Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

With a sharp gasp, Skyfire wakes from defrag.

Dreams full of gunfire and freezing wind flash through his processor. His arms are wrapped around himself tightly trying to insulate him from the piercing cold. Even the mild pressure is painful, but he squeezes tighter anyways. The chill has stayed with his frame since he was woken from the ice, and he can feel his spark shivering in its casing.

Pulling his legs up to his chest, he winces at the cascade of tingling pain that results. Pressure on his plating and sudden temperature changes are unpleasant now. He knows the most likely explanation is damage to his sensor net. There is little to be done about it. Sensor nets are complicated to fix, it would require time and materials that the Autobots simply do not have to spare.

A reluctant check of his chronometer reveals that it is near the start of the next shift, so with a slight creak from his misaligned plating he stands from his berth. Like everything on the Ark it is too small for him, but he makes do. He usually defrags sitting or standing anyway, as his construction makes it impossible to lay down and his alt mode is too large for the room.

He pauses for a moment before steeling himself and stepping out towards the mess hall.

Refuelling, and frankly socializing at all, is always an awkward affair. Skyfire missed several million years of war and is completely out of step with the rest of the world. He does not understand many of the references to recent or long past events made in passing conversation, let alone the differences in language and etiquette. He has been reading downloads on what he has missed from Teletraan-1, but they feel both clinical and one-sided, and nine million years is a lot to catch up on.

When he reaches the mess hall, he returns a good morning wave to Bumblebee. Cliffjumper is sitting next to him and appears to be recharging in his energon. No glare today, then. When he gets his cube he walks to his table in the corner. Bots shuffle awkwardly out of his way as he walks. He stretches his legs out under it with no concern of taking up others’ room, as there is no one else to bother here. Sure, it is a bit lonely, but he would rather that than intimidate anyone. One time when he was new to the science academy he had tried approaching a table to sit with and was later informed that he had made some of the other bots uncomfortable.

“You can’t be coming up and scaring the microscopes like that. It’s just, you’re a big bot, yknow?”

He has always let himself be approached since then. It worked out too, since it’s how he met-

“Mornin’ Skyfire! Why the long face?”

Skyfire flinches, his energon sloshing in its cube. He realizes he has been staring off into space for some time and forgot to drink it. Jazz, the Autobot special ops commander is standing right next to him, cube in hand. While he had sounded initially lighthearted, his face now displays what Skyfire has come to know as the Autobot Concerned Look. No one at either academy or in the Decepticons had ever made this expression, but certain Autobots do it at him and each other all the time.

“Er- It is nothing. Good morning, Jazz.”

He smiles slightly, trying to show that he is completely fine. Clearly, he is just in need of fuel. Jazz tilts his helm a bit but seems to accept this.

“If you say so. We’ve got a meetin’ midday and I think Prime wanted you there, just a heads up. Might wanna check your messages.”

Skyfire nods and Jazz heads off to sit at the Spec Ops table. Skyfire relaxes as he leaves. He is not unhappy here with the Autobots, really, and he cannot afford to come across like he is. There are bots that do not trust him because he was briefly a Decepticon, and he does not want them thinking he is going to betray them. That Jazz noticed his ‘long face’ just now was unfortunate.

When he checks his comms, he finds he has received several large group Autobot announcements that he does not need to respond to and one other requesting his presence at a meeting in a few hours. There is plenty of time to kill between now and then, so he resolves to try and fix his environmental scanners in the meantime. They have been on the fritz since he awoke, and he suspects there must be some wires that were loosened in his initial crash. It has been quite disorienting to fly without them, as while it does not necessarily make flying more difficult it is still quite unlike what he is used to. He is effectively missing an entire sense.

Wheeljack is already working on something when he gets to the labs, a cube forgotten on the corner of his bench. Skyfire pauses in the doorway for a moment, then knocks lightly on the doorframe. Wheeljack jumps, and there’s a trail of smoke rising from a small device on the table as he turns around.

“Ah, Skyfire! Good morning! How can I help you?”

Skyfire’s chemoreceptors are now indeed detecting a faint smell of burning plastic, and he decides not to ask.

“I was wondering if I could use some of your supplies. I do not require anything too complex, just some wiring and a soldering iron, I seem to have misplaced my own.” He smiles slightly, going for a light joke.

“Of course! Always glad to help another scientific mind. There should be a drawer over there that has everything you need, go nuts. Oh slag—” Wheeljack points to a lab bench and then appears to remember his now enthusiastically smoking project.

Skyfire retreats to the far end of the lab and opens his cockpit so that he can remove his broken scanners. He had them specially installed before the mission so that he could scan alien planets for life, energy sources, radiation, gravitational anomalies, and a variety of other things. Upon closer inspection the wires have indeed been completely ruined, but it is not simply that they were disconnected or corroded. There is energon crystalized around the connections and he twitches his wings in surprise. How did that get in there? In addition to this the wires appear to be fried beyond use from the electricity that was used to restart him when he was recovered from the ice. This is worse than he expected, but still should not take too long to fix.

He carefully chips out the energon until the wires can be removed, then extracts each one individually, making note of each connection. The work is slow but soothing, and Skyfire feels in his element for the first time since he woke. He had never been the engineering expert, but it is still within his ability to replace a few faulty wires. It reminds him of his time at the science academy. Starscream had had to coach him on the more advanced chemical and mechanical work.

“No you idiot! Do you want to blow yourself up?! It’s like this!” Starscream corrected his chemical formula with bright red pen, muttering something about applied versus theoretical applications and then returning to his own datapad. Skyfire frowns and checks the correction. Sure enough he had forgotten to adjust the temperature to modulate the reaction rate. This would have certainly exploded in practice…

Skyfire wipes his optics and finds that he has finished the wiring and is now staring at the completed scanner. If it does not work now, it is possible a more vital component is broken, and he will have to go without it for an indefinite period. To his relief after installation the scanner returns a full report. Nothing returns as anomalous, though the atmospheric composition has shifted slightly since he scanned the planet the first time. Not terribly unusual. The temperature reading is also higher than he would have expected. It feels quite chilly in the Ark to Skyfire but the ambient temperature is apparently above the freezing point of water. His sensor net is seemingly not reliable about anything anymore, so it’s good he has his scanner back to double check things. He will have to run a proper field test later, but everything appears to be working for now.

A check of his chronometer shows that it is only a few minutes until the meeting, so he heads to the meeting room and wonders what it will be today. He is usually only requested when the Autobots need to be flown somewhere far afield. Sure enough, the meeting is about possible Decepticon activity in Australia. Skyfire will be transporting Mirage, Jazz, and Hound to investigate and then will be on call afterwards to transport bots for the battle that is likely to ensue later. He is also to be air support if necessary. He suppresses a grimace and does not comment.

The rest of the meeting is dedicated to strategy and energy management tactics, and it feels completely unnecessary for him to be present. Other than being told where and who he’s flying, the only thing Skyfire is doing is attracting occasional glares from from other bots when he shifts in his too-small seat. It’s a relief when it adjourns.

He has the rest of the day free. He decides to go flying.

-

Flying alone is a wonderful escape. The wind on his wings, the distance from everything else, the freedom to go wherever he likes. It is peaceful, especially on alien planets such as this. On Cybertron flying was more of a chore. It was expected of him, it was his function to ferry others. There was nowhere safe from that feeling, crammed and suffocating in that ill-fitting role. They did not care if he dreamed of being a scientist. To them he would always be a military transport, and his straining away from that, his choosing to be another function, was an exercise in futility. On the expedition he had felt free. It was him and Starscream in the vastness of the universe. Now he is alone, a tiny white speck over a beautiful blue and green coastal landscape.

He tests his scanners on the planet around him, and delights in the rush of new information across his processor. Life on this planet has already changed from the last time he saw it, not massively but certainly noticeably. It is miraculous.

As he flies along the coast, he thinks he sees a shadow behind him, but when he looks it has gone. Probably a flying animal, there are many in the skies here. Before he can think of trying to follow it, a swarm of shimmering shapes suddenly leaps from the water and glides below him. They appear to be escaping a larger creature, and they sparkle dazzlingly under this planet’s yellow star. What a beautiful planet. What a tragedy, to wage war here.

-

Upon arriving back at the Ark, Skyfire makes a mistake. He tries to transform mid-flight and land feet first. Unfortunately, he is a bit slow to transform with the stiffness in his joints and he barely gets his feet under him in time, and when he does hit the ground, his knees almost give out beneath him. The impact sends a horrible wave of tingling pain up his legs. Ow, he definitely won’t be doing that again. After a few moments the sensation dies down to the usual, with only a light ache in his feet and joints, and he manages to stand up straight and head inside.

It is late in this planet’s rotational cycle now and Skyfire’s tanks feel comfortably empty after his long flight. The mess hall is full of Autobots laughing and chattering, and he smiles and waves back when Bumblebee greets him, grabbing himself a cube and taking a sip even before he sits. He’s thinking of possibly just returning to his room with the cube as it is quite crowded at this hour. However, before he can make up his mind someone calls his name. He pauses, confused.

“Skyfire! Hey, come sit!”

There are a few shouts of agreement and a few more that could be complaint, though it’s not entirely clear. He turns to see Wheeljack, Jazz, Bumblebee, Cliffjumper, Perceptor, Trailbreaker, Hound, and a few other bots that he had not had the chance to learn the names of sitting around one of the full tables. Wheeljack is gesturing to an empty seat next to him. Skyfire almost resets his optics to make sure he’s seeing correctly. After a moment he snaps out of it and, not wanting to seem unfriendly, he smiles, nods, and walks to sit by Wheeljack.

He is quite big for the seats in the mess hall on a good day, and today is certainly not one. The bots are all crowded around the table, and Skyfire ends up squeezed between Wheeljack and Trailbreaker even as they try to scoot and he pulls himself inwards as best he can, his knees crammed up against the top of the table. The contact aches faintly.

“What was it you were fixing in the lab today?” Wheeljack asks, “I was a bit preoccupied at the time and didn’t get a peek.”

Wheeljack moves to face him and his shoulder brushes Skyfire’s. A race of tingles shivers down his arm and he can barely suppress a wince. His wings twitch and Skyfire can only hope that Wheeljack is the kind of scientist that is bad at reading body language cues.

“I was fixing my scanner array. It became damaged after so long in the ice and the sudden thaw, so I had to replace the wiring. Thank you for letting me use your equipment.”

Wheeljack waves a hand.

“Feel free to use them any time! They’re free for anyone as long as you know how to use ‘em. Plus, it’s always nice to have another scientific mind in the lab.”

Skyfire smiles. It will be nice to be able to get some proper science done again.

“Thank you.”

He is not sure what else to say, so he awkwardly returns to his cube, taking a sip and then abruptly remembering his empty tank and taking a larger gulp.

“You were out flying today, right Skyfire?” Bumblebee asks.

It turns out that Wheeljack is not the only one that wants to talk. Bumblebee and Cliffjumper seem to be listening, the former with a smile and the latter with a glare. Cliffjumper has never seemed to like him, probably due to his brief time as a Decepticon. It’s understandable, not everyone is going to trust him right off the bat, or even ever.

“Did you see anything cool? Earth is a pretty strange planet, especially compared to Cybertron,” says Bumblebee.

Skyfire smiles genuinely this time, wings pointing upwards in excitement.

“I did! This planet has massive biodiversity, even compared to some of the other similar planets I have seen! It has changed much since the last time I saw it. Their short lifespans may seem disadvantageous to us, but they allow such quick adaptation to planetary fluctuations! As I was flying over the coast I saw an enormous swarm of glittering animals leap out of the water and glide along below me! I believe they were fleeing being eaten by a larger animal.”

He’s on quite the tangent now, but Bumblebee is smiling and nodding so he continues.

“They were similar to the cloudskimmers of DX-80 in that way, and the pursuing predator I could not get a precise read on but appeared almost like the plasma-dwelling organics on WL-40. It’s really fascinating how similar features evolve in completely different species, we saw similar-“

He cuts himself off quickly.

Frag! He got carried away, he should really have learned better by now. He had been so careful not to mention him, and now they’re going to realize he’s been hiding things, leaving someone out. They already mistrust him, what if that mistrust is enough that they dig around and find out the truth about his expedition? Who his partner was? He’ll be thrown out of the Autobots, an outcast of both sides.

A sharp pain suddenly lances through his arm and Skyfire flinches back. What-?

“Skyfire, are you alright? You got very quiet.”

It is just Wheeljack putting a hand on his shoulder. He nods, quickly fixing his face from whatever look had been frozen across it.

“Yes, I am fine, just lost in thought. I should really go recharge though, I have a lot of flying to do tomorrow and you do not want a tired transport on the job.” He stands from the table and turns to leave, trying not to trip while disentangling his legs.

“Skyfire, wait! You forgot your energon!”

Skyfire ignores the shout and walks quickly out of the mess hall, spark flashing erratically in its casing.

He regrets it later, tank still hollow after his flight. He can’t believe he let himself get carried away like that, and so quickly too. It’s easy to forget himself when he’s talking about things he’s passionate about, his verbal filter just completely disappears. This can’t be allowed to happen again.

He recharges even worse than usual.

-

The scouting mission the next day goes off without a hitch, and Skyfire retires to his room with a cube ready to collapse on his berth. He supposes millions of years on ice will do that to a mech, even one used to flying for weeks on end before said ice. The flight had been awkward. Clearly it was too much to hope that no one had noticed his strange behaviour the previous night, and bots were alternating between eyeing him strangely while he was in root mode and ignoring him while he was in his alt.

The next day after that he spends downloading reports on the planet’s biology and history from Teletraan-1 and reading them in his room, but he is frustrated to find that the data packs available only include the most basic of information about a tiny fraction of the planet’s history and diversity. The Autobots have been on this planet for quite a while now, and they know barely anything! He supposes that a war would not put biological research on the top of the priority list, but it still feels ridiculous to him. Why spend so much time fighting and wreaking havoc on this planet when they could be learning about it instead? Such a waste…

Starscream rolled his optics. “We need energon, Skyfire, not organics. If the planet doesn’t have energy sources, it’s a waste of time. It’s the whole point of our mission!”

The data packs on Earth are exhausted much more quickly than he had hoped for, and at the end of the day he has nothing left to do. He is pondering how he could ask the humans for more information (perhaps the humans on base would know something?) when there is a knock at the door.

“Skyfire? Are you in there?”

He considers not answering, but ultimately decides against it. He can only avoid other bots for so long, and they must know he’s here. Outside is Perceptor, who is holding a fresh cube and smiling gently.

“Ah, Skyfire. I was hoping I could talk with you privately, is this a good time?”

He nods, stepping aside so that Perceptor may enter. His spark whirls with trepidation. Has Perceptor figured him out? Teletraan-1 has his old Academy files, all it would take to figure him out is searching him up. Hopefully he will let him down gently. The Autobots are not as murderous as the Decepticons, so he expects that the decision would be something like exile or imprisonment. Definitely interrogation. Exile wouldn’t be too bad, really, he could still study things…

“Sure, Perceptor. How can I help you?”

Perceptor steps closer and Skyfire valiantly does not back away.

“I am not requesting anything from you, Skyfire. I just thought that I would mention that I am here, as are Wheeljack and the other Autobots, if you ever wish to speak about what happened. I am aware, as are most mechs who attended the science academy, that the kinds of exploratory expeditions you described are not something that one does alone.”

Frag.

He reaches up to pat Skyfire’s wrist, the highest that he can reach, each touch sending a shock of sensation across his plating. Skyfire’s vocalizer feels jammed. Slag, he knows. What all does he know? His tone is compassionate, he does not seem angry. Skyfire can only stare down at Perceptor, panicked.

“All of us have known loss in the war, my friend. You do not have to share if you do not wish to, but we have found that some burdens are easier to bear with company. You should join us for meals more often.”

Perceptor smiles at him gently again and hands him the cube. Skyfire takes it.

“Thank you,” he says. He cannot think of anything else to add.

“Of course, my friend,” says Perceptor, and then he nods and leaves the room.

Skyfire is momentarily stuck in place, and then he leans against the wall next to his berth and slides down it to sit on the floor. It burns his frame, but he ignores it. It does not seem as though Perceptor knows who Skyfire’s partner was, he has just intuited from his reaction earlier that he lost him. Thank the stars for that. Really, this is good news. If everyone is interpreting his reaction as having lost his partner, which he supposes from a certain point of view he has, they will hopefully not be overly suspicious about him not mentioning it before.

He sits wedged in the corner of his berth and the wall for a while longer until he eventually succumbs to recharge.

-

The next day, Skyfire is in a much better mood. He can definitely spin his reaction as being about a deceased partner. As long as he is not too suspicious and no one looks into it too much, that is. He decides it is a good day to go to the labs.

When he fixed his scanner, he had found a large amount of crystalized energon had somehow made its way into the wiring. He intends to find the cause. Upon opening his cockpit nothing seems initially wrong. The inside feels both tender and numb, as does his entire frame nowadays, but he can’t see or feel any cracked energon lines. Perhaps he had cracked something in his first plummet to Earth and hadn’t noticed before? Or perhaps when Starscream shot him he caused a minor leak that got missed in Ratchet and Spike’s quick field repairs. (He still can’t believe Starscream shot him twice. His chest still aches there, and he’s not entirely sure it’s from the actual injury.)

He finds a microviewer after shuffling through a few drawers and sits, partly transforming his lower half so that he can get a better view. Doing the wiring had been quite simple since the scanner was removable. Getting a good look inside his own cockpit is much harder, even with the microviewer. (He is not used to doing this himself. He used to have help.) Eventually he finds a workable angle and begins carefully scanning the inside wall.

At first there appears to be nothing wrong, but after a few minutes he finds it: where his scanner connects to his power supply, a tiny crack. It does not appear to be actively leaking or newly made, but his self-repair has also not closed it. A sense of foreboding overtakes him at this. Is his self-repair malfunctioning? That is not something he can fix.

