Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Darkness

Everything is dark.
A calm darkness? Or one to be feared?
Well… whatever it is, there must be something, right?

Starscream opens his optics — which seems like a good idea until the corridor light and the purple barrier of his cell blind him. He squints, letting out a small, pained sound.
Wait—
Corridor?
Purple barrier?
That means…
No.
No.
NO.

Starscream launches himself to his pedes so fast it seems impossible; his joints even crack from the force and effort.
He’s back at the Ghost base. Again.
Caged again.
From one prison to another, like some kind of Cyber-dog… or maybe Cyber-dogs had a better life than he did.

He throws himself at the force field, which shimmers mockingly in his face.
He slams into it.
"Ahg— totally impenetrable, as always."
He doesn’t want to be here. Locked away. Again. No. Anything but this.
He feels the walls of the cell closing in on him, the ceiling pressing down, the floor sinking beneath him. His vents open and close too fast, his chassis rises and falls in panic, his spark pounding painfully against its chamber. He feels trapped. Suffocated.

Then he starts punching the field — over and over — hoping it’ll finally give in. He just wants out.
He wants to fly. To be in the sky, where no one can hurt him.
He just wants peace.
Is that too much to ask?

He hits it again, and again, and again, desperate to escape.
He feels his digits giving way before the field ever does, but he keeps hitting.
He can’t stay here. Not again. He needs to get out.

“Don’t bother. I already tried — it doesn’t work.”

A voice echoes from a cell across the hall.
A human.
She’s sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall.

Starscream blinks in surprise.
The Autobots locked up one of those fleshbags?
Weren’t they supposed to protect them?
Then again, not every human deserved that protection — not after what Ghost agents had done. Experimenting on his kind for “information,” or whatever they thought justified their cruelty.

“Who are you?” Starscream asks.

“My name’s Isabel — but you can call me Izzy,” she says gently.

“Izzy, huh? And why are you here?” Starscream asks, genuinely confused at what this little sparkling of a human could’ve done.

“Well, long story… let’s just say I did something the Autobots and Terrans didn’t like, and here I am. What about you? What did you do to end up in here?” she asks, curiosity in her tone.

“Let’s say I…”

The sound of heavy pedes echoes down the corridor.
Starscream freezes.
The steps grow louder, heavier — closer.
He feels his energon turn cold, his limbs stiff with dread. He knows that sound.
He knows what it means.

You will be punished.
The voice hisses in his processor.
And he knows it’s right.

He failed. Over and over again.
He failed to create a new Cybertron.
Failed to keep the Decepticons united.
Lost the Emberstone to children.
And— he eliminated two Terrans… just for power.

His spark aches, thrashing in his chassis.
He doesn’t even notice the mech standing in front of his cell until the voice calls his name.

“Starscream.”

He freezes.
Oh no.

The mech is large. Tall. Strong.
That frame, those servos — the same ones that had hurt him so many times before.
He shrinks back instinctively.
That voice… that posture… that power—

Megatron.

Those hands that struck him.
That towering frame that overpowered him every time.
Those red optics filled with—
Wait… confusion?

Megatron never looked confused. Not like that.

“Starscream, are you alright?”

It wasn’t Megatron.It was Optimus Prime.

Era Optimus Prime

Starscream exhales shakily — relief, maybe — but not much.
The Prime was just as big, just as strong. He could crush him too, if he wanted.
And who would stop him?

Sure, Autobots weren’t known for hurting their own… but who really knew what happened behind their lines? Maybe Optimus wasn’t so different from Megatron — just… less Megatron.

“Starscream, are you truly alright?” Prime asks again when he gets no response.

Starscream stares at him, optics wide with fear and confusion.

“Y-yes, yes, I’m… fine, Prime— I mean, Optimus Prime.”
He forces a weak laugh, trying to appear respectful — maybe even harmless.
If he acts polite, maybe Prime won’t hurt him. Maybe.

“Very well,” Prime says, not breaking eye contact.
Starscream feels like the mech can see straight into his spark.

“Listen, Starscream,” Prime continues, “we’ve decided to keep you imprisoned due to your crimes against Earth, the Maltobots, and the Autobots. You’ll remain here until your punishment is decided, and—”

“Wait!”

Optimus stops as Starscream flinches hard at that last word.
Punishment.

Optimus instantly regrets phrasing it that way.

“Listen… just— let me explain!” Starscream blurts out, choking on his own desperation.
“There has to be another way— some way to… to understand each other, to—”

He can’t even think.
Primus, why can’t he think!?
He was always a brilliant liar — manipulative, clever, fast. That’s how he became second-in-command.
But now? Why can’t he string two coherent sentences together without fear catching in his throat?

Optimus watches him carefully.
Not angry. Not judging. Just… watching.

Everyone knew Starscream was a coward, always scheming when things went out of his control. But this— this was different.

“Starscream, I— we already—”

“Wait! Wait!” Starscream cuts him off again.
“I know I’ve made mistakes, many mistakes, and—”

Think! THINK!

“Mistakes that make me a bad mech, but… ehh—”

Optimus shifts slightly on his pedes, and Starscream panics harder.

“Wait— I know I’m not the best bot in the universe, but I can change! I can make up for everything I’ve done. I can change! Just— give me a chance, Prime!”

When Optimus moves his servos to his chest, Starscream collapses.

“Sorry! Sorry! Optimus Prime!”

He drops to his knees, covering his face with his arms — pure submission.
The force field may separate them, but in his mind, it’s useless. Prime could still hurt him if he wanted to.

Optimus freezes. For once, he doesn’t know what to do.

“Just… let me prove I can be useful! Let me show I can help— that I can be a good mech!”

Okay. That came out well.
Yes. That should work. Optimus Prime is more understanding than Megatron. He must be.
Right?

Optimus isn’t foolish. He knows Starscream is trying to avoid the consequences of his crimes. But those optics… they show no deceit. Only fear. Desperation.

The way he flinched when Optimus moved.
The way he braced for a blow that never came.
He’s not manipulating him. He’s terrified.

Optimus feels something twist in his tank.
He knew Megatron and Starscream’s relationship was toxic — filled with betrayal and conflict — but he’d never truly seen what it did to him. He didn’t want to believe his brother capable of this.

Optimus exhales quietly, then says:

“Alright. I’ll discuss this with my team. But I can’t promise anything.”

He turns around and walks down the corridor, passing Izzy on his way out.

Starscream exhales, a long, shaky sigh.

He feels oddly… proud? Prime actually listened to him. Considered his words.
No one ever listened to him — not back with the Decepticons.
Maybe this time… maybe they’ll see he can still be worth something.

And if they do?
Then he’ll finally be free.

…Because he didn’t really mean that part about redemption.
…Or did he?

Chapter Text

“Careful! Careful!... Careful!”

“Hurry up, we’re leaving already!”

“Nooo!” Twich cried out, watching her champagne glass tower collapse for the eighth time that morning.

“Sis, you’ve been trying to build that pyramid all day for the party, and you still can’t get it done for… who knows what reason,” said Thrash, crossing his arms with a tired smile. “Just leave it. We’ll try again later, together, okay? We need to get to Autobot base before the meeting starts.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know… but I want to finish it,” Twich replied, frustrated.

