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He laid on the hard earth, wing joints screaming at him as they pin underneath him. Normally, he wouldn't be laying on the filthy ground like this, allowing dirt and grit to get into his seams.
But, it's what you wanted. It's how Starscream first experienced this with you. And now he doesn't think he could do it any other way.
“See this one?” You say, pointing up, a finger tracing the sky.
He mimics your action, an arm raising up as a sharp digit traces the same constellation. “Sort of.”
“It's called Orion,” you explain.
Starscream raises an optical ridge, not commenting on the namesake of the constellation.
“Orion, according to Greek mythology, was a mighty hunter who once boasted about killing all the animals on Earth. The Earth goddess Gaia didn’t really like that so she killed him with a scorpion.”
“Scorpion…,” he muttered, doing a quick mental search.
“It’s an arachnid. Anyways, the constellation also contains two of the brightest stars in the sky: Betelgeuse and Rigel. There are several other stories about the constellation, but that’s the one I’m most familiar with.”
He used to be your brightest star.
His optics focus hard on the pattern of stars, mapping them out the best he could.
“Humans,” Starscream huffs after a moment, stirring the dirt around you and him. “Such interesting customs.”
This was your third stargazing date. His least favorite type of date, but he would never admit it to you. Of course, Starscream would keep up the facade that he did enjoy it. A facade he's sure you saw through; you always saw through him.
“There's a lot more constellations, but most are seasonal. And it depends on the hemisphere you live in,” you murmur, arm falling to rest on your chest.
“Do they all have a story?”
“I think so, but don’t quote me. I’m not a constellation fanatic or anything.”
“I do think it's funny how you humans make stars into little pictures,” he muses, “but I still don't understand your kind’s custom of astrology.”
You laugh, the warmth of it flooding his lines. “Yeah, astrology can get complex. I don't really look into it.”
A blanket of quiet falls upon you two. It was a still night; no breeze, no hum of a nearby city, no cry of a coyote or cricket. Just the silence of the Earth accompanied by the familiar sounds of Starscream’s internal systems.
“I’m sorry” you mutter softly after a moment. “I know this isn't your favorite date.”
Starscream jolts slightly, faceplate balking as he searches for what to say.
“I never said that,” he says with a twinge of worry. How can you always see through him?
You turn your head, appraising him with a look that says “yeah right”.
“You don't have to say it out right. Your demeanor says it all. And I still remember what you said on our first ‘date’ when I took you stargazing.”
Of course, you remember that, he thinks to himself. Starscream vents softly, not meeting your gaze. “I do enjoy these dates, but, Primus, they remind me of my early life.”
“Talk to me, Star.”
Starscream remembers the conversation like it was only days ago. But it's been years. Many, many moons ago. And he never knew years could feel so short.
He lifts the same arm, traces the same constellation with the same sharp digit. Your voice plays in his processor like a melody as he recounts the story of Orion before slipping back into the memory.
Orion. What an intriguing constellation you pointed out. Reminds him too much of himself.
“I’ve already told you most of my sob stories,” he says bitterly.
“Tell me again, Star,” you plead, eyes shining. “I always want to listen. It might help you heal even more.”
Starscream’s quiet for a few moments, trying to gather up both words and courage before he speaks.
“I…was a scientist. A very, very long time ago. Long before the war. I traveled to different planets and soared amongst stars. I've seen sights you couldn't even imagine! I loved the freedom, curiosity, and excitement of it all.”
A growl rumbles low in his chassis before he continues. “Now look at me. Pathetic, weak, cowardly, selfish. When did I turn into such a sad excuse of a mech? When did I lose myself?”
His servos shake, and you place a small, warm hand upon his. Starscream stills, a shuddering ventilation cycling through him.
“I don't hate stargazing with you,” he says, voice staticky. “I just hate what it reminds me of.”
“Your past as a scientist?”
He mulls over your question before responding. “Yes, but also of who it reminds me of.”
You give him a few beats of silence, squeezing his servo a little, letting him know that you're here no matter what.
Starscream fights the shudder that racks his frame. Fat years of lubricant brim his optics that don't go away no matter how hard he cycles them. His dermas press into a thin line as his throat burns with grief.
“I am also reminded of Jetfire. A…colleague of mine.”
“Colleague?”
Starscream grumbles a bit before sighing. “Perhaps more.”
You wait for him to continue.
