Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first meeting was an accident.

Spike and Carly had mentioned something about ‘drive-in movies’, and Optimus had given the two youngest Autobots the night off specifically so the humans could introduce them to this form of entertainment.

Probably also because Bluestreak and Bumblebee had been brimming with energy, to the point that the young mechs had been distracting others for interaction. The incident with Gears, neon yellow paint bullets, and a rigged trapdoor was most likely tested the last of Optimus Prime’s patience.

“- Going to be soooo exciting! I love human movies, but it’s so hard to claim the screen in the rec room ‘cus everyone wants to use it, and Prowl told me off for asking Teletran to play one because we need that screen for SkySpy surveillance - which is all well and good! But we mostly hear about Decepticons from humans anyway! - and I should ‘use the designated entertainment areas’. But those-!”

“We’re here!” Carly’s gleeful shout stops Bluestreak’s ramble mid-way. Both he and Bumblebee pull to a halt, Bee stopping to open his doors for the humans. Spike mutters a ‘thank god’ at the same time Bumblebee sighs a relief of ‘thank Primus’.

Bluestreak’s a great best friend, he really is, but even Bumblebee values quiet drives and introspective moments.

The two Cybertronians transform to their pedes, and look around the empty field, hills on one side and the city behind them. There’s thick forest to their left, expanding to the city limits and stretching over the hills, carefully trimmed back to keep forest fires from reaching too close to the city.

“So, uh… Where’s this big screen, guys?” Spike laughs at Bumblebee’s question, gesturing over the hill.

“C’mon. It might have a drive-in section, but I thought we’d be more comfortable on the verge.”

“That’s why you had me bring, like, a thousand and something blankets!!!” From his subspace, Bluestreak pulls out what looks like a mountain of blankets. One of them almost falls to the ground, but Carly is quick to catch it and fold it over one of her arms.

“Six blankets, Bluestreak. And yes, it’s so we can all sit on the grass together!” Spike is already heading up the large hill, waving for the three of them to follow. Carly wastes no time, running towards him and shoving the blanket in Bumblebee’s servos as she passes, then tackles Spike at the crest of the hill.

Laughing, the two teens topple over the crest and - presumably - roll down the other side. Bumblebee laughs softly and follows after them, stopping at the hill summit to vent in amazement.

“Wow…” The hills, green verge on the edge of the forest, and other side of the clearing is dotted with humans. Couples of all ages, and even a few families with teenage children sit on their own spread out blankets, some with snacks and some without, some with candlelight, some with gas lamps, others with battery lights.

In the center is a large carpark, and every space is filled. They all face in one direction, towards the rigged up screen that hangs between two steadying poles. The canvas moves slightly as it’s pulled taunt by workers at the bottom winding cables tight.

Between the darkened streetlights of the carpark hangs strings of Asian-style lanterns, glowing softly golden with synthetic lights inside. Those will stay on during the film, but they’re low light enough to not interfere. All in all, it’s quite… Cozy.

The projector - manned by a lone volunteer - sits just behind the car park, atop what look like a renovated lifeguard’s chair. It’s high enough to project over the cars, but low enough that the projected image (currently a series of trailers for upcoming movies) is visible from all angles.

“Blue, hurry up! You gotta see this!”

“I’m coming! I’m co- Woah, hold on!” Dropping and tripping over blankets in turn as he picks them back up, Bluestreak clumsily makes his way to the top.

And that’s when his doorwings twitch.

He’s sensing something.
Something… off.

Something that instantly puts him into a state of high alert and on edge. He can’t tell what it is, so for a split moment, as Bumblebee takes the blankets from him, Bluestreak runs a quick scan. His optics adjust for the lighting - from the soft glow of the lanterns to the darkened slopes behind the projector - and comes back with nothing.

“Blue? You okay?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry, Bee. I was just… Thinkin’. I mean, there’s a lot of people around, right? And I’m about twice your height so sliiiiiightly taller than twice most human’s height-”

“Thanks, Blue.”

“- so I’ll need to sit somewhere near the back, but I don’t wanna make Spike and Carly compensate on a reeeally good spot, so, uh, maybe? I could sit somewhere else? Not that I want to be separated, but I think it would be considerate!” For a moment, Bumblebee looks apprehensive. And a little upset.

“Are you sure, Blue…? We can easily sit near the back…”

“No, it’s good. I’m good. And honestly, I’m probably gonna mumble all the way through the film. I love talking about movies, even while they’re happening, and I don’t think many others appreciate it, y’know?”

“That’s true…” Bee contemplates it for a moment, concern still radiating in his field, but he eventually gives a little nod, pats Bluestreak’s upper arm (it’s as high as he can reach!), and smiles reassuringly.

“Join us at any point, ‘kay? Or meet us back here afterwards.” Venting a sigh of relief, Bluestreak squeezes one of Bumblebee’s shoulders gently.

“Thanks for understanding, ‘Bee. Let Spike an’ Carly know I’m sorry, but I’ll still be around!”

“Will do!” With a bright grin and thumbs up at his best friend, Bumblebee trots happily down the hill towards his waiting human friends with blankets in his arms. Bluestreak watches fondly as the humans greet the minibot enthusiastically, and then look up at Bluestreak, Spike holding up a thumbs up with a questioning tilt to his head.

Bluestreak sends back a confident thumbs up, and the teens relax, concern turning into content as they wave up at him and then turn to find a spot to settle.

Bluestreak, on the other servo, can’t settle at all.

Something, just something, is making him uneasy. He’s alert, he’s aware, he’s anxious. His doorwinds keep twitching, fluttering, and adjusting oh-so-slightly.

It’s all of a sudden that Bluestreak realises his doorwings are unintentionally searching for something. No- Feeling something. They can sense what’s wrong before his processor even can. His optics widen with realization as his doorwings lock onto what feels like a pulsing signal.

“That’s definitely not Bumblebee’s field…”

With sharp optics that only a sniper could possess, Bluestreak sweeps his gaze over every inch of the surrounding area, looking for anything out of place, anything that didn’t belong or fit in or-

There!

His doorwings snap into position to angle them towards the dark, shadowy triangle that pokes out very slightly above a tree waaaay back in the forest. It could have been mistaken for a leaf, but Bluestreak is observant. Has seen too much.

He senses.

It’s definitely a Cybertronian field, that’s for sure, and considering it’s one that he doesn’t recognize, Bluestreak is sure it’s either a neutral who’s been hiding on Earth, or a Decepticon.

The last one is concerning.
There’s so many humans here, people who could be hurt if a Decepticon did… Well, Decepticon things!

“Okay, no pressure, absolutely no pressure at all! I mean, it is all on me and I’m the only one who’s seen there’s someone hiding in the dark, so I’m the only one who can do anything about it and I’m not sure I can make the right decision, which is… Kind of a lot of pressure… But yeah! No pressure!” Bluestreak tweaks tediously at his optical sensors until he filters out the light from the surrounding area, bringing the forest area into dim but distinguishable view. His spark drops in his chamber at the same time his wings tilt downwards.

“Oh no, that is so much pressure…”

A single seeker silhouette in the shadows.
No head cone in sight.
One of the Elite Trine.

“No, wait! No need to jump to conclusions. It- It could a neutral… Or a lost Autobot! Or, or… Oh, who am I kidding?” With a groan somewhere between despair and exhaustion, questioning why he has to be the one to do this, Bluestreak inches closer.

If his friends have noticed him heading towards the forest instead of a clear spot on the hill, they don’t mention it.

He hopes they’ve noticed.
Really hopes they’ve noticed.

Because if the seeker spots him before he spots them… Well, there’s not likely to be much Bluestreak left to take back to the Ark.

“It’d be more like ground streak. Streak on the ground. Smushed up bits of me, streaked across the ground. … Why am I thinking about my name like this?! Nerves. Must just be nerves. Yup.”

He’s getting closer.

Letting out one last slow ex-vent, Bluestreak mutes his vocaliser and creeps closer. He’s helped unexpectedly by the lights in the carpark turning off, using only the golden glowing lanterns to lead him to the suspicious observer.

Somehow, he manages to make it deeper into the forest than the lurking individual, and pulls out his blaster. From this close, he can’t snipe.

From this close, he couldn’t possibly miss.
Pit, even Beachcomber couldn’t miss from here, and he intentionally aimed to miss.

“If you blast a hole through my helm before the movie even starts, I’m going to reject the Pit and haunt you for the rest of your pitiful Autobot existence.” Bluestreak almost drops his gun, but manages to - barely - avoid pulling the trigger. Red optics don’t even tear away from the screen in front of them, and Bluestreak shutters his optics as he identifies the looming mech.

Thundercracker.
Who… He really thought had the bare minimal survival instincts.

“Who says that when there’s a gun at their helm?!”

“Someone who can see the movie is clearly starting. Shush.”

What.

Wait, what?

What???

“You’re watching??? The- The movie…???” A low, warning growl from the seeker. Despite his apparent irritation, his wings are angled forwards in interest and enthusiasm as the intro scene for ‘Earthquake’ plays on the cloth screen.

“Why else would I be here, Autoscum?” Sure, he’s starting to get into passive-aggressive territory, but Thundercracker’s field - and more telling, his wings - indicate his honesty.

He’s… Genuinely just here for the movie.

For all that Bluestreak talks, blabbers, rambles, and prattles, in this split astrosecond, he’s speechless.

“Screenplay by Mario Puzo?! I love that guy’s work!” Quirking an optical ridge, Bluestreak shuffles uneasily.

“Who- Uh… Who’s Mario Pozo…?” Thundercracker whips his helm round to the sniper with an expression of disbelief, like he’s actually stunned that Bluestreak doesn’t recognise this one human among the millions of humans that exist. Even more bizarre, he seems to be completely ignoring the blaster still pointed at his helm.

“Mario Puzo! You know, Mario Puzo?”

“Uhhhhhh…” Rolling his optics, Thundercracker turns his optics back to the screen, resting his chin in his servos. A leaf from the trees above him flutters down onto his shoulders, joining others that have fallen there in the time he’s been hiding.

Part of Bluestreak wonders if he was here even before the screen was set up.
It’s the only way a Decepticon could have gotten here without being seen by humans.

“He wrote The Godfather in 1969, and screen-wrote the film adaptation in 1972. I think this movie - Earthquake - is his third work. Mark Robson, the director, has a pretty good reputation too.” For a moment, trusting his instincts, Bluestreak allows his gaze to briefly flicker from the Seeker to the movie below.

His optics quickly snap back to the screen with a gasp of delight, doorwings wiggling in sheer glee.

“That’s Geneviѐve Bujold! She got a Golden Globe for her acting as Anne Boleyn! Oh, she was so elegant, I love her!”

“I think she has three Canadian Film Awards too, all for best actress.” During their talking, Bluestreak lowers the gun, still keeping it in servo, but not pointed anywhere as dangerous - or fatal - as a helm.

As he slowly moves to sit cross legged on the forest floor, peering out through thin foliage, Thundercracker shuffles across to make room for both his wingspan, and the stretch of Praxian doorwings.

For a small moment, all is quiet.
And then…

“Well, one of those two is going to die for sure, if not both of them.” A vent of almost relief escapes Bluestreak. He’d been desperately trying not to talk so he didn’t annoy the Decepticon, but it seemed like Thundercracker was okay with conversation during movies too!

Or, at least he spoke.
Maybe conversation was okay?
But what if it wasn’t…?

Only one way to find out.

“I mean, we’ve been introduced to 4 characters already, and it is a disaster movie, so at least one of the four is going to die. But what makes you think it’s definitely one of these two?” With a little scoff, Thundercracker rolls his optics.

“Did you not just hear what the store manager said? If someone says ‘next time’ in a disaster movie before the disaster happens, there will never, never, be a next time. Either he’s going to die, or the one he’s speaking to will die.”

“I understand where you’re coming from, but that could just be a reference to the incoming earthquake, it doesn’t have to be death! That’s morbid. And like, an overused trope.”

“It’s not a trope, it’s a connotation. Those lines are intentionally written to be a red flag.”

“But what if I don’t want it to be~?” Thundercracker opens his mouth to answer, but then screws it up in disgust at the screen.

“Oh, of course there’s a mating scene. Humans and their disgusting need to publicise what should be private.” Bluestreak shutters his optics, focuses back on the screen, and promptly switches his optics off.

“Ew! I really didn’t need to see that! I’m going to have bad refluxes for weeks, I’m going to need therapy, I think I’ll ask Ratchet to erase this particular memory-”

“... It could be romantic, if he wasn’t a cheating pile of scrap.” Once more, Bluestreak finds himself speechless, staring with wide optics at the seeker who has just the faintest colour on his cheekplates, looking in the complete opposite direction, sheepish and shy.

“Oh my Primus, you’re a hopeless romantic…” There’s a small, almost insulted grumble from Thundercracker, and his wings lift up, tilting forwards, as if he was ruffling himself up or trying to hide beneath them. His field only show embarrassment though, none of the aggression Bluestreak belatedly realises he could have gotten.

“M’not.”

“You literally just said it could be romantic.”

“... Shurrup…” At the answer he would more expect from Sunstreaker than a literal Decepticon, Bluestreak quietly laughs and turns his attention back to the film. It’s all just casual conversation about the movie between them until one particular scene.

The Elevator.

One of the most notorious scenes of any disaster movie, the scene itself could be called a disaster. It’s supposed to be tragic, yes, watching an elevator plunge 25 floors, killing everyone inside, but…

It’s just so bad it’s funny.

Thundercracker and Bluestreak whip their helms to each other, optics bright and wings/doorwings wiggling with mirth before they both burst out laughing, joining the crowd below.

Badly animated blood added post-production turned this disaster movie into a comedy.

“Pr-Primus, that was so gaudy! Who’s idea was it to do that?! Did they not watch their own film and realise how stupid it was?”

“I think- I think it was superimposed over a still frame.” Thundercracker covers his mouth with a servo, trying to hide the crinkle of his olfactory sensor as he snorts in amusement, forcefully stopping himself laughing before it draws anyone’s attention to the forest.

Bluestreak does the same, knowing that the Decepticon is likely to turn on him if they’re discovered by outside forces. They keep to whispers and telltale glances - including the smug grin Thundercracker flashes him when one the characters he’d marked for death dies.

“Told ya so.” Bluestreak only shoves very lightly at his shoulder, not showing how impressed he is that Thundercracker was right.

“Bet you the cheater dies next.”

“Oh, please! He’s the main character, he’s not going to die! There’s no way any producer would kill off the main character when they’ve spent all this time building up audience rapport and painting him as this invincible, undefeatable hero of Los Angeles.” The character on screen, a macho leading man all the way, seems to pull a jackhammer out of nowhere in a situation that just specifically calls for it, and Bluestreak holds his servos out to gesture ‘see?’.

Thundercracker’s response is to raise his optical ridge.

“He’ll die. Probably in some act of ‘noble’ self-sacrifice. Heroes seem to be all about that.”

“Nu-uh! He’s going to save all the surviving characters from that underground garage and they’ll be the group left to look over the city just before ending credits!” Bluestreak confidently exclaims his hopeful ending, only for Thundercracker to point to the screen again.

His spark sinks in his chamber as he watches the on-screen Mulholland Dam crack and burst, sending a tidal floor across the damaged city.

The wife of the main character is swept away.
The main character jumps in after her.

Bluestreak slowly slides a glare over to the (absolutely gleeful) seeker sitting next to him.

“You’ve seen this before, haven’t you?”

“Nope.”

“Then how did you know-?!” Before Bluestreak can finish his question and subsequently launch into a rambling monologue, Thundercracker holds up a servo, his expression suddenly stern. Curious, Bluestreak tilts his helm.

“I was never here, Autobot.” Sensing the abrupt change in dynamic - no longer watching a movie and instead moving to stand - Bluestreak grabs his gun, disengages the safety, and scrambles to stand equally as tall, holding his blaster point-blank with Thundercracker’s faceplates.

“I can’t let you leave. It was really nice having someone to talk to during a movie, but that wasn’t what I should have done, and I need to correct that mistake. You’re not just another mech to casually make conversation with, you’re a Decepticon. You know I’m going to have to take you into custody, right?” Tense, Bluestreak is ready for Thundercracker to try and take off, or fight him.

Yet, the jet only cracks a patronising grin.

“You know we just watched a movie about an Earthquake, right?”

“... Yes? What does that have to with this? Unless the San Andreas fault slips right this astrosecond, you’re not getting away.”

“Oh, but naive little Autobot, this was discussed in the film. Earthquakes are caused by tremors.” No sooner has Thundercracker said this than he digs his thrusters into the soft soil beneath them, and unleashes his outlier.

A sonic boom resonates through the ground, pulsing and shaking like the waves from an earthquake epicenter, making the ground shudder and sway. Screams from down below echo into the late evening, people panicking at the ‘earthquake’ that seems to be happening almost prophetically, as if watching the 1974 movie had brought it into existence.

Bluestreak is thrown backwards by the force of the tremors, stumbling into a nearby tree. He steadies himself on it, but by that point, in the commotion of the synthetic earthquake and darkness of the the short-circuited lanterns and fallen canvas screen, Thundercracker has taken to the skies.

Bluestreak spots him immediately. His blue plating might help him blend into the sky, but it’s more suited for camouflage on the bluest of sunny days - not a cloudy evening.

He aims with his blaster.
Lines up a shot…

And doesn’t fire.

He can’t bring himself to shoot. With his enhanced optics, he easily makes out Thundercracker give him a nod, as if thankful, or saying goodbye, with a smile that… Doesn’t seem as dangerous as it should be.

It’s not a manic grin like Skywarp’s before he vop’s on the battlefield. It’s not a threatening smirk like Starscream’s before he unveils a weapon.

No. It’s… Friendly? Appreciative?
It’s more like the smile Ratchet gives the twins behind their backs as he dismisses them from medbay, or the smile Prowl gives him when they have their brotherly bonding moments.

It’s the kind of smile he sees frequently in the Autobots.
Maybe that’s what convinces him to let Thundercracker go.

“I’m going to regret this… At least I think I am. Definitely not reporting it.” Reluctantly, he switches the safety back on his weapon and lowers it, giving Thundercracker the chance to escape.

Escape he does.

He flies off as silently as a seeker can manage - which is surprisingly silent - and doesn’t even stop to cause damage to the humans. It would have been easy. There’s so many of them in such a small clearing with very few easy exits. A Decepticon wouldn’t have hesitated to take out this small percent of population, especially with two Autobots here.

But Thundercracker hadn’t.

“Bluestreak!!!” Jolting out of his thoughts, Bluestreak steps out of the forest and waves at Bumblebee, running towards him in a frantic flurry.

“It’s okay! I’m okay! A little shaken, but it’s an earthquake, so, y’know, kinda expected that! Are Spike and Carly okay? What about everyone else? Was anyone hurt?” Bumblebee vents a huff, relaxing when he realises Bluestreak is 100% okay.

“Everyone is good, though some are a little freaked out thanks to the timing. Thankfully it was just a small one!”

“Mhmm.” Bumblebee notices the distinct lack of words and how distracted Bluestreak seems, slightly rising one optical ridge. With another vent, he reaches out and knocks his knuckles against Bluestreak’s bumper affectionately.

“C’mon, Blue. Let’s get Spike ‘n’ Carly home, then we can go home too.” Immediately, Bluestreak perks back up.

“Sure!!! I can’t wait to tell everyone all about it! Sideswipe wanted to know if it was good an action movie as the reviews, and Hound was really interested in the geological insights, and I’m pretty sure it was Jazz who asked me about the soundtrack, but it could also have been Blaster- Ooh! And Perceptor wanted to hear about preventative measures, though I’m not sure there’s any preventative measures for an earthquake at all.”

“In that case, we’d better get back loooong before curfew~!” Bumblebee’s tease makes Bluestreak laugh, the taller mech grabbing his friends wrist and tugging him back down towards their human friends.

Just before they transform to leave, he casts one last, pensive look towards the dusk sky.

He wouldn’t mind coming here again.

Chapter Text

The second meeting was a coincidence.

“Ya got a hot min ta spare, Baby Blue?” How on earth Jazz always managed to sneak up on him, Bluestreak didn’t know. Thankfully, he’s used to it enough that he doesn’t shriek or yelp anymore. Just a slight twitch of his doorwings.

“Heya Jazz! I have a little bit of time, but not too much ‘cus I have to go on patrol with ‘Raj right now-”

“That’s kinda what I wanna talk ta you about. Mind if we swap?” Very cleverly, Bluestreak stares at him wordlessly for an astrosecond. It’s only when he shutters his optics that he realises he needs to give an answer.

“Sure! Your patrol route is the Lonesome Drive, right? Since that leads straight past the city, I might go check on the public information boards at the end of patrol. Don’t worry, though, I’ll be careful! I know it overlaps with two known Decepticon patrol routes, so I’ll keep my scanners upwards.”

Jazz cuts Bluestreak off as he takes a deep invent to continue, clapping his servo down on Bluestreak’s shoulder.

“Yer a good kid, Blue. Drive slow, don’t stray from th’ marked road, an’ whatever ya do, do not let down yer guard.” His visor dips into a deep blue with how serious he is.

The Lonesome Drive is one of the most - if not the most - dangerous patrol route the Autobots take. Not only does it cross two known Decepticon patrol routes, and probably a couple of unknown ones, it also traverses a minefield at one point, passes by a geyser, and is prone to tornadoes during bad weather.

There was also that one time there was a giant monsoonal duststorm.
Sideswipe wasn’t easily scared, but that had terrified him into refusing to ever take the Lonesome Drive again.
(Bluestreak had been ready to laugh at him until he saw how badly shaken his friend was.)
((Nobody ever underestimated Earth weather again.))

“I know, Jazz. If I feel uneasy at any point, I’ll walk and use my doorwings to navigate.”

“And if ya encounter one o’ those duststorms…?”

“Pull aside, do not drive, stay alive.” Jazz’s stern expression melts into a one-sided grin and he pulls back to casually rest his servos on his hips.

“Ah’m proud of ya, Baby Blue. Catch ya later!” Waving a hand behind him, Jazz turns on pede to sprint to the end of the hallway, calling out to Mirage who must be heading this way, and disappearing out of sight.

Part of Bluestreak wonders why he agreed to take this dangerous patrol.
The other part reminds him that he’s one of only 7 mechs cleared to take it.

That Red Alert and Inferno were busy in security, Prowl and Optimus Prime were having a meeting, Hound was in med-bay for having mud in his systems (Again), and Jazz clearly needed to discuss Spec Ops stuff with Mirage.

That left only Bluestreak.

Well, Sideswipe was also cleared to take the path, (not Sunstreaker because he was too impulsive when it came to attacking passing Decepticon patrols.), but Bluestreak wasn’t going to send his friend back to the only place that had seemingly traumatized him. Even months on, he had a constant check on the weather.

“... Maybe the public information boards will have new movie postings? I’ve never really checked that before, but it sure would be nice to know…” Muttering to himself, Bluestreak heads towards the Ark entrance. He’s not in as much of a rush anymore, since Jazz’s patrol was a couple of breems after his.

That gives him approximately 15 minutes to burn.
15 minutes was not long for someone like Bluestreak.

He could dream as much as he could talk, silent in his thoughts as he stood stock-still, faceplates turned to the sunlight and optics completely off.

From all the movies, series, and animations he had watched, Bluestreak could create his own little fantasies - imagined landscapes that required no physics or restraint of creativity, cities that mixed cultural architecture and had levels of roads, quaint buildings like coffee shops and libraries to contend with lively clubs and packed markets.

In a way, Bluestreak was a creator of worlds, though only in still images in his helm. He would talk for hours about these settings, if only there was someone to listen, someone who wanted to hear his imaginations.

But there was one flaw to his world-building.

“No, that’s not a natural thing to do at all! Wait, what was this mech’s personality again? … Who leans against a door frame like that?!”

Bluestreak couldn’t even begin to imagine characters in his worlds.

“I give up. Maybe I’ll just get Sunny to paint some of the settings… Though that’s not what I want at all. Pits, why is it so hard to imagine something alive?!” His chronometer gives off a ping, and with an aggravated vent, Bluestreak folds down into vehicle mode and drives off on the Lonesome Drive patrol route.

It takes so much focus that there’s no room for thinking about anything except his own safety.

.::Bluestreak, you’re leaving surveillance area. Anything to report?::.

.::Nothing to report yet, base. I’ll keep in contact with updates at the designated checkpoints or if I see anything suspicious.::.

.::Affirmative. Red Alert out.::.

Cutting his comm channel - because he’s coming up on the first crosspoint with a known Decepticon patrol route - Bluestreak pours all his attention into his audials and sensors. If there’s anything out here, he’s more likely to hear it than he is to see it.

He goes as far to turn off his optics, travelling by the feel of the road beneath him, tyres fitting into groves carved out by the multiple patrols taken along this route. On any other patrol, he’d use this opportunity to fill the silence or daydream, but not on the Lonesome Drive.

Never on the Lonesome Drive.

With all his sensors tuned in for other presences, Bluestreak picks up on what could be Decepticon activity long before it could be a threat. Or even a concern! Hearing what could be jet engines in the very distance, he has a long time to confirm aircraft surveillance with the human authorities and try to work out if he was going to cross paths with the suspected jet.

There’s no registered aircraft in the airspace. There’s no unregistered aircraft in the airspace, which means human radar can’t detect a callsign.

It’s not a human craft.
It’s most definitely a Decepticon.

One on its own, because Bluestreak would very obviously be able to tell if it was two or a trine. It’s not Starscream because it’s much too slow. It’s not Skywarp, the teleporter had a habit of ‘vop’ping around on patrol, not taking it seriously at all. Most of all, it’s not Dirge, who’s engines rattle and echo with an ominous grumble.

Which narrows it down to three suspects.

Ramjet regularly takes this route because he craves the conflict. Thrust has recently been spotted taking more patrols than usual. And Thundercracker was generally unaccounted for.

.::Bluestreak to base, I’ve got a Seeker approaching. No confirmation ID as of yet. Any tags on the others?::.

.::We don’t have a location on Starscream. Skywarp has been sighted on the canyon route, and the Coneheads were intercepted scouting out a power plant in Estonia. By process of elimination, it’s either-::.

.::It’s Thundercracker. Great. Thanks, Red! I’ll scout out his activity without leaving the patrol route!::.

.::Be careful! We can’t send backup to your position.::.

It’s not an ideal situation, but Bluestreak has plenty of warning, and he knows the Lonesome Drive pretty well by now. There’s an overhang up ahead that he can shelter under until he has visual on the wayward seeker.

Transforming into bipedal mode, he creeps under the overhang and tucks himself into the shadows, keeping out of sight from above.

“Now, where are you, ‘Con? If you sound this close by, at that speed, from the North, then you should be appearing… Right about… Now.” Keeping his sniper-worthy vision turned to the sky, Bluestreak almost sputters in surprise when he doesn’t spot the seeker overhead.

But he hears the roar of engines.
He feels the gust of wind pass by.

“... Primus above, I’m looking for a sky blue seeker in a blue sky! That’s a near-impossible task, how am I supposed to spot him coming? Wait, no, he’s gone… Past me???” Doorwings twitching in the direction of the city, Bluestreak isn’t sure if he feels relieved or…

“Oh no.” Optics widening, he settles for horrified. There’s a Decepticon heading for the city. Briefly, he recalls that one night at the drive-in movies, when Thundercracker had left without hurting anyone.

But there’s no guarantee he’ll spare lives again.
Not if he was following orders.

.::Blue to base, I have confirmed location on Thundercracker. He’s heading for the city! It’s a reeeeaaaally busy day today as well ‘cus it’s market day and there’s some kind of celebrity meet and greet going on in the bookstore. I’m in pursuit.::.

Not waiting for Red Alert’s reply, Bluestreak shuts off his comm, transforms back into vehicle mode. He doesn’t hesitate to hit the acceleration, going a little faster than the Lonesome Drive should be taken.

But there’s a Decepticon in the city.

His own safety was easily tradeable for the hundreds of thousands that lived in this particular urban area. Not that he was being reckless, no way. He was still careful, just a little fast.

Then, the most extraordinary thing happens. He watches as Thundercracker comes to a slow, soft landing on the edge of the city, and transforms, looking around almost nervously. He spots Bluestreak, flares his wings out with a touch of intimidation as if expecting aggression or laser fire, and then lowers them cautiously.

Absolutely baffled, Bluestreak slows to a halt and stops just an arm length away from him. Nothing happens, so he transforms to bipedal mode.

“Wow, I was totally expecting you to fly right over the city and like, drop a bomb or something, maybe start shooting people. Did you see me following you the whole time?” Thundercracker nods.

“It’s not hard to spot dark silver against red sand. And seeker fields are extremely perceptive of seekerkin.” He casts a small glance to Bluestreak’s doorwings, and Bluestreak twists to glare at his own appendages, muttering a soft ‘traitors’ under a vent. Flicking them, he turns back to meet the seeker’s red optics.

“So what are you doing out here, then? It doesn’t seem like you’re on patrol if you just stop like this, and if you were doing evil deeds, you probably would have shot at me, right? But I don’t see any other reason for you to be in or near the city!”

“Well-” Thundercracker cuts himself off, whipping his helm towards a darkened alley.

Bluestreak watches, as in the shutter of an optic, the Decepticon goes from tense and cautious to completely relaxed.
The two most surprising things are the grin that stretches across his faceplates and the excited wiggle of his wings.

“Buster! C’mere, girl!” An equally excited yip from the alley.

A human laugh.

And then, the skittering of paws as a tiny dog with leash still attached comes barreling around the corner, skidding and correcting her path to run directly at Thundercracker.

Bluestreak almost pulls his gun out, thinking the Decepticon will shoot the brave, innocent organic! But instead…
Thundercracker crouches down, servos open and lets out an honest-to-Primus coo at the dog that circles around in his servos, barking incessantly.

He pulls it to his faceplates, nuzzling the tiny creature as it licks him. Bluestreak can only stare with open mouthplates and wide optics, until his attention is drawn back to the alley.

From the darkness, a human woman steps out, with auburn hair and hazel eyes. Her body language conveys a confidence, with a touch of playful irritation.

“Seriously, TC? You couldn’t have waited for us to get round the corner at least? She almost yanked my arm out of its socket!” The woman gestures at the leash dangling between Thundercracker’s digits.

Then, she raises an eyebrow, gesturing at Bluestreak.

“You bring a friend?” For a moment, doorwings twitch in panic. How was he supposed to explain that no, he was very much Thundercracker’s enemy, the jet was an enemy of humanity, and that he was probably going to kill her dog at any moment?

“Yea. Bluestreak, this is Marissa. Marissa, Bluestreak. I think you two will get on like, uh, what’s the human saying?”

“A house on fire? Sounds apt, since you’re from different factions. I’m not sure I’ll like someone who tries to kill you.” Once more, Bluestreak gawks. Thundercracker knows this human. This human knows he’s a Decepticon and he, himself, an Autobot.

“... If he was genuinely trying to kill me, I’d be deactivated already. Bluestreak is one of the best snipers of the Cybertronian war. I think Prime has a ‘no-kill’ attitude for this war, and Bluestreak honours that. I’d… Appreciate having my wings in one piece though. Buster likes her flights too much.” A sheepish grin paired with a shrug.

Bluestreak can spot the faint colour in Thundercracker’s cheekplates, but it doesn’t stop him from shamelessly holding the dog - Buster - to his cockpit like he cherishes her. He’s even moved to sit cross-legged on the concrete, so she won’t fall if her excited circles spill from his servos.

And Bluestreak unwillingly thinks; It’s similar to the way Hound would hold his precious rescued animals. Gentle and loving and careful.

Marissa rolls her eyes.

“You are the weirdest alien I’ve ever met. You adore my dog-”

“She’s perfect!!”

“- you’re scared of water-”

“I live underwater.”

“- you get me to collect autographs for you-”

“I can’t do it myself, I’m a giant, evil, alien robot.”

“- And you introduce me to your centuries long war enemy as a friend!” A pause. Thundercracker tilts his helm to the ground like he’s a naughty sparkling caught in the act by a creator. He worries his bottom lipplate with his denta, cheekplates darkening in colour shyly.

“... He likes movies too…” Marissa shakes her head, hands on her hips, but there’s an amused smile on her face.

“As if that’s a reason… TC, you’re a dork.” Blue wings wiggle with a touch of pride, fangs visible in a bright grin, but Marissa shows no fear whatsoever. If anything, she steps closer. And finally, finally, Bluestreak finds his vocaliser again.

“I genuinely have no idea what the frag is going on! I have no idea why a Decepticon is here, I have no idea why a human is here, I have no idea why a dog is here, I have no idea why I’m here! Why are you hugging the dog? Why are you talking to a Decepticon?! Why is that dog so TINY?!”

Marissa and Thundercracker share a glance. Then, in unison:

“She’s a puggle.”

“Was that really the question that needed answering?!” In another moment of silence, Marissa turns to poke a finger right at Thundercracker’s cockpit.

“You didn’t bring him here to meet us, did you?”

“Not- Not intentionally…”

“Thundercracker! My God, you are one of THE most socially-inept, awkward, and somewhat stupid people- alien- friends I’ve ever met!!!”

“Thank you?” With a light scoff, Marissa gives a playful shove to Thundercracker’s front before offering out a hand to Bluestreak. Just because he’s ingrained the behaviour into his programs, Bluestreak automatically takes it with a little shake.

“Sorry you got dragged into this, without being aware of it. It’s nice to meet you though, Blue, uh, Bluestreak, was it?” As out of the loop as he feels, Bluestreak manages an uneasy smile and nods.

“Nice to meet you too, Ms.Marissa. But, uh…” He jabs a thumb digit towards Thundercracker.

“How??? Why???” Laughing, Marissa crosses her arms casually and watches as Buster jumps from Thundercracker’s servos to run loops around him, the seeker trying to catch Buster’s lead and failing in a way Bluestreak can only guess is on purpose.

“I’m not entirely sure, to be honest. I saved him once, he saved me in return, we worked together to save Buster, and apparently that’s how cross-species friendships between antisocial humans and evil alien robots are born.”

“Marissa.” Bluestreak catches Thundercracker giving her a stern expression, slightly shaking his helm. Marissa similarly responds by raising an eyebrow, to which Thundercracker tilts his helm, and Marissa sighs.

Did they- Did they just have a silent conversation???

“That’s as much as I can tell you. But anyways. TC! You wanted me to get that autograph, right?”

“Yea.”

“Did you bring anything for me to get signed?” Reaching into his subspace, Thundercracker pulls out a clearly dented datapad. Bluestreak wonders how old it must be, since it’s obviously survived the crash into Earth in Thundercracker’s cockpit, and bares the marks of a well-loved datapad long before that.

Marissa sighs with a hint of irritation.

“I’m going to get asked so many questions about this.” The datapad looks huge in her hands, but she still manages to wave the lightweight contraption around. The size comparison reminds Bluestreak of humans carrying an Atlas, or encyclopedia.

Which… Makes sense, considering it’s a ‘book’ for Cybertronians.

“You could always say it’s a new kind of phone. One with a large display screen so you can see who’s calling, or see entire texts, or take pictures with. Maybe you could say it’s a prototype for a specific company, and you’re trialling it as an employee?” Marissa glances at the datapad, looks up at Bluestreak, and back down at the datapad with a slight grin.

“Huh. Not a bad excuse.” With a mock salute, Marissa walks off without a word, leaving her dog in Decepticon servos. That’s not something Bluestreak would ever thought he’d see.

But the silence her departure leaves behind is almost a crushing weight, and Bluestreak has so many questions, is thinking so many things, just has to know-!

“You must have some questions.”

Thank Primus!!!

“All the ones from before, mostly, but also I’m pretty sure this is the weirdest coincidence of my life if you didn’t plan this.”

“Only from when I spotted you. It was coincidence that it happened to be you, on a patrol that crossed with mine, and I was already meeting Marissa today.” Buster yips, circling around Thundercracker’s servo as he extends out a digit to pat her back gently, a gentle whisper of “Yeah, you too, girl.”.

“As for the rest… I’m here because my favourite actress is holding a signing at the local bookstore. Marissa’s here to help me get the autograph, and because she really likes the fresh peaches at the farmer’s market. Buster, well, she goes where Marissa goes.”

“That leads to so many more questions, and I still have a few unanswered from before. How did a Decepticon end up friends with a human and dog instead of trying to, y’know, squish them? Because it doesn’t seem like a very Decepticon thing to do. I didn’t know you were allowed to do that!”

“Uh… Well…” Thundercracker looks away, his shoulders hunching in and wings slanted guiltily. For almost 20 astroseconds, Bluestreak stares at him, mouth hung open.

“Do you have a death wish??? You’re a high-ranking officer in the Decepticons, who are trying to destroy this planet, and you’re making friends with the locals?! You’re literally trinemate of the second-in-command! What would happen to you if he found out?!”

There’s a long, uncomfortable pause.
So long, that Bluestreak wonders if the Seeker even heard him.

“Thun-”

“There’s no reason for him to know. For anyone to know.”

“Sure, there’s no reason, but it’s pretty irresponsible to think that you can continue to hide it. I mean, I found you sitting in the trees and watching movies, what’s to say Starscream, or Soundwave, or Megatron isn’t? You’re putting the entire city in danger, more specifically Ms.Marissa and Buster!”

“They don’t know.”

“For how long?”

“They won’t know. I’m careful.” Bluestreak scrunches his face up in frustration, not sure how to put all the words in his head together in a sentence that makes sense. Part of him wants to sympathise, part of him wants to accuse Thundercracker of endangering others, and another part wants to just- just burst!

“What’re you gonna do if they do…?” A quiet hum from Thundercracker goes almost unheard under Buster’s panting as she runs circles around his pedes, the Seeker straightening to full height.

“That’s for me to know, not you.” Red optics turn to Bluestreak with what seems like patience, and Bluestreak restrains a shiver. He knows his doorwings tremble in anxious anticipation because Thundercracker’s optics flicker to them and he smirks.

“Unless it’s about movies, don’t concern yourself with my business.”

“What about battle?”

“You don’t shoot to kill, neither do I.” For a moment, Bluestreak is surprised. But he quickly shakes it off to continue negotiating, getting the feeling that the seeker won’t be staying here long.

“So then, avoid each other on the battlefield, but make it look realistic whilst also totally faking it if we end up having to fight…?” The corners of Thundercracker’s lipplates twitch again, and Bluestreak can’t help but liken it to Sunstreaker.

Great! First Ratchet, then Prowl, then Hound, now Sunstreaker!
Who else among his friends/family was he going to compare the enemy to?!

“Yea. S’about right.”

“But then outside of battles, you want to watch movies together? Why??? I mean, you’re a ‘Con, I’m a ‘Bot, this is super dangerous for you and kinda weird for me, plus we have no way to even plan what movies are showing where, and I just- I… I guess I don’t understand.” A simple shrug, blue wings flowing with the movement.

“What is there to understand?” It’s so basic, so straightforward, that Bluestreak struggles to find an answer. What is there to understand? It’s just two Cybertronians watching human movies in secret, right? How could it possibly be complicated?

“Okay.” Red optics flicker a shade brighter, and Bluestreak doesn’t think he’s imagining the excitement there. It reflects back in his own, making him a little giddy.

“Okay?”

“Okay!” A small giggle escapes him, and Bluestreak wrestles that enthusiasm back under control as he quickly checks that no humans have spotted them. His doorwings pick up movement, but it’s only Buster, trying to jump up Thundercracker’s legs.

Then, the chime of an open comm. It’s not on his frequency though, and his doorwings lower in trepidation as he whips his gaze to Thundercracker’s comm unit. The seeker raises an optical ridge at Bluestreak’s behaviour, and then answers in a tone Bluestreak thinks he would have been shot for, if it were Megatron.

“Who is it?” An annoyed sigh echoes over the comm call. He’s… Leaving it open? Letting Bluestreak hear? Odd, but then, the Praxian fully well knows this isn’t the oddest thing to happen this week.

Pit! It’s not even the oddest thing to happen in the last hour!

“You know full well who it is, TC, you explained that your comm system-thingamajig had ID tags.” There’s that little quirky smile that Bluestreak thinks is becoming uneasily familiar as Thundercracker waits, silently, counting down from four on his digits.

Exactly as the last digit goes down, a deadpan response comes through.

“Marissa. The only human you talk to. The owner of your dog. The Marissa that’s going to kick you up the turbines if you do this again.” Bluestreak almost laughs.

Almost.

Thundercracker looks so proud too, as if winding up his human friend is the highlight of his day.

But then Marissa speaks again, and her voice is strained. Tense. Urgent.

“Listen, I think you need to get out of here. There’s some pretty dark clouds off in the distance, and I’ve just seen a couple of stormchaser vehicles. Could be a supercell forming.”

Bluestreak’s doorwings flare out in panic. A supercell. A storm of massive properties, capable of generating tornadoes. He hadn’t experienced one himself, but Sideswipe’s recounting of Earth weather the Lambo had endured - and his refusal to ever take the Lonesome Drive again - is enough to put the fear of Primus into Bluestreak.

If something was capable of shaking the unflappable, unflinching, daredevil Terror Twin, then it had to be utterly terrifying.

Occupied with trying to calm his vents - which are picking up to speeds that give him amber warnings - Bluestreak can feel the world shrinking around him, black static creeping in around the edge of his vision and growing bigger and bigger and-!

A servo squeezes his shoulder.
Reality starts to come back, though Bluestreak is well aware that he’s taking things in as if he was behind a screen, or as the humans described it, underwater.

“-der ground garage? ...Mhm… ... Yeah… ...Okay, got it. Thanks Marissa. I’ll send him that way.” A sharp tweak to the tip of his doorwing. Sharp enough that it completely brings him back, yanking him away from the oncoming neural overcharge.

It’s not dissimilar from Prowl’s crashes, but was entirely emotion based.
Luckily, it means he’s prone to distraction.

“Ow!” Bluestreak reaches up to bat away Thundercracker’s servo, giving the Decepticon a weak, half-sparked glare. To his credit, Thundercracker holds his servos up in mock surrender, stepping back so he’s out of Bluestreak’s personal space.

“Marissa’s given me directions to an underground garage. You can take shelter there until the storm has passed.” Something pings on the very edge of Bluestreak’s field, not as personal as a comm ping or invasive as a direct comm. It’s very general, very open, leaving it up to Bluestreak if he accepts or not.

With a shuddering vent, he does so. The ping contains a map, with hastily added directions layered over them. Directions. More specifically, directions to an underground garage.

“Uh, thanks. To- To you and Marissa.” Thundercracker moves down to scoop Buster up in his servos, pressing her to his cockpit for a barely noticeable astrosecond before extending her out to Bluestreak.

“Take Buster. Marissa will meet you there, but, ah, she says that she won’t pay for parking so you’d better have some ‘short change’ on you.” There’s a faint hint of confusion on Thundercracker’s faceplates, to which Bluestreak grins. His grin melts into a laugh as he takes Buster and she licks his chin.

“Yeah, I have some. But what about you? Kinda think it would be suspicious to see a plane in an underground garage.” Thundercracker smirks. It’s pure confidence, edging on cocky, but placid enough that Bluestreak can tell he’s not being rude.

As the howling winds draw closer, Thundercracker adds his engines to the volume, letting the air currents lift him with the aid of his thrusters.

“I might not be Starscream, but I am a Seeker.” He gains altitude, Bluestreak craning his helm to watch as Thundercracker peers over a tall building, apparently spotting the supercell in the distance as his faceplates stretch with an unrivalled, unparalleled glee he never would have expected from the stoic jet.

“We were made to outrun storms.” Thundercracker transforms, his engines roaring above the storm and winds, and takes off with a great burst of speed across the plateau opposite to the city.

Admittedly, it’s a dramatic and inspiring exit.
Bluestreak watches the speck of a seeker disappear through cloud cover. He looks down at the dog in his servos.
She yips.

Bluestreak sets her down, transforms into alt mode, and opens his passenger door for her. He wonders just how familiar Buster is with Cybertronians when she jump in with no hesitation and settles on his seat, sitting up and not even flinching as the seatbelt stretches across her or Bluestreak starts driving.

“Well, I guess we’d better get to that underground garage. Not like I have any other option since he left you with me and your owner is waiting for us. That said, I’m pretty grateful. He’s not bad for a Decepticon, though I guess we’re forgetting factions outside of battle? It’s a weird situation.” Buster barks again, as if agreeing. Honestly, Bluestreak feels a little silly to be relating to a dog, but this is understandably new territory for him.

“... Wait a pit-damned astrosec. Did Marissa say you were Thundercracker’s dog?”

Chapter Text

The third meeting was dangerous.

For Thundercracker, it started out almost exactly the same as every other day. Come out of recharge at the same time as the day before. An extremely short, extremely cold visit to a wash rack that spewed salt water instead of solvent.

Check the rota for his duties, and report to Soundwave for any changes.

Reach the rec room to hear others grumbling and complaining about having barely a quarter of a cube for the morning ration.

Drink his not-quite-a-quarter of disgusting energon, leaving behind the sludge at the bottom that he didn’t want gunking up his tanks.

Go to his first scheduled shift, which at this time of the morning, was cleaning damage that had occurred overnight, or trying to reclaim rooms that the ocean had stolen from them.

Everything was so regular, so dull, so boring, so… Exactly the same that it numbed his processor. That in itself was a blessing. If he wasn’t thinking, there wasn’t anything for a telepath to find.

And just as everything was getting a little too boring-

“Hey, TC! You wanna-”

“No.” Right on cue, a flash of violet, and a blip of excitement followed by intense disappointment as Skywarp realised he’d been rejected before even giving a proposition.

“Aw, C’mon! You didn’t even hear me out this time!” Rolling his optics, Thundercracker pauses in scrubbing algae and coral off the walls of this recently drained room, shaking his servo to get rid of the suds.

“I already know about the glue you have under your berth, and I saw you exchanging something with Swindle. Best guess? Glitter. Either that or feathers. That means your target is either Blitzwing, who you told to ‘brighten up’, or the condor cassettes.” Thundercracker pauses to watch Skywarp shuffle guiltily, though his grin is unapologetic.Well, that confirms his suspicions.

“I’m not having any part in that, thank you.” Something pokes at his wall of the trinebond, something cloaked in mischief and deviousness. Thundercracker turns back to the wall he was scrubbing to hide the little flicker of a smile that he can’t hold back.

But Skywarp knows. He knows, wings vibrating as he slings himself over Thundercracker’s back, his entire weight trying to drag how wingmate down. Luckily, Thundercracker had dealt with this for centuries, and he doesn’t even buckle.

“TeeCee~.”

“No.”

“Pleeeease?”

“Absolutely not.” He flicks his wings deliberately to shake Skywarp off his back. Much more effective than trying to wrestle him off. He can feel Skywarp pout before the (surprisingly) older Seeker slips away from him, retreating to plan how to get Thundercracker on his side.

As Thundercracker scrubs at the wall, revealing metal panels that have been hidden behind sea life for almost three years, he dares to peek over at Skywarp. A small, soft smile stretches as he watches his trinemate thinking heavily, one servo curled around his chin, digit tapping at his lipplates, other arm crossed over his cockpit and wings betraying his every emotion as he ran through his devious plans.

Aw, shucks. He’s a sucker when it comes to keeping the more playful and immature members of the Decepticons happy.

Even if it meant sharing the blame.

“If you help me finish up early, I might have time to stage a distraction or two.” Skywarp perks up so visibly that joy just beams from him, and Thundercracker laughs quietly as the troublemaker starts enthusiastically scrubbing at the walls with a spare ‘brush’.

Human brooms were extremely useful.

By the end of it, both of them are covered in suds and water droplets, having at one point been sneakily flicking the bubbles onto each other. Thundercracker had won when - with the walls fully clean - he’d poured the bucket over Skywarp’s head and then started on the floor as his trinemate spluttered.

“We’re finished here, right? We don’t have to do the ceiling too?”

“No, I did that before you pestered me.”

“Great! Then we-! I- Excuse me? Pestered?! I am a delight! I am the great gift of fun, I’m the reason you haven’t rotted away from boredom!” With another quiet laugh, Thundercracker shoves Skywarp towards the wash racks.

“You’re something, that’s for sure~.”

“WOW, TC, this is the thanks I get for being Primus-sent specifically to you ‘cus you’re like, a total loner without me?” It’s only playful teasing, and it shouldn’t sting, but it does. His good mood starts to wane as insecurity trickles in, helm tilting to the floor and his wings drop barely a millimetre…

But it’s enough.
Skywarp notices.

He steps forwards, squishing Thundercracker’s faceplates with his servos, and forcing optic-contact. His own bright grin is gone, replaced by a lopsided frown.

“Hey, I didn’t mean that, okay? You’re not a total loner, you’re just… Different. In a good way! In a good way, I promise. None of these losers are worth your time, TC.” Thundercracker vents a sigh, pulsing both an apology and forgiveness across the trinebond, very briefly dropping the wall on his side of it before yanking it back up again. Skywarp breaks into a face-splitting, shining grin, clapping his servos on Thundercracker’s cheekplates once before stepping back.

“There we go! Besides, why else would you be blessed with my wonderful presence if you weren’t the closest thing to a friend we oh-so-sparkless, oh-so-unfeeling ‘Cons are allowed?” Sensing the teasing coming back, Thundercracker steps under his own wash rack - shuddering at the cold - and then casting Skywarp a playful look.

“Starscream? When did you change your paint job?” Skywarp shrieks, throwing a slippery bar of… Whatever that was… At him, pulling an exaggerated expression of disgust.

“I said I was Primus-sent and wonderful, not the incarnation of Unicron with the ego of… Is there anything as obsessed with themselves as Starscream?”

“Hmm… Narcissus? A Greek God who fell in love with own reflection and looked at it until he died.”

“Not quite… I don’t think ‘Screamer’s obsessed with his appearance so much as he is with just… Himself. Thinks he’s so much better than us just ‘cus he’s a scientist or somethin’ and second in command.” Ooh, that’s bitter.

“Academically, he’s definitely smarter than the both of us put together. And he is an admirable air commander, with a helm for strategies that got him to second in command in the first place.” Skywarp pouts miserably. Thundercracker swirls his digit in a circle to gesture for him to turn around, so he can clean Skywarp’s wing joints. As he gets to work, trying to get out dust and dirt that Skywarp has let sit for far too long, he continues on in a calm tone.

“But, I don’t think whether someone is the ‘best’ or ‘better than others’ can be measured on those alone. There’s so much more to life than those two things, and, really, I don’t think someone should have to be good at something - at anything - to be considered worthy. Just existing is enough.”

“You’re such a sap.” Despite it sounding like an insult, Skywarp says it so merrily, it could only be a compliment. There’s a long, comfortable lapse in conversation, though Skywarp fills it by humming quietly. The tunes of quite crude, violent songs, but humming all the same.

In not too long at all, they’re both clean and dry. With the cleaning shift done early, there’s free time, so Thundercracker keeps his promise.

(He’d always intended to help. His ‘might’ meant ‘would’, and Skywarp knew that.)

“So, how am I helping you this time?” Skywarp pulls three containers from his subspace with a manic glee. One is the glue Thundercracker already knew about. The other two...

“I need someone to sprinkle the glitter on the glue before it dries~.”

“And you couldn’t have done that yourself?”

“Nah. It’s super-fast drying. By the time I finished covering Blitzwing’s huge aft, the rest would be solid. The glitter needs to go on whilst it’s fresh. Also, cuts time in half!” Venting a soft huff of a laugh, Thundercracker reaches out to take the glue, leaving Skywarp with the two tubs of glitter. Purple and white/silver, to match Blitzwing’s colour scheme.

“Alright, but I’m applying the glue. Blitzwing would notice if it was you, slapping it on heavy-servoed.”

“I take pride in my heavy servos!” Grinning, Skywarp lifts one arm to ‘show off’ his cabling in between some of his panelling. Thundercracker rolls his optics, bringing the glue up to helm level to get a good look at what’s really in it.

He wouldn’t trust Swindle to not try and rip Skywarp off.
This application glue may as well be coloured water.
...Or Cybertronian strength building glue.

Yeah, they wouldn’t want to coat Blitzwing in that.

“It’s okay, TC, I already checked it.”

“Let me try pulling the label off. Swindle has been known to put fake labels over the real ones.” Picking at it, Thundercracker is pleased to find only plastic underneath the paper. It’s legitimate PVA glue.

“Alright, whereabouts is Blitzwing, then?”

“My intended, totally hapless, completely vulnerable victim? Why, TC! He just so happens to have the late shift today!” There’s a dangerous, malicious touch to Skywarp’s expression, but Thundercracker ignores it - this time - because he knows this is the kind of prank that will end with no one getting (intentionally) hurt. Instead, he returns the enthusiasm with a slightly scheming smirk.

“Ah, he’s still in recharge, then. How delightfully easy that makes things for us.”

And, oh, how easy it is.

Breaking into Blitzwing’s quarters is as laughably easy as letting Skywarp grab his shoulder and warp them both in. Covering Blitzwing in the glue and glitter is… Underwhelming. He doesn’t even stir from recharge. And escaping the ‘crime’ scene? Exactly the same as breaking in.

As they quickly walk away from the corridor Blitzwing’s habsuite is down, Thundercracker glances over at Skywarp, expecting to see him slightly upset by how boring it was. (Though, boring suits Thundercracker just fine.)

“Pit, he’s gonna be so furious when he wakes up!” Ah, there’s that absolute manic glee, bubbling from Skywarp with unparalleled enthusiasm. So, thankfully not upset. That’s a relief, because Thundercracker knows full well how unhinged Skywarp can get when he’s bored or disappointed with a prank.

“Oh, yeah. You should make sure to avoid him for the next few cycles.”

“Me? What about us?” A small smirk is sent Skywarp’s way.

“I’m not the one with flakes of glitter stuck in my servo joints.” Skywarp screeches to a halt, starting down at his servos with an expression of pure panic - not that Thundercracker sees because he calmly keeps walking, but he can feel the comical hysteria rising through the trinebond - and starts to flap his servos around.

“Oh Primus, it’s not coming off! Oh, Pit!!! TC, help! It’s stuck to me for no reason, it won’t come off, help me TC, get it off! TeeCeeeeeee!” The door to the communications office slides shut behind Thundercracker, leaving Skywarp to whinge in the corridor. Allowing himself a snort of amusement, Thundercracker makes his way over to the several screens displaying life on the Nemesis, and stands behind the chair where someone should be watching the screens.

Dead End has decided to take a nap instead.
Lazy scraplet.
Though, Thundercracker can’t find it in himself to be angry. The Stunticons were so young, technically only just younglings, having been created by Vector Sigma as not-sparklings.

And, well, Thundercracker has a soft spot for younglings.

“Your shift is over, Bitlet. Come on, let me take over, and you can crawl to your berth.” Dead End shuffles at the insistent but gentle shaking, still half in recharge as he reaches up to bat Thundercracker’s servo away.

“N’thing to report...” Venting a huff of amusement, Thundercracker doubles down on getting the Stunticon out of the lone chair in this security room. He manages to nudge Dead End out of the chair and guide him towards the door.

“Good, include that in your official report. And don’t let Soundwave catch you recharging on the job.” More awake now, Dead End turns back to glare, but it’s strangely endearing when he’s tired and it just makes him look his age.

“What does it matter if he does? We’re all going to the void at some point, why bother prolonging the suffering?” Thundercracker pats the youngling - because dammit, he can’t see the Stunticons as anything else - on the helm, opening the door for him.

“If I’ve suffered 6 million years, you can suffer much longer than 2.” Dead End tilts his helm. Regards Thundercracker closely. Then shrugs with a little nod as if to say ‘eh, good enough’ and exits.

Rather than closing the door again, Thundercracker leaves it open. He likes the little light that spills in from the hallway, and he doesn’t mind if anyone stops by for a chat either. He can multitask easily. Settling into the (warm) seat, he fixes his optics on the screens in front of him and focuses so intently that even Soundwave would be impressed.

That’s… Not to say he’s actually surveying the whole Nemesis.
Rather, he’s checking the vents and known entry points for out-of-the-ordinary activity, and then returning to watching everyone else on the Nemesis.

There’s a small fight in the rec room, Swindle making shady deals near storage space 3, a freshly exploded cloud of smoke coming from Starscream’s laboratory - the mech himself stumbling out uninjured but covered in soot, Onslaught trying fruitlessly to teach hand-to-hand combat in the sparring rooms, and…

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that…” Thundercracker quickly changes the angle on camera 12, just in case Megatron walks past the door and peers in.

He doesn’t need to know the cassette twins are rigging pressure sensors and confetti cannons to his throne.

“Thundercracker; Report.”

“No enemy activity spotted, smoke damage to corridor 26A, rowdy activity at expected levels in the Rec Room, and the Coneheads have returned from morning patrol 3 astroseconds ago.” The response is automatic, so it takes Thundercracker a beat more to realise he has company, and turns around to spot Soundwave lingering ominously in the doorway. He offers what he hopes is a professional but reassuring smile.

“And, you might want to dock Rumble and Frenzy for a while.” Soundwave stares blankly. Then, he nods, having gauged the situation from the thoughts Thundercracker was openly broadcasting.

“Warning; Appreciated. Your shift; half over.”

“Affirmative. I’ll update my report on handover.” With another nods, Soundwave leaves. Thundercracker tracks his pathing across the cameras until he meets with Rumble and Frenzy -running away from their throne trap - and greets them with servos on hips, obviously displeased.

Although the camera angle doesn’t allow Thundercracker to see Soundwave’s facial expression, he can only imagine the TIC looking like an annoyed creator. Rumble and Frenzy unapologetically grin back, before they look up at the camera and give duel thumbs up. They dock astroseconds before Megatron, in the control room, decides to take a seat.

(Saving the clip, Thundercracker sends it to the cassettes so they can be proud of their handiwork, before deleting it from existence.)

The rest of his shift flies by, nothing notable happening except for a few mechs popping their helms in to gossip. He’s just finished sending off his full report to Soundwave when the next mech on shift enters.

“Hey, Thundercracker! A meeting’s been called, get yer aft to th’ command center!”

Ah. Not the next mech on shift. Astrotrain with a message.

And there goes his lovely, normal day, evaporating into nothingness.

“Really? I didn’t get a comm or ping about it.” The triple changer raises an optical ridge, prompting Thundercracker to recheck his comms.

Nope.
Nothing.

Silently, with a judgemental expression, Astrotrain points to the little message screen on the hub. It has a tiny, flashing green light.

“... I always forget that.”

“Yeah, I know. S’why I stopped by to let you know.” Thundercracker dips his helm in a silent thanks, and follows Astrotrain out. They make it all the way to the command center before a scream of pure rage echoes from the other side of the ship. The seeker can’t help but snort in laughter, even with how concerned Astrotrain looks, with wide optics and tense wings.

“Was- Was that Blitz…?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“... Skywarp?”

“Guessed it in one.” Astrotrain barks a laugh, glancing over his shoulder as if an enraged Blitzwing is going to be there to laugh at.

“I would ask what he did this time, but this meeting seems pretty important.”

“Someone probably spotted a patrol too far to call for help and some of us will be drafted to ambush it.” It’s a rather bland take on it, but that’s Thundercracker’s experience with these sorts of things.

“Pah, they wouldn’t call the whole ship for that.”

“Good point…” There’s no more time to deliberate and they enter the command center to find it crammed full of every mech on the Nemesis, all trying to stand somewhere they can see Megatron and the display screens he’ll inevitably use to demonstrate his plan.

Thundercracker is quite happy to stay near the back, thank you very much.

Glancing around, he’s pretty sure everyone is here already, except for one. Skywarp even catches his optic and grins, a little bloodthirsty and ready for action. He glimpses Starscream too, all tense and haughty. That’s… Generally a sign there’s a battle about to happen. But surely not! Not without pre-warning, or drills, or area mapping. …Right?

Blitzwing skids into the doorway, only just catching himself from skidding straight past by grabbing the doorframe with a servo so tightly clenched that it dents.

“SKYWARP!” Blitzwing’s volcanic shout is enough to draw all optics to him. He’s the center of attention, he and all his glittery, shiny fury. Not a single inch of him is left uncovered asides from his optics, and the purple and silver glitter are strictly kept to the areas of purple and white paint accordingly.

Laughter ranging from Onslaught’s silent shoulder shaking to Wildrider’s guffaws fills the command center, and it’s only in that astrosecond that Blitzwing realises maybe drawing attention to his disco ball impersonation wasn’t the best idea.

Megatron slams a fist on the table to cut off the merriment.

“Enough! We are not gathered here for this tomfoolery! We are here for war.” The laughter peters out, the atmosphere of the room becoming tense again.