He pokes at the crack with a small sampling tool, trying to ascertain its origin and whether it is likely to leak any more. It is almost completely numb, and he feels the tool scrape against something hard but distinctly non-metal. More crystallized energon, holding the crack open. Of course, a simple solution! He should not have catastrophized so quickly. He can remove this panel and then remove the blockage. Easy. He must have landed hard in the crash and cracked a faulty panel that was brittle in the cold. Nothing to worry about.

He is about to open the panel and fix it when he hears footsteps. He turns to see Wheeljack entering the lab, and quickly snaps his cockpit shut and reverts fully to root mode. He’s still on his knees, but even so he is taller than Wheeljack.

“Skyfire! Good to see you making use of the lab. Another scanner issue?” he asks.

“Something like that. I believe I’ve found the source of the initial problem, and it should be a quick fix,” he responds.

“That’s good to hear! You at a good stopping place? I was gonna go grab some energon, care to join me?”

Skyfire takes a second to process this. He is not sure why bots keep inviting him to eat with them. Wheeljack would also know about Skyfire’s ‘lost partner,’ so perhaps he wants to ask about that. Or maybe it is just an Autobot thing. This is a good opportunity to settle any remaining queries about his behaviour the other day.

“Sure, I’d be glad to.” Skyfire sets down the microviewer and fully stands, following Wheeljack out of the lab.

-

It turns out there are quite a few mechs in the mess hall again, and Skyfire finds himself crammed into the same seat once more. This time, though, more mechs seem interested in questioning him. What is confusing him is the topics they’re bringing up. No one has mentioned his partner or his flight from the hall the other day.

“I had no idea you’d seen so many other planets, mech! I guess I heard ‘explorer’ and didn’t think about it too hard.” Jazz said.

“What’s the coolest thing you saw?” Bumblebee asks.

Skyfire thinks for a moment. He has been avoiding any stories that would involve Starscream too directly, but the first thing that comes to mind for ‘coolest’ would be hard to edit him out of. He apparently hesitates for a moment too long, because Wheeljack interrupts.

“Did you see any alien engineering?”

He shakes his head.

“I did, but I can answer Bumblebee. I… had a partner. We were exploring together, it is bad practice to go alone. It is a good thing we stuck together too, because on AR-2S there were organisms that released their seeds in an enormous flammable casing that once lit burned across the planet like a fiery tornado. As you can imagine, the updrafts and heat from it were incredible…”

He continues the story and then a few more after it when asked. He shows them the rings of tiny dents that remained after his encounter with desert leeches and tells how when his partner had shot them off him they’d exploded, bloated with energon as they were. He describes mountains of intricately layered quartz that lit the entire atmosphere with rainbow refractions from the planet’s twin suns.

While a few bots do come and go, he mostly has a captive audience. Apparently the Autobots are starved for new stories. He has seen them occasionally gathered around Teletraan-1’s main viewscreen watching some kind of human media, but he was not aware that their interest would extend to his own tales. He supposes if he’d been mainly cooped up in a ship or fighting a war for years he would feel the same. Probably will feel the same, if he continues to stay here. He feels heavy at the thought.

“You sure seem fond of this partner of yours, Skyfire. What happened to them-ow!” Bumblebee asks, suddenly jumping in his seat.

This is the kind of question he had been expecting, but the words still drag out of him uncomfortably. Lying has never been his strong suit.

“I lost them when I was trapped. I do not know what happened to them.” Skyfire says. It’s not untrue, really.

“Well hey, that’s an easy fix. I bet Teletraan-1 knows. What’s this bot’s name?” Bumblebee asks.

Skyfire pauses for a moment before answering. Now for the real lie.

“I…. would rather not say, if that is alright with you all. With the war…”

“That’s perfectly understandable, Skyfire. They sound like they were a wonderful bot.” Wheeljack says, patting his shoulder again and glancing over at Bumblebee as he does so.

A few of the mechs around the table nod in agreement, though Bumblebee still seems curious and a few others, including Cliffjumper, look dubious. Scrap.

“They really were.” Skyfire adds quietly.

Storytime being apparently over, most of the mechs get up to leave the hall, having finished their energon some time ago. Skyfire’s is mostly untouched, due to his intake design it is quite difficult to refuel and speak at the same time in root mode. A couple of the bots smile and wave at him when they leave, and he returns the gesture, relieved. Befriending the Autobots is working, even if some are taking a while to come around.

-

After refueling Skyfire returns to the lab to finish inspecting the crack he’d found. Perceptor is working on something in his alt when he gets there, and Skyfire finds a place across the room from him so he doesn’t interrupt. It likely won’t take long, but double checking that there’s not too much energon built up around where the line had cracked is important. The energon can crystallize and break off, causing all kinds of problems if it gets jammed somewhere. He grabs a few tools to safely remove his plating and resumes his half-transformed crouch on the floor.

The plating takes more effort to remove than he expected, and it twinges as he carefully pries it open. When it does come off it’s with a cracking sound, and with dismay he realizes that the energon has indeed leaked everywhere. His light scatters across broken crystals that had formed between his internals and his plating. The source of the leak is not immediately obvious, which is both annoying and probably a good thing. That means it had properly closed up and his self-repair is functioning fine. Now to remove the crystals.

When he goes to remove them, however, Skyfire quickly runs into a problem. The energon crystals surrounding his fuel lines won’t budge. They should peel right off when he distorts the flexible material of his lines, but they are firmly stuck on, and his lines won’t flex when he pinches them. That’s… odd. It’s almost as if…

Spark whirling, Skyfire turns his attention to a more easily accessible panel in his right arm. His spark spins even faster when he is met with resistance. He has to put some real force into prying the panel off his arm and when he finally wrenches it off, he finds crystalized energon surrounding his lines here, too.

Frag. No.

He tries to grip the top of the crystals and pull them out, but they break off in his fingers.

No!

They will not come out. He has energon crystals embedded in his fuel lines. He grabs the scraper again, frantically trying to remove the crystal buildup. It doesn’t just remove the crystals, though, his tool easily scrapes the pliable surface of the fuel line away with it…

…and hits a solid mass beneath.

Skyfire sits back, optics overheated and crackling with light.

His energon has solidified in his lines.

He is a dead mech walking.

-

Once he has calmed down and has time to process, Skyfire figures it cannot be too bad yet. He has been functioning fine so far, though this does explain the stiffness. There must still be some energon flow through his lines or he would not be able to move. But this is still very, very bad. If any crystals break off inside him, which is extremely likely, they could get stuck and clog energon transportation to any part of his body, possibly paralyzing or killing him. If the crystallization continues, he will slowly lose function and shut down. He is not sure of the details, but he is also not sure that he wants to know.

He figures he must have startled Wheeljack, who was just walking into the lab when he bolted out. If Wheeljack said anything, though, Skyfire had missed it. His audials had been offline as most of his processing power was diverted to panicking. He’ll explain tomorrow. Today, he grabs a cube from the mess hall, stores it, and practically runs out of the Ark. The moment he feels fresh air on his face he leaps into the air, transforming and firing his thrusters at maximum away from the base.

He flies for hours, not paying attention to what direction he’s going, just trying to flee as fast as his systems demand, his spark feeling on the edge of exploding.

Eventually his survival protocols disengage after burning themselves out, and he begins to take in where he is.

The air is bitingly cold on his frame, but a quick scan shows the temperature is not dangerous. The ocean glitters beneath him, reflecting the stars and this planet’s single moon. It stretches for miles in every direction. Only a few gossamer clouds share the sky with him, the flying creatures have all gone home to rest. Though none of the stars he can see are familiar, there is still the same brilliant swathe of stars and gas painted across the middle of the sky as is visible from most planets. The rest of the galaxy, with all its mysteries. It is fantastical and fascinating and free. He had hoped to explore it all with Starscream by his side. Skyfire would discover amazing new creatures and geological marvels, Starscream would search for energy sources and new chemicals, synthesizing Skyfire’s findings into breakthroughs in tech and medicine. They were the perfect team.

Cybertron is not visible from here. It is too far, and not nearly bright enough. Skyfire will never see it or any planet other than this one again.

Does Starscream ever fly like this? Have they shared this view without knowing it?

Is any of the mech he knew left?

Perhaps him and Starscream both died in that storm, and they just haven’t stopped walking around yet.

-

When he gets back to the Ark, the Earth’s sun, Sol, is rising on the horizon.

Despite his long flight to think, he realizes he has no idea what, if anything, he’s going to say to the other bots. How would he even phrase it? ‘Hello, everyone, I found out I’m dying yesterday, don’t get too upset since there’s nothing you can do!’ They would make him see Ratchet, which he really probably should have done in the first place, but he knows there’s nothing to be done about this kind of thing. They hardly have the materials on hand to replace every one of his fuel lines. He will just have to continue on as best he can. It has not impaired his function so far, so he is fine for now. Just. Fine.

After refueling, Skyfire has no clue what to do with his day. It feels strange to just go back to the usual after this. He feels almost like he did when he woke from the ice, like the whole galaxy tilted on its axis and no one else noticed.

He is saved from having to decide by the battle alarm going off. The message assigning him to transport the Autobots to a coal plant in Australia comes as he is rushing to the hangar. Several Autobots are already there and more stumble in after Skyfire looking like they have just been roused mid defrag. Skyfire moves to the center of the hangar and transforms, lowering his ramp immediately. When everyone is loaded Optimus Prime gives the order to launch, and they are off. The flight is long and quiet, the Autobots are tense in anticipation. When they get to the continent Optimus Prime starts issuing orders.

“-and Skyfire you’re on air support, but be ready to provide transport at any time.”

Air support. He can do that. He just needs to keep the other jets from destroying the Autobot ground forces and shoot anything that might be a Decepticon weapon until it explodes. Business as usual. Awful, awful business as usual.

When they reach their destination it is in a much worse state than the first time he’d seen it. The power plants have gaping holes in their walls and are smoking in some places, and there are no humans to be seen. That’s good, there’s no chance of them getting caught in the crossfire. A steady stream of energon is being carried out of the plants and into a purple shuttle by a line of Decepticons.

“Skyfire, bring us down on the west side! Autobots, ready your weapons!”

Skyfire lands as Optimus Prime directed, the Autobots thundering out with a battle cry as he opens his ramp. Once everyone is out he takes off again, scanning the area for other fliers. The mechs below shout as their forces trade fire.

There doesn’t appear to be any fliers around yet, so he focuses his fire on the mechs who are still transporting energon to the shuttle. They drop the energon and dive for cover.

Skyfire pulls back up and banks left, scattering his shots into the coal plant towards their energon converter and the Decepticons inside, wheeling around to take another pass.

In truth Skyfire is not unpracticed in the rituals surrounding warfare. He knows how to fly in formation and run drills, how to shoot straight and follow orders. He had hated it, but he was not bad at it. The fact that he was not bad at it had been a source of constant frustration for Skyfire, not because he really minded but because other mechs did. After all, if he’d do so well in his assumed eventual function as a military transport, why was he trying so hard to be a scientist?

Unfortunately, training over nine million years ago does not translate to actual battlefield experience. On that front his knowledge is limited but growing each battle.

Suddenly there’s a shot across his nose and he startles, veering off to the right towards the Autobots. There is the hum of powerful jets behind him, and he dives as sharply as he can to do a strafing run along the Decepticon line. His pursuers are forced to cease their fire or risk hitting their own soldiers, and while a few shots whizz past from behind they don’t come close to hitting him.

He also draws the fire of the Decepticons below. Beams of heat singe his sides but miraculously he is not hit. The Autobots take the opportunity to push the Decepticons back and pin them against the coal plant’s outside wall.

The Decepticons are not that easily beaten, however, and a combination of Megatron’s cannon and Rumble creating a fissure between them and the Autobots is enough for the Decepticons to clear a path back to their shuttle. Megatron calls the retreat and they pile in with their energon, shots bouncing harmlessly off the the shuttle’s shielding.

Before he lands to collect the Autobots, Skyfire sees a trine of seekers transform and land inside just as the ramp closes, and he’s sure he must be imagining the glint of familiar optics glaring back at him.

-

The flight back is jubilant. Bots are laughing and cheering amongst themselves, in the best spirits he’s seen them in, likely because no one got majorly injured.

“We showed those Decepti-cucks!”

“Great shot back there, Sunstreaker! You really saved my aft!”

“Skyfire! That strafing run was genius!”

“And nuts!”

“Starscream could’ve just shot you AND Megatron!”

“Slagger must’ve pissed buckethead off one too many times this week!”

“Ha! He’s not helping helping himself there with his flying today!”

“I had a clear shot on Reflector before Megatron called that retreat, another second and I would’ve had him right in the spark!”

“Sure you would, bud.”

“I would’ve!!”

Skyfire tunes the conversation out. Did Starscream let him go on purpose today? He is a much faster flier than Skyfire is and has millions of years of combat experience to Skyfire’s none, why did he not just shoot him out of the sky? It wouldn’t be the first or even second time he’s shot him. Skyfire can’t fathom his reasoning. He can only hope.

By the time they get back to the Ark everyone has calmed down and is ready for a cube and some defrag, Skyfire included. Missing it the night before isn’t a huge deal for him, especially with how short the days are here, but a lot has been going on the past few days and he’d rather not have to deal with a slow processor.

Defragging that night is difficult, his processor can’t let go of the ache of the cold, the heat of laser fire, and a pair of burning red optics staring back at him.

-

The next few days pass by without him giving them much notice. He reads datalogs. He refuels. He flies.

His spark aches.

He is invited to more lunches with everyone, but he only accepts a few times. Those he does go to he doesn’t contribute to much conversation, asking the others about their own adventures or inventions and nodding along. It’s easier than coming up with something to say himself when he feels like every word is in some way a falsehood, misleading his new friends by speaking of something other than the secrets that gnaw at him.

Some of the Autobots are still plenty friendly even if he is less talkative, but Skyfire does notice a few sharp glances and sneers pointed in his direction, mostly from Cliffjumper and the red and yellow twins. It is hopefully not anything to be worried about, but he knows better than to not keep an eye out. He knows that look from the Academy, and it is likely some of his things will find themselves mysteriously damaged or he will trip over an invisible obstacle in the near future. Ignoring it is the best policy in his experience, they thrive on the reaction. Starscream had always retaliated and encouraged him to do so as well, but he never had.

In the meantime he also manages to filch a spare insulator meant for emergency temperature stabilization from the medbay storage, hoping Ratchet won’t notice its absence. He wraps it around himself in the privacy of his room and imagines it helps.

The constancy ends one morning when Skyfire’s comm pings with a message from an unknown frequency. It’s brief, just a set of coordinates, a time, and a request to talk.

He knows he probably shouldn’t go, but he also knows he is going to anyways.

It’s not unusual for him to leave at odd hours to go flying, so no one questions his departure. After an hour or so of travel the coordinates lead to a large cliff over the ocean. It is an overcast day, threatening rain, and Skyfire scans the surrounding area while he waits. The cliffs appear to be composed of bioclastic rock, formed from tiny organisms that were compressed over eons. These tiny creatures lived long before even the oldest cybertronians, and their descendants will continue to live long past when he and everyone he knows are rust. He smiles a little, kneeling to get a better look.

The sound of distant engines interrupts his thoughts, and Skyfire looks up to see two jets headed in his direction. Thundercracker and Skywarp, with no Starscream in sight. He shouldn’t have got his hopes up, he knew it could be anyone when he decided to come. (And anyway, Starscream has made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t wish to see Skyfire ever again.) They dive in and transform in midair, landing gracefully, and Skyfire cannot deny a little jealousy at their ease in doing so. He stands back warily, waiting for them to speak. They pause for a second to glare before Skywarp takes the initiative and storms towards Skyfire.

“What the frag were you thinking with that stunt?! Are you trying to get yourself killed?!”

Skyfire startles and steps back. Skywarp is right in front of him now, pointing an angry finger towards his face, though the effect is somewhat lessened since he only comes up to Skyfire’s waist.

“What?” he asks eloquently.

“Do you have ANY idea how irritating Starscream would be if you-“

“’Warp, that’s enough.” Thundercracker steps in and puts a hand on Skywarp’s arm, giving him a look, then turns to look up at Skyfire.

“That move you pulled last battle was stupid, you have to know that. It was dumb luck that you didn’t get shot and killed, or worse, captured.”

Skyfire’s brow pinches.

“Why do you care? And what do you mean, worse?”

“We don’t care—“ Skywarp starts, but Thundercracker cuts him off.

“Last time you went down in battle, Megatron said we should reprogram you to fight for us. He will almost certainly do so if you get captured.”

Skyfire keeps staring, and the ever-present chill in his plating reaches out icy tendrils that seem to crawl across his paint. It is a very good thing that Spike rescued him from the Decepticons.

“I still don’t understand why you’re telling me this.”

Skywarp scoffs.

“Like I said, we don’t give a frag. Screamer’s the one who gets all snippy every time you do something stupid like that, and he’d get slagged off even worse if Megatron handed you off to Shockwave.”

Skyfire’s processor feels like it’s overheating.  Starscream is getting upset because of him? Is he actually worried, or just angry to see him fighting for the Autobots? Does he want to be the one to kill- or reprogram- Skyfire himself? His expression grows more pinched.

“Starscream…” He pauses, unsure of what exactly to say. His processor swirls with possibilities, none of them happy. Even if Starscream does still care for him, that too is destined to end in pain. “Thank you for letting me know.” He turns to leave, his wings itching for the air, to get away so he can think.

A hand grabs his forearm before he can take off, and he jerks away at the soft-sharp pain before he properly registers it.

“Hey! Did you even hear us?!”

Skyfire turns back to face the pair. Skywarp has his arms crossed and both are frowning.

“You need to keep a low profile! No more stupid strafing runs directly over a hundred Decepticons! You! Will! Die!” Skywarp puffs up and gestures wildly to emphasize his point.

Skyfire frowns and looks away.