“Jetfire and I explored countless planets together. He loved observing the fauna and flora of different planets. He had such a very strong moral code. Extremely loving, benevolent, kind, any iteration of those words. Jetfire was much bigger than me and yet so much more gentler than I ever was.
Most of all, he adored stars. He had a list of all the types of stars, named each one we soared past. Always kept a datapad on him for little scribbles of each star, fauna, and flora we found. Said one day, we’ll publish a book.”
Starscream shook slightly, servo curling over your hand as he tried to compose himself.
“I was his star,” he choked out, barely intelligible through the static. “He said I burned the brightest.”
“‘My Star’,” he used to say. “‘You’re my bright star’.”
His tears catch the faint moonlight as you watch them roll down his faceplate. It's not the first time you've seen him cry but it's gut-wrenching all the same. You move closer to him, pressing yourself up against his arm.
“You remind me so much of him,” Starscream confesses, laughing weakly. “You’re kind and gentle like him in certain ways. But more of a spitfire. Jetfire would have loved you. He would've taken such good care of you.
“But frag it all, I fragged up. I lost him. I lost myself. And I blame myself with each passing cycle because if I could change the past, then I would not hesitate to do so.”
A pang of hurt shoots through you, and you chide that selfish part of yourself. You know Starscream loves you, but you cannot blame him for wanting his old life. He's been in war for most of his lifetime, lost more than you could ever imagine, been hurt in ways you will never know. If you could give him his perfect life at the expense of never knowing him, then you would gladly do so. He wasn't always your star, but you would want him to keep burning brightly regardless.
As you stew in your depressed state, Starscream is clearing his vox, helm turning to face you as optics bathe you in red light.
“But, if I changed the past,” he murmurs, smiling weakly, “then I never would've found you, sweetspark.”
His words have your face burning a bright red, and your breath catches in your throat. You curl into him further, never looking away from his face.
Without hesitation, Starscream is pulling you up onto his chassis, servos cradling you against him. His spark thrums, warm and strong and steady under your cheek. The rumbles soothe your aching heart; the warmth spreading to your bones. He feels like home, and you can only hope that he feels that way with you too.
“Starscream, I –”
In a fit of both rage and grief, Starscream cuts the memory off and sits up quickly, bringing his knees up to his chassis. He rests his helm on his knees, unable to face the stars. Optics screwed shut, he can’t stop the flow of tears that stream down his faceplate, dotting the dirt beneath him. His spark oscillates fitfully, tank twisting and throat tight as he swallows hard. The once quiet night air is filled with the hollow sobs leaving Starscream’s metal frame and the stutter of his engine.
It takes a while for him to compose himself; his faceplate is stained with lubricant, wings droop upon his back, and he just feels so tired. He’s been tired for a long time and has known pain for the better half of his life. But with you? When Starscream spent these last few years with you? Primus, he’d give anything to experience it all over again.
You had been the air under his wings. Not energon, not his lifeforce. You were his freedom. You loved him, healed him, and forgave him. For so long, he had not noticed the chains that confined him; for so long, Starscream believed those chains were really a promise for a new life.
And now he feels those chains once more, coiling and constricting his spark. The chains of grief grow ever tighter, reminding him of those he lost. Of those he has failed.
Starscream opens his optics, dragging them across the ground to finally land on the spot he’s been avoiding these past few weeks.
The earth isn’t as freshly turned anymore; little grasses begin to creep upon the edges as the soil becomes more settled. A simple headstone lies at the end with your name and birth date. And…your death date. Your grave sits alone, not in a cemetery. You chose to be buried close to your farmhouse and workshop, away from prying eyes because you knew he’d want to visit. You couldn’t deny Starscream that right.
Fresh tears flood his optics as his dermas curl over his denta, a sob ripping itself from his vox. His digits dig into his plating, scratching it.
The pain is bright and stinging, and he believes – no, he knows – that this has to be the most painful thing he could ever experience. Starscream’s helm turns to the stars which burn brilliantly, and for a second, he envies them. To be so big, so vast, and when the time comes, to fizzle out and cease to be in a glorious finale.
And he’s screaming. Screaming into the stars in a broken, staticky mix of both Cybertronian and Vosian dialect. Screaming how he wishes it were him, wishes he could have one more cycle with you and with Jetfire. But he’s alone. Alone on this planet with nothing more than a headstone knowing of his existence, his true existence.
Because he’ll scream at the stars into knowing your existence.
You said you’d always be here for him no matter what.
But you’re not. No matter what, you’re not.