So he should have been,” Ratchet replied, slumping back into the chair. “Every medic ends up remembering their first spark mutilation. Lucky for him, he was too young to have witnessed it before it was outlawed entirely. Until now, I suppose.”

Primus.

“Can you,” Optimus breathed, anxiety spiking as he gazed at the images, “tell me in plain terms what this meant for… Starscream?”

He could have flinched at the stare he was levelled with, finials unwittingly flicking backwards. For a klik, there was a spike of trepidation in the field against his.

“The damage… I… I don’t know how to put this lightly, Optimus,” Ratchet tried, optics looking away, unsettlingly uncharacteristic. “It’s textbook. With his behaviour over the vorns. With all of it, really.”

It felt like the floor had fallen out from under him, the matrix sitting heavy in his chest. “You’re saying his spark mutilation fundamentally… changed him?”

“I am,” Ratchet said softly, lenses flicking back to meet his. “You know my feelings toward this… glitch of a mech. But I can’t lie here. It goes against my oath. Not just to you, but… to Cybertron. Somebody got to this mech and changed him for the worse.”

Optimus fought the urge to purge, vocaliser quiet. “Turned him into a weapon.”

For a moment, the two mech were silent.

“Starscream murdered millions,” Ratchet uttered eventually. “Under somebody else’s rule.”

Optimus felt his plating go cold.

“And you’re going to bring him to justice, right?” the medic asked, quirking an optical ridge.

Optimus panicked, spark flaring.

“I - Ratchet, I’ve been trying to speak to him. Get him more on board with peacetime law, so we can work together -“

“Did you know he had something to do with this?”

“Ratchet, I had no clue -“

“But you had an inkling something was wrong, right?,” the medic hissed. “Between them? Or is the interfacing just that good?“

“Ratchet!” Optimus boomed, slamming his servos down on the desk, standing. “You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

The medic out a growl. “There’s a half dead second in command with a mutilated sparkbond in my medbay, Optimus! Four aerials are on the line! If you can’t step up, who fragging will?”

Optimus shut his intake with a click, guilt washing over him before he slumped back into his seat. Ratchet leaned forward, swiping angrily at the pad again. To a different picture. Another spark. Scattered with voids and holes. Tied together, strangled with sparkbond links, barely staying afloat. It looked agonising. Unliveable.

Skyfire.

“Tell me, to my face,” Ratchet growled. “That an innocent mech deserved this. Hell, let me know if you’d let the rest of the slaughter go just because your precious D-16 was involved.”

There was no answer to this. Just a sickening anxiety in his chest. An all too familiar feeling he was out of time.

“Tell me!”

The Prime let out an overwhelmed vent before leaning backwards, servos coming up to scrub his optics. Ratchet’s carefully trained field had finally let loose into livid territory and it felt awful.

“Your master plan to reform this mech, even in peacetime, is delusional,” he hissed. “You need to bring him to justice. For every mech he hurt, directly or indirectly.”

“I don’t know how to do that, Ratchet,” he replied emptily, slumping. “How is he supposed to be punished without the war starting up anew?”

“By making him fix it, you sack of bolts,” Ratchet snapped, pointing at him. “By reconditioning his mech. By making him fix what he’s broken.”

“He won’t want to do that-“

“Then this isn’t peace is it?” the medic asked, frowning. Optimus swallowed.

It wasn’t. It really, really wasn’t, even though he’d been trying as hard as he could. He felt sick.

“He needs to fix Starscream,” Ratchet offered eventually. “The mech who committed the spark damage is the only one who can fix it.”

“Are we even sure…” Optimus tried, shutting his intake at the glare.

“You have four mech on the line here, Optimus,” the medic replied, grimacing. “The seekers’ numbers have dwindled to less than a dozen. The shuttles? Two. Three if you count Silverbolt.”

Optimus’ intake ground into a thin line.

“Optimus, we are no longer at murder. Genocide. Even war. We are at extinction,” Ratchet said quietly, almost pleadingly. “We need a leader who prioritises us. I’m sorry. It has to be you.”

The Prime dipped his helm ashamed. “I know.”

It was quiet then. Just the creak of the Ark in the cooling weather. Some far off conversation in the mess hall.

“I’ve been trying,” Optimus murmured eventually. “I really have.”

Ratchet stiffened. “To help him?”

He let out a vent. “He’s not the same mech I once knew.”

“Optimus-“

“I thought I’d have some time. After ending it all, maybe he… I thought he would have changed for the better, after he agreed to help. But he just…”

Optimus grimaced, losing touch, spark beating fast in it’s chamber. The medic’s face fell.

“He’s using you, Optimus.”

“I know,” the Prime uttered, slumping, destitute. “I haven’t gone to see him for quite some time. He doesn’t seem to understand it.”

“You need him to fix this,” Ratchet replied.

“I know.”

The medic stared at him, expecting something else, yet he simply sat, exhausted.

“You’re tired.”

“I am,” he admitted, shutting his optics. “It’s always nice to speak to you, though, old friend. Even when you’re rightfully upset with me.”

“I’m-“ Ratchet tried, biting his glossa. “I’m not upset with you. Just… shaken, I suppose.”

The Prime looked up at him, concerned. The medic waved it off.

“It’s the nature of a spark like that. No warmth, no… understanding. Just pure chaos. Pain,” he breathed, biting his lip. “Just seeping out of it, endlessly.”

“Is Starscream in pain?” Optimus queried, spark dropping to his tanks. Ratchet tilted his helm.

“He’s in agony,” the medic murmured. “Even in recharge, both of them… they’re suffering Optimus. Starscream, at least, is unconscious…”

The Prime sat back up at that, optics dimming. “And what of Skyfire?”

Ratchet’s pauldrons hunched, fists clenching. “I… don’t know how he’s still functioning. He shouldn’t be. Not with a spark like that.”

Optimus looked back down to the datapad, grimacing. “Do you understand his relationship with the trine?”

“Well” Ratchet frowned, leaning back on the desk. “According to them, he didn’t know them before Thundercracker showed up. But the hole Starscream’s sparkbond mutilation had left…”

He swiped a servo up the datapad, zooming in. Optimus clenched his jaw.

Sparkbonds. Threads of them, appearing out of holes and voids, tangling, cutting into Skyfire’s damaged spark like netting.

“It allowed trinebonds to become tangled across the forced open bondspace. No wonder Skyfire complained of spark pain. The raw power a mech would need to keep two nonconsensual bonds going? It’s unfathomable.”

Primus help him.

“And he just… left for the moon?”

Ratchet sighed. “Look, that was… unprecedented. He’ll be completely run down by the time they get back. His recovery will be… hindered.”

“What are your plans to keep him stable?” Optimus responded, sighing. “I need time to talk to Megatron. I can’t… promise what I can deliver at this point in time.”

The medic leaned back, considering, knocking a pede up on the desk. Optimus let him.

“Skyfire is… formerly conjunxed. He’s a carrier class shuttle, Optimus. This spark rot… his social coding is slowly coming apart. The sooner this social coding collapses, the sooner his processor comes apart at the seams.”

Optimus optics widened. “How would you stop it from doing so?”

Ratchet pursed his lips. “Bonding.”

What?

The Prime looked up incredulously. “You want him to bond with the Elite Trine?”

“Bonding in this case would strengthen the ties cutting into his spark. It would stitch together the failing coding. Hell, it’d begin to patch the voids. His spark would be scarred, and the pain will likely be chronic, for all of them really, but he’d be alive. And so would the other two. With treatment in time, possibly even Starscream as well.”

Optimus shook his helm, looking disgusted. “He’s already been through enough, Ratchet. Forcing him into even more non consensual connections… it’ll drive him insane-“

“Oh, absolutely not,” Ratchet seemed to agree, cricking his neck. “But if we give them time…”

Time…?

He was looking at him then, expression open, knowing. Optimus let out a huff as it clicked, intake falling open.

“They… they like each other? How?”

The medic shrugged. “They’ve been semi bonded even before Skyfire was retrieved. Seekers can be a standoffish species but they’ve almost… adopted him like trine. It’s rare to see this sort of thing with flightframes. Much less post war.”

A trine… no, a pod of aerials. Cross frame? It hadn’t even been heard of since long before Optimus’ lifetime. He swallowed warily.

“And you will… tell them this?”

Ratchet leaned forward conspiratorially, exhausted. “No. I’d like to move them out of the Ark. Maybe to the old airfield. Getting them to relax out there will be paramount in keeping the tension off of Skyfire’s spark. The only reason it’s still functioning at all is it’s pure size. Shuttle sparks are gargantuan even before fully forming.”

“So you’ll just leave them out there?” Optimus queried. Ratchet smiled warily.

“Yes. The seekers keeping Skyfire stable will allow me to continue caring for Starscream, and to give you,” he gestured at him. “Time to deal with Megatron.”

Optimus swallowed, trepidation rising in his tanks. “Right.”

Ratchet looked at him. “You don’t seem entirely convinced.”

He was always good at reading him.

The Prime stretched, grimacing. “No, it’s a good plan. A solid plan. I’m… don’t you think it’s all a little odd, though?”

The medic raised an optical ridge. Optimus vented.

“Something feels strange about this. About Starscream being here. I just can’t put my servo on it.”

“Like… what?”

Optimus looked to him. “If Megatron wanted him deactivated, why is he here? They were inseparable during the war. It doesn’t make sense.”

Ratchet grimaced, silent for a klik. “I… don’t know. Isn’t the mind of that slagger supposed to be your thing to get to the bottom of?”

He’s got you there, Optimus.

Optimus slumped a little. “You’re right, Ratchet. Forgive me. I suppose I’ve been a little rattled lately.”

Ratchet sighed. “I know. If you-“

They were startled by a loud beep echoing off the pager Ratchet had left on the desk. He grimaced, standing, cracking his back slats.

“Skyfire and Skywarp,” Optimus confirmed, glancing at the cameras before frowning. “He really doesn’t look too good. Do you need me on standby?”

The medic shook his helm, a rye smile on his faceplate. “Should be fine, Optimus. I’ll call you if there’s an emergency. In the meantime…”

Optimus wrinkled his nose, mask clicking back into place as Ratchet scrutinised him.

“Maybe get some recharge. I’ll report back as soon as I have him restabilised.”

”Of course.”

With that, Optimus was left staring numbly at the closing hab door, spark sinking.

This is wrong. This is all so wrong.

This is all my fault.

Chapter Text

The door slid shut with a click. 

It was a tiny habsuite. A security camera sat just outside of the door. Something this size would struggle to fit Ratchet himself, let alone two seekers.

Both of whom stared at him, huddled on the small berth, like deer in the headlights as he entered. Like they hadn’t even requested his presence.

“Well?” he asked after a moment, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. Skywarp, the smaller of the two, looked to the ground.

He’d been particularly ruthless in war, this one. Primed with brutal warp attacks that left many an Autobot in pieces. Laughing in the face of death.

The larger one was quiet, had been since Skyfire had attempted to squeeze his vocaliser into a pulp out of nowhere. It had been a quick fix physically for Ratchet. At the remaining empty look in the seeker’s eyes, he guessed it was a different story mentally.

It would have been weird dealing with the two winged murderers if Ratchet hadn’t already dealt with a dozen armistices. A hundred. He’d been fixing Decepticon soldiers for millions of years.

He really thought he’d seen it all until he laid eyes on the Air Commander’s spark.

He actually shuddered to think of it. The medic had seen sparks ripped, torn, sliced, shot, obliterated. On battlefields and medbays, in back alleys and bombed habsuites. He’d held servos while sparks puttered out, while they desperately tried to keep pumping energy into mangled systems.

For once, nothing quite seemed to match what he’d laid eyes on only days ago. It had been a long time since he’d seen such… desecration. Sparks were sacred in themselves, but the meddling of a bond in the way the two aerials’ had been was… sickening. Keeping Starscream alive just to rip it from his frame. It was a war crime. It was a blight on the Cybertronian race as a whole.

Ratchet didn’t like Starscream. Some would say he hated the bastard, with his psychotically murderous smirk and mile long kill streak. He’d fixed dozens of his allies after run-ins with the demented seeker. Hell, he’d buried many more. He was a murderer, a sycophant, a brat.

But the open wound on his very soul was telling, in more horrific ways than one. The claw marks on his spark casing, forcing entry. Millenias worth of scarring across his frame, his cockpit. It pulled at Ratchet’s medic coding. Activated sympathy protocols in his emotion centre. Horrified him.

These weren’t the mighty scars of battles long gone. Starscream was a strafer, a long range sniper, a flier. Such a proud seeker would never let a grounder near his cockpit, his sensitive wings. The marks proved otherwise, dense and thick, welded haphazardly or not at all. His wings, filled with touchy sensors, with sensitive cables, all of them had evidence of being meddled with. His more recent scans were too difficult to bear. More evidence. More evidence.