“Well, I’m doing that anyway, so I figured a few risky maneuvers in battle wouldn’t make much difference.”

He risks a glance at their faces, and both mechs appear floored. He feels a bit guilty. They did come all this way to warn him, which probably put them at some amount of risk, and now he’s told them it was pretty much for nothing. But it felt so good to tell someone the truth, to let a tiny bit of his terror out.

“I’m sorry your warning didn’t work out as you wanted it to, and I hope you’re not in any significant danger since you met up with me. If… if you need anything… scienced, while I’m around, feel free to ask. Um,” His wings waver for a moment before he turns to leave again. “Bye.”

He jumps and transforms to take off, slightly regretting his haste when his plates grind together in his escape.

“Hey, wait- get back here and explain!” Skywarp shouts from behind him, but there is no sound of pursuing jets. Thundercracker probably grabbed him again. He appreciates it. They’re good mechs. Even if it wasn’t for Skyfire’s benefit, they were still helping by warning him.

How did mechs like this end up in this awful war?

He just doesn’t understand it. Even if he’s read the history, he just doesn’t get it in practice. They’re all people, how can they stand to hurt one another? To kill one another? Has every mech on this planet but him killed? He knows the Autobots do not kill the aliens on this planet, but they are shooting at the Decepticons and it has been millions of years. Everyone has had ample opportunity to take a life.

Starscream is second in command of the Decepticons. How many has he…?

Skyfire shudders. He should not be going down this train of thought again. Speculating about the past does not help, it just makes his energon curdle in his tanks.

He is nearing the Ark now, but suddenly can’t bear to go inside. He lands on top instead, watching as the sun dips towards the sand and the stars brighten in the sky. The atmosphere here allows for a gorgeous gradient of color as the light scatters through it. Skyfire sits and watches it for some time, trying to calm down.

He’s almost convinced himself that he has when there is a loud clanging sound from behind him and he whips his head around, wings stiff. He sees none other than Optimus Prime climbing through a hatch in the top of the ship. He’s looking at the sunset, not Skyfire, but Skyfire’s movement appears to alert him to his presence. The Prime looks over and nods at him, and he hesitantly nods back. He must have accidentally discovered the Prime’s sunset viewing spot. He returns his gaze to the view and hears the clunk of approaching footsteps, and in his peripheral vision he can see Optimus Prime sit down next to him.

“I often find that this place is quite helpful when one needs to think.”

Skyfire glances at the Prime out of the corner of his eye, but he is not looking at Skyfire. His gaze is focused on the fading sunset. For a while, they both sit and watch.

Skyfire’s spark is still pounding, but he feels strangely calm despite it. The Prime has never been personally unkind to him or even very suspicious considering his brief stint with the Decepticons. It’s entirely probable that he already knows about Starscream and has chosen not to let the lower ranks know, it would be irresponsible of him to let Skyfire in without doing a background check first. Being a Prime, Skyfire is not naturally inclined to trusting him, but he seems a reasonable enough leader. He seems more burdened by the war than anyone. Oddly, this combination of traits adds up to a mech whose judgement he does not care about at all. He is no friend to Skyfire, so it is somehow easier to speak to him.

“When the war broke out…” Skyfire asks quietly, “Did you lose anyone?” He knows the Autobots have lost many soldiers in battle, but that’s not what he means, and the Prime seems to understand this. He sighs a bit, almost wistful.

“Yes. Everyone did. I lost many good friends, and I think of them often. Some… I still wonder if I could have saved them. If I had been there, if things would be different.”

Skyfire nods. If he had been there, would Starscream still have changed as he did? Would he have been able to help him, or would they both be murderers now? Perhaps it would have made no difference and they would still have ended up here, on opposite sides of this terrible war.

“I do as well. My… partner. On the expedition. I wonder if I had not crashed, if I had been more careful…” Skyfire trails off.

“I understand. I had someone like that, too.”

Skyfire tilts his head, a question. The Prime, with a partner before the war? He can’t recall reading of any single mech that would fit this description.

“Well, maybe not exactly the same, but… he was brilliant. A brilliant writer, a brilliant thinker, a charismatic speaker. I was honored to be his friend. But then…”

“The war.” Skyfire finishes gravely.

Optimus bows his head in acknowledgement. “Indeed. I lost him, and I have little hope of seeing him again.”

Skyfire nods sadly. He understands that much.

“This war… waking up after nine million years, missing all of it… it is difficult to understand how we got from the world I remember to the one I now find myself in. Everyone I knew is gone, and I do not know if they are dead or...” he pauses.

“…some bots… some I know would have joined the Decepticons. May still fight for the Decepticons, and have likely changed so much over these years that I would no longer know them,” he says grimly.

He pauses, hoping he has not given himself away. For some reason it is easier to say these things to the Prime. Even if it loses him favor with the leader of the Autobots, he doesn’t have to worry about word getting back to the him if it started there, and he hardly has much time left to be worried about execution or banishment for treason.

Optimus does not seem angry, though. If anything, he looks… surprised? Taken off guard and a little concerned, maybe. His head tilts slightly, his optics widen. Strange, slightly concerning. Has he been figured out? But the Prime does not ask him anything.

“This whole war is strange. I knew tensions were rising on Cybertron while we were away, but for bots to kill each other…” He pauses again, watching as distant constellations take shape in the sky.

“How can you stand it? How can anyone stand it? The fighting, the killing… the destruction of this planet, the death of our own, those that were once neighbors destroying each other!”

The Prime inclines his head, optics closed. He looks sorrowful, now. Like grief weighs down every inch of his plating. Skyfire wonders how much time this Prime has spent up here on this roof, away from the others, drowning in grief. Perceptor was wrong, then. Not every Autobot shares their burdens on this ship. Plenty go it alone, even the Prime, even and especially when they should not. He feels a bit guilty for his outburst.

“I can see that it is necessary to fight to save this planet, and I have read the history of the war and heard others speak of it, but I am no seasoned warrior. I am not saying I will not fight. But I hope that you and all of the Autobots do not expect me to be a good fighter, or a killer. I have a feeling that I will not survive long. It does not come naturally to me. I hope that you will factor this into your plans in the future, so that you are not caught without transportation when I die.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that Optimus Prime has turned his head to look at him. Skyfire keeps his gaze fixed on the horizon, trying not to react.

He had impulsively told the seekers, and therefore effectively all of the Decepticons, that the Autobots may soon be without a shuttle. As uncomfortable as it may be, he has to let the Autobots know as well in some way. He really should have warned them earlier, not doing so was selfish. He had just wanted a bit of stability, but that was no longer tenable.

The Prime is still looking at him. Skyfire can’t make out his expression out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly, the warm ache of a hand on his arm cuts through the bite of the night air, and he jolts in place, turning his head to meet the Prime’s optics. He is doing an impressive Autobot Concerned Look. He must be where the rest got it from, he realizes.

“Skyfire. I hope you know that you are valued here, not just for your alt mode but also for your presence as a person. I know that Wheeljack and Perceptor enjoy your company especially, along with many others. I know that you are not naturally inclined towards fighting, but neither are the Autobots like Perceptor and Beachcomber who help us a great deal in other ways. Your death would be distressing to many, and I can promise you that we will endeavor to ensure that it does not come any time soon.”

Skyfire shudders and turns away to obscure the flaring of his optics. He is once again speechless in response to such kind words. First Perceptor, now this, do all Autobots have this ability to see right into his spark? Optimus Prime does not seem to understand the immediacy of the problem of Skyfire’s death, and he should really reiterate that, but he is unable to push any words out for several minutes. The Prime just waits, hand still rested on his upper arm.

Before, he had wanted to be more than transport for the Autobots. He had always tried to push against those that only viewed him in terms of his alt mode. The shuttle that wanted to go to the Science Academy, the shuttle on the expedition with that snotty seeker, the shuttle for the Autobots. He was more than that. But now it would be easier to be just a shuttle. If Optimus Prime is right, he’s befriended a half dozen mechs right before his inevitable deactivation. He has lied to them, about this and about Starscream. Tanks churning, he rests his head on his knees.

The Prime lets his hand rest on Skyfire’s arm for a moment longer, then withdraws it, standing and departing quietly.

Skyfire sits outside for a while longer, the night desert air stinging his plating and adding to the ache in his joints. Thoughts skip across his processor, none quite settling right. Clearly, he has to do something, he can’t just leave this situation as it is, but he’s lost as to what. Just confessing everything is probably what the other mechs in this situation would want, it would be the most fair to them, but... He’s only got so long left, and he doesn’t want to live that time interrogated about Starscream or examined in the futile hope of fixing him. Starscream had always told him to be more selfish, and maybe now is the time to take that advice.

He could write a message. The Autobots are going to find him out sooner or later. He would rather they hear it in his own words rather than speculating after he is gone. He can write a message and queue it in his comms so that it will send to specified mechs if he doesn’t check his messages for more than two days. That way if he dies, they will still hear about everything from him.

Mind made up, Skyfire heads back to his room to defrag. The night is cold and his frame is colder, so even with the insulator wrapped around him it takes a while to drift off.

Chapter Text

The next morning when Skyfire enters the dining hall he is met with a wall of chatter much more energetic than is usual this early. Several mechs turn to look at him when he enters, and Bumblebee brightens and runs up to him. He’s followed by the human that Skyfire believes is called Spike. They’ve met before, but only briefly, and it was not the best day for him.

“Skyfire! Hey! We’re friends! Could I preeeeetty please come along on the mission today? Optimus said I had to ask you if I wanted to go since I’m non-essential and it’s your choice whether to take on more passengers, but you’ll let me right?”

Mission today? Skyfire checks his comms, and sure enough there’s a message from the Prime asking him to transport a handful of mechs to a distant island this afternoon for some necessary but hopefully uneventful scouting work. It seems Bumblebee just wants to tag along to get out of the base, which is perfectly reasonable. He nods and smiles slightly.

“Of course, it is no problem for me to transport additional mechs.”

Bumblebee beams. “Did you hear that Spike? Beach day!” The human whoops, and they both run off.

 Skyfire is about to go get some energon when he receives another ping to his comms. This one is from Ratchet to what looks like at least a third of the crew.

-

From: Ratchet

To: Bumblebee, Cliffjumper, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Hound, Huffer, Brawn, Inferno…+19 more

Re: Check ups

Everyone receiving this is overdue on their check-up and should report to the medbay in the next two days. Tell me if you can’t and we’ll schedule something. I will know if you don’t come in, don’t make me use the wrench.

Ratchet

CMO

-

Oh. Oh dear. Hm. Well.

Skyfire has not been in to the medbay since he got on base and he assumes Ratchet has only failed to seek him out thus far due to how busy he always is. He really didn’t want to take up the medic’s time, he’s known to overwork himself and Skyfire didn’t want to add to it. But now he’s been summoned to the medbay, and he has a better reason not to go in. He’s a dead mech walking, there’s nothing Ratchet can do about that, and he really doesn’t want anyone to know. From what he’s heard about Ratchet, the medic will just stress himself out over something he can’t fix, and Skyfire will likely get ordered to stay in the medbay to delay his inevitable stroke.

And what if he’s wrong about how the Autobots would react? He is pretty sure they would try to help him even though he is unfixable, but what if they do not? What if they are more practical about it? He is their only transport flyer; they’ll be at a serious disadvantage without him. What if they made him fly for them until it killed him? He just wants a little while longer of something approaching normal.

Thankfully, today he has this mission. He’ll come up with something for tomorrow and after that.

Skyfire finally manages to grab himself a cube, but before he can sit he’s approached by a crowd of mechs with familiar pleading looks in their eyes. They must have heard about Bumblebee’s beach day, and either want to go to the beach or avoid Ratchet. Before any of them can get a word out, he sighs and nods. The crowd of mechs cheers. Skyfire sits to drink his energon. It looks like he’s going to need it.

When he makes it to the hangar a large crowd has amassed. It appears to be about half of the mechs from Ratchet’s list as well as everyone that was actually supposed to be on the scouting mission. All together there are about 20 bots, within his carrying capacity but still quite a few. Some of them appear to be carrying what he assumes are supplies for the party, he sees a net and a basket of energon goodies among them. The bots going on the actual scouting mission look bemused. Skyfire has not met all of them before, but he knows Hound is leading this mission and there are two confused bots on either side of him.

Skyfire walks over to them, wings slightly lowered in apology. Hound waves as he approaches.

“Skyfire! Not that we don’t enjoy a good party, but do you know what’s going on here? Optimus only mentioned us in the comm I got.”

He lowers his wings a bit further sheepishly.

“Er, yes. Well, apparently Optimus told Bumblebee and Spike they could come if they got my permission, and then Ratchet sent out that comm…”

Hound shrugs.

“Well, it’s no problem as long as they don’t get in the way, and I for one certainly don’t mind there being snacks and volleyball. You ready to head out?”

Skyfire nods, walking to an empty section of floor and stretching a bit so his plates don’t scrape as badly when he transforms. It’s probably not terribly safe to do with his energon crystallized as it is, but there’s no way he’s going to give up flying. He faces the exit to the hangar and transforms without any major scraping. He lowers his ramp, and the gaggle of mechs boards excitedly, chatting and laughing the whole way. Their footsteps feel tingly as they crowd in, he has to resist twitching his wings at the sensation. He wonders if he’ll ever get used to it.

The flight is full of laughter and chatter at the back of the ship while the mechs actually scheduled for the mission sit in the front and discuss the plan. He learns that the mechs with Hound are Beachcomber and Seaspray. They’re heading out to investigate an odd energy signal that doesn’t seem to be from the Decepticons but still needs looking into.

It doesn’t take too long to reach the island, and Skyfire sets down on a bright white beach. It’s warm under his landing gear. He opens his ramp and the bots pour out excitedly, immediately setting up their net and some tarps to sit on. Hound, Beachcomber, and Seaspray all quietly converse for another moment before taking off in different directions. They leave a shimmering fan of sand and, well, seaspray, in their wake.

Skyfire takes a moment to enjoy the sun on his wings. There is a slight breeze, but not enough to kick up the sand. The sun glitters across the crystalline ocean, and large birds circle overhead. He can hear more birds calling distantly, as well as the laughter and chatter of the bots nearby. The sand is wonderfully soft against his landing gear.

It’s so warm here…

He doesn’t realize he’s slipped into recharge until he’s woken from it. It’s slightly strange, he hasn’t recharged in his alt mode since before the ice, and the area seems so foreign that for a moment he thinks he’s on a new planet. He’s almost expecting Starscream to be there, complaining about sand in his joints and hiding his excitement when describing some unique chemical property that could be used on Cybertron.

“Excuse me? Skyfire?”

Right. Someone is talking to him, that’s what woke him.

Beachcomber is approaching him with a couple cubes and a container of energon goodies. Is he back from his mission already? It feels like Skyfire just relaxed for a moment, but the sun is lower in the sky and everyone seems to have finished their net game, just reclining on the tarps and eating their goodies.

“Yes? Is it time to leave? Is the mission finished?” He can’t keep the slight note of disappointment out of his voice.

“Oh no, I just finished my area. Nothing to find that way besides a few shells and a fantastic bird. But I’m getting off track, I came to bring you some energon. I don’t know how your levels are, but I figured flying must be fuel intensive.”

“It is when there’s an atmosphere. Thank you.”

He carefully transforms back to root, trying to avoid getting any sand in his joints with the motion. It’s inevitable, sand has never liked him much, but he can try to minimize it. He sits down and Beachcomber sits as well, handing over the cube. When he takes a sip it’s a bit sweet and salty, so it must have some sort of additive in it.

“….you mentioned a bird. What did it look like? Do you have an interest in local fauna?”

Beachcomber brightens.

“I do! I believe the bird I saw was a scarlet-rumped tanager, they’re very talkative. I have been trying to compile information on the animals here in my off time since we landed on the planet. I’m not so much for the scientific study part, I’m more of a geologist really, but I love the nature on this planet. It’s really beautiful.”

Skyfire gapes at him. Someone else compiling information on the wildlife on this planet? For years??

“You have?!” He almost shouts, then winces and tones it down. “Could you send me that data packet? I have been trying to find some sort of database like this! Studying life on this planet has been quite difficult with such limited resources.”

Beachcomber smiles. “Well sure, but I have to warn you it’s just what I could see on my missions and what field guides I could get from the humans. Certainly not everything.”

Skyfire waves him off. “That’s no matter, this will give me an excellent basis on the variety of life that exists here! A much stronger foundation than I had previously!”

He receives the file in his comms from Beachcomber a moment later and immediately begins to download it, integrating it with his other species data. The packet is incredibly useful, the human guidebook pages especially so. They have their own form of taxonomy for organisms on their planet, and Skyfire immediately begins reorganizing everything according to it. Several things slide into place neatly where they were before floating off to the side. Some of the guidebook pages even include information on range, habitat, behavior, breeding seasons, chemical properties…

“This is fantastic! Where did you get these guidebooks? Do you think any humans would be willing to assist me in my research?”

Beachcomber tells him, and then they keep talking for quite a lot longer after that. Their reasons for enjoying the life on the planet are slightly different, but mutual passion is an excellent basis for conversation and Skyfire finds Beachcomber to be the easiest mech to talk to since… maybe ever. Even Starscream, who he happily shared a mission with for years, did not get his passion for alien life past their usefulness to Cybertron. Beachcomber understands the inherent value of the variety of life, and Skyfire just feels… relaxed. He’s warm, well fueled, and talking to the first mech he’s ever met who really understands his passion. This is most certainly the best day he’s had since he woke from the ice.

However, as the sun dips towards the horizon he finds that the warm part is not so true anymore. His scanner tells him it is not actually that much colder out, but the air against his chassis feels chillier in the shade, and he pulls his legs up and wraps his arms around them to conserve heat.

“Skyfire? Do you want to move over to the fire? You look cold,” says Beachcomber.

