Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Starscream should not have taken the risk. He was alone. A rogue, and without a T-Cog no less! He should not have taken the risk.

Still, foolishly, he’d stepped forward, closer and closer to that little, isolated cabin where the faintest trace of energon pinged on his sensors, and he’d paused.

Screaming. Sobbing.

The Nemesis, Megatron’s servo, Starscream—

“Please!” the high, breathless voice of a fleshling femme whimpered. “Please—I didn’t—I didn’t know you would be here early! I would have—I would have made some—ah!” she broke off at the sound of fleshy skin hitting fleshy skin.

Starscream inched closer.

“Goddamn whore.” A fleshling mech cussed. His words slurred together, somewhat like the way Megatron’s would when he spent too long in close contact with dark energon. “Always fucking yapping. Huh? I work my ass off for this house, so you all can be happy, and you don’t even have a good meal for me at home?”

The femme sobbed. Starscream grimaced and tried to leave. This was none of his business. He shouldn’t have been here. He would come back later. The energon would still be there later. His pedes wouldn’t move.

“I’m out decimating Autobot armies, making my due as leader of the Decepticon cause! And you, dear Starscream? What do you do but take up energon—”

“—and make my life harder,” the fleshy mech and Megatron’s voice finished in unison.

Before Starscream knew it, he was walking forward. No. This wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be here. The best course of action would be to wait until the mech finished with the femme and then—

“Help me, Soundwave!” Starscream howled. A heavy metal servo set an unpleasant, almost painful pressure on his wing. “Soundwave!” Starscream wailed.

Soundwave didn’t move. Blank visor, he watched as Megatron ripped Starscream apart.

—Starscream hissed. It sounded like a poor excuse even to his own audials that he wouldn’t be there to see the fleshy femme suffer the same way Soundwave was there to see him suffer. Damn it, he thought bitterly. The ache of the missing T-Cog in his abdomen pulsed more prominent, as if agreeing with the Seeker. Damn it all.

Starscream leaned down and looked through one of the windows of the organic cabin. It was cracked and gray, but he could still see everything with a horrible, startling clarity. Idly, he scanned the area.

It was… cluttered in a way the Nemesis was not. All rampant chaos and strewn parts. But then again, Starscream supposed the Nemesis had a better cleanup crew than this fleshling did. As Starscream’s optic dragged across the room, he met the gaze of another, and paused.

From one discerning metallic optic to two fearful fleshy ones—four fearful fleshy ones—Starscream had the horrible, sinking realization that there were sparklings in the cabin. The smaller one, upon meeting Starscream’s gaze, opened its intake—presumably to scream in fear—only for the other, bigger one to slap a servo over it and muffle the noise.

Though, evidently, not well enough. The femme’s sobbing, and the sound of flesh hitting flesh—when had it become a background noise—paused, and Starscream heard the pedesteps of the fleshy mech get closer. The sparklings inched away. The femme then crawled into view, covered in her species’ peculiar red blood and sobbing, servo grasped tight around the mech’s ankle—

—Starscream grasped his servo tight around Megatron’s ankle. “Mercy,” he begged, vents wheezing, fans whirring, wings drooping in submission. “Mercy, Master, please.”—

—and Megatron the fleshy mech kicked the femme away and continued nevertheless.

At this, the younger sparkling surged, fire burning in his optics, and he ripped the servo of his brother away from his intake and shouted a few words of hate to the flesh-mech.

The mech merely inclined his helm, amused.

Megatron inclined his helm, amused.

And then he turned around and grabbed the femme instead, to the visible, stricken surprise of the sparklings, dragging her away by the helm, kicking and screaming—

—Megatron dragging him away by the helm, kicking and screaming—

—And before Starscream knew it, he’d ripped off the roof of the cabin and struck a single, deadly talon straight through the fleshy mech’s body.

He didn’t know how he appeared to these fleshlings at that point, carrying the roof of their abode with one servo, with the blood of what had to be their sire on his other servo’s talon, dripping a slow, gruesome melody onto the organic floor, but Starscream just couldn’t bring himself to care.

Drip.

D-d-d-drip.

Drop .

The sparklings cowered behind their creator, watching in morbid fascination and fear alike as the flesh-mech dropped from Starscream’s digit, landing with an ungainly thump on the ground.

Slowly, Starscream shifted to meet the optics of the creator. She looked back at him in fear. Starscream grimaced. He needed to… do something about that. Preferably fast. Before she brought upon issues he didn't have the firepower to deal with.

As autonomy and presence of mind returned to Starscream, the first words out of his intake were—

“Have you any communication device?”

The femme, perhaps surprised by his eloquence, pointed shakily at a strange contraption attached to the wall of the cabin. Starscream frowned. It was broken. (Of course, that made his job easier, given he wanted to limit her communication of his existence outside the cabin, but really? Such an archaic thing in a relatively modern age for communication devices, and it was broken?) He turned to the femme. “That is broken.” He informed. “You should get a new one.”

The femme whimpered and nodded. Starscream frowned deeper and shifted his weight. The cabin creaked. “Stop making that noise,” he ordered uneasily, “I don’t… like it.”

The femme nodded again, frantically, all whimpers immediately stopping, and somehow, Starscream felt worse. “What is your name?” he tried, before jolting. What in the Pit am I doing?! His HUD blinked. His tanks were at 18%. He needed energon. That was the entire reason he came here. Damn it—were his processing systems shutting down already—?

“Linda.”

Starscream jerked and faced the femme in surprise. She looked… still afraid, of course, but significantly calmer than before. Blood still dripped from Starscream’s talon, that same, consistent, terrible melody. Drip. D-d-d-drip.

“What’s your name?” Linda questioned, pulling Starscream out of his processor. Her sparklings yanked on her servos in fear, hissing at her to ‘not engage the 20-foot monster’. Linda did not flinch.

Starscream smiled at her. (She was much stronger than he could ever hope to be). His red optics glinted in the dying light of the sun, his wings spread and blocking the light from reaching them. Idly, he shifted, and a ray of diminishing daylight streaked across the femme’s fleshy faceplate. “Starscream.” He whispered. “My name is Starscream.”

Chapter Text

Starscream… couldn’t quite draw a moment to when it started. These odd feelings of the wind brushing against his faceplate (even when there was none) or the taste of energon sitting heavy on his glossa, even though he hadn’t eaten any in days.

Starscream just couldn’t quite place it.

“If you really want to thank me,” Starscream uttered, really only half-serious, almost entirely joking, “Build me a shrine.”

Had Linda really built a shrine? Was she worshipping it with the feathers of those flying, black birds? The ones that made noise and followed him everywhere he went, circling the crest of his helm like a dark and terrible crown?

(Starscream had grown fond of them over the months; organic though they were, they were loyal companions that he hadn’t had for a long time)

Starscream’s personal comm line crackled with static and within a few moments, he heard Linda’s humming voice come through.

“Starscream?” her voice was timid. Searching. As if she wasn’t sure he’d answer, even after these months of their regular talks.

“Linda.” Starscream greeted, still, and he felt something warm rush through his internal struts. Languid. Slow. Calm, in a way he hadn’t been in eons.

After Starscream had gored Linda’s pathetic conjunx—for apparently that mech was not only a sire, he was a conjunx—on his talon, he’d deemed it necessary to at least let her know of the subsequent destruction he would wreak on her organic cabin home in the search for energon. Linda had agreed, faceplate tense with old memories, perhaps remembering something fond of that mech, the same way—

“You are quite impressive, Starscream.” Megatron’s optics twinkled in the dimming light of Kaon. The war had been rough lately, and this was a rare quiet night. Therefore, naturally, the leader and the second-in-command of the Decepticon Army went off to a bar to spend the rare off-time drinking to their sparks’ content, lest they never get the opportunity again.

“No,” Starscream chuckled, demure. “Surely, you jest.”

Megatron gave a chuckle of his own and swirled the high-grade energon in a cube within his servo. He shook his helm. “You are greater than you know.” He assured.

—Starscream’s memories were tainted with a happier time, a smiling Megatron whose servos knew the meaning of forbearance as well as brutality.

In the end, Linda, for she was far stronger than Starscream was, allowed the destruction of the cabin on the assurance that Starscream would help her rebuild anew.

And, for whatever reason, Starscream did. He felled trees with his sharp talons, he warmed them at night with the heated air from his vents, and he offered them his servo to stand on, to rise above the trees that Starscream on his own wasn’t tall enough to surpass, for the trifling purpose of seeing the sun rise.

“Starscream. Hey!”

Starscream was broken out of thought by Linda’s crackling voice. The darkness of his cave was easy to get lost in, and the ache of his missing T-Cog got ever the more… worse. “Linda.” Starscream repeated, this time warmer and more present. “How are you?”

Linda giggled, the sound coming across the line with tinges of static. How long had it been since someone talked with Starscream as casually as this? Not since, he supposed, Megatron gave my Seeker unit to that incompetent buffoon, Dreadwing.

“I’m doing well, Starscream. Marcus and Jacob—” the older and younger sparkling, respectively, Starscream remembered, “—have made friends here in school. I’m really happy, you know? I can’t thank you enough for it. My boys have a future outside of that godawful forest, and I—” Linda sucked in a breath. “Thank you.”

Starscream hummed. All their conversations started like this, almost religious with how repetitive it was. Over and over again, they would greet each other, Starscream would ask her how she was doing, and like a hymn with rhythm and Vosian drums beating in the background, the word ‘thank you’ would fall from her dermas with almost wild and reckless abandon.

Starscream had long since given up trying to dissuade her of the repetitive action. “You’re welcome.” He murmured instead—the appropriate response to a ‘thank you’.

Even from a distance as far as their own, with cave walls closing in on him like Megatron’s servo around his neck, Starscream could feel the giddy rush of Linda’s happiness, like a freeing zephyr brushing against his audial.

(“Hey Starscream.” Linda asked, once upon a time, just a few days out from the ending of Starscream’s tenure rebuilding her house. Static crackled across the line as she spoke. “Do you like flowers?”

“Flowers?” Starscream had furrowed his optic ridges. “Those organic things?”

“Yes. With the petals and colors.”

Starscream had hummed, shifted, and tried to ignore the feeling of stone scraping against his wings. He had spent all of a few hours in the cave, but already did it feel so Primus-damned stifling. “They are pretty, and good for nothing else.” Starscream decided. Much like Knock Out, but even Knock Out had use as a doctor, however dubious. For these ‘flowers’, he could think of none. Though, even Starscream had to admit…

He did feel a little guilty stepping over such fragile, beautiful things.

“I step on them more often than not, anyway.” Starscream murmured.

“Hmm…” Linda’s end of the comm started scratching, as if she had been taking notes on a paper. “I see. What do you enjoy then?”

Starscream had paused, suspicion weighing his thoughts down. “Why do you want to know?” he murmured, testy with the new question. Linda wouldn’t attempt to take advantage of his indulgences… would she?

Linda hummed. “Maybe I just want to give you a gift.” she said innocently, “To show my gratitude. Maybe.”

Starscream remained stiff for a few moments before relaxing. No. Linda wouldn’t. His wings, once always pridefully hiked up to his shoulders, now drooped against his back in the claustrophobic darkness of the cave. Still, even now, he could remember the feeling of the wind against those armor plates in horrible, increasing clarity, and he knew, deep in his internal struts, that if the starvation didn’t end him, the Skycall surely would.

“I enjoy flight.” He whispered. “The wind against my wings, the smell of ozone and petrichor after a storm.” One of the few things good about this organic planet, he’d decided when he first arrived.

Linda was silent on the other line for a few moments, before responding, voice soft as always:

“I like the color pink, the vibrant light of the sunrise. I like the color red, the color of your eyes the evening you saved us. I like the crows that circle around your head. They look like a crown.”

The words had been horribly reminiscent of Soundwave’s before the war, when he preached Megatronus’s Megatron’s glory. When he still had his voice. Starscream swallowed. “And what was that little speech meant to accomplish?” he tried to hiss, but his voice was brittle.

Linda laughed, and it sounded faint to Starscream’s audials. “Just my compliment for the day, Starscream.” she assured.

“That is Lord Starscream to you, fleshling.” Starscream snapped, reflexively falling back on caustic words to hide how deep Linda’s words struck.

“As you wish, my Lord.”)

…Yes, it was strange. The way Starscream felt the wind against his derma, a feather-light kiss, mere moments after the correspondence ended.

(A religious, repetitive experience, a hymn of gratitude playing in the background—tired and starving though Starscream may have been, was this a tune only he could hear? Or was it simply the madness of Skycall?)

0~o~0

Life was boring, alone as a rogue, and Starscream’s processor constantly reminded him of his studiousness on the Nemesis. A terrible, everlasting reminder, an urgent suggestion made in his own voice to go back.

Boredom, Starscream mused, the bane of all Seekers.

The cave ceiling was especially dark that night—a nod-off to the new-moon nature of it—and Starscream had the sudden, stupid idea of climbing the mountain he’d taken residence on. It was a stupid thought, for heights and Skycall never mixed in a beneficial fashion, but Starscream could do nothing about it. The prospect of truly feeling the wind on his wings was much too enticing to begin with.

In cold silence—for his own voice could not fill the void of company—Starscream hiked to the top of the mountain.

And then he paused.

The green leaves of the trees rustled. There was a scream. A roar. A whimper. A beast and a sparkling. Starscream shook himself. The oddness of the situation was enough to shock him out of the thrall of Skycall. Perhaps, he considered, it would be ideal to pursue it. It was, after all, a welcome distraction from the boredom and starvation that was his existence whenever Linda was not calling.

Starscream brushed away some foliage, and found himself at the scene of the scream. There was some beast, with sharp talons and dentae, large in comparison to the sparkling it was cornering, growling in a way both rabid and hungry. The sparkling whimpered. The beast advanced—

Starscream cowered. Megatron advanced. His fusion cannon powered up, and—

Starscream The sparkling sobbed.

Starscream shifted uneasily. This was not entertainment. What was he thinking? This was torture.

The beast lunged forward, the sparkling yelped and scrambled back—

Starscream yelped and scrambled back—

A pool of peculiar red blood—

A pool of energon—

—trailed behind them the sparkling.

Starscream moved without thinking. It was starting to be a recurring motif for his days as a rogue on this Primus-damned planet. Perhaps the organic growth he’d spent so long around truly was infecting his processor.

Two careful optics stared at the sparkling.

The sparkling’s two fleshy optics stared back in awe.

Starscream squeezed the beast in his servo warningly. He would not tolerate its meager attempts to scratch his already ruined finish. The sparkling stumbled to its pedes. “What—Who are you?” she asked, voice faint.

Starscream hummed and reached down to grab the sparkling, who turned terribly pale at the action, only to breathe a sigh of relief later when nothing happened. In his other servo, Starscream dropped the beast. “I am Starscream.” He introduced.

The sparkling’s awe-filled gaze turned to horror when she saw the beast drop. “Why did you do that?!” she cried.

Starscream raised an optic ridge. “Why are you worried? It literally tried to terminate you not even five minutes ago.”

“It was only trying to survive!” the sparkling babbled, and she turned her pitiful gaze onto the limping beast, whose intake was still smeared with the sparkling’s blood. Starscream wondered once more why he ever bothered interfering.

“What, so I should have let the beast eat you? Maul you? Reduce you to ribbons?” Starscream smiled meanly—

—“I really am sorry, Screamer, but I truly do not wish to get on Lord Megatron’s bad side!” Knock Out’s voice was smooth, simpering, and utterly insincere.

Starscream snarled. “What, so you’re going to let him maul me? Reduce me to ribbons?”

“Um…” Knock Out thought about it for a moment, before smiling chipperly. “Yes.”

“Fleshling screams are no music to my audials, but I’m sure you would have made quite the symphony.” Starscream finished, the memory floating through his processor like a single, somehow invisible scraplet.

To his horror, then, the sparkling’s optics welled up with the ineffective, salty liquid that was fleshling coolant. “You’re so mean!” the sparkling wailed.

Starscream scoffed defensively. “I saved you!”

The sparkling, true to the stupidity of its organic brethren, merely burst into tears. “Why are you so mean?!” she cried. “Why do you hate me?!”

Starscream made a noise of stressed dissent. This was not his intention. Damn it. “Stop spreading lies, fleshling.” He hissed, only to remain unheard through the cacophony of sobs. “I don’t hate you!”

“Everyone hates me!” the sparkling sniffed. “Mum hated me so much, she left me behind to get mauled to ribbons!”

Starscream paused. What was a… ‘mum’?

“Mum never listens!” the sparkling sobbed. “I didn’t even want to go hiking—”

“I never even wanted to go on this mission—”

“Megatron Mum never listens to me!”

Starscream, shaken, pried himself away from the overlapping memory to ask, “Was ‘Mum’ the one to bring you here?”

The sparkling sniffled and nodded. Starscream scowled. Whoever this ‘Mum’ was, he would be having words with them! “Point me in their direction!” Starscream commanded, “I must have a word with this ‘Mum’!”

The sparkling sniffled, and then started sobbing anew. “I don’t know where she is!” she cried. “She’s gone! She left me!”

“Why?!” Starscream roared, suddenly, wings hiked up high on his shoulder plates with the stress that came with a crying organic sparkling in his servo, “Why did she leave you?!”

“Because she hates me!” the sparkling screamed, and the sole deterrent preventing Starscream from banging his helm against a tree was the fact that trees were organic and organic things were disgusting.

“We established that already!” Starscream shrieked, turning around wildly. His wings bumped against a tree, and vaguely, Starscream could feel things scurry into his transformation seams. “Would you stop crying?!”

The sparkling sniffled. “I’m sorry.” She whimpered.

Starscream scowled. “I don’t care.” He grumbled. Idly, he looked up to the sky. Though it was covered by organic foliage, the darkness alone told him that dawn would not be coming for a long time. He glanced at the sparkling in his servo, small and fragile, coppery-metallic slickness along her leg in a way that made the Seeker’s spark stutter. “You’re a sparkling.” He muttered, ignoring the sparkling’s ‘what’. In this darkness, without her optics calibrated, she would be completely at the mercy of the beasts. There was still no telling if that beast would bring more back to finish its initial task. Starscream scowled.

All he wanted to do was see the stars from the top of a mountain.

O~O

“Are you kidnapping me, mister?”

Starscream groaned. “That is literally the fourth time you’ve asked me that question in the past ten minutes.” He didn’t whine, but it was a close thing. “Would you shut up?”

The sparkling stared at him, mock-innocently in the darkness. “Are you going to eat me, mister?”

“Eat you?” Starscream stopped and held the sparkling in his servo up to his faceplate, making sure to display every ounce of horrified disgust he could. “I know not what you fleshlings do to your young, but I do not eat sparklings!”

The sparkling shrugged. “You’re really tall, mister, and you have red eyes. Only monsters that eat children have red eyes. Daddy said so before he went off to die in Afghanistan.”

Starscream stared at the sparkling. He did not know what a ‘daddy’ was, he had no clue what an ‘Afghanistan’ was (perhaps a region of this dirt planet?), and he was only vaguely sure that ‘eye’ was the fleshling equivalent of ‘optic’.  “This ‘daddy’,” he articulated slowly. “Is wrong.”

The sparkling shrugged again, both infuriatingly smug and terribly tired. “Daddy wasn’t wrong about many things.”