Oh, Unicron below, was this about the confetti? Was Megatron really that mad at being caught in a prank that left no evidence? Was he-

Then, the corners of Megatron’s liplates twitch.

“Of course, I see Blitzwing has volunteered to be a... ‘Strategic’ distraction, shall we say?” No one laughs outright, but the almost playful jibe certainly calms the room. With everyone’s attention, Megatron stands straight with his shoulders back, tall and imposing. He nods to Soundwave to bring up the display behind him, and steps slightly to the side so everyone can see.

But even in that, he never loses his air of leadership.
Megatron knows how to work a crowd. That’s one thing that’s never changed.

“As you can see here on the surveillance brought in by Thrust, Dirge, and Ramjet, the Autobots have been sighted in large congregation around a newly constructed energy facility. Based on the output estimate Starscream has put together, we can assume this facility is for the Autobots themselves.” Megatron’s optics narrow dangerously, enough that Thundercracker even thinks ‘here we go again’.

“I want it destroyed.” It takes everything Thundercracker has to not roll his optics. Yep, here they went again. Destruction for the sake of destruction, just because the Autobots happened to be nearby or doing something first.

All that prospective energy, all the energon that facility could give them, torn down and left to ruin just because Optimus Prime had been standing a little too close.

He was starting to get tired of destroying things they could instead be using.

“Lord Megatron, what about seizing the facility for ourselves? We could increase reactions, perhaps even quality of energon-”

“I considered that, Onslaught, but the matter of fact is that the Autobots would destroy it as soon as it were in Decepticon servos. Thus, rather than attempting to overtake it and giving the Autobots the opportunity to yield fuel before our attack, and destroy it before we could, we’re going to prevent them from gaining anything.”

“Of course, my liege. I understand now.” Watching Onslaught dip his head in acceptance and Megatron move on to outlining a very basic bombardment plan, Thundercracker tightly clenches one of his servos so tight that it stops energon flow to his digits.

How? How??? How could anyone understand just taking and taking and destroying and ruining and- Wasn’t this Exactly what the old Senate on Cybertron was about?!

Wasn’t this what they rose up against, wasn’t this what the Decepticon cause was against?! HOW COULD ANYONE UNDERSTAND THAT?!?!

A sharp pain brings Thundercracker back to the room and he realises that both his servos leak energon from where he’s broken through the palm with his digits, and his fangs have pierced into his liplates. The energon that leaks from them is barely pink - so pale from underfuelling that it blends into his white faceplates.

He’s quick to swipe his glossa out to get rid of the trickles down from his lipplates, but it’ll be harder to hide or clean his servos. Glancing down at them inconspicuously, he notes that the energon is a little more pink here, the dewdrop-like beads standing out against the black paint of his servos.

Although… Now he looks at it, isn’t the black a little… Dull? Nowhere near as richly coloured or shiny as it should have been. It was more… Ashy. Approaching a shade of grey rather than black.

Less inconspicuous now, his optics trial up his wrist struts and arms, taking in how his once sky blue paint is starting to become pastel or dusty, more Ionstorm’s shade than his own. But whilst the rest of him seems to be getting paler, the white of his appendages is dirty, neither grey nor cream nor beige, but somehow inbetween all three.

It’s a dangerous sign of underfuelling.
They really need that facility.

“What if we waited for the Autobots to produce their first batch and turn it into a raid?” It’s only when a fleet of red optics turn to him that Thundercracker realises he has spoken aloud.

Oh, Pit.

“Proposed idea; Highly reasonable. Suggestion; Implement into plan.” As soon as optics return to Command at the head of the table, Thundercracker near slumps in sheer relief, panic ebbing away.

Skywarp mouths a silent ‘you okay?’ at him, but he’s still too shaken to respond.

Thundercracker has… Issues with drawing unnecessary attention to himself. Emphasis on the unnecessary.

Astrotrain - being right next to Thundercracker and having sensed and seen everything - knocks his knuckles against Thundercracker’s side to bring him back to the right time and place. Thankful, Thundercracker twitches his wing to brush reassuringly against the triple-changer’s.

True, Decepticons didn’t really have ‘friends’, but the more decent ones still accepted and supported each other.

(Thundercracker was well aware that was pretty much the definition of friend, but he wasn’t stupid enough to use it and get scrapped by any self respecting Decepticon.)

“ - in 4 groons. Hook! Prepare the medbay. All soldiers are required a pre-battle record update.” Megatron shoots a meaningful glare towards Motormaster, who crosses his arms over his chassis and growls lowly.

Some younglings just don’t like the medbay.

“Soundwave, Starscream, Onslaught. Remain here for battle planning. The rest of you, dismissed!” As everyone starts to filter out the room, Blitzwing clenches a fist in Skywarp’s direction, but the completely unashamed seeker just vops past him and lands on Thundercracker’s back, mindful of his wings as he slings arms around Thundercracker’s neck and legs around his waist.

For what it’s worth, Thundercracker doesn’t fall backwards with the added weight. Stumbles, yes, but with no more than a grunt, tucks his arms behind him to support Skywarp’s added weight with his servos. He hears Skywarp take a deep invent, but isn’t quick enough to avoid-

“TC!” - hollered right into his left audial. Even Astrotrain walking next to him winces at the volume. Long practiced patience is the only thing that stops Thundercracker venting a sigh.

“Yes, Skywarp?”

“Oh good! You sound depressed as always! Nothing wrong, then, never mind me.” Blitzwing’s heavy, stomping pedes can be heard approaching, but Skywarp blinks out of proximity before the triple changer can get anywhere near them. Thundercracker rolls his optics with a small smile as he relaxes back into a normal walking stance.

“You two are weird.”

“No more weird than you and Blast Off.”

“Hey! That’s none of your business!”

“It is when you fall into recharge outside my habsuite, blocking my door.” Astrotrain’s faceplates flush slightly with colour, at the very least displaying a sense of guilt and embarrassment.

“It- I mean- Uh… Hi-High grade?” The corners of Thundercracker’s lipplates twitch upwards with wry amusement. High grade was definitely not what had caused the two triple changers to slump together in a cuddle pile after playing board games in the hallway.

“Sure. We’ll go with that.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re kind of a jerk?”

“Rumble, Frenzy, Starscream, Skywarp, Wildrider, Swindle, you, pretty sure Megatron has subtly, Blitz-” Laughing, Astrotrain swats at the extended digits as Thundercracker counts it out.

“I don’t need a list! Has anyone not called you a jerk?” Thundercracker thinks for a moment. Extends one digit in counting. Slowly puts it back down. Astrotrain raises an optical ridge questioningly.

“I was going to say Soundwave, but since all of his cassettes have…” He leaves the sentence open ended, but they can both derive the meaning from it. Astrotrain snorts and waves a flippant servo, turning off towards the rec room.

Pre-battle Medbay checks are always done with those that were injured in the last battle first. Which means Thundercracker is due there pretty soon, and Astrotrain is not.

Now in silence, Thundercracker strolls towards the medbay. He’s not an urgent case, and it’s quite funny listening to the majority of the Constructicons - Hook and Scrapper having gone ahead - trying to drag Motormaster in this direction.

Again, some younglings just did not like medbay.

Pushing on ahead, Thundercracker isn’t surprised to see he’s one of the first there, only beaten by Skywarp and Drag Strip. The former who could teleport, the latter who had tried to (futilely) race him.

Hook looks up as he enters and waves towards one of the empty berths, one with a built in scanner that he doesn’t trust many to operate themselves. Thundercracker is one of the few. (That’s… Not to say he hasn’t taken a couple of liberties and skipped a few things before.)

“Go ahead, I’m almost finished here-” Hook pauses to swat at Skywarp’s jittering knee, which he is trying to examine.

“Hey!”

“- and then I’ll be with you.” As Skywarp whines about ‘permanent damage’ and ‘medics spawned from Unicron himself’, Thundercracker sits himself on the edge of the berth and plugs in the diagnosis cables to a slot in his wrist. He carefully removes the little notifications about the damage to his liplates and palms of his servos.

The underfuelling, he reorganizes into a less urgent category, hoping Hook will only look over the top priority things.

“No! I don’t want that anywhere near me!” Distress rises from the berth closest to him, and Thundercracker looks over ready to send a glare to whoever dared threaten one of the younglings, but Scrapper is only holding up a standard line clamp.

“It’s just for a moment, Drag Strip, I need to clamp this minor line so I can patch it up-”

“No! If you cut off my lines, I won’t be able to go as fast!”

“I’m not-! It’s not cutting off your lines, it’s just-! Thundercracker, help me out here!” Shuttering his optics with slight surprise, Thundercracker nods at the frustrated request (not plea, Decepticons didn’t plead) from an equally frustrated Scrapper.

“Come over here, Bitlet.” He scoots across on his own berth, leaving himself very slightly perched on the edge. Drag Strip - glaring at Scrapper the entire time - backs over to him warily, just a youngling looking for some reassurance.

“Up. Come on, let’s have a look at this fuel line Scrapper’s talking about.”

“... You’re not going to clamp it, are you?” Drag Strip is tense, ready to break for the exit, but Thundercracker can see the very slight trickle of energon between plating around Drag Strip’s ankle.

“Of course not.” Scrapper throws up his servos in additional frustration, an exasperated scoff under a vent as he mumbles about how it’s procedure, and needed and-

“Fine! But make it quick!” Drag Strip pulls himself up on the berth, tense and bristling, slamming his leg down a little too hard. It’s all just to mask the fear, but Thundercracker isn’t going to bring that up and shame the youngling trying too hard to be a full frame.

Craftily, he extends his EM field with calm professionalism, and a long practiced soothing aura he usually uses to calm Skywarp down from going overboard with pranks.

“Ah, yes. I see it. Scrapper’s right, it’s only a minor line.” Little by little, Drag Strip relaxes.

“So I can go, right?” His eagerness makes Thundercracker snort in amusement.

“Absolutely not. It might not seems like a big deal now, Bitlet, but this can easily rupture the entire fuel system in your leg. Then we’ll have to rename you Drag Limp.” A flash of panic flickers through Drag Strip’s visor.

“Fix it. Now.” Accepting ‘now’ as a replacement for ‘please’, Thundercracker waves Scrapper over. Immediately, the golden youngling tenses again. His engine gives a warning rumble.

“But no clamps!” Before Scrapper can lose the last of his patience, Thundercracker nods and gently pushes Drag Strip to lie down so they can reach the injury better.

“No clamps.” Ready with the wielding tool, Scrapper throws Thundercracker that look that blatantly asks how the frag he’s meant to do this without clamping the line first. If he accidentally sets fire to the slightest drip, it could send flames rushing through the stunticons lines and cause bad - but not severe or irreversible - damage.

It would hurt like pit, that’s for sure.

“It’s still leaking a little, so I’m just going to pinch it whilst Scrapper welds.”

“You said-!”

“No clamps, I promise. Just me, quickly. It’ll be over before you know it.” Venting a huff that's both impatient and scared, Drag Strip flops back onto the berth. Scrapper narrows his own visor at his impromptu assistant.

“Are you sure, Thundercracker? It’s a very small area, there’s a chance I could burn your digits.”

“I’ll take that risk.” Carefully, Thundercracker reaches in through the gaps in Drag Strips armour, and pinches both ends of the leakage. It’s only a tiny split in a minor fuel line, but like he’d said, these things easily ruptured until they affected the whole system.

He’d experienced that enough in his first few orns as a Decepticon.

Scrapper carefully wields the line together, patching it up neatly with years of training and practice. Despite his warning, he doesn’t come anywhere near close to Thundercracker’s digits, and pulls the wielding tool away after barely an astrominute.

“All done. Get out of here, glitch.” Drag Strip wastes no time in pulling his leg away and sprinting out the medbay doors, only holding up one servo in a silent not-quite-thanks to the seeker who quietly watches over the group of bitlets.

“Younglings, honestly! I swear-” Scrapper doesn’t get to finish he sentence when the rest of his gestalt appears, dragging Motormaster in, and call over to him. Thundercracker only barks a laugh as Scrapper groans.

“Sorry, you’re on your own for this one.”

“Jerk.”

“Patient.” Hook admonishes Scrapper as he comes over, cleaning his servos with a raggedy cloth that’s clearly seen better days. Venting a sigh, Scrapper moves over to Motormaster, whilst Hook checks the output on the scanner still linked up to Thundercracker.

He waves a servo casually to indicate him to lie back so he can conduct a short visual examine too - especially on the welds around his wing struts from last battle - and then stills. He furrows his optical ridge at the scanner. Looks straight up at Thundercracker. And pinches his olfactory ridge with a long sigh of disappointment.

“Seriously? I expected better from you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Deadpan in an almost furious way, Hook turns the scanner around to show a highlighted, flashing error.

WARNING: CRITICAL ALERT REDIRECTED.
ENERGON LEVELS: 1 2 %

Scrap.

“... I didn’t do that?”

“You are no longer permitted solo scans. 12 percent? Twelve percent? And you tried to hide it? You would have barely made it back here, and that’s without potential energon loss from enemy fire!” Worrying his bottom liplate with his denta, careful not to pierce them with his fangs again, Thundercracker tries to play it innocent.

“It didn’t, uh, seem important?” Hook almost looks like he wants to hit him. Huh. It’s kind of funny. If he wasn’t the target of this fury.

“Between Starscream coming in here for blowing up his chemicals, Skywarp refusing to sit still, and you relabeling critical alerts, I’m starting to get fed up with your trine.”

“Honest mistake, I thought it was coolant levels.” Hook sharpens his glare.

“No, you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.” Hook vents another sigh, weary and somewhat annoyed. He rummages around under the berth, and pulls out a small purple (purple? Purple????) cube from the small cabinet attached to the underside of the berth.

“Here. Emergency ration. It tastes likes scrap, doesn’t go down well, and you’ll find yourself trapped in the waste room later, but it’ll get you through battle.”

“... Fantastic.” The bitter sarcasm doesn’t go amiss, but Hook only holds out the cube more insistently.

Thundercracker sits up, takes it and - knowing how bad things are when a medic warns about it - shuts off his olfactory senses, gag reflex, and fully opens the magnetised seal to his tanks.

Pouring it down quickly, he almost gags anyways when the taste hits his glossa. Tastes like scrap?

Tastes like it’s been scraped off the wash rack floor!!!

The medbay swirls for a moment and he shutters off his optics, focusing solely on staying upright. That doesn’t work, and he manages to sway towards Hook. Thankfully, the medic doesn’t shove him away like his gestalt mates would, instead helping the dazed seeker to lie back down.

Dazed is the only way Thundercracker can think to describe it. He’s lying down, but he doesn’t know which way is up, feels like he’s falling and spinning at the same time, his helm aches with the sudden rush of fuel, his tank seizes and spasms against the strange fluid, and his entire fuel system feels like it’s revolting against him as he fights to keep the cube down.

“Easy, easy… I’d prefer you keep it down, but purge if you have to.” Shaking his helm, Thundercracker forces himself to try and relax, letting the disgusting whatever-kind-of-fuel that was burn all the way down until it disperses and settles with a faint prickling sensation as it pumps around his frame.

“You give that… concoction to everyone who messes with your equipment?” A huff of amusement.

“Should I?”

“Sure as pit won’t be doing it again, that’s for certain.” This time, Hook laughs outright, going about his medic business as Thundercracker tries to right himself. Whatever that purple fluid was, he never wanted to see it again.

Though if Hook’s warnings were to be taken seriously…

“How long do I have?”

“Until you’re locking yourself in the waste room and pinging me insistently for help because all your sensors are going haywire?”

“... Yea.”

“7 groons, give or take a couple of breems.” Basically, just enough time to do the raid and get back here. With no complications, diversions, or bad weather.

“Fan-fraggin’-tastic.” Hook’s answer to that is to disconnect the scanning equipment and give Thundercracker a hearty pat on the hip.

“Good luck out there!” Sensing the medic is about to walk off, Thundercracker eases himself up into a sitting position, finally daring to shutter his optics back on and find the room not so spinny.

“Hey, you said Starscream came in here after every experiment?”

“Yes?”

“Give him one of those. You’ll never see him again.” Hook’s laughter is louder this time, not bothering to accept or deny the suggestion as he heads over to help the rest of his gestalt with Motormaster.

Thundercracker slinks out of the room. He’d usually stay behind and help with the younglings, but not when Motormaster was enraged, and definitely not when he still felt close to losing balance.

Warily, he rechecks his energon levels.

58%.

Huh. That one cube has boosted his levels more than an entire week of rations could. Though, considering how much it hurt to keep down, the purge risk, and the looming aftereffects…

Yeah, not a sustainable source at all. No wonder it was only for emergencies.

“TC! Check your- Wow, you look like scrap! - Check your data packet! Screamer sent the battle instructions through! And wow, you really look like scrap.” Thundercracker covers Skywarp’s mouth with his servo.

“I feel like scrap. Emergency rations are no joke.” Skywarp nods, pushing Thundercracker’s servo away. Thankfully, though, he lowers his volume to a sensible amount.

“Yeah, I’ve had one of those before. You know what comes later, right?”

“... I’ve been warned.”

“Take those warnings and tenfold them. Seriously though, TC, if you need help, I’m just a ping away.” Quirking an optical ridge, Thundercracker nudges against Skywarp until they’re matching pace towards the flight tower.

May as well wait close to take off point.

“Hope you mean during battle.”

“During ba-? EW! Of course I mean during battle, you gross jerk! Yuck! If you need help during that, ping a medic!” Thundercracker laughs, but it tails off as Starscream approaches from down a corridor.

“Oh good, you’re here.”

“Where else would we be, Starscream? You sent us the battle plans.”

“Yeah, geez ‘Screamer, don’t get your tailpipe in a twist.” Starscream reaches out to smack Skywarp’s wing, but their mischievous trinemate anticipates the move and vops to Thundercracker’s other side.

“How long’re we waiting? Cus TC’s gonna-” Thundercracker slaps his servo over Skywarp’s mouth again, this time a little harsher and more insistent.

“Starscream doesn’t need to know the details, Skywarp. I’m sure he’s already hacked our medical files.” The self-righteous smirk that graces Starscream’s faceplates with a dangerous gleam in his optics proves Thundercracker right.

“Indeed, I have! 12%, Thundercracker? I’m impressed you were still standing in the meeting~.” It’s a downright vicious and patronising verbal attack, but Skywarp is too concerned by the numbers to react, and Thundercracker doesn’t trust his rebelling fuel tank to take a swipe at Starscream.

Though, what an image it would be if he were to purge over his shiny, fully-fuelled trineleader… Just before appearance in front of the Autobots too…

He stops that line of thought before he truly considers it.

“You been skippin’ fuel, TC?” Venting a sigh, Thundercracker crosses his arms over his cockpit.

“I refuse to let that unprocessed gunk build up in my tanks.”

“But the crunchy part is the best part!” Skywarp is met with matching expressions of disgust, though Starscream scrunches his olfactory sensor more whilst Thundercracker lifts his top lipplate just a little more.

“Crunchy? Skywarp, please stop eating that slag.”

“S’only unprocessed energon! You can get the ‘built up’ chipped away in surgery, too!” Thundercracker looks away, trying to focus on literally anything else to stop himself feeling queasy, whilst Starscream launches into a rant about all the unsanitary and disgusting things found in unprocessed energon on this planet.

He silently watches as Starscream and Skywarp bicker and argue, ready to step in and intervene if it goes from playful or lecturing to mean and serious.

He’s always been their balancing force.

But before anyone can say the wrong thing and set this petty, teasing argument into a full scale screaming match, Megatron marches into the flight deck with his army behind him. The trine stands to attention, Starscream moving his way forwards to stand besides his leader.

In any other circumstance, Thundercracker would worry Starscream was going to slip an energon knife between Megatron’s seams, but right now, the SIC directs all his bloodlust towards battle and the Autobots.

“Decepticons!” Everyone stills. Everything is silent. All optics are on Megatron.

“RISE!!!” No fancy speech, no wasting time on words, no frivolities, just one powerful command that has the army surging forwards, launching off the flight deck and out of the elevator before those who need height to launch from are even halfway up.

Starscream takes point, Thundercracker following behind on his right, where he always is. Where he always has been.

Contrary to humans, taking up the right side was not equal to being a ‘right-hand man’. It was Skywarp who was ranked higher than him, technically second only to Starscream when it came to main command structure and the intricacies of Trine.

But Thundercracker had precedent over Air Command should Starscream require time off for… Whatever reason. Henceforth, he flew right wing, and Skywarp flew left.

“Megatron! Target spotted! Permission to attack?”

“Attack!” Just like that, into the fray. The triple changers land near the energon cubes, staying in their alt modes as the cassette twins, coneheads, and Reflector triplets begin to load the cubes. They’re guarded by the three attending Combaticons, four attending Stunticons, and Soundwave.

Megatron charges straight for Prime, as always, leaving Starscream to cover the diversionary tactics. Luckily, he’s already planned for all available outcomes.

“Commence flight pattern 6VA-4siG!” Fanning out, Skywarp covers the far left side of battle, Starscream takes direct center, and Thundercracker covers the far right. Their job is little more than to just rain laserfire down on the Autobots and hope aggravating them stops those fools from realising the Decepticons are here for-

“Prowl! They’re taking the cubes!”

… Well.
That just went to pit, didn’t it?

So much for diversionary tactics. But Megatron is still grappling with Prime, Starscream is cackling as he nullrays anyone trying to protect their leader, and Skywarp is too far to have heard the remark.

So Thundercracker opens his comm system.

.::Soundwave, we’ve been made. Your orders?::.

.::Remain in battle. Raid, successful. Triple-changers, will regroup with stolen energon.::.

.::Affirmative.::.

A sense of relief washes over Thundercracker. They’d done it. They had energon! The raid was going to keep them going for a little longer, and he wasn’t going to get slagged by a former gladiator for suggesting something that didn’t work. Because it had.

And… Since it had once, what’s to say it wouldn’t work again?
They could keep coming back when reserves got low! They could have an ongoing source of energon! They could-!

Nope, they could not. The facility has just exploded, gone up in a glorious burst of flames. Venting a weary sigh, Thundercracker prepares himself for the blast of air that comes from the explosion, but it doesn’t stop him being pushed quite far off course.

Pretty much off the battlefield and towards a jungle area, where there’s only trees, grass, Bluestreak, vines, shrubs and-

Hold up.

Bluestreak?!

Circling around, Thundercracker catches sight of the sniper again, but rather than taking a shot, Bluestreak tilts his rifle just enough to catch the sun, flashing it to catch Thundercracker’s attention.

What is he doing? They’re in the middle of battle!

Bluestreak realises Thundercracker has spotted him and his doorwings flick with an eager ‘follow, follow!’. Not wanting anyone else to spot the sniper and (correctly) assume that Thundercracker knew him in a less-than-enemies manner, he dives into the undergrowth, transforming and tackling Bluestreak into deeper vegetation.

“What is your damage? Are you trying to get shot? Are you trying to get me shot?! We’re in the middle of a battle!”

“Oh, don’t worry! I made sure there were no other Seekers or Autobots around to see us, and I didn’t call out verbally in case the sound carried despite the dense plants and stuff, and I didn’t raise suspicions or concern from my team ‘cus I got a few shots on or around Starscream. Sorry about that, but he was going to-” Thundercracker covers Bluestreak’s mouth with his servo.

He’s been doing that a lot today.

“Okay, so this is secret. Now, better question. Why???”

“Well, when we last saw each other, you left ‘cus of that giant storm that turned into a couple of tornadoes before Ms.Marissa could give you the autograph or a copy of the cities outdoor movie night posting, so I brought them with me.” Bluestreak drops his weapon, reaches into his subspace, and holds them out with a bright, innocent grin.

Thundercracker can’t quite believe it.
He’s honestly surprised his mouth is still closed and not flapping open like a fish out of water.

Stunned, all he can do is silently and slowly reach out, take the offered items, and glance down at them. Sure enough, one is his beloved datapad from the days of Vos, an autograph from Ellen Burstyn - Primus, he was so excited for Twice In A Lifetime to be shown outdoors!!! - and the other is a flyer for upcoming outdoor movie showings.

Bizarrely, some of them are circled in red, some of them have little gold stars next to them. As he squints at it, Bluestreak flutters his doorwings like he’s embarrassed and overjoyed at the same time.

“I circled the ones I thought you’d like, ‘cus I remembered you liked romantic stuff, and I put a little star next to the ones that I’m definitely going to! Some of them ‘cus they just happen to be on when I’m off-shift, and others ‘cus I really want to see them.”

“I-... You…” A soft sound that may or may not be a choked back thanks escapes Thundercracker’s vocaliser as he tucks both items safely away in his subspace.

Honestly? This is the nicest thing any Cybertronian has done for him since Earth.

… When was the last time anyone did something for him?

“You’re welcome!” A secondary eruption from the battlefield draws their attention and Bluestreak winces.

“Your side’s kind of getting thrashed. You, uh, might want to get ready for a retreat.”

“When aren’t we…” The bitter statement goes unheard under another explosion. Ah, great. A chain reaction. Bluestreak seems to spot something incoming and ducks, but Thundercracker reaches out instead and catches… Whatever it is.

Charred metal. Charred metal that looks suspiciously like red seeker wing plating. Which would mean the battle was where the coneheads was and the coneheads were near the triple changers and that was where all their stolen fuel was and-

He couldn’t let this raid be for nothing!!

“Hey, Bluestreak.”

“Yeah?”

“How would you feel about being taken hostage?” Bluestreak humms thoughtfully, tilting his helm to one side and tapping at his chin with his digits, his doorwings moving as fast as his mind.

“I mean, I kind of expected it when I signalled you down. I’d still feel a bit sad and maybe disappointed, but I wouldn’t be angry or betrayed or anything like that.”

“Yea?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

“Good!” Bluestreak smiles at him, oh so innocent, oh so ditzy, and Thundercracker smirks a little as he moves to stand behind Bluestreak, wrapping one arm tightly around his midsection.

“Try not to fidget.” Bluestreak looks up at him with wide optics at the sound of thrusters firing up.

“Oh, you mean Hostage-hostage. Well, still not that mad about it.” Despite how he tried to hide it, Thundercracker is pretty sure Bluestreak heard his loud snort of amusement above the roar of his thrusters, lifting the Praxian up into the sky.

His free servo holds his gun right to Bluestreak’s helm, but his weapon systems are powered off so he doesn’t accidentally fire.

Bluestreak gasps and an inkling of fear starts to seep in the higher they go, but he heeds by Thundercracker’s words and doesn’t fidget. Rather, he holds onto the arm around his midsection rather tightly.

Tight enough that the metal creaks and he squeaks a soft apology. Thundercracker pays it no attention. All he’s focused on right now is not dropping Bluestreak, and Energon.

They need this. They need this! He needs this!!!

Looking down on the battlefield, Thundercracker feels a trickle of nervousness. There are so many Autobots down there. So many optics. But, this is necessary. This isn’t speaking out of place at a meeting, or saying something stupid that could get his wings torn off.

This is war.

His sonic boom shakes the battlefield below them, the air pressure blasting mechs away from the center of his outlier. With the silence that follows, Thundercracker shouts, sounding every bit like his name and outlier.

Thunderous.

“Autobots!” The fighting stops. Decepticons look up to see what in the pit he’s up to, and Autobots curious as to why they’re being addressed by a Seeker that isn’t even their main concern.

In the surprised quiet that follows, the horrified murmur of ‘Bluestreak’ can be heard from the only other other Praxian on the battlefield. It’s followed by a roar of rage from the golden frontliner, his red twin shouting up;

“Let him down, fly freak!” Knowing he has the power, Thundercracker harnesses his inner Starscream and smirks with a raised optical ridge.

“You want me to let him go? From all the way up here? Are you sure?” Knowing he has to make this performance worth it, he cuts his thrusters for a split astrosecond, making them dip in the air. Bluestreak shrieks, but he’s not as terrified as he sounds. The arm around his midsection is tight and steady.

“No!” At the plea - because Autobots did plead - Thundercracker calmly regains altitude. He knows Sideswipe can’t come after him. The jetpack on his back is leaking fuel, sparking dangerously close to his hip joint.

Prime stalks forwards, holding out a flat servo to order his troops to hold their fire.

“What are your demands, Thundercracker?” Oh. The Prime actually knows his designation. He didn’t expect that. Bluestreak smacks a doorwing backwards to bring Thundercracker back to the present.

Before Megatron can shout out something stupid like ‘Die!’, or ‘Surrender’.

“Let us leave.” Shock and surprise can be felt from EM fields all around them. Mostly surprise from the Autobots, because he could have demanded anything, and shock from the Decepticons because, well, he could have demanded anything.

Some of the tension leaves Optimus Prime’s shoulders and the Autobots seem to unconsciously group together.

“On what terms? I don’t want Bluestreak to be endangered.”

“We came for energon, you let us leave with energon. We’ll take what we can carry, and you get your soldier back unharmed. Don’t shoot at us, and I’ll even bring him to you.” He squeezes his arm around Bluestreak, and somehow, his hostage knows exactly what to do.

“Optimus, please! I don’t want to fall! Or get taken captive, that would be pretty bad!” The Prime curls his servo into a fist, and Thundercracker wonders how in the pit Starscream can enjoy these powertrips.

He’s so nervous he can feel his servos shake!

Next to the Prime, the medic leans over and whispers something to him.
Prime’s fist uncurls. He turns to Megatron.

“Take your forces, take the energon and go.” For a moment, Megatron looks like he’s going to throw all of Thundercracker’s work into the dust and restart the fight. But then, he throws his helm back and laughs.

“Decepticons! This raid, we emerge victorious! Return to the Nemesis with as much energon as you can!” Whoops and hollers of glee follow the Decepticons as they gather up as many scattered energon cubes as they can, either shoving them into the triple-changer’s already full hulls, or taking off with them squashed into cockpits, subspaces, and arms.

Soundwave even lets Laserbeak, Buzzsaw, and Ratbat out so they can grab a cube each and take off with it.

Megatron stands there, arms crossed over his chassis, proud and smug as if he was the one who had made this happen. But then, credit for anything good happening always went to Megatron.

It was only blame that went to the individual.

A whisper cuts through his deep thinking.

“You’re not going to drop me, right? At least not from this high up? Because I really don’t think that constitutes as unharmed, and knowing my luck, I’ll fall riiiight on my doorwings. Gravity kind of hates me.”

“Pff- No, I’m not going to drop you. I said I’d take you to them if they didn’t shoot, I keep my word.”

“That kinda takes the ‘deception’ part out of Decepticon.”

“I suppose it does.” Bluestreak is quiet for a moment, he and Thundercracker watching as the Decepticon forces thin out, those who can’t carry any more leaving, whilst others scramble for cubes scattered around from the explosions.

“... I didn’t just convince you to drop me, did I?” Thundercracker can’t help the little chuckle that bubbles up, though he keeps it quiet enough that no one down below could hear it.

“No, no you didn’t. So. Princess Bride this Thursday?” A little squeal of glee from Bluestreak.

“Yes! I’ve been looking forwards to it forever, and I generally don’t like the romance stuff, but this is a fantasy rom-com with like, pirates and knights and magic and stuff!!!”

“I figured~.” The film synopsis on the flyer had sounded pretty interesting. And, it lined up perfectly with one of his solo patrols. Only Soundwave would notice if he took a little longer than expected, but he was rather forgiving, having been privy to Seeker thoughts when they’d been cooped up too long with not enough flight time.

It wasn’t called Sky Madness as a joke.

“Oh, look. I think Megatron just left you behind. That’s kind of unfortunate, I really would have liked to have shot his aft once you’d put me on the ground and taken off with him behind you. But I guess I can’t do that now.”

“... Why the aft?”

“Comedic purposes.” Bluestreak says it so bluntly, so straightforward, that Thundercracker snorts another laugh. Aw, pit. This hostage situation is turning more into a sky-high hangout.

“Thundercracker! Your demands have been met, so please bring Bluestreak back down!” Prime sounds calm, but Thundercracker isn’t oblivious to the slight hitch of panic in the Autobot leader’s tone.

Slowly, he starts to lower his altitude, careful not to let Bluestreak slip or to meet wind resistance and lose control with the added weight of another mech.

“He really cares about you as a soldier, huh?”

“Not just as a soldier! Optimus cares about all of us, as friends, as family. We’re just one big ragtag group of Cybertronians that came together and stayed together. We all care about each other. Don’t you… Don’t you have that?”

“No. Not like family. Not like friends.”

“Oh… That’s sad…” Thundercracker doesn’t say anything else as he lands on the ground, making sure Bluestreak’s pedes are flat on the dirt beneath them before unwrapping his arm, moving his (voluntarily offline) weapon away from Bluestreak’s helm, and rocketing back up before those enraged twins can grab him.

Even then, it’s a close call. Sunstreaker’s digits even brush against his thruster.

But Bluestreak is there, and Bluestreak tackles them in a friendly manner, an arm around each of their necks and pushing them backwards with a cry of “It’s okay, I’m okay!!”, and sends a secretive smile up at Thundercracker.

Before he can fully take to the skies though, Thundercracker catches Optimus Prime’s visored expression. It’s careful. Analytical. It’s… Almost forgiving, and Thundercracker doesn’t know why that makes his spark clench with fear more than anything else.

Even worse is the medic right next to him, looking up at Thundercracker knowingly, long-range scanner in hand.

Pit, they knew his weapon was offline the whole time!
That’s what they were whispering about. That’s why Prime’s fist had uncurled!

They knew.

Fear, panic and paranoia burning through his lines - or maybe that was the emergency ration because he was cutting it close for time - Thundercracker races back towards the Nemesis at full pelt.

As he lands in the flight tower, waiting for the lift to lower, he stares at his servos.
They shake.

They quiver and tremble, and it’s more than just fear because he can feel that ration scalding his fuel lines and clawing its way to any exit, and he slaps a hand over his mouth as if that would do anything, trying to calm his vents so he doesn’t purge right here and right now.

He just about manages to right himself when the lift doors open and he’s suddenly confronted with what looks like the entire Decepticon forces celebrating on the flight deck.

Before he can even process what’s happening, Megatron turns around and spots Thundercracker behind him, and pulls him forwards.

“Our mech of the groon returns! Raise your cubes, Decepticons, for we have achieved victory tonight!” An uproarious cheer goes up, cubes of pinkish hues raised in his direction and Thundercracker notes with a gasp of delight that they’re mid-grade.

Not low grade he’ll burn through in a single patrol, not unprocessed sludge that’ll gummy up his tanks, but real energon! A cube is even shoved into his servos, courtesy of Megatron himself. The warlord reeks of drunkenness, having already over-energized on the readily available cubes.

“Keep this up, Thundercracker, and you’ll earn yourself a promotion to the war council.” Not knowing what to say, because he doesn't want that, Thundercracker stares at the cube in servos.

Then, he looks up.
So many optics.
So much unnecessary attention and rambunctiousness aimed in his direction and he feels his tanks turn and-

Nope. That’s the emergency ration.

“U-Uh, permission to be dismissed, Sir?” Megatron looks down at him, confused. After all, Thundercracker isn’t soaking up the praise or rightfully gloating to his peers. Instead, he looks… Sick?

“I’ll take it from here~.” A voice interrupts, and Thundercracker is ever so grateful as Hook comes over with an extra cube, stacking it on top of the one in Thundercracker’s servos. In his own servos is a small tube that is instantly recognisable as an energon feed.

“Come on. You’re only going to ping me insistently later and I won’t be able to get in if the door’s locked.” Thundercracker slips out from under Megatron’s heavy arm, shuddering at the roll of pain that goes through his frame from tanks to everywhere.

Once they’ve left the crowded room, they walk the empty hallways towards the waste rooms. They’re essentially wash racks with private cubicles, a shelf for support, and an emergency cord that would send a ping to the on-duty medic when pulled.

“Th-Thanks.”

“Appreciate the gratitude, but leave it until afterwards. I think you’ll have everything but thanks to say.” Thundercracker groans, letting the click of the lock behind him seal his miserable fate.

Chapter Text

The Princess Bride had quickly become one of their shared favourite movies, and Thundercracker was dedicated to going to every showing there was of it, no matter the time or city.

Most of the time, Bluestreak or Marissa accompanied him, but Bluestreak couldn’t exactly travel cross country for a single movie in the time slots he had for free time or patrol, and Marissa had work often.

So many other films filled the gaps. It was strange to see where their genre preferences lay, sometimes an unexpected surprise.

Bluestreak adored Fantasy and Adventure, loved the world-building, the use of colours, the magic and broken laws of physics. He was also fond of surviving the end of the world movies, the kind that made him hope and pray for the characters in a desolate, bleak landscape, crying for a positive outcome.

Thundercracker was the self-professed ‘greatest fan of romance in the universe’, drawn to the silver screen by the emotions, the misunderstandings, the very personality of the characters! His second great love of movies came in the form of Documentary style films, fixated on the facts along with the fiction.

And there were some genres that they both enjoyed.

Comedy wasn’t something they went out of their way to watch, but they both liked it as a sub-genre, and it would suffice if nothing else was on.

Surprising on Thundercracker’s part was Musicals. Whether it was a full, pure recording of a stageplay musical, or a jukebox musical film, Bluestreak and Thundercracker were the kind of viewers who learnt the songs by listening to them once or twice, and would perform them as though drunk when they hung out for a little while afterwards.

(Bluestreak even picked up the choreography with a single watch! He delighted in trying to teach Thundercracker the steps.)

Surprising on Bluestreak’s part was Westerns. Maybe it was the cheesiness, maybe it was the familiarity to the landscape outside the Ark, or maybe because it was hilarious to hear Ironhide’s accent in every movie. Either way, he’d grown to be a big fan of the saloon-swinging, gun-slinging genre.

And then there was the one genre they both truly loved.

Adored, even.

Because whilst it wasn’t meant to be comedy, Bluestreak and Thundercracker were from another planet a long distance away from this solar system.

Sci-Fi movies.

Whether they were low budget ‘aliens are green tornadoes!’ kind of Sci-Fi, or high production ‘the world has been taken over, they want water’ kind of Sci-Fi, they were absolutely hilarious.

Bluestreak had laughed so hard he’d cried at “Invaders from Mars”, and Thundercracker had shorted out his vocaliser trying not to laugh at “Predator”.

(They didn’t bring up Killer Klowns from Outer Space. They didn’t talk about it, they never watched it again, they certainly didn’t admit that they both had a clown phobia now. Marissa teased them endlessly for it.)

Their latest viewing had been a musical, a recording of a stage performance of Blood Brothers.

“I still can’t believe Mrs. Johnstone gave up Eddie so easily! I mean! That’s her baby! That’s one of her twins! I can’t imagine if Sunny and Sides had been separated at emergence, that would have been tragic for both of them.”

“But it wasn’t easy, that’s what ‘Easy Terms’ was about.”

“Nuh-uh! ‘Easy Terms’ came after she’d already given up her baby. That was regret, not hesitance.”

“Okay, but the foreshadowing in ‘Shoes Upon the Table’ was terrific. The whole play was right there in front of us and you only realise at the end. It’s fantastic.”

“Oh, it was sparkbreaking! ‘Tell Me It’s Not True’ had me close to wailing. You were too, don’t try to deny it~.” Bluestreak teases, brushing up against Thundercracker as they walk through an empty desert, far from human civilisation and out of range of both Autobots and Decepticons.

Thundercracker snorts a laugh, bringing his servo up to cover the smile on his lipplates, and maybe try to hide the starlight reflecting in his still-wet optics.

“Tell me it’s not true.”

“No… No! Don’t you dare start singing it!”

“Say it’s just a story.”

“TC! I will smack you!”

“Something on the news…”

“Noooo! Look at my optics, you cruel ‘Con! You got me tearing up again!” Thundercracker laughs, still sounding a little choked up, but for the sake of teasing Bluestreak, raises his voice and strides forwards casually, spreading his wings and arms out dramatically.

He’s comfortable.

“Tell me it’s not true! Though it’s here befooooore me!” Laughing, Bluestreak lunges forwards and smacks at the back of Thundercracker’s helm before transforming and driving a short distance off. He circles back around as Thundercracker’s laugh quietens down.

“Seriously, though. I’m gonna sob everytime I think of it for a long while. My spark aches.”

“Mhm. The fact that in the end it was all an accident… Michael never meant to kill Edward.” Bluestreak hums thoughtfully, kicking up sand as he walks. His pace matches Thundercracker’s, just two friends on a twilight stroll, trying to unwind and relax after an emotional musical had just metaphorically torn their sparks out.

From his subspace, Bluestreak pulls out two cubes, passing one over. He’d wordlessly started doing it ever since he’d seen Thundercracker nearly pass out after one movie, so low on energon that his systems were probably about to start cannibalizing themselves.

Scars on his torso spoke of multiple surgeries to the tank area.
Bluestreak didn’t want to think about it.
He just wants to relax. Enjoy this time together with a like-minded individual.

“Thanks. I still think it all could have been avoided if Mrs.Lyons wasn’t so manipulative.” Thundercracker accepts the cube, wondering when he’d started to completely drop his guard around Bluestreak. He didn’t even ask if the cube was poisoned anymore.

“But she started to believe it herself too! Especially after Eddie started swearing and she realised it was Mickey he’d learnt it from. She kind of fell into her own trap, and I was all like, What are you doing???! ”

And maybe, somewhere down the line, they had gotten too comfortable.
Too lax.

“Yeah, tha’s what Ah’d like ta know, Baby Blue.” With a gasp of pure horror, Bluestreak hunches up as he spins around, doorwings pressed tight against his back and folded downwards, his optics wide and servos brought up to his chestplate, as if grasping at his spark.

Thundercracker drops the cube he’s been given, spinning around on one pede and grabs Bluestreak’s neck from behind with a loose servo. He points his (completely offline) weapon at where Bluestreak holds his servos.

“J-Jazz…?”

“No sudden moves, Autobot! Or I’ll shoot him!” Jazz stands behind them, obviously having tracked them all the way from the edge of civilisation. He vents a long, disappointed sigh as he looks down at the ground before turning his attention back to the duo.

“Nah, you ain’t gonna do that. Whatcher gonna do, is let Blue go, he’s gonna sit down here, and we’re gonna wander over yonder, have a little chat. Ya dig?” Thundercracker’s lipplates curl up into a snarl, his wings twitching between anger and unease.

They’ve been found out.
They’ve been found.
They weren't careful enough.

Jazz stands there, still and patient, his servos resting loosely on his hips as he gives Thundercracker a look that can only be translated as ‘you coming?’ in the same kind of way Thundercracker has seen in officers that would lead their soldiers into empty places and beat them.

Thundercracker wasn’t that naive anymore.

“You have no idea what I’m capable of, ‘Bot. I’d be stupid to let a prisoner get away.” Jazz flashes his visor a darker blue, his stance changing to a little more tense, little more disappointed position.

“But he ain’t yer prisoner, is he? He’s yer friend! You say you ain’t stupid, but neither am I! Ah’ve seen how you act, Ah’ve watched yer for months!”

Months.
Months.
Months.

They’ve been watching movies together over the past months. They’ve been walking back together, talking and laughing and singing and dancing over the past months. They truly have become friends, maybe even best friends.

And Jazz has seen it all.

Jazz could kill him.

He’s sure capable of it.

“TC, it’s- It’s okay… I don’t think he’s going to hurt us…He- Talk to him like he wants, yeah? Let me go? Please?” Bluestreak speaks softly and quietly, as if he’s wounded, and pats at Thundercracker’s arm, not trying to pry the servo off from around his neck. It’s not holding tightly, anyways, just hovering over his cabling threateningly.

Not threatening to him, he knows Thundercracker wouldn’t hurt him.
But Thundercracker was hoping to appeal to Jazz not knowing that.

Venting a shaky sigh - well aware this could be the end of his life - Thundercracker lowers his gun and servo, stepping backwards from Bluestreak. Jazz summons Bluestreak towards him and the mechling obediently, guiltily, trudges over to him.

They converse quietly, Bluestreak clearly upset and Jazz making sure he isn’t injured in any way, before the Autobot TIC looks back up to Thundercracker.

“Surprised you ain’t flown off.”

“You said you wanted to talk.” A smirk that isn’t unkind or threatening at all flashes on Jazz’s faceplates and he pats Bluestreak on both shoulders.

“That ah did. Plonk yer aft down here, Baby Blue, Thundercracker an’ I are gonna have a lil’ chat.”

“Don’t go too far…” Bluestreak’s tiny whisper tugs at the sparkstrings, but despite his clear hesitance to leave Jazz alone with his cross faction friend, Bluestreak sits himself down on the sandy ground. Jazz looks between the two of them, easily picking up on the guilt, the panic, the tinge of fear and strong sense of shame.

He vents a heavy sigh.

“We’ll be in visual range, an’ we’ll come back afterwards. Right, TC?”

“Don’t call me that!” The heavy snarl is paired with powerful turbines that Thundercracker has to dial back because the rippling vibrations agitate sore wounds. Jazz holds his servos up in mock surrender.

“Gotcha. No nicknames.” Warily, knowing his wings are uncontrollably tense, Thundercracker lets Jazz lead them across the desert until they reach a tree that looks dead but is evidently alive from the small buds at the very tips of the top branches.

“So.” Jazz leans against the trunk, drawing Thundercracker’s gaze back down from looking up at the buds and stars above. For a tense moment, Jazz looks like he doesn’t know what to say.

Which is a first.
He’s very vocal behind either side of brig bars.

Eventually, he settles on another vented sigh, and reaches up to rub at the fatigued metal just above his visor.

“I ain’t seen Baby Blue this happy since ‘fore we came ta Earth.”

“What.” Oops, there goes his processor to vocaliser filter. Thundercracker resets his vocaliser as he diverts his gaze away with a hint of embarrassment, knowing Jazz is smirking at him.

Or is that-
Smiling???

Maybe he should have asked if the cube was poisoned after all, because this has to be a hallucination.

Jazz slides down the tree trunk to sit at the base of it, indicating for Thundercracker to do the same. Tense, hesitant, and cautious, Thundercracker slowly kneels down and then slides his pedes out from under him to either side. The way Jazz’s gaze lingers suggests he thinks the position is uncomfortable.

Maybe for a grounder, it would be.

“I know you ain’t a bad mech, Thundercracker. ‘Sides from what Ah’ve seen, Ah know Blue would’ve had nightmarish reflux after reflux if you’d taken ‘im captive fer real. Confirmed it with Ratch’ and OP too.”

“You- You don’t know anything.”

“I know enough. Ain’t spec ops fer nothing.” His wings giving the faintest twitch of unease, Thundercracker knows this could go one of two ways. One, he could lunge forwards and try to attack the saboteur and flee, but that would upset Bluestreak and he’d probably be offlined in his recharge. Or Two, play along and see where this goes.

Thundercracker yields.

With a vented sigh, he lowers his wings into a casual position - rather than high and tense and secretly afraid - and makes optic-to-visor contact.

“What do you mean by Bluestreak not being happy before Earth? He- We-... We’ve talked, about Cybertron and the lives we came from, nothing related to the war, and he’s always sounded happy enough.” With a soft hum of contemplation, Jazz rests a chin in servo.

“Happy enough, sure, but not like this. Mech, I ain’t seen a single fake smile since ‘bout 7 months ago.” Thundercracker nods. That lines up with when they started meeting.

And then, he suddenly realises what that means. His optics widen and he sits a little straighter, spark feeling warm as his cheekplates begin to flush with a mix of embarrassment and joy.

“He hasn’t-... I mean, he-... I make him happy…?” Pit, even to his own audials, that sounded timid and pathetic! Frustration mounts at the momentary weakness. What kind of Decepticon sounds that- That hopeful?!

“Ya hadn’t realised? S’what friends do. Ah can tell he makes you happy, an’ you make him happy too. Friendship ain’t a one way street.” Trying to hide how the warmth of his spark floods over him, making his wings wiggle gleefully- No, victoriously! - and his faceplates darken bashfully - No, no, that’s not Decepticon enough! Uh… Shamefully? - Thundercracker looks to the sand and takes an astrosecond to compose himself.

When he looks up again, the smile on Jazz’s face is almost soft, like he’s finished having an internal debate and accepted something. But what???

Them?
Could the Autobots - Could this specific Autobot, the third in command of an army - have accepted that he and Bluestreak were admittedly… Friends?

(He still struggled to accept it himself. Him??? With friends? Decepticons didn’t have- No, a soldier shouldn’t have-)

“When we crashed, Blue found a lil’ bit of true happiness in movies an’ films. The rest o’ us, we tried to understand, we really did, but… ‘Sides from jus’ watching ‘em and enjoying the movie while it played, we ain’t got the same kinda passion Blue had.” Jazz looks off into the distance for a beat.

“Tore Sunny an’ Sides up real bad that they couldn’t just get it, an’ I know ‘Bee was super apologetic ‘bout not getting the technical side of it. Think it upset them a little that their super-knit group seemed ta fray at th’ seams. Not that it was, o’ course! Jus’ the way they felt, from my understanding.” Another pause.

“Then Blue met you. And mech! It was like a big ol’ ray o’ sunshine breakin’ though those clouds! Blue was happier than ever, the Twins and ‘Bee were able ta hang out without feeling guilty ‘bout the movie stuff, and the rec room player is available fer everyone again!”

“Because… Of me???” Jazz nods, leaning in this time, with a bright grin that could probably be called a smirk in other situations. But this isn’t an interrogation - at least, Thundercracker doesn’t think so - and it isn’t a battle either.

“Sure thing. Ya got a shared understandin’, something noone else on the Ark did.” Thundercracker scans around one more time, checking for EM fields or hidden optics, or any signs of an ambush, and then, drops his guard.

He relaxes.

“Okay. Then, what do you intend to do about it?” Sensing the difference, Jazz perks up, and waves one servo beckoning to the shape in the distance. He shouts, loud enough that Thundercracker has to angle his wings backwards because they’re sensitive to sound.

They have to be, with his outlier.

“A’right, Baby Blue! You can join us now!” Bluestreak doesn’t waste any time in launching himself into a run, not bothering to transform into alt mode as he makes like his name and streaks over to them.

He skids in the sand to lightly crash into Thundercracker’s side, the Seeker steadying him with careful servos and a flicker of his wing to reprimand the careless approach.

Bluestreak only grins at him sheepishly, his doorwings fluttering in a not-quite-sincere apology.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not~. You totally deserve that for leaning over during ‘That Guy’ and telling me the actors had swapped over.”

“You believed me?”

“No! … Yes! You know all the technical stuff about movies! I thought it was another one of your fun facts until I was all like ‘wow’ and you started laughing.” Thundercracker snorts, before remembering all too late that they have company.

Pit damn! It’s just too easy to get along with Bluestreak!

Jazz watches them with a wide grin, completely relaxed. They don’t know it, but watching them like this remind him of when he first met Prowl.

Considering he and Prowl were still best friends - officially Amica Endura - and co-parented Bluestreak, Jazz could see a wonderful future for the two in front of him.

If it weren’t for this Primus Forsaken war.

“A’right, let’s start by setting down some ground rules. Ah’ll give ya a chance ta contest and try ta reason why, but these rules are in place to keep ya safe. Keep you both safe.” For some reason, that last little sentence hits Thundercracker particularly hard.

How long has it been since anyone cared if he was ‘safe’? Why did it matter in a war that he knew he would inevitably deactivate in? He was just a Decepticon. Decepticon fighters didn’t have the privilege of safety. They were sacrificial pawns for the cause.

So why- Why - was an Autobot sitting across from him caring if he was safe???

“TC?” It’s only Bluestreak’s servo pressing against his upper arm plating and worried, inquisitive tone that has Thundercracker jolt back out of his thoughts. He doesn’t look to see if Jazz noticed the fluctuation in his mood.

He’s spec-ops, of course he did.
But Thundercracker can pretend he didn’t if he just doesn’t look.

“Just give us the rules.” Bluestreak leans against him, both nervous and comforting, as Jazz starts speaking.

“Ah can do that. Rule number one! We’re gonna have to tell a couple o’ mechs about this.” Thundercracker almost snarls in protest, but it’s calmed by Bluestreak softly enquiring:

“Prowl and Prime?” Part of Thundercracker wants to take flight right then and there, because there is only one thing worse than the Autobot TIC knowing.

And that’s the Autobot SIC and tactician knowing.
He’s not expecting Jazz to bark a sudden laugh.

“Blue, if you think Prowler ain’t already figured this whole thing out, ya got another thing coming~.” Bluestreak giggles. Giggles.

As if Thundercracker isn’t silently panicking and wondering how he hasn’t already been deactivated in his recharge cycle or on the battlefield, or just anywhere. His spark skips a rotation with a freezing, dreadful sensation, before it starts to spin faster and he doesn’t know how long he can keep this hidden and-

“Yer lucky, Baby Blue. He’s a complete softie when it comes to ya. Ain’t gonna lie, he is waitin’ at the edge of the desert for ‘is own lil’ chat with ya, but yer not in trouble. Prowler ain’t gonna intervene unless things go sour.”

“He’s not too mad at me, is he…?”

“Ehh… A little, but nothing a bit o’ acting cute can’t get ya out of.” Laughing this time, Bluestreak finally turns to look over at Thundercracker.

Thundercracker, who hasn’t lifted his optics from the sand, hasn’t moved an inch, and hasn’t registered anything for a while.

Sure, he’s heard every word. Yeah, he’s looking at the same unchanging patch of sand. And he knows the tones Bluestreak and Jazz speak with are playful and at ease, but it’s not sinking in.

It’s like the entire world is moving without him and he can sense everything happening around him but he can’t process it properly, can’t understand it. All he’s sure of is that the Autobot SIC - a calculating and cold mech with unbeatable battle planning - knows of him as more than just a meaningless soldier now.

It paints a target on his wings.

“TC?” A servo lies on his side gently, but it feels almost like a punch in this state. He leaps to his pedes, backing away.

“I- I have to go.” Bluestreak looks hurt by the quick, sharp statement, but he quickly smooths it over with a patient smile.

“Yeah, you don’t wanna make anyone suspicious. I bet Starscream is a real pain in the aft to deal with if you’re ever late. Oh! And I almost forgot about the cassettes! If they report everything to Soundwave, then you definitely don’t want to attract their attention.”

“Running away ain’t gonna change the facts, mech.” Once more, Thundercracker freezes, but his wings are flared out in warning and his turbines are running hot, ready for take-off.

“I wasn’t-”

“Like pit ya weren’t.” Jazz’s visor is dangerously dark, and Thundercracker knows full well that the servo behind Jazz’s back is most likely reaching for a weapon or stasis cuffs. Something to stop Thundercracker runn-

Retreating.
Decepticons didn’t run away, they retreated. Tactically.

“Prowler ain’t gonna stop knowing the truth just ‘cuz you’re takin’ off now.” Scowling, Thundercracker flicks his wings sharply in agitation, forcing himself to push aside that flight instinct and remain standing where he was.

“I presume my days are numbered then, if your SIC is aware of my presence.” Jazz vents a heavy sigh, crossing his arms and shaking his helm as his optical ridge creases.

“That’s not- Mech, ya gotta stop expecting some ulterior motive. S’just ‘bout keeping you ‘n’ Blue safe, ya dig? It ain’t trickery, it ain’t targeting, it ain’t a trap. It’s concern, a’right?”

“What proof do you have of that?”

“TC…” Bluestreak glances between the snarling Seeker and tense TIC with a mix of worry, hurt, and sympathy. It cuts through the way they stare at each other, and Thundercracker flickers his optics over to Bluestreak before easing the snarl off his faceplates.

He’s still frowning intensely, but there’s less aggression.

Similarly, Jazz loses every bit of tension in his frame, going back to a loose and limber stance that almost hides how deadly he could be.

“Nah, s’alright, Baby Blue. Thundercracker’s got ev’ry right to ask that, ‘n’ I ain’t gonna sugercoat th’ situation. We’re in a war. There’s gonna be suspicions, there’s gonna be trust issues, and there’s gonna be complications. What Prowler an’ I want to do is make sure neither of ya gets hurt by being friends wi’h each other, or by each other.” Jazz gives Thundercracker another sharp look.

“That’s all. Ain’t got no proof but my word, mech.”

“The word of an Autobot doesn’t mean much to me.” It’s at this point that Bluestreak stands up, tentatively moving over and grabbing Thundercracker by the servo, gently tugging him back to a polite conversation distance, rather than an ‘about to flee’ distance.

“What about my word…? I mean, I know I’m an Autobot too, and that’s probably never going to change unless the war ends and we achieve total peace and don’t need factions anymore, but at least you know me? We’re friends!-”

Oh, that somehow warms and hurts his spark at the same time.

“ - So even if you can’t trust Jazz and Prowl, you can trust me. You can trust me. I know they’re trying to do good, I know they’re trying to help us, and I love them both dearly. I know that having rules kinda sucks because they’re boring, but it’s… It’s just to keep us safe, right? I mean, if Jazz and Prowl found us out, what’s to stop your command staff from doing the same?”

Thundercracker physically jolts at that. They’ve already been found out once, what’s to stop it from happening again?

What’s to say they could keep this hidden from Starscream’s constant suspicion and distrust, or Soundwave, who seemed to know everything that happen in, to, and around the Decepticons?

And if they found out...

“Megatron would deactivate us both.” There’s no doubt that either of them would report his ‘treachery’ to Megatron - Starscream for brownie points, Soundwave out of loyalty - and then it wouldn’t matter how far he ran.

Megatron would hunt him down callously, ruthlessly, and tear him to shreds of scrap metal. Maybe keep a trophy or two from the scrap that would remain of his sparkless husk. Whether the Warlord would go for Bluestreak first to punish Thundercracker even further, or afterwards so the Seeker wouldn’t be able to do anything or warn anybody, Thundercracker didn’t know.

In comparison, a few meager rules weren’t so bad.

“I trust you, Bluestreak.” The blindingly bright grin that spreads on Bluestreak’s faceplates - paired with doorwings wiggling with pure joy - prompts Thundercracker to return a small smile of his own.

“I trust you too, TC!” Aww, pit, there’s that warm, friendly swell in his spark again. Bluestreak flutters his wings, tilting his head towards Jazz whilst maintaining optic contact with Thundercracker, his smile slightly lopsided.

“Think you can make the time to hear out what Jazz is saying? I know you have to go soon and it’s dangerous if you don’t, but this seems really important. For both of us.” Thundercracker glances warily over at the mech, still standing in place.

“... I can spare some time.” It takes him a moment to get settled. Jazz graciously waits, though gracious might be stretching it, since he’s clearly listening to Earth music whilst the two in… Trouble? Are they in trouble?- seat themselves comfortably back in the sand.

“Ya good?”

“We’re good!” Bluestreak gives Jazz a thumbs-up style gesture, whilst Thundercracker silently nods. He’s still cautious. It would be stupid not to be cautious.

“A’right!” Jazz claps his servos, plonking himself down in the sand hard enough to kick up a small spray of it that he has to brush off his plating.

“Obviously, we’re gonna have ta let OP know as well. He ain’t as suspicious as Ratch’, but he damn well knows something is goin’ on and we definitely wanna inform him before another potential hostage situation.”

“No thanks, I don’t wanna go through that again. No offence, TC, but I like my pedes on the ground. It was scary knowing that this planet has stronger gravity than Cybertron and all that was holding me up was your arm. Plus it really spooked my friends, like, Sides was literally shaking, Sunny wouldn’t let me out of arms reach, and ‘Bee looked like he was about to cry, so I’d really like to avoid that.”

“Ah, sorry. No more hostage situations then, I promise.” The sparkfelt apology, as short and to the point as it was, is all Thundercracker can offer.

Bluestreak grins at him gratefully, holding out his smallest digit.

“Pinkie promise?” Confused, the Seeker arches one optical ridge before he remembers seeing this in one of their movies a couple months back. It’s a human gesture - a childish one - but one that appears to carry the same weight as a promise made on Vosnian wings.

“Pinkie promise.” He offers his own smallest digit, and Bluestreak connects them, shaking them purposefully.

It suddenly strikes Thundercracker, in that moment, how similar this is to the ‘blood brother’ pact made by characters from the movie they’ve literally just watched.

He can only hope their brotherhood - their steadfast friendship, forged by stubborn denial of this war and both their efforts combined - doesn’t end the same way.

If anything did happen to either of them…

Thundercracker turns back to Jazz, both serious and relaxed.

“Will your medic be informed as well?”

“Hmm…” Jazz rests his chin in his servo like he’s debating it, his lipplates pursed and visor a shade darker than usual. He’s very… Expressive. Obviously, that didn’t interfere with his abilities as a spy, saboteur, and interrogator, but Thundercracker wonders if any other Decepticons have noticed.

Then again, didn’t everyone have their oddities outside of battle?