That pyramid was her most glamorous idea for the party, but for some reason, she just couldn’t make it work. It looked so easy in the tutorial Hashtag had shown her. Maybe Thrash was right—it’d be better to leave it for later. Besides, she was excited: Optimus had called them in, and that could only mean something important. She’d also take the chance to invite all the Autobots to the party.

“You’re right, I’ll finish it later. So... Maltobots ready to—?”

Twich stopped mid-sentence, realizing everyone had been waiting for her.

“Oops,” she said with an innocent giggle. “Then let’s go!”

She transformed quickly and joined her family. Alex and Dot climbed into the truck, Mo hopped onto Thrash in his alt mode, and Robby rode on Twich’s back. The rest transformed as well, engines revving with cheerful energy as they headed toward Autobot base.

Behind them, on the table, one lonely glass wobbled… and fell with a resigned cling.

----------

Megatron ran, his target in sight. He wouldn’t let it escape.

Adrenaline surged through every circuit in his frame. It felt good to train when there wasn’t much to do. The simulation chamber was running at full capacity—transformed into a perfect battlefield for a warrior like him.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his deep voice dripping with confidence.

With a powerful leap worthy of the old Kaon days, Megatron pushed off a narrow platform and launched himself forward. He twisted midair, gathering all his strength into his fist, ready to deliver the final blow.

But just as he was about to strike, a sudden wave of dizziness hit him.

“Or maybe not…” he muttered, losing sight of his target as his punch grazed the enemy’s face. He stumbled upon landing, barely keeping balance.

That was strange.

“Ha! Nothing a former gladiator can’t handle.”

He straightened up, reclaiming his composure. The battle continued—the enemy repositioned, the environment reconfiguring to keep the tension alive. Megatron took cover behind a steel barrier, returning fire and charging his fusion cannon. He waited, breathed, aimed—

“Boom.”

He fired with lethal precision. A puff of smoke rose from the cannon, and he blew it away with satisfaction.

“Training complete,” the robotic voice announced.

“Would you like to begin another session with higher difficulty, Megatron?”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. He still felt energy coursing through him—this had been nothing but a warm-up. But before he could accept another round, a sharp pain pierced his spark. So sudden, so deep it stole his breath.

“Alright… maybe the years are catching up to me,” he said dryly.

“That’ll be all for today. I’m done.”

The holographic structures faded. Colors dissolved back into the sterile white of the chamber.

Megatron stepped out, his heavy pedes echoing against the metal floor.

The corridor greeted him with silence. Since Ghost had left, the Autobot base felt calmer—though maybe too calm. Still, better this way. No humans wandering around, judging.

Halfway down the hall, the pain returned—sharper this time.

He froze, a ringing filling his helm. The world spun violently. He lost balance and slammed against the wall, bracing himself with one arm while clutching his helm with the other. The pain radiated from his spark—intense, electric, almost alive.

“This… isn’t normal,” he muttered between labored breaths.

Cold air filled the corridor. Luckily, no one saw him like this. He wouldn’t bear being seen weak.

The symptoms faded after a few moments. He straightened up slowly, optics flickering.

“About time…” he whispered hoarsely. “Next time, I won’t push myself so hard.”

He took one step, then another—but his thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone.

“It’s strange… these symptoms…”

“I haven’t felt them since the time I—”

He froze.

“No. Not that. It can’t be. Just exhaustion… built-up tension.”

He tried to convince himself, though the pulsing in his spark beat with an irregular rhythm—one he knew too well.

Then, the memory struck.

A flash.

Screams.

His own voice echoing through an empty chamber.

His hands—shaking—holding a crystal of dark energon, glowing with a sinister brilliance.

Then fire: the crystal sinking into his spark, energy exploding through his entire frame. The clash of light and darkness shaking every circuit. The tremor, the agony, the roar.

He gasped, snapping back to the present. His hand clutched his chest as his body trembled, barely keeping him upright.

“No…” he whispered, voice thick with restrained fury. “That part of me is gone. I’m not that mech anymore.”

And yet, deep inside, something pulsed—faint, dark, alive.

He walked forward, the echo of his steps filling the corridor’s void.

“I hope the meeting hasn’t started yet,” he said under his breath, low and tired.

But his spark knew the truth.

Something he thought long dead… had just awakened.

----------

The main hall was alive—buzzing with stories of adventures, wild anecdotes, and the occasional unexpected argument. Every word bounced off the metallic walls, filling the place with life.

Ahem.

A single cough sliced through the noise. Voices fell, one by one, until only the low hum of internal fans remained. Optimus looked over his team in silence; his spark felt at peace seeing them all together.

“I’ve called this meeting to discuss something important,” he said calmly.

Eyes met across the room. No one knew what to expect.

“Well then, we’re listening, Optimus,” replied Elita-1, arms crossed, her tone impatient but curious as always.

Optimus nodded.

“We’ve overcome many obstacles recently. It hasn’t been easy, but we succeeded because we stood by each other. I’m proud of every one of you.”

The Maltos nearly floated with joy at Optimus Prime’s words, while the Autobots simply nodded, though inside they felt a wave of pride coursing through their sparks. It felt good to be recognized.

The atmosphere lightened. Conversations returned—along with laughter, especially from the Maltos, who apparently didn’t come with a volume control. The Autobots, of course, kept things more restrained.

Seeing things slipping into chaos again, Optimus cleared his throat.

“Listen, that’s not all. There’s something else I need to tell you.”

Silence fell once more.

“Starscream has awakened from stasis. I spoke with him and…” He paused, bracing himself. “...he’s asked for a second chance—to work with us.”

The reaction was instant. Voices exploded in every direction. Some stood, others froze, jaws hanging open.

“Optimus, listen! You can’t just let Starscream walk free. There’s a reason we locked him up!” Elita-1 snapped.

“She’s right,” Prowl cut in, stepping forward. “Starscream is one of the most dangerous Decepticons alive. Why should we trust him?”

“Starscream’s the last mech we can trust,” rumbled Grimlock from the back, his voice shaking the walls.

“I completely agree,” added Arcee firmly.

The Maltos weren’t silent either.

“Starscream’s ruthless,” Thrash said, crossing his arms. “We shouldn’t let him walk among us.”

“Why should he get a second chance?” Robby’s fists clenched, anger lacing his words. “He’s hurt us all! He tried to conquer the world, hurt Dad… and he killed Spitfire and Aftermath. That’s more than enough reason not to trust him.”

The silence after his outburst weighed heavy. Even the Autobots lowered their heads.

“Well… sir,” Jawbreaker said, fidgeting with his servos, “my sisters and I aren’t exactly sure about this… so I don’t think we can give a clear opinion.”

He gestured toward Twitch and Mo, who nodded timidly.

“If Starscream’s asking for a second chance, it’s not wrong to at least consider it,” Nightshade offered calmly. “But we can’t forget everything he’s done. Redemption doesn’t happen overnight. It takes time, patience… and cooperation, from both sides.”

Nightshade’s words quieted the room. Some murmured, others reflected.

Hashtag stayed silent. She’d been close to Starscream—she’d heard him, felt his pain, at least part of it. She wanted to believe him… but the memories of what he’d done were still too raw. She slipped closer to Dot for comfort.