He didn’t even know what to compile and send to Optimus anymore. This wasn’t a greying corpse that had marked his own fate with several millennia of stupidity. This was… he couldn’t even believe it. He was a victim. Starscream, the Starscream, terror of the skies, was a victim of spark torture. Something so notorious for lowering mechs into the depths of insanity, it had been outlawed during the war.

Starscream was a monster, a murderer, who needed to pay for his crimes. But somebody had mutilated his very soul. Was he even to blame for his wrongdoings? Many a mech had plead insanity during the early vorns of war due to spark torture. It warped their own self, their own reality. The effects on a flight frame, with their conjunxed bond the main target… it was unimaginable.

Dealing with his aloof trine… well, it sucked. Ratchet had never really been one for his bedside manner. They were polite enough, strangely quiet. It was off behaviour until the exhausted medic realised both mech weren’t being rude - it was acute physical pain from the corrupted bonds. Pain, he for once, had no clue how to fix.

Finally getting a hold of the elusive shuttle, Skyfire, had been somewhat relieving until he realized the full depth of the situation. Why he’d hidden himself away, why he was behaving so strangely compared to the shuttle he’d first treated.

It was a shock to see the bot go from a smiling, eager mech to entirely fractured, breaking down every other klik. His mental descent fully aligned with sparkbreak in flight frames. It was often deadly. Mixed with… the current situation? Ratchet had no clue. The shuttle’s outburst after his first examination would have been justified if he hadn’t gone for Thundercracker in a blind rage. He flew to Earth’s moon in a panic afterward. If Ratchet hadn’t told the horrified Skywarp to go after him while he attended to his felled trinemember, who knows if he would have been found?

It was erratic behaviour, spiralling rapidly out of control. Ratchet had the issue of Starscream on his hands. Skyfire needed to be dealt with, stabilised, before he hurt himself.

More than he already had.

“We need to talk about Skyfire,” Skywarp said quietly.

Ratchet really had to give them credit. He expected it eventually. He’d never seen anything quite like it.

The seekers were attached to the shuttle.

Before the Golden Era, many flight frames enjoyed time together. Sometimes even courted outside of frame type. But this was…

They were acting like he was trine. Like he genuinely was bonded to them. After millions of years of cultural frame separation.

Which, he technically wasn’t. Their… ‘psuedobonds’ were a by product of Starscream’s damaged spark. But according to them…

Ratchet simply nodded, jaw clenched, spurring him on. Thundercracker rest a servo on the violet jet’s thigh. He swallowed.

“We - need your guidance on how to help him,” Skywarp stammered, slouching. “When I found him on the Earth’s moon, I was so pissed - he barely responded to me. When I caught up to him, he was losing his mind. I thought he’d calm down and he just… didn’t.”

Right.

“He crash landed,” Ratchet stated, going over the new injuries in his helm.

“When I found him, he was screaming,” Skywarp replied. “Just screaming into space. When I talked to him, he said… he said he was scared he was going to hurt me too.”

Thundercracker looked away. Ratchet nodded.

“He just wasn’t responding. I saw his chip had gone, maybe broken off during his launch. I didn’t know what to do, so I ripped mine off too, to get some sort of grip on what he was trying to play at…” he swallowed, distant. “He was terrified.”

The seeker sounded almost pleading. Ratchet let out a vent.

“Did he talk to you?”

Skywarp nodded. “He said he’s scared he’s going to hurt himself, or someone else. He doesn’t feel like himself. He’s… sick. He’s scared. I’ve never felt him that scared before. He’s spiralling. The… his intensity is shorting out our chips. We feel like we’re going insane.”

Thundercracker remained silent, digits gently prodding at his own repaired neck cabling. Skywarp seemed somewhat panicked, wings rigid, buzzing with agitation.

“There has to be some way to fix this. Anything. He’s scared to hell and in pain constantly and we don’t know how to fix it. It’s getting worse! There has to be something to stop it. He’s suffering and it’s going to kill us before we can even find a way forward-“

Skywarp paused before venting loudly, helm falling into the palm of his servo. Thundercracker looked forward, meeting the medic’s optics.

He looked as exhausted as he felt.

Ratchet took a klik to gather his thoughts. It had to be foolproof, in the end, what he put forward. It had to make sense.

It was a last ditch effort.

“How much do you know about flightframes and sparkbreak?” He tried after a pause, looking forward. Thundercracker nodded, Skywarp looking back up.

“You can die from it,” Skywarp replied slowly. Ratchet nodded.

“Fliers have a strict set of social coding protocols. If a bond breaks without consent, on either partner’s side, it can cause sparkbreak syndrome, a break down of that social coding,” Ratchet mused. “It goes from feeling down, to periods of depression, mourning, to mania. As the coding breakdown reaches non social constructs, it can go really haywire. The logic centre is one of the final stage targets. Mechs seeing things and acting completely irrationally is usually a sign of the end.”

“He’s been harming himself for a long time,” Thundercracker finally spoke up, voice tight. “Letting himself fall into disrepair. I… thought it was just the Autobots not giving a shit.”

“He totally zones out, too,” Skywarp cut in, ignoring Ratchet’s indignant expression. “Like if things go bad, he just… disappears. He did it on the flight here, then on the moon. Like he’s just not there. Is that right?”

“He dissociates. That’s the word for it,” Ratchet replied. “I suppose it is harm. How each frametype treats their frame is different. Shuttles usually need help from smaller mech to function. He’s certainly still in pain from things that would have been easier said than done if he’d just asked for help. Some of the damage is so bad I’m unsure if I can fix it.”

“Is sparkbreak fixable?” Thundercracker asked quietly.

Ratchet took in a vent, servos together, feeling a flicker of nervousness.

“I want to bring something to the table that may or may not work. At the moment, stabilising Skyfire is crucial. More stress to his spark could defuse Starscream’s entirely. With Starscream’s spark the way it is, and with the amount of medics we have available? Instantaneous bond removal has ended up being not the safest option.”

The seekers nodded, already looking exhausted. Ratchet continued.

“Starscream isn’t the only mech attached to his spark, though. It’s possible you two could help stabilise it. Keep him from going under mentally.”

Thundercracker’s optics widened in confusion. “Huh? How?”

The medic took a klik, furrowing his brow as he launched his pitch.

“Sparkbreak in flightframes… I don’t want to overexplain it to flight mech. It’s instinct based. Your social coding is instinct based. Instincts are tied into your coding, your gender,” he huffed. “Skyfire is scared right now. Because of sparkbreak and everything else he hasn’t been able to process. He hasn’t… been a proper flight frame for a long time. He’s been alone. Flight frames… including shuttles, aren’t biologically meant to be alone. Just think about it. Maybe looking after him, taking care of him in that way will help stabilise his processor. Make him feel safe.”

“Look after him like trine?” Thundercracker asked faintly. Ratchet nodded.

“Him isolating himself was a part of that harm,” the medic replied. “He lost his conjunx to no fault of his own and woke up at the end of a war. He’s frightened and acting irrationally like any flight frame would in this situation. You could fill that void Starscream left. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. But he needs mech that understand him. That's you two. I reckon you both could bring him back into himself.”

There was a tense moment of silence, Ratchet glancing, servos outstretched, to each seeker. They glanced at each other, then back at him, fields tense.

“We’re in,” Skywarp nodded, glancing to Thundercracker. “This is… personal. We want to help him. Where do we even start?”

Ratchet actually smiled, gruffly relieved. “Well, firstly, I want you all out of the Ark.”

Skywarp gaped at him. Thundercracker blinked.

“There are no habs that would fit all three of you. I want you sticking together. There are several Cybertronian made hangars down this mountain. They were mostly for storing human planes. You are welcome to take the largest one and turn it into a base of operations,” Ratchet ordered. “I’ll be speaking to Optimus tomorrow about their repurposing, as well as giving him a general report on… all of you. I think it will be easier conducting medical matters… outside of the Ark. You are all extremely tall.”

“That's true,” Skywarp shrugged. Thundercracker actually laughed.

“Any questions?” Ratchet posed.

“You’re… telling him, right?” Skywarp asked, somewhat nervously. The medic nodded.

“He’s back in the med bay until he can move into a space under your supervision. He’s going to want to go back to his hab, but I’ll find a spare holokey and you both can move his belongings into the new space,” he muttered, thinking. “He’s not going to like it. He’s not going to like any of it until it does him some good and his programming starts to calm down.”

“What do we even do if he doesn’t want to?” Thundercracker mused. “We can’t exactly drag him anywhere.”

Ratchet sighed, a servo on his helm. “If he doesn’t want to do anything, you give him space. Keep an eye on the bond links, but give him space. It’s not isolation if he just needs some time to process things. It’s a normal part of life.”

The blue jet swallowed, optics darting before laying a servo over his cockpit. “He’s been pretty quiet over the past few days. Is he… alright?”

“Mostly recharging,” the medic responded, scuffing the floor with his pede. “His injuries are certainly… thorough. Trying to repair years worth of self neglect after millions of years on ice is… difficult on a frame.”

“He feels tired,” Skywarp murmured, optics downcast.

There was a thick pause before Ratchet nodded, ending the conversation, whirling on his pedes towards the door. “I’ll comm you both with news about moving as soon as possible. Keep an optic out.”

The seekers nodded quietly as he paused, just about to pass the doorframe.

“I don’t take referring patient treatment onto other mech lightly. But the care he needs right now is frame based and something I am unable to do myself. I am putting him under your watch,” he murmured, turning his helm, cyan optics dim. “Starscream is my current main objective. You aiding Skyfire’s mental and physical recovery will help us continue to form a plan for Starscream and the rest of you. Do you understand?”

Both seekers nodded, solemn, and at that, Ratchet walked out.

-

Skyfire was recharging to not be online at this point.

Healing sucked. Being awake sucked. Feeling the renewed psuedobonds sucked. Dealing with Ratchet sucked. Remembering he’d strangled one of the only mechs that had shown him kindness since he’d thawed sucked. It all sucked. Everything sucked.

He could be online if he really wanted to, but what was the point? He’d stew over his treatment of Thundercracker, or the way Skywarp had witnessed his frantic breakdown. Maybe he’d stew over his embarrassing, pointless avoidance of Ratchet and the way every mech he knew knew about his ailments - and his romantic history, with the literal Decepticon devil, just to make it interesting. 

Or maybe, if he was really bored, he’d stew over the fact that Starscream’s dying, broken husk, two kliks away from graying out, was lying in a bay room only a few metres away?

Maybe he’d stew over the strange, sedative-fueled dream he’d had before he’d woken from the examination. Maybe he’d lie in berth and think real hard about the unbelievable fact that was -

Starscream was tortured. Someone tortured him with our bond. While you were sleeping, someone was hurting him, again and again and again and again -

So he recharged.

He curled up miserably on his medical berth, helm tucked into his arms, wings comfortingly slicked against his back, trying to make himself as small as possible.

He was ready and prepared to jump up at a moment’s notice of a mech walking in on him in such a stupid position, but for once, nobody barged in. Ratchet came with energon once a day, gruff and quiet, checking him up and down, before nodding and leaving. The seekers didn’t show, psuedobonds open, but quiet. He’d fucked up royally. Thundercracker was probably never going to talk to him again. He was completely justified too. Skyfire had never felt so disgusted with himself.

He curled up tighter, left wing brushing against the nearby wall. The sensation made him cringe and he shut his optics tightly, arms snaking around to hug his cockpit, helm on the berth.

Every time he felt terrible, he curled up and daydreamed until he fell back into recharge. He felt terrible so often at this point, he was in recharge more often than not.

Usually, he daydreamed of his apartment in Iacon. Of his berth, which had taken forever to save up for. Of his sheets and blankets, most mesh. One of his favorites was a rare soft cashmere textile, bartered on an alien planet during a solo work trip millennia ago. He was wearing the damn thing to rags, unable to sleep without it. Skyfire loved to nuzzle his helm into it before settling back into the rest of his blankets and plush creatures he’d bought back from other cities.

Grounders… grounders weren’t like this. They liked clean berths, sometimes with a bondmate. Maybe a pillow and a mesh blanket too, if their kibble called for it.

Skyfire was not a grounder. He was, in fact, a mature carrier flightframe who’s busted programming compelled him to nest so badly at this point he wanted to punch a hole through the wall.

He wanted pillows and soft things, to stick under his kibble, under his helm, around his frame entirely. He hadn’t willingly recharged on his back since leaving for the expedition. The only times he had was when he was put under, neck cabling in pure agony when he woke.

He wanted blankets to keep him warm, secure. Their pressure was always wonderful. His wings hadn’t felt safe in rest for so long.

He missed the days off he would have, spending the day flitting around the markets of downtown Iacon, searching for another item to bring home to add to the nest. The behaviour had started when Starscream moved in. He had his own hab, his own berth, but he refused to use them.

“There’s just more room in here,” he’d snark, nose up in the air, haughty, as Skyfire kissed the top of his helm with a laugh.

And Skyfire bought him gift after gift. He didn’t realise he was courting. This was the first time in his life he’d ever really… liked someone. His aversion to interfacing always had him unsure if something was broken entirely.