This wasn’t Jazz acting out of the ordinary. It was just a Jazz that the Decepticon soldier had never seen before, had never considered. It was Jazz as his genuine self, not a soldier. Maybe, in this moment right here, they are all just their ‘selves’.

With a bright grin that’s a touch devious and mischievous, Jazz straightens up, looking for all the universe like Skywarp when he’s about to announce a ‘brilliant, fantastic, original’ prank idea.

“Nope~! I’m kinda intrigued to see if ol’ Ratch’ can figure it out himself!”

“And that won’t… Endanger us? In any way?”

“Nah, yer perfectly safe. Even if he does work it out, if it involves Blue, he knows to come ta me or Prowler first. ‘Course, we ain’t gonna hide it from him. I might be a glitch, but I ain’t a liar.”

“That’s fair, I suppose.” Thundercracker’s wings twitch and he knows Bluestreak has just moved his own doorwings with mild surprise. He looks back just in time to see Bluestreak blink with that same surprise he could feel.

“You were more scared of Prowl knowing than Optimus and Ratchet?” Unable to help himself, the corners of Thundercracker’s mouth twitches into a teasing smirk.

“Tacticians draw up battle plans.”

“Oh, no! Prowl never would have-... Well, he might not… Actually, yeah, that was probably a valid concern. But it’s not gonna happen now! That’s what this is about, right?”

“Rightchaare, Baby Blue!” Thundercracker shutters his optics.

“Why- Why are we suddenly talking about Charr?” It takes an astrosecond for Thundercracker to realise his mistake. Bluestreak looks a klik away from bursting into laughter, and Jazz tilts his helm like he’s not sure why the Seeker is bringing up a planet from a distant solar system.

Embarrassment floods him all at once, and Thundercracker holds up his servos placatingly as his wings jerk downwards into comical humiliation, and his faceplates light up so brightly that they match the red stripes on his wings.

“That’s- I was- I mean-! Bluestreak, help!” Bluestreak laughs. He guffaws so loud and hard that topples over in the sand, kicking his legs like just laughing isn’t enough.

Neither Bluestreak or Thundercracker notice Jazz taking multiple image captures.
Patiently, the saboteur watches until Bluestreak vents so hard with laughter that he starts to overheat and Thundercracker looks like he wishes the sand would part ways for him to sink into.

“A’right, a’right, kiddos~. Calm on down now, an’ I’ll go into some more of the rules.” Somehow, Thundercracker manages to compose himself, though the colour never fully fades from his faceplates.

“Rule numba 2! Baby Blue, you gotta tell either me or Prowler the truth when yer leaving to meet up with Thundercracker. That said, give us a comm when you’re on yer way back too.”

“Got it!”

“Last but not least, rule 3.” This is it. This is what has Thundercracker worried. Because if it’s ‘last but not least’, it’s bound to be the most important. Something that could push his boundaries.

(And he doesn’t appreciate Jazz’s pause for suspense.)

“We gonna set you up with a secret comm channel not even Sounders can hack.” He’s looking directly at Thundercracker when he says it. Seeker wings freeze completely in trepidation.

“Excuse me?”

“A multi-layered protected channel that-”

“No, I understand that. But do you really think you can code something ‘unhackable’ to Soundwave???”

“Sure can! He ain’t found our Spec Ops channels yet.”

… Well then.

Slightly concerning, but Thundercracker doesn’t really care for what the Autobots ‘sneaky bugger’ team does as long as it doesn’t directly affect him. He narrows his optics, tense with suspicion.

“What would I even use a channel to Autobots for?” The delicate sensors on his wings pick up the minuscule changes to the mood. It becomes stern, and serious. More so than before.

“‘Cus if Megatron ever finds out, I don’t think yer Con buddies are gonna be able to help you out.”

Chapter Text

“Bluestreak.”

“Yoohoo, Blue! Whatcha up to?” Hopping away from the storage shelves with a touch more glee than necessary, Bluestreak turns to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker as he discards his inventory datapad very enthusiastically.

Inventory Stocktake was literally the dullest task aboard the Ark, and Bluestreak hated it. Still got it done, but hated it.

“Hey, Sunny! Hey, Sides! Just doing the usual duties, even though I detest inventory with a passion. I know it’s important, but I feel like once a week would be enough, not once a day! You were both on cleaning duty, right? How did it go?”

“Exactly as you’d expect! Sunny made me stand in a corner and did everything himself.”

“Because you’re the moron who got the training rooms taped off for three days by ‘cleaning’ it.” Sideswipe shrugs unashamedly, puffing out his chestplate with cheeky pride.

“Tried some new techniques. They didn’t work. So what? Was worth the risk.” Just as Sunstreaker is raising his arm with a glare, ready to smack the back of Sideswipe’s helm sharply, Bluestreak laughs and steps in to gently lower the more volatile twins striking pose.

“And you’ve done nothing to annoy Prowl?! Wow, guys, it’s like I don’t even know you anymore!” The matching devious grins that stretches across the twin’s faceplates is like something out of a horror movie.

“Aw, now, we didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, Blue, who do you take us for?!” From their subspaces, each of them pulls a datapad. The datapads used for logging cleaning reports. Just a brief description of what had been done and if anything needed handing over to the next shift, or attending to by maintenance.

Sunstreaker’s says: Shit’s clean..

And Sideswipe’s…

“Primus below, Sides! 58 pages?! How in the everloving pit did you write 58 pages about cleaning?! Is that- Is that the chemical composition of the water, solvent, and every single polish used? You gave designations to every single panel, screw, and joint?”

“Yup!” Sideswipe just sounds so proud of himself that Bluestreak can’t help laughing. Only Sideswipe would put in so much detailed effort for what is - essentially - a test of patience.

“I think you might just push Prowl over the edge with this one. Definitely give him Sunny’s first so he can give you that ‘disappointed in you’ look, then you know you'll already be on his nerves before you make him read… Well… This.” Grinning, Sunstreaker flashes a quick thumbs up.

“You got it. Be interesting to see whether he lectures us, orders us to rewrite it, or sends us out.”

“There is no way he’ll ask you to rewrite it. He knows Sides would just double the length.” True to Bluestreak’s prediction, Sideswipe grins deviously and slides a second datapad out of his subspace, dropping his voice to a whisper like it’s a secret.

“This one is 400 pages long.” Sunstreaker snorts a laugh, whilst Bluestreak shutters his optics - wordless for once. Puffing out his chassis with pride, Sideswipe just puts it away, ready to pull out again if Prowl demands a rewrite.

Not likely, but just in case.

“Anyways - you almost done with stocktake?”

“Yup! I’ve catalogued everything, now I just need to put the datapad in the storage room pigeonhole. After that, do you guys wanna meet up in my room? I’m gonna find Bee and ask him too, but I have something reeeeally important to share!!!”

“Oh?” The twins share a glance, shuttering their optics in unison before their faceplates stretch with almost matching grins - Sunstreaker’s just a tad more restrained and catlike than Sideswipe’s.

“This about why you’re always sneaking out, huh~?” Flustered, Bluestreak waves his servos in dismissal so fast that they look like they’re blurring together. It’s honestly impressive. One would think only Blurr capable of such speed.

But even the blurring motion can’t hide the way Bluestreak puffs his cheeks out in playful annoyance.

“It’s not sneaking!!! I have full permission to go outside, I don’t hide when I’m leaving, and Prowl and Jazz know exactly where I am!” At that, Sideswipe’s amusement fades into a nonchalant shrug.

“Huh. Can’t be that fun then. If it were only Jazz, sure, but-” Sunstreaker jabs his elbow joint into Sideswipe’s side, making sure to catch the most sensitive cabling.

“Finish that sentence with an insult and Blue might ‘accidentally’ get your jetpack in the next battle.” Bluestreak smiles dangerously. It’s almost funny how Sideswipe takes a step back, letting out a long ‘uuuuhhhh’ as he tries to find a way to save his own skidplate. Eventually, the sniper takes pity on him.

“Nah, don’t worry! I wouldn’t do that. Well, not in the heat of battle anyways. Maybe with some paint when you were about to go out on patrol, but nothing that would endanger anyone. ‘Nd I think Ratchet would kill me if you had to go and ask him to fix something that wasn’t drastic again and it was my fault…” Bluestreak flashes another oh-so-innocent grin at his friends with a shrug and watches them both pause for just an astrosecond.

It’s so funny that they forget how dangerous he can be.
Then again, he forgets how dangerous they can be as well.

As for Bumblebee…
He’s probably thrice as dangerous thanks to everyone underestimating him.

Thinking of Bumblebee-!

“Hey, have either of you seen ‘Bee today? I need to ask him to join us as well, but I haven’t seen tyre or tailpipe of him since… Uh, yesterday, I think?” Sunstreaker hums in thought, a digit resting against his chin as his olfactory ridge crinkles, trying to recall if he’d seen a flash of a very specific yellow today.

On the other hand, Sideswipe checks the public duty schedule he’s saved to memory.
(He has to, or he’ll get distracted and accidentally skip shifts.) A quick check pings him back with a notification and he nods affirmatively.

“He’s listed off-duty today. Which means…” All three slowly turn their heads towards the vent system above them, staring wordlessly at a metal grate. Sure enough, there’s a lack of dust around the grates and instead flecks on the wall from where movement inside has pushed it out.

There’s only one mech on the Ark who fits in those vents.

(Asides from Blaster’s cassettes, but ironically, they all have some degree of claustrophobia.)

It takes a little scrambling - Bluestreak hefted up onto Sideswipe’s back, his doorwings constantly adjusting for balance - then Bluestreak takes in a deep invent, cups his servos around his mouth, and hollars.

“Bumblebee~!” There’s just enough time for Bluestreak to remove the ventilation grate and hop off Sideswipe’s back with a cheerful ‘thanks!’ before a distant scrabbling of metal on metal becomes louder and there’s a sudden POOF-

- Of soot and ash and oh Primus, so much black dust puffing out from the vent in a thick cloud.

From that, an absolutely disgustingly filthy minibot helm pops out, grinning unashamedly.

“Hey guys! Word of warning; Don’t go down Wheeljack’s corridor.” Ah, that explains the soot. Yet another explosion from the scientists experimental room. Bluestreak laughs at the streaks on Bumblebee’s face that clearly show he was a firsthand witness to the turmoil, and Sideswipe snickers at how Sunstreaker takes a couple of steps back, faceplates scrunched with disgust.

This must have been his worst nightmare, considering the soot-cloud had expanded out to stain the walls, ash had fallen to settle on the floor beneath the vent, and Bumblebee was no longer yellow-

He looked like a little black and dark grey bee from all the dirt.
Unfortunately for Sunstreaker, it was not an isolated incident.
Or an unusual circumstance.
The little scout was always filthy, that was just matter of fact.

“Wow, ‘Bee, you must have brought the whole aftermath of the boom with you! Look at you! You’re covered in soot, and you got it everywhere! If you look like this, I’m guessing Wheeljack’s corridor is, uh, pretty much like a void right now?” Bumblebee snorts, wriggling around so his pedes come out first.

“It’s pitch black. Inferno is helping him clean it up, but honestly? It’s like aiming a tiny water pistol at Pompeii. There’s no way that’s getting clean this week.” Bluestreak waits for Sideswipe to reach up and pull Bumblebee safely out the vent rather than letting him drop to the floor, (He usually only exited the vents on floor level), reaching up to fix the grate back in place.

Sideswipe gained a mischievous glint in his optics.
Bluestreak pretends not to notice and hides his wobbling smile, trying to hold back a laugh as Sideswipe holds Bumblebee out at arms length, waving him around in front of Sunstreaker.

“Oooh, dirty little minicon! He’s covered in fiiiilth~, ooooh, so scary!” Bumblebee rolls his optics, but doesn’t fuss at Sideswipe’s manhandling.

He’s used to this.

Bluestreak is laughing now, doorwings all aflutter, waiting for Sunstreaker to react in disgust and swat at his brother from a great length whilst darting away from the soot-covered minicon being used against him.

What Bluestreak doesn’t expect - and he drops a ventilation grate screw in surprise - is for Sunstreaker to reach out, grab Bumblebee under the arms, and carry him like a dangling kitten off down the hallway. Even Bumblebee seems too shocked to do anything but make an (adorable) sound of surprise.

Sideswipe and Bluestreak share a stunned look, both of them with jawplates hanging wide open, until Bluestreak suddenly remembers what’s just around the corner and bursts out into tank-deep laughter.

“Have a nice bath, ‘Bee!!!”

“What?! NO!!!!” Bumblebee starts thrashing and shouting, pleading and begging for Sunstreaker to let him go, and couple of demands, threats, and curses mixed in, and Sideswipe joins Bluestreak in laughing as his brother and Bumblebee vanish around the corner.

They can still hear Bumblebee’s protests right up until he lets out this unholy screech as the washroom doors slide shut and lock. The screaming, cursing, and hissing is muffled from that point on.

Calming down, Sideswipe nudges Bluestreak with his elbow, the Praxian sending off a casual ping whilst fixing the last screw into place.

“Bet you a cube he finds a way to get messy again before the end of the day.”

“I’m not betting against that, Sides. I’d be more surprised if Sunstreaker could keep ‘Bee clean for a day than if the ‘Cons actually won the war. Honestly, I think Tracks tried dragging him into the washracks once and ‘Bee managed to rip a panel off the wall and escape inside the walls. Nobody knows how or where he got out again.”

“... Can we just let ‘Bee loose on the Nemesis? Pretty sure he and Jazz would win this thing for us.”

“Prowl forbid it.” Sideswipe laughs, falling into step besides Bluestreak as they head towards the pigeonholes where Bluestreak can deliver his inventory report. It’s blissfully close to the officers corridors, so he can hand in his own report too.

“Speaking of Prowl, we’d better warn him and Red that the sounds of ‘battle’ coming from the washrooms is nothing to worry about, right?”

“I already sent Prime a ping whilst I was fixing the grate~! It just says Bathtime for Bee, but I’m pretty sure he’s understood and already sent alerts out to the rest of the command staff.” Sideswipe guffaws, loud and ugly and unapologetic.

“Yeah, that’ll do the job!” Bluestreak’s doorwings wiggle with a happy kind of pride, stopping by the pigeonholes to slide the inventory stock list into the appropriate place and pressing his thumb against the lock system.

It’ll only unlock when it’s next registered to someone’s field, but that won’t be for another month or so, unless they have a large battle before then.

“Oh, scrap.”

“Sides?” Concerned, Bluestreak puts a servo on Sideswipe’s servo. The frontliner’s optics are wider than usual, and when he turns to helm to look directly at Blue, there’s an almost defeated gaze in them.

“Sunny forgot to give me his report. Prowl’s gonna reassign me a task for not handing it over!” Sideswipe pouts, whining, and Bluestreak only snickers as he shoves at him.

“Don’t make me worry like that, I thought it was gonna be something serious! I thought Sunny was hurt or in danger and you felt it, or you remembered something real bad! Besides, you already have two reports, don’t you?”

“... Oh.” An absolutely feral grin stretches across Sideswipe’s faceplates, and he reaches into his subspace to bring out both datapads. The first one 58 pages long, the second… 400.

Never let it be said that Sideswipe was not dedicated to his pranks.

“Want to come with me and see how Prowl reacts~?” It’s an invitation Bluestreak can’t deny, nodding so enthusiastically that his neck cables send him a strain warning. It’s only a few steps to Prowl’s office, and Sideswipe moulds his faceplates into a casual but serious expression. He steps in with a respectful nod to the SIC.

Bluestreak shutters his optics in amazement. That was one pit of a poker face! Prowl would have no idea something was up! He won’t have a clue that Sideswipe has something planned! No one could tell-!

“Sideswipe. What pit-spawned atrocity have you committed or are you about to commit this time?”

… Ah.
Apparently, Prowl could tell.

“Handed ‘Bee over to Sunny. Pretty sure there’s gonna be digit claw marks all over the washroom walls. And possibly ceiling. Tyre tracks on the floor. Broken wires from the door system. Discarded rags all ov-”

“Yes, yes, I get it. Your reports? I presume you have Sunstreaker’s as well?” Sideswipe hands over the duel datapads, making sure the shorter one is on top. Bluestreak watches from the corner of the room as Prowl turns it on, briefly glances at it, before fixing Sideswipe with a stare that should make the frontliner back out the room nervously.

Sideswipe, who apparently fears nothing, rocks back on forth on his pedes like he’s bored and nothing is wrong. Bluestreak covers a servo over his mouth to muffle a giggle, averting his optics when Prowl glances over to him with one optical ridge raised.

Then, a disappointed but not surprised Prowl puts down Sideswipe’s 58 page report. He picks up the other one. He turns it on. Optics close and a long-suffering vent is exhaled for a full ten seconds as Prowl turns the datapad upside down and places it on his desk.

“Get out.” It’s so flat, so defeated that Bluestreak can’t help snorting with laughter as Sideswipe victoriously spins on heel and marches towards the door, making a show of putting his arms crossed behind his helm.

“Yessir!”

“Out.” Bluestreak, pressing his lipplates together to stop the peel of giggles escaping, shoves Sideswipe out the door with gentle hands. As soon as the office door slides closed, his comm chimes with an incoming message.

From Jazz?

He exchanges a questioning glance with Sideswipe, both of them having heard it come through. Bluestreak lifts his servo and opens the line so they can be heard aloud. There’s not a private tag attached, after all.

“Jazz?”

“Hey, Baby Blue, any idea why in the pit Prowler’s comming me fer Praxian high grade this early on a fine, rainy morn’ng?”

Jazz’s only answer is howling laughs from Bluestreak and Sideswipe in unison, and the comm echoes with a cheeky “Ahh. That ‘splains it.” before the channel closes.

Bluestreak manages to get himself back under control first, fading from laughter that makes his joints hurt to small giggles hidden behind a servo. There’s a skip in his step, one that shows he’s in an extremely good mood. Besides him, Sideswipe still laughs, so hard that he trips over his own clumsy pedes and smacks his faceplates right into a wall.

Snorting, the red frontliner pulls away from it and rubs at his olfactory sensor.

“Well. That’s one way to bring me back to reality.” Bluestreak stops in his tracks to make sure his friend is okay, but there’s no broken strut or leaking energon, so he nods once as a sign that everything’s okay. Sideswipe grins back.

“So, by the by…”

“If you’re gonna try and weasel out the reason I want us all to meet in my room, you can stop riiiight there~. This is something I want to tell all of you together, at the same time. Mostly because I’m pretty sure you’re gonna have a bunch of questions and it would be exhausting to go over the same points three times.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Geez! I just want a liiiiittle preview.” Sideswipe widens his optics innocently and purses his liplates, bottom one wobbling like a youngling begging for energon goodies. In good humour, Bluestreak swats at him.

“Nu-uh! No! Bad Sides!” Snickering, Sideswipe drops the expression before he grows incredibly proud.

“I just got a huge burst of satisfaction from Sunny. They’ll be on their way shortly.”

“Ohhhhh sweet cogcake. If Sunny is feeling satisfied enough that you’re getting smug, we’re gonna be able to see ‘Bee from space! Cosmos will ask what that shiny yellow dot in the desert is. We could use him as a battlefield distraction. Or a glow-in-the-dark light.”

“Blue, oh, Blue. Do you really think that satisfaction is going to last long? ‘Bee will be in the vents again in like, a groon.”

“... True. Do you wanna go grab some cubes from the rec whilst I go clean my habsuite quickly? It’s not that bad, but I did drop an aftload of ammo yesterday and spent too long organising them into categorised piles to have time to put them away.” Rolling his optics, Sideswipe claps a servo on Bluestreak’s shoulder.

“When aren’t there bullets or shells all over your floor?” For a moment, Bluestreak pauses to think. Then, he shrugs, wings twitching with guilt.

“Good point! But this is waaaaay more than usual. As in, I couldn’t see the floor until I swept them into piles.” Noting the rapidly paling faceplates, Bluestreak quickly continues;

“Most of them are just vintage collectable or defective, but I keep them ‘cus they’re shiny! Don’t worry, there’s nothing- Or, well, not much- dangerous about! Go get the cubes! I’ll be done by the time you all get there!” That said, Bluestreak spins on a pede and heads towards his room quickly.

He wasn’t joking about the amount of ammo coating his floor. He’d accidentally knocked a shelf full of ammo boxes off the wall yesterday, and the mess had been intense.

Separating the bullets according to the gun they went they went with had taken long enough that he’d then had to do a day full of shifts and patrols, and had been too fatigued to box it all back up.

It wouldn’t take long.
Just scoop the piles up with his servos, and dump them in the appropriately labelled box.
Carefully.

… Very carefully.

He didn’t need his habsuite looking like Wheeljack’s corridor.

“Gotta hurry, gotta hurry, gotta hurry.” He steps into his habsuite, cautiously tiptoeing around the (quite frankly, preposterous amount) piles of gunmetal grey bullets - each marked with a band of colour for their effect once shot - and begins to put them into boxes.

There’s more ammo in his own room than there is in the weapons cupboard, and that’s saying something.
But then, Bluestreak’s weapons were ones only he could use thanks to his amazing sniper ability, and this (Again, preposterous) ammo was specialised to his multiple rifles.

Bluestreak’s bullets were less designed for direct hits to vital areas, and more for causing an effect if he struck targets like shoulders, pedes, or the ground in front of someone.

For that reason, many of his pellets were explosive.
Or dangerous in other ways.
Particularly the rust ones.

“There! Clean and tidy! Now I just have to hope no-one goes too bananas when I tell them…” A full body shudder of pure delight ripples through him, his wings fluttering like a bird in flight with excitement.

He’s so excited!

He’s over the moon, because he finally, finally!!! gets to fill his friends in on his not-so-little secret. It had started a month ago, when Jazz had confronted him and Thundercracker on their way back from Blood Brothers…

--------------------------------------------------------

“‘Cus if Megatron ever finds out, I don’t think yer Con buddies are gonna be able to help you out.”

With a deep, vented sigh, Thundercracker rose from the sand and shook his pedes to get the annoying little particles out of his thrusters. They were incredibly difficult to remove once they’d been seared into glass.

“You may have a point. But I won’t let Megatron find out.”

“In that case, you’d better get going, TC! You’re already a little later than usual and I don’t want anyone to get suspicious!” Thundercracker gave a quick, soft smile towards Bluestreak, but it faded quickly when he saw the strain around Bluestreak’s grin and optics.

A fake grin. Tense and uncomfortable.
He was holding something back.

And considering the conversation they’d just had…

“Bluestreak.” The Praxian startled, tilting his helm to the side in question. He shuttered his optics when Thundercracker averted his gaze, looking awkward and bashful as he pretended to brush sand away from his cockpit.

“If you-... I mean, if there’s…” An aggravated vent. Thundercracker pinches his orbital ridge with two digits, then slides a servo down his face.

“You can tell your friends. Your- The frontliners. And the scout. You can tell them.” Almost immediately, Bluestreak brightens up like the moon has been replaced by the sun and his plating by geodes.

“R-Really~?! I can?! Oh, thank you! Thank you so much, TC! This means everything to me! I promise I’ll do it carefully so they won’t be too mad, and I’ll explain everything and-!” Overcome by the flow of positive emotions, Bluestreak surges forwards and wraps his arms around Thundercracker’s waist, lifting him off the ground and spinning him round in a hug with a squeal of delight.

Jazz laughs in the background, but the ‘Con is far too baffled, far too confused by the affection to notice.

When Bluestreak lets him down, Thundercracker stumbles, watching as the Praxian spins in a circle on his pedes, bright and brilliant in every way, so overjoyed that his wheels spin.

And even if Thundercracker doesn’t really understand euphoria, he knows happiness when he sees it.

“I can’t wait to tell them! I know it’ll take a while for them to come around to the ide, but one day, we’ll all be friends and we can hang out together and-!” One optical ridge raised in amusement, Thundercracker places his servo softly over Bluestreak’s mouth until he stops talking.

“Give me a month to get used to the idea, okay?”

“Mon Mmpfh?”

“One month. Just in case they try to offline me. I have some things to take care of first.” Bluestreak’s optics go wide, and he’s about to start a muffled rant of concern through Thundercracker’s servo, but before he can, Jazz steps forwards and pulls him backwards by the shoulders.

“C’mon now, Baby Blue~. It’s just one month, yeah? Ya gotta figure out whatcha gonna say anyways!” Nodding so enthusiastically that his chevron flexes, Bluestreak wiggles his doorwings.

“Yeah!!! I really do! But thanks anyways, TC! I’ll tell them exactly one month from now, you can count on me!” Thundercracker gives him a tiny smile. One tinged with nervousness, but also permission. And then, the seeker takes to the skies.

----------------------------------------------------

One month had passed to the very day.

It was time.

His doorwings vibrated once more, the sheer glee radiating from his spark so much that his frame had to find some way to let it out.

If his friends could accept Thundercracker, then maybe they could start meeting up as a group! Become friends with him themselves! They could be- All of them could just be friends together!!!! It would be so fun!

The hard part was getting them to understand that just because TC was a Decepticon, it didn’t automatically make him bad at spark.

That would be a difficult task for any of the Autobots, but for a pair of frontliners who lived to fight the enemy and a minibot who’d been raised solely in war, it was going to be an arduous task.

“Blue? Can we come in?” His doorwings prick up at the sound, Bumblebee’s voice clear through the door. There’s a slight vibration which must be Sunstreaker leaning against the wall patiently.

“Yeah!! It’s unlocked!” The habsuite door hisses open, an extremely proud Sunstreaker and a disgruntled yet luminous Bumblebee stepping in. He shifts awkwardly, ruffling his plating.

“Let’s get this over with quickly so I can go back to Spec Ops practice.” Sunstreaker grips the grab handle on Bumblebee’s back - a feature only sparklings and younglings had - and narrows his optics down at him.

“Don’t. You. Dare. I did not scrub you with a human toothbrush for you to dive back into dust, soot, and grit.”

“It’s training.”

“No, you’re just a gremlin.” Bumblebee grins up at Sunstreaker with just a slight hint of threat. Nothing serious, but a silent promise to hide his polish in the greasy, oily engine room, or something similar.

“Being clean feels so bad, though! There’s so many gaps! There is air inbetween my circuits and wires and I hate it.”

“As if cloying your internals up with thick, stodgy muck is any better! That’s just heavy and overwhelming.” Sunstreaker frowns (pouts, definitely pouts), and Bumblebee sticks his glossa out in response.

Snickering, Bluestreak folds down a metal slab from the wall, one that’ll act like a sofa for the four of them.

They usually clamber on it together and nap on the bad days, days when the twin’s glitches act up, or one of them had been injured.

From the small storage space in the corner, he pulls out a multitude of pillows and blankets, (Thank Primus humans were creatures of comfort, these simple inventions were the backbone of Autobot sanity on Earth.), piling them onto the large slab.

Now it looks like a sofa.
Hopefully, it will still look like a sofa once this talk is over and done with.

“I got the goods!” Skidding into the open doorway - because Bluestreak had set it to stay open once Sunny and ‘Bee had entered - Sideswipe almost loses balance and drops the four cubes he’s carrying.

Almost.

He manages to right himself at the last second and gives the other three an unapologetic grin as he holds out the stack of four cubes, letting them take one each. It’s by no coincidence that all their cubes are slightly different.

Sideswipe has the biggest cube, needing it for his heavy systems, missile launcher, and jetpack which constantly sapped energy from him. Not to mention that split sparks needed more energon as a baseline. The light pink cube was a shade closer to magenta thanks to supplements, and there was a sweet copper sprinkling on top.

Sunstreaker’s was second biggest, for the same split spark reason as Sideswipe, but he lacked the need for fuel for additional systems. His cube was the standard pink, with a soft glow of bitter magnesium rippling over the surface.

Bluestreak’s cube was slightly smaller than the regular ration, but a higher grade. Not quite high grade, but certainly a kind of fuel only seeker-kin (like Praxians and Polyhexians) and flight frames could process. It was a pale teal, with the same sweet copper flakes atop it as Sideswipe’s.

Bumblebee’s was… Well, minibot sized.
Youngling minibot sized.
And blue! Special supplements changed the colour completely, and there’s a silvery sheen to the top that betrays the presence of nickel. It’s so horribly sour that Bluestreak can’t understand why Bumblebee heaps it on, but then again, he probably thought it made him look tough.

“I’m really glad you’re all here, but I honestly don’t know if we have time to get comfy before I get into this, because, uh, I’m a little scared this might take a long time to explain and we are all on early shifts tomorrow.” Sunstreaker snorts into his energon cube.

“Calm down. Whatever it is, we’re your friends.” Bluestreak vents a sigh of relief, swiping his palm over the door control pad so it closes.

“Yeah, Blue. It’s not like you’re hanging out ‘Cons or anything!” Bumblebee laughs softly after his own statement, more like a giggle. The sheer ridiculousness of the idea makes Sunstreaker snort deeper into his cube, which in turn means his face is splattered with energon.

His dilemma means Sideswipe cackles, and Bumblebee’s attention is stolen by them, laughing a little harder.

Whilst Sunstreaker tries to (playfully) strangle his brother who is all but rolling around on the sofa in fits of wheezing cackles, Bumblebee lets his own giggles trail off, tilting his helm in confusion at the only on of them who isn’t joining in.

Bluestreak was unusually - unnervingly - silent.

His optics glowed a little brighter than normal and he could feel his cheekplates warming, contrary to the slight chill down his spinal strut. Instead of speaking, all he could do was nervously fidget, tapping his digits together to try and get rid of the nervous energy.

His lipplates were sucked in past his denta, those reddening cheekplates puffed out. If it wasn’t enough that his expression reeked of guilt, Bluestreak knew his doorwings were betraying him anyways.

Bumblebee’s optics softened, and Bluestreak averted his gaze with more guilt than ever before.

“Blue… Is there something you need to tell us…?” The careful tone of voice, paired with just the slightest hint of anger - not towards Bluestreak!!! Just anger from hurt and betrayal in general! - snapped the twins out of their sibling spat.

“Yeah, uh… About that. I… Umm… Well, I have something to tell you guys and I think it’s best if you just let me verbal purge the whole thing before passing judgement. I mean, if that’s okay…?”

“Bluestreak?” Never as dull or dumb as others thought, Sideswipe immediately picked up on the emotions Bumblebee was clearly repressing from his far-too-neutral field, and the anxious way Bluestreak shrunk in on himself.

With a wince as Sunstreaker narrowed his optics with a mix of curiousity and ominous anticipation, Bluestreak took a deep invent. He held it. Just for a couple of astroseconds. To compose himself.

It was time to extend the secret to his nearest and dearest. To tell the truth.

To hope and pray to Primus that they would accept this.

Accept him.

“I’m going to start right at the beginning, and I’m just going to say it like it is, maybe adding in my reasoning for how or why I did things. Please, please just listen. If- If you’re going to hate me, then hate me once I’ve finished explaining. Please?” The other three exchange glances. Silent conversation, followed by nods.

“Okay, Blue. Fire away.” Speaking for all of them, Sideswipe gestured out as if he was physically pulling the words from Bluestreak. His natural grin put Bluestreak at ease, and his doorwings lowered to a natural position with just a twinge of protest from being held so taunt.

“So it all started about 8 months ago. ‘Bee, d’you remember when we went to that outside cinema and I wanted to sit away from the others, near the forest? It, umm, it wasn’t just because I was tall or talk a lot. See what happened was-”

And from the very beginning, Bluestreak told them.

Everything. Absolutely everything.

He told them and tried not to look at their faceplates, drew his field in super tight so he wouldn’t brush against theirs and catch their feelings, fidgeted the whole time. The whole three hours it took to explain.

It was one of the first times he was exceedingly grateful for his ability to talk for Cybertron and more.

“- gave me permission to tell you. Specifically you three. TC knows how much you mean to me, and I think he understands that, ‘cus he seemed kind of shy but also a tiny bit scared when he said you could know my secret too.” Bluestreak let out a long, heavy exvent.

Except it didn’t feel heavy at all. It felt refreshing, like he wasn’t carrying a huge weight on his shoulders anymore. It felt like the guilt had lessened.

His best friends knew.

…

Oh, Primus, his best friends knew!

“And you can’t kill him for this, okay?! Thundercracker’s my friend just as much as you are! I- I know it’s a long shot, but one day, I think all five of us could be really great friends… If we give each other the chance.”

That’s the moment Sideswipe stands up, helm still facing the floor and optics overshadowed. He crumples his empty cube into a tiny ball of particles to disperse it, and evacuates the room in a manner that could be storming. Sunstreaker hisses a swear, pushing himself to his own pedes.

“Stupid slagger, he listened but he didn’t listen! Sorry Bluestreak, Sides doesn’t handle jealousy well.” The golden frontliner pulls Bluestreak into a one-armed hug that was almost violent, and lowered his voice to a threatening whisper.

“We’re jet-judoing that blue bastard so hard next battle, and you are not to interfere with the ensuing talk. Got it?” Bluestreak flusters at the affection - as atypical as it may be - and the warmth in his spark only grows when Bumblebee cracks his digit knuckles in an (adorably) menacing manner.

They’re so protective.
It means they love him, just as much as he loves them, and pit, how he needed that affirmation right now.

He hugs Sunstreaker back just as tightly, but with both arms.

“Okay. Okay, Sunny. Make sure Sides knows I love and care about him, right? This isn’t- I’m not swapping any of my friends for another.” Sunstreaker nods, making out the door in a rushed jog that breaks through the uncaring facade he put on.

Anyone that still believed he wasn’t 100% the adoring, silently soft, and caring brother to his twin that he was, needed a processor re-check. As secret as Sunstreaker tried to keep it, there was no hiding how much he loved his brother.

They were twins. Split-sparks.
Two halves of the same spark, who were as similar as they were different.

Bluestreak could relax a little, knowing Sideswipe would have Sunstreaker there to protect and comfort him, help him through the abandonment issues and fear of being replaced.

And, obviously, to knock it into his thick processor that that wasn’t what was happening.

“Do I get to give a ‘hurt my friend and I kill you’ talk of my own? Because I’ve been preparing this for vorns.” Bluestreak laughs at the cheekiness from behind, Bumblebee having moved to lounge over the slab/sofa/collection of blankets and pillows.

The bug rests on his front, arms folded underneath his cheekplate, pedes swinging back and forth in the air above him like a youngling.

Well. Not like a youngling. He was a youngling.

“As long as you don’t hurt anyone, sure! And no breaking onto the Nemesis! I’ll warn Jazz if I think you’re going to try it.” Bumblebee scowls. Furrowing his optical ridge, Bluestreak reaches out and tugs on his squishy, round cheeks.

“No sneaking on the Nemesis!”

“Ow! Okay, Blue, okay! No sneaking!”

“Promiiiiiise~?”

“... Fine. I promise.” Bluestreak raises one optical ridge in expectation. Bumblebee rolls his optics, swatting Bluestreak’s servos off him and reaching over to grab the corner of a blanket, doing a full roll so he was wrapped up in it like a little taco.

“I promise I won’t sneak onto the Nemesis to threaten one of the Elite Trine.” Beaming, Bluestreak grabs the blanket.

“Good! Because otherwise, I would have to do this!” He tugs. He pulls the blanket so hard that Bumblebee is sent spinning off the ‘sofa’ and thudding onto the floor with a shrieked yelp.

“Bluestreak!” A pillow that had been knocked off the sofa with Bumblebee is launched into his faceplates, almost exactly as Bluestreak had been expecting, and he pelted back one of his own.

“Bumblebee~!” Both of them grab the pillows that had been weaponised against them and the playful war began when Bumblebee leapt up from the floor and flung himself towards Bluestreak with an enthusiastic cry.

Before long, feathers and plush stuffing are flying around the room, many of the pillows destroyed in the wake of their game.

It’s… Not an unusual circumstance.
Pillows are one of the most sought after items from the humans.

“Okay… I give… Phew! You’re a menace with a pillow!” From where they lie flat on their backs amongst the pillow massacre, venting heavily, Bluestreak waves a white cushion cover in surrender. Bumblebee responds with a lazy peace sign.

“S’my job.”

“Beating my doorwings to the point of almost denting with soft human inventions is your job?” Bluestreak turns his helm to the side just in time to see Bumblebee shrug.

“Spec Ops. You never know when you’re gonna need a weapon, or what you can utilize as one.”

“... Oh. That sounds really pressuring. And dangerous! And like it takes a lot of constant thinking!”

“Yeah.”

“... You okay, ‘Bee?” The minibot snorts half a laugh, rolling onto his side to meet Bluestreak’s optics with a mischievous grin.

“It’s fraggin’ awesome.” The sheer glee and passion for his role is evident in his tone, and Bluestreak can’t help but giggle as he grabs a thoroughly beaten pillow and swings it over in a large arch to smack ‘Bee in the faceplates.

“Language! Didn’t Optimus say if he heard you cursing again, he’d wash your mouth out with that solvent? Or Ratchet said he would mute your vocaliser for a month and wield the ‘bad influences’ to the brig wall.” Bumblebee snickers.

“The key point is that they’d have to hear me. And they’re not here, so I can say whatever the pit-slagging frag I want~.”

“Oh, really?” An extremely unamused voice from the doorway. The open doorway. Which meant it was someone with an override.

As in, one of the command staff.

Bluestreak bursts out into guffaws, rolling over to stuff his faceplates into a pile of feather and let his doorwings shake with mirth above him, as Bumblebee’s faceplates go pale and he attempts to splutter his way out of it.

“That’s not-! I didn’t mean-! It wasn’t me?!” The comically desperate attempt paired with higher-pitched voice prompts an amused snort from their visitor. Ratchet shakes his helm, servos on hips.

“Last warning, Bitlet. Get it? Last warning.” Just like all the other ‘last warning’s, Bluestreak almost says.

Almost.

He’s not an idiot.

Calming down, he sits up, trying to push all the pillow fight mayhem into a corner. His doorwings droop with concern. There could be only one reason Ratchet was here.

“Are the twins okay…?” Of all the many mechs on the Ark, there was only one that the twins would go to if they were upset, distressed, or something equal.

Yes, they had 4 main caretakers from the moment they’d been adopted into the Autobots, but Ratchet was the one they trusted most. The one they had formed extremely strong familial bonds with.

Ratchet vents a weary sigh, moving to lean against the doorframe and crossing his arms.

“They will be. Eventually. At the moment, Sides is feeling better, but I have a feeling he’s just repressing his true feelings.” The frown deepens, Ratchet pressing his lipplates together thoughtfully before speaking again.

“Whatever you said to them upset him a lot. Sunny explained it to me as ‘he interpreted something wrong’, but both of them seems a little stressed.” Bluestreak winces. His plating clamps down a little tighter, and his doorwings flicker towards the floor. But before he can formulate an answer, Bumblebee raises his own voice.

“We’re okay, Ratch’. A little shocked, a lot surprised, and maybe a touch confused, but nothing that some talking and alone time to process can’t solve.”

“That’s what worries me. Give those mechlings too much to question and…” He trails off, letting the younger duo work it out for themselves. Simultaneous groans answer him, Bumblebee rolling onto his front to hide his faceplates in a (battered) pillow, Bluestreak dropping his helm into his servos with a ‘thunk’.

“It’ll set their glitches off! Primus, I’m an idiot, I didn’t even consider that! I was just- just so excited that I forgot to even consider that possibility! And with how badly Sides misunderstood, it’s probably gonna hit him real hard when it does. This is all my fault! What do I do?!!?” The medic sighs, taking pity on them.

“What you do best.” Bluestreak tilts his helm, looking up at Ratchet with what the medic can only describe as guilt and regret for hurting his friends this way.

“Spend time with them. The more you can do today to reassure and soothe them, the less their glitches will affect them tomorrow. I’m… Not exactly happy with what’s going on, but… This is between you four. I’m not blaming anyone, I’m not mad at anyone, just sort it out.”

“Where are they?” Impressed at Bee’s no-nonsense, straightforward approach, Bluestreak leaps to his pedes, ready to bolt out the room as soon as Ratchet answers. He ignores Ratchet’s little huff of amusement, knowing his doorwings are incessantly twitching.

“They were in my office, but I advised them to go to the Rec room before I left. Presuming they have, you can probably catch them on the way there.”

“Thanks, Ratch!” Doorwings flicking upwards with a happy tilt, Bluestreak signals his appreciation as he bolts past. Bumblebee follows, bounce in his step as he tries to keep up with his longer-legged friend (as always), and flashes the old medic a cheeky grin.

“Thanks, Ratty!”

“You-! Bitlets!” Ratchet throws his servos up in exasperation, venting a weary but amused sigh as he shakes his helm and walks off in the opposite direction to the giggling, fleeing duo.

Neither Bluestreak nor Bumblebee look back to see Ratchet watching them go with a soft, fond smile.

He knows they’ll look after his twins.
They always have done.

Bluestreak’s run turns into a leap, and he folds into vehicular alt mode, hearing Bumblebee do the same behind him. The yellow beetle overtakes him with as close to a wheelie as a car can get, and Bluestreak responds by transforming back to root mode, using his propelled speed to kick off a wall, and folding back down into a Datsun in front of Bumblebee.

“Hey! Cheater!”

“I can’t cheat when we didn’t set any rules, ‘Bee~! Besides, we gotta go fast to catch up with Sunny and Sides, right?”

“Just because you have ‘Blue’ in your name, doesn’t mean you have to act like a speedy hedgehog!” The reference is lost on Bluestreak, but he assumes it’s from one of those human console games ‘Bee loves to play. Bluestreak liked movies, Bumblebee liked games. That’s just the way it was.

Before he can respond, he spots distinctive red and gold frames stepping around the corner ahead.
Of course they’re distinctive.
No other Autobot is Tuscan sun/gold/butter hybrid (he’d been very specific about it) like Sunstreaker, or the same cherry red as Sideswipe. Or maybe crimson, or apple, or candy or ruby red… It seemed to change every single time Sunstreaker dragged him in for full detailing.

Either way, it was unmistakably the twins.

Thankfully, they seem to spot him the same time he spots them, otherwise he would have bowled them over when he flung himself towards them with a pitiful whine, launching himself into begging for their forgiveness for upsetting them as he hangs from their frames in a constricting cuddle.

“Blue, it’s okay. Seriously. It’s okay.”

“Yeah, Blue~. Sorry I jumped to conclusions and let a little green eyed monster take over for a moment there! But everything’s okay now. Promise!” Sniffling, Bluestreak looks up at them and meets their optics.

Sunstreaker has a touch of annoyance in his, one of his optical ridges raised. But it’s not a mean annoyance, more like an impatience with how Bluestreak is apologising far too much, unnecessarily. The corner of Sunstreaker’s lipplates still twitches upwards when he notices Blue focusing on him though.

Turning his attention to Sideswipe, Bluestreak notes the faint, lingering trace of lubricant in the bottom rims of his optics, cheekplates with a near invisible stain trailing down them, and a tense sadness to his lopsided grin.

Sideswipe knows what he sees, his expression softening as he dips his helm to clonk against Bluestreak’s, servos on Blue’s upper arms. His voice comes out as barely a murmur, but it’s soft and comforting.

“Everything’s okay now.” Bluestreak vents outwards slowly, pressing his forehelm right back, optics shuttered off.

“Okay.” And then the moment is ruined by Sunstreaker swatting the back of both their helms and Bumblebee swatting both their afts. The two grin unapologetically as Bluestreak and Sideswipe yelp, jumping to face their assailants.

Oh yeah, they totally did that in unison on purpose.

“Hey! We were having a moment!” Sideswipe whines, rubbing at the back of his helm and aft simultaneously. He takes a second to recompose, then grins, winking at his brother.

“No need to get jealous~.” With deadly speed, Sunstreaker traps his twin in a headlock, growling under a vent as he gives him a rough noogie.

“As if you’re one to talk, you glitched up half-clock! Which of us just had a sobfest over Blue having a new friend?!” Sideswipe squawks, an embarrassed sound. His cheekplates are darkening too, and Bluestreak laughs.

“Aww, it’s okay, Sides! I won’t hold it against you! Even big, tough frontliners are allowed to cry! Remember when Ironhide got his entire leg blasted off and tried to get away without going to medbay? I’m pretty sure he was bawling when it got infected and then he fell on the detached joint.”

“Corro-rust joint hurts at the best of times, let alone putting pressure on top.” Bumblebee winces as he oh-so-kindly contributes that information, the other three gaining sympathetic expressions when they recall that week he was in medbay after a Nemesis infiltration gone wrong.

Sunstreaker even releases Sideswipe from his punishment, though not without one last jab to a sensitive seam on his side.

Sideswipe is the first to trot off, leading the way as the four of them head towards the Rec room as the twins were recommended, meaningless chatter and quiet laughs filling the hallways with a brightness the younger Autobots seem to eternally carry.

As they’re approaching the entrance, the four slow down, noting the absolutely torrential rain hammering down into the entrance. Thankfully, the Ark entrance is sloped, so the water doesn’t gather.

“Oh wow, I’m glad that isn’t coming inside. We’d probably be flooded pretty quick cus our floor is entirely metal. Or if it dripped to the lower levels, it’d probably get turned into steam by the volcano heated corridors.”

“Remind me why Grapple hasn’t blocked off the partially melted rooms yet.”

“I dunno, bro. But hey, at least Hound and Beachcomber aren’t on patrol. You know they’d track aaaaall this rain and mud inside.” Sunstreaker shudders, but a certain someone else perks a little, helm turning to the entrance like a turbofox catching the scent of prey.

“Mud?” Sunstreaker stiffens.

“Oh no you fraggin’ don’t!” But at the same time as he reaches out for Bumblebee, Bluestreaka nd Sideswipe exchange a quick, devious grin, and then loops their arms around one of Sunstreaker’s shoulder each.

“Run, ‘Bee, run!”

“Splash to your tiny sparks content!” Without hesitation, the minibot folds into his vehicular alt and speeds towards the exit, his yell of delight and victory as he bursts through the rain curtain drowning out Sunstreaker’s enraged grunt.

But not the ensuing roar of;

“I SCRUBBED YOU WITH A TOOTHBRUSH!!!!” Cackling and laughing uncontrollably, Sideswipe and Bluestreak are only able to hold an infuriated, struggling Sunstreaker for 20 seconds. Too furious to contain himself, (in a comical way), the golden frontliner charges out after ‘Bee in lamborghini alt.

But the key point is; it’s been 20 full seconds.

That is plenty of time for Bumblebee to have gotten absolutely filthy. Still laughing, Bluestreak jogs towards the entrance and glances out.

In the pouring rain, the dry dirt outside the Ark has been turned into a muddy, saturated floodplain. On Bluestreak himself, the water must be as deep as his ankle joints.

And yet Bumblebee races around like it’s natural, only transforming when his wheels get stuck and whooping as he jumps into the mud with his whole frame, rolling around, and driving off once more when Sunstreaker gets close.

Sunstreaker, who gives up chasing to transform and rant.

“You are the reason I hate minibots! You are the spawn of Unicron! You disgusting, filthy bug! Bumblebee!!!” The no long yellow minibot pays him no mind, flopping backwards into the mud and starting to mud angel.

At this point, he’s more mud than bot.

Sunstreaker rolls his optics so hard that he moves his helm with it, letting out a loud, disgusted grunt. And yet, when he treads over to Bumblebee’s position, he simply copies his tactics, and flops down into the mud.

Face down.
Giving up.

Bluestreak can’t help but sassily think there was no point in even trying, because let’s be honest, Bumblebee strives to be at least dusty. As Sideswipe quite happily wades through the mud to reach his brother and sit on his back, Bluestreak relaxes.

He wants Thundercracker to be friends with them, yes.

But for now, he’s content with this.
With what he has, whilst thinking about what could be.

There’s space for one more, but no urgency to fill it.

“Wait for me, I wanna roll in the mud too! Wait, why are you scooping it up…? Oh no no no no no! Sideswipe, not the faceplates!!!”

Chapter Text

Laying flat on his chassis on the floor, Bluestreak flicked through leaflet after leaflet of movie screenings from around the world. Most of them, he wouldn’t be able to make, but sometimes he was granted enough time without duties to travel internationally.

If it coincided with one of Skyfire’s rest days, he could go to movie screenings really far away!

Though, it did mean being careful not to encounter Thundercracker also on the way. Somehow, Bluestreak didn’t think Skyfire would give him time to explain before reporting a Decepticon in the area.

(The shuttle was still understandably a touch bitter about Starscream trying to kill him.)

“Mrn…” A short murmur followed by a chirp pulls Bluestreak’s attention away from his thoughts to his berth.

His berth, currently occupied by not him.

Bumblebee was curled up on his side in a pile of blankets, recharging soundly. He’d pulled a long night shift shortly after the mud incident, and hadn’t had the energy to drag himself down to the minibots floor to his own room. Bluestreak had been awake by then anyways, so his berth was spare.

Bluestreak grins as more tiny chirps and clicks follow the sound. Bumblebee must be having a good reflux. A really deep reflux, if his twitching pede was anything to go by.

And that’s when the door slides open with a hiss.

“Glitch day.” Short and snappy, Sunstreaker’s tone is as close to a growl as it can get without actually being a growl. Bluestreak sits up straight, doorwings standing to attention.

“How bad?”

“6.5 out of 10 for me. Solid 9 for Sides.” Oh, that is not good. Bluestreak leaps to his pedes and shakes Bumblebee so vigorously it’s like he’s rolling out dough from one of Perceptor’s favourite baking shows.

(Baking was, after all, a science.)

“Time to wake up, ‘Bee! C’mon, Sunny and Sides need us! I gotta find Ironhide and get Sunny to the training room before he kicks a not-you minibot, and you’re the best at convincing Ratchet to take a break! Plus, we need Wheeljack!”

“I’m up, I’m up…” Bumblebee shakes his helm vigorously. It helps to wake him slightly, but the edges of his optics are still dimmed with exhaustion. Sliding off the berth, he checks over everything Bluestreak just verbally dumped on him and glances over at Sunstreaker.

“D’you need me to get Prime too?”

“Nah, Sunny isn’t over a 7-”

“Yet.”

“- So Ironhide will put up a good enough fight as long as I’m there to get a warning shot in when things get a little too brutal.” Giving a quick thumbs up, Bumblebee skirts around Sunstreaker and races off with loyal urgency. Bluestreak moves forwards to nudge Sunstreaker out of the doorway - ignoring his soft snarl - and takes his servo comfortingly as they begin walking.

“Where’s Sides?”

“Where do you think?” The curt response would have come across as rude, had it been anyone else, in any other situation. But Bluestreak was familiar with Sunstreaker’s natural gruffness, and knew all too well that his glitch - affectionately dubbed ‘Beserker’ - could cause aggravating pain.

“Okay, we’ll have to stop by your room quickly so we can grab Sides and help him through to the communications room, but hopefully you’ll be able to stay below a seven until we can get to the training rooms…?” Sunstreaker grits his denta.

“I’ll… Try.” With a bright smile, Bluestreak circles his thumb digit over Sunstreaker’s wrist strut in a way he knows calms the frontliner. He’s seen Ratchet and Prowl do it enough times.

“Thanks, Sunny!” A short, sharp glare is sent his way and Bluestreak wilts back with a guilty grin, tipping his doorwings back with apology.

“Right. Don’t call you Sunn- That at the moment.” Sunstreaker maintains his glare for a moment before rolling his optics with a snort-like vent. Something about Bluestreak’s cheeky yet sympathetic approach works wonders on his aggravating glitch.

“I’m down to 6. Still want to fight. Need to fight.” Softly, Bluestreak’s servo squeezes very lightly around Sunstreaker’s wrist strut as they approach the twin’s room.

“We’ll get there, I promise. We just need to drop Sides off in the entertainment room first. ‘Bee should have gotten Ratchet and Wheeljack by now.”

“I know!” Despite having calmed a little bit, Sunstreaker is still fully in danger of his glitch going out of control, and a trickle of aggression is evident in his shout. Bluestreak, though, is patient. He knows this isn’t something Sunstreaker can control.

Glitches were set off by external stimulation. In the case of the twins, it was negative emotions like being deeply upset, feeling betrayed, or having a traumatic flashback.

Reaching the twin’s quarters, Bluestreak enters his code - which is set with special permission to enter at any time - and the door slides open. There, on the berth, is miserable lump of blankets that radiates a field of numbness and yet heavy, heavy emotions at the same time.

“Hey, Sides… Hi~. I know you’re not feeling great, but can you lift your helm for me? Look at me, please?” Soothing and soft, Bluestreak steps in slowly so as to not startle Sideswipe. But as predicted - and as he feared from Sunstreaker’s evaluation - the red twin doesn’t respond. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t do anything.

“That bad, huh? Yeah, Sunn- nnnnnstreaker told me you were at a solid nine, but I was kinda hoping that was an exaggeration ‘cus he cares for you a lot and has his own glitch goin’ on right now. But it’s okay, everything’s gonna be okay, we’re going to look after you, okay?”

“C’mon, Sides. Up.” Sunstreaker smacks a servo - a little rough, but not unkindly - against Sideswipe’s back through the blankets.

The bundle curls up a little tighter; unnervingly silent.

“Up. Up. Get up. Up. Get up.” With a nervous laugh, Bluestreak clasps Sunstreaker’s servo gently with both of his own, stopping the golden twin from hitting harder and harder each impact.

“Ooookay, I think I can handle it from here. Stand back a little, Sunstreaker. I’m gonna lift him up ‘cus I really don’t think Sides is up to walking right now.” The blanket bundle remains the same, but there is a soft almost-whine from underneath that may be a protest.

Bluestreak’s doorwings flicker with delight and he gives Sunstreaker an expression of pure joy because, pit, it’s a response. Sideswipe’s glitch - which he jokingly named ‘Destroyer of my will to exist’ - had not taken over yet.

Had he been completely unresponsive and hit a full 10/10, it could have taken days to help him recover even the slightest. And the backlash would be severe.

This time, it seemed he narrowly dodged it.

Sunstreaker shakes his helm at Bluestreak’s excitement, both fond and irritated. Not that he can help the latter part. His own glitch is still kicking his aft, after all.

“Okay, I’m lifting in three, two…” Arms slid under the pile of blankets where he guesses Sideswipe’s knee joints and shoulder arm, Bluestreak braces himself and uses his doorwings as a counter-balance for what will be a frontliner’s full weight.

“One!” Expecting Sideswipe to be his usual bulk of sheer mass, Bluestreak actually stumbles back a little when Sideswipe is much lighter than he should be. An uncharacteristic frown crosses his faceplates.

“Oh, Sides... You didn’t refuel last night, did you? And definitely not this morning if your glitch kicked in early…” Which means his friend is running on empty.

“I hope Ratchet or Wheeljack will bring snacks. I would comm ‘Bee and ask him to ask them, but he turned off his comms for night security shift and dawn surveillance duty, so he probably hasn’t turned them back on yet…”

“Bug rarely does.” Sunstreaker huffs, but still politely steps aside to let Bluestreak pass by and exit the room, Sideswipe in a taco of blankets in his arms. Amazing how Sunny’s glitch seemed to cool off when his brother was the priority.

“One of ‘Bee’s flaws, but that’s okay! We’ll take the quieter corridor to the entertainment room, just ‘cus I don’t want to run into Cliffjumper-” Bluestreak is interrupted by a mildly terrifying growl from Sunstreaker.

“I’d punt that annoying mini straight to the scrapheap!”

“- for that exact reason. If we can just avoid everyone who’ll aggravate your glitch, then no-one will get hurt, and Ratchet won’t have to go back to tending the med-bay instead of staying with Sides.” Hearing angry muttering behind him instead of an affirmative, Bluestreak cranes his helm back only to realise Sunstreaker has completely stopped listening.

“- flick those stupid little horns off his helm! Not to mention his paint job! Not even an appealing shade of red, offends my fraggin’ optics! I’ll dent that shit layer off flake by flake with my knuckles-”

Wow. Should not have mentioned Cliffjumper.
Sunstreaker really did hate him for some reason.

“Not while you’re glitching, okay!? Once you’ve sparred with ‘Hide enough to be back down to a 1 or 2, then you can go looking for Cli- uh, him, okay?” Sunstreaker cracks his knuckle joints ominously against his other servo.

… Welp! That’s not a no!

“Great! Stay with me, okay, Sunny?”

“Don’t call me Sunny!”

“Oops. Yeah, not calling you Sunn- nnnnnnnnnot calling you that!” There’s a tiny huff that could be some shade of amused from the blanket bundle in his arms, and Bluestreak grins as Sunstreaker seems to lose a little of the tension in his pauldrons at the sound.

As good as Sunny is for Sides, it works in reverse too.

“We’re almost there, just gotta somehow open the door - Thanks Sunstreaker! - and badda bing, badda boom, we’re in your favourite glitch spot!” Taking in the scene quickly, Bluestreak grins even brighter.

“And with your favourite mechs!” From the back corner of the very small room, arranging what looks like energon goodies on a tray, Ratchet averts his optics with a ‘tch’ - not fooling anyone, they all know he’s genuinely warmed by the comment - and sitting on the sofa that almost takes up the whole room, Wheeljack laughs softly and fiddles with the cables they use to connect to human television network.

“Thanks, Bluestreak~. We’re almost set up! Just need Sideswipe to decide what he wants to watch.” As Bluestreak steps in with the bundle of blankets in his arms, wrapping up his friend like a soggy taco, he frowns slightly.

“I think that’s going to have to be up to you, or a random guess. Sides isn’t feeling up to anything at the moment, unless you mean cuddles, but that’s only because we know it’ll make him feel better.”

“Have any idea’s where he’s up to?”

“I know he’s finished ‘Zoo Quest’ and The People of Paradise’, but I don’t know if the next episode of ‘The World About Us’ is out yet. If you can get into the BBC network in the UK, then there might be a new episode of ‘Wildlife on One’! Otherwise, Hound will have some recommendations.”

None of them really understood why it was nature documentaries that helped Sideswipe out of his glitch more than anything, or even how he’d found them in the first place, or why David Attenborough seemed to be the best remedy...
(Bluestreak expected it had something to do with that time Sideswipe had glitched on Earths and Blaster and Hound had been left to look after him for the third day.)

...But it worked.
It worked, and that was all that mattered.

“Gotcha! Jus’ gotta tweak these wires a little aaaaand…” It’s not a joke that everyone in the room stiffens, ready to bolt if the device Wheeljack built for intercepting TV waves gives up the ghosticon and blows.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

“There!” Much to Ratchet’s relief - and less noticeably, Wheeljack’s - the large screen that takes up an entire wall of the small room flickers to life, and starts to display what Bluestreak can only guess is a nature documentary.

There sure are a lot of trees.

With a vent of effort, Ratchet sits on the sofa on the opposite side to Wheeljack and pats the small space between them.

“Put him here, Blue. And go take care of my other scraplet-” Sunstreaker growls in the doorway, but is blatantly ignored.

“- before he breaks a certain someone’s nasal ridge. Hoist and ‘Aid are going to busy enough without me.” As he carefully deposits Sideswipe between two of the four bots that could claim to be his adoptive creators, Bluestreak laughs nervously.

“Yeeaaah, I’m just hoping ‘Bee found some way to, uh, occupy that one. That or stop him from figuring out about Sunny- Sunstreaker’s glitch. Otherwise there’s gonna be a fight with really bad outcomes.” Drawing away, Bluestreak taps Ratchet’s wrist 6 times to let him know just how badly Sunny has rated his glitch.

The medic frowns, optics narrowing just a fraction with tension. Then, he vents a sigh and instead reaches over to the tray of goodies, no doubt about to ‘persuade’ Sideswipe to try and nibble it at the least. Wheeljack is already tugging the blanket down to try and get Sideswipe to interact with him a little, but the frontliner is just burying his faceplates in Wheeljack’s shoulder instead.

“You’d best be going. Jackie and I can handle things here. Right, Sideswipe?” There’s a soft whine of engines as Ratchet rubs a servo up and down his back, but at least it’s a response.

Bluestreak steps back and smiles at the little family moment. He remembers, growing up on base, many of the soft and tender moments the twins shared with their caretakers after they’d been brought to Iacon. Bluestreak had been kept at a safer distance until the two then-younglings had gotten over their immediately violent reactions to strangers.

But he’d watched them.
He’d seen them grow from feral, terrified rescues to sweet, loving sparks with a family and home.
He’d watched them go from hiding under tables and swiping at passerby’s, to toddling around after their favourite mechs, one of them chattering endlessly and the other latching onto the nearest servo.

It had been adorable.
It was still cute now, though Bluestreak didn’t like that Sideswipe was in genuine distress and an overwhelming depressive mood.

“Okie dokie, we’re off! See ya later.” Quickly - because Primus knows how long Sunstreaker can hang on for - Bluestreak jogs over to the golden frontliner, takes his wrist gently, and begins leading him to the training room.