Someone had started a fire on the beach using driftwood and most of the mechs have now moved to sit in a loose circle around it. Seaspray and Hound must have returned while he and Beachcomber were talking as they are also enjoying the party. The human Spike is there too and appears to be cooking something white on a stick over the fire while explaining it to the nearby bots. There isn’t a lot of room, but Skyfire could probably move to at least be closer to it and it would be warmer than where he’s sitting now.

“Er- yes, thank you Beachcomber. Temperatures have not worked quite right since I woke from the ice.” He and Beachcomber both stand and move to sit by the fire, slightly outside the main circle of mechs. When he turns to continue talking to Beachcomber again, he looks surprised.

“You know, I forgot about the whole Arctic ice thing. I was off on a mission when it happened and was more concerned that it was snowing on the beach in Hawai’i. Terrible conditions for the plants and animals there. The only thing I really heard about it was that we picked up a new bot, and I guess that’s you. You were inside the ice?”

Skyfire nods. “On one of my missions there was an intense geomagnetic storm combined with a blizzard. I became disoriented and crashed, and was awoken during that Decepticon operation in the Arctic.”

Beachcomber whistles. “Damn, that sucks. No wonder you sensors are off. I bet Ratchet could fix them for you. Everyone—“

“Are you really going to leave out that you were a Decepticon?” A voice cuts through the campfire chatter, and Skyfire flinches. Cliffjumper is glaring at him from across the fire, arms crossed. He must have been listening in. The rest of the crowd has gone quiet. All eyes are on him and Cliffjumper. Skyfire pulls his wings in tight, frowning.

“Considering that it lasted less than twelve hours and I joined the Autobots immediately after, yes, I was,” he replies, “I was frozen before the war broke out, I had no way of knowing what was happening, and I don’t really see how it’s relevant.”

A few of the mechs sitting near him and Beachcomber are awkwardly scooting away. Cliffjumper scoffs.

“Not relevant? You shot at us! How is that not relevant?! They don’t even properly—"

“Cliffjumper!” Bumblebee exclaims, running up to the fire from wherever he’d been. “Stop it! Not cool! I need to talk to you over here, sorry about that everybody.” And Bumblebee grabs Cliffjumper by the arm and races down the beach, dragging him behind and leaving deep gouges in the sand.

-

There is a momentary awkward silence. Someone taps their fingers on their leg. The fire crackles.

Spike clears his throat. “Sooooo….. Anyone want to tell some campfire stories?”

As it turns out, the human tradition for campfire stories is to think of the scariest thing you can and try and scare the rest of the group with it. Spike starts them off with what is apparently a shortened version of a human ‘horror movie.’ The Autobots are immediately enamored with the tradition and start trading stories around in a circle. Eventually Cliffjumper and Bumblebee return and join in, though not without a glare and glance at him respectively. Skyfire turns to Beachcomber when he starts to speak quietly during one of the stories.

“Sorry about Cliffjumper. Sometimes he just gets it in his head that someone’s a spy. One time he even accused Mirage, and they’ve known each other forever,” says Beachcomber. “He’ll come around.”

Skyfire nods, but he doesn’t feel especially reassured. He’s not actually bothered by the hostility itself, he’s bothered by what it might lead to. Mirage was probably hurt that his friend distrusted him, but he didn’t actually have anything to hide. If Cliffjumper finds out about him and Starscream, he’ll lose these last few peaceful days.

“Skyfire! Your turn!” says Bumblebee, and he starts. It seems the scary story rotation had made it around to him. He had honestly expected to be skipped over given the whole fiasco earlier as well as the fact that he’s not really part of the circle, and it seems everyone else had as well since the mech on his front left appeared to be gearing up to speak. But Bumblebee has a determined glint in his optics, and the other mech closes his mouth. Skyfire sighs.

“Bumblebee, I don’t think I really—” he starts, but Bumblebee is not to be deterred.

“C’mon, please? It’s not like you don’t have tons of freaky stories! Like you and your partner against the leeches! Or the fire tornado!”

A couple of mechs who hadn’t been at his lunch table perk up at that. Well. He is really not in the mood, but if he wants everyone to forget what Cliffjumper did, it DOES seem that the quickest way to an Autobot’s spark is through a good story…

“…Okay, fine. Just the one,” he says. Bumblebee grins.

He considers what would be the scariest story to tell in this situation. The fire tornado and sand leeches are out, some mechs have already heard it. R-F3, or the maze planet as he and Starscream had nicknamed it, was the most terrifying experience he’d had, but he doubted it would be as terrifying to hear about. Hm… oh yes, that would do nicely. He waits until he has everyone’s attention, then begins.

“When you are out in the depths of space, things get boring very quickly. You can travel for weeks between star systems, with nothing but the gradual shift of constellations to show you’ve gone anywhere at all. There are interesting things to see on the planets when you get somewhere, and some systems are beautiful to behold, but the view doesn’t really change much when you’re travelling. You start to get used to everything out there, understand what each gravity pull and asteroid belt means for the geography of the area even if you haven’t been there before. There’s a black hole there, binary stars there, space whales passed by here a few months ago. That kind of thing.

“But one time, when my partner and I had been travelling towards a system for months, we encountered something… new. We had been travelling to the system because Cybertron’s long-range scans had indicated a high probability of life on one of the planets. We hadn’t checked it on the way, I’m not equipped for scans that far myself. But when we got there… It’s not unusual for signals to be off, it takes time for light and other waveforms to travel. The planet could have collided with another or been bombarded by asteroids in the time it took us to travel there, it has happened before. But the planet wasn’t destroyed when we got there. It was gone.”

He pauses. The Autobots stare at him, wide eyed.

“Most of the mass of the planet had completely disappeared without a trace. It hadn’t crashed into something else, or fallen into a gravity well. We checked. The only sign was a few chunks of debris hanging around that could only have come from the planet, and they looked like they had been torn apart. Gouged with enormous claws…”

“Unicron,” someone breathes.

“We never did see what caused it, but with some searching we did find a few radio signals bouncing around locally, they couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old. We couldn’t properly translate their language with only those, but some things do not need translation.”

His frame shudders. The distorted screams of those organics are not something he’ll soon forget.

The Autobots are silent around the campfire, flickering light reflecting off their faces. They all jump when someone else speaks.

“Ah, c’mon, Unicron isn’t real! It’s just something made up for scary story time just like this! The organics probably blew themselves up or something!” The red twin—Sideswipe? —says.

“S- my partner would agree with you there. But he was also an accomplished engineer and chemist, and he couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer as to what else could have happened.” Personally, he thought it was possible it was Unicron, but also that Unicron is not some kind of evil deity. A lifeform that devours planets would not be surprising in an infinite universe.

“Didn’t your partner die like forever ago? Doesn’t seem that accomplished to me,” Sideswipe snarks, and his twin elbows him in the chestplate without even looking over at him. Skyfire knows Sideswipe is just talking slag, knows he shouldn’t respond and just move on. The twins are some of the younger bots around, they probably don’t remember a time before the war, but he still wants to retort, wants to snap about how he doesn’t know what it was like to be a flier in the Iacon Science Academy, Starscream had to work four times as hard as anyone else to even be allowed to ATTEND, he’s the most accomplished mech in the universe as far as Skyfire is concerned—

But he doesn’t. He realizes that his wings have arched upwards aggressively and forcibly relaxes them, taking a moment before responding.

“He’s not dead. He’s not. I just… don’t know what happened to him.” And that’s completely true, even if the way he said it will make it a lie.

Bumblebee for whatever reason seems to perk up at this, but he doesn’t say anything to him. Instead, he stands to address the group.

“Okay everybody, it’s been a great party but as co-party-organizer I’m gonna have to call it here. Pack everything up, make sure not to track too much sand into Skyfire and make sure not to forget anything because we are not coming back.” There’s a chorus of ‘awwwww’s, but everyone seems to defer to Bumblebee. Skyfire wonders if this is some sort of Bumblebee-specific role where he is usually in charge of parties? His tone had almost sounded like Jazz.

Skyfire begins shaking himself off so that he can transform and grimaces. This is going to be massively unpleasant. Walking through the ocean water can be used to remove some amount of the sand, but never all of it. He walks back to where he landed and takes a deep breath. Everyone else seems preoccupied with cleaning up, so he takes his time transforming, wincing as the sand grinds in his already poorly aligning joints. Everything seems to itch faintly when he makes it into his alt but there’s not much to be done about it until he can get back to the wash racks.

The flight back is a quiet affair, everyone seems to have entirely partied themselves out. So many fall into recharge on the flight back that he has to announce their arrival. Everyone is slow to get up and walk off towards their berths, not even bothering to wash up first. Skyfire transforms back to his root and shakes off some of the sand they tracked in. He recharged plenty at the beach and is not really feeling like trying to defrag tonight, so now is a good time to head for the washracks since they’re almost certainly empty.

“Hey Skyfire, can I talk to you for a sec?” says Bumblebee from behind him.

Skyfire startles, he hadn’t realized anyone was still in the hangar. He turns to face Bumblebee a bit apprehensively. The mech is perfectly nice, but he’s been acting oddly around him recently and Skyfire isn’t sure why.

“Uh, sure Bumblebee. What is it?” he says. Bumblebee seems to shift on his feet a bit, then looks up at Skyfire determinedly.

“I don’t think you should give up on your partner. He could be out there waiting for you! You sounded really sure that he’s alive, and from what you told us about your travels he’s a survivor. There are neutral settlements out there that have hundreds of mechs in them, and Teletraan-1 keeps really good records of where everyone is and has been. I know you didn’t want to share his name, but if you do we could ask around—”

Skyfire cuts him off.

“No. Bumblebee, I understand that you are trying to help me, and I appreciate that, but please stay out of this,” he says seriously, “I do not want to talk about it.”

“But- you just seem so… sad all the time,” Bumblebee says mournfully, “If you could get some closure, you might feel better.”

That would be nice. Not really possible, though.

Skyfire shakes his head. “It’s my decision, Bumblebee. Please do not ask again.”

Bumblebee slumps, but then seems to accept this, straightening again.

“Okay, I’ll stop asking. Sorry. I’ll, uh, let you get to berth now. G’night.” He waves and makes to leave a little awkwardly.

“I appreciate your concern, Bumblebee. You are a good bot. Goodnight.” He smiles at Bumblebee, and gets a small one in return before Bumblebee properly departs. Hopefully he will drop the subject.

-

When he makes it to the washracks they are not as empty as expected. A few mechs are just finishing up and leaving, and Beachcomber and Hound are still attempting to remove the sand that accumulated while they were driving around on their mission. Hound is in his alt while Beachcomber uses the power washer to get the grit out from his undercarriage. Dark swirls of sand circle the drain when he sprays a new spot.

Skyfire hesitates by the door for a moment before heading towards an unoccupied rack. Unfortunately he is not exactly a subtle presence and Beachcomber notices him immediately.

“Hey Skyfire, need any help there?” Beachcomber asks, “You were part of the team today, we usually help each other out after dirty missions like this one.”

Skyfire pauses, considering. It would be much easier to get all of the sand out with assistance, but…

“I don’t wish to inconvenience you, I recharged and refueled at the beach, I’m not in any rush.”

Beachcomber waves it off. “No inconvenience here. I heard your joints grinding from all that sand, it can’t be comfy.”

“You should say yes while you got the chance Skyfire, Beachcomber’s on beach missions all the time, he’s real good at getting the sand out.” Hound cuts in. Sure enough, the amount of sand coming off Hound has slowed and stopped as they were speaking. He transforms back to root, stretching his limbs out to check for any remaining grit. There’s no sound of grinding, and he smiles and gives Beachcomber a thumbs up.

“Thanks ‘Comber, see you tomorrow. You too Skyfire, I’d hang around to help but I really am beat after the mission today. G’night.”

“Well? How about it?” Beachcomber asks.

After a moment’s consideration, Skyfire agrees. “If you’re sure it’s no problem, I would appreciate the assistance. I am not built to be the most flexible mech, and there are always places I cannot reach.”

Beachcomber nods. “That’s the case with a lotta bots, that’s why we usually help each other out around here. Come sit down under the faucet,” he gestures to a wash rack bench with slats in it under one of the shower heads, “we’ll have a regular solvent shower running and I’ll get specific spots with the power washer, if that works for you.”

Skyfire does as he says, and soon the warm solvent is running down his chassis. It feels wonderful, if a little weird when the warm solvent runs over somewhere that he knows he should feel but can’t. Beachcomber starts up the power washer and— he jumps when it hits.

He hasn’t been properly power washed in a long time, it’s awkward to do to oneself and they didn’t exactly have the resources to do so while exploring. He can feel the pressure of the water on his chassis, and it doesn’t feel the way he remembers. Power washes are supposed to sting a bit, sure, but mostly they feel good as the dirt gets worked out from every joint and seam. Most people find it relaxing.

It does not feel that way now. Instead a deep ache pushes itself into his chest, and somewhere floating above it is an occasional uncomfortable sharp tingling pain. The pressure and pain consume his entire sensory processing unit, and combined with the sound of solvent against metal and the feeling of the shower running down his frame they quickly overburden it, sending errors cascading through his processor.

He does his best not to make a face and to relax, but when Beachcomber switches spots he cannot predict how much feeling he’ll have there. The intermittent shock by a wave of tingles and occasional correct warm sting makes him almost flinch away each time. He knows there is a way to turn off those reflexes, but there are scraplets buzzing in his processor, and he cannot focus on anything but holding still.

The pressure washer cuts off. He resets his optics, and finds he can think again, though the heat of the shower and light of the room are still distracting.

“You okay there mech?” asks Beachcomber. He sounds concerned; it must be noticeable how Skyfire was not relaxing into the spray.

“I… yes. Fine,” he says. He receives a raised brow in response.

“Are you sure? You are ah, gripping that bench pretty tight.”

Skyfire looks down to find that sure enough, he has a death grip on the bench beneath him. He immediately releases it and finds that his fingers have left slight dents in the metal. His hands hurt from the strain, and he rubs them together in his lap trying to dispel the ache.

“I ah… yes, I am fine. It is just my sensor net. It is not really properly calibrated for anything anymore. The pressure washer was not what I expected.”

Beachcomber tilts his head. “But mech, that doesn’t sound fine at all. It looked like it was hurting you! You should’ve said somethin’!”

Skyfire stares at him, surprised. That… hadn’t occurred to him. He’s used to powering through uncomfortable situations. In both academies he’d attended before his expedition with Starscream it had been expected that you would fall in line and not complain if you wanted good standing. He hasn’t quite figured out the Autobots’ social hierarchies yet. It’s quite clear they’re more lenient than the Decepticons and both the Military and Science Academies, but all that means is that he doesn’t know where the lines are.

“I am sorry. Next time I will.” He definitely will. That is not an experience he wishes to repeat. He hears Beachcomber set the power washer back on its hook, and then a clank as he sits next to him.

“You should go see Ratchet tomorrow, Skyfire. He’s doing checkups on almost everybody. You shouldn’t be in pain like that from a wash,” he pauses, “Or, now that I think of it, from transformin’ either. I thought it was just the sand, but was that hurting you?”

Skyfire shakes his head. “I don’t want to take up Ratchet’s time, he has so many people to see already. I’m fine.”

“Ratchet’s a good medic, it would probably cost him more time chasing you down than fixing you would.” Beachcomber points out.

And then cost him time upon that trying to fix what cannot be fixed. But Beachcomber doesn’t know that, and if Skyfire says he won’t go he might tell Ratchet, so...

“Okay, I’ll go see him tomorrow if I have the chance,” Skyfire says. It’s a lie, not even a technically-the-truth, so saying the words is like pulling scraplets. He hates lying like this, he just met this mech today and he’s already lying to his face. But Beachcomber seems to buy it well enough, or at least doesn’t ask anything more.

“Did you need any help washing up?” Skyfire asks.

Beachcomber shakes his head. “Hound got me already. Let me know when Ratchet fixes you up, I’d be happy to help you finish the wash. It’s been great gettin’ to know you today.”

“Yes, it was quite nice to talk to you Beachcomber. Thank you.” He smiles and turns off the main faucet that’s still been running, standing to leave.

“See you later, Skyfire. Don’t be a stranger,” Beachcomber says, waving.

Skyfire waves back, but when he exits the washrack he slumps. Slag, what is he going to do?

-

Beachcomber waves to Skyfire as he leaves. It’s been real nice getting to know the bot today, he had no idea there was another Autobot who shared his enthusiasm for nature. The few times he’d seen Skyfire around before he’d struck him as a bit of a loner, and quiet, too. But talking to him he wasn’t quiet at all, he’s passionate and happy to talk when he’s not on his guard. The way the beach day went he can understand why he’d avoid other bots. Cliffjumper is suspicious of him, and enough to be vocal about it, but some other bots are too and just aren’t saying anything. They’re probably avoiding him. It must be pretty uncomfortable for Skyfire, and that’s not even mentioning the pain the mech is obviously in. Beachcomber feels bad for not noticing his discomfort with the pressure washer sooner. He had looked completely miserable, eyes squeezed shut and gripping the too-small bench like it had killed his amica. He really needs to go see Ratchet.

Beachcomber stands from the bench, but something catches his eye as he is about to leave. In the last of the sand and solvent trickling down the drain there is something glittering in the light. He bends down to get a closer look.

Small purple crystals shine amongst the grains of sand.

Chapter Text

Defragging that night is even more uncomfortable as ever. When he powers down his frame is still crammed onto the too-small berth, curled up in defense against the cold his sensors are convinced is there. The sand that’s still stuck in his joints itches and grinds every time he moves. His dreams are filled with gunfire and snow, a hand reaching for his own as he is buried alive, and cold cold cold cold cold. His systems shutting down one by one, trapped in the dark as he is slowly dragged towards death. He can’t move, he can’t see, but he can feel himself slipping away. Then a shock, frying him from the inside out, and he jolts back to awareness in his berth.