“Yes, well, ‘daddy’ isn’t really around anymore to eat his words, now is he?” Starscream muttered snidely.

“Hey!” the sparkling made an affronted noise, and Starscream proceeded to ignore every other admirably creative curse that exited that little germy intake of hers.

“I hope you know I can always drop you.” Starscream reminded.

“I hope you know that I know you won’t.” the sparkling rejoined smugly.

“Oh? And how do you know that?” Starscream hissed, mock-loosening his grip. The sparkling paled slightly and dug her little organic digits into the transformation seams of his own.

The sparkling glared at Starscream huffily, “If you were going to drop me, you would’ve dropped me when I started pestering you with questions, mister.” She mocked, and Starscream… had to concur, unfortunately.

Starscream sighed, and the mouth of the cave came into view. It was as dark as ever, cold air rushing out like some sort of entrance into another realm. At the sight of it, the sparkling audibly quietened. “Okay, seriously, dude. Are you actually going to eat me?”

Starscream screeched incoherently. This sparkling was infuriating. “How many times do I have to tell you I am not going to eat you?!”

The sparkling made a noise of annoyance and gestured wildly at the cave mouth with an arm. “That cave is not helping me believe you at all!”

Starscream opened his intake to refute her, multiple vicious, caustic replies already forming in his processor, only to glance at the mouth of the cave, consider it, and then close his intake. “I see your point.” He muttered.

The sparkling crossed her arms, smug. “I am not going in there.”

“You do not have a choice in the matter.” Starscream reminded, shaking her a little in his servo.

“There’s always a choice!” the sparkling refuted, voice sounding so horribly close to Optimus Prime’s holier-than-thou tone, that Starscream’s grip momentarily tightened, only relaxing when the sparkling made a wheezing noise.

“Not everyone has a choice.” Starscream muttered.

“I don’t want to do this!” Starscream faced Megatronus Megatron and scowled. “This is aerial suicide.”

“Whether or not you want to do it is irrelevant, Starscream.” Megatron growled, and his fusion cannon hummed to life. Starscream took a horrified step back. Surely he wouldn’t turn the gladiatorial weapon on his own Second? Surely? Megatron raised the fusion cannon to Starscream’s faceplate. The Seeker stared death in the optic that day. “You don’t have a choice, Starscream.”

“Everyone has a choice!” the sparkling insisted, smacking a weak little fist against Starscream’s great metal digit. “People just limit their options by dismissing them as impossible!”

Starscream paused. “I don’t suppose your ‘daddy’ gave you that little nugget of wisdom?” he questioned, bitter.

The sparkling scowled, and it was so ugly it was kind of adorable—wait what?

Starscream blinked. “Look,” he interrupted the sparkling before she could start on her next tirade of creatively worded insults (Starscream did not know what a naked donkey was, but it sounded both extremely creative and extremely insulting) and pointed at the entrance of the cave with the other servo. “I am trying to make sure your puny fleshling aft does not freeze to death in the cold out here, but Primus help me if you continue talking, I am going to leave you out to rot.”

The sparkling stared at him wordlessly for a few moments, before crossing her arms and looking away mulishly. “You could have at least asked for consent.” She muttered. Starscream rolled his optics and crawled into the cave.

Once they were situated firmly in the hole, Starscream awkwardly curled around the sparkling, wings scraping against the ceiling, they fell into a tense silence.

And then it broke.

“Why were you so concerned with the beast?” Starscream questioned, blinking slowly, optics cycling and refocusing on the sparkling before him. “It was trying to terminate you.”

The sparkling tensed. “I… Two things, okay? First: that was a bear. Saying beast makes you sound super weird. Second: I was scared and not thinking straight, okay? And third: My name is Alyssa.”

Starscream raised an optic ridge, unimpressed. “I thought you only said two things.”

“Well, I lied.” The sparkling—Alyssa—sniffed, curling into herself and shivering. Without thinking, Starscream activated his vents, and the cave temperature hiked up by a few degrees. Alyssa looked at him, affronted, when the whirring started. “You could have done that this entire time?!”

Starscream scowled and mentally put ‘check for malfunction’ on his to-do list. Clearly, he must have had one if he ever thought saving this Primus-damned thankless sparkling was a good idea. “What is a ‘mum’?” Starscream suddenly questioned, the strange term returning to his processor after he reorganized his to-do list for the… immediate future. “And what is a ‘daddy’?”

Alyssa choked and snickered. “Don’t—Don’t say that, man!”

Starscream broke into a snarl. “Do not presume to command me.” Alyssa burst out laughing, helm dropping against Starscream’s cockpit, heaving breaths felt against the reinforced Cybertronian glass. Starscream furrowed his optic ridges in confusion. “Stop laughing.” He ordered. Alyssa only laughed harder.

After a few minutes of hysterical giggles, through which Starscream waited with enough patience to make a sure rival of Optimus Prime, Alyssa finally answered his query. “A ‘mum’ is like… your creator. She makes you. You come out of her. She’s supposed to care for you, feed you, nurture you, and love you.”

Starscream tilted his helm. “I imagine your mum failed terribly then.” He surmised.

Alyssa shrunk away. “My mum isn’t a really good mum.” She murmured. “Hasn’t been since,” she coughed, “since daddy died. Her, uh, her partner. My other creator. He’s got the same roles as a ‘mum’ but generally, we don’t, uh, come… out… of a ‘daddy’. I mean. Wait, depending on perspective—”

“Your mum isn’t a good mum?” Starscream interrupted before Alyssa could ramble again. She tended to do that. It was generally no problem to listen to (Starscream enjoyed the company) but he needed to learn the origin of Alyssa’s problems.

Why?

What spurred him?

Why?

…To get rid of her. Obviously. Obviously.

“Ah—she, um…” Alyssa trailed off, faceplate turning morose. “She… I think she forgets about me sometimes, to be honest. I don’t know if she hates me or whatever, but sometimes I think…” she quieted and Starscream hated it. Hated the silence from a sparkling normally so (annoyingly) loud. “Sometimes I think she sees too much of his face in mine, and she… finds it painful, I guess. She doesn’t like to look at me anymore.”

Starscream scowled. “Is this because ‘daddy’ died?” he hissed, and Alyssa looked up at him in equal parts painful amusement and surprise. “I am no stranger to loss. If I had—”

Thundercracker. Skywarp. Skyfire. Every single one of the Seekers under Starscream’s command, under Starscream’s jurisdiction, gone

Starscream trailed off. If I had something reminiscent of them, the words lay still on his glossa. Then I would never let it go.

“My expectations of you fleshlings continuously get lower the longer I spend in contact with you.” Starscream grumbled. First it was Silas, with his inability to hold a working deal (granted, Starscream would’ve betrayed him at first opportunity), then it was with Linda’s conjunx—fool of a mech. If Starscream had then known the true ends of what he’d done to Linda as he did know now, he would have made him scream a little (a lot) before death—and now it was Alyssa’s creator.

Starscream was broken out of his thought by a sniffle. He looked down, optics cycling and glowing red. Alyssa’s optics were watery again. “You’re really cool, Starscream.” She whispered. “You’re really cool.”

Starscream meant to affirm her, concur with her obviously true analysis, only to freeze when he felt two tentative, fragile fleshy servos make contact with the bare glass of his cockpit. Well. He thought mirthlessly, even as warmth and a rush of energy filtered through his being like nothing energon could ever hope to mimic. Now I have organic on me.

(If Starscream curled his servo against Alyssa’s resting frame, and increased the whirring of his vents for heat, to the point where the noise almost sounded like a rumbling purr, that was only for him to know.)

Chapter Text

Alyssa liked to think she had a good life before she turned ten, before her dad went off to fight a war halfway across the world and died for it. She liked to think she had a good life before her mom shut herself off and started drinking to pass the time, drinking to forget about the never-ending silence that encompassed their home from the day that casualty letter came through the mail and touched her fingers.

“What’s wrong?” Alyssa remembered saying. The sun had been shining that day, and birds had been tweeting their lovely little birdsong. Her mother, who she had been chatting happily with, had fallen silent, hands shaking, almost catatonic as she stared at the open letter in her hand. Alyssa remembered her heart sinking, her blood chilling, her mother’s mouth opening, and her lips form those wretched words that turned everything upside down.

“On the behalf of the men and women of the 49^th…”

Your father was a good man, Alyssa watched as her mother crumpled on the sofa, unseeing, unblinking, mouth agape in grief-stricken horror. He was an amazing soldier. He would always talk about you. He got a ribbon from Afghanistan for you; it is sent with us in this letter.

Alyssa twined the ribbon (which was really more like a long scarf) around her fingers, around her hand, around her wrist, pressed her nose to the fabric and inhaled, as if she thought she’d smell her father’s remnants on the lost fabric.

All she smelled were packing peanuts and faint Middle-Eastern spices. 

0~o~0

Being Grounded, Starscream realized, as he was petting Alyssa idly with his knuckle, recharge eluding him like a smoky apparition, was a harrowing experience. To know the sky was not too far from you, but never be able to reach it. To stretch your wings, ache for a gust, only to never receive it.

The first lesson every Seeker learns, Starscream rehearsed, blinking into wakefulness as the sun warmed his chassis in a slow, languid trickle, Is how to fall. Is how to understand that the sky is a blessing, a privilege, and the reason for our innate superiority. How such a gift is to never be taken for granted.

At the time, it was a perfunctory thing to say those words. No one believed them, not even the instructors saying them (Except for Starscream’s own teacher, for some inane, stupid reason). It was, in every sense, a meaningless custom.

After all, in knowing the freedom of three dimensions, the gales embracing you like an old friend, why would someone even deign to think of the ground?

You never know how close something is to you until you’ve lost it. Starscream shifted and shook Alyssa awake with his knuckle. She groaned, and after a moment of panic, seemed to remember her location. “Oh damn,” she croaked faintly, “I thought I was dreaming.”

“Get up. We are going to find your mum and I am going to pawn you off to her.”

Alyssa made a face and tried to bury her weirdly protruded nasal ridge into the glass of his cockpit again. “Five more minutes,” she moaned, before trailing off into recharge again.

Starscream stared at her blankly for a few moments, before grabbing her and shoving her out of the cave with a small yelp. She made a few half-hearted protests, and Starscream, somewhere in the back of the processor, where the Seeker coding that ached for companionship lay, mourned the loss of warmth against his frame. “You need to go.” Starscream hissed. “I will not have a fleshling in my living space.”

“Living space?” Alyssa squawked, as soon as she regained her bearings. She glared at the cave, irritated and critical, “That does not look like a living space. It looks like a hole!”

Starscream growled petulantly. “Well, it’s my hole, and you’re not allowed in it!”

Alyssa screeched and threw her servos up petulantly. “Why are you so possessive about your hole?!”

Starscream opened his intake and memories flooded his processor.

“Why are you so damn possessive about your hole?!” Skywarp threw his servos up, irritated. “It isn’t even a good hole!”

Starscream scowled, opened his intake, and—

“I am going to throw you,” Starscream growled, his vocalizer echoing that moment all those hundreds of thousands of years ago.

“Right,” Alyssa drawled, crossing her arms. “Because you’re the type to waste effort like that.”

Starscream bristled. “It’s a hole,” he said slowly, “For cool guys only.”

“What?” Alyssa laughed incredulously, “Dude, what? Is this because I called you cool yesterday night, while I was delirious and feverish with pain?”

Starscream scowled, oddly hurt. “Did you lie to me?”

Alyssa shook her helm wildly. “I mean, of course not, but dude!” she laughed, “You say that like I’m not cool!”

Starscream bared his dentae and said nothing.

“Okay fine,” Alyssa allowed, “Maybe I’m not cool. But that? That hole?” she gestured towards the cave entrance—that damnable, stupid, ugly cave entrance—with no small amount of disdain. “That is not for cool guys.”

Starscream wanted nothing more than to agree. Still, because he was stubborn and this was a matter of pride, he put his pede down and tilted his chin stubbornly. “I am a cool guy.” He repeated, ignoring Alyssa’s choke of laughter. “Therefore that cave is a cool guy cave.”

“Okay buddy,” Alyssa gasped. “Whatever you say!”

Starscream glowered as Alyssa started slowly clapping, the same way Knock Out did when he was mocking Starscream, the same way Airachnid did when she took residence at the Decepticons not too long ago, the same way Megatron did, when he—

“Stop doing that.” Starscream snapped.

Alyssa paused for a moment and stared at him shrewdly. Then, after a few seconds, she clapped again. “Please don’t tell me what to do.” She said carefully.

Starscream bared his dentae. “I’m a cool guy.” He hissed, and perhaps he was putting far too much emphasis on those words that Alyssa said to him in the dead of night while she was, admittedly, quite hysterical and emotionally compromised, but damn it all to Primus if he wasn’t going to exploit the funny little feelings that arose in him whenever he invoked them.

Alyssa pressed her dermas together into a thin line and nodded. “Right.” She said with forced lightness. Still, she clapped a few more times in idiotic rebellion before dropping her servos. “So… you’re pawning me off to my mom?”

Starscream hummed and laid his servo out. “Well,” he started, “Something like that.”

“I thought you held disdain for her,” Alyssa stepped onto Starscream’s servo and dug her own servos into his transformation seams. Starscream shot her a perfunctory glare.

“I hold disdain for all of you fleshies.” Starscream corrected primly, adjusting himself. His wings fluttered against his back and Starscream frowned when he felt a light tingle skitter across the sensor net. Shaking his helm, he ignored it and continued.

“…Okay. I get that. But why are you giving me back to her?” Alyssa sounded… upset. Starscream frowned.

“Because you’re a fleshy,” Starscream said slowly, patronizingly. “And you are a fleshy. Fleshies belong together,” unless it’s Linda’s Conjunx, Starscream added mentally.

“Oh really? I thought you’d defend me!” Alyssa gave an empty laugh. “What, did we not have a bonding moment last night?”

Starscream frowned quizzically. “What bonding?”

Alyssa stared at him incredulously, and somewhat bitterly. “Dude.” She said quietly, and Starscream did not like that tone of voice. “I legit opened up to you and you forgot?”

Starscream furrowed his optic ridges and paused in his stride. Some hideously organic equivalent of a turbofox skittered in between his heel struts to perceived safety. “You showed vulnerability.” Starscream recalled. “It was an impressively stupid move.” Had she been in the Decepticons, she would have been humiliated at least fifty times over and beaten a hundred times more by now. And quite possibly blackmailed for the rest of her service… Which would be indefinite, because the Decepticons weren’t in the habit of giving out pensions.

Alyssa stiffened in his servo. “What?” she questioned tightly, “Are you going to take advantage of it?”

Starscream stared at her, something odd twisting his tanks. “You don’t have anything worth offering me.” His voice sounded distant. “It would not be worth the effort.”

Alyssa curled up and remained silent for a while. When she spoke, Starscream had to strain his audials to hear. “Good. That wouldn’t be very cool guy behavior.”

Starscream immediately scoffed dismissively. “You say that as if I care about your validation as a cool guy.”

Alyssa grinned, though it was more a baring of her own dentae. “Then shall I take it back?” she simpered.

Starscream narrowed his optics and bared his own dentae, sharp and large and considerably more threatening than her own blunt little… things. “Do not even think about it, fleshling.”

Alyssa burst into laughter, the tightness of her words broken, and her optics glimmered with mirth. “I’ll consider it, robo-god.”

Starscream squawked at the ridiculous nickname, and picked up his stride once more, stumbling slightly as he made to avoid the organic little turbofox under his pedes. (He told himself it was so he wouldn’t have to clean out the transformation seams of his ankles. He told himself that.)

O~O

“Starscream.”

Starscream ignored her and stepped over a log.

“Starscream, there’s a crow sitting on your shoulder.”

Was there? Starscream looked at his shoulder, a servo raised to swat the pest away (Damn things kept following him). There was nothing there.

“The other one.” Alyssa elaborated, voice tinny and amused from her place on his other servo.

Starscream flushed a blue tint and flicked his chin up. “Shut up.” He grumbled. He refused to look at the other shoulder. Still, he felt something light and hopping register on his sensor net when he flicked his wings. So there it was. Hm. Interesting.

Alyssa smiled wryly and lounged on his servo. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Also, I’m hungry.”

Starscream tore his attention away from his sensor net and the strange crow that seemed to grow the guts to actually approach him, contrary to its brethren, and made a face of disgust. “Already?”

Alyssa made a noise of affront and sat up. “The hell you mean already? It’s been, like, an entire day!”

Starscream scoffed and pointed at the sky, which was still vaguely blue in color. “It has been all of eight hours, fleshy,” he sneered.

“Eight hours!” Alyssa gasped dramatically and threw herself back onto his servo—his very metal, incompatible with squishy things servo—and moaned. “I’m starving!”

Starscream scoffed. “If you were starving, you would not have the energy to expend on such trivial performances as these.”

“You say that like you know how to starve,” Alyssa complained, flopping back. “How could you possibly know how I’m feeling?”

Starscream sat there, in the dark. Three weeks, dark room, punishment. Punishment. Punishment. For his own incompetence, Megatron said, and for so long, Starscream tried to deny it, but now it made sense. He could barely lift his own arm—why did he ever think he would be able to pull off such a difficult military maneuver?

Never mind that on the day of the raid he was in perfect health. Never mind that he’d now been starving for two weeks and counting. Never mind that the cage was small, and his wings grazed against the sides, abused sensor nets just—

“Starscream?”

Starscream snapped back to reality. He felt something peck his cheek. He glanced to the side. The crow. It tilted its insipid little head at him and cawed. Starscream looked away and then down to Alyssa. Her optics were brimming with worry. Starscream swallowed. “What?”

Immediately, Alyssa’s faceplate broke out into an expression of inordinate relief, and she slapped his servo good-naturedly. Starscream still bristled at the contact. “I was worried, robo-god!” she said, finally, and every caustic insult and vitriolic word stuttered and died on the tip of Starscream’s glossa. Worried? “You went totally catatonic.” Starscream did not know how to respond. Worried? “Are you okay?”

What.

What?

“What?” Starscream blurted out.

“What?” Alyssa parroted.

They both stared at each other dumbly for a few moments, some strange hooting sound echoing in the distance, and… and they came to absolutely no epiphanic realization whatsoever. Waste of time.

They both turned away at the same time and continued on in silence.

…For all of twelve seconds.

“Why is this mountain so big?” Alyssa grumbled.

“It is a mountain,” Starscream condescended, the patronizing tone coming easy to him.

Alyssa glared at him petulantly, “Why are you so slow?”

Starscream growled. Now that stung his pride something fierce. “I am transporting you, fleshling,” he hissed. “And I am very, very sensitive to words. Should you speak something inane like this again, my grip just…” he discreetly shifted his free servo so it was positioned under the Alyssa-servo. “…might…” he loosened his grip, and Alyssa’s expression immediately morphed into panic. “…slip.”

Alyssa dropped onto his other servo, the new Alyssa-servo, with a soft thump and ‘oomph’, and Starscream chuckled at the clear and evident pain of her predicament. Alyssa flushed that odd red color and glared up at him, hurt. Hurt?

“Dude, stop it.” She grumbled, and the mood shifted so fast, Starscream had to consciously disengage the pistons on his wings to stop them from springing up in surprise. “You’re so mean.”