He’s not oblivious to the slight stomp in Sunstreaker’s steps now that he’s no longer focussing on keeping Sideswipe from completely dissociating.

“We’re nearly there, just gotta turn the corner and-... Oh no.” It should have been a moment of victory. Of glory of- Well, not quite those things, but it should have been a smooth end of the journey.

Except for one fact.

Right there, right in front of them, walking out of the training rooms, is the one mech Bluestreak didn’t want to encounter with Sunstreaker currently at a six.

Right there, in the corridor, is Cliffjumper.

“Oh, hey BlueEUOOGH!” And there goes Cliffjumper, tackled into the open room opposite the training room by Bumblebee launching out of an overhead ventilation grate. A small thumbs up pops out the door before it slams closed.

In any other situation, Bluestreak would have burst out laughing. But his spark still pulses in a panic at the near miss. Thank Primus and Unicron both that Sunstreaker had been too busy glaring at a dirty scuff on the wall (He might be glitching, but he’s still Sunny) to have even noticed.

“Here we are. Ironhide should be just inside. Still at a 6?”

“What do you think?”

“I’m taking that as a yes, but don’t worry Sunstreaker! You can get it out of your system now and get your glitch back under control!” The doors to the training room whoosh open to a large, empty battlefield surrounded by a small seating area.

It’s kind of like a mini stadium. Or an ice skating rink except instead of ice, it was a simulated battlefield. One that wasn’t running any simulations yet, because it was going to be used for sparring instead.

“There ya are, bitlets. Ah was startin’ ta think you’d lost yer way.” Ironhide stands at the other end of the room, servos on hipplates and smirk on his face. Of course, as soon as Sunstreaker realises he’s there, the golden frontliner surges forwards. The distance - obviously planned by Ironhide - gave him time to drop into a defensive stance.

Bluestreak moved to the viewing area, choosing a vantage point that gave him view of the whole arena. Laying flat on his chassis on one of the platforms intended for sniping - well above the seating area - he pulls his rifle out of his subspace and sets it up so he can follow the movements of the fighters.

Ironhide is fully on the defence, as expected when contending with Sunstreaker afflicted by Berserker. Either way, the veteran still manages to push him back occasionally and bark out guidance.

“Yer right hook is sloppy! Fix the angle on yer elbow joint, an’ throw forward from yer shoulder, not yer wrist!” Sunstreaker’s faceplates pull into a snarl and he lunges forwards without having listened to the instruction.

He’s dangerously close enough to getting Ironhide in the faceplates that Bluestreak sends off a warning shot, a blast of air impacting the ground just in front of Sunstreaker’s pede and throwing up a cloud of dust from the small crater.

Sunstreaker leaps backwards from it, nimble despite his warrior frame, bringing his arms up to block any incoming attack. He makes brief optic contact with Bluestreak and gives him the tiniest nod before turning back to take Ironhide’s first attack.

It’s a good sign that Berserker is dialling down to more manageable ratings.

Bluestreak had only seen Sunstreaker slip into full Berserker mode twice. That had been two times too many. He’d been genuinely scared of Sunstreaker after the first time, but not scared enough to lose his friendship. It had just taken a couple of days to let it all sink in.

Sunstreaker had been surprised that Bluestreak had witnessed his terrifying rage that destroyed an entire platoon of Decepticon forces and still wanted to talk to him afterwards.

Pit, the thought that others had abandoned the twins just because of Sunny’s glitch made Bluestreak’s circuits boil!

“Yer doin’ great, kid, but don’t forget yer balance when kicking! Yer on one leg, ah can easily knock yer over in a real battle!” Bluestreak couldn’t help but smile as he watched Sunstreaker nod at the advice and correct his stance before trying again.

He was listening. He was back in control of his rage.

And Sunstreaker had more than just Bluestreak who stuck around after seeing his glitch! Practically the whole base had seen Sunstreaker go Berserker on Megatron shortly after they landed on Earth and the warlord had dealt Sideswipe a critical wound.

None of them had abandoned him.
Not a single Autobot on the Ark had turned away in fear or trepidation.

Not even after it took a team of Brawn, Trailbreaker, Ironhide and Optimus Prime to wear the Berserker glitch out and bring Sunstreaker back to himself. Ratchet had even dared to clock the twin with a wrench once the medic was no longer servo deep in Sideswipe’s repairs.

Thinking of Sideswipe...

“Hey, Sunny, is it okay for me to go check on Sides?” Bluestreak’s shout down to the battlefield is met with a grunt as Sunstreaker takes a punch from Ironhide mentoring him on counter-attacks, before both warriors pause in sparring stance to give him time to answer.

“Yeah. I’m down to a 3. Be there shortly.” There’s no reprimand for calling him ‘Sunny’, which is reason enough to be happy, but he grins blindingly bright when he processes Sunstreaker’s self-evaluation.

As Ironhide and Sunstreaker return to sparring - a lot less intense now - Bluestreak hops down from his snipers perch and jogs off towards the entertainment room. He notices the door to the room opposite the training room is open and there’s a scuff of red paint on the floor.

Giggling at the memory of how Bumblebee had tackled Cliffjumper from the ventilation grate in the ceiling, Bluestreak checks his databanks for a saved clip of the noise Cliffjumper had made.

Oh, that one was definitely going to the twins when they felt fully better.

“Bluestreak.” So deep in thoughts, rambling to himself in his helm, Bluestreak jumps at the call of his name, doorwings jolting with surprise. A warm, gentle chuckle from behind has Bluestreak spinning around with a hint of colour on his cheekplates.

“Sorry, Optimus! I was thinkin’ a lot about Sunny and Sides so I didn’t hear you coming up behind me! Really, you would think my doorwings would have picked up your field or some vibrations, but I tend not to pay attention to them this deep into the Ark ‘cus it’s safe, y’know?” Patiently, Optimus smiles behind his mask and nods along to Bluestreak’s ramblings.

“I know very well, Bluestreak~. Even I tend to relax down here.”

“Maybe it’s because nothing could get past all Red Alert’s security systems, right?” With a soft hum of thought, Optimus rests one of his large servos on Bluestreak’s shoulder, falling into step next to him.

“That may be so, but we shouldn’t underestimate the Decepticons either. Believe it or not, they’re very clever when they put their processors together.” Doorwings flutter a little before swooping in a small circle to indicate cheekiness, which pairs well with a grin Optimus is sure Bluestreak mirrored from Sideswipe.

“I’d love to see someone try to sneak in the vents and suddenly come faceplate to faceplate with ‘Bee!” At that, Optimus can’t help but laugh openly.

“I don’t doubt that would be a surprise!” A glowing sense of contentment fills Bluestreak at seeing Optimus so relaxed that he’s joking around. He’d been so tense lately expecting a Decepticon raid, but now the threat was on pause (Thanks to Prowl’s algorithms), he was back to his calmer, happier self.

“Do you want to join us in the entertainment room? Sunny and Sides are having glitch days, but Ironhide helped Sunny a lot, so I’m now on my way to see Sideswipe again. I bet that’s where ‘Bee is too!”

“As much as I’d love to, I believe I’ll take what the humans call a ‘rain check’. Beachcomber has asked me to accompany him seashell collecting.”

“Okay! Have fun, Prime!” Optimus raises a servo to wave goodbye as he strolls off towards the front end of the Ark, Bluestreak waving him off enthusiastically. It’s about time Prime took some time for himself, interacting with his soldiers on a casual basis.

It was kind of funny, how much he was like a Sire to the entire ship.

As an after thought, just as Prime turns around the corner at the end of the corridor, Bluestreak sends the clip of Cliffjumper. A laugh echoes through the metal hallways, loud enough that Bluestreak grins proudly before continuing on his way.

Bluestreak doesn’t waste any time in getting to the entertainment room, not stopping to chat with anyone else he passes. They’ll understand, he’s sure. When the door opens, Bluestreak quickly slides in and shuts the door behind him so light from the corridor doesn’t interrupt the now-dimmed room, documentary on screen.

Ratchet glances over at the sound of the door and moves to nudge Sideswipe with a placid resting expression. Not a smile, but nowhere near a frown. Bluestreak doesn’t hear the soft whisper Ratchet gives the red twin, but he does hear Sideswipe murmur something back.

Thank Primus, he’s responsive against at the least!

Slowly and quietly, Bluestreak shuffles over to behind the sofa. Sideswipe smiles up at him, abnormally placid for the jokester, but it’s to be expected with his glitch. But that’s not what captures most of Bluestreak’s attention.

Because there, splayed over Sideswipe on his back like a starfish, stretched to the point he reaches both Ratchet and Wheeljack, is a slumbering, drooling, snoring Bumblebee.

“Wow, is that even comfortable??? How long has he been like that?” Wheeljack’s fins light up a soft, happy blue, kept dim for the sake of the sleeping youngling. The scientist reaches up and gently brushes a thumb digit over one of Bumblebee’s sensory horns.

“He did start off wedged between me and Sides, but he’s a fidgeter in his sleep for sure!” Ratchet snorts in amusement as he moves a pede off his chassis and onto his lap instead.

“If he kicks me one more time, I’ll be wielding him to his berth.”

“Aww, Ratchet, nooo! It’s kinda cute when we all bundle up on my sofa and somehow wake up with ‘Bee clinging on to all three of us! Plus, he stops wriggling if you pinch the cable juuuust under his hip plating. Sunny found that out.”

“Bluestreak. I was venting my frustration, not making a threat.” Shutting his mouth abruptly at Ratchet’s patient interruption, Bluestreak feels his cheekplates warm with colour. Luckily, the room is dark enough that the flush can’t be seen, but Sideswipe still snickers.

“Sit with us, Blue?” Already standing behind the sofa, Bluestreak shakes his helm and leans forwards, resting his elbow joints on the back and looping his arms down around Sideswipe gently.

“Not enough room for me, Sides, and I don’t wanna sit in front or I’ll block the screen with my doorwings. I’ll be right here though. You okay with that?” Sideswipe leans back, pressing his helm against one of Bluestreak’s arms.

“Thanks for being here.” With a sweet giggle, Bluestreak leans in and smooshes a sloppy, childish kiss right against Sideswipe’s cheek, revelling in the noise of playful disgust the frontliner makes.

“Always!”

Chapter Text

‘Noisy’ was the only thing Thundercracker could think as he massaged the temples of his helm.

Not the room he was in, because it was absolutely silent in the command centre - courtesy of Soundwave being the only other mech on duty this shift, and everyone else on routine patrols or running drill - but over his comm system.

His ultra-secret, super-protected Autobot-created comm thread, to be specific.

They were noisy.

He’d expected the regular check in from Bluestreak. He’d expected the occasional tease from Jazz. Pit, he’d even expected a threat or two from Prowl.

What he had not expected was for all three plus Optimus-fraggin’-Prime to use it for completely casual chatter.

Nothing to do with either side of the war, just inane, irrelevant lifestyle gossip.

“Query: Trouble brewing?” Thundercracker jumped at Soundwave suddenly breaking the silence of the command centre, his servos jolting away from his helm. Ah. He hadn’t even realised he’d been doing that.

Helmaches were common with Starscream and Skywarp as his trine, so it was second nature to massage his temples whenever something was pestering him.

Usually something that ended in ship-wide chaos.

“Negative. They’re ‘there’ enough that they’re not planning anything, absent enough to not be of concern.” Soundwave dipped his helm at the update on the two troublemakers, but didn’t break his intent gaze.

Thundercracker was sure his visor even narrowed slightly.
That… was not a good sign. Had he caught onto the secret comm channel? Was he in the process of hacking it?

Oh Primus, was he about to break in, just as Jazz was discussing 1950’s gelatin obsessed cooking related to repressed housewife rage???

Sparkbeat pounding, Thundercracker almost misses the slight tilt of Soundwave’s helm.

“Medical bay; Currently unoccupied. Suggestion: Request processor check and pain patch from Hook.” About to deny the offer, Thundercracker stopped mid-thought as the Prime sent through a joke about the gelatin products also being made in the dishwasher - a reference to Prowl’s earlier information about dishwasher salmon. (Which had indeed started this whole conversation.)

Optimus Prime.
Joking.
About SALMON..

“Yeah, I think I’ll do just that.” He muted the comm channel and filed away the secret discussion in a deeply buried file, where it would be protected even during an intense and invasive interrogation.

Before Thundercracker had even fully gotten out of his chair, the door to the command centre door slid open with a screech.

And it wasn’t the door screeching.

“Thundercracker!!! I need you on flight drills, now!” Gritting his denta to prevent some rather… Choice… Words from escaping, Thundercracker gripped the edge of his desk tighter than necessary. Primus, he’d been relieved to finally have a break from this mech for a little while.

“I’m on shift, Starscream.”

“As Second in Command, Air Commander, and your trine leader, I order you to get to flight drills!”

“I’m on shift, Starscream.” Crossing his arms over his cockpit and smirking, Starscream held his helm a little higher as a ping sounded out across the room. Soundwave slowly - disapprovingly - turned his helm to glare at Starscream.

Those were his carefully planned schedules that Starscream was overriding.

“And now you’re on drills. Scrapper will be along to replace him in a moment.” The smug bastard strode forwards and grabbed Thundercracker by the pauldron, practically yanking him out of the chair. With a growl, Thundercracker wrenched himself out of Starscream’s grip and gave him a warning shove.

This was why he wanted a break!
Starscream was unbearable during flight drills!

Starscream only sneered right back, before turning around with a dismissive flick of his wings and striding towards the doorway like the pompous prince he once had been.

“I wouldn’t even need you, if it weren’t for that stupid sparkling of a cassette being completely incompetant.” There was a harsh vent from Soundwave. An aura of anger started to emanate from him, and Starscream seemed to revel in it, opening his big mouth to provoke the host mech again.

Thundercracker was quick to smack the back of his wings. (Trine privilege - no other mech could get close to Starscream’s wings without getting tenfold the smack back.)

“Give him a chance. This is Ratbat’s first big raid, of course he’s going to be inexperienced. Besides, Air commander, isn’t it your job to make sure all troops are up to your grandiose expectations?”

“... And he will be! I just need you there to teach him the formation!” Rolling his optics at Starscream’s predicted response, Thundercracker waited until Soundwave gave him a (hesitant) nod of approval to leave, before brushing past his trine leader and heading towards the exit tower.

“Well, someone is certainly touchy today!”

“It’s called a helmache, Starscream, and you’re not helping.”

“Pah! It’s weakness, that’s what it is. Hence why you’ll never be as good as me.” Scowling, Thundercracker jabs the button for the exit tower hard enough that he has to shake his servo to stop his digit hurting.

“I can keep up. That’s the best you’re getting.” Scarlet optics narrow at him. Starscream leans in almost nasal ridge to nasal ridge, keeping his voice low and threatening.

“If that was a comment against me, I’ll have you filed for insubordination, and your wings removed.” That was it.

That was enough.

Quicker than Starscream could have expected, Thundercracker had a servo wrapped around his neck and had slammed him against the tower wall. He didn’t even care if whoever was watching this over security reported it. His thrusters rumbled ominously.

“Threaten my wings again, Trine leader, and they won’t find the scrap metal to piece you together.” It was unusual for Starscream to look at anyone cautiously. Even with Megatron, he was defiant right up until he was fearful, but right now, optics flickering to Thundercracker’s bared fangs, there was a flicker of something behind his optics that had him lowering his wings from their position of aggressive superiority.

“... I suppose I’ll consider your request, but I will be reporting this assault.”

“To who? To Megatron? What makes you think he’d ever care about how you’re treated? Do you sincerely think he’d do anything but laugh at how your subordinate trine member has you in a position of mercy?”

“Silence!!! And release me!” With a long ex-vent, forcing himself to calm, Thundercracker withdrew his claws (because yes, he had them, even though he didn’t like to use them), and stepped back.

He didn’t dare take his optics off Starscream in case he turned around and attacked Thundercracker back. He did, however, return to massaging his temples. The helmache from earlier was persistent and painful.

By the time the tower had reached the top and the door to freedom open, both of them were as tense as the other, and Thundercracker craved the sky.

That said, he knew to obey from this point forwards.
Defying Starscream in front of others would humiliate his trine leader, and result in dire punishment.
Not to mention, Starscream was his trine leader. There was a certain respect that came with that.

(Last time he had dared to make Starscream look a fool, he’d ended up grounded for almost three Earth months. Flying was a right that only his Trine Leader could take from him.)

((He’d flown straight to Bluestreak. The Autobot had vetoed their normal movie trip to race him from below for a full 4 hours. In the next battle, Starscream was taken out early by a sniper shot.))

“All troops to follow set routine 24BA-gH5! That means NOW!!!” The other fliers had been slacking in Starscream’s absence, Skywarp lazily lying a patch of sun, Astrotrain and Blitzwing playing noughts and crosses in the dust, the cassette condors circling overhead calmly, the coneheads taking turns at seeing who could throw rocks the furthest into the ocean, and Ratbat taking a nap on Skywarp’s sun-warmed cockpit.

Blast Off, lucky as he had been, was off doing Gestalt training with the Stunticons. Why he’d been chosen to help them, Thundercracker didn’t know, but it must have been some kind of agreement between him and Onslaught.

That or Onslaught was doing it to annoy the pit out of Starscream.

…

Yeah. It was probably that.

“Pit! ‘Screamer’s back!” Starscream’s wing twitches furiously, but he chooses not to shoot Skywarp for that comment. Especially since he kicks off the ground and flies into formation correctly.

Much less can be said for Ratbat, but Thundercracker is quick to intervene before Starscream can lose patience.

“You’ll take flank just behind me. Try to ride the slipstream from my wings as much as you can, yeah?” Ratbat pips a little squeak, his wings clumsily flapping until he’s into place, already feeling the difference in air currents thanks to Thundercracker’s advice.

“Thanks, TC!”

“Have you been taught the flight drill yet?”

“Yeah! Well, not really… Starscream sent me a file with lots of directions and symbols, but I don’t really understand it.” Venting a weary sigh, Thundercracker sends a quick thanks to Primus that he’s in altmode, otherwise he would have dragged a servo down his face.

Starscream had completely forgotten to account for Ratbat’s inexperience.

As in, sent him the directory file for this drill that only practised fliers would understand.

“24BA-gH5 is an avoidance and distraction drill. There’s going to be lots of turns, twists, and fancy flying. It’s particularly challenging for your first raid. Just follow my lead for now, I’ll teach you the directory key later.” An excited little youngling trill is his answer, before they swiftly roll into a dive.

Remarkably, Ratbat doesn’t do too bad at keeping up, though he’s nowhere near Starscream’s standard.

(Really though, only Starscream himself was ‘Starscream Standard’.)

The tiny cassette takes each barked order personally, but Thundercracker is quick to bring him back to his usual enthusiasm by helping him to improve. Had it been anyone other than Starscream upsetting Ratbat, Thundercracker might have felt a protective surge.

But he knew full well that this was Starscream’s way of looking out for the youngest Decepticon. Possibly the youngest Cybertronian alive!
By making sure he was the best he could be.

By preventing him from making potentially fatal mistakes.

By putting him in the safest spot of the formation, next to someone that would actively guide him.

It was Starscream’s way of worrying.

“You sky glitches couldn’t fly a straight line without practice! All of you! Grounded, now! You have 10 kliks to sort yourselves out!”

And that was Starscream’s way of telling them to take a break. Transforming and glancing around, Thundercracker can see that the others dearly need it. They’re running on fumes, plating crackling with heat, and practically drop out of the sky in relief at the command.

Ratbat follows in their wake, genuinely dropping until he’s nearer the ground and then flapping his wings quickly to regain control and land right between Lazerbeak and Buzzsaw.

“Starscream. I’m going to keep going over the routine, with your permission?” Starscream raises an optic ridge at Thundercracker. Minutely - so tiny that Thundercracker almost misses it - his optics flicker to Ratbat and the corner of his lipplates tugs into a condescending smirk.

“I suppose I’ll allow your little demonstration. On one condition.” Thundercracker’s wings deflate. Pit, this could be anything. Anything from covering a monitor shift to scrubbing the waste rooms clean.

Nobody wanted that job. Not with how low grade their cubes were. Amazingly, it somehow still ended up clean on a weekly basis.

“Your condition would be…?” Starscream waves a flippant servo in the direction of the fliers taking their (much-needed) break on the ground.

“Anything happens to the brat, it’s your responsibility.”

… Great, so, potentially taking the blame for the slightest scratch and risking death via Soundwave? Great condition. Wonderful. Obviously not the worst, because if Starscream was taking responsibility, Soundwave probably would offline him.

Thundercracker was, statistically, more likely to wind up in the med-bay than incineration room.

“Deal.” Like a retrorat with a block of crystal cheeseatron, Starscream rubs his greedy little servos together with a sinister grin.

“Fantastic~, I’ll go and inform him immediately.” Thundercracker rolls his optics as Starscream jets off, taking a deep vent before exhaling slowly to focus. He folds back down into alt mode, letting himself hover in place for a sparkbeat before firing up his thrusters.

The air resonates with his thunderous sonic boom.

Tearing through the sky, Thundercracker takes great delight in just flying for the sake of flying, just burning off some of that boredom and aggravation and confusion from earlier in the day, circling around until he reaches the point where he would begin the routine.

And he melts into it.

His engines are near-silent for a seeker as he turns and twists and tailslides through the manoeuvres, graceful where Starscream is sharp and intuitive where Skywarp is impulsive.

They fly the same routine, but in different ways, and to Thundercracker, flight isn’t a measured duty or an impulsive, burning desire.

It’s an escape.

It’s a way to appreciate loneliness as everything except the wind over his wings vanishes, slicing through the sky with expertise and elegance, every inch of his light path a mix of planned perfection and feeling with spark as well as sensors.

If this wasn’t a flight drill, he would completely let himself go and ride the airstreams, take heed of the breeze, and dance though clouds. But he doesn’t. He sticks to the flight plan with practice, well aware of optics watching from below.

“Aw, TC, you’re showing off!”

“Can you even fraggin’ see him, ‘Warp? He blends right into the sky!”

“Ramjet, you idiot, look for the red stripes on his wings.” There’s a hearty clang from below that suggests Ramjet just whacked Blitzwing for that deadpan comment. Thundercracker chuckles warmly, no one hearing it from this distance or over a playful sonic boom.

Most importantly though, Ratbat watches him, his young, almond-shaped optics wide with awe and excitement. On either side of him, Lazerbeak and Buzzsaw seem amused with his reaction.

But then, when has the little youngling ever truly watched the seekers fly?

Of course he’d be mesmerised.

Unfortunately, flying is not without its limits. Thundercracker’s tanks send him an urgent ping, cramping hard enough to make him spasm. Instantly, Skywarp is on his pedes - he’s nowhere near as stupid as anyone thought - but Thundercracker is already coming in to land safely.

“TC?” With a grunt, Thundercracker flicks the wing closest Skywarp in casual dismissal.

“Was going to get my ration after my command centre shift. Starscream interrupted.” Unexpectedly, Skywarp’s optics widen.

“You’re still flying like that on empty? Pit, I can’t even do a loop-de-loop when I’m hungry!”

“... What do you mean ‘empty’?” Thundercracker narrows his optics at Skywarp suspiciously. Skywarp closes his mouth firmly. Guiltily.

“Skywarp.” Calmly, he nudges the trine bond and Skywarp whines before giving in.

“Okay, so you know we grabbed fuel together last night? I, uh, I kinda… DrankYoursAndGaveYouColouredWaterInstead.” The urge to smack his idiot of a trinemate is there, but honestly? It would have been funny if times weren’t so desperate. Instead, he glares a little more intensely.

“I’m sorry, okay?! Sounder’s scheduled me on dawn patrol an’ I wouldn’t have had enough energon to warp even once if I ran into Autodolts! And I did! I did have to, TC, there were four of them an’ I was trapped in the canyon-”

“Alright, alright, I’m not ma-... Well, not too mad. But warn me next time, okay? Because now I don’t have the fuel to make it back to launch tower.” Another flight now would be disastrous. It would end up with him in the ocean, either because his last fumes were directed towards vitals, or because he just went into stasis.

“Sorry?” It’s not sincere, paired with Skywarp’s cheeky grin and unapologetic shrug. But the trine bond does have a small trickle of guilt, so Thundercracker rolls his optics and swats the back of Skywarp’s helm.

“Go get me one, dimwit.”

“On it!” With a cheesy, insincere salute, Skywarp jumps up and folds into alt mode at the same time, rocketing off. With nothing else to do, Thundercracker strides over to the cassetticons and eases into a kneeling position before slipping his pedes out to the sides.

“So, do you think you got it?”

“Yeah!!! Yeah!!! Watching you really helped, thanks, TC!” Ratbat squeaks with genuine gratitude - not something Decepticons usually showed - and Thundercracker returned the enthusiasm with a small smile.

It was going to be a shame when the bitlet ended up as corrupt as his co-creations.

“You’ll have to prove that to Starscream.”

“Can do!” Satisfied with the response, Thundercracker moves to lay flat on his back, closing his optics off. His hip struts ache a little with the angle he has them at - legs parallel to his frame - but he can’t be bothered too much to move.

Optics off, he can listen in on the conversations around him, from the coneheads grumbling amongst themselves, to the triple changers playing rock-paper-scissors, to Lazerbeak and Buzzsaw squabbling whilst Ratbat tries to innocently placate them, to the ocean waves crashing into the cliffs and more.

He can feel things, his sigma ability making him so much more sensitive to vibration as a key part of his outlier. He can feel the very faint breeze rolling off the nearby ocean, the gentle taps of pedesteps nearby, the thud of waves against the rocky cliffs-
Wait.

Wait.

Pedesteps nearby?!

Powering on one optic, Thundercracker subtly looks around - and sees nothing. What should be reassuring turns into exasperation. Because of course the Autobots have noticed they’re up to something.

And of course the Autobots have sent their invisible spy to check it out.

Well, no harm, no foul. The spy can watch all he wants. Just as long as no-one does or says anything stupid-

“I still can’t believe we hafta drag ourselves all th’ way to Zambia at the crack of dawn jus’ to steal energy from some pathetic waterfall.”

-Like that, thank you very much, Dirge. The pedesteps immediately start retreating, meaning that’s all the information the Autobots need. Thundercracker vents a sigh.

“Quit complaining. We need this.” Dirge grumbles, turning back to quiet conversation with his trine - though if his tone is anything to go by, he’s mocking Thundercracker relentlessly - and Astrotrain snickers.

“We need it, sure, but has anyone noticed how shiny ‘Screamer still looks? That is not the appearance of a starved mech.” In the beat of silence that follows, Thundercracker can feel the amount of optics that turn to him.

His optical ridge twitches.

“What Starscream does is none of my responsibility, so don’t look at me.”

“C’mon, TC, you’re the only one who can question him and live!”

“Ask ‘Warp. You’d be surprised what he gets away with. More so than I can.” Speaking of Skywarp…

The approaching sound of thrusters encourages Thundercracker to online his optics again, and he just catches a shadow falling over him before Skywarp transforms and ‘thuds’ down next to him. Covering him in sand. Lovely.

“Skywarp!”

“Whoops, sorry! Anyways, got your cube, TC!” Forcing himself up, Thundercrcker stares blankly at the cube until Skywarp’s wings flutter guiltily.

Because it’s nearly empty.

“Did you drink half my ration again?”

“Uh…”

“Right after we discussed this?” Skywarp laughs nervously - sounding like he’s forcing it - and drops his wings as low as they can go.

“Yeah, uh, no, uh… Funny thing, uh… That’s it.”

Thundercracker shutters his optics.
Once.
Twice.
A third time as Skywarp shrinks away with a forced half-grin.

“What do you mean ‘That’s it’? What did you do?”

“Hey! I didn’t do anything, you jerk! I mean it literally. As in, I kicked the dispenser until the very last drop came out. That’s it. There’s nothing left. Our stores are empty.”

“... Frag.” Three cassetticons stare at them almost in disbelief, and then a hollow acceptance. For a moment, Thundercracker’s vision wavers with static. His energon levels are just so low, but looking at the tiny amount of energon left from the entire Nemesis makes him feel…

Guilty.

But guilt is not a Decepticon emotion, and neither is selflessness, so…

But survival?
Survival was Decepticon. Very Decepticon indeed.

Henceforth, Thundercracker takes just enough for what he needs - what he plans - because although he’s not a strategist, he is full of thoughts. Particularly forward thoughts that help in future scenarios. And one of his past ‘thoughts’ has set him up perfectly for this moment.

“I have an idea. But I’ll need your cooperation. All four of you.” Skywarp shutter his optics dumbly. Buzzsaw narrows his own optics in suspicion and Lazerbeak tilts her head curiously, though she does stretch out a wing to stop Ratbat immediately agreeing.

That naive little cassette would accidentally sign away his spark if asked by someone he trusted.

“Out of the three of you… Lazerbeak, you’re Megatron’s favourite. Try to lead him to the dispenser so he can see the situation for himself. Ratbat, update Soundwave on our empty reserves. He’ll most likely be able to convince Megatron to move the raid to this evening.”

Pausing before he speaks next, Thundercracker allows a somewhat devious grin to stretch at his liplates.

“I think you’re going to like this role, Buzzsaw.”

“Oooh, TC’s got his jerk face on!” Ignoring Skywarp as he has done for centuries, maybe even millenia, Thundercracker crosses one wrist over the other as devilish as can be.

“I need you to annoy the scrap out of Starscream. Squawk at him him, charge him, bite him, whatever. Just keep him away from our quarters, the command centre, and the security room.”

“There’s the jerk we know!” Ignoring Skywarp again, Thundercracker grins as Buzzsaw caws in pure excitement - bloodthirsty excitement, but excitement all the same - and raises both wings in agreement. It takes a klik, but then Lazerbeak nods too.

“Hey, hey, what about me? What about me, TC? Don’t be a super jerk and ignore me, what am I doing?” No longer able to ignore his trinemate thanks to Skywarp having servos on each of his pauldrons and rocking him back and forth vigorously, Thundercracker tilts his helm up to look him in the optics.

“That depends.”

“... Depends on what? Depends on what, you can’t just say that and then keep me in suspense!” Thundercracker laughs.

“It depends on your answer to my next question.” Skywarp waits. Puffs out his cheekplates in annoyance. Then squishes the sides of Thundercracker’s faceplates. He leans in so their olfactory sensors are almost touching, although he’s a little off-centre to playfully glare into his quieter trinemate’s optics.

“Ask me the question right now or I’m going to warp you into the ocean.”

“How would you like to break into Starscream’s lab?”

“Oh, frag yeah!!!!”

“Yeah, I thought you’d like that, you vandal~.”

“Um, excuse you! The proper term is hooligan.”

“Rumble and Frenzy are hooligans. You, Skywarp, are a kleptomaniac, a maniacal nuisance, and a vandal.”

“... That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me, TC!” Buckling under the weight of Skywarp slinging himself over his back, Thundercracker quickly tilts his wings down to avoid injury, his trinemate scrabbling over his back before he slides off.

“Alright, alright, let’s just go commit what I’m pretty sure is a war crime.” He manages to shake Skywarp off, but pauses before he takes to the skies. Thundercracker takes just a moment to stare at the coneheads thoughtfully.

They could be useful…

But could they be trusted?

“Hey, you three!” The trine snaps their optics to him, broken out of whatever little chat they were having before. They’re suspicious - he can tell so much from their wings - but Thundercracker has more of their respect than the two troublemakers he’s trined to.

“Give me a servo.” The three idiots swap glances, obviously communicating through their trinebond and wingspeak combined. Eventually, Ramjet answers.

“What’s in it for us?”

“Something worth it. More than worth it.” His mysterious yet devious air is enough to win over Thrust and partially convince Dirge, but as for Ramjet-

“We’re gonna commit war crimes! Whooo!!!” Skywarp cheers as he punches the air with both fists, spinning on one thruster. Thundercracker rolls his optics, but pit, Ramjet is now grinning and even Dirge seems curiously convinced. Thrust takes note of their expressions. He shrugs.

“Alright, we’re in, I guess.” The group of three cassetticons and five seekers head towards the landing tower, re-entering the Nemesis as a group. Thundercracker leads the way - being the only one who knows what they’re doing - but they’re clearly heading to the aerial fleet’s part of the ship.

Buzzsaw diverts off first with a squawk of pure, bloodthirsty, chaotic glee.
Lazerbeak, rolling her optics, glides off effortlessly towards the throne room.
And sweet little Ratbat…

“I’ma go tell ‘Wave everything ,’kay?”

“You do that, little one~.” Thundercracker’s warm tone prompts an excited little squeak from Ratbat before the sparkling flaps off clumsily, almost crashing into a wall as he goes.

As it is, Thundercracker feels like he’s about to crash into a wall if he doesn’t concentrate on just putting one pede in front of the other, using every drop of energon in his tank.

Maybe even directing it away from non-vital functions.

But luckily for his rapidly depleting energon levels, his quarters are the closest to the entrance. Not to mention Starscream’s lab is just down the corridor - next to his trineleader’s own (rather large and unnecessarily extravagant) quarters.

“In here, for now.” It’s… A little bit of a squeeze cramming a full trine, himself, and Skywarp into the small room, but they manage. Shutting the door, Thundercracker crouches down to the floor next to his berth.

“None of what you are about to see is to be spoken about, understood?” Wary glances are shared among the others, Skywarp’s wings flickering in hesitance.

“Hey, TC? Uh, what kinda shady stuff you got going on?”

“None of it, swear on your sparks.” Maybe it’s because he’s so sincere. Maybe it’s Skywarp drawing a cross over his spark. Maybe it’s sheer starvation and desperation.

Because the Coneheads draw a cross over their sparks.

Venting a sigh of relief, Thundercracker turns back to what he was doing, his wings blocking his actions from view. Just because they’ve sworn secrecy, doesn’t mean he’s going to show these four dunces what he’s doing.

“Keep that in mind. Because I am taking this seriously.” His wings reflect that, dipping with sincerity. He hears Dirge take a step back with a nervous flit of his own wings, but it’s too late now, they’re already in this.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, TC! Just show us the cool stuff already. Show me your secrets~.” Skywarp ends his sentence in a whisper, wriggling his digits in a way that would be creepy if he wasn’t intentionally being this way to tease him. A soft snicker escapes, but he covers it up by digging his claws under a flooring panel that has a slight bend to one of the corners.

He pulls it up with a soft creak. Hesitant - because Decepticons don’t get nervous - Thundercracker reaches in and pulls out a small tool. He tries to keep it hidden from the others.

Tries to, because Ramjet is already leaning around him, peering into his servos. His optics immediately widen.

“Is that a fraggin’ spark casing latch-hook? What in the pit are you doing?”

And, yeah.
That’s a pretty fair reaction.

Even the Autobot senate before the uprising had frowned down on this particular tool - not that those attitudes stopped slave owners or the gladiatorial ring masters. Pit, that attitude hadn’t even stopped Sentinel from allowing it in interrogations of the newly-formed Decepticons.

“Something I’ve had solidly planned for a month. Though, I’ve prepared for it for almost a year now.” With that, despite the large amount of mechs stuffed into his tiny quarters, Thundercracker slowly cracks open his chassis plating, giving a glare over his pauldron to make the others avert their optics.

Only Skywarp seems oblivious, but luckily, Thrust has enough processor units to reach across and hold a servo up over Skywarp’s optics.

“Hey, what gives!?”

“Shut your trap and turn off your optics, or I’m not lowering my servo.” With a grateful nod, Thundercracker turns back to what he was doing. With a long, slow ex-vent, he reaches his digits in and finds a small sensor. Pressing the tip of a claw into it, his spark casing makes a soft click.

Then shifts.

Dazzling golden light bathes the room in a shimmering bronze aura for a split astro-second before it softens into a glow, spark casing opening further to reveal a spinning spark amongst silver spark casing, mostly gold with the occasional flicker of pure white or dash of light blue.

Then comes the tricky part.
Technically, he was supposed to be offline for this part.
Or well, not supposed to be, Thundercracker thought with a grimace.

But this had been the ‘stuff’ he’d been arranging in the month Bluestreak had given him before telling his friends about their friendship.
Just in case those twins offline him in the next raid or battle, Thundercracker had set everything up to make sure the rest of the Decepticons would get something out of his deactivation.

One lived for the cause, one died for the cause.

“Let’s hope I’ve got as steady a servo as it took to do this in the first place…” Completely ignoring Skywarp’s (somewhat worried, but no Decepticon would admit that) questioning, Dirge’s rattling engine, and Ramjet still quietly whispering “What the frag? What the actual frag?” in horrified disbelief, Thundercracker steadily guides the spark casing latch-hook around the rotating sphere of his spark, delicately scratching at the back walls of his spark casing.

It’s uncomfortable.
But it’s necessary.

The hook shaped wire catches onto a tiny imperfection deep inside his spark chamber. He slides the latch into place.

And pulls.

The ‘imperfection’, as it felt by the tool, was not an imperfection at all. It was purposeful, and it was something Thundercracker had put there himself. Something he had carved out a space for behind his spark.

Something that could only be found by himself, or upon his deactivation.
As… Was exactly his plan.
From a month ago.
When he had given Bluestreak permission to tell the Twin Terrors.

“Take this while I close up.” He waves the something towards Ramjet - since he’s coincidentally closest - and the white seeker peers out between the digits of one servo covering his faceplates to take it with the other.

“A key??? You just did the creepiest, grossest, most disturbing thing that not even Vortex has ever done, for a key?!”

“No, Ramjet. I did it for fun, of cou- I did it for what the key unlocks, you half-clocked idiot.” He punctuates his sarcastic snap by physically snapping his spark casing and chassis plating closed in one swift motion.

“Wait, TC’s got a key? A secret key?” Thrust lowers his servo as Skywarp tilts his helm in confusion. He squints his optics at the key in Ramjet’s servo and then at the tool next to a still-kneeling Thundercracker.

“Secret key… And you have a spark casing latch-hook… Plus there was that light… Fraggin’ Unicron on a shuttle, TC! Did you pull that right outta your spark chamber?!”

“... Skywarp…” Thundercracker manages to resist the urge to drag his servo down his faceplate. The coneheads, however, turn to stare blankly at Skywarp in terrifying union. Eventually, Dirge speaks up.

“Are you always this slow in the processor, or is today a special day?”

“Uh, I don’t think today is special for any reason…”

“Wow, he’s an even bigger dumbaft than I thought, an’ that’s coming from me!” Skywarp swipes his claws towards Ramjet for the insult, but Thundercracker is already standing up and swats an exasperated wing back to intercept.

Being the only functional processor chip in the room was exhausting.

“Enough. Cooperate with me for one more breem, then you can fight all you want in the corridors. Or outside. Preferably outside.”

“Uh, yeah, I would, but… I’m still too grossed out by the whole ‘hiding a key in your spark chamber’ thing.” Amazingly, despite the fact they may have been about to break into warfare, the conehead trine nods in agreement with Skywarp, who crinkles his olfactory sensor in disgust.

Thundercracker simply rolls his optics.

“It was a contingency plan. In case anything happened to me.” There’s a beat of confused silence. In that moment, Thundercracker takes the key from Ramjet and squeezes his way between the four idiots to get to a small, unassuming cabinet.

“Those infuriating ‘jet judo’ twins are likely to target me in the next confrontation with the Autobots. And… I don’t expect them to go easy. The key in my spark chamber was the only way I could ensure you specifically would find it. Only a trinemate following seeker burial rites would find it. And we both know Starscream wouldn’t do it.”

“Aw, come off it, TC! If those stupid grounders haven’t deactivated us yet, they’re never gonna! They don’t have the ball-bearings!”

“Anyone can do anything with the right motivation.” This time, it’s Dirge who crinkles his faceplates in thought, a very minor hint of annoyance in his field.

“What did you do?”

“On my patrols, I’ve been taking energon from one specific Autobot.” That’s not a lie, technically. He doesn’t have to clarify that the energon was offered up readily, that he and the Autobot were friends, that his ‘patrols’ were quickly turning into movie viewings.

“Unfortunately, as it turns out, that one Autobot is friends with the terror twins.”

“... So they’re protecting the other bot? So what? What’s so good that they need to retaliate?” Thundercracker unlocks the small cabinet with the key, sliding asides a bolt, and then opens the cabinet doors to reveal three glistening (albeit very stale) energon cubes.

Mid-Grade energon cubes.

“Oh.”

“Now that’s worth fighting for!” Thundercracker grins as he takes both cubes out, swirling them a little to try and break up the crystallised parts inside that show these cubes are months old.

Because whilst he had graciously accepted every cube Bluestreak had offered him, he’d only ever sipped just enough to make the flight back to the Nemesis.

The rest was subspaced, and stored away for moments like this.

“Here. One for your trine. And ‘Warp, one for you.” Skywarp let out a ‘WHOOP!’ of glee, taking the cube with so much enthusiasm that he pulled Thundercracker off-balance. Thrust took the offered cube with much less force, but that was mainly due to being awestruck.

Processor spinning and low-fuel alerts popping up in his aching brain module, Thundercracker offlined his optics to conserve the faint fumes he was currently running on.

But he wasn’t down yet.
He wasn’t in stasis yet.
Soon, considering he was only 6% fuelled, but he had something to do before that.

He doesn’t take from the third cube, instead subspacing it.

“Thrust, Dirge, Ramjet. See if you can convince everyone - and I mean everyone - to gather in the mess hall in… Half a groon. That should be enough for me and Skywarp to break into Starscream’s laboratory.”

“War crimes!” Skywarp’s cheer, paired with the smear of energon around his lipplates and his completely unhidden glee, makes him seem happier than ever.

Which… Considering this is probably the first time he’s had full tanks in over 9 millenia, that rings true.

And hopefully, it’ll ring true for all the Decepticons tonight.
Enough to pull off a successful raid, because this is the last energon they have.

If it hadn’t been for Thundercracker’s slight paranoia and ability to think ahead, there would be none.

“Yeah, yeah, war crimes.” Thundercracker manages to push himself to his pedes. He’s unsteady, but too starved to care about his pride, so he leans heavily against the wall. Belatedly, he realises the conehead trine has already left, and that’s only because his wings dip from lack of energy to hold them high.

“Come on. I need you for this.”

“For… Walking?” Despite his exhaustion and the looming threat of stasis, Thundercracker huffs an amused vent. He might be literally dragging his pedes, and blinded by personal choice, but he can still walk.

He knows these corridors more than any other.
He can feel every nook and cranny, every scratch and pockmark. Essentially, he has the whole Nemesis mapped out by way of echolocation from his sensitive sigma abilities.

Setting off his outlier accidentally once or twice had ensured he even knew where secret crevices, latches, and rooms were.

“For breaking into Starscream’s lab.” He feels Skywarp perk up, wings lifting higher and vents picking up a hitch.

“Then what are we waiting for~?” Primus, he’s excited. But then, when wasn’t Skywarp excited about rule-breaking, breaking and entering, and annoying their trine-leader?

Never.

With a grunt, Thundercracker follows Skywarp along the corridor, one servo on the wall at all times. He feel shaky. He feels tired. He feels like curling up and just letting the darkness take him. A good stasis lock would get rid of his unrelenting processor ache for sure.

Not to mention falling into stasis would be a great way to get to the medbay and have a line set up directly to his tank whilst he was completely out-

No. There is no energon.

Yanking himself back to reality - Primus, that had been close! - Thundercracker diverts the tiny amount of remaining energy out of his extremities, like digits and thrusters, to power his optics back on.

They’re already in front of Starscream’s lab, and Skywarp looks at him expectantly.

“Look, I know you said you need me, but, uh, I can’t vop inside there. And ‘Screamer has a super clever code-thingy set up. I don’t know how I’m s’pposed to help you.”

“I know. But this is something only you can do. Don’t worry, I’ll instruct you.” Skywarp grins, warm and genuinely touched before he remembers he’s a Decepticon, and ‘Cons aren’t warm and friendly! The grin turns into something more wild, more mischievous.

More Skywarp.

“Instruct me, then!” Gently, Thundercracker smiles back. He’s not ashamed to show vulnerability around his trinemate, even if it’s not a very Decepticon thing to do.

“Alright, see that panel with the suspiciously clean edges? Like it’s been frequently taken off and put back?” Skywarp nods, pointing to the exact one Thundercracker means. It’s seemingly newer than the rest, the edges of it shinier as if it had been touched multiple times.

“You’re going half-warp through it.” A completely blank stare. Skywarp shutters his optics dumbly as he processes the words, and Thundercracker smirks at how long it’s taking his frie- trinemate to figure it out.

“Half… Warp?”

“You did it once before. When you tried to prove that ‘ghosts’ can’t walk through walls by doing it yourself?” He doesn’t add on that Skywarp managed to get himself stuck part way and Thundercracker was the only one who had rallied for him to be removed from it.

Apparently, he’d been convincing enough that Skywarp’s abilities were worth the resource cost to remove him from the wall, albeit his dysfunctional processor.
He doesn’t even remember what he said to Megatron, only the vague feeling of panic that Skywarp would be stuck in the wall until he deactivated.

“Oh! My phasing thingy! I call it a ‘phase-shift’. Kinda cool, right?” Raising an orbital ridge, Thundercracker briefly wonders if Skywarp is aware cool names don’t really improve the effectiveness of something like this.

But, well, whatever worked.

“Mhm, cool. I think, now that you’re fuelled, you could hold it for much longer. Long enough to deactivate the anti-warp shield Starscream set up.” A worryingly prominent shiver of pure, unrivalled excitement ripples along Skywarp’s wings.

Thundercracker stops. He thinks.
Is he really about to teach Skywarp to use this new part of his outlier?
Was he really going to unleash this menace onto his fellow Decepticons?

… Yes.
Yes, he most certainly was.

The consequences weren’t his to deal with.

“I could just walk through the wall, TC! This is great!”

“No, no. The anti-warp shield that is still active would block you out. You’d get stuck in the wall. Again.” He waits until Skywarp is fully paying attention.

“The generator for the shield is behind this panel, a protective case, and then numerous wires. You’ll have to half-wa… Phase-shift through those to reach the generator. It should be as simple as swapping two cables over to reverse the polarity, then Starscream’s lab will be at your mercy.”

“Uh…” Had he not diverted his energon reserves to his vital mechanisms, Thundercracker would have smacked a servo across his faceplates in exasperation. As it is, he can barely shake his helm disappointingly without falling over.

Actually, the floor is getting closer… And spinning… What…?

“TC!” He falls limp into heavy arms around him, before the floor slows in its approach. Or rather, he’s lowered to the floor. In the astrosecond before his optics offline without his permission - error messages from his fuel pump pinging insistently in the back of his precessor - he catches a glimpse of what could be worry on Skywarp’s faceplates.

Ridiculous. Decepticons didn’t worry over their comrades.
Skywarp would never.
Thundercracker decides that his trinemate is only assisting him because he wants to break into the lab.
War crimes, and all that fun stuff.
That’s all.

“M’okay. You… You have to do this alone though.” Gently, Thundercracker feels the cool metal of the wall behind him press against his back, and his thrusters are pulled out from under him so that he’s not crushing the sensitive appendages with his full weight.

Skywarp’s touch disappears, before he gives a nod so determined and sagely that Thundercracker feels swirls in the air batter his concerningly unresponsive wings.

“Got it. Phase-shift through the panel, protective layer, and other wires, then swap two cables on the generator. R- Right?” Despite his pitiful state, Thundercracker offers a tiny smile.

“Right.” The sheer burst of confidence that comes through the trinebond is soothing, and Thundercracker switches his attention to just staying online until Skywarp taps him on the shoulder.

Pit, he hadn’t even realised he’d turned his audials off.

“I did it…! I did it, TC!” Skywarp shakes him by the shoulder, sounding proud of himself and close to laughter. Venting a soft, relieved sigh, the blue seeker finally relaxes back against the wall he’s propped against.

“That’s fantastic, ‘Warp. Knew you could. Now get in there and find an energon dilution still. It should look like a distiller, but with a Starscream twist.”

“I’m on it!” There’s an audible ‘vop’ next to him, and then the space around him in empty. He can hear Skywarp rummaging through the laboratory through the walls - no doubt causing chaos and stealing whatever his kleptomaniac digits land on.

Thundercracker just lets him.
Not his problem.

From besides him, he can feel the ions in the atmosphere destabilising before there’s another audio ‘VOP’, and suddenly the space next to him is full again. There’s also the clattering of multiple (stolen) little objects hitting the floor.

“Oop, scrap, probably shouldn’t drop that, uh-oh!” Skywarp freezes for a moment, then his frame relaxes with a vent of relief. He obviously decides to ignore whatever disaster he almost caused as he crouches in front of Thundercracker and places something rather heavy on the ground - none too gently either.

“Ta-da! One distiller-looking thingy with a Starscream twist! … Now what?”

“Now, we put the cube from my subspace on top of it, an empty cube underneath, and wait.” With what little energon he has left - 3% and rapidly depleting - Thundercracker lifts his arm and reaches into his subspace, pulling out the mid-grade cube.

It’s hard just to hold it.
Rampant starvation has left him fighting against gravity with just the weight of a cube.

He hears the faint tap of an empty energon cube being placed on the underside of what he presumes is an hourglass shape contraption, similar to an energon distiller. But this is a dilution still. There’s no telling how different it is until he turns his optics on.

And, well… He can’t do that right now.

Skywarp takes the cube from him, allowing him to drop his servo back to the floor with a heavy thud, and then there’s the blissful whir of the dilution still paired with the trickle of energon.

“Woah, it’s like… Tripling it, TC.”

“Mhm. It’s diluting it from mid-grade to low-grade. So, it’ll fill more cubes.”

“First one is yours, right?” Despite himself, Thundercracker manages a smirk in return to what sounds like Skywarp’s teasing tone.

“First two.” His trinemate bursts into laughter, poking at one of Thundercracker’s (drooping) wings.

“You’re such a selfish jerk~!”

“Hey! I got the pit-darned energon!” Skywarp snickers, but Thundercracker is distracted by a sharp, jabbing pain in his ankle strut. Almost like…

Being stabbed?

“... Did you just stab a line into me?” There’s a rush of fresh energon flooding his system as it enters through a main line that feeds from his thruster - so the answer is undoubtedly ‘yes’ - and Thundercracker uses it to first power on his optics.

He thinks he caught a glimpse of an almost soft grin on Skywarp’s faceplates, but that could easily have been a mistake as his trinemate quickly flashes a (disturbing human) peace sign and sticks his glossa out.

“I jus’ saved you from stasis and you wanna get mad? Wow, TC, that’s real jerk behaviour~.” Rolling his optics, Thundercracker swats a half-hearted servo at Skywarp’s waggling wing.

“We both know that’s not me mad. Baffled, yes. Mad, no.” For a split astrosecond, the grin falls from Skywarp’s face and he loses his perky body language. In fact, there’s a miniscule flicker of fear in his optics that lasts only a fraction of a microsecond before he shrugs casually.

Skywarp had only seen Thundercracker mad once.
(What neither Skywarp nor Thundercracker himself realised was that Skywarp had only survived thanks to his Outlier. It was a blessing no one else had been around when Thundercacker had finally lost control of his temper.)

“S’true, I guess.”

“Mhm.”

“Soooo…” In the trailing off silence, Skywarp flicks his wings invitingly, to which Thundercracker raises an optical ridge. A glimpse of a seeker fang through a barely held back grin. And Thundercracker vents a sigh as he relents, letting Skywarp ‘bait’ him into asking the all-important question.

Except, it turns out to be questions, probably because he’s been spending a lot of time around Bluestreak.

“Do you always carry a line on you? No, wait, how did you even get a line? How did you know to put it in my ankle strut line? Does Hook know about this?! Who trained you?” He finishes his list of questions, and then, as Skywarp is processing the spiel, adds;

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of becoming a medic.” That gets an instant reaction, Skywarp drawing back, angling his wings in disgust and screwing up his faceplates as if he’d just sipped one of those medical emergency cubes.

“Pit no!!! I like taking things apart, not putting them back together-” He completely misses that the term ‘things’ includes anyone he can fight with, but Thundercracker knows that.

Knows that too well.

He’s the long-suffering trinemate who has to smooth things over with the victim in the end.

… And the raging gestalt that backed them up, considering Skywarp got into the most disagreements and fights with the Combaticons and Stunticons respectively.

“- This is all ‘cus Hook made me!”

“Made you?”

“Yeah, ever since that day you only had 12% left an’ lied terribly about it!” Thundercracker guiltily averts his optics. Obviously, his field betrays it because he’s too poorly fuelled to control that right now. Skywarp - in a playful mood thanks to the war crimes they’ve committed - brushes back with a burst of cheeky amusement.

“Guess one of us has to be the responsible one, huh?”

“You-! Skywarp, you wouldn’t survive a day without me to cover you.”

“Lies! Yesterday, I didn’t fight anyone~.” He sounds oh-so-proud, and Thundercracker flicks his cockpit to reprimand him, ready to rain on his parade.

“Only because I distracted Wildrider with stupid fetch quests, calmed Onslaught down after you stole from Swindle, told Bonecrusher you were on patrol rather than hiding in the storage bay, convinced Soundwave I had pre-agreed to covering your missed security shift and asked Starscream how his latest science project was going as a distraction for you to leave his quarters.”

“... Oh.”

“Yea, oh.”

“Ah.” Rolling his optics again - because that’s a habit he just can’t kick - Thundercracker nudges his pede against Skywarp’s knee joint and gestures to the line.

“Think you can take that out now? We’ve got a lot of energon to dilute.” Skywarp takes the line out carefully. Then, he pauses. He looks up at Thundercracker in confusion, then at the four already diluted cubes around them. Then back to Thundercracker.

A confidently smirking Thundercracker.

“Did you really think I’d only have three cubes if I’d been collecting for months?” At the implication, Skywarp’s optics widen, and Thundercracker delights at the impressed trickle of awe coming through the trinebond.

“Then what are we waiting for?! Enough with the war crimes, let’s get fuelled up!” Thundercracker allows Skywarp to yank him to his pedes, steading himself now he had enough fuel for his gyro stabilisers. The teleporter doesn’t waste any time, spinning around on a thruster with a whoop of glee as he scoops up the dilution still, merrily trotting off down the corridor.

Venting a warm sigh of partial amusement, Thundercracker puts the cubes into his subspace. He catches up with Skywarp and overtakes him with three swift steps.

“Come on, I’ll show you where they all are. We’ll dilute them in the mess hall so they’ll be there when everyone arrives.”

“Lead the way, TC!”

With a bright hope in his spark and a half-grin on his faceplates, Thundercracker does so.

In the end, they have enough cubes that everyone ends up with a full tank. But no one knows it was him. It had taken a small sacrifice of one Cybertronian magazine and a blanket to get Skywarp to promise to keep it a secret, but Thundercracker had been happy to do so.

He didn’t want the attention.
The coneheads were happy to take it - and the credit - for him, having been the ones that gathered everyone.

The only other potential mech who knew was Soundwave, who had held uncomfortably long optic-contact with Thundercracker before giving a faint nod when Rumble and Frenzy barrelled into him with two full cubes each.

If he’d figured it out, he kept silent when Megatron strode into the room from the East entrance. (And when a scratched up Starscream stumbled in from the North, swatting away a very satisfied and proud Buzzsaw.)

“It has come to my attention… That this is the very last of our fuel. Once this is depleted, there will be no energon. No rations. No fuel. Not even a drop. In such a circumstance, I have come to the conclusion that we must execute an emergency raid earlier than expected.” Megatron pauses, sweeping his intimidating gaze over the eternity of his forces gathered in the mess hall.

Thundercracker, sensing it’s about to get noisy, dials down the sensitivity on his sensors and audials.

“Decepticons. Fill your tanks! Drink until you are full! For we shall rise as one, once all are battle-ready!” The room is swept up in cheer and visible excitement. Even with his sensors dialled down, the sheer volume is enough to rattle Thundercracker’s wings.

Paired with the mass movement of the whole army, it’s enough to make him silently wince. But the shock wears off quickly and he’s swept up in the almost hysterically overjoyed mood.

They’re fuelled!
They have full tanks for the first time in centuries!

They have the best chance of completing this raid successfully, and making off with enough energon to keep them fuelled for weeks!

It’s euphoric.
He can’t wait to tell Bluestreak, and-!

…Oh.
Oh no.

Thundercracker’s optics widen as he realises where his thoughts are leading.

“... Scrap.”

He wants to tell Bluestreak everything.
He wants to share this excitement with Bluestreak.

He wants to talk to Bluestreak, because they’re friends.
They’re friends, and he finally acknowledges that.

On the day of the most dire, important raid in Decepticon history.

“Scrap.”

Chapter Text

The open sky races over Thundercracker’s wings in a hypnotising bluster as he slices through the sunset bathed dusk. Water vapour from the clouds he occasionally encounters clings to his frame, chilly, but welcome.

The pinpricks of cold are a distraction from his thoughts.
Well, usually they are. But tonight, his processor is racing so fast that not even a full storm could stop his slightly panicked trail of thoughts.

If the Autobots show up at the raid, would he be able to fight them?
Would he want to fight them?

What if he hurt someone Bluestreak was close to?

And that opens up a whole other titanium can of Cyberworms, because he is undoubtedly going to get attacked by the jet-judo twins that now know his and Bluestreak’s secret, and he’s going to try and defend himself, but what if that injures them and makes Bluestreak mad at him?

Or if they deactivate him - by accident or on purpose?

Who would Bluestreak grieve the most?
No, he knows the answer to that one.
He knows he loses in that department.

(Except he doesn’t, he’s equal, if only he could see that himself!)

“‘Cee, ‘Cee! I can’t keep up! I’m little!” Thundercracker snaps out of his deep thinking, as if it had been a physical jerk. It takes him a moment to collect where he is and who is talking to him.

Belatedly, he internally jokes that he’s been spending so much time with Bluestreak, his thoughts are starting to sound like Bluestreak in the middle of a monologue.
Unstoppable and never-ending.

Just… Lacking the endearing and friendly parts.

“TeeCee!” Thundercracker slows to let Ratbat catch up. The cassetticon flaps his tiny wings rapidly, struggling to keep pace with the sleek, streamlined fliers. Not to mention that he isn’t practised at this like Lazerbeak and Buzzsaw are.

“Sorry, Ratbat. I was caught up in planning ahead.” The sparkling chirps in question, tilting his helm and his big, floppy audials switch direction with the wind.

“But we’ve already planned ahead? Even though we changed locations, we’re doing the same plan!”

“Hmm… In terms of flight formations and generic battle strategies, yes… But things happen in battle. Things we can’t predict or truly prepare for.” Those rounded almond optics blink at him, and Ratbat hesitates to answer. When he does, it’s just a little;

“Oh…”

“It’s alright. If we get separated, Soundwave and your siblings will look out for you.” He fails to tack on that he’ll get the blame, and ultimately, the punishment, but Ratbat doesn’t need to know that.

Ratbat also doesn’t need to know that Thundercracker intends to get separated.
He isn’t going to bring the youngest Decepticon to a war with the Twin Terrors. That would be cruel beyond Decepticon standards.

“Y-Yeah! If we get separated, I’ll go to Soundwave!”

“Maybe not directly. Find Frenzy first, if you can. He tends to stick to the edges of the battlefield, so less dangerous Autobots target him. The most dangerous ones are in the centre, attacking command staff.”

“What ‘bout the red an’ gold ones?” Thundercracker wavers a little in flight. That catches Starscream’s attention, a sharp poke coming through the trinebond. Returning it with irate embarrassment is enough to ward Starscream off his case.

“There’s… A lot of red Autobots, little one~.” The minute distraction is just to give him enough time to think of how to word the kind of attacks those twins execute in battle.

“The twin red an’ gold ones! What ‘bout those? They seem to hurt everyone…”

“Yes, well… They’re very experienced warriors. Frontliners are trained to take out the highest threat, no matter who the enemy is. If the priority is the aerial attack, they’ll take out the seekers. If it’s ground forces, they’ll go for the heavy hitters. They’ll even go for Megatron if the Prime is unable to reach him.”

“So, they’re like… Uh, all-rounders?” Thundercracker’s engine gives off a pleased rumble.

“That’s exactly it. The Autobot commanders point out who needs defeating, the twins follow through.” Unfortunately, Thundercracker thinks, no amount of Autobot command is going to stop those pit-spawned glitches from attacking him.

Not even the Prime himself.

This he knows from the channel Jazz set up. It frequently addresses how the twins reacted to Bluestreak’s announcement, and the strangely bloodthirsty way they’ve been watching the skies since.
Optimus Prime had admitted that his authority was no use to the overprotective twins, who were led largely by their boiling over emotions.

The emotion this time being anger.
Or jealousy.
Thundercracker doesn’t know the name for it, just that he has a bad feeling about the battle.