The aversion certainly stayed, but his coding finally kicked into gear. He was the happiest mech alive, once upon a time, with a berth filled to the brim with soft, happy things and a stupidly adorable partner.

He would never have a berth as nice again. His entire apartment… their entire apartment had been blown into stardust during the war. While he slept.

He never knew how to have the conversation with the Autobots, when they had barely enough energon to get by. They didn’t know flight frames needed certain parameters to stay sane. They didn’t know flight frames had coding that drove them fucking nuts.

No more conjunx. No nesting. No feeling of safety or warmth. Just him, and a tiny, cold berth in a small, dim room, for five years.

He felt so miserable.

The worst part of it all, was that Skyfire had a klik to try again, maybe. He had been bonding with Thundercracker. There was something there that wasn’t just… a psuedobond. He swore. The seeker was kind, intelligent, steadfast, with a penchant for humans and one of the prettiest deep voices Skyfire had ever heard. It was insane how gorgeous he was.

And Skyfire had attacked him. Had grabbed that very vocaliser and crushed it between digits.

According to Ratchet, it was an easy fix, but none of it made him feel any better. He didn’t deserve to feel better. He felt disgusted and devastated and sick. Of himself and of his circumstances, as usual.

The seekers never showed.

He kept an optic and an audial and his spark out, but nobody came. Hell, he hadn’t expected them to, had no idea where they were. He was never going to be able to apologise to Thundercracker, to either of them. He still had no idea what exactly had snapped in him. Maybe it had been a number of things. Maybe, after all these years, it was just what he was predisposed to. Anger and war and violence, in an era where there suddenly was none.

Skyfire was well out of tears. Humiliated. Paranoid beyond belief. Exhausted. Frightened. Spark achingly, terrifyingly frightened.

Half in recharge, the rest of his life stretched out in front of him. It was lonely, crushing, sparkbreak claiming him early. He didn’t want to end up like that. Didn’t want to die.

Everything felt so lost, so scrambled in his processor. He swore this wasn’t him. Wasn’t who he was. He was smart, a quick thinker. Resourceful, kind. He put other lives above his own. He’d never hurt anyone! He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. 

He’d reached rock bottom. Every time he hit it, it caved in even further. He couldn’t do it anymore.

You’re sick. You need -

Was he even worth asking for help?

- help.

Chapter Text

“I’ve told them,” Ratchet sighed quietly.

Optimus was ignoring him. Had been for half an hour as they’d finalised the paperwork. Sectioning off a portion of the base was a lot of work. 

In the end, the medic found it largely unamusing to realise most of the effort was caught in keeping the rest of the Autobots out.

The larger mech looked up at that, though. Blinked, then rubbed at his optics.

“Right,” he rumbled. “They’ve, uh, said yes to scouting it?”

Ratchet nodded, cracking his knuckles as he shifted in the uncomfortable chair. “They’re all ready to go. Who are we sending with ‘em?”

Optimus actually grinned at that, leaning back with a smile. “I have the perfect bot for the job.”

-

The hangar was the largest one on the mountain, about five hundred metres from the Arc’s resting place. It lay beneath monumentally tall trees, at least, for Earth. They towered over both seekers, red colored branches reaching for the sky.

Their assigned guide, the small, pesky yellow scout Starscream had always taken pleasure in treating like a target, called them conifers.

“They smell seriously good,” he rambled, jumping over a fallen branch. “The humans trap the smell in little bits of cardboard they put in their vehicles. Artificial is great, but fresh is even better.”

“Eeyup,” Skywarp sighed, plucking some strange, cone shaped growths from the branches brushing past his faceplate. Thundercracker, even further behind them, closed his optics in exasperation for a klik as his trinemate lowered them onto his glossa, spitting them back out with a yelp.

He’d been trailing behind for most of their journey downward, wings trembling as branches brushed past. They felt almost itchy. He hadn’t been for a flight for a week now. Maybe a little more. 

He’d been too busy, too anxious, as he conspired with Skywarp in their miniscule assigned room. What paths they were going to take. What it all meant.

He hadn’t gone to see Skyfire yet.

The last time Thundercracker had seen the mech…

He was on the ground, vocaliser sparking, looking up at pure horror. It had all happened in a klik, Skyfire slamming him to the wall, winding him, denting his wings painfully before opening his intake and just -

The shuttle, gentle, eloquent and kind, had evidently hit his limit. It was like something had broken inside as he screamed and sobbed, cursing the seekers out, a torrent of manic agony flowing from his vocaliser as his beautiful blue optics, filled with tears, locked with the seeker in his grasp.

But there was nothing in them, Thundercracker realised as he grappled and begged, vocaliser shorting. The optics, usually overly expressive, filled with life, were dead. Distant. Like the Skyfire he’d just gotten to know wasn’t even present in the frame that was holding him by the throat to the wall.

A moment more and it was over, Skyfire seeming to return to reality with a jolt. Thundercracker, pain shooting down his wings and neck, fell to the ground, vision blacking out momentarily, before shouting overwhelmed his crackling audials. Ratchet was at his side a moment later, tilting his helm to survey the damage, field oddly comforting.

He was recovering in his habsuite by the time Skywarp arrived back at the Arc. The sliding of the door had him launch from the uncomfortable berth, optics glowing in the darkness, anxiety peaking. Skywarp entered, wings slouched, coolant pooled in his dim optics.

Which was weird, because Skywarp never… cried. He was brash and rude and immature, but no crier. His helm was screwed on straight, mostly.

The berth was tiny and grossly hard but they fit on it anyway, Skywarp practically bowling him over as he let out the softest, most pathetic chirp in his life, clambering into Thundercracker’s lap as he nuzzled into his sore neck.

The blue seeker winced, redirecting him. Skywarp took the hint, moving back until he was kissing Thundercracker’s cheek, then nose, then him.

Thundercracker could do nothing but curl around him, listen to the sweet little sounds he made. They were a terrible pair. An exhausted, overstressed carrier and his faulty, submissive dolt of a sire who stuck with him through thick and thin. For some reason.

Thundercracker loved him so much.

Coolant kept falling from Skywarp’s optics as he refused to talk, kiss deepening before he broke off, jaw nuzzling against Thundercracker’s nasal ridge.

“What… happened?” Thundercracker asked with a gasp. Skywarp simply trilled at him, head trailing back down into the crook of his trinemate’s neck.

He wasn’t in the mood for talking. That was okay.

“You… got him back, right?” the blue jet asked. Skywarp nodded, wings drooping before Thundercracker swept a palm over them. The seeker bit out a whimper, shifting in his hold, a servo gently caressing his wings.

They laid down eventually, Skywarp curled in the larger seeker’s embrace. It appeased Thundercracker’s coding immensely, to protect him like this, helm on his, listening to his quiet vents. His neck hurt, a dull throb echoing throughout.

“I don’t think he meant to do it,” Skywarp croaked eventually, on the edge of recharge. “I think he’s really sick.”

“I… I know.” Thundercracker replied distantly. “It’s like he wasn’t even there.”

Skywarp shifted. “Are you scared of him?”

The blue jet sighed, conflicted. “No. I know he’s hurting.”

Skywarp went rigid. “Even after what he did? After saying those things?”

“He’s a good mech,” Thundercracker replied shakily. “Who’s unwell because of our trinemate -“

“Because of his conjunx,” Skywarp hissed, turning to face him, optics blazing. “He chose him. We weren’t given that option.”

Thundercracker nuzzled him on the forehelm. “At least I met you.”

“Skyfire hurt you,” Skywarp murmured, optics falling shut for a klik. “I should have kept a better optic out.”

“I’m fine,” Thundercracker replied, lens darting as Skywarp narrowed his optics. “But this is evident he’s getting worse.”

The violet seeker sighed, helm thunking against his pauldron. “And if he goes down, we all go down with him.”

“Right,” Thundercracker murmured, shutting his optics tightly.

Thundercracker broke out of his thoughts at a tug on his spark. He’d just stepped out of the dry shrubbery and onto something hard, a flat expanse of concrete overgrown with weeds and natural Earth flora. He kicked a pede at a clump of earth, uncovering a set of large, faded threshold markings.

A runway.

A massive runway, something even Skyfire could properly land on without completing a corkscrew landing. It seemed to be carved out of the mountain, impossibly long, seated just above a valley.

He turned his helm. Only a few hundred metres away, surrounded by trees and overgrowth, sat a hangar. Skywarp seemed intrigued, he could feel it through the bond, watching as the smaller seeker ripped hanging vines off the structure.

The hangar, just like the runway, was colossal, rounded at the top with sliding doors at least one hundred metres wide. It’s height blocked out the sun as he walked closer, intake agape. It had to be at least seventy metres tall at it’s peak, truly colossal, shielded by the mountain and it’s large trees, invisible from the air.

“Humans made this?” he asked the scout, optics wide as he stared up at the grimy doors. “For human planes? This could fit three shuttles.”

Bumblebee, dwarfed by the structure, grinned up at him. “Yep! The ingenuity of humans - it’s incredible! It was a hangar they built for their largest plane, one of their only vehicles with the room to carry large amounts of our wounded. It could carry a shuttle on it’s own back.”

Thundercracker gaped, processor running wild. That was so cool! He had no idea humans could even build vehicles that big, with their squishy interiors and small statures. Everything they did surprised him.

He… tried to remain nonchalant.

“With the addition of the Aerialbots and Skyfire to our team, its services were no longer needed,” Bumblebee continued. “They were given habs in the Arc and all of the human infrastructure built here was… made kinda redundant.”

“It’s a mess,” Skywarp stated, emerging from the side of the hangar, weeds hanging off his joints. “How long has it sat here?”

“Almost ten Earth years,” the scout replied, rubbing moss off the doors. “We supplied the materials, so it’s hardy, just… dirty.”

With a fumble of a hidden control panel attached to the door frame, the hangar hummed to life. The doors groaned and squealed as they moved apart, opening to a dingy, empty warehouse.

Thundercracker went first, switching his headlamp on. It was a simple build, cylindrical and stuffy with years of neglect. Dust whirled around the floor as a breeze wafted in after them.

There wasn’t any rust, any moss, any dead creatures. Thundercracker’s pedesteps echoed tinnily.

It was mostly a wide open space. The very end of the hangar hosted a very large loft, hanging above a massive enclosed room below. Skywarp vaulted himself up into it immediately, whooping as he checked it out.

It was definitely doable, Thundercracker mused as he wandered into the room below the loft. It was quiet in there, peaceful. A single window flickered dappled sunlight onto the floor, reflecting onto the low ceiling.

Aerials weren’t exactly the biggest fans of small spaces, but Thundercracker was happy to deal. He was a trined carrier, prone to nesting, sometimes seeking similar spaces out by accident. With the right precautions… Skyfire could fit in here. Glancing up to the low ceiling, he calculated he and Skywarp could probably take the loft.

The loft was still a lot of room, enough for even Thundercracker to stand up and walk around in. Skywarp flitted around, poking at floorboards, staring out the small lost window.

“Good?” Thundercracker asked, peering over his shoulder. Skywarp shrugged emphatically.

“As long as it doesn’t leak like the last place. I don’t really care.”

Bumblebee was whistling, leaning in the massive doorway as Thundercracker touched down in front of him.

“It’ll do,” the seeker stated. The scout quirked an optical ridge.

“As long as you’re both happy,” he replied, straightening, optics flickering upwards. “Optimus told me Skyfire was relocating with you.”

“Mhm,” Thundercracker hummed, wings a little rigid. Word seemed to get around even quicker here than the Nemesis. Probably something to do with all the bots here actually liking each other.

“Good.”

That took the jet by surprise. He looked down at the tiny grounder, optics wide, wings hiked. “Good?”

Bumblebee shrugged, field lax, casual. “The habsuites on the Arc are fucking tiny. It wasn’t exactly built to be used as a pleasure cruise. I was friends with the mech who had that habsuite before him. You could barely fit a normal sized berth in there.”

Thundercracker frowned, bristling.

“Why wasn’t he given access to these?” he asked, gesturing. “That seems awfully cruel to keep him there like that.”

Bumblebee looked incredulous for a klik, crossing his arms. “Thundercracker, I know you’re a smart mech. In what galaxy would it have been appropriate leaving our only competent shuttle alone, out in the open? During war? It was safest on the ship. It sucked, but it was life.”

Thundercracker straightened, fangs biting down on his bottom lip as he considered it.

The grounder was right. Seekers would have been deployed instantly had they known this area was housing precious Autobot aerials.

It would have been a blood bath.

“Considering everything he did for you bots, I don’t think he was well treated here,” the jet murmured, looking away, servos clenching.

There was a soft touch to his kneeguard. He looked down to the scout, quiet, contemplative.

“Look, I don’t exactly disagree with you, I just don’t know him well enough to make judgement. But getting out of the Arc, that would make him happy, right? Living in a larger space with… friends?”

Thundercracker cocked his helm before he crouched down, red optics reflecting off blue in the dim light.