Starscream furrowed his optic ridge. “Alyssa?”

Alyssa sniffed, “Why are you so mean?” she sobbed, and Starscream got flashbacks to the whole last-night debacle. “Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t… hate you…” Starscream trailed off and grimaced. That sounded unconvincing even to his own audials. And unfortunately for him, it seemed that Alyssa, in the diminishing daylight, took notice.

“See?!” she shrieked, jabbing a digit to him, and Starscream reflexively scowled at the accusing maneuver. “Not even you believe what you’re saying!”

“I don’t hate you!” Starscream repeated, this time surer. “Stop being stupid.”

“You’re so petty,” Alyssa whined, “And I’m hungry.”

Starscream bared his dentae. Alyssa was annoying. “Starve, fleshy.”

Evidently, that was the wrong thing to say, because Alyssa proceeded to burst into uncontrollable tears and blubbering. The crow on Starscream’s shoulder pecked him incessantly. “You hate me!” she cried, “You hate me, and you’re gonna pawn me off to a mother that doesn’t even care about me! I thought you were my friend!” she sniffed and sobbed and Starscream had absolutely no idea what to do. “You hate me!”

Starscream made a noise of discomfited dissent. “You’re being stupid, Alyssa,” he hissed. Guilt stabbed at his insides. Hungry? How was he supposed to feed her? He didn’t have anything to feed fleshlings! Did they eat leaves? Would that work? Starscream glanced up at the foliage a few meters from his faceplate and considered it.

Alyssa only sobbed loudly. Starscream panicked.

“Stop crying!” Starscream yelped and shook Alyssa, who only cried harder and screamed. “Why are you hungry? It’s been only a day! Inefficient creatures,” Starscream rambled over Alyssa’s unintelligible hysterics, and then all of a sudden, she quieted down and blinked innocently up at Starscream.

Starscream shut his intake. Something cold swirled in his tank and prodded at his spark.

Alyssa smiled beatifically, optics now filled with (mocking) tears. “You do care about me,” she cooed.

Starscream stared at her, numb. She was… “You were manipulating me.” The words were odd and thick in his intake. “You were deceiving me. Me.”

The smile dropped from Alyssa’s dermas. “What? I—I wasn’t. Starscream?”

Starscream’s processor felt like it was swimming through muddled, partially congealed energon. “You took advantage,” Starscream said slowly, glossa still struggling to form words. “Of…” My care for you.

“What?”

“You’re really cool, Starscream,”

Starscream distantly registered himself asking Alyssa if that was a lie too. Alyssa protested, said something in response, but it was lost in the storm of Starscream’s processor. The sun was setting by now, the sky was darkening with dusk, and Starscream was—he was—

Starscream set Alyssa down on some rock near a stream.

“Starscream?” Alyssa sounded afraid. “Wait, why are you leaving me? Is it something I said? Something I did? Starscream!”

Starscream walked. The crow pecked at his cheek with a new vigor. Starscream could not feel it. He needed to go. Now.

“Starscream!”

She betrayed me, Starscream formed the thought numbly, She took advantage of my care for her and humiliated me. She… deceived me. His pedes were moving of their own volition. Trees bent in his wake. That same Primus-damned crow kept pecking at his cheek. Alyssa’s voice grew quieter with the distance and choked off into terrified sobs. (Surely another fleshling deception?)

Starscream did not look back.

O~O

“Starscream!” Alyssa didn’t know how long she’d been screaming, been cycling between emotions like rage, betrayal, uncontrollable sobbing…

Okay, well, maybe the last one was more of an action than an emotion, but the sentiment was there! Sadness! The emotion! It seemed to be such a heavy hand on her neck since her father screwed off to die, choking her with spindly fingers like her mom’s and a warmth reminiscent of the scarf—or at least half of one—that she had twined around her wrist.

Alyssa curled up and grumbled. Absently, she itched her leg, heart dropping in fear, mind blanking for a split second when her fingers came back wet. “I landed wrong,” she realized, first fearful, then irritated. “Starscream dropped me wrong.”

And of course, the time had come for Alyssa to relive her exhausting little spiral again

“Screw you, Starscream!” Alyssa raged bitterly, hitting her fist against the rock he’d dropped her on. (It didn’t do anything but make her angrier and her hand hurt) “Screw you, and whichever poor woman you called a mom because obviously she needs a better child to shower with love and attention, and whatever the heck else my mom doesn’t give me anymore, than you. Screw you. Butt-face. Simpleton.” Alyssa devolved into mutters and tears. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate—” she choked. The sun had set. The darkness was cold and all-consuming. Traitorously, her mind reminded her of Starscream’s warmth and glowing eyes.

You wouldn’t be cold if he was here, it whispered, crooning like the guilt that arose within her for absolutely no reason whatsoever. It wouldn’t be dark if he was here…

Alyssa shut her eyes and groaned. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” her voice cracked and gave the rage-filled words a miserable tint. “Shut up!” I know he’s warm! I know he’s—he’s warm—

Alyssa’s thoughts broke off when she audibly choked and felt something wet slide down her cheek. “Contemptuous donkey,” she insulted miserably. No one responded. Not a single squawk of affront, not a single petty insult in return. “I hate you. You’re not a cool guy at all.”

The forest remained silent and relatively still. The darkness seemed to dig into Alyssa’s skin, settling like an icy chill in her bones. Starscream, to the dismay of a small, perpetuating hope of hers, was not there.

Damn, Alyssa couldn’t even find it in herself to laugh. He really did abandon me.

(Just like your damn mother, an angry part of her mind hissed, Just like your damn father. You’re really not worth being around much, hm? Alyssa, Alyssa, only worthy of pity. Alyssa, Alyssa, Alyssa.)

Alyssa curled up and wrung her hands. Something was dripping. Her leg was going numb. Now there’s the big question, hm? Alyssa thought, more hysterically amused than anything. Will the starvation, the blood loss, or some random other thing kill me first?

The forest loomed before her. (Somewhere, in the back of her mind, it struck her how terrifying California redwoods looked without the sun to illuminate their foliage)

The world was silent. (Alyssa missed her conversation partner, snobby though he was)

“I don’t want to die.” The words were a whisper, lost in the wind. “I want to make a sound. I want to be the tree that falls with people to applaud and see it. I don’t—” she hit her head against her knee and immediately cursed at the spike of pain that arose from the point of contact. I don’t want to die.

Still, the chill settled into her bones and refused to leave. Whether it was the chill of the outside air or the icy grip of imminent death, Alyssa did not know. “Will I see my dad again?” she murmured. “Will he be disappointed?”

He wouldn’t be. He loved her too much for that. Alyssa… remembered that. No, no, no, Alyssa’s dad would not be disappointed in her or her mother. Alyssa was disappointed in herself.

“I’m the worst daughter,” she muttered. “I wanted to…” I wanted to leave my mom. I wanted to run off with a stranger I met literally last night. I wanted to leave my mom.

Newfound guilt, a(n un)welcome addition to the spiral, bit into her gut. She wanted to leave her mom, her mom who was grieving the same way Alyssa was. Her mom who had cared for her for the first twelve years of her life, even if she’d turned neglectful in the thirteenth. Her mom, who used to braid her hair for school, who cooked in the mornings, who sang her songs to sleep when she was a baby.

She wanted to leave her mom.

And for who?

Some robo-god who abandoned her with mutterings of some ‘deception blah blah blah’? A robo-god who had a mean streak a mile wide and a list of issues quite possibly longer? A robo-god who monologued like a Disney Villain and posed like a diva at the smallest of things? A robo-god who—who saved her when she prayed to be saved?

Alyssa gritted her teeth and felt tears sting the edges of her eyes. Damn it, she thought bitterly. Damn it all.

She couldn’t hate Starscream. She could resent him for dropping her, for abandoning her, but she couldn’t hate him. Not when he’d listened to her woes, not when he’d saved her in a moment of terrible circumstance, not when he’d tolerated her so easily until… until he thought he was being deceived.

Alyssa stared up. The sky was a strange sight, speckled and peppered with stars that she could never see from her place at home. For all that the forest was looming fear incarnate, the infinite of the night sky was… comforting. Alyssa closed her eyes, shuddering. Deceive, she thought hatefully. I hate that word.

Of course, it was at that moment, with her head turned upwards, eyes closed and unseeing to the world around her, that something landed on her face and started squawking.

“What the f—”

The thing—a crow, Alyssa realized—screeched incoherently and landed a few feet away from her, safe and untouched by the wild hands Alyssa threw around in incomprehensible rage and confusion. It blended in with the darkness, and Alyssa wasn’t quite sure where its eyes were, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the bird was looking at her judgmentally.

“What do you want?” Alyssa bit out tiredly. “I have big things to worry about, you know. Like my imminent demise.”

The bird hopped forward, the motion made clear by the slight sound its talons made against the stone—something she would have never heard in the bustle of the city. Alyssa swallowed. The bird seemed to tilt its head.

“If you want food, give it a day or so,” Alyssa said dryly. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” It was unlikely the starvation would kill her, obviously, but the dehydration certainly would. Her bottle had been lost in the bear attack, after all, and even though there was a creek nearby, her leg was kind of… indisposed of. Humans could go two months without food, but only a week without water. And that was without taking into consideration variables like conversation, age, and diet.

Humans could go two months without food and a week without water.

Alyssa could go maybe three weeks without food and a day and a half without water (thin little morsel she was, ha)

Something cawed and Alyssa felt something cold and hard peck against her good leg. Frowning, her mind was broken free of the spiraling thought process, and she reached blindly for the dark bird. Damn thing danced away from her grip. “Literally what do you want?” she yelled. “I told you I don’t have anything.”

The crow remained silent.

Then, Alyssa remembered something. “Are you Starscream’s crow?” she questioned. “The one that follows him around?”

The crow tilted its head in the other direction. Well. That was enlightening. Alyssa scowled.

“Real helpful, buddy. Real freakin’ helpful.”

The crow hopped forward. Once. Twice. Then, into Alyssa’s lap. The girl stiffened. The crow made itself comfortable. It screeched softly. Alyssa, with a shaking hand, stroked its head feathers. The crow leaned in and rustled its feathers.

“Well then,” Alyssa said softly. Her leg had long since gone cold, but the bird was warm in a way that reminded Alyssa of Starscream the night before. Minus the soft vibrations, of course. Carefully ignoring the numb heaviness of her leg—will I ever walk on it again—Alyssa itched the crow behind its neck. “You need a name.”

The crow squawked and nipped at her finger as she pulled it back. Alyssa scowled at the action.

“Congratulations,” she snipped, “For this egregious transgression, your name is now Sofia the First.” The bird bristled in affront. Alyssa grinned meanly. “My name is Alyssa. Mornin’.”

The bird—Sofia the First—vindictively pecked at her rib, and Alyssa laughed away the sting of pain before asking, “Are you Starscream’s bird?”

Sofia made a sound oddly similar to a scoff and extended what felt like a singular wing, as if saying, No one owns me!

Alyssa’s smile twisted at the edges, tears blurring what little vision she had in the darkness. I’m going crazy. I must be going crazy. She stared at the bird. I am literally hallucinating a conversation between me and a bird.

Sofia hopped inquisitively. Alyssa rubbed her chest feathers. Sofia seemed to tilt its head. Alyssa sniffled. “What the hell man?” her voice was disturbed and thick with tears at the same time. It made for a ridiculous warbling sound that would have certainly gotten her bullied at school. “I’m hallucinating a conversation. I am. It feels like two sides of me are warring with each other.” Alyssa laughed wetly. “One side is telling me to shut up, and the other is telling me to spill. What do I do, Sofia?”

Sofia bopped her head against Alyssa’s open palm. Alyssa sniffled and smiled wryly. “Right.” Like there was any other answer. And so, she cleared her throat and started talking:

“I’m going to gloss over things,” Alyssa warned, as if the crow would care, “I just… I’m reflecting for myself more than anything, okay?”

The crow nudged her hand, and Alyssa fell back into the easy rhythm of telling a story. Of weaving tales and words into a picture pretty for people to immerse themselves in. (Or, in this case, a crow.) It perched on her good knee, still and enraptured by her voice.

“I don’t exactly know what possessed my dad to take up the army, but when he did… There was this huge fight.”

…

“Don’t do it!” Alyssa’s mother grabbed her husband by the shoulders, something frantic and crazed in her eyes. Her father had fought in Vietnam, her grandfather in the Korean War. Though they returned, they returned in pieces, and she could not bear that happening to—happening to—

“Don’t try and stop me.” Her husband gently removed her hands. Alyssa watched from behind a door.

“Don’t walk out that door,” her mother warned. “Don’t walk out that door. If you walk out that door I won’t let you back in, I swear it. Don’t leave. Don’t leave.”

Alyssa’s father looked back at her, eyes softened by the pleading, and he explained, so very patiently that even Alyssa wanted to tear her hair out, “I have to go. My mother was Afghani. I need to be there for my siblings. My niece.” He hesitated, “It’s for… family.”

“We’re your family too!” Alyssa’s mother sobbed. Her husband held her. Alyssa watched from behind the wall. She was supposed to be sleeping.

“I know, love.” Her father said somberly. “I know. Please. Don’t cry. I’ll come back.”

“I won’t open the door!” Alyssa’s mother shrieked, and even Alyssa, young as she was, knew those words wouldn’t hold. “You’ll sleep outside!”

“A small price for returning home alive, hm?” her dad smiled.

He left the next morning.

…And damn liar he was, he never came back.

…

…Alyssa trailed off. The crow was staring at her inquisitively. Her stomach had long since stopped rumbling, the hunger pangs fading into a low ebb. Distantly, she noted that this was when the starvation would truly become bad.

Her leg had crusted over with blood, and somewhere, deep in her gut, Alyssa knew if she got up, she’d feel lightheaded and woozy. What a position she found herself stuck in!

Sofia nudged her chin. Alyssa glared down at her. “Fine then,” she muttered. “Patience…”

…

(“Perhaps my mother had already been grieving, those first few, tense months after he left,” Alyssa recalled. “Perhaps back then she just hid it better”)

They’d settled into a rhythm, Alyssa and her mom. A comfortable, cyclical rhythm. Carefully, they’d avoid speaking about her father halfway across the world, avoid letting the house fill with empty silence.

They’d bought an Alexa just to play music in the background.

Alyssa was all of ten years old and though all this careful avoidance was going on, and because she was a stupid child—

(“Fine, fine! I won’t call myself stupid. Jeez.” Alyssa rubbed her cheek where Sofia nipped at. Accursed bird.)

—because Alyssa was an incredibly nosy child that had a terrible sense of boundaries, she peeked through her mom’s room door at night and heard soft sobs, as if…

(Alyssa hesitated. She didn’t have a good analogy)

…as if it was raining. And her mother’s eyes were the clouds?

Yeah. It was a comfortable, cyclical rhythm for the first three months. Wake up, go to school, come back, talk with mom, walk on eggshells, stay up listening to her cry. Comfortable, cyclical routine.

And then he died.

And… and then he died.

…

Alyssa sniffed. Sofia rubbed her head against Alyssa’s chin and cooed comfortingly. “Yeah.” Alyssa felt something warm and heavy settle over her mind. She wanted to talk more. To this animal that wouldn’t talk back, who would only listen and listen well, it was something so absurdly easy to do.

She cleared her throat, and did not know that half a mile away, someone else was listening as well.

…

(“My mom is grieving,” Alyssa started out by saying, “I know she is, and I am too. She’s still in there somewhere, and she just—she just needs time, alright? Alright? All this considered, still, I really, really want to leave her. I just can’t. I can’t.”)

Alyssa’s mother was catatonic the first few days after the letter. Alyssa wouldn’t stop wearing the scarf around her neck. It became a disgusting, grimy little thing, and she was teased quite brutally for it at school. The odd thing was, those first few days with her mother unresponsive and listless on the couch? Those were the best days of her grief.

And Alyssa felt damn guilty for saying that.

Because after that, her mother started drinking, and Alyssa had to help her puke it all out in the mornings. Twelve years old, Alyssa had been waking up at five AM to her mother’s dry heaves, desperately dragging the full-grown woman to the toilet, begging her with all her heart to throw up, to stop drinking, to just look at her without spacing out.

(“Sometimes,” Alyssa said, a gruesome smile playing on her lips, “I think she wanted to drink herself to death, you know? So it wouldn’t count as a real suicide and she could blame it on the alcohol.”)

She started bringing home strange men, every single one a disproportionate and warped figment of her father. His smile twisted and ruined by these strange figures who had none of his kindness and far too much greed.

Alyssa hated them all to her core.

One entire year and counting of dealing with them—none lasted more than two weeks, maybe three—and Alyssa wanted nothing more than to leave. It was such a damn guilty, terrible thing to say, but—but she felt like she was the parent now, not the child.

“You’re a stupid child,” Alyssa’s mother slurred, and Alyssa’s heart twisted as she bit into stale bread. It tasted disgusting. “You gonna leave me too? H—” she hiccupped, “Hm? You gonna go ta—” she hiccupped, “—ta war, and leave me here like he did? Are you? Baby?”

…And it didn’t help that sometimes her mother looked at her and saw a dead man instead. It didn’t help at all.

…

“I feel…” Alyssa hesitated. “Unseen.”

Sofia stared at her.

“You know… I really thought this trip was her getting better, yeah?” Alyssa leaned back. “So I agreed to it. I hate mountains, by the way—stupid places, too much climbing—but yeah. Now I just think she wanted an easy place to abandon me.”

The crow squawked. Alyssa smiled wryly. “I dunno, Sofia. She didn’t seem all that passionate when I told her to wait up for me.”

The crow cooed. Alyssa sighed.

…

“Mom!” Alyssa stumbled over a root and bit down a curse. Her ankle. Damn it.

Her mother did not look back.

Starscream did not look back .

“Mom!” Alyssa stumbled. Something growled behind her. Bear. Bear. Damn it. It bit where her arm was, and took a piece of her father’s scarf off with it. No. No.

The bear advanced.

Alyssa ran. She couldn’t look back.

…

“…Starscream said I deceived him.” Alyssa revealed quietly. The crow listened with a strange sort of shrewdness. “I don’t know how I deceived him, but I know I am really, really bad at reading boundaries. I’ve…” she hesitated. “…I’ve already resigned myself to my imminent demise—” I don’t want to die “—but there’s one thing I just have to know.”

She stared at Sofia. “How did I deceive him? What did I do? What happened?”

(Sorry was a word carefully excluded from her questions. A careful, careful word. Alyssa, after all, had heard horror stories of children who apologized for things they didn’t do, who were taken advantage of, who lost their sense of self. More than once had this awful, terrible word made its way to her tongue, almost had her say sorry to her mother as if it was her fault for being born with her father’s face.

To one person, saying sorry was a mere compromise of pride. To Alyssa, it was a compromise of everything.)

Sofia tilted her head, black feathers rising and falling, and she cooed. All of a sudden, Alyssa realized two things:

1. She wasn’t shivering anymore.
2. She could see the crow’s black feathers.

She flung her head upwards, something hysterical and desperate tugging at her heartstrings, the hungry veil having long since left her mind—how did she not hear him—and met the glowing red eyes of—

“Starscream?”

(@emfleaa on Tumblr)

Chapter Text

The first thing any sparkling of Vos learned, once they attained cohesive function of their wings and thrusters, was how to fall.