“I hope they don’t come at me… I can fight, but not that good!” And there’s the perfect excuse and reasoning for him to be attacked!

“You’ll be alright. I’m here. If they break into our formation, drop altitude fast. I’ll bait them.”

“But then they’ll go for you!”

“I have my trine, little one. Three against two puts us in good favour.” Ratbat tilts his tiny helm again, optics squinting.

“Then why does ‘Screamer always come back so beat up…?” It’s such an innocent question, purely curiousity and naivety, that Thundercracker laughs.

Sparklings, honestly.

“You’ll see. Think of it as an educational experience.”

“I dunno if I can learn anything else today… The key for the flight formations datapack was intense!”

“True. Most of us had vorns to lear-”

“Decepticons! Descend!” Before Thundercracker can get nostalgic about his training days, the intended target comes into view and Megatron gives the order.

It’s a large facility, not the largest they’ve ever raided, but one that will hopefully give them a stable amount of energon before the Autobots can be contacted. The fact that this electricity station is completely unmanned gives them a time advantage, since nobody can directly call on the Autobots.

Even then, it might take the humans a moment to realise the failings in monitoring the facility were due to a Decepticon, not a flaw nor natural cause.

Soundwave was the entire spinal strut of this operation.

Whilst the non-aerial Decepticons land clunkily, falling from the sky at a rapid pace and thudding into the ground pede first, the fliers and triple changers are much more graceful, the seekers most elegant of all.

They don’t need to worry about surveillance cameras since Soundwave has them offlined, nor any readings that would go back to the human’s observational headquarters.

Which essentially means they can cause chaos.

“Hey, Thundercracker! Catch!” He turns his helm just in time to see a torn up part of wall coming straight towards him. If he dodges, it would hit Starscream. A small part of Thundercracker debates letting it happen, but Starscream is already dinged up from Buzzsaw’s excessive bout of fun earlier, so…

“Easy.” He hunches down, anchoring his thrusters in the ground, and catches the wall section with both hands. It pushes him back a little bit, but Thundercracker is able to stabilise himself with his wings. He grins, all smug and proud, in the direction of the lobber. Blitzwing laughs heartily, readying a second one, but their fun is cut short.

“Will you two idiots focus on our task?!” Starscream’s screech is an assault on his wing sensors (and audials), and Astrotrain gives Blitzwing a smack on the back of the helm.

But Thundercracker doesn’t snicker unapologetically like the triple changer, nor does he turn back to his job. Instead, he faces Starscream, one optical ridge raised and facial expression bored, pointing to the cube at his pedes filling slowly with a trickle of energy from the wires he’s uprooted and shoved into it.

“There’s no harm in passing time by warming up. Primus knows the Autobots will try to catch us before our battle mobility circuits can kick into action.”

“Ha! As if the Autobots will even know about us before we’re done!” Once more, Thundercracker gestures to the cube at his pedes.

It’s not even half full.
The energy trickles into it so slowly, it’s almost pitiful.

“Uh-huh, sure. Are you always this delusional, or…?” Starscream swipes at him, but Thundercracker easily leans back to avoid it since Starscream isn’t serious. From somewhere across the open grounds, Skywarp cackles. He’s either watching them, or feeling them through the trinebond.

Could be either, knowing Skywarp.

Glancing around, Thundercracker notes a sense of boredom, most of the cons shuffling about or quietly talking amongst themselves as the cubes fill drip by drip.

“Somehow I imagined this… Differently.”

“Yes, well, that’s the effect Megatron’s speeches have on those naïve, disillusioned, and stupid enough to believe him.”

“Wow, don’t hold back, Starscream. I’d hate to think you had a shred of respect left for anyone other than yourself.” The dry sarcasm earns him a sneer. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Hey, TC! Come an’ look at this weird thing!” Obviously haven gotten bored just waiting around - and stationed conveniently close to one of the only mechs who was patient with him - Wildrider waved over the seeker enthusiastically. Thundercracker glances back at Starscream, shrugs when his trineleader doesn’t stop him, then puts a new cube down for filling for good measure.

“What have you found, Wilds?” The stunticon’s wheels give a little spin in delight at the nickname, something Thundercracker finds hard not to smirk at. He’s so easy to read and easy to please, like the youngling he is.

“This weird piece of scrap right here! See, see?!” He gestures frantically to a small gap between two buildings. At first, it just looks like a load of pipes, an air conditioning unit, and an emergency toolbox.

Then, Thundercracker crouches down so his optics are on the same level as Wildrider’s.
He freezes.
Slowly, he raises a servo to his comm unit.

“Hey, Soundwave? What frequencies are you blocking?” There’s a concerning moment of silence before his unit crackles with a response.

“Analogue: 446.00625 to 512MHz. Query: Your concern?”

“Can you check for recent transmissions on a digital frequency from this area that doesn’t originate from us?”

“... Transmission… Confirmed.” A heavy sinking feeling settles in Thundercracker’s spark and he pinches the bridge of his olfactory sensor. He’s sure, somewhere, Soundwave is doing the same.

Because what Wildrider has found is an extremely low-tech communicator that looks Cybertronian, but is made of human materials.

The humans have started going digital.

“I’ll pass the message on for Blitz and ‘Train to get as much as they can out. Do I bother asking them to return, or…?”

“Megatron: Insists on standing ground. Raid and regroup: Inefficient. Decepticons: Will turn this into an ambush.”

“Affirmative.” Belatedly, Thundercracker realises Wildrider is still looking up at him like he’s the first mech to ever seriously pay him attention. His optics gleam like he’s just waiting for some kind of validation.

And, well, who is Thundercracker to deny him that?

“You did great, bitlet. Now the Autobots can’t catch us off-guard.” He grabs Wildrider (gently) by the helm and shakes it side to side, like he’s seen Soundwave do with the twin cassettes. Wildrider absolutely beams.

“I- I did? I did! I totally did! Entirely planned to- meant to- did intentionally as well, hahaha!” He’s going to be insufferable for the rest of the day.

Leaving the slightly unhinged youngling to leap over to his fellow stunticons with a whoop and cackle, Thundercracker quickly makes his way to Astrotrain and Blitzwing. The latter of whom looks up with a grin and reaches for another panel of wall to rip off.

That good mood is sourly dashed when the seeker shakes his head and moves close enough that he can address them quietly, without anyone nearby overhearing.

“Get ready to ship out. The humans have picked up some nasty Autobot tricks and there’s every chance they’ll be here sooner than expected.”

“Uh, the humans? Then we just squish ‘em.” Once more, Astrotrain swats the back of Blitzwing’s helm.

“No, you half-clocked moron! The Autobots. That’s what yer saying right, TC?” He nods.

“I expect either Soundwave or Megatron will give you the que to leave, but in the meantime, we should collect the cubes that have been filled already.” With a vented sigh, Astrotrain folds down into his train altmode.

“I’ll go collectin’ round the edges, I guess. You two just make a pile here.” Without waiting for a response, he chugs off, leaving Thundercracker and Blitzwing standing there awkwardly. After a beat of silence, Thundercracker flicks his wings to reset.

“I have cubes to fill. Good luck, Blitzwing.”

“Don’t make me do this by myself, jerk!” Ignored, Blitzwing has nothing left to do but mumble under his ventilation fans and go about collecting the already filled cubes from the Decepticons near the centre. He’s none too gentle when he takes the two Thundercracker hands over, with a grin burrowed from Skywarp.

“If you’re going to aggravate the triple-changers, can you do it after the battle?! I need them in perfect formation, not distracted by whatever afthole amusement you have going on!”

“Starscream, I’m not distracted them from battle. I was passing on orders from Soundwave.” Starscream splutters, almost dropping the cable he’s holding to pour into the cube at his feet.

“WHAT?! Why wasn’t I informed of any changes?!” That’s enough to send Starscream angrily stomping away towards where Megatron is positioned, his screeching voice fading with distance.

Rolling his optics, Thundercracker simply takes over Starscream’s post.

It was quieter without him around, anyways.

Only a few kliks later, Thundercracker’s newfound quiet is shattered by the hefty ‘chug-chug-chug’ of the universe’s most annoying train. (That was official. Astrotrain had a medal. One crafted by Rumble and Frenzy, of course, but that was enough to make it official for the Decepticons.)

“Sure hope Blitz had a better harvest than I did. There ain’t even enough to fill half my hold!”

“Doubt it. Most mechs were stationed around the outside to keep an optic out for Autobots.”

“Then we’re in a whole heap of scrap.” Humming under his vents in agreement, Thundercracker’s optical ridge furrows and the corners of his mouthplates pinch together in a tight frown.

Starvation is always a threat.
But now, it seems to be looming over them more potently than ever.

This raid was all they had.

“Just take everything you can. At least if Blitzwing stays here, we might get a few more cubes off before the Autobots arrive.” Astrotrain waves a servo casually, as if to brush off the seriousness of the situation.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Pit, you’re awful bossy for someone who ain’t command staff…”

“You’re awful stupid for someone supposedly with a processor.” The somewhat light tease earns him a flick to one of his wings, but it’s almost playful, in the way that most of the lower ranks are with each other. With a huff that might have been a laugh, if he was any less dignified - stressed/worried/overwhelmed - Thundercracker goes back to filling the cubes.

He can faintly hear Astrotrain greet Blitzwing with “Better than I expected. From you.” before there’s the sound of transformation, and the shuttle takes to the skies, Blitzwing shouting baseless threats up at him.

Honestly. They’re like unruly co-creations.

Slowly, as more and more cubes are collected, the tension from before lifts. Thundercracker feels his struts unstiffen, and his plating even ‘fluffs’ out a little to get some heavy weight off his frame. He can feel a slight, soft breeze, and hear birdsong in the distance.

The clouds overhead are small and puffy, like the dandelion clocks Marissa had once shown him, drifting slowly through a changing sky with a calmness to them that only nature could achieve.

The sky itself had gone from afternoon’s light blue to the soft orange of evening, hints of darker blues on the horizon opposite to the slither of the setting sun. The North Star is visible in the sky, the first one of the night -

(“Make a wish on the first star, TC, it’s good luck.”)
(“Burning balls of gas don’t give you luck, Marissa.”)
(“I’ll do it! I wish we could all stay friends like this forever, going to movies, and going on picnics, having fun talking about nothing, oh! And walking Buster!. That’s a pretty good wish, right?”)
(“That’s a great wish, Blue. See, TC? It’s not hard~.”)

- and contrails from commercial aircraft streak lilac where they soar above a certain altitude.

It’s peaceful.
It’s peaceful, and it’s beautiful, and it’s perfect.

It’s perfect.
It’s everything he’s ever wanted.
Everything he’s fighting for.

Everything he’s ever fought for, from the fall of Vos to their arrival on Earth.

It’s perfect.

‘So why are we still fighting?!?!’

“Srap, no- Stop- Stop thinking, Primus damn it.” Thundercracker mutters to himself, pinching his olfactory ridge hard and biting his seeker fangs into his bottom lipplate. Those are dangerously treacherous thoughts.

Those are the kinds of thoughts that could get him deactivated on ground of betrayal to the Decepticons.

“Autobots! They’re here! From the West!” Thundercracker startles. He regains all that tension from before and maybe more, because this is it.

This is, potentially, where his spark stops spinning.

“Fraggin’ pit, they’re steaming it! They’re really quick! They’re- Oh Scrap!!!” There’s a deafening eruption from the west gate of the facility, not one that comes from lazer fire, or Prime’s cannon, or even one of Wheeljack’s crazy inventions.

No, that’s the sound of Sideswipe’s shoulder-mounted rocket launcher breaking through the secure perimeter.
Which means the twins are furious.
They’re on the warpath. They’re bloodthirsty.

They’re looking for him.

A cold chill grips Thundercracker’s spark and he freezes in position, trying to ignore the fact that he’s more terrified now than he ever has been throughout the war. In this moment, he’d rather face Megatron for treacherous thoughts than stare down the two most dangerous frontliners in this entire war.

Thundercracker had energon on his servos, but those two? That pair of spawn from the very pits themselves?
They had the energon of Decepticons drenched all over their frames.

“TC! What the frag are you doing?! ‘Screamer gave the signal!” Skywarp smacks his wing strut hard enough to send a jolt through his entire frame, and with a wince, he’s back to the present where time moves normally and he’s aware of the battle around him.

He’s not oblivious to the fact that Skywarp had obviously felt the burst of fear through the trinebond, nor that there’s this strange tension in Skywarp’s wings, almost like… Like he was concerned.

But Decepticons did not show concern, so it probably wasn’t that.
… Probably.

“I’m coming.” Physically, he shakes himself, as if shaking off the tension from his frame, and fires up his thrusters. Once a couple of centimetres off the ground, he transforms into alt mode and takes to the sky.

“Took you long enough!” Starscream snaps at him as pulls into formation, but for once, Thundercracker has no sarcastic response or snark to fire back. He has other things to worry about.

Like keeping track of the blobs of red and gold tearing their way through the battlefield with reckless abandon, heading towards the plateau behind the facility that they could springboard from to catch the seekers in the air.

No doubt Starscream is keeping watch too, knowing those jet-judoing nuisances were the biggest threat to the fliers.

Or at least, they should be…

“I’m hit! Goin’ down!” Smoke pouring from where one of his ailerons had been completely shot off, Dirge somehow manages to gain enough control to go down in a wonky spiral instead of a dive.

Once on the ground, he can fight as a foot soldier.
But there’s now a hole in their formation.

“Oh, scrap, it’s the sniper!” And there goes Thrust. With a little squeak, Ratbat moves closer, almost nestled under Thundercracker’s wing.

“This wasn’t part of the plan!”

“No, little one, it wasn’t…” Bluestreak was taking them out of the sky, one by one. Bluestreak was shooting at them.

Was- Was he trying to hit Thundercracker?
Was he trying to put him within reach of those miss-clocked twins that would tear him to scrap metal shreds?

… No. No, Bluestreak would never. Of that, Thundercracker was sure.
“Scatter! If the sniper aims for you, go low! He can’t shoot close distance!” Starscream’s order is followed by the fliers all going in different directions, except for one.

Scared, overwhelmed by his first ever raid, Ratbat sticks as close as he can to the only mech he knows will look out for him in a fight.

“TC, TC, what do we do?! I don’t wanna deactivate!” Feeling a pang of pity for the sparkling, Thundercracker sends a pulse of reassurance through his field. It’s rather amazing how he comes off as confident when he’s trying his hardest not to retreat.

He can still see those twins barreling his way, hanging around the shadow he casts on the ground and waiting, with hunger in their optics.

“It’s alright. We’re going to head towards the edges of the battle. Frenzy should be there. I’ll cover for you on the way over. Stick to me, okay?” Ratbat maybe takes that a little two seriously as he moves close enough for his clumsy little wings to flap against Thundercracker’s fuselage.

It’s a little annoying, but he can live with it.

“Execute manoeuvre 24.” Softly, so softly that he’s almost inaudible over the fighting below, Thundercracker gives the order and slowly starts to turn into a dive angled perfectly towards where he assumes Frenzy will be.

Whilst Rumble liked to get right into the middle of a fight, Frenzy preferred to cause mayhem on the outskirts, targeting Autobots that weren’t all too confident in battle.

“I see him!”

“Off you go, then.” Circling around to make sure Ratbat makes it safely to the other cassette, Thundercracker takes the opportunity to quickly observe the battlefield below.

From what he can tell, all the fliers asides from Starscream and himself are grounded, even Skywarp, which was one pit of an achievement for any sniper. Bluestreak’s next objective seems to be solely focused on Starscream, keeping him pinned in a small area over the centre of the battlefield.

Over the centre.

Far, far away from Thundercracker. And…

“Get down here, you overglorified tinfoil turkey!” The twins are no longer in his shadow, instead heading towards the thick rainforest area in the canyon just a short ways off. That’s when Thundercracker realises.

They’ve been steering him this way the entire time!
And Bluestreak was making sure he could slip away unseen!

It’s been entirely orchestrated.

Wriggling his wings with gratitude, which he’s sure Bluestreak can see with his excellent vision, he bursts towards the canyon and descends into the thick canopy nose-first. He doesn’t, however, descend to the jungle floor.

Rather, Thundercracker perches on a hefty branch, making sure to clear any vines out of the way in case he’s tackled by a certain someone with a jetpack. Landing on the ground in reach of Sunstreaker would be the stupider option. The Lamborghinis-

The… The Lamborghinis.
The cars.

He glances over at the sheer canyon walls around this dense jungle. Tall, rainforest trees stretch a third of the way up the smooth stone walls, but asides from a possible soft landing among foliage, there isn’t really any way for a grounder to get down.

Sideswipe has his jetpack, but would he really leave his twin to fume on the canyon cliffs?

“... How long am I going to have to wait?” With a vented sigh, he moves to sit on the branch properly, legs dangling off it and propping his chin in his servos. As time passes, he even begins to swing his pedes back and forth lightly. Not that he’s aware of it.

Moisture begins to bead on his frame. The evening has given way to night, and it’s almost pitch black down here. From where Thundercracker sits, he can just about see through the very top of the canopy, glimpsing flashes of stray lazerfire, and the glow of fire on the underside of pillars of smoke.

Seems like a pretty intense battle.
He wouldn’t be surprised if that fire was the facility itself going up in flames.

Megatron did have a habit of destroying everywhere he raided.

“At least I can’t be accused of abandoning the fight if it’s still underway.”

“You talk to yourself often?” Scrap! Thundercracker jolts as he whips around to look behind him, two pairs of blue optics emerging from the shadows that are somehow even darker than the jungle around him.

How- How hadn’t he noticed two frontliners approaching?!

The duo stalk up to his tree, Thundercracker slowly - cautiously - standing in case he needs to either take flight or fight back. He pushes one servo against a fairly strong but thin branch, causing the canopy to open for a slither of moonlight.

Sideswipe stands tall, pushing out his chassis with what could either be pride, or plain overconfidence. His servos rest on his hips, and he grins. But it is not a friendly grin. That is a dangerous grin. One full of malice, in a way that betrays how much he wants to draw the energon out of Thundercracker’s lines.

Sunstreaker doesn’t bother with falsities. He’s slightly hunched, ready to propel himself forwards. His arms are crossed, servos dripping with energon balled into tight fists as he holds himself back. His expression is in the middle of a snarl, sneer and distasteful frown. He wants to fight.

“Wow, Sunny, one question and the Decepticreep goes silent. Must be hard, being so socially inept that he only has himself to talk to.”

“What a weirdo.” They stalk forwards again. Thundercracker instinctively tries to take a step back, but his thruster slips on the edge of the branch he’s balanced on. His optics flicker to where a smaller branch cracks off and falls.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Righting himself, he’s well aware of Sideswipe snickering at the clumsy display and the nastily smug hint of a smirk on Sunstreaker’s lipplates. He can feel his cheekplates heat up a little, so thank Primus it’s dark.

“Definitely a weirdo. It’s a shame, really. I was hoping he’d at least be clever enough that he was tricking Blue, or that human woman and her… What was it Blue said? ‘Ugly-cute’ dog?”

“Buster’s not ugly, she’s perfect!” The jungle goes silent with Thundercracker’s shout. Seemingly stunned, the twins shutter their optics up at him. They genuinely seem caught off-guard. The longer they’re silent, the deeper Thundercracker’s flushed cheekplates get.

“Oh. Oh, wow. Um. Okay, I was just joking about the ‘socially inept’ thing, but, uh. Wow. He really is.”

“I’m not-... I mean. I-” He’s making a fool of himself, stuttering like a youngling with newly activated language protocols. Clearing his vocaliser, he tries again.

“Bluestreak would never call Buster ugly.” At least this time it comes out in a normal tone. He even glares for good measure. Then, shutters his optics.

“Also, she’s my dog. Not Marissa’s.” Another beat of silence. And then-

“He has to have processor damage. It’s not even worth beating him to scrap. Come on, Sides, we’ll just tell Bluestreak we don’t approve and he’ll get rid of this… Unfortunate Decepticreep.” And that-

That hurts.
More than anything else the golden twin could have said, could have done.
It hurts him like a suckerpunch to the bare spark because it was what he feared the most.

That Bluestreak would have to choose.
And the choice would never be him.

(And maybe because, in his own image, he was ‘unfortunate’.)

There’s only one way Thundercracker knows to cover up fear, to cover up pain, to hide everything that a Decepticon would- could- should consider weakness.

Anger.

“Don’t you dare!!!” He jumps from the tree, thudding into the ground heavily enough to seem like a very small sonic boom, sending fallen foliage rebounding off the forest floor in a wave. His turbines roar and his wings vibrate with his anger, matching the violent snarl on his faceplates.

He looks fearsome.

But the twins have never feared a seeker, no matter how high their flight or sharp their claws.

Fearsomeness was useless against fearlessness, and it was fearlessness that drove Sunstreaker forward on animalistic reflex, one servo slamming the seeker back against the tree by the throat cabling with pinpoint precision, whilst his other ripped both weapons off Thundercracker before he could even process what was happening.

“There are only two mechs keeping me from crushing your spark right here, right now, so do you really want to act brave or fight?” He’s so close that Thundercracker can feel the heat coming off his frame - a testament to his furious rage. Narrowed blue optics and an almost feral snarl is all he can see, and he knows.

Knows that Sunstreaker could deactivate him exactly as he said.
Without regret, without remorse.

His wings press back against the trunk, not caring for the harsh bark scratching his paint and squashed vines leaking strange organic… juice… over his frame. Unbeknownst to him, his optics have widened just the slightest.

But the most notable thing was how his spark pounded in its chamber, so hard that Thundercracker thought it was going to burst out by itself, saving Sunstreaker the trouble.

And when a spark pounded, it often increased energon flow. Sunstreaker’s snarl disappears for a split astrosecond into confusion, and then returns as a cold, cruel smirk. He can feel the increased energon flow through the neck cables he has a rough grip on, thumb digit over the main line.

“Guess you’re not a complete idiot, after all.” He leans in closer, dampening his vocaliser to a threatening whisper.

“You’re right to be scared.”

“I’m not-!” Thundercracker’s vocaliser crackles and shorts out with static. He resets it, trying to play off that he isn’t completely humiliated by that, although he knows full well that Sideswipe is laughing.

He can hear him giggling over the thrum of Sunstreaker’s engines.

“I’m not scared.”

“Uh-huh, yeah, sure. Anyways!” Sideswipe steps forwards, coming into view over Sunstreaker’s shoulder. Thundercracker tries to break free - to no avail - squirming in the tight grip around his throat and other servo gripping one of his wings tightly.

Then, bizarrely, Sunstreaker loosens his grip.

“What-...?” Having kicked away the torn off weapons, Sideswipe quite casually plonks himself on the ground next to Thundercracker’s pedes. He looks up with a grin, patting the spot next to him, the spot Thundercracker was standing over.

“Look, we made a promise to Blue that we wouldn’t absolutely mangle you until Old Buckethead called the retreat. Even then, we’re not allowed to deactivate you. So enjoy your last few moments of a functioning frame~.”

Oh.

Oh, that’s bad.

“What’s to stop me from flying away?” Sideswipe shrugs, jabbing a digit back in the direction of the fight. It’s still rife with the sounds of an ongoing war, and there’s still visible smoke from the fire making it blossom in the night sky.

Like a billowing cloud of destruction.
So different from the peaceful ones he had been observing earlier.

“You really wanna head back to the battle you deserted?”

“I didn’t-!”

“But you did. You did, and I don’t think your trineleader will take too kindly to that.”

“Or your faction leader, for that matter.” They’re right. They’re right, and there’s nothing Thundercracker can do but sink slowly to the ground with the nauseous feeling of guilt, regret, loneliness, and something else he can’t name.

Something… Complicated. He had abandoned the battle. He had abandoned his comrades!

What kind of Decepticon soldier did that?!

It was different if you weren’t command, it was different than Starscream’s cowardice or Megatron self-preservation. It was different, he knew that.

(Except it wasn’t.)

“I…” He goes to say something, anything to defend himself, but trails off in defeat. How could he possibly defend himself, when they were only telling the truth?

For a moment, he glances back in the direction of the battlefield. Then down at his pedes. Then back again. And all he has to remember is that Bluestreak is out there. Bluestreak, in the middle of the chaos, is fighting to give him a chance. The tiniest of smiles tugs at his lipplates, but his fights it down.

“No, Starscream and Megatron wouldn’t like it. They wouldn’t like… Anything that I’m doing.” The admission seems to win Sunstreaker over, and he sinks down on Thundercracker’s other side. Though he does lean back to pin Thundercracker’s wing into place.

“We’re still gonna beat you to scrap.” He frowns, but gives no further protest, instead shuttering his optics and letting out a long, slow vent of acceptance.

“That… Was always a risk. From the very moment I gave Bluestreak permission to tell you about me.”

“Huh-” Sideswipe chimes in from his right.

“- Maybe you’re not as stupid as we first thought.” A momentary pause before he turns his helm to meet Thundercracker’s optics, still grinning, but it’s less malicious now than it was before.

“Still stupid though.”

“And weird.”

“Yeah, I mean, what kinda Decepticreep has a human?”

“What kind of Deceptifreak has a dog?” Mildly annoyed, Thundercracker waits and simply looks to the ground whilst the twins pester him, back and forth between each other like a tennis match.

And yes, he had watched a tennis match.
Marissa had insisted.
And set up the film projector, projection screen, and ‘seating’ - tarp on the floor covered in blankets - so they couldn’t protest.

Bluestreak hadn’t enjoyed it very much, but he had been somewhat amused by Buster thinking the ball was real and chasing it across the screen to and fro until she was exhausted, curling up in Thundercracker’s lap.

He ex-vents softly at the memory file, then turns his attention back to the infamous warriors who were sitting next to him.

Waiting.
Hunting.

“- manipulated innocent organics for your own personal gain in some way or another, just like every other Decepticon, playing the long game to get to and manipulate and Autobot-.”

“I never manipulated them!!!” His roar echoes in the dark jungle - though thankfully nowhere near loud enough to reach the battlefield - bringing about an uncomfortable silence.

Sideswipe has moved quickly, servos on his weapons ready to take aim if need be. Sunstreaker is all tense, optics narrowed and intently focused on Thundercracker’s wings to stop him, whether he flees or attacks.

Venting hard to force his cooling fans to kick in because his anger had caused him to flush with heat, Thundercracker doesn’t move. That seems to relax the other two just a fraction.

Not completely, but enough to ensure he wasn’t about to be torn to shreds.

And then, with a shaky vocaliser, he fills the silence.

“Marissa likes tennis, gaudy horror films, and true crime shows. She has a soft spot for children despite never wanting any of her own. Her childhood dream was to be a spy or detective, but now she just wants a peaceful life. I just want a peaceful life.” He vents hard again.

“I didn’t manipulate her. If anything, she won me over with her sarcastic quips, fearless actions, and mostly sweet but sometimes bitter personality. And Buster… How could anyone manipulate Buster? She’s perfect. I would protect them both with my life because I love them. I love them.”

His admission stuns the terror twins, but he isn’t done there.

“And I love Bluestreak too. He’s my friend. He approached me, accepted me despite my numerous flaws and the war and helped me. I hope, in some way, I give back to him what he deserves, but I don’t think that’s capable. He’s amazing.”

“Uh- Yeah, yeah, Blue is amazing. But, uh, you’re not like, in love with him, are you?” Thundercracker’s faceplates scrunch up with pure disgust.

“What?! No! The only affections I have for him are strictly platonic! Pit, on top of the fact that I’m just not interested, he’s also so young. That is disgusting.”

“Oh, thank Primus!” Obviously, they’re very relieved, but Thundercracker can’t get the bad taste of the accusation out of processor. His tanks feel like they’ve twisted a little bit. Did they really think so lowly of him? That he would be… Predatory???

The only reason he doesn’t purge is because he’s instantly distracted by Sunstreaker glaring at him so closely that there’s almost contact.

“... Excuse me?”

“How old are you?” He can’t lean back because of the tree behind him. Honestly, it’s a little claustrophobic. Sunstreaker, however, just repeats his question more insistently.

“How. Old. Are. You?”

“Including the stasis on Earth?”

“No.” He pauses, counting it out with little flicks of his wings and twitches of his digits. In all honesty, he hadn’t really been keeping track of his age. Decepticons didn’t really celebrate creation days, so the information just… Faded into the background.

“I’m… Somewhere around 9 million stellar cycles.” To top off just how bizarre the evening has been, the twins snap their helms to each other with wide optics and a sudden jolt of surprise in their fields, the first thing he’s felt from them that isn’t bloodlust.

“Nine… Million?”

“Not nine billion, right? Not vorns or deci-vorns instead of stellar cycles?”

“Uh, no? Definitely stellar cycles. And million. That’s- That’s my age.” So, so confused, he tilts in his helm in confusion as the duo gawps at him, Sideswipe more visibly shocked and Sunstreaker curiously. It’s the latter who speaks first.

“And your trine?”

“I don’t have their permission to share that.”

“You do if you want to leave here with your spark whole.”

“They’re older than me. Good enough?” Sunstreaker gives the tiniest nod, crossing his arms a little tighter, digits digging into his pristine plating. Which, again, Thundercracker doesn’t really understand.

Nor does he have any hint of a reason why Sideswipe has started pacing back and forth in the clearing, muttering to himself and on the verge of… Frantic.

“One last question. Which Decepticons, if any, are younger than you?”

“Ratbat. And obviously the stunticons.” Sunstreaker echoes the ‘obviously’ slowly and quietly, seeming unsure. In the background, Sideswipe takes a deep invent, clapping his servos to a face and demanding he ‘get a grip!’ before he comes over to his twins side, leaning over to meet Thundercracker optic-to-optic.

He isn’t quite looming, but it’s definitely an intrusion of personal bubble.

“I need to know exactly when you joined the Decepticons. And this doesn’t count as question because I’m demanding it.” That doesn’t seem like something that needs demanding, in Thundercracker’s opinion, neither is it dangerous to share. It is, after all, something that happened far too long ago to be of relevance.

“The standard 3 million stellar cycles. Give or take a quartex or two.” Again with the stunned silence. One of Sideswipe’s orbital ridges twitches repeatedly. Sunstreaker frowns so hard that it almost looks like the beginnings of a pout.

“Standard. Three. Million?” Sideswipe’s voice comes out unnaturally high pitched. It’s rather funny, but Thundercracker dare not laugh in case it’s taken as an incentive to attack.

“... Yes? I don’t- I don’t understand why you’re so… Hm. Intrigued? By this?” Sunstreaker pinches at his olfactory ridge with a long, exhausted ex-vent. Sideswipe backs off with a disturbingly unhinged giggle.

“Holy fuck, Sunny, I think half my processor just blew!” With an alarmingly casual vented sigh, Sunstreaker gently swats the back of Sideswipe’s helm.

“As if you had half a processor to blow…” The quiet comment isn’t meant for Thundercracker to hear, but it’s not hidden from him either. It’s… Affectionate, almost. Thundercracker remembers saying the same thing to Skywarp, on more than one occasion.

It’s a private moment.
Or at least, it is in the Decepticons. Were the Autobots openly as soft and mushy as rumour told, or was-

Was he in the wrong?
Was teasing and affection and caring... Normal?

…

No, obviously not! The Autobots were just naïve, soft-sparked, and weak! There was nothing wrong with the Decepticon way of interaction!

“Listen.” Thundercracker is brought out of his musings, having been staring at a random leaf on the ground with mild shock, by Sunstreaker squatting down in front of him, arms crossed over his knees.

“You… Your age… Nine million.. Hold on, let me think of how to word this.” Nodding, Thundercracker shrinks back a little bit, forcing his wings to neutral position so he doesn’t betray that he’s searching for any kind of escape he can find.

This whole situation is Uncomfortable, with a capital U.

Sideswipe, on the other servo, doesn’t give a flying turborat’s aft about giving Sunstreaker time to think about what he’s going to say. He grabs his twin by the shoulder pauldrons and pushes him to the side easily.

“You’re only just older than us! You’re a first-stage full-frame!” Snarling, Thundercracker scrambles to his pedes, baring his fangs and stretching out his wings in intimidation.

“I’ve been a soldier longer than you’ve been sparked, Autodolt!”

“Oh yeah? How young do you think we are?!” And that grinds Thundercracker to a halt. How old does he think they are?

Well, older than the intelligence reports, but those are official, so they can’t be wrong.

“You’re- You’re 5 million stellar cycles. That’s why you only appeared on the battlefield two million ago.” The golden and red duo break into laughter. But whilst Sideswipe’s is loud, like he’s just heard the funniest thing in the universe, Sunstreaker’s is nearing a cackle with bitterness.

“We’re eight million. The standard recruitment age for an army is 6 million. That, traditionally, is the legal age of free choice without coercement. That’s when a mechling is considered responsibly enough to make their own decisions, and reject influences they don’t agree with. Three million? You were half that when someone lured you to the Decepticons.”

“Nobody lured me! I made the decision myself!”

“How?! Who told you about the Decepticons, who fed you their lies of peace, who convinced you they were worth fighting for?! Because 6 million years ago, they were already corrupt! Optimus made it very clear that the ‘Cons rose for a noble cause, but that was quickly discarded in greed and power!”

“B-Because… Because!” Venting hard, Thundercracker can feel himself curling around his frame, pulling in as if to protect his chestplates, protect his spark from the ferocious frontliner who had just become aggressive, one he couldn’t fight because this was someone Bluestreak cared about dearly.

And in that moment, he just wants them to back off.
He feels crowded, he feels cornered, he feels… Vulnerable.

“Because there was no-one else around in Vos!” He shouts it. He shouts it at the same volume Sunstreaker has been shouting at him, but all that answers is silence.

Too late, he realises he’s been too truthful.
Regret floods him.

“I- I didn’t say that. I never said that.” The tense silence remains, hanging in the air between them. Then, softly, Sideswipe breaks it.

“You were a youngling alone in the ruins of a city. They- The Decepticons were the relief effort, weren’t they? Because Megatron knew Sentinel Prime would loathe if they were painted the heroes once more.”

“Pretend I never said anything. Erase it from your memory files.”

“No-can-do, mech! Hey, if it’s any consolation, this kinda inclines us to allow your friendship with Blue. Thought, just so you know, he is a little younger than us. Seven and a half million instead of a full eight.”

“...Huh?” The very intelligent sound elicits another round of laughter from Sideswipe, and even Sunstreaker’s lipplates twitch up momentarily.

“Your intelligence reports are shit.”

“Absolute horseshit, to be precise~.”

“If all the ‘Cons reports are based on assumptions and lies, it’s no wonder you’re all stupid.” Before Thundercracker can argue back or defend himself, there’s a lapse in lazerfire and loud roar from the battlefield.

It’s the sound of many flight-capable mechs taking off at the same time.
It’s the sound of retreat.

Thundercracker knows he should be among them. He knows he should fire up his thrusters, follow his brethren into the skies and back to the Nemesis. But he hesitates.

(He knows what happens to those who desert the battlefield. He’s seen the mangled frames in the med-bay, heard the pleas to stop through solid walls, cleaned up the puddles of energon afterwards. He’s watched mechs shuffle around lifeless and paranoid for weeks after.)
(He’d experienced it himself, once. He hadn’t made the mistake since.)

Besides, he didn’t want to betray the chance that Bluestreak had given him. Nor the bewildering chance that the terror twins seemed to have given him.

Standing rigidly straight and balling his servos into fists, he takes a deep-invent and pushes his cockpit out with false bravado.

“Destroy my thruster and wings. My anti-gravs are in my ankle joint. If you tear the line behind my cockpit, it’ll take my gyroscopic senses offline. Make it so I had reason to not be in the fight.” Sideswipe seems to hesitate before he nods sincerely, understanding the request. Sunstreaker, opposite to his twin, cracks his knuckle joints with excitement and steps in menacingly. He’s been wanting to attack the seeker since they made contact.

“Finally.”

Thundercracker closes his optics and shuts off his vocaliser.
This… Is going to hurt.

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe you!” Bluestreak paces back and forth, huffing and puffing as his doorwings flick continuously, to the point that they look like they’re flapping.

“I can’t believe you!!!” He screeches to a halt as he repeats it, turning to face those that he’s lecturing, servos on hips and looming over them. Sideswipe sinks down further on the sofa in Bluestreak’s quarters, with a forced, nervous giggle. Sunstreaker grunts, guiltily averting his optics.

“I trusted you to stick to just roughing him up, because you were angry and jealous, but you put him in the med-bay?!”

“He asked for it, Blue…”

“I wouldn’t care if he had ‘hit me’ painted on his aft!!! Which he didn’t, so there was no written permission for you two to go so far, and you went waaaaay too far! Ratchet told Prowl that he’s not even considering letting TC go to the brig. Do you know how badly you have to be hurt for Ratchet to keep a high ranking Decepticon out of the brig, where we also have full treatment available?!”

“Blue, Blue, no, Blue, he literally asked for it. Gave us a list.”

“Better we beat him than Megatron.” Bluestreak stops. Resets his vocaliser. His face scrunches up with dislike for the situation, but then he deflates, doorwings flopping downwards with a sad acceptance.

“I guess… Jazz did say that those who skipped battles were often sighted days later as still worse off than those who fought in them. I don’t-... I don’t like what you did to TC, and you’re going to have to earn my forgiveness rather than just getting it, but I guess I see why you did it.”

“Trust us, Blue, we… Kinda didn’t want to beat him up as much as we originally did.” Bluestreak shutters his optics. That’s a big thing for Sideswipe to admit, especially since it refers to both his friends. Their shared sparks let them communicate even without comms, so they must have decided that during the conversation.

“You and ‘Bee held us back enough that we didn’t attack immediately. And, after a little chat that revealed some pretty disturbing things, I only wanted to hurt him enough that he’d remember it and be wary. Not- Not the original damage I wanted to do.”

“Hnnnnmghn.” The strange noise Bluestreak makes is both contemplative, and reeling back in his anger. He takes a few slow, heavy vents to calm himself.

“Okay. Okay! Tell me about this talk. I wanna know what changed your minds so dramatically, since you’re both as stubborn as dubnium donkeys, and have been obsessively attacking any seeker you encounter for the past 39 days.”

And so they do.
They relay every word said, every gesture made, even the ones that don’t paint them in a good light because they’re honest with Bluestreak. It’s important to him, and them, that they’re open with each other and communicate fully.

“- and that’s when you arrived with Ratchet to shoot us with tranquilisers - my aft is still numb, by the way - effectively ending the interaction.” Bluestreak sits on his own berth, servos on his ankles as his legs are crossed, and he grips them tighter, vents hitching. His optics are wet too, but the fluid hasn’t spilled over yet.

“He’s really been stuck with the Decepticons for that long…? Just because they were the ones who walked around in the ruins of Vos, pretending to help?!”

“I don’t think he realised, Blue. All he would have known is that Autobot missiles destroyed Vos, and the Decepticons were right there. He may have mistaken them as looking for survivors instead of trying to boost their own public image.”

“Not to mention trauma bonding.” Sideswipe and Bluestreak look over to Sunstreaker with alarm. He’s strangely thoughtful, faceplates pinched in introspection. When he realises they’re looking at him, he explains.

“Think about it. Jazz plucked you from Praxus and due to that, Prowl was the first Praxian you encountered. Now, they’re raising you. Sides and I were saved from the gladiatorial pits by an Autobot team including Ratchet and Ironhide. Of all the older Autobots, they’re the closest to us, Prowl and Wheeljack secondary because of how much time we spent with them as we adjusted.” He pauses, letting the facts sink in.

“Doesn’t it make sense that Thundercracker would have instantly latched on to the first Decepticon he encountered out of desperation, or the first seeker due to familiarity? Especially that young.”

“Oh, pit, it really does.” Sideswipe sits up straight with the realisation, but Bluestreak only tightens the grip of his servos on his ankle joints.

“I hate Sentinel Prime. If he hadn’t-! If Vos hadn’t been bombed by his special forces in the first place, then TC might not be a Decepticon!”

“That’s a strong ‘might’. Don’t forget that his trinemates are there too.”

“I- I know, but… If TC had been free to make the choice himself, without the destruction of Vos, without relying on the Decepticons to help him afterwards, without encountering Starscream and Skywarp… I don’t think he would have chosen to be a Decepticon at all. He gives me the impression of being so much better than any of them!”

“That doesn’t mean he would have been an Autobot with us.”

“I know! I’m just- I’m just tired of watching the people I love suffer!” Bluestreak moves his servos to rapidly wipe at his faceplates, where the building fluid has finally overspilled his optics, and now, it doesn’t seem to want to stop as he lightly sobs.

“I’m tired of ‘Bee getting hurt on Spec Op missions! I’m tired of you-” He looks up at Sideswipe.

“-getting targeted by seekers because you have a jet pack! I’m tired of you-” His gaze switches to Sunstreaker.

“- coming back barely functioning because you get mentally lost in battle!” He chokes out a much harder sob, his emotions starting to drown him a little.

“And I’m so tired - so, so tired! - of hearing TC say really concerning things that he thinks are normal! Of him starving repeatedly and originally suspecting I would poison any cube I offered! Of- Of the look on his faceplates whenever he has to go back…” Bluestreak buries his faceplates in his servos, muffling his last add-on of;

“I’m tired of not being able to stop all of you from hurting.”

“Oh, Bluestreak…” Sunstreaker moves first, fluidly standing from the sofa and stepping towards the berth, but Sideswipe reaches him first by simply launching himself forwards without care for how his knees smack against the edge of the berth or pedes scuff on the ground.

Tightly, Sideswipe squeezes him in a hug around the waist, whilst Sunstreaker wraps his arms around Bluestreaker’s shoulders and pulls him in to rest a helm against his chassis.

“It’s not your responsibility, Bluestreak.” His quiet, sympathetic murmur encompasses all Sideswipe is trying to babble through his own weeping tears, though Bluestreak can only really make out ‘-not your fault-’ repetitively.

“B-But I-!”

“But nothing. What happens to each of us is our own decisions, or unfortunate circumstances. The ‘fault’, as Sides won’t shut up about, lies with either ourselves, or those that attack us.” Sideswipe sharply invents, the sound wet and hideous.

“Yeah, Blue! It’s-! You can’t always save us, but you make us feel safe.” He looks up at Bluestreak with nothing but honesty (and fluid) in his optics.

“You make us feel safe.” The soft reassurance is all it take for Bluestreak to come undone. He lets out a small, quivering sound - like a whimper - before it cuts off with a hard sob.

And then, he wails.

The twins both pull him in closer, tighter, his cries muffled against Sunstreaker’s chassis and Sideswipe wriggling upwards so he can rub a servo up and down his back, mindful of his drooping, twitching doorwings. Sunstreaker softly vents a sigh, muttering a soft “It’s okay, it’s okay,”, brushing his thumb digit over the back of Bluestreak’s helm soothingly, even though it’s obviously not okay.

It’s not okay that they keep getting hurt.
And not just them and Bluestreak’s Decepticon friend.

It’s not okay that the special ops team regularly comes back with torn metal from Ravage’s fangs and the cassette condors talons.
It’s not okay that the minibots are frequently stomped on, run over, or thrown from height just because of their tossable size.
It’s not okay that Ironhide is constantly having limbs and joint replaced, it’s not okay that Trailbreaker has to burn through his energon reserves so rapidly that it leaves him woozy, it’s not okay that Optimus has to dedicate his gentle, loving spark to fighting a warmonger.

It’s not okay that Ratchet has to stressfully count all available repair parts and pinch at his olfactory ridge in disguised fear after each battle.

Nothing about this war is okay.

But the twins don’t say that out loud.

“Feeling better…?” With a soft sniffle, Bluestreak lifts his helm from Sunstreaker’s chassis, wiping at his optical fluid with the palm of his servo. He nods, then guiltily looks away from Sunstreaker.

“Sorry I cried all over you. I ruined your paint job…”

“My paint job was already ruined.” Bluestreak glances him over, noting that he’s still scuffed from the defensive wounds Thundercracker instinctively landed on him, still smeared with energon that could belong to either him, Sideswipe, or TC, and absolutely covered in smushed grass and wet leaves.

“You haven’t gone to the wash racks yet?! Sunny, that’s disgusting! Look at all this jungle juice all over you! You’re covered in sap and leaky plant stuff and mud! You look like you did a crash course on one of Bumblebee’s video games. Uh, the gorilla one! Kong!”

“Donkey Kong?” Sideswipe chimes in a grin, and Bluestreak points at him with a larger, less cheeky smile.

“Yeah, that one! Like the jumping over barrels and swinging on vines level. You both look like you’ve been through it.” Sunstreaker’s faceplates screw up a little with disgust as he observes the muck all over his frame, whilst Sideswipe shamelessly shrugs.

“What were we s’pposed to do? You darted us in the aft, dragged us back in OP’s trailer, an’ then confronted us as soon as we were online again.” Bluestreak’s cheekplates start to fill with colour. He flusters, hopping from the berth and turning to face them, waving his servos around like he’s trying to wave away the embarrassment floating on the fringes of his field.

“W-Well I thought you’d lost control! Even Ratchet told me to sedate you! He said you were close to doing permanent damage. I couldn't let that happen, not just because TC’s one of my best friends, but because I knew you’d feel guilty about it afterwards. Pretty long afterwards, but still afterwards!”

“That’s… True.” Sunstreaker crosses his arms, tilting his helm with a half-frown. He then continues;

“But I would like to get clean now, if that’s okay?” At the same time as Bluestreak laughs heartily and nods, Sideswipe launches himself at his brother, bringing him crashing down to the floor with an enthusiastic ‘Neverrrr!’.

Incidentally, this leads to the two playfighting right there on Bluestreak’s habsuite floor. Watching them, Bluestreak feels warm. His spark spins with contentedness, comfortable with how loved he is, and how much he loves in return. He pauses for a moment, going unnaturally quiet.

At the odd silence, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker pause mid-battle, Sideswipe with his pede in his twins abdomen and Sunstreaker with fist raised above his helm.

“... Blue?”

“Yoohoo, Bluestreak? You okay?” His doorwings give a sudden flick as he stands up straighter.

“I wanna go see TC.” There’s a momentary pause where the duo processes what he’s just said. And whilst Sideswipe is accepting -

“Okay. So go do it!”

- Sunstreaker is the voice of reason.

“I think we need to wait a while. The Medbay is heavily guarded at the moment, and I highly doubt security will lesson when he’s out of stasis. Do you really want to risk exposing that you’ve befriended a Decepticon to everyone? Because there’s a few I can think of that won’t be so accepting. They may even take it out on the ‘Con himself.”

Bluestreak slowly sits down on the sofa behind him, doorwings drooping deeper each passing astrosecond. He clenches and unclenches his servos as if gripping for an excuse or solution.

“That just sounds like we need a distraction~.” Two pairs of optics turn to Sideswipe, standing tall with servos on hips and pushing his chassis out with pride. Bluestreak’s optics widen and flicker with hope. Sunstreaker’s narrow with an exhausted expression.

“No.”

“Aww, c’mon, Sunny!”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s the perfect tiiiiiiime~.”

“And who’s going to have to take half responsibility and clear up after you?!” Sideswipe doesn’t answer that one, which is telling in and of itself, but he does give Sunstreaker the cutest look he can muster, begging for permission.

Sunstreaker winces.

“That’s so disturbing. And ugly. Never do that again.” Sideswipe grins. Then does it again.

“Sides, stop!” Catching on, Bluestreak mirrors it, standing next to Sideswipe and smushing their cheeks together.

“Sunny, please? I don’t know what Sides has planned, but I really wanna see TC. Please? He’s hurt, Sunny, someone should be there when he comes online!” Sunstreaker’s optical ridge twitches. Bluestreak and Sideswipe share an excited grin.

Got him.

“Fine. Fine! I’ll… Participate. On ONE condition.” He pauses for dramatic effect, before pointing at Sideswipe.

“Never make that hideous expression again, I can’t believe we’re split-sparks, and you go and get the stuff.”

“YES!” Punching the air in excitement, Sideswipe tears out of the room and immediately transforms in the corridor, racing off. Sunstreaker is quick to shout after him.

“Find me in the wash-racks!” There’s a distinct squeal of Sideswipe’s tyres turning a corner, followed by a faint shout of annoyance from Windcharger - who was obviously down that way - and Sunstreaker vents a weary sigh.

Having the single processor chip of his friend group was exhausting.

Whilst he’s standing in the doorway, question his inability to turn down Sideswipe’s mischief, he’s caught off guard by arms wrapping around him from behind. Bluestreak squeezes tightly, pressing his cheek into Sunstreaker’s back.

“Thank you, Sunny.” Grateful beyond words, Bluestreak gives one last (suffocating) squeeze before letting go. He can feel Sunstreaker’s bashfulness in the heat of his plating.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it…” As the golden twin strides off after his more chaotic brother, Bluestreak closes his berthroom door and giddily flaps his doorwings and swallows back a squeal.

Primus, he loves his friends so much.

Cycling his vents to calm down, Bluestreak flops back onto his berth. Then pulls a face at something sticky on his back.

“... Ew. Plant juice.” Maybe he should ask Hound what ‘plant juice’ actually is, because Bluestreak doubts that it is juice. He still remembers the time Carly brought a very large leaf she called Aloe Vera into the base. When she’d snapped it in half - something about needing the inside to put on her sunburn - it was gooey and slimy and stretched as she pulled the halves apart.

It had been downright disgusting, and the Autobots present in the room had reacted with such repulsion that Carly had never let them live it down.

(Okay, so maybe it was hilarious that Tracks had run out the room gagging, Mirage had turned himself invisible, Cliffjumper had leapt onto the back of a seat, and Red Alert had crashed. And it was definitely hilarious that Prime had frozen in place before quietly asking her to remove the ‘big… goo… Thing’.)

A slightly devious grin stretches across Bluestreak’s faceplates. Sure, the entire Autobot army had been terrorized by Carly and ‘Bee then showing everyone the aloe vera slimy-gooey-gross trick, but a certain someone had escaped such consequence.

Thundercracker would have no idea what Aloe Vera was.

That was worth mentioning to Sideswipe, at least. Hopefully, it would work as some kind of making-friends-and-getting-closer technique! If Thundercracker was truly able to put up with Skywarp as a trinemate - who’s idea of pranks were mean, nasty, and could get others seriously hurt - then surely he’d appreciate a harmless, funny bit of mischief?

Then again, maybe he wouldn’t.
Maybe it would be a sour reminder of his trine.

… Or maybe Bluestreak was being too hopeful, thinking too far ahead. After all, Thundercracker was only here because he was in desperate need of a med-bay and the Decepticons had abandoned him.

They hadn’t even waited to see if he was anywhere around when they retreated!
Did they even realise?! Did they even care?!

As much as Bluestreak wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt - because battles were chaotic and retreats were desperate - the little angry, selfish part of himself didn’t want to show the Decepticons any kindness whatsoever.

They had left him behind.
In the servos of the ‘enemy’, greatly wounded.

And by the sounds of it, Thundercracker had chosen to be torn apart, asked to be attacked by the jet-judoing twin terrors, rather than return to the Nemesis.

It wasn’t…
It couldn’t be…
No, could it…?

“Oh, please let this be a permanent decision…”

Because to Bluestreak, it sure sounded that way.

“... No, no, TC wouldn’t do something that drastic on the spot. Definitely not! He likes to plan! … But what if this is a plan? What if he’s been planning this for a while, or if he just needed an excuse and we gave him that by leading him away from the main battle? What if-?” Bluestreak pauses, trying not to get too excited, knowing that he’s talking himself into this.

“What if he wants to get away from the Decepticons…?” No, no, that was more unlikely than anything else. If Thundercracker was anything, it was loyal. Maybe not to Megatron, maybe not to any level of mayhem or violence, but certainly to the cause.

He’d made it very clear - in one of their uncomfortable discussions before they banned war talk - that he was adamant on completely removing functionalism and frame discrimination, whatever it may take.

(Bluestreak had tried to explain that the Autobots were also anti-functionalist after Optimus took charge, and that Megatron was corrupt, he really had! But that had almost blossomed into an argument. Something neither of them wanted.)

“Okay, I gotta stop counting my copper-chickens before they hatch! I’m a ‘Bot, TC’s a ‘Con, and that’s probably not gonna change any time soon. But!!! I can still visit him now!” He leaps to his pedes, then slowly sits back down, sheepish.

“Now after Sides says it’s okay~.” So he sits, and waits.

And waits.
… And waits.

And waits.

Just at the moment he lets out an impatient vent of air, there’s a manic cackle from the distance followed by a distinctive roar of;

“SIDESWIPE!!!” There’s a squeal of a sports car whizzing by his door.

“Go, go, go, go go!” That’s the signal! By the time Bluestreak has made it to his berthroom door, Sideswipe has long gone. There’s another, heavier screech of tyres at the end of the corridor and then Ironhide races past - much slower but fueled by fury.

Much brighter, too.
Neon coloured tie-dye paint was a good look on him.

“I’ll fraggin’ paint ya glow-in-the-dark and slap a cowbell on ya, ya frellin’ nuisance!” Ironhide doesn’t even notice Bluestreak sneakily heading the way he’s just come from, instead chasing Sideswipe - who must have got his servos on some paint powder and water bombs.

Again.

Humming cheerfully, Bluestreak takes the quieter corridors towards the med-bay, stopping only to say a bright ‘hello!’ to the rare mech he passes. It’s less suspicious if he acts like his normal self.

“So with Ironhide distracted, the only guard left is…” Quickly peeking around the corner, he makes direct optic contact with Prowl. With a meek ‘eep!’, he jolts backwards, before stepping out into full view shyly.

“Hiiii, Prowl…~” The corners of Prowl’s lipplates twitch upwards the slightest, but it’s the humorous flicker of his doorwings that betrays his playful emotion.

“When sneaking around a corner, Bluestreak, it is wise to remember the width of your frame.” The light tease is enough to bring a bright flush to Bluestreak’s cheekplates.

“I wasn’t that bad, was I?”

“One of your doorwings was fully on display, as was a section of your pauldron, and your pede was visible too.”

“Aw, shucks.” Prowl chuckles softly, turning to face Bluestreak fully. He frowns, optical ridges drawing together. Then, hesitantly, he reaches out and peels something away from Bluestreak’s chassis. The mechling squints at it, then laughs.

“A fern leaf! That must be from when I hugged Sunny!” One of Prowl’s optical ridges raises.

“Sunstreaker, who is currently dragging Ratchet to the common room to refuel, since he has been in surgery for the past 8 hours?” Bluestreak winces at the reminder of just how long TC has been undergoing operation after operation, repair after repair.

“Yeah, that Sunstreaker. Tooootally not planned, or anything!” Prowl gives him an expression of disappointment. Before Bluestreak can leap to his own defence - or that of the twins - the tactician vents an amused huff, shaking his helm lightly.

“Go on. You won’t be alone, but you can see him.” Instantly brightening up, Bluestreak wiggles his wings with gratitude and then goes to grab Prowl in a hug.

He’s abruptly stopped by a servo to the forehelm, holding him back.

“No physical contact until you’ve washed.” Glancing back down, Bluestreak makes note that he’s a little smeared with whatever came off Sunstreaker and Sideswipe whilst they were comforting him.

It’s only a blotch or smudge here and there, but it’s still messy enough that Prowl doesn’t want to be touched.

“Got it! Thanks, Prowl!” As the med-bay doors swoosh open, Bluestreak realises what Prowl meant by not being alone.

Optimus Prime is perched in a comedically too-small chair next to the berth across from the recovery section that a curtain is wrapped around. He looks up with a calm field that displays his warm smile.

“Good morning, Bluestreak. I was expecting you to pop in at some point~.”

“Hi, Prime! Wow, morning already? It feels like the battle was only a couple of hours ago.”

“Indeed. Time passes quickly in the relief of a battle being over.” Nodding, Bluestreak tries to inch closer to the medical curtain. Thundercracker must be behind there! He must be! It’s the only occupied berth.

Optimus laughs, in a gentle, friendly manner. Then, he extends a servo towards the curtain.

“Go ahead, don’t let me being here stop you. I may even slip out to watch the sunrise whilst he has company.” Bluestreak dips his helm with respectful gratitude. Although it might not be anything huge - Optimus always loved to watch the sunrise, they all knew this - it meant so much that he was leaving Bluestreak alone with an injured Decepticon.

It meant he trusted Thundercracker.
That was huge.

“I hope it’s a beautiful one!” With a casual wave, Optimus eases himself from the chair (which rises with him and falls off his aft as he stands) and leaves the room. His deep, rumbling voice can still just about be heard, which means he’s talking to Prowl.

Probably asking him to warn him if Ratchet or Ironhide come back unannounced.

“TC?” Pulling back the curtain, Bluestreak steps in to the berthside area. His vents still. Despite looking so much better than how he had the last time Bluestreak saw him, Thundercracker is covered in medical scars and welds. They litter his body like macabre confetti.

“Oh, TC…” For once, he is lost for words. Bluestreak creeps closer, running his optics over the newly closed injuries and feeling guiltier with each one.

It had been his plan to let the twins confront Thundercracker during a battle. Maybe if he’d called TC to the meeting place instead - or if they’d even met on a patrol! - then he wouldn’t have had to resort to asking to be wounded so horrifically.

If it had been anywhere else, Thundercracker wouldn’t have needed the excuse of being mauled and captured to explain his absence.

“D’n’t… Blame… Y’rself…” His optics flicker up from a particularly gruesome weld on the turbine fans to weakly opened, scarlet optics.

“TC!” He bolts forwards, grasping one of his black servos between both of his own, holding it gently as the Seeker onlines. As if that does something that makes it easier to cope, Thundercracker lets out a long, slow vent. He shutters his optics off again, frame going lax as he sinks into the med-bay berth.

It’s soft. Warm. Comfortable. Nothing like the Decepticon berths, or the operating table he’d expected to online upon. Thundercracker relaxes just a little too much, spurning Bluestreak to give his servo a panicked squeeze.

“TC?!”

“M’okay.” Bluestreak’s vents open to let a whoosh of air, relieved that his friend is merely sinking into his recovery berth rather than-

No, he doesn’t want to think about it. Doesn’t want to even think about thinking about it. The idea was too devastating.

“That’s a relief! You’ve been here such a long time that I was starting to get really worried, though I’m pleased that you’re in a recovery berth rather than an operating one.”

“Reco…Very?”

“Mhm~! It means all your wounds have been tended to! There might be a little more fine-tuning Ratchet needs to do, but nothing big, or scary, or crucial.” One optics lightly flickers on before it squints in the bright light of the med-bay and shutters off again. Thundercracker’s wings twitch towards discomfort, so Bluestreak takes away one of his servos to gently turn down the lights above the berth.

“That better?”

“Mhm. Th’nks.”

“Don’t force yourself to do anything though. I don’t think you’ve been out of surgery long. You need to rest! Rest and recover!” A small smile crosses Bluestreak’s faceplates at the slight nod Thundercracker gives, his mumble of probably-agreement too quiet to be properly heard.

Not his fault.
He’s probably sore and exhausted.

They sit in silence for a short moment, Bluestreak never letting go of Thundercracker’s servo. His other servo fusses over the curtain, making sure it’s closed to block out the light from the main med-bay area. Then, out of nowhere, Thundercracker speaks.

“We don’t… We don’t have reco-covery at b-base… S’just get f’xed ‘nd go.” His vocaliser is still cloaked with pain and exhaustion, but Bluestreak notes that it’s a little clearer than earlier.

Then, he processes what Thundercracker just said.
And frowns.

“Well, that’s just bad protocol! Ratchet says that nobody leaves his med-bay until they’ve been fully tended to, had a maintenance check, a full scan, and been cleared by a medical professional. Which, well, is either him or First Aid. But the point is that nobody leaves until they’ve recovered.”

And oh, how Bluestreak’s spark clenches when Thundercracker’s olfactory sensor scrunches up with confusion.

“You use… That many resources?” There’s a small bit of static on the ‘c’ and ‘s’ constants, but other than that, he’s clearly coming to, improving with each sentence. Bluestreak nods vigorously.

“It’s essential that health comes first. If we need any more resources, well… We improvise what we can’t obtain from humans. It’s worked so far!”

“Hmm.” The little hum of disbelief - not disbelief in Bluestreak, but disbelief that mechs are treated how they should be - breaks his spark a little more. Without really thinking, he moves his thumb digit back and forth over the back of Thundercracker’s servo, like Sunstreaker had done to his helm earlier.

“You’ll see. You’ll leave here feeling better than ever before!”

“I have been captured before, you know?” Grinning, Bluestreak leans over so his shadow falls over Thundercracker’s exasperated expression.

“True, but bad enough that you weren’t in the brig?”

“Mhmm, fair point. Only once before this, and my release was bargained before repairs were complete.”