The voices started rising again, overlapping in chaos. The tension grew until—

“Silence!”

Optimus’ command thundered through the base.

“I understand your concerns. I share them,” he continued steadily. “But if we refuse to give him a chance to change, we’d be betraying everything we’ve fought for. We’re different from the Decepticons. And that means believing in second chances.”

Some exchanged uncertain looks.

Optimus sighed.

“If we can’t give him even the opportunity to change… then we’d be hypocrites.”

The words hit like lightning.

“We gave Megatron a second chance,” he added. “Denying Starscream the same would be selfish.”

Alex raised his hand.

“Speaking of Megatron… where is he? He’s usually never late to a meeting.”

The door burst open with a metallic crash.

Megatron stumbled in.

“Megatron? Are you alright?” asked Optimus, startled to see him nearly collide with the frame.

The former warlord straightened as best he could.

“Y-yes, yes. All fine. Continue the meeting,” he replied, though his voice sounded more weary than confident.

“Very well… take a seat,” said Optimus cautiously, though concern lingered on his face.

Megatron walked to the back, one servo braced against the wall, trying to hide his dizziness.

“Are you okay?” Twitch asked, fluttering beside him.

“Yes, little bird. I’m fine,” he answered with a tense smile. “So… what’s this meeting about?”

“Optimus said he’s proud of everyone for what we’ve accomplished!” she said brightly.

“Yes…” Megatron replied, distracted. “We’ve been through a lot, indeed.”

“And he also said Starscream wants a second chance to—”

“A what?!” Megatron’s voice sliced through the air like thunder.

Every optic turned toward him. Optimus frowned.

“What’s the problem, Megatron?” he asked, patience thinning.

Megatron stepped forward—once, twice. Each impact of his armor echoed through the room. The tension spiked.

“Prime,” he growled, “don’t tell me you’ve fallen for one of his tricks. You know what Starscream is capable of.”

“I haven’t fallen for anything,” Optimus replied, calm but firm. “I’m simply considering every option.”

“But the fact that you’re considering it—!” Megatron roared. “That says enough!”

“It means that, as a leader, I must hear everyone,” Optimus shot back, unwavering. “I know you don’t trust him, but if he’s truly seeking redemption—”

“You don’t understand, Prime!” Megatron’s voice thundered, carrying echoes of the old war. “Four million years at his side were more than enough for me to know he’ll do anything—whatever it takes—to come out on top!”

Elita-1 and Grimlock stepped forward, ready to intervene.

“Optimus is right, Megatron,” said Elita, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, or we’ll have to escort you out.”

“Don’t touch me,” he snapped, shoving her hand away.

“This is a damn idea forgotten by Primus,” he spat, turning sharply. “I’m done here.”

The doors hissed open, then slammed shut behind him.

Silence.

“Wow… that was intense,” Thrash muttered half amused, earning an elbow from Hashtag.

“What? It’s true,” he whispered, rubbing his side.

“Uh… anyway,” Hashtag said quickly, desperate to change the subject, “we’re organizing a party to celebrate the Quintesson defeat! Everyone’s invited, of course.”

“That… actually sounds great,” Wheeljack said, still processing the drama.

“A day of celebration never hurt anyone,” added Cosmos, gesturing eagerly. “Come on, let’s go.”

Bumblebee approached the Maltos.

“Good idea. Let’s go prepare everything for tonight. And Twitch—don’t forget about your champagne tower, huh?”

“How did you know?!” she gasped.

“Don’t ask. Let’s move.”

Gradually, everyone dispersed. The hall fell quiet, leaving only Optimus and Elita-1.

“What do you think that was about?” she asked quietly.

“I’m not sure. But I need to speak with him,” Optimus said, his voice serious.

“Optimus, I’d like to come with you,” said Dot, stepping out from the shadows.

He nodded. “It’ll be good for him to talk to someone like you.”

“I’ll go join the others,” Elita added. “Let me know if anything happens.”

The door slid shut behind them.

Silence once again claimed the base.

----------

The Malto farmhouse is unrecognizable.

Balloons everywhere, tables overflowing with food, and right at the center —a shining champagne tower, perfectly built.

Night has fallen, and the lights Nightshade and Bumblebee strung around the place cast a warm glow that fills everything with a sense of family celebration.

“Wow, so you actually managed to build the tower?” Prowl asks, staring at the trio responsible for the miracle —Twitch, Hashtag, and Thrash.

“Nope,” Thrash answers flatly, as if confessing to a crime of honor.

“Then… how is it here?” Prowl asks, confused.

“Well…” Twitch begins, pausing dramatically, “let’s just say we took a picture of the spot where the tower was supposed to be.”

“Then we googled pictures of champagne towers,” Thrash adds with exaggerated solemnity.

“A few quick touch-ups in Photoshop and… ready to print on canvas,” Hashtag finishes, crossing her arms with triumphant pride.

Prowl blinks a few times, then steps closer, suspicious. “So this…” he says, touching it, “isn’t real?” His finger sinks slightly into the fabric, and the image ripples like a curtain.

“Ha. So you really couldn’t do it,” he says, half surprised, half resigned, watching the trio slump in defeat.

“Yeah…” they all reply in unison, exhausted but still laughing at themselves.

Meanwhile, Dot is checking that everything’s in place.

She takes out her phone and sends a message:

> Everything’s ready, Megs. You can come now.

The reply comes quickly:

> Thank you, Dorothy. I’ll be there in a few minutes.

Dot smiles, relieved. For a moment, she thought he might cancel.

“Sweetheart, come here!” Alex calls from the tables.

“You have to try this, it’s amazing!”

Dot puts her phone away and joins her family, their laughter mixing with the glow of the lights and the soft murmur of the music.

---

Megatron stares at his communicator’s screen.

He’d thought about canceling, but… he’d promised Dorothy.

He didn’t want to look weak.

He wasn’t sick —not exactly— but something inside him felt heavy.

He rises from his berth with a sluggish motion, the sound of silence filling the room so completely it feels almost alive.

He walks toward the door’s control panel.

When—

“Megatron…”

Chapter Text

The Autobot base hadn't been this quiet in a long time. Well, it was... for exactly three minutes.

Megatron knew it. He'd timed the exact moment between the team's departure and the start of the first explosion.

At first, he thought it'd be a chill day. The Autobots, along with the Malto family, had headed out to the farm—the makeshift hideout Nightshade had built way back—under the excuse of a "tactical coordination mission." The Terrans would stay at the base "monitoring the systems," according to Optimus.

But Megatron knew there was more to it. Too many suspicious smiles. Too many shared secrets. Too much Prime avoiding his gaze.

Anyway, he didn't say anything. He wasn't in the mood to go. At the last social gathering, he'd lost control, yelled more than he should have, and nearly turned a snack table into shrapnel. No more parties, he promised himself. No more fake smiles.

So, when Optimus said, "You can stay if you prefer," he just nodded. Bad idea. Because he had no clue what life had in store for him.

---

"So, what do we do? I don't wanna monitor the systems anymore," Thrash asked impatiently.

Right, the Terrans were left at the Autobot base for... something Megatron had forgotten. Now he'd have to babysit them.

"Well, do whatever you want, just don't touch anything—it could end badly," Megatron told them, a bit distracted. The pain in his spark and the dizziness had spiked dramatically in the last few days; he felt way worse after the little argument today.