Checking his chronometer, he finds that it’s late in the day shift. Everyone will be up and about now, including Ratchet. He must either avoid Ratchet at all costs or come up with some sort of excuse not to see him today or ever. Unfortunately, the mech’s reputation is one of great tenacity, so avoidance will only work for so long, and it will have to be a hell of an excuse, to borrow an English phrase.

He also has no idea what he’s going to say to Beachcomber. The thought of avoiding him makes his spark shrink in its casing, but he would notice that Skyfire hasn’t talked to Ratchet yet.

The first and best thing he can do for now is get out of the Ark. Ratchet might hunt him down if he stays here; he needs to leave. Peeking out his door there doesn’t seem to be anyone around, so he hurries as best he can to the nearest exit and transforms, jetting into the blue morning sky.

He flies in the direction of the nearest ocean, hoping to wash all of the sand out of his joints that way. The sky is bright blue and completely cloudless, the heat of the sun glares down on the desert landscape below. This place too is full of life. He accesses the files Beachcomber sent him as he flies, he learns about several new taxonomic groups before he makes it to the ocean. His dilemma has not disappeared, but at least he can be in a better mood about it.

Once he’s a few hundred feet out over the ocean he descends and dives in. The top layer of water is quite warm. He’ll have to make sure to stay above the thermocline, but this should do nicely to wash the sand out. The saltwater is not ideal since it’s more likely to cause rust and damage his paint, but he’s not particularly concerned.

Looking down into the depths, he can see distant colorful shapes swimming. They must have fled when he dove in. A look at the humans’ guidebooks tells him that these are all classified by them as kinds of fish, even though their own taxonomic system isn’t very clear on what is and isn’t a fish. This is understandable when you name things before figuring out how they’re all related, plenty of planets have this happen. Certain body shapes are better for certain environments, so convergent evolution can cause problems with classification done before genotyping.

Working the sand out of his joints takes longer than he’d like with just the ocean water. Starscream always used to complain about having to clean with water instead of proper solvents. He absolutely refused to bathe in saltwater like this since it causes rust so easily, he opted to deal with sandy joints until they could find some freshwater at a minimum. Of course, then he’d complain the whole way about the sand, but Skyfire hadn’t minded. Recreational complaining was just what Starscream did. Skyfire isn’t sure that he knows another way of opening conversations.

It’s even how he’d opened when they’d met; he just sat down by Skyfire in class and started loudly complaining about grounders’ limited understanding of astrophysics and how few fliers were in the academy. Skyfire had been shocked at how casually he had insulted the institution, it was hard enough for fliers to get in! Was he trying to get himself kicked out??

“They’re not going to respect us no matter how polite we are, Skyfire. You’re sickeningly nice to everyone and they just use it to walk all over you! I don’t see why we should give the fraggers the satisfaction of our cowering.”

He had been right about that. Starscream’s confidence had been contagious, and Skyfire had stopped inconveniencing himself for bots that didn’t give a scrap about him and never would, and started fighting for what was right.

“This is absolute SLAG and you know it, Skyfire! They have no good reason to deny us! What does ‘inadequate mission qualifications’ even mean?! We’re the most qualified mechs in this pit of an Academy!”

“I do know it, Starscream. Which is why I’ve already requested a meeting with the head of the Academy. We’re not taking no for an answer, at least not like this.”

And they’d gotten their mission. Probably to shut them up more than anything, the Academy really hadn’t had any solid grounds for denying them in the first place and likely realized that this could get the ‘troublesome fliers’ out of their way for years to come. In the end it didn’t matter much to him why. They were free.

If only they hadn’t chosen this planet, if only they’d noticed that electromagnetic storm, they might be still.

Skyfire waits to return to the Ark until the sun is setting, then sit and watches it on the roof again until it is well and truly night. Only then does he risk venturing into the mess hall to grab himself a cube. He gulps it quickly, then grabs a second one and hurries back to his room. If he’s going to evade Ratchet again tomorrow it might help to not have to go to the mess hall again.

He jumps when he rounds the corner and finds Ratchet leaning against the wall by his door, wrench in hand. He looks at Skyfire, and Skyfire freezes. On the one hand, his startled processor is shouting at him to maybe just fly away right now, on the other Ratchet isn’t going to drag him off to the medbay in the middle of the night. Right?

Ratchet doesn’t say anything, just looks at him, and Skyfire tries in vain to think of how he can get out of this.

“Er… Good evening, Ratchet,” says Skyfire.

“Good evening, Skyfire,” Ratchet replies, “Though I’d say it’s not really evening anymore, wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose so…” Skyfire says warily.

“I’d say it’s night. And that you had all day today to come to your checkup, but not only did you not do that, you also were not anywhere on the Ark today, even though you had no missions and I commed you several reminders of your appointment.”

Skyfire looks away, trying not to meet Ratchet’s eyes. He can’t read his tone, he doesn’t sound angry, exactly, but he’s also clearly not happy with him.

“I, uh, forgot. And didn’t check my comms. Sorry,” he tries. It sounds unconvincing even to him.

Ratchet looks unimpressed, then sighs, his expression shifting to resignation.

“Plenty of mechs avoid appointments with medics, Skyfire, for many different reasons. Come to the medbay tomorrow. I won’t do anything you aren’t comfortable with.”

Skyfire nods, resigned. This is exactly what he was afraid of. Ratchet caught him, and now it even feels like going to the medbay won’t be that big of a deal. Maybe it will all go fine tomorrow, and Ratchet won’t figure him out. But that’s not likely. Ratchet’s been a medic for a long time even before the war, he’s too good not to notice something is up, even if he keeps his word and doesn’t do anything Skyfire doesn’t want him to. And Skyfire can’t exactly not show up without casting more suspicion on himself.

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, Ratchet.” he says.

Ratchet nods back and disappears down the mazelike halls of the Ark, hopefully to get some rest. Skyfire himself retires as well, setting the cube by his berth. When he pulls his thermal insulator over himself, it burns against his chassis, and he settles down for an uncomfortable night’s rest.

-

Skyfire wakes slowly at first, processor ever so slowly booting up from its power saving state. He tries to readjust his position but finds it difficult to do so. What…?

He tries again. Resistance again. He tries to move his arm to investigate the problem. Resistance there too. His arm won’t move.

He onlines his eyes. Everything appears normal. He is sitting on his too-small berth with his insulator over his shoulders. He tries to move his arm again, and… it feels like it’s pulling against his own chassis, somehow. He pulls harder, feeling whatever it is give way, and suddenly he tears through the insulator like it’s wet paper. There’s still a large chunk of it stuck to his arm, and the rest of it is stuck to him anywhere it touches his body. What on Cybertron..? It appears someone has glued his thermal insulator to him in the night. What..?

He remembers the burn of the insulator the night before as he pulled it over himself. He had thought it was just his messed up sensor net, but perhaps someone had used some kind of reactant glue to fuse it to him. He was gone all day yesterday, anyone could have snuck in, and he hardly has to guess why. It had admittedly taken longer than he had expected, but he’s no stranger to antagonistic ‘pranks.’

Unfortunately, there appears to be no salvaging the insulator, so Skyfire pulls hard and stands up, tearing it to shreds. He’s absolutely covered in scraps of it now. Some of it is even fused to the berth. He pulls on one of the scraps that is attached to his arm, trying to peel it off, but only succeeds in tearing off the piece that was hanging loose. It appears to have a strip of purple across it, stark against the metallic sheen of the insulator. Odd.

Further attempts to scratch up the insulator and peel it away send a lancing pain up his frame, so he stops. Removing this will need chemical solvents, and he won’t be able to figure that out and apply it on his own… which means he needs to ask for help and admit to his theft.

Now that he thinks about it, that may be a more specific ‘why’ the prankster did this; they wanted everyone to see that Skyfire is a thief. He supposes he is technically, but he had more need of it than storage did and would have returned it if asked. Now no one can use it.

Skyfire sits on his berth for a moment, staring down at the torn off scrap in his hand. The purple mark on it appears almost like paint, but it could not be paint from Skyfire. Whoever put the glue on his insulator must also have painted something on it, but he can’t see what. He’s too large and inflexible to see most of his body without transforming slightly, and he really doesn’t want to do that while covered in insulator scraps. He’ll have to find a mirror. There is a one in the washracks, but he’ll have to be careful to avoid the mechs there, and he is not exactly stealthy.

He stands, gulps his spare cube, and heads out to face the world.

-

The hallways are a bit busy with everyone finishing their morning refuel, so he cuts down the less used paths in the Ark to avoid being seen. At one point he passes by security, and it occurs to him that whoever snuck into his room must have been caught on cams. It might be possible to ask for Red Alert to check who it was. That also might mean Red Alert seeing him leaving his room and finding out about his theft, but then again what are the chances the prankster will let his thievery remain a secret if he does manage to avoid any gossip?

The washracks are occupied when he gets there, but it’s mostly mechs cleaning off after the late-night mission they had the day before. They seem completely absorbed in their task, so Skyfire makes his way as quietly as he can over to the mirrors in the wax and polish station. They are set up at multiple angles so a mech can see their whole frame at once. He has to crouch slightly to see himself in them, the tallest bot they’re made to accommodate is the Prime who only comes up to Skyfire’s chest in root mode. He pauses when he gets a full look at himself. He can feel his hands squeeze into fists.

He is absolutely covered in scraps of material. It has stuck everywhere it touched his frame, and where it didn’t it hangs off in long shreds and flutters at the slightest breeze. The worst of it is on his back. Across his wings and cabin the fabric is barely torn. There are still large sheets of insulator fused to the back and sides of his arms and legs, and there is a tiny piece on the top of his head. It is a good thing he did not try to transform or fly; the insulator would have gotten stuck in his seams and it could have been melted by his thrusters and clogged them.

He can make out what the paint says now. The beginning of the first and last glyphs are torn where they got stuck on his arms, but he can still read, glaring out in bright Decepticon purple:

THIEF.

-

Sneaking out of the washracks and to the labs is a feat, but he manages it. Not many mechs visit the labs anyway, and once again Skyfire takes the less occupied corridors. He has to duck into a side room a couple times when he hears approaching bots, but if anyone sees him they don’t say anything.

Wheeljack will likely know how to remove this and probably won’t get too upset about it. If he does, well, that’s unfortunate, but he doesn’t have many other options.

Skyfire pauses outside the labs at the sound of voices echoing from within. It sounds like Wheeljack and Perceptor are discussing a project. He had hoped to get Wheeljack on his own, but Skyfire cannot imagine Perceptor reacting poorly. Perhaps Skyfire should have been looking for him over Wheeljack, even.

Skyfire knocks lightly on the lab’s doorframe. The two mechs turn at the sound.

“Good morning, Skyfire— woah, what is that stuff?” says Wheeljack, walking closer for a better look. Skyfire steps into the lab fully.

“Wheeljack! The antimatter!” says Perceptor, frantically grabbing at something on the bench. Wheeljack’s optics go wide and he jumps and whirls around again.

“Frag!” He snatches a few metal pieces from his magna tray and affixes them to the large smoking machine in front of them, tightening clamps and screws on some sort of container. Both of them relax once he attaches the last one.

“Whoops! That would’ve been bad, thanks Perceptor! Anyway, sorry for the adventurous start there Skyfire, can I assume you need some help with that stuff all over you?” says Wheeljack, turning to face Skyfire once more.

Skyfire nods. “It used to be a thermal insulator, but someone must have broken into my room yesterday and put some kind of bonding agent on it. When I tried to use it last night, this happened. I was hoping you’d have some sort of solvent to remove it.”

While Skyfire is talking, both mechs walk up to get a closer look at the insulator fused to his chassis. Wheeljack grabs a piece that’s hanging off his leg, pulling the excess fabric away so he can get a better look at the glue.

“Hm, we should be able to figure something out for this,” says Wheeljack, “Might need to test a couple things, but it shouldn’t take long. If it’s anything too strong it might strip your paint even if we do use the right solvent though, so let’s hope that’s not the case. Perceptor, you want to take a look?”

Perceptor nods and Wheeljack stands back a bit, still holding the flap of insulator away from his leg. Perceptor quickly examines it with his alt mode, rubbing his chin between thumb and forefinger when he returns to root.

“Hm, yes. It is quite strong, but I’m sure we can come up with a suitable solvent. Skyfire, why don’t you take a seat, it will take a moment for us to mix a few test solutions.”

He sits.

“I appreciate your help. It’s been a long time since I had to do any proper chemistry, that was always more of my partner’s specialization. Except biochemistry, of course.” For whatever reason, biochemistry had always been easier to parse, even when it involved very little biology.

“We are glad to help.” says Perceptor, as he opens a hazardous materials locker full of well-sealed containers. Wheeljack and Perceptor start pulling out chemicals, occasionally holding one up to the other and receiving a nod or head shake in return.

“Honestly, prank management could almost be its own subsection of our job at this point. Same for Prowl, Ironhide, and Ratchet,” says Wheeljack, “Mechs get bored on the Ark real easy, and stuff like this is the result.”

Perceptor shakes his head.

“I will have to have a talk with the twins about boundaries. Pranks that destroy someone’s possessions are not permitted and they should know that by now. Especially when it is someone they are not close to." he says sternly.

Skyfire has to resist flicking his wings in surprise. They’re actually going to do something about this? Even if it’s just a talking-to, it’s more than he’s used to. It is certainly in line with the Autobots’ usual principles, but he is still surprised by it.

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” he says, “but I’d also appreciate there not being too much of a fuss about it if possible. I believe part of the intent was to stir up gossip.”

Wheeljack tilts his head questioningly even as he continues to sort through and pour various solutions. “Gossip? It’s just another prank in poor taste, definitely embarrassing but also super common. Why would you think it would cause any gossip?”

Skyfire’s wings drop slightly, pulling the insulator taught against his back, and he looks away.

“Because I did not really… properly acquire the insulator. I took it without asking Ratchet or any other medic. I believe the prankster knew this and wanted me to wear my crime for the whole ship to see.”

Wheeljack and Perceptor turn to look at him now, and Skyfire obligingly turns around to expose the bright purple letters on his back. When he looks back at them, Wheeljack looks dismayed, while Perceptor’s face is something harder and determined.

“Well, pranks in poor taste are one thing, but public shaming is quite another. Yes, you should have asked a medic before taking the insulator, but it is hardly a great loss! We have plenty and no real use for them at present,” Perceptor says, “That the twins, if it was them, would resort to something so low over such a small ‘crime,’ that is unacceptable. I will be having words with Prowl and Optimus.”

Wheeljack nods, now looking similarly resolute along with his previous dismay.

“And don’t you worry about getting in any trouble over the insulator. Prowl can be strict on the rules, but Prime won’t let him do anything. Otherwise mechs might be afraid to come to him about stuff like this in the future, and people might get it in their heads that public shaming is an acceptable thing to do.” Wheeljack says, sounding quite venomous at the end.

Skyfire stares, unable to think of anything to say for a moment even if his vocalizer wasn’t majorly glitching out. He resets it.

“Um. Thank you. You do not have to— but that sounds smart. Not to allow that. Thank you.”

It really is smart, and this is likely why he hasn’t dealt with anything major other than this while on the Ark. If the Prime actually does something about harassment instead of just faffing on about ‘policy’ like the academies did, that must be why there’s a whole lot less of it.

“Of course, Skyfire. Now, let’s get that insulator off you.” Wheeljack says.

It takes a few rounds of trial and error to find a solvent that will remove the glue without entirely stripping his paint. Even so, his paint is thin in the spots where the insulator was stuck and upon careful inspection one can see hints of bare metal peeking out in some places. Whatever glue was used was unfortunately quite powerful. With this and the saltwater, he’s due for a good wash and repaint.

He leaves the lab with a wave to Perceptor and Wheeljack, the former of which has the distant and concentrated look of a mech composing an important comm message. Skyfire can only hope there won’t be too much fuss.

Now that that whole mess is resolved for the moment, the only remaining thing to do in his day is to visit Ratchet. He really does not want to do that.

Maybe he can go for a quick flight first. It’s still only noon, he has time, and a nice flight might level out his erratically flashing spark. He’ll go to the medbay afterwards. But as he is on his way to the nearest exit to take off, he is in such a hurry he nearly bowls over Prowl.

“AH— sorry! Prowl, I am sorry, I did not see you there.” Skyfire says, offering the mech a hand up. He accepts, dusting off a scuff on his hood once he’s standing again.

“In the future, please avoid running inside the Ark unless there is an emergency.” Prowl says. He seems a bit irritated, which is not ideal. Right when Skyfire is hoping the mech will let him off the hook for his thievery he goes and knocks him over. Perfect. Skyfire had not even been running, just walking quickly, but his large mass makes it easy to run mechs down accidentally.

“Apologies, sir.” Skyfire says. Prowl’s demeanor of military professionalism has him switching to his ground-in Academy training, speech clipped, wings straight, and transformation panels aligning as neatly as they’re able.

“Despite that, you have good timing. I had been meaning to speak with you.” Prowl says.

Uh oh. Prowl has spoken to Skyfire on only a handful of occasions, and all of them have been giving him instructions during meetings or on the battlefield. This is completely unusual, the third in command of the Autobots stopping to talk to the transport? In the Military Academy, bots of his rank acted as if he was not even sentient. Sure, the Autobots have been strange in their hierarchies. The Prime is friendly with everyone, as are much of the upper ranks. Wheeljack and Perceptor have assured him that the Autobot command actually cares about lower ranked mechs being harassed. But Prowl has always acted exactly like the perfect officer as defined by the Military Academy. This cannot be anything good.

“Of course, sir. What is it, sir?” Skyfire answers.

“I have been informed that you have been leaving headquarters alone quite frequently. It would be appreciated if you could keep that to a minimum. You are our main transport option, and if there were to be an attack while you were away it could lead to many suboptimal outcomes.” Prowl says.

“I understand, sir, it won’t happen again.” Skyfire says automatically.

Prowl nods at him. “I am glad you understand.” He says, and then he walks off unaffected, as if he had not just taken the last thing Skyfire had for himself in the world.