“... You- You were fixed back on your own base, afterwards, right? Because I can’t see Ratchet letting you go without medical attending being included in your negotiations.”

“Fixed? Yes. Recovered? There’s no time or need for that. Decepticons can handle pain until our self-repair systems take care of it.” Bluestreak feels his faceplates scrunch up, but he must not ease the grimace off quick enough because he hears Thundercracker snicker before it cuts off with a short, silent wince.

“Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to make you laugh -”

“Blue-”

“ - you must be in a lot of pain right now, I should have been more considerate - ”

“Bluestreak-”

“ - do you need anything? Any pain patches? Any sensor dullers? Do you want me to call Ratchet back? It’s pretty easy - ”

“Bl-”

“ - All you have to do is press this button and it sets off a patient request blip, I can press it for you and scatter before he - ”

“Bluestreak!” The (only slightly louder than talking) shout breaks Bluestreak off mid-ramble, his pointer digit nanometers away from a blue button by the berthside. He tilts his helm in question whilst Thundercracker vents steadily to chase away the ache all over his frame.

“You don’t- You don’t need to do that. I’m… Okay.” Clearly he isn’t, but he’s too big, bad, Decepticon to admit it. Honestly! Rolling his optics, Bluestreak drops his servo, putting both his servos on his hips.

“If you think for a single astrosecond that you are ‘okay’, I’m going to hook you up to a full scan monitor to prove otherwise.” This time, it’s Thundercracker who rolls his optics.

“I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve had… Worse. Than this. Uh, before.” Bluestreak’s cheekplates puff out with annoyance.

“Oh, like that’s reassuring! I don’t care how much worse you’ve had it before - which is super concerning and we will be talking about it later - ”

“We won’t.”

“ - we will be talking about it later, but I’m concerned about you right here and right now. If you can tell me, honestly, that you’re not in any pain at this moment, then I’ll stop worrying.” Bluestreak keeps his servos on his hips, frowning sternly at the Decepticon.

Thundercracker tellingly averts his optics and remains silent.

“Uh-huh, yeah. That’s what I thought. So you let me worry, ‘kay? And you lie down and rest!”

“I am lying down…” The grumpy protest doesn’t sound too far off a petulant whine. That’s enough to make Bluestreak soften his frown, and then let it twitch to a wobbly smile.

“I was scared, y’know. When I saw Sunny and Sides attacking you, I thought they’d lost control. That Berserker had made an appearance, or that ‘Bee and I weren’t enough to keep their tempers from slipping. I thought they were going to… to-...” He cuts himself off. His optics feel damp. His spark feels heavy. It feels like there’s a blockage in his main fuel line.

“Hey.” He looks up, not realising he’d even dipped his helm. Weakly - tired from surgery and still hurt all over - Thundercracker reaches for one of Bluestreak’s servos again. His digits only brush it, but Bluestreak instinctively takes it in his own.

Bumblebee has the same shy way of asking for physical reassurance or comfort.

“I’m oka-... I’m not okay, per se, but I will be. And I don’t blame them.”

“Neither do I, but… It could have been bad so easily.”

“Mhm. Could have. But you were there. Saw the tranqs hit them before I went under. Only you could have made that shot.” Bluestreak vents a sigh, glancing along the length of Thundercracker’s frame.

“I know. I just wish I’d gotten there sooner. I regret not being closer to your location during battle so I could get there before you were this badly torn apart.”

“Not that bad.” A stern look. He tries again.

“... Not… The worst?” A nod.

“Not the worst it could have been. I regret some things too. Things I said.” Watching as those damaged blue wings shift to embarrassment before they’re forced back to neutral position to avoid pain, Bluestreak shuffles awkwardly from pede to pede.

“The twins told me everything. I-... There’s a lot I want to say, but I don’t want to say anything that will upset you, or start an argument, or make you hate me… You’re my friend! Of course there’s things I want to say, but I don’t think you’ll appreciate many of them.”

“I… Would rather not hear them, if that’s your judgement. I’m not exactly… In the mood.” Both of them are able to tell he meant ‘condition’ instead of mood, but Bluestreak just nods and accepts his words as he says them. He knows. He doesn’t need to correct.

“Okay. Want me to go so you can rest?” There’s a long, quiet hum before Thundercracker finally answers.

“I don’t mind. But I’m probably just going to recharge anyways.” One of his optics flickers back on, and his lipplates move to a teasing smirk.

“You want to be known as the creep who watches Decepticons recharge~?”

“Hmm, nah. I’ll leave that to the Spec Ops team.” Two red optics widen in alarm with a hint of fear.

“Wha-” Bluestreak, mirroring the same teasing tone that Thundercracker had taken with him, grins and takes his servo back.

“Have a nice recharge, TC~!”

“Wait, no-” It only takes four strides to get past the privacy curtain, letting it sweep closed behind him. He crosses over to the med-bay doors, but pauses. As expected, there’s an uncertain little whisper of;

“Blue…?” It sounds so scared, even if Thundercracker might later deny that himself.

“Yeah?” A field pulses with relief, but it’s still uneasy.

“Can- Can you stay…?” Checking his internal comms, Bluestreak notes that Prime will be coming back soon, and there’s no warnings from either Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, or Prowl.

“Just for a little while, okay?”

Prime returns not even twenty minutes later to find the curtain askew and both of them deep in recharge, Bluestreak in the chair that is adequately sized for him, helm resting on the edge of the recovery berth, their servos still locked.

He laughs quietly, moving to where he knows Ratchet keeps the insulation blankets, along with others. Gently, he tucks the Seeker in with the medical insulation blanket, and drapes a thinner, human-made one over Bluestreak.

They don’t even stir.

“- can’t believe Sunstreaker dragged me to the wash-racks, for sparks sake, I only agreed to get a single cube-” Ratchet storms in, slightly more grumpy than usual, and freezes at the sight of Optimus making sure Bluestreak’s (fluttering) doorwings are covered.

Optimus, optics crinkled with mirth, holds a digit over his mask to indicate keeping their vocalisers dialled down.

“Quietly, old friend~. I believe they’ve both had a long day.” Ratchet stands there, flabbergasted, before he shakes his helm abruptly and crosses his arms over his chassis.

“I knew it.” Optimus muffles a laugh, recalling all the times Ratchet had come to him over a cube of high grade with observations that Prowl, Jazz, and definitely Bluestreak were hiding something.

“I knew those sneaky fraggers were hiding something. But you too, Optimus? The audacity in not telling me.”

“You never asked.”

“... True. Anyways, I’ll place my bet on six months.” Confused, Optimus tilts his helm, then quickly moves to adjust the blanket as it slips off Bluestreak’s doorwings again. In the same moment, he moves the insulation blanket up a little higher as Thundercracker shuffles in his recharge and exposes a fuel line that could chill to air.

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re referring to, Ratchet?” The medic smirks, putting most of his weight on one leg so he leans cockily.

“I’m sure Jazz has a miniature bet going on how long it takes you to adopt this one too.” He gestures to Thundercracker, then turns away as Prime tries to splutter his defences, calling over his shoulder.

“And I’m shorting my bet to three months!”

Chapter Text

Bluestreak was not happy.

Bluestreak was not happy at all.

Because negotiations had been reached and Thundercracker was going back to the Decepticons in less than one hour.

“Rotate your shoulder joint.” Even more mortifying, he had apparently fallen into recharge, and Ratchet had apparently discovered them, at which point Prime had apparently explained everything.

Whilst it was nice that Ratchet now knew, Bluestreak wasn’t sure how he felt about more and more bots discovering the truth. It only took the wrong mech to overhear and both he and TC would be at risk.

“How does that feel?”

“Fine.” As per agreement, Ratchet was giving the Decepticon one last look-over, and then he would be free for release. And for what?

For nothing.

Megatron was extraordinarily persuasive and knew what he was talking about, so he’d been able to grant Thundercracker’s release without any compensation by means of an old law put in place during Nova Prime’s reign that any mech damaged beyond arresting capability must be released upon the patching of severe wounds.

Even Optimus had conceded to that one.

Ratchet, though, was equally stubborn as the old warlord - maybe even moreso, and had argued his case and point that Thundercracker was not going anywhere until he’d passed a standard medical examination.

One which is swiftly interrupted by Ratchet’s favourite wrench being introduced to Thundercracker’s knee joint. Just a tap. A warning.

“Don’t lie to me. I’m a medic, I already know the answer.”

“Then don’t ask.” Bluestreak can’t hold back a laugh at the sharp retort, earning him a lecturing look from Ratchet before he slides his optics back to the one currently under his care.

“I ask because it’s for your comfort. I know it’s fixed. I know it’s not fully healed. But I need to know how it feels to adjust it to the best of my capability, since your oh-so-generous leader will surely gift you a patrol, beating, or battle as a returning gift.” Thundercracker gives Ratchet a furious, dirty look, one that Bluestreak has labelled the ‘intervene now or this gets loud’ look.

The two of them had argued more than enough already today.
Their personalities just seemed to be naturally stubborn, decisive, and abrasive, so when faceplate to faceplate, it meant that there was a few…

Disagreements.

“TC, are you sure you’re okay to go back? You haven’t even finished your recovery period, let alone passed a full scan and maintenance check!” Grumbling, the jet sinks back into the berth, letting Ratchet move his attention to the sealant around Thundercracker’s not-cracked-anymore cockpit.

“I don’t have a choice. Megatron orders you back, you go back.”

“I mean, it’s not really an order, is it…? It’s just a negotiation, and surely it’s better if you stay here and go back in peak condition? You’d think Megatron would have thought about that.” Thundercracker lets out a slow vent.

“He would have. Being called back like this means he needs forces quickly rather than ‘in peak condition’.” Bluestreak makes a strange sound, trying to think of something else he can say before he notices Ratchet has stopped moving, optics narrowed.

“Megatron’s planning a raid, isn’t he?”

“I am a loyal Decepticon-”

“Isn’t he?” Bluestreak watches as the two make optic contact, tensing as if ready to move in and separate them if it comes to that, but something unspoken must pass between them. In a monotone voice, Thundercracker repeats;

“I am a loyal Decepticon. I will not speak.” The unspoken communication between them isn’t comms, or internal lines, or even pushing hints through their fields - which Bluestreak knows because his field has been comfortably intertwined with Thundercracker’s since they came out of recharge - but something more instinctual.

It’s intuition.

Ratchet gives no indication that he understands the confirmation, only turns his optics back to the sealant and gives it a prod with a small metal tool Bluestreak has never seen before.

“Don’t speak, then. Better if you don’t, in my opinion.” Wincing at the barbed statement, Bluestreak expects Thundercracker to snap something back, but rather, and surprisingly, the Seeker snickers.

“Is this the tender loving care that all Autobots are subjected to?” With a small laugh, Bluestreak nods, pointing to Ratchet’s favourite wrench sitting on the berthside.

“That and then some! You gotta be real good to get into Ratchet’s well-behaved book! So, uh, basically no-one.”

“Not even the Prime?”

“Oh, please! That spawn of the matrix can’t even keep dust out of his ventilation system! He’s one of the worst patients.” Thundercracker looks shocked and aghast at how Ratchet spiels off the insults and list of why Optimus is a bad patient, turning to Bluestreak as if to ask if he’s hearing this.

A lower-ranking officer is badmouthing the Prime.

The Prime.
The leader of the faction!
And a mere medic dares to speak poorly of him!

Bluestreak covers a servo over his mouthplates to muffle the giggle at Thundercracker’s expression, gently placing his other servo on the closest pauldron.

“It’s okay~. Ratchet is allowed to talk like this about him. About anyone! He’s our medic, after all.”

“I keep these glitches functioning, they’d better let me complain about them avoiding appointments, underfuelling, not looking after themselves, and not letting me look after them.”

“I-... I don’t… I mean, you… You dare to insult your leader? What if he heard you? What if someone tells him? Is there anyone who can fix you afterwards?” The giggle and any humour is instantly gone. Evaporated. Even Ratchet seems concerned, if the crease in his optical ridge means anything beyond irritation.

“Listen here, mechling.” Oh yeah, he’s concerned. Ratchet only ever used ‘mechling’ and ‘bitty’ when there was something serious he was worried about. He puts down his medical tools, demanding full attention.

Bluestreak remains silent, not taking any of TC’s attention away, but he does squeeze that pauldron a little tighter, other servo taking one of Thundercracker’s own for support. He… Might not like what Ratchet is going to say next.

No matter how true it is.

“If you can’t treat your leader like a mech first and superior officer second, then they’re not a leader. They’re a dictator. If you have to worry about being overheard and reported for something so insignificant, that’s not a safe environment. If you get beaten for simply saying something negative about someone, that is somewhere you need to get out of. It’s not healthy.”

“You know nothing, Autobot!” The ferocious snarl coming from his friend genuinely scares Bluestreak. But then he remembers that this is how the emotionally constipated hid the things they didn’t want to feel. Things like uncertainty, fear, and a (wrongly) perceived weakness in admitting they were wrong.

“It’s okay, TC, it’s okay! You don’t have to do anything about it, it’s your own choices and decisions! Even if I don’t agree, I’ll support whatever you decide to do. Whether that’s stay with the Decepticons or not.”

“I will never join the faction that destroyed my home.” Bluestreak doesn’t know if he’s referring to Vos, or Cybertron itself. But either way, he takes a deep invent.

“I know. I know. I’m not asking that of you. I just want you to be safe. With the Decepticons, or without them. That doesn’t mean joining the Autobots, I promise you.” For a moment, Thundercracker seems to consider it. Then, he droops in place, thunking his helm against Bluestreak’s shoulder.

“I don’t deserve a wonderful friend like you.” Bluestreak, saddened by how often he’s heard things like that, presses his own helm against the one resting on him.

“Of course you do…” It’s whispered, so quietly that Thundercracker gives no indication of having heard, but Ratchet softly vents a huff at them before returning to his work, so it must have been audible.

The rest of the medical examination continues in this position, Thundercracker’s replies getting quieter and softer until there’s only the gentle spin of his turbines and venting.

“Ratchet, I think he’s gone back to recharge…”

“No surprise there. His self-repair systems are strained as it is, let alone the fact he refused an internal energon line. Mechling needs another week or so, I’d say.”

“... I don’t like this, Ratchet…”

“I know, Blue, I know. I don’t think anyone does. Optimus has been in a right huff since the negotiations, Prowl has shut himself away in his office, and Jazz is preparing an emergency kit for your friend to take with him.”

“Emergency kit?”

“Energon to fuel his self-repair, quick application patches in case a weld splits, a cooling pad for pain relief, and a list of extraction possibilities.” Bluestreak sits up a little straighter in surprise, then sinks back down with a mumbled apology as Thundercracker stirs, but doesn’t wake.

“Wow, that’s a lot more than I expected. Everyone is taking this really seriously, aren’t they?”

“There hasn’t been a spark lost on Earth yet. We don’t intend for that to happen.” And that is enough to put a chill in Bluestreak's lines, every inch of his frame tensing like he's just been not with an electrical impulse.

“You think it's that serious? You think TC could-”

“How long did it take several of us to figure out what's going on? If we did, what's to say the Decepticons won't? And I don't think those back-planet glitches will be as accepting as we have been.” Slumping with an uncharacteristic frown, Bluestreak glanced down at Thundercracker again.

His recharge face is so ugly.
And he drools.

It's kind of endearing.

“We've been really careful… Jazz 'n' Prowl only found out because they're really close to me!” Ratchet vents a sigh, turning around to put his tools away.

“A soldier doesn't get through a war without being close to someone. There'll be at least one mech noticing his discrepancies. If not a friend, then an observant officer.” Bluestreak winces. Thundercracker has mentioned many, many times before how concerned he was about Soundwave finding out.

So much so, it was close to paranoia.

Every time he left, it was about not letting Soundwave pick up how late it was.
Every time they planned to go somewhere, it was about if it was too far from his patrol route, because Soundwave would know.
If the weather was different than the weather expected on his patrol route, he couldn't go, because Soundwave would piece it together.

It was never Megatron, never Starscream, never another Decepticon.
Always Soundwave.

If that fear was misplaced, it was very convincing.

“I won't do anything to risk it, Ratchet. You know I wouldn't. I know that this is a dangerous thing we're doing, but it's worth it. He's my friend, and I already love him like I love Sunny, Sides, and 'Bee. Neither of us will let Soundwave find out.”

“Can you guarantee he doesn't already, Bitty…?” Bluestreak’s doorwings twitch hesitantly.

“... No… But! But TC’s still here, right?! So, that means nobody knows, right?! … Right?” He watches as Ratchet slowly places his tools in a sanitising solution and vents another weary sigh, shoulders drooping.

“I wouldn’t know, Blue, I wouldn’t know. Information like this is valuable. Enough so that someone could be holding onto it until they can use it for something big, something that might endanger your friend more than usual.” Ventilations quickening, Bluestreak tries to fight back that liquid-y tingle behind his optics, like fluid might start leaking out any moment now.

“I- I don’t want him to get hurt. I don’t want to be the reason he gets hurt. Do-... Do you think I should- Should push him away…? I don’t want to! I really don’t want to! But if it keeps him safe, then- Th-then…” He trails off. By Pit does he want to do that. Not a chance. Not even if Unicron himself demanded it. Pit! Not even if Primus himself demanded it!

But if it was to keep Thundercracker safe…

“Should I cut him off…?”

“Absolutely not!” Startled by Ratchet’s near-shout, Bluestreak jolts up to sit ramrod straight, his doorwings flicking backwards in surprise. He… Hadn’t expected such a passionate reply. And not one that ruled out the possibility of cutting contact with a Decepticon either!

“Ratchet?” The medic whirls around, pointing a clean tool in his direction, optics narrowed with a rare fierceness. A protectiveness, maybe?

“I have watched, over the course of many months, every single one of your check-ups come back with a marginal improvement, to the point where you’ve gone from having three amber and seven yellow warnings, to having simply one yellow. Even more miraculously, if I compare his file-” He waves the instrument casually towards Thundercracker.

“-From the first time we captured him, to the file I’ve composed today, there’s been a remarkable mark-up. I’d almost say he was healthy, if not for the absolute state of his tank and a few other things covered by patient confidentiality. (And, of course, what the twins inflicted on him last night).”

“What- What does that mean?”

“It means, Bitty, that you’re good for each other.” As if suddenly embarrassed by intense response to Bluestreak’s suggestion, Ratchet clears his vocaliser (like Spark Plug does sometimes!) and turns back around to the sanitising station, moving onto a scalpel.

“A-Anyways. You young ones might be brash, reckless, and stupid, but… I don’t see any fault in continuing what you’re doing.” Had he not had a helm resting on his shoulder, Bluestreak would have strode over and wrapped him in a tight hug. Instead, his engine gives a rumbling purr.

“Thanks, Ratchet! That makes me feel a lot better, especially since I really didn’t want to do it anyways. I don’t think TC would have liked it either, he might have felt abandoned or betrayed, though he’d never admit it. He’s worse at dealing with emotions than Sunny is! Maybe even worse than Prowl.” There’s a soft laugh from Ratchet, whilst Bluestreak wriggles down in his seat so he’s at least in a tiny bit of a better position for his recharging friend than he was before.

“You’ll have to help him with that then~.”

“I will! I think the movies help a lot, too. Sometimes he has really intense reactions to certain scenes, so I think he’s either storing up his emotions until he has an excuse to let them go, or he’s comparing them to what he experiences.” Bluestreak pauses, looking up at the ceiling.

“Probably the former. He’s kind of a cry-baby.” This time, Ratchet laughs a little harder.

“I’m not sure you should be telling me this, Blue! How is he meant to keep posturing as the big-bad-Decepticon when you’re telling everyone he cries at movies~?” Doorwings dip with guilt, though it’s comical and light-sparked.

“... Oops.” Ratchet goes to say something else, and then goes still. All the amusement drops from his faceplates and his frame tenses, digits going up to his audial as a comm message comes through. A red servo curls into a fist.

“They’re here.” That can only mean one thing. The Decepticons. Because why wouldn’t Megatron send an escort to pick up his captured soldier? It reeked of mistrust, but the Autobots had accepted it without question to try and brush off some of that suspicion.

There was a good chance Megatron was aware that Thundercracker had been a target all along.
There was a slim chance he knew the real reason, but had considered it, due to his pure hatred of the Autobots.

“TC? Hey, TC, it’s time to wake up. C’mon, you’re being picked up.” With a grumble, Thundercracker blearily rises, moving to sit up. There’s still drool down the side of his face, his optics aren’t fully open, and his frame is completely slack, but he’s out of recharge.

Well… Not completely. He sways in place, dazed.

Bluestreak pokes at his olfactory ridge. The Seeker sneezes (adorably) on reflex.

Shocked out of his stupor, Thundercracker claps his servos over his faceplates, wings darting upwards with sheepish embarrassment, and optics brightening to near-pink. Bluestreak laughs so hard, he almost falls out of his chair.

“B-Blue! Don’t do that!”

“I- I can’t help it!” He has to wrap his arms around his middle as his tank aches with the force of his laughter, optics watering.

“You have such a cute little Cyberkitten sneeze~!” Thundercracker’s white faceplates are slowly turning red, and he pulls the insulation blanket up over them with a petulant grunt that accidentally comes out more like a whine.

Bluestreak’s attention is quickly taken by the shadow that falls over them, his mood instantly sobering. Whilst he was waking Thundercracker, Ratchet must have gone over to the medbay doors to let Optimus Prime in.

“I’m sorry about this, but for the sake of appearances, I must ask you to put both wrists out.” Bluestreak startles at the stasis cuffs in Prime’s servos.

“Optimus, no! You don’t really have to- TC?” He doesn’t even get to finish asking if this really has to be done before Thundercracker stiffly has both arms out, wrists exactly the distance apart for the stasis cuffs. It’s… Disconcerting.

“TC, it’s okay… We- We can just walk him out without the cuffs, right, Optimus?” Even the leader looks unsettled with how quickly - and stiffly - the Decepticon complied.

“I truly am sorry, Bluestreak. To both of you. But if the cuffs were not present, it would be reported to Megatron. And I know that he would instantly equate it to treachery.”

“This… Is for TC’s safety, then?” Optimus nods sincerely.

“Indeed. If I may, Thundercracker…?”

“Yes, Sir.” It’s quiet. Respectful. And, if Bluestreak is hearing correctly, which he’s pretty sure he is, tinged with fear. If that doesn’t give an indication for what kind of leader Megatron was, Bluestreak doesn’t know what would.

He can’t tell if it’s fear for sure.

As soon as they had both realised Optimus was there, Thundercracker had wrenched his field back from where it was comfortably intermingled with Bluestreak’s, and was keeping it completely under control - pulled so tight to his frame that it may as well have been his paint job.

As if it wasn’t allowed.

“I-…” Even the Prime stutters, but he vents a long, soft sigh and clips the stasis cuffs into place. They’re set to low, snug around the Seeker’s wrists, and he was gentle with locking them, but he still feels incredibly guilty.

Bluestreak can tell from the sad way his helm finials seems to sag, despite the fact that they clearly don’t. And the way his optics are a darker shade of blue, his mask sits lower than usual, and he hunches over to make himself less intimidating in front of their ‘prisoner’.

“I’d better not go out with you, TC.” Thundercracker whips his helm to meet Bluestreak optic-to-optic, his own almost flushed white with only a hint of pinky-red, his expression one of panicked alarm. The guilt hits Bluestreak hard.

“I’m so sorry! But… But! If I did follow you out, I wouldn’t want to see you go. I wouldn’t want you to leave without a proper goodbye. Aaaand I’d probably be a little bit angry with whoever is waiting out there to take you back and may accidentally-on-purpose kind of, sort of, maybe fight them. Sorry?”

“It’s-...” Thundercracker cuts himself off, glancing towards the Prime. But, as if he knew his presence would make things so much harder, Optimus has backed off to talk to Ratchet in the main area of the medbay. If he listens closely enough, Bluestreak can hear Ratchet grumbling about recovery periods being cut short.

Which, yes, is something Bluestreak agrees with, spark and all.
Nobody should Ever be released from medical early!

“It’s okay. I had to go back at some point.”

“But you’re still hurt!”

“I’m… Sore, yes…” Thundercracker pauses, as if choosing his words carefully. That alone makes Bluestreak puff his cheekplates out and huff.

“But I’ve had worse before. That’s the price of being a Dece- Being a soldier in the Elite Trine.”

“I know exactly what you were about to say.” Bluestreak crosses his arms. Much to his irritation, Thundercracker only shrugs and gives him a tiny, forced smirk.

“Slip of the glossa.”

“It shouldn’t have to be! There shouldn’t even be any need for you to say anything near that! You shouldn’t have to have ‘had worse’, or tell me that it’s ‘not that bad’, when it’s actually terrible! I’m worried about you, TC! You’re my friend. I don’t want you to be hurt. In ANY way!” Ruby red optics blink at him, baffled.

“We’re in a war, Blue. We’re going to get hurt. Both of us.” Gently, oh-so-tenderly, Bluestreak cups his servos around Thundercracker’s faceplates and then smushes, pushing his soft, meshy cheeks together and pulling him close. His doorwings swivel round to annoyed.

“I get that. I get that. I get that the Decepticons will shoot at me, I get that the Autobots will shoot at you. That doesn’t mean I want it to happen. Because I don’t. And what I’m talking about mainly, is being hurt unnecessarily. Yes, we’re in a war, and we’re going to get hurt on the battlefield, but there’s no reason to be hurting off of it.”

“C’n deal w’th it.” Bluestreak removes his servos, leaving Thundercracker to reach up an rub at them with one servo, the other trapped a distance away by the stasis cuffs. It doesn’t take long for the malleable metal to go back to its ordinary shape, though the intense frown on Thundercracker’s faceplates is new.

Without Bluestreak smushing his face and making his words to come out weird, he repeats;

“I can deal with it.”

“You shouldn’t have to… I don’t want you to.” At that moment, the privacy curtain around the berth is pulled back.

“Bluestreak’s right. As CMO, I’m telling you right now, you shouldn’t be ‘dealing’ with what you’re going through. Here.” The medic holds out a datapad. Thundercracker eyes it warily. Bluestreak rolls his optics and takes it for him, scanning through it before passing it over insistently. As the Seeker dubiously takes it, Ratchet explains.

“It’s your updated medical file. Pass that on to whatever hack job is in charge of your repairs, because I have some choice words for him in my evaluation.”

“... I will not.”

“You incorrigible, unappreciative little-! Fine, pass it back. I’ll keep it here. Since you’re obviously going to need it again.” Defiantly, Thundercracker pulls it closer to himself, as if he’s going to subspace it.

But then, Optimus steps into view.

Immediately, Bluestreak watches his friend completely withdraw into himself, dipping his helm to avoid optic contact and promptly passing back the medical file without any complaint. It’s… Worrying.

That instant, unnatural change in behaviour? Terrifying.

“TC, it’s okay…” All Bluestreak’s gentle attempt at comfort gets him is a quick flicker of panicked optics in his direction, before Thundercracker is looking down again. It’s almost as if he was scared, not for himself in that astrosecond, but for Bluestreak.

“Optimus.” Having been taking a step back, the Prime pauses at the call of his name from the medic standing at the foot of the berth.

“Hm?” Without even looking back, Ratchet raises a servo and starts listing things off, counting them as he goes.

“You fidget like a sparkling when I’m examining your joints, you’ve avoided three check-ups and I will be dragging you in for one after this, you don’t do yourself any favours by slumping in your office chair, and if you haven’t been using those energon supplements I gave you last time, I’ll be making them twice as bitter and watching you drink them.”

“... I don’t like the bitter flavour…” Muffling a giggle, Bluestreak watches Ratchet launch into a rant about what those supplements were for, why they were prescribed, and what will happen if Optimus doesn’t take them. (Primarily, where he’ll shove them.)

All whilst brandishing a spanner.
Huh. Wrench must have still been sanitising.

“Help him…!” Something shakes Bluestreak’s arm. He looks down at the whisper.

Oh pit, Thundercracker looks absolutely terrified.
Maybe Ratchet had gone a little too far.

“Help him, Blue!” The plea hits Bluestreak right in the spark. He forces on a little smile and nods, before turning back to the mayhem of Prime being metaphorically cowed into a corner, holding his servos up apologetically and leaning away from Ratchet’s ire.

“Ratchet! I think Optimus has got the message! You can stop now~. Besides, don’t we have Decepticons waiting outside?” Ratchet grumbles, but withdraws his spanner and backs off, going over to the desk where all datapads are stored. He’ll be adding Thundercracker’s to the assortment.

“Thank you, Bluestreak.” Bluestreak grins sunnily at Optimus’s gratitude, but then realises that the grip on his arm - digits digging quite painfully into his frame - hasn’t relinquished any.

If anything, it’s gotten tighter.

Glancing down, Bluestreak stills as he notices exactly why. Thundercracker’s optics trace the path Ratchet takes. He’s watching Ratchet. No, he’s concerned about Ratchet.

He hadn’t meant to help Optimus at all! He’d been begging Bluestreak to help Ratchet!!!

Leaning in, Bluestreak quietly whispers straight into his audial, laying his free servo over the digits that are starting to bend the metal underneath them.

“There’s no danger here. I know it’s hard for you to believe, but Optimus isn’t going to hurt Ratchet. Nobody is going to hurt Ratchet, but absolutely not Optimus.”

“But- But the way he spoke... Right to his faceplates…! Blue, he’s going to be kil-”

“No! No, he’s not! I swear on my spark!” That earns him an even more panicked look, one that’s already touched with grief. As if by saying that, Bluestreak had condemned himself to the Well. Thundercracker goes to say something, but all that comes out is static. The only part Bluestreak understands is;

“- can’t lose you! Please-”

“TC. TC, listen to me. TC! Hey! Listen to me!” He waits until the Seeker sustains optical contact, and though his vents are quicker than usual and his wings twitchy, he seems to be listening a little better than before.

“Optimus isn’t going to hurt either of us. He isn’t going to- to kill either of us, I promise you. Ratchet said those things like that to Optimus to show you that. That no matter what he said, there wasn’t going to be a punishment. We can talk to him, even though he’s a Prime. We can joke with him, can invite him places, can trust him with our sparks. We’re both going to be perfectly safe, both Ratchet and I. I’ll say it once more, okay? Optimus will not hurt us.”

“I would never.” Apparently, Optimus had moved close enough to listen in, possibly because he’s been worried about Bluestreak’s safety when he’d had to raise his voice to get Thundercracker to listen to him. It must have taken him everything he had to remain silent when he’d realised what was truly going on and being spoken about.

Thundercracker tenses again, but with purposely slow and clumsy actions, Optimus pulls over the too-small-for-himself chair and sits in it, meaning his helm is lower down that Thundercracker’s. He’s instinctively putting himself in the more vulnerable position, Bluestreak realises.

He knows how fearful the Seeker must be.
But then, who knew Megatron more than the Prime?

“If ever I hurt anyone under my command, it would be because something else more dangerous was happening. And I would apologise. I would apologise, and I would make up for it. That said, I do try my very hardest to never hurt anyone - nor let anyone get hurt. It is unavoidable in some circumstances, but I would never use physically painful punishments. Especially nothing that requires someone to be saved. Do you understand?”

“N- Yes, Sir.” Bluestreak whines as Thundercracker flat out lies. Of course he didn’t understand. He wouldn’t have felt the need to lie if he did. He wouldn’t be frozen in place with helm hanging low and wings pulled back in terrified submission if he understood.

He was trying to protect himself.
Because he wasn’t allowed to disagree?
Because Megatron didn’t like being disagreed with?

… Because he would face the same punishment he’d feared Ratchet would face for simply telling Optimus off?

And Optimus can tell too.

“I-... I’m not sure what I can say to convince you, but please, at least know I would never punish my friends for admonishing my less than perfect behaviour. No mech is perfect.” Ratchet scoffs in the background.

“Tell that to Tracks.” As Bluestreak tries to muffle a laugh, there’s a hilariously long pause in which Optimus seems to debate whether he should or not. Eventually he settles on;

“No, thank you. I’m not quite interested in a three hour long lecture on the upkeep of my paint job.”

“You saaaaay that, but then you went shopping for polish with Sunny~.” Optimus laughs at the cheek from Bluestreak, the mechling grinning and leaning closer, all whilst keeping a servo reassuringly over that of a Seeker’s sheathed claws.

It’s… Slightly strange to see a Seeker with sheathed claws. Usually, they’re the pride and joy, displayed at every opportunity. Especially upon being trapped inside an enemy base.

“That is true. But Sunstreaker was mindful of my needs, not my - as Tracks would say - ‘ability to shine exquisitely’.” Bluestreak laughs, before gently nudging his pauldron against Thundercracker’s, startling the nervous mech.

“You ready?” Bluestreak dearly hopes he’ll say no. Hopes he’ll ask to stay, just a little longer. Hopes he’ll have time to recover from his injuries, time to learn that Prime is gentle giant, time to see how wonderful everyone is.

But he is granted no such hope.
Thundercracker nods.

“Okay, I’ll say goodbye to you here, ‘cus of everything I said before. Pretty sure you don’t want other Decepticons to see me hug you~.” A very faint smile tugs at Thundercracker’s lipplates. It’s only quick, but it means so much to Bluestreak.

The next time he sees his friend will be in battle, if Megatron really has demanded him back just for extra forces for a raid.
Which, admittedly, Thundercracker had sneakily confirmed in not saying anything.

“Well come here, then!” He steps back, opening his arms wide. True, Thundercracker might not be able to hug back thanks to the stasis cuffs, but with a wary glance at the Prime, who nods him forwards encouragingly, Thundercracker slides stiffly off the berth and steps into Bluestreak’s welcoming arms.

He’s just a little taller, plonking his helm down on Bluestreak’s shoulder as a warm, caring hug is wrapped around him. For a moment, the jet just savours it. Bluestreak squeezes tighter, sensing the need for contact. He knows as well as Thundercracker that this is the last hug he’ll get before going back.

And, well, the Seeker had come to quite like physical contact that didn’t hurt.

“Annie the musical on Friday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, TC! You know I love a good musical. Especially a feel good family one. And! And it has a dog in it for you!” There’s a muffled laugh against his frame.

“Dork~.”

“Don’t laugh at me, jerk.” Bluestreak pokes at a drooped wing, targeting a sensitive part to make Thundercracker flick it backwards at the sensation. He lifts his helm and raises one optical ridge as if to ask ‘really?’.

“Remind me which one of us is the jerk again?”

“Well, clearly it’s a shared responsibility, since you’ve taken a fair portion of the ‘Dork’ title up with your dorkiness.”

“M’not a dork.”

“You’re the biggest dork. You researched mermaids for three weeks after we watched ‘Splash’ and then excitedly rambled about it the entire next time we met. You turned into me! But for mermaid facts.”

“B-Blue!” Widening his optics, Bluestreak claps his servos over his mouth.

“Whoops.” He hadn’t meant to expose his secrets! He really hadn’t! Talking with Thundercracker was just so easy, so natural. Luckily, Thundercracker is only stern for a couple of astroseconds. He quickly cracks a soft smile, shaking his helm.

“What am I to do with you, hm?”

“Meet me on Friday so we can go watch Annie.” Bluestreak maintains his thousand-watt grin, waiting as Thundercracker rolls his optics. Then nods.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He reuses Bluestreak’s words, something he doesn’t miss, pulling Thundercracker in tighter and giving him a suffocating squeeze paired with a laugh. Upon release of the hug, Bluestreak makes sure to keep his servos on Thundercracker’s arms to steady him as he stumbles backwards as predicted.

“I’ll see you then, TC.” Never goodbye. They never said goodbye.

“See you later.” Bluestreak takes a deep invent and holds it to prevent his optics welling over, or launching forwards and grabbing him and refusing to let go, or demanding that the Decepticons on the doorstep kindly frag off.

He’s still a little upset at how Thundercracker’s wings drop when he turns to face the Prime, but that’s something he’ll need to unlearn with time, as he learns the Prime is not to be feared.

Watching him be led from the room is the hardest thing Bluestreak’s had to do for a while.

“Mechling.”

“Hm?” Bluestreak jolts, only then noticing that the medbay doors have already slid closed, and that he’s been standing there going from smile to frown. He shakes his helm as if he could shake the lingering need to go and drag TC back away.

“What is it, Ratchet?”

“Tell me what that kerfuffle earlier was about. I was too deep in the file cupboard to hear, but I picked up that it was something to do with how I addressed Optimus.”

“Yeah, it sure was! You might want to sit down for this. Oh, and put anything throwable out of reach? I don’t think you’re going to like this at all.” The medics optics narrow at that, but he pushes a tray of medical instruments across the room on their wheeled trolley, and pulls up a chair to sit into.

“Go on.” So Bluestreak explains. His servos move as he talks, gesticulating every sentence. As he comes to the end, he slows down, watching as Ratchet curls his fist tighter and tighter until there’s a metallic screech of digits against the palm of his servo.

“Primus forgive me in advance for what I’m going to do if I ever come faceplate to faceplate with that megalomaniac warmonger. I’m going to-” Bluestreak turns his audials off. Prowl had warned him to do that if Ratchet ever curled his servo so tight that the metal screeched. A fair warning, because Ratchet looks furious.

But that fury came from a good place. He was angry because he cared. Because he didn’t want to see anyone undeservedly hurt. It was why he’d become a medic in the first place. Bluestreak was ecstatic to see that protectiveness spreading over to Thundercracker.

Maybe it was the first step they needed to bridge the gap between Autobots and ‘Con.

Especially since TC didn’t act like a Decepticon. Not much, anyways.
What kind of Decepticon cooed over dogs, cried at movies, danced with his friend after said movies, and made friends with a human?

The one Bluestreak was friends with.

Sensing that Ratchet is running out of steam in his tirade and starting to finish up his ranted threat to Megatron, he retunes his audials in.

“- and let him rot in the fermented depths of Kaon’s underground in pieces.”

“Wow. I only caught the beginning and end of that, but it sounded pretty graphic. Let me know if you need any help with that! Seriously, I’m all up for it. Maybe if Megatron wasn’t still around, then TC - and possibly other Decepticons! - wouldn’t be forced into posturing as violent criminals on the wrong side of the war.”

“Now, bitlet, careful with that line of thinking. There’s no definite right and wrong in war. Sometimes what is right, can also be wrong, depending on the intent behind it and the manner of how it’s done.” When Bluestreak pulls a confused expression, one doorwing tilted high and the other dipped low to mirror his optical ridge, Ratchet vents an exhale.

“Would you say that Megatron did the wrong thing in attacking the Senate?”

“Yes! Absolutely! There were so many innocents who were injured or offlined in the process.”

“But wouldn’t you also say he did the right thing, in getting rid of the functionalist leaders? In attempting to free the masses from being forced into something, just because of their frame type?”

“I mean… Yes? In a way? I think it’s great that we all have choices now, but I don’t think deactivating anybody was the- Oh. Oh, that’s what you mean. It was the right thing to do, but the wrong way to go about it. And in the end, that made it overwhelming wrong?”

“Indeed. Of course, some decisions are purely wrong. Both the destruction of Vos by the Autobots under Sentinel, and the destruction of Praxus by Megatron’s Decepticons, per example.” Bluestreak winces, but then relaxes in his chair a little.

“And some decisions are purely right. Like dismantling the gladiatorial arenas and saving everyone there! And Optimus being made the Prime after Sentinel was assassinated!” Ratchet nods, and Bluestreak finds himself grinning with pride.

“Exactly~. It’s quite a difficult concept, but I’m glad you were able to understand it easily.”

“Only because you made it easy to understand.” And then something beeps. Both of them jolt, before Bluestreak giggles and Ratchet tilts his helm, baffled.

Because there, on the top secret channel Jazz set up for Thundercracker, is a bold notification.

Ratchet has been added to the channel by Optimus How do I change my username Prime.
SmoothJazz has changed Ratchet’s username to Nurse Hatchet.

“... I don’t know why I’m surprised. No, you know what? I not surprised. I’m disappointed.” Bluestreak laughs, and then laughs harder as Prowl sends through a photo capture of a baby bird leaving the nest as a way to confirm that Thundercracker had left.

No doubt, the Seeker would be irritated by that, but at least the message was somewhat secretive as to the meaning.
Just in case anyone was able to get into the network.

“Welcome to the madness, Ratchet! TC hasn’t sent a message yet, but just know that he’s involved in this too. Jazz keeps changing his name tag to try and get a reaction out of him. Hasn’t worked yet. I think he’s on something like ‘Gloomy Glider’ at the moment.” The medic rolls his optics, crossing his arms and grumbling;

“You young ones, I swear…” With a laugh, Bluestreak pushes himself up from his chair. Now that Thundercacker has left the base, there’s no danger of wanting to go after him, or wanted to maybe/sort of/accidentally-on-purpose give the Decepticons who came to collect him a fist to the faceplates.

And there was no risk of Bluestreak blubbering into tears as his friend faded into the horizon.

“I’m gonna go find Sunny, ‘Sides, and ‘Bee! Any idea where they’ll be?”

“Sunstreaker was still in the wash racks when I left. By now, he should be in the drying room. Sideswipe is still leading Ironhide on a chase. Follow the trail of paint. As for Bumblebee…” Ratchet pauses, thinking deeply. That’s when Bluestreak suddenly realises he hasn’t seen Bumblebee since before the battle that allowed them to capture Thundercracker.

He thinks he knows exactly where the minibot will be. But just in case, he activates the shipwide comm and asks - with a tone somewhere between humour and panic;

“Has anyone seen ‘Bee lately?”

Chapter Text

“Leave me alone, Skywarp, I just want to go to my habsuite.”

“You seriously should go med-bay instead. What? Don’t you trust me?” Thundercracker pauses mid-limp, rolling his optics as he shifts his servo higher to cover a dent that leaks energon in a steady well. It’ll clot soon, but not yet.

“I wouldn’t trust you with a rubber duck, let alone medical supplies.” Skywarp lets out an unhinged cackle.

“Funny you should say that! I got 5,000 rubber ducks from Swindle whilst you were off relaxing on the Autobot’s base.” For a moment, Thundercracker wants to ask Why?, but then, this is Skywarp. Getting the answer to one question would lead to many, many more.

And it’s best not to ask anyways.
He doesn’t want any implication that he took part in whatever Skywarp is planning.

“I wasn’t relaxing. I was captured. A prisoner.”

“Rumour says you weren’t even in the brig.”

“Yes. Because those Jet judoing glitches tore me apart. The Autobots were too soft-sparked to let me offline in their brig. Makes you wonder why they haven’t lost the war yet. Maybe we’re the problem.” Skywarp looks around, optics wide as Thundercracker limps onwards towards his habsuite.

“Don’t say that out loud, you moron! Do you want another beating from Megatron?! Because he would definitely do so!” Had he been in a better mood, Thundercracker might have apologised and continued to tolerate Skywarp for longer.

But he wasn’t.
He was tired. He was sore.
And now, after being ‘welcomed’ back by Megatron, he was in pain. (Again).

Some of his wounds had been reopened. Others, like his hip joint - which he’s 98% sure is dislocated - had been newly inflicted.

“Go away, ‘Warp. Just- Just go away.” Skywarp stares at him, optics narrowed with anger and liplates tight in misery. His wings tremble with restrained fury, like he would smack Thundercracker if the other wasn’t already in a pitiful state. Then, without another word, there’s a bright violet flash and the space next to Thundercracker is empty.

Strange.
He isn’t relieved that Skywarp had actually listened.

Ah. It’s loneliness.

“Frag…” Shaking his helm, he manages to drag himself back to his habsuite and checks that no one is around before. He doesn’t want anyone to see him take the emergency kit out of his subspace.

Luckily, the corridors are empty. Entering his code, Thundercracker expects the door to open to his habsuite, tidily empty and dull purple and the same as it’s always been.

Yellow.
He sees yellow.

There is yellow in his room.

Correction.
There is a yellow Autobot on his berth.

Carefully, without any outwards reaction, he enters his room and locks the door behind him again. The Autobot smiles at him quite cheerfully, even raising a servo to wave as Thundercracker moves over to the unbolted ventilation grate, checking inside for any sign of the cassettes. When there’s none, he grabs the slightly soggy, somewhat mouldy pillow off his berth and stuffs it in there to muffle any noise.

“I presume you’ve come to threaten me, as your more violent friends did. Is that your reason for visiting, Bumblebee?”

“I wouldn’t say threaten... More like promise.” He swings his legs innocently, the blanket around his shoulders making him look even younger than he actually is. Thundercracker raises an optical ridge at the stolen blanket.

Bumblebee follows his gaze and then shrugs.

“The Nemesis is colder than the Ark.”

“We are several thousand metres underwater. The Ark is in a volcano.” The minibot nods, tugging the blanket around him tighter. He’s still smiling, but it slowly starts to turn downwards as he runs his optics over Thundercracker’s frame.

“You’re hurt. That’s… Ratchet wouldn’t have let you leave in that condition.” Venting a sigh, Thundercracker slides down the wall, reaching into his subspace to pull out the emergency kit Jazz prepared for him. He ignores the extraction beacon - for now - and instead takes a sip of the cube.

It’s medical grade.
Not only is it wonderful compared to the low-grade scrap the Decepticons have, it’s full of enough supplements that Thundercracker can feel it fuelling his self-repair. It won’t last long, but it’s enough to keep him going for this conversation.

And sweet.
It’s really sweet.
(He doesn’t want to admit he likes it, but he does.)

“No, your medic didn’t let me leave until I only had surface level scratches.” Bumblebee scrutinises him, olfactory ridge crinkled until he works it out, sitting up so straight that the blanket is thrown from his shoulders and his optics flash almost white.

“You were beaten for returning?!”

“Punished for getting captured in the first place.”

“That’s-! That’s-!!!” The minibot stammers out his anger, but gives up by throwing his servos up. He slips from the berth, abandoning the burrowed blanket.

“Let me patch you up.” A cruel snicker escapes Thundercracker at the irony of the little youngling being here to threaten him, and instead helping him. What a soft-sparked idiot.

And yet…
He genuinely appreciates it.

“You know how to reattach a dislocated hip joint?” The sympathetic frown on Bumblebee’s faceplates is so sincere that Thundercracker has to avert his optics. Instead, he focuses on rooting through the Autobot-supplied medkit.

Aha! Patches! He needs those.

“I’ve seen it done before, so… I can try?”

“At least try and sound confident, Bug.”

“My designation is Bumblebee.”

“You’re trespassing in my room. I’ll call you what I like.” There’s a quiet, annoyed rumble of the ‘Bot’s engines, enough to make Thundercracker smirk. He doesn’t realise that Bumblebee sees it, relaxing with a soft smile of his own as he kneels down next to the Seeker.

“I’m going to put my servos on your upper leg, okay?”

“Don’t describe it, just do it.”

“... You won’t lash out or anything? I’m pretty tough, but a hit from you could knock out the cloaking mechanism I’m using.” So that’s how Soundwave hadn’t detected the intruder yet.

“No. I have self-control.”

“The reattachment I’ve seen before was Beachcomber - after he got stuck in a landslide - and he helmbut First Aid hard enough to leave a dent when his shoulder was pushed back in.” Thundercracker takes a moment to remember which Autobot that was, but when he does - The pacifist dark blue minibot who ran away at the first sign of battle - he grunts.

“Tie my wrists to the cabinet handles with the blanket. Tightly.” Truthfully, he doesn’t want the restraints. Especially not after having had those horrible stasis cuffs around him earlier.

Prime’s could do anything if you had stasis cuffs on.
Anyone could do anything if you had stasis cuffs on.

“Thundercracker?”

“Do it.” With concern flickering in his uncontrolled field - Pit, was the youngling that young??? - Bumblebee takes the blanket and ties it around Thundercracker’s wrists in a figure of eight, looping the section where it crosses over around the cabinet handles.

“Okay, that seems secure. Give it a tug?” Feeling a little vulnerable - (a little insecure) - Thundercracker grunts and tugs at the blanket restraints. They hold.

“Ready.” Small hands settle on his upper leg. They brace tightly, ready to shunt the joint back into place. Thundercracker bites down on his lower lip, making sure the reflex command for his fangs is blocked off.

“3… 2…” Bumblebee doesn’t say one before he gives a push to the disconnected joint with his entire body weight, the absolute glitch, forcing it to click back into place. All at once, the reconnected pain sensors flare up and send a whole swarm of massive warnings to Thundercracker’s processor.

It’s enough to offset his gyrostabilizer and he shutters off his optics to deal with it, venting hard to cope with the sudden overheating of all those surging pain sensors.

“Easy, easy… It’s going to be okay… Deep, slow vents. At least, that’s what I think it is.”

“Sh-shu-ut up.” For a few quiet moments, the room is filled only with Thundercracker’s stressed ventilations, though they slowly get steadier. His frame pings as it cools from the mass heating.

It’s only when he moves a servo down to rub at the sore hip joint that he realises Bumblebee must have undone the blanket. It’s only when he feels the material covering him that he works out Bumblebee must have laid it over him.

“I thought you came here to threaten me, Bug.”

“It’s Bumblebee. And it’s hard to threaten someone who’s hurt as badly as you are.”

“Been worse.”

“Does Megatron beat you like this regularly?” The accusation is sharp and barbed, and Thundercracker growls a little in response as he pushes himself up into a sitting position.

“A true leader keeps his soldiers in line.”

“A true leader puts his soldiers needs before his own! Optimus would never hurt us, he wouldn’t think about punishing us for coming home safely! He makes sure we’re fueled first, and considers what we’re comfortable with when it comes to duties.” Bumblebee stands over him, servos on hips and stern frown on his faceplates.

It’s almost funny, how much he looks like a petulant sparkling.

“You talk too much.” Bumblebee sits back on his pedes before standing up, offering a (small) servo to Thundercracker. Against better judgement, he takes it, using it as an anchor to pull himself up.

“I’m not sure you can say that to me when you’re friends with Blue~.” A soft laugh escapes Thundercracker.

Frag.
He was meant to be intimidating.
This… Was not intimidating.

… Then again, he’d already fragged up with the encounter with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.

May as well continue the track record.

“Bluestreak and I talk about movies.” Bumblebee patiently waits until Thundercracker has situated himself on the berth, stretching his leg out and moving his pede slowly to ease his reconnected hip joint up to movement again.

“Mhm, and speaking of Bluestreak…” The ‘Bot moves in, smile gone from his face and optics chilled to a dark shade of blue that almost seems empty.

“If you ever do anything to hurt him, I will be here. Maybe under your berth. Maybe in your floorboards. Maybe in your walls. But I will be here, and I will wait for you to recharge, only for you to wake in the most isolated place on Earth. No-one will ever see you again. No-one will be able to hear you. No-one will ever find you. I will make you suffer, if Bluestreak so much as whimpers because of you.” The Bug pauses, giving a devilish grin.

“That’s not even mentioning what Jazz and Prowl will do~.” Huh. He’s pretty terrifying. And that last statement alone is unsettling. But Thundercracker has been part of this war for longer than the insignificant little minibot has been functioning, and has been threatened by much more imposing figures than Bumblebee.

“It won’t come to that. If it did, then I well deserve what you’re promising, but it won’t.” Bumblebee glares at him for a couple of astroseconds. Then, maintaining optic contact, shuffles over to the vent. He makes an “I’m watching you” gesture as he scrambles up the wall as if-

As if there was anything to hold on to!
There isn’t, Thundercracker knows.

Must be a Spec Ops extension.

With a gruff ex-vent, Thundercracker lays fully down on his berth, just wanting to rest. It’s only after he’s offlined his optics that something smacks him (softly) in the face. He reaches up, pulls it away, and looks at it.

His pillow. His damp, gross pillow.

Sliding his narrowed optics over to the vents, he’s met with a bright smile and youthful optics of sky blue. The Bug looks so innocent.

“I’m off to cause havoc on your ship, byeee!” … Innocent was the last thing he was. Thundercracker rolls his optics. He sticks the pillow back under his helm and shutters off his optics again.

“Secure the vent on your way out.” He listens to the sound of four screws being twisted back into place, and then the shuffling of a tiny youngling turning around in the ventilation system. Underneath that he thinks he hears a little giggle.

“I got per~mi~ssion, I'm on a mi~ssion!” Coming from Bumblebee, that’s quite foreboding.

Still, not his problem.
Thundercracker slowly enables his recharge sequence-

“AAAARGH!” - Only for it to be immediately interrupted from a few doors down. Sirens start blaring, the lights on the Nemesis switching from their usual dim flickering state to a bright flashing red.

“Intruder! Intruder on base!”

“It’s the Autobot mini! Get him!” Thundercracker’s optic twitches as there’s the roar of a small engine going past his door - accompanied by a gleeful “Wheeee!” - followed by an absolute stampede. Apparently, it didn’t take much to lead a ship of fools on a turbogoose chase.

“He’s heading for a dead end!”

“Wait, where did he go?!”

“He’s vanished…? No, look-!”

“He’s in the walls!!! How the frag did he get in the walls?!” Thundercracker huffs in amusement. He can recall many stories Bluestreak has told him that include Bumblebee slipping into places a ‘Bot should not be able to go.

There’s the tinny vibration of someone wriggling through the wall panelling, before it pauses. Just behind his berth, there’s a tap, tap, tap.

“If you’re asking for directions, there’s a map in the engine room.” Another tap, tap, tap.

“Soundwave is always in communications.” Another tap, tap, tap. It takes Thundercracker a moment before he answers again, this time barely above a whisper. He doesn’t know if what he’s about to reveal counts as treachery.

“Megatron is in the command room.” The walls must be thin enough for Thundercracker’s quiet murmur to get through, because there’s scrabbling away from his berthroom.

The crowd of those chasing him have thumped away too. Except they’re heading to the common room. Probably to grab more idiots to run around after the minibot until he’s had his fun.

Or is captured.
Either way, the sirens and flashing red lights aren’t helping Thundercracker recharge. He really wants to. His self-repair systems are absolutely draining his energy, sapping every last drop of energon that he wishes would go into his tanks instead.

They ache.
His tanks ache so much that he dare not check his fuel levels.
The medical grade cube had been barely enough to keep him online.

The little energon that had been replaced from his skirmish with the Terror Twins had been newly spilled upon his return to the Nemesis. Megatron hadn’t been happy that he’d been captured, that he’d fallen out of the flight formation their leader had chosen for Starscream, that Soundwave had reported Ratbat returning alone.

Maybe the only two reasons he wasn’t complete scrap - or melting in the incineration room right now - was firstly because Ratbat had been unharmed, and vouched for Thundercracker ‘saving’ him from Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. And secondly because he had sufficient scarring to suggest he was fighting a battle of his own.

(True, though not in the way Megatron must have envisioned.)

That doesn’t do much to take away the dull ache, the pounding pain, and the persevering soreness. It doesn’t do anything to stop him feeling like he could drop into stasis any klik now.

“Primus, let me recharge.” A bright violet flash. Thundercracker vents a long-suffering, weary sigh.

Thanks, Primus.
Or maybe this was proof that only Unicron was listening in.

“Hey TC! Have you heard?! There’s a minibot on the Nemesis!”

“Yes, Skywarp. Yes, I have heard. I have heard… More than I want to. Because I want it to be quiet.” Skywarp snickers, poking at him. The air currents from his wings batter Thundercracker’s wounded frame, suggesting they had just moved in a mischievous circle.

“Guess who took advantage of the situation to make several slightly illegal bets~?” Had he cared enough to power his optics on, Thundercracker would have rolled them.

“Oh, let me guess. …Hm… Ravage?”

“Don’t be a sarcastic jerk!” Skywarp swats at him, the backs of sharp claws antagonising a weld that was on the border of splitting. Thundercracker hisses at him, enough to make Skywarp take a wary step back.

“Geez, chill. I’m sorry, okay? I kinda forgot you look like scrap right now.”

“Then use your optics.”

“Yeah, I am now. It’s ugly.” Pinching at his olfactory ridge, Thundercracker begrudgingly accepts that he will not be recharging this cycle. At least the intruder warning system has run out of efficient fuel to keep sounding. He onlines his optics to Skywarp picking up and examining an earth geode Thundercracker had found whilst fossil hunting with Marissa.

“Put that down, you kleptomaniac.”

“It’s a rock, TC. You can find them all over this crummy planet.” Part of Thundercracker wants to protest that Earth isn’t ‘crummy’ at all. But the part of him that cares so much about that rock - about the precious memories he has with Marissa and Buster! - flares up before his common sense.

“Put it down! If there’s rocks everywhere, go get yourself one!” Skywarp jolts. He’d been expecting a playful reply. He’d expected their usual banter. Maybe, if that rock wasn’t so dear to Thundercracker, he would have played along.

But he didn’t want to risk losing something that important.

“You’re being more of a jerk than usual, TC… In fact, I’d say you were being a flat-out afthole.” Taking a steadying, long vent, Thundercracker watches as Skywarp puts the geode back in its place before

“Look at me, Skywarp. This is the second time I’ve been completely scrapped in just as many cycles. I’ve been trapped on the Autobots base, at the hands of their Unicron-spawn medic, there’s no energon when I return - despite the raid yesterday, and I’m only back so Megatron can send me out on another raid.” He pauses, taking in Skywarp’s increasingly sour expression.

“I’m sore. I’m exhausted. My frame is torn in places that shouldn’t even hurt-” That earns him a snicker, which he returns with a smirk.

“- and there’s no way I can recharge with this absolute mess of a minibot situation. Do you see why I might be a ‘flat-out afthole’ right now?” Uncomfortably, Skywarp shuffles. That’s expected. He’s always been put off by considering others.

It was largely a Decepticon trait.

“I guess… But that still doesn’t excuse you treating me this way! Save it for Starscream.” It’s the closest a Decepticon will get to admitting that they’re friends. So Thundercracker just rolls his optics with a soft shake of his helm and smile, then points at the door.

“Out. I’ll treat Starscream worse when I see him.” The sheer, unhinged glee that ripples across Skywarp’s wings and faceplates is, honestly, a little concerning. But not out of place for who is possibly the most manic of the Decepticons.

Where Skywarp went, chaos, drama, and mess followed.
On the subject of chaos…

“I’m gonna see if I can catch that Autodolt before anyone else! Swindle started a bet for who could bring him the most valuable parts!”

“Of course he did…” The mutter goes unheard under the ‘VOP’ of Skywarp’s teleporting outlier, the room lit up in violet once more. In his absence, the only sound left is the eerie creaking of the underwater ship, and the humm of the single functioning stabiliser keeping them from toppling further into the ocean trench.

It got colder down there.
There weren’t enough blankets on the Nemesis for it to get colder.

(The main worry, though, was that the exit tower had to be above the ocean surface or the seekers would slowly go mad, eventually ripping themselves and others apart in the droves of Sky Madness.)

Then, over the speaker system, comes a furious message from their warmonger leader himself.

“BRING THAT AUTOBOT TO ME, IMMEDIATELY!!!” Ah, so Bumblebee had found Megatron. And, by the sounds of it, incurred his wrath by generally being annoying or destructive in the way that Spec Ops agents were.

With a vented sigh, Thundercracker tugs the blanket up higher and settles down. Finally, finally, he can recharge.

“- think he's going back this way, towards the med-bay!”

“Wait, no! He just slipped in the wall again!”

“Oh, for frags sake!” Thundercracker wrenches the pillow out from under him and drops his helm onto the cold metal slab of the berth. Then, with force, he holds the pillow to the side of his helm exposed to air.

It helps muffle some of the sound.
But not much - considering there’s a whole parade of miss-clocked dumbafts stomping around in the corridor outside his room.

Was Bumblebee doing this on purpose?
Was this his punishment for befriending Bluestreak?
… Was this a warning for the rest of his life if he ever hurt Blue?

Primus forbid he never be allowed to recharge again!
That would drive him more insane than being trapped in this tin can of a dysfunctional ship with miss-clocked idiots already had.

That was a torture he didn't want to suffer.

And suddenly there’s a distinct yelp from a distance away. He feels it through his wing sensornet.

He’d been caught.

“Scrap…” Dragging a servo down his faceplate, Thundercracker knows all too well that there are many Decepticons who would cruelly torture the vulnerable minibot youngling. He also knows that would upset Bluestreak.

… He only hopes to Primus that he gets there in time, heaving himself from his berth and half-limping along the corridors.

“Let me go! Let me go! OW!” Thundercracker turns the corner to see Bumblebee being held upside down by an ankle joint by Onslaught, servos cradling his helm where he’s obviously just been slammed against the wall - if the yellow paint scuff mark there is anything to go by.

Thundercracker’s spark skips a rotation. Onslaught is one of the last Decepticons an invading Autobot would want to run into, whether they know it or not.
He could pass the Bug on to Swindle.
He could pass the Bug on to Vortex.