He headed to Teletran-1 looking for some explanation that wasn't "that" thing he dreaded.

"So, we just stay here and that's it," Thrash said again, frustrated. He wanted to do something fun; he felt bad 'cause they'd been banned from the Autobot mission. Hadn't they celebrated just a few days ago for putting up with so much?

"I'll go to Wheeljack's lab to see what's in there," Nightshade said with a shrug as she walked away.

"I'll come with you," Twitch added, floating next to his sister.

"I wanna go too," Jawbreaker yelled, running after them.

"Ooh, me too, maybe there's something interesting to document," Hashtag said, prepping her camera with enthusiasm.

"Well, fine then," Thrash muttered in disappointment, resigned to watching science experiments instead of causing mischief.

The kids wandered off.

"No, it can't be," Megatron murmured in surprise.

"There's nothing!" he exclaimed when he found no answers at all to what was happening to him. All the results pointed to severe spark issues and nothing encouraging.

---

Upon arriving at the lab:

"Don't touch anything, remember what Megatron said," Twitch warned.

"Yeah, don't worry, sis, I'll just observe," Nightshade replied.

Everyone explored in their own way. Then Thrash found something: energon.

"I always wondered what it tastes like straight up," he said curiously. He poured some into a glass and...

"Wow, it's shiny!" he exclaimed, and chugged a whole swig.

"Mmm, not bad at all," he added as a tingle ran through his body.

"Wow, that was awesome! Hey guys, you gotta try this!" Thrash yelled.

Everyone crowded around.

"Thrash, the first thing they tell you is the first thing you do," Twitch scolded severely.

"Aw, don't get mad, here, baby sis," Thrash said, pouring some for his sister.

"Mm, it's okay," Twitch said, kinda annoyed at the disobedience, and took a swig.

"Hey, it's not half bad," she added, surprised by the taste.

"I wanna try too!"

"Me too!"

"Me three!"

Everyone drank the shiny energon until it was gone.

"I can't believe we polished it off between us all—it was a lot! They're gonna be pissed," Twitch commented, worried.

"But then, why leave it there if they don't want anyone touching it?" Thrash asked.

"Anyone else feel like they wanna do something but don't know exactly what?" Hashtag asked.

"Yeah, I feel it," Nightshade replied curiously.

And then... click.

Their energy surged so high they couldn't control it.

"Guuuuh, I've never felt like this in my whole life!" Thrash yelled, transforming into vehicle mode and blasting out of the lab.

"I want more!" Hashtag said as she transformed and shot after him.

"I feel like I master the laws of physics!" Nightshade shouted, transformed into owl mode, flying along the lab ceiling.

"I feel like a dinosaur in the modern era!" Jawbreaker exclaimed, transforming and barreling through everything in his path.

"Oh no, I feel like this is gonna get intense!" Twitch yelled and flew after them.

---

Megatron kept searching for answers.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing," he murmured defeated, unable to find any explanation.

"Maybe I should..." he started, but a boom echoed through the base.

The kids, thinking fast, bolted out of the room like lightning.

Megatron reached the source of the sound: the second conference room.

Scrap.

It was total chaos. Near Nightshade, smoke and blast marks. Twitch was creating a tornado that sent important papers flying. Jawbreaker was smashing sensitive tech and pipes until they broke. Hashtag wasn't there... that was worrying.

Thrash was... on the ceiling? How the heck did he get up there?

"Kids, calm down! Stop this instant!" Megatron yelled, but no one seemed to hear him.

"Kids!" he yelled again, this time catching their attention, but... oh.

"Megatron!!" they squealed as they generated more chaos.

"Why are you acting like this?" Megatron asked anyone who could answer.

"We just took the shiny energon from Jackie's lab!" Thrash yelled from the wall before launching himself at Twitch, both crashing down with a loud thud.

"Yeah! It was awesome and I wanna do a ton of stuff!" Jawbreaker yelled, running in circles at impossible speed.

"What did you take, what?!" Megatron worried; shiny energon wasn't something kids should ingest, especially not from Wheeljack's lab.

"Stay here, don't destroy anything," he said and headed to the lab.

When he left, Thrash saw him and yelled:

"He says let's destroy everything!!"

---

Upon arriving at the lab, Megatron searched for info on what they'd taken. He found an empty container with shiny energon residue. A label said: Hyper Fuel.

Scrap.

The kids had just consumed an energizer that would be too much even for him. Wheeljack needed to be more careful with his creations.

"How did you let this happen, Megatron?" he scolded himself.

He left the lab, looking for how to contain them until the effects wore off. Maybe it wasn't that bad—they'd split it evenly—but he still had to make sure they didn't hurt themselves or wreck the base.

He walked... and, no.

"What did you do?!" Now the disaster was even worse: broken pipes, scorched walls, a hole in the ceiling, and one wall completely gone. The kids moved at such high speeds they seemed to teleport.

"Nightshade, stop playing with that, it's dangerous!" Megatron pointed out.

"Jawbreaker, stop knocking down the walls, they're important!" he yelled as the Dinobot pulverized everything in his path.

"Twitch, stop hitting your brother!"

"Thrash, stop hitting your sister!"

He approached to separate them, grabbing each one... darkness.

"Now what?" Megatron murmured; the whole base was pitch black.

A TV flickered on, lighting up the room, and a weird music box melody started playing.

"Ducks are creatures that will rule the world, I know it, and I have proof! Look!" Hashtag's voice echoed through the speakers in an evil tone. The screens showed ducks attacking people.

"Wake up, world, they're a danger to the human race! They infiltrate everywhere. The person next to you could be a duck. Your friend could be a duck. I could be a duck. Or worse, YOU COULD BE A DUCK!" she screamed while Megatron covered his ears, dropping both Terrans.

"Ahhh, so you're a duck!" Twitch yelled accusingly at Jawbreaker.

"I'm not! I swear!" Jawbreaker replied in fear.

"Or maybe you are..." he murmured confused, frozen in place.

Twitch lunged at him and they started rolling all over the room in a tangle of punches.

"No, he's not a duck, he's your brother," Megatron tried to calm them, feeling something weird sticking to his face.

"But what...?" Boom. A paint bomb exploded nearby.

"That's to prove you're not a duck!" Nightshade yelled.

"And what does paint have to do with that?" Megatron sighed; it was purple, he could handle it.

"Nothing, I just wanted to do something," Nightshade said defeated, before being flung into a wall by a hook.

Hashtag burst into the room in vehicle mode:

"You don't get it, we're all ducks, they're fooling us!" she yelled, transforming back to her base form with determination.

"Don't throw him again, he's not a duck," Megatron said, helping lift Nightshade.

"We're ALL ducks!" Hashtag yelled, as all the base lights blinked, striking a powerful villain pose.

This was total chaos, Megatron thought.

"I'll never have sparklings," he muttered, annoyed by it all.

---

Everyone was at the Malto farm, helping with...

The belated surprise party for Hashtag, Jawbreaker, and Nightshade.

With everything that had happened, there hadn't been time to celebrate their birthday. So now that a bit of peace finally reigned—and before something else exploded, literally—they decided to throw it. A few days ago they'd had the celebration party for everything they'd accomplished together, and thanks to Mo, they remembered the Terrans still hadn't had their own birthday.