The lesson served two purposes: first; the perfunctory gratitude any air-sparked bot should have for their gift, and second—to instill both fear and bravery in the uncontrolled aspect of three dimensions. (‘In short,’ Starscream told Linda, amused and nostalgic, ‘they beat the fear of the Ground both in and out of our processors’)

Starscream remembered that lesson still, despite having only undergone it once and over five million years ago. He remembered the crazed fear, the wind rushing against his hidden audials, the optic lenses that were a shared trait among all Seekers flickering on and off over his optics. He remembered the panic, the flailing, the impossible silence on his comms. (‘To this day I do not know if my teacher had disabled them or not’ Starscream grumbled. Linda giggled, though it was tinged with sympathy.)

Starscream remembered, with horrible, sharp clarity, the unforgiving metallic landing pad growing closer, faster, closer, faster, closer, faster, the panic overtaking his processor like an outbreak of the Cybonic Plague, until the very last second—the very last second—the manacles clicked off his wings and his back thruster engaged on instinct, and he was flying once more.

“Falling is an art” Starscream remembered his teacher saying to him. Blue and gray paint flaked on the wind, and sharp dentae gleamed in a wicked smile. His words thrummed through Starscream’s processor like a never-ending bell. “Falling is an art and flying is artful falling.”

(“Ah, teacher,” Starscream mused bitterly. Linda listened on quiet, ever playing the part of the loyal confidant. “There is no flying for me anymore. The brush has been lost, my ailerons all but torn; I forever feel like I am falling now, but I have lost the ability to make it art.”)

0~o~0

The forest silence grated on Starscream’s audials. His wings twitched sporadically behind him. His vents were cycling on max, and the air surrounding him was so hot, not even the crow that had the tank to place itself on his shoulder remained. Instead, it circled above him with its brethren, cawing, flying, a taunt to Starscream’s bitter, clipped wings.

Distantly, the more rational part of Starscream observed, and said he was panicking.

Presently, all that the emotional part of Starscream could think of was:

How much of it was a lie?

His processor spun with Alyssa. With Silas. With Megatron. With Linda. It bounced back and forth, drawing unnecessary parallels, hiking his core temperature higher and higher to a point of danger. Then, his pede suddenly sunk, and he heard a squeak beneath him. He looked down. His wings twitched. Ah. The organic turbofox. Dead under his heel strut. Starscream stumbled back, suddenly disoriented.  He ended up backing himself into a tree. No.

His vents cycled a notch higher. Warnings pinged on the corner of his HUD. Internal temperatures rising to lower-low cautionary. Value recommended: 1.0. Value at present: 1.0144, it said. Starscream ignored it and peeled the organic creature from the underside of his pede like it was a piece of grime. Something shrieked. Starscream looked up. Another turbofox. Two turbofoxes.

If they had wings, if the third was still alive, perhaps they’d be a trine, Starscream’s traitorous processor thought.

Sparkflare imminent, his HUD notified. Engage Stasis lock? [Y/N]

Starscream chose N and ignored the pain. The two turbofoxes walked up to the body, oddly smooth and listless, as if they were in shock, smelling it for a moment, before letting out mournful screams.

Starscream shrunk back. “Shut up.” He hissed. The grating silence was filled with the sound of agony. Starscream’s spark ached. “Shut up.”

Starscream, cradling the memories of his trine, unrecognizable ruins in the carnage of battle. He threw his helm back and screamed.

Starscream blinked away the memory. The cycling of his vents was a significant notch higher. Internal temperatures rising to lower-middle cautionary. Value recommended: 1.0. Value at present: 1.3124. He looked back at the turbofoxes. One was kicking at the body, dropping sticks and sniffing it. The other was screaming. His own image overlapped them both. Starscream’s spark twisted.

“Go away,” he whispered. His optics shone that terrible crimson in the darkness, casting the gleaming red blood of the turbofox in a grislier light than it truly was. “Go away!” he shrieked. The turbofox continued yowling listlessly into the night, the other one continued shoving sticks over the body. Starscream wanted to tear something out. He settled for digging his talons into the ground and throwing dirt.

…Only to miss the turbofoxes by a mile—how so very strange, what with his ‘perfect navigation systems’—have his spark twist in guilt anger further and shriek, “Useless creature! Organic swill!” the memory of Alyssa floated into his process. Alyssa, with her hurt leg. Alyssa, with her mocking, lying optics. Alyssa, who said he was cool, and—

“Liar!” Starscream screamed, “Wretched thing—!”

System overheat imminent. Stasis lock imposed – T minus five….

Starscream’s spark spun wildly, thudding against the walls of its chamber with a ferocity that sent waves of pain through his frame. No. No! If he went into stasis lock with his tanks the way they were, he’d never—he’d never wake up!

Four…

Starscream’s processor throbbed with his own thoughts, the deluge of notifications, slowly growing as the drug that dampened his wings’ sensor net wore off, and the incessant turbofox screeching perpetuated. Falling. Starscream’s wings twitched sporadically. Falling. Falling. He felt like he was falling.

Three…

Silas, Megatron, Alyssa, Linda. Silas, Megatron, Alyssa, Linda. The one that took his wings, the one who he must kill for recognition, the one who lied to him, and… And who?

Two…

Silas, Megatron, Alyssa, Linda. Linda. Linda.

On—

“…Starscream?”

Starscream’s vents stuttered. Her voice, crackled and marred with distance and static though it was, was like a light breeze tickling his ailerons. Yes, that rational part, the larger part of his processor now, stated calmly, assuring. Linda did nothing to betray you. She is… yours. Your pet. Your little pet fleshling. Yours. Your friend.

Starscream cycled his vents slower. His temperature stopped building. “Linda.” He rasped. The turbofox continued screeching in the background. Its companion continued piling sticks on the body in some gruesome ritual of mourning.

“Starscream.” Linda sounded more present. Less groggy. Did Starscream wake her up?

“Linda.” Starscream rasped, strained. His vocalizer was undercut with static and just now he noticed his vision hazing out at the edges. All symptoms of serious overheat and sparkflare. Damn. How close was he?

“…Ahahaha… This is a surprise.” Linda laughed awkwardly, off-kilter. “Is there something you need, my Lord?”

Starscream lay down, flat against the ground, and stared up. Under the twinkling swathe of night, the shadowy trees looked quite like a tunnel to the heavens, and Starscream felt like he could get lost looking through it. “Speak, Linda.” He ordered. “Fill the silence.”

Linda remained silent for a moment, before speaking, haltingly. “Okay then… Starscream. About… About what then?”

Starscream felt a pulse of rage. How dare she ask questions? How dare she waste time? Could a logical answer not even pierce the veil of stupidity in her organic little processor? Starscream waved a servo. “Something. Anything. Figure it out.” The words came out harsher than ever before, he and could physically feel Linda’s flinch from the other end of the line. His spark twisted in guilt.

“Ah… I’m sorry my Lord.”

Starscream grimaced. She sounded so… despondent. “Stop it.” He muttered. “I… Talk about your pottery or whatever. I…” Starscream hesitated. His processor settled back into a tentative lull. “…enjoy listening to you talk about your pottery.”

“You do?” Linda perked up, and Starscream felt satisfaction course through his veins. “Ah… Thank you. My… husband did not like hearing about my pottery.” She hesitated. “He said I talked too much.”

“—so I was considering, maybe, a strafing run along this line,” Starscream gesticulated towards the map he projected from his wrists. Soundwave gave it a cursory glance and continued walking. “The Seekers are getting anxious, after all, and something light like this, even if it does not give any immediate benefit, will alleviate—”

“Starscream.” Soundwave’s voice had taken the lighthearted, teasing tone of Skywarp.

“—just a joor’s stretch of—What?” Starscream grumbled, irritated, and shut down the map.

Soundwave displayed an irritated emoticon on his visor, and spoke in Megatron’s words when he addressed an Autobot not too long ago. “You talk too much.”

“You don’t talk too much,” Starscream refuted before he could stop himself. Linda was silent on the other end of the line. Starscream grimaced and considered continuing on, but the memory of Alyssa, of her lies, of her taking advantage of his fondness for her, coursed through his processor and stilled his glossa.

“Thank you.”

Starscream grimaced. Linda’s voice sounded thick. Like she was about to cry. Starscream… was not prepared to handle crying fleshling again after the events of… yesterday.

“I… Sorry, give me a moment.” Linda sniffed, and Starscream hummed in affirmation. Then, after a few moments of the quiet vents that humans seemed to be so absurdly fond of doing, she continued. “I’ve turned most of my pottery to sculptures, you know? I’ve taken to making, ah, clay idols. Marcus and Jacob help me paint them. It’s… not a super lucrative business, but paired with the story I’m writing, and the waitress job I got, it’s… lasting me.”

Starscream hummed. Empowered, Linda continued.

“I’ve done quite a few clay idols, actually. Of varying quality. Um…” her voice turned sheepish, and Starscream felt something warm and fuzzy overtake his spark, soothe it into calmness, and still his processor. “…To be honest, most of them are of you.”

“Of… me?” Starscream’s spark stuttered with warmth.

“Of you. Yes. Maybe one day I can show you. Will you come to visit me, then?”

Starscream remained silent. Fleshlings. Such fleeting, hopeless creatures. To bleed so easily, the way Starscream did under Megatron’s servo, and hope so easily, as Linda did under Starscream’s wing. She was barely a blip on his full lifespan. He predated her entire species, he would outdate her entire species. To invest such time into her would be a waste—sparkache where none was needed.

“Tell me the time, tell me the place,” Starscream said softly. “And I will do my level best to be there.”

“Ah! Perfect! Maybe I’ll even send some to you! They’d be—tschh—”

Starscream jolted. “Linda?”

“—crzzk—tsch-tsssss—”

Starscream snarled and ran a system scan on his comms. It came up blank. “Linda.” He hissed in terrified worry. “This is unamusing.”

“—Star—tschh—krrrgtk—I don’t want to die.”

Starscream froze. This was a new voice. Young, and washed out with static that sounded like the pulses of Vosian drums and flutes in tandem. Starscream’s processor whirred. Who was it? Who could it—Why—

Megatron, Soundwave, Linda, Starscream listed all the mechs and fleshlings that he had given access to his comm line. And Silas, who had somehow found a way to hack into it. Yet another chilling thing about the damn fleshy… other than his propensity for organ harvesting.

None of them, save Linda, had a reason to contact him at this very moment. Silas had already taken what he wanted and left him for dead, Soundwave made no secret of how much disdain he felt for Starscream, and Megatron, if it truly was him, wouldn’t even bother with a call.

So, who then?

“—tsch—I don’t want to die.”

Starscream snarled. “Who are you?”

“I don’t want to die,” the voice sobbed, and Starscream decided that whoever the voice belonged to, was clearly an idiot of the highest order.

“Yes, yes, we’ve established that,” he said impatiently, “Move on to the bigger questions. Who are you? How do you—” he paused, and carefully tried to imitate fleshling colloquial. “—have this number?”

“…I don’t want to die.” The voice keened, and it was so achingly familiar that Starscream had to pause. “I don’t even know what I did. Why did he leave? What did I do wrong? What did I do wrong?”

Starscream’s spark stuttered—

“What did I do?!” Starscream shrieked. Megatron was walking away. Some unnamed Vehicons were dragging him along the halls, the route painfully familiar and well-worn. “What did I do wrong?! Why are you leaving? Megatron! Master!”

As the void of space did not care of who fell into its endless folds, Megatron continued walking.

—and it was with a terrible, sudden sort of feeling that Starscream realized that the one talking was Alyssa. Rage, betrayal, confusion, and curiosity warred for place in his processor, the conflict stilling his glossa and opening his audials to her words.

“I’m scared,” she whimpered, and the static undercut her words something fierce. “It’s so dark. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die alone. Not here.”

Starscream felt a mite of guilt.

For a few moments, everything was silent, the static thrumming through Starscream’s struts in a manner reminiscent to the mass prayers that the central temple in Vos would hold for Primus (and Unicron) once a vorn.

“tschhhhh—My mother… did not hate me once upon a time.”

Starscream paused. Considered it. His curiosity won out. Starscream sat down, wings flat against his back, various fleshy creatures sniffing at him in various levels of interest, and for the first time in the past million years since his brothers had died, since his time had suddenly disappeared, consumed by constant assassination attempts against Megatron, and beatings that he subsequently received, he shut his intake and listened.

And Alyssa spoke.

And she spoke.

And with every sentence, every “I swear my mum isn’t so bad, but damn do I feel guilty for hating her,” Starscream blinked and saw Megatron, saw his own Carrier, felt his own guilt, and the jittery buzz grew once more.

“I don’t know what I did,” Alyssa said quietly, and by now Starscream had already gotten up, had stumbled his way around, attempting to backtrack his way through the forest. “I’ve… I’ve already resigned myself to my imminent demise—”

Starscream bared his dentae. Stupid fleshling. Classic fleshling. They live so short and they resign themselves to death so early. Starscream… could never. He manually expanded his sensor net and replenished the semivital optic system to max. Everything in his view sharpened, and he tried to ignore the energon expenditure for his troubles.

(Does she truly not know? A piece of Starscream questioned. Does she truly not know her transgression?)

“—But there’s one thing I just have to know.” A pause. “How did I deceive him? What did I do? What happened?”

Starscream gritted his dentae, and found Alyssa where he’d left her. She says she doesn’t know, Starscream mused sardonically, falling walking forward, Whether or not that is true, we shall find out. We shall find out if this deception is true. If my fondness was not misplaced.

He stared down at Alyssa, who was holding the crow that was once on Starscream’s shoulder. She said something, seemed to squint, and then immediately craned backwards as if just now noticing the crimson light of Starscream’s optics illuminating the area. “Starscream,” she breathed.

O~O

He came back.

He came back.

Starscream, that damn rotted piece of termite infested wood came back.

“You came back.” Alyssa didn’t quite know where to go from here. “How long were you listening?”

Starscream stared at her, unreadable. “Long enough,” he muttered. “You truly do not know how you deceived me?”

…

…Now, Alyssa (on a normal day) would have been totally polite and demure and whatever the hell else women were expected to be in the presence of a figure of power, but today, nuh uh. Alyssa was hungry, tired, and her leg was probably ruined for life, and here she was, facing the guy that caused the entire predicament she had at hand. “Damn straight!” she shrieked, stumbling to her feet with a burst of adrenaline she immediately regretted. “You just up and left, Starscream! The hell, man! I could have died!” I almost did die! She left unsaid. “Why’d you come back?!”

Starscream glowered at her, the luminous red wells narrowing with displeasure. “I can always leave,” he reminded snidely.

Alyssa froze. Right. Right, he was still her ticket down the mountain. Damn it. Think, think, think. Alyssa stared up at Starscream, whose expression morphed into confusion, How do I save this? Do I be meek and whatever?

“…You… were deceiving me…”

Alyssa grimaced. Nope. Out of the metaphorical window. That was a poor thing to think about. If Starscream were to find out she was manipulating him, she’d be doomed! Royally! So then what to do instead? What instead? Her mind raced, Starscream’s expression turned to one of impatience with a hint of bitterness—

“Please don’t leave!” she blurted out, and Alyssa immediately wanted to bang her head against the rock. Damn it, why did she have to sound so needy? “Ahem…” she cleared her throat, “I mean… it would be totally preferable if you, uhm, didn’t leave me in the dark. Alone. Again.”

Starscream peered at her suspiciously, and a tense few moments followed Alyssa’s bitten off plead in which Starscream was likely contemplating whether or not he should remain to offer company. “Very well then,” he said finally, “Since you so kindly groveled for it.” He waved his arm with a flourish, “I will keep you company until the bottom of the mountain.”

Alyssa swallowed thickly. “Oh.” She managed, and tears stung at her eyes. Damn it. Starscream doesn’t get to be the rude little garbage bag he is and then come back at her saying something like—like this. (He all but promised her safe passage to the bottom. Her. Alyssa. It was… heartwarming) “I… Can you… uh…”

Starscream sighed and sat down next to her. “There is one thing I would like to know,” he muttered, and it was at that moment Alyssa stumbled.

“Yeah?” she wheezed. Damn it, my leg did not hurt that much five minutes ago—

Starscream pushed a long, clawed finger against her body to hold her upright. It was unfair how much that affected Alyssa. “I want to know how you got my personal comm line.” He murmured.

Alyssa stared up at him blankly, trying not to look like she was leaning on his finger nearly as much as she actually was. “Your what?”

Starscream frowned impatiently, the red light of his eyes tinting the expression something weird. “You have my personal comm line.” He elaborated without really elaborating, because what the hell? He had a personal comm line? “How do you know it?”

“Dude,” Alyssa blurted, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Starscream glared at her suspiciously. “But you have it,” he repeated, and Alyssa, hungry and tired, and prone to mood swings as she was, wanted to bang her head against his finger and cry.

“Okay look Starscream,” she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her phone. “See this?” she waved it around in a way that she hoped seemed less taunting than she meant it to be and said, “It has a grand total of zero bars. I can’t call anyone on this, and this? This is my only communications device. I lost the walkie-talkie to the bear, and I doubt that would’ve worked either. They were kiddie walkie-talkies.” Alyssa shook her head. “See, I’ve got nothing, man.”

Starscream glared at her phone like it personally offended him. “…I heard your voice though,” he insisted nonsensically, and Alyssa stared at him incredulously.

“Dude, you might need to get that checked.” She advised, “Big boy though you are, hearing voices cannot—”

“I truly believe my mom loves me,” Starscream quoted, and Alyssa froze. “…She just needs time, alright?”

“…How do you know that?” Alyssa’s tongue felt numb. What the hell? How did he know that? She was completely cut off from anything and everything—she couldn’t have contacted him even if she wanted to! Did he hear her? From however far away? Did he intend to hear her?

Alyssa peered at Starscream, who, beneath the veneer of irritation and exhaustion, seemed just as confused as she was.

No. No he didn’t intend to hear her. So how did he?

Alyssa glanced down at the crow. It stared back at her innocently. Was it you? She wanted to ask, though she refrained, because—because it would be weird asking that of a crow.

The crow stared at her for a few tense moments, before nodding and taking off. Alyssa stared at it blankly. “Okay then,” she said aloud, watching as it settled itself on Starscream’s shoulder. “Never mind.”

“What?” Starscream frowned and shot a cursory glance at his new passenger, who merely preened her wings with pride.

“That’s Sofia the First,” Alyssa informed distantly. “She’s… she’s something.”

Starscream frowned. “Why does Sofia need to be defined as the first?”

“What? Because she’s the first of her name?”

Starscream, for some reason, found this absolutely scandalous. “You fleshlings repeat your names?” he hissed, “What is wrong with you?”

Alyssa snorted, “Well I’m sorry we can’t just marry two words together and call that our name for life, Starscream,” Alyssa drawled sarcastically. “What kind of name is that, anyway?”

Starscream’s expression at that, funnily enough, turned pinched. “It means something different in Seekercant,” he muttered, “Sounds different, too. Starscream is the official translation.”

Alyssa raised a brow. “Oh? What does it mean, then?”

It was at that moment Starscream’s eyes hazed over the same way they did just before she was abandoned on this awful rock. Unlike before, however, now Alyssa merely fidgeted in silence. She would not take the risk. Not again.