-

It takes a while to calm down after speaking with Prowl. As soon as he does, he heads to the mess hall.

The hall is packed right now as mechs taking their breaks and switching shifts alike are gathered to refuel and socialize. Skyfire tries to enter the room quickly and quietly to avoid Bumblebee, and then inevitably Cliffjumper, spotting him. He’s had enough of the constant suspicion for today. For once his intimidating size and poor reputation works in his favor, mechs clear the way for him to get to the energon dispenser the second they see him coming.

If he wanted, he could just fuel up fully and leave for good. The amount of continuous flying he did as a long haul shuttle means he has quite large fuel tanks capable of storing enough energon to get him through several months of space flight or a few weeks of flight in a planet’s atmosphere. He also has auxiliary storage for both him and bots on board him to access even more energon for refuelling.

(On their expedition, he’d stored energon while Starscream held onto the energon converter. That way if they got separated they would both be alright for a while. It’s a good thing they did it that way, because without the energon converter there is no way Starscream could have made it back to Cybertron.)

But… even if he’s practicing being selfish, he is not sure he can be that selfish. The Autobots need him for transportation, and this world needs the Autobots. If he leaves, lives could be lost, habitats could be further destroyed, and he can’t allow that. If he stays, Ratchet will eventually get him that checkup and he’ll be grounded anyway. He’s boxed in on all sides. But despite the smothering tension of staying at this base, he’s going to anyway, just in case he can make a difference. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself otherwise.

Once he’s grabbed his cube, Skyfire immediately turns and heads back to the exit. Unfortunately, he’s not quite quick or stealthy enough to make it out in time to avoid everyone.

“Hey, Skyfire, come join us,” says a calm and friendly voice. Skyfire turns to see Beachcomber sitting by Seaspray and Hound. The table they’re at does have room for him despite the crowding of the mess hall.

Skyfire shakes his head and frowns a bit, apologetically. “Sorry Beachcomber, can I put a rain check on that?” He doesn’t want to avoid Beachcomber, in fact he’d much rather be talking to the mech about their respective fields, but the mechs that ‘pranked’ him could decide to speak up any moment, and Beachcomber is going to expect him to have seen Ratchet already.

“Sure, mech, but in that case can I talk to you for a moment? Just something quick.” Beachcomber says, smiling softly as always.

Skyfire glances around the room. No one else seems to be paying any attention to him.

“Ah, I suppose so, if it’s quick.” Beachcomber gets up from his seat and walks over to him.

“Have you been to see Ratchet yet, mech?” Beachcomber starts, “Because it’s probably nothing, but there was a whole lot of crystallized energon in the sand I washed out of you, and if you weren’t already aware of it you might want to get that checked out. It can cause major problems sometimes.”

Skyfire has to stop his wings from pulling up at that. Okay. He can do this. He just needs to channel his inner Starscream, not that he has much of one.

“Ah, that, I think that’s just from a small leak when I crashed, nothing to worry about. And I was just heading to see Ratchet now, I got uh, caught up yesterday.” He widens his wings out in apology and goes for a sheepish smile, hoping he manages it.

“I’m glad to hear it, mech. Again, if you need any help washing that old energon out after you see Ratchet, I’m always happy to help.” says Beachcomber with a friendly smile.

Skyfire smiles back, a bit more genuinely this time even as the guilt burns at him. Beachcomber is a good mech.

“Thank you, Beachcomber, I would appreciate that.” Skyfire replies. Talking to Beachcomber is still comforting, and he wishes he could stay and sit and talk like any other mech, without these lies and secrets speeding his spark and poisoning his mood. He should probably be leaving now. He’s so tired of this.

“Anyway, I really do need to be going—” he starts, but before he can finish there’s a shout and a flurry of movement across the mess hall.

“YOU! Skyfire!” Cliffjumper shouts.

Skyfire locks up for just a split second upon hearing him. Then he turns and starts striding to the exit, his long legs giving him an advantage as he pushes past a few mechs who are turning to stare at the scene. He can hear someone running to catch up with him.

“OH NO YOU DON’T! Don’t you DARE leave, Skyfire! Or should I be saying Jetfire?” Cliffjumper yells.

 Skyfire freezes.

“I was right. That IS your real name, isn’t it? Jetfire of Ibex? Military Academy dropout—“ he continues.

“That is not my name.” Skyfire interjects, and finds his voice hard. He turns to face Cliffjumper.

Cliffjumper must have dug around in Teletraan-1 enough to find Skyfire’s old records. It’s over.

“My name is Skyfire.”

He chose it for himself. It’s freedom from his old function. It’s his, and no one can decide otherwise, even if the fraggers won’t change it in his records.

“And that’s not the only fragging thing you’re even hiding, is it! Do you want to share with the class, or should I?” Cliffjumper snarls.

On the edges of his overclocked processor Skyfire can make out the murmurs of the other mechs in the mess hall. They’re not all around him anymore, but he can’t focus on more than that.

“My records are none of your business, Cliffjumper! I know you think I am some sort of Decepticon spy, but I am not! They shoot me the same as any other Autobot! They kill humans!” Skyfire says back, vaguely aware that he is shouting.

“Actually, they don’t shoot you like any other Autobot, that’s the fragging PROBLEM! Last battle, you didn’t get shot once, even though you pulled that idiotic strafing run! Starscream could have taken out you AND Megatron, but he didn’t! And the only times you’ve been shot were BY Starscream, right in the chest—"

Cliffjumper has no idea— The null ray shot to his chest, the burning pain of it, the betrayal, Starscream shot him—

“—and yet you were perfectly fine afterwards! And that’s not even to mention how suspicious you’ve been on the Ark! Sneaking away at all hours to go flying back to report to the Decepticons! Stealing medical supplies—"

His spark feels like it is spinning out of control, flashing erratically. The world is fading around him, his processor is burning in his head.

“—you even started as a Decepticon for Primus’s sake! And then, I go digging around like any sensible mech would, and I find out your oh-so-mysterious disappeared partner is none other than—"

Skyfire tries to move forward, to somehow stop Cliffjumper from talking, but the shrill cry of the battle alarm interrupts them both.

“ALL AUTOBOTS TO THE HANGAR! ALL AUTOBOTS TO THE HANGAR! DECEPTICON ACTIVITY DETECTED! ALL AUTOBOTS TO THE HANGAR!”

Skyfire still feels like he is floating out of his frame, but he manages to catch that Cliffjumper’s expression is furious. The mechs in the mess hall are all flooding out through the halls full speed now, and Skyfire follows their tide all the way there and transforms the moment he finds enough space in the hangar to do so. Mechs scramble on board the moment he opens his ramp. Then Prime is there shouting out the location, and they’re off.

This is it. This is really it. Skyfire’s last battle with the Autobots. His last anything with the Autobots. Cliffjumper has put everything together, and he doubts they’ll believe Skyfire over him. He either has to surrender himself to their custody, or… leave.

Perhaps he will get lucky. If he gets back from this mission alive, assuming Cliffjumper or another Autobot that was in that room does not slag him, he could stock up on a few more weeks of energon and fly off somewhere to enjoy this planet until he dies. That would not be so bad.

He just- he just needs to make it a little bit further. A few more hours. Just a little bit… more. His spark pulses uncomfortably in its casing. His processor burns and buzzes in his head.

Just fly a little bit further.

“-fire? Are you alright?”

He hears a voice cutting through his processor fog. His sensors are even more fragged than usual during this flight, but he’s hardly been paying any attention to it. It must be noticeable to others though. Skyfire resets his audio processing and forces himself to divert more attention to his surroundings. It seems the one speaking to him was the Prime. He sounds concerned.

“I am operational. We will arrive at the destination within the next 45 minutes, most likely in 38 minutes if winds prevail. Any turbulence is expected and should not be cause for concern.”

Skyfire spits out the transport script that was drilled into him back in the Military Academy. It takes no effort to pull up, it was supposed to be completely automatic for transports. (Supposed to sound less like a mech and more like a machine completing a function. His teachers would be proud.)

This does not seem to make Optimus Prime any less worried. His brow furrows, and he turns to talk to someone else. He’s not addressing Skyfire anymore, so he turns most of his limited focus back to ensuring a steady flight. It is not clear what caused the initial concern, but he needs to ensure they make it to the destination first and foremost. Whatever problem he’s having is making flying more difficult than usual, and he finds himself swaying and shaking in the air, but he still makes it. In the 38 minutes he predicted, they are high over Seattle, following the smoke to where the Decepticons are ransacking an oil refinery. He lands on a large stretch of pavement and opens his ramp, and the Autobots are all out at once.

It’s time.

Skyfire is back in the air the moment the last Autobot steps off his ramp. He can hear someone shouting, but he’s too busy surveying the area to listen. Most of the Decepticons are here. This is a big operation. The Autotbots are approaching from the north side, pinning the Decepticons to the river to the south. Fighting on the water is easier for the Autobots, so that could be an advantage. As he banks around to survey the southern side better, he hears more shouting and pulls up suddenly to avoid a few shots at his sides.

They’re aiming for his wings. Trying to ground him. Frag.

Not a second later, he hears the familiar sound of a jet closing in on his tail, and instinctively banks sharply, expecting fire. It comes just a second too late, shooting past him and into a large square building. He can hear screams from inside.

His energon feels like it is boiling in his processor.

Skyfire steers upwards as sharply as he can, trying to get above the other fliers. If he’s high enough their shots will fly off into the atmosphere, hopefully not hitting any more humans. The bad news to this strategy is—

—he dodges a flurry of shots from the ground—

—he is now a massive target. He pours more power into his thrusters, trying to lose his tails in the low grey clouds. They fire just as the mist engulfs him. He dodges to the right, but lurches as a burning pain erupts in his right thruster. He flies out of control for a moment, left thruster sending him pinwheeling, before deactivating both thrusters and evening out into a glide.

Unfortunately, he was not really built for gliding, and it is more of a controlled fall. The cloud cover is quickly lost. Two of the seekers, one green and one red, come up to flank him, and he can do little to avoid them. They are corralling him towards the Decepticon side of the battle by the river. They seem to have decided Skyfire is little threat now that he’s without a thruster.

They are wrong.

Skyfire waits just a moment to make sure he and the green seeker to his right are parallel in the air, then activates his working thruster at full force and banks as hard as he can into the turn. The seeker, who is simply gliding, is completely unprepared to have Skyfire’s full mass crash into their side, shattering their cockpit and completely crushing their light-for-flight armor. They fall like a stone. Skyfire lets up on the thrust once he has completed the initial impact, now gliding significantly lower than he had been.

The other seekers take a moment to recover from their shock, and then he’s once again being pelted by a flurry of gunfire. He has no shot at dodging this time, but he tries anyway. There’s a burning blow to his back and his frame shudders, but with the last of his energy Skyfire is able to bank and turn completely around to face the approaching seekers. He activates his mining laser and lands a hit on the red one, sending them spiraling towards the ground.

The same ground, in fact, that Skyfire is rapidly descending towards. He can make out bots’ faces now. In fact, he can make out one single very angry Decepticon’s face— Megatron, raising his canon, mouthing something with a snarl.

The last seeker is Starscream, and they’re facing each other head on, now. Just for a split second. Starscream’s null rays flash, and Skyfire barely feels the impact on his wings, but he must have been hit, he is dropping fast.

He can still see Megatron, cannon pointed right at… Starscream. He is going to hit Starscream.

Skyfire is going to die. He activates his thruster one last time, throwing him tumbling out of control, directly into the canon blast—

—heat, incredible heat—

That part is different, he thinks. Different than last time, but the darkness is the same…

Chapter Text

Starscream snarls as he slams the door to his lab behind him, spinning around and firing upon the first thing he sees. The partly assembled magna-gauntlet melts into slag—

—and then the fake exploding fusion cannon—

—and then the pile of parts strewn across his workbench.

That. Fragging. IDIOT. What the SLAG was he THINKING?! Starscream is going to kill him for it when he’s out of medbay, frag what Megatron or anyone else says, he does NOT get to do that after everything! First he disappears for nine million years, then he shows up again expecting nothing to have changed and then immediately BETRAYS him to run off with the Autobots, and now he thinks it’s perfectly fine to jump in front of cannon blasts for him! How fragging DARE he?!

And now Megatron is going to have him shipped off to get cut up and reprogrammed by Shockwave! If anyone is going to reprogram that traitor, it will be Starscream!

When there’s nothing left to shoot, he turns to punch the wall, leaving a dent in a haphazard line of others. He stops with his fist still pressed into the bowed metal. His wings are shaking hard. After a moment, he lists forward and rests his helm against the wall.

He needs to get control over his treatment and reprogramming. Convince Megatron that he’s the better option. It’s not going to be easy, Megatron did just try to slag him, but if he doesn’t then that creep Shockwave will be the one poking around inside that traitor’s helm instead of him, which is unacceptable. It takes a moment to force his wings to still. The paint on his knuckles is scratched, and there’s still smoke rising from his projects, but that can wait. Starscream storms out of his lab with the same fury he had stormed in with. Mechs scatter the moment they see him coming.

“MEGATRON!” he screams as he strides into the command room, wings flared high and commanding. “I want control over the traitor’s reprogramming! That fool Shockwave has no idea what he is doing—” he cuts off as Megatron raises his cannon to point directly at his chest.

“And what makes you think you are in any position to make demands, Starscream?” Megatron growls. “You’re lucky I don’t destroy you here and now with the stunts you’ve been pulling recently. I had to shoot him down myself!”

Stunts?! He’s hardly been pulling any stunts, if anyone’s been doing that it’s the traitor himself! The fact that he hasn’t managed to shoot him down yet is irrelevant. But he can’t rebut that, Megatron will grab on like a sharkticon and not let go.

“We both know you were aiming for me, not him, and as I am sure your clearly superior leaderly eyes did not miss that fool used the last of his energy to fly in front of the blast. He obviously still has some ridiculous attachment to me.” Starscream says.

Megatron narrows his eyes. “So he is just as idiotic as the rest of the Autobots. What is your point, Starscream?”

Starscream hisses. Is it not obvious?

“His attachment would make my flipping him exceptionally simple. Transporting him to Cybertron would be a waste of energon and that fool Shockwave would completely erase the emotional advantage we have! Give me control over his reprogramming!”

“I will make a note to Shockwave not to remove his emotional centers, then.” Megatron says. Starscream makes an outraged noise, about to resume his tirade, but Megatron cuts him off.

“Despite your claims that this is beyond his expertise, I believe it is the other way around, Starscream.” Megatron says his name like an insult. “Knockout has just informed me that even if he survives the blast, the Autobots have been letting your precious Skyfire fly around half crystallized. Only Shockwave has the materials and expertise to fix him without killing him.”

Starscream pauses, his automatic instinct to fire back abruptly cut off.

…

…What?

Energon crystallization?

Megatron looks triumphant, so his face must have shown his shock, but Starscream can’t waste energy fuming about Megatron right now. He spins on his heel and strides out of the room.

Well, of course, the time in the ice would lead to crystallization, but that’s fixable! It’s been fixable for millions of years, ever since they discovered safe internal energon liquidator and improved on tubing-repair nanites! Why wouldn’t the Autobots have fixed this?! Is Skyfire being denied medical treatment for some reason? Because he was briefly a Decepticon, or because he wishes not to fight for the Autobots either? Fragging idiot Autobots. But he’s still their main transport, it’d be completely irrational to send him into battle with the chance to drop dead at any second.

Unless… the Autobots hadn’t known…

That fragging idiot.

-

Life on the base has been… interesting since they woke up that mech in the ice. Starscream’s trine had known about Skyfire, of course. He had told them of the Science Academy’s ambivalence about the loss of the shuttle, and they’d been there when he’d pulled the heads off the Academy council with a sanguine grin. But it had always seemed settled— it’s been nine million years since then, all the fraggers involved are dead, and Starscream’s been the same ruthless power-hungry mech the whole time.

Until Skyfire.

Skyfire seems to have really affected him, somehow. Suddenly he’s staring off into space and snapping even more violently than usual when mechs try to talk to him. He’s been distracted during the beginnings of recent battles, not enough that most would notice, but Skywarp and Thundercracker are trine. In the battles where the shuttle has showed up, Starscream has tailed him the whole time and been downright explosive afterwards, absolutely trashing his lab and on one notable occasional nearly throttling Dirge when he dared interrupt him.

That stupid strafing run had been the last straw. They’re not sure what will happen when Skyfire does offline, but if someone other than Starscream does it it’s pretty clear that he’d be even more pissed than he already is. That’s the only reason Skyfire lived through that stunt in the first place, no lower ranking mech wanted to draw his ire.

They’re pretty sure Megatron hasn’t figured that part out yet, because if he had Starscream would be in biiiiiig trouble. Again.

Anyway. It was pretty clear that something had to be done, and no one else was going to do it, so Skywarp nabbed Skyfire’s comm code from Starscream’s comms when he wasn’t paying attention and messaged him himself. TC hadn’t approved but didn’t have any better ideas (and Skywarp had also already sent the message), so he went along with it (also known as, came along “to make sure you don’t frag it up, ‘Warp.”)

The meeting was. Well.

At least they can prepare for it now. Not that they can tell anyone, because they’d get in massive trouble and Starscream would be pissed for like, so many reasons.

Skywarp is also pretty fragged off at the whole thing. What kind of mech does that?? Fragging rude AND fragging stupid. If he’s dying so bad, he shouldn’t be flying around doing stuntwork! The Autobots only have one shuttle, are they all glitched?!

Well, apparently so, because the shuttle showed up again at the next battle and didn’t even try to stay out of the fight. Now he’s in their medbay getting unslagged and Starscream has locked himself in his lab to seethe.

They all know what the plan is going to be if Skyfire is repairable. All anyone can do is wait and see.

Well, anyone except Skywarp. Knockout hates mechs other than him and Breakdown in his medbay, says they ‘get in the way’ (though if there’s too many damaged after a bad battle he’ll begrudgingly have Hook help him), but he can hardly stop Skywarp.