“How much do you know?” Thundercracker breathed. Bumblebee smiled, field fritzing just slightly.

He was nervous.

“Not much, I’ll be honest with you,” he replied. “Maybe just enough. Skyfire’s not exactly easy to miss. He dropped off long before the armistice, but once the truce hit, he just kinda disappeared completely. The Aerialbots enjoyed flying with him. They were pretty devastated.”

Thundercracker hummed.

“He got sick, didn’t he?” Bumblebee asked, frowning. “But… not in a normal way?”

“You’re smart, scout,” Thundercracker uttered, patting him on the helm as he stood. “I do agree relocating him will help. We’ll try our hardest to get him back… up to speed.”

Bumblebee lit up, nodding. “That sounds good. Optimus has been real stressed about it. Megatron doesn’t seem too happy.”

Time itself seemed to slow down at the mention of the name.

Thundercracker froze, glancing back down with a grimace. “Megatron? He doesn’t hold authority over us anymore. Our trineleader needed medical assistance and… the Arc was the best place for it.”

Bumblebee faltered, optics flicking away. “Uh. Well, I mean, when is Megatron ever happy? I don’t know much other than that. Optimus has been working hard to appease him ever since the armistice. He meets him regularly. Has for ages.”

Thundercracker quirked an optic ridge. That… that was new information. It had been increasingly rare for Megatron to leave the Nemesis after the truce was signed. Since when had he been meeting with the Prime?

“Right…” the seeker replied, trailing off. Bumblebee fidgeted, changing the subject.

“Look, relocating out here is a lot safer than it was during the war. I’ll patch you my comm code. If you need any help, and you don’t feel like going straight to Optimus, I’ll see what I can do.”

A short distance request came through, pinging onto Thundercracker’s HUD. He accepted it with a nod, opening his intake to speak as Skywarp materialised in front of them.

“This is the biggest hab we’ve ever been in!” he cried, throwing his arms wide. “As soon as we get rid of all that organic filth, it’ll feel like a fragging palace!”

Thundercracker couldn’t help but grin as he turned tail and walked outside. Patches of afternoon sun filtered onto his wings pleasantly. The scout followed, crying out as Skywarp disappeared from behind him.

It was another twenty minutes before they were warped back rather unceremoniously, Skywarp laughing his aft off the scout struggling not to purge, faceplates pink.

Thundercracker added him to his contacts.

Chapter Text

To Ratchets optics, Skyfire seemed more depressed by the day.

At first, he’d regarded him as he would any other patient. Frankly, he’d been pissed, stern as he’d first arrived back, even regarding his injuries. They had been self afflicted, after all. He wasn’t in the mood to tend to a mech’s mental health woes. Every single bot on this planet was a veteran. They were all going through it some way or another. They unfortunately just needed to grow up and sort it. Ratchet wasn’t exactly a psychiatrist. He was busy enough.

As the case kept spiralling, though, it became more apparent that this was… different. Yes, Skyfire was displaying post traumatic responses related to the war - Ratchet would have been concerned if he hadn’t, considering his original civilian status - but it wasn’t the main cause of his current state.

It had been a week since he’d taken off to the Earth’s moon, of all places, a week since all of them had learned his former conjunx hadn’t been the one to sever the bond. A week since he’d broken down entirely, slamming an innocent mech he was semi-bonded to into a wall just to scream at him.

The two seekers, at Ratchet’s discretion, had not come back. The medic had thought it was best for space; to take a vent and process, for the shuttle to calm himself. Bring himself back to reality.

For once, it seemed he had made a wrong call.

The shuttle descended into misery, slumped in the same position for days. Ratchet thought the semi-reopened bond links would help, at the very least, but even that didn’t rouse him. Now, the seekers were too busy, making one of the old human hangars habitable on top of it all.

Ratchet entered his medical hab on the seventh day to find Skyfire almost entirely unresponsive.

He was on his side, curled. Ratchet’s optics widened at one of his wings, caught and bent painfully underneath him.

“Skyfire?” he asked, setting energon down. “Are you recharging? You’re on your wing.”

No response. A flicker of concern shorted down his spinal strut.

He frowned, walking to the wall, staring inward to see the faint glow of the shuttle’s optics reflecting off his dull, white paint. “Skyfire, get up.”

It took a round of shaking him to get him to make a sound, a trembling vent that blasted bizarrely cold air. Ratchet grit his dentae before thunking a servo on his pauldron.

“Look at me, now.”

The shuttle shifted, a jerky, exhausted motion that bought him face to face with the medic. He was expressionless, optics dull, lifeless.

Ratchet immediately shone a penlight into his lenses, Skyfire groaning, shutting them.

“You’re on your wing, bolthead,” Ratchet told him, holding in his concern, tone steady. “Is that not painful for you?”

“…huh?” the shuttle blurted, only to wince as he shifted on it, letting it spring free. It was bent unnaturally, Ratchet simply watching with widening optics.

“What’s wrong?” the medic asked him. Skyfire’s optics landed on him, unfocused, silent.

It was only the pointed appearance of a scanner that had Skyfire react, wings slanting backward as he cowered.

“None of that,” he croaked. “‘s not going to help.”

“Then answer my questions and drink your energon.”

The shuttle seemed to sink lower, voice earnest, exhausted. “I… I’m not hungry.”

“What do you mean you’re not hungry?” the medic asked, appalled. Skyfire’s helm dipped low.

“I’m too tired to be hungry.”

“That is not how that works. What hurts?”

“Everything,” the shuttle sighed. “I don’t know what’s in my helm and what… isn’t.”

Ratchet considered him, stepping back to take it in before coming to a conclusion.

Listlessness. Uncontrolled field. Protection of the sparkchamber…

“Something has made your sparkbreak symptoms worse. What happened?”

Skyfire shrugged, looking ashamed.

“The seekers haven’t left you, you know-“

“They’ve sectioned off the bonds,” Skyfire cut in, unable to hide the devastation in his tone. “They want nothing to do with me. I - I was so terrible I thought I’d be able to cope with it, but I can’t refuel, can’t recharge. Why did I do this to myself? How can this be happening with mech I’ve only known for two months?”

“You feel sick?” Ratchet asked.

“I feel like I’m going to die,” Skyfire responded, faceplate creasing. “I can’t do it.”

Scrap.

The shuttle slumped back, groaning as Ratchet whipped out the scanner anyway.

His spark… was certainly in chaos, seeming to fight itself over the lack of feeling from the psuedobonds. Observing him for a moment longer, Ratchet could see the telltale signs of sparkbreak coding rebelling. Every so often, Skyfire’s left wing would twitch strangely, almost in tandem with the vocal glitch he’d acquired. It was social coding slowly coming apart, leaving him confused and aching for…

The shuttle bought his arms around himself, burying his helm.

Comfort then. Alright. This was… not good.

Ratchet excused himself, backing out of the room and into the hallway. He seemed… right in speculation of that need for social comfort. It seemed to distract symptoms of spark break, long enough for his frame to fight back against spark rot. With such a dangerous dip in health… this was going to be a risky experiment.

R01: Change of plans. Skyfire may need care sooner than predicted. How far out are you from completing the hangar?

SW2: uh tcs busy right now but ive just got done warping everything here. hes shoving it in place. maybe a couple hours if were lucky.

SW2: you want to move him in here tonight? give me a few hours to rest and i could warp him here

SW2: is he ok

R01: His symptoms have gotten worse. Substantially so. Letting him have space may have been an error on my part.

R01: His scans are getting rough. It may be the right time for Thundercracker to come and talk to him. It might calm him down. Or make him more responsive. He’s definitely in a funk.

SW2: wait ill tell him

Ratchet leant back into the wall, gaze landing on the locked medsuite door at the end of the corridor.

Starscream’s door.

Ugh. He needed Skyfire looked after and on the way to stabilised before he could even begin to try attend to that slagfire. He swore he was getting too old for this.

His comm pinged.

TC1: Hey, give me an hour. We’re close to finishing here and I’ll make my way over.

R01: Alright. Ping me when you’re here.

TC1: Yessir.

Ratchet sighed, cracked his neck cabling and got back to work.

-

“So he’s… worse.”

The medic nodded. Thundercracker sighed.

Well, duh. He’d given his thoughts, his opinions. He’d been hesitant about leaving him alone. Shit got done, but…

“You want me to talk to him,” the seeker continued, tired beyond belief. Ratchet sighed.

“As well as you can. I haven’t found the right way to tell him he’s being relocated yet. He’s not… quite there at the moment.”

Thundercracker could only nod, optics downcast as his helm whirred slowly. “So I can let go of the bond, now?”

The medic scratched his helm. “Do whatever you need, just don’t overwhelm him. Get him to have some energon while you’re at it.”

Thundercracker swallowed, wings flicking nervously for a moment before he turned tail, stalking towards the medsuite door. For a klik, he looked at his reflection in the frosted glass with a sense of dread before the door slid open and he walked inside.

He hadn’t expected his throat to close up at the sight of crumpled, dim white plating curled into a ball on the little berth. That plating had squeezed him until he choked, vocaliser spitting sparks, raw and agonising.

He’s not going to hurt you.

He stood, for a moment unsure of what to do or say as the shuttle lay there in recharge, somewhat small looking despite his size.. Thundercracker’s servo snaked up to his cockpit, letting out a vent before he let the psuedobond go, tension in his spark falling away.

The white mass shifted suddenly, mainframe whirring before a brilliant blue optic opened in his direction.

Almost instantly, Thundercracker felt a mix of fear and trepidation bite back at the bond. He forced himself to relax, field open, willing himself to come up with some sort of opening statement, a hi, a hello, a…

“So-“ he started casually, optics widening as Skyfire flinched like he’d been struck, suddenly moving, hinges creaking pathetically. The seeker watched in shock as one of his wings struck the wall, scraping painfully before the shuttle had sat, pack to the corner, pedes pulled up onto the berth.

His intake was completely open as he stared up, bond nothing but numb fear. Skyfire stared down at him, optics empty, like -

Thundercracker shook himself, pauldrons hunching. “I - did that hurt?”

The shuttle remained silent, blatantly afraid, terrified. The seeker’s optics narrowed, concern rejected over the bond.

What the hell?

“I’m not mad at you -“

“Thats a lie,” Skyfire interrupted timidly, vocaliser fritzing weirdly.

Thundercracker stilled, then frowned as he rebutted. “Skyfire, you can feel my emotions.”

Skyfire’s helm dipped, unsure. Thundercracker felt his spark begin to crumble, confused.

Oh, Ratchet was right. This had been a terrible mistake. Skyfire was responding like a kicked turbofox. All the work Thundercracker had put in, trying to get him to open up, become friends - it was like it was gone, the larger mech’s field radiating confusion, distrust.

Thundercracker was pulled from his thoughts by Skyfire shifting further away.

“What's going on?” the seeker asked.

It was a few kliks before the shuttle replied. He seemed beaten, unsure, exhausted.

Scared.

“Are you leaving?” he asked quietly, wings flat against his back. Thundercracker froze.

“Leaving? No? Why would I be leaving?” he asked, confused. Something in his spark seemed to stop short, pain erupting.

“Because - because I…” Skyfire tried, servos raising. Thundercracker watched them with a wary optic. The shuttle followed his line of sight, pulling in on himself in shame. “I hurt you. Really bad. And you disappeared.”

I don’t want to talk about this.

“We… wanted you to recover,” Thundercracker replied, tense. “We wanted to give you space.”

“Because I attacked you.”

Thundercracker let out a hiss, Skyfire flinching. “No, because we want you to recover, Sky! This isn’t it! You’re not thinking straight!”

It was a dumb move, and Thundercracker knew it. The bond was suddenly awash with misery and shame, the seeker stepping back at the force of it.

“You’re going to leave,” the shuttle hissed, servos rising to his faceplate as he unsuccessfully tried to keep himself together. “It was always going to happen a-and it was always going to be because of me!”

Thundercracker paled. “No-“

“I don’t know why I did what I did, I - I’ve never put a hand on anyone like that and I don’t know why I would do it to someone kind,” Skyfire forced out, vocaliser glitching, voice frantic as he spiralled. “I was i-in my helm and now I can’t get out and you’re all going to leave, I’m sorry, I - I’m sorry for everything I did, I’m sorry, I’m sorry -“

Okay, maybe this had gone pear shaped. Thundercracker took in a vent, anxiety clawing at his spark. “Skyfire, stop -“

“He left and he’s dying!” the shuttle whimpered, vocaliser crackling with stress. “Everyone’s going to l-leave and I’m going to be alone until I fucking die.”

“Wait-“ Thundercracker tried.

“My sire left and my carrier left and m-my conjunx is gone and the academy is gone and Cybertron is gone a-and-“ Skyfire cut off into a wail, a terrible, crackling sound, psuedobond awash with nothing but grief and fear as he slotted his servos over his audials, his face, vents frantic with panic.