Finally, at length, Starscream spoke, “…The sound a star makes when it burns its last.” He looked as if he had bitten into a lemon and was spitting out the acid when he said those words.

“Ah.” Alyssa did not know what to say. “I… did not know stars made sound.”

Somehow, Starscream’s face soured even further. “They don’t.”

Alyssa stared at him blankly. Backtrack, backtrack, backtrack—

“Uh. So nice weather we’re having, huh?”

Starscream looked at her, quizzical. “It’s nighttime.”

Alyssa wanted to die of embarrassment. “I know,” she said, strangled. “Great weather.”

At that moment, the sky cracked with thunder. Starscream looked up, then looked at her, bemused. “You fleshlings have strange taste in weather.”

Alyssa smiled painfully. “Yep. That’s—That’s us. Weirdo fleshlings. Haha.” For a few moments, everything was silent. Then, in a small, quiet voice, Alyssa asked, “Do you think it’s going to rain?”

Starscream hummed ambiguously. “In an hour.” He murmured. “The humidity of the air is rather high, and the wind has changed shape.”

The wind what. “The wind has what?”

“The wind.” Starscream elaborated, without really elaborating. “It has changed shape. It is swirling and going down the mountain.” He paused, “And the sky is crackling with electricity. This will be quite the storm.”

“…I take it back.” Alyssa wanted to bang her head against the rock. “This is the worst weather in the world.”

“Storms are good,” Starscream defended. “I like this weather. Very lovely wind patterns…” his eyes dimmed with wistfulness. Alyssa wanted to scream at him.

“Starscream.” She bit out. “You’re made of metal,” which was something she didn’t want to think about, but now she was, so that’s great, “and the rain of this planet—in case you don’t know—is made of water.”

Starscream scowled, perhaps put off by her accusatory, spiteful tone, but then the words registered. Metal. Water. The uncomfortable oxygen of the atmosphere. Rust. His wings flicked. “Ah.”

“Yeah.” Alyssa threw herself back and sighed loudly. “We’re cooked, chat! Doomed! Fried and toasted!”

“What?” Starscream asked, completely befuddled.

“We’re cooked!” Alyssa repeated, knowing full well it didn’t answer Starscream’s question at all. (You could’ve been down the mountain by now, a dark voice whispered, in a bed, with relative warmth. Instead you’re here, out in the cold, and for what?

For your own damn deception—)

Alyssa shook off the thought. “Hey. Starscream.”

Starscream shifted slightly, glancing between her and the sky, frowning. “Speak, fleshling.”

“You said I deceived you. A while back.” Alyssa shifted and let herself collapse onto Starscream’s finger. “Why?” Starscream’s finger stiffened, and Alyssa saw the giant robotic mechanism turn to pin her with a glare.

“You were the one who deceived.” He hissed. “Perhaps you should tell me.”

Alyssa stared up at Starscream flatly and made a point of shrugging as obnoxiously as she could. “You’re the one who sees deception where there is none.” She pointed out.

Starscream’s lips—could metal beings have lips?—peeled back in a snarl, “You took advantage of my generosity,” he hissed, “You took advantage of my—care for you.”

Alyssa raised a skeptical brow, even as her soft heart stuttered. “You care for me?” she cooed. “Thanks, man. I care for you too.”

Starscream really did stiffen this time, and Alyssa jolted with the sudden jerk of his finger. Terrified, she hung on. Was he going to pull it back? Was he going to stab it through her? (Those were very, very sharp claws)

Starscream did not move.

“You lie.” He grumbled, instead. “You lie.”

Alyssa could have almost sobbed in relief. She didn’t think she could stand if she didn’t have Starscream’s finger supporting her. (Pathetic as she was) “I lie, yes,” Alyssa allowed, “But not to you. I haven’t lied to you.”

Starscream twitched. “You lied about your pain.” He accused, and it took Alyssa a few moments to realize that this was the deception he was talking about.

“Wait, wait—you abandoned me because you thought I was lying about my… pain?” Alyssa couldn’t quite comprehend it. What an absurd reason! “Dude, what?”

“No!” Starscream gritted out, inordinately irritated. “I abandoned you because you mocked me!”

“Mocked you?” Alyssa laughed dubiously, “What?”

“You mocked me!” Starscream shrieked, “You mocked my care for—” he broke off, and Alyssa got this distinct, apparent feeling that he was embarrassed.

“…I don’t remember doing this.” Alyssa said honestly. “But I probably meant it as something teasing, not really mocking. If it came off like that… well. That’s—” she stopped herself from saying ‘a you problem’. “—That’s something we’d need to work on,” she said diplomatically. “But my life is literally in your hands, Starscream. I can’t mock you.”

Starscream glared at her, eyes narrowed dubiously. The red light cast down on her like some hellish path heaven, and, perhaps, a more religious person would have been scared. Alyssa, though—she merely basked in the warmth that Starscream seemed to exude. “You speak the truth?” he hissed, and Alyssa momentarily lamented the trees, because surely Starscream’s voice would have echoed, and that would’ve been so cool—

“Yeah. I do.”

Starscream stared at her for a moment, and somehow, his eyes softened. “You care for me?”

“I mean.” Alyssa shrugged. “You saved me from a bear and I’m really not in a position to be choosy.”

Starscream said nothing.

Alyssa said nothing.

For a few moments, everything was suspended in silence, and the crows found it fit to join in, perching silently atop Starscream’s shoulder and head alike. Then, Alyssa cleared her throat. “You know,” she wheedled, “I think that we should go down the mountain.”

Starscream jolted. “What?” he looked up, judged the sky, and looked back at Alyssa and judged her too. “It’s going to rain.”

“I thought you liked the rain,” Alyssa challenged.

“I like the storm,” Starscream corrected snidely, as if that was anything different. “There is a difference.”

“There’s really not.”

“Hm, well.” Starscream smiled patronizingly, “I don’t expect a wingless little fleshy like yourself to understand the beauty of the sky at cloud cover level.”

Alyssa shot him a dirty look, “Dude, I might actually starve to death and die if I have to spend another night away from an actual bed.” She said flatly. “Nothing against using you as a pillow, but you’re made of metal, and I, weak little fleshy that I am, do not sleep well on metal.” She paused, “Also, my leg is torn up and I can’t really feel it anymore.”

Starscream scoffed. “Don’t whine,” he muttered, “It’s only a leg.”

“…What?”

After a long and incredibly awkward exchange, interspersed with Alyssa describing the mechanics of the human body and the lack of replaceability on it as graphically as she could, she finally got Starscream to portray the barest sense of urgency.

“I still think you’re being dramatic,” Starscream commented, Alyssa resting on his hand once more. He pushed through some foliage and stumbled over a rock down the mountain. They were three quarters of the way to the ground.

“Dude.” Alyssa threw up her arms incredulously. “Your limbs are replaceable; Mine are not.”

“Well yes, but still!” Starscream sniffed. “It’s only a leg. And you’re not even feeling the pain anyway—”

“Nerves, Starscream.” Alyssa stressed. “Sensors, circuits, whatever you call them—If they’re damaged, I can’t replace them.”

Starscream made an irritated noise and jumped down fifty feet. Alyssa yelped when they impacted the ground. Starscream bit out a curse in another language and continued on. “I still think you’re being dramatic.” He said stubbornly, after a while.

“Have you even been in pain?” Alyssa blurted out, “Do you know what this feels like, metal as you are?”

Starscream froze. Thunder rumbled in the distance. For a moment, he was silent, and then, faintly, he said, “More than you know.”

O~O

For a time, the world was suspended in silence as Starscream walked down the mountain. His processor spun between a hundred things and nothing at the same time and he found himself constantly looking up at the sky and idly wondering what it would be like to fly through the storm.

“You know,” Alyssa said suddenly, “I feel like we’ve bonded a lot.”

Starscream scoffed. “Bond? Perhaps as a master would to a pet…”

Alyssa made a noise of disgusted dissent. “Sorry man, not into that kind of play.”

It took a moment for Starscream to understand, but once he did, he choked out a laugh. “And Prime thinks you all are so pure,” he muttered.

“Who thinks what?”

“Nothing.” Starscream pushed away a tree and left gouging marks behind. “Tell me about your ‘mum’.” He ordered. “Why do you think she… cares about you still?”

Alyssa stiffened, and then shrugged. “I’ll only talk if you talk.”

“Hm?”

“Tell me about your ‘mum’.” Alyssa clarified, crossing her arms. “I want to know all about her.”

“…Him.” Starscream corrected, and Alyssa audibly choked.

“W-What?” she wheezed and dug her digits into Starscream’s transformation seams. “Your—Your mum was—Mpreg???”

Starscream tilted his head in confusion. “What is… mpreg?”

Alyssa made a noise quite like something dying, and Starscream lifted her closer to his faceplate in mild concern, only for the sparkling to screech and flush red—or was that just the light off Starscream’s optics? It was hard to tell—“You don’t want to know!” she blurted out.

“Don’t tell me what I do and do not want!” Starscream hissed. “What is it?!”

Alyssa sobbed, “I don’t want to tell you!” she bawled. “Please, please, please forget I said that!”

Starscream scowled, somewhat disturbed. “Is it such an egregious thing?” he wondered aloud, and Alyssa made a sound like a dying organic chicken.

“N-No?” Alyssa squeaked, “Yes? Maybe? I don’t know—Can we talk about something else?”

Starscream frowned. “If this is about your species’ binary sexual nature, then ease yourself,” he grumbled, “Cybertronians are what you would call… hermaphrodites, in a sense.”

Alyssa looked faint. “I really, really don’t want to have the sex talk again. Starscream. Please.”

Starscream shook Alyssa slightly, amused. “You’re so stupid, fleshling, it is kind of funny.”

Alyssa flinched, but covered it well. “Yeah, I try to be,” she muttered. “Anyways. Uh. What was he like?”

(The unheard, dying wail of a star as it breathes its last)

“He named me Starscream,” Starscream said bitterly, “There was no love lost between us.”

Lies.

There was so much love lost from Starscream.

“…Oh.” Alyssa fidgeted in the now awkward silence. “Why?”

A bitter laugh bubbled up Starscream’s vocalizer. “A question I have asked him time and time again.” He spat, and this hurt was tired and old and something Starscream could never quite let go. “I have a question for you now,” he diverted, “What happened to your mum?”

Alyssa hummed. Starscream noted the aerial humidity, and calculated: 35 minutes. “You know already.” Alyssa said, after a few moments. “She’s grieving. She still loves me.”

“You think she hates you.” Starscream refuted.

“I mean…” Alyssa hesitated. “She’s… forgetting about me a li’l. But it’s fine!”

“You are not fine.” Starscream did not need to be able to read fleshling fields to understand the blatant lie that was. “Stop being stupid.”

Alyssa winced. “Ever the honest guy, aren’t you, haha…” her smile twisted into a grimace. Starscream stared at her for a moment, and noted the new dust in the air. (All of it would be over soon. Alyssa would be down the mountain, and Starscream would be left alone. Again. Again.)

“You should leave her.” Starscream advised, wings twitching erratically behind him. He needed to preen the sensors. It was the least he could do to stop the growing reports now that the sensor dampening drugs wore off.

“…I’m a minor, Starscream.”

“A what?”

Alyssa explained. Starscream reeled back at the coddling suppression of it. “They clip your wings.” He said, with a faint note of horrified realization. “And they expect you to know how to fly when they finally give you ailerons.”

“…I had that metaphor up until you said ailerons, but yeah.” Alyssa shrugged. “Such is the government.” She threw her servos up and shook them in a movement of possible significance. Starscream felt nauseated.

“At least I could leave.” He muttered. Granted, it was less a voluntary leaving thing and more of an exile thing, but—

“What, are you going to adopt me?” Alyssa cooed, and Starscream glared at her.

“I don’t have the time to coddle a fleshling.” He growled, shaking her a little. “And you are… organic.” He shuddered. “Your waste… urgh.”

“Damn bro. You’re hurting my heart.”

Starscream glared down at her. “I’m going to throw you.” He threatened flatly, and Alyssa laughed.

“You’re a cool guy, Starscream.” She murmured, the words an echo of that first night in the cave, surrounded by warmth and darkness, this warm, tingling thing through his spark. “I like you.”

Starscream stared down at Alyssa, and then to the path before him, and suddenly realized that with a few more steps, a hop and a jump, the tilt of the mountain would transition to flat land and his time with Alyssa would be over. “…Right.” His vocalizer glitched with static. “Yes. I…”

“…Starscream?”

Starscream’s grip on Alyssa tightened. She panicked slightly.

“Starscream?”

Starscream did not want Alyssa to leave.

“Starscream!”

Starscream did not want—

“STARSCREAM!”

Starscream snapped back to reality. Alyssa was slapping at his digit. “…What?”

“What’s up with you, man?!” she wheezed, “You’re killin’ me here!”

Starscream loosened his grip. What to do? Lie? He cast a quick glance back up the mountain. He could take her back up. It would not take too long—he could use the excuse of the storm. Alyssa would stay there, she would fill the silence, everyone would be happy, and she wouldn’t be sad or whatever that Starscream was pawning her off—

Alyssa’s midsection rumbled with her tank’s hunger, and Starscream’s own tanks twisted in response to it, and he realized—He couldn’t. Starscream looked at her, pained and tense, his EM-field lashing wildly, invisibly for none to see. (The unheard dying scream as a star breathes its last—)

“The mountain is ending soon.” He heard himself say, and something froze and wailed inside him. No! it shrieked. You’re going to be alone! Again! Alone! Again!

Starscream grimaced. “So it seems to be,” Alyssa commented mildly. “Hey, gimme some wiggle room, would ya?”

Starscream tilted his palm and transferred Alyssa, wary of her leg (after an absurdly long period of argument as to the true severity of her injury), onto his free servo. Alyssa tapped him gratefully and then began rifling about her flimsy armor. Starscream cocked an optic ridge. After a few moments, she pulled out her communications device—her phone—and held it up rather self-importantly. “Gimme your number.” She ordered. “I wanna call you once I’m home.”

Starscream blinked, “I do not have a number.” He paused, “I have a personal comm line, though. Give me your device. I’m sure, despite the disappointingly primitive technology your planet seems to drown in, that I can patch you in.”

“Wow. Super poetic. You want a gold star?” Alyssa taunted, but her grip did not tighten when Starscream took her device between two talon-tips. “Uh. Be careful with that man. Please. I only got one.” Starscream shot her a dirty look and lifted it to his dentae pointedly. Alyssa paled. “Please, please, please don’t eat my phone,” she begged.

Starscream snorted, and his optics flickered. Instead of biting down on the communications device, as his leading action would have suggested, he dug his dentae into his wrist components instead, and forcefully opened an interface hatch. Then, he slotted the phone into the hatch and waited for the system data streams to enter his HUD. “You watch many videos about cats.” Starscream commented, once it started, and Alyssa shrieked.

“Are you looking at my search history?!”

Starscream looked away, “No.” he lied. He was. The moment she asked the question, he’d hacked into it and backread as much as he could. “Why do you need to know how long it takes a body to rot before it smells?”

Alyssa made a sound like the organic turbofox dying. “I… I was writing a story…” Starscream frowned, and he tried to look for it. Alyssa, sensing his actions somehow, crowed triumphantly, “Haha! Joke’s on you, Starscream! I write on Word.”

“Word.” Starscream frowned, puzzled. “Why would you write on… words…” He shook his head; Never mind that. He needed to get his objective completed before the primitive technology exploded from system overload. Starscream narrowed his optics and sifted through his HUD, refraining from the involuntary reflex of data dumping into a hardlined system, and found the communications port. Carefully, he imprinted his personal comm-link ID into it and then shook the device out.

When it dropped onto the servo where Alyssa was sitting, it was glowing blue with trace energon, and Starscream could feel a faint EM-field from it. He frowned. That… did not happen with Linda’s device. Alyssa stared at it. “What did you do to my phone?”

“…I gave you my personal comm line ID.” Starscream hesitated. It was a stupid question, but one he needed to ask nevertheless. “Do fleshling phones normally glow like this?”

Alyssa, most concerningly, paled. “No, what did you do?!”

Starscream watched as she picked up the phone and scrutinized it. “I…” How did he say this? “If your phone starts talking back to you, good luck.”

“If my phone starts what?!”

Starscream resolutely refused to answer and began moving once more. “It’s going to rain.” He said, ignoring Alyssa’s shrieking questions. “We—You must make it to the bottom of the mountain.”

“Stop ignoring me!”

Thunder cracked in the background, and Starscream imitated it mockingly. “See?” he asked rhetorically. “You’re the one who wanted to sleep in a bed, weren’t you?” he imitated the sound of the thunder again, and Alyssa grimaced. “Submit, fleshling. I am being quite the benevolent Lord.”

Alyssa shrieked incomprehensibly and Starscream felt a true laugh bubble its way out of his vocalizer. As his voice cracked and popped with static, Alyssa was shocked into silence, and the first drops of the storm fell from the sky.

O~O

The whole rush down the mountain went in a blur after that—or something. Alyssa wasn’t really sure. She was far more preoccupied with covering her eyes and head from the things that fell from the trees, and for a scant few moments, she could almost agree with Starscream’s stance on hating everything organic.

Then, they burst into open air, and she found herself agreeing with his stance on this ‘wet mudball of a planet’. The rain tore down on them, suffocated them in an endless deluge, and Starscream muttered a series of curses in a chittering, unknown language. Alyssa’s leg hurt. Distantly, she wondered if the crusted blood was being peeled off. Starscream’s laugh echoed in her head.

Damn, she’d wanted to say, I should become a comedian, she wanted to say.

Starscream bounded across the ground in plain view of anyone who would wish to see. The base of the mountain though, from what Alyssa could glean through the tears, was mercifully empty. He turned a corner. “Where are you going?!” Alyssa yelled, voice tearing and losing itself in the wind and rain. Starscream said something in response, and then slowed to a stop. Alyssa shook her head and looked up. The woodside motel. Her mom’s car. There.

She looked up at Starscream, mystified. “How did you find it?!”

Starscream smiled smugly, barely visible through the torrent, the water glowing hellish red with his eyes, and he said, “I used the Internet!” he announced proudly. “From your phone!”

Alyssa stared at him. “There are so many ways that could have gone wrong,” she whispered.

“What?!”

“Nothing!”

Starscream muttered something unintelligible, wings flicking and sending water cascading everywhere. The crows that followed him around loyally stayed perched on his shoulders, even as they were drowned in rain. Alyssa met the eyes of Sofia the First. The bird spread her wings and flapped them twice, barely visible through the rain, only visible from the glow of Starscream’s eyes, and Alyssa got the distinct impression that she was waving farewell.

Discombobulated, she raised her own hand in farewell as well.

Then, all of a sudden, Starscream leaned down, let his chin touch the ground, and whispered in a voice that resonated through her bones. “Call me.”

Alyssa grinned. “Every single day.” She promised. “Also, you should watch Sofia the First very carefully.”

Starscream’s eyebrow tilted quizzically, and Alyssa laughed. “…Alright then.” He rumbled, getting up. No goodbyes were said. This was not a goodbye. Alyssa’s phone hummed in her pocket, buzzing with a strange energy. It was, she thought, as Starscream ran back up the mountain, tipping over slightly on his heels, a wordless ‘see you next time’.