So, of course, it’s time to snoop. The med supply closet is the best place to teleport into, it’s a bit of a squeeze but it lets him listen to and peek out at anyone that’s in the medbay. It’s also a fantastic place to get prank supplies, but he can’t let himself get distracted by that right now cause the medbay’s not empty and he doesn’t want to get caught because he wasn’t paying attention again. Oh sweet sandblaster, he’ll be back to rescue you soon.

All is quiet inside the medbay, so Skywarp risks a peek out a crack in the door. Knockout is on a raised platform leaning over Skyfire’s chest and seems to be welding something. Breakdown is preparing and cleaning tools. Neither are facing Skywarp. Phew.

Knockout is focused entirely on the welding and isn’t chatting with Breakdown, so it’s bad, but he’s also doing something about whatever’s wrong, so it’s not so bad that Skyfire’s about to drop dead. He comms TC and tells him as much.

>>TC: That’s weird. He said he’s dying, so why is Knockout fixing him?

>>SW: maybe he lied about the dying thing

>>TC: Maybe

>>TC: Weird thing to lie about, though. And screamer always did say he’s a terrible liar

>>SW: he’s weird

>>SW: hold on kobd are talking

“…what I would like to know is why the frag the Autobot medic hasn’t FIXED this! They seem to have plenty of medical resources, unlike us, and don’t even bother to use them? They sent him into battle like a turbofox to the chop shop!” Knockout rants as Breakdown hands him some more tools. He must be finishing up with the serious life-and-death stuff now if he can rant and work.

“Hm. I’ve heard he’s been flying some risky maneuvers recently. He’s their main transport. Doesn’t make much sense.” Breakdown responds.

“It’s ridiculous, is what it is! Completely nonsensical!” Knockout continues, “The Autobots seem to love making work for their medics, patching up every little boo-boo even on completely useless mechs, and then one of their most important assets has a curable disease and they let him fly into Megatron’s cannon!”

“Maybe they were out of energon liquidator? Or tubing?” Breakdown offers. Skywarp hears some small metallic noises, as well as a small grinder starting up.

“Please.” Knockout scoffs, “They have scientists to make the liquidator even if they’re out, and there’s no way they’re out of energon tubing. I could have Mixmaster mix up some liquidator right now if we had more tubing, but we don’t so he’d bleed out before you can say ‘wow that’s a lot of energon.’”

>>SW: he didn’t lie about the dying thing

>>TC: ? So why fix him?

>>SW: dying thing is fixable we just don’t have the parts rn. autobots do though

>>TC: ?????

>>SW: yeah they don’t know either

>>SW: is it possible he’s just stupid

>>TC: Considering what screamer’s said, entirely yes

Knockout and Breakdown’s conversation becomes less relevant to Skywarp’s investigation, and he finds his gaze drawn back to the sandblaster and other lovely instruments of tomfoolery. Surely they won’t notice just one thing missing…

A few hours later Astrotrain is sporting a stunning new look. Both silver and stripes are very ‘in’ right now, at least according to the human magazines, so really the guy should be thanking him! When he returns to the medbay to put the sandblaster back, it’s dark and quiet outside the closet door.

Skywarp steps out of the closet and glances around. The coast is clear, no Knockout or Breakdown in sight. There are several bots in for repairs powered down in the far end of the medbay, but they don’t stir. They’re probably powered down so Knockout doesn’t have to hear their whining.

He approaches the shuttle.

He’s cuffed to a large medical berth in the middle of the room, which upon closer inspection is several berths pushed together. The cuffs seem almost unnecessary, he appears to be missing his wings and he’s basically a huge walking target. Skywarp winces a bit, he’s had his wings removed before. Not fun.

The wound from Megatron’s cannon looks almost small on his huge frame. If Skywarp took a shot like that he’d have no torso left. Skyfire still got pretty slagged, but the shot missed his spark so Knockout was able to fix him. Or maybe ‘stop him from dying’ would be more accurate, there’s a big hole in his chestplate where he got shot, and there’s an enormous crater under his armor with fresh patches on it. Ouch.

There’s paint missing in some spots on his frame, and not just from the recent battle, some of it is smooth and not sheared. No rust yet, but there will be if it’s left like that. No sign of whatever is killing him other than a huge canon shot, though. He looks fine outwardly other than the weird missing paint.

Skywarp pokes him in the shoulder. No reaction. Not even a twitch. He shakes him a little. Still nothing. The mech is out cold. He considers his airhorn for a few moments but decides it would draw too much attention. He takes another moment to be slightly disappointed, and then warps out.

-

To whom it may concern,

If you are receiving this, it means I have not checked my comms in more than three Earth days, and I am likely deactivated or otherwise compromised. I have set this message to auto-send so that in the event of my death, you will hear everything from me and not make any assumptions based on hearsay.

First of all, unless I was deactivated in battle, the cause of my death was likely due to the crystallization of energon within my fuel lines. This occurred due to my long imprisonment within the ice and was not fixable. That is why I did not inform anyone of it sooner. I did not wish to spend the last of my days distressing everyone. I wanted to be free to study this world, not trapped in the medbay. I was selfish, and I hope you’ll forgive me that.

Secondly. As some of you may already know, I had a research partner on my expedition that led me to this planet. On this I have not just omitted the truth, I have purposefully misled you, and I do apologize for it. I do not know what happened to him, this is true, but I do know where he is now. He is second in command of the Decepticons and aiming for first. I hope you can see why I wished to keep this private.

I wish you all luck in finding peace. Thank you for your friendship.

-Skyfire

-

Starscream,

I am fairly certain that you have changed your frequency or at least have me blocked, but on the off chance that you have not I am queuing this anyway. If you are receiving this message, it means that I have not checked my comms in three Earth days and am most likely dead.

I am not sure that there is anything you want to hear from me. That being the case, I will keep this brief.

I am sorry. I miss you. I hope you will find happiness.

-Skyfire

-

It’s been so long. So long in the dark. No pain. No feeling. Not even cold, anymore. Nothing. Nothing surrounds him, but he is not gone, yet. Other systems offlined one by one, but he’s still conscious, just sitting. Waiting. He will succumb soon, he knows, and enter proper stasis lock. He has to believe someone will come for him. Has to believe Starscream made it out and is getting help. He just has… to… wait…

Skyfire onlines incrementally. He feels as though he’s slowly rising through a deep ocean, systems restarting one by one. His frame feels… strange, somehow. Heavy, almost weighted down, and there’s something else… It takes a moment for his sluggish processor to realize what it is. Nothing hurts, nothing at all, but in the place of the pain his frame feels leaded. Like something is holding him in place on… something else. He cannot feel what he is laying on, and his hearing and vision have not booted back up yet. He attempts to move his wings and with a jolt realizes he cannot feel anything.

He is trapped.

How did he— what— he can’t be stuck, not again, he just got free—

He can feel his spark speed as he tries to force his systems online faster, trying to force himself to move despite the heavy ice on his frame.

Not again, not again, not again, he can’t be trapped again, please, Starscream, he’s sorry, please, anybody—

Abruptly, audio returns.

“—fragging snuff his spark! Get ready to administer—"

“—hear me? Calm down! Unless you prefer—"

“—idiot Autobot medics—"

He can hear. He can hear someone shouting, which means he is not back in the ice, at least not anymore. He may still be trapped, but not like that.

He is okay. He is alright. He is— fine. Okay. Good. Okay.

Skyfire tries to concentrate on the voices he’s hearing, attempting to slow his spark from spinning like a top.

“Spark-spin is evening out.” says a gruff voice.

“Yes, I see that. No need for the blockers, then. Hey, big white and stupid, can you hear me?” says another, much smoother voice.

Big white and… he frowns. Hey.

He tries to online his visual and vocal systems again, and this time they respond. Above him is a very purple ceiling.

“There is no need to be so rude…” he says. Speaking is easier than he expected. He must not have been in stasis for long this time.

“Rude? I’m just stating the facts, here. Any mech in your condition pulling stunts like you did must be fantastically stupid!” Smooth voice says. Skyfire turns his head and sees a sharp red racer-type mech glaring down at him from a raised platform. He seems unimpressed.

“Maybe I figured that if I could drop dead any second anyway it didn’t matter how I flew.” Skyfire says.

“It does matter, because then I get stuck with cleanup duty afterwards. The rest of this ship is bad enough, I don’t need to deal with Autobots dropping in willy nilly as well.” The mech says tetchily.

Okay. This is a Decepticon medic. He must be in the Decepticon medbay. A quick scan shows the barometric pressure is about what he’d expect from being a few hundred meters underwater. So he’s been captured, and this mech was put in charge of fixing him. From what he recalls, that must have been quite the task.

“Ah, I’m sorry about that. Thank you for fixing me.” Skyfire says. The red mech looks momentarily thrown off, but quickly regains his composure.

“Hmph. You’re welcome. Not that you’re really fixed, per se, I don’t have the materials to fix this kind of damage. You’re only being woken up so that I can assess whether it’s safe to move you to the brig. You are taking up three medical berths.” The mech says, descending the platform to work on something on a datapad.

Skyfire looks down at himself. He is taking up three medical berths. There are cuffs securing him to them by the wrists. Experimentally, he tries to move a hand. It responds, and… doesn’t hurt. It does feel strangely dampened, though, like his hand is wrapped in several layers of material. They must have turned off his pain sensors, but he has never heard of that interfering with regular touch. Perhaps this is just how his hands feel in the absence of pain, now.

The size of his chest means that he cannot get a good look at his injury there from this angle. Usually, he would use a mirror or partially transform, but he cannot do that here. Instead he runs an internal diagnostic. It won’t catch everything, but it is a good place to start. The medic may also be willing to explain the rest to him, even with his apparent testiness.

Loading diagnostic………

Energon flow compromised. Pain circuits deactivated. Touch systems compromised. Right thruster not responding. Auxiliary energon storage breached.

Well, it is good he was not carrying any energon in his auxiliary storage, or he would certainly be dead.

Left wing not responding. Right wing not responding. Cabin breached.

Wings not responding? Skyfire turns his head to look over his shoulder at them, and a sluice of cold rushes through his chest.

His wings are gone.

He vaguely recalls them being hit in battle, they probably had to be removed, but still the sight sends his spark screaming back to the earlier sensation of trapped. Something starts beeping in the medbay, and he tries to focus on it, on the fact that he is nowhere near the ice, but it does not help much this time. Even without the ice, he is still stuck, cuffed to these berths, deep underwater, without his wings.

“Oh, for— CALM DOWN! Are you going to make me sedate you?” Skyfire can hear the red medic saying. He shakes his head forcefully, trying to find some way to calm himself. The beeping of the machine nearby is not helping as he had hoped, if anything it is making it harder to think. The medic, strangely, kind of is.

“Breakdown, prep the blockers— good. Listen, you big idiot, you can’t go panicking at every little thing, your energon flow is decreased from the crystallization. You’re going to overheat and underfuel both your processor and spark and kill yourself.” The mech says, and— wow, this medic really has no bedside manner at all. He sounds…

“Stop moving you imbecile! If you hadn’t noticed, I’m trying to weld here!”

Ah, that’s it. Skyfire cracks a smile and lets out a slight laugh. The machine’s alarming beeping gets a little quieter.

“What’s so funny?” The mech asks. When Skyfire looks over at him again, he has an eyebrow raised.

“You sound just like Starscream.” Skyfire says.

The medic’s affront at this is enough to help him ride out the rest of the panic. He is sure it will be back, but for now he is alright, especially after he is deemed stable enough to move and is no longer cuffed to the berths.

The cell they moved him to is actually not bad. The ceiling is a little low, sure, but it is clearly built for holding multiple mechs and is therefore big enough for him. There’s no berth, but that’s no problem for him. He’s dry and protected from the elements, which is much better than some of the places he and Starscream had to defrag on their expedition. It would be nice if the cell was a bit bigger so that he could defrag in alt mode, which has always been the most comfortable for him, but he can still make do perfectly well with this. There is also a guard. Skyfire can’t see them from here but did when he entered the brig.

Now that he has some time to himself, he can take proper stock of the situation.

There is a large crater in his chest just to the left of his spark chamber. Half a meter to the right and he would be snuffed. The inside has been patched so that the energon lines and sharp edges are not sticking out, but he can still fit his entire fist in his chest even with the patches in there. Touching the inside is surprisingly sensitive, he’s been used to the poor feeling of the outside of his body. His pain circuits are still off, so blissfully nothing hurts. The medic could have turned them back on before releasing him from the medbay, but he didn’t, and Skyfire is grateful.

Next, he checks his comms. They are disabled as expected, and thoroughly too, he cannot even see his queue or saved messages. He wonders when they were disabled— according to his chronometer, it has been four Earth days since he was captured. Did his messages send? He hopes the one to the Autobots did, he’d rather Cliffjumper and the other suspicious bots not have the last say about him. On the other hand, he hopes the one to Starscream did not send. They are in the same base now and Skyfire has no idea if he received it or how he is going to react to it. The old Starscream would have been worried and mad at him for even drafting such a letter to begin with. The new Starscream will probably be mad at him for assuming he still has a right to such familiarity.

Time in the cell passes slowly. Skyfire has little to do but reread his data downloads and think. He considers recharging to pass the time. After a while fiddling around with his boot up protocols, he has managed to prioritize hearing and vision booting before other systems to hopefully avoid panicking again. But these could be some of the last hours of his life, he probably should not waste them being unconscious. Still, it feels like he has been sitting here for years.

One thing he cannot understand is why he is still alive. Why did the Decepticons bother saving him? Thundercracker and Skywarp did say Megatron wanted to reprogram him to be a Decepticon, but surely the medic told him that he is dying? What is the point of putting so much effort into saving a mech that’s dead where he stands even when he’s not been shot with a huge cannon? Unless the Decepticons figured out that the Autobots did not know of his condition and plan to use him as bait or ransom… But how would they know? Sure, Skyfire figures the Autobots would have had him stuck in the medbay for the rest of his brief life if they had known, but it is not unreasonable that they would use their one transport flyer until he died. Perhaps Megatron just has that much faith in the Autobots’ kindheartedness?

Pondering it further does not yield any results, so Skyfire tries to find something else to do.

He’s organizing sample tubes when he hears someone enter the room.

-

The Autobots have been in disarray since the last battle.

Jazz surveys the bridge. The worn and weary mechs within are working quietly, but there is still a tense atmosphere suffusing the ship. A lot of mechs were hurt and the Decepticons had got away with not only the energon, but also an Autobot captive.

The loss of Skyfire had been a blow and had left them driving the distance back to the Ark with injured mechs in Prime’s trailer. They had considered the possibility of losing Skyfire, he’s one of their greatest assets and before he came around the ‘Cons had the upper hand on gettin’ around by light years. The problem is, even though they’d considered it there weren’t many good solutions on hand. There are two options, really, and they don’t have to conflict: build a lot of jetpacks and get Skyfire back.

But the loss of Skyfire isn’t just a strategic problem. They’d managed before he was around and they could manage again. The real thing hampering them now is morale.

When he’d first been shot down, it had been obvious it was an awful injury. He’s crashed smoking right at Megatron’s feet. The evil bastard had put his foot on the shuttle’s nose and crowed victory, taking him with their energon spoils back to their base. The fact that Megatron had bothered to take him gave them hope that Skyfire was still alive, but it led to a nasty rumor catching its stride. Suddenly, a good chunk of the Autobots were convinced that Skyfire was a traitor, that his frequent flights were him reporting to the Decepticons and Megatron taking him proved it. After all, some mechs said that Megatron hadn’t even been aiming for him, he’d been aiming for Starscream! It was makin’ it a hell of a thing to organize a rescue mission.

But then, about three days after the battle they’d all received a message from the dead. It had swayed some back over to his side, but some pretty intense arguments still frequently break out over it. Mechs are stressed and strung out, arguing amongst themselves and not knowin’ whether the mech they knew sold them out or not, or even if he’s dead or alive. Ratchet in particular had a conniption when he read it. Prime’d made a nice speech about how Skyfire was a loyal Auotbot and they’re gonna rescue him if he’s alive, but therein lies the problem: is he either of those things? That’s what Jazz has to find out.

Gettin’ in shouldn’t be too hard, he and Mirage—

Teletraan-1 pings. Prime comes instantly striding into the room, talking to someone on his comm and taking up position in front of the big screen. Uh oh. This looks like trouble. Jazz stands from his chair, coming to stand by Prime’s left while Prowl is already at his right.

“—thank you, Blaster. I am going to accept it now.” Prime says, then hangs up. To Prowl and Jazz he says, “We have a call from a secure line. Blaster thinks it may be a high level Decepticon, but they’re not using the Decepticon network and it’s highly protected.”

They nod, and Jazz turns to survey the room of suddenly much more interested bots. He gives them a look, and they all nod hurriedly in return. They don’t need anyone thoughtlessly interrupting the call this time.

When Prime accepts the call, they’re met with the giant face of Starscream glowering down at them. He’s not in the Decepticon base, there’s blue sky and a rocky landscape behind him.

“Took you long enough to answer, Prime. What if I’d been your little taxi, calling for help?”

Optimus pauses for a second, absorbing the seeker’s words, and Jazz cuts in before this turns into a different conversation altogether.

“What’s this about, Starscream? Just a social call or did you have a point?”

Starscream grimaces and starts explaining, and oh what a strange day it is today…

-

Thundercracker is having a bad day. Between the battle, the mysteriously dying captive Skyfire, and Starscream’s… something, his plate is completely full.

Skywarp’s information is entirely weird. The Autobots always fix up their mechs, it’s not like them to leave anyone in critical condition like this. Even as a punishment it doesn’t make sense, they have no other fliers, they can’t risk his health. They tend to have apparent moral obligations to things like harmful punishments or leaving mechs untreated too. (Thundercracker secretly wishes Megatron would consider being more like the Autobots in just that one way.) So why haven’t they fixed him? They have the supplies, they have a reason, they’ve had plenty of opportunity, haven’t they? Perhaps they’ve discovered a gap in Autobot resources they thought were rock solid, or perhaps Skywarp is right and someone involved is being just plain stupid. It’s hard to say. Megatron will almost certainly favor the former, hoping for a strategic advantage even if he does believe strongly in Autobot stupidity.