He could use him as a live target in the training room, testing out new weapons and using his hand-to-hand combat to draw out a painful, torturous deactivation.

“Bite me again, slagger, and I’ll destroy you before my gestaltmate does.” Bumblebee bares his denta, swinging his weight forwards in an attempt, but thankfully, misses. That doesn’t put Onslaught off though.

Thundercracker recognises the dangerous glint in his visor.
That’s a look that screams “someone will be wiping energon off the training room floors later”.

“Onslaught.” Stepping out decisively, Thundercracker flares his wings in false confidence, mirroring the pose Starscream so haughtily walks around with. The Combaticon leader stares at him, then smirks nastily.

“I was about to comment on how surprising it is that you’re walking around, but considering your stance, I’d hardly call it walking~.” Rolling his optics, Thundercracker ignores the obvious delight at his pain.

“Just take the vermin to Megatron. I know you heard the announcement.” He ignores the shocked, betrayed look Bumblebee gives him. Truly, being delivered to Megatron was the better option out of what could happen here.

“I see you’re back to being the obedient little officers pet.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Thundercracker narrows his optics, baring a fang with a growl, and directing his wings forwards with aggression. The threatening step forwards he takes, however, is ruined by the way he staggers on his sore hip joint.

Onslaught doesn’t bother to hide a cackle.

“You couldn’t stop me having a little fun before turning the Autodolt over if you tried.” It’s… Unfortunately true, Thundercracker realises as Bumblebee’s optics widen with fear.

Pit, he looks so innocently young like that.

But in this condition, there’s no way Thundercracker can fight one-on-one against Onslaught. The mech had been a dangerous criminal back on Cybertron, a murderer! One bad enough to have his personality circuits stored on secure disks!

(Curse Starscream for reactivating the Combaticons. Curse him for picking Onslaught out of the many available disks.)

But then, there are more ways to fight than physically.

“You’re right, I don’t have the power to stop you. But -” He steps aside and lowers a wing, revealing one of the Nemesis’s many surveillance cameras. Cameras that Soundwave would no doubt be monitoring.

“ - I’m sure by now, Megatron will be expecting you en route.” A large servo tightens around Bumblebee’s ankle strut enough that the minibot winces, but as predicted - with his loyalty in question - Onslaught turns and heads towards the command deck.

Thundercracker drags himself along behind, just to make sure.

As Bumblebee spins around in Onslaught’s grip, he gives the Seeker a dirty glare, pouting. Not an expression of betrayal, but one that certainly blamed him for this predicament. Thundercracker rolls his optics, then gestures to the Decepticon brand on his wings.

He doesn’t expect the middle finger shoved quite aggressively towards him.

He snickers.

A second middle finger joins it.

“What would your superior officers say if they could see you now, youngling? Behaving so uncouth, so Decepticon?” The Bug gives him a filthy look, but Thundercracker flicks a wing towards the cameras dotted along the corridor, and tilts his helm in the same way Bluestreak does when he’s listening.

And Bumblebee instantly gets it.
They’re being listened to.

Thundercracker is trying to make it seem as if he can be talked into becoming a Decepticon, into buying some time with Megatron so the Spec Ops extraction team could get him out.

And oh, how those tiny blue optics light up with delight. As soft as he is with younglings, Thundercracker softly smiles. He erases it quickly, just a flicker of an astrosecond, but he can’t stop the feeling of pride when Bumblebee ultimately catches on with a shout of;

“I’ll behave however I fraggin’ want! I don’t give a pit-damned-scrap about what they say! I say what I want, however I frelling want!” A little huff of amusement escapes Thundercracker as the Bug twists and turns in Onslaught’s grip, swinging himself around and lashing out with punches and bites his leg.

“Quit that or I’ll bash your fragging helm in!”

“Fights dirty too. Fights Decepticon.” Thundercracker strides forwards - ignoring the incessant pain from his hip - and snatches the Autobot by the wrists, yanking him away from Onslaught. The Combaticon leader whirls around on him, weapons primed and servos curled into fists.

“What the frag are you doing?”

“Thinking.” That definitely doesn’t answer Onslaught’s question, but Thundercracker allows for Bumblebee to kick at him repetitively, swearing and cursing and spitting fake threats that he’s probably wanted to say for vorns.

Younglings loved to indulge in naughty behaviour, no matter how good or kind or well behaved they were.
This one seemed to be having fun.

“He has a rather Decepticon quality to him, doesn’t he? I think Megatron would like to hear of this.” Onslaught tries to splutter a retort, something along the lines of “You can’t be serious!”, but Thundercracker has already started hobbling along.

The more he moves, the easier it gets, but there’s still an insistently pinging warning for pain. Soon, though, he’s smooth enough that he walks into the command room without much trouble - despite Bumblebee wriggling and flailing and kicking and shouting-

Ah. Not shouting. He’s worn himself out.
That or he feels a little guilty for being so… Profane.

(Thundercracker doesn’t want to think about any punishments the Bug might have to face, punishments for something Thundercracker essentially baited him into.)

“Lord Megatron.” Stepping through the doorways and into the light of the digital light of the room, he’s unsurprised to see that Soundwave has come here from communications to patch through a call to the Autobots. Or receive it.

What he is surprised at is the casual amount of destruction.

A broken vent swings from the ceiling, there are torn wires on every surface, rubber tyre tracks over the floor and walls, electrical sparks from the computerised surfaces, and paint.

So. Much. Paint.

It’s splattered around the room in little explosions, but more noticeably, over Megatron.
The Bug had thrown paint over Megatron.

The Bug had caused this absolute mess, this amount of chaos, in the very presence of Megatron.

Now that he looks closely, Thundercracker thinks he can see the print of Bumblebee’s tyres perfectly ground into Megatron’s faceplates, though there’s been an obvious attempt to wipe it away.

“Finally.” Megatron reaches to take Bumblebee from his grasp, but the youngling seems to suddenly snap out of his exhaustion, kicking forwards and nailing the warlord right on the olfactory sensor.

“Eat my dust, Bucket Head!”

“You insolent little-!”

“I humiliated you once, what’s to stop me from doing it again?!” With a roar of rage, Megatron lunges forwards to grab the minibot, but on pure reflex - fear for Bluestreak’s friend - Thundercracker spins around, letting his leader surge past him and straight onto the floor.

Bumblebee laughs, a few other muffled laughs coming from the Autobot side of communication, but stops abruptly when he sees the horrified, terrified expression on Thundercracker’s faceplates.

It’s only there briefly, Thundercracker hides it again very quickly.

“Lord Megatron, with your permission, may I make a… Suggestion?” The ferocity of the glare being delivered to him doesn’t diminish as Megatron rises to full height, using it to lean into the Seeker’s personal space.

Over him. His wings have dropped to their lowest, must submissive pose, trembling at the danger.

“You are on dangerous grounds, Thundercracker.”

“Y-Yes, my Lord.”

“And yet you dare to disobey me?!” He can feel his throat cabling tense up. He can feel a pounding in his chassis, a pressure behind his optics. He can feel how still Bumblebee is, for once not provoking the Decepticon leader.

“... With good reason, my Liege.” Megatron’s optics narrow. He stands up straight, a little out of Thundercracker’s space. Thundercracker does not relax in the slightest. He knows the extra space means more room for Megatron to prepare for physical punishments.

“You have my… Tentative permission to speak.” This vaguely reminds him of the time Skywarp was stuck in a wall.

He hopes he can bullscrap his way through this too.

“This Autobot… Is a- A youngling.” Wow, fantastic start, doing absolutely great, he thinks to himself sarcastically as Megatron scowls. Quickly, before anyone or anything can interrupt, he continues on.

“In other terms, he’s still easily influenced. Easily retrained and reapplied in other ways. As- As a Decepticon, Sir.”

“I’ll tear you all to pieces before even thinking of becoming a Decepticon!” Heavy pedes pound against wherever Bumblebee’s kicks can reach, struggling furiously in the grip Thundercracker has around his wrists. As he’s held out at arm’s length, he seems to realise his kicks are doing nothing and instead pulls his weight upwards to start gnawing at Thundercracker’s servos.

And, well, his denta are pretty blunt compared to the seeker fangs Thundercracker occasionally worries his own servo with.

“As you can see, he already has some… Rather Decepticon traits. His behaviour, his vocabulary, his… Destructiveness.” Megatron tellingly glances around the room at that. Then glances back to the ferocious youngling trying to chew his way out of the seemingly fierce grasp around his wrists.

(It’s gentle, he doesn’t need to know it’s gentle, but Bumblebee could easily pull free at any point he likes. Thundercracker holds him sternly, but not tightly.)

“Indeed he does.” With confident strides, Megatron walks up to the screen that displays Optimus Prime, who although on mute, clearly has some very choice words for his enemy. That’s clear in the dent in the table under his fist.

“As you can see, Prime, I have settled on a much more reasonable outcome! Rather than have this nuisance delivered to you in several parts, he will be retrained and used to secure Decepticon victory!” The iconic laugh of a slightly manic warlord echoes in the room, but somehow, someone on the other side manages to undo the muteness.

For a moment, the room is filled with Optimus Prime’s furious threats towards Megatron, his engines rumbling ominously, which - upon realising he can be heard - turn to promises to get Bumblebee out of there.

Thundercracker watches carefully, silently, before he jolts.

There, casually in the background of the video call, is Jazz.

“Wh-” He catches himself before Megatron or Soundwave hear him over Prowl bitterly stating that Megatron had called them first, demanding they take Bumblebee back before he cause even more damage.

(Obviously, the minibot had caused enough trouble to break even Megatron.)

Thundercracker lifts Bumblebee higher, enough that he can hiss straight into his audial.

“Why is your supervisor over there?! Shouldn’t he be coming to get you?!” Bright, blue optics blink at him with a spot of confusion. Then, he grins.

“Nah. Who needs your boss when you’ve given my invisible protector time to catch up?” All too suddenly - despite his exhaustion, his pain, and the way he forces his wings to stay in their submissive, trembling position - he becomes aware of the presence just behind him.

“... Oh.” Lightening arches off his frame as he buckles under the shock of a taser shoved between his wings, letting out a cry as it aggravates his many injuries.

Despite that, it’s not enough to knock him offline, so it must be at an intermediary level.

He remembers, as he’s falling to the floor, to let go of Bumblebee. The minibot lands on his pedes and instantly bolts for the doors, a no-longer-invisible Mirage next to him, whilst Thundercracker crashes to the ground.

He would very much like to stay here for a while.

…He does not have that option.

“After him, you fools!” Pushing himself up with a barely audible groan, Thundercracker knows he must move swiftly if he wants to avoid another round with Megatron in the command room.

He hadn’t missed the dried splatters of his own energon from earlier amongst the paint.

Soundwave releases his cassettes, Ravage going as far as to leap over Thundercracker whilst he’s still on servos and knees, but he’s quick to scramble after them. Glancing back, he watches as Megatron buries a fist in the control hub.

That’ll be someone’s job to fix later.
It also cuts off the extremely proud - some of them laughing - Autobots, and Thundercracker closes the door behind him as if he could close away the possibility of that fist coming for him next.

He had, after all, been the one holding the Bug.
The one who let him go.

Maybe that was for the best. Because nobody else would have let go in that moment, and Bumblebee would have gotten hurt (or worse, his processor helpfully supplies) and Bluestreak would have been devastated, and they may even have captured Mirage too.

Honestly, Thundercrcacker didn’t care too much for the noble, but he’s sure Bluestreak would have been upset had that happened too, so…

What was one beating compared to a life that actually mattered?

And-

And…?

Wait, why wasn’t he being beaten right now? Why wasn’t Megatron punishing him right now?

… Why wasn’t Megatron trying to recapture the two Autobot spies???

“Frag…” Thundercracker stops to lean against a wall. Something doesn’t feel right. It’s too easy. By now, they both should have been recaptured, if not by Soundwave’s cassettes, then by an enraged Megatron himself.

Why are they…?
Why are they getting away…?

They caused a lot of destruction. They could have information. They irritated Megatr-.

They could have information.

They could have information, stolen from the Nemesis. Stolen from the archives of plans. Information on planned raids, information on targets, information on the soldiers.

Information that is undoubtedly wrong.

“That’s it…” Thundercracker stops chasing. As he does, a servo clamps down on his shoulder. He flinches, instinctively expecting a ‘punishment’ to follow, but is instead pushed to lean against the wall much heavier.

It’s a welcome relief.
The wall is nice.
Almost as nice as the floor earlier.

“Thundercracker: Observant. Autobots: Allowed to escape with false information.” Knowing that it’s Soundwave and not Megatron allows Thundercracker to relax for just a moment, loosening the frame that was pulled so tight, it was hard to ventilate.

“I presume we’ll have a meeting to discuss our next raid shortly, then?” A slight pause, then a nod. Soundwave withdraws, heading back into the command room.

Ah. He’s the one to fix the command deck.

For a moment, Thundercracker wonders why his thoughts are so… Woozy. Detached. Then, he reluctantly remembers that he was already sore leaving the Autobots, welcomed back with a ‘punishment’ for being taken in the first place, hadn’t recharged or refuelled in hours - both of which he dearly needed, and had a taser shoved in his most sensitive circuitry.

So maybe he could forgive himself for being a little out of it.
And tired. Excessively tired.

“By pit, I just want to recharge…” But that blessing is not given to him, as an order comes across the comms unit for all soldiers to amass in the war briefing room. Primarily, Thundercracker reasons, because it has a significantly not broken digital screen to project battle plans on.

Steadily, he drags himself in that direction. He’s one of the first, so takes residence in a dark corner and cycles down his systems as everyone else filters in. It’s barely resting, just dancing on the edge of recharge, but it’s enough for now.

And yet, so tempting is the desire to just recharge and ask ‘Warp for an update later…

No, no, he can’t do that. He daren’t try that, as Megatron strides into the room and takes point at the very front, ready to give his orders.

“As you are all aware, our base was recently broken in to by a pest of an Autobot.” Megatron pauses to let the grumbling pass before he raises a servo, demanding silence.

“This Autobot was manipulated into playing straight into my servo. By luring the insolent glitch mouse into the command deck, it was tempted into stealing information. Information that is entirely wrong.” He grins, manic and bloodthirsty.

“Whilst those idiots under the lead of the fool, Optimus Prime, wait 2 cycles to head to a waterfall in Zambia, we Decepticons shall depart on the orn to this location.” The screen behind Megatron lights up.

It’s a village.
A small village of mud huts with straw roofs. Just beyond the village is a large cave, and even with fatigued optics, Thundercracker can tell that they glint with gemstones.

Gemstones that could easily be broken down into energon with a little vibration. They’d done it before, with rubies.

But that had been in the mountains. In a mine. Not in an exposed cave nestled right next to a village! A village that was brimming with life, adults and children alike weaving their way between the mud huts, fenced off animal enclosures, and dug wells.

A village that seemed peaceful and simple, with no cares beyond their community.

Thundercracker watched as two children - one no older than a newspark - approach a woman who carries a weaved basket on her shoulder. She greets them with a kiss to their foreheads, takes the newspar- Baby. The baby, onto her hip, and continues on.

The older child, a youngling, a small and gangly thing turns around and crouches low, arms open. And oh, how Thundercracker’s spark aches. He recognises that pose. He knows that gesture.

How many time has he done it for Buster?

He watches, a bitter, hollow feeling biting at his fuel lines as a medium brown dog with a curly, wagging tail bounds into the arms of the youngli- child, knocking it over and making it laugh.

And something in Thundercracker clicks.

I can't let anything to the bitlets and their dog.

“- will destroy the village -” He tunes Megatron back out. He worries his bottom lipplate with his denta, fangs creating a prickling sensation. His claws dig into the palm of his servo.

Thundercracker makes his decision, regardless of the fact that he’s in a war meeting, regardless of the fact that Soundwave is right fragging there-

He accesses the emergency contact channel.

Boom Baby!: [LONGITUDE] [LATITUDE]
Boom Baby!: Evacuate this location by morning, don’t interfere for a few hours otherwise.

He can only hope the Autobots are monitoring it carefully.

…

Boom Baby!: And change my name tag.

Chapter Text

For the second raid in a row, Thundercracker watched the sun. But this time, rather than setting, it was rising. Thousands of feet in the air, the horizon was a hard thing to avoid. At least he had the energy to make the flight.

A little bit of recharge, some pain patches, and a couple of ‘crunchy bits’ scraped from the empty energon storage room had done… Some good, at the very least.

Thundercracker was finding it hard to focus on the good.

He was so, so anxious about whether the evacuation had happened in time, whether his message had even been received, or if there would be evidence left behind of the evacuation.

Tyre tracks in thick mud just before the Decepticon raid wasn’t exactly explained away by pure chance, or human luck.

“Hey, you look less like scrap today!” As if to interrupt his dismal thoughts, a black and purple jet somersaults over him, going from just behind him on the left, to just ahead of him on the right. It’s playfully irritating. Perfectly Skywarp.

“Skywarp, you literally saw me in the mess hall, the wash racks, and every moment from take-off to now. Why have you only just realised that?”

“Uh, ‘cus it’s light now, duh.”

“... You can adjust your optical aperture for lower light situations, you know.” Skywarp scoffs, as if Thundercracker had just said something stupid rather than pointing out something that clearly every mech knew. Well, every mech except Skywarp, apparently.

“I was saving my energon for something more important.” For a moment, Thundercracker just ex-vents slowly. Then, he abruptly remembers what sort of things Skywarp classes as ‘important’.

“What did you do with the rubber ducks?” His suspicions are proved correct when Skywarp wiggles his wings in glee - wobbling a little in flight but not losing control - sending a pulse of mischief through the trinebond.

“I’ll only tell you what I did with 5 of them. The other 4995 are a mystery waiting to be found~.” Great. So now Thundercracker had the rubber-duck-o-pocalypse to add to his list of worries, frets, fears, and anxieties.

“Just… Tell me what you did with 5, then.” Had Skywarp been in root mode, Thundercracker would have expected to see a wicked grin across his faceplates. Instead, he just felt the insistent battering of deviousness against the trinebond, Skywarp trying to hold back.

“Stole some sedatives and performed a little ‘surgery’ so Hook gets a surprise the next time he opens up a few mechs~.” With a vented sigh of exasperation, Thundercracker runs a quick self-scan over his internals, just to make sure he wasn’t one of the mechs Skywarp had targeted. Sedatives would certainly explain his deep recharge…

The scan came back clear. His recharge must have simply been due to exhaustion after all.

“I’m willing to bet that’s the location for more than five, knowing you.” Cackling, Skywarp spins back over to his place in the formation. It wasn’t too important to hold formation on the flight there - hence why Skywarp had gone without reprimand - but Starscream favoured them to do so, as practice.

Thundercracker knows not to ruin Skywarp’s fun, or things will get more drastic, more… Insane.
But he also knows the dangers involved with having foreign objects lodged in the system that a medic isn’t aware of.

Henceforth, he sends note of the duck-o-pocalypse to Hook over the comms.

His response is a harsh, staticky burst of irritation.
Medics.
All forged from the pit. The lot of them. Autobot and Decepticon alike.

“Decepticons! Descend!” And all that fear suddenly comes rushing back, especially the thought that the Autobots had left tyre tracks imprinted deep into the mud around or within the village.

That would be evidence of a traitor within the ranks. One that would cause an investigation.
An investigation, undoubtedly, that would lead to him.

He wasn’t a traitor!
He was a loyal Decepticon!
He just… Didn’t agree with some of the methods or morals.

“Hey, uh, shouldn’t we be able to see the squishies running’ or hear ‘em screaming by now?” The dive they’ve taken isn’t steep, but it’s still enough that the ground is in view by now. Rumble’s question almost echoes in the unusual silence.

He isn’t wrong.
Most Decepticon attacks have some degree of humans screaming from terror and running for their lives.

“Maybe they haven’t heard us!” It’s a stupid remark, but Thundercracker isn’t going to stop Skywarp from saying stupid things.

That would be a full-time occupation.

“Then they’re stupider than the idiotic city humans! Thundercracker, make them flee!” And for once in his somewhat miserable life, Thundercracker feels like worshipping Starscream, as his trineleader so often remarked he deserved. (He did not.)

He can use ripples of his sonic boom in the surface level of the mud to disguise any tyre tracks.
He can erase any evidence of Autobots.

“One reason to panic, coming right up.” He cuts his turbines. Thundercracker drops out of the sky, rapidly descending as he transforms into root mode, powering up his outlier.

With only 800 feet and 1.5 seconds to impact, he unleashes a monster of a sonic boom, probably the largest he’s created on Earth. It’s powerful enough to stop him in mid-air, maintaining a hovering height until he reboots his turbines and slowly descends to stand amidst the chaos he’s created.

It’s ruined.
The village is ruined.

The weaved rooves of the huts have been blown off into the unknown, the mud walls are cracked and crumbling, and all but one of the wooden fences used to keep livestock had been blasted into tiny fragments of splintered wood.

But it works as intended.

The thick mud of the village floor settles in clear, somewhat overlapping ripples.
No tyre tracks.

Landing - stumbling a little from the ache caused by the sheer force of his outlier ability - Thundercracker looks around to make sure all evidence is gone. No paint transfers on buildings, no obvious pede marks, and most importantly, nothing or nobody left behind.

Satisfied, he stands to attention, holding his wings in a respectful manner. Megatron lands in the mud a fair distance from him, but still too close to be comfortable with.

“Report.”

“No humans within the vicinity, Lord Megatron.” The warlord’s faceplates start to twist into something violent, something suspicious, so Thundercracker quickly interjects.

“Considering that all the humans, livestock, and apparent belongings have gone, paired with close proximity to a large river and jungle trails visual from the air, it’s highly likely that this tribe of organics were nomadic.” He’s not lying. He’s just… Omitting the truth. The tribe was technically nomadic, though they operated within the wet and dry seasons, not on a whim.

By telling the partial truth though, Thundercracker can be assured that Soundwave won’t have any need to pry deeper. There’s no telling what the (slightly terrifying) communications officer could pull from his thoughts alone.

But fate is on his side today.

Megatron’s frown becomes a wide sneer, a victorious and greedy expression.

“Then we have no immediate risk of being discovered by the infuriating Autobots. Decepticons! Into the caves, begin turning the crystals into energon immediately. You may refuel as we proceed!” The cheer that goes up is deafening, so much so that Thundercracker angles his sensitive wings back to try and ease the impact on them.

There’s such a joyous atmosphere that he can’t help relaxing a little bit, watching the mayhem of the Decepticon army celebrating, and allows himself a soft smile as Frenzy and Rumble tackle the largest nearby target (Astrotrain) with whoops of excitement.

“Fraggin’ pit, TC, that was one pit of a blast! You been holding back all this time, or something?” Grunting as Skywarp tackles him from behind - almost folding with the weight of his trinemate on him, if not for long practice - Thundercracker tries to ignore his aching pedes.

“Earth’s atmosphere isn’t exactly great for my outlier. There’s a lot of air pollutants that prevent me going all out.” Skywarp tilts his helm, merely curious, before he obviously decides he’s bored and shrugs as he steps away.

“Fair enough. C’mon! Let’s get some energon!” He darts away, and Thundercracker can only sigh in good-nature at how impossible it is to get Skywarp to stay still or pay attention for longer than a breem.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming.” The prospect of immediate energon is enough for him to overcome that panging pain in his thrusters - a bad sign that he’s overdone it so much, the energon lines have suffered a temporary shock-stop - and make his way through the stodgy mud over to the gemstone cave.

Yeah. Definitely overdone it.
He’d partially liquified the mud beneath the village.

Poor Ravage was shoulder-deep in it and looked like she’d rather be underwater right now.

“Primus above! There’s bismuth and manganese in here! We hit the jackpot!!!” Thundercracker doesn’t want to ask where Swindle learnt what a jackpot is, nor what he intends to do with said minerals. Next to his gestalt-mate, Brawl grumpily responds;

“Jackpot for you, maybe. I find the sour and salty taste rather off-putting.” Ah. Nothing nefarious, then.

Listening in casually to multiple separate conversations going on around him, Thundercracker does his own work dutifully after drinking his fair share, filling up one cube after another by gently knocking the cube against the exposed minerals, then making the wall thrum with his turbines, controlling the output precisely.

It didn’t take much skill to do, but it took lots to perfect.

Hence why the Stunticons and a few others had tiny splatters of energon over them and granulated chunks in their cubes.
Others, like Soundwave, had perfectly smooth cubes that could be mistaken for a masterful brew in a Cybertronian pub, had it not been low-grade.

Thundercracker was somewhere closer to that side of the sliding scale, but he still occasionally messed up, and the odd grain or two made its way into his cubes.

“Hey, can I have one of yours?”

“Hm?”

“I can’t get the gradient right for straight up drinking. Can I have one of yours?” With a nod, Thundercracker flicks a wing permissively towards his pile of cubes. There’s a fair few, so he doesn’t mind just giving one away, but Blast Off swaps it for one he’s made anyway. (One with chunky bits that would need further processing in the energon stores.)

Decepticons had strange morals.

Stealing for chaos? Absolutely fine.

Stealing from Autobots or other species? Totally normal.

But stealing for consumption from a fellow Decepticon? You had to ask, and you’d better heed the answer.

Decepticons didn’t say thanks, either. Well, none that Thundercracker knew of. (Other than himself, outside of Decepticon relations.)
Instead, they either made merry, or gave… ‘Advice’.

“You should probably watch your back. Onslaught isn’t impressed with you.”

“Ah. I’ll bear that in mind.”

“I really mean it. He’s been lashing out over the gestalt bond for groons.”

“That’s an Onslaught problem, then. I did my duty as it should have been done.” Blast Off shoots him a look like he’s crazy for acting so dismissively, but Thundercracker knows Onslaught wouldn’t dare try anything.

Firstly, because he’d be in the wrong, and it would push him outside of Megatron’s favour.
Secondly, because he’d had a taste of seeker claws when he pushed Starscream too far in a meeting once.
Thirdly, because he had a strange sense of honour and wouldn’t attack a fellow Decepticon without challenge, which Thundercracker would undoubtedly turn down - quite callously too.

“Take an extra cube. No doubt you’ll be forced to help ferry this all back. There’s more than just what Astrotrain and Blitzwing can deal with. They can be somewhat weak.” Ignoring the shout of ‘I heard that!’ from somewhere deeper in the cavern, Thundercracker quirks a tiny smile as Blast Off vents a weary sigh and lolls his helm backwards in dramatic exasperation.

“Don’t I just know it.”

“Bet you wish you weren’t a shuttle in circumstances like this.”

“I didn’t fragging choose to be a shuttle, Starscream decided that himself.” Thundercracker winces a little at the pure vitriol directed at his trine leader.

“At least you’re the most competent of the three.” There’s another, angrier ‘I heard that, you fragging sorry excuse of a tinfoil turkey!’ from the same deep spot within the cavern, but again, it goes ignored. Blast Off isn’t quick enough to hide the flicker of both pride and amusement in his field from Thundercracker’s sensitive wings.

“Damn right I am.” That said, he takes a second cube from Thundercracker’s pile - since he’d been given permission that didn’t require a trade - and heads back over to the other combaticons, joining back in with a conversation that must have been transmitted over the gestalt bond.

It was amazing how all the gestalt mechs seemed to be constantly having at least two conversations continuously. One over the gestalt, and one or more verbally.

Thundercracker was sure he’d go insane if the trinebond was constantly open to Skywarp’s inane chatter and prank planning, or Starscream’s heinous plotting and laser-focused science data.

“I heard all of that, you reformatted cessna. And you fragging ignored me, you floating scrap heap! You- You slagger!” Offering an unkind snicker, Thundercracker steps sideways just in time to avoid Blitzwing’s knuckles which had been aiming to deliver a rough back-servo to his wing.

“Oh?”

“You’re such a jerk.”

“As I’ve been told, several times~.” Blitzwing narrows his visor. Thundercracker gives a small grin back, his wings motioning in a playfully mean way, one that showed he was only teasing.

One that put him on the same level as the other soldiers, rather than up in Starscream’s calibre.
He had the right, as a trinemate and member of the Elite Trine. He just didn’t exercise it because it wasn’t necessary.
He didn’t see himself as an officer or member of the war council.

Blitzwing relaxes his frame a little at the familiarity, though he does still deliver a sturdy punch to Thundercracker’s pauldron.

“Yeah, an’ you’ll hear it as many times as I gotta tell ya. ‘Cus you’re a jerk.”

“Are you always this flattering, or am I a special case?”

“Fla-?!” The stark refusal to take ‘jerk’ as an insult does exactly what Thundercracker had hoped, and leaves Blitzwing spluttering, trying to think of an insult he hasn’t used that still applies.

Thundercracker raises an optical ridge.
Blitzwing scowls.
The Seeker smirks, the picture of smugness.
The Triple-changer relents.

“Gimme your cubes so I can start packin’ up.” A trill of disbelief slips out of Thundercracker’s vocaliser.

“We’re done already?” This… Must be the quickest raid in the recent history of the Decepticons. His sensible question is met with a sharp bark of laughter, as if he’d said something hilarious.

“No fraggin’ way!” Then, Blitzwing settles into a grin, sweeping an arm around at the huge expanse of cavern around them. It was much larger inside than it had appeared from the out, trailing into underground halls that led to underground lakes.

“Look how big this place is! An’ how much energon we’ve already gathered! Some of us are shipping out whilst the rest of ya keep filling up more cubes. Just in case the Autodolts bust this joint. Even if they do, we’re probably gonna have full energon stores for the first in a long time.”

“Really? Most of it will be sent to Cybertron, I’m sure…” Blitzwing looks at him with a flash of surprise in his visor, quickly glancing around to make sure nobody was listening in. Because saying something like that, criticising the decisions of command, was bound to end up with punishment.

But when there’s no indication of overhearing audials, Blitzwing shrugs.

“Sure, but we’ll have enough that we ain’t gonna starve for a while.” With a vented huff - somewhere between a laugh and a sigh - Thundercracker turns back to his duties to hide the bitter smile on his faceplates.

“Optimistic, aren’t you?” Another shrug sends light breezes of movement against his sensitive wings.

“Maybe. ‘Train says it’s cus I’m dumb, but I just think it’s ‘cus everyone else has lost hope.” Thundercracker’s optics widen and he slowly turns to look at Blitzwing, slightly impressed.

“That’s… Not what I expected to hear from you.” He’s awarded a friendly punch to the shoulder.

“Hey! Yeah, I might be dumb, but I’m pretty observant!” For an astrosecond, Thundercracker’s spark stops.

Was- Was that a warning?

Did Blitzwing know something…?

Had he seen Thundercracker leaving his patrol routes? Had he seen him meet up with Bluestreak? Or Marissa?!
Was he ‘observant’ about the trinkets in Thundercracker’s habsuite? Had he spotted evidence of his treacherous non-betrayal?

… No. No, that couldn’t be it.

If it was, Blitzwing would have held it over his helm for favours before now. He would have kept it between the two of them, using every opportunity to blackmail the seeker.

“Uh, TC? You’ve gone pretty quiet. You still in there?” At an abrupt knock to his helm, Thundercracker swats a lilac servo away.

“I’m thinking.”

“You’re always thinking.”

“Well, it would be cruel to leave Soundwave as the only functional processor chip in this misclocked faction.”

“Sure would- Hey!” Laughing as he’s pulled into a helmlock, Thundercracker jabs a digit in one of Blitzwing’s sensitive seams, prompting a playful spar.

“You implyin’ I’m dumb!?”

“You just admitted it yourself!” The arm around his neck loosens and Thundercracker is easily able to pull away, stepping backwards and snickering at the dumbfounded look on Blitzwing’s faceplates.

“Huh. Oh yeah. I did, didn’t I?” Thundercracker picks up a few cubes, tossing one towards Blitzwing casually.

“You also said you were going to start packing up. Pack up, then.”

“Jerk.” Despite the grumbled reply, Blitwing transforms into his cargo plane alt mode, opening a hatch expectantly. Thundercracker is not alone in placing his already filled cubes aboard.

Quiet conversation overlaps the sound of others preparing their cubes, and for the first time in a long, long time, the ‘raid’ is relatively relaxed. There’s no threat.

No threat of humans reporting them to the Autobots, no threat of the Autobots arriving to ruin their operation.
(Not for a while, anyways. But a couple of hours should be all they need.)

Of course, only Thundercracker is aware of exactly why this is, but the entire Decepticon force has lost their tension already. The prospect of energon without having to fight for it has installed a sense of calmness amongst them, one rarely seen since the before the war span out of control, when the uprising promised a new future to the oppressed.

It’s- It’s nice.
It’s almost… Normal. Like how they should be. Except, on an alive Cybertron rather than Earth.

Thundercracker can’t help but feel a small burst of anger towards the war. If only the senate hadn’t been corrupt in the first place. If only the uprising hadn’t given full power to a gladiator. If only someone had stopped Megatron before he became fully corrupt, led them into this existence.

If only they could live normal lives, not as Autobots and Decepticons, but as Cybertronians.

Out of the corner of his optic, he notices Soundwave giving him an uneasily fixed stare. As close to a glare as the communications officer could give. Luckily, he hasn’t truly thought anything to do with Bluestreak. Soundwave is simply… Warning him about those kind of thoughts.

“It’s pleasing to think that we’re one step closer to bringing Cybertron back online. I think we all miss it.” The diversion - which, honestly, not untrue - works. Soundwave nods, losing the harshness in his gaze.

“Affirmative. Home: Desirable.”

“Will it… Take much longer?” There’s a lengthy pause, one stretched long enough that it becomes slightly uncomfortable, slightly awkward, and Thundercracker shuffles as he waits for Soundwave to compose an answer.

“Shockwave: Has not given direct numeric.”

“Not even a hint, I bet.” This time, it’s Soundwave who shuffles uneasily. He might be unforgiving against Megatron slander, but even he can accept the somewhat nasty and… ‘Impatience’ fuelled comments directed towards Shockwave.

Even the insults.

“... Negative. Cybertron’s resurrection: In unknown quantity of time.” That’s not exactly comforting, or informative. Thundercracker curls a servo into a fist.

“And how much more energon will we sacrifice for that? How many more ‘rations’? Are we supposed to starve whilst Shockwave does unregistered things with all the energon we send over?” All too suddenly, Thundercracker is aware of the fact that they’re being watched.

Of course they are.
They were in the middle of casually loading up the cubes into Blitwing’s hold.

The intense feeling of shocked optics fixed upon him sends a cold shiver down Thundercracker’s spinal strut. His wings fold back with anxiety before he can stop them, but he does flick them back into a neutral position, flexing his servos as if that could untangle the knot it feels like his lines have tangled themselves in.

“Concern: Understandable. Soundwave: … Partially agrees.” There’s a litany of vented gasps from around them. Thundercracker just stares. It seems like his helm is completely silenced, completely empty with the shock of that statement.

Soundwave??? Not being 100% complacent with Megatron’s plans?????

Unbelievable.

“Emphasis: Partially.” Still uncomfortable with all the unnecessary attention on him, Thundercracker nods and slithers off outside of the crowd. It puts him closer to the mouth of the cave, and glancing out, he spots something he doesn’t like.

Laziness.

Hanging around outside of the cave, Megatron basically entertains himself by firing off shots at the fringes of the jungle. The burning undergrowth and singed edges of the tree canopies show that he’s been wasting energon via arm cannon for a while.

Likely, the entire time his army has been hard at work harvesting.

It’s such a waste of resources.

As if that wasn't irritating enough, Starscream is lying on a makeshift slope from a half crumbled wall and some gathered thatching, leisurely sipping at a stolen cube. He looks like some of those ‘Hawaii holiday’ adverts he’d seen on billboards.

It’s infuriating.

Even Soundwave is in there, working. Everyone else is working. So how in the pit is Starscream getting away with slacking off?!

… Especially considering Megatron is right there. He could so easily just twist around and instead of aiming at the jungle, he’d be aiming at his second in command. Miraculously, he hasn’t yet.

And that’s when the thought flickers through his processor.

‘Prowl and The Prime would never’

The pure anger shocks him, even though it’s his own thought! But the more he mulls it over, the more he realises, actually…

Yeah. He’s right.

The Leader and SIC of the Autobots wouldn’t be caught deactivated slacking off when they were needed, or something important was happening. No, they were more likely to be two of the command staff that would actively assist.

(Even as much as he feared The Prime and what he could potentially do, he could accept that Optimus was a proactive leader.)

The very fact that the village had indeed been evacuated in the short time given and that there was no Autobot interference - yet, though it was due soon - was solid proof that those at the top of the Autobot command chain were on top of things.

It…

It made him slightly jealous.
But mostly sad for what the Decepticons clearly lacked.

And hollow.
Because if Megatron and Starscream weren’t going to put any efforts into this crucial and desperate grab for energon to avoid starvation, then what were they going to put effort into…?

Would they put effort into rebuilding Cybertron?
Would they put effort into reforming Cybertron, once it had returned?
Would they put any effort into anything that didn’t serve themselves?

“- overthinking again! Hey, TC! TeeCeeeeeee!!” Thundercracker shutters his optics rapidly, rolling his shoulder joints and flexing out as he wings as he comes out of his far too deep thoughts.

So deep, that his frame had gone tense and stiff, and his neural network had diverted energon away from other functions. That… Was worrying.

Concerning.

Maybe he should access the chat to ask Ratchet-

No! He would never, never do that again. He’d been stupid to do in the first place, especially considering he’d been in the middle of a meeting. But at least he could factor the energon-loss and extreme pain he’d been suffering at the moment into an excuse.

To think such a thing again was treachery.

Managing to pull himself out of whatever trance he’d fallen into, Thundercracker shutters his optics again and looks slowly over to Skywarp.

“Hm?” Skywarp grins and then smacks his back, hard enough to make Thundercracker grunt at the ripple of pain travelling through his wings. Those were more sensitive than usual, thank you very much.

“Wow, you really went off somewhere this time, huh? Never seen ya clocked out for so long!”

“... Mhm.”

“Seriously, I could hear your cogs churning. Lot going on up there?”

“Yeah.” There’s a pause where Skywarp pouts with attitude, raising one optical ridge and placing both servos on his hips.

“You gonna answer with more than one syllable?” The corners of Thundercracker’s lipplates quirk upwards and he flickers his wings with a hint of teasing.

“No.” Skywarp rolls his optics and then gives Thundercracker a hearty shove, one that has his trinemate snickering. Brushing himself off as he corrects his stance, Thundercracker nudges himself against Skywarp’s pauldron.

“The Autobots must have hit my helm harder than I thought.”

“Scrambled your circuits, more like! I’ve seen you go quiet and zone out before, but never like that. It was almost like you’d had a processor crash and froze, or like, locked up or something.” The unease in Skywarp’s vocaliser doesn’t help that niggling little doubt Thundercracker can’t push away - the one that says Ratchet missed something, or that his ‘experience’ after returning to the Decepticons had damaged him.

But what could have happened in those few, short hours to do such a thing?

…

His optics widen.

“Oh, pit.”

“What? What is it?”

“That Autobot spy. The- The noble. He got me with a taser.” Skywarp winces in sympathy.

“Ouch. But is that enough to make you… Like this?” As his trinemate waves a servo towards Thundercracker’s general direction, he starts to worry his lipplate with a fang, and take small steps in one direction, then the next. Then back again.

He doesn’t want to call it pacing. (Despite the fact it clearly is.)
Pacing means he’s accepting there’s a problem.

“Not on its own. But I was running on fumes, hadn’t properly recharged because it would be stupid to do so in the Autobot base without an ally, and I was in considerable pain.” He pauses.

“Not to mention the remaining medication in my system. The taser could have done something to that, on top of everything else I was dealing with. I put the aftereffects of being hit with it just down to the other things I mentioned, but the whole wooziness and detached thoughts I was having could be down to the electrocution itself, and-... Why are you staring at me like that…?” Trailing off, he notices Skywarp staring at him, slightly dumbfounded.

And when Skywarp speaks-

“I have never heard you say so much in one go before.”

-There’s not much more Thundercracker can do than let out a scoff of disbelief. That was what Skywarp had picked up on?! Not a single one of his concerns?!

“Were you even listening, ‘Warp?”

“At first, yeah. But then you just went on, and on, and on, blah, blah, blah, so I got bored of listening. Then you just didn’t stop. So, uh, yeah, I’m kinda wondering if your vocaliser is glitched as well as your processor.” Rolling his optics, Thundercracker tries to push aside the strange feeling that comes with Skywarp’s confession.

It was… Bizarre. A mix of loneliness, abandonment, and bitterness.
Skywarp was the closest he had to a friend amongst the Decepticons.
And he didn’t even listen…? Especially to something so frightening?

(Because yes, Thundercracker was coming to understand that he did feel fear. That anyone could. Decepticons were just very good at hiding it, and very bad at identifying it.)

“You would know about that, wouldn’t you?” Skywarp thankfully misidentifies the gloomy mutter as a tease. He laughs, punching Thundercracker in the shoulder again.

“Aww, c’mon! It’s not glitched to have a little fun every now and then~!”

“It is- ” Thundercracker pokes back, aiming at a sensitive strut on Skywarp’s side.

“ - When your idea of fun is insulting someone until they beat you to a pulp.” The laugh turns into a cackle, Skywarp darting out of reach and wriggling his optical ridges in a playful manner.

“Don’t get beat if you don’t get caught. And I never get caught.” That’s a bare-faced lie. Skywarp has been caught many many times. But Thundercracker has always been able to distract, divert, or calm down the offended party until they’re not on the warpath.

Does-
Does Skywarp not even realise…?
Is he oblivious to everything Thundercracker does for him…?

‘Bluestreak wouldn’t be.’

He quickly shakes that thought out of his helm as quickly as it comes. Skywarp must misinterpret it as his usual disappointed, exasperated shake of the helm, because he only cackles harder and saunters off back into the depths of the cave.

Venting a deep sigh, Thundercracker turns to do the same.

Until the cry comes from outside.

“Autobots! My seekers, take to the air!” Weary, Thundercracker walks out the cave slowly, almost trudging, letting the other fliers run past him. At Megatron’s command, the triple changers and Blast Off take all the energon in their holds and head back towards the Nemesis.

Starscream begins barking out more orders, but as he takes off and transforms into alt-mode, Thundercracker lets it all wash over him in a haze of sound and light.

Today, he isn’t in the mood or state to follow detailed plans or extravagant plots.
Today, he just wants to get it over and done with.

So he blanks it all out, and fights.

Chapter Text

“Ah can’t believe they got us wi’h another fake space bridge! Tha’s the second time in a row fer my team!”

“It’s unlikely this is Megatron’s initial idea. He is, though I hesitate to underestimate him, not that smart.” There’s a few muffled giggles and vents of amusement around the officers table.

“No, Prowl, I do believe you are correct. This is most likely the work of the Constructicons.” Although Prime sounds calm, it doesn’t work to soothe over the more frustrated fields in the room.

Jazz - who had taken a team out to what ended up being a decoy inactive bridge - grinds his denta together in barely masked fury. The second team hadn’t made any discoveries either. Their space bridge had been a decoy too. The real space bridge - the one they hadn’t had enough Autobots to also go to - had sent over a huge amount of energon.

All of it from the raid a couple of weeks ago, at a village they had evacuated before dawn.

Ironhide, who had been on the second team, thumps his clenched servo on the table.

“By Primus an’ Dammit! We gotta figure this out, Prime! Otherwise Ol’ Buckethead is gonna get away with some plot, and we’re gonna have to deal wit’ the consequences.” Ironhide’s outburst brings about a tense silence. One that Prowl breaks by clearing his vocaliser and gesturing towards a certain someone.

“And that is precisely why Bluestreak is here.” Standing by the doorway, Bluestreak squeaks and holds his datapad closer to himself, standing to attention. He’s incredibly nervous.

When he’d run up to Prowl, babbling excitedly about something he’d found out, he hadn’t expected his brother to stop him, ask how important it was, and then drag him into a command meeting(!) when he’d said it was crucial.

Prowl hadn’t even waited to hear his explanation!
Which was very un-Prowl-like, but that betrayed just how desperate the Autobots were for a solution to this problem.

One that Bluestreak fully believed he held the answers to in his servos.
Well, on the datapad in his servos.

“H-Hello!” He squeaks nervously, accidentally shorting out his vocaliser. It causes a few little laughs, and Jazz even stops grinding his denta together to give him an encouraging nod.

“Whatcha got there, Baby Blue?” Swallowing around his cabling, Bluestreak takes a step further into the room.

“Just- Just something I noticed. It might be nothing! I’m pretty sure it is something, almost definitely, really, but I don’t want to promise that it is when it’s just an observation.” That piques everyone’s interest. Even Red Alert leans forwards in anticipation.

An observation? Made by Bluestreak? The Autobot with good enough optical relays to snipe a 10cm target at 700 metres altitude?

“Go ahead, Bluestreak. Share your observation with us.” Optimus gently guides him to the front of the room, and Bluestreak takes a deep invent. It’s not hard to feel excited as well as nervous.

“Okay, so, for the last three times we attempted to intercept the Decepticon’s space bridge, the first one I went to was a decoy, the second one was real, and the third one - the one we went to this morning - was also a decoy. But! I noticed something. I didn’t know at first if it was something I could prove, but when I asked Blaster to pull up SkySpy’s images of all nine space bridges, I noticed the same pattern as I did when at the battlefield.”

Bluestreak pauses, letting the others process what he’s said. He takes the time to attach his datapad via cable to the screen at the head of the room.

“So, this is an image capture I took of the first one I went to, and here are the three comparative SkySpy images. We know the real space bridge was image C here, because that’s the one Optimus’s team went to.” He swipe across to another set of four pictures.

“Image A is the one I took a capture of on site, the real space bridge, and here are the SkySpy images again, so it matches with Image B. And lastly… Of the intercept we’ve just attempted, here’s the four images again. Image D, the one neither team went to, is the real one.” The room is silent.

But then, Red Alert perks up.

“It’s the wiring on the control panel!” With a dazzling smile, Bluestreak nods, bringing up all three images of the real space bridges.

“Yes! So I noticed when I went on my second intercept and it was the real space bridge, that the wiring was a different colour to the first. It was kind of rainbow chrome instead of reddish. Then, when I went to the third one, it was reddish again! I asked Blaster for the SkySpy scans of all the space bridges, enhanced them, and it was the same pattern over and over again. The real space bridges had this rainbow chrome kind of colouring on that one wire instead of reddish.”

“What difference does the colour of the wire make?” The baffled question from Mirage, here because it was his responsibility to scout out the space bridges ahead of interception, makes sense. Wiring of all materials varied in colour. Especially since the Autobots had adopted Earth’s rubber for many of their projects.

“I asked the science team about that. The reddish colour is copper - one of the most common metals on Earth. It’s also a really bad material for wiring because it conducts electricity, which is used to power the space bridges. The other material is bismuth! It’s reeeeal low on the conductivity scale, and pure bismuth is rare to find on Earth. The ‘Cons haven’t taken to using human materials like rubber or glass like we have. They probably have a limited supply of bismuth.”

“That… Makes sense. So, the space bridges that use bismuth wiring are the real space bridges? And the decoys are the ones that use copper?” Bluestreak nods in affirmation at Prowl’s questioning, clearly intended to simplify his ramble for the others in the room.

Prowl dips his helm with a proud little smile.

“Thank you, Bluestreak. This is incredibly important information. Invaluable, really.” Praise comes from all corners of the room and Bluestreak bashfully smiles, cheekplates heating up to a rosy pink.

“Thanks, I really wanted to help in any way I can, so I thought I’d better bring this up. Oh! But remember to thank Blaster, Teletran, and the science team too! I couldn't have done this without them, I would have had no idea what it meant, or if it meant anything at all without them.” Optimus laughs softly, placing a warm servo on Bluestreak’s shoulder.

“We will thank them as soon as the meeting is over~. Why don’t you go ahead and spend time with your friends? It’s a well-deserved day off, after all.”

“Thanks, Prime!” Not needing any more encouragement, Bluestreak exits the room with a skip on his step and closes the door behind him. Turning around, he gives a thumbs up to three incredibly eager and tense mechs waiting for him.

Sideswipe lets out a whoop, Sunstreaker nods his helm with a little smile, and ‘Bee grabs him in a hug with a shout of “I knew you could do it!”

Of course they’d been anxiously waiting.
They’d been with him every step of the way.

They’d been with him when he’d been frowning at his own image captures in contemplation, they’d been with him when he’d compared his image captures against SkySpy’s, they’d been with him when talking to the scientists, and they’d been with him when he’d ambushed Prowl in an excitedly babbling hug.

Now, they were with him to have fun.

Days off weren't rare. Every Autobot had a rota that made sure they had at least two full days off a week. But a day where every Autobot except command was off?

That only happened after intense battles that would incapacitate the Decepticons for a while, or space bridge raids.
It wasn’t non-existent, but it certainly wasn’t common.

“So, what do we do now?” The group starts walking towards the exit as they converse, knowing full well that whatever they decide, it’s not going to be on base. Over the past few days off on Earth, they’ve done surfing (Bluestreak’s suggestion), camping (Disastrously muddy), mountain climbing (Sideswipe had cheated), and dune racing (Sand got EVERYWHERE, Ratchet got mad at them).

As they walk out into the open desert in front of the arch, Sideswipe grins and waggles his optical ridges.

“I know what you’d like to do~.” With a little laugh, Bluestreak pushes at Sideswipe’s upper arm, leaning his weight against him playfully.

“There’s none of my favourites being screened today! Besides, Marissa is out of state for a business meeting, and-” He glances around to make sure noone else is in audial range. Confirming that their group of four are the only ones in proximity, a trail of pedeprints leading back towards the Ark, Bluestreak continues.

“ -TC has duties all day. I’m not sure if any of those are patrols, so there’s a tiny chance we might run into him, but even then, I don’t think he’ll join us. He really understands that I need to spend time with you guys alone. And I understand he likes time alone too.”

“Huh. A considerate Decepticon. Colour me surprised.” There’s a slight tinge of sarcasm in Sunstreaker’s drawl, but it doesn’t bring the mood down. He’s already confessed that he’ll likely always be suspicious of TC, as long as he’s a Decepticon.

Bumblebee chastises him by poking him in the back of the knee joint. His field flairs with cheekiness as he grins up at the frontliner, and Bluestreak muffles a small laugh at the playfulness that flickers there.

“If we ‘coloured’ you anything other than yellow, Sunny, you’d deactivate us.”

“It’s Tuscan Sun, Butter and Gold gradient 4, you uncouth slob!” The other three burst out into laughter as Sunstreaker proves the point stupendously, gently knocking the back of his knuckles on Bumblebee’s helm, between his sensory horns.

‘Bee skips ahead a little, turning around on his heel and puts both arms up in the air with childish glee.

“Let’s go to that funfair in the city park! They’ve got live music, a bouncy castle, fun activities, and clowns!”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Bluestreak’s outburst echos in the barren space around them. As Bumblebee tilts his helm with concern, Sunstreaker raises an optical ridge in confusion, and Sideswipe leans away with his servos raised in mock surrender, surprised.

The longer they stare at him, expressions slowly morphing into smirks, the more Bluestreak internally flusters. His cheekplates start to turn a darker grey, then flush pink. Sideswipe is the first to start snickering, and that’s when Bluestreak lets out an embarrassed whine that only gets louder and pitches upwards, sending all three of his friends spiralling into laughter.

He claps his servos over his faceplates, feeling like steam is coming out of his audials.

“I didn’t mean to say it that loudly! Or intensely! Or so rudely! Sorry, I really meant to just say ‘no’, but by pit I hate clowns!”

“Yeah, we can tell!” The louder they laugh, the more he wants to curl up and hide. So that’s exactly what he does. He slowly crouches down, balling himself up, trying hard not to start laughing with them through his embarrassment. That would only encourage these unhinged gremlin friends of his.

‘Bee pats him on the shoulder sympathetically, though it’s clear that he’s got the giggles.

“Don’t worry, Blue~. We can find a funfair or event thingy without clowns nearby.” Peering out from behind his servos, Bluestreak narrows his optics playfully.

“You just want to go on a bouncy castle.” A cheeky grin is his response. Bumblebee may as well have just pledged guilty. It’s almost funny how easy ‘Bee is to read, until he’s in Spec Ops mode.

Then he’s just scary.

They’re both distracted by a strange, contemplative sound from Sideswipe, staring off into the distance with his attention fixed on nothing in particular.

“Now you’ve said that, I kinda want to go on a bouncy castle.”

“Sideswipe, no.” Sunstreaker’s hefty vented sigh only encourages his twin further.

“Sideswipe, yes~.” The sheer exasperation radiating from the only processor chip in their group is deepened when Bluestreak straightens up, servos on hips and grinning as he leans against Sideswipe.

“I think I’ll join you! It sounds super fun, if we can find a bouncy castle to take our frames. If not, we can always try to make one.”

“At least two of us remember how heavy we are in comparison to humans.” Sunstreaker’s dry drawl brings Sideswipe and Bumblebee to a metaphorical screeching halt, staring at each other as if telepathically trying to come up with a solution.

“Sooo… Straight to Wheeljack?” ‘Bee grins, revving his engines with excitement and giving an enthusiastic nod.

“Straight to Wheeljack!” Bluestreak laughs as the two run off back into the Ark, and Sunstreaker drags both servos down his face with an exhausted mutter of “Don’t know why I fucking bother…”, as if he’s not going to join them at the first opportunity.

He will.
He’ll just pretend he doesn’t want to.
… And act as if they’ve forced him into it if anyone else sees.

(Bluestreak knows his friends all too well.)

“C’mon, Sunny! We’d better go and keep them from making anything too crazy. You know how they get when Wheeljack is involved.”

“Unfortunately. You would think he’d know better than to encourage them, considering how many times the lot of them have gotten in trouble, but…” Trailing off as he trails behind Bluestreak, neither of them rushing - because, honestly, it’s funny to see how much Wheeljack will agree to and what ludicrous expansions he’ll suggest - but certainly headed towards the lab anyways.

With a laugh, Bluestreak nudges Sunstreaker’s pauldron. Carefully, though. He wouldn’t want to leave a smudge.

“Marissa taught me a saying for that! It’s like, uh, I think it’s… Hold on, I can remember… It’s- Oh yeah! ‘The blind leading the blind.’, especially when it concerns getting into danger or trouble.” That elicits a snicker.

“In the case of our idiots, Blue, we can change ‘blind’ to ‘full on stupid’. Or irresponsible, at the very least.”

“Irresponsible is a good one, but I think that applies to all of us then! We’ve all done things that were pretty stupid ‘cus we thought it would be funny - and we were right more than half the time - or things that we really shouldn’t have, just because we wanted to, or it happened.”

“Like befriending a Decepticon?” For a moment, Bluestreak balks, ready to argue. But then, he sees the way Sunstreaker’s lipplates twitch upwards at the side and he has one optical ridge raised in amusement.

He’s teasing.
So, Bluestreak giggles.

“Yeah, exactly like that! Or, y’know, accidentally making a chemical bomb when you were trying to make a new paint stripper.” The reaction is immediate. As in, shutter of an optic instant. Energon floods Sunstreaker’s faceplates, donning them a wonderful shade of rosy pink, just on the edge of being neon.

It’s bright enough that he’d probably glow in the dark.

“That- That was an accident!”

“You suuuuure~? Because it really seems like you might just be taking after Wheeljack, kinda like how you take after Ironhide and Ratchet since they were the first two to find you.” Sunstreaker opens his mouth to argue the point at hand, then closes it again, optical ridge furrowing in mixed feelings of confusion and appreciation.

“You think I take after ‘Hide and Ratchet?”

“Well… Yeah, obviously. I won’t go into the detail ‘cus I know you’ll get all embarrassed and start denying it and then get really critical about yourself and spiral into low self-esteem which you’ll cover up with anger, but! Yeah! You take after Ironhide and Ratchet! Same way that Sides takes after Wheeljack and Prowl.”

“... Prowl? You think my idiot of a split spark brother takes after Prowl?” Bluestreak laughs at the disbelief in Sunstreaker’s tone, before leaning in as if sharing a secret.

“He’s gotten away with more pranks than he’s been caught for~.” His smiles turns into a grin, waggling a single digit to punctuate his following words;

“Even. On. You.” With that, he skips away, hearing Sunstreaker’s stunned ‘wait, what???’ from behind him as he enters into Wheeljack’s laboratory.

Or, well, it’s the entire science teams laboratory. But Wheeljack has a large portion of it, sectioned off behind blast-proof panels and security on every cupboard. And really, no one dares use it whilst Wheeljack is experimenting on something new.

Genius was measured in failure, and Wheeljack was undoubtedly a scientific genius.

“Hey, guys! How’s it going in here? Have you made the bouncy castle yet?” A very large cloud of smoke is his answer, so Bluestreak lunges for the fire extinguishers they keep in all four corners of the laboratory - three near the entrance specifically.

Inferno had insisted upon it.
(To say he begged would be an understatement.)

“We’re okay! There’s no fire, just a lot of smoke from trying to melt the PVC together!” It’s not exactly reassuring to hear from Sideswipe.

“It’s working, it’s just… Smokey.” It’s more reassuring to hear from Bumblebee.

“Well, do you have to melt it together? What about stitching, like humans do?” The distinctive roar of a blowtorch cuts off abruptly. There’s a beat of silence. And then, the cloud of smoke is illuminated by cheerful, flashing blue, Wheeljack’s headfins displaying his delight as he speaks.

“That’s a great idea! ‘Bee, open the vents to full capacity, Sides, find me the, uh, the carbon steel spool! We’ll use that for thread. Helping us out, Blue?”

“Would I ever!” He jogs over enthusiastically, taking the rod of metal that Wheeljack passes to him.

“We gotta turn this into a needle first, so why don’t you get started on cutting out the hole the thread will go through?” It’s the perfect task for someone with perfect accuracy, and Bluestreak takes it with a pleasant hum, moving over to a table that isn’t (completely) covered in soot to begin the process.

“Bluestreak! Come back here, I need clarification on what you said- Urgh, what happened in here?!?” Poor Sunstreaker doesn’t even get a chance to continue towards Bluestreak - who is too engrossed in his task to notice anyways - before Wheeljack is shoving fabric paint into his arms.

“Here! Decorate the material for us whilst we stitch it together!” Sunstreaker looks down at the paint cans shoved in his arms. Over at Bluestreak. Back to the paint. Then to the bouncy castle. Then back to the paint cans.

The paint wins.

With a shrug, Sunstreaker steps fully into the laboratory and starts sketching out a design with a piece of charcoal that he always carries around in his subspace. Bumblebee comes over to his side and starts talking to him in a low tone, with big gestures that indicate patterns and shapes and-!

Sunstreaker nods at each one, sometimes saying something back in that same low, soft tone, though with less excitement and more patience. Sideswipe joins them, plonking his aft on the ground next to his twin, cross-legged, and tediously threading three separate carbon steel spools into one twisted cable.

Watching from a distance as he works out some numerics, Wheeljack slows in his motions until he’s just watching them, optics crinkled softly and his helmfins pulsing a gentle, loving pink.

Those are his bitlets.
Mechs he’d had a huge part in helping to raise.

Mechs he’d watched grow, both in physical height and in themselves.

How they’d blossomed!

He hadn’t had too much of a main role in Bluestreak’s upbringing, but he’d still been a frequent caretaker when Prowl and Jazz had both been required on the field. Wheeljack had sparkling-sat enough times to have watched Bluestreak come out of his timid, traumatised little shell, into a mech with more spark than sense, and a cheerful attitude that could brighten the darkest of days.

Wheeljack’s role in Sideswipe and Sunstreaker’s life was much more pivotal, to the point that they still occasionally slipped up and called him creator. (Not in front of others though, they were much too careful about that). Primus, the amount they’d changed! From terrified, vicious younglings, into mechlings that fought for honour, pride, whilst doing their best to connect with their shipmates.

(Though he knew he shouldn’t pick favourites, he was always going to love his twins just a fraction more than the others).

And ‘Bee… Tiny, bitlet Bumblebee.

Wheeljack had been there when he’d first been discovered, a pre-emergence newspark that had only emerged because his carrier was deactivating. He’d helped deliver the faintly beating spark in the middle of an abandoned city, been the calm, optimistic force alongside a frantic Ratchet who wasn’t even sure the weak newspark would make it.

It had only been by forging creator bonds with those who had held the sparkling - Optimus, Jazz, Ironhide, Ratchet, and Wheeljack - that the newspark had defied deactivation. And continued to do so.

It was a blessing of Primus that he was even here right now, sitting next to Sunstreaker, excitedly talking about this sweet little project the four had taken on.