"Perfect, everything's coming together great," Mo said, fascinated as she looked at the decorations. They'd spent the whole morning setting up, but since the Autobots arrived to help, things were moving faster.

"Well, all I can say is my cake is turning out delicious," Alex announced, coming out of the kitchen, wiping his hands with an apron on. He looked super proud of himself.

"Quick question, Dad?" Robby said, a bit worried.

"What's up?" Alex replied, curious.

"The cake... can we eat it too?"

Alex went silent for a second. Right... he'd made it with cave water, the Terrans' life source. And he hadn't thought of that.

"Uh..." he murmured, running back into the kitchen to start a new cake from scratch.

"So, you guys got their gifts already?" Cosmos asked, approaching after hanging some lights around the place.

"Sure do, we did a rigorous investigation," Robby said in an expert tone.

"And we found the perfect gifts for each one," Mo finished with a smile.

"Ooh, awesome! I can't wait to see 'em," Cosmos exclaimed excitedly. It wasn't his party, but he loved surprises.

Right then, Dot's phone started ringing.

"Excuse me..." she said, pulling out the phone. "Looks like a video call from Hashtag." The woman arched an eyebrow, surprised, and answered.

On the screen appeared Thrash, covered in orange paint from his chest to his head, with a smile way too big to be normal.

"Hi, Mom! How you doing? Hey, I wanna tell you something super important... I'M A DUCK!" he yelled at the top of his lungs before running off like something invisible was chasing him.

Everyone at the farm went dead silent.

"Thrash, honey, are you okay?" Dot asked with a worried voice. She knew her son was mischievous and a joker, but that sounded... off. Plus, he was running faster than she'd ever seen him.

"No, Mom, I'm super bad! Bah, kidding, don't believe me!" he said, bursting into a delirious cackle as he stopped abruptly in the middle of his imaginary chase.

Dot looked at the Autobots, her kids, and even Alex, who'd peeked over her shoulder. They all had the same expression: total confusion.

"Honey, could you pass me to Megatron, please?" Dot asked in her sweetest tone, praying it wasn't anything serious... and that Megatron had a coherent explanation.

"No problem!" Thrash said, turning around. "Megs! Mom wants to talk to you!" he yelled so loud the video call mic totally clipped.

Megatron turned slowly. Perfect. Just what he needed. He let go of Nightshade, whom he had pinned with one arm 'cause she was trying to build an anti-duck bomb, and dropped Jawbreaker's tail, who was once again trying to headbutt a hole in the wall.

With patience that was borderline divine, Megatron approached Thrash, shook off some dust (or so he thought) and took Hashtag's tablet, from which they were video calling.

"Hi, Dorothy... uh... how are you?" he greeted with a tense, forced, almost mechanical smile.

"Megatron, what's wrong with Thrash? Why's he so hyper... and why do you have purple paint on your face?" Dot asked, already on the edge of a breakdown.

"Nothing's wrong, he's just being... Thrash," he replied with a nervous chuckle. "And the paint... yeah, uh... just testing new color palettes for my armor, heh."

It wasn't his best lie. Hell, it wasn't even close.

"Anti-duck bomb 2.0!" Nightshade suddenly yelled, and an explosion shook the whole base. A thick cloud of smoke covered the place, making everyone at the farm scream in fright.

"Megatron, what the hell's going on there?!" Bumblebee and Dot exclaimed in unison.

"Nothing, nothing! We're just... cooking," he replied quickly. It was, without a doubt, the worst lie of his life.

"Cooking?" Prowl asked, arching an eyebrow. It was, without a doubt, the worst lie he'd ever heard.

"Yeah, yeah... cooking up some... uh... carnitas asadas," Megatron improvised.

"Ooh, sounds yummy!" Cosmos said enthusiastically, patting his belly. "Wait... what's carnitas asadas?"

"Megatron!" Dot yelled, losing patience. "What's going on?! What's wrong with my kids?!"

"Kids? What kids?" Megatron asked with the most innocent voice he could fake.

On the other side of the video call, Dot narrowed her eyes in fury.

"Megatron!" she yelled so loud even the comm's sensors vibrated.

"Ahhh... yeah, right, your kids. Uh, yeah, they're fine," he replied with a smile so fake it almost hurt to look at. "Sorry, gotta hang up."

And before anyone could respond, the call cut off.

The silence that followed was so thick you could hear the background hum of nature. Everyone stared at the blank screen with identical expressions: confusion, worry... and a dash of resignation.

"We need to get back to the base. Now," Optimus said in a grave, direct tone, leaving no room for questions.

No one argued. In an instant, the Autobots transformed, and Dot, Alex, and the kids piled into Bumblebee. The farm lights flickered as they sped away, the roar of engines marking the start of a new race toward the chaos waiting at the Autobot base.

---

"Ahh, Primus, give me patience, but don't give me strength; 'cause if you give me strength, I'll beat the calm out of all of 'em!" Megatron yelled on the brink of madness, hands clenched around the tablet. If the dizziness and spark pain didn't kill him, this definitely would.

He wanted to scream, smash, order. But he forced himself to stop. No: they're just kids. You can't hurt them. You're not like that anymore, he told himself. That's in the past. Way in the past.

I conquered cities.

I led the most feared group in the galaxy.

I destroyed entire planets.

Cybertronian and organic blood stained my hands.

All that, and now I can't handle some hyper mischievous kids with too much energy.

Old age—or whatever was left of it in his spark—seemed to catch up to him at every step. What a shame. What a pity.

But he wouldn't give up. He'd prove he could take care of them without losing his cool. Onward.

He stowed the tablet in his subspace, clenched his jaw, and crossed the improvised battlefield. He dodged paint bombs and the occasional lead ball; slid under a Hashtag who'd just lunged to attack him and avoided being toppled. The ground shook when Jawbreaker ran so fast he seemed to break the laws of physics, running on walls, ceiling, and floor all at once.

He reached the room's hatch just in time: Twitch and Thrash lunged at him and slammed into the closed door with a crash.

He ran down the halls with a clear goal. He needed to improvise quick containment before this got out of hand.

He entered the kitchen: rummaged through drawers and shelves until he found what he needed. Plastic wrap—maybe not the toughest stuff in the universe, but it'd do. He went back to the lab and, with quick hands, grabbed a wrench. On his way, he picked up a loose pipe, snapped it in half with determination: an improvised bar, ready to secure.

All set. Just needed the victims.

---

He returned to the room where the kids were. Well, it wasn't really a room anymore: the walls were mostly gone and the space looked like an open battlefield.

He headed to the door—now lone and pointless without walls around it—and looked for Twitch and Thrash.

They weren't there.

"Nooo, my lil' brainrots, they stole 'em!" Hashtag yelled, hurt, swinging the tablet in the middle of the mess.

"The game's called Steal a Brainrot, sis. And they stole your brainrots. Must've been a giant surprise," Thrash replied sarcastically, bowing theatrically to her.

Megatron tried to sneak up, but Twitch intercepted him without losing her seriousness.

"Security Agent, I gotta check you're not a duck!" Twitch said in a firm voice, planting her tiny palm in front of Megatron's optic.

Perfect. First victim.