0~o~0

Andrea did not know what happened with her daughter. Granted, she barely ever knew what happened with her daughter these days, but this was somewhat concerning. Did she get a boyfriend, Andrea wondered, as she stood outside the bathroom door, the memory of a dead man’s laugh haunting her in the back of her mind. Why didn’t she tell me?

Alyssa’s giggles were muffled behind the door, and Andrea stood outside, unsure. Hesitating. Did she have the right to speak to her daughter? After everything?

(Dear God, Andrea was so damn scared when Alyssa went missing, all she could think of, the only chant running through her mind was not again not again not again—)

Andrea’s hand fell away from the door knob. Alyssa giggled on the other side. Andrea turned away. Whoever Alyssa was speaking with, she justified (her cowardice), they deserved Alyssa far more than her. Alyssa would want to talk to them without her interruption, she told herself.

Andrea made her way to the fridge, pulled out a wine bottle and walked outside to drink. The night was cool, and the California air was dry. Home sweet home, she thought sardonically, as she sipped at the alcohol. They had needed to stay in the motel longer than expected—free of charge, under the small condition of keeping quiet about the park rangers’… oversight, of course.

They’d given Alyssa medical treatment and allowed them free stay for the next week while she started preliminary healing. As her guardian, Andrea was also there to reap the rewards.

Yet, Andrea sipped dully and watched the stars twinkle. Yet I do not bear the punishment for abandoning her to begin with.

Andrea sipped.

(The guilt killed her slow)

(Like the alcohol killed her slow)

(Like her grief killed her slow)

Then, the moon turned red, and a shadow passed over her. Slowly, Andrea looked up. And up. And up.

And she was met with two glowing red eyes that chilled her to her bones. She trembled. The monster stared at her, giving nothing away.

A horn, she noted dimly. It has a horn. It’s a devil.

Behind it, the silhouette of wings fluttered.

It’s an angel?

Slowly, a clawed hand reached down, and Andrea flinched away before relaxing. Kill me, she wanted to embrace. Kill me and let me be one with my love. Punish me for not loving Alyssa. Punish me. Kill me.

Andrea waited a few tense moments, eyes closed, and then realized the claws were decided not piercing through her and offering her salvation punishing her, though instead…

Andrea’s grip slackened. The monster—because that was what it had to be if it wasn’t an angel or a devil—plucked the bottle of wine out of her hands. Slowly, it pulled the bottle to its face, and gusted air over it. Andrea shivered. Crows screeched. Then, it pinched.

The bottle rained down in shards and Andrea flinched. A stray shard caught on her shoulder and blood came pouring out. She let out a short, aborted cry.

“You drink this again…”

Andrea whimpered. She wouldn’t, she wouldn’t, she wouldn’t—

“…I break you next.”

(@w4ltenhorrory on Tumblr)

Chapter Text

The storm moved on with a soft rumble, clearing out to let streams of fragile dawn cascade through the leaves and glance off Starscream’s chassis. The smell of petrichor hung in the air and the mountain was quiet in a peaceful sort of way.

Somewhere along the undergrowth, a turbofox leaped. Not long after, a second followed. Starscream blinked, and for a moment, it seemed like the third who had died under pede yesterday was staring straight at him.

Then, a cloud passed, light shifted, and under the wash of golden daylight, the apparition disappeared. Starscream twitched as a zephyr passed through the trees.

This mountain, he supposed, would be exempt in the infinite disgust he had for all things organic. Idly, the Seeker caressed a vibrant green leaf with a talon. Drops of water trickled down and cooled him where heat pooled at his seams. The memory of Alyssa digging her small digits into those grooves was fresh, and for a small, fleeting moment, Starscream mourned its absence.

Starscream cycled his vents in a short sigh and set himself atop on a stone. A stream flowed not too far off to the side. Any evidence of Alyssa ever having sat on that rock, blood seeping out her injured leg, was gone with the rain. Starscream absently picked at the grooves with his talons.

The crows were strangely silent and still. Even Sofia—who Starscream insisted would be the only of her name, so there was no need to define her as ‘first’—took to peacefully preening her inefficient little wings instead of screeching in Starscream’s audial as she did the entire night before. (Starscream would glance jealously at the action, at the wings spread, feathers bared without fear—and each damning instant he did, he couldn’t help but miss his trine, their cultivating touch on his sensor net, his on theirs, that much more)

Time blurred when Starscream sat on that rock. The stream coursed in the background—a rushing, lovely white noise that blotted out the steadily building scream of Skycall in Starscream’s processor. In the privacy of the mountain, with no optics to watch him, Starscream lost himself in the sound.

0~o~0

True to her word, Alyssa called the very next day after the storm had passed. “They’re letting me stay for the week,” she said. “This place smells so bad, I can’t even—”

Starscream snorted. “Oh, you organics,” he condescended, picking up an energon shard. Idly, he noticed that his pile was growing low. He would need to leave to seek more soon. The mountain was running dry. “Always so taxed by your, ah, smell.”

“You can’t smell? Oh, dear me!” Alyssa’s voice suddenly pitched high with pettiness and faux-surprise. Starscream frowned. “So that’s why you have yet to notice your corroded metallic stench!”

Starscream froze. Unbidden, memories of an old time under the Decepticons entered his mind. Memories of Seekers now passed. Memories of a time when his position as Winglord was little known and poorly cemented, with the words of a dying mech pinned under a fallen spire. Memories of a time when his subjects would titter in the halls, sneer and flare their wings as if they believed they could fly better than him, as if they could succeed him as Winglord. Oh, Starscream remembered them saying, Oh the smell, the corroded, metallic stench—

Starscream hissed audibly, optics narrowing into poisonous slits. “Comment on my stench again, and I will slice your fleshy little body into strips.”

For a moment, Alyssa was silent on the other end. Then, in a controlled, quiet voice, she said, “My mom’s been talking to me more. I think she feels guilt. She’s also stopped drinking.”

Starscream cycled his vents sharply and accepted the change in topic for what it was. “Hm. I did that, you know,” he said smugly, crossing his arms.

“You did what?”

“I had her stop drinking,” Starscream elaborated, picking at his talons in a show of flippancy—only to stop when he realized Alyssa wasn’t really there to witness it. “You’re welcome, by the way.” He sneered.

“…What did you even do?” Alyssa sounded appropriately awed and fascinated. Starscream grinned.

“I went to her in the night,” Starscream purred, wings flicking. “And I took her little bottle, and…” he let the pause hang in the air for a moment, “…I crushed it over her head.”

“…Dear God.” Alyssa whispered. Her voice crackled over the line. It was a tone of realization. Starscream preened at it. “…I was wondering why her shoulder was stiff this past day.”

“Hm, yes, you’re welcome to show your gratitude whenever you see fit,” Starscream rolled his optics. Alyssa scoffed.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, boomer,” she drawled, and Starscream had to do a double-take—and then a triple-take—at the words she used. Panties? Boomer? In a twist???

“Speak not your insipid words, fleshling,” Starscream hissed, translator still working through the intricacies of the slang, “They irritate me.”

“…You don’t get it?” Alyssa sounded fascinated and sickly amused. “Oh my god.”

Starscream snarled. “What does that mean?”

“Oh nothing, nothing. Hey, did you know I have a fanfic account?” Alyssa switched the subject once more—and this time, Starscream was not willing to let it pass.

“What does that mean?”

“What, the fanfic account?”

“What you were saying earlier, fleshling!” Starscream hissed.

“My name is Alyssa,” Alyssa refuted, and perhaps a day ago it would have been irritable, but now it was merely flippant. “And anyways, I’m writing a fanfic and I kind of want to base an OC off of you…”

“A what?!”

0~o~0

Starscream was in recharge. Of this, he was vaguely aware. The world was hazy and it felt like he was adrift in the void of space. Somewhere, somehow, he heard the thrum of Vosian drums. Somewhere, somehow, he heard a babbling voice, writing a story with him as the main character.

Somewhere, somehow, it felt like peace.

0~o~0

Starscream called Linda. He’d taken to calling Linda first more often than not. He felt like he owed her for the sudden call drop.

“Linda.”

“Starscream.” Linda’s voice, as always, was a serene sigh over the line. “How have you been?”

Starscream looked at the sky and felt a breeze tickle his ailerons. He was lying with his back and wings against the ground. (He was going mad with Skycall) “I’m doing well,” he said. A beat of hesitation passed, and then with a tentative voice, he continued. “I am going to move soon. The mountain has served me well, but I find that I may have better prospects elsewhere.”

(On his HUD, the beeping red marker of the Harbinger glared)

“As you should.” Linda agreed. “One should, ah, never clip their own wings with attachment.”

Starscream’s translator whirred for a moment. Clipped wings, he noted, glancing at a crow. Sofia. She preened her feathers idly, perched on a branch. The meaning fell into place in a wave of jumbled Seekercant and Cybertronian. When one walks themselves into a situation where they end up tearing off their ailerons by themself.

Starscream did not respond. Did not say a word.

Linda continued speaking, “I finished my sculpture of you,” she said, “I kind of want to color it, but I’m still in a precarious position of a sort.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. As it turns out, apparently waiting tables is not a lucrative business.”

Starscream snorted. “With time,” he assured, listening to the running stream in the background. “With… time.”

“I made a friend,” Linda said suddenly, quietly, “I didn’t think I could make friends until you saved me.”

Starscream’s vocalizer glitched. When was the last time he had felt such devotion?

“…Hm. Yes.” He managed to strain out. Static, surprisingly, did not undercut the words. For once, his voice was left strong. “Be… grateful for my benevolence, fleshling.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Linda demurred, somewhat amused, “Would you like to hear of my friend?”

Starscream scoffed and waved a servo. “I suppose I can deign to listen to your prattling…”

Linda laughed softly, and started speaking. “Her name is June, and she works as a nurse…”

0~o~0

Starscream slept more often than not. More often than he had in millions of years. By all accounts, he should have feared and abhorred the organic life that dug and made home in his seams. Was it not strange that he felt safer in the unfamiliar mountain than he had on the Nemesis?

0~o~0

Starscream found himself in that clearing again. That clearing where he collapsed. That clearing where the turbofox died under his pede.

The smell of rot had not quite faded from the air, eclipsed as it was by the scent of petrichor and organic growth. Starscream looked at where he knew the body to be and stood, numb, stricken at the sight of flowers growing from the corpse. Before he knew it, in the silence of the forest, with the privacy of himself, he blurted out:

“I didn’t mean to.”

Nothing happened. A flash of humiliation burned through him.

What was he doing?

What was he trying to accomplish, talking to a snuffed spark like this? An organic snuffed spark, too, with a life span barely a blink of his own—it would have died anyway!

Starscream hissed and turned on his heel. He took a grand total of one step in the other direction, and froze. A low humming noise descended upon him, enveloping him in an accusing, rising shriek. He stepped in something. He stepped on something.

Immediately, Starscream dropped on his aft and pulled his pede to his faceplate as close as he could get it. A branch, he concluded, a cool surge of relief flowing through him when the image sharpened into focus—followed immediately by a stab of humiliated shame. I stepped on a branch.

Starscream gingerly put his pede down. Distantly, he was aware of some organic thing—a squirrel, he recalled Linda telling him a month or so ago—dropping and scurrying across his shoulders. The faint smell of flowers and rot burned at his olfactory sensors, reminding him of the terminated organic frame behind him. Starscream did not could not turn around.

“I didn’t mean to,” he heard himself choke out again, “You were just…” in an inconvenient position.

You were just in the way.

There was a spot between Starscream’s wings, between his ailerons, deep to his turbine where the dead turbofox’s being burrowed into the back of his very spark chamber. I did nothing, the turbofox seemed to be saying. What did I do to deserve your scorn? Starscream thought he was hearing.

Starscream shuttered his optics.

“I was a sparkling!” Starscream screamed. His Carrier looked down on him, impassive. “What sin did I commit to deserve your hatred?!”

Starscream opened his optics, and another memory surged into his mind.

“I have wiped out entire Senate and Autobot armies. I have been nothing but loyal to you. You define my life, Megatron—did you not think I let you brand my very spark chamber for nothing?” Starscream blindly clutched at where he knew Megatron’s vambraces were—his optics were nonfunctional and missing from their sockets. “What did I do, Megatron?” he begged, “What did I do to deserve your scorn?”

Starscream did not realize he was digging gouges into the ground until his systems pinged him with a query on talon integrity. One by one, achingly slow, his digits released their grip on the ground.

It is the nature of the powerful, Starscream justified, to disdain the weak.

Starscream did not disdain the turbofox.

It is the nature of those sparked by the sky, Starscream justified, to pay no matter or mind to the peons below.

Was not Starscream a Grounded peon now?

It is the nature of the Decepticon Way, Starscream justified, to uphold the strength and independence of the individual; It the turbofox could not keep itself alive by its own strength and cunning, then—then—

“I’m sorry,” Starscream blurted out, the sound tearing out of his vocalizer with unforgiving vigor. Immediately, Starscream hated himself for saying such a thing. “I…” His fans started cycling in a visible show of his embarrassment.

The smell of flowers and faded rot comingled in Starscream’s olfactory. If he were organic, with a centralized respiratory system, Starscream was sure there would be tears pricking at his optics from the rancid air burning down his intake.

“Wretched thing,” Starscream groused quietly, “You were the one to get in my way.”

The turbofox did not respond. The turbofox was dead. The silence felt accusing. Starscream remembered the turbofox trine mourning their newfound incompletion.

“You were in my way,” Starscream tried to justify himself, huddling closer to his knees. For a time, he did not speak. A crow passed over his helm. All of a sudden, Starscream felt very, very stupid, sitting there in an organic forest, on his aft, contemplating a fleeting fleshling life as seriously as he would—perhaps even more so than—a fellow Cybertronian.

Starscream stood up. He stumbled on the way. When he blinked, he thought he saw a turbofox jumping through the underbrush.

“I’m sorry,” Starscream whispered, recalling his words from earlier. It was almost startling when he realized they did not feel like nearly as much of a lie as they should have felt. I’m sorry.

It was the nature of life, Starscream supposed, vicious and unforgiving, for the deaths of the weak and those without power to be deemed insignificant.

Was that not the story of Starscream’s life?

Your death means nothing, Starscream thought, Your fleeting life is mourned only by lives equally as fleeting—and any mark you have left upon this world will be erased in time. You are impermanent; You are insignificant.

(The memory of Megatron’s fusion cannon, the dusty air of the cave clogging his vents, the terrible darkness, the aching disconnect from the sky entered Starscream’s mind. “You are insignificant,” Megatron said.

“Mercy!” Starscream cried in return)

I am insignificant.

Starscream shuttered his optics and walked away from the clearing. The smell of rot and flowers, faded by the petrichor of the morning, followed him.

One day , he promised, spark twisting, quiet in the privacy of the forest. I will return. I will return with something more genuine, something you, who deserved no scorn, should have gotten. Something.

In the corner of his vision, as Starscream walked away, a ghostly apparition seemed to be perching upon a rock. It looked at him with blank optics. Starscream did not return the gaze. Okay, it seemed to say, dispersing to golden streaks with the passing sunlight. I’ll wait.

0~o~0

Starscream looked up at the sky, and wondered what it would be like to fall. In the back of his processor, Vosian hymns of strange words sang—he could not make out their meaning. The sound of drums undercut his spark. Starscream drifted in the darkness.

A turbofox sat in the corner, white apparition, untouched by the darkness. Whether or not it was truly there was beyond him. It sat. It stared. It did nothing but wait.

0~o~0

 “You know, my mom thinks you’re some sort of God.” Alyssa said conversationally. Starscream snorted.

“God,” he muttered, incredulous. “Is she a fool?”

“…I would really appreciate it if you don’t insult my mother,” Alyssa informed, controlled.

Starscream scoffed. “I will do whatever I please. You do not control me.”

I am Starscream, I belong to no faction. I am Starscream, I am my own Master. I am Starscream.

Alyssa didn’t say anything over the lines for a moment, and then the call ended with a light click. Starscream looked at the crimson calling card for a moment, the blinking light in Cybertronian glyphs that said ‘Declined’, and sat there, somewhat numb with the sudden wash of silence.

0~o~0

Starscream was falling. Desperately, he tried to engage his back thruster. It sputtered once, then twice, and Starscream remembered of the many, many injuries it had gained over the years of Megatron’s punishments.

Starscream was falling, and he could not fly.

The sound of Vosian hymns and babbling words continued in the back of his processor, and drums undercut his spark.

0~o~0

The pile of energon in Starscream’s cave had dwindled to zero. His tanks sat at 28%, burning at a sedate pace. Starscream felt the walls of stone close in on him, and he grit his dentae. He needed to get out of that godawful hole.

Starscream shifted and shuffled himself out into the open daylight. He blinked and looked up at the sky. It was shrouded by trees. Starscream stood up, metal plates creaking, and he opened his navigation systems. Now, he decided, would be a good time to set for the Harbinger. Starscream opened an arrow pattern reflexively and swallowed.

The arrow pointed up.

Starscream switched off the arrow navigation system and minimized his Navigation HUD to the bottom right. He set for the direction of the Harbinger.

0~o~0

Starscream remembered finishing some random joke or the other. The memory was faded with age and repeated processor trauma. Megatronus’s faceplate, however, remained ever etched in clarity.

“Ha!” he laughed, sipping at low-grade. “Rather… interesting sense of humor you have.”

Starscream felt his dermas tug into a smirk. “Always my pleasure to serve, Master,” he purred, lying through his dentae.

He did not find pleasure in serving.

And he most certainly did not see Megatronus as his Master.

Megatronus seemed dumbfounded for a moment, before bursting into uproarious laughter, though his optics went distant. “Master, hm…?”

0~o~0

The silence was unbearable. Linda had yet to call him, and Alyssa wasn’t speaking to him, so Starscream had taken to talking to himself. Again.

“Megatron is so stupid,” he raved, waving a servo to an imaginary audience. “He acts like he knows everything, like it is he who solely keeps the Decepticons running—has he forgotten about me?”

Starscream paused. No one answered. He grimaced. The memory of a stale cave entered his mind.

“I killed Cliffjumper,” Starscream snarled mutinously, “Megatron could not kill Optimus Prime even if the mech was trussed up unconscious with a bow right in front of him.”

The memory of Starscream, vision narrowed with rage, hurtling towards the Prime on the ground, missiles prepared and smoking with Cybertronian gunpowder, ready to finally end this godawful war—

—and then Megatron crashed into him from the side and the vision of glory and peace hard fought dissipated like the remnants of a broken dream.

“I could lead the Decepticons better,” Starscream hissed, optics narrowed, vocalizer glitching and buzzing static. “I would not have made the war last so long. I would have had the tank to kill Optimus Prime when I got the chance. Me.”

No one answered. No one responded. No one validated Starscream’s words. Starscream’s wings fluttered, and for a moment, he seriously considered responding to himself as a means to keep occupied, but then his HUD pinged him and the words died on his glossa before they could be given form.

Alyssa.

Starscream accepted the call before he realized it. “Well?” he blurted out, when he heard Alyssa sigh softly on the other side of the line. “What is it?”