Now he and Skywarp are trying to track down Starscream. He’s going to get himself properly killed this time, he’s being wayyyy too obviously hung up over what happens to the traitor. There’s no way Megatron hasn’t noticed now if he hadn’t before. They need to intervene before this gets out of hand, but Screamer’s not making it easy. He has their comms blocked and no one seems to know where he’s gone. It seems pretty likely he’s left base, but when they try to intercept him as the flight tower is raising he isn’t there. It’s time to take drastic action. To minimize the risk of getting caught, Skywarp sets up a few pranks on the other side of the base. That should keep eyes off them for the moment.

The brig is almost entirely empty, with only a bored Bonecrusher sitting at the guard station by the entrance. Skyfire is on the floor, his bulk taking up most of the cell. The too-small bench next to him is covered in little clear containers full of dirt and rocks. Must be something science-y. Thundercracker’s never been very interested in that stuff, and it doesn’t look like the other mech is either with the way he’s staring right through them. His wings are missing and he’s got an enormous hole in his chest, but he doesn’t seem bothered by this as he sorts the little containers.

Thundercracker glances back at Bonecrusher, who seems to be getting some light recharge at his station, and messages Skywarp that the coast is clear. Not a second later, there’s a slight electric discharge in the air and Skywarp is standing by him, arms crossed and frowning. Skywarp had been permanently banned from the brig not even an Earth-week after they first built this base. He is, as Shockwave once put it, a menace, but a useful and very loyal menace.

>>SW: what is he staring at?

In lieu of answering, cause he really doesn’t know, Thundercracker raps on the cell bars. Skyfire jerks at the sound, finally noticing there’s other mechs in the room with him.

“Ah— hello,” he says, “Am I being moved? I can have this cleaned up in a moment.”

It’s strange. He doesn’t seem defiant to his captors, just… resigned. Accepting. No other Autobot prisoner has ever acted like this. It’s kind of creepy.

“No, you’re not being moved.” Thundercracker says, “We’re here to talk. You’re going to answer our questions, and then you’re going to take our advice. Got it?”

The traitor doesn’t really look like he gets it, but he nods anyway, then pauses.

“I am not going to say anything about the Autobots. And I am not sure I know anything you’d want to hear besides.”

“Great, whatever, good for you, now why the frag didn’t the Autobots fix you?!” Skywarp asks, gesturing emphatically. Skyfire doesn’t react— without his wings, it’s hard to read his expressions.

“I told you, I am dying. I cannot be fixed. Perhaps it can be delayed, but I do not wish to spend the rest of my functioning in a medical berth.” Skyfire says. He sounds… serious.

Something starts percolating in Thundercracker’s brain. The traitor really believes he’s going to die from this. He says he didn’t want to be stuck in a medberth. That does sound like something the Autobots might do to someone who’s dying, even if he is important for the war effort…

Someone pokes him in the cockpit.

“TC? You’re kinda making a weird face. What is it?”

“He didn’t tell them,” he says, then again, louder, “You didn’t tell them you’re sick! What kind of slag-for-brains thinking is that! We have a cure now! You’re going to be fine!”

Thundercracker can hear Skywarp’s “What the frag?!” beside him, but he’s more focused on the other mech’s expression. He really didn’t know.

“Listen. Somehow you have to tell the Autobots what’s wrong so they can come pick you up and fix you.”

The traitor appears not to hear him for a second, still thrown off by the notion that he’s going to live. Thundercracker wonders how long he’s known this and been hiding it from the ‘Bots. He shakes his head and then puts a hand to it, wincing. A processor ache?

“Can’t. Even if my comms worked, by now the Autobots will not want me back. They think I am… traitor.” He says, with some difficulty. He’s gotten himself declared a traitor to the Autobots too?

Skywarp looks similarly shocked. “How do you keep managing this? Is this some kind of bucket list? Before I die: visit 20 planets, taste Velocitronian high grade, get declared traitor by both factions??”

Skyfire looks to be about to respond, but Thundercracker waves him off.

“Nevermind how. You still have to figure out a way to communicate with science or something and convince them to come get you back. Otherwise Megatron’s probably going to send you off to Shockwave to reprogram you, and Screamer’ll be pissed and do something stupid again.”

That seems to pique the now-double-traitor’s interest.

“Something stupid? Is this about how Megatron was shooting at him?” Skyfire asks, sitting up straighter and hugging his arms tight to himself. He seems to be having an easier time speaking, too.

He was shooting at Starscream recently? Slag. If Screamer’s already in hot water, this whole Skyfire thing is only going to make it worse.

“Yes. When did that happen?” Thundercracker asks.

“During the last battle, when I went down.” Skyfire gestures to his patched chest wound. The big, circular, melted, definitely-from-Megatron chest wound.

Surely he’s just emphasizing the fact that he went down. He can’t possibly mean…

“Are you saying you… you jumped in front of Megatron’s cannon?!” Skywarp screeches.

Skyfire looks… sheepish, probably. Fragging pit, he did mean it that way. Thundercracker groans into his hands, wings sweeping down in despair.

“TC, I think we’re going about this wrong. Clearly keeping him alive and preventing him from doing stupid slag is impossible. Let’s just lock him and Screamer in a bunker on the moon until the shooting stops.” Skywarp says.

Thundercracker is inclined to agree. This really wasn’t a good long-term plan, eventually the traitor was always going to do something to get Starscream riled up enough to get himself in trouble. Unfortunately, a moon bunker doesn’t seem very likely at the moment, so all they can do is damage control.

“I did think I was dying anyway,” Skyfire offers, sounding not nearly apologetic enough. Both of the seekers shoot him a glare at that.

“That’s not the point!” Skywarp shouts, arms and wings waving.

“You’re nine million years in the future and you need to get used to it! Stop poring over stupid little mementos from planets we probably blew up already and remember you’re in a fragging war! Get it into your helm that Screamer isn’t your friend anymore, and he’s a really different person now. You looked all happy and hopeful when TC said Screamer’d flip his lid if Shockwave reprogrammed you, and he would, but only because he wants to be the one to reprogram you. He hates Shockwave. You can’t be jumping in front of cannon blasts for mechs that want to kill you themselves, that’s stupid and you’re literally making things worse for everybody.” He pauses. “Except Megatron, I guess. If you’re trying to lose the Autobots the war, which would be great, then good job.”

The traitor takes a moment to process this. And then another moment. His round shoulders fall slightly, and Thundercracker thinks if he had his wings they would be drooping.

“I just… I do not understand. I cannot understand how he could have changed so much. Even over so many years. The Starscream I knew wouldn’t…” Skyfire’s eyes brighten with distress, and he presses a hand to his head again.

“People change, traitor,” Skywarp says, “Starscream’s not just a scientist anymore, he’s the Air Commander of the whole Decepticon army! He’s ruthless, and devious, and violent, and yes still a genius at science stuff. But also those other things! He’s real fragging good at it, too, and even though he’s a complete asshole, we still respect him. I didn’t know him before his mission with you, this is the Starscream I’ve always known, and it seems like he’s a lot fragging better than whoever you thought he was.”

A new expression settles on the traitor’s face, but Thundercracker can’t decipher it. He goes quiet again, for much longer this time. Maybe they’re actually getting through to him, despite him acting as dense as he looks.

Finally, the traitor breaks the silence.

“Listen,” he says, “I get that you are trying to help me, because you think it will help Starscream. I appreciate that you are looking out for him. I can try to contact the Autobots, though I am certain they will not want to hear from me. But I cannot stop caring for him. Surely you must understand that.”

Thundercracker rolls his eyes.

“Nobody said you had to do that, traitor. Just stop making stupid decisions based on it. Primus.”

“Especially ones that make Screamer do stupid slag that makes Megatron want to blow his head off.” Skywarp adds. Perhaps that idiotic care could be used to make him do fewer stupid things? It’s worth a shot.

Skyfire winces.

“Ah. Alright.”

He seems actually regretful at that.

Thundercracker nods. “Good. Now figure out that science already.”

 “I already told you I can’t—” The traitor starts, but Thundercracker and Skywarp are already walking away.

“Just figure it out!” Skywarp calls behind them. Screamer could do it, so the traitor can too. Science is science, right?

-

And then, they’re face to face with Screamer. His eyes are glowing a crackling red, his wings stiff at his back.

“What are you two doing here?” he hisses, edging around the doorway and out of sight of anyone in the hall. Skywarp starts to answer, but Starcsream cuts him off.

“Nevermind, tell me later. I need to talk to the traitor.”

“Actually, we need to talk to you first.” Thundercracker says. “About the traitor.”

Starscream hisses again. “No, you don’t. Get out. Now.” His wings flare high, he clearly means it, and isn’t above shooting at his trine when he gets like this. Thundercracker lowers his wings and holds up his hands placatingly.

“Fine. Just, be careful?”

“You’re being way too obvious. You’re going to get yourself killed, and this guy is so not worth it.” Skywarp says, but Starscream has already turned his back, heading into the brig.

Well. They tried.

-

After the seekers leave, the brig feels very quiet. He can hear the clank of their thrusters on the floor fade away.

Are they right? About any of it? They seem to believe it. He might not die. The Autobots may be able to fix him. And Starscream… he…

…is walking across the brig towards his cell???

Skyfire resets his optics in shock, only belatedly realizing how much they had been sparking with energy. He’s real and standing in front of Skyfire’s cell. And he is angry.

Every part of Starscream displays his rage, wings raised high and eyes sparking brightly against his shadowed face. He raises his null ray, slowly, and points it at Skyfire’s chest. Again. Skyfire, in turn, puts a hand over the already exposed hole in his armor. Starscream could shoot him, sure, but there’s no reason to let him shoot his weak spot. There’s a chance he might live, now.

Starscream follows the motion, and his eyes narrow. He snarls.

“You are such a fragging imbecile. What kind of idiot flies in front of Megatron’s cannon?!”

Skyfire tries to shrug his wings, realizes he doesn’t have any, and instead weakly shrugs his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Starscream, I—” A small hole burns itself into the purple wall where his wing should be, and Skyfire flinches.

“Shut up!! You don’t get to apologize, not now and especially not in some pit-damned letter! You don’t get to get out of this that easy! I am the one who gets to kill you! You betrayed me, not Megatron! You don’t get to fly off and get yourself killed by him! I will decide when you die, and when you do you will not have any of your sappy stupid acceptance of death or apologies! You will beg me to live and I will laugh in your fragging face!”

Skyfire stares at Starscream, open mouthed. He is still clearly enraged, but some of the wind seems to have gone out of him now that he’s said what he came to say.

Starscream seems entirely genuine in his threats, which is… devastating, really. But he has also had many, many chances to kill him in the past and has not, apparently to a degree that was getting him in some kind of trouble with his own faction. So, he wishes to get revenge on Skyfire for betraying him, possibly wants to reprogram him, but still hasn’t killed him. Surely, he must know that there’s no world where Skyfire would actually do the things he said..? It is all a confusing mess, but one thing is certain: this truly isn’t the same Starscream he once knew. Skywarp and Thundercracker were right. He had known this already, sure, not understanding his friend’s odd behavior from the moment he was awoken from the ice, but this was different. Millions of years have changed his friend, not beyond recognition but beyond the point of reconciliation. Their values are misaligned at the most fundamental point. He changed, and Skyfire didn’t, and now there is no way to fix it.

Despite all of this, he does owe Starscream an apology.

“So you are not going to kill me now then? Since I am still too accepting and apologetic?”

Starscream looks like he might still be considering it now that Skyfire said that, but he forges ahead anyways.

“You are right, flying in front of that cannon blast was foolish of me. Also, had I known that my condition was curable, I would not have been flying in such a risky fashion to begin with, and neither of us would have been in danger. None of this would have been a problem had I gone to the medics the moment I knew something was wrong.” I’m sorry, he doesn’t say, because Starscream’s trine had advised against pissing him off in case he does something that might ‘get his head blown off.’ That would probably include killing Skyfire right now, as he’s apparently a valuable prisoner for reprogramming purposes. ‘You’re right’ has always gone down well with Starscream though, and while he’s still angry it has decreased to merely ‘furious glaring.’ At some point he lowered his null ray.

“None of this would have been a problem if you hadn’t betrayed me for the Autobots.” Starscream hisses in reply. That’s probably as good an acceptance of that apology as he’s going to get, knowing Starscream. Seeing him again, now that Skyfire is used to the shock of the situation, is painfully nostalgic. (Before, he would have shown Skyfire something fascinating to research even if it took more time on the current planet in order to apologize. But this isn’t before.)

“That’s true. But, you betrayed me too, you know. You lied to me about the goals of the Decepticons even though you knew I would disagree with them, and then honestly believed I would go along with such things even after I found out.” He is not really sure what Starscream had been thinking when he had recruited Skyfire to the Decepticons. Perhaps he hadn’t been.

“I honestly believed you would choose your closest, long-lost friend over some stupid organics! You always did care about them too much, but enough to join the Autobots? The fraggers that oppressed us for millenia?” Starscream’s wings and armor all flare up in agitation at once.

“You also chose your values over your ‘closest, long-lost friend,’ Starscream. If it had been you frozen in ice, we would still be on opposite sides of this war.” And that’s true, Skyfire realizes it as he says it. There’s no world where this could have gone differently, not really. If he had returned home with Starscream, and the Decepticons were still set on the conquering of other worlds for their resources, they would have still split apart, though perhaps less dramatically. Perhaps Skyfire would have been a Decepticon until the planet ran out of energon and they began plundering other inhabited planets. With that revelation, Skyfire leans his head back against the wall, eyes flickering. His spark aches.

Starscream growls in frustration but doesn’t dispute this. He must know it’s true too, then.

“Get the frag up. Your precious Autobots are going to be here soon, and you’d better be ready to run. If you get captured again, we’re all slagged.”

Skyfire jolts up fully again, joints crackling but still without pain, and stares at his former friend. What..? Starscream rolls his optics at him, arms crossed.

“I’m just stating the obvious. You’ve been gone for days, that’s plenty of time for them to make a plan to rescue one of their biggest assets.” Then he narrow his eyes at Starscream, mouth curled up in a snarl. “Just because I’m not killing you now does not mean I will not gladly take that opportunity when it comes, traitor.”

“I know, Starscream.” Skyfire nods—

—and then his grief ridden spark, which he’d thought had reached the full depth of pain possible, suddenly catches, exploding into a flaming inferno of agony. Skyfire clutches his hands to his chest, pulling at the metal and the hole there as if he can tear the screaming pain out. His body is burning, his head is burning, he needs to cool down, but no, he can’t be cold either—

“—the frag is wrong with you?!” He hears briefly, senses cutting in and out erratically.

“—out! What—”

Flashes of red and purple. Bright light. Someone touching him.

“—should be off—"

“—energon—spark blockage!”

Gunfire. Yelling.

More yelling.

Then, somehow, the faces of the Decepticon medic, Ratchet, and Starscream are hovering over him. He tries to say something, and he must manage it, because the former two glance over at him and Starscream pins him with an intense glare. Right. He’s not allowed to die yet.

He’s trying.

Then, blackness again, with only the muffled sensations of hands on his chassis standing between him and emptiness.

The next time his vision cuts in, Starscream is gone, and the burning pain with him. The sound of gunfire is back. He tries moving his head and finds it easy. Ratchet and Knockout are arguing about something to do with moving him. Ratchet seems to win, because Knockout grimaces, transforms, and drives away at top speed. Good. It would probably be bad if it got found out that he’d kind of helped the Autobots, even if he had been told to keep Skyfire alive.

He sits up fully, surveying his surroundings. Autobots are posted at the entrance to the hall, guns at the ready. There is no fighting happening in the brig, but that won’t be lasting long. The Decepticons must know why the Autobots are here. The gunshots he’s been hearing are distant but growing closer. The Prime suddenly races into the room, skidding to a stop next to Ratchet.

Ratchet turns to Skyfire then.

“Since you can’t fly, we’re using jetpacks to get you out of here. We’ll attach two to your sides, then Prime will grab you and use his own jetpack to steer.” Ratchet is already moving, grabbing jetpacks from the Prime’s trailer for Skyfire to use. Skyfire in turn braces himself against the cell wall, forcing himself to stand. It’s difficult, but he manages it, and Ratchet and Wheeljack attach the jetpacks to him. They seem quite small but must be powerful if just one can lift the Prime. Then, the Prime gives a signal and Hound pushes a button. Skyfire has to brace himself against the wall again as the entire base shakes with an explosion and water begins pouring in.

“Now!” shouts the Prime. He grabs Skyfire around the cabin where his wings should be and pulls him towards the wall where the water is pouring in, a torrent of pure force, and then they’re rocketing up through the piercingly cold ocean. He can see the glowing lights of the Decepticon base, like undersea stars, rapidly fading into the abyss. Some of the following bots are still visible, though, by their eyes, their jetpacks, and the bright flashes of laser fire at the tailing Decepticons.

They break the surface with a jolt, other Autobots bursting from the spray without warning all around them, a swarm of bots built for land rocketing into the sky, escaping the danger beneath. He is reminded of the flying fish, as Beachcomber had told him they’re called. Born of the sea, yet flinging themselves, shimmering, tenuously, into the air.

He desperately hopes they’ve all managed to escape the sharks.

The Decepticon flight tower is rising from the sea as they hurtle away, releasing angry, battle-ready seekers. It’s too little too late. The seekers could catch up, but the Autobots will have reached the shore by then and have reinforcements.

He makes out Starscream and his trine among them, just tiny specks from here. His spark fills with hope for them.

He misses him. But he knows, now, they can’t be together until this war is over. And maybe not even then.

Goodbye, Starscream.