He grabbed her with one hand effortlessly.

"Nooo, let me go, duck world-domination! Help!" Twitch struggled, but Megatron wrapped her in plastic wrap with quick, efficient moves.

He left her in a corner of the place.

"Stay there, you'll be, uh... an aerial taco," Megatron instructed, fumbling the word. Twitch stayed processing the label: now she was a taco. An aerial one, at least; better than a duck.

He approached Nightshade carefully. The beast-former was surrounded by improvised gadgets made from the scrap of the disaster; from the pile rained homemade bombs, sharp objects, and heaps of trash ready to launch.

"Back off, duck!" Nightshade yelled, throwing something.

"Take this!"

"Anti-duck bomb 5.8!"

"Knife!"

"Shuriken!"

"Kunai!"

"Ahh!"

Megatron dodged each projectile, getting close enough to grab him. With a firm hand, he placed the wrench on Nightshade's head.

"This is an anti-duck instrument," he said in a threatening voice, jabbing his index like he was explaining military protocol. "If you move, you risk one of 'em catching you."

The order sank in. Nightshade, surprisingly, froze like a statue. Megatron stepped back, satisfied. He hadn't expected it to work that well on the smartest of the bunch; but hey, he was just a kid.

From the ceiling hole, Megatron spotted Thrash. The little Terran was outside, gearing up for something that clearly wouldn't end well.

"Now, the incredible and handsome Thrash will jump from billions of feet high to prove he's the best!" he yelled triumphantly before leaping.

"I'm invisible!" he bellowed as he plummeted.

Megatron froze at the absurd scene.

"It's invincible, and no, you're not!" he exclaimed alarmed, slapping a hand to his head.

Still, he used the Terran's fall and, with enviable reflexes, caught him mid-air in the pipe. He landed with impeccable precision.

"Hey, why're you doing this? You're in cahoots with the ducks, right? You don't want me to be the world's best jumper!" Thrash complained indignantly, struggling to free himself.

"Easy, it's for your safety... and mine," Megatron replied in a tired voice.

Next, he focused on Jawbreaker, who kept running nonstop, defying all known physical laws and probably some unknown ones.

He watched him for a few seconds, clocked his movement pattern and—bam!—grabbed him with one hand, hoisting him by the tail.

"Hey, let me go! I'm trying to escape the ducks!" Jawbreaker yelled in obvious fear.

"Listen, if you run around one more time, I'll tell Alex you're a duck and he won't give you his snacks anymore," Megatron said in a severe tone.

"Ah, no! Not Dad's food, it's delicious!" he replied horrified.

"Then no more races or broken walls. Got it?"

Jawbreaker nodded right away. Megatron set him down, satisfied, and the Terran stayed still like an obedient statue.

Now for Hashtag.

He looked around, but didn't see her anywhere.

"Come on, where're you hiding this time?" he murmured.

Then, Hashtag's voice echoed through the base's speakers:

"Hey you! Tell me, what's it feel like to be inside a movie!"

Megatron looked up, frustrated.

"Uh... well, it felt kinda weird, but fun, I guess," he replied, not sure who he was talking to.

But it was a voice... familiar.

Scrap.

Megatron tensed. He headed straight to the base's brig. If Hashtag had control of the systems, she could open the cells and let the prisoners loose. Not that they had many, but... two was more than enough to cause chaos.

When he got there, he saw her. Hashtag was standing in front of a cell.

The Quintesson cell.

"So... how do I know you're not a duck disguised as a Quintesson?" Hashtag asked, tilting her head with an accusing look, eyes fixed on the girl in front of her.

"Uh... excuse me?" Izzy replied, confused.

"Hey, you okay? You're acting weird."

"That's exactly what you want me to think, but no!" Hashtag yelled, clutching her head like she'd uncovered an intergalactic conspiracy.

Megatron, watching from the hallway shadows, let out a heavy sigh. Enough already. If he didn't step in, Hashtag would open a portal to chaos.

He advanced stealthily toward her, careful not to alert her.

When he was close enough, he grabbed her firmly by the waist and lifted her off the ground.

"Let me go, let me go!" Hashtag squealed, flailing her arms and kicking in the air.

"Calm down, for Primus's sake. You shouldn't be here," Megatron said in an authoritative tone, holding her tight. Despite her size, the little Terran was surprisingly strong, struggling with overflowing energy.

"I knew it! You're all in on it with the ducks!" Hashtag yelled, trying to break free.

Right then, the doors started opening and closing on their own. Lights blinked out of control, and the cell force fields flickered on and off chaotically.

Izzy watched in awe at Hashtag's power over the base systems. Every command, every electric impulse, responded to her emotions. Meanwhile, in one of the cells, Starscream huddled in a corner, trembling. Since Megatron entered his view, instinct paralyzed him. He watched as he held Hashtag in fear... though he didn't wanna intervene either.

Megatron finally managed to drag the Terran out of the brig, pulling her carefully but determinedly, while she kept messing with the whole system with every kick and scream.

Back in what was left of the "room," he held her in front of him and pulled the tablet from his subspace.

"Finally, I'll buy the Admin Abuse, yes!" Hashtag exclaimed excitedly, with a smile bordering on madness.

Megatron took a deep breath before replying.

"Listen... no Admin Abuse. If you don't stop messing with the base, those furballs will get captured by the ducks and used as war weapons," he said solemnly, showing her an improvised "kittens vs. ducks" video he'd just found.

Hashtag froze, totally absorbed.

"Awww... they're so cute. We can't let 'em be slaves to those filthy ducks," she murmured, completely calm.

And as if her emotions were wired straight to the system, the blinking stopped. The lights stabilized. The force fields kicked back in. The whole base breathed in peace.

Megatron sighed in relief. He'd survived another crisis.

Perfect. They're all calm.

It worked.

Wow, it really worked, Megatron thought, exhaling in relief.

Exhaustion hit him hard. The dizziness returned, along with that stabbing spark pain that never fully left. He'd just been distracted, too busy surviving kid chaos to pay it attention.

He staggered toward one of the few "walls" still standing, pocked with holes, orange paint, and a crooked graffiti saying "NO TO DUCKS," next to a godawful drawing of one of those feathered organic critters. He slid down slowly, leaning his back against the battered surface.

He felt bad. Really bad.

And he was scared.

Scared of what those symptoms meant.

Scared of losing the place he'd earned with so much effort.

Scared that everything he'd rebuilt—the trust, the respect, his own redemption—would crumble like that wall.

'Cause deep down, he knew his war mistakes still haunted him. That the past's shadows never fully left. And he feared that because of them, everything he'd achieved would vanish in a blow.

Meanwhile, the Terrans started feeling wiped out. The energy frenzy faded and exhaustion wrapped them like fog. One by one, they slowed down.

Nightshade, dragging his steps, approached Megatron. He took the wrench still resting on his head—without understanding how it'd gotten there—and held it like a treasure.

Hashtag, a bit wobbly, got up too. On her way, she saw Twitch, still wrapped in plastic like a weird cocoon. She picked her up carefully and carried her along.

Jawbreaker rolled the pipe where Thrash was still trapped, huffing from tiredness, but not complaining.

Megatron barely lifted his gaze. The spark pain intensified, stabbing, insistent.