“I don’t appreciate you talking about my mother that way.” Alyssa said slowly, controlled, rehearsed. Starscream frowned. “You know yourself—somehow you heard me during my rants. She’s flawed, yes, but she’s grieving, and she’s getting better now. She—She’s not stupid, okay? I don’t want to hear you say things about her that way.” Alyssa seemed to get faster the longer she spoke, stumbling over even the simplest of words by the end. Starscream listened quietly.

“…Fine.” Starscream managed, after a moment of silence. “But only because I am…” The memory of Megatron, discarding his worries, discarding his desires, the memory of Alyssa, calling him cool, conversing with him, hugging him with a warmth impossible for an organic frame “…benevolent.”

“Hm. So, I was writing a story…”

In the privacy of the forest, with no Soundwave to taunt him with ever-watchful gaze, Starscream shuttered his optics and let himself drown in the feeling of distant company.

0~o~0

There was a spot, somewhere between wakefulness and not, where Starscream drifted and fell. His wings fluttered and he listened to a story being weaved.

Once upon a time, the voice said, No… that’s a stupid beginning. Hm, actually, maybe it’s not. Eh, I’ll put it on the board just in case. Anyways, so there was a dude…

Starscream’s faceplate stretched into an amused grin. Alyssa, he thought fondly, Ever the prattling fool.

And so he drifted, the barest bones of an urban legend forming in his wake.

0~o~0

Starscream watched from the top of a tree as Airachnid cornered Breakdown against a stone wall. “Oh,” she purred, “I am going to have fun with you.”

Starscream watched apathetically as Breakdown struggled. It would be a shame, he supposed, to see him die here. A waste of effort, most certainly, when Starscream saved him from Silas. But… Starscream found himself… disinclined to aid Breakdown.

(He was still rather sore about the Bruiser not speaking out against Starscream’s injustice. Sore about Breakdown’s apathy to his struggles. Starscream risked termination from Megatron to save him, and—what? Nothing changed. Nothing at all.)

“I’m going to kill you!” Breakdown roared, struggling against the webs. Starscream suppressed a snicker at the sight. He knew intimately well how uncomfortable they were… and of what high tensile strength they were. Truly, if it weren’t that Airachnid were a complete glitch, Starscream thought he could be good companions with her. They were rather the same in many ways, after all—using anything and everything to their immediate advantage.

…Of course, Airachnid was a complete glitch in this universe, and Starscream despised her, so there was little to do on that front but lament (not really) on a possibility left unexplored.

“Oh, Breakdown,” Airachnid tittered, letting her legs hover over the bound Bruiser, “It’s not good to tell lies, you know?” and she reared a leg back at the same time Starscream primed a missile, and—

And Starscream hit first.

Airachnid screamed.

Starscream dropped out of the tree, grabbed Airachnid’s other leg, and yanked it off at full strength. Energon spurted on his faceplate, hot and fresh, and Starscream’s tanks churned. Later, he assured himself. Soon.

Airachnid jumped back, hissing, “Oh, Starscream,” she snarled, visibly trying for a smile, only to fail. “I was wondering where you went…”

Starscream hummed nonchalantly. “How are the Decepticons, Airachnid?” he purred, “Accommodating, I hope?”

Airachnid snarled. Starscream’s smile grew bigger. He knew why she was here. It was painfully obvious. Megatron had sent Starscream on similar missions—he’d serve as an escort for some perceived Decepticon Traitor and dispatch them in privacy. In the end, they’d cite Autobot reasons for such a soldier’s absence, and mourn them briefly before moving on. It was fitting, Starscream mused, that such a thing would happen to Airachnid.

Megatron heeded my advice?

“Oh, they were quite accommodating,” Airachnid hissed, grinning. “They were so cordial with me, you know? I imagine you must be unfamiliar with that.”

Starscream snarled. Airachnid smiled primly and then without warning, she raised her servo and acid blasted towards Starscream’s faceplate. Starscream stumbled back, optics stinging, and he felt something jab into his side. Airachnid.

(Ever the inconvenience)

Starscream snarled. What to do, what to do?! He was blinded, missing a T-cog, he had Breakdown behind him and Airachnid was somewhere—

His wings twitched.

A sudden calm settled over Starscream’s processor. Mutely, he ramped up his sensor net to maximum. An aileron flicked. Airachnid was behind him, he realized, a leg poised to pierce through his spark.

Fool. Starscream grinned. You must think I am so easy, don’t you? You forget I have fought this war longer than you have. You forget that I was Megatron’s Second since the very beginning. You forget I am the Winglord of Vos.

And he spun around, arm and digit in trigger position, and his second missile released with a deafening bang.

Airachnid shrieked once more, and Starscream felt her crumple on the ground. Breakdown remained silent, EM-field uncharacteristically drawn inward at the sight. Starscream smirked and stepped forward, placing a pede on Airachnid’s neck. “Poor spider,” he cooed, recalling a nursery rhyme Linda sang for her sparklings one night. “Itsy bitsy spider…”

Airachnid hissed. “You prattle, Starscream,” she bit out, “Awfully large words for someone who no one misses.”

Starscream stiffened. The acid had yet to slip off his faceplate, but even so, he could feel the guilt in Breakdown’s surging EM-field. “You say that as if anyone will miss you when I rip your spark out,” Starscream snarled, leaning in. Acid dripped from his faceplate onto Airachnid’s own. He couldn’t see her, but he was sure she was baring her dentae at him with a smile now.

“No one will miss me,” she agreed blithely, “But my difference is, I’m not stupid enough to think otherwise.”

Starscream jolted and pressed his heel into her throat. Airachnid choked, Starscream snarled, and he leaned in, entirely ready to rip her intake to pieces and finally fill his tanks with something good—but then Airachnid spat out another glob of Acid at his faceplate, and Starscream reeled back, shrieking.

When he managed to wipe the acid off, Airachnid had disappeared, his vision was glitching, there were a multitude of errors in the corner of his HUD, and Breakdown was rather pensive. “You,” Starscream bit out, “Owe me.”

Breakdown said nothing. Starscream stepped forward and let a talon graze beneath Breakdown’s jaw. The mesh would split so easily if I deigned for it to do so, he mused, reveling in the power he had over the Bruiser. His wings picked up Breakdown’s indignation. “Remember this,” Starscream advised. “And keep your intake shut.”

Breakdown nodded mutely. Starscream smiled primly. He didn’t have a use for Breakdown at that very moment, but this would most certainly come into use later. Certainly. Starscream cut Breakdown free of his bonds and stepped back. Immediately, he assessed the nearest and most optimal route to run if need be. Breakdown rubbed at his chassis idly. Starscream’s gaze was drawn to the welding line Silas left.

Shoddy work, he thought spitefully, his own side with the missing T-cog aching with a feeling most visceral.

“You know, Lord Megatron ordered us to bring you back if we found you somewhere,” Breakdown murmured. Starscream tilted his head. Well then. He supposed he just found his favor’s repayment then.

“Keep your intake shut,” Starscream advised flippantly. “No one needs to know.”

Breakdown stared at Starscream, optics narrowed. “This is treason you’re suggesting,” he pointed out quietly, and Starscream scoffed. What was new about that? He suggested treason almost every day on the Nemesis!

“You say that as if you didn’t betray the Autobots,” Starscream crooned. Breakdown twitched. His field flared with distaste.

“I did that for Knock Out,” he said, remarkably controlled.

“And now you can do it for me,” Starscream assured, rolling his optics. “All you need to do is keep your intake shut and dermas locked. Can you do that?”

Breakdown’s dermas twitched down. “I need to explain how I dispatched Airachnid. Dreadwing will check this battle-zone. I think we both know that missile scars are not a Breakdown thing.”

Starscream hummed and smiled condescendingly. “You’re smart, Breakdown,” he cooed, blatantly lying. The Bruiser was as stupid as they come. Useful, but stupid. An unfortunately recurring thing when it came to the Decepticons.  “So why don’t you just cover them up?”

Breakdown’s faceplate spasmed, and for a fleeting moment, his field grew unrestrained, and Starscream bore the full weight of the Bruiser’s distaste for him. He bit his glossa and remained still. “Fine then,” Breakdown said, still controlled. Starscream smiled patronizingly.

“See, now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Careful, Starscream,” Breakdown warned, “You’re missing both missiles, and I still have a hammer to pound you with.”

Starscream swallowed. “Careful, Breakdown,” he bluffed. “You’re still injured and I can fly.”

Breakdown stared at him for a moment, assessing, and then he huffed. “I repay my debts,” he muttered, shuffling. “Though you should probably leave now. Dreadwing was my partner for this and he…”

Starscream did not need to hear the rest of the sentence to understand its meaning. He took to the trees the moment he heard ‘Dreadwing’.

Well then, he supposed, recalibrating his navigation system from the most convenient ground route possible to the shortest ground route possible to the Harbinger. There goes my languid stroll.

0~o~0

The man was wandering for a while. Aimlessly. He stumbled through rock, and spent idling moments thinking about tetanus. Then, he turned a corner, and in the distance, he saw something flash. Squinting, he covered the sun’s glare with a hand and looked closer.

Purple, he registered. A ship, he realized. An alien ship? He questioned. Mindlessly, the man stepped forward. His stomach panged; He had not eaten in a day. The weight of his bag was heavy against his back. In it were the barest of robotic supplies, a neglected cross, and a wrapped banana. Perhaps, he thought, that would change with this new discovery.

The man stepped forward. The ship was broken in half. The man entered the broken half. It was rather drafty. There were computers, the man noticed. Tall, impossibly large computers. For the first time, he entertained the thought that this may be an alien ship—and he was the first to lay hands on it.

The man took out his wrapped banana and chewed on it idly. He’d first have to figure out how to get to the computers though, he supposed, otherwise this entire discovery would be useless. Just like him. Heh.

The man looked up at the computer, large and imposing, purple and crimson, and grinned tiredly.

“This isn’t too bad a sight to die with.”

Chapter Text

Starscream remembered Vos like a faded memory within a faded memory. He had the emphasis of something towering, this inexorable fact of the universe, but he didn’t remember much else. Everything was faded with a sheen of gold, buried under the haunting glow of energon and war.

Of all the memories he kept in bitter clarity, that he desperately clung onto in the moments Megatron would tell him he was inferior, that which occupied his mind like a parasite that just took and took and took and one day started gaining dermas to speak, there was that one memory: The sight of the fallen Central Spire, gold in the fading orange daylight, his Carrier pinned and silent beneath the wreckage, watching the city burn with dead optics.

Starscream should have been happy at the sight. Should have reveled in it. Should have taunted, perhaps—but fresh off of Skyfire’s demise, and faced with the sight of his burning home, all he could muster was some hollow imitation of it.

Starscream’s Carrier died that day, and Vos cried out for blood the very next. On his last breaths, he cursed Starscream’s name.

By next day dawn, Starscream was Winglord.

0~o~0

Starscream woke up from a dreamless dream, facing the rising sun that descended in streams to his chassis. He blinked twice, then sat up. Leaves fell off of him, and things burrowed into his seams—all of which he paid no mind (he would have a shower in the Harbinger anyway). Above him, his crows screeched and circled, following at a distance their master. He checked the time, checked the navigation, checked the sky, and took to his aching pedes once more.

Three miles.

Starscream could already see something vague and purple on the tree-studded horizon

O~O

Mikoko

So excited rn

Mikoko

supa excitedd

Mikoko

excited.jpeg

Rafalicious

Ts gonna be amazing guys. We rlly wrked fr this

Mikoko

Ong fr fr

Jack read through all these messages, and promptly sighed.

J. Darby

Guys, stop blowing up my phone—I’m at a dinner with my mom’s friend.

Mikoko

oh? Liftele babeh is sadge that his phone is making noiseeee?

Rafalicious

Very sadge

Mikoko

E

Mikoko

E

Mikoko

E

Mikoko

E

Rafalicious

Dude, just mute ur phone if its that mjuch of a problem

Mikoko

E

Mikoko

E

Jack stared at the constant deluge of insipid and useless messages from Miko and sighed yet once more.

“Girlfriend troubles?” Linda called out, amused. Jack looked up and laughed awkwardly when hemet his mother’s friend’s gaze.

“Ha, girlfriend? God, no. They’re…” Jack grimaced. “They’re my friends. They’re also deeply annoying.”

Linda jutted her chin towards the phone. “You can always mute the device,” she said, the words echoing what Raf texted not so long ago. Jack stared at Linda for a moment, and then down at his phone screen pensively. Then, he sighed again.

“I can’t do that,” he said, pocketing the phone.

“I see,” Linda said ambivalently. “Here, try some mashed potatoes.”

Jack smiled gratefully and took some in his plate. In his pocket, his phone continued to buzz. It was a minor annoyance, but that was fine. It was all fine. He knew they were around, and so they kept texting. If they stopped, Jack knew, in some deep, horribly intrinsic part of himself, that they had reached some misfortune and Jack wasn’t there to help them.

At least like this, in the noise that turned to whiteness, Jack knew they were there.

Jack, in school, unknowing that his mother had been sent to the hospital because daddy dearest threw a bottle just a little too hard.

“You have really good mashed potatoes,” Jack commented. Linda hummed magnanimously and spooned some more onto Jack’s plate.

“It’s a recipe I perfected,” she said blithely, before smiling bitterly. “My husband used to enjoy it. He would have me cook it every single day for dinner as a side. It was our little… love language.”

Jack paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth and cast Linda a weird look. The woman smiled cheerily and pushed the entire bowl to him. Why… Why would she say it like that? Jack stared at the bowl skeptically. Is it poisoned? Jack stared at the bowl and then at his spoon, mildly worried.

“Of course,” Linda continued, seemingly having caught Jack’s newly found internal conflict regarding her mashed potato. “He stopped asking me to cook it some five years ago. I should’ve noticed the signs then, I suppose. You know, before he cut half my face open with a bottle.”

Jack choked. What the hell. What the hell. “I—” he remembered his mother, her neck bandaged up in the ICU, the doctors saying ‘we almost lost her’ “Are you okay?”

Linda smiled wryly. “The old bastard is dead, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said. One hand hovered near the empty ring finger of the other. If Jack squinted, he could say the barest tan line where a ring may have once sat.

“What happened to him?” Jack heard himself ask before immediately wincing at the forwardness of it.

Linda opened her mouth to answer, and at that very moment, June Darby returned from the bathroom, a forced smile on her face that said she heard it all, and a sharp look in her eyes that said she would be having some words with Jack about boundaries after all this was over. “Linda! I heard you’ve commissioned a writer for that project you’re working on?”

Linda brightened, and the question Jack asked, mercifully, seemed to be discarded.

“I did!” Linda said excitedly. “She got my prompts perfectly, and we have reached a frequency of optimal communication!”

Jack tilted his head.

“We have reached a frequency of optimal communication!” Ratchet crowed with vicious glee as a comm line to Miko was established. Jack stared at it incredulously. She was retaking a physics test. Ratchet was helping her cheat.

“Well,” Jack muttered good-naturedly, “Let it never be said that the Medic is a Saint.”

“What kind of project are you working on?” Jack asked in mild curiosity.

“A religious one,” Linda answered vaguely, waving a hand. “I wish to write my story in the context of my God’s interference. If that makes sense?”

Jack nodded. It wasn’t… quite his cup of tea, but he understood.

“I have some sculptures I’m making, even,” Linda continued, excitement audibly building in her tone. “Some sculptures, I have a rough draft of what I want written, too! I sent it all to the author I commissioned—did I tell you of her personality? So very snarky, and with such passion, too. She has such life, even though her leg is broken, and permanently too.”

Jack had to do a double take. His mother winced. Linda continued on, oblivious. “Yes, her leg is broken. It is deeply, deeply unfortunate, though to my knowledge and recollection from what she’s told me, the doctors said she should have died.”

“Huh,” Jack managed, and then without thinking, said, “Divine interference indeed.”

June’s head snapped towards his, and she mouthed something, but before Jack could truly ingest what his mother was saying, Linda continued on. “That’s what she said as well! Haha! She actually identified with my words about my Lord—”

Jack was suddenly thrown off-kilter by the almost possessive way Linda referred to God. He’s mine, she seemed to be saying, with obsessive vigor and feverish light. He’s mine and you cannot take Him from me.

“—and she agreed to take my commissions—for lack of a better word—pro bono.”

“She’s writing an entire story for you for free?” Jack blurted out, once again unthinkingly. His mother glared at him before laughing awkwardly.

“Linda—”

Linda waved a flippant hand, so different from the calm and collected woman Jack had walked into the house to meet. “She wants to keep contact with me for reasons personal to us.” Linda said. “It seems that we share some things…” Linda glanced to the east corner of the room, where an altar stood, covered by curtains. “…in common. Would you like more mashed potatoes?”

Jack stared at his half-filled bowl, then at the mashed potato-filled spoon Linda was offering expectantly, and meekly raised said bowl to the spoon. “Yes please.”

And so, the conversation went on. June spoke with Linda about adult things, about jobs, about childcare strategies, about family, and other things Jack politely nodded at and promptly zoned out for. For some reason, in the act of glancing around Linda’s house, still fresh and bare from the recent move, Jack kept finding his gaze being drawn toward…

The mahogany curtains. Embroidered with gold and tiny black crows that looked like they were flying in an effigy of the color of sunset, both intimidating and inviting. It’s strange, Jack thought, That I feel this curious about something. I don’t remember the last time I’ve felt this way.

“Let me out of here!” June shrieked, “Let me out, let me out, let me out—”

“No!” Jack’s father slurred, unreasonably and audibly panicked beneath all the alcohol, “No, I can’t let them taint you—”

“Let me out!” June pounded on the door.

Jack covered his ears and rocked.

The room was so small .

Jack blinked. He was facing the shrine fully now. (when did that happen…?) Conversation had stopped. June’s hand was hovering over his shoulder, and a quick glance back revealed her worry for her son. “Jack?” she voiced, “Is everything okay?”

Linda peered at him beneath her lashes, shrewd and calculating. Her gaze darted between him and the shrine, before the barest notions of something enlightened encroached on her expression and all was left blank.

Jack swallowed. Everything felt weird. The room was spinning. No, it was still. Jack was spinning…? No, that was stupid. He was sitting—“I’m fine mom,” he heard himself say. “I just… I just need a breath of fresh air.”

June let go of his shoulder with both worry and great reluctance. Linda merely smiled and gestured towards the door. “Don’t let me stop you,” she demurred playfully.

Jack smiled gratefully and made his way to the yard. The moment he grasped the handle, however, the door swung open. In. His. Face.

Before Jack could curse with the reckless abandon that came from working with multiple tens of meters tall alien robots, a tiny hand grasped his arm and yanked him into the yard full speed. Jack tumbled, and the door, he registered faintly, with a vague sense of dread, closed with a soft click behind him.

“Who are you?” A little voice immediately demanded. Jack, with some sense of vague incredulity, felt his head snap slightly to the side as the hand that likely belonged to that little voice made contact with his cheek. “Speak, mortal!”

Jack worked his throat. He… How…

“Jacob,” a tired voice—slightly older, though still young—said. “Stop slapping our guest.”

“He’s not a guest!” the little voice—Jacob—screeched, “He’s a Russian spy!”

At this point, the absurdity of the situation caught up to him and Jack choked out a laugh. “Russian… spy? I’m not even Russ—” The kid slapped him again, but this time, Jack’s vision had cleared up enough to see the fear in the kid’s eyes and feel the blood rushing to his legs demanding him to stand again.