“You bitties sure have grown a lot, huh?” Four equally confused faceplates turn to him, Bluestreak tilting his helm in the usual way, and ‘Bee slightly doing the same. Sideswipe blinks in the way Bumblebee does, olfactory sensor slightly scrunched in a mirror image of his twin.

(It’s so cute that they’ve picked up each others mannerisms!)

Wheeljack can’t help but laugh.

“Aww, you kiddos! I still remember when you used to-”

“Jackie! Please, no! No embarrassing youngling-hood stories or anything along those lines!” The groan from Sideswipe only encourages Wheeljack further, Bluestreak muffling a giggle as the inventor’s headfins flash a playful purple.

“Oh? Not even that time when you-”

“NO. None. Nada. Not any. No.” As he shapes the point of the nail by wearing it down with a file, Bluestreak watches Wheeljack join the little group on the floor. He doesn’t try to tease them anymore, but he’s still conversing with them in a fun, playful way.

It keeps the same mood going, but respects that Sideswipe had exercised his boundaries. It was… Still something the twins were struggling with, but the mechs that raised them kept giving them opportunities to learn through experience - whether the twins were aware of it or not.

Glancing carefully at the needlepoint he’s crafted, Bluestreak grins. It’s perfect.

“Hey, Sides, got that thread ready yet?” He’s answered with a coiled rope of it being gently thrown his way, and he catches it easily.

“Wow, this looks great!” Leaning backwards from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, servos palm-down behind him, Sideswipe grins up at him as Bluestreak comes over to squeeze between him and ‘Bee.

“I know, right? I have a bizarre yet varied skillset, and it turns out this kinda thing is one of them. Who knew?”

“Definitely not me. But then, I’ve never seen you do anything like this before. It’s kind of a shame, ‘cus this is really really well done, the craftsmanship is what I’d expect from someone with a lot of practice~.” Sideswipe’s faceplates sheepishly flush a little with colour, like he wasn’t expecting the praise.

“Uh- Y-Yeah, well… You know me! I’m great at adapting.” Something about that feels a little sad to Bluestreak, so instead of trying to wriggle comfortably between Sideswipe and Bumblebee, he abandons all carefulness and drops his full weight against Sideswipe’s side.

Bumblebee instantly catches onto the change in behaviour and crawls over too, smudging some of the paint Sunstreaker’s just applied - Sunstreaker just rolls his optics - and flops himself into Sideswipe’s lap.

The frontliner shutters his optics in a baffled yet touched manner.

“... Not that I don’t like this, but, uh… Why?” Carefully, Bluestreak passes the needle to Wheeljack so he can wrap both arms around one of his friends and squeeze it, cuddling into him.

“No real reason, I just felt like you needed it. And I love cuddles. And you love cuddles. So it’s perfect! Sometimes you say things that make me really worried, like you’re haunted by bad memories, or a strange but strong sense of foreboding. Not necessarily bad foreboding! But I kinda felt it in this case. So… I wanted to hug you!”

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t upset.”

“Aww, Blue, ‘Bee. Thanks.” A black helm knocks against his own, resting there for a moment before Sunstreaker interrupts them dryly - but not meanly.

“If you’re all done slacking off…?” With giggles and snorts of laughter, the three cuddlebugs separate and take their positions around the bouncy castle material, all four of them stretching out a corner whilst Wheeljack threads the needle.

“Alright, let’s get this nitty-gritty part over, then the real fun begins.” As the scientist starts stitching, humming a merry tune, Bluestreak leans over to Bumblebee.

“So what crazy thing did you convince Wheeljack to try out this time?” With a contemplative rumble of his engines, Bumblebee shrugs.

“Nothing much.”

…

“.. Oh. That’s not what I expected. I mean, you and Sides were in here for a while whilst I was talking to Sunny in the corridor so I thought you would have made a load of not-very-safe and totally wild suggestions that we all know Wheeljack wouldn’t be able to resist.”

“Nah. Not really.”

“Oh. Okay!” Turning his gaze back down to the material stretched out under him, his optics trace Sunstreaker’s beautiful swirls and details, following the design that he and ‘Bee had planned together.

It’s… Rather surprising that the more mischievous pair of their friend group hadn’t gone absolutely wild, goading Wheeljack into making various bad decisions when it came to bouncy castle functions.

Just ‘not really’ and plain old ‘nothing much’.

… Wait a minute.

Bluestreak slowly turns his helm back towards Bumblebee. Bumblebee, who has been silently grinning in his direction all this time, deviously waiting for the sniper to catch on.

“‘Nothing much’?”

“Yep~. Nothing much.” The youngling pauses for dramatic effect, ruined by how his entirely frame wriggles with unparalleled glee.

“Y’know, except the water jets for when you bounce, the motion activated paintball guns, the bubble ejector on top, the unpredictable ‘earthquake’ mode which goes off random-”

“‘BEE!”

Chapter Text

It was complete.
It was beautiful.
It was majestic.

Their bouncy castle-
No.
Their bouncy fortress was a sight to behold, and they beheld it with nothing less than pride.

One of the mechs gathered outside of the Ark to glance upon their magnificent creation let out an impressed whistle. Bluestreak thought it was Blaster, but Grapple was also looking mightily impressed.

(And frantically scribbling down ideas for inflatable architecture, Hoist trying to balance out his excitement with logic.)

“You’ve certainly outdone yourselves this time~. I am, quite frankly, in awe.” Optimus stands front and centre with the mechs responsible, an arm slung over each of the twins. Bluestreak laughs, his doorwings fluttering in eager anticipation.

“You should have the honour of trying it out first, Prime! Wow, what an honour that would be for us as well!” Optimus laughs quietly, taking his arms away from the twins.

“I’d love to, Bluestreak, but I think you four should be the first. Wheeljack too, if he so inclines. This is your idea and efforts, after all.” For a moment, they all stand around looking at each other, whilst the crowd behind them lapses into small conversations and general background noise. Then, Sideswipe grins.

“The way I see it, we’ve got three ways of solving this.” His vocals are full of mischief, but Bluestreak is intrigued to see what he suggests - despite Sunstreaker’s forlorn mutter of ‘oh no’ whilst running a servo over his faceplates.

“Number one; We stand here debating this for a while until we finally make a decision. Number two; All six of us go together.” He pauses, letting the others hang on with vented anticipation. Sideswipe’s field has spread to all of them, and Optimus gives a warm chuckle before inquiring;

“And the third?”

“Option three, which just so happens to be my favourite? We grab a hapless victim who wouldn’t be caught offline on a bouncy castle and throw them on first~.” Just about keeping his doorwings from swirling round in glee, Bluestreak doesn’t miss the little amused snort from Sunstreaker, the way Wheeljack’s optics light up, Bumblebee’s full-frame shiver of chaotic delight, and Optimus trying to keep his composure.

‘Bee is the first to stick an arm out into their little circle, keeping his vocaliser low enough that no-one else would hear, but loud enough to betray his excitement.

“I vote ‘Raj!” Having been the first one to suggest it, Sideswipe is the next to vote, putting his servo atop Bumblebee’s.

“Prowl.” Bluestreak can’t help but do a little bounce, his feelings swelling over the amount his frame could contain.

“Oh! Seconded!” The next servo to join them is deceivingly calm, the look on Sunstreaker’s faceplates close to a smirk.

“Ratchet.” Laughing, Wheeljack shrugs and adds his own servo.

“Can’t say I argue with that!” Five pairs of optics turn to Optimus, awaiting his vote like a starved pack of Turbofoxes waited for scraps. He puts his servo in the centre of their circle…

And gently pushes all of theirs down.

Just as Bluestreak’s doorwings are slowly drooping, Sideswipe starting to vent a disappointed sigh, and Bumblebee preparing the most manipulative, adorable, irresistible puppy-dog optics, Optimus turns around to the crowd behind them.

“Prowl, could you give me some statistical analysis advice? Just as a precaution should something go wrong.”

Prey selected.

Oblivious, Prowl strides over, right into the little trap Optimus has lured him into.

“The likelihood of something going wrong in total is as high as 68.71%, but as much as 40-42% of that is due to individual injury based on personal accidents and- …I’ve walked into the 5.83% chance that you’re about to throw me on the bouncy castle, haven’t I?”

“Oh, indeed~.” Having enclosed their circle around Prowl, the group lunges with unprecedented cooperation, as if they had planned this out to the finest detail. Prowl - trapped in a starfish formation, suspended above the ground - gives a long-vented sigh of mere disappointment.

Bluestreak glances at the others and an unspoken message passes between him, the twins, and ‘Bee. The others will catch on.

“One!” - He shouts, and the four of them swing Prowl backwards once and then towards the bouncy castle.

It catches the attention of the rest of the Autobots, some of them laughing, and others ushering more to look.

“Two!” They swing Prowl back and forth again, Optimus and Wheeljack catching on with laughs of their own, Optimus loud and unrestrained, Wheeljack with a hearty cackle that’s only half an apology to their captor.

“Three!” To the cheer of the Autobots gathered outside of the Ark, Prowl gets to momentarily experience flight before he lands back down, right in the centre of the bouncy castle. As expected, he only bounces slightly afterwards.

Unexpectedly, he’s pelted by a paintball, dowsed by a stream of bubbles, and a water jet goes off directly under his spinal strut - resulting in a surprised (and somewhat undignified) yelp that he’ll later deny.

As if that’s a trigger, others pour onto the bouncy castle - namely the six who created it first.

Bluestreak bounces over to Prowl immediately, not feeling the slightest bit guilty as his co-creation gives him a deadpan stare that’s slightly edging towards a glare. Giggling, Bluestreak bounces lightly next to him, stopping the older Praxian from getting up.

“I would say sorry, but I’m really not, I absolutely voted for you to be the first one thrown on~.” Prowl’s optics thin into a sharper glare.

“Really though, it was between you and Ratchet, but the final vote came down to Optimus. He was the one who decided your fate. Are you even going to try and get up?” Bluestreak bounces a little harder, enough that Prowl lifts cleanly off the bouncy castle material, but he does nothing to try and fight it.

Rather, he seems to have accepted his fate.
Especially as more and more Autobots try out the bouncy castle, cycling out with those who were curious, but not invested.

One of those being Wheeljack. He’d had his fun, and was now making sure they didn’t exceed the weight limit he’d calculated to be safe. (17 mechs and a minibot, to be precise.)

Sunstreaker looked like he wanted to be one of those who got off, but By The Pit was Sideswipe going to let him leave.

And Bumblebee?

Bumblebee was having the time of his life, bouncing up into Optimus’s arms, shouting ‘Again!’, and being thrown across the bouncy castle, shrieking with joy. He’d barely land before he was bouncing directly back to Optimus again.

Not that the Prime was denying him! No, rather, Optimus was indulging his youngling with nothing less than absolute adoration and the love only a Creator could give.

The more he glances around at everyone having fun and relaxing, the softer Bluestreak’s smile gets.

“I’m glad we did this, even though I wasn’t really sure about it in the beginning. Honestly, I only went along with the idea because ‘Bee seemed really excited, and we couldn’t go to the one in the park because there were clowns, but I think I like this outcome more.”

“You ain’t the only one, Baby Blue!” Bluestreak startles, though he only shows it with a quick jolt of his doorwings.

How in the name of Primus was Jazz constantly able to sneak up on him?!

“Jazz. Help me. Or else.” Still completely deadpan at his comical situation, Prowl gives Jazz one of the most threatening looks he can muster whilst being bounced up and down on his flat back. One that promises brig time or mountains of paperwork if he’s left to suffer.

The cheeky grin Jazz sends back doesn’t bode well for the trapped tactician.

“Nah, this’ll teach ya for not taking a break when I asked ya~.”

“Jazz.” Bluestreak laughs, knowing he has an ally in this bouncy breach of faith, this impishly inflatable punishment for a workaholic.

“I’ll leave you two to it! This has been really fun, but I definitely prefer having my pedes on solid ground. Have fun, Jazz, Prowl!”

“See ya, little bit!”

“Bluestreak, take me with you. Take me with you, please.” The intended impression that he hadn’t heard Prowl’s desperate plea is shattered by Bluestreak’s snorted intake of amusement.

That doesn’t stop him from abandoning Prowl to his bouncy fate and jumping over to the exit slope. From there, he slides down the angled inflatable, and walks away with a skip in his step - giving ‘Bee and the twins a wave to let them know he’s going elsewhere - towards the Ark.

It’s calmer over here, but no less merry. Someone, most likely Ironhide, has brought out the highgrade, neatly stacked for sharing purposes. It’s not surprising that a large group of the less athletic Autobots are gathered around him, talking about anything except the war.

Some would consider it mundane conversation.
Bluestreak loved the normality of it.

“Heya there, Blue. Come ta join us?” Ironhide offers out a cube of highgrade, clearly having had more-than-a-little too much already, but Ratchet is quick to take it away before Bluestreak can even turn it down. He shouldn’t have to worry, Bluestreak knows full well that he’s not yet of-age and-

Oh. Oh, okay. Ratchet is drinking the cube himself. That’s why he intervened so keenly.

“Yup! The bouncy castle was fun, but I don’t think I can handle more than a little at a time. Especially with all the additions Wheeljack added, though I guess Sides and ‘Bee are also to blame, ‘cus it was their ideas.” Glancing back over to the main attraction, he can see that others seem to have joined in the unspoken ‘game’ of keeping Prowl exactly where he was.

Stranded. And bouncing.

“Well, if you’re not particularly busy, you could join me on an outing, if you’d like?” The kind offer from Hound has Bluestreak flutter his wings excitedly. Hound’s outings were the best! Last time, they’d gone white-water rafting with Seaspray!

“You know I’d never turn down an opportunity for adventure!” Hound laughs, genuine, warm, and gentle as a laugh could be, and the two walk away from the group, waving their goodbyes as they head in the direction of the distant mountains - one of Hound’s regular haunts.

If Bluestreak’s wave towards the bouncy castle was slightly more cheeky than any other, it wasn’t anybody’s business.

“So where are we going this time? Climbing in the redwood forest? Falcon training at the local aviary? Oh, oh! Are we snowboarding on the glaciers again?! I loved that!”

“Not quite~. This is a little quieter than most of my outings, but much more rewarding. At least, it is in my opinion.” Tilting his helm in confusion with a humm of thought to match, Bluestreak thinks hard.

“The Seal survey on Marine rock was pretty rewarding, but I wouldn’t say that was quieter. Less active on our part, but wow, those seals can make some noise! Is it nothing to do with animals then? I can’t really think of any quiet animals. Oh! Except rabbits! Are we going to watch some rabbits~?!” The excited twinkle in Bluestreak’s optics pulls another one of those kind laughs from Hound.

“You’re on the right track! Not rabbits, though. Ah, this is the trail I wanted to take. We can drive until it gets muddy.” Folding into their vehicular form, they take a rough road trail deeper and deeper into the mountainous forest. It’s almost as bouncy as the bouncy castle, but that doesn’t slow either of them down!

(Although, after getting stuck in a ditch which Hound had to tow him out of, Bluestreak can see why the jeep chose exactly that - A Jeep. A four-wheeled drive.)

“I think I got mud in places that don’t even exist! I can see why Ratchet always yells at you now, though he could be a little nicer about it.”

“He can yell all he wants, it’s not going to stop me.” Bluestreak grins at the smile on Hound’s faceplates, tinged with eagerness. They must be getting close to… Wherever they’re going.

“Would even Primus stop you?”

“Hmm… Nope! I’d probably invite him to join me.” The trail gets thicker, muddier, and less of a trail at all. When it gets to the point where there’s no safe way to drive through the stodgy muck, the duo begin walking. The angle steadily increases upwards, the walk becoming more taxing as they continue. Their adventure is more like a hike at this point!

It’s when they start going vertical, still in thick, mountainside forest, that Bluestreak’s curiousity becomes stronger than his love of surprises.

“You never did tell me what we were going to see, and I guessed a lot on the way here, but none of them were right. Can you tell me now, Hound? Pleeeease?” The tracker laughs, resting a servo on a thick, heavy branch.

“Why tell you, when I can show you~?” Gently raising the branch for Bluestreak, Hound smiles softly at the exhale of amazement at the view. It was like the words had been stolen right from Bluestreak’s vocaliser by the landscape before them.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” The heat from his vents swirls in the cold, mountainous air, echoing the mist on the other side of what appears to be a crater, as if an other-worldly being had stretched down from the sky, and tenderly scooped out a chunk of the Earth.

Rocky peaks towered upwards, just barely grazing the low cloud cover above, condensation clinging to the moss-covered stony surfaces, dripping steadily to the thick, jungle-like forest below.

Emerald evergreens mixed with deciduous trees in vibrant shades of oranges and yellows, flickers of red amongst the treetops that contrasted excellently with the azure blue lake on the other side of the crater, glittering in the sunlight that filtered through the constant pearlescent mist.

The scent of petrichor hung in the air as if it danced from droplet to droplet of water vapour, complimenting the sharp, icy freshness of the mountain sky. Heavier tones of pine, ginger, and soil danced with those of hydrangeas, gorse thickets, and moss.

Birds sung their songs loudly and freely, a delightful harmony of many species as if they were conducted into the finest orchestra. The slightest breeze of wind made the trees rustle and whisper, though their quiet melody was nothing compared to the symphony of a roaring, distant waterfall - spewing forth from the rock on the other side of the crater.

Bluestreak wasn’t sure how to respond to Hound’s question. It was more than beautiful. It was beyond any words, any comparison, anything he had ever seen before. It was mystical, mythical, fantastical.

All he could muster was a hum of agreement as he tried to fight back the liquidy feeling behind his optics. A servo patted him comfortingly - understandingly - on the back between his doorwings, and they stood in silence for a moment.

Just… Letting it all soak in.

Eventually, as moisture beaded on his frame, Bluestreak found the words he wanted to say, the only ones he could think of that would surmise this experience.

“Thank you.” Even as quiet as he could muster, the sound of his voice hung in the air around them, like a cloak that weighed more than the peace around them. Hound chuckled, then stepped over the ridge, offering his servo to the mechling.

“Come on. It gets even better.” Carefully following Hound’s lead down to the very step, Bluestreak shutters his optics in surprise.

“Oh, wow, really? Like, really really? Because I can’t imagine anything much better than this, even though I spend a lot of time daydreaming up super gorgeous places. Nothing compares to this, that’s for sure! It gets better?”

“In my opinion, yes!” Every step is taken carefully and cautiously back down on the inside of the crater, Bluestreak asking many questions as he gets more and more comfortable with the area - rather than being wary of breaking some unspoken spell or illusion - and Hound answering each one with patience, informative and kind.

(Honestly, Hound was over the moon to have someone to talk about his interests with. And Bluestreak was definitely engaging!)

“- not a crater by the technical terms. Long ago, this was an active volcano.”

“Like the one we live in!”

“Somewhat, but this was incredibly larger! There’s also the major difference that this one is dormant - possibly even extinct. The human research team I assist are still figuring it out.”

“Ohhh, that’s so cool! So volcanoes become like this when they die?”

“Not all the time. See, this particular one last erupted millions of years ago. It was a Plinian - or maybe a phreatic - eruption, meaning that it exploded spectacularly. The main cone of the volcano collapsed in on itself, creating this caldera.”

“I’ve heard of calderas before, when Spike ‘n’ Carly brought their science homework to the base. I think they mentioned Yellowstone, Kilauea, and Krakatoa.”

“All excellent examples. Yellowstone might be the most comparable situation, with a slight difference.” Bluestreak tilts his helm in question, waiting for Hound to finish the explanation. The tracker seems distracted, though, shuttering off his optics and leaning forwards as if listening for something in the distance.

Whatever it is, he must hear it, as a smile crosses his faceplates and he slowly opens his optics again.

“Yellowstone is easily accessible. This caldera, on the other hand, is not. That means any species that wandered in here before erosion made the rock walls impenetrable stayed here.” Taking the hint - after pausing a little in confusion - Bluestreak shutters his optics off and dials his audials up, hoping to catch a whisper of what Hound heard before.

And there it is.

He excitedly bounces on his pedes, ignoring that his chevron brushes against a branch and douses him with dewdrops, a single leaf fluttering down to lay upon his shoulder.

“Wolves! There are wolves in this caldera! That’s what you brought me to see! So I was kinda close with the rabbit guess, right?” Perhaps humouring him, Hound agrees, giving Bluestreak a thumb digit up paired with a gentle grin, before leading him down what appears to be a path.

But there’s no humans here, so… What was it called again? Oh, a trail! It wasn’t marked out clearly in the ground like human walkways were, but there was a definite break in the undergrowth, a snaking line carved through the undergrowth at what Bluestreak could only define as ‘Ravage-height’.

“Wow, these wolves must have walked this way a lot of times. It looks like the plant life isn’t even growing back on this trail, just decorating the fringes. Or maybe the wolves are really fast! Do they have racetracks like we do?”

“Possibly! Wolves live in family packs, so it’s highly likely playing between members could turn into Frenetic Random Activity Periods. Uh… What’s the unofficial word…? Oh, zoomies!” Barking a laugh, Bluestreak tries to imagine a pack of wolves zipping and zooming back and forth, spinning endlessly, and leaping up onto any available surface like Buster does when she gets the zoomies.

“That’s SO cute~!”

“They’ll probably be a little excited when I introduce you to them too. It’s strange, but these wolves seem almost… Tame. They should have at least been cautious when I first met them, but they were completely comfortable around me, even engaging with me!”

“Is that odd? I mean, dogs do that, right? And wolves are just bigger, slightly-more-dangerous dogs?”

“Dogs are domesticated. Wolves, however, wild wolves should greet something new cautiously or even aggressively. Especially considering how large Cybertronians are in comparison!” Bluestreak hums, listening to what Hound is saying whilst also being mightily distracted.

Because the trails in the undergrowth mirror what looks like trails in the treetops. And it’s not natural crown shyness or pruning over thousands of years that’s caused it. Even from down here on the forest floor, Bluestreak can spot broken twigs, snapped branches, and singed leaves.

Something - or someone - had flown through this area.

Someone who had probably gotten the wolves used to Cybertronian contact long before even the humans had located this pack.
And Bluestreak could only think of one flying, canine-loving, absolute idiot who would pet wolves of a Cybertronian.

Oh Primus, he thinks he can spot a thruster imprint in the mud too, alongside the pawprints of wolves! That was RECENT, they must have missed him by only a day or two!

“And here we are! This is their main clearing!” The urge to burst into panicked giggles and awkward laughter is evaporated as soon as Bluestreak lays eyes on the wolves that all this time, have been yipping, barking, and half-howling in the background.

“Puppies!!! There are puppies~!!!” Pelts of mottled brown, grey and black mix with the traditional agouti fur Bluestreak is used to seeing, to splashes of grey and white, and even one cream-coloured wolf with black speckles, one big patch over the eye.

The aforementioned puppies come bounding over to Bluestreak, tails wagging, tongues lolling, and tiny barks of adorableness accompanying their little jumps up at his legs. With an unstoppable coo of adoration, Bluestreak carefully kneels down on the forest floor.

He isn’t surprised at all - only delighted - when tiny, wet noses start sniffing all over his armour, snuffling and licking as their claws scratch against his paint. He doesn’t mind, considering these pups are giving him some serious loving. Even the grown wolves seem relaxed in his presence.

Bluestreak doesn’t miss that the one clearly in charge glances at his doorwings with approval before flopping in place and lifting a leg as if demanding bellyrubs. He obliges, but it does lead him to wonder just how long TC has been visiting this pack.

(Though, it does pass Bluestreak’s processor that TC wouldn’t have trained them to do this. It was more likely that they trained him.)

“Incredible! It took me months before they were that friendly with me!” A nervous chuckle slips from Bluestreak’s vocaliser, but before he can think of an excuse, he’s cut off with a yelp as one of the wolf pups tries biting at his doorwing.

“Ow, ow, please don’t do that, ouch!” Hound is quickly there to discourage the little pup, guiding what appears to be the runt of the litter to the floor once more. Its tail never stops ferociously wagging, and Bluestreak is sure he can see a glint of mischief in those dark brown eyes as it barks up at him, before sneezing into the leaf litter and shaking its head, darting off to tackle the older wolves resting around the clearing.

Oh, that one is definitely TC’s favourite.

After an hour of playing with the wolves, observing them, and gaining the trust of the older ones, Bluestreak has his own favourite picked out.

The single cream coloured wolf with black speckles and patches. She’s gorgeous, so calm and gentle amongst the chaos of her siblings - both from the litter she was from, and her younger siblings.

Currently, she was laying right across Bluestreak’s lap, her tail swishing slowly back and forth over the side of his leg, and her head propped up as she observed the rest of the pack. Bluestreak had quickly found out that if he stopped petting her, she’d give him the most offended glare any living creature could summon.

“Looks like she’s rather taken with you.” Hound was laying on his back a couple metres away from Bluestreak, not out of choice, but because he was swarmed with wolves lazily stretched over his warm chassis and vents, having an autumnal snooze.

“Yeah! I think she’s using me for pats whilst you babysit the rest of the pack.” Hound huffs a laugh, prompting a few of the wolves lying on him to look up at the sound and movement, but they’re quickly placating by a gentle scritch behind the ear.

“Not surprising~. She’s the oldest daughter, so she’ll probably be the next ‘alpha female’. As in, she’ll take over guiding the pack and usually be the only one to have pups of her own.”

“Usually?”

“Mhm, we’re finding evidence to the contrary. There are some cases where, if prey is plentiful and they’re safe, you could have two or three separate litters born at the same time. When they’re old enough to venture outside the den, the mothers may even bring all the pups together to rotate care of them.”

“Wolves really are great creatures. Thanks for bringing me out here, Hound, I really needed some quiet time and this was the best quiet time ever. I know I’m usually the noisy one, but that’s ‘cus my head is so full of thoughts and I just have to say them! This was a really nice reset before I got too… Hmm.. Ah, I don’t know how to describe it.”

“You’re welcome!” There’s a small beat of silence, before Hound speaks again.

“If you ever feel like you need quiet time, just ask~. I know a lot of places great for it. Bear in mind though, we don’t mind when you get ‘hmm, ah, no way to describe it’. You’re our family, Blue. We love and accept you just the way you are, but we’ll also fully support you ask for help.”

Warmth blossoms in Bluestreak’s spark.
He knows this. He knows this. But it’s wonderful to hear it spoken aloud every now and then, just to remind him if he ever starts to doubt.

The Autobots he knows today have never been cruel to him, never told him that he talked too much or didn’t make sense.
They listened to him.
They supported him fully.
They loved him unconditionally.
They accepted him, all of him, every part including his flaws, which he knew that if he asked for help combating those, he’d have an army to help him do so.

“Thank you.” It’s all the words Bluestreak can muster for a while, weighted down with everything he wanted to say and gratitude beyond those simple words. But Hound seems to know.

They rest for a little longer, until the wolves start to gather in a tumultuous, weaving group in the centre of the clearing, sniffing, nipping, and rubbing against each other excitedly.

“Come on, we should leave before it gets dark. These guys are going off on a hunt shortly anyways.”

“Is that what they’re getting all tangled up for? It seems weird to do that before going out hunting.”

“It’s pack-affirming behaviour~. They scent each other, work out their authority and positions they’ll take on the hunt, and bond as a family like this. That way, if they run into some of the stray loner wolves out here - that aren’t related to them - they’ll immediately know it’s an outsider and assess whether to take it into the pack or chase it off from there.”

“That makes sense! It’s kind of like how we wear the Autobot insignia and the Decepticons wear their own one, right? So we can identify our own on sight! And, I guess like wolves, if the insignia doesn’t match our own, we can make decisions from there.” Hound hums quietly in half-agreement, his spark not really in it.

“Sort of. But sometimes, I wonder if our insignia builds a boundary that would be thinner if we didn’t have them.”

And with that contemplative thought from one of the gentlest, kindest Autobots he’s ever known, Bluestreak’s own thoughts begin to draw back on something he’d pushed aside a while ago.

If we weren’t separated into ‘Bot and ‘Con, would we even have a war anymore?

Chapter Text

“What in the pit is going on here?!” Thundercracker’s booming shout is answered by an outburst of cackling and a cacophony of calamitous chaos. Because whatever had been happening in the mess hall - had, because Decepticons knew better than to make someone who controlled tremors angry in an underwater tin can - was absolutely disastrous.

Paint, everywhere. Glitter and confetti. Cybertronian strength glue. Slime. Possibly toxic or radioactive from the way it glowed.
And makeshift weapons crafted from bits of scrap obviously looted from fleshie junkyards.
Unsurprisingly, there’s a couple of rubber ducks mixed in too. They still hadn’t found all of Skywarp’s previous prank.

Whatever it was, whatever it had been, the ones who had created it had left it for Thundercracker to tidy up.

And it would be him, because no-one else would do it, and the responsibility currently fell upon him.

Since he was currently in charge.

“Next time Command goes to Cybertron, I’m not letting them leave without me.” With a heavy, weary vent, Thundercracker pinches at his olfactory ridge. Fortunately, the cleaning cupboard wasn’t too far away.

Unicron Below, being in charge was like youngling-sitting.
If the younglings were unhinged, on Starscream’s (very illegal) high grade, and trying to start a civil war within a civil war.

“You look troubled.” 3 echoing voices speak to him at the same time, and Thundercracker answers with a grunt.

“We could help… For a price.” That makes Thundercracker pause. Help? Tidying up the apocalyptic mess that Soundwave’s cretins, Skywarp, and the Stunticons had made?

“State your price.” Grabbing a handful of cleaning cloths - because he intends to have the Reflector triplets help him no matter the cost (Oh Primus, why did that remind him of Prime???) - he waits for their demands.

After a moment of silence, he glances down at them, the trio shoving at each other as if trying to elect who will make the demands. Feeling more pressured by the looming task of the mess in the accurately named mess hall, Thundercracker turns to face them, holding out some supplies.

“Viewfinder, you’re on hard scrub duty. Spyglass, sweeping. Spectro, paint remover. I’ll deal with fixing the furniture and replacing lost ceiling panels.” The three blink at him in unison, reaching out to take the tools handed to them. They looked baffled by the fact that he had simply used their names and gotten it right.

“You… Can tell us apart?” The confused question from Spyglass has Thundercracker roll his optics and involuntarily scoff.

“It’s not difficult. If no-one else can tell you apart, they clearly need to visit Hook to have their optics realigned. Or their processors.” Reaching back into the dark recesses of the cleaning cupboard for the paint stripper and a handy toolbox, Thundercracker misses the look the Reflector triplets give each other.

“So, state your price.”

“We rescind our demands-”

“- We will help-”

“- Just this once.” When they speak separately, Thundercracker can hear the differences in their vocalisers. He files that little tidbit away, in case there ever comes a time when one of them has to communicate with him without visual.

Then he processes what they’ve said.

“... Believe it or not, that makes me rather suspicious.” Still, he closes the cleaning cupboard, locking it so Skywarp won’t be able to get any ‘supplies’ from there, and leads the way back into the mess hall.

Even laying his optics on it for the second time makes his spark sink with an overwhelming feeling of defeat.

Megatron, Soundwave, and Starscream were back in 6 cycles. There was barely any chance of having this clean by then.
Punishment would befall him swiftly after their return.

Not Skywarp, who was supposed to be in charge and instantly handed command to his trinemate. Or Onslaught, who technically held a higher command rank than him.

But Thundercracker.
For reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of.

His wings must visibly droop, because Spectro glances at them then nudges his… (Brothers? Trine? Compartments?) … Likenesses into action. The three move to their individual tasks.

Dutifully, Thundercracker starts on his own as well, firstly righting the furniture that has been thrown astray in the chaos.

How the pit-spawned troublemakers had managed to uproot welded tables from the flooring, he had no idea. He didn’t need to know, he didn’t want to know.
He just had to fix it.

Re-attaching the tables to where they should be isn’t hard. Especially not as Thundercracker was steady enough with a laser-driven welder to make it look as close to it’s previous state as possible. It somewhat helped that the tables had obviously been uprooted and fixed before, at some point in the heavy history of the Nemesis.

Replacing the ceiling panels? Slightly more difficult. Especially when many were missing entirely.
Some of the panels scattered around the room had been crumpled, folded, or torn.

“How in the pit did they make this much mess in the not even five breems it took to patrol the perimeter?” Despite his grumbling, Thundercracker knows all too well not to underestimate how much disaster his trinemate alone could cause when left unattended for longer than a klik.

Add in other mechs to multiply the chaos, and it was likely those antics would kill the Decepticons before the Autobots would.
(Before the Autobots had a chance, Thundercracker corrected himself, feeling a hollow, gnawing guilt at his lack of faith and loyalty.)

“We could survey them-”

“- To warn you of plots to come-”

“ - For a price.” Rolling his optics again, the blue seeker stretches forwards to ease the ache in his wings and the burn down his thrusters from having to constantly hover and balance, whilst painfully looking upwards to focus on the ceiling panels.

“I still owe you a ‘price’ for taking on these menial tasks.” Before Viewfinder can get the words out - likely about to protest that they had agreed to do it for free just this once - Thundercracker flicks his wings authoritatively and gives all three a stern look.

“I won’t allow for ‘favours’ to build up or gain interest. So state your price, I will meet it.” Obviously, he’d dealt with Swindle far too often. Correctly, the Reflector triplets assume they are done for the day - it’s still a mess, but now a manageable one - and merge into their singular form.

“Energon.” Thundercracker barely manages to hold back the heaviest, weariest vent yet. That… Is exactly what he didn’t want to hear.

“Can it wait until after next raid?”

“We have not fuelled in four cycles.” Wings jerking upwards, Thundercracker meets the sheepish camera-bot with shocked, overly bright optics.

“... What???”

“Our rations are pitiful, and often stolen. We are small, we struggle to defend against others, we are the last to receive potential rations anyways.” There’s more there. Thundercracker can tell. Reflector has never made this complaint before, instead somehow managing to steal from the energon reserves instead.

Soundwave must be aware of their scavenging, because they are never punished or corrected. Probably because Reflector never takes more than their allotted amount.

“And… We cannot scrimmage… The stores are bare.” Unable to resist, Thundercracker lets out a low groan, burying his faceplates in his servos.

Really?
Again?
Was he forever doomed to hear that there was nothing left to fuel the Decepticons?!

Another thought enters his speeding processor, so fast and so brutally that he thinks he can feel it overheating, but the thought slams into him with a tank-wrenching realisation.

They were out of energon.
Command would be gone for six days.
He was in charge.

They were out of energon, command was not here, and he was in charge.
It was his responsibility and burden.

Sliding the servos down his faceplates, he lets his claws dig painfully into the malleable metal of his cheeks and down to his throat cabling, which feels like it’s tied itself in a knot.

“Okay. Okay, okay, I can deal with this. Give- Give me a groon or so to plan something.” Spinning on his thruster, Thundercracker is too deep in swirling, tumultuous, panicked thought to hear Reflector offering information they knew, the door closing behind him.

He had to do this.
He had to do this.
He had to do this urgently.

The pit of anxiety in his tank threatens to come to the surface as a purge, but he swallows it back down, instead letting the rising panic push his thoughts faster and faster, swirling deeper and deeper, and searching for something, anything, any idea whatsoever and-

There!

He activates his comms shipwide, reaching out to those who were on patrol or off duty and potential outside the ship too.

“All Decepticons to the war council room. All Decepticons to the war council room, now. Emergency conference.” The astrosecond he turns on thruster to head that way, there’s a violet flash in front of him and he barely manages to step back enough to avoid being body-slammed by Skywarp.

“TC! What’s goin’ on?! You making big decisions without me?! I’m the one who’s really in charge!!!” Letting the hint of a growl slip into his voice, Thundercracker pushes his uncharacteristically angry trinemate away from him. Enough that he could duck if Skywarp’s temper boiled over into a punch slugged at him.

It’s happening more often nowadays.

Like whatever it was that held them together as ‘friends’ and made them as close as co-creations had dissolved without fanfare or notice.
Maybe it was just that Thundercracker had come to realise what friendship really was, and what it really meant - rather than the constantly giving and exhausting and one-sided situation he had with Skywarp.

“You passed command over to me when you decided to run off and create more problems. I’m going to have to take responsibility for whatever happens before Megatron gets back, so I’m going to be responsible about it.”

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating, TC.” The glare sent his way is menacing, but Thundercracker makes the decision not to react to it. He needs Skywarp cooperative for what’s about to come next.

“I’m insinuating that I need you to step up and take on some responsibility yourself. I’m relying on you, ‘Warp.” The fond, familiar nickname with Thundercracker’s explanation - not a lie, but certainly a polished truth - seems to tide something over in the teleporter.

His optics flicker, unsure of… Something. Then, they brighten again with a grin, just like old times, which pulls a smile out of Thundercracker in return.

“C’mon, I’ll explain on the way to the war room. I’ll let you boss everyone else around.” There’s a touch of manic excitement in Skywarp’s field.

“I’ve always wanted to order everyone around like insignificant minions!” With a laugh, Thundercracker nudges a pauldron against his trinemate, finally feeling like they’re reconnecting, like he had imagined all the troubles, like everything was going to be normal again.

A new normal, but normal.

“Yeah, I know, that’s why I called a meeting instead of telling everyone individually~.” An unspoken gratitude, because Decepticons didn’t give thanks(!), pulses through the trinebond and Thundercracker almost weeps.

It’s the first thing to come through the trinebond since that raid in the village he had flattened.
It’s the first time in almost three weeks that he’s felt anyone else through the bond.
(Starscream never opened it anymore, and Skywarp had blocked him out of anger at his little not-completely-loyal questioning of Soundwave.)

All of the loneliness that had him feeling trapped in his own frame is washed away, and he latches onto it like a lifeline.

Bluestreak could give him friendship, company, and a peace he’d never known before, but nothing, nothing could replace trine.

He explains the plan to Skywarp, both simplifying it where it needed to be simplified, and giving more detail where necessary. Skywarp even helps him finalise a few decisions that he’d been on the fence about.

As they burst into the War Council Room-

“Alright, maggots! Listen up!” -Skywarp announces them wonderfully, bursting through with vim and vigour. Thundercracker huffs a small vent of a laugh, weaving his way through the gathered cons to stand in the front corner of the room. He briefly hears Frenzy ask Blitzwing what a maggot is, which is answered by a shrug.

Whilst he would rather be in the back corner, hidden amongst the straddlers, Thundercracker doesn’t have that option today.
He has to make sure Skywarp conveys the plan. He has to make sure this goes perfectly.

Because there’s no energon in the stores.
Because it’s his responsibility.
Because he’ll be punished if they somehow survive until Megatron returns.

(He’ll be punished anyways, they ran out of energon, it doesn’t matter if they replenish the supplies or not. He ignores that looming thought for now.)

(He’ll be punished anyways, for conducting a raid without the proper authority and permission. He ignores that a little easier in these desperate times.)

At the head of the table, Skywarp slams both palms on the table like Megatron has done many times before, but instead of with anger, there’s a maniacal hint of glee. It’s little more than acting for him, just a fun game where he holds all the power.

“So guess what? No, don’t guess, I’ll tell ya! You fraggers have been guzzlin’ waaaay too much energon lately! Yup, that’s right! There’s nothing left! Nothing!!! Not even a drop!” Uneasy murmurs and muttering breaks out between the Decepticons. It’s a stark contrast to how nobody would dare utter a word in Megatron’s presence. Still, Thundercracker can’t allow them to stall the meeting for too long.

“But, we have a plan.” Before too many optics can turn to him, he steps back into the shadows of the corner, letting Skywarp draw attention back to himself with a proud flicker of his wings.

“We’re gonna do a raid all by our ourselves.” It’s no surprise that Onslaught, who has been narrowing his glare at Skywarp the entire time and was visibly jealous that the seeker had been left in charge, is the first to speak up.

“You couldn’t plan a raid if Soundwave had left you step-by-step instructions. Why should we even entertain your plan, when I’m the combat specialist?” Definitely jealous. Thundercracker barely restrains rolling his optics.

“Because it’s not a combat heavy raid.”

“What?!” The uproar he’s met with has him back up until he’s pressed flat against the wall, giving Skywarp a quick glance that he hopes his trinemate interprets as a plead for distraction.

Luckily, despite being immature and somewhat stupid, the older seeker seems to catch on.

“Yeah, so, those kinda raids leave us sorta beaten up ‘cus the Autodolts have more resources from us. Also, uh…” Skywarp peers down at the datapad Thundercracker had shoved into his servos on the way to the war council room. His optics narrow as he reads directly what is written.

“Statistically speaking, the cost of energon in repairing inflicted injuries heavily outweighs the gains acquired through a full-frontal bombardment. The alternative and proposed tactic is to… TC, is this right? To surmount small forces in rapid assaults against multiple locations?”

“Mhm. That’s right.” Slowly eventing, Thundercrcacker lights up the display screen behind them, preparing to give a presentation. The digital display is set to run automatically until a certain point.

It’s uncomfortable. It’s nerve-wracking. It’s making him want to crawl out of his frame and shrivel up into rust.

It’s necessary.

He’s pretty sure, from the snickers around the room, that he looks just about as confident as he feels. Astrotrain even points towards his own wings to indicate how Thundercracker’s are shaking - not too noticeably, but noticeably enough for a flight capable mech.

He steadies them before speaking.

“Previously, our raid tactic has been to take our full army to one location, and remain there until we either meet our quota, or the Autobots force a strategic retreat. Whilst this tactic is efficient at gathering small amounts of energon, and showing the Decepticon might to the humans, it’s not effective at retaining the large amounts of energon required for such an army.”

It’s hard, trying to speak the truth, and not sound like a traitor. It’s not a strategic retreat - it’s the weakness of their underfuelled troops. They’re not showing the humans ‘Decepticon might’ - they’re just a pest amongst energy companies.

(Marissa had previously told him the Decepticons were a bit of a running joke when they weren’t face to faceplate with humans. Like locusts, she had said.)

“Currently, without our command staff, we’re in a weakened position. We’ve lost the ability to block communications and hide our presence, capable air coverage, and Megatron’s strength. If we attempted our usual raid tactic now, the Autobots would deactivate us all.” He pauses to let it sink in.

Someone clears their vents. Someone else shuffles uncomfortably. Perfect.

“So, we’re trying something new. Rather than all of us going together, we’ll be splitting into pairs or trines- uh, threes.” There’s a couple of muffled giggles at his slip-up, but surprisingly, that actually helps Thundercracker to relax a little. It proves that they’re listening to him, and they are, by choice because he doesn’t inflict fear upon them like Megatron does.

“Then, at the same time, you’ll all leave to different energy producing stations. Many of them, we’ve targeted before so you’ll be familiar with it. The aim isn’t to strike fear into the humans, or to meet a certain quota. Rather, you’ll gather as much as you can before the Autobots arrive.” He pauses.

This upcoming part… Might be difficult for some to grasp.

“As soon as there is sight or sound of an Autobot, grab all the energon you have acquired, and return to base.” The expected rage that comes his way is less than he had feared, but more than he had hoped. Motormaster even lunges for him, only held back by Skywarp instinctively slashing claws across his mask and hissing ferociously.

Raising his voice - and inflicting a little of his outlier into it for effect - Thundercracker speaks steadily over the protests.

“The energon will be counted, added to the stores, and then you go out again to a different facility. Once the energon stores, medical bay, and cargo hold are full, then you can do whatever you want!!!” His booming shout echoes in what is now silence.

Rumble leans forwards, intrigued.

“Whatever we want?” Knowing that agreeing is an invitation for absolute disaster, Thundercracker… Nods.

“Anything goes. Though bear in mind, once the stores are full, any extra energon will not be recorded. It will, officially, not exist.” Red optics around the room light up out of greed, hunger, and the recognition of potential mischief.

“On that note, you’ll also be allowed to fight the Autobots if you so wish. By the time our stores are full, the Autobots should be confused, divided, and exhausted from having to chase us over continents.” That’s when the first cheer rises up from deep in the crowd - though it sounded like Wildrider - and spreads into shouts of anticipation.

Skywarp grins at him, unrestrained.

“What are we waiting for, TC? Tell us where we’re going!” Changing the display behind him to a list of designations, Thundercracker addresses the room once more.

“These are your groups. You’re paired together based on strength, agility, situation awareness, and capacity to bring energon back. Find your group and stick with them.” He hadn’t meant immediately, but there’s shuffling amongst the group all the same, a buzz of excitement leaking out of everyone’s fields.

Thundercracker had been carefully with who he’d put into groups. Whilst it had mostly been for the reasons he’d told them, it was also based on compatibility. They couldn’t afford for this plan to fall apart over mere arguments.

Among the chaos, there were three groups of four. Due to how much the triple changers could carry in their holds, it made sense to have them be the largest groups. Especially since the additional strength they had due to their frame types could cover for the much smaller cassetticons.

“These-” He flicks the display to the next screen, showing a multitude of images of energy producing facilities from all over the globe. They’re sorted into categories of priority for attack.

Most of the top priority locations are far away, across oceans that the Autobots would have to get assistance to cross. Other factors include whether they’re manned or automatic, and which time zone they’re in.

It’s easier to raid facilities when the larger workforce is in their bed, rather than in the way.
(That’s the practical explanation. Really, Thundercracker was trying to minimalize loss of life as much as possible.)

“-are your targets. They’re not assigned, so take your pick. The only restriction is to pick from category 1 and work downwards.” Sensing how smoothly everything is going, Thundercracker steps back into the shadows. The rest is up to Skywarp, since he’s back in control.

“Dibs on Sherman Dam! That place was wild!”

“I dunno what a solar plant is, but our team claims it!”

“Then get going, maggots!” The teams clamour out of the war council hall in good spirits, though Thundercracker isn’t blind to the few glares sent his way, or the carefully calculating look Ravage gives him.

“I still don’t know what a maggot is…” Frenzy thankfully distracts her - even if what he’s doing isn’t wrong, Thundercracker still feels guilty for some reason - and she snorts a laugh before sauntering off with her assigned team.

Skywarp makes sure to mark down who’s going where. They need to keep track of what’s already been raided. By the time it’s silent in the war council room, there’s only Skywarp and Thundercracker left.

“That went better than expected.”

“Must be my charming personality and social influence, right, TC~?” Rolling his optics, Thundercracker can’t stop a small smile from appearing on his faceplates. It’s been so long since Skywarp has treated him like this.

Like normal.

“I think you just baffled them with human words. Did you hear Frenzy at the end?” Shrugging, Skywarp slides over the datapad with all his notes on.

“His loss. Maggots is a really fun word to say. So! Where’re we raiding?” Ah. Here comes the worst part. The part Thundercracker worries might throw a wrench into the entire plan.

“We’re not.”

“Okay, so let’s-! … Wait, what?” Venting a sigh as the grin on Skywarp’s face fades into a confused and somewhat irritated frown, Thundercracker scratches idly at the paint around his wrist struts.

“We… We’re not. Going anywhere. We’re staying here.” The frown starts to turn into a sneer, so he quickly blurts out the rest of his plan.

“Skywarp, you’re the best mathematician on the Nemesis thanks to your talent with outlier. You’re insanely clever with numbers, which is exactly what we need for cataloguing how much energon has been retrieved. It’s going to get busy when all the teams come back at once. Confusing, for anyone else.”

“So you want me to be an archival bot??? Full offence, TC, I thought you knew me better than this. I thought I knew you better than this.” Thundercracker’s spark constricts painfully. He knew Skywarp wasn’t going to take this easily, but he wasn’t expecting such a hard-hitting insult.

“I- I do know you… That’s why I need you to help me… ‘Warp, please. You’re the only one I can count on right now.” His trinemate turns away from him, low growl drawn from his vocaliser.

“I’ll do it. But you owe me, Thundercracker. You owe me.”

“I’ll repay you, swear on my spar-... You- You called me by my full name.” Ruby optics glance over Skywarp’s shoulder at him. Oh.

Oh.

It was intentional.
Skywarp was purposely distancing himself.

“Yeah, well. You did this to yourself, Thundercracker. Maybe you should start thinking about your place in the trine, instead of all those useless thoughts you seem to always be having.”

Shuffling uncomfortably, Thundercracker draws in on himself, unable to stop his wings from drooping or claws digging into his arms.

“... I’ll organise the teams from communications.” There’s no more words shared between them. Awkwardly, Thundercracker leaves the war council room first. The door has only just closed behind him when he hears a fist slam into a table through the wall.

And then he’s alone.

A gasp is wrenched from him as the trinebond is slammed closed again. The Nemesis seems to tilt, but Thundercracker knows that’s just his perception. Just a reaction to a vital bond being closed off to him.
Blocked.
Abandoned.

“I deserve this… I deserve this. It’s my fault.” Muttering to himself, he slips into communications, taking a long, steadying vent before putting in the necessary codes and focusing all his attention on executing the plan.

“Blast Off, you’ve got human militia approaching from the west, send Dirge out to intercept. Bonecrusher, the dam has sprung a leak in the bottom left corner, can you patch it before it breaks? Ratbat, you’re falling behind, take a shortcut through the upcoming canyon. Motormaster, leave the destruction until afterwards! Focus on the mission! Rumble, you can speed up production with your pistons. Hook, you’re needed-”

It continues, on and on, monitoring every single Decepticon and every single location. He gives out warning when threats or Autobots approach, he gives them helpful advice, and he scolds when necessary.

It’s difficult. It’s time-consuming.
It’s brilliant at distracting him from his inner turmoil.

The only time things get really strained is when he has to use the ship speaker to tell Skywarp that a team is coming through the tower. His comm was blocked.

“Blitzwing’s team coming in now, looks like they have a full load.” As anticipated, many of the teams overlap with each other on return, building up what Thundercracker can only imagine is large amounts of energon in the store room.

But Skywarp would be able to manage it all. Numbers were his speciality, whether confusing algorithms and equations for his warp system, or simple cataloguing. Thundercracker had no doubts that Skywarp had everything under expert control.

“Swindle, try taking your team out to Egypt, we haven’t struck there yet.” Marking off another location, Thundercracker ex-vents in surprise.

They’re- They’re way ahead of schedule. All the category 1 targets have been raided, the energon stores are halfway filled, and it’s only been four hours.

It’s working.
The plan is working!

“We’re halfway there, keep up the great work.” His announcement to everyone chimes back with affirmatives, whoops of joy, and even restrained congratulations from a couple.

Belatedly, Thundercracker realises this is probably the first time they’ve been praised for their efforts.
It was- was so easy to do… Was so easy to give.

So why didn’t Megatron ever encourage his troops?
Where was the praise when their raids actually went well?
When they did something remarkable in battle?

Why was it all punishment with Megatron in charge…?

Shaking his helm harshly, Thundercracker pushes those treacherous thoughts out of his processor. They weren’t his thoughts to have, he wasn’t a leader.

(But what if Prime was right? What if Megatron was a bad-...? No! Perish the thought! NO!)

He goes as far as to smack his helm harshly on both sides, making his audials ring.

“For frag’s sake, stop thinking!!!” It seems, for a moment, like he’s granted peace from his roaring mind. But that doesn’t stop the hollow, squeezing feeling around his spark, the ache in his helm, the burning behind his optics…

It doesn’t stop him from venting quickly, harshly, with servos still pressed as fists against his audials. It doesn’t stop him from shrinking in one himself, as if he could curl into a tight ball.

It doesn’t stop his optics from leaking. Just a couple of drops, but drops all the same.

“Fraggit, Skywarp was right… Skywarp was right...”

“Right about what?” Jolting into an upright position and forcing his wings into a stiff, neutral hold, Thundercracker doesn’t deign to turn around and expose his pitiful appearance to the mech in the open doorway. He hadn’t even noticed it open.

“Nothing.” There’s a long, uncomfortable pause. For a moment, Thundercracker thinks the large shadow blocking the dim light from the hallway isn’t going to accept his blatant lie.

But then it shrugs.

“Alright, if you say so.” Thundercracker’s wings lower into a resting position with a slow, inaudible vent. As they do so, Astrotrain steps closer into the darkness of the room, moving to lean against the wall next to the digital screens.

For some unknown reason, it strikes Thundercracker that the bright light of the screen reflecting off Astrotrain’s paint job colours him with dazzling bright greys and hazy lilacs, instead of his usual dark grey and violet.

“Jus’ came by to tell you that Autobutts are catching onto your plan.”

“How so?”

“Last few raids we’ve done, there’s been fewer ‘n’ fewer bots. Spoke to Blitz in the lobby and he said the same thing. Seems like the ‘Bots are starting to send certain individuals after certain targets.”

“I see.” And a grin, accomplished with a touch of malice, spreads across Thundercracker’s faceplates. It’s such an unusual expression to see on him, Astrotrain shutters his optics and leans away as if taken aback.

Like this, it’s easy to see that he’s trined to Starscream.

“Then they’re falling completely for the plan, as predicted.”

“They’re- Huh???” Easing into a smug expression, Thundercracker gestures to the numerous screens in front of him, showing his allies raiding facilities and retreating at the first sign of Autobots in real time.

“Spread like this, the Autobots are expecting to only find 2 to 4 mechs when they arrive at a location. Now imagine their surprise when they instead find more. We’ll half our amounts of teams, but double their power. In doing so, we may catch a few Autobots off guard and leave them with injuries that will confine them to the Ark.”

Astrotrain stares at the screens. Then, his optics flash a little brighter with realisation.

“We can take large amounts of Autobots off the battlefield and keep goin’ for longer.” With a nod, Thundercracker sinks back into the seat. He’s rightfully pleased with himself.

“On one condition. Don’t deactivate them.” The triple changer fully jolts away from him with a flash of shock and disgust in his field that hits Thundercracker like a whip. But he’s ready for it.

“Are you out of your fraggin’ mind?! Don’t eliminate the Autobots?!” Patiently, Thundercracker holds up a servo.

Truthfully, he implemented that rule to prevent Bluestreak from being offlined. Those that Bluestreak cared about as a secondary measure.

But he had a believable excuse prepared.
One that any Decepticon would buy into.

“If we steadily wound all of their best soldiers, not only will it make them weaker over all, but it’ll destroy their morale. They’ll be forced to the edge of giving up, a step that Megatron can see to the end once he returns. The Prime will be defeated, the war will be over, and our leader will take his rightful place as the victorious ruler of Cybertron.”

“I dunno, TC, shouldn’t you be the one to do it? It’s your plan after all.” And that - especially the uneasily contemplative voice - was not what he expected. He resets his audials just to make sure they aren’t malfunctioning.

“Astrotrain, I am not the Decepticon leader.” He carefully enunciates each word, making sure they carry full effect. Stern, firm, and on the border of lecturing. It’s enough to make Astrotrain shuffle uncomfortably, the reflection of those digital displays distorting over the lines of his frame.

“Well, yeah, sure… But it’s your plan. We’ve made more energon in four groons than we have in two years. Don’tcha think that counts for something…?” Thundercracker opens and closes his mouth much like the fish that can be seen outside the Nemesis windows.

How in the pit is he supposed to answer that?!

“Count for- It counts for nothing!! Making sure we have energon is the duty of every loyal soldier! If I hadn’t come up with a plan, someone else would have.”

“Megatron doesn’t seem to.” It might be muttered, but in the quiet of the communications room - punctuated only by the electrical hum of the screens - the bitter statement comes out clearly audible.

The fact that it echoes the very same feeling Thundercracker was trying to deny, that it entertains his dangerously treacherous though, is possibly why he can’t think of a response.

It’s easy to respond to his own contemplations.
(His own disloyal, distancing, comparing contemplations.)

But it’s hard when someone else - someone he respects - is voicing those same concerns.

So Thundercracker does what he does best.
Ignores it.
Denies it.
Changes the subject.

“Head out towards Hornsea Two wind farm in England. If you encounter the Autobots, lead them North and join up with Onslaught's team.” After a moment of pause, Astrotrain shrugs, then walks back over to the doorway. He lingers.

“Jus’ think about what I said.” With that, the triple changer strolls away, letting dim light from the hallway flood back into the room. Thundercracker vents a weary sigh.

“That’s all I seem to do. ‘Think’. Why can’t I just be a normal, loyal Decepticon? A good trinemate?” He sinks further into the communications room chair, stewing in the loathing directed at himself, trying desperately to ignore the hollow, cold feeling in his spark as he directs the rest of the Decepticons into a (for once) successful raid.

If he winces or grimaces every time an Autobot is dragged or assisted off the battlefield, that’s nobody’s business. He keeps a special optic out for Bluestreak, carefully ordering the teams he comes face to face with so the sniper goes unharmed.

Without sounding like that’s his intention.

It’s almost funny how easily led the Autobots are into larger and larger ambushes, but at some point, Prowl must catch on because the Autobots start to bunch up again.

Thundercracker grins with an unusual amount of pride and glee.

“All units, split back into your original teams and disperse.” All at once, the Decepticon soldiers do so, abandoning their fights in the smaller groups they had first been organised into. The Autobots, even through the screen, seem to hesitate with confusion.

Thundercracker can’t help but chuckle a little at the blatant bewilderment. Like a dog that had just caught its own tail, the Autobots were stunned. Left standing on an empty battlefield, baffled at what was happening.

Primus, this is almost fun!

“Focus your priorities on energon again. We’re about-” He pauses to check the numbers on the datapad he has, connected to Skywarp’s so he can see roughly where they are. As he does so, his optics widen.

“- Only 240 cubes away from our end goal! This is incredible. Not long until you hooligans and vandals can go off doing whatever entertains you.” The overlapping comms calls coming back are filled with cheers, whoops of enthusiasm, laughter at his teasing name-calling, and playful returns of ‘Jerk’.

(Because of course it was. What else would it be? He’s long since accepted the title.)

Everything was going perfectly. They’d whittled away at the Autobot numbers - without any deactivation - making it safer to raid in smaller groups, their energon stores were about half a groon away from completion, the entire raid having taken approximately 8 groons, and no-one was injured.

Well, asides from cosmetic damage like scrapes and dents, but that didn’t require severe medical attention.

Just 30 minutes until the Nemesis was full of energon.

Full energon stores, so they could safely double the rations for six days and have plenty left.
Cargo hold 3, packed to the brim, so Megatron could send energon to Cybertron if he so wished.
The medical bay, stuffed full of enough cubes that Hook could filter them all into medical grade and have a storage cupboard full of that precious, life-saving energon.

Not to mention that a few ‘Cons might choose to continue raiding on their own terms, keeping unregistered and unrecorded energon in their rooms for personal use.

Thundercracker could already foresee a lot of overcharged mechs in the early hours of the morning.

It was amazing.

It was perfect.

It felt like- Felt like Cybertron again.

Like an ordinary cycle, strolling or flying through the streets just outside of Vos, with a lively, somewhat rowdy community all intersecting with each other. Some managing stalls that sold goodies and treats he could never afford, some stumbling out of bars and pubs in good spirits, some racing around towards the playgrounds that were literally on the border of Vos-

A life he’d only seen through youngling optics, but a life he’d loved all the same.

A life he’d prefer over this miserable experience.

Deep in his spark, Thundercracker could only hope that Shockwave was close to reviving Cybertron. (He had better be, with all they had sent over.)

“Only 240 cubes to go…” Scrolling through the datapad, Thundercracker roughly calculates it to around… Three more trips for each team.

Easily manageable.
Something they could do themselves.

So he makes an executive decision.

Pushing himself out of the chair, he walks - brisker than usual - into the flight bay where Skywarp has set up management. He marches right over to his trinemate and doesn’t both to wait until Skywarp turns to him.

“You were right. You were right. I have been distracted with useless thoughts, and I have neglected the trine. I’ve neglected you. So, where do you want to cause unbridled chaos?” It must take a moment for his rambling to sink in, because Skywarp stares at him with mouthplate open.

Then, his wings quiver in excitement and he shutters his optics, opening them a shade brighter than before.

“Anywhere and everywhere! Let’s go grab a hoard of energon for ourselves! Let’s- Let’s go destroy things! And fight ‘Bots!” The corner of Thundercracker’s mouthplate twitches upwards.

“Thought you’d say that. I made sure your favourite target was still battle-worthy the entire time.” Skywarp bounces up from his cross-legged position, stretching out enough that some of his joints make a popping or creaking sound.

“Ironhide?”

“Yea.”

“Oh, you know I love to make him furious! He’s so funny when he pops a gasket.” Shaking his helm fondly with a roll of his optics, Thundercrcacker knows full well just how much Skywarp delights at driving the weapons specialist - to burrow a human phase - up the fucking wall.

Honestly, he’s surprised Ironhide hasn’t short-circuited from his Skywarp-induced anger issues yet.

As they exit the flight tower, Skywarp barrel rolls with an unrestrained cackle. And despite the fact that the trinebond is still closed to him, despite the fact that he’s struggling with inner turmoil, and despite the stress of this entire situation, Thundercracker gives in to his trinemates joy, and loops around him.

For now, everything is... Manageable.

He just wishes it could stay that way.