He placed a servo on his chest, wishing it'd calm, but the feeling lingered.

The past shadows were still there, reminding him who he was:

a conqueror, a destroyer, a feared leader.

And sometimes, he thought that's what he deserved: pay for every crime, every world he razed, every spark he snuffed.

Then, he felt something soft on his chest.

He slowly opened his optics and saw Twitch, still wrapped in plastic, sleeping peacefully on him.

"Twitch...?" he whispered, in disbelief.

Hashtag settled on one side, using his leg as a pillow. Nightshade copied her, leaning on the other, while Jawbreaker left Thrash next to them and then propped against Megatron's right side, covering himself with his huge arm like a protective blanket.

For a moment, Megatron didn't know what to say.

He watched them in silence, awestruck.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen them sleep. Maybe... since their creation.

The pain and dizziness vanished.

All he felt was the warmth radiating from those little bodies.

He placed his servo on Twitch and carefully encircled them, protecting them.

He didn't want to lose this.

He didn't want to lose them.

For the first time in ages, his spark pulsed in peace.

He'd never say it out loud, but he knew it in his core: he loved them.

All of them.

And that, precisely that, was what he feared most...

That someday, the love he'd found... would abandon him too.

---

The Autobots arrived at the base... and what they found was a total disaster. A battlefield.

"We have to find them," Optimus said.

No need to add more. Everyone split up, scouring every corner of the place amid smoke, sparks, and half-collapsed structures. But no signs of the kids or Megatron... just chaos.

Until—

"Hey, you guys gotta see this," Bumblebee's voice came over the comm.

Everyone rushed to his position.

And upon reaching the second conference room, they froze in complete shock.

Megatron was there. Asleep.

Leaning against a wall barely holding up, covered in holes, crooked letters saying "NO TO DUCKS" and a ridiculously bad drawing of one.

Around him, the kids.

All asleep, deeply, exhausted... but safe and sound.

The room, on the other hand, would need repairs. Lots.

Cosmos let out a perfectly audible "Awww." The others nodded, speechless, with a mix of tenderness and bewilderment.

It was sweet... but also, super weird.

They'd never seen Megatron sleep. And much less show that much vulnerability.

And the kids...

Asleep?

They hadn't slept since their creation.

Definitely not something you see every day.

Chapter Text

The base was organized chaos: sparks still hanging from exposed cables, half-torn panels, and the distant echo of tools striking metal. The “little incident” caused by the kids had left visible wounds… and a collective mood just as fractured.

Optimus took advantage of the moment when Elita-1, Prowl, and Bumblebee happened to cross paths in the hallway. The Prime stopped them with a small but firm gesture.

“I need a moment with you.”

Elita-1 sighed so deeply the cables she was carrying almost shifted.

“I’ve been fixing connections all day.” She lifted the cables for emphasis. “If this isn’t urgent, Optimus…”

“It is,” he replied bluntly.

Bumblebee stepped closer, still distracted by the terrans’ shift change.

“It’s about Starscream, right?” he asked without hesitation.

Optimus nodded.

The moment his name was spoken, the atmosphere shifted. A slight drop in temperature, heavy silences… even the lights seemed to flicker.

Prowl crossed his arms.

“Starscream is a significant operational risk.”

Elita frowned.

“Optimus. With all due respect. That mech has spent his entire life using the word ‘opportunity’ as a weapon. And now we’re giving him a real one?”

Optimus kept his posture steady, calm, but his voice carried the weight of a leader accustomed to impossible decisions.

“I’m not talking about blind trust. I’m talking about strategy. And justice.”

Bumblebee clicked his tongue.

“Well… if you think he’s worth trying to redeem, I’m with you. I don’t trust him, but I trust you.” He punched his arm lightly. “Just don’t let him drag you into trouble.”

Elita-1 finally lowered the cables, resigned.

“I don’t like this. But… if you’re making this call, I’ll back you. Just not with my guard down.”

Prowl added:

“All his weapons must be disabled. And he gets controlled tasks. If he fails, that’s it.”

“I agree,” Optimus said. “Thank you for your clarity.”

The meeting ended not with consensus, but with discipline. Loyalty to the Prime, not the plan.

As Bumblebee left, he muttered:

“Hope Screamer doesn’t screw this up… I’d take the chance.”

Optimus simply replied:

“So do I.”

----------

The darkness of the cell wasn’t enough. It couldn’t hide it.

Starscream was dreaming.

And dreams were worse than any confinement.

The cave closed in around him, breathing, crushing. The beam of light from above was too narrow—an eye watching him.

The ground rumbled.

Footsteps.

He knew those footsteps. Everyone did.

The air became toxic.

His body reacted before his mind: wings pinned down, servos raised in automatic supplication, vocalizer trembling.

Megatron emerged like a violent eclipse—huge, relentless, eternal.

“You have ceased to be useful to me, Starscream,” declared the voice that always preceded condemnation.

The fusion cannon charged with a purple glow so familiar it hurt. Starscream stumbled backward until his back hit the wall. No escape. No options.

“Please… please don’t,” he stammered like a sparkling.

The weapon fired.

And the world exploded in a swallowed scream.

Starscream woke standing, gasping, lubricant running down his face, like always.

Izzy, from the neighboring cell, groaned:

“Again? Seriously, I’ve lost count. You’re gonna drive me crazy.”

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” he lied automatically. “Just… a bad memory.”

She snorted.

“Well, your ‘bad memories’ have terrible aim. They hit my patience directly.”

Starscream didn’t respond. He paced in small, almost compulsive circles. His thoughts swirling:

If Optimus agrees…I must not fail. I must not be eliminated. Be useful. Be indispensable. Be invisible if needed. Just survive.

Izzy watched him, unimpressed.

“What the hell are you doing now?”

“Preparing for… whatever comes.”

“You don’t even know if they’ll let you out.”

“That’s exactly why.”

She shrugged and lay down again.

“Pathetic and interesting. Weird combo.”

Heavy footsteps approached.

Starscream froze. Not because of Izzy. Because of the shadow.

But it wasn’t Megatron.

It was Optimus.

And still, his body reacted the same.

Optimus greeted him with a simple:

“Good morning.”

That tone—neutral and firm—made Starscream flinch just slightly, enough for Izzy to notice.

The Prime activated the panel and opened the cell.

“We’ve made a decision. You’ll be given a second chance.”

Starscream remained motionless, as if moving would erase the words. Then:

“Th-Thank you…”

“This is not a game, Starscream,” Optimus warned. “There are rules. And consequences.”

He swallowed noise.

“I understand. I won’t fail.”

Optimus nodded and began walking. Starscream followed two steps behind, as if afraid to be too close… or too far.

When Optimus glanced over his shoulder, Starscream made a tiny nervous hop and hurried to catch up.

And that’s how it began.

Slow. Tense. Precarious.

----------

The hallway was nearly empty, lit only by cold lights embedded in the walls. The echo of Optimus’ footsteps set a steady rhythm; behind him, Starscream’s steps were lighter, uneven, as if each one were a silent negotiation between wanting to obey… and wanting to flee.

Optimus spoke first, without turning, in that patient but immovable tone he used when he knew words could either break or hold someone together.

“We’re heading to Wheeljack’s lab.”