“Shut up,” the boy hissed, green eyes alight with fear. Jack idly noticed that the child looked nothing like Linda, despite probably being her son. The spitting image of her late husband, perhaps? “Marcus, stop undermining me!”

The older boy—who, after Jack cast a glance at him, looked almost exactly like Linda, save the eyes—gave a put-upon sigh, and shook his head. “Jacob, let go.”

“No!”

“Jacob, let go.”

“No!”

“Jacob,” Marcus cast a glance towards the door inside with something close to trepidation, “Let go of him.”

Jacob stomped his foot on the ground mulishly. “No!”

Jack quirked an amused smile and tried to hide it with a cough. (He’d always wanted a sibling to bicker with like this)

“Look,” Marcus said, voice suddenly hushed. “Mom has guests over. He’s—He’s one of them. Let him go, Jacob.”

Jacob stomped his foot again and made a noise of irreconcilable frustration. “Why—Why do you keep abiding by his rules?! He’s not even around anymore! We could have gone inside!”

Jack snapped to attention. Neither Marcus nor Jacob noticed their brand new, freshly attentive audience.

Marcus flushed red. “You never know when he could come back,” he whispered, eyes darting around. “You never—”

“He died!” Jacob screamed, just a little too loudly, and Jack turned his gaze over to the glass door, where Linda now sat with a slightly pinched smile, and June laughed awkwardly to dispel the tension. “We saw—”

“Quieter, someone could hear us,” Marcus hissed.

Jacob groaned through gritted teeth, but obeyed. “We saw him die,” Jacob snarled, and his grip tightened on Jack’s arm—not enough to hurt, but enough for Jack to feel his emphasis. “We saw him get killed by God. God struck him down, and you don’t even trust that?!”

Marcus flinched, before some resentful fire sparked and burned in the back of his eyes. “I spent years praying at bedside for Him to come and change father,” he whispered harshly, “He didn’t. You think you’re special because he answered your prayers once? And for murder, at that? Well, he denied mine hundreds more! You may love him, but I don’t care, he should have come earlier, he should have done as God does, and not the Devil—preach all you want, but that won’t change the fact that I hate St—”

“Marcus,” Jacob interrupted. “Stop talking.”

Marcus sneered, and for a moment it looked like he was going to throw something truly regrettable and vicious towards Jacob, but then Jacob took his free hand and turned Marcus’s chin so it faced Jack, and—damn it, the jig was up.

Jack watched with mild disappointment as Marcus’s face paled, and Jacob grimaced deeply, and he was asked the quite pointless question of, “How much did you hear?”

“Well,” Jack said slowly, gesturing lightly to the hand still around his arm—which now had a few drops of blood on it, courtesy of his bleeding nose which he should probably get checked but whatever—“Given the fact that your hand has been there this entire time, I’m sure you guys are smart enough to make an educated guess.”

Jacob stared at Jack for a long moment, then turned to Marcus and sneered weakly. “I blame you,” he said.

Marcus withdrew into himself and stepped back. Jack glanced back through the glass of the door, saw his mother getting up, likely volunteering herself to go check on them like the lovely good Samaritan she was, and he promptly made a decision:

He stood up, scooped Marcus and Jacob into his arms, and started spinning in uninformed circles. “Act happy.” He gritted out. “Before my mom opens the door and starts asking questions.”

Marcus stared up at him, bewildered, and Jack tried not to shiver at the feeling of bone beneath his fingers, even through the thick jacket the kid wore. (Malnutrition? Jack’s blood ran cold with memories) Jacob, however, immediately started a deranged cackle.  

“MORE, MY FRIEND!” he shrieked, “SPIN US MORE!”

Marcus turned a little green, but valiantly nodded along. Jack grimaced and spun faster. After thirty seconds—or what he thought was thirty seconds—without disturbance, Jack slowed down and let them on the ground. He cast a quick glance back indoors, where his mom was once more sitting at the table, relieved and chatting, before turning to face the children. “Now,” he said, “I have a few questions.”

It was at that moment that Marcus projectile vomited into his face.

O~O

“I’m fine, mom.” Jack assured again. “I promise. Nothing got into my eye, I swear.”

June made a stressed noise and wiped Jack’s face once more with pale and shaking hands. “You say that,” she whispered, “You always say that. You have a bloody nose, Jack.”

Oh. Jack forgot about that actually. Whoops. Jack hummed and mild guilt coursed through him. As always, it stopped at the wall that numbed his emotions, this wall that came up one day that he could never quite figure out how to take down. (Distantly, he was aware that this wall was not normal, and he should not have it, but it was too much of a trouble to take it down, and the wall had protected him with cold rationality this far… So why stop now?) “Really,” he tried to assure, this time voice softer, as if he were placating a scared animal. “I’m fine.”

June peered at him, terrified, not quite there, and Jack had to shake her a little. “Mom. Go back to Linda.”

“But—”

“Go back. To Linda. Trust me. I’m fine.”

“You said that with the Autobots.” She whispered, voice hushed, and it was now that Jack knew she was grasping at straws, grasping for anything viable that would keep her within arm’s length of Jack. “You said that with the Autobots and then Raf was hit with dark energon—”

“But I’m not Raf.” Jack interjected before it could snowball too far and June could put her foot down. “I didn’t get hit. I’ve kept my word. I’m fine, mom, don’t worry.” He paused, then added playfully, “You, on the other hand, have not had a friend that isn’t me in many many years, so…”

June choked out a laugh and lightly slapped Jack on the shoulder. “Inherited my mama’s smart mouth, yes you did,” she said fondly. Then, after a lingering moment where warmth seeped into Jack’s back, she retracted and stood up, primly brushing invisible dust from her dress. “Alright. Get yourself ready, Jack. Ready and presentable. We’re leaving in thirty minutes.”

Jack smiled faintly. “Got it.”

June smiled, nodded, and left the bathroom. And now Jack was alone. Again. In a tiny room—

“Let me out!”

Jack shook his head. Not again. Not—not again. He hadn’t thought of his father in many years he pushed down every memory of his father possible, so why was he remembering his father now—

A creak.

Jack looked up.

Marcus and Jacob peered through the door, one vaguely apologetic and the other almost vibrating in place. Jack tried for a smile. “Come in,” he said. The words didn’t feel quite right. “The bathroom’s yours anyway.”

Marcus hesitated, but that didn’t matter; Jacob took Jack’s words as the assent they were, and promptly slammed the door open and marched as if he, very fittingly, owned the place. Marcus, after a beat of silence and expectant waiting, followed suit. He closed the door behind him.

“Sorry,” Marcus said quietly. “I… didn’t mean to do that.”

Jack smiled in a way he hoped was forgiving. It was so hard to tell through the numbness. “That’s alright.”

Jacob shifted, looked between Marcus and Jack, and then blurted out, “We met God that day.”

At once, Jack’s expression turned to vague intrigue and Marcus’s expression turned to annoyance.

“Stop sounding so reverent,” Marcus grumbled.

“God?” Jack asked, mildly curious, “Like the God in the shrine?”

Jacob nodded wildly. “A God with wings that can’t fly. With a crown of crows and the sunset haloing his being.” The words, Jack realized, had to have been quoted from Linda, for how obsessive they were. “I remember it. I remember it all.”

“So do I,” Marcus interjected bitterly. “And I remember no halo at all. All I remember was someone who killed our father.”

“Why do you defend him?” Jacob spat red-faced. “All he did was hit us, hurt mom, hit us more, drink, and act like a—turd whenever he was home! What is your problem—”

“God believes all are eligible for redemption!” Marcus snapped sharply. “I prayed for father’s redemption—”

“Father could not be redeemed!” Jacob screamed, only to freeze when the sound outside all but disappeared.

“Is everything okay?” Linda called out, rather worried.

“Jack?” That was June.

Jack stared at the kids, who looked at him in twin expressions of fear, and smiled slightly. “I’m good!” he called out, “Just bonding!”

“Oh, that’s nice! Don’t take too long!” June again, though this time more relieved than worried.

Jack turned his attention back to the children.

“Father took pleasure in our screams,” Jacob snarled, picking up exactly where he left off, “Father took pleasure in our pain, and you wanted him to be redeemed? This—this—”  he hesitated, searching for the word.

“Sadist,” Jack supplied helpfully.

“This sadist?!”

Marcus glared at Jack and then back at Jacob

“He was kind once.” Marcus said coldly. “You were too young to see it. But he was kind once. I remember it.” He paused, then nodded with a sense of finality. “God would have redeemed him.”

Jacob’s face reddened and he sniffled. His rage, Jack realized, was starting to turn into frustrated tears. “Why do you defend him?” Jacob whispered. “All he did was hit us.”

“He…” Marcus frowned, eyes vulnerable, young, and conflicted, and in his helpless gaze, Jack saw himself, saw the vicious denial that still hadn’t fully gone away that said, ‘Maybe, maybe, maybe if we just wait a little longer, the one we love will come back and this apparition that has taken possession of him will leave. Maybe, maybe, maybe—’

“You remember happier times, Marcus.” Jack said quietly. “Take comfort in them.” He paused, hesitated, and then continued, this time a little stronger and a little more serious. “But you yourself admitted it: He was kind once.”

And just like that, Marcus’s face crumbled, and he started crying.

It wasn’t too long afterward that Jacob started as well.

Jack found himself comforting two quietly sobbing kids with stinging eyes of his own, in a bathroom that smelled like puke.

O~O

Behind the mahogany curtains, a clay sculpture, yet still unfinished, pulsed with energy and a connection unknown. Linda, far from the prying eyes of her guests, gathered the scraps of her food, and threw them into the composting bin.

“You’re doing something,” she said mildly. She felt a burst of energy at her side—the side the sculpture was on. “Oh, don’t be like that. You know I support you more than anything.” Something vague and warm coursed through her blood, and Linda knew, intrinsically knew, that through all of the lies and bluster and vicious words that he spat, this was Starscream, true and simple.

“His father was like my, ah, Conjunx,” Linda said. “His father, June’s husband, to my knowledge, is not dead. But he’s not in a position where he can hurt them. I don’t know what you are aiming for.”

The sculpture did not speak. Did not give any clarification, did not shed any light on its motives. Though, perhaps that was to be expected—

Linda didn’t yet carve the mouth, after all.

O~O

Five minutes before leaving, after comforting two crying children and talking them off of multiple ledges and multiple fights that would have definitely ended in blood¸ Jack found himself standing in front of the mahogany curtains once more.

Linda and June were in the next room, chatting in a way that denoted their desire to stretch the five minutes left before the Darbys’ departure into an eternity, and Jacob and Marcus were cuddling with each other on the couch watching Spongebob.

“We were never able to watch stuff like this,” Marcus had said quietly, after some bitter, bitter tears. “Not really. Dad… never let us.”

Jack had bitten on his tongue before he could curse out their dad—a wound still raw and pink at the edges—and merely smiled before making to turn on the TV and set up Spongebob.

Jack blinked himself out of the memory.

His hand had fisted into the mahogany curtains.

It’s… soft.

Jack stared at it with trepidation. This was weird. This was weird. He was never this curious normally. Never. Never. He stayed well within his bounds and didn’t break the rules unless he was absolutely sure it was absolutely necessary. He was accustomed to pushing his curiosity down, to pushing anything that could be construed as—invasive down. Anything and everything, he placed behind his wall of numbness that was now such an intricate part of him he just couldn’t take down, and he—he—

Jack Darby yanked open the curtains against his will.

He froze at the sight of the unfinished sculpture behind the shroud.

Behind him, there were footsteps. He barely noticed them coming. He did notice when they stopped. Right next to him. In the form of a tall, brunette woman with too-pale skin and green eyes impossibly shrewd. “Your mom volunteered to take home all the mashed potatoes,” she said quietly.

Jack dropped the curtain and turned to face her. “Sor-Sorry,” his voice cracked and his face flushed in embarrassment. “I got… curious.”

“You say that like it’s a shameful thing,” Linda remarked, “To be a child.”

Jack didn’t know what to say to that.

“Fucking brat,” he slurred. “Don’t you know boun-boundaries? – hck—Huh? D-Don’t be so cur—hck—curious.” He took another swig and then threw the bottle down. Jack still had the scar along his arm where a stray piece of glass flew and cut. He was lucky it didn’t embed into a more vital part of his body. “Fuckin’… Fuckin’ brat.”

“I…” Jack hesitated. He opened his mouth. To say what, he didn’t know—perhaps he was going to ask about the sculpture, ask who it was, ask what she meant, ask why, but nothing came out, and nothing ever got the chance.

“Jack!” June came striding into the room. Jack blinked and Linda was already on the other side, washing dishes with quiet vigor. “I’ve been calling you for the last 30 seconds, where were you?”

“I…” Jack shook his head. “Sorry, mom.”

June sighed. “That doesn’t matter. Come on, let’s go.”

Jack let himself be dragged along.

If he cast a glance back, to Linda washing dishes through the window, to the shrine in the corner of the room, just barely visible from the outside, then it was only he who noticed, and no one else.

O~O

“ONE MORE TIME!” Miko shrieked into the mic. Optimus was not in the base for this. The roof of the silo was cracked open just a tad so starlight could filter in—an impressively stupid maneuver, but Raf and Ratchet had done weeks of research to make sure the Nemesis wouldn’t be near them. Bulkhead raised a tankard of low-low-grade energon, and cheered.

“Let’s go, Miko!”

Raf groaned next to him, having burned out of energy close to an hour and a half after the party started, and Jack quirked a smile.

“OHHH!!!” Miko strummed her guitar and launched into a sick guitar riff Jack had, tragically, been the one to bear witness all the practice sessions to.

Raf froze for a moment, before standing up. “I need to go to the bathroom,” he announced. And then he ran. Jack was left functionally alone. And, of course, being alone, he was left with his thoughts. About the shrine. About the not-God within it.

Arcee must’ve caught his newly troubled expression across the room by that point, because she sauntered over and leaned over the bars, smiling slightly. “Is everything okay, Jack?”

Jack looked up at her. For a moment, he considered telling her.

“He killed Cliffjumper,” Arcee hissed. Tears stung at her optics, and she rubbed them with the back of her servo. “He killed my partner.”

Jack knew there was meant to be a different word in place, a different word that could never be.

“He… killed Cliffjumper.”

…No.

No, that would be too raw of a wound to open and with too little evidence. And there was also the possibility of implicating people who weren’t caught up in this whole charade. Arcee, though Jack hated to admit it, was poor when it came to emotional management and processing. And if the matter concerned Starscream…

A vivid image of Linda, dead on the ground, and Arcee, standing above, horrified at her own enraged action, entered Jack’s mind.

No, no, no.

Jack had to do his own research.

Jack… had to do his own thing.

Jack smiled and hoped it didn’t come off as tight. “I’m alright, Arcee. How are you liking your drink?”

Arcee snorted. “It’s the worst of the worst—the stuff we wouldn’t even give prisoners back on Cybertron.” She paused, then nodded decisively, “Best damn thing I’ve had since coming here.”

Jack laughed.

“It’s the company,” Arcee swore, laughing slightly, “It’s the damn company, I swear.”

O~O

Linda is offline

Demented_WalrusVomit<3

Hey. Linda. Linda. Linda.

Linda.

Linda.

Linda.

Linda is online

Linda

What?

Demented_WalrusVomit<3

I finished the first chapter. Wanna read?

Linda is typing…

Linda

Yes.

:]

O~O

The Harbinger was a broken kind of majesty standing before Starscream, miserable even in broad daylight.

Starscream entered through the gaping hole in the side.

The air was thick with the putrid, metallic stench of energon, detectable only to him as a Seeker with a taste for it, and something else. Starscream trailed a talon against the wall and watched as paint peeled off in strips.

Age had not been kind to the Harbinger, he saw.

“You’re commissioning new ships?” Starscream questioned mildly. Megatron stood next to him, arms crossed—oh, and wasn’t that a thought? Megatron standing next to him, as if they were equals and not superior to inferior—and nodded.

“They would serve the cause well.” Megatron admitted.

Starscream hummed. “They’re all cargo ships.” He pointed out. “Nothing military, for all that their design takes from our dearly Stasis-locked Trypticon. Do you plan on giving them consciousness through the Allspark well?”

Megatron shrugged. “Perhaps,” he supposed aloud. “To one or two.” He paused, then turned to stare at Starscream, in a rare good mood after Orion Pax’s… change to Optimus Prime. “Cargo ships are important, Starscream. Important in the long-term, that is.”

“Oh?”

“One way or another, this war will turn into a battle for resources, and Primus will no longer find it in Himself to sustain us off His blood.” Megatron released an arm from their crossed position, and curled his digits into a fist. “These Cargo ships will serve as our early monopoly on resources. I will not have us starve so early into this war.”

Starscream, at the time, was left awestruck and wordless by the forethought that preceded his leader. So much so, that he failed to realize that Megatron was planning a war of attrition from the very beginning—a course of action that Starscream, for all that he respected Megatron and proclaimed he would faithfully follow, did not believe in.

Starscream grit his dentae and dropped his servo from the wall. Already, there were deep gouges where his talons had sliced through aged proto-metal like energon-jello.

Most Decepticon Cargo ships that were created at the time were long since shot out of space when the Autobots caught on that they were Megatron’s early investment, so to speak. It wasn’t enough to place the Decepticons at a disadvantage, of course, given their already extensive time in use by that point, but it was enough to slow them down. Significantly.

By the time the Harbinger in particular had been shot out of space, sent to crash on some backwater planet Starscream didn’t care for, Starscream’s relationship with Megatron had soured to a point so rancid that the Seeker had to effectively fight Soundwave (a humiliating endeavor each and every time he attempted it, and always in public, in the view of his Seekers who could see his loss) for a copy of military reports that should have already been his.

Starscream still loathed the memory of his repeated humiliation.

By the time he got to the Harbinger, understaffed and with too-short of a timeframe to retrieve, there’d been a period of confusion before he suddenly came to the realization that the ship had split apart while in the air—always the Autobots, making his life so difficult—and landed on different parts of this Primus-forsaken organic mudball.

Starscream wasted way too much time looking for the second half of the ship, and by the time he found it, he could only get partway through clearing it before he was called back to the Nemesis and subsequently punished for the lack of bounty he brought with him.

A crow cawed.

Starscream snapped out of the memory and cycled his optics. He was in the control room. The Harbinger was powered on and—

It took a moment for the implications to set in.

The Harbinger. Was powered. On.

Starscream’s optics flew to the control panel. It was blinking. There were wires poking out. It had been tampered with.

There was someone already here.

And Starscream couldn’t even fly.

Starscream primed his missiles and locked his digits into trigger position. One foot pivoted to face the exit—damn it, damn it, damn it, he was looking forward to his shower—and the other towards the uprooted control panel. A moment passed. Then two. Silence. Starscream cleared the static from his vocalizer. “Show yourself!”

A muffled curse. A bump. A groan.

Starscream watched with shrewd optics as, from behind the slightly elevated control panel, a fleshling walked out, looking for all the world like a dead mech walking.

They locked eyes.

Something seemed to click.

And a few things happened in quick sequence of each other:

The fleshling screamed, Starscream panicked, and somewhere in between the fleshling screaming and his own panicking, his trigger digit went down, and a missile shot into the ground.

The world went up in smoke.