“Y-you’re all going to be gone too and I - I’m going to be alone forever. This isn’t real. It can’t be happening. It’s not real,” he hissed, helm tilting forward, shaking.

If he tried, Thundercracker could actually feel the sudden absence of his presence on the psuedobond. It was frightened, jumpy, but lax as the shuttle separated from reality, overstressed processor begging for answers.

The loss he’d suffered was too much. He was coming apart. Breaking. They’d… leaving him had been a mistake.

Thundercracker was terrible at this.

“Sky?” Thundercracker asked anxiously, stepping closer to the shaking mech. He didn’t respond, helm resting on his knees, optics unseeing. “Skyfire?”

This was dangerous territory. The last time he’d seen him like this, he’d slammed him into a wall. Thundercracker swallowed before approaching the berth.

“Skyfire,” he tried again, prodding at the empty bond. “Nobody’s leaving. I’m sorry I upset you, but… it’s not true. We’re here for you. We want to…”

Still no response. No change in his field, or even the psuedobond. Should he… get Ratchet? This was beyond him, he’d only made it worse.

But…

It was a split klik decision that had him vault upwards onto the berth, a metre away from the catatonic shuttle. He was still breathing, fast vents low and rattly. Still trembling. The seeker’s face fell.

No.

Thundercracker wasn’t going to leave him alone. Skyfire needed protection right now. From the universe and from himself. He swore he could at least give him that.

Right?

And so he started talking. Rambling, really, at his side, as close as he could be without touching. Without frightening him even further.

“Even if you feel alone… I’ll be here,” he murmured, awkward, pushing against the bond, field lax. “If things don’t feel real, that’s… fine. I’m sorry for leaving you. We’ll sort it out. You’re okay.”

He continued to talk, deep voice quiet, soothing as his coding flushed his systems to soothe his rattled nerves. He protected his trine. Skyfire had long since proven himself. He’d protect him too.

It’d be okay.

Skyfire didn’t move to strike, didn’t move to injure. He didn’t move at all, vents slowing, blank optics shutting.

About half an hour later, Thundercracker felt something soft poke at the psuedobond. It was nervous, still terrified, yet he looked up at Skyfire, watching, as he embraced it gently, spark warming around the shuttle’s.

Skyfire shuddered, optics opening slowly, dilated lenses flicking to the side as he gingerly removed his servos from his helm. Thundercracker watched them go calmly before he moved to take one.

Skyfire’s servos were massive, three times larger than the seeker’s helm. They could hurt, definitely - they’d already learnt that the hard way, but they, against all odds, remained… gentle. Just like the rest of him.

Skyfire let him take it, digits scuffed and lax against the hold. The knuckles were bought up against Thundercracker’s intake, where he kissed them like they were the most precious thing in the world. It was quiet, silence only broken by soft vents.

“I’m so sorry,” Skyfire whispered, breaking the silence. His face was taught, optics wet. “I really am. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Thundercracker looked up at him, helm tilting as he considered his response.

“Do you want a hug?” 

Skyfire’s optics widened before he sniffled, choking up with a nod.

Thundercracker was in his arms in a second, pushing ease into the bond as he looped his arms around the shuttle’s neck, plating brushing against his.

“I don’t know why I did what I did,” Skyfire murmured thickly, psuedobond reflecting regret, potent shame, disgust. “I’ve never hurt another mech willingly, I-I’ve never been so disgusted with myself. I’m so sorry, Thundercracker. You have to believe me-”

“I’m not mad at you,” Thundercracker replied, setting his helm into the crook of his neck. “I think… maybe things are just a bit too much right now. And that’s okay.”

“I’m sick,” Skyfire replied morosely. Thundercracker nodded, quiet.

Maybe too quiet.

“I really didn’t mean to hurt you,” Skyfire stated again, tensing. Sensing another spiral, Thundercracker shushed him, nuzzling up his jaw. Skyfire relaxed unwittingly.

“We’re moving you out of here tonight,” Thundercracker murmured into his audial. Skyfire’s small signal finals flicked back in surprise, dread curling back into the bond.

“I - I don’t want to go back to my hab -“ he started. Thundercracker cut him off.

“Different location. We’ve already moved your stuff. The… uh, three things you owned.”

Skyfire’s optics widened. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re moving in with us until you feel better,” Thundercracker replied. “So you won’t be alone.”

The shuttle stilled against him.

“I won’t…?” Skyfire asked faintly. Thundercracker kissed him lightly on the cheek. “You’re… that’s not right...”

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Thundercracker replied, wings slanting. “Ratchet needs time to focus on Starscream. Warp and I are taking over for a bit.”

The shuttle tensed, confused. “But I don’t need to be looked after like some… some sparkling-“

“You’d prefer to be alone?” Thundercracker cut in, immediately regretting it as genuine terror flooded the psuedobond. He swore he could feel Skyfire’s spark beat faster, an unnatural rhythm as the shuttle tried to speak, vocaliser glitching into silence. Distress was starting to come back off him in waves, vents heating.

“What’s wrong with me?” he eventually uttered, vocaliser strangled. Thundercracker cocked his helm.

“All I’ve ever been is alone,” Skyfire croaked hesitantly, chassis trembling. “I was a sparkling going on fifty vorn solo assignments. I was by myself until I met Starscream. It was normal. It was fine. What changed? Why does it have to be so scary now?”

He felt so distressed, so utterly confused. Thundercracker considered him, tanks curdling.

A sparkling? By itself for fifty vorns? That can’t be right. That’s…

“Are you… sure it was fine?” Thundercracker asked slowly, watching dilated lenses flick straight towards him. “Flight frames don’t do well with isolation… right?”

Skyfire vented, helm dipping, field despondent. “I didn’t have another option. I was good at it. I could take it -“

“Good at being by yourself? That makes no sense,” Thundercracker replied, confused. The shuttle’s vents hitched.

“I - there was… things to make it easier,” Skyfire replied edgily, inching out of his hold. His servos were back to trembling. “I… I was good. I was really good. At… at that…”

Thundercracker shuffled back on the berth, looking upward as the shuttle began to shut down once more. His optics flicked from side to side, like he was stuck somewhere else.

For a second, the seeker considered leaving the conversation, jaw tense. Then -

“What made it easier?” Thundercracker asked quietly.

At first, the seeker thought he was well and truly gone, nothing registering in the dim silence. The shuttle’s distant, shaking voice surprised him.

“Thinking… about my carrier,” Skyfire said quietly, honestly. “Thinking about our… our nest… our apartment in Altihex.”

He sounded so far away, so lost. Thundercracker’s coding urged him to protect him, but there was nothing to save him from. Just old memories; a life full of cruelty.

“Did anything else help?” the seeker murmured, watching his optics dim.

Skyfire seemed even more distant. “I was… good at my job. I was really, really good…”

And he was gone, even the psuedobond awash with strange, hazy emotions. Thundercracker swallowed.

“I bet you were good, Sky. You’re always so good.”

The shuttle let out a pleased whimper before quieting again, distant yet tense, EM field nothing but static.

Thundercracker actively fought himself not to curl back around him. There… there wasn’t any point. When he was out like this, did he… know what was going on? He wanted to talk to Ratchet, but if leaving the room frightened the shuttle, he’d stay here forever.

“Sky?” he asked, wincing. “I’m going to… I’m going to talk to Ratchet. Do you need anything?”

The lack of response said it all. Thundercracker swallowed, taking a deep vent before gingerly leaving the room.

-

The hangar was… definitely something.

The main area had next to nothing in it. A table, some chairs and a holoscreen. It was all old and dusty, found in Autobot storage.

Absolutely none of the stuff Skywarp found would fit Skyfire. Like, at all.

The most important things, in his optics, were berths. It was dumb luck that he’d found one the size of their old berth in storage for him and Thundercracker. It fit perfectly in the loft, despite its scruffiness.

Finding a berth Skyfire’s size, though… impossible.

He found berthpads though, lots of berthpads, in good condition. One thing led to another.

SW2: Sent a JPEG attachment.

SW2: thoughtz

TC1: What the hell is that?

Ok, well. He didn’t have to be rude about it. Flicking off his HUD and stepping back, Skywarp guessed it did kinda look… odd. Twelve berthpads total had been stacked and arranged on the reinforced concrete floor, fastened together at the edges with mesh cabling. Thundercracker had given him a servoful of stacked blankets, which had been thrown haphazardly over the pile.

Skyfire could rearrange it if he wanted. It looked kinda comfy regardless. Much nicer than whatever the hell his habsuite had been.

The room was pathetically empty when the two trinemembers had shown up. His berth barely fit Thundercracker, who, at one glance at the shuttle-wing-shaped divots in the metal wall behind it, had gotten so mad he had to go out into the corridor to calm down.

The only other piece of furniture in the hab was a mirror attached to the back of the door. Skywarp had stared into it after Thundercracker’s rapid departure, spark sinking.

There was a tiny storage cabinet built into the wall, which he busied himself in cleaning out. Not that there was much to clean out. Skywarp wondered if the shuttle was just keeping belongings in his subspace instead - he surely had a lot of it. That made more sense than this… tiny… little… room.

The cabinet held a small crate of datapads, two cubes of stale grounder gruel, a neatly folded mesh blanket and a…

It was on the top shelf, and Skywarp cursed his stupid short aft, activating his thrusters to grab it.

A miniscule cardboard box, half as big as his palm, unmarked, with nothing but a stamped delivery address in english.

Skywarp thumbed it open with the tip of his claw, something wrapped in foam and paper sliding out onto his servo. His optics narrowed, plucking at the wrapping -

Oh.

Sitting, shining dully on Skywarp’s palm, was a model plane, an Earth model.

A passenger jet, to be precise, or… a cargo jet. Maybe cargo? It was wide bodied, with incredibly broad wings, three engines on each. Primitive, to Cybertronian standards, but… cool.

He turned his helm downwards, only to realise the box had been sitting on a much larger datapad. It flickered on as he fumbled for it, servowritten notes coming to life. His optics scanned the pad instantly, optics widening.

If I’m to become more accustomed to human scientists, it surely makes sense to scan a new alt mode. My current mode uses too much energon. On grounder fuels, I often feel unwell and tire easily. An Earth alt mode may give me other types of fuel to use.

There aren’t as many human aircraft as large as my designated size. The Prime suggested I look into scanning the previous human aircraft that aided them while I was under the ice. The specific craft is a one off, and is not native to this continent, but is often used for humanitarian purposes. It fits my specifications rather well. I was given a small preliminary model to make my calculations.

Skywarp gazed back at the model in his servo, helm tilting before he slid it back into the tiny box. He glanced at the datapad one last time before he clicked it off, placing it into the crate as well.

And that, he realised, feeling weirdly sad, was Skyfire’s hab packed up.

The mesh blanket was one of the last things thrown on the pile of berthpads before Skywarp pushed it against the slanted wall, afternoon sunlight dappling the covers from the small window. He’d also warped a little cabinet here, which he dropped the crate containing Skyfire’s belongings into.

He paused and stood back, servos on his hips. He… wished he had more time. He was no interior decorator. Warping everything here had left him tired as all hell. Presumably warping Skyfire himself here would totally kill him on top of it all. 

Skywarp wanted a nap.

Either way, the new… hab? Hangar? Hanghab? Was liveable. Thundercracker had put work into widening and replacing the doors so wings could fit though. An industrial warehouse curtain went over the opening of the downstairs hab in lieu of a typical set of sliding doors.

Well… they could have set up doors. But Thundercracker was on edge, almost to the extreme. After dealing with the state of the mech on the moon, Skywarp couldn’t help but see the point of… making sure he wasn’t getting himself into trouble.

It was… tough. Being bonded to an idiot, a worrier and now… whatever the hell Skyfire was. Things felt pretty bleak. He…

TC1: Hey, I need you here in 10. Is that okay?

Skywarp blinked, shaking his helm before leaving the room.

SW2: yea give me a klik im coming

And he was gone in a flash of light.

Chapter Text

His last checkup in the medbay sucked, as usual.

Skyfire felt… gross, hazy, almost like he was dreaming until Ratchet shone his penlight into his optics. Something snapped, broke and he hissed, leaning back, servo coming up to shield his lenses pathetically.

“Welcome back,” Ratchet sighed, pulling back to stare up at him.

“Huh?” Skyfire responded intelligently, nauseous as he blinked white spots from his vision. He felt… bad. Tired. Really, really tired, all the way down to his struts, his aching spark. Tired… like he wanted an oil bath and a nap.

How long had it even been since a bath? A shower? The washracks on the ship were miniscule, impossible for him to use. Flights through thunderclouds had been his best bet since he’d left for the Autobots.

“You’ve been out of it for the past few hours,” Ratchet supplied. Skyfire’s stupified confusion turned into disbelief.

Because, no. That was stupid. And wrong. He never…

“I… wait, I didn’t mean -“ he stammered, pulling up his activity centre, words dying in his chest as he gazed at his statistics. Indeed, he’d just… stopped moving at three that afternoon, almost like he was in recharge with his systems strangely online. It was eight now.

Five whole hours of… nothing.

What?

“We know you didn’t,” the medic replied, helm tilted. “Something Thundercracker said may have upset you. Lean down.”

Thundercracker.

His nose scrunched as he struggled to remember, leaning down for the light to reenter his poor optics. Thundercracker had come and… forgiven him? Had -

“You’re making me leave the medbay,” he gasped, jolting back upright, optics wide. The medic stood, almost impassive before nodding a yes. Skyfire’s lenses darted around, unsteady, anxious.

“At the Prime and I’s orders, you’re moving into a space that will… aid in your recovery,” Ratchet said, choosing his words slowly. “You’re leaving in about an hour. It’s a good thing you snapped out of it.”

Skyfire slumped back down, wings slanted. “This… can’t be a good idea…?”

Ratchet pursed his lips. “At the moment, it’s our only idea. I’m going off a hypothesis right now. A hopeful hypothesis, while I continue to work on Starscream. It’s… a delicate situation.”

Starscream.

It was quiet for a moment, the shuttle letting out a wheezy vent.

“Could you be real with me for a klik?” Skyfire asked, quiet. Ratchet tilted his helm before he subspaced his penlight with a nod.

“How bad is it? Really? I know it’s all terrible, but… it feels…” he trailed off, cringing. “I feel like I’ve completely lost my mind. I guess… there were signs of it, lots of signs, I know that but Thundercracker showed up and it just… hit me.”

Ratchet watched him struggle for words, then go quiet, gaze slightly distant.

Because this was weird. Because he was weird.

“You didn’t realise you were unwell before the seekers showed up?” the doctor asked. Skyfire nodded, shrinking in on himself.

“The spark attacks… were bad all along - and it was stupid of me to ignore those, trust me, I knew, but I was so ashamed,” the shuttle said quietly. “But now my processor… it’s not working anymore, and I don’t know what to do to fix it.”

Ratchet sighed in the quiet, seeming to consider his words carefully, the shuttle tensing. There was no good news here. No second chances, no fairytale cures.

He was an idiot. He always had been.

“Skyfire, you have the beginnings of end stage sparkbreak syndrome. Your social coding is… for lack of better words, coming apart.”

Skyfire swallowed, helm dipping as his soul fractured.

“How come it’s all hit now…?” he murmured. The medic fidgeted.

“I don’t want to alarm you, but it’s all been hitting for a while. You just ignored it. Coming into contact with the seekers… with Starscream… it was like ripping the bandaid off. You were faced with everything you’ve been running from,” he paused, cyan optics piercing. “Am I right?”

The shuttle let out a strangled vent, air hissing past his chipped slats. “I’m going to die. You - you’re putting me out to pasture. Getting rid of me from the Ark-“

Ratchet regarded him with a frown. “Any harm comes to you and we’re all screwed. You have one thing to do here. One. That’s it.”

Skyfire shuddered. “Which is?”

Ratchet leaned in, looking much bigger than he was. “Let yourself be looked after, Skyfire. This isolation business - it’s complete scrap. Running away, being alone; Whether you’re doing it as some sort of fragged up punishment or you’re still running functionalist coding, it’s making not just you unwell, it’s putting everybody’s lives in danger. You need to stop it.”

Skyfire jolted back like he’d been hit, optics wide, voice weak. “I - I - it’s what I was raised on! Shuttles aren’t supposed to -“

“Supposed to what?” Ratchet cut in, angry. “Supposed to what, Skyfire? Have friends? Bond? Be free fragging sentient beings? What the frag do you think we were fighting for? And you’re just going to sit back and continue to suffer?”

“It’s my life!” Skyfire cried. Ratchet snarled, pointing accusingly up at him.

“It’s not your life anymore! Cybertron is gone! You have mech that care about you-“

“Mech caring are the reason I’m here in the first place!” the shuttle blurted, vocaliser hoarse, desperate. “If Starscream had just left me alone… if I’d stayed as a freighter - if I’d done what they told me to do, I’d - I’d -“

He cut off, servos shaking as they covered his face. Ratchet stared at him, optics blazing, voice cold.

“Functionalist slag was engineered to strip the autonomy of flight frames. You have the opportunity to embrace your freedom, or take three other mechs down with you. What’s stopping you?”

Skyfire was silent, cold dread running down his struts, vents tight.

“Tell me one good thing about your life alone, Skyfire. Shuttles,” Ratchet actually hissed, voice low. “Are supposed to be in pods. They’re no exception from flight frame social coding. I’m that fragging old I remember when they weren’t. There is not a seeker’s chance in hell you can lie to me about feeling fine alone when your frame is telling me the exact opposite. You’re not a subtle mech.”

There was a tense silence, the medics servos clenched. The shuttle dipped his helm.

“Mech shouldn’t have to take care of me-,” he bit out. Ratchet laughed.

“You’ve lost your mind because you refused to let anyone help. This is your final choice. You’ve run out of options.”

“I’m not crazy,” Skyfire whispered, processor shorting.

“At this point, I feel like you already were.”

The room spiralled into an agonising silence as the fuming medic shook his helm, and resumed the check up. Skyfire sat, taking it as he numbly tried to process it all.

Something sat in his throat, choking him. He spoke as Ratchet turned to leave.

“I need help.”

The medic paused, turning, looking the shuttle in the optic.

“You’re getting it,” he replied. “So let it happen.”

And with that, he was gone.

-

Skyfire hadn’t realised just how tired he’d become.

Standing was a chore. Walking was agony. Self repair was slow, especially when he’d decided to flee the planet. The use of his hyperdrive had not been a smart decision.

He hadn’t felt hungry since that trip. Energon felt too sweet, too thick, too warm in his intake. His helm ached the further he went without, but he couldn’t manage it without wanting to purge.

He was sitting on the edge of the berth when the seekers slunk in.

For a split second, anxiety overwhelmed him as he stared down at them. Maybe he’d just dreamed up Thundercracker’s forgiveness, their aid. Maybe they wanted his helm on a stick. They probably hated him. They probably -

“Hey, Sky,” Thundercracker smiled, so sweetly, so gently, that Skyfire momentarily felt like he was about to pass out. “You look a little better.”

He could feel them, bonds shyly warming up against his chamber, nervous and soft. He nodded, lost for words as Thundercracker walked closer, a servo sliding over his knee comfortingly.

It felt… bad. For a split klik, Skyfire fought the urge to run.

“We good to go?” Skywarp asked behind him, as brash as ever. His psuedobond was tense, but oddly open. It felt shamefully comforting regardless.

“I think so,” the shuttle replied, taking in a vent before moving to stand. His hinges squealed painfully, knees shaking minutely. Thundercracker grabbed his servo, steadying him despite his embarrassment. His plating prickled strangely before he moved to pull it away.

“Cool,” Skywarp replied, grabbing both of them, shutting his optics -

Skyfire didn’t purge, thank Primus, when they landed, but his knees threatened to give way, causing him to stumble, blinking violet sparks from his optics.

Thundercracker was back at his side at an instant, grabbing his arm, clingy, clingy, clingy. Skywarp twirled, vocaliser echoing. “Welcome!”

“A… hangar…” Skyfire realised as he spun a little out of reach, optics clearing. It was mostly empty space, save for… rooms at the end?

“Home, sweet home,” Skywarp replied, fangs flashing. “I warped fragging everything here, so you better appreciate it.”

Thundercracker rolled his lenses. “He’s being an idiot. You… feel pretty tired. I know it’s early, but would you like to be shown to your hab? So you can get some rest?”

Skyfire tore his gaze away from the curved roof. Right. He was exhausted. And… anxious. His wings, slicked down his pack, were trembling.

“Uh, yeah… that would be good,” he murmured.

Thundercracker, as gentle as ever, lead him to the other end of the hangar. There seemed to be a loft section, too small for him to enter, with a large space sectioned off underneath behind a metal curtain. As the curtain was pushed aside, he realised he could just stand up in there, pack scraping gently against the roof. His claustrophobia pinged before he looked down, and -

“What… is…” he tried, optics wide. In the corner of the room, sat underneath a small window, was an almighty mound of berth pads and blankets. All the ones he’d taken from the Nemesis.

“Look, this was a Skywarp invention,” Thundercracker replied helplessly, field exasperated. “We couldn’t find any berths your size, so he connected a bunch of berthpads instead. It’s not super high up off the ground for you, but we’re gonna try and find something as a base for it. Does that… sound okay? We’re still working stuff out here.”

They did this for me?

He felt kinda untethered, pain ricocheting through his frame as he moved closer, bending to pick up a blanket. It was so soft, fabric smushing against his servos as he ran it through them.

“These… these are yours,” he murmured, looking back at the seeker. “I can’t take these from you.”

Thundercracker waved him off, nonchalant. “We have plenty. You need them right now. Autobot berths are the most uncomfortable things I’ve ever touched.”

Skyfire just nodded, feeling the gentle hum of Thundercracker against his chamber. He vented, clutching the material closer, suddenly anxious.

“Are you sure you’re not mad at me?” he blurted faintly, processor whirring against him. The seeker jolted, frowning, confusion permeating his field.

“I - Sky, no. We’ve already been through this,” he replied, looking up at him. “Did I… do something?”

Primus.

Skyfire winced stepping further back. “No, you didn’t. Sorry… I don’t know where that came from.”

Thundercracker, sensing his anxiety, had his servos up placatingly. “Look, don’t… stress. It’s been a rough day. I’ll leave you to rest up, okay?”

No, no, no, no, nononononono-

“Of course,” the shuttle replied, bowing his head. “Thankyou.”

“Good night,” the seeker replied, turning, leaving, shutting the curtain.

And he was alone.

Skyfire immediately swallowed a surge of panic, dropping the blanket back onto the pile, looking around him.

The room was large, empty, save for the… berth and a cabinet. It was ten times larger than his previous hab at least. His wings flicked as he surveyed it all.

It was dark in here, the curtain blocking out the dim lights and sounds of the main area. There were lights along the walls, but he had no idea where the switch was. Dappled moonlight covered the foot of the berth, projected through the window.

Skyfire clenched and unclenched his servos as he looked at it, exhaustion pulling at his very core. The blankets… those beautiful soft blankets…

Restraint went out the window as he practically dove for it, kneeling into the pile, feeling his way along the berthpads. They were old and worn, but soft, knitted together with cabling. His spark felt like it was in his throat as he settled himself down, burying himself in the fabric.

It was a crude imitation of his Iacon berth but coolant still sprang to his optics anyway. He burrowed deeper, wings flicking happily, airwaves for once, quiet. The pressure was heavenly as he let go, nuzzling into the warmth further, helm aching and exhausted as he curled up despite himself.

The berth was… big. Easily double what he needed. He’d never had a berth as big in his life.

And yet, it was instinctual to curl into himself, helm on top of his arms, knees pulled up to his lower cockpit, wrapped in a mixture of blankets that cradled his face. He was so big he could barely even feel the slight gaps between the berthpads, filled up with nothing but soft fabrics.

As exhausted as he was, though, recharge didn’t come. Instead, he lay there, frame singing with pain, as it always did. After the moon stunt, the tips of his wings had began to tingle, numbness spreading along his ailerons.

This was all his fault.

He wanted help. He recognised he needed help. He’d asked for help.

But his processor stood in the way. His frame stood in the way. Any sort of affection had him bracing for impact. Like…

Like they were going to shoot him right in the chest. Like they were going to change.

Like they were going to leave.

It was an ongoing cycle, broken by Thundercracker’s arrival. But by then…

Had it already been too late? It was surely too late now. Even now, lying comfortable in berth, just thinking, it… it hurt to think. His processor was coming apart at the seams. Sensibility was gone. His common sense was rapidly degrading. His emotions were stupidly erratic. He felt scared.

He’d changed. He was changing into something terrifying.

Would his younger self be disappointed? He mused, mindlessly nuzzling into the blankets, processor blank. He’d… his younger self would…

His younger self would be kind.

No, that’s not -

Yes. He’d been kind. Above all else. It made him a target for harassment, at work, at the academy. It was one of the qualities Starscream had found so fascinating. He helped tutors pack up the labs. He donated energon. He fed stray cybercats.

His younger self had seen all the horrors Cybertron had to offer. So much of it was processor archived, Skyfire was too frightened to even try to dredge it back up. His younger self had wanted to spare him. Even that was kind.

He had never wanted mech to suffer the way he had suffered. He was privileged to accept a place at the academy. He knew that. So he gave back. Saw the best in people. Ignored the taunts when he could. For the very first time, allowed himself to live his life to the fullest.

Being a free mech was incredible. It had been the best time of his life.

He didn’t think he was kind anymore. He felt rabid, frightened. He’d hurt Thundercracker. He’d turned Starscream into a scapegoat. He ran from everything. He didn’t deserve a shred of kindness. He didn’t deserve the seeker’s forgiveness, or Ratchet’s care, or this berth. He wanted mech to leave him alone. He wanted to be hit, shot, downed. He wanted to hurt more than he already was. His processor told him he deserved it.

He was sick. He was really, really sick.

There was this one memory, when he was very young. His firewalls hadn’t been installed yet, and he’d barely developed his plating. He was very small for a shuttle sparkling. His carrier had been concerned for a while.

He’d come down with a virus, leaving him unsure which way was up, gyros spinning wildly. His vents were harsh, chassis overheated to an unbearable degree; his processor was feverish, completely delirious.

He remembered feeling very scared. He didn’t know what was happening, just like now. Everything hurt really badly and being alone was frightening.

But then his carrier was there, keeping him safe in their nest. Breaking his fever. Patting him on the pack as he purged into a bucket. Letting him know what was real, what wasn’t.

Letting him know he was loved.

Skyfire… craved it so badly. Wanted it for himself now. Wanted comfort, reassurance. Clarification on reality. Somebody to soothe his agonized frame, his faulty processor, his neglected biology.

Maybe he… if this berth was really his, he could at least do that for himself. Attempt to nest, even if he couldn’t force himself to have a proper phase. Maybe, if he tried, that part of himself could finally relax, even if he was alone. Half of it was already here. Maybe if he felt well enough, he could scout some nearby human towns. Find more materials…

He rolled onto his side, curling up around a swathe of blankets, wings pinned, grounding him. The fabric smelt of…

It was a weird scent. Jet fuel and cyberleather, mixed with the sweet smell of ozone and storms. It came off the seekers in buckets after they’d used their outliers. He breathed it in. His spark ached.

The guilt was killing him, frame automatically avoiding the seekers every chance it got. Maybe it was to protect them. Maybe it was punishment for himself. He had no idea, plating prickling uncontrollably just thinking about it.

He didn’t want to hurt them. They had been loyal trinemates to Starscream, loyal to him despite the circumstances. Despite what he’d screamed at them. What he’d done…

They deserved a friend much better than him.

Skyfire just couldn’t forgive himself.

This was all his fault.

Chapter Text

The first day in the hangar was… somewhat quiet.

It had been a long time since Skywarp had lived with anyone but members of his trine. Even then, it had been a long time since Starscream had wanted to be anywhere near them.

Skywarp, retrospectively, as a faulty sire, had never seen himself with a trine. Being forced into one was… a somewhat unpleasant experience. Having an incomplete trine felt even worse.

It dragged at their processors. His mind, his spark, had been his alone all his life. When parts of it were shared, then taken away entirely…

At least he had Thundercracker. To talk to, to commiserate with. Thundercracker had always been patient with him, a friend and eventually something more… unlabelled. Unlike his trineleader, his trinemate held the parts of himself Skywarp had been forced to share and cherished them. Looked after them better than he looked after himself.

Skywarp had never really been treasured like that.

The thought came to him one night in the Nemesis, after a particularly bloody fight that had ended up with Thundercracker by his side in the medbay. His left wing had nearly been blown completely off, and his trineleader still had the gall to take his anger out on him after the missions’ failure.

Thundercracker stayed by his side. Made sure he was comfortable, trinebond singing with concern.

Why couldn’t he just bond with him instead?

It was a shameful thought, disgracing the sanctity of trine altogether. But where the hell was Starscream? A true bond was different to a trine connection. It felt different. Meant different things.

Thundercracker wasn’t some back alley frag during war time. He cared about Skywarp, and for the first time in his life, Skywarp cared as much about him too.

He wanted him. He wanted a genuine bond, not some awful Decepticon ceremony, a million eyes on his frame as he was forced to bear his spark for the world to see.

The memories made him sick.

Skywarp just wanted him. And a comfy berth mattress, preferably. And some privacy. So he could, y’know. Show him exactly how much he meant to him, or whatever.

Sigh.

Thundercracker had been weirdly clingy that first week. Quiet, definitely, and tired too. The connection to Skyfire was taking it out of him, making him antsy. Maybe if Skywarp’s sire coding actually worked, he’d understand a little better, but nothing much seemed to calm him

The larger berth was a true relief, especially on Skywarp’s cramped struts. At first, Thundercracker circled the platform, seemingly unsure before Skywarp trilled quietly at him.

Carrier coding was never something he’d really experienced before forming a trine. It wreaked havoc on Thundercracker sometimes, making him stressed, paranoid, particularly of new spaces. The blue jet liked things to be orderly, familiar, safe. He was inclined to nesting as well, something Skywarp was silently fascinated by as he watched his trinemate attempt to secretly compile bedding.

Thundercracker right now though, seemed pretty wrung out - new environment after new environment taking its toll. His pauldrons slumped. Skywarp beckoned him over.

It seemed Skyfire had taken practically all their spare blankets before they’d left. In hindsight, now that Skywarp was aware the mopey shuttle was also a carrier, it made a little sense.

Upon coming back to the hangar with the shuttle’s things - tiny, empty berth fresh in their minds - Thundercracker disappeared, before entering Skyfire’s soon to be room with mounds of blankets.

“They’re not to leave his room,” he said to Skywarp eventually, optics downcast. “He needs them. They’re his. We have enough.”

There was still plenty on their new berth, Skywarp fluttering his wings for a moment before he bought the material up around him. Maybe he’d never truly understand nesting, as an instinctual thing, but it felt soft and comfortable anyway. He looked to his trinemate, observing his sullen face.

“What’s up?” he asked quietly, pulling up mesh for him to slip under.

The larger jet looked like he wanted to avoid it, wings twitching before he gave in, sitting down on the edge, slumping.

“Dunno,” he mumbled eventually, servos grasping the edge of the berth. “It’s all feeling too much right now.”

The pang of desperation from the seeker hit him in the spark. Skywarp sighed.

“He’s going to be fine, TC. He’ll settle in, and we’ll settle in and… we can work it all out from there.”

Thundercracker bit his lip, hesitant. “He’s really gone downhill. What if we made it worse? Starscream wasn’t our fault, but Skyfire…”

Skywarp frowned before leaning forward, pulling the larger seeker in. “You need to stop worrying.”

Thundercracker relaxed despite it, leaning against Skywarp’s cockpit, quiet. Skywarp leaned down to scent against his jaw before he pulled blankets over him, swaddling him with a smirk.

He was out in no time, fumbling for Skywarp under the covers, assuming their regular position. Thundercracker’s hold was rather fierce as he curled around the smaller seeker, jaw nuzzling into his neck cabling. Skywarp couldn’t help himself, arcing up against his cockpit with glee.

“You missed me, TC?” he laughed, flicking a wing. Thundercracker rumbled in response, claws lightly scratching his cockpit.

He was such a weirdo. All protection, no self preservation. Skywarp could count on one servo the times the roles had been switched. Thundercracker’s coding just didn’t seem to want to allow it. In all fairness, Skywarp was… extremely small, for a seeker. Maybe he just wasn’t big enough.

Whatever.

It was fine, though. He liked the attention. Skywarp always loved the attention.

“I don’t even know how he does it,” Thundercracker murmured.

“Huh?”

“All these things… would destroy a sire flight frame, let alone a carrier. Every carrier precaution, taken away from a sparkbroken mech who’s still half conjunxed. Life would be agony.”

Skywarp frowned into the darkness. “I… what are you getting at?”

Thundercracker shifted, lips close to his audial, tingling, voice empty. “He can’t preen, has no social life, no friends. He couldn’t even nest. He had nothing. Nobody.”

“We all lost things during the war…” Skywarp replied with uncertainty. “It’s what wars do.”

Thundercracker huffed, taking a klik to process a response.

“We lost things, yes. Everything, really. But we gained things too. What we lost, we could try and rebuild. He has nothing. He was supposed to be looked after, but with Starscream gone…”

He fell into silence. Skywarp closed his eyes.

“And you think it’s worse because he’s a carrier?”

Thundercracker stiffened before relaxing, vocaliser tight. “If I say yes, will you let me explain?”

Skywarp hummed. Thundercracker took a deep vent.

“I don’t know how different it is for shuttles. I hung around Blitzwing enough to hear… certain things about Astrotrain that I really wish I hadn’t. Carrier mech are weird enough to begin with. But flight frames… our social coding is… intense. And it’s directly wired with our biology, you know? I know you don’t really experience that sort of thing -“

“I’m better off without it,” Skywarp cut in bitterly, feeling a pang of longing hit his chamber. Thundercracker simply nodded.

“With coding that intense, of age carrier flightframes need certain… allocations to survive. To stay sane. The Golden Age and the war considered that a liability, so they resorted to just culling them entirely. Carriers were larger, needed more fuel, needed special considerations for their own biology. They were more susceptible to loneliness, sparkbreak, assault. Being… taken advantage of.”

“And that lack of care attributed to Skyfire going nuts?” Skywarp queried. Thundercracker murmured an affirmative, jaw tight.

“I don’t know how it is for him, but… nesting has always been important for me. If I’m going through a period of time where my frame is telling me to go hide, keep safe, it’s something I need to do, or you know I’ll totally lose it.”

Skywarp was silent, biting his lip. Thundercracker continued.

“Shuttles need to nest as well. Astrotrain getting more and more antsy on any trips longer than a few Earth years? They aren’t meant to be twenty-four-seven taxis. They’re real carrier mech. They get upset when they can’t do things that will help them… regulate their own biology,” he sighed, antsy. “Because of their size too, they need assistance. There’s no autonomy whatsoever, even back on Cybertron, and dealing with that sort of thing with strangers could be traumatising. Could you imagine not having control of your frame or processor because of your size class?”

Bots in his insides. Touching his plating, like they owned it. That unnatural big, red button fused to Skyfire’s control panel…

It sounded pretty nightmarish. Skywarp let out a vent. Thundercracker sighed.

“Look, I’m just saying… he really had one option, by himself. If he was too scared of asking for help in that department - asking for help for something extremely intimate, from a new faction filled with nothing but grounders that treated him like garbage - he at least would have had the option of nesting by himself. It’s important for our mental wellbeing, wing health, everything. It would have been the only thing he could have done for himself, to feel any shred of… of comfort, and we walked in there today and he had fucking nothing.”

There was a vile feeling leaking through the trinebond, of pure, unadulterated anger. Skywarp’s optics flickered back open.

“He would have felt so scared,” Thundercracker hissed, sorrowful, helm burrowing into the back of Skywarp’s neck, vocaliser quiet. “We felt him in pain, constantly. We both know his spark already gives him trouble. But Warp, he can’t even preen. If we can feel that wing pain in our own, imagine how agonising it must feel for him. And he still keeps going! He flew to the moon! He did all their aerial business during the back end of the war and they couldn’t even give him a berth that fit him? Let alone any sort of nesting materials he would have needed? And mech are wondering why he’s lost it? Is - is he a joke to them?”

Skywarp certainly understood where he was coming from. He couldn’t really imagine leaving a carrier alone, isolated. Everyone had needs and Skyfire had certainly been woefully neglected.

“You gave him our blankets,” Skywarp mumbled. Thundercracker nodded into his neck, almost hesitant.

“I promise you, he needs them. I’ve spoken to Ratchet about our next move. We need to keep him safe. He needs comfort right now. The sooner we assist him, the sooner everyone in this hangar will feel a million times better.”

“What’s your plan?”

A huff, stress leeching out of his frame. “Well, it’s bad. He needs cleaning. According to Ratchet, he’s still coated in spilt energon in his inner compartments. He wasn’t able to remove it with him in root mode. He also just hasn’t been detailed in Primus knows how long. He smells of burnt grounder fuel. His tanks probably need to be flushed because of it.”

“Primus,” Skywarp muttered, grossed out. Thundercracker sighed.

“More importantly, he needs a really, really thorough preen. I don’t know if you want to be involved - it’s okay if it’s too much. But it’s going to be a lot. He probably isn’t going to like it. I’m scared some of his energon lines have been cut off at this point and detangling his wires is going to take forever, but it needs to be done. He’s in a lot of pain and I think dealing with that will clear his helm. We just have to convince him of it first.”

Right. Preening such a big, unpredictable mech would probably be a two bot job.

“I - I’m also going to see if I can find more nesting materials for him, too. I don’t know if I can trigger a full phase out of him, but if I can just get some sort of… I don’t know…” Thundercracker trailed off. “Relaxation, out of him, maybe? Anything to lessen his stress would be a plus at this point. He’s spiralled pretty rapidly.”

Skywarp nodded, considering for a moment. A flicker of the moon’s dusty surface hit his receptors. “He’s scared of being alone.”

Thundercracker stiffened. “I know, but he’s just so avoidant. He matured independently and any bot a mile away can tell it completely fried any sort of frame instincts he had. Most of the shuttles I ever had to work with were the same, I just never thought I’d get this up close and personal to it. I don’t know how to take care of him without crowding him - I’m scared anything too much will have him hide from us.”

Skywarp chirred quietly in thought. “Well, we go slow, then, right? Let him relax. Go from there.”

Silence. Confused, he shifted.

“TC-“

“Do you… think it’s even possible to get him back to some sort of normal?” Thundercracker whispered, exhausted. Skywarp’s intake clicked shut. “I don’t even have anything to go off except for how Starscream spoke of him.”

Starscream…

Bonding with Starscream had always had it’s challenges. Not only was he a complete sociopath of a mech, he was a total control freak and refused to acknowledge his gender entirely. After their forced bonding, it had taken a while for any of them to talk to each other. From what Skywarp had been told, the bonding had amplified his two trinemate’s coding to an uncomfortable degree. 

Starscream, of course, fled entirely, throwing himself into work, in a venomous mood that affected everyone involved. Thundercracker, a quiet, serious mech Skywarp had only met a few hours before the bonding, had nowhere to flee to. Instead, he skulked around their quarters on Cybertron, secretly pilfering anything soft he could find. It all disappeared quickly and Skywarp, confused, finally stumbled upon it all in a dark, cold storage closet in the back corner of their quarters.

He remembered jumping as he opened the door, spying a wing emerging from a pile. The storage closet was apparently large enough for an adult seeker to curl into a ball on the ground. Thundercracker, buried in a meagre amount of mesh blankets had groggily jumped up with a start, banging his helm on the lowest shelf, optics widening as they locked on Skywarp’s.

His field was terrified.

“Don’t tell Starscream,” were the first words croaked out of his intake, stammering further apologies as he slipped out of the nest he’d formed. 

Skywarp observed his wings shaking, taking in the strange, desperate feelings flaring through the bond. Like he needed this. The violet seeker frowned, tilting his helm.

Thundercracker was the trine’s resident carrier. Skywarp hadn’t witnessed much of this behaviour before. He’d actively been involved in the war before he could even form words and the majority of carrier seekers had been destroyed as soon as their coding had activated.

“Why are you in the closet?” he sighed instead. The kneeling seeker in front of him bowed his helm, a submissive display of embarrassment.

“It won’t happen again.”

Skywarp folded his arms. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Thundercracker’s shoulders hunched, biting his lip. “It’s a coding thing. I can’t help it. It came on really strong this time and I - I wasn’t prepared. I can’t hide it like I used to. The bonding, I… I’m sorry-”

The feelings in his spark were new and even a few weeks of getting used to it had them feel overwhelming. He didn’t know how to pull it all back yet, hide it from the others that had been attached so crudely.

It seemed Thundercracker didn’t know either, feelings of pure humiliation and misery curdling Skywarp’s spark. Despite his considerable size, the seeker seemed small, almost desperate, hunched over on the ground. From here, Skywarp could see beads of condensation rolling off the trembling, overheating seeker’s helm. It wasn’t the raging, standoffish feelings that came from Starscream. It was just quiet. Despondent.

Skywarp didn’t like those feelings.

He crouched, gazing into the bottom of the closet. All of their thin, rationed mesh blankets sat there, curled into a soft nest. It looked kind of inviting, despite the dim lighting.

“I’ll put them back,” Thundercracker mumbled, well and truly humiliated. “I genuinely… I swear it’s usually not this bad, I - I’m good at this sort of thing. I wouldn’t have made it this far if I couldn’t handle myself…”

He trailed off, slumping miserably. 

And, with awful emotions stirring in his chamber, Skywarp felt… bad for him.

“You reckon it might be because of the… trinebonds?” he asked quietly. The blue jet looked at him, expression unreadable. “Starscream’s kinda lost it recently. Same sorta feelings. I dunno.”

Thundercracker seemed to consider this for a moment, wings slanting. “You seem fine, though. If coding is an issue here, why isn’t yours acting up?”

Skywarp’s intake closed with a click, panic smarting through his cockpit. Thundercracker’s optics widened at the sensation.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, pauldrons hunching. “You’re upset.”

“My coding is not a part of this equation,” Skywarp replied coldly. “You can’t stay here.”

Thundercracker flinched. “I - I’ll put everything back.”

He made to move, to get up, before Skywarp grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t be an idiot, just sleep in our berth. Just clean it up before Starscream gets back. Why are you so embarrassed?”

Thundercracker’s optics lit up before they dimmed again, wings shaking. “It’s not - I haven’t done this living with others. It’s private a-and it’s going to get worse. I don’t want to… burden anybody by asking for assistance. It’s stupid.”

Skywarp considered him for a klik, tilting his helm.

“Assistance like what?”

Thundercracker immediately went red, wings rigid, nervousness lancing the connection as he pulled away. “It’s nothing like that, if this is some weird sire-brained proposition, I’d prefer to be left alone -“

What?

“No!” Skywarp cried, backing off in horror, optics wide. “I don’t want to interface with you, you moron, I’m genuinely asking! You feel like slag on my spark right now and I’m asking how to make it stop!”

Thundercracker froze, confusion suddenly poking at the bond as he stared up at the violet seeker.

There was a moment’s silence, just quiet vents. Then -

“You’re being serious,” Thundercracker said softly, optics dimming. Skywarp rolled his optics.

“I know nothing about carriers. I don’t know what’s going on, but the bond feels like scrap because of it. If the trineleader’s a no-go, what’s the solution here, Thundercracker?”

Thundercracker seemed to wilt under his heavy gaze, wings slumping. “I… uh…”

Another round of glaring and the blue seeker shook his helm, bashful.

“I… flight frame carriers nest. We have nesting phases and it makes us… it makes me… unwell. And it feels bad, when I’m not… secure. My plating burns. I don’t know how to explain it,” he swallowed, cheeks pink. “It’s a constant thing, I can’t just… clean up and resume later. I need some time. I can’t use the berth, okay? Not if he’s there. Not if you’re there, either.”

Skywarp frowned, thinking of their hab. There was a single bedroom, with a single berth for all of them, something Starscream pretty much refused to use - which made Skywarp feel miserable, for some reason? Like he wanted to be anywhere near that lunatic?

There was a main area with a couch and a holoscreen, and a hallway with a closet and…

The washracks, which then connected to a tiny storage room. If he moved some boxes it would be perfect.

Look. Nesting sounded… annoying, but if it made Thundercracker feel better…

Skywarp vented before grabbing the other seeker’s servo, pulling him to his pedes. He was trembling a little, slightly flushed. He pushed him in the direction of the washracks.

“I have an excellent solution for you,” he crowed, before warping them there.

The rare times they had got Starscream to open up before their trip to Earth, Skyfire had always seemed to come up somehow. It was… a weird feeling, but after a while, both seekers could sense… something else around Starscream’s spark. Something soft and sleeping.

He spoke about him wistfully. Longingly, before he’d inevitably clam up and flee. A partner, of a rare frame type. Quiet and intelligent. Kind and passionate. His trinemates had to put a series of events together themselves. Researching broken, incomplete databases. Scouring old records.

And then they found it.

WARFRAME WOES: IACON ACADEMY MECHSLAUGHTER TRIAL

A whole article, pictures and all. Of a battered, malnourished Starscream, shackled and pistol whipped, still in his factory frame.

After half a vorn of delay, the seeker class warframe and former Iacon Academy student, UL6H-T4R of Vos was sentenced today. After ten hours of deliberation, he was found guilty of the death of fellow student, Skyfire of Altihex while on a research mission off planet.

With only his systems and his own account of the event available, his initial charge of murder was downgraded to mechslaughter. He was sentenced to two hundred vorns imprisonment without parole and stripped of all academic achievements.

UL6H-T4R is remembered for causing a scene last vorn during his crash landing back on Cybertron in the Kaon region. It is estimated the shuttle perished over thirty vorns ago, in what was claimed to be an accident.

His arrest has rehashed the conversation around warframe mecha in schools and businesses. Iacon Academy has declined to comment.

Skywarp remembered the horrified looks they’d given each other after going through the datapad. Thundercracker’s trembling. There was no option to bring it up whatsoever. If a miniscule scratch on his plating was enough to send their trineleader into a frenzy, this would kill them.

And yet.

They both knew he was miserable.

There was only so much he could do to hide it. As months stretched into decades, decades into vorns, vorns into millennia - the seekers became accustomed to it. The erratic push and pull of their trineleader’s emotions, sometimes hidden, sometimes not. The pain and fear and… bitter loneliness he felt.

It was already rare for Starscream to seek out comfort, but as he became truly entangled with the Decepticon leader, things seemed to worsen. His mood, his injuries, his sense of self. Jumbled, aggressive, wrong.

Skywarp remembered months of no contact, the war in full swing, Starscream nothing but a dictator during practice, a distant, harshly blocked feeling on their spark. 

Thundercracker became something else to him in this time. Driven by loneliness, maybe. Isolation from the flock. For the first time in his life, Skywarp was truly alone with his thoughts. The war kept getting worse. Cybertron began to fall.

Every so often, Thundercracker would get sick, like he had in the first few months. The blue jet’s impressive size, stoic nature, would crumble as his processor combusted. Within a cycle or two, he’d be reduced to a snivelling mess, bedbound and belligerent and… clingy.

Nesting was a carrier thing, apparently. An instinct from ancient times. Protected coding that couldn’t be stamped out. It was new to Skywarp. He’d never been all that social. Gave up on trining a long time ago.

It left his trinemate a complete mess, the bond a staticky, confusing jumble of pain and longing and other terrible emotions that left Skywarp feeling strange. Like he shouldn’t… leave him? He should stand guard.

Protect him.

He’d been pulled into berth the first time that way. Feeling bad for Thundercracker had led to a strong arm around his neck, a feverish frame pressed against his. Skywarp panicked, swiping to get away, near falling out of berth as he backed off, chassis heaving. Shaking, he’d left the room.

Thundercracker’s sobs echoed their quarters until he had the courage to return. Skywarp had frightened him, evidently. Had scratched his oversensitive plating and disappeared.

It was terrible, hearing him cry. The violet jet had never felt so awful in his life, watching the larger seeker curl up into a ball and weep. He was harmless. Brainless, almost. Frightened and sick.

And he wanted comfort. Wanted someone next to him.

It was almost too painful on his spark to ignore. Faint, miniscule stirrings of the sire coding that left Skywarp broken. Unfinished.

He couldn’t help but listen to it.

He was scared. Petrified, actually, as he approached. Thundercracker’s optics were gorgeous pools, dripping with coolant. His helm vents were almost scaldingly hot and he let out a whimpering keen. It petered off into an almost grateful sob as Skywarp pet his cheek, then rubbed slowly down the glass of his warm golden cockpit.

Thundercracker let Skywarp decide what to do, where to go, this time. Curling around the larger seeker was difficult, but he tried. Holding him in his arms was…. new. Nice.

This is what sires are supposed to do… right?

Falling into recharge was unexpected.

Skywarp woke, staring into dazed crimson optics. Thundercracker was barely online, helm vents fogging up his optics. Just staring lucidly.

A blue wing flicked.

A gorgeous shape, dim with dust and smoke, scratched from fighting. Truly massive. Skywarp couldn’t help but run a digit down it’s length, only stopping as Thundercracker’s ailerons suddenly flickered open.

Skywarp’s optics widened as the other let out a gentle croon, nestling into the mesh on the berth. He scrambled up, wings flaring. This was -

This was an invitation for preening! But Thundercracker was ill and preening was only for those closest to the spark! Carriers and sires and bondmates and -

… trinemates.

Skywarp was left scrambling, processor blanking. He was - he was well within his rights to preen Thundercracker. He’d practically been invited to. How long since he himself had a decent preen? A decade? A vorn?

He could… just ask for that?

I’m allowed?

It was all so dumb, really. Stupid.

Skywarp had been lost for a long time. Purpose was… war. Megatron, of course. Killing. Destroying everything in his path.

His faults meant he didn’t have a choice. There was nothing else, not for him. No partners. No trine. Too lacking for a second frag. Too broken for a bond.

Nobody would ever want a busted thing like him. 

But…

Preening Thundercracker was… difficult to explain.

Skywarp didn’t… do this sort of thing. His servos shook. His wings trembled.

Thundercracker’s beautiful wings were so soft. A gentle smoothness that arced into the air. All Skywarp could do at first was touch them, terribly shy, digits running across blue plating.

The soft noises Thundercracker made pulled him back into reality, optics widening as things suddenly started to make… sense.

It took an hour or so. Intense sensations that had Skywarp near dozing, a sense of warmth… safety he’d never felt in his life. This beautiful blue creature… his trinemate… had curled around him by the time he’d packed his wiring back down, trilling softly, beautifully, into his neck.

“I don’t know if we can get him back to normal,” Skywarp murmured into the darkness. “But this… it isn’t normal anymore.”

A nod. A soft chirr.

“He needs to make his new normal. Whatever that is,” he continued introspectively. “Maybe preening him will help him like… it did me.”

Silence. He tensed.

“He doesn’t deserve to feel so scared,” Thundercracker whispered, vocaliser crackling with emotion. Skywarp could only sigh as he nuzzled up into him, optics squeezing shut. “How are we supposed to stop it?”

“I don’t have an answer for you, TC,” he whispered. “You know I wish I did.”