Starscream’s wings tensed, a small, automatic movement. Optimus noticed by the faint scrape of metal from behind him.

“For what?” Starscream asked, trying to sound neutral. He didn’t succeed.

Optimus slowed down, now walking just slow enough for Starscream to keep up without tripping over his own nerves.

“Wheeljack will deactivate your weapons,” he said as directly as possible. “It’s a security measure for the base.”

Starscream stopped. The silence he left behind was abrupt, almost violent. Optimus took three more steps before noticing he wasn’t following. He turned.

Starscream stood frozen. Wings flat. Left servo gripping his right forearm, squeezing. His gaze locked on Optimus… too fixed. Too open. As if the very idea of being defenseless shoved him toward an abyss only he could see.

“Deactivate them?” he repeated. “Is that… really necessary?”

Optimus held that stare. Not challengingly—steadily, like a pillar.

“Yes.” The word fell calm, uncompromising. “Not because we expect anything from you, but because we can’t guarantee everyone’s safety yet. This rule protects you as well.”

A long blink—like he needed to reset before processing it.

“I understand,” he whispered, though the tension in his servos said otherwise.

Optimus resumed walking. This time, Starscream followed closer, almost within his shadow, as if distance itself were dangerous. Every time Optimus moved an arm, Starscream flinched—tiny reactions carved by punishment. None escaped the Prime.

When they reached the metal lab door, Starscream’s pale reflection trembled on its polished surface. Optimus placed a servo on the panel but spoke first.

“Wheeljack is rough, but he wouldn’t harm anyone without reason,” he said. “You’re not in danger.”

Starscream didn’t answer. He only nodded once, short and tense. Like someone entering a place where they’ve lost before.

The door opened with a hiss. The lab’s light washed over Starscream like an interrogation.

And still, he stepped inside.

----------

Wheeljack’s lab always smelled of welding, heat, and controlled danger. A brutal contrast to Starscream’s living unease.

Wheeljack greeted them brightly.

“Perfect, you made it!”

Then he saw the seeker’s rigid posture.

“Ah… this is gonna be interesting.”

Optimus spoke with perfect calm:

“Disable his weapons. All of them. And explain the procedure.”

Starscream stiffened—very visibly.

Wheeljack softened his tone:

“Relax. I’m not ripping anything out. Well… nothing important.”

Didn’t help.

Starscream lay back on the berth like it was an execution slab. His hands clamped onto the edges.

When Wheeljack lifted the first tool—a simple thermal cutter—Starscream gasped sharply.

Optimus stepped closer immediately.

“It’s alright. He won’t harm you.”

Wheeljack paused and raised both hands.

“Idea: I’ll show you every tool before I use it. What it does, and why I need it. You stay in control. Okay?”

Starscream hesitated. Then nodded.

Every tool. Every explanation. Every permission.

And only then did his body slowly stop trembling so much.

When Wheeljack finished, Starscream could hardly believe it had happened without pain.

“All done,” the scientist announced proudly. “You’re… officially disarmed.”

Starscream tested it. Nothing responded. Nothing glowed. Nothing vibrated.

Empty. Light. Exposed.

Optimus called from the door.

“Follow me.”

Starscream jumped to catch up.

----------

The hallway felt endless.

Starscream walked a few steps behind Optimus, every metallic echo from his pedes pounding the reminder of where he was: enemy territory… or something like it. His hands remained tightly clasped in front of his chassis, a rigid, almost childish gesture he tried to hide by lowering his wings. It didn’t work. Nothing worked when fear breathed down his neck.

Optimus noticed. Of course he noticed.

He had commanded entire battalions, had seen soldiers collapse under pressure, mechs break internally long before externally. Starscream’s silence wasn’t the silence of arrogance or manipulation. It was the silence of a survivor.

Optimus cleared his throat, breaking the tension.

“Starscream,” he said gently, firm but not hostile. “I need to explain the rules of your release.”

The seeker straightened a little, as if yanked upward by an invisible hook. His wings, which had remained raised in alert, snapped flat against his back instantly. A conditioned reflex. A war reflex.

Another automatic reaction. Fear, not insolence.

Megatron… how many times did you do this?

Starscream tried to sound curious, as if his claws weren’t trembling.

“Yes… of course. I’m listening,” he said, voice tight.

Optimus slowed his pace, letting Starscream walk beside him. A subtle, calculated gesture.

“First rule,” he began, “you are forbidden from leaving the base without authorization from a superior. Elita-1, Prowl, or myself.”

A beat of silence.

Starscream nodded too quickly, like a sparkling trying to prove obedience.

“That’s logical. Of course. I understand.”

Don’t escape. Don’t attempt anything that looks like escape. Follow the rule. Survive.

Optimus continued.

“Second rule: for now, you will not have access to areas containing classified data.”

Starscream felt that one deeper. His pride had always been his fuel, and now they were closing compartments as if he were a defective drone. But he nodded.

“Understandable,” he murmured, though it stung. “Security first, I suppose.”

Perfect. No privileges. No rank. No weapons. No future. Wonderful start, Starscream.

“Third rule,” Optimus said more slowly, “you’ll need to work with everyone here. I’m not asking you to be friends, but there must be… some level of functional cooperation.”

Starscream let out a small, cracked laugh—barely audible.

“I’ve commanded entire legions, Prime. I can… cooperate.”

That tone. That laugh. Someone trying to convince himself.

Then came the last one.

“And finally,” Optimus said, “you’ll receive daily tasks to help maintain the base. Everyone contributes. Even me.”

Starscream looked at him for one second. Just one. And in that second, old fractures surfaced.

“That’s… fair,” he whispered. “Easy enough to follow. I can handle that.”

Of course you can. You need to. If you fail, they’ll discard you. And this time… there won’t be a Megatron to scream at you to get up.

Optimus watched him quietly. He saw a shift. Small. Invisible to anyone who wasn’t a commander forged in war.

Starscream had stopped pretending he was fine.

Optimus placed a hand gently on his shoulder, a gesture meant to reassure. But Starscream reacted as if it were a weapon: he flinched hard, stepped back twice, claws raised defensively.

Optimus’ optics softened. He said nothing. He didn’t judge. He didn’t correct.

He simply waited.

Eventually, Starscream lowered his gaze, shame burning across his forehead plate.

“S-Sorry. Reflex. It won’t happen again.”

It’s not your fault. That wasn’t a reflex. That was conditioning.

The Prime took a deep breath.

“Come,” he said at last, walking again. “I need to assign your first task.”

When they reached the destroyed room, the door opened with a metallic groan.

Starscream stopped cold.

“This will be your task,” Optimus said, gesturing to the mess. “You’ll help the team repair what can be repaired. Follow Elita-1’s instructions.”

Starscream didn’t answer at first. He stared at the room as if staring at a corpse.

Finally, he nodded.

“I’ll do what’s necessary."

And I’ll do what’s necessary with you.

But he didn’t say it aloud. Because repairs—of rooms or seekers—take time. And patience. And consistency.

Optimus took a step back, letting him walk into the shattered room.

Starscream inhaled deeply, steadied his trembling claws…

…and crossed the threshold.

A broken spark stepping into a broken room. A leader watching from the shadows, silent. And the newly imposed rules settling over them like a promise:

This is only the